df.theedge-第17部分

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　　There　was　a　silence；　then；　'Why　do　you　ask？'
　　'Something　Bill　Baudelaire　said。'
　　After　a　pause　he　answered；　'Filmer　was　seething　with　anger。　He　said　the　world's　racing　authorities　could　persecute　him　all　they　liked　but　he　would　find　a　spanner　to　throw　in　their　works；　and　they'd　regret　it。'
　　'When　did　he　say　that？'　I　asked。　'And　why。。。　and　who　to？'
　　'Well。。。　er。。。'　He　hesitated　and　sighed。　'Things　go　wrong；　you　know。　After　the　acquittal；　the　Disciplinary　mittee　of　the　Jockey　Club　called　Filmer　to　Portman　Square　to　warn　him　as　to　his　future　behaviour；　and　Filmer　said　they　couldn't　touch　him；　and　was　generally　unbearably　arrogant。　As　a　result；　one　of　the　mittee　lost　his　temper　and　told　Filmer　he　was　the　scum　of　the　earth　and　no　one　in　racing　would　sleep　well　until　he　was　warned　off；　which　was　the　number　one　priority　of　the　world's　racing　authorities。'
　　'That's　a　bit　of　an　exaggeration；'　I　mented；　sighing　in　my　turn。　'I　suppose　you　were　there？'
　　'Yes。　You　could　have　cut　the　fury　on　both　sides　with　a　knife。　Very　vicious；　all　of　it。'
　　'So；'　I　said　regretfully；　'Filmer　might　indeed　see　the　train　as　a　target。'
　　'He　might。'
　　The　trouble　and　expense　he　had　gone　to　to　get　himself　on　board　looked　increasingly　ominous；　I　thought。
　　'There's　one　other　thing　you　might　care　to　know；'　the　Brigadier　said。　'John　saw　Ivor　Horfitz's　son　Jason　hanging　around　outside　the　weighing…room　at　Newmarket　yesterday　and　had　a　word　with　him。'
　　When　Millington　had　a　word　with　people　they　could　take　days　to　recover。　In　his　own　way；　he　could　be　as　frightening　as　Derry　Welfram　or　Filmer　himself。
　　'What　happened？'　I　asked。
　　'John　spoke　to　him　about　the　inadvisability　of　running　errands　on　racecourses　for　his　warned…off　father；　and　said　that　if　Jason　had　any　information；　he　should　pass　it　on　to　him；　John　Millington。　And　apparently　Jason　Horfitz　then　said　he　wouldn't　be　passing　on　the　information　he　had　to　anybody　else　as　he　didn't　want　to　end　up　in　a　ditch。'
　　'What？'I　said。
　　'John　Millington　pounced　on　that　but　he　couldn't　get　another　word　out　of　the　wretched　Jason。　He　turned　to　jelly　and　literally　ran　away；　John　says。'
　　'Does　Jason　really　know；'　I　said　slowly；　'what　Paul　Shacklebury　knew？　Did　he　tell　Paul　Shacklebury　whatever　it　was　he　knew？　Or　was　it　just　a　figure　of　speech？'
　　'God　knows。　John's　working　on　it。'
　　'Did　he　ask　Jason　what　was　in　the　briefcase？'
　　'Yes；　he　did；　but　Jason　either　didn't　know　or　was　too　frightened　to　speak。　John　says　he　was　terrified　that　we　even　knew　about　the　briefcase。　He　couldn't　believe　we　knew。'
　　'I　wonder　if　he'll　tell　his　father。'
　　'Not　if　he　has　any　sense。'
　　He　hadn't　any　sense；　I　thought；　but　he　did　have　fear；　which　was　almost　as　good　a　life　preserver。
　　'If　I　hear　anything　more；'　the　Brigadier　said；　'I'll　leave　a　message　with。。。'　his　voice　still　disapproved　'。。。　with　Mrs　Baudelaire　senior。　Apart　from　that。。。　good　luck。'
　　I　thanked　him　and　hung　up；　and　with　considerable　contentment　took　my　two　bags　in　a　taxi　to　Union　Station。
　　The　train　crew　were　already　collecting　in　the　locker　room　when　I　made　my　way　there　and　introduced　myself　as　Tommy；　the　actor。
　　They　smiled　and　were　generous。　They　always　enjoyed　the　mysteries；　they　said；　and　had　worked　with　an　actor　among　them　before。　It　would　all　go　well；　I　would　see。
　　The　head　waiter；　head　steward；　chief　service　attendant；　whatever　one　called　him；　was　a　neat　small　Frenchman　named　Emil。　Late　thirties；　perhaps；　I　thought；　with　dark　bright　eyes。
　　'Do　you　speak　French？'　he　asked　first；　shaking　my　hand。　'All　VIA　employees　have　to　be　able　to　speak　French。　It　is　a　rule。'
　　'I　do　a　bit；'　I　said。
　　'That　is　good。　The　last　actor；　he　couldn't。　This　time　the　chef　is　from　Montreal；　and　in　the　kitchen　we　may　speak　French。'
　　I　nodded　and　didn't　tell　him　that；　apart　from　my　school　days；　my　working　French　had　been　learned　in　stables；　not　kitchens；　and　was　likely　to　be　rusty　in　any　case。　But　I'd　half…learned　several　languages　on　my　travels；　and　somehow　they　each　floated　familiarly　back　at　the　first　step　on　to　the　matching　soil。　Everything　in　bilingual　Canada　was　written　in　both　English　and　French　and　I　realized　that　since　my　arrival　I'd　been　reading　the　French　quite　easily。
　　'Have　you　ever　worked　in　a　restaurant？'　Emil　asked。
　　'No；　I　haven't。'
　　He　shrugged　good　humouredly。　'I　will　show　you　how　to　set　the　places；　and　to　begin　with；　this　morning；　perhaps　you　will　serve　only　water。　When　you　pour　anything；　when　the　train　is　moving；　you　pour　in　small　amounts　at　a　time；　and　you　keep　the　cup　or　glass　close　to　you。　Do　you　understand？　It　is　always　necessary　to　control；　to　use　small　movements。'
　　'I　understand；'　I　said；　and　indeed　I　did。
　　He　put　a　copy　of　the　timetable　into　my　hands　and　said；　'You　will　need　to　know　where　we　stop。　The　passengers　always　ask。'
　　'OK。　Thanks。'
　　He　nodded　with　good　humour。
　　I　changed　into　Tommy's　uniform　and　met　some　others　of　the　crew；　Oliver；　who　was　a　waiter　in　the　special　dining　car；　like　myself；　and　several　of　the　sleeping…car　attendants；　one　to　each　car　the　whole　length　of　the　train。　There　was　a　smiling　Chinese　gentleman　who　cooked　in　the　small　forward　dining　car　where　the　grooms；　among　others；　would　be　eating；　and　an　unsmiling　Canadian　who　would　be　cooking　in　the　main　central　dining　car　for　the　bulk　of　the　racegoers　and　the　crew　themselves。　The　French　chef　from　Montreal　was　not　there；　I　soon　discovered；　because　he　was　a　she；　and　could　only　be　found　in　the　women's　changing　room。
　　Everyone　put　on　the　whole　uniform　including　the　grey　raincoat　on　top；　and　I　put　on　my　raincoat　also；　I　packed　Tommy's　spare　garments　and　my　own　clothes　into　the　holdall；　and　was　ready。
　　Nell　had　said　she　would　meet　me　this　Sunday　morning　in　the　coffee　shop　in　the　Great　Hall；　and　had　told　me　that　the　crews　often　went　there　to　wait　for　train　time。　Accordingly；　acpanied　by　Emil　and　a　few　of　the　others；　I　carried　my　bags　to　the　coffee　shop　where　everyone　immediately　ordered　huge　carrot　cakes；　the　speciality　of　the　house；　as　if　they　were　in　fear　of　famine。
　　Nell　wasn't　there；　but　Zak　and　some　of　the　other　actors　were；　sitting　four　to　a　table；　drinking　pale…looking　orange　juice　and　not　eating　carrot　cake　because　of　the　calories。
　　Zak　said　Nell　was　along　with　the　passengers　in　the　reception　area；　and　that　he　wanted　to　go　and　see　how　things　were　shaping。
　　'She　said　something　about　you　checking　a　suitcase　through　to　Vancouver　in　the　baggage　car；'　he　added；　standing　up。
　　'Yes；　this　one。'
　　'Right。　She　said　to　tell　you　to　bring　it　along　to　where　the　passengers　are。　I'll　show　you。'
　　I　nodded；　told　Emil　I'd　be　back；　and　followed　Zak　down　the　Great　Hall　and　round　a　corner　or　two　and　came　to　a　buzzing　gathering　of　people　in　an　area　like　an　airport　departure　lounge。
　　An　enormous　banner　across　a　latticed　screen　left　no　one　in　any　doubt。　Stretching　for　a　good　twelve　feet　it　read　in　red　on　white　THE　GREAT　TRANSCONTINENTAL　MYSTERY　RACE　TRAIN；　and　in　blue　letters　a　good　deal　smaller　underneath；　THE　ONTARIO　JOCKEY　CLUB；　MERRY　&　Co　AND　VIA　RAIL　PRESENT　A　CELEBRATION　OF　CANADIAN　RACING。
　　The　forty　or　so　passengers　already　gathered　in　happy　anticipation　wore　name　badges　and　carnations　and　held　glasses　of　orange　juice　convivially。
　　'There　was　supposed　to　be　champagne　in　the　orange　juice；'　Zak　said　dryly。　'There　isn't。　Something　to　do　with　the　Sunday　drink　law。'　He　searched　the　throng　with　his　eyes　from　where　we　stood　a　good　twenty　paces　away　out　in　the　station。　'There's　Ben　doing　his　stuff；　see？　Asking　Raoul　to　lend　him　money。'
　　I　could　indeed　see。　It　looked　incredibly　real。　People　standing　around　them　were　looking　shocked　and　embarrassed。
　　Zak　was　nodding　his　mop　of　curls　beside　me　and　had　begun　snapping　his　fingers　rather　fast。　I　could　sense　the　energy　starting　to　flow　in　him　now　that　this　fiction　was　ing　alive；　and　I　could　see　that　he　had　used　make…up　on　himself；　not　greasepaint　or　anything　heavy；　more　a　matter　of　darkening　and　thickening　his　eyebrows　and　darkening　his　mouth；　emphasizing　rather　than　disguising。　An　actor　in　the　wings；　I　thought；　gathering　up　his　power。
　　I　spotted　Mavis　and　Walter　Bricknell　being　fussy　and　anxious　as　intended；　and　saw　and　heard　Angelica　asking　if　anyone　had　seen　Steve。
　　'Who's　Steve？'　I　asked　Zak。　'I　forget。'
　　'Her　lover。　He　misses　the　train。'
　　Pierre　and　Donna　began　to　have　their　row　which　made　a　different　bunch　of　passengers　unfortable。　Zak　laughed。　'Good；'　he　said；　'that's　great。'
　　Giles…the…murderer；　who　had　been　in　the　coffee　shop；　strolled　along　into　the　melee　and　started　being　frightfully　nice　to　old　ladies。　Zak　snapped　his　fingers　even　faster　and　started　humming。
　　The　crowd　parted　and　shifted　a　little　and　through　the　gap　I　saw　Julius　Apollo　Filmer；　another　murderer；　being　frightfully　nice　to　a　not…so…old　lady；　Daffodil　Quentin。
　　I　took　a　deep　breath；　almost　of　awe；　almost　on　a　tremble。　Now　that　it　was　really　beginning；　now　that　I　was　going　to　be　near　him；　I　felt　as　strung　up　and　as　energized　as　Zak；　and　no　doubt　suffered　the　same　pelling　anxiety　that　things　shouldn't　go　wrong。
　　Daffodil　was　playfully　patting　Filmer's　hand。
　　Yuk；　I　thought。
　　Ben　the　actor　appea