Chapter 4 silver eyed girl
I was woken up by the ringing of the phone, and I rolled to the side of the bed and picked up the receiver.The old man—the general manager of the Continental Detective Agency in San Francisco—reached my ears with a clean voice:
"Sorry to bother you, but you have to go to the Greenton Flats on Leavenworth Street. A man named Burke Pambon who lives there called a few minutes ago and asked us to send someone right away. He seemed agitated. You go and take care of it? See what he needs." I said I'd go, then yawned and stretched, cursing this Panbon - whoever he was, made me have to get out of my comfy pajamas Pants, change into out clothes.
When I arrived in Greenton, I found that the man who disturbed my Sunday sleep was very thin, white-faced, about twenty-five years old, with big brown eyes and red eye circles. He had either just cried or hadn't slept well, or two Both have.When he opened the door for me, his long brown hair was disheveled, and his purple nightgown studded with big green parrots was over wine red silk pajamas.
The room he led me into looked like an auction house that hadn't opened yet, or a teahouse in an alley.Round blue vases, curved red vases, slender yellow vases, vases of all shapes and colors; marble statuettes, ebony statuettes, statuettes of various materials; palace lamps, table lamps and candlesticks; Curtains and rugs of various kinds; odd assorted pieces of furniture; strange pictures hanging here and there, all in unexpected places.The room felt so uncomfortable.
"My fiancée," he said in a high decibel, then hysterical, "is gone! Something happened to her! Something is wrong, and things are going badly! I want you to find her—get her out..."
I gave up when I heard this.He talked like a cannonball and slurred his words. "This one was taken away...mysterious...trapped for her..."—there is no connection between these words, and I can't hear the slightest meaning.So I didn't want to understand anymore, I just waited for him to vent.
I have heard normally reasonable people babble more wildly under extreme provocation than this wild-eyed young man; but his clothes (parrot dressing-gown and bright pajamas) and his surroundings ( This crazy room) strikes me as too dramatic for what he's saying to sound utterly unreal.
When he was normal, he should be a handsome young man: with good features, although the mouth and chin are a bit hard to say, but the broad forehead is pretty good.But as I stood there, I could only make out occasional slapstick lines from the snarl of noise he was slashing at me—which made me think the parrot on his dressing gown should be replaced by a cuckoo.
It didn't take long for him to vent, and he stretched out his long and thin hands to me, making a gesture of pleading.
"Please?" over and over again, "Please? Please?"
I nodded reassuringly and saw tears streaming down his emaciated cheeks.
"How about we start from the beginning?" I suggested, sitting cautiously on a sculpted bench that didn't look very sturdy.
"Good! Good!" He stood in front of me with his legs spread apart, his hands in his hair, "In the beginning, I received a letter from her every day until—"
"That's not the beginning," I retorted. "Who is she and what does she do?"
"Her name is Jeanne DiLano!" he exclaimed, astonished at my ignorance. "It's my fiancée, but she's gone now, and I know—"
He started hysterically saying things like "victim of a trick" and "baiting a trap".
I finally calmed him down, and between intermittent outbursts, I sort of got the story:
This Burke Pambon was a poet.About two months ago, he got a text from Jeanne DiLano — relayed by his publisher — praising his latest book on rhythm.Jenny DiLano happened to live in San Francisco—though she didn't know he lived here, too.He responded to her texts and got another one.After exchanging letters like this, they met each other not long after.If she was really as beautiful as he said, then he couldn't be blamed for falling in love.Regardless of whether she is beautiful or not, he thinks she is beautiful and loves her deeply.
The Delano girl hadn't lived in San Francisco very long.She was living alone in the Ashbury Avenue apartment when the poet met her.He doesn't know where her hometown is, nor her past.He suspected—from certain vague hints and from her indescribable eccentricity—that the girl lived in some kind of shadow, that she had been and was troubled.But he had no idea what those difficulties were, and he didn't care.He knew nothing about her except that she was beautiful and that he loved her and that she had promised to marry him.Then on the third of the month—exactly twenty-one days before this Sunday morning—the girl left San Francisco abruptly.He had a note from her, delivered by the postman.
I insisted that I must read it, and then he took out the note, which read:
Nine days later he had another letter from her, from Baltimore, Maryland.The letter, which took me some more trouble to see, read:
He had received a letter from her every day for nine days—if there was no letter on Sunday, two on Monday.Then her letters stopped.And the letters he sent every day to her address—215 North Stricker Street—began to return, stating "No such person found."He had sent a telegram, and the telegraph company said the Baltimore branch could not find Jeanne DiLano at the address on North Stricker Street.
He waited for three days, every hour for news from her, but there was not a word.Then he bought a ticket to Baltimore.
"But," he said at last, "I dare not go. I know she's in trouble—I can feel it—but I'm just a clumsy poet, and I can't deal with mysteries. What could I possibly do?" I can't find it, or maybe I was lucky, and I ran into it by accident, but it is more likely to be a bad thing, which will cause her new troubles and put her in a more dangerous situation. I don't know whether it will help her or hurt her. , you can't just rush in there. It needs to be handled by experts in this field, so I thought of your detective agency. You will be careful, right? Maybe—I don't know—maybe she doesn't want someone Help, maybe you can help secretly. You are used to this kind of thing, you can take this case, right?"
I ran it over and over in my head before answering him.A reputable detective agency has two big taboos, one is taking on clients with ulterior motives, they sometimes package divorce proceedings as if they are perfectly legitimate jobs; the other is taking on unrealistic fantasies of irresponsible people- They only want to realize their dreams.
The poet is sitting across from me now, wringing his long white fingers nervously.I think he's sincere enough, but I'm not sure he's sane.
"Mr. Panbon," I said after a while, "I'd like to help you with this, but I'm not sure if I can. The Continental Detective Agency has strict rules. Although I think this matter is credible, it's still a matter of being hired. It has to be done by the rules. If you could vouch for me with some company or person of standing - like a reputable lawyer, or any legal entity - we'd be more than happy to take the job. Otherwise, I'm afraid- —”
"I know she's in danger!" he blurted out. "I know—but I can't go around telling her she's in trouble. Tell the world about her."
"Sorry, but unless you can provide such a guarantee, I can't touch this matter." I stood up, "Many detective agencies don't pay much attention to this, you can contact them."
His mouth twitched like a child's, teeth biting his lower lip.For a moment I thought he was going to cry.But he said slowly, "I think you're right. Get my brother-in-law, Roy Axford, to vouch for him? Does he have enough weight?"
"enough."
Roy Axford is a mining tycoon, and he accounts for at least half of the big companies on the West Bank.Anyone who has his guarantee for anything will feel enough.
"If you can get in touch with him now," I said, "arrange for me to see him today, and I can do it right away before it's too late."
Panbon crossed the room and dug out a phone from among the decorations.In a minute or two he was already talking to someone he called "Leda."
"Is Roy at home? . . . Will he be in this afternoon? . . . No, but you can send a message for me. . . . Tell him I've got a gentleman to call on me this afternoon. It's a private matter—my private business." —I'd be very grateful if he could help...yes...you'll know, Lida...it's not convenient to talk on the phone...well, thank you!"
He pushed the phone back to its original hiding place and turned to look at me.
"He'll be home by two o'clock. Tell him everything I told you, and tell him to call me if he has any questions. You're going to tell him the whole thing, about Miss Delano. He doesn't know anything about it."
"Okay. Before you leave, tell me what she looks like."
"She's beautiful! She's the most beautiful woman in the world!"
That would look great on a bounty flyer.
"That's not what I want," I told him, "How old is she?"
"twenty two."
"height?"
"About five foot eight, maybe nine."
"Slim, medium, or plump?"
"Tends to be slim, but she—"
His voice was eager, and I was afraid he would start a long speech, so I hurried to interrupt him with another question.
"What color is your hair?"
"Brown—dark brown, almost black—and soft and thick and—"
"Okay, okay, is it long or short?"
"Long and thick and—"
"What color are the eyes?"
"Have you ever seen shadows on polished silver? When—"
I wrote Gray Eyes and hurried on with the questioning.
"What about your face?"
"Perfect!"
"Well. But is it white, is it black, is it rosy, is it yellow, or what?"
"White."
"Is it an oval face, a square face, or a long and thin face? What is the shape of the face?"
"Oval face."
"What about the shape of the nose? Big, small, upturned—"
"Small and shapely!" There was a hint of indignation in his voice.
"How does she dress? Is it trendy? Do you like brighter or darker colors?"
"Mea—" he finally said down-to-earth, when I opened my mouth to save him time, "very dark—usually dark blues and browns."
"What jewelry is she wearing?"
"I didn't see her wearing jewelry."
"Scars or moles?" The horrified expression on his white face forced me to cut it straight. "Warts or something, or a defect you know?"
He couldn't speak, but shook his head reluctantly.
"Do you have a picture of her?"
"Yes, I'll show you."
He jumped up, walked around the plethora of decorations in the room, and walked out through the curtained door.In a few moments he returned with an oversized photograph, framed in carved ivory.It's one of those arty shots -- shadowy, foggy lines that aren't very useful for finding people.She was beautiful, yes—but so what?This is the purpose of art photography.
"Just this one?"
"right."
"I have to borrow it, and I'll return it right away after I make a photocopy."
"No! No!" He resolutely objected to showing his lover's face to a bunch of detectives, "Absolutely not!"
I got it at last, but it wasn't worth the trouble for such a small thing.
"I'd like to borrow two letters from her, or something in her handwriting," I said.
"What are you doing?"
"Copying. Handwriting is useful—go to the hotel to check the accommodation registration. And even with pseudonyms, people still write notes and memorandums every now and then."
We fought another round, and I won three envelopes and two meaningless notes, all in the girl's curt handwriting.
"Does she have a lot of money?" I asked after the photos and handwriting samples in question were bagged.
"I don't know, it's not a good thing to ask about. She's not poor, I mean she doesn't have to scrimp. But I have no idea how much she has or how she makes it. Her money is in the Golden Gate Trust, but how much I don't know." Know."
"Does she have many friends here?"
"I don't know about that either. I think she knows people, but I don't know who they are. You know, when we're together we don't talk about anything but ourselves; we don't talk about anything but each other. None are interested, we're just—”
"Haven't you ever wondered where she came from and who she was?"
"No, I don't care about that. She's Jeanne DiLano, and that's enough for me."
"Do you share any financial interests with her? I mean have you two exchanged money or jewelry or something?"
I mean, of course, if she ever borrowed money from him, sold him something, or got money out of him in any other way.
He jumped up, his face ashen.Then he sat down--slumped--and flushed.
"Sorry," he said heavily, "you don't know her, and of course you have to look at things from all angles. No, there's no such thing. If you're going to speculate that she's doing it for the money, I'm afraid you're wasting your time. No." That kind of thing! That's what happened to her, that's why she came to Baltimore all of a sudden, and she left me for that. Money? It ain't about money! I love her!"
Roy Axford's house is located in Green Hills, Russia.He met me in a room that looked like an office.He was blond and tall, with an athletic build in his mid-forties, his lines not slack.He was a big man, with a lot of blood, and he seemed confident, and not without reason. "What's our Burke doing now?" he asked with interest, after I told him who I was, in a melodious bass voice full of air. I didn't tell him all the details. "He was engaged to a Jenny Delano. She went to the East Coast three weeks ago and then suddenly disappeared. He didn't know much about her. He thought something happened and wanted to find her." "Again?" His shrewd blue eyes twinkled. "It's Jenny this time! It's the fifth this year as far as I know, and I must have missed one or two during my time in Hawaii. But What are you looking for me for?" "I asked him for a responsible guarantor. I think the other person is okay, but not strictly responsible. He said your name." "That's right, strictly speaking, he's not a responsible person." The big man narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips and thought for a while, then said, "Do you think something really happened to that girl? Or Burke himself? " "I don't know. At first I thought it was his imagination, but the two letters she sent did mention that there was something wrong." "Then go ahead and find her," said Axford, "and put this Jenny back in his arms. I can't think of any harm in that, at least it will give him something to think about for a while." "That puts me at ease, Mr. Axford. You don't think there's going to be any scandal or anything about it?" "Of course! Burke's a nice guy, you know, just spoiled. He's always been sickly. And he earns enough to live on, and he's got money to spend on his poetry books, and clutter for his rooms. He's A little high-minded—poets are like that—but good-natured." "Then I'll let it go." I got up and said, "By the way, that girl opened an account with the Golden Gate Trust Company. I want to know as much as possible about this matter, especially where her money came from. But as long as you talk When it comes to customer information, Claremont, the chief accountant there, is notoriously careful. If you can speak for me, I'll have a better time asking." "a piece of cake." He took a business card and wrote two lines on the back and handed it to me.Before leaving, I promised him that I would come back if I needed help. I called Panbon and said his brother-in-law had agreed to the matter.I sent a telegram to the Baltimore bureau of the detective agency, told all I knew, and went to the apartment where the girl on Ashbury Avenue lived. The manager of the apartment was a large woman named Mrs. Klute, dressed in rattling black.If she knew that girl a little better than Pan Ben, it would be to a limited extent.The girl lived there for two and a half months, and occasionally people came to see her, but Pan Ben was the only person the manager could describe to me.Girl No. 3 withdrew the lease, saying that she had something to go to the east coast, and hoped that the manager could help her receive letters before she sent her a new address.Ten days later, Mrs. Clutter received a card from the girl asking her to forward the letter to 215 North Stricker Street, Baltimore, Maryland.As a result, there was no letter to transfer. The only important news I got in this apartment is that the girl's two boxes of luggage were pulled away by a green moving truck.One of the best moving companies in the city is a green sign. Then I went to the company's office and found a friendly man on duty (smart detectives spend a lot of time making friends with moving companies, courier companies, and railway bureau workers).When I left, I wrote down the company's luggage list number and the luggage room of the ferry to which the two pieces of luggage were sent. When I got to the ferry building, it didn't take me a few minutes to know from the information I had at hand that my luggage had been sent to Baltimore.I wired again to the Baltimore branch and gave them the train station luggage slip number. It was late Sunday night, so I called it a day and went home. The next morning I was inside the Golden Gate Trust Company half an hour before it opened for business, and I spoke to Claremont, the chief accountant.All the traditional prudence of a banker is childish compared to what this stout, white-haired old man displayed.But he glanced at Axford's business card, and the writing on the back in pen "Please give the bearer our utmost assistance", and very enthusiastically agreed to help. "Jeanne Delano has or has opened an account with you," I said, "and I want to know as much as I can: who she wrote the check to, how much, and especially where she got her money from. Say as much as you know." He poked a pearl button on the table with his pink finger, and a young man with shiny yellow hair came into the room silently.The chief accountant took a pencil and scribbled a few words on a piece of paper, handed it to the silent young man, and he went out.Not long after, he came back and put a stack of documents on the chief accountant's desk. Clement reviewed the papers, then looked up at me. "Miss Dilano was introduced here on the sixth of last month by Mr. Burke Pambon, and she opened an account with eight hundred and fifty dollars in cash. The money she deposited thereafter included: four hundred dollars on the tenth; Two hundred and five on the 26th; three hundred on the 26th; two hundred on the 30th; 20,000 on the 2nd of this month. Except for the last one, all other deposits are in cash, and the last one is a check." He handed me the check, a Golden Gate Trust check. The date is the second of this month. "Burke Pambon!" I exclaimed, a little silly. "Does he often write checks of that denomination?" "Probably not, but let me take a look." He poked the pearl button again, the pencil slid across another sheet of paper, and the blond boy came in and out, in and out, soundlessly.The Chief Accountant examines the stack of papers that have just been placed on the desk. "Mr. Pambon deposited twenty thousand on the first of the month--checks drawn on Mr. Axford's account." "What about Miss Delano's withdrawal?" I asked. He picked up the papers related to her account again. "Her statement and cashed check from last month haven't been mailed to her yet, and all the documents are still there. On the 15th of last month, a check for $85 was made out to HK Krutt; on the 20th, three One hundred dollars cashed, and another hundred dollars cashed on the 25th. She apparently cashed the two checks here. On the 3rd of this month she closed the account and opened a 21,515 $1 check to herself." "What about the check?" "She cashed in here." I lit a cigarette and let the numbers play around in my head.None of them came in handy for me - except the checks signed by Pambin and Axford.Mrs. Clutter's check was the only one the girl had ever written out to anyone else, and that was for the rent, of course. "That's it," I concluded aloud. "On the first of the month, Panbon deposited Axford's check for twenty thousand. The next day he made a check for that amount to Miss Delano—she deposited into the account. The next day she closed the account and took away 21,000 to 22,000 in cash." "Exactly," said the chief accountant. Before going to the Greenton apartment to find out why Panbon didn't say the twenty thousand, I went to the detective agency and asked if Baltimore had any news.A clerk had just deciphered a telegram.The content is as follows: I was leaving when the old man came back from lunch, so I went back to his office and talked with him for a few minutes. "See Panbon?" he asked. "Well, there's his case--but I don't think so." "how?" "Pam is Roy Axford's brother-in-law. He met a girl two months ago and fell in love. The girl is a liar and he knows nothing about her. The brother-in-law asked for 20,000 yuan for the girl, and she walked away, saying that she had to go to Baltimore for business, and left a false address, which turned out to be an orphanage. She sent her luggage to Baltimore, and sent some Letter to him—but it may also be to ask a friend to handle her luggage on her behalf and forward the letter. Of course, she needs to buy a ticket to check her luggage, but as far as the 20,000 yuan scam is concerned, this is a trivial matter. Pan Ben He didn't tell the whole story, and he didn't mention the money at all. I think it's too embarrassing to be so easily deceived. I'll go and ask him to understand." The old man smiled gently, and his smile was always full of flavors.So I go. The bell at Pan Ben's residence rang for ten minutes and there was no response.The elevator attendant told me that Panbon didn't seem to be back all night.I left a note in his mailbox and went to the railroad office and made an appointment with them to let me know if anyone took a Baltimore to San Francisco ticket for a refund. When this was done, I went to the offices of the Chronicle and looked up the weather records for the last month, noting the four days on which it rained day and night.With the records in hand, I went to the three largest taxi companies in the city. I've always been good at this trick.The girl's apartment is some distance from the bus station.I assume she was out during those rainy days, or had visitors.In either case, she — or her guest — is more likely to hail a taxi than catch a bus in the rain.If that was the case, the taxi company's daily log would have included calls made from her residence, along with the passenger's destination. The most ideal way to play is of course to thoroughly check the daily records of the girl during the renting of the apartment.However, it is unlikely that any company will accept such a large workload-unless it is a matter of life and death.It was enough trouble convincing them to send some staff to go through the four days I picked. After leaving the last taxi company, I went to find Panbon again, but he was still not home.I asked again at Axford's house, thinking that the poet might spend the night there, but the answer was no. Late in the evening that day, I took out the girl's photo and handwriting, made copies and mailed each one to Baltimore, and then went back to the three taxi companies to get the reports.The first two had no information, and the third had records that said two phone calls had been made from the girl's apartment. On a rainy afternoon, a taxi was called there and a passenger was brought to Greenton's apartment. The passenger was obviously either a girl or Panbon.Another time it was half past twelve in the middle of the night, and I called a car to the Marquis Hotel. The driver who answered the second call still had a slight impression of this incident when I asked him. He remembered that he was carrying a male passenger.I'll just leave it alone.The Marquis was not a big hotel by San Francisco hotel standards, but it was still too big to interview all the residents. I kept trying to get in touch with Pan Ben at night, but I couldn't.I called on Axford at eleven o'clock, and asked him if he knew where his brother-in-law was. "Haven't seen anyone for days," said the millionaire. "He was supposed to be here for dinner last night, but he didn't. My wife called several times today and couldn't find him." The next morning I called Pambon's apartment before I got up, but there was still no answer. Then I called Axford and made an appointment to meet him in his office at ten o'clock. I told him Panbon apparently hadn't been back to his apartment since Sunday.Axford said good-naturedly: "I don't know what he's doing at the moment, and I probably can't guess it. If our Burke doesn't do unexpected things, he wouldn't be him. You find the troubled daughter How are things going?" "It has progressed to the point where I am confident that this young lady is safe. She only got 20,000 yuan from your brother-in-law the day before she disappeared." "Twenty thousand dollars from Burke? She must be a good girl! But where did he get all that money?" "From you." Axford's muscular body sat up straight in the chair. "From me?" "Yes, your check." "No." There was no argument in his voice, just basic truth. "Didn't you write him a check for 20,000 yuan on the 1st?" "No." "So," I suggested, "we'd better go to the Golden Gate Trust Company at once." Ten minutes later we were at Claremont's office. "I want to see the check I cashed," said Axford to the chief accountant. The young man with yellow hair came in immediately with a thick pile of things.Axford flipped through the pages until he found the check he wanted.After finding it, he studied it for a long time, and when he looked up at me, he shook his head slowly - but surely. "I've never seen this before." Clement took out a white handkerchief and wiped his head, bewildered and anxious about how his bank had been cheated, but still pretending to be nonchalant. The millionaire turns the check over to see the endorsement. "Burke put it in," he sounded like he couldn't believe what he was saying, "on the first day." "Can we talk to the cashier who deposited the $20,000 check for Miss Jeanne Delano?" I asked Claremont. Trembling with pink fingers, he pressed another pearl button.A minute or two later, a small, bald, yellow-faced man walked in. "Remember you deposited a check for twenty thousand dollars for Miss Jeanne Delano a few weeks ago?" I asked him. "Remember, sir! Remember, sir! Remember all." "What do you remember?" "Well, sir, Miss Delano and Mr. Burke Pambon came to my window. That's his check. I don't think he writes checks of that size very often, but the clerk says he has enough deposit to cover the The money. When I put the amount into her account, they stood there--Miss Dillano and Mr. Pambon--talking and laughing, and then they went away, and that was it." "This check," said Axford slowly, after the cashier had returned to his seat, "is a forgery, but I will certainly advance the money. It is all right, Mr. Don't startle everyone." "Of course, Mr. Axford, of course." The burden of 20,000 dollars was unloaded from his bank, and Clement smiled and nodded, feeling relieved. So Axford and I left the bank and got into the coupe he'd driven up from the office.Instead of driving right away, though, he sat for a while, staring at the traffic on Montgomery Street ahead as if he didn't see it. "I want you to find Burke," he said quickly, in a bass voice without any emotion, "I want you to find him without any gossip. If my wife knows about it—no, she can't; she thinks who Her brother will be tempted to see her. I want you to help me find him. Girls don't care, but in my opinion, if you find one, you have found two. I don't care about the money. You don't have to worry about getting it back. The change of money is sure to come out. I want you to find Burke before he does something else." "If you want to avoid the wrong exposure," I said, "the best way to do it is to get it right. Let's declare him missing and give the papers all his pictures and all. They'll work hard because he's a Your brother-in-law and poet. We can say he's sick - you said he was always sickly - say we're worried he's dying somewhere or going insane. No need to mention girls or money, but his disappearance first Spread the word. By explaining it this way, we can prevent others—especially your wife—from being suspicious, because sooner or later the story will spread.” At first he disapproved, but then I won. Next we went to Pambon's apartment and we got in easily because Axford explained that we had an appointment with him and wanted to wait for him inside.I ran a blanket search of every room and found not a single hole.No matter where it is written, I have read everything that has words, even his manuscripts, but I still have no clue about his disappearance. I looked at his photographs involuntarily—at least a dozen, and pocketed five.Axford said the poet's bag and suitcase were still in the utility room.I couldn't find his passbook for the Golden Gate Trust Company. I spent the rest of the day preparing the paper for the news we wanted them to know.They were very generous to my ex-client: front page, with photos and embellished with impunity.Anyone in San Francisco who didn't know that Burke Pambon, Roy Axford's brother-in-law and author of Poems: Shaling and Others, was missing was either illiterate or didn't read the newspapers. This kind of advertising is very effective.The next morning, news poured in from all directions. Dozens of people had seen the missing poet in dozens of places.A few of them seemed promising—possible at least, but most of them were ridiculous on the surface. I followed leads to a report that looked good, but to no avail.When I got back to the agency, I found a note asking me to call Axford. "Can you come to my office now?" he said on the phone. I was ushered into Axford's office.Besides Axford, there was a lad of twenty-one or twenty.He has breasts and is stylishly dressed. He is probably the kind of employee who loves to show off. "This is Mr. Fall, one of our staff," Axford told me. "He said he saw Burke on Sunday night." "Where is it?" I asked Foer. "Saw him go into a restaurant near Half Moon Bay." "Are you sure it's him?" "Unmistakable! He used to come to Mr. Axford's office. I know him. It must be him." "How did you happen to see him?" "I was walking back from the beach with some friends and stopped for a bite to eat at the restaurant. As we were leaving a car came up and Mr. Panborn and a girl or woman - I didn't pay much attention to her - got out of the car and went in .I didn't think there was anything wrong until last night when I read in the paper that he had been missing since Sunday, so I thought—" "Which restaurant?" I interrupted. "White cabin." "About what time?" "Somewhere between eleven-thirty and midnight, I suppose." "He saw you?" "No. I was already in the car when he drove over." "What do women look like?" "I don't know. I didn't see her face, and I don't remember what she was wearing. I don't even know whether she is tall or short." That's all Foer could say, and we sent him on his way.Then I called "Italian" Healy's in North Beach on Axford's phone and left a message saying to call Jack when "Piggy" Grau passed by.I see that Piggy usually uses this code, so as not to be seen through the relationship between the two of us. "Know the white log cabin?" I asked Axford after the call. "I know where it is, but I have no idea what kind of place it is." "Oh, that's a den of thieves, owned by 'Tin Star' Joplin. The guy used to be a steal, and restaurants were good in the Prohibition era, and he used his ill-gotten gains to open them. He's making more money than he ever did. He dreams more when he's cracking safes. Retailing spirits is kind of his side business, but the main way he makes his money is by using restaurants as staging points for bootleg booties from Half Moon Bay. It's lucrative because West Coast beer Half the moonshine on the cargo ship is unloaded in Half Moon Bay. "The white cabin is a den of thieves, not where your brother-in-law hangs out. I'd be a shocker if I went there myself, Joplin and I are old friends. But I can arrange to stay there alone for a few nights." ...Pangborn might be a regular there, maybe even live there. It's not the first time Joplin has used that place to hide. Anyway, I'll put mine there for a week and see if he can find out what." "That's all up to you," said Axford. I went straight from Axford's office to my room and sat down to wait for Piggy Grau, leaving the outside door open.I had been waiting an hour and a half when he opened the door and came in. "Hey! How's the business?" He swaggered to a chair, sat down, put his feet on the table, and reached out to grab a pack of cigarettes on the table. 这就是猪仔格劳：白脸，三十多岁，块头不大不小，永远穿得亮闪闪的——虽然有时候挺脏。他老摆出一副大摇大摆的样子，讲话虚张声势，装得非常自信，然而这一切都是为了掩饰他极其懦弱的本性。 不过我已经认识他三年了。所以这会儿我走过房间，猛地把他的脚推下桌子。他差点儿向后仰倒。 “这是干什么？”他爬起来，蹲着吼道，“你这是什么意思？你想挨揍吗——” 我朝他走近一步，他闪开了，穿过房间。 “哎，说着玩儿的嘛，别当真！” “闭嘴，给我坐下。”我提出忠告。 我认识这个猪仔格劳三年了，用他也差不多有那么久，可我没法为他说半句好话。他是个懦夫、骗子、小偷、瘾君子；他出卖同行，要是没人看着，估计也会出卖老板，可真是一只好鸟！不过侦探本来就不好干，能用得上的工具就都要用。这个猪仔如果用得对，效率还挺高——意思是要一直掐住他的脖子不放，而且他带来的消息也不能全信。 他的懦弱对我来说正是他的资本。他的恶名传遍了黑道横行的西岸，虽然没人会笨到信任他——不管白道黑道——不过大伙儿倒也不完全排斥他。他的大多数同伙都认定他是懦夫，因此不构成任何威胁。他们以为他不敢出卖他们，以为他对黑帮发泄在告密者身上的雷霆之怒敬畏有加。不过他们没想到猪仔有个天分：在危险还没逼近时，他可以说服自己他是个雄狮般的英雄好汉，可以自由出入他想去或者我要他去的地方，而且带来我原本得不到的零星信息。 近三年来我用他用得还挺顺手；钱给得挺多，把他看得也挺严。报告里我提到他时用的是线民这个文雅的词，但地下社会形容他这种人的字眼比一般人说的“告密者”还要难听。 “我有个差事给你。”我告诉他。现在他又坐下了，脚放在地上，松弛的嘴巴向左边咧去，挤得那边的眼睛眯起来，好像什么都知道似的。“我就知道。”这是他惯常的台词。 “我要你到半月湾，在锡星乔普林的店里待几个晚上。这儿有两张照片，”我把潘本跟女孩的个人照各一张推过桌子，“他们的名字和外貌都写在照片后头。我要知道他们是否在那儿露过脸，做了什么，平时待在哪儿。没准儿锡星把他们窝藏起来了。” 猪仔会意地从一张照片看到另一张，从咧着的嘴角吐出话来：“我觉得我认识这个男的。”这又是猪仔的一个特色，你只要提个名字或者讲些特点，他一定会做出这种反应——就算你随便编个人也一样。 “钱在这儿。”我把几张纸钞推过桌子，“你在那儿要是超过两个晚上，我会再加钱。跟我保持联系，打这个电话，或者办公室那个不对外公开的。还有——记好了——不准碰毒品！要是我在那儿看到你吸得晕头转向的话，我一定把你卖给乔普林。” 此时他已经数好钱了——总共也没几张可数的——然后一脸不屑地把钱扔回桌上。 “你还是留着打发报社吧，”他冷笑道，“没钱在那个店里能干啥？” “两天的花费这可是绰绰有余的，没准儿还能剩一半呢。要是你在那里超过了两天，我会加钱的。完事以后拿工钱，之前想都别想。” 他摇摇头站起来。“我受够了你这个小气鬼，要做你自个儿做好了，老子不玩了！” “今晚不去半月湾的话，你就完了！”我这样跟他保证，随便他怎么理解这个威胁。 当然，没坚持几分钟他就拿钱走了。每回找他办事都要先为开销争执一番，这是例行前奏。 猪仔走后，我靠回椅子，为这事儿抽了五六支法蒂玛香烟。先是女孩拿了两万块跑掉，然后诗人也走了，而且两个都到了白色木屋——不管是不是长住。表面看来事情很明显。女孩要潘本借用他姐夫的户头开张假支票，然后经过目前我还无法确定的步骤以后，他们一起逃跑了。 还有两个没有落实的细节。一是找到帮女孩寄信给潘本的同伙，女孩的行李也是他打理的，这件事巴尔的摩分社正在办。二是我查到有人从女孩的公寓坐出租车到侯爵旅馆，那人是谁？ 第二点也许跟这件事无关，也许有关。要是我能找到侯爵旅馆和白色木屋之间的关联，或许就可以前后串出个名堂来。我翻了翻电话簿最后几页，找到了白色木屋的电话号码，然后我就去了侯爵旅馆。我到达时，认出在总机值班的女孩恰好以前和我有过交易。“是谁一直在拨半月湾的号啊？”我问她。 “老天！”她仰靠在椅子上，白里透粉的手轻轻掠过她前额上抹过发胶的大波浪红头发，“我已经够忙的了，怎么可能记住每一个打进来的电话？这儿又不是出租公寓，我们一个星期可不止一通电话。” “你们可没有很多打给半月湾的电话，”我坚持道，一只胳膊肘撑在柜台上，一张折起来的五块钱钞票在手里若隐若现，“最近有过的话，你应该记得。” “我看看吧。”她叹了口气，一副不抱什么希望然而尽力而为的模样。 她翻了翻手上的一沓纸条。 “这儿有一次——五二二号房打出去的，两个星期前。” “打什么号码？” “半月湾五十一号。” 那就是白色木屋的号码，我把那五块钱递过去。 “五二二的客人是长住吗？” “是的，科尔克斯先生，已经住了三四个月。” "What does he do?" “不知道。要是问我的话，我会说他是一个百分之百的绅士。” “不错嘛。他长什么样？” “是个年轻人，不过头发开始白了。皮肤有点黑，很帅，像个电影明星。” 五二二房的钥匙挂在架子上属于它的位置。我在一个能看得着它的地方坐下来。大概一个小时以后，有个职员取下那把钥匙，递给一个人。这人长得还真像电影明星，三十岁左右，皮肤黝黑，头发黑亮，两鬓有点发白。他足有六英尺高，穿着时髦，身材挺拔。 他拿了钥匙便消失在电梯里。 我当时就打电话到社里，请老头派迪克·弗利过来。十分钟后，迪克到了。他是一只加拿大小虾米——不到一百一十磅。虽然我见过无数会盯梢的人，但他是我见过的最出色的。 “帮我跟踪个家伙，”我跟迪克说，“名叫科尔克斯，住五二二号房。你先到外头转转，到时候我会把他指给你看。”我回到大厅，又等了些时候。 八点钟时，科尔克斯下楼离开旅馆。我跟了他半条街——远到可以把他转交给迪克——然后回家。以防万一猪仔格劳想跟我联系，我一直待在电话旁边。当晚他没打电话。
第二天早晨我到社里时，迪克正在等我。 “运气怎么样？”我问。 “倒霉透了！”小个子加拿大人情绪不稳时，讲话就像发电报一样简洁，这会儿他可真是恼了，“过两个路口就把我甩了，只看到了出租车。” “你说他发现了吗？” “没有，脑子灵光，打保险牌。” “那就再盯一次吧。最好准备一辆车，免得到时候他又耍那一招。” 迪克出去时电话响了。是猪仔格劳，打的是社里没登记的号码。“挖到什么了吗？”我问。 “多着呢！”他夸口道。 “很好！你在城里吗？” "exist." “二十分钟后在我房里见。”我说。 这个长着一张白脸的线民走进来时一副飘飘然的样子。他大摇大摆地穿过我没锁的门，迈着舞蹈般的步伐，总是在抽动的嘴角这会儿带着冷笑，活像全能全知的所罗门王再世。 “小子，我帮你弄妥啦，”他吹牛道，“对我来说是小事一桩。我去了那里，跟所有知道点儿什么的人都聊过，能看的也都看了。我用X光扫描了整个贼窝，我可是——” “嗯，”我打断他，“恭喜恭喜，不过请问你到底发现了什么？” “我正要说呢。”他抬起一只脏手，好像交警指挥交通，“不要急，我会一五一十全告诉你的。” “当然，”我说，“我知道你很能干，有你帮我办事我真是幸运。不过请问潘本在那儿吗？” “我就要说到那里了。我去了那边以后——” “你到底看到潘本没有？” “我正在说啊，我去了那边以后——” “猪仔，”我说，“你干了什么我他妈的才懒得管，你看到潘本没有？” “看到了，我看到他了。” “好！告诉我你看到了什么？” “他在锡星那儿住。他，还有你给我的那张照片上的女人都在。她在那儿待了一个月了。我没瞧见她，不过有个小弟跟我提起过。潘本是我亲眼看见的。他们不常露面，老在他们住的地方待着不出来，那地方是锡星给他们住的。潘本从星期天开始就待在那儿了。我去了那边以后——” “打听出那个女孩是谁了吗？他们在那儿干什么？” “没，我去了那边以后——” “行了，今晚你再去一趟那边。等你确定潘本还在那儿没走，就打电话给我。别搞砸了，我可不想跑到那儿把他们吓得溜之大吉。打社里没登记的那个电话，不管谁接，都说你要晚点儿才能回城——意思就是潘本还在那儿。所以你即使从乔普林的店打出来，也不会走漏风声。” “我还要现金，”他站起来时说道，“花费——” “我会帮你填表申请的，”我答应道，“现在滚吧，今晚你一确定潘本在那儿，就通知我。” 然后我去了阿克斯福德的办公室。“我看我找到线索了，”我告诉百万富翁，“希望今晚能让你跟他谈谈。我的人说他昨晚在白色木屋，也许就住在那儿。要是他今晚也在那里，我就带你过去——如果你想去的话。” “为什么不现在去？” “不行，那地方白天死气沉沉的，我的人在那儿晃太惹眼了，我不想让你或者我自己冒任何风险。除非确定能面对面见到潘本，否则我们不去。” “那你要我怎么做？” “今晚准备好一辆快车，我传话过来就马上出发。” “没问题，我五点半以后会在家。你准备好要走就打给我，我去接你。” 那天晚上九点半，我和阿克斯福德并肩坐在一辆大马力进口车的前座上，一路风驰电掣开往半月湾。猪仔打过电话了。 一路上我们谁都没怎么讲话，那辆怪兽般的进口车很快就把我们送到了那里。阿克斯福德坐在驾驶座上，姿势悠闲舒适，可我头一次发现他有一个相当大的下巴。 白色木屋是栋很大的方形建筑，用仿石材料建成。从公路上伸出的两条弧形车道可以进入这里，这两条车道正好凑成一个半圆，公路本身是这个半圆的直径。这个半圆形的中心是车棚，底下停了乔普林顾客的车子，周围不是花圃就是灌木丛。我们开进这条半圆形车道的尾端，刚刚开始降低车速—— 阿克斯福德猛踩刹车，庞然大物陡然停下，我们俩磕到了挡风玻璃——车子险些撞上一群突然聚拢过来的人。 车前灯打出的光圈照出一张张脸：苍白的、饱受惊吓的、鬼鬼祟祟的，还有带着冷酷好奇心的。灯光逐渐照出一张张脸下面的肩膀和白色胳膊，然后是被暗淡的男人衣服映衬得很显眼的亮色长袍和珠宝。 这是我的第一印象。等我把脸从挡风玻璃移开时，发现这堆人围着一个中心，那里面有个东西。我站起来，想从众人的头顶看过去，可是什么也看不到。 我从车道上跳下来，挤开人群穿过去。 有个男人趴在白色碎石路上，是个穿深色衣服的瘦子。就在他领子上头，脑袋和脖子的交接处有个洞。我跪下去眯起眼睛看他的脸，然后又挤出人群，回到阿克斯福德刚刚下了车的地方——引擎还在转。我说：“潘本死了——枪杀。” 阿克斯福德机械地脱下手套，折好放进口袋。接着他点点头，表示听懂了我说的话，然后向诗人的尸体周围的人群走去。我看着他消失在人群里，于是到旁边去找猪仔格劳。 我发现猪仔站在前廊上，背靠一根廊柱。我从他可以看到我的地方走过，绕到餐馆侧面比较隐蔽的地方。 猪仔在阴影里走了过来。夜不凉，但他的牙齿在打战。 “谁杀他的？”我逼问。 “不知道。”他发出哀声，我这可是头一回听他承认自己什么也不知道，“我在里头盯其他人。” “什么其他人？” “锡星，还有个我没见过的人，跟那女的在一起。我没想到潘本要出去，因为他没戴帽子。” “这事儿你到底知道多少？” “我给你打了电话以后没多久，那姑娘就和潘本从乔普林供他们隐藏的窝里出来了，坐在前廊另一头的一张桌子上，那边挺黑的。他们吃了一会儿东西，然后另外那个男的就来了，和他们坐在一起。我不知道他叫什么，不过我想我在城里见过他，个子很高，打扮光鲜。” 应该是科尔克斯。 “他们聊了一会儿，然后乔普林也来了，他们围着桌子一起聊天说笑。大概一刻钟后，潘本站起来往里走。我坐在一张桌子前盯他们，但那地方很挤，我怕我一走开桌子就会给别人占了，所以我就没跟那孩子。他没戴帽子，我以为他不会上哪儿去。不过他一定是穿过房子从前头出去了，因为没多久就传来了枪声。我原以为是车子引擎逆火，接下来是车子突突开走的声音，然后有人尖叫说外头死了人，大家全往外跑去看，发现是潘本。” “你确定潘本中枪的时候，乔普林、科尔克斯跟那个女孩都在桌旁？” “错不了，”猪仔说，“要是那个深色皮肤的男人叫科尔克斯的话。” “他们现在人呢？” “回乔普林的窝了。他们一看潘本被做掉，就回那儿去了。” 我对猪仔没有幻想。我知道他有办法出卖我，再为杀害诗人的凶手提供不在场证明。不过倒是有一点：要真的是乔普林、科尔克斯或者女孩联手做掉了诗人，又买通了我的线民，那我绝不会有办法证明凶案发生时他们不在酒店后面。乔普林有那么一伙食客，他让他们说任何话他们都会照办，眼睛都不眨一下，所以后面应该会有十多个所谓的目击者为他们作证。 所以我现在只能假设猪仔是忠于我的。“你看到迪克·弗利没？”我问，因为是迪克在盯科尔克斯的梢。 "No." “去周围看看，告诉他我上楼找乔普林谈话了，让他也上去。你别走远了，万一我想找你也找得到。” 我从一扇落地窗进去，穿过空空的舞池，上了通往锡星住处的楼梯。那个地方在后面的二楼，我知道路，以前来过。乔普林跟我是老朋友。 我这就上去吓唬吓唬他和他朋友，看看有没有渺茫的机会问出什么东西来——虽然我知道自己手上没有他们的把柄。当然我可以从那个女孩下手，不过那就得对外宣告死掉的诗人伪造了他姐夫的签名开了张支票，这可行不通。 “进来。”当我轻轻地敲了敲乔普林客厅的门，一个熟悉的深沉声音说道。我推门而入。 锡星乔普林站在地板中间。他是个大块头，前任惯偷，肩膀厚实得超乎寻常，还有一张毫无表情的马脸。他后头坐着科尔克斯，一条腿搭在桌角。在他英俊的黑脸上，那抹玩味的微笑后面藏着机警。房间另一头的应该是珍妮·迪兰诺，那姑娘坐在一张大皮椅的扶手上。诗人说她很美，的确没有夸大其词。 “你！”乔普林一认出我，就马上厌恶地吼道，“你他妈的想要什么？” “你有什么？” 不过我的脑子可不在这种文字游戏上，我在研究那姑娘。她看来好像有些眼熟——可我想不起来在哪儿见过。也许我没见过她，也许是看了太多次潘本给我的照片，产生了似曾相识的感觉。照片是会产生这种效果的。 与此同时，乔普林说话了：“我可没时间浪费。” 我说：“要是你能把以前各个法官判你的刑期都省下来，加在一起可有不少时间呢。” 我以前在哪儿见过这女孩。她身材窈窕，一身发亮的蓝袍，前胸、后背和胳膊都露了很多，也确实值得一露；椭圆脸蛋是标准的粉红色，深棕色长发垂下来。她眼睛分得很开，带着一抹灰色，诗人比喻说像擦亮的银器上的阴影，不是完全没有道理。我研究起那个女孩来，她平静地回望我，可我还是想不出来在哪儿见过她。科尔克斯还在桌角上耷拉着腿晃荡。 乔普林开始不耐烦了。“拜托你不要再死盯着她。说，你到底想怎样？”他嚷道。 女孩笑起来，讽刺的微笑，露出小小的虎牙的一角，如剃须刀般尖利。看到那笑容，我认出来了！ 她的头发和肤色骗了我。我最后一次——也是唯一一次——看到她的时候，她的脸像大理石一样白，头发比较短，颜色像火焰。她跟一个老太太、三个男人和我，在土耳其街的一栋房子里玩过捉迷藏——为的是某银行小弟的凶杀案和价值十万的失窃债券。因为她使了手腕，她的三个同伙当晚都死了，而第四个——那个中国人——后来也在福尔瑟姆监狱上了绞刑架。她当时的名字是艾薇拉，从她逃离那座房子的那个晚上起，我们搜遍了每一条边境，甚至边境以外，都没有结果。 虽然我竭力掩饰，眼里想必还是泄露了我认出她来了，因为这会儿她蛇一般迅疾地滑下了椅子扶手，朝我走来。她的眼睛现在看起来更像钢而不是银。 我掏出枪。 乔普林向我迈出半步。“你想干什么？”他吼道。 科尔克斯滑下桌子，一只黑瘦的手在领带上头游移。 “想干这个——”我告诉他们，“我认为两个月前的一宗谋杀案和这姑娘有关，而且也许——我不确定——还包括今晚的。总之，我这就——” 我身后的电灯开关啪地响了一声，房间顿时暗下来。 我动起来，朝哪个方向动无所谓，只要能离开熄灯前我站的那个位置就好。 我的后背碰到一堵墙，于是我停住脚，蹲下来。 “快，孩子！”从我觉得应该是门的地方传来嘶哑的耳语。 但我认为这房间的两扇门都是关着的，要是开着的话，应该会露出灰色的长方形。大家都在暗中跑，不过没有一个挡在我跟灰暗的方形窗中间。 我前面有个什么东西咔嚓响了一声。那咔嚓声好像太轻了，不像是手枪打开保险，不过有可能是开弹簧刀的声音，接着我便想起了锡星乔普林对这种武器有偏好。 “走吧！”嘶哑的耳语像拳头一样打破了黑暗。 脚步声；被捂住了，听不分明……有个声音在不远处…… 一只强有力的手突然掐住我的肩膀，肌肉发达的身体紧紧压住了我。我拿枪用力支开他，听到一声哀号。 那只手从我的肩膀移向脖子。 我用膝盖撞了他一下，又听到一声哀号。 我身体一侧的某处觉得火烧火燎的。 我又拿枪猛戳了一下——等枪口摆脱那挡住它的软软的障碍物以后，我把枪抽回，按下扳机。枪响声。我听到了乔普林的声音，带着实事求是的惊奇：“他妈的！打中我了。” 我猛地跳起身，向一扇打开的透出暗淡黄光的门走去。我没听到有人走掉，因为我太忙了。不过我知道乔普林压在我身上时，其他人都趁机溜走了。 我边跳边滑，一步几个台阶地从楼梯上跑下来，一个人也没看到。我跳到舞厅地板上时，有个小弟挡了我的路。我不知道他是不是故意的，我没问，直接用枪柄打他的脸，然后继续走。我跳过一条伸出来绊我的腿，到了门外我又打伤了一张脸。 然后我就到了门外半圆形的车道上。车道另一头，一道红色车尾灯拐向东，朝乡间大路开走了。 我朝阿克斯福德的车飞奔时，注意到潘本的尸体已经被抬走了。有几个人还围在他躺过的地方，此时他们张大了嘴吃惊地看着我。 车子跟阿克斯福德下车时一样，引擎还在转。我开车绕过花圃上了公路，笔直朝东开去。五分钟后，我又瞥见了车尾灯的红点。 我开的这辆车比我这辈子需要的马力都大，超过了我能处理的范围。我不知道前头那辆开得有多快，不过我追上去时，感觉它好像一直没动似的。 一英里半，或许两英里—— 突然，一个男人出现在前边的路面上，我的车灯还照不着他。但下一瞬间车灯已经照到他了，是猪仔格劳！ 猪仔格劳站在路中央看着我，一手一把自动手枪，闪着暗淡的金属光。 他手里的枪好像发出微红，然后又在我车头灯的照耀下转暗——先发亮后转暗，就像广告招牌上的两个灯泡一样。 挡风玻璃在我周围变得粉碎。 猪仔格劳——这位线民的名字在太平洋海岸由南到北都是懦夫的代号——站在路中心，对着朝他冲去的金属流星开枪…… 我没看到结局。 我坦白承认，他死灰色的脸出现在我的散热器上时，我闭上了眼睛。我坐下的金属怪兽抖了一下——不是很厉害——然后前头的路又空了，除了那飞驰的红灯。我的挡风玻璃没了，风猛吹着我没戴帽子的头，吹得我眯起的眼睛流出了眼泪。 没多久我发现我在自言自语：“那是猪仔，那是猪仔。”简直不可思议。他出卖我不奇怪，这是意料之中的。他偷偷跟我上楼把灯关掉也不足为奇。不过对他来说，直挺挺地站在那儿，死在—— 前头的车扫来一道橘黄色的光，打断了我的惊异。子弹离我很远——从一辆开着的车朝另一辆开着的车射击，想射准可不容易。不过照我现在的速度看，要不了多久我就会近到成了可以射得到的靶子。 我打开仪表板上的探照灯。灯光还没打到前头的车，不过我可以看清是女孩在开车，科尔克斯坐在她旁边转着身看我。那是辆黄色单排座敞篷车。
Roy Axford's house is located in Green Hills, Russia.He met me in a room that looked like an office.He was blond and tall, with an athletic build in his mid-forties, his lines not slack.He was a big man, with a lot of blood, and he seemed confident, and not without reason. "What's our Burke doing now?" he asked with interest, after I told him who I was, in a melodious bass voice full of air. I didn't tell him all the details. "He was engaged to a Jenny Delano. She went to the East Coast three weeks ago and then suddenly disappeared. He didn't know much about her. He thought something happened and wanted to find her." "Again?" His shrewd blue eyes twinkled. "It's Jenny this time! It's the fifth this year as far as I know, and I must have missed one or two during my time in Hawaii. But What are you looking for me for?" "I asked him for a responsible guarantor. I think the other person is okay, but not strictly responsible. He said your name." "That's right, strictly speaking, he's not a responsible person." The big man narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips and thought for a while, then said, "Do you think something really happened to that girl? Or Burke himself? " "I don't know. At first I thought it was his imagination, but the two letters she sent did mention that there was something wrong." "Then go ahead and find her," said Axford, "and put this Jenny back in his arms. I can't think of any harm in that, at least it will give him something to think about for a while." "That puts me at ease, Mr. Axford. You don't think there's going to be any scandal or anything about it?" "Of course! Burke's a nice guy, you know, just spoiled. He's always been sickly. And he earns enough to live on, and he's got money to spend on his poetry books, and clutter for his rooms. He's A little high-minded—poets are like that—but good-natured." "Then I'll let it go." I got up and said, "By the way, that girl opened an account with the Golden Gate Trust Company. I want to know as much as possible about this matter, especially where her money came from. But as long as you talk When it comes to customer information, Claremont, the chief accountant there, is notoriously careful. If you can speak for me, I'll have a better time asking." "a piece of cake." He took a business card and wrote two lines on the back and handed it to me.Before leaving, I promised him that I would come back if I needed help. I called Panbon and said his brother-in-law had agreed to the matter.I sent a telegram to the Baltimore bureau of the detective agency, told all I knew, and went to the apartment where the girl on Ashbury Avenue lived. The manager of the apartment was a large woman named Mrs. Klute, dressed in rattling black.If she knew that girl a little better than Pan Ben, it would be to a limited extent.The girl lived there for two and a half months, and occasionally people came to see her, but Pan Ben was the only person the manager could describe to me.Girl No. 3 withdrew the lease, saying that she had something to go to the east coast, and hoped that the manager could help her receive letters before she sent her a new address.Ten days later, Mrs. Clutter received a card from the girl asking her to forward the letter to 215 North Stricker Street, Baltimore, Maryland.As a result, there was no letter to transfer. The only important news I got in this apartment is that the girl's two boxes of luggage were pulled away by a green moving truck.One of the best moving companies in the city is a green sign. Then I went to the company's office and found a friendly man on duty (smart detectives spend a lot of time making friends with moving companies, courier companies, and railway bureau workers).When I left, I wrote down the company's luggage list number and the luggage room of the ferry to which the two pieces of luggage were sent. When I got to the ferry building, it didn't take me a few minutes to know from the information I had at hand that my luggage had been sent to Baltimore.I wired again to the Baltimore branch and gave them the train station luggage slip number. It was late Sunday night, so I called it a day and went home. The next morning I was inside the Golden Gate Trust Company half an hour before it opened for business, and I spoke to Claremont, the chief accountant.All the traditional prudence of a banker is childish compared to what this stout, white-haired old man displayed.But he glanced at Axford's business card, and the writing on the back in pen "Please give the bearer our utmost assistance", and very enthusiastically agreed to help. "Jeanne Delano has or has opened an account with you," I said, "and I want to know as much as I can: who she wrote the check to, how much, and especially where she got her money from. Say as much as you know." He poked a pearl button on the table with his pink finger, and a young man with shiny yellow hair came into the room silently.The chief accountant took a pencil and scribbled a few words on a piece of paper, handed it to the silent young man, and he went out.Not long after, he came back and put a stack of documents on the chief accountant's desk. Clement reviewed the papers, then looked up at me. "Miss Dilano was introduced here on the sixth of last month by Mr. Burke Pambon, and she opened an account with eight hundred and fifty dollars in cash. The money she deposited thereafter included: four hundred dollars on the tenth; Two hundred and five on the 26th; three hundred on the 26th; two hundred on the 30th; 20,000 on the 2nd of this month. Except for the last one, all other deposits are in cash, and the last one is a check." He handed me the check, a Golden Gate Trust check. The date is the second of this month. "Burke Pambon!" I exclaimed, a little silly. "Does he often write checks of that denomination?" "Probably not, but let me take a look." He poked the pearl button again, the pencil slid across another sheet of paper, and the blond boy came in and out, in and out, soundlessly.The Chief Accountant examines the stack of papers that have just been placed on the desk. "Mr. Pambon deposited twenty thousand on the first of the month--checks drawn on Mr. Axford's account." "What about Miss Delano's withdrawal?" I asked. He picked up the papers related to her account again. "Her statement and cashed check from last month haven't been mailed to her yet, and all the documents are still there. On the 15th of last month, a check for $85 was made out to HK Krutt; on the 20th, three One hundred dollars cashed, and another hundred dollars cashed on the 25th. She apparently cashed the two checks here. On the 3rd of this month she closed the account and opened a 21,515 $1 check to herself." "What about the check?" "She cashed in here." I lit a cigarette and let the numbers play around in my head.None of them came in handy for me - except the checks signed by Pambin and Axford.Mrs. Clutter's check was the only one the girl had ever written out to anyone else, and that was for the rent, of course. "That's it," I concluded aloud. "On the first of the month, Panbon deposited Axford's check for twenty thousand. The next day he made a check for that amount to Miss Delano—she deposited into the account. The next day she closed the account and took away 21,000 to 22,000 in cash." "Exactly," said the chief accountant. Before going to the Greenton apartment to find out why Panbon didn't say the twenty thousand, I went to the detective agency and asked if Baltimore had any news.A clerk had just deciphered a telegram.The content is as follows: I was leaving when the old man came back from lunch, so I went back to his office and talked with him for a few minutes. "See Panbon?" he asked. "Well, there's his case--but I don't think so." "how?" "Pam is Roy Axford's brother-in-law. He met a girl two months ago and fell in love. The girl is a liar and he knows nothing about her. The brother-in-law asked for 20,000 yuan for the girl, and she walked away, saying that she had to go to Baltimore for business, and left a false address, which turned out to be an orphanage. She sent her luggage to Baltimore, and sent some Letter to him—but it may also be to ask a friend to handle her luggage on her behalf and forward the letter. Of course, she needs to buy a ticket to check her luggage, but as far as the 20,000 yuan scam is concerned, this is a trivial matter. Pan Ben He didn't tell the whole story, and he didn't mention the money at all. I think it's too embarrassing to be so easily deceived. I'll go and ask him to understand." The old man smiled gently, and his smile was always full of flavors.So I go. The bell at Pan Ben's residence rang for ten minutes and there was no response.The elevator attendant told me that Panbon didn't seem to be back all night.I left a note in his mailbox and went to the railroad office and made an appointment with them to let me know if anyone took a Baltimore to San Francisco ticket for a refund. When this was done, I went to the offices of the Chronicle and looked up the weather records for the last month, noting the four days on which it rained day and night.With the records in hand, I went to the three largest taxi companies in the city. I've always been good at this trick.The girl's apartment is some distance from the bus station.I assume she was out during those rainy days, or had visitors.In either case, she — or her guest — is more likely to hail a taxi than catch a bus in the rain.If that was the case, the taxi company's daily log would have included calls made from her residence, along with the passenger's destination. The most ideal way to play is of course to thoroughly check the daily records of the girl during the renting of the apartment.However, it is unlikely that any company will accept such a large workload-unless it is a matter of life and death.It was enough trouble convincing them to send some staff to go through the four days I picked. After leaving the last taxi company, I went to find Panbon again, but he was still not home.I asked again at Axford's house, thinking that the poet might spend the night there, but the answer was no. Late in the evening that day, I took out the girl's photo and handwriting, made copies and mailed each one to Baltimore, and then went back to the three taxi companies to get the reports.The first two had no information, and the third had records that said two phone calls had been made from the girl's apartment. On a rainy afternoon, a taxi was called there and a passenger was brought to Greenton's apartment. The passenger was obviously either a girl or Panbon.Another time it was half past twelve in the middle of the night, and I called a car to the Marquis Hotel. The driver who answered the second call still had a slight impression of this incident when I asked him. He remembered that he was carrying a male passenger.I'll just leave it alone.The Marquis was not a big hotel by San Francisco hotel standards, but it was still too big to interview all the residents. I kept trying to get in touch with Pan Ben at night, but I couldn't.I called on Axford at eleven o'clock, and asked him if he knew where his brother-in-law was. "Haven't seen anyone for days," said the millionaire. "He was supposed to be here for dinner last night, but he didn't. My wife called several times today and couldn't find him." The next morning I called Pambon's apartment before I got up, but there was still no answer. Then I called Axford and made an appointment to meet him in his office at ten o'clock. I told him Panbon apparently hadn't been back to his apartment since Sunday.Axford said good-naturedly: "I don't know what he's doing at the moment, and I probably can't guess it. If our Burke doesn't do unexpected things, he wouldn't be him. You find the troubled daughter How are things going?" "It has progressed to the point where I am confident that this young lady is safe. She only got 20,000 yuan from your brother-in-law the day before she disappeared." "Twenty thousand dollars from Burke? She must be a good girl! But where did he get all that money?" "From you." Axford's muscular body sat up straight in the chair. "From me?" "Yes, your check." "No." There was no argument in his voice, just basic truth. "Didn't you write him a check for 20,000 yuan on the 1st?" "No." "So," I suggested, "we'd better go to the Golden Gate Trust Company at once." Ten minutes later we were at Claremont's office. "I want to see the check I cashed," said Axford to the chief accountant. The young man with yellow hair came in immediately with a thick pile of things.Axford flipped through the pages until he found the check he wanted.After finding it, he studied it for a long time, and when he looked up at me, he shook his head slowly - but surely. "I've never seen this before." Clement took out a white handkerchief and wiped his head, bewildered and anxious about how his bank had been cheated, but still pretending to be nonchalant. The millionaire turns the check over to see the endorsement. "Burke put it in," he sounded like he couldn't believe what he was saying, "on the first day." "Can we talk to the cashier who deposited the $20,000 check for Miss Jeanne Delano?" I asked Claremont. Trembling with pink fingers, he pressed another pearl button.A minute or two later, a small, bald, yellow-faced man walked in. "Remember you deposited a check for twenty thousand dollars for Miss Jeanne Delano a few weeks ago?" I asked him. "Remember, sir! Remember, sir! Remember all." "What do you remember?" "Well, sir, Miss Delano and Mr. Burke Pambon came to my window. That's his check. I don't think he writes checks of that size very often, but the clerk says he has enough deposit to cover the The money. When I put the amount into her account, they stood there--Miss Dillano and Mr. Pambon--talking and laughing, and then they went away, and that was it." "This check," said Axford slowly, after the cashier had returned to his seat, "is a forgery, but I will certainly advance the money. It is all right, Mr. Don't startle everyone." "Of course, Mr. Axford, of course." The burden of 20,000 dollars was unloaded from his bank, and Clement smiled and nodded, feeling relieved. So Axford and I left the bank and got into the coupe he'd driven up from the office.Instead of driving right away, though, he sat for a while, staring at the traffic on Montgomery Street ahead as if he didn't see it. "I want you to find Burke," he said quickly, in a bass voice without any emotion, "I want you to find him without any gossip. If my wife knows about it—no, she can't; she thinks who Her brother will be tempted to see her. I want you to help me find him. Girls don't care, but in my opinion, if you find one, you have found two. I don't care about the money. You don't have to worry about getting it back. The change of money is sure to come out. I want you to find Burke before he does something else." "If you want to avoid the wrong exposure," I said, "the best way to do it is to get it right. Let's declare him missing and give the papers all his pictures and all. They'll work hard because he's a Your brother-in-law and poet. We can say he's sick - you said he was always sickly - say we're worried he's dying somewhere or going insane. No need to mention girls or money, but his disappearance first Spread the word. By explaining it this way, we can prevent others—especially your wife—from being suspicious, because sooner or later the story will spread.” At first he disapproved, but then I won. Next we went to Pambon's apartment and we got in easily because Axford explained that we had an appointment with him and wanted to wait for him inside.I ran a blanket search of every room and found not a single hole.No matter where it is written, I have read everything that has words, even his manuscripts, but I still have no clue about his disappearance. I looked at his photographs involuntarily—at least a dozen, and pocketed five.Axford said the poet's bag and suitcase were still in the utility room.I couldn't find his passbook for the Golden Gate Trust Company. I spent the rest of the day preparing the paper for the news we wanted them to know.They were very generous to my ex-client: front page, with photos and embellished with impunity.Anyone in San Francisco who didn't know that Burke Pambon, Roy Axford's brother-in-law and author of Poems: Shaling and Others, was missing was either illiterate or didn't read the newspapers. This kind of advertising is very effective.The next morning, news poured in from all directions. Dozens of people had seen the missing poet in dozens of places.A few of them seemed promising—possible at least, but most of them were ridiculous on the surface. I followed leads to a report that looked good, but to no avail.When I got back to the agency, I found a note asking me to call Axford. "Can you come to my office now?" he said on the phone. I was ushered into Axford's office.Besides Axford, there was a lad of twenty-one or twenty.He has breasts and is stylishly dressed. He is probably the kind of employee who loves to show off. "This is Mr. Fall, one of our staff," Axford told me. "He said he saw Burke on Sunday night." "Where is it?" I asked Foer. "Saw him go into a restaurant near Half Moon Bay." "Are you sure it's him?" "Unmistakable! He used to come to Mr. Axford's office. I know him. It must be him." "How did you happen to see him?" "I was walking back from the beach with some friends and stopped for a bite to eat at the restaurant. As we were leaving a car came up and Mr. Panborn and a girl or woman - I didn't pay much attention to her - got out of the car and went in .I didn't think there was anything wrong until last night when I read in the paper that he had been missing since Sunday, so I thought—" "Which restaurant?" I interrupted. "White cabin." "About what time?" "Somewhere between eleven-thirty and midnight, I suppose." "He saw you?" "No. I was already in the car when he drove over." "What do women look like?" "I don't know. I didn't see her face, and I don't remember what she was wearing. I don't even know whether she is tall or short." That's all Foer could say, and we sent him on his way.Then I called "Italian" Healy's in North Beach on Axford's phone and left a message saying to call Jack when "Piggy" Grau passed by.I see that Piggy usually uses this code, so as not to be seen through the relationship between the two of us. "Know the white log cabin?" I asked Axford after the call. "I know where it is, but I have no idea what kind of place it is." "Oh, that's a den of thieves, owned by 'Tin Star' Joplin. The guy used to be a steal, and restaurants were good in the Prohibition era, and he used his ill-gotten gains to open them. He's making more money than he ever did. He dreams more when he's cracking safes. Retailing spirits is kind of his side business, but the main way he makes his money is by using restaurants as staging points for bootleg booties from Half Moon Bay. It's lucrative because West Coast beer Half the moonshine on the cargo ship is unloaded in Half Moon Bay. "The white cabin is a den of thieves, not where your brother-in-law hangs out. I'd be a shocker if I went there myself, Joplin and I are old friends. But I can arrange to stay there alone for a few nights." ...Pangborn might be a regular there, maybe even live there. It's not the first time Joplin has used that place to hide. Anyway, I'll put mine there for a week and see if he can find out what." "That's all up to you," said Axford. I went straight from Axford's office to my room and sat down to wait for Piggy Grau, leaving the outside door open.I had been waiting an hour and a half when he opened the door and came in. "Hey! How's the business?" He swaggered to a chair, sat down, put his feet on the table, and reached out to grab a pack of cigarettes on the table. 这就是猪仔格劳：白脸，三十多岁，块头不大不小，永远穿得亮闪闪的——虽然有时候挺脏。他老摆出一副大摇大摆的样子，讲话虚张声势，装得非常自信，然而这一切都是为了掩饰他极其懦弱的本性。 不过我已经认识他三年了。所以这会儿我走过房间，猛地把他的脚推下桌子。他差点儿向后仰倒。 “这是干什么？”他爬起来，蹲着吼道，“你这是什么意思？你想挨揍吗——” 我朝他走近一步，他闪开了，穿过房间。 “哎，说着玩儿的嘛，别当真！” “闭嘴，给我坐下。”我提出忠告。 我认识这个猪仔格劳三年了，用他也差不多有那么久，可我没法为他说半句好话。他是个懦夫、骗子、小偷、瘾君子；他出卖同行，要是没人看着，估计也会出卖老板，可真是一只好鸟！不过侦探本来就不好干，能用得上的工具就都要用。这个猪仔如果用得对，效率还挺高——意思是要一直掐住他的脖子不放，而且他带来的消息也不能全信。 他的懦弱对我来说正是他的资本。他的恶名传遍了黑道横行的西岸，虽然没人会笨到信任他——不管白道黑道——不过大伙儿倒也不完全排斥他。他的大多数同伙都认定他是懦夫，因此不构成任何威胁。他们以为他不敢出卖他们，以为他对黑帮发泄在告密者身上的雷霆之怒敬畏有加。不过他们没想到猪仔有个天分：在危险还没逼近时，他可以说服自己他是个雄狮般的英雄好汉，可以自由出入他想去或者我要他去的地方，而且带来我原本得不到的零星信息。 近三年来我用他用得还挺顺手；钱给得挺多，把他看得也挺严。报告里我提到他时用的是线民这个文雅的词，但地下社会形容他这种人的字眼比一般人说的“告密者”还要难听。 “我有个差事给你。”我告诉他。现在他又坐下了，脚放在地上，松弛的嘴巴向左边咧去，挤得那边的眼睛眯起来，好像什么都知道似的。“我就知道。”这是他惯常的台词。 “我要你到半月湾，在锡星乔普林的店里待几个晚上。这儿有两张照片，”我把潘本跟女孩的个人照各一张推过桌子，“他们的名字和外貌都写在照片后头。我要知道他们是否在那儿露过脸，做了什么，平时待在哪儿。没准儿锡星把他们窝藏起来了。” 猪仔会意地从一张照片看到另一张，从咧着的嘴角吐出话来：“我觉得我认识这个男的。”这又是猪仔的一个特色，你只要提个名字或者讲些特点，他一定会做出这种反应——就算你随便编个人也一样。 “钱在这儿。”我把几张纸钞推过桌子，“你在那儿要是超过两个晚上，我会再加钱。跟我保持联系，打这个电话，或者办公室那个不对外公开的。还有——记好了——不准碰毒品！要是我在那儿看到你吸得晕头转向的话，我一定把你卖给乔普林。” 此时他已经数好钱了——总共也没几张可数的——然后一脸不屑地把钱扔回桌上。 “你还是留着打发报社吧，”他冷笑道，“没钱在那个店里能干啥？” “两天的花费这可是绰绰有余的，没准儿还能剩一半呢。要是你在那里超过了两天，我会加钱的。完事以后拿工钱，之前想都别想。” 他摇摇头站起来。“我受够了你这个小气鬼，要做你自个儿做好了，老子不玩了！” “今晚不去半月湾的话，你就完了！”我这样跟他保证，随便他怎么理解这个威胁。 当然，没坚持几分钟他就拿钱走了。每回找他办事都要先为开销争执一番，这是例行前奏。 猪仔走后，我靠回椅子，为这事儿抽了五六支法蒂玛香烟。先是女孩拿了两万块跑掉，然后诗人也走了，而且两个都到了白色木屋——不管是不是长住。表面看来事情很明显。女孩要潘本借用他姐夫的户头开张假支票，然后经过目前我还无法确定的步骤以后，他们一起逃跑了。 还有两个没有落实的细节。一是找到帮女孩寄信给潘本的同伙，女孩的行李也是他打理的，这件事巴尔的摩分社正在办。二是我查到有人从女孩的公寓坐出租车到侯爵旅馆，那人是谁？ 第二点也许跟这件事无关，也许有关。要是我能找到侯爵旅馆和白色木屋之间的关联，或许就可以前后串出个名堂来。我翻了翻电话簿最后几页，找到了白色木屋的电话号码，然后我就去了侯爵旅馆。我到达时，认出在总机值班的女孩恰好以前和我有过交易。“是谁一直在拨半月湾的号啊？”我问她。 “老天！”她仰靠在椅子上，白里透粉的手轻轻掠过她前额上抹过发胶的大波浪红头发，“我已经够忙的了，怎么可能记住每一个打进来的电话？这儿又不是出租公寓，我们一个星期可不止一通电话。” “你们可没有很多打给半月湾的电话，”我坚持道，一只胳膊肘撑在柜台上，一张折起来的五块钱钞票在手里若隐若现，“最近有过的话，你应该记得。” “我看看吧。”她叹了口气，一副不抱什么希望然而尽力而为的模样。 她翻了翻手上的一沓纸条。 “这儿有一次——五二二号房打出去的，两个星期前。” “打什么号码？” “半月湾五十一号。” 那就是白色木屋的号码，我把那五块钱递过去。 “五二二的客人是长住吗？” “是的，科尔克斯先生，已经住了三四个月。” "What does he do?" “不知道。要是问我的话，我会说他是一个百分之百的绅士。” “不错嘛。他长什么样？” “是个年轻人，不过头发开始白了。皮肤有点黑，很帅，像个电影明星。” 五二二房的钥匙挂在架子上属于它的位置。我在一个能看得着它的地方坐下来。大概一个小时以后，有个职员取下那把钥匙，递给一个人。这人长得还真像电影明星，三十岁左右，皮肤黝黑，头发黑亮，两鬓有点发白。他足有六英尺高，穿着时髦，身材挺拔。 他拿了钥匙便消失在电梯里。 我当时就打电话到社里，请老头派迪克·弗利过来。十分钟后，迪克到了。他是一只加拿大小虾米——不到一百一十磅。虽然我见过无数会盯梢的人，但他是我见过的最出色的。 “帮我跟踪个家伙，”我跟迪克说，“名叫科尔克斯，住五二二号房。你先到外头转转，到时候我会把他指给你看。”我回到大厅，又等了些时候。 八点钟时，科尔克斯下楼离开旅馆。我跟了他半条街——远到可以把他转交给迪克——然后回家。以防万一猪仔格劳想跟我联系，我一直待在电话旁边。当晚他没打电话。
第二天早晨我到社里时，迪克正在等我。 “运气怎么样？”我问。 “倒霉透了！”小个子加拿大人情绪不稳时，讲话就像发电报一样简洁，这会儿他可真是恼了，“过两个路口就把我甩了，只看到了出租车。” “你说他发现了吗？” “没有，脑子灵光，打保险牌。” “那就再盯一次吧。最好准备一辆车，免得到时候他又耍那一招。” 迪克出去时电话响了。是猪仔格劳，打的是社里没登记的号码。“挖到什么了吗？”我问。 “多着呢！”他夸口道。 “很好！你在城里吗？” "exist." “二十分钟后在我房里见。”我说。 这个长着一张白脸的线民走进来时一副飘飘然的样子。他大摇大摆地穿过我没锁的门，迈着舞蹈般的步伐，总是在抽动的嘴角这会儿带着冷笑，活像全能全知的所罗门王再世。 “小子，我帮你弄妥啦，”他吹牛道，“对我来说是小事一桩。我去了那里，跟所有知道点儿什么的人都聊过，能看的也都看了。我用X光扫描了整个贼窝，我可是——” “嗯，”我打断他，“恭喜恭喜，不过请问你到底发现了什么？” “我正要说呢。”他抬起一只脏手，好像交警指挥交通，“不要急，我会一五一十全告诉你的。” “当然，”我说，“我知道你很能干，有你帮我办事我真是幸运。不过请问潘本在那儿吗？” “我就要说到那里了。我去了那边以后——” “你到底看到潘本没有？” “我正在说啊，我去了那边以后——” “猪仔，”我说，“你干了什么我他妈的才懒得管，你看到潘本没有？” “看到了，我看到他了。” “好！告诉我你看到了什么？” “他在锡星那儿住。他，还有你给我的那张照片上的女人都在。她在那儿待了一个月了。我没瞧见她，不过有个小弟跟我提起过。潘本是我亲眼看见的。他们不常露面，老在他们住的地方待着不出来，那地方是锡星给他们住的。潘本从星期天开始就待在那儿了。我去了那边以后——” “打听出那个女孩是谁了吗？他们在那儿干什么？” “没，我去了那边以后——” “行了，今晚你再去一趟那边。等你确定潘本还在那儿没走，就打电话给我。别搞砸了，我可不想跑到那儿把他们吓得溜之大吉。打社里没登记的那个电话，不管谁接，都说你要晚点儿才能回城——意思就是潘本还在那儿。所以你即使从乔普林的店打出来，也不会走漏风声。” “我还要现金，”他站起来时说道，“花费——” “我会帮你填表申请的，”我答应道，“现在滚吧，今晚你一确定潘本在那儿，就通知我。” 然后我去了阿克斯福德的办公室。“我看我找到线索了，”我告诉百万富翁，“希望今晚能让你跟他谈谈。我的人说他昨晚在白色木屋，也许就住在那儿。要是他今晚也在那里，我就带你过去——如果你想去的话。” “为什么不现在去？” “不行，那地方白天死气沉沉的，我的人在那儿晃太惹眼了，我不想让你或者我自己冒任何风险。除非确定能面对面见到潘本，否则我们不去。” “那你要我怎么做？” “今晚准备好一辆快车，我传话过来就马上出发。” “没问题，我五点半以后会在家。你准备好要走就打给我，我去接你。” 那天晚上九点半，我和阿克斯福德并肩坐在一辆大马力进口车的前座上，一路风驰电掣开往半月湾。猪仔打过电话了。 一路上我们谁都没怎么讲话，那辆怪兽般的进口车很快就把我们送到了那里。阿克斯福德坐在驾驶座上，姿势悠闲舒适，可我头一次发现他有一个相当大的下巴。 白色木屋是栋很大的方形建筑，用仿石材料建成。从公路上伸出的两条弧形车道可以进入这里，这两条车道正好凑成一个半圆，公路本身是这个半圆的直径。这个半圆形的中心是车棚，底下停了乔普林顾客的车子，周围不是花圃就是灌木丛。我们开进这条半圆形车道的尾端，刚刚开始降低车速—— 阿克斯福德猛踩刹车，庞然大物陡然停下，我们俩磕到了挡风玻璃——车子险些撞上一群突然聚拢过来的人。 车前灯打出的光圈照出一张张脸：苍白的、饱受惊吓的、鬼鬼祟祟的，还有带着冷酷好奇心的。灯光逐渐照出一张张脸下面的肩膀和白色胳膊，然后是被暗淡的男人衣服映衬得很显眼的亮色长袍和珠宝。 这是我的第一印象。等我把脸从挡风玻璃移开时，发现这堆人围着一个中心，那里面有个东西。我站起来，想从众人的头顶看过去，可是什么也看不到。 我从车道上跳下来，挤开人群穿过去。 有个男人趴在白色碎石路上，是个穿深色衣服的瘦子。就在他领子上头，脑袋和脖子的交接处有个洞。我跪下去眯起眼睛看他的脸，然后又挤出人群，回到阿克斯福德刚刚下了车的地方——引擎还在转。我说：“潘本死了——枪杀。” 阿克斯福德机械地脱下手套，折好放进口袋。接着他点点头，表示听懂了我说的话，然后向诗人的尸体周围的人群走去。我看着他消失在人群里，于是到旁边去找猪仔格劳。 我发现猪仔站在前廊上，背靠一根廊柱。我从他可以看到我的地方走过，绕到餐馆侧面比较隐蔽的地方。 猪仔在阴影里走了过来。夜不凉，但他的牙齿在打战。 “谁杀他的？”我逼问。 “不知道。”他发出哀声，我这可是头一回听他承认自己什么也不知道，“我在里头盯其他人。” “什么其他人？” “锡星，还有个我没见过的人，跟那女的在一起。我没想到潘本要出去，因为他没戴帽子。” “这事儿你到底知道多少？” “我给你打了电话以后没多久，那姑娘就和潘本从乔普林供他们隐藏的窝里出来了，坐在前廊另一头的一张桌子上，那边挺黑的。他们吃了一会儿东西，然后另外那个男的就来了，和他们坐在一起。我不知道他叫什么，不过我想我在城里见过他，个子很高，打扮光鲜。” 应该是科尔克斯。 “他们聊了一会儿，然后乔普林也来了，他们围着桌子一起聊天说笑。大概一刻钟后，潘本站起来往里走。我坐在一张桌子前盯他们，但那地方很挤，我怕我一走开桌子就会给别人占了，所以我就没跟那孩子。他没戴帽子，我以为他不会上哪儿去。不过他一定是穿过房子从前头出去了，因为没多久就传来了枪声。我原以为是车子引擎逆火，接下来是车子突突开走的声音，然后有人尖叫说外头死了人，大家全往外跑去看，发现是潘本。” “你确定潘本中枪的时候，乔普林、科尔克斯跟那个女孩都在桌旁？” “错不了，”猪仔说，“要是那个深色皮肤的男人叫科尔克斯的话。” “他们现在人呢？” “回乔普林的窝了。他们一看潘本被做掉，就回那儿去了。” 我对猪仔没有幻想。我知道他有办法出卖我，再为杀害诗人的凶手提供不在场证明。不过倒是有一点：要真的是乔普林、科尔克斯或者女孩联手做掉了诗人，又买通了我的线民，那我绝不会有办法证明凶案发生时他们不在酒店后面。乔普林有那么一伙食客，他让他们说任何话他们都会照办，眼睛都不眨一下，所以后面应该会有十多个所谓的目击者为他们作证。 所以我现在只能假设猪仔是忠于我的。“你看到迪克·弗利没？”我问，因为是迪克在盯科尔克斯的梢。 "No." “去周围看看，告诉他我上楼找乔普林谈话了，让他也上去。你别走远了，万一我想找你也找得到。” 我从一扇落地窗进去，穿过空空的舞池，上了通往锡星住处的楼梯。那个地方在后面的二楼，我知道路，以前来过。乔普林跟我是老朋友。 我这就上去吓唬吓唬他和他朋友，看看有没有渺茫的机会问出什么东西来——虽然我知道自己手上没有他们的把柄。当然我可以从那个女孩下手，不过那就得对外宣告死掉的诗人伪造了他姐夫的签名开了张支票，这可行不通。 “进来。”当我轻轻地敲了敲乔普林客厅的门，一个熟悉的深沉声音说道。我推门而入。 锡星乔普林站在地板中间。他是个大块头，前任惯偷，肩膀厚实得超乎寻常，还有一张毫无表情的马脸。他后头坐着科尔克斯，一条腿搭在桌角。在他英俊的黑脸上，那抹玩味的微笑后面藏着机警。房间另一头的应该是珍妮·迪兰诺，那姑娘坐在一张大皮椅的扶手上。诗人说她很美，的确没有夸大其词。 “你！”乔普林一认出我，就马上厌恶地吼道，“你他妈的想要什么？” “你有什么？” 不过我的脑子可不在这种文字游戏上，我在研究那姑娘。她看来好像有些眼熟——可我想不起来在哪儿见过。也许我没见过她，也许是看了太多次潘本给我的照片，产生了似曾相识的感觉。照片是会产生这种效果的。 与此同时，乔普林说话了：“我可没时间浪费。” 我说：“要是你能把以前各个法官判你的刑期都省下来，加在一起可有不少时间呢。” 我以前在哪儿见过这女孩。她身材窈窕，一身发亮的蓝袍，前胸、后背和胳膊都露了很多，也确实值得一露；椭圆脸蛋是标准的粉红色，深棕色长发垂下来。她眼睛分得很开，带着一抹灰色，诗人比喻说像擦亮的银器上的阴影，不是完全没有道理。我研究起那个女孩来，她平静地回望我，可我还是想不出来在哪儿见过她。科尔克斯还在桌角上耷拉着腿晃荡。 乔普林开始不耐烦了。“拜托你不要再死盯着她。说，你到底想怎样？”他嚷道。 女孩笑起来，讽刺的微笑，露出小小的虎牙的一角，如剃须刀般尖利。看到那笑容，我认出来了！ 她的头发和肤色骗了我。我最后一次——也是唯一一次——看到她的时候，她的脸像大理石一样白，头发比较短，颜色像火焰。她跟一个老太太、三个男人和我，在土耳其街的一栋房子里玩过捉迷藏——为的是某银行小弟的凶杀案和价值十万的失窃债券。因为她使了手腕，她的三个同伙当晚都死了，而第四个——那个中国人——后来也在福尔瑟姆监狱上了绞刑架。她当时的名字是艾薇拉，从她逃离那座房子的那个晚上起，我们搜遍了每一条边境，甚至边境以外，都没有结果。 虽然我竭力掩饰，眼里想必还是泄露了我认出她来了，因为这会儿她蛇一般迅疾地滑下了椅子扶手，朝我走来。她的眼睛现在看起来更像钢而不是银。 我掏出枪。 乔普林向我迈出半步。“你想干什么？”他吼道。 科尔克斯滑下桌子，一只黑瘦的手在领带上头游移。 “想干这个——”我告诉他们，“我认为两个月前的一宗谋杀案和这姑娘有关，而且也许——我不确定——还包括今晚的。总之，我这就——” 我身后的电灯开关啪地响了一声，房间顿时暗下来。 我动起来，朝哪个方向动无所谓，只要能离开熄灯前我站的那个位置就好。 我的后背碰到一堵墙，于是我停住脚，蹲下来。 “快，孩子！”从我觉得应该是门的地方传来嘶哑的耳语。 但我认为这房间的两扇门都是关着的，要是开着的话，应该会露出灰色的长方形。大家都在暗中跑，不过没有一个挡在我跟灰暗的方形窗中间。 我前面有个什么东西咔嚓响了一声。那咔嚓声好像太轻了，不像是手枪打开保险，不过有可能是开弹簧刀的声音，接着我便想起了锡星乔普林对这种武器有偏好。 “走吧！”嘶哑的耳语像拳头一样打破了黑暗。 脚步声；被捂住了，听不分明……有个声音在不远处…… 一只强有力的手突然掐住我的肩膀，肌肉发达的身体紧紧压住了我。我拿枪用力支开他，听到一声哀号。 那只手从我的肩膀移向脖子。 我用膝盖撞了他一下，又听到一声哀号。 我身体一侧的某处觉得火烧火燎的。 我又拿枪猛戳了一下——等枪口摆脱那挡住它的软软的障碍物以后，我把枪抽回，按下扳机。枪响声。我听到了乔普林的声音，带着实事求是的惊奇：“他妈的！打中我了。” 我猛地跳起身，向一扇打开的透出暗淡黄光的门走去。我没听到有人走掉，因为我太忙了。不过我知道乔普林压在我身上时，其他人都趁机溜走了。 我边跳边滑，一步几个台阶地从楼梯上跑下来，一个人也没看到。我跳到舞厅地板上时，有个小弟挡了我的路。我不知道他是不是故意的，我没问，直接用枪柄打他的脸，然后继续走。我跳过一条伸出来绊我的腿，到了门外我又打伤了一张脸。 然后我就到了门外半圆形的车道上。车道另一头，一道红色车尾灯拐向东，朝乡间大路开走了。 我朝阿克斯福德的车飞奔时，注意到潘本的尸体已经被抬走了。有几个人还围在他躺过的地方，此时他们张大了嘴吃惊地看着我。 车子跟阿克斯福德下车时一样，引擎还在转。我开车绕过花圃上了公路，笔直朝东开去。五分钟后，我又瞥见了车尾灯的红点。 我开的这辆车比我这辈子需要的马力都大，超过了我能处理的范围。我不知道前头那辆开得有多快，不过我追上去时，感觉它好像一直没动似的。 一英里半，或许两英里—— 突然，一个男人出现在前边的路面上，我的车灯还照不着他。但下一瞬间车灯已经照到他了，是猪仔格劳！ 猪仔格劳站在路中央看着我，一手一把自动手枪，闪着暗淡的金属光。 他手里的枪好像发出微红，然后又在我车头灯的照耀下转暗——先发亮后转暗，就像广告招牌上的两个灯泡一样。 挡风玻璃在我周围变得粉碎。 猪仔格劳——这位线民的名字在太平洋海岸由南到北都是懦夫的代号——站在路中心，对着朝他冲去的金属流星开枪…… 我没看到结局。 我坦白承认，他死灰色的脸出现在我的散热器上时，我闭上了眼睛。我坐下的金属怪兽抖了一下——不是很厉害——然后前头的路又空了，除了那飞驰的红灯。我的挡风玻璃没了，风猛吹着我没戴帽子的头，吹得我眯起的眼睛流出了眼泪。 没多久我发现我在自言自语：“那是猪仔，那是猪仔。”简直不可思议。他出卖我不奇怪，这是意料之中的。他偷偷跟我上楼把灯关掉也不足为奇。不过对他来说，直挺挺地站在那儿，死在—— 前头的车扫来一道橘黄色的光，打断了我的惊异。子弹离我很远——从一辆开着的车朝另一辆开着的车射击，想射准可不容易。不过照我现在的速度看，要不了多久我就会近到成了可以射得到的靶子。 我打开仪表板上的探照灯。灯光还没打到前头的车，不过我可以看清是女孩在开车，科尔克斯坐在她旁边转着身看我。那是辆黄色单排座敞篷车。