rc.theladyinthelake-第15部分

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ing　that　had　been　clipped　from　a　chain　anklet　whose　cut　ends　did　not　fit　together。
　　I　shut　my　eyes　and　poked　a　finger　out　at　random　and　it　came　to　rest　on　the　baking　soda。　I　got　a　newspaper　from　the　back　of　the　woodbox　and　spread　it　out　and　dumped　the　soda　out　of　the　box。　I　stirred　it　around　with　a　spoon。　There　seemed　to　be　an　indecent　lot　of　baking　soda；　but　that　was　all　there　was。　I　funnelled　it　back　into　the　box　and　tried　the　borax。　Nothing　but　borax。　Third　time　lucky。　I　tried　the　cornstarch。　It　made　too　much　fine　dust；　and　there　was　nothing　but　cornstarch。
　　The　sound　of　distant　steps　froze　me　to　the　ankles。　I　reached　up　and　yanked　the　light　out　and　dodged　back　into　the　living　room　and　reached　for　the　lamp　switch。　Much　too　late　to　be　of　any　use；　of　course。　The　steps　sounded　again；　soft　and　cautious。　The　hackles　rose　on　my　neck。
　　I　waited　in　the　dark；　with　the　flash　in　my　left　hand。　A　deadly　long　two　minutes　crept　by。　I　spent　some　of　the　time　breathing；　but　not　all。　It　wouldn't　be　Patton。　He　would　walk　up　to　the　door　and　open　it　and　tell　me　off。　The　careful　quiet　steps　seemed　to　move　this　way　and　that；　a　movement；　a　long　pause；　another　movement；　another　long　pause。　I　sneaked　across　to　the　door　and　twisted　the　knob　silently。　I　yanked　the　door　wide　and　stabbed　out　with　the　flash。
　　It　made　golden　lamps　of　a　pair　of　eyes。　There　was　a　leaping　movement　and　a　quick　thudding　of　hoofs　back　among　the　trees。　It　was　only　an　inquisitive　deer。
　　I　closed　the　door　again　and　followed　my　flashlight　beam　back　into　the　kitchen。　The　small　round　glow　rested　squarely　on　the　box　of　confectioner's　sugar。
　　I　put　the　light　on　again；　lifted　the　box　down　and　emptied　it　on　the　newspaper。
　　Patton　hadn't　gone　deep　enough。　Having　found　one　thing　by　accident　he　had　assumed　that　was　all　there　was。　He　hadn't　seemed　to　notice　that　there　ought　to　be　something　else。
　　Another　twist　of　white　tissue　showed　in　the　fine　white　powdered　sugar。　I　shook　it　clean　and　unwound　it。　It　contained　a　tiny　gold　heart；　no　larger　than　a　woman's　little　fingernail。
　　I　spooned　the　sugar　back　into　the　box　and　put　the　box　back　on　the　shelf　and　crumpled　the　piece　of　newspaper　into　the　stove。　I　went　back　to　the　living　room　and　turned　the　table　lamp　on。　Under　the　brighter　light　the　tiny　engraving　on　the　back　of　the　little　gold　heart　could　just　be　read　without　a　magnifying　glass。
　　It　was　in　script。　It　read：　〃_Al　to　Mildred。　June　28th　1938。　With　all　my　love_。〃　Al　to　Mildred。　Al　somebody　to　Mildred　Haviland。　Mildred　Haviland　was　Muriel　Chess。　Muriel　Chess　was　dead…two　weeks　after　a　cop　named　De　Soto　had　been　looking　for　her。
　　I　stood　there；　holding　it；　wondering　what　it　had　to　do　with　me。　Wondering；　and　not　having　the　faintest　glimmer　of　an　idea。
　　I　wrapped　it　up　again　and　left　the　cabin　and　drove　back　to　the　village。
　　Patton　was　in　his　office　telephoning　when　I　got　around　there。　The　door　was　locked。　I　had　to　wait　while　he　talked。　After　a　while　he　hung　up　and　came　to　unlock　the　door。
　　I　walked　in　past　him　and　put　the　twist　of　tissue　paper　on　his　counter　and　opened　it　up。
　　〃You　didn't　go　deep　enough　into　the　powdered　sugar；〃　I　said。
　　He　looked　at　the　little　gold　heart；　looked　at　me；　went　around　behind　the　counter　and　got　a　cheap　magnifying　glass　off　his　desk。　He　studied　the　back　of　the　heart。　He　put　the　glass　down　and　frowned　at　me。
　　〃Might　have　known　if　you　wanted　to　search　that　cabin；　you　was　going　to　do　it；〃　he　said　gruffly。　〃I　ain't　going　to　have　trouble　with　you；　am　I；　son？〃
　　〃You　ought　to　have　noticed　that　the　cut　ends　of　the　chain　didn't　fit；〃　I　told　him。
　　He　looked　at　me　sadly。　〃Son；　I　don't　have　your　eyes。〃　He　pushed　the　little　heart　around　with　his　square　blunt　finger。　He　stared　at　me　and　said　nothing。
　　I　said：　〃If　you　were　thinking　that　anklet　meant　something　Bill　could　have　been　jealous　about；　so　was　I…provided　he　ever　saw　it。　But　strictly　on　the　cuff　I'm　willing　to　bet　he　never　did　see　it　and　that　he　never　heard　of　Mildred　Haviland。〃　Patton　said　slowly：　〃Looks　like　maybe　I　owe　this　De　Soto　party　an　apology；　don't　it？〃
　　〃If　you　ever　see　him；〃　I　said。
　　He　gave　me　another　long　empty　stare　and　I　gave　it　right　back　to　him。　〃Don't　tell　me；　son；〃　he　said。　〃Let　me　guess　all　for　myself　that　you　got　a　brand　new　idea　about　it。〃
　　〃Yeah。　Bill　didn't　murder　his　wife。〃
　　〃No？〃
　　〃No。　She　was　murdered　by　somebody　out　of　her　past。　Somebody　who　had　lost　track　of　her　and　then　found　it　again　and　found　her　married　to　another　man　and　didn't　like　it。　Somebody　who　knew　the　country　up　here…as　hundreds　of　people　do　who　don't　live　here…and　knew　a　good　place　to　hide　the　car　and　the　clothes。　Somebody　who　hated　and　could　dissimulate。　Who　persuaded　her　to　go　away　with　him　and　when　everything　was　ready　and　the　note　was　written；　took　her　around　the　throat　and　gave　her　what　he　thought　was　ing　to　her　and　put　her　in　the　lake　and　went　his　way。　Like　it？〃
　　〃Well；〃　he　said　judiciously；　〃it　does　make　things　kind　of　plicated；　don't　you　think？　But　there　ain't　anything　impossible　about　it。　Not　one　bit　impossible。〃
　　〃When　you　get　tired　of　it；　let　me　know。　Ill　have　something　else；〃　I　said。
　　〃I'll　just　be　doggone　sure　you　will；〃　he　said；　and　for　the　first　time　since　I　had　met　him　he　laughed。
　　I　said　goodnight　again　and　went　out；　leaving　him　there　moving　his　mind　around　with　the　ponderous　energy　of　a　homesteader　digging　up　a　stump。
　　
　　
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　　At　somewhere　around　eleven　I　got　down　to　the　bottom　of　the　grade　and　parked　in　one　of　the　diagonal　slots　at　the　side　of　the　Prescott　Hotel　in　San　Bernardino。　I　pulled　an　overnight　bag　out　of　the　boot　and　had　taken　three　steps　with　it　when　a　bellhop　in　braided　pants　and　a　white　shirt　and　black　bow　tie　yanked　it　out　of　my　hand。
　　The　clerk　on　duty　was　an　eggheaded　man　with　no　interest　in　me　or　in　anything　else。。　He　wore　parts　of　a　white　linen　suit　and　he　yawned　as　he　handed　me　the　desk　pen　and　looked　off　into　the　distance　as　if　remembering　his　childhood。
　　The　hop　and　I　rode　a　four　by　four　elevator　to　the　second　floor　and　walked　a　couple　of　blocks　around　corners。　As　he　walked　it　got　hotter　and　hotter。　The　hop　unlocked　a　door　into　a　boy's　size　room　with　one　window　on　an　airshaft。　The　air…conditioner　inlet　up　in　the　corner　of　the　ceiling　was　about　the　size　of　a　woman's　handkerchief。　The　bit　of　ribbon　tied　to　it　fluttered　weakly；　just　to　show　that　something　was　moving。
　　The　hop　was　tall　and　thin　and　yellow　and　not　young　and　as　cool　as　a　slice　of　chicken　in　aspic。　He　moved　his　gum　around　in　his　face；　put　my　bag　on　a　chair；　looked　up　at　the　grating　and　then　stood　looking　at　me。　He　had　eyes　the　color　of　a　drink　of　water。
　　〃Maybe　I　ought　to　have　asked　for　one　of　the　dollar　rooms；〃　I　said。　〃This　one　seems　a　mite　close…fitting。〃
　　〃I　reckon　you're　lucky　to　get　one　at　all。　This　town's　fair　bulgin'　at　the　seams。〃
　　〃Bring　us　up　some　ginger　ale　and　glasses　and　ice；〃　I　said。
　　〃Us？〃
　　〃That　is；　if　you　happen　to　be　a　drinking　man。〃
　　〃I　reckon　I　might　take　a　chance　this　late。〃　He　went　out。　I　took　off　my　coat；　tie；　shirt　and　undershirt　and　walked　around　in　the　warm　draft　from　the　open　door。　The　draft　smelled　of　hot　iron。　I　went　into　the　bathroom　sideways…it　was　that　kind　of　bathroom…and　doused　myself　with　tepid　cold　water。　I　was　breathing　little　more　freely　when　the　tall　languid　hop　returned　with　a　tray。　He　shut　the　door　and　I　brought　out　a　bottle　of　rye。　He　mixed　a　couple　of　drinks　and　we　made　the　usual　insincere　smiles　over　them　and　drank。　The　per。　spiration　started　from　the　back　of　my　neck　down　my　spine　and　was　halfway　to　my　socks　before　I　put　the　glass　down。　But　I　felt　better　all　the　same。　I　sat　on　the　bed　and　looked　at　the　hop。
　　〃How　long　can　you　stay？〃
　　〃Doin'　what？〃
　　〃Remembering。〃
　　〃I　ain't　a　damn　bit　of　use　at　it；〃　he　said。
　　〃I　have　money　to　spend；〃　I　said；　〃in　my　own　peculiar　way。〃　I　got　my　wallet　unstuck　from　the　lower　part　of　my　back　and　spread　tired…looking　dollar　bills　along　the　bed。
　　〃I　beg　yore　pardon；〃　the　hop　said。　〃I　reckon　you　might　beadick。〃
　　〃Don't　be　sffly；〃　I　said。　〃You　never　saw　a　dick　playing　solitaire　with　his　own　money。　You　might　call　me　an　in。　vestigator。〃
　　〃I'm　interested；〃　he　said。　〃The　likker　makes　my　mind　work。〃　I　gave　him　a　dollar　bill。　〃Try　that　on　your　mind。　And　can　I　call　you　Big　Tex　from　Houston？〃
　　〃Amarillo；〃　he　said。　〃Not　that　it　matters。　And　how　do　you　like　my　Texas　drawl？　It　makes　me　sick；　but　I　find　people　go　for　it。〃
　　〃Stay　with　it；〃　I　said。　〃It　never　lost　anybody　a　dollar　yet。〃　He　grinned　and　tucked　the　folded　dollar　neatly　into　the　watch　pocket　of　his　pants。
　　〃What　were　you　doing　on　Friday；　June　12th？〃　I　asked　him。　〃Late　afternoon　or　evening。　It　was　a　Friday。〃　He　sipped　his　drink　and　thought；　shaking　the　ice　around　gently　and　drinking　past　his　gum。　〃I　was　right　here；　six　to　twelve　shift；〃　he　said。
　　〃A　woman；　slim；　pretty　blonde；　checked　in　here　and　stayed　until　time　for　the　night　train　to　El　Paso。　I　think　she　must　have　taken　that　because　she　was　in　El　Paso　Sunday　morning。　She　came　here　driving　a　Packard　Clipper　registered　to　Crystal　Grace　Kingsley；　965　Carson　Drive；　Beverly　Hills。　She　may　have　registered　as　that；　or　under　some　other　name；　and　she　may　not　have　registe