Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Hospital
A nurse works on Ned Beaumont's face.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"St. Luke's Hospital." The nurse was petite, with big and bright hazel eyes, a slightly hoarse voice as if panting, and the scent of mimosa on her body.
"What day is it today?"
"Monday."
"What year and month?" he asked.Seeing her frowning at herself, she said, "Oh, forget it, how long have I been here?"
"Today is the third day."
"Where's the phone?" He tried to sit up.
"Don't move," she said, "you can't call, and you mustn't get too excited."
"Then you call for me. Take Hartford 6161 and tell Mr. Mazvi that I want to see him right away."
"Mr. Mazvi comes every afternoon," she said, "but I don't think Dr. Tate will give you permission to talk to anyone right now. In fact, you've already talked too much."
"What time is it? Morning or afternoon?"
"Morning."
"I can't wait that long," he said, "you call him now."
"Dr. Tate will be here shortly."
"I don't need any Dr. Tate," he said irritably. "I want Paul Mazvi."
"You've got to be good," she replied, "and lie here quietly until Dr. Tate comes."
He glared at her angrily. "You're a really good nurse. Didn't anyone tell you it's bad to argue with patients?"
She ignored his question.
He added: "Besides, you hurt my chin."
"If you don't move your jaw, it doesn't hurt," she said.
He was quiet for a while, and then asked: "What's wrong with me? Or is it that you are not good at learning and can't figure it out?"
"Probably drunk and fighting." She told him, but she didn't turn her face in his direction.She smiled, and then said, "But really, you shouldn't talk that much, and you can't see anyone unless the doctor says yes."
Paul Mazvi arrived early in the afternoon. "My God, it's good to see you're alive again!" he said, clasping the patient's unbandaged left hand with both of his.
Ned Beaumont said, "I'm all right. But there's one thing we've got to do: get Walter Evans and take him to Brewood to identify the gunman who—"
"You told me all about it," Mazvi said. "It's done."
Ned Beaumont frowned. "I told you?"
"Of course—the morning you were found. They took you to the emergency room, but you refused any treatment until you saw me. As soon as I got there, you told me about Evans and Breewood , and then passed out."
"It's a blank spot to me," said Ned Beaumont. "Did you catch them?"
"We got Evans, no problem. Walter Evans got hired after Brewood was identified, a grand jury indicted Jeff Gardner and two other nobodies, but we haven't Put Shadra in the water. Gardner is in charge of connecting with Evans, and everyone knows that everything he does must be ordered by Shad, so... But the proof is another matter."
"Jeff is that monkey-looking guy, right? Has he been arrested?"
"No. I guess Sand hid him after you left. They got you, right?"
"Well, it's upstairs from the dog house. I was planning to go there to set a trap for O'Luo Rui, but instead I fell into his trap." He frowned, "I still remember it was with 'Whiskey' Vasos Going, then got bitten by a dog, got beat up by Jeff and a blond kid. And then there was a fire or something - that's about it. Who found me? Where?"
"A policeman found you crawling on all fours in the middle of Corman Street at three o'clock in the morning, with a trail of blood trailing behind you."
"I want to do something interesting," said Ned Beaumont.
The little nurse with big eyes opened the door carefully and poked her head in.
Ned Beaumont called out to her in a weary voice: "All right—peek-a-boo! But don't you think you're a little too old for this?"
The nurse opened the door a little more, stood under the door frame, and held the door with one hand. "No wonder someone beats you," she said. "I want to see if you're awake, Mr. Mazvi and—" The breathiness in her voice became more pronounced, and her eyes brightened, "a The lady is here."
Ned Beaumont looked at her curiously, and asked somewhat mockingly, "Miss what?"
"Miss Janet Henry," she answered, with a tone of revealing surprise.
Ned Beaumont was turned on his side, his back to the nurse.He closed his eyes, twisted the corners of his mouth, but his voice remained emotionless: "Tell them I'm still asleep."
"You can't do that," she said. "They know you're not asleep—even if they didn't hear you—otherwise I would have left."
He groaned exaggeratedly, and propped himself up on his elbows. "Anyway, if she doesn't see me, she will still come back," he grumbled, "and she will have to pass this test then."
The nurse looked at him contemptuously, and said sarcastically, "We have to ask the police to stand guard at the hospital gate, so as to keep all the women who want to see you out."
"Of course it's easy for you," he said. "Maybe you have a good impression of those senator's daughters who are always in the papers, but you don't get chased like I do. Tell you, they fucked me." Miserable—them, and the pages of the paper that printed them. A senator's daughter . No tricks, never anything else. Don't you think senators are better at having babies than other people—"
"It's not funny at all," said the nurse. "Go on with your bragging. I'll bring them in." She left the room.
Ned Beaumont took a deep breath, his eyes sparkling.He licked his lips, then pressed them into a secret smile.But when Janet Henry came in, he put on another mask of ease and politeness.
She went straight to his bed and said, "Well, Mr. Beaumont, I'm glad to hear you're doing well, and I must come and see you." She put her hand on his, and bowed her head. smile at him.Her eyes weren't really dark brown, but they were so dark against the solid gold hair. "So don't blame Paul if you don't want me to come. I made him bring me."
Ned Beaumont smiled back, and said, "I'm so glad you're here, it's very kind of you."
Paul Mazvi followed Janet Henry into the room and walked to the other side of the bed.He smiled earnestly, looking from her to Ned Beaumont. "Knew you would be happy, Ned. I told her. How was today?"
"Same as usual. Pull up some chairs."
"We can't stay long," replied the blond man. "I must go to Grandcourt and meet Mr. McLaughlin."
"But I don't have to go," Janet Henry said.She smiled again at Ned Beaumont. "Maybe I could—stay a little longer?"
"It's an honor," Ned Beaumont told her.At the same time, Mazvi came around, moved a chair for her, gave them two happy smiles in turn, and said, "Very good." When the woman sat down by the bed, the black coat was thrown on the back of the chair, and immediately Zvi looked at his watch and muttered, "I have to go." He shook Ned Beaumont's hand. "Do you need me to bring you anything?"
"No. Thanks, Paul."
"Okay, then you have a good rest." The blond man turned to Janet Henry, stopped, and said to Ned Beaumont, "What do you think I should talk about when I first met Mr. Myla Flynn? "
Ned Beaumont shrugged slightly. "Whatever you want, as long as you don't say it too bluntly, it will scare him. But you can commission him to kill in oblique ways, such as: 'Suppose there is a man named Smith who lives in this place, and he is sick or Something that won't get any better. And then you came over to see me one time, and an envelope came in the mail, asking me to pass it on to you. How did I know there was five hundred dollars in it?'"
Mazvi nodded. "I don't want to kill anybody," he said, "but we do need railroad workers' tickets." He frowned. "I do hope you're all right, Ned."
"It's almost a day or two. Did you watch "The Observer" this morning?"
"not yet."
Ned Beaumont looked around the room. "Someone took it away. That nasty editorial was right there in the middle of the front page. 'What are the police going to do in this city?' A list of crimes over the past six weeks shows recent crime spree. Additions, and a much smaller list of inmates who have been brought to justice, show police incompetence. Most of the complaints are about Tyler Henry's murder."
Hearing her younger brother's name, Janet Henry flinched, her lips parted slightly, and she took a silent breath.Mazvi glanced at her, turned quickly to Ned Beaumont, and shook his head warningly.
Ned Beaumont, ignoring the impact his words had on others, went on: "They're really blasphemy, accusing the police of putting off that murder all week so that a gambler in the upper political circles could take advantage of it. The case pays back to another gambler - that is, I'm chasing Despan for his gambling debts. Wondering how Senator Henry feels about his new political allies taking advantage of his son's murder. "
Mazvi blushed, touched his watch awkwardly, and said hastily: "I'll find a copy, now I have to—"
"And," continued Ned Beaumont calmly, "they also accused the police of suddenly - after years of protection - shutting down bars run by proprietors who had no intention of making large political contributions. O'Leary's wars were brought out. They also said they would publish a list of bars that are still in operation and prove that the owners of these bars are not affected because of political donations."
"Well, well," Mazvi said uneasily, "goodbye, hope you have a good chat," he said to Janet Henry, and "see you later" to Ned Beaumont, and then walked out.
Janet Henry leaned forward in her chair. "Why don't you like me?" she asked Ned Beaumont.
"I think I might like you," he said.
She shook her head. "You don't like me, I understand."
"You can't stand my attitude," he said, "I've always had a bad attitude."
"You don't like me," she insisted, without returning his smile, "but I hope you like me."
He humbled himself. "why?"
"Because you're Paul's best friend," she replied.
"Paul," he said, squinting at her, "he has a lot of friends. He's a politician."
She shook her head impatiently. "You're his best friend." She paused, then added, "He thinks so."
"So what do you think?" he asked half-jokingly.
"I think so," she said solemnly, "otherwise you wouldn't be here now. You don't have to suffer so much for him."
There was an indifferent smile on the corner of his lips, and he didn't say anything.
Realizing that he no longer intends to speak, she said sincerely, "I hope you will like me, if possible."
"Maybe I like you." He repeated.
She shook her head. "You don't like me."
He smiled at her, a very young and charming smile.His eyes were reserved and shy, and his voice was full of childish timidity and trust: "Miss Henry, let me tell you why you think so. Because——you see, more than a year ago, Paul could be said to have taken me out of the gutter So I’m awkward and clumsy with your social and celebrity version—but you mistake that kind of, uh, clumsiness for hatred and hostility, which it’s not at all.”
"You're taunting me." She stood up, without resentment in her tone.
After she left, Ned Beaumont lay back on his pillow, eyes bright, staring at the ceiling until the nurse came in.
As soon as the nurse came in, he asked him, "What were you doing just now?"
Ned Beaumont looked up at her sullenly, but said nothing.
The nurse said: "She tried not to cry when she left, but it's almost there."
Ned Beaumont leaned his head back on the pillow again. "I must be hopeless," he said, "always bringing senators' daughters to tears."
In came a man of medium height, young and sharp, with a well-cut dark face and rather handsome features.
Ned Beaumont sat up in bed. "Yo, Jack."
"You don't look as bad as I thought," Jack said, walking to the bed.
"Still a whole person. Get yourself a chair."
Jack sat down and took out a pack of cigarettes.
Ned Beaumont said, "I have another job for you." He reached under the pillow and took out an envelope.
Jack lit his cigarette and took the envelope from Ned Beaumont.It was a plain white envelope marked "St. Luke's Hospital, to Ned Beaumont," with a local postmark and dated two days ago.Inside was a typed sheet of paper, and Jack took it out and read it.
Jack refolded the letter, replaced the envelope, and looked up. "Is it true what it says?"
"Not as far as I know. I want you to find out who wrote it."
Jack nodded. "I keep this letter?"
"OK."
Jack put the envelope in his pocket. "Can anyone imagine who might do it?"
"Totally clueless."
Jack examined the end of the lit cigarette. "You know, I mean business as it stands," he said quickly.
"I understand," agreed Ned Beaumont, "that all I can say is that there's been a lot of letters like this in the past week--several at least. This is the third I've had, and I Know that Farr got at least one, but I don't know of anyone else who has."
"May I see the others?"
Ned Beaumont said: "I only keep this one. But they're all pretty much the same—same paper, same typewriting, three questions each, all on the same subject."
Jack watched Ned Beaumont questioningly. "But the questions are not the same?" he asked.
"Not exactly the same, but both speak to the same point."
Jack nodded, smoking a cigarette.
Ned Beaumont said: "You must understand that this matter is to be kept in the utmost secrecy."
"Of course." Jack took the cigarette out of his mouth. "The 'same point' you mentioned was Mazvi's connection to the murder?"
"Yes," replied Ned Beaumont, looking straight at the dark and handsome young man, "and in fact there is no connection at all."
Jack's dark face was unpredictable. "I don't see how it could be related," he said, standing up.
The nurse came in with a big basket of fruit. "Wonderful, isn't it?" She put down the fruit.
Ned Beaumont nodded cautiously.
The nurse took a small hard-shell envelope from the basket. "I'll bet it's from her," she said as she handed Ned Beaumont the envelope.
"What bet?"
"You can bet anything you want."
Ned Beaumont nodded, as if confirming some vague suspicion in his mind. "You've seen it," he said.
"Why, you—" He smiled, and she stopped, but her face was still full of indignation.
He drew Janet Henry's card from the envelope.There was only one simple word on it: "Please!" He frowned at the card, "You win," he said to the nurse, and then flicked the card with his thumbnail, "It's yours , take more, lest it look like I haven't eaten at all."
Later that afternoon, he wrote a letter:
After finishing writing, he read it again, tore it up, and rewrote it on another letter paper.The original words were used, but rearranged to end the last sentence with: "I hope to express my gratitude more clearly someday."
Ned Beaumont was sitting in his dressing-gown and slippers at the breakfast table by the window of the ward, eating and reading The Observer, when Opal Mazvi came to visit that morning.He folded the newspaper, placed it face down on the table next to the dinner plate, and stood up. "Yo, girl." He said kindly, his face was very pale.
"Why didn't you call me when you came back from New York?" She had a reproachful tone, and her face was pale.This further highlights the delicate texture of her skin like a child, but makes her face look a bit old-fashioned.Her blue eyes were wide open, darkened by the intensity of emotion, and it was not easy to see through her thoughts from there.She stood stiffly upright, as if struggling to balance, struggling to keep her footing, ignoring the chair he had moved over from the wall.She just repeated the previous pressing question: "Why?"
He smiled at her, softly and indulgently. "I like you in this brown dress."
"Oh, Ned, please—"
"That's what it is," he said. "I was going to your house, but—er—a lot of things happened when I got back, and there were a lot of things to fix while I was away. When I got it all done Now, I ran into Shad O'Leary again, and ended up being sent here." He waved towards the ward.
His brisk tone did not shake her seriousness.
"Are they going to hang this Despin?" she asked flatly.
He laughed again and said, "We won't make much progress if we keep talking like this."
She frowned, but said, "Ned, will they?" She lowered her posture a little.
"I don't think so," he shook his head slightly, "because he didn't kill Taylor after all."
She didn't seem surprised. "You came to me and asked me to...to get evidence for you...or...or when you framed him, did you know that he didn't kill the person?"
He flashed a reproachful smile. "Girl, of course I don't know. Who do you think I am?"
"You know it at all." Her voice was cold and contemptuous, just like her blue eyes, "You just want to get back the money he owes you, and you asked me to help you use Taylor's murder to achieve this goal."
"Whatever you want," he replied nonchalantly.
She took a step closer to him.For a moment, her jaw trembled slightly, and then determination and fearlessness reappeared on that young face. "Do you know who killed him?" she asked, looking inquiringly into his eyes.
He shook his head slowly.
"Is it Dad?"
He blinks. "You mean, does Paul know who killed him?"
She stamped her foot. "I mean, did Dad kill him?" she yelled.
He covered her mouth with one hand, his eyes flicked to the closed door. "Shut up," he whispered.
She backed away from his hand, and at the same time reached out a hand, pushing his hand away from her face. "Is it him?" She refused to give up.
He said in a low, angry tone: "If you must be an idiot, at least don't walk around with a megaphone. As long as you don't say it, no one cares what idiots are in your head, but you can not say."
Her eyes widened, then darkened. "Then he did kill him." Her voice was low and flat, but her tone was very certain.
He brought his face close to hers. "No, honey," he said in a tyrannical yet sweet voice, "he didn't kill him." His face was close to hers, and a malicious smile distorted his features.
She didn't back down, her expression and voice remained firm. "If he didn't kill, then I don't understand, what does it matter what I say or how loudly I say it?"
He raised one corner of his mouth and sneered. "You can't imagine how many things you don't understand," he said angrily, "and if you stay like this, you never will." He pulled away from her, took a big step back, and fell asleep with his hands in his fists Robe pocket.The corners of his mouth drooped now, and his forehead was furrowed.He squinted at the floor in front of her feet. "Where did you get this crazy idea?" he growled.
"This idea is not crazy, you know it in your heart."
He moved his shoulders impatiently and asked, "Where did it come from?"
She also moved her shoulders. "Nowhere. Just—just a sudden thought."
"Bullshit!" he said sternly, head still bowed, eyes lifted, "did you watch The Observer this morning?" He fixed his stern, suspicious eyes on her.
There was a trace of blood on her face because of worry. "I really haven't seen it," she said. "Why do you ask that?"
"No?" The tone of his question showed that he didn't believe it, the doubtful flash in his eyes disappeared, turned to gloomy and thoughtful, but suddenly brightened again.He took his right hand out of the pocket of his nightgown and held it out to her, palm up. "Show me that letter," he said.
"What?" She stared at him with wide eyes.
"Letter," he said, "a typewritten letter—three sentences, unsigned."
She lowered her eyes to avoid his gaze, embarrassment slightly disturbing her expression.After a moment of hesitation, she asked, "How do you know?" and opened her brown handbag.
"Everyone in town has at least one," he said nonchalantly. "Is this the first you've gotten?"
"Yes." She handed him a crumpled piece of paper.
He flattened it out and read it:
Ned Beaumont nodded and smiled. "They all look similar." He crumpled up the letter paper and threw it into the trash can beside the table. "Now you are on the mailing list, and you will probably receive more in the future."
Opal Mazvi bit her lower lip and studied Ned Beaumont's composed face with cold blue eyes.
He said: "O'Lori was trying to dig up some election material out of it. You know, I got into an antagonism with him because he thought I'd fallen out with your father and he could pay me to help put a murder on your father's head -- at least enough Let your father lose the election - but I'm not going to do that."
Her eyes didn't change. "Why did you and Dad fight?" she asked.
"Girl, that's our business and has nothing to do with others," he said kindly, "if we really quarreled."
"You had a fight," she said, "at Carson's Tavern." She set her teeth and said boldly, "You had a fight after you found out he really—really killed Taylor."
He laughed and asked sarcastically, "Why don't I even know?"
Her expression was unimpressed by his humor. "Why do you ask me if I've seen The Observer?" she asked. "What's in it?"
"More of the same kind of bullshit," he told her calmly. "It's on the table here if you want to. There will be more before the election is over. . . all of this. You can help your father with one." Busy, if—" He paused, gesturing impatiently because she wasn't listening.She had gone to the table and picked up the newspaper that had been on the table before she came.
He smiled happily after her back. "On the first edition, 'An Open Letter to the Mayor.'"
As she watched, she began to tremble—knees, hands, lips—so much that Ned Beaumont frowned anxiously at her.But when she finished reading, put the newspaper on the table, and turned to face him, her slender body and pretty face were as calm as a statue.Her lips barely moved, and whispered something to him: "If those are not true, they dare not write like this."
"You never know what they're going to write," said Ned lazily.He looked as if he was amused, but there was uncontrollable anger in his eyes.
She stared at him for a long time, then turned and walked towards the door without saying anything.
"Wait a minute," he said.
She stopped and turned to him again.At this moment, he showed a friendly smile, with a hint of flattery.And her face was like a clean statue.
"Girl, politics is a harsh game, and it's played the same way this time. The Observer is on the other side. They don't care what facts can hurt Paul. They—"
"I don't believe it," she said, "I know Mr. Matthews—his wife was only a few grades ahead of me in school, and we used to be friends—I don't believe he'd say that about Papa unless it is the truth, or he has good reason to believe it is the truth."
Ned Beaumont laughed under his breath. "You know quite a lot. Matthews is drowning in debt; his factory and house are mortgaged to the State Central Trust Company; State Central is owned by Bill Rowan; Bill Rowan is with Henry ran for the Senate. Matthews just did what he was told, and he did what he was told."
Opal Mazvi said nothing, and gave no indication that she was persuaded by Ned Beaumont's point of view.
He continued in a tone of affectionate persuasion: "This—" He flicked the newspaper on the table with his fingers, "it's nothing compared to what will come later. They will continue to talk about Taylor. Henry's death, until they make something worse. And we're going to see that over and over until the election is over. We're probably all used to it by now. And of all people, you shouldn't let yourself Influenced by this stuff. Paul doesn't really care, he's a politician and—"
"He's a murderer." Her voice was low and clear.
"And his daughter is a fool!" he cried angrily. "Will you not be so stupid?"
"My father was a murderer," she said.
"You're crazy. Listen, girl, your father had absolutely nothing to do with Tyler's death, he—"
"I don't trust you," she said darkly, "and I will never trust you again."
He glared at her angrily.
She turned and walked towards the door.
"Wait a minute," he said, "let me—"
She went out, closing the door behind her.
After grimacing angrily at the closed door, Ned Beaumont fell into deep thought.Wrinkles reappeared on his forehead, his dark eyes were squinted, his lips were pursed under a mustache.After a moment, he put a finger to his mouth and gnawed at a nail.His breathing was regular, but deeper than usual.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and the thoughtful expression on his face disappeared, and he idly walked towards the window, humming "The Lost Lady".As footsteps passed by his door, he stopped humming and stooped to pick up the letter paper with the three questions for Opal Mazvi.Instead of smoothing out the paper, he grabbed it and tucked the loose ball into the pocket of his bathrobe.
Then he found a cigar, lit it and bit it in his mouth, stood by the table and squinted down through the smoke at the copy of "The Observer" on the table.
Ned Beaumont grunted mockingly and puffed at the announcement, but his eyes remained dark.
Earlier that afternoon, Paul Mazvey's mother had come to visit Ned Beaumont.He put his arms around her and kissed her on both cheeks until she pushed him away with mock sternness. "Stop it, you're worse than Paul's old Airedale terrier."
"I'm a bit of a terrier," he said, "from my father." Then he came up behind her and helped her off her sealskin coat.
She straightened her black skirt, went to the bed, and sat on it.
He hung the coat on the back of a chair for her, and stood in front of her with his feet separated and his hands in the bathrobe pockets.
She eyed him critically. "You don't look too bad," she said after a while, "but you don't look too good either. How do you feel?"
"Very well. I'm staying here because of the nurses."
"That's not surprising," she told him, "but don't stand there squinting at me like a cat, making me uneasy. Sit down." She patted the bed beside her.
He sat down beside her.
She said, "I don't know what you've done, but Paul seems to think what you're doing is great and noble. But don't tell me that if you do the right thing, you can be made into this Vice-virtue."
"Oh, Mom," he said.
She interrupted him, gazing into Ned Beaumont's brown eyes with blue eyes as quick as her son's. "Look at me, Ned. Paul didn't kill the young man, did he?"
Ned Beaumont was tongue-tied in astonishment. "He didn't."
"I suppose so," said the old lady. "He's been a good boy, but I've heard some nasty rumors. God only knows what politics is, and I don't understand it at all."
Ned Beaumont watched her thin face with amusement and wonder in his eyes.
She said: "Okay, you can just stare at me, but I never figured it out, and I didn't bother to understand what you men think or don't want. I gave up long before you were even born."
He patted her on the shoulder. "You're a wonderful man, Ma," he said admiringly.
She pulled his hand away, staring at him again with stern eyes that knew everything. "If he killed someone, would you tell me?"
He shook his head in the negative.
"Then how do I know he didn't do it?"
He laughed. "Because," he explained, "even if he did, I'd say 'no.' But if you asked me if I'd tell the truth if he killed someone, my answer would be 'yes.'" He glanced The joy in his voice disappeared, "He didn't kill it, Mom." He smiled at her, with only his lips moving slightly, "It would be great if there is anyone in the whole city who thinks that he didn't kill it besides me; And it would be best if that person was his mother."
An hour after Mrs. Mazvey left, Ned Beaumont received a package containing four books and a card written by Janet Henry.He was writing a note of thanks when Jack came.
"I've found something, but you probably won't like it," Jack said, puffing on his cigarette.
Ned Beaumont looked at the handsome young man scrutinizingly, and ran his index finger down the left mustache. "I like anything I hired you to look up," he said in the same matter-of-fact tone as Jack. "Sit down and tell me."
Jack sat down cautiously, legs crossed, hat on the floor, looking from his cigarette to Ned Beaumont."The letters appear to have been written by Mazvi's daughter," he said.
Ned Beaumont's eyes widened for a moment.His face paled slightly and his breathing became irregular, but his voice remained the same. "Is there any basis for it?"
Jack took out two sheets of paper that were similar in size, texture, and fold from his inside pocket.Handed it to Ned Beaumont.He opened it, and there were three typewritten questions on each of them, all of which were the same.
"You gave me one of those yesterday," said Jack. "Do you recognize which one it is?"
Ned Beaumont shook his head slowly.
"There's no difference," said Jack, "the other was typed in Taylor Henry's flat in Charter Street, where Mazvi's daughter used to go--with a Corona typewriter and paper What has been found so far is that there seem to be only two keys in that place, one for him and one for her. After he was killed, she went back at least twice."
Ned Beaumont frowned at the two sheets of paper in his hand, and nodded without looking up.
Jack lit a new one with the one he was smoking, got up, walked to the table, extinguished the old one in the ashtray, and returned to his seat.Neither the expression on his face nor his manner showed the slightest interest in Ned Beaumont's reaction.
After another moment of silence, Ned Beaumont raised his head slightly and asked, "How did you find out?"
The cigarette in the corner of Jack's mouth wobbled as he spoke. "I was prompted by the Observer report this morning. The police went there because of it, and they got there before me. But I took a good chance: the policeman in charge was a good friend of mine named Fry. De Hely. Give him ten bucks, and he'll let me go in and look around."
Ned Beaumont flicked the two sheets of paper in his hand. "Does the police know?"
Jack shrugged. "I didn't tell them. I asked Hurley, but he didn't know anything—he just watched things until the police decided what to do. Maybe they knew, maybe they didn't." He shook the ashes to the floor On the floor, "I can check."
"Forget it. What else did you find?"
"I'm just looking into this."
Ned Beaumont glanced quickly at the young man's inscrutable dark face, and looked down at the two papers. "What's that place like?"
"Thirteen feet wide and twenty-four feet long, rented in Frankie's name, one bedroom, one bathroom. The housekeeper said she didn't know their true identities until the police went today. It may be Really, because that kind of place usually doesn't ask too much. She said they used to go there a lot, mostly in the afternoon. And as far as she knows, the woman has been back a few times in the past week or so. But she can be very Easily sneak in and out without being seen."
"Are you sure it's her?"
Jack held up a hand in a noncommittal gesture. "According to the description, that's right." He paused, and added carelessly as he exhaled smoke, "After he was killed, the female administrator has only seen her as a woman."
内德·博蒙特再度抬起头，眼神冷酷。“泰勒还带着其他人去过？”他问。
杰克又比了个不明确的手势。“那女的没这么说。她说她不知道，不过从她讲话的态度看来，我敢打赌她准是在撒谎。”
“从那地方的东西看不出来吗？”
Jack shook his head. “看不出来。里头女人的东西不多——只有一件和服式睡袍和盥洗用具、睡衣裤之类的。”
“他的东西多吗？”
“嗯，一套西装和一双鞋，还有些内衣、睡衣、袜子等等。”
“帽子呢？”
杰克笑了。“没有帽子。”他说。
内德·博蒙特站起来走到窗边。外头几乎全黑了，窗玻璃上沾了十来滴雨。内德·博蒙特站过去后，又有更多的雨点打了上去。他转身再次面对杰克。“多谢了，杰克，”他缓缓地说，心不在焉的双眼木然地看着杰克的脸，“我或许很快又会给你一份任务——搞不好就是今晚。我会给你电话。”
“好的。”杰克说着，然后起身出去。
内德·博蒙特走到衣柜前拿衣服，带进浴室里换上。他走出来时，病房里来了个护士，是个高大的女人，有着白皙而容光焕发的面孔。
“怎么了，穿得这么整齐！”她叫道。
“对，我得出门。”
她震惊的表情又掺进了警戒。“可是不行，博蒙特先生，”她抗议道，“现在这么晚，又开始下雨了，而且泰特医生会——”
“我知道，我知道。”他不耐烦地说，绕过她朝门口走去。
Notes:
Notes: