Two green dice rolled across the table of the same color, hit the raised edge of the table and bounced back.One stopped quickly, showing six white dots arranged in two rows; the other rolled to the center of the table before stopping, with only one dot on it. "Ah—" Ned Beaumont muttered vaguely, and the winners swept the money off the table. Harry Sloss picked up the dice and played them in his large pale hairy hands. "Two bets." He threw a twenty-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill on the gaming table. Ned Beaumont drew back. "It's his turn, gamblers, I've got to replenish my bets," he said, walking across the billiard room to the door, just in time to meet Walter Evans who was about to enter.Ned said "Hi, Walter" and was about to go on, but Evans grabbed his elbow as he passed and turned to look at him.

"Have you...you...have you talked to Paul... Paul...Paul?" "Pa... Paul...Paul" and splotches of spittle came from Evans' mouth. "I was going upstairs to see him." The porcelain blue eyes on Evans' handsome round face lit up for a moment, until Ned Beaumont squinted and said again, "If you're impatient, don't expect too much." Evans' jaw twitched. "But... but... but she's going to have a little... little... baby next month." Surprise flashed across Ned Beaumont's dark eyes.He withdrew his arm from the man who was shorter than himself, took a few steps back, tilted the corner of his mouth under the dark mustache to one side, and said, "Walter, the timing is not good, and—anyway, you'd better Don't expect it to be resolved before November, so as not to be disappointed." After speaking, his eyes narrowed again, looking at the other party.

"But... but... but if you sue... tell him..." "I will try my best to urge him. And you should also understand that he will try his best, but he is in a difficult moment now." He shook his shoulders and his face darkened, but his eyes still had a warning light. Evans licked his lips, blinked furiously, took a deep breath, and reached out to pat Ned Beaumont's chest. "Go up... go up... go up." He urged, pleading in his voice, "I...I...I'll wait...for you here." Ned Beaumont was lighting a thin green-spotted cigar as he went upstairs.When he reached the second-floor staircase with the governor's portrait on the wall, he turned to the street side of the building and knocked on the closed thick oak door at the end of the corridor.

As soon as Paul Mazvi said "Come in," he opened the door and went in.Paul Mazvi was alone in the room, standing in front of the window with his hands in his trouser pockets, his back to the door, looking down at the dim Chinatown downstairs through the curtains. "Well, here you are." He turned around slowly.Paul Mazvi was forty-five, about the same height as Ned Beaumont, but with forty pounds of lean muscle.His hair was light and well parted in the middle; his face was rosy and his features resolute, and he could be called handsome.His clothes were of good quality, and his appearance was immaculate, so that there was nothing pompous about him.

"Lend me a little money," Ned Beaumont said after closing the door. "How much?" Mazvi took out a large brown wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket. "two hundred." "Lost the bet?" Mazvi gave him a check for one hundred dollars and five twenty-dollar bills. "Thanks," Ned Beaumont put the money away, "yes." "You haven't won any money in a while, have you?" Mazvi asked, putting his hands back in his trouser pockets. "Not that long—a month or six weeks." Mazvi smiled. "If you lose money, it will be a long time."

"Not to me." Ned Beaumont's voice was tinged with anger. Mazvi rummaged through a stack of coins in his pocket. "Is it a big bet tonight?" He leaned against the corner of the table, and then looked down at the shiny brown leather shoes on his feet. Ned Beaumont looked at the blond man inexplicably, then shook his head and said, "Small." He walked to the window, and the sky above the buildings across the street was dark.He brushed past Mazvi, picked up the phone on the table and dialed a number. "Hello, Bernie, I'm Ned. What's the odds on Peggy O'Toole right now? That's it? . . . well, five hundred each for me... well... I'm sure It's going to rain, and then she'll beat the Incinerator... ok, tell me the odds then... um."

He hung up the phone and turned back to Mazvi. "Since you are so unlucky, why don't you rest for a while?" Mazvi asked him. Ned Beaumont frowned. "That's useless. It's just going to keep the bad luck going. I should put fifteen hundred dollars on one horse instead of splitting it up. Maybe I'll take the big one once and my bad luck will be over." Mazvi looked up with a low smile. "That's what you can afford." The corners of Ned Beaumont's mouth drooped, and the corners of his mustache drooped. "As long as it falls on my head, I can handle anything." He said, walking towards the door.

"I think you can, Ned," he heard Mazvi say earnestly, as his hand was on the doorknob. He turned around. "How?" he asked impatiently. Mazvi turned his eyes away and stared out the window. "Can face anything." Ned Beaumont studied Mazvi's evasive look, and the blond man began to flick the coins in his pocket unnaturally again.Ned put on a blank look, and asked in a tone of utter bewilderment, "Who are you talking about?" Mazvi blushed.He left the table and took a step towards Ned Beaumont. "Go to hell," he said. Ned Beaumont laughed.

Mazvi also smiled shyly, took out a handkerchief trimmed with green and wiped his face. "Why haven't you been to my house recently?" he asked, "Mom said last night that she hasn't seen you for a month." "I'll probably go there one night this week." Mazvi put away his handkerchief. "You should come. You know how much Ma likes you. Come and have dinner." Ned Beaumont walked slowly toward the door again, watching the blond man out of the corner of his eye. "That's why you want to see me?" he asked with his hand on the doorknob.

Mazvi frowned. "Well, it's—" he cleared his throat, "uh... ah, there are other things." He suddenly put away his timid expression, became very calm and self-controlled, "Thursday is Miss Henry's birthday, What do you think I should give her? You know more about this kind of thing than I do. " Ned Beaumont let go of the doorknob.When he turned to face Mazvi, he had hidden his shocked eyes.He puffed on his cigar and asked, "They're having a birthday event or something, right?" "right." "Invited you?" Mazvi shook his head. "But I'll be over for dinner tomorrow night."

Ned Beaumont glanced at the cigar in his hand, then looked up into Mazvi's face again. "Paul, are you going to support the Senator?" he asked. "I think we will." "Why?" Ned Beaumont's voice was very soft when he said this, and so was his smile. Mazvi smiled too. "Because we help him, he can defeat Ron; and with him supporting us, we can overwhelm other candidates and be invincible." Ned Beaumont put his cigar back into his mouth, and continued to ask softly: "Without your—" he emphasized the word "you," "—would that Senator be elected this time?" "Impossible." Mazvi replied calmly and firmly. Ned Beaumont paused for a moment, then asked again: "Does he understand that?" "He should know better than anyone else. And if he doesn't—what does it matter to you?" Ned Beaumont sneered. "If he doesn't understand," he said meaningfully, "won't you come over to dinner tomorrow night?" Mazvi frowned, and asked again: "What the hell is it about you?" Ned Beaumont took out the cigar from his mouth, the end of which he had bitten off. "It's none of my business," he said, with a thoughtful look on his face, "but don't you think the other candidates don't need his support?" "No one can get single-minded support," Mazvi replied cautiously, "but even without his support, we can still get through." "Did you promise him anything?" Mazvi's lips twisted. "It's almost done." Ned Beaumont was pale.He lowered his head until he had to look up at the blond. "Leave him alone, Paul," he said in a low, hoarse voice, "let him lose." "Hey, I'll be damned if I do that!" Mazvi whispered suspiciously with his fists behind his hips. Ned Beaumont walked past Mazvi, pressing his cigar out with trembling thin fingers into the copper ashtray on the table. Mazvi stared at the younger man until he straightened up and turned around.Then the blond grinned at him half affectionately half annoyed. "What's wrong with you, Ned?" he complained. "You've been silent for so long, and then dropped this bomb for no reason. If I can figure you out, hell!" Ned Beaumont grimaced in disgust. "Well, forget what I said." Immediately afterwards, he threw another question, "Do you think he will buy your account after he wins re-election?" Mazvi is not worried. "I can cure him." "Maybe, but don't forget, he's never had a losing business in his life." Mazvi nodded without objection. "Of course, and that's one of the best reasons for me to work with him." "No, Paul, no," said Ned Beaumont earnestly, "that's the worst possible reason. You've got to figure it out, if you want to. His brainless blond daughter has a lot of power over you." How big is it?" "I'm going to marry Miss Henry," said Mazvi. Ned Beaumont made a whistle. "Is that included in your agreement?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. Mazvi smiled childishly. "No one else knows," he replied, "just you and me." Spots of blood stained Ned Beaumont's lean cheeks, and he tried to smile as kindly as he could. "I'm never going to spread the word about it, but you've got to take my word for it. If you want anything, you've got to get them to write it down in black and white, get it sworn to by a notary, and pay a deposit. Or, better, insist on Get married before the election. That way, at least you don't lose your fair share of flesh—about a hundred and ten pounds in her case, right?" Mazvi turned his face away from Ned Beaumont's gaze. "I don't understand why you keep thinking the Senator is a liar. He's a gentleman, and—" "Yes, I read it in the Post - one of the last remaining aristocrats in American politics. His daughter is also an aristocrat. That's why I warn you to be careful when dealing with them, or you'll end up with nothing You can't get it. Because to them, you are just a lowly creature, and you have nothing to do with following the rules of the game." Mazvi sighed. "Oh, Ned, don't be so annoying—" But Ned Beaumont remembered something, and a nasty gleam came into his eyes.He said: "And we shouldn't forget that little Tyler Henry was a nobleman too, and maybe that's why you're not letting Opal hang out with him anymore. If you marry his sister, he's an Opal Uncle of Opal, how can it be done? Will he be able to circle around Opal again?" Mazvi yawned. "You don't understand me, Ned," said he. "I didn't ask you about these things. I only asked what you should give Miss Henry." Ned Beaumont's face lost all its luster and was clouded with dullness. "How far have you progressed with her?" His voice did not reveal any thoughts of his own. "No progress. I've been to the senator maybe five or six times. Can see her sometimes, but just say 'hello' or something. You know, I haven't had a chance to really talk to her yet .” A gleam of joy passed in Ned Beaumont's eyes.He smoothed one side of his beard with his thumbnail, and said, "Tomorrow is your first dinner there?" "Yes, and I don't want that to be the last time." "But you didn't get an invitation to the birthday party?" "Yes." Mazvi hesitated, "I haven't received it yet." "Then you won't like my answer." Mazvi was expressionless. "What answer?" he asked. "Don't give her anything." "Well, come on, Ned!" Ned Beaumont shrugged. "Then you can do whatever you want, you will ask me yourself." "But why?" "Don't give anything unless you're absolutely sure what the other person wants from you." "But everybody likes—" "Maybe, but it's actually a lot more nuanced. When you give a gift, it's a high-profile statement: You know they're happy to have you give—" "I see," Mazvi said.He rubbed his chin with the fingers of his right hand, frowned and said, "I think you're right," his face became brighter, "but it's a pity to miss this opportunity." Ned Beaumont quickly interjected: "Well, then send flowers, or something, and that'll do it." "Flowers? Jesus! I want to—" "Of course, you want to give her a sports car or a few yards of pearl necklaces. There will be opportunities later. You have to do it gradually at first." Mazvi frowned. "Ned, I think you're right. You're better at such things than I am. Send flowers, then." "Don't send too much," Ned went on. "Walter Evans is going around telling the world that you ought to get his brother out." Mazvi pulled the hem of the vest down. "Then the world should tell him that Tim is in jail until the end of the election." "You intend to put him on trial?" "That's right," Mazvi replied, then emphatically, "Ned, you know so fucking well that I can't do anything. Everyone's watching the election, and women's groups are rampant. If you deal with Tim now case, it would be tantamount to suicide." Ned Beaumont smiled slyly at the blond man, and said slowly, "We haven't entered the aristocratic circle yet, so there's no need to worry about women's groups so early on." "We have to worry now." Mazvi's eyes were unpredictable. "Tim's wife is due next month," said Ned Beaumont. Mazvi exhaled impatiently. "What a mess," he grumbled. "Why don't they think before they cause trouble? These people just don't have a brain, not a single one." "They have votes." "That's the fucking hard part!" Mazvi yelled.He stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up. "We'll take care of him after the vote is over. But we're not going to do anything until then." "That's not going to appease the crowd," Ned Beaumont squinted at Mazvi. "Heads or no heads, they're used to being looked after by us." Mazvi's chin lifted slightly, and his dark blue eyes were fixed on Ned Beaumont's. "So?" he asked softly. Ned Beaumont smiled, still in a matter-of-fact tone: "You know they will easily say that you didn't do things like this before you joined the senator." "So what?" Ned Beaumont was still smiling, his tone unchanged. "You know, that alone is enough to make them gossip about how Shad O'Llorico still takes good care of his brother." Mazvi, who had been listening intently, said now in a calm, measured tone: "I know you won't let them talk like that, Ned, and I'm sure you'll do your best to prevent the occasional gossip." For a moment they stood in silence, looking into each other's eyes, neither face expressing emotion.Then Ned Beaumont broke the silence. "It should help if we take care of Tim's wife and kids," he said. "You're right." Mazvi lowered his head, the gloomy look in his eyes faded, "Pay attention to this, okay? Meet all their needs." Walter Evans was waiting for Ned Beaumont on the landing.His eyes were wide open, hopeful. "He... how did he... say?" "It's the same as I told you: there's no way. After the election, Tim will have his way out of prison, but there can be no changes until then." Walter Evans dropped his head, and let out a low growl from deep in his chest. Ned Beaumont put a hand on each other's shoulders: "It's been a tough time for you, Paul knows better than anyone, but he can't even save himself. He wants you to tell Tim's wife, don't pay The bills—rent, food, medical expenses, and hospital expenses—just send them over to him.” Walter Evans looked up and took Ned Beaumont's hand in both of his. "O... for God's sake... he's such a good guy!" The tile-blue eyes moistened, "but... but I hope he can get... Tim out." "Well, there's always a little hope," Ned Beaumont withdrew his hand. "I'll get back to you." Then he walked around Evans and walked to the billiard room door. The pool room was empty. He took his hat and coat and went to the front door.The slender line of rain shone silver-gray and poured obliquely on Chinatown.Ned smiled, and whispered into the rain, "Come on, honey, you're worth three thousand two hundred and fifty dollars." He turned and walked back and called a taxi. Ned Beaumont drew his hands away from the dead man and rose to his feet.The dead man's head was tilted slightly to the left, away from the curb, so that his entire face was reflected in the halo of the street lamp at the corner.It was a young face, with a dark bruise on his forehead that ran from the blond curly hairline to one eyebrow, making the angry expression on his face even deeper. Ned Beaumont looked across Chinatown.There was no one in sight in front of him.At the other end, two blocks away, in front of the Chalet Club, two men were getting out of their cars.They left the car facing Ned Beaumont in front of the club and went inside. Ned Beaumont stared at the car for a few seconds, then turned his head suddenly to look at the street again.Then, in one breath, he skimmed across the sidewalk and into the nearest shade.He gasped for breath, sweat seeped from his palms, shining dots in the light.Trembling now, he turned up the collar of his coat. He supported the tree trunk with one hand, and stayed in the shadow of the tree for about half a minute, then suddenly straightened up and walked towards the cabin club.Leaning forward, he walked faster and faster, almost trotting by the time he saw someone coming across the street.So he immediately slowed down and straightened his body.The man turned into a house before hitting Ned Beaumont. By the time Ned Beaumont came to the club, his panting had subsided, but his lips were still pale for some reason.He glanced at the empty car as he passed, then stepped up the steps with lanterns at each end and entered the room. Harry Sloss and another man were coming out of the cloakroom and across the hall.They stopped and said in unison: "Hello, Ned." Sloss followed up: "I heard you bet on Peggy O'Toole today." "That's right." "How much did you bet?" "Three thousand two." Sloss licked his lower lip. "That's good. You should play a game tonight." "Come on. Is Paul here?" "I don't know. We just arrived. Don't wait too long—I promised the women in the family to come home early today." "Okay," Ned Beaumont answered, and went to the cloakroom. "Is Paul here?" he asked the waiter. "Come on, about ten minutes." Ned Beaumont glanced at his watch. It was half past ten.He went upstairs to the vestibule on the second floor.Mazvi sat at the table in his evening dress and was reaching for the phone when Ned Beaumont entered. "Ned, are you all right?" Mazvi withdrew his hand, his broad and handsome face was rosy and gentle. "I've been through worse," Ned Beaumont replied, closing the door behind him.He sat down on a chair not far from Mazvi. "How was dinner at Henry's?" Wrinkles formed at the corners of Mazvi's eyes. "I've been through worse, too." Ned Beaumont clipped the end of a blaze cigar, his fingers trembling.In contrast, his voice was unusually smooth. "Is Taylor there?" He looked up at Mazvi. "Not at dinner. What's the matter?" Ned Beaumont stretched his crossed legs, leaned back in his chair, and waved his hand on his cigar carelessly: "He died by the side of the gutter in the street." "Really?" Mazvi said calmly. Ned Beaumont leaned forward, his thin face tensed.The cigar wrapper crumbled between his fingers, making a crisp crackle. "Did you understand me?" he asked petulantly. Mazvi nodded slowly. "so what?" "So what?" "He was killed." "Okay," said Mazvi, "do you want me to be hysterical?" Ned Beaumont straightened up from his chair. "Should I call the police?" he asked. Mazvi raised his eyebrows slightly. "Don't they know yet?" Ned Beaumont looked directly at the blond man. "When I saw him just now, there was no one around. Before I act, I want to see you first. I'll tell the police that I found the body, okay?" Mazvi's eyebrows drooped. "What's wrong?" He asked blankly. Ned Beaumont stood up, took two steps in the direction of the phone, paused, and turned to the blond man again. "His hat's gone," he said slowly, emphatically. "He won't need it now anyway." Mazvi glared at him. "You're a goddamn fool, Ned." "There's an idiot among us," Ned replied, and walked toward the phone.
Ned Beaumont put the newspaper aside, drank what was left of the coffee in his cup, put the coffee and saucer on the bedside table, and poured it back on the pillow, sallow and tired.He pulled the coverlet up to his neck, folded his hands behind his head, and stared discontentedly at the etching that hung between the two windows of the bedroom. For half an hour he lay there, motionless except for his eyelids.Then he picked up the paper and read the report again.While reading, a look of hesitation poured out of his eyes and spread to his entire face.He put down the newspaper again, slowly got up from the bed reluctantly, and wrapped a brown and black fine-striped dressing gown around his thin body in loose pajamas.He slipped his feet into his brown slippers, coughed a few times, and walked into the living room. It was a large old-fashioned room with high ceilings, wide windows, a huge mirror over the fireplace, and much red velvet covering the furniture.He took a cigar from a box on the table and sat down in a wide red chair.He rested his feet on the lozenges of light cast by the near-noon sun on the ground.The smoke from his mouth suddenly became thicker as it diffused into the sunlight.Ned took the cigar from his lips, frowned, and bit his nails. There was a knock on the door.He sat up straight, his eyes piercing, his expression alert. "Come in." A waiter in a white coat came in. "Oh, well," said Ned Beaumont, disappointed in his tone, and relaxed, sinking back into the red velvet chair. The waiter passed him into the bedroom, came out with a few plates on a tray, and left.Ned Beaumont threw the half of his cigar into the fireplace and went into the bathroom.After shaving, bathing, and changing clothes, the sallowness on his face has faded, but his demeanor is still tired. It was not yet noon when Ned Beaumont left his room and walked the eight blocks to a gray and white apartment building on Link Street.He pressed a button on the porch, stepped in after the lock clicked, and took the cramped escalator up to the sixth floor. He rang the bell at a door marked 6B.The door opened immediately, and the person who opened it was a little girl who didn't seem to be in her twenties.Her eyes were deep and angry, and her entire face was white with anger except around the eye sockets. "Well, hello," she smiled, and made a vague comforting gesture with one hand, as if apologizing for her anger, and her voice was clear like metal.She was wearing a brown fur coat, but no hat.Her short hair is almost pure black, as soft and shiny as enamel, fitting against the round head shape; on her earlobes, she wears a pair of agate pendants inlaid with gold.She stepped back and opened the door at the same time. "Bernie still up?" Ned Beaumont asked her as he entered the hall. Anger returned to her face. "That bastard!" she said harshly. Ned Beaumont closed the door without looking back. The girl approached him, clutching his upper arm and trying to shake him. "You know what I did for that bastard?" she said, "I left the best family a girl could ever have, and good parents who treated me like a saint. They told me he wasn't any better ;everybody tells me that. They're right, I'm too dumb to not understand. Ah, I tell you, now I understand, that..." followed by a string of harsh expletives. Ned Beaumont listened gravely, motionless.Now his eyes don't look like a good old man anymore. "What did he do?" he asked when she paused to catch her breath. "What did you do? He left me and ran away, that..." Another string of foul words followed. Ned Beaumont flinched and forced a pale smile. "I don't think he left me anything?" The girl closed her mouth and brought her face close to Ned's. "Does he owe you anything?" Her eyes widened. "I won—" he coughed. "I should have won three thousand two hundred and fifty dollars in the fourth race yesterday." She pulled her hands away from his arm and smiled contemptuously. "Then try to ask for it. You see." She spread her hand, an agate ring was worn on the little finger of her left hand; she raised her hands again and touched the pair of agate earrings. "These are the shit he left me, and he wouldn't have left me if I wasn't wearing them." "When did this happen?" asked Ned Beaumont in an air of deliberately indifference. "Last night. Although I didn't find out until this morning. But that Mr. son of a bitch better pray God I don't run into him again." She reached into her clothes and clenched her hands into fists as she took them out.She brought her fist close to Ned Beaumont's face and opened her palm.Three crumpled little pieces of paper lay in the palm of her hand.When he reached out to take it, she closed her fingers again, stepped back, and withdrew her hand. He curled his lips impatiently, and dropped his hands to his side. "Did you read the Henry Taylor thing in the paper this morning?" she asked excitedly. "I see." Ned Beaumont replied quite calmly, but his chest heaved with rapid breathing. "Then do you know what this is?" She spread her hand again, showing the three crumpled pieces of paper. Ned Beaumont shook his head.He squinted his eyes, and there was a light in them. "It's Taylor Henry's IOU," she said triumphantly. "It's worth twelve hundred dollars." Ned Beaumont was about to say something, thought for a moment, and then said casually: "Now he's dead, and he's worth nothing." She pocketed the IOU again and approached Ned Beaumont. "Listen," she said, "they were never worth anything, and that's why he died." "Is that what you guessed?" "Call it what you want," she told him, "but I'll tell you this: Bernie called Tyler last Friday and said he'd only have three days off." Ned Beaumont brushed one side of his mustache with his thumbnail. "Are you out of your mind?" he asked cautiously. She looked indignant. "Of course I'm crazy," she said. "I'm crazy enough to go to the police with these IOUs, and I'm going to do it now. If you think I'm not, then you're a complete asshole .” Ned still didn't seem convinced. "Where did you get these?" "From the safe." The shiny and smooth head swung upward in the direction of the apartment. "What time did he leave last night?" Ned asked again. "I don't know. I got home at 9:30 and waited for him almost all night. I started to feel that something was wrong when it was almost dawn. I looked around and saw that he took every penny in the house and I didn't wear it. The jewelry was all gone." He smoothed his mustache again with his thumbnail, and asked, "Where do you think he's going?" She stomped her feet, clenched her hands into fists, waved them violently up and down, and once again cursed the missing Bernie tremblingly with indignation. "Come on." Ned Beaumont grabbed her wrist and squeezed it tightly. "If you're not going to do anything but yell, give me those IOUs and I'll do something." .” She broke free from his hand and cried, "I won't give you anything, I will hand it over to the police, and no one else will take it." "Okay, then leave it to the police. Li, where do you think he will go?" Li said bitterly that she didn't know where Bernie was, only where she wanted him to go. Ned Beaumont said impatiently: "Yeah, all that nonsense is really useful. Do you think he's going back to New York?" "How would I know?" Her eyes suddenly became alert. Annoyance brought spots of red to Ned Beaumont's face.He asked suspiciously: "Then what are you going to do now?" She pretended to be innocent. "Nothing. What do you mean?" He leaned towards her, shaking his head solemnly and slowly. "I don't think you won't turn these IOUs over to the police, Lily, you will." "Of course I would," she replied. In the pharmacy on the first floor of the apartment building, Ned Beaumont borrowed the phone.He dialed the police number, asked for Captain Durham, and said, "How do you do, Captain Durham? . . . Bernie Despan's apartment on the 6th. He seems to have disappeared suddenly last night, leaving some IOUs from Taylor Henry... yes, she also said that she heard Bernie threatening Taylor a few days ago ... No, you'd better come as soon as possible, or send someone over ... Yes ... that's the same. You don't know me, I just talked to her because she didn't want to call from Bernie's apartment ..." He He listened for a while, then hung up the receiver without saying a word, and walked out of the pharmacy. Ned Beaumont came to one of the neat rows of red brick buildings at the front of Thames Street.When the bell was rang, a young black woman answered the door, a smile on her dark face. "How are you, Mr. Beaumont?" She opened the door and greeted him warmly. "Hello, Joan, is anyone home?" Ned Beaumont asked. "Yes, sir, they're still at the table." He went to the dining room at the back, where Paul Mazvi sat facing his mother at a table between them covered with a red and white tablecloth.There was a chair at the table, but it was unoccupied, and the plates and silverware in front of it were untouched. Paul Mazvi's mother was tall and thin, with blond hair that had gradually faded to silver since she was in her seventies.They were clear blue and lively, just like her son's--even a little more lively than her son's when she watched Ned Beaumont enter.However, she frowned, and then said: "You finally appeared. You don't care about me so much, what a heartless child." Ned Beaumont smiled heartlessly at her. "Ah, Mother, I'm grown up now and have my own work to do." He waved his hand at Mazvi, "Hello, Paul." "Sit down and Joan will find a way to get you something to eat," Mazvi said. Mrs. Mazvey held out her bony hand to him, and Ned Beaumont stooped to kiss it.She withdrew her hand sharply and asked him reproachfully, "Where did you learn these tricks?" "Didn't I just say that? I've grown up." He turned to Mazvi, "Don't bother me, I just had breakfast." Then he looked at the empty chair, "Where is Opal ?” "She's lying down. She's not well," Mrs. Mazville answered. Ned Beaumont nodded, waited a moment, and then asked politely, "Nothing serious?" He looked at Mazvi as he said this. Mazvi shook his head. "Headache or something. I think the kid dances too hard." "I can't tell if my daughter has a headache, you're such a good father," said Mrs. Mazvi. The corners of Mazvi's eyes were wrinkled again. "Don't be unreasonable at this hour, Ma." Then he turned to Ned Beaumont. "Any good news?" 内德·博蒙特绕过马兹维太太，走到那把空椅子旁坐下来。“伯尼·德斯潘昨天夜里溜出城，把我从佩吉·欧图尔身上赢来的钱也顺走了。” 马兹维瞪大了眼睛。 内德·博蒙特说：“他还留下了几张泰勒·亨利的借据没带走，总共一千两百元。” 金发男人的双眼又眯了起来。 “丽说他星期五打过电话给泰勒，给他三天去筹钱。”内德·博蒙特接着说。 马兹维用手背蹭了蹭下巴。“谁是丽？” “伯尼的妞儿。” “噢。”然后，见内德·博蒙特不做声，马兹维又问，“他有没有说，如果泰勒没筹到钱要怎么办？” “我没听说。”内德·博蒙特用手臂倚着餐桌，然后冲着马兹维转过身子，“保罗，帮我弄个副警长什么的来当当吧。” “看在上帝的分上！”马兹维嚷着，眨眨眼睛，“你做那个能有什么好处啊？” “能让我调查更方便。我要去找这个家伙，有个警笛可以让我从交通堵塞中脱身嘛。” 马兹维忧心地看着这个比自己年轻的男人。“你为了什么这么急躁啊？” “为了三千两百五十元。” “好吧，”马兹维同意了，然后依旧缓缓地开口，“不过我觉得你昨天在知道被赖了赌金之前，就有什么烦心事儿。” 内德·博蒙特不耐地挥挥手。“走在路上绊到个尸体，你还指望我连眼皮都不眨一下吗？不过别提了，那件事现在不算什么，这个才重要。我得去逮住这个家伙。我必须得逮住他。”他的脸色苍白而严厉，语调郑重，非比寻常，“听好了，保罗：这不单是为钱——虽然三千两百元很多，但就算是五块钱也一样。我已经连续两个月一次都没赢过，这让我很沮丧。如果连运气都不在了，那我的人生还有什么意思呢？然后我扛住了，或者觉得自己扛了下来，接下来一切就都能恢复正常了。我不用夹着尾巴，可以觉得自己又是个人物，而不是什么被踢来踢去的畜生。那笔钱的确重要，但它不是重点。要命的是反反复复地输钱对我造成的影响。你懂吗？我都快垮了。然后，等我觉得霉运终于到了头，这个家伙居然糊弄我。我受不了这个。如果就这么算了的话，那我就真废了。我才不打算罢手，我要去追他。无论如何我都要去，但要是你能做我的后援，事情就能顺利很多。” 马兹维张开五指，粗鲁地摸了一把内德·博蒙特那张憔悴的脸。“噢，见鬼，内德！”他说，“我当然会支持你。我只是不喜欢你卷进什么麻烦里，可是——老天！如果是这样的话，我想最好是让你当个地方检署的特别警探。这样你就归法尔管，而他不会多管闲事的。” 马兹维太太站起身来，每只瘦削的手里都端着一个盘子。“要不是我规定过自己不插手男人的事，”她严厉地说，“我一定会说说你们俩，总是为了天知道的什么耍猴戏去瞎忙，也只有天知道你们可能会卷进什么样的麻烦。” 内德·博蒙特咧嘴笑了，直到她端着盘子离开房间，他才收敛起笑容问：“你可以现在就帮我安排吗？这样到了下午就万事俱备了。” “没问题，”马兹维站了起来，“我会打电话给法尔。如果还有什么要我帮忙的，你就……” “好。”内德·博蒙特说。然后马兹维出去了。 皮肤黝黑的琼走了进来，开始清理餐桌。 “奥珀尔小姐在睡觉吗？”内德·博蒙特问。 “不，先生，我正要送点儿茶和面包上去。” “你上去问她，我可不可以去看她一下？” “是的，先生，我一定照办。” 黑人女子离开之后，内德·博蒙特从桌旁站起来，在房间里徘徊。渐渐涌起的血色令他瘦削的双颊发烫，而颧骨下方尤甚。马兹维进来时，内德停下了脚步。 “成了。”马兹维说，“如果法尔不在，你就找巴布罗，他会帮你的，你什么也不必跟他解释。” “谢了。”内德·博蒙特说，然后看着门口的黑人女子。 “她说你可以过去。”女子说。 奥珀尔·马兹维闺房的主打色调是蓝色。内德·博蒙特进去时，她身上穿了件蓝银相间的便袍，正靠着枕头半坐在床上。她跟她父亲和祖母一样，都是蓝眼睛，也同样骨架纤长、身材紧实，美丽的粉白色皮肤像婴儿一样细嫩。她的眼睛此刻有些发红。 她把面包片往膝上的餐盘里一丢，朝内德·博蒙特伸出手，笑着露出她健康的白牙齿：“你好，内德。”声调并不平稳。 他没握她的手，而是轻轻拍了一下她的手背。“哟，丫头。”然后他在她的床尾坐下来，交叠起双腿，从口袋里掏出一根雪茄，“烟雾会让你头痛吗？” “噢，你可别。”她答道。 内德煞有介事地点了点头，把雪茄放回衣袋，漫不经心地叹了口气。他在床尾挪了挪，以便能够直视着她。他的双眼因为同情而泛潮，嗓子也有些发干。“我知道，小姑娘，那挺难受的。” 她稚气地睁大了眼睛望着他。“不，真的，现在头已经不大痛了，而且也没那么惨啦。”她的声音不再颤抖了。 他抿了抿双唇向她微笑起来：“所以现在你是把我当成外人啦？” “我不懂你这话是什么意思，内德。”奥珀尔的眉毛微微蹙了起来。 内德的唇角的线条与眼神都变得坚硬，他开口说道：“我指的是泰勒。” 奥珀尔膝上的餐盘微微移动了一下，但她的表情丝毫不变。她说：“是的，可是……你知道，我已经好几个月没见过他了，自从爸爸——” 内德·博蒙特突然站起身来。“那就这样吧。”朝门口走去时他回过头说了一句。 床上的女孩没有回应。内德走出房间，然后下了楼。 保罗·马兹维在一楼大厅里，正打算穿上外套。“我得去办公室处理一下那些水沟合约的事情。如果你想的话，我可以顺路载你去法尔的办公室。” 内德·博蒙特刚说了一句“行啊”，就听到奥珀尔的声音从楼上传下来。“内德，哦，内德！” “就来，”他答应着，然后对马兹维说，“你赶时间的话，就别等我了。” 马兹维看看表。“我是该动身了。晚上在俱乐部见？” “嗯。”内德·博蒙特答应着，然后再度上了楼。 奥珀尔已经把餐盘推到了床脚。“把门关上。”她说。待他关上门，她在床上挪了挪，在身边空出一个位置给他坐。然后她问：“为什么那样对我？” “你不该跟我撒谎的。”他坐下，严肃地说。 “可是，内德！”蓝眸试探着对上他棕色的双眼。 他问：“你上次跟泰勒碰面是什么时候？” “你的意思是跟他谈话？”她的表情和声音很自然，“已经好几个星期前了，而且——” 内德猛地站了起来。“得了吧。”他边走向门边回头说道。 奥珀尔在他刚踏出一步时就叫了起来：“噢，内德，别这么为难我。” 他缓缓转过身来，面无表情。 “我们难道不是好朋友吗？”她问。 “当然，”他不紧不慢地从容回答，“但如果我们互相欺瞒，我就很难记得朋友这回事了。” 奥珀尔在床上扭动着，脸颊压着最高的那个枕头上哭了起来。无声的泪水滴落在枕头上，洇出一块灰色的印迹。 他回到床边，再度坐在她身旁，把她的脸从枕头上扶起来，靠着自己的肩膀。 她又悄悄地哭了几分钟，嘴唇紧抵着他的外套，话音闷闷地传出来：“你知道——知道我一直在跟他约会吗？” "Know." 她坐直了身体，警戒起来。“爸爸知道吗？” “我想不会吧。我不清楚。” 她把头埋回他的肩膀，接下来吐出的字眼也依旧含混。“噢，内德，我只有昨天下午跟他在一起，一整个下午！” 他伸出手臂抱紧了她，但什么也没说。 又过了一会儿，她问：“你想会是谁——谁杀了他？” 他瑟缩了一下。 奥珀尔突然抬起头。现在她身上一丝软弱都没有了。“内德，你知道吗？” 他犹豫着，舔了舔嘴唇，咕哝了一句：“我想我知道。” “谁？”她狠狠地问道。 他再度犹豫了，躲着她的眼睛，然后慢慢地问：“你能保证不告诉任何人，除非时机到了吗？” “可以。”她很快地回答，可是他要开口时，她双手攫住他的手臂阻止了他，“等等，我不能保证。除非你先跟我保证凶手不会逍遥法外，他们会被捉住，而且会被惩罚。” “我不能保证。没有人能。” 她瞪着他，咬着嘴唇，然后说：“那好吧，反正我答应你。是谁？” “他有没有告诉过你，他欠一个名叫伯尼·德斯潘的赌徒一笔钱，还不了债？” “这……这个德斯潘——” “我想是的。但他有没有告诉过你欠债的事情？” “我知道他惹上麻烦了。他告诉过我，但没说是怎么回事，只说他和他父亲为了钱吵了一架，说他很——他用的字眼是'绝望'。” “没提到德斯潘？” “没有。怎么回事？你为什么觉得是德斯潘杀的？” “他有一千多元泰勒的借据，没收到钱。昨天夜里他匆忙出城，警方现在正在找他。”内德压低声音，微微转身看向奥珀尔，“你愿意做些事情，好让他被绳之以法吗？” “我愿意。什么事？” “我指的是有点不光彩的事儿。你想想，要给德斯潘定罪必然不容易，可是，如果真是他干的，你愿意做一些——呃——下流的事情，好把他给钉牢吗？” “做什么都行。”她回答。 他叹了口气，抿起了嘴唇。 “你想要我做什么？”她热切地问。 “给我一顶他的帽子。” "what?" “我要一顶泰勒的帽子。”内德·博蒙特说着脸红了，“你能替我弄到一顶吗？” 她困惑了。“可是为什么呢，内德？” “好把德斯潘实实在在地钉牢。我现在只能告诉你这么多。你能不能替我弄到？” “我——我想可以，可是我希望你——” "how long?" “我想就今天下午吧，”她说，“可是我希望——” 他再度打断她。“你不会想知道任何事的。你知道得越少越好，去弄帽子的事也是。”他伸出手臂环住她，把她的身体拉向自己，“你真的爱他吗，丫头？或者只是因为你父亲——” “我真的爱他，”她啜泣着，“我很确定——我确定我爱他。”