df.theedge-第1部分

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　　I　was　following　Derry　Welfram　at　a　prudent　fifty　paces　when　he　stumbled；　fell　face　down　on　the　wet　tarmac　and　lay　still。　I　stopped；　watching；　as　nearer　hands　stretched　to　help　him　up；　and　saw　the　doubt；　the　apprehension；　the　shock　flower　in　the　opening　mouths　of　the　faces　around　him。　The　word　that　formed　in　consequence　in　my　own　brain　was　violent；　of　four　letters　and　unexpressed。
　　Derry　Welfram　lay　face　down；　unmoving；　while　the　fourteen　runners　for　the　three…thirty　race　at　York　stalked　closely　past　him；　the　damp　jockeys　looking　down　and　back　with　muted　curiosity；　minds　on　the　business　ahead；　bodies　shivering　in　the　cold　near…drizzle　of　early　October。　The　man　was　drunk。　One　could　read　their　minds。　Midafternoon　falling…down　drunks　were　hardly　unknown　on　racecourses。　It　was　a　miserable；　unfortable　afternoon。　Good　luck　to　him；　the　drunk。
　　I　retreated　a　few　unobtrusive　steps　and　went　on　watching。　Some　of　the　group　who　had　been　nearest　to　Welfram　when　he　fell　were　edging　away；　looking　at　the　departing　horses；　wanting　to　leave；　to　see　the　race。　A　few　shuffled　from　foot　to　foot；　caught　between　a　wish　to　desert　and　shame　at　doing　so；　and　one；　more　civic…minded；　scuttled　off　for　help。
　　I　drifted　over　to　the　open　door　of　the　paddock　bar；　from　where　several　customers　looked　out　on　the　scene。　Inside；　the　place　was　full　of　dryish　people　watching　life　on　closed…circuit　television；　life　at　second　hand。
　　One　of　the　group　in　the　doorway　said　to　me；　'What's　the　matter　with　him？'
　　'I've　no　idea。'　I　shrugged。　'Drunk；　I　dare　say。'
　　I　stood　there　quietly；　part　of　the　scenery；　not　pushing　through　into　the　bar　but　standing　just　outside　the　door　under　the　eaves　of　the　overhanging　roof；　trying　not　to　let　the　occasional　drips　from　above　fall　down　my　neck。
　　The　civic…minded　man　came　back　at　a　run；　followed　by　a　heavy　man　in　a　St。　John's　Ambulance　uniform。　People　had　by　now　half…turned　Welfram　and　loosened　his　tie；　but　seemed　to　step　back　gladly　at　the　approach　of　officialdom。　The　St。　John's　man　rolled　Welfram　fully　on　to　his　back　and　spoke　decisively　into　a　walkie…talkie。　Then　he　bent　Welfram's　head　backwards　and　tried　mouth…to…mouth　resuscitation。
　　I　couldn't　think　of　any　circumstance　which　would　have　persuaded　me　to　put　my　mouth　on　Welfram's。　Perhaps　it　was　easier　between　absolute　strangers。　Not　even　to　save　his　life；　I　thought；　though　I'd　have　preferred　him　alive。
　　Another　man　arrived　in　a　hurry；　a　thin　raincoated　man　I　knew　by　sight　to　be　the　racecourse　doctor。　He　tapped　the　ambulance　man　on　the　shoulder；　telling　him　to　discontinue；　and　himself　laid　first　his　fingers　against　Welfram's　neck；　then　his　stethoscope　against　the　chest　inside　the　opened　shirt。　After　a　long　listening　pause；　perhaps　as　much　as　half　a　minute；　he　straightened　and　spoke　to　the　ambulance　man；　meanwhile　stuffing　the　stethoscope　into　his　raincoat　pocket。　Then　he　departed；　again　at　a　hurry；　because　the　race　was　about　to　begin　and　the　racecourse　doctor；　during　each　running；　had　to　be　out　on　the　course　to　succour　the　jockeys。
　　The　ambulance　man　held　a　further　conversation　with　his　walkie…talkie　but　tried　no　more　to　blow　air　into　unresponsive　lungs；　and　presently　some　colleagues　of　his　arrived　with　a　stretcher　and　covering　blanket；　and　loaded　up　and　carried　away；　decently　hidden；　the　silver　hair；　the　bulging　navy…blue　suit　and　the　stilled　heart　of　a　heartless　man。
　　The　group　that　had　stood　near　him　broke　up　with　relief；　two　or　three　of　them　heading　straight　for　the　bar。
　　The　man　who　had　earlier　asked　me；　asked　the　newers　the　same　question。　'What's　the　matter　with　him？'
　　'He's　dead；'　one　of　them　said　briefly　and　unnecessarily。　'God；　I　need　a　drink。'　He　pushed　his　way　into　the　bar；　with　the　doorway　spectators；　me　among　them；　following　him　inside　to　listen。　'He　just　fell　down　and　died。'　He　shook　his　head；　'Strewth；　it　makes　you　think。'　He　tried　to　catch　the　barman's　eye。　'You　could　hear　his　breath　rattling。。。　then　it　just　stopped。。。　he　was　dead　before　the　St。　John's　man　got　there。。。　Barman；　a　double　gin。。。　make　it　a　treble。。。'
　　'Was　there　any　blood？'　I　asked。
　　'Blood？'　He　half　looked　in　my　direction；　'Course　not。　You　don't　get　blood　with　heart　attacks。。。　Barman；　a　gin　and　tonic。。。　not　much　tonic。。。　get　a　shunt　on；　will　you？'
　　'Who　was　he？'　someone　said。
　　'Search　me。　Just　some　poor　mug。'
　　On　the　television　the　race　began；　and　everyone；　including　myself；　swivelled　round　to　watch；　though　I　couldn't　have　said　afterwards　what　had　won。　With　Derry　Welfram　dead　my　immediate　job　was　going　to　be　much　more　difficult；　if　not　temporarily　impossible。　The　three…thirty　in　those　terms　was　irrelevant。
　　I　left　the　bar　in　the　general　break…up　after　the　race　and　wandered　about　inconclusively　for　a　bit；　looking　for　other　things　that　were　not　as　they　should　be　and；　as　on　many　days；　not　seeing　any。　I　particularly　looked　for　anyone　who　might　be　looking　for　Derry　Welfram；　hanging　around　for　that　purpose　outside　the　ambulance…room　door；　but　no　one　arrived　to　enquire。　An　announcement　came　over　the　loud…speakers　presently　asking　for　anyone　who　had　acpanied　a　Mr　D。　Welfram　to　the　races　to　report　to　the　clerk　of　the　course's　office；　so　I　hung　about　outside　there　for　a　while　also；　but　no　one　accepted　the　invitation。
　　Welfram　the　corpse　left　the　racecourse　in　an　ambulance　en　route　to　the　morgue　and　after　a　while　I　drove　away　from　York　in　my　unremarkable　Audi；　and　punctually　at　five　o'clock　telephoned　on　my　car　phone　to　John　Millington；　my　immediate　boss；　as　required。
　　'What　do　you　mean；　he's　dead？'　he　demanded。　'He　can't　be。'
　　'His　heart　stopped；'　I　said。
　　'Did　someone　kill　him？'
　　Neither　of　us　would　have　been　surprised　if　someone　had；　but　I　said；　'No；　there　wasn't　any　sign　of　it。　I'd　been　following　him　for　ages。　I　didn't　see　anyone　bump　into　him；　or　anything　like　that。　And　there　was　apparently　no　blood。　Nothing　suspicious。　He　just　died。'
　　'Shit。'　His　angry　tone　made　it　sound　as　if　it　were　probably　my　fault。　John　Millington；　retired　policeman　（Chief　Inspector）；　currently　Deputy　Head　of　the　Jockey　Club　Security　Service；　had　never　seemed　to　e　to　terms　with　my　covert　and　indeterminate　appointment　to　his　department；　even　though　in　the　three　years　I'd　been　working　for　him　we'd　seen　a　good　few　villains　run　off　the　racecourse。
　　'The　boy's　a　blasted　amateur；'　he'd　protested　when　I　was　presented　to　him　as　a　fact；　not　a　suggestion。　'The　whole　thing's　ridiculous。'
　　He　no　longer　said　it　was　ridiculous　but　we　had　never　bee　close　friends。
　　'Did　anyone　make　waves？　e　asking　for　him？'　he　demanded。
　　'No；　no　one。'
　　'Are　you　sure？'　He　cast　doubt　as　always　on　my　ability。
　　'Yes；　positive。'　I　told　him　of　my　vigils　outside　the　various　doors。
　　'Who　did　he　meet；　then？　Before　he　snuffed　it？'
　　'I　don't　think　he　met　anybody；　unless　it　was　very　early　in　the　day；　before　I　spotted　him。　He　wasn't　searching　for　anyone；　anyway。　He　made　a　couple　of　bets　on　the　Tote；　drank　a　couple　of　beers；　looked　at　the　horses　and　watched　the　races。　He　wasn't　busy　today。'
　　Millington　let　loose　the　four…letter　word　I'd　stifled。　'And　we're　back　where　we　started；'　he　said　furiously。
　　'Mm；'　I　agreed。
　　'Call　me　Monday　morning；'　Millington　said；　and　I　said；　'Right；'　and　put　the　phone　down。　Tonight　was　Saturday。　Sunday　was　my　regular　day　off；　and　Monday　too；　except　in　times　of　trouble。　I　could　see　my　Monday　vanishing　fast。
　　Millington；　in　mon　with　the　whole　Security　Service　and　the　Stewards　of　the　Jockey　Club；　was　still　smarting　from　the　collapse　in　court　of　their　one　great　chance　of　seeing　behind　bars　arguably　the　worst　operator　still　lurking　in　the　undergrowth　of　racing。　Julius　Apollo　Filmer　had　been　accused　of　conspiring　to　murder　a　stable　lad　who　had　been　unwise　enough　to　say　loudly　and　drunkenly　in　a　Newmarket　pub　that　he　knew　things　about　Mr。　effing…blinding　Filmer　that　would　get　the　said　arsehole　chucked　out　of　racing　quicker　than　Shergar　won　the　Derby。
　　The　pathetic　stable　lad　turned　up　in　a　ditch　two　days　later　with　his　neck　broken；　and　the　police　（Millington　assisting）　put　together　a　watertight…looking　conspiracy　case；　establishing　Julius　Filmer　as　paymaster　and　planner　of　the　crime。　Then；　on　the　day　of　his　trial；　odd　things　happened　to　the　four　prosecution　witnesses。　One　had　a　nervous　breakdown　and　was　admitted　in　hysteria　to　a　mental　hospital；　one　disappeared　altogether　and　was　later　seen　in　Spain；　and　two　became　mysteriously　unclear　about　facts　that　had　been　razor…sharp　in　their　memories　earlier。　The　defence　brought　to　the　witness　box　a　nice　young　man　who　swore　on　oath　that　Mr　Filmer　had　been　nowhere　near　the　Newmarket　hotel　where　the　conspiracy　was　alleged　to　have　been　hatched　but　had　instead　been　discussing　business　with　him　all　night　in　a　motel　（bill　produced）　three　hundred　miles　away。　The　jury　was　not　allowed　to　know　that　the　beautifully…mannered；　well…dressed；　blow…dried；　quietly…spoken　youth　was　already　serving　time　for　confidence　tricks　and　had　arrived　at　court　in　a　Black　Maria。
　　Almost　everyone　else　in　the　court　　lawyers；　police；　the　judge　himself　knew　that　the　nice　young　man　had　been　out　on　bail　on　the　night　in　question；　and　that　even　though　the　actual　murderer　was　still　unknown；　Filmer　had　beyond　doubt　ar