raymondchandler.thehighwindow-第9部分

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　 〃Haven't　I　seen　you　somewhere　before？〃
　 〃Over　on　Dresden　Avenue　in　Pasadena。　This　morning。〃
　 I　could　see　his　cheeks　get　pinker　than　they　had　been。　He　sighed。
　 〃I　must　be　lousy；〃　he　said。
　 〃Boy；　you　stink；〃　I　agreed。
　 〃Maybe　it's　the　hat；〃　he　said。
　 〃The　hat　helps；〃　I　said。　〃But　you　don't　really　need　it。〃
　 〃It's　a　pretty　tough　dollar　in　this　town；〃　he　said　sadly。　〃You　can't　do　it　on　foot；　you　ruin　yourself　with　taxi　fares　if　you　use　taxis；　and　if　you　use　your　own　car；　it's　always　where　you　can't　get　to　it　fast　enough。　You　have　to　stay　too　close。〃
　 〃But　you　don't　have　to　climb　in　a　guy's　pocket；〃　I　said。　〃Did　you　want　something　with　me　or　are　you　just　practising？〃
　 〃I　figured　I'd　find　out　if　you　were　smart　enough　to　be　worth　talking　to。〃
　 〃I'm　very　smart；〃　I　said。　〃It　would　be　a　shame　not　to　talk　to　me。〃
　 He　looked　carefully　around　back　of　his　chair　and　on　both　sides　of　where　we　were　sitting　and　then　drew　a　small；　pigskin　wallet　out。　He　handed　me　a　nice　fresh　card　from　it。　It　read：　George　Anson　Phillips。　Confidential　Investigations。　212　Senger　Building；　1924　North　Wilcox　Avenue；　Hollywood。　A　Glenview　telephone　number。　In　the　upper　left　hand　corner　there　was　an　open　eye　with　an　eyebrow　arched　in　surprise　and　very　long　eyelashes。
　 〃You　can't　do　that；〃　I　said；　pointing　to　the　eye。　〃That's　the　Pinkerton's。　You'll　be　stealing　their　business。〃
　 〃Oh　hell；〃　he　said；　〃what　little　I　get　wouldn't　bother　them。〃　I　snapped　the　card　on　my　fingernail　and　bit　down　hard　on　my　teeth　and　slipped　the　card　into　my　pocket。
　 〃You　want　one　of　mineor　have　you　pleted　your　file　on　me？〃
　 〃Oh；　I　know　all　about　you；〃　he　said。　〃I　was　a　deputy　at　Ventura　the　time　you　were　working　on　the　Gregson　case。〃
　 Gregson　was　a　con　man　from　Oklahoma　City　who　was　followed　all　over　the　United　States　for　two　years　by　one　of　his　victims　until　he　got　so　jittery　that　he　shot　up　a　service　station　attendant　who　mistook　him　for　an　acquaintance。　It　seemed　a　long　time　ago　to　me。
　 I　said：　〃Go　on　from　there。〃
　 〃I　remembered　your　name　when　I　saw　it　on　your　registration　this　a。m。　So　when　I　lost　you　on　the　way　into　town　I　just　looked　you　up。　I　was　going　to　e　in　and　talk；　but　it　would　have　been　a　violation　of　confidence。　This　way　I　kind　of　can't　help　myself。〃
　 Another　screwball。　That　made　three　in　one　day；　not　counting　Mrs。　Murdock；　who　might　turn　out　to　be　a　screwball　too。
　 I　waited　while　he　took　his　dark　glasses　off　and　polished　them　and　put　them　on　again　and　gave　the　neighborhood　the　once　over　again。　Then　he　said：
　 〃I　figured　we　could　maybe　make　a　deal。　Pool　our　resources；　as　they　say。　I　saw　the　guy　go　into　your　office；　so　I　figured　he　had　hired　you。〃
　 〃You　knew　who　he　was？〃
　 〃I'm　working　on　him；〃　he　said；　and　his　voice　sounded　flat　and　discouraged。　〃And　where　I　am　getting　is　no　place　at　all。〃
　 〃What　did　he　do　to　you？〃
　 〃Well；　I'm　working　for　his　wife。〃
　 〃Divorce？〃
　 He　looked　all　around　him　carefully　and　said　in　a　small　voice：　〃So　she　says。　But　I　wonder。〃
　 〃They　both　want　one；〃　I　said。　〃Each　trying　to　get　something　on　the　other。　ical；　isn't　it？〃
　 〃My　end　I　don't　like　so　well。　A　guy　is　tailing　me　around　some　of　the　time。　A　very　tall　guy　with　a　funny　eye。　I　shake　him　but　after　a　while　I　see　him　again。　A　very　tall　guy。　Like　a　lamppost。〃
　 A　very　tall　man　with　a　funny　eye。　I　smoked　thoughtfully。　〃Anything　to　do　with　you？〃　the　blond　man　asked　me　a　little　anxiously。
　 I　shook　my　head　and　threw　my　cigarette　into　the　sand　jar。　〃Never　saw　him　that　I　know　of。〃　I　looked　at　my　strap　watch。　〃We　better　get　together　and　talk　this　thing　over　properly；　but　I　can't　do　it　now。　I　have　an　appointment。〃
　 〃I'd　like　to；〃　he　said。　〃Very　much。〃
　 〃Let's　then。　My　office；　my　apartment；　or　your　office；　or　where？〃
　 He　scratched　his　badly　shaved　chin　with　a　well…chewed　thumbnail。
　 〃My　apartment；〃　he　said　at　last。　〃It's　not　in　the　phone　book。　Give　me　that　card　a　minute。〃
　 He　turned　it　over　on　his　palm　when　I　gave　it　to　him　and　wrote　slowly　with　a　small　metal　pencil；　moving　his　tongue　along　his　lips。　He　was　getting　younger　every　minute。　He　didn't　seem　much　more　than　twenty　by　now；　but　he　had　to　be；　because　the　Gregson　case　had　been　six　years　back。
　 He　put　his　pencil　away　and　handed　me　back　the　card。　The　address　he　had　written　on　it　was　204　Florence　Apartments；　128　Court　Street。
　 I　looked　at　him　curiously。　〃Court　Street　on　Bunker　Hill？〃
　 He　nodded；　flushing　all　over　his　blond　skin。　〃Not　too　good；〃　he　said　quickly。　〃I　haven't　been　in　the　chips　lately。　Do　you　mind？〃
　 〃No；　why　would　I？〃
　 I　stood　up　and　held　a　hand　out。　He　shook　it　and　dropped　it　and　I　pushed　it　down　into　my　hip　pocket　and　rubbed　the　palm　against　the　handkerchief　I　had　there。　Looking　at　his　face　more　closely　I　saw　that　there　was　a　line　of　moisture　across　his　upper　lip　and　more　of　it　along　the　side　of　his　nose。　It　was　not　as　hot　as　all　that。
　 I　started　to　move　off　and　then　I　turned　back　to　lean　down　close　to　his　face　and　say：　〃Almost　anybody　can　pull　my　leg；　but　just　to　make　sure；　she's　a　tall　blond　with　careless　eyes；　huh？〃
　 〃I　wouldn't　call　them　careless；〃　he　said。
　 I　held　my　face　together　while　I　said：　〃And　just　between　the　two　of　us　this　divorce　stuff　is　a　lot　of　hooey。　It's　something　else　entirely；　isn't　it？〃
　 〃Yes；〃　he　said　softly；　〃and　something　I　don't　like　more　every　minute　I　think　about　it。　Here。〃
　 He　pulled　something　out　of　his　pocket　and　dropped　it　into　my　hand。　It　was　a　flat　key。
　 〃No　need　for　you　to　wait　around　in　the　hall；　if　I　happen　to　be　out。　I　have　two　of　them。　What　time　would　you　think　you　would　e？〃
　 〃About　four…thirty；　the　way　it　looks　now。　You　sure　you　want　to　give　me　this　key？〃
　 〃Why；　we're　in　the　same　racket；〃　he　said；　looking　up　at　me　innocently；　or　as　innocently　as　he　could　look　through　a　pair　of　dark　glasses。
　 At　the　edge　of　the　lobby　I　looked　back。　He　sat　there　peacefully；　with　the　half…smoked　cigarette　dead　between　his　lips　and　the　gaudy　brown　and　yellow　band　on　his　hat　looking　as　quiet　as　a　cigarette　ad　on　the　back　page　of　the　Saturday　Evening　Post。
　 We　were　in　the　same　racket。　So　I　wouldn't　chisel　him。　Just　like　that。　I　could　have　the　key　to　his　apartment　and　go　in　and　make　myself　at　home。　I　could　wear　his　slippers　and　drink　his　liquor　and　lift　up　his　carpet　and　count　the　thousand　dollar　bills　under　it。　We　were　in　the　same　racket。
　
　
　7
　
　 The　Belfont　Building　was　eight　stories　of　nothing　in　particular　that　had　got　itself　pinched　off　between　a　large　green　and　chromium　cut　rate　suit　emporium　and　a　three…story　and　basement　garage　that　made　a　noise　like　lion　cages　at　feeding　time。　The　small　dark　narrow　lobby　was　as　dirty　as　a　chicken　yard。　The　building　directory　had　a　lot　of　vacant　space　on　it。　Only　one　of　the　names　meant　anything　to　me　and　I　knew　that　one　already。　Opposite　the　directory　a　large　sign　tilted　against　the　fake　marble　wall　said：　Space　for　Renting　Suitable　for　Cigar　Stand。　Apply　Room　316。
　 There　were　two　open…grill　elevators　but　only　one　seemed　to　be　running　and　that　not　busy。　An　old　man　sat　inside　it　slack…jawed　and　watery…eyed　on　a　piece　of　folded　burlap　on　top　of　a　wooden　stool。　He　looked　as　if　he　had　been　sitting　there　since　the　Civil　War　and　had　e　out　of　that　badly。
　 I　got　in　with　him　and　said　eight；　and　he　wrestled　the　doors　shut　and　cranked　his　buggy　and　we　dragged　upwards　lurching。　The　old　man　breathed　hard；　as　if　he　was　carrying　the　elevator　on　his　back。
　 I　got　out　at　my　floor　and　started　along　the　hallway　and　behind　me　the　old　man　leaned　out　of　the　car　and　blew　his　nose　with　his　fingers　into　a　carton　full　of　floor　sweepings。
　 Elisha　Morningstar's　office　was　at　the　back；　opposite　the　firedoor。　Two　rooms；　both　lettered　in　flaked　black　paint　on　pebbled　glass。　Elisha　Morningstar。　Numismatist。　The　one　farthest　back　said：　Entrance。
　 I　turned　the　knob　and　went　into　a　small　narrow　room　with　two　windows；　a　shabby　little　typewriter　desk；　closed；　a　number　of　wall　cases　of　tarnished　coins　in　tilted　slots　with　yellowed　typewritten　labels　under　them；　two　brown　filing　cases　at　the　back　against　the　wall；　no　curtains　at　the　windows；　and　a　dust　gray　floor　carpet　so　threadbare　that　you　wouldn't　notice　the　rips　in　it　unless　you　tripped　over　one。
　 An　inner　wooden　door　was　open　at　the　back　across　from　the　filing　cases；　behind　the　little　typewriter　desk。　Through　the　door　came　the　small　sounds　a　man　makes　when　he　isn't　doing　anything　at　all。　Then　the　dry　voice　of　Elisha　Morningstar　called　out：
　 〃e　in；　please。　e　in。〃
　 I　went　along　and　in。　The　inner　office　was　just　as　small　but　had　a　lot　more　stuff　in　it。　A　green　safe　almost　blocked　off　the　front　half。　Beyond　this　a　heavy　old　mahogany　table　against　the　entrance　door　held　some　dark　books；　some　flabby　old　magazines；　and　a　lot　of　dust。　In　the　back　wall　a　window　was　open　a　few　inches；　without　effect　on　the　musty　smell。　There　was　a　hatrack　with　a　greasy　black　felt　hat　on　it。　There　were　three　long…legged　tables　with　glass　tops　and　more　coins　under　the　glass　tops。　There　was　a　heavy　dark　leather…topped　desk　midway　of　the　room。　It　had　the　usual　desk　stuff　on　it；　and　in　addition　a　pair　of　jeweller's　scales　under　a　glass　dome　and　two　large　nickel…framed　magnifying　glasses　and　a　jeweller's　eyepiece　lying　on　a　buff　scratch