The Fairhill Hotel sat in a swank area on the knees of the summer-brown hills walling the Eastbay. Kintyre parked his hand-me-down among mammaried Cadillacs and rump-sprung Plymouths and strolled into the lobby.
Clayton rose from a chair. "Ah, there, Bob, how are you?" He shook hands and moved toward the elevator. "Thought I'd have lunch sent up. But if you'd like a drink beforehand—"
"No, thanks. Maybe a bottle of beer with the meal. Uh, what's the occasion of all this?"
"We've things to talk about. Not too urgent, I guess, but I'm going to be tied up over in the City." Clayton took Kintyre's arm. "Anyhow, I felt like having some company for lunch."
He was fifty, still broad in the chest and erect1 in the spine2, though his custom-made suit worked hard to disguise a beginning paunch. His grizzled auburn hair, brushed straight back, covered a long narrow head; nose and chin jutted3 out of a creased4 sinewy5 face which must once have been rather handsome. His eyes were deeply set, a darting6 dragonfly blue, without any burden of glasses. Kintyre liked him in a way, and felt sorry for him in a way, and sometimes wondered what the man was really thinking about.
"I heard about young Lombardi," said Clayton in the elevator. "It's a terrible thing."
"The police been after you too?" Kintyre's manner was abrupt7; he didn't feel like more emotional scenes.
"I had one interview. They weren't interested in my alibi8 at all. What a disappointment: I had such a beautiful one. Witnesses to every waking hour. I came to Berkeley about noon Saturday, had a long conference with the manager of a local motorcycle agency, and a theater party which lasted late. Sunday I was at church, then I played golf, in the evening you were over for drinks, and Monday I went back to the City and spent all day in the office."
The elevator stopped and they got out and went down a long corridor. A little puzzled and annoyed, Kintyre said: "You protest too much."
Clayton opened his door. "I'm sorry," he answered. "I was trying to lighten my own mood, and it came out sounding as if I were trying to be funny. Bruce was a good kid."
He called room service. Kintyre's gaze strayed idly around the suite9. Actually, Clayton's Bay Area interests centered in San Francisco. For the past several months he had kept an apartment there, while he went through the preliminary maneuvers10 of establishing a local branch of his import house. But the Eastbay was enough of a market in itself to justify11 Clayton in frequently staying at the Fairhill for days on end.
Though his latest checking in had been on Thursday, the suite bore little trace of him. His San Francisco rooms were just as impersonal12; Kintyre doubted that the New York penthouse or the luxurious13 flat in Rome had been given more of a soul. There were four pictures, which apparently14 went wherever Clayton did: a thin blonde woman, with a washed-out kind of prettiness, who had been his first wife; and two young men and a girl, the children she had given him. Otherwise, nothing but business mail and business documents could be seen.
Oh, yes, Clayton smoked expensive cigars, and he had developed enough patter to get by in social circles whose small talk included the opera or Sartre's latest pronunciamento. But he had left no books lying around, only a news magazine; no chess set or cards or half-completed crossword15 puzzle; no private correspondence—well, if a man wanted to be simply a cash register, it was his privilege.
But Clayton wasn't that either, thought Kintyre. Something of the brash young salesman (where was it he started, Indianapolis? Some such place) and the construction-gang foreman of worsening days and the minor16 executive in a Midwestern wholesale17 house—something of what Margery would label "Babbitt," with all of her own class's glibness18 in labeling—remained in the transoceanic entrepreneur. Yes. But something else must have developed too. Kintyre had never quite discovered what. It was one reason he accepted most of Clayton's invitations.
"Okay, lunch will be on its way. Siddown, Bob."
Kintyre crossed his legs by the window and took out a cigarette. Clayton chose a cigar. "Do the police have a lead on Bruce's murder?" he asked.
"How should I know?"
"You were his best friend." Clayton's eyes locked with Kintyre's and held steady. "The boy wasn't killed for fun. Somehow, he asked for it. If we knew what he was doing in, say, the last week of his life—"
"Hm. You have a point. He was seeing a good deal of you also, wasn't he?"
"Yes. That's the main reason I asked you over today, Bob. Perhaps between us we could reconstruct most of his movements." Clayton chuckled19. "Not that I think we'd solve the crime ourselves or any such nonsense, but organized information might help the police."
"Well—" Kintyre's memory walked backward into darkness. "Let me think.... We were pretty busy till last week, with term's end and the start of final exams. After that it gets irregular, if you're on a faculty20. You might have two exams on one day, and then none for three days. So Bruce had a certain amount of leisure all week. Huh—a week ago last Sunday—didn't he mention something about having gone across the Bay to see you?"
"He did." Clayton looked at a note pad. "He came up to my apartment to ask if I couldn't fix his older brother up with a job."
"So?"
"So I know that type. I'd met him, once before. I said no. Bruce got mad when I wouldn't even interview this Guido character."
Kintyre smiled. "I know what you mean. It's a side of him that not many people saw. He seldom lost his temper, but when it happened, it was awesome22. I hope you kept yours."
"It wasn't easy," said Clayton. "Actually, this was not the first time we'd talked about the brother. There was once, some months ago—but I don't recall the details."
"I believe I remember. It came up à propos des bottes in my office, when you and he and I were discussing the Book of Witches, didn't it? He mentioned having this brother who spoke23 Italian. You doubted Guido would be qualified24 for any very responsible position. Yes, it comes back to me now, you got almost obnoxiously25 smug about how you had started from zero and so could anyone else."
"It riled Bruce," said Kintyre. "But he got over his mad fast enough. He was almost too reasonable for his own good."
"That sounds contradictory27. I shouldn't think a really reasonable man would ever get angry."
"I beg to differ. Some things, it's unreasonable28 not to get furious about. Atrocities29, including some governments whose existence is an atrocity30. Or getting back to Bruce, there was the Point Perro incident several months ago."
"What was that?"
"Oh, nothing very important, I suppose. Point Perro is about sixty miles south on the coast highway. Uninhabited, though it's on any good map. Just a headland with a beach below, private property, fenced off, but I happen to know the owner and have his permission to use it. As isolated31 a spot, as primeval, as you'll find outside the High Sierras. Bruce and I took our sleeping bags down there for a weekend of surf casting. It has a deep-dropoff where the fish are apt to congregate32 at high tide. We found somebody had been dynamiting33 them, which had not only wasted and slaughtered34 fish but ruined some of the rock formations. Bruce followed the tire tracks above the cliffs, saw that the dynamiters had headed south, and insisted on following; He was quite ready to beat up on them himself. All we actually accomplished35 was to roust out the authorities, which spoiled our whole Saturday; but it never occurred to him to do less."
Kintyre sighed. "I suspect that he crusaded himself to his death, in just that manner."
"Let's return to our timetable," suggested Clayton. "Bruce stormed out of my place that Sunday night, but he did agree to come back the next afternoon. I said I'd think it over meanwhile, and he could bring Guido to see me after all."
"What happened?"
"They came together. I saw right off Guido was hopeless. Quite an amusing guy and all that, but once a bum36 always a bum. However, I made polite noncommittal noises. Hell, maybe I'll open a night club someday, and Guido can sing in it. That would be okay." Clayton drew on his cigar. "I didn't see Bruce again till that little party here Thursday night. Can you fill in the meantime?"
"Mmm—I had it all sorted out in my mind—yes. The Monday you speak of, I introduced Jabez Owens to Bruce. We all talked for about an hour in my office. Otherwise I think he just had a routine day, till he went over to your apartment."
"Tuesday?"
"More routine, except that Owens showed up as agreed and lent him the Borgia letters. Bruce took them home that night to look over."
"Oh, yes, those two were having quite an argument about it at the party. What's the deal, anyway? I didn't quite follow. Talking to Professor Ashwin most of the time, myself."
"Well, you know Owens is a writer, specializing in historical nonfiction on the popular level."
"I've heard the name, is all."
Kintyre drew the long breath of an experienced lecturer.
"Owens was a best seller in the late 1930's," he said. "Since the last official war, though, his sales have slipped. A couple of years back, he recouped with a thing called Magnificent Monster: The Life and Times of Cesare Borgia. Its scholarship is superficial—to put it kindly—but he has a flamboyant37 style and he dished up the sex and sadism with a liberal hand. All the old libels on Lucrezia are there, and so on. But it was a sensational38 seller even in hardback; the presses had trouble meeting the demand for pocket editions; and now Hollywood wants to film it as one of their more expensive superepics."
"So?" Clayton looked bored. "Good for him, but what has all this to do with Bruce?"
"Give me time. Prior to writing the book, Owens spent some months in Italy, allegedly doing research. He came back with certain letters he claims to have tracked down in the archives of a noble family—letters to and from Cesare, linking him with a cult21 of Satanists and all sorts of picturesque39 orgies and abominations.
"The correspondence stirred up a bit of professional controversy40. If forged, it's skillfully done, and the noble family in question has been well bribed41 and well rehearsed. I suspect that is the case, myself. However, Owens has not unnaturally43 used the chance, not just to brag44 himself up as a scholarly detective, as if he'd found another cache of Boswell papers—he makes it pivotal to his whole book."
"Ah, yes. And now my Book of Witches manuscript—"
"Disproves it. The Book of Witches is unquestionably genuine, and certain statements in it pretty well clinch45 matters. La vecchia religione had been rooted out of the Romagna, even out of Liguria, long before Cesare Borgia was as much as a gleam in his daddy's apostolic eye. Therefore Owens' letters must be spurious. Either Owens had them cooked, or Owens was taken for a sucker himself.
"When he established this, some time back, Bruce wrote to the man. That was Bruce, of course. Give the poor chap a chance to back out gracefully46, before publishing the evidence that will smear47 him over the landscape. Owens replied politely enough, asking for personal discussions. And so he arrived Sunday a week ago, en route to Hollywood from New York, and here he's been ever since."
"I shouldn't think he could keep the producer waiting like that," said Clayton.
"He has no firm commitment yet: only an invitation to come out and talk things over. A Piltdown-type scandal might cause the studio to back off. After all, if they want to do a life of Borgia, it's in the public domain48. They don't have to pay Owens a nickel—unless, of course, they use the witch-cult material, in which case they'll doubtless pay him a fat sum and engage him as technical adviser49 to boot."
"Uh-huh." Clayton's eyes paled with thought.
"In a minute, Bob. Let's continue this session first. You say Bruce took these letters home Tuesday night."
"Yes. I gathered he saw Owens again on Wednesday and returned them with the remark that he saw no reason to change his mind. There must have been quite an argument. I was at the dojo that evening, didn't see him till Thursday night, as a matter of fact. Then, of course, you had him and me and some of our colleagues—and Owens—up here for that stag party."
"I collect scholars," grinned Clayton.
Kintyre wondered if it might not literally51 be true. In the upper levels of the European business world, where Clayton spent half his time, a man was not respected for his money alone; he would get further if he could show some solid intellectual achievement. Clayton was hardly a social climber, but he must know the practical value of such kudos52.
Any rich oaf of an American could buy paintings. Clayton was a bit more imaginative: he took up incunabula. And he invited specialists in, gave them liquor and sandwiches, turned them loose on each other, and sat around picking up the lingo53.
And what's wrong with that? thought Kintyre. Any Renaissance54 dignitary patronized artists and scholars in much the same way, for much the same reasons. So the Renaissance had its Leonardo, Rafael, Michelangelo—We throw our creative people out into the market place to peddle55 themselves to the general public. What do we have? Rock 'n' Roll.
He jerked back to awareness56. The other man was speaking: "—chemical tests. Owens said he wasn't going to let priceless relics57 be destroyed. It sounded phony to me."
"That was a real dogfight those two had." Kintyre shook his head admiringly.
"Never mind that now. Have you any information on Bruce's later movements?"
"Why, Friday he and I were both working hard. Saturday too he must have been. Yes, Friday afternoon was the last time I saw Bruce alive. We only said hello in passing. Margery Towne tells me he was home that evening and Saturday afternoon, otherwise apparently at the University."
"And that's all we can find out?" Clayton grimaced58. "Not a hell of a lot, is it? Unless Miss Towne can tell—"
"One more thing," said Kintyre. "It may not be relevant. But her apartment was burgled last night."
The cigar dropped from Clayton's mouth. He bent59 over to pick it up, jerkily. His movements smoothed as Kintyre watched; when he raised himself and ground out the butt60, his craggy face was under control.
"Surprised?" murmured Kintyre.
"Yes. Of course. What happened? What was taken?"
"That's the odd part. Nothing she knew of. Someone had broken in and made a hooraw's nest; but he, she, or it hadn't taken any silverware or jewelry61, nothing."
"Uh." Clayton looked at his hands, folded in his lap, then back again, sharply. "How about papers?"
"We thought of that. The desks and drawers had been rooted through, all right, but nothing seemed to be missing."
"Would she know all about Bruce's papers?" Clayton fired the query62 like a policeman. "Don't stall, you damned Edwardian. I know she was his mistress."
"I don't happen to like that word in that particular connection," said Kintyre gently. "However—she hadn't seen all of Bruce's letters and notes. He kept them in a couple of cardboard filing boxes. They didn't seem even to have been opened, though."
"Did you look in to make sure?"
"No. Should we have?"
"I guess not." Clayton rubbed his chin. "No, I wouldn't bother. Because the burglar was evidently looking for something he thought might be in the apartment, but which wasn't. Something that might be in a desk or a bureau drawer, but was too large to fit into a filing box or a—any such thing."
"As what?" challenged Kintyre.
He had already guessed the answer: "The Book of Witches is a fairly big volume."
Kintyre nodded. He was on the point of repeating what Margery had said to him, when they stood in the ruins after the police had gone.
She poured herself a drink with shaking hands. A sunbeam splashed pale copper63 in her still tousled hair. She said: "That bastard64. That crawling bastard. Why didn't I tell the cops?"
"Who?"
"Owens, of course! Who d'you think would come sneaking65 in here? What might we have of any use to anybody, except that old book Bruce was studying—the one that could torpedo66 Owens and his big movie sale and his precious reputation. Owens came in here to try and find that book and take it and burn it!"
"Well, it's a serious accusation68 to make," he replied.
"Serious my left buttock! You know what that snake already tried to do? He tried to bribe42 Bruce! Bruce told me about it. Friday after that stag party, Owens came to his office and talked all around the subject and—oh, he was pious-sounding enough about it, he knows his euphemisms69. But he offered Bruce five thousand dollars to suppress his findings about witches in Italy. Five thousand bucks—Christ, the movies can pay him a quarter of a million!"
"I take it, then, you're insulted by the size of the bribe."
The attempt to jolly her didn't come off. She said viciously: "Bruce boiled over. He was still boiling when he came home. He told Owens to his face, he'd write an article about his research the minute he returned from your pack trip—he'd inform the newspapers, so the whole public could know the truth—Bob!"
It was a scream in her throat.
"What is it?" he cried, turning toward her in alarm.
"Bob—do you think.... Oh, no, Bob!"
"What's the matter?" asked Clayton.
Kintyre shook himself. "Nothing. The manuscript is still with us, naturally," he said in a flat voice. "Bruce kept it in his office. I stopped by today and locked it in a safe."
"Owens—"
"Look here," said Kintyre angrily, "I went through this once before, with Miss Towne. I don't hold with talebearing. The police are competent, and have the essential facts already. Unless more evidence turns up to change my mind, I see no reason to run to them with any sordid70 little story of academic intrigue71 which can't even be proved."
However, his brain continued, while I'm in no position to pay fees, Trig isn't very busy these days. He may enjoy looking into the recent movements of a murder suspect.
There was a knock on the door and a bellboy wheeled in lunch.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
spine
|
|
| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
jutted
|
|
| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
creased
|
|
| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
sinewy
|
|
| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
alibi
|
|
| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
suite
|
|
| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
maneuvers
|
|
| n.策略，谋略，花招( maneuver的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
crossword
|
|
| n.纵横字谜，纵横填字游戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
wholesale
|
|
| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
glibness
|
|
| n.花言巧语；口若悬河 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
chuckled
|
|
| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
cult
|
|
| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
awesome
|
|
| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
qualified
|
|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
obnoxiously
|
|
| adv. 可憎地 讨厌地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
26
twitched
|
|
| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
contradictory
|
|
| adj.反驳的，反对的，抗辩的；n.正反对，矛盾对立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
atrocities
|
|
| n.邪恶，暴行( atrocity的名词复数 )；滔天大罪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
atrocity
|
|
| n.残暴，暴行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
congregate
|
|
| v.(使)集合，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
dynamiting
|
|
| v.（尤指用于采矿的）甘油炸药( dynamite的现在分词 )；会引起轰动的人[事物]；增重 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
slaughtered
|
|
| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bum
|
|
| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
flamboyant
|
|
| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
sensational
|
|
| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
controversy
|
|
| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
bribed
|
|
| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
bribe
|
|
| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
unnaturally
|
|
| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
brag
|
|
| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
clinch
|
|
| v.敲弯，钉牢；确定；扭住对方 [参]clench | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
smear
|
|
| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
domain
|
|
| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
adviser
|
|
| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
literally
|
|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
kudos
|
|
| n.荣誉，名声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
lingo
|
|
| n.语言不知所云，外国话，隐语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
renaissance
|
|
| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
peddle
|
|
| vt.(沿街)叫卖，兜售；宣传，散播 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
awareness
|
|
| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
relics
|
|
| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
grimaced
|
|
| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
butt
|
|
| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
jewelry
|
|
| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
copper
|
|
| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
bastard
|
|
| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
sneaking
|
|
| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
torpedo
|
|
| n.水雷，地雷；v.用鱼雷破坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
snarled
|
|
| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
accusation
|
|
| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
euphemisms
|
|
| n.委婉语，委婉说法( euphemism的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
intrigue
|
|
| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |