sidneysheldon.astrangerinthemirror-第1部分

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　On　a　Saturday　morning　in　early　August　in　1969；　a　series　of　bizarre　and　inexplicable　events　occurred　aboard　the　fifty…five…thousand…ton　luxury　liner　S。S。　Bretagne　as　it　was　preparing　to　sail　from　the　Port　of　New　York　to　Le　Havre。　Claude　Dessard；　chief　purser　of　the　Bretagne；　a　capable　and　meticulous　man；　ran；　as　he　was　fond　of　saying；　a　〃tight　ship〃。　In　the　fifteen　years　Dessard　had　served　aboard　the　Bretagne；　he　had　never　encountered　a　situation　he　had　not　been　able　to　deal　with　efficiently　and　discreetly。　Considering　that　the　S。S。　Bretagne　was　a　French　ship；　this　was　high　tribute；　indeed。　However；　on　this　particular　summer　day　it　was　as　though　a　thousand　devils　were　conspiring　against　him。　It　was　of　small　consolation　to　his　sensitive　Gallic　pride　that　the　intensive　investigations　conducted　afterwards　by　the　American　and　French　branches　of　Interpol　and　the　steamship　line's　own　security　forces　failed　to　turn　up　a　single　plausible　explanation　for　the　extraordinary　happenings　of　that　day。　Because　of　the　fame　of　the　persons　involved；　the　story　was　told　in　headlines　all　over　the　world；　but　the　mystery　remained　unsolved。　As　for　Claude　Dessard；　he　retired　from　the　the　Transatlantique　and　opened　a　bistro　in　Nice；　where　he　never　tired　of　reliving　with　his　patrons　that　strange；　unforgettable　August　day。　
　It　had　begun；　Dessard　recalled；　with　the　delivery　of　flowers　from　the　President　of　the　United　States。　
　One　hour　before　sailing　time；　an　official　black　limousine　bearing　government　license　plates　had　driven　up　to　Pier　92　on　the　lower　Hudson　River。　A　man　wearing　a　charcoal…gray　suit　had　disembarked　from　the　car；　carrying　a　bouquet　of　thirty…six　Sterling　Silver　roses。　He　had　made　his　way　to　the　foot　of　the　gangplank　and　exchanged　a　few　words　with　Alain　Safford；　the　Bretagne's　officer　on　duty。　The　flowers　were　ceremoniously　transferred　to　Janin；　a　junior　deck　officer；　who　delivered　them　and　then　sought　out　Claude　Dessard。　〃I　thought　you　might　wish　to　know；〃　Janin　reported。　〃Roses　from　the　President　to　Mme。　Temple。〃　
　Jill　Temple。　In　the　last　year；　her　photograph　had　appeared　on　the　front　pages　of　daily　newspapers　and　on　magazine　covers　from　New　York　to　Bangkok　and　Paris　to　Leningrad。　Claude　Dessard　recalled　reading　that　she　had　been　number　one　in　a　recent　poll　of　the　world's　most　admired　women；　and　that　a　large　number　of　newborn　girls　were　being　christened　Jill。　The　United　States　of　America　had　always　had　its　heroines。　Now；　Jill　Temple　had　bee　one。　Her　courage　and　the　fantastic　battle　she　had　won　and　then　so　ironically　lost　had　captured　the　imagination　of　the　world。　It　was　a　great　love　story；　but　it　was　much　more　than　that：　it　contained　all　the　elements　of　classic　Greek　drama　and　tragedy。　Claude　Dessard　was　not　fond　of　Americans；　but　in　this　case　he　was　delighted　to　make　an　exception。　He　had　tremendous　admiration　for　Mme。　Toby　Temple。　She　was　　and　this　was　the　highest　accolade　Dessard　could　tender　　galante。　He　resolved　to　see　to　it　that　her　voyage　on　his　ship　would　be　a　memorable　one。　
　The　chief　purser　turned　his　thoughts　away　from　Jill　Temple　and　concentrated　on　a　final　check　of　the　passenger　list。　There　was　the　usual　collection　of　what　the　Americans　referred　to　as　VIP's；　an　acronym　Dessard　detested；　particularly　since　Americans　had　such　barbaric　ideas　about　what　made　a　person　important。　He　noted　that　the　wife　of　a　wealthy　industrialist　was　traveling　alone。　Dessard　smiled　knowingly　and　scanned　the　passenger　list　for　the　name　of　Matt　Ellis；　a　black　football　star。　When　he　found　it；　he　nodded　to　himself；　satisfied。　Dessard　was　also　interested　to　note　that　in　adjoining　cabins　were　a　prominent　senator　and　Carlina　Rocca；　a　South　American　stripper；　whose　names　had　been　linked　in　recent　news　stories。　His　eyes　moved　down　the　list。　David　Kenyon。　Money。　An　enormous　amount　of　it。　He　had　sailed　on　the　Bretagne　before。　Dessard　remembered　David　Kenyon　as　a　good…looking；　deeply　tanned　man　with　a　lean；　athletic　body。　A　quiet；　impressive　man。　Dessard　put　a　C。T。；　for　captain's　table；　after　David　Kenyon's　name。　Clifton　Lawrence。　A　last…minute　booking。　A　small　frown　appeared　on　the　chief　purser's　face。　Ah；　here　was　a　delicate　problem。　What　did　one　do　with　Monsieur　Lawrence？　At　one　time　the　question　would　not　even　have　been　raised；　for　he　would　automatically　have　been　seated　at　the　captain's　table；　where　he　would　have　regaled　everyone　with　amusing　anecdotes。　Clifton　Lawrence　was　a　theatrical　agent　who　in　his　day　had　represented　many　of　the　major　stars　in　the　entertainment　business。　But；　alas；　M。　Lawrence's　day　was　over。　Where　once　the　agent　had　always　insisted　on　the　luxurious　Princess　Suite；　on　this　voyage　he　had　booked　a　single　room　on　a　lower　deck。　'First　class；　of　course；　but　still。。。　Claude　Dessard　decided　he　would　reserve　his　decision　until　he　had　gone　through　the　other　names。　There　was　minor　royalty　aboard；　a　famous　opera　singer　and　a　Nobel　Prize…declining　Russian　novelist。　
　A　knock　at　the　door　interrupted　Dessard's　concentration。　Antoine；　one　of　the　porters；　entered。　
　〃Yes　　what？〃　Claude　Dessard　asked。　Antoine　regarded　him　with　rheumy　eyes。　
　〃Did　you　order　the　theater　locked？〃　Dessard　frowned。　
　〃What　are　you　talking　about？〃　
　〃I　assumed　it　was　you。　Who　else　would　do　it？　A　few　minutes　ago　I　checked　to　see　that　everything　was　in　order。　The　doors　were　locked。　It　sounded　like　someone　was　inside　the　theater；　running　a　movie。〃　
　〃We　never　run　films　in　port；〃　Dessard　said　firmly。　〃And　at　no　time　are　those　doors　locked。　I'll　look　into　it。〃　
　Ordinarily；　Claude　Dessard　would　have　investigated　the　report　immediately；　but　now　he　was　harassed　by　dozens　of　urgent　last…minute　details　that　had　to　be　attended　to　before　the　twelve　o'clock　sailing。　His　supply　of　American　dollars　did　not　tally；　one　of　the　best　suites　bad　been　booked　twice　by　mistake；　and　the　wedding　gift　ordered　by　Captain　Montaigne　had　been　delivered　to　the　wrong　ship。　The　captain　was　going　to　be　furious。　Dessard　stopped　to　listen　to　the　familiar　sound　of　the　ship's　four　powerful　turbines　starting。　He　felt　the　movement　of　the　S。S。　Bretagne　as　she　slipped　away　from　the　pier　and　began　backing　her　way　into　the　channel。　Then　Dessard　once　again　became　engrossed　in　his　problems。　Half　an　hour　later；　Leon；　the　chief　veranda…deck　steward；　came　in。　Dessard　looked　up；　impatiently。　
　〃Yes；　Leon？〃　
　〃I'm　sorry　to　bother　you；　but　I　thought　you　should　know。。。〃　
　〃Hm？〃　Dessard　was　only　half…listening；　his　mind　on　the　delicate　task　of　pleting　the　seating　arrangements　for　the　captain's　table　for　each　night　of　the　voyage。　The　captain　was　not　a　man　gifted　with　social　graces；　and　having　dinner　with　his　passengers　every　night　was　an　ordeal　for　him。　It；　was　Dessard's　task　to　see　that　the　group　was　agreable。
　　〃It's　about　Mme。　Temple　。。。〃　Leon　began。　Dessard　instantly　laid　down　his　pencil　and　looked　up；　his　small　black　eyes　alert。　
　〃Yes？〃
　〃I　passed　her　cabin　a　few　minutes　ago；　and　I　heard　loud　voices　and　a　scream。　It　was　difficult　to　hear　clearly　through　the　door；　but　it　sounded　as　though　she　was　saying；　'You've　killed　me；　you've　killed　me。'　I　thought　it　best　not　to　interfere；　so　I　came　to　tell　you。〃　
　Dessard　nodded。　〃You　did　well。　I　shall　check　to　make　certain　that　she　is　all　right。〃　Dessard　watched　the　deck　steward　leave。　It　was　unthinkable　that　anyone　would　harm　a　woman　like　Mme。　Temple。　It　was　an　outrage　to　Dessard's　Gallic　sense　of　chivalry。　He　put　on　his　uniform　cap；　stole　a　quick　look　in　the　wall　mirror　and　started　for　the　door。　The　telephone　rang。　The　chief　purser　hesitated；　then　picked　it　up。　
　〃Dessard。〃　
　〃Claude　〃　It　was　the　third　mate's　voice。　〃For　Christ's　sake；　send　someone　down　to　the　theater　with　a　mop；　would　you？　There's　blood　all　over　the　place。〃　
　Dessard　felt　a　sudden　sinking　sensation　in　the　pit　of　his　stomach。　〃Right　away；〃　Dessard　promised。　
　He　hung　up；　arranged　for　a　porter；　then　dialed　the　ship's　physician。　〃Andre？　Claude。〃　He　tried　to　make　his　voice　casual。　〃I　was　just　wondering　whether　anyone　has　been　in　for　medical　treatment。。。。　No；　no。　I　wasn't　thinking　of　seasick　pills。　This　person　would　be　bleeding；　perhaps　badly。。。。　I　see。　Thank　you。〃　
　Dessard　hung　up；　filled　with　a　growing　sense　of　unease。　He　left　his　office　and　headed　for　Jill　Temple's　suite。　He　was　halfway　there　when　the　next　singular　event　occurred。　As　Dessard　reached　the　boat　deck；　he　felt　the　rhythm　of　the　ship's　motion　change。　He　glanced　out　at　the　ocean　and　saw　that　they　had　arrived　at　the　Ambrose　Lightship；　where　they　would　drop　their　pilot　tug　and　the　liner　would　head　for　the　open　sea。　But　instead；　the　Bretagne　was　slowing　to　a　stop。　Something　out　of　the　ordinary　was　happening。　Dessard　hurried　to　the　railing　and　looked　over　the　side。　In　the　sea　below；　the　pilot　tug　had　been　snugged　against　the　cargo　hatch　of　the　Bretagne；　and　two　sailors　were　transferring　luggage　from　the　liner　to　the　tug。　As　Dessard　watched；　a　passenger　stepped　from　the　ship's　hatch　onto　the　small　boat。　Dessard　could　only　catch　a　glimpse　of　the　person's　back；　but　he　was　sure　that　he　must　have　been　mistaken　in　his　identification。　It　was　simply　not　possible。　In　fact；　the　incident　of　a　passenger　leaving　the　ship　in　this　fashion　was　so　extraordinary　that　the　chief　purser　felt　a　small　frisson　of　alarm。　He　turned　and　hurriedly