Chapter 1 tenth clue
"Mr. Leopold Gunwater is not at home," said the servant who opened the door, "but his son, Mr. Charles, is—if you wish to see him."
"No, I have an appointment with Mr. Leopold Gunwater at nine o'clock, or a little later. It's only nine o'clock now, and he should be back soon. I'll wait for him."
"Okay, sir."
He sideways let me in, took my long coat and hat, led me into a room on the second floor, Gunwalt's study, and left.I casually picked up a magazine from the stack of books on the table, pulled the ashtray over, and sat down comfortably.
An hour passed, I put down the magazine, and began to feel impatient; another hour passed, and I began to fidget.
Somewhere downstairs the clock was beginning to strike the eleventh when a young man in his mid-twenties entered the room.He was tall and tall, with unusually white skin, and dark hair and eyes.
"My father hasn't come back yet," said he. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Is there anything I can do? My name is Charles Gunwater."
"No, thank you." I stood up from my chair and accepted his polite eviction order, "I'll contact him tomorrow."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and we walked toward the door together.
When he came to the corridor, the extension in a corner of the study rang, but the ring was not very loud.I stopped at the door and Charles Gunwater went over to answer the phone.
He was talking on the phone with his back to me.
"Yes, yes, yes!" He said suddenly sharply, "What? Yes." The voice became very weak, "Yes."
He turned around slowly, his face was ashen ashes to me, he was dumbfounded, and the receiver was still in his hand.
"Father," he gasped, "is dead—killed!"
"Where? How did you die?"
"I don't know, it's the police calling, and they want me to go there right away."
He straightened his shoulders with great effort, pulled himself together, put down the receiver, and his face became less tense.
"Sorry I have to—"
"Mr Gunwater," I interrupted his apology, "I work for the Continental Detective Agency, and your father called this afternoon to ask us to send a detective over tonight, and he said he was threatened to kill him. But he hasn't Officially hire us, so unless you-"
"Of course! I'll hire you now! If the police haven't caught the murderer, I want you to do everything in your power to catch him."
"Okay! Let's go to the headquarters together."
None of us spoke on the way to the police station.
Ganwat lay prone on the steering wheel and went on a rampage all the way.I have several questions for him, but depending on the speed at which he is driving, it is better to let him concentrate on driving if he does not want to hit something.So I didn't bother him, just waited quietly.
When we arrived at the police station, six detectives were already waiting for us.The case was in the hands of Inspector Olga--a man with a head like a bullet and dressed like a country sheriff in a movie, with a black wide-brimmed hat, but he was not to be underestimated for that.The two of us have worked together on two or three cases before, and we have similar tastes.
He led us to a small office downstairs from the conference room, where a dozen items were scattered on a table.
"I want you to take a good look at these things," said the Inspector to Gunwater, "and pick out your father's."
"where is he?"
"Do this first," insisted Olga, "and then you can go and see him."
When Charles Gunwater picked something, I looked at it too.On the table were an empty jewel case, a blotter, three open letters, all addressed to the deceased; some papers, a bunch of keys, a fountain pen, two white plain linen handkerchiefs, two magazines , a gold watch—on a yellow and white chain with a solid gold knife and a gold pencil; two black leather purses, one very new and the other very old; some money, notes and coins Yes, and a small portable typewriter, deformed, covered with hair and blood.Some of the other things were stained with blood, and some were clean.
Gunwater picked out the watch and its odds and ends, keys, fountain pens, blotters, handkerchiefs, letters and other papers, and the old wallet.
"These are my father's," he told us. "I haven't seen anything else. Of course, I don't know how much he brought tonight, so I can't say how much is his."
"Are you sure the other things are not his?" Olga asked.
"Probably not, but I'm not sure, Whipple can tell you." He turned to me and said, "It's the one who opened the door for you tonight. He takes care of my father. He should know better than me whether other things belong to my father."
A detective called and told Whipple to come right away.
I went on to ask questions.
"Is there anything missing from your father's belongings? Anything of value?"
"As far as I know, everything he might have been carrying seems to be here."
"What time did he leave the house tonight?"
"Before seven thirty, maybe seven o'clock."
"Do you know where he went?"
"He didn't tell me, but I guess it's to see Miss Dexter."
All the detectives' faces lit up and their eyes began to glow, and I thought I must be no exception.Many murders have nothing to do with women, but as long as women are involved, it is a big case.
"Who is this Miss Dexter?" asked Olga.
"She's, er—" Charles Gunwater hesitated, "well, my father was on good terms with her and her brother, and usually visited them—several times a week. To tell you the truth, I Suspected that he was planning to marry her."
"Who is she? What does she do?"
"Father met them six or seven months ago. I've met them a few times, but not very well. Miss Dexter--her name was Clyda--was about twenty-three, and I think her brother Madden He should be four or five years older than her. He's in New York now, or he's on his way to New York to help my father with some business."
"Did your father ever tell you he was going to marry her?" Olga snapped at the woman line.
"No, but anyone with a discerning eye can tell at a glance that he is... er... obsessed with her. We argued a few days ago-last week, it wasn't an argument, you know, it was an argument. Listening to his tone, I Worried that he must marry her."
"What do you mean 'worry'?" Olga clutched at the word.
Charles Gunwater's pale face flushed a little, and he cleared his throat in embarrassment.
"I don't want to speak badly of the Dexters in front of you. I don't think... I'm sure they have nothing to do with Father's... well, this. But I don't particularly care about them—I don't like them I think they... um... it's for money, maybe it's for money. My father is not a rich man, but he can be considered rich. And although he is in good health, he is still fifty-seven years old. This age makes me Feels like Clyda Dexter should be more interested in his money than in him."
"What about your father's will?"
"As far as I know, the last time he made a will was two or three years ago. He left all his property to my wife and me--in joint. If there was another will after that, Mr. Murray Abernathy, my father's lawyer, would be with me. You said it, but I don't think so."
"Your father is retired, right?"
"Well, he handed over the import and export business to me almost a year ago. He also has several investments across the country, but he doesn't manage much."
Olga pushed back his country sheriff's hat, scratched his bullet-shaped head thoughtfully, and looked at me.
"Is there anything else you want to ask?"
"Well. Mr. Gunwater, do you know—did you ever hear your father or anybody mention a man named Emile Bonfis?"
"No."
"Did your father tell you that he ever received a threatening letter? Or that someone shot him in the street?"
"No."
"Your father was in Paris in 1902?"
"Probably, he went abroad every year until he retired."
Next Olga and I took Gunwald to visit his father in the mortuary.The dead man looked distressing—even for people like Olga and me who had only met him face to face.In my memory, he was short and slender, always dressed in a fashionable way, with a brisk appearance, and looked much younger than his actual age. Now he's lying there with the bloody beating on the top of his head. We left Gunwald alone in the morgue and headed for the police station. "What the hell do you mean by asking Emile Bonfis what else was in Paris in 1902?" Inspector Olga asked as soon as we were on the street. "Here's what happened: The deceased called our agency this afternoon and said he had received a threatening letter from Emile Bonfis, saying that they had an affair in Paris in 1902, and that Bonfis Shot him in the street the night before. He wanted us to send someone over to talk to him tonight, and said he didn't want the police involved under any circumstances—that he'd rather get Bonfis done than let things go. Exposure. There's only so much he can say on the phone. That's why I happened to be there when Charles Gunwater was informed that his father had died." Olga stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and whistled softly. "This news is important!" he sighed. "I'll show you something when we get back to headquarters." When we got to headquarters, Whipple was already waiting in the conference room.At first glance, his face was as calm as a mask, the same as when he opened the door to me tonight at the house in the Russian Green Hills, though perfect servant etiquette couldn't hide the trembling he was doing. We took him into the little office where Charles Gunwater had been cross-examined. Whipple corroborated everything the deceased son had told us.He was pretty sure the typewriter, the jewelry box, the two magazines, and the new wallet were not Gunwalt's. But he has always been reluctant to reveal his opinion of the Dexter siblings.But it was obvious that he didn't like them.He said Miss Dexter had called Mr. Leopold Gunwater three times tonight at eight, nine and nine-thirty, but she had left no message.Whipple thought she was waiting for Ganwat, but he was never seen. He said he knew nothing about Emile Bonfis and the threatening letters.Gunwalt had gone out at eight o'clock the night before and arrived home at midnight.Whipple hadn't watched him closely when he got home, and couldn't tell if he was agitated.Gunwater usually has about a hundred dollars in his pocket. "Is there anything you know Ganwat is carrying tonight that isn't on this table?" Olga asked. "No, sir. Everything seems to be there. Watch and chain, money, blotter, purse, keys, handkerchief, fountain pen—everything I know is there." "Has Charles Gunwater gone out tonight?" "No, sir, he and Mrs Gunwater were at home all evening." "you sure?" Whipple paused for a moment. "Yes, sir, I'm pretty much sure. I know Mrs. Gunwater hasn't been out. To be honest, I haven't seen Mr. Charles since eight o'clock, and he and this gentleman—" He pointed at me. said, "Go downstairs. But I'm pretty sure he's been home all night, and I think Mrs Gunwater said he was." Then Olga asked another question, which puzzled me at the time. "What does Mr Gunwald wear?" "You mean Mr. Leopold?" "right." "Pure gold, made of one piece, with the logo of a jeweler's shop in London." "Can you recognize it when you see it?" "Yes, sir." Then we just let Whipple go home. "Don't you think it's time for you to relax and tell me what's going on?" When Olga and I were alone facing the table of evidence, but I had no clue, I suggested road. "I think so. Listen up! A grocer named Rajques was driving through Golden Gate Park tonight and saw a car parked on a dark road with the lights off. The man was sitting in an odd position, so he told the first patrolman he came across. "The patrolman went to look and found Gunwalt sitting at the wheel, dead--his head smashed. This thing," he said, with one hand resting on the bloody typewriter, "was in the seat next to him. It was a quarter past ten, and the doctor said Gunwalt had been killed by the typewriter—the skull was shattered. "We found the dead man's pockets turned upside down. Everything on this table was scattered in the car except for the new wallet - some on the floor and some on the seats. The money was there too - almost One hundred dollars. That's in the file." He handed me a typed white paper with the following content: "LFG should be Leopold F. Gunwater," I said, "EB should be Emile Bonfis. Twenty-one years from 1902 to 1923, six thousand miles About the distance from Paris to San Francisco." I put down the letter and picked up the jewelry box.It's black faux leather with white satin lining and no logos. I then checked the magazine, and there were two rounds in it, SW 45 caliber, with deep crosses carved into the soft tip—an old trick that causes the bullets to explode into saucers when they hit something. "Are those in the car too?" "Yes—and this." From the pocket of her vest, Olga produced a short lock of blond hair—an inch or two long, clipped, not pulled out. "Is there any more?" It seems that things are endless. He picked up the new wallet from the table—the one that both Whipple and Charles Gunwater said did not belong to the deceased—and pushed it toward me. "Found on the road, three or four feet away from the car." It was a bargain with no manufacturer's name nor the owner's initials.Inside were two ten-dollar bills, three small newspaper clippings, and a slip of six names and addresses, the first being Gunwald. The three clippings were apparently from the private advertising columns of three different newspapers, with different fonts.The content is as follows: The name and address listed under Gunwalt on the typed sheet were: "What else?" I asked while watching. The inspector's goods are not out yet. "The deceased's collar buttons - both front and back - were undone, but his collar and tie were still in place. His left shoe was also missing. We looked around but the shoe and collar button None were found." "that's it?" I'm ready to wait for him to come out with something else. "What the hell do you want?" he growled. "Isn't that enough?" "Where are the fingerprints?" "Not the one you asked for! All the ones I found were dead." "And what about the car he was in?" "Coupe owned by a doctor named Wallis Giracco. He called the police at six this evening and said it was stolen near the corner of McAllister and Polk Streets. We're looking for him. , but I see no problem." What Whipple and Charles Gunwald identified as the deceased did not give the slightest clue.We double-checked again, still nothing.The blotter made many entries, but they didn't seem to have anything to do with the murder, and neither did the letters. We found the serial number missing from the murder weapon - the typewriter - apparently scraped off with a file. "Well, what do you think?" Olga asked when we gave up on the clues and sat down to smoke. "I think we must find Mr. Emile Bonfis." "It doesn't hurt to check," he muttered. "I think we'd better go find the five people who were on the list with Gunwater, maybe the hit list? Maybe Bonfis is going to kill them all?" "Possibly. We've got to find 'em all anyway. Maybe a few of them have already been killed. Whether they've been killed or will be killed or nothing, they've got something to do with the murder. I'll go Send a telegram to each branch office and ask everyone to check everyone on the list, even the three newspaper clippings.” Olga looked at his watch and yawned. "It's more than four o'clock. How about we call it a day and go home to sleep? I'll leave a message for the experts in the bureau to compare whether the letter signed by EB and the name list were typed from that typewriter. I think it's right, but we still have to make sure Just a minute. I'll have someone look around the park where Gunwald was killed at dawn, maybe I can find the missing shoes and collar buttons. And I'll send some of my men to visit every typewriter shop in town to see if I can find them. The way to this station." I stopped at the nearest post office, sent a bunch of telegrams, and went home to sleep, not dreaming at all about the case or what a detective was supposed to do.
At eleven o'clock that morning, after five hours of sleep, I walked into the police station looking radiant.There was Olga slumped at his desk, staring in bewilderment at a black shoe, six collar buttons, a flat rusty key, and a crumpled newspaper—all spread out in a row beside him. before. "What's this? Your wedding souvenir?" "Yes," he said gruffly. "Listen: the porter at the Seamen's National Bank, while cleaning this morning, found a package in the front hall. It contained this shoe—the one that Gunwalt lost. Just—wrapped in this Philadelphia Chronicle from five days ago, and these collar buttons and this old key. You should notice, the heel is pulled off—haven't found it yet. Whipple points to Gunwar and identified two of the collar buttons, though he had not seen the keys. The other four were new, the usual gold-covered ones; and the keys seemed to have been unused for a long time. See Is there anything famous about it?" I can't see anything. "How could the concierge think of sending these things to the police?" "Oh, it's all in the morning papers--all about the missing shoes and collar buttons." "Did the typewriter find out?" I asked. "The letter and the list were typed out by it. It can't be wrong, but we haven't found out where it came from. We checked the doctor and owner of the car. He is fine, and his whereabouts last night were also explained clearly. We found Ganwo The special grocer, Lajques, seems to be all right. How's your check?" "There was no reply to the telegrams I sent last night. When I came here this morning, I dropped by the agency and got four agents to go through all the hotels, every Bonfis they could find—two or three listed in the phone book. Also, I sent a telegram to our New York bureau asking them to check the steamship arrivals to see if any Emile Bonfis had been there lately. I also telegraphed our Paris correspondent to see if he What can be dug out there." "I think next we'll have to see Gunwald's attorney, Abernathy, and that Dexter woman," said Inspector Olga. "I think so," I agreed. "Let's see the lawyer first. As things stand, he's the most important person." Attorney Murray Abernathy was a tall, lanky old gentleman who spoke slowly and still wore starched shirts.The dude was so sticking to his so-called work ethic that he was less helpful than we expected.But we let him go on talking, and kept talking on our own, but we still found some news, which is roughly as follows: The deceased and Clyda Dexter had planned to marry this Wednesday.It seemed that both his son and her brother were against it, so Gunwater and the woman planned to marry in secret in Oakland, and sail east that afternoon.They think that after the long honeymoon, the man's son and the woman's brother will be fine. Gunwater made a new will, leaving half of the property to the newlywed wife and half to the son and his wife.But the will had not been signed, and Clyda Dexter knew it had not been signed.She knew—this, and other things that Abernathy could be sure of—that all the property went to the Charles Gunwaters under the old will, which was still in force. According to Abernathy's twists and turns and hints, Gunwalt's fortune was worth about $1.5 million.The lawyer had never heard of Emile Bonfis, or of anyone who threatened or tried to murder the dead.He did not know—perhaps refused to tell us—what the dead man was accused of stealing by the threatening letter. We walked from Abernathy's office to Clyda Dexter's apartment.It's in a luxurious new building just a few minutes' walk from the Gunwalds' home. Clyda Dexter was petite and in her early twenties.Most striking were her eyes, large, deep, amber, with shifting pupils.They are constantly changing size, shrinking and shrinking, slow and fast, constantly changing from the size of a pinhead to the point where it almost bursts through the amber iris. With these eyes to guide you, you can see that she is a cat woman through and through, and every movement is as slow and graceful as a cat.And the outline of her pretty face, the shape of her mouth, her small nose, the shape of her eyes, her high eyebrows, are all cat-like.Her hair enhanced the effect, a thick tawny. "Mr. Ganwat and I planned to get married the day after tomorrow." After explaining the ins and outs of the matter, she told us, "His son and daughter-in-law objected, and my brother Madden also disagreed. They all seemed to think that our age gap was too big. .To avoid any unhappiness, we plan to marry in secret, and then go abroad for a year or more. By the time we return, they should have no grudges. "That's why Mr. Gunwald persuaded Madden to go to New York. He had a business there, like dealing with his interest in a steel mill. He used that as an excuse to pay Madden so we could get married on the road. Madden and I live together, and none of my preparations for this trip will escape his notice." "Was Mr Gunwater here last night?" I asked her. "No, I was waiting for him—we were going to go out. Usually he walks, it's only a few blocks away. I called his home number before he arrived at eight o'clock. Whipple told me that he was about one Went out an hour ago. I called twice after that. I called again this morning before I read the papers, and I didn't know he--" Her voice was choked—the only hint of sadness in the interview.Based on Charles Gunwalt and Whipple's descriptions of her, we're ready for a wonderful performance of grief, but she disappoints us rather.Her performance was not exciting at all, and she didn't even shed tears. "Was Mr Gunwater here the night before?" "Well, he arrived a little after eight o'clock and stayed until almost twelve o'clock. We didn't go out." "Does he walk back and forth?" "Well, as far as I know." "Did he mention threats to kill him or something?" "No." She shook her head decisively. "Do you know Emile Bonfis?" "I don't know." "Did Mr. Gunwater mention him?" "No." "Which hotel is your brother staying in New York?" Her erratic black pupils suddenly enlarged, as if they were about to spread to the whites of the eyes.That was the first time I saw her fear clearly.But apart from the pair of pupils that couldn't hide her emotions, her facial expression was calm. "have no idea." "When did he leave San Francisco?" "Thursday—four days ago." After Olga and I left Clyda Dexter's apartment, we walked the six or seven blocks of meditation, when he finally spoke. "Cunning kitten—that woman! Touch along the fur, and she will purr and purr happily; touch the reverse—be careful of her claws!" "What did you say was the surprise in her eyes when I asked about her brother?" I asked. "There's a problem. I can't figure out what, though! Might as well find out if he's really in New York. If he was there today, he definitely wasn't here last night—even the mail flight would cost twenty-six or so." It takes twenty-eight hours to arrive." "That's it." I agreed. "It seems that Clyda Dexter is not sure whether her brother is involved. As for Bonfis, there is no connection now. But I think Claret Da should be fine, she knows that the new will has not been signed, so there is no reason to let the 750,000 banknotes fly away for nothing." We sent a long telegram to the New York branch of the Continental Detective Agency, and then went to the agency to see if there was any reply to my message from last night. Indeed there are. None of Gunwalt's fellows on the list could be found, not even a trace.Two of the addresses were completely wrong, and there was no such number on those streets—never.
Olga and I spent the rest of the afternoon walking back and forth between the Ganwarts' house in Russian Green Hills and the building where Dexter lived.We asked everyone who could be asked along the three possible routes the deceased might have taken—men, women, children; who lived there, worked there, played there. The people we asked all said that they did not hear the shot that Bonfis fired the night before the incident, and no one saw suspicious people or things on the night of the incident, and no one saw him being picked up by a car. We then went to Gunwater House, and again questioned Charles Gunwater, his wife, and all the servants, but found nothing.As far as they could tell, the deceased had lost nothing — nothing small enough to hide in the heel of a shoe. The shoes he wore the night he died were one of three custom-made in New York two months earlier.Possibly he took the heel of the left shoe off, emptied it, put a small object in it, and nailed it back.But Whipple insisted that if the deceased had done that, he would have been found, unless it was done by a professional shoe repairer. This thread is also blocked.When we got back to the agency, the telegram had just arrived from the New York bureau, saying that no steamboat company had registered Emile Bonfis from England, France, or Germany in the last six months. Detectives who searched the city for Bonfis came back empty-handed.They found eleven Bonfis in San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley, and Alameda, and investigated them all.Investigations revealed that none of the eleven had a problem, and none of the Bonfis knew Emile Bonfis.Hotel inventory also handed in a blank paper. Olga came with me to dinner.It was a dull meal, and we barely talked.After dinner we went back to the agency to find another telegram from New York. Madden Dexter arrived at the McAlpine Hotel this morning and was authorized to sell Ganwat's shares in BF and F. Steel; he denied knowing about Emil Bonfis or the murder, and is expected to finish the deal and return to San Francisco tomorrow. The just-decoded telegram slipped through my fingers.We sat listlessly opposite each other across my desk, staring blankly at each other.The cleaning lady's bucket rattled in the corridor. "What a strange case." Olga spoke at last, but to himself, in a very low voice. I nodded, yes. "We've got nine leads," he said again after a moment, "and none of the goddamn ones work. "The first: The deceased called your agency to say that Emile Bonfis, with whom he had a relationship in Paris many years ago, threatened him and shot him. "Number two: the typewriter. It didn't just kill him, it typed the letter and the list. We're still trying to figure it out, but we haven't broken through yet. Seriously, what the hell kind of weapon is that? Looks like the Bonfiss boy was in a hurry to grab something and smash Gunwalt. But why is there a typewriter in a stolen car? Why file the serial number off the machine?" I shook my head, meaning I couldn't guess the answer.Olga continued to enumerate our leads. "Article 3: Threat letter, consistent with what Ganwat said in the phone call that afternoon. "Article 4: Two bullets with a cross carved on their heads. "Article Five: Jewelry Box. "Rule 6: That lock of yellow hair. "Article Seven: The deceased's shoes and collar buttons were taken. "Article 8: The wallet found on the road, and the two ten-dollar bills, three newspaper clippings, and the list inside. "Article Nine: The shoe was found the next day, wrapped in a five-day-old Philadelphia newspaper, and contained the two missing collar buttons. Four extra collar buttons and a rusty key were also found. "Here's the list. If it makes any sense, it presumably means that this mysterious Emile Bonfis, who was pissed off by Gunwald in Paris in 1902, is back for revenge. Last night he Picked Gunwalt up in a stolen car with a typewriter - God knows why! Gunwald got into a fight and Bonfis smashed his head with the typewriter and searched his pockets —but obviously nothing was taken. He thought what he wanted was in Gunwater's left shoe, so he took it. And then—the collar button thing doesn't make sense, and the fake list ,and also--" "Makes sense!" I interjected, sitting up, wide awake, "and this is our tenth clue—and we're going to follow it from here on out. That list, apart from Gan Walter's name and address are all fabricated. If the list is not fabricated, then our team should have found at least one of the five people listed above, right? But they didn't even find any clues about one person, and The house number with two addresses doesn't even exist! "The list was fabricated and put in the purse with those newspaper clippings and twenty bucks to make the drama more likeable. Then it was thrown on the road near that car to mislead us on purpose. If that's true, then Ninety-nine percent of everything else is fake too. "From now on, I'm going to treat those nine lovely leads as nine hoaxes and do the exact opposite. I'm going to find a man whose name isn't Emil Bonfiss and who doesn't start with an E Not B; he wasn't French, wasn't in Paris in 1902, didn't have light hair, didn't carry a . Something in a collar button or in a shoe. That's what I'm looking for now!" The Inspector narrowed his small green eyes and scratched his head as he thought. "Maybe a good idea!" he said. "Maybe you're right. If that's the case—what happened? That Dexter kitten didn't kill—she lost seventy-five Wan. Her brother didn't kill—he's in New York. Besides, you don't kill a man because he's too old to marry your sister. What about Charles Gunwater? Only he and his wife would because The old man got the benefit of going west before the new will was signed. We only have oral evidence that Charles was home that night. The servants didn't see him between eight and eleven, and you didn't see him until eleven at their house. He said We both believed it when he was home all night, and neither of us thought he killed the old man—but of course it could. Who could it be?" "This Clyda Dexter," I suggested, "wants to marry him for Gunwater's money? You don't think she loves him, do you?" "No, in my opinion, this woman is in love with one and a half million." "Well," I went on, "she's not plain-looking, is she? Far from it. Do you think Gunwald will be the only man who's attracted to her?" "I get it! I get it!" cried Olga. "You mean, maybe there's a chap who doesn't have a million and a half million in his wallet, and he's not willing to let a guy with a million and a half Men get their way. Possibly, very likely." "Well, forget what we checked in the past, let's try this new angle." "Okay," he said, "starting tomorrow morning, we're going to find the man who fought Ganwat for the paw of Dexter's kitten."
Rightly or wrongly, we all did it.We piled all the lovely clues in a drawer, locked it, and forgot about it, and set off to find all the men Clarida Dexter knew, and filter out the killer. But that's easier said than done. We've tried our best to dig into her past, but we just can't find out who courted her.The siblings had been in San Francisco for three years, so we started tracking them all over again, going through the apartments they had lived in.We asked everyone we could—even those who had only met her face to face.But they all said in unison that no other man had expressed interest in her except Ganwat.Apparently no one had seen her with anyone other than Gunwalt or her brother. Although these news still keep us in the same place, at least we know that this direction is in the right direction.The result of our discussion is: besides Ganwat, she has had at least one man in the past three years.Unless we're dead wrong, she's not the type of woman who would reject a man's attentions; on the contrary, she's supposed to be a man-getter by nature.If there was a third party, and he hid it so tightly, it showed that he had a lot to do with Ganwat's death. We can't find out where the Dexters lived before they came to San Francisco, but we're not very interested in their early lives.Of course, it's possible that the former lover has recently returned to her, but even so, it's easier to find the most recent connection than it was a few years ago. Gunwater's son thinks the Dexters are in it for the money.After thorough investigation, we are convinced of this.All their activities are proving it, even though they really haven't broken the law in the past. I went to Clyda Dexter again and spent the afternoon at her apartment, asking her one question after another about an old flame.Who had she dumped for Ganwat and his one and a half million?Her answer was always that there were no such people--I don't believe that. 我们日夜跟踪克丽达·德克斯特，不过没有半点进展。或许她怀疑有人监视她，所以很少离开公寓，而且即使离开，原因也是无懈可击的。不管她在不在家，我们都派人在她公寓附近监视着，没发现有人前去探访。我们监听她的电话，同样一点消息也没得到。我们还掌控了她的信箱——她一封信也没收到，连张垃圾广告也没有。 与此同时，我们知道了钱包里那三张剪报的来源——分别是纽约、芝加哥和波特兰报纸的私人广告栏。波特兰的剪报是命案前两天登的，芝加哥那张是发生命案的四天前，纽约那张则是五天前。这三份报纸在命案当天都有可能出现在旧金山的书报摊上——等着有心人买下来，做成剪报混淆探长的视听。 侦探社的巴黎特派员足足找到了六个埃米尔·邦菲斯，还有另外三个邦菲斯的线索，不过他们跟命案都毫无关系。 奥嘉和我已经不再担心埃米尔·邦菲斯了——这个角度行不通。我们现在全力以赴新的任务：找到甘沃特的情敌。 日子就这样过去了，事情也就这样进行下去，直到麦登·德克斯特该从纽约回家的那一天。 我们纽约分社在他离开纽约前一直盯着他，向我们报告了他离开的时间，所以我知道他要搭哪班火车。我想在他们兄妹见面前问他几个问题，他可能知道一些答案。而且如果我能在他妹妹警告他闭嘴之前问他问题的话，他或许愿意开口。 要是我知道他长什么样的话，我大可以趁他在奥克兰下火车时拦住他。但我不认识他，也不想带上查尔斯·甘沃特或其他什么人帮我的忙。 所以当天早上我就去了萨克拉门托，在那儿搭上他的火车。我把我的名片放在信封里，交给了车站的一个小弟，然后跟着他一节一节地穿过车厢。他一路喊着：“德克斯特先生！德克斯特先生！” 在最后一节车厢里——高级观景车厢——一名纤瘦的黑发男子穿着合体的粗呢衣服，原本正看着窗外的月台，听到小弟的喊声后，他回过头来招了招手。 我趁他紧张兮兮地撕开信封看我的名片时打量着他。他的下巴微微发颤，强调出那张脸的软弱——就算在最佳状态时也不可能表现得多强硬。我估算他的年纪在二十五到三十之间。他的头发中分，整齐地向两边垂下来；表情丰富的棕色大眼睛，小巧精致的鼻子，干净整齐的棕色胡子，又软又红的嘴唇——正是那种类型。 他把视线从名片上抬起时，我一屁股坐在他旁边的空位上。 “你是德克斯特先生？” “是的，”他说，“想必你是为了甘沃特命案找我吧？” “嗯，我想问你几个问题。我正好在萨克拉门托，所以就想在乘火车时顺便问你一些问题，免得占用你太多时间。” “如果帮得上忙的话，”他跟我保证，“我很乐意效劳。不过我已经把我知道的都告诉你们纽约的探员了，对他们来说好像没什么用。” “呃，你离开纽约以后，情况有点变化。”我一边说话一边仔细观察他的脸，“当时我们觉得没有价值的信息，可能正是我们现在要找的。” I stopped.他舔了舔嘴唇，避开我的目光。他或许什么都不知道，不过真的非常紧张。我假装陷入深思，等了他几分钟。如果拿捏对了，我有信心把他知道的事情全问出来。他看起来不像个硬汉。 我们的头挨得很近，所以车厢里其他四五个乘客听不到我们说什么，这种情况对我非常有利。每个侦探都知道这个办法：面对生性软弱的人，只要把脸凑上去大声讲话，想得到信息——甚至坦白交代——都很容易。这里我没法大声讲话，但是只要脸凑得很近，就是我的优势。 “你妹妹认识的男人里头，”我终于开口道，“除了甘沃特先生以外，谁最殷勤？” 他大声地咽了咽口水，看向窗外，扫了我一眼，又看向窗外。 “说真的，我说不上来。” “好吧，那咱们换个方式。咱们来一个一个地讨论一下对她有兴趣，或者她感兴趣的男人。” 他继续瞪着窗外。 “第一个是谁？”我逼问道。 他转回眼睛跟我对视了一秒钟，显得柔弱无助。 “我知道这听起来很傻，我作为她哥哥，竟然没法告诉你克丽达在碰到甘沃特以前对谁有过兴趣。据我所知，她在碰到他以前，从来没有对哪个男人有过一丁点儿感觉。当然也许她有过，但我什么也不知道，不过——” 听起来确实很傻！跟我讲过话的那个克丽达·德克斯特——奥嘉口中的“狡猾的小猫”——在我看来不可能那么久都没有一个男人。我眼前这个漂亮的小个子在撒谎，没有别的解释。 我竭尽全力地逼他，不过当天傍晚抵达奥克兰时，他还是坚持着最初的说法：他妹妹的追求者里，他只知道一个甘沃特。我知道我犯了大错，低估了麦登·德克斯特。我不该那么急着想要把他吓唬住，不该那么直接地问他我最想知道的问题。他要么比我想象的强硬得多，要么就是急于掩护凶手，这一点我没想到。 不过我至少知道了，如果德克斯特在撒谎——这一点应该毋庸置疑——那么甘沃特的确有情敌，而且麦登·德克斯特认为，或者说知道这个情敌杀了甘沃特。 我们在奥克兰下车时，我知道自己已经吃了败仗，他不会松口了，至少当天晚上不会。不过我还是黏着他不放，紧跟着他上了到旧金山的渡船。尽管他明显想摆脱我，但出人意料的事也未必不会发生，所以开船以后，我继续盘问他。 过了一小会儿，一个大个子男人向我们坐的地方走来。此人穿着浅色长外套，背着一个黑袋子。 “嗨，麦登！”他跟我的同伴打招呼，伸开双臂大步向他走来，“我刚上船，正想给你打电话呢。”他放下袋子，两人热情地握起手来。 德克斯特转向我。 “这位是史密斯先生，”他跟我介绍说，又把我也介绍给大块头，还补充说，“他在这儿的大陆侦探社工作。” 最后这句显然是在告诉史密斯小心行事。我吓了一大跳，全身神经都警觉起来。不过渡船很挤，放眼望去有上百人在我们旁边。我放下心来，笑着跟他握手。不管史密斯是谁，不管他跟命案有什么牵连——如果他没有的话，德克斯特何必这么着急地告诉他我的身份？——他在这儿什么也做不了。周围的人群是有利于我的。 那是我当天犯的第二个错误。 史密斯的左手伸进了他的外套口袋。那种式样的长外套有一条垂直拉缝，不用解扣子就能摸进衬里口袋。他的手已经进了拉缝，外套掀开了，我可以看到他手上握了把短管自动手枪。其他人的视线都被挡住了，只有我能看见枪正对着我的腰。 “咱们到甲板上去？”史密斯问道，在我听起来像是命令。 我犹豫起来。我不想离开周围那些什么也不知道的或坐或站的人群。不过史密斯的那张脸看来不像一个行事谨慎的人，他似乎可以轻易地忽略上百个目击者。 我转身穿过人群。他走在后面，右手亲昵地搭在我肩上，左手在外套底下用枪抵着我的脊梁骨。 The deck was empty.旧金山海湾冬夜的雾像雨一样湿，笼罩着船和水面，把所有人都赶到里面去了。雾包裹着我们，能见度太差了，虽然头上有灯亮着，我还是连船尾都看不到。 我站住了。 史密斯捅了捅我的背部。 “再远一点，我们好讲话。”他在我耳边大声说。 我一直走到栏杆边上。 然后我整个后脑勺都火烧火燎地疼起来……我开始眼冒金星……金星越来越大……向我冲过来……
半昏迷！我发现自己机械地浮在水面上，正努力地挣脱长外套，后脑勺突突地跳着，双眼发烧。我感觉自己很沉很沉，好像喝了好几加仑的水。 浓雾低低地附着在水面上方，什么也看不到。等我终于甩掉那件沉甸甸的外套，脑袋才清醒了一些。不过随着意识回来，疼痛也加重了。 我左边出现了雾蒙蒙的光，又消失不见了。在迷雾里，十多只不同音量的雾号从四面八方响起。我不再游泳，仰面漂在水面上，想弄明白我到底在哪儿。 过了一会儿，我分辨出那呻吟一样的声响是阿卡塔兹警笛均匀的长鸣，但对我没有任何帮助。声音从雾里传来，辨不出方向——好像是从头顶上直接向我砸下来的。 我在旧金山湾的什么地方，这就是我知道的全部，虽然我怀疑水流正把我往外推向金门大桥。 又过了一会儿，我知道我已经漂离了奥克兰渡船的航线——好一阵子没有船开过我身边了。我很高兴自己不在航线上了，这种大雾天，船更可能直接撞到我，而不是把我捞起来。 水开始让我觉得冷。我转过身来继续游泳，游得很慢，一方面可以保持血液循环，一方面又不耗费更多的体力，以便等有明确目标时，我还有力气游过去。 有支雾号的轰鸣声越来越近，不一会儿，船上的固定灯光开始进入我的视线。索萨利多的渡船，我想。 船离我很近，我声嘶力竭地喊，直到喘不过气来，嗓子也哑了，不过哭丧一样的汽笛淹没了我的喊声。 船走了，雾又合了起来。 水流更强了，试图引起索萨利多渡船注意的努力让我更加虚弱。我漂在水面上休息，水流想把我冲到哪里就冲到哪里吧。 突然又有一盏灯出现在我前面，停了一小会儿，然后消失不见。 我开始大喊，疯狂地划着四肢，想游到灯光刚才出现的地方。 我再也没有看到它。 倦意袭来，还有一种无力感。湾水不再冰冷，舒服、适意的麻木让我感到温暖。头不疼了，里面什么感觉也没有了。光消失了，但是雾号声……雾号声……雾号声在我前面，在我后面，在我两边烦着我，激怒着我。 要不是呻吟似的雾号声，我会放弃一切努力的。号角声是我目前唯一不满意的地方——水流感觉很舒服，疲倦感觉很舒服，但号角声在折磨我。我怒气冲冲地诅咒它，决定游到听不见它的地方，然后在安静友善的浓雾中睡去…… 偶尔我会打个盹儿，但又被如泣如诉的号角声吵醒。 “去死吧雾号！去死吧雾号！”我大声抱怨着，一遍又一遍。 没过多久，我发现其中的一支正从后面向我压过来，声音越来越大。我转过身来等着，朦胧的灯光和蒸汽进入我的视线。 为了不溅起水花，我万分小心地游向一边。等那讨厌的东西开走后，我就可以睡觉了。船灯和我擦肩而过后，我对着自己窃笑，觉得能避开船还挺厉害的，有种白痴般的胜利感。去他妈的雾号…… 活着——求生的渴望——猛地涌回了我体内。 我对着驶过的船拼命地喊，竭尽全力地向它游去。在划水的间隙，我把头伸出水面大喊。
那天晚上第二次醒来时，我正躺在一辆移动的行李车上，周围挤满了男男女女。他们走到车边上，好奇地盯着我看。我坐起身来。 “我们这是在哪儿？”我问道。 一个脸色发红的穿制服的小个子男人回答了我的问题。 “刚到索萨利多。躺着别动，我们送你上医院。” I look around. “这船还有多久回旧金山？” “马上就走。” 我滑下卡车，回头上船。 “我跟它走。”我说。 之后的半小时，我在湿衣服里浑身发抖，嘴紧紧地闭着，以免牙齿像掷骰子一样磕出响声。在渡船大楼边，我上了出租车，回到自己的公寓。 一进家门，我灌了半品脱威士忌，拿了条粗毛巾使劲往身上擦，皮肤都擦痛了。除了虚脱和更严重的头疼外，我觉得我又活过来了。 我打电话找到奥嘉，要他马上来我公寓，紧接着又打给查尔斯·甘沃特。 “你见到麦登·德克斯特了吗？”我问他。 “还没呢，不过跟他通过电话。他一回城就打电话来了。我要他明早跟我在艾伯纳西律师的办公室见面，谈谈他帮父亲打理的生意。” “你能不能现在打给他，说你明天临时有事得出城，一早就得走，所以你今晚就想到他公寓跟他见面。” “好啊，如果你需要我这么做的话。” “很好！就这么做吧，我过一会儿就去你那儿，咱们一块儿去找他。” “这是怎——” “见面时再说吧。”我打断了他。 我换好衣服时，奥嘉到了。 “看来他跟你讲了什么？”他知道我打算在火车上盘问德克斯特，所以直接问道。 “对，”我酸溜溜地说，“不过我都快忘了是什么了。我从萨克拉门托一路盘问到奥克兰，他一个字也没说。在回来的渡船上，他把我介绍给一个叫做史密斯的人，还告诉史密斯先生我是个侦探。听好了，这可是发生在人挤人的渡船上。史密斯先生用枪抵着我的腰，押着我走上甲板，猛敲我的后脑勺，把我丢进海湾里。” “你玩得很开心，是不是？”奥嘉笑笑，又皱起眉来，“看来史密斯是咱们要的人——甘沃特就是被这家伙干掉的。可他为什么要把你推到水里，这不是自败形迹吗？” “这问题太难，”我一边承认，一边翻找着帽子，看看哪顶对我淤青的脑袋会更合适，“德克斯特知道我在找他妹妹的旧情人，当然他一定以为我知道很多内幕，要不然他不会那么没策略的——当着我的面告诉史密斯我的身份。 “可能是德克斯特因为昏头而在渡船上出了那个纰漏后，史密斯想，即使不是马上，我也很快就会去找他的麻烦。所以他就冒个大险把我除掉。不过一会儿以后我们就知道是怎么回事了。”我一边说，一边下楼去找来接我们去甘沃特家的出租车。 “你不会还指望着能看到史密斯吧？”探长问。 “不会，他会藏起来躲躲风头的。不过麦登·德克斯特可得出面来保护自己。他有不在场证明，所以不必担心惹上实际动手的嫌疑。再说他以为我已经死了，所以他越是公开出面就越安全。不过他一定知道事情的来龙去脉——虽然不一定真的参与了。就当时的能见度来看，他没跟史密斯和我上甲板。反正他会在家，而且这回他一定会开口——开口讲他自己的小故事。” 我们到查尔斯·甘沃特家时，他正站在前廊台阶上。他爬上出租车，和我们一起去德克斯特家。一路上甘沃特问了无数个问题，但我们没时间回答任何一个。 “他在家等你？”我问他。 "right." 然后我们下了出租车，走进公寓大楼。 “甘沃特先生要见德克斯特先生。”他告诉总机台前的菲律宾男孩。 男孩用对讲机讲话。 “直接上去。”他告诉我们。 在德克斯特家门口，我抢在甘沃特前面按了门铃。 克丽达·德克斯特开了门，当我绕过她进了公寓后，她琥珀色的眼睛睁大了，笑容也消失了。 我迅速走过小走廊，进了第一间开着门，里面有光的房间。 然后跟史密斯碰了个面对面！ 我们都吓了一跳，但显然他吓得更严重。我们谁都没想过会碰到对方，只不过我知道他还活着，而他却把握十足地认为我已经沉到湾底了。 在他还没有回过神采取行动时，我趁机前进了两步。 他一只手向下伸去。 我伸出右拳打在他脸上——把我一百八十磅身体里的力气都使上了，再加上我在水里每一秒钟的记忆，还有我每一下的头疼。 他的手已经伸下去抽枪了，来不及回来挡住我这一拳。 当我的拳头打在他脸上时，我的手咔嚓响了一下，接下来就麻木了。 不过他倒下了——而且躺在地上起不来。 我跨过他的身体，躲在对面房间的门口，左手拿着枪。 “德克斯特就在这附近！”我扭头对奥嘉喊，此刻他跟甘沃特和克丽达正从我刚才通过的门走进来，“眼睛睁大一点！” 我冲进公寓其他四个房间，打开所有柜子门，搜了所有地方，一个人也没找到。 然后我回到史密斯倒下的地方。克丽达·德克斯特正在救史密斯，奥嘉和甘沃特在旁边帮忙。 探长扭过头看我。 “你以为这家伙是谁啊？”他问。 “我朋友史密斯先生。” “甘沃特说他是麦登·德克斯特。” 我看着查尔斯·甘沃特，他点点头。 “是麦登·德克斯特。”他说。
我们忙了将近十分钟，德克斯特才睁开眼睛。 他一坐起来，我们就连珠炮似的向他发问，希望在他神志清醒以前能问出些什么——但他没有那么不清醒。 我们从他嘴里得到的所有答案是：“你们可以把我抓起来。如果我有什么要说的，也只跟我律师讲，别人谁也不说。” 克丽达·德克斯特在她哥哥清醒以后往后退了退，站在几步远的地方看着我们，此刻突然走上前来揪住我的胳膊。 “你抓住了他什么把柄？”她霸气十足地问。 “我现在可不想讲，”我回嘴，“不过倒是可以透露一点：我们打算给他一个机会，让他在一个又好又现代化的法庭上，证明他没杀利奥波德·甘沃特。” “他当时人在纽约！” “不在！他找了个朋友用麦登·德克斯特的名义到纽约帮甘沃特谈生意。这人要真是麦登·德克斯特的话，他离纽约最近的那一次，也不过是在那艘渡船上跟他朋友见面，拿回跟BF和F.钢铁公司交易的文件。然后他得知我无意间识破了他的不在场证明，虽然当时连我自己都不知道。” 她转过身来看着她哥哥。 “是这样吗？”她问他。 他对她冷笑了一声，继续用手指头摸着他下巴刚才被我拳头打中的地方。 “该说的我都会跟律师说的。”他又说了一遍。 “是吗？”她狠狠地看了他一眼，“哼，我现在就把我该说的说出来！” 她又一次转过身来看着我。 “麦登根本不是我哥哥！我叫伊薇。大概四年前，麦登跟我在圣路易认识，一起流浪了一年多，然后来到旧金山。他以前是江湖骗子，现在还是。七八个月前他认识了甘沃特先生，把他骗得团团转，要他买下自己的一项假发明，把他带到我这儿几次，说我是他妹妹。我们对外向来以兄妹相称。 “等甘沃特先生来了几次以后，麦登打算换个玩法。他觉得甘沃特先生喜欢我，如果设个大圈套的话，我们可以得到一大笔钱。我负责勾引甘沃特，把他迷得神魂颠倒，离不开我。然后我们就抓住他一个把柄——叫他见不了人的把柄，敲他一大笔钱。 “起初一切顺利，他迷上了我——深深地迷上我，然后向我求婚。我们从没想到这层，原本是想勒索他的。不过当他请求我嫁给他的时候，我打算让麦登住手了。我承认这跟老头的钱有关系——有挺大关系——但我已经开始有点爱上他了。他在很多方面都好得不得了，比我认识的其他人都好。 “所以我就告诉了麦登这一切，建议他放弃原计划，让我嫁给甘沃特。我保证麦登不会没钱花——我知道甘沃特先生对我是有求必应的。我跟麦登摊牌，说我喜欢甘沃特先生，但他是麦登找来并介绍给我的，所以我没打算丢下麦登不管；我会尽我所能帮他。 “可是麦登不听。其实照我说的做，将来他会拿到更多钱，但他只想马上发一笔小财。更没道理的是，他竟然吃起醋来，有天晚上还打了我！ “这就没什么好说的了。我决定扔下他。我对甘沃特先生说，我哥哥死活不让我嫁给你。他也早看出麦登心怀不满，所以他就安排麦登到东岸去处理钢铁交易，我们好趁他不在时去旅行结婚。当时我们以为麦登完全蒙在鼓里，但我早该想到他会识破的。我们本来打算离开一年，到时候我想麦登应该已经把我忘了。如果他没忘，还想找我麻烦的话，我也能想出法子来对付他。 “一听说甘沃特先生遇害，我就觉得是麦登下的手。可后来又得到确切消息，说他第二天真的在纽约，所以我想我误会他了，也很高兴他没惹事。不过现在——” 她转过身面对她以前的同伙。 “现在我希望你去死，你个大笨蛋！” 她又转身面向我。这会儿她可不是狡猾的小猫了，而是一只怒气冲天、满嘴白沫、张牙舞爪的大猫。 “替他去纽约的家伙长什么样？” 我描述了一下跟我在火车上讲话的男人。 “伊凡·费特。”她想了一会儿后说，“他是麦登以前的同伙，你八成可以在洛杉矶找到他，给他点苦头吃，他会把他知道的都说出来的——他不是硬骨头！不过我觉得麦登在搞什么鬼他也是事后才知道的。” “这下你高兴了？”她啐了麦登·德克斯特一口，“开场戏这么演还不错吧？你坏了我的好事，对不对？好，从现在起到你被吊死之前，我要把我所有的时间都用来帮他们吊死你！” 她可是说到做到。在她的帮助下，我们轻而易举地搜集到了送他上绞刑架的其他证据。而且照我看，她对麦登所做的事情一点儿也不会影响到她继承七十五万美元的心情。她现在可是一个备受尊敬的女人，而且很高兴能甩掉那个骗子。
Notes:
Next Olga and I took Gunwald to visit his father in the mortuary.The dead man looked distressing—even for people like Olga and me who had only met him face to face.In my memory, he was short and slender, always dressed in a fashionable way, with a brisk appearance, and looked much younger than his actual age. Now he's lying there with the bloody beating on the top of his head. We left Gunwald alone in the morgue and headed for the police station. "What the hell do you mean by asking Emile Bonfis what else was in Paris in 1902?" Inspector Olga asked as soon as we were on the street. "Here's what happened: The deceased called our agency this afternoon and said he had received a threatening letter from Emile Bonfis, saying that they had an affair in Paris in 1902, and that Bonfis Shot him in the street the night before. He wanted us to send someone over to talk to him tonight, and said he didn't want the police involved under any circumstances—that he'd rather get Bonfis done than let things go. Exposure. There's only so much he can say on the phone. That's why I happened to be there when Charles Gunwater was informed that his father had died." Olga stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and whistled softly. "This news is important!" he sighed. "I'll show you something when we get back to headquarters." When we got to headquarters, Whipple was already waiting in the conference room.At first glance, his face was as calm as a mask, the same as when he opened the door to me tonight at the house in the Russian Green Hills, though perfect servant etiquette couldn't hide the trembling he was doing. We took him into the little office where Charles Gunwater had been cross-examined. Whipple corroborated everything the deceased son had told us.He was pretty sure the typewriter, the jewelry box, the two magazines, and the new wallet were not Gunwalt's. But he has always been reluctant to reveal his opinion of the Dexter siblings.But it was obvious that he didn't like them.He said Miss Dexter had called Mr. Leopold Gunwater three times tonight at eight, nine and nine-thirty, but she had left no message.Whipple thought she was waiting for Ganwat, but he was never seen. He said he knew nothing about Emile Bonfis and the threatening letters.Gunwalt had gone out at eight o'clock the night before and arrived home at midnight.Whipple hadn't watched him closely when he got home, and couldn't tell if he was agitated.Gunwater usually has about a hundred dollars in his pocket. "Is there anything you know Ganwat is carrying tonight that isn't on this table?" Olga asked. "No, sir. Everything seems to be there. Watch and chain, money, blotter, purse, keys, handkerchief, fountain pen—everything I know is there." "Has Charles Gunwater gone out tonight?" "No, sir, he and Mrs Gunwater were at home all evening." "you sure?" Whipple paused for a moment. "Yes, sir, I'm pretty much sure. I know Mrs. Gunwater hasn't been out. To be honest, I haven't seen Mr. Charles since eight o'clock, and he and this gentleman—" He pointed at me. said, "Go downstairs. But I'm pretty sure he's been home all night, and I think Mrs Gunwater said he was." Then Olga asked another question, which puzzled me at the time. "What does Mr Gunwald wear?" "You mean Mr. Leopold?" "right." "Pure gold, made of one piece, with the logo of a jeweler's shop in London." "Can you recognize it when you see it?" "Yes, sir." Then we just let Whipple go home. "Don't you think it's time for you to relax and tell me what's going on?" When Olga and I were alone facing the table of evidence, but I had no clue, I suggested road. "I think so. Listen up! A grocer named Rajques was driving through Golden Gate Park tonight and saw a car parked on a dark road with the lights off. The man was sitting in an odd position, so he told the first patrolman he came across. "The patrolman went to look and found Gunwalt sitting at the wheel, dead--his head smashed. This thing," he said, with one hand resting on the bloody typewriter, "was in the seat next to him. It was a quarter past ten, and the doctor said Gunwalt had been killed by the typewriter—the skull was shattered. "We found the dead man's pockets turned upside down. Everything on this table was scattered in the car except for the new wallet - some on the floor and some on the seats. The money was there too - almost One hundred dollars. That's in the file." He handed me a typed white paper with the following content: "LFG should be Leopold F. Gunwater," I said, "EB should be Emile Bonfis. Twenty-one years from 1902 to 1923, six thousand miles About the distance from Paris to San Francisco." I put down the letter and picked up the jewelry box.It's black faux leather with white satin lining and no logos. I then checked the magazine, and there were two rounds in it, SW 45 caliber, with deep crosses carved into the soft tip—an old trick that causes the bullets to explode into saucers when they hit something. "Are those in the car too?" "Yes—and this." From the pocket of her vest, Olga produced a short lock of blond hair—an inch or two long, clipped, not pulled out. "Is there any more?" It seems that things are endless. He picked up the new wallet from the table—the one that both Whipple and Charles Gunwater said did not belong to the deceased—and pushed it toward me. "Found on the road, three or four feet away from the car." It was a bargain with no manufacturer's name nor the owner's initials.Inside were two ten-dollar bills, three small newspaper clippings, and a slip of six names and addresses, the first being Gunwald. The three clippings were apparently from the private advertising columns of three different newspapers, with different fonts.The content is as follows: The name and address listed under Gunwalt on the typed sheet were: "What else?" I asked while watching. The inspector's goods are not out yet. "The deceased's collar buttons - both front and back - were undone, but his collar and tie were still in place. His left shoe was also missing. We looked around but the shoe and collar button None were found." "that's it?" I'm ready to wait for him to come out with something else. "What the hell do you want?" he growled. "Isn't that enough?" "Where are the fingerprints?" "Not the one you asked for! All the ones I found were dead." "And what about the car he was in?" "Coupe owned by a doctor named Wallis Giracco. He called the police at six this evening and said it was stolen near the corner of McAllister and Polk Streets. We're looking for him. , but I see no problem." What Whipple and Charles Gunwald identified as the deceased did not give the slightest clue.We double-checked again, still nothing.The blotter made many entries, but they didn't seem to have anything to do with the murder, and neither did the letters. We found the serial number missing from the murder weapon - the typewriter - apparently scraped off with a file. "Well, what do you think?" Olga asked when we gave up on the clues and sat down to smoke. "I think we must find Mr. Emile Bonfis." "It doesn't hurt to check," he muttered. "I think we'd better go find the five people who were on the list with Gunwater, maybe the hit list? Maybe Bonfis is going to kill them all?" "Possibly. We've got to find 'em all anyway. Maybe a few of them have already been killed. Whether they've been killed or will be killed or nothing, they've got something to do with the murder. I'll go Send a telegram to each branch office and ask everyone to check everyone on the list, even the three newspaper clippings.” Olga looked at his watch and yawned. "It's more than four o'clock. How about we call it a day and go home to sleep? I'll leave a message for the experts in the bureau to compare whether the letter signed by EB and the name list were typed from that typewriter. I think it's right, but we still have to make sure Just a minute. I'll have someone look around the park where Gunwald was killed at dawn, maybe I can find the missing shoes and collar buttons. And I'll send some of my men to visit every typewriter shop in town to see if I can find them. The way to this station." I stopped at the nearest post office, sent a bunch of telegrams, and went home to sleep, not dreaming at all about the case or what a detective was supposed to do.
At eleven o'clock that morning, after five hours of sleep, I walked into the police station looking radiant.There was Olga slumped at his desk, staring in bewilderment at a black shoe, six collar buttons, a flat rusty key, and a crumpled newspaper—all spread out in a row beside him. before. "What's this? Your wedding souvenir?" "Yes," he said gruffly. "Listen: the porter at the Seamen's National Bank, while cleaning this morning, found a package in the front hall. It contained this shoe—the one that Gunwalt lost. Just—wrapped in this Philadelphia Chronicle from five days ago, and these collar buttons and this old key. You should notice, the heel is pulled off—haven't found it yet. Whipple points to Gunwar and identified two of the collar buttons, though he had not seen the keys. The other four were new, the usual gold-covered ones; and the keys seemed to have been unused for a long time. See Is there anything famous about it?" I can't see anything. "How could the concierge think of sending these things to the police?" "Oh, it's all in the morning papers--all about the missing shoes and collar buttons." "Did the typewriter find out?" I asked. "The letter and the list were typed out by it. It can't be wrong, but we haven't found out where it came from. We checked the doctor and owner of the car. He is fine, and his whereabouts last night were also explained clearly. We found Ganwo The special grocer, Lajques, seems to be all right. How's your check?" "There was no reply to the telegrams I sent last night. When I came here this morning, I dropped by the agency and got four agents to go through all the hotels, every Bonfis they could find—two or three listed in the phone book. Also, I sent a telegram to our New York bureau asking them to check the steamship arrivals to see if any Emile Bonfis had been there lately. I also telegraphed our Paris correspondent to see if he What can be dug out there." "I think next we'll have to see Gunwald's attorney, Abernathy, and that Dexter woman," said Inspector Olga. "I think so," I agreed. "Let's see the lawyer first. As things stand, he's the most important person." Attorney Murray Abernathy was a tall, lanky old gentleman who spoke slowly and still wore starched shirts.The dude was so sticking to his so-called work ethic that he was less helpful than we expected.But we let him go on talking, and kept talking on our own, but we still found some news, which is roughly as follows: The deceased and Clyda Dexter had planned to marry this Wednesday.It seemed that both his son and her brother were against it, so Gunwater and the woman planned to marry in secret in Oakland, and sail east that afternoon.They think that after the long honeymoon, the man's son and the woman's brother will be fine. Gunwater made a new will, leaving half of the property to the newlywed wife and half to the son and his wife.But the will had not been signed, and Clyda Dexter knew it had not been signed.She knew—this, and other things that Abernathy could be sure of—that all the property went to the Charles Gunwaters under the old will, which was still in force. According to Abernathy's twists and turns and hints, Gunwalt's fortune was worth about $1.5 million.The lawyer had never heard of Emile Bonfis, or of anyone who threatened or tried to murder the dead.He did not know—perhaps refused to tell us—what the dead man was accused of stealing by the threatening letter. We walked from Abernathy's office to Clyda Dexter's apartment.It's in a luxurious new building just a few minutes' walk from the Gunwalds' home. Clyda Dexter was petite and in her early twenties.Most striking were her eyes, large, deep, amber, with shifting pupils.They are constantly changing size, shrinking and shrinking, slow and fast, constantly changing from the size of a pinhead to the point where it almost bursts through the amber iris. With these eyes to guide you, you can see that she is a cat woman through and through, and every movement is as slow and graceful as a cat.And the outline of her pretty face, the shape of her mouth, her small nose, the shape of her eyes, her high eyebrows, are all cat-like.Her hair enhanced the effect, a thick tawny. "Mr. Ganwat and I planned to get married the day after tomorrow." After explaining the ins and outs of the matter, she told us, "His son and daughter-in-law objected, and my brother Madden also disagreed. They all seemed to think that our age gap was too big. .To avoid any unhappiness, we plan to marry in secret, and then go abroad for a year or more. By the time we return, they should have no grudges. "That's why Mr. Gunwald persuaded Madden to go to New York. He had a business there, like dealing with his interest in a steel mill. He used that as an excuse to pay Madden so we could get married on the road. Madden and I live together, and none of my preparations for this trip will escape his notice." "Was Mr Gunwater here last night?" I asked her. "No, I was waiting for him—we were going to go out. Usually he walks, it's only a few blocks away. I called his home number before he arrived at eight o'clock. Whipple told me that he was about one Went out an hour ago. I called twice after that. I called again this morning before I read the papers, and I didn't know he--" Her voice was choked—the only hint of sadness in the interview.Based on Charles Gunwalt and Whipple's descriptions of her, we're ready for a wonderful performance of grief, but she disappoints us rather.Her performance was not exciting at all, and she didn't even shed tears. "Was Mr Gunwater here the night before?" "Well, he arrived a little after eight o'clock and stayed until almost twelve o'clock. We didn't go out." "Does he walk back and forth?" "Well, as far as I know." "Did he mention threats to kill him or something?" "No." She shook her head decisively. "Do you know Emile Bonfis?" "I don't know." "Did Mr. Gunwater mention him?" "No." "Which hotel is your brother staying in New York?" Her erratic black pupils suddenly enlarged, as if they were about to spread to the whites of the eyes.That was the first time I saw her fear clearly.But apart from the pair of pupils that couldn't hide her emotions, her facial expression was calm. "have no idea." "When did he leave San Francisco?" "Thursday—four days ago." After Olga and I left Clyda Dexter's apartment, we walked the six or seven blocks of meditation, when he finally spoke. "Cunning kitten—that woman! Touch along the fur, and she will purr and purr happily; touch the reverse—be careful of her claws!" "What did you say was the surprise in her eyes when I asked about her brother?" I asked. "There's a problem. I can't figure out what, though! Might as well find out if he's really in New York. If he was there today, he definitely wasn't here last night—even the mail flight would cost twenty-six or so." It takes twenty-eight hours to arrive." "That's it." I agreed. "It seems that Clyda Dexter is not sure whether her brother is involved. As for Bonfis, there is no connection now. But I think Claret Da should be fine, she knows that the new will has not been signed, so there is no reason to let the 750,000 banknotes fly away for nothing." We sent a long telegram to the New York branch of the Continental Detective Agency, and then went to the agency to see if there was any reply to my message from last night. Indeed there are. None of Gunwalt's fellows on the list could be found, not even a trace.Two of the addresses were completely wrong, and there was no such number on those streets—never.
Olga and I spent the rest of the afternoon walking back and forth between the Ganwarts' house in Russian Green Hills and the building where Dexter lived.We asked everyone who could be asked along the three possible routes the deceased might have taken—men, women, children; who lived there, worked there, played there. The people we asked all said that they did not hear the shot that Bonfis fired the night before the incident, and no one saw suspicious people or things on the night of the incident, and no one saw him being picked up by a car. We then went to Gunwater House, and again questioned Charles Gunwater, his wife, and all the servants, but found nothing.As far as they could tell, the deceased had lost nothing — nothing small enough to hide in the heel of a shoe. The shoes he wore the night he died were one of three custom-made in New York two months earlier.Possibly he took the heel of the left shoe off, emptied it, put a small object in it, and nailed it back.But Whipple insisted that if the deceased had done that, he would have been found, unless it was done by a professional shoe repairer. This thread is also blocked.When we got back to the agency, the telegram had just arrived from the New York bureau, saying that no steamboat company had registered Emile Bonfis from England, France, or Germany in the last six months. Detectives who searched the city for Bonfis came back empty-handed.They found eleven Bonfis in San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley, and Alameda, and investigated them all.Investigations revealed that none of the eleven had a problem, and none of the Bonfis knew Emile Bonfis.Hotel inventory also handed in a blank paper. Olga came with me to dinner.It was a dull meal, and we barely talked.After dinner we went back to the agency to find another telegram from New York. Madden Dexter arrived at the McAlpine Hotel this morning and was authorized to sell Ganwat's shares in BF and F. Steel; he denied knowing about Emil Bonfis or the murder, and is expected to finish the deal and return to San Francisco tomorrow. The just-decoded telegram slipped through my fingers.We sat listlessly opposite each other across my desk, staring blankly at each other.The cleaning lady's bucket rattled in the corridor. "What a strange case." Olga spoke at last, but to himself, in a very low voice. I nodded, yes. "We've got nine leads," he said again after a moment, "and none of the goddamn ones work. "The first: The deceased called your agency to say that Emile Bonfis, with whom he had a relationship in Paris many years ago, threatened him and shot him. "Number two: the typewriter. It didn't just kill him, it typed the letter and the list. We're still trying to figure it out, but we haven't broken through yet. Seriously, what the hell kind of weapon is that? Looks like the Bonfiss boy was in a hurry to grab something and smash Gunwalt. But why is there a typewriter in a stolen car? Why file the serial number off the machine?" I shook my head, meaning I couldn't guess the answer.Olga continued to enumerate our leads. "Article 3: Threat letter, consistent with what Ganwat said in the phone call that afternoon. "Article 4: Two bullets with a cross carved on their heads. "Article Five: Jewelry Box. "Rule 6: That lock of yellow hair. "Article Seven: The deceased's shoes and collar buttons were taken. "Article 8: The wallet found on the road, and the two ten-dollar bills, three newspaper clippings, and the list inside. "Article Nine: The shoe was found the next day, wrapped in a five-day-old Philadelphia newspaper, and contained the two missing collar buttons. Four extra collar buttons and a rusty key were also found. "Here's the list. If it makes any sense, it presumably means that this mysterious Emile Bonfis, who was pissed off by Gunwald in Paris in 1902, is back for revenge. Last night he Picked Gunwalt up in a stolen car with a typewriter - God knows why! Gunwald got into a fight and Bonfis smashed his head with the typewriter and searched his pockets —but obviously nothing was taken. He thought what he wanted was in Gunwater's left shoe, so he took it. And then—the collar button thing doesn't make sense, and the fake list ,and also--" "Makes sense!" I interjected, sitting up, wide awake, "and this is our tenth clue—and we're going to follow it from here on out. That list, apart from Gan Walter's name and address are all fabricated. If the list is not fabricated, then our team should have found at least one of the five people listed above, right? But they didn't even find any clues about one person, and The house number with two addresses doesn't even exist! "The list was fabricated and put in the purse with those newspaper clippings and twenty bucks to make the drama more likeable. Then it was thrown on the road near that car to mislead us on purpose. If that's true, then Ninety-nine percent of everything else is fake too. "From now on, I'm going to treat those nine lovely leads as nine hoaxes and do the exact opposite. I'm going to find a man whose name isn't Emil Bonfiss and who doesn't start with an E Not B; he wasn't French, wasn't in Paris in 1902, didn't have light hair, didn't carry a . Something in a collar button or in a shoe. That's what I'm looking for now!" The Inspector narrowed his small green eyes and scratched his head as he thought. "Maybe a good idea!" he said. "Maybe you're right. If that's the case—what happened? That Dexter kitten didn't kill—she lost seventy-five Wan. Her brother didn't kill—he's in New York. Besides, you don't kill a man because he's too old to marry your sister. What about Charles Gunwater? Only he and his wife would because The old man got the benefit of going west before the new will was signed. We only have oral evidence that Charles was home that night. The servants didn't see him between eight and eleven, and you didn't see him until eleven at their house. He said We both believed it when he was home all night, and neither of us thought he killed the old man—but of course it could. Who could it be?" "This Clyda Dexter," I suggested, "wants to marry him for Gunwater's money? You don't think she loves him, do you?" "No, in my opinion, this woman is in love with one and a half million." "Well," I went on, "she's not plain-looking, is she? Far from it. Do you think Gunwald will be the only man who's attracted to her?" "I get it! I get it!" cried Olga. "You mean, maybe there's a chap who doesn't have a million and a half million in his wallet, and he's not willing to let a guy with a million and a half Men get their way. Possibly, very likely." "Well, forget what we checked in the past, let's try this new angle." "Okay," he said, "starting tomorrow morning, we're going to find the man who fought Ganwat for the paw of Dexter's kitten."
Rightly or wrongly, we all did it.We piled all the lovely clues in a drawer, locked it, and forgot about it, and set off to find all the men Clarida Dexter knew, and filter out the killer. But that's easier said than done. We've tried our best to dig into her past, but we just can't find out who courted her.The siblings had been in San Francisco for three years, so we started tracking them all over again, going through the apartments they had lived in.We asked everyone we could—even those who had only met her face to face.But they all said in unison that no other man had expressed interest in her except Ganwat.Apparently no one had seen her with anyone other than Gunwalt or her brother. Although these news still keep us in the same place, at least we know that this direction is in the right direction.The result of our discussion is: besides Ganwat, she has had at least one man in the past three years.Unless we're dead wrong, she's not the type of woman who would reject a man's attentions; on the contrary, she's supposed to be a man-getter by nature.If there was a third party, and he hid it so tightly, it showed that he had a lot to do with Ganwat's death. We can't find out where the Dexters lived before they came to San Francisco, but we're not very interested in their early lives.Of course, it's possible that the former lover has recently returned to her, but even so, it's easier to find the most recent connection than it was a few years ago. Gunwater's son thinks the Dexters are in it for the money.After thorough investigation, we are convinced of this.All their activities are proving it, even though they really haven't broken the law in the past. I went to Clyda Dexter again and spent the afternoon at her apartment, asking her one question after another about an old flame.Who had she dumped for Ganwat and his one and a half million?Her answer was always that there were no such people--I don't believe that. 我们日夜跟踪克丽达·德克斯特，不过没有半点进展。或许她怀疑有人监视她，所以很少离开公寓，而且即使离开，原因也是无懈可击的。不管她在不在家，我们都派人在她公寓附近监视着，没发现有人前去探访。我们监听她的电话，同样一点消息也没得到。我们还掌控了她的信箱——她一封信也没收到，连张垃圾广告也没有。 与此同时，我们知道了钱包里那三张剪报的来源——分别是纽约、芝加哥和波特兰报纸的私人广告栏。波特兰的剪报是命案前两天登的，芝加哥那张是发生命案的四天前，纽约那张则是五天前。这三份报纸在命案当天都有可能出现在旧金山的书报摊上——等着有心人买下来，做成剪报混淆探长的视听。 侦探社的巴黎特派员足足找到了六个埃米尔·邦菲斯，还有另外三个邦菲斯的线索，不过他们跟命案都毫无关系。 奥嘉和我已经不再担心埃米尔·邦菲斯了——这个角度行不通。我们现在全力以赴新的任务：找到甘沃特的情敌。 日子就这样过去了，事情也就这样进行下去，直到麦登·德克斯特该从纽约回家的那一天。 我们纽约分社在他离开纽约前一直盯着他，向我们报告了他离开的时间，所以我知道他要搭哪班火车。我想在他们兄妹见面前问他几个问题，他可能知道一些答案。而且如果我能在他妹妹警告他闭嘴之前问他问题的话，他或许愿意开口。 要是我知道他长什么样的话，我大可以趁他在奥克兰下火车时拦住他。但我不认识他，也不想带上查尔斯·甘沃特或其他什么人帮我的忙。 所以当天早上我就去了萨克拉门托，在那儿搭上他的火车。我把我的名片放在信封里，交给了车站的一个小弟，然后跟着他一节一节地穿过车厢。他一路喊着：“德克斯特先生！德克斯特先生！” 在最后一节车厢里——高级观景车厢——一名纤瘦的黑发男子穿着合体的粗呢衣服，原本正看着窗外的月台，听到小弟的喊声后，他回过头来招了招手。 我趁他紧张兮兮地撕开信封看我的名片时打量着他。他的下巴微微发颤，强调出那张脸的软弱——就算在最佳状态时也不可能表现得多强硬。我估算他的年纪在二十五到三十之间。他的头发中分，整齐地向两边垂下来；表情丰富的棕色大眼睛，小巧精致的鼻子，干净整齐的棕色胡子，又软又红的嘴唇——正是那种类型。 他把视线从名片上抬起时，我一屁股坐在他旁边的空位上。 “你是德克斯特先生？” “是的，”他说，“想必你是为了甘沃特命案找我吧？” “嗯，我想问你几个问题。我正好在萨克拉门托，所以就想在乘火车时顺便问你一些问题，免得占用你太多时间。” “如果帮得上忙的话，”他跟我保证，“我很乐意效劳。不过我已经把我知道的都告诉你们纽约的探员了，对他们来说好像没什么用。” “呃，你离开纽约以后，情况有点变化。”我一边说话一边仔细观察他的脸，“当时我们觉得没有价值的信息，可能正是我们现在要找的。” I stopped.他舔了舔嘴唇，避开我的目光。他或许什么都不知道，不过真的非常紧张。我假装陷入深思，等了他几分钟。如果拿捏对了，我有信心把他知道的事情全问出来。他看起来不像个硬汉。 我们的头挨得很近，所以车厢里其他四五个乘客听不到我们说什么，这种情况对我非常有利。每个侦探都知道这个办法：面对生性软弱的人，只要把脸凑上去大声讲话，想得到信息——甚至坦白交代——都很容易。这里我没法大声讲话，但是只要脸凑得很近，就是我的优势。 “你妹妹认识的男人里头，”我终于开口道，“除了甘沃特先生以外，谁最殷勤？” 他大声地咽了咽口水，看向窗外，扫了我一眼，又看向窗外。 “说真的，我说不上来。” “好吧，那咱们换个方式。咱们来一个一个地讨论一下对她有兴趣，或者她感兴趣的男人。” 他继续瞪着窗外。 “第一个是谁？”我逼问道。 他转回眼睛跟我对视了一秒钟，显得柔弱无助。 “我知道这听起来很傻，我作为她哥哥，竟然没法告诉你克丽达在碰到甘沃特以前对谁有过兴趣。据我所知，她在碰到他以前，从来没有对哪个男人有过一丁点儿感觉。当然也许她有过，但我什么也不知道，不过——” 听起来确实很傻！跟我讲过话的那个克丽达·德克斯特——奥嘉口中的“狡猾的小猫”——在我看来不可能那么久都没有一个男人。我眼前这个漂亮的小个子在撒谎，没有别的解释。 我竭尽全力地逼他，不过当天傍晚抵达奥克兰时，他还是坚持着最初的说法：他妹妹的追求者里，他只知道一个甘沃特。我知道我犯了大错，低估了麦登·德克斯特。我不该那么急着想要把他吓唬住，不该那么直接地问他我最想知道的问题。他要么比我想象的强硬得多，要么就是急于掩护凶手，这一点我没想到。 不过我至少知道了，如果德克斯特在撒谎——这一点应该毋庸置疑——那么甘沃特的确有情敌，而且麦登·德克斯特认为，或者说知道这个情敌杀了甘沃特。 我们在奥克兰下车时，我知道自己已经吃了败仗，他不会松口了，至少当天晚上不会。不过我还是黏着他不放，紧跟着他上了到旧金山的渡船。尽管他明显想摆脱我，但出人意料的事也未必不会发生，所以开船以后，我继续盘问他。 过了一小会儿，一个大个子男人向我们坐的地方走来。此人穿着浅色长外套，背着一个黑袋子。 “嗨，麦登！”他跟我的同伴打招呼，伸开双臂大步向他走来，“我刚上船，正想给你打电话呢。”他放下袋子，两人热情地握起手来。 德克斯特转向我。 “这位是史密斯先生，”他跟我介绍说，又把我也介绍给大块头，还补充说，“他在这儿的大陆侦探社工作。” 最后这句显然是在告诉史密斯小心行事。我吓了一大跳，全身神经都警觉起来。不过渡船很挤，放眼望去有上百人在我们旁边。我放下心来，笑着跟他握手。不管史密斯是谁，不管他跟命案有什么牵连——如果他没有的话，德克斯特何必这么着急地告诉他我的身份？——他在这儿什么也做不了。周围的人群是有利于我的。 那是我当天犯的第二个错误。 史密斯的左手伸进了他的外套口袋。那种式样的长外套有一条垂直拉缝，不用解扣子就能摸进衬里口袋。他的手已经进了拉缝，外套掀开了，我可以看到他手上握了把短管自动手枪。其他人的视线都被挡住了，只有我能看见枪正对着我的腰。 “咱们到甲板上去？”史密斯问道，在我听起来像是命令。 我犹豫起来。我不想离开周围那些什么也不知道的或坐或站的人群。不过史密斯的那张脸看来不像一个行事谨慎的人，他似乎可以轻易地忽略上百个目击者。 我转身穿过人群。他走在后面，右手亲昵地搭在我肩上，左手在外套底下用枪抵着我的脊梁骨。 The deck was empty.旧金山海湾冬夜的雾像雨一样湿，笼罩着船和水面，把所有人都赶到里面去了。雾包裹着我们，能见度太差了，虽然头上有灯亮着，我还是连船尾都看不到。 我站住了。 史密斯捅了捅我的背部。 “再远一点，我们好讲话。”他在我耳边大声说。 我一直走到栏杆边上。 然后我整个后脑勺都火烧火燎地疼起来……我开始眼冒金星……金星越来越大……向我冲过来……
半昏迷！我发现自己机械地浮在水面上，正努力地挣脱长外套，后脑勺突突地跳着，双眼发烧。我感觉自己很沉很沉，好像喝了好几加仑的水。 浓雾低低地附着在水面上方，什么也看不到。等我终于甩掉那件沉甸甸的外套，脑袋才清醒了一些。不过随着意识回来，疼痛也加重了。 我左边出现了雾蒙蒙的光，又消失不见了。在迷雾里，十多只不同音量的雾号从四面八方响起。我不再游泳，仰面漂在水面上，想弄明白我到底在哪儿。 过了一会儿，我分辨出那呻吟一样的声响是阿卡塔兹警笛均匀的长鸣，但对我没有任何帮助。声音从雾里传来，辨不出方向——好像是从头顶上直接向我砸下来的。 我在旧金山湾的什么地方，这就是我知道的全部，虽然我怀疑水流正把我往外推向金门大桥。 又过了一会儿，我知道我已经漂离了奥克兰渡船的航线——好一阵子没有船开过我身边了。我很高兴自己不在航线上了，这种大雾天，船更可能直接撞到我，而不是把我捞起来。 水开始让我觉得冷。我转过身来继续游泳，游得很慢，一方面可以保持血液循环，一方面又不耗费更多的体力，以便等有明确目标时，我还有力气游过去。 有支雾号的轰鸣声越来越近，不一会儿，船上的固定灯光开始进入我的视线。索萨利多的渡船，我想。 船离我很近，我声嘶力竭地喊，直到喘不过气来，嗓子也哑了，不过哭丧一样的汽笛淹没了我的喊声。 船走了，雾又合了起来。 水流更强了，试图引起索萨利多渡船注意的努力让我更加虚弱。我漂在水面上休息，水流想把我冲到哪里就冲到哪里吧。 突然又有一盏灯出现在我前面，停了一小会儿，然后消失不见。 我开始大喊，疯狂地划着四肢，想游到灯光刚才出现的地方。 我再也没有看到它。 倦意袭来，还有一种无力感。湾水不再冰冷，舒服、适意的麻木让我感到温暖。头不疼了，里面什么感觉也没有了。光消失了，但是雾号声……雾号声……雾号声在我前面，在我后面，在我两边烦着我，激怒着我。 要不是呻吟似的雾号声，我会放弃一切努力的。号角声是我目前唯一不满意的地方——水流感觉很舒服，疲倦感觉很舒服，但号角声在折磨我。我怒气冲冲地诅咒它，决定游到听不见它的地方，然后在安静友善的浓雾中睡去…… 偶尔我会打个盹儿，但又被如泣如诉的号角声吵醒。 “去死吧雾号！去死吧雾号！”我大声抱怨着，一遍又一遍。 没过多久，我发现其中的一支正从后面向我压过来，声音越来越大。我转过身来等着，朦胧的灯光和蒸汽进入我的视线。 为了不溅起水花，我万分小心地游向一边。等那讨厌的东西开走后，我就可以睡觉了。船灯和我擦肩而过后，我对着自己窃笑，觉得能避开船还挺厉害的，有种白痴般的胜利感。去他妈的雾号…… 活着——求生的渴望——猛地涌回了我体内。 我对着驶过的船拼命地喊，竭尽全力地向它游去。在划水的间隙，我把头伸出水面大喊。
那天晚上第二次醒来时，我正躺在一辆移动的行李车上，周围挤满了男男女女。他们走到车边上，好奇地盯着我看。我坐起身来。 “我们这是在哪儿？”我问道。 一个脸色发红的穿制服的小个子男人回答了我的问题。 “刚到索萨利多。躺着别动，我们送你上医院。” I look around. “这船还有多久回旧金山？” “马上就走。” 我滑下卡车，回头上船。 “我跟它走。”我说。 之后的半小时，我在湿衣服里浑身发抖，嘴紧紧地闭着，以免牙齿像掷骰子一样磕出响声。在渡船大楼边，我上了出租车，回到自己的公寓。 一进家门，我灌了半品脱威士忌，拿了条粗毛巾使劲往身上擦，皮肤都擦痛了。除了虚脱和更严重的头疼外，我觉得我又活过来了。 我打电话找到奥嘉，要他马上来我公寓，紧接着又打给查尔斯·甘沃特。 “你见到麦登·德克斯特了吗？”我问他。 “还没呢，不过跟他通过电话。他一回城就打电话来了。我要他明早跟我在艾伯纳西律师的办公室见面，谈谈他帮父亲打理的生意。” “你能不能现在打给他，说你明天临时有事得出城，一早就得走，所以你今晚就想到他公寓跟他见面。” “好啊，如果你需要我这么做的话。” “很好！就这么做吧，我过一会儿就去你那儿，咱们一块儿去找他。” “这是怎——” “见面时再说吧。”我打断了他。 我换好衣服时，奥嘉到了。 “看来他跟你讲了什么？”他知道我打算在火车上盘问德克斯特，所以直接问道。 “对，”我酸溜溜地说，“不过我都快忘了是什么了。我从萨克拉门托一路盘问到奥克兰，他一个字也没说。在回来的渡船上，他把我介绍给一个叫做史密斯的人，还告诉史密斯先生我是个侦探。听好了，这可是发生在人挤人的渡船上。史密斯先生用枪抵着我的腰，押着我走上甲板，猛敲我的后脑勺，把我丢进海湾里。” “你玩得很开心，是不是？”奥嘉笑笑，又皱起眉来，“看来史密斯是咱们要的人——甘沃特就是被这家伙干掉的。可他为什么要把你推到水里，这不是自败形迹吗？” “这问题太难，”我一边承认，一边翻找着帽子，看看哪顶对我淤青的脑袋会更合适，“德克斯特知道我在找他妹妹的旧情人，当然他一定以为我知道很多内幕，要不然他不会那么没策略的——当着我的面告诉史密斯我的身份。 “可能是德克斯特因为昏头而在渡船上出了那个纰漏后，史密斯想，即使不是马上，我也很快就会去找他的麻烦。所以他就冒个大险把我除掉。不过一会儿以后我们就知道是怎么回事了。”我一边说，一边下楼去找来接我们去甘沃特家的出租车。 “你不会还指望着能看到史密斯吧？”探长问。 “不会，他会藏起来躲躲风头的。不过麦登·德克斯特可得出面来保护自己。他有不在场证明，所以不必担心惹上实际动手的嫌疑。再说他以为我已经死了，所以他越是公开出面就越安全。不过他一定知道事情的来龙去脉——虽然不一定真的参与了。就当时的能见度来看，他没跟史密斯和我上甲板。反正他会在家，而且这回他一定会开口——开口讲他自己的小故事。” 我们到查尔斯·甘沃特家时，他正站在前廊台阶上。他爬上出租车，和我们一起去德克斯特家。一路上甘沃特问了无数个问题，但我们没时间回答任何一个。 “他在家等你？”我问他。 "right." 然后我们下了出租车，走进公寓大楼。 “甘沃特先生要见德克斯特先生。”他告诉总机台前的菲律宾男孩。 男孩用对讲机讲话。 “直接上去。”他告诉我们。 在德克斯特家门口，我抢在甘沃特前面按了门铃。 克丽达·德克斯特开了门，当我绕过她进了公寓后，她琥珀色的眼睛睁大了，笑容也消失了。 我迅速走过小走廊，进了第一间开着门，里面有光的房间。 然后跟史密斯碰了个面对面！ 我们都吓了一跳，但显然他吓得更严重。我们谁都没想过会碰到对方，只不过我知道他还活着，而他却把握十足地认为我已经沉到湾底了。 在他还没有回过神采取行动时，我趁机前进了两步。 他一只手向下伸去。 我伸出右拳打在他脸上——把我一百八十磅身体里的力气都使上了，再加上我在水里每一秒钟的记忆，还有我每一下的头疼。 他的手已经伸下去抽枪了，来不及回来挡住我这一拳。 当我的拳头打在他脸上时，我的手咔嚓响了一下，接下来就麻木了。 不过他倒下了——而且躺在地上起不来。 我跨过他的身体，躲在对面房间的门口，左手拿着枪。 “德克斯特就在这附近！”我扭头对奥嘉喊，此刻他跟甘沃特和克丽达正从我刚才通过的门走进来，“眼睛睁大一点！” 我冲进公寓其他四个房间，打开所有柜子门，搜了所有地方，一个人也没找到。 然后我回到史密斯倒下的地方。克丽达·德克斯特正在救史密斯，奥嘉和甘沃特在旁边帮忙。 探长扭过头看我。 “你以为这家伙是谁啊？”他问。 “我朋友史密斯先生。” “甘沃特说他是麦登·德克斯特。” 我看着查尔斯·甘沃特，他点点头。 “是麦登·德克斯特。”他说。
我们忙了将近十分钟，德克斯特才睁开眼睛。 他一坐起来，我们就连珠炮似的向他发问，希望在他神志清醒以前能问出些什么——但他没有那么不清醒。 我们从他嘴里得到的所有答案是：“你们可以把我抓起来。如果我有什么要说的，也只跟我律师讲，别人谁也不说。” 克丽达·德克斯特在她哥哥清醒以后往后退了退，站在几步远的地方看着我们，此刻突然走上前来揪住我的胳膊。 “你抓住了他什么把柄？”她霸气十足地问。 “我现在可不想讲，”我回嘴，“不过倒是可以透露一点：我们打算给他一个机会，让他在一个又好又现代化的法庭上，证明他没杀利奥波德·甘沃特。” “他当时人在纽约！” “不在！他找了个朋友用麦登·德克斯特的名义到纽约帮甘沃特谈生意。这人要真是麦登·德克斯特的话，他离纽约最近的那一次，也不过是在那艘渡船上跟他朋友见面，拿回跟BF和F.钢铁公司交易的文件。然后他得知我无意间识破了他的不在场证明，虽然当时连我自己都不知道。” 她转过身来看着她哥哥。 “是这样吗？”她问他。 他对她冷笑了一声，继续用手指头摸着他下巴刚才被我拳头打中的地方。 “该说的我都会跟律师说的。”他又说了一遍。 “是吗？”她狠狠地看了他一眼，“哼，我现在就把我该说的说出来！” 她又一次转过身来看着我。 “麦登根本不是我哥哥！我叫伊薇。大概四年前，麦登跟我在圣路易认识，一起流浪了一年多，然后来到旧金山。他以前是江湖骗子，现在还是。七八个月前他认识了甘沃特先生，把他骗得团团转，要他买下自己的一项假发明，把他带到我这儿几次，说我是他妹妹。我们对外向来以兄妹相称。 “等甘沃特先生来了几次以后，麦登打算换个玩法。他觉得甘沃特先生喜欢我，如果设个大圈套的话，我们可以得到一大笔钱。我负责勾引甘沃特，把他迷得神魂颠倒，离不开我。然后我们就抓住他一个把柄——叫他见不了人的把柄，敲他一大笔钱。 “起初一切顺利，他迷上了我——深深地迷上我，然后向我求婚。我们从没想到这层，原本是想勒索他的。不过当他请求我嫁给他的时候，我打算让麦登住手了。我承认这跟老头的钱有关系——有挺大关系——但我已经开始有点爱上他了。他在很多方面都好得不得了，比我认识的其他人都好。 “所以我就告诉了麦登这一切，建议他放弃原计划，让我嫁给甘沃特。我保证麦登不会没钱花——我知道甘沃特先生对我是有求必应的。我跟麦登摊牌，说我喜欢甘沃特先生，但他是麦登找来并介绍给我的，所以我没打算丢下麦登不管；我会尽我所能帮他。 “可是麦登不听。其实照我说的做，将来他会拿到更多钱，但他只想马上发一笔小财。更没道理的是，他竟然吃起醋来，有天晚上还打了我！ “这就没什么好说的了。我决定扔下他。我对甘沃特先生说，我哥哥死活不让我嫁给你。他也早看出麦登心怀不满，所以他就安排麦登到东岸去处理钢铁交易，我们好趁他不在时去旅行结婚。当时我们以为麦登完全蒙在鼓里，但我早该想到他会识破的。我们本来打算离开一年，到时候我想麦登应该已经把我忘了。如果他没忘，还想找我麻烦的话，我也能想出法子来对付他。 “一听说甘沃特先生遇害，我就觉得是麦登下的手。可后来又得到确切消息，说他第二天真的在纽约，所以我想我误会他了，也很高兴他没惹事。不过现在——” 她转过身面对她以前的同伙。 “现在我希望你去死，你个大笨蛋！” 她又转身面向我。这会儿她可不是狡猾的小猫了，而是一只怒气冲天、满嘴白沫、张牙舞爪的大猫。 “替他去纽约的家伙长什么样？” 我描述了一下跟我在火车上讲话的男人。 “伊凡·费特。”她想了一会儿后说，“他是麦登以前的同伙，你八成可以在洛杉矶找到他，给他点苦头吃，他会把他知道的都说出来的——他不是硬骨头！不过我觉得麦登在搞什么鬼他也是事后才知道的。” “这下你高兴了？”她啐了麦登·德克斯特一口，“开场戏这么演还不错吧？你坏了我的好事，对不对？好，从现在起到你被吊死之前，我要把我所有的时间都用来帮他们吊死你！” 她可是说到做到。在她的帮助下，我们轻而易举地搜集到了送他上绞刑架的其他证据。而且照我看，她对麦登所做的事情一点儿也不会影响到她继承七十五万美元的心情。她现在可是一个备受尊敬的女人，而且很高兴能甩掉那个骗子。
Notes: