df.theedge-第54部分

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e　jewels。　I　might　have　been　terribly　tempted　to　hit　even　closer　to　home。　Tortured　horses；　perhaps？
　　'What　are　you　hatching　now？'　Nell　demanded。　'You've　got　that　distant　look。'
　　'I　haven't　done　a　thing；'　I　said。
　　'I'm　not　so　sure。'　She　stood　up。　She　was　wearing；　in　honour　of　the　banquet；　a　boat…necked　black　blouse　above　the　full　black　skirt；　a　pearl　choker　round　her　neck。　Her　fair　hair　was　held　back　high　in　a　b；　but　not　plaited；　falling　instead　in　informal　curls。　I　thought　with　unnerving　intensity　that　I　didn't　want　to　lose　her；　that　for　me　it　was　no　longer　a　game。　I　had　known　her　for　a　week　and　a　day。　Reason　said　it　wasn't　long　enough。　Instinct　said　it　was。
　　'Where　are　you　staying　in　Vancouver？'　I　asked。
　　'At　the　Four　Seasons　Hotel；　with　all　the　passengers。'
　　She　gave　me　a　small　smile　and　went　off　towards　the　action。　Oliver　had　finished　clearing　the　cloths　and　was　laying　clean　ones；　to　leave　the　place　looking　tidy；　he　said。　I　left　him　to　finish　and　made　up　my　way　up　the　train　to　talk　to　George　Burley；　passing　Filmer's　closed　door　on　the　way。
　　The　sleeping…car　attendant　was　sitting　in　his　roomette　with　the　door　open。　I　poked　my　head　in　and　asked　how　the　passenger　was；　who'd　asked　for　the　antacid。
　　'He　went　up　the　train　a　while　ago；　and　came　back。　He　didn't　say　anything；　just　walked　past。　He　must　be　all　right；　I　guess。'
　　I　nodded　and　went　on；　and　came　to　George　sitting　at　his　table　with　his　endless　forms。
　　'e　in；'　he　invited；　and　I　took　my　accustomed　seat。　'I　showed　that　photo；'　he　said。　'Is　that　what　you　want　to　know　about？'
　　'Yes。'
　　'He's　definitely　on　the　train。　Name　of　Johnson；　according　to　the　passenger　list。　He　has　a　roomette　right　forward；　and　he　stays　in　it　most　of　the　time。　He　eats　in　the　forward　dome…car　dining　room；　but　only　dinner；　eh？　He　was　in　there　just　now　when　I　went　up　to　the　engine；　but　he'd　gone　when　I　came　back。　A　fast　eater；　they　say。　Never　goes　for　breakfast　or　lunch。　Never　talks　to　anyone；　eh？'
　　'I　don't　like　it；'　I　said。
　　George　chuckled。　'Wait　till　you　hear　the　worst。'
　　'What's　the　worst？'
　　'My　assistant　conductor…he's　one　of　the　sleeping…car　attendants　up　front…he　says　he's　seen　him　before；　eh？'
　　'Seen　him　where？'
　　George　watched　me　for　effect。　'On　the　railways。'
　　'On　the…do　you　mean　he's　a　railwayman？'
　　'He　can't　be　sure。　He　says　he　looks　like　a　baggage　handler　he　once　worked　with　on　the　Toronto　to　Montreal　sector；　long　time　ago。　Fifteen　years　ago。　Twenty。　Says　if　it's　him；　he　had　a　chip　on　his　shoulder　all　the　time；　no　one　liked　him。　He　could　be　violent。　You　didn't　cross　him。　Might　not　be　him；　though。　He's　older。　And　he　doesn't　remember　the　name　Johnson；　though　I　suppose　it's　forgettable；　it's　mon　enough。'
　　'Would　a　baggage　handler；'　I　said　slowly；　'know　how　to　drain　a　fuel　tank。。。　and　uncouple　the　Lorrimores'　car？'
　　George's　eyes　gleamed　with　pleasure。　'The　baggage　handlers　travel　on　the　trains；　eh？　They're　not　fools。　They　take　on　small　bits　of　freight　at　the　stops　and　see　the　right　stuff　gets　off。　If　you　live　around　trains；　you　get　to　know　how　they　work。'
　　'Is　there　a　baggage　handler　on　this　train？　'
　　'You　bet　your　life。　He's　not　always　in　the　baggage　car；　not　when　we're　going　along。　He　eats；　eh？　He's　always　there　in　the　stations；　unlocking　the　doors。　This　one's　not　the　best　we've　got；　mind。　A　bit　old；　a　bit　fat。'　He　chuckled。　'He　said　he'd　never　seen　this　man　Johnson；　but　then　he's　always　worked　Vancouver　to　Banff；　never　Toronto　to　Montreal。'
　　'Has　the　baggage　handler　or　your　assistant　talked　to　Johnson？'
　　'My　assistant　conductor　says　the　only　person　Johnson　talks　to　is　one　of　the　owners　who　raps　on　Johnson's　door　when　he　goes　along　to　see　his　horse。　He　went　up　there　this　evening　not　long　ago；　and　they　had　some　sort　of　row　in　the　corridor　outside　my　assistant's　roomette。'
　　'George！　Did　your　assistant　hear　what　it　was　about？'
　　'Important；　is　it？'　George　said；　beaming。
　　'Could　be；　very。'
　　'Well；　he　didn't。'　He　shook　his　head　regretfully。　'He　said　he　thought　the　owner　told　Johnson　not　to　do　something　Johnson　wanted　to。　They　were　shouting；　he　said；　but　he　didn't　really　listen；　eh？　He　wasn't　interested。　Anyway；　the　owner　came　back　down　here；　he　said；　and　he　heard　Johnson　say；　〃I'll　do　what　I　frigging　like；　〃　very　loudly；　but　he　doesn't　think　the　owner　heard；　as　he'd　gone　by　then。'
　　'That's　not　much　help；'　I　said。
　　'It's　easier　to　start　a　train　going　downhill　than　to　stop　it；　eh？'
　　'Mm。'
　　'It's　the　best　I　can　do　for　you。'
　　'Well；'　I　said。　'We　do　know　he's　on　the　train；　and　we　know　his　name　may　or　may　not　be　Johnson；　and　we　know　he　may　or　may　not　be　a　railwayman；　and　I　know　for　certain　he　has　a　violent　personality。　It　sounds　as　if　he's　still　planning　something　and　we　don't　know　what。　I　suppose　you　are　certain　he　can't　get　past　the　dragon…lady？'
　　'Nothing　is　certain。'
　　'How　about　if　you　asked　the　baggage　handler　to　sit　in　with　her；　with　the　horses。'
　　He　put　his　head　on　one　side。　'If　you　think　she'd　stand　for　it？'
　　'Tell　her　it's　to　keep　the　horses　safe；　which　it　is。'
　　He　chuckled。　'Don't　see　why　not。'　He　looked　at　his　watch。　'Sicamous　is　ing　up。　I'll　go　up　there　outside；　when　we　stop。　Three　or　five　minutes　there。　Then　it'll　be　time　to　put　the　clocks　back　an　hour。　Did　your　Miss　Richmond　remember　to　tell　everyone？'
　　'Yes。　They're　all　on　Pacific　time　already；　I　think。　Getting　on　for　midnight。'
　　We　had　stopped　towards　the　end　of　dinner　in　a　small　place　called　Revelstoke　for　half　an　hour　for　all　the　cars　to　be　refilled　with　water。　At　Kamloops；　a　far　larger　town；　we　would　stop　at　two　in　the　morning　very　briefly。　Then　it　was　North　Bend　at　five…forty；　then　the　last　stretch　to　Vancouver；　arriving　at　five　past　ten　on　Sunday　morning；　a　week　from　the　day　we　set　off。
　　We　slowed　towards　Sicamous　while　I　was　still　with　George。
　　'After　here；　though　you　won't　see　it；'　he　said；　'we　follow　the　shoreline　of　Shuswap　Lake。　The　train　goes　slowly。'
　　'It　hasn't　exactly　been　whizzing　along　through　the　Rockies。'
　　He　nodded　benignly。　'We　go　at　thirty；　thirty…five　miles　an　hour。　Fast　enough；　eh？　Uphill；　downhill；　round　hairpin　bends。　There　are　more　mountains　ahead。'
　　He　swung　down　on　to　the　ground　when　the　train　stopped　and　crunched　off　forwards　to　arrange　things　with　the　baggage　handler。
　　It　was　snowing　outside：　big　dry　flakes　settling　on　others　that　had　already　fallen；　harbingers　of　deep　winter。　The　trains　almost　always　went　through；　George　had　said。
　　I　thought　I　might　as　well　see　how　the　revelries　were　going　but　it　seemed　that；　unlike　after　the　Winnipeg　race；　most　people　were　feeling　the　long　evening　was　dying。　The　lounge　in　the　dome　car　was　only　half　full。　The　observation　deck　was　scarcely　populated。　The　poker　school；　in　shirtsleeves；　were　counting　their　money。　The　actors　had　vanished。　Nell　was　walking　towards　me　with　Xanthe　whom　she　was　seeing　safely　to　bed　in　the　upper　bunk　behind　the　felt　curtains。
　　'Good　night；'　Nell　said　softly。
　　'Sleep　well；'　I　replied。
　　'Good　night；'　Xanthe　said。
　　I　smiled。　'Good　night。'
　　I　watched　them　go　along　the　corridor　beside　the　bar。　Nell　turned　round；　hesitated；　and　waved。　Xanthe　turned　also；　and　waved。　I　waved　back。
　　Gentle　was　the　word；　I　thought。　Go　gentle　into　this　good　night。。。　No；　no！　It　should　be；　'Do　not　go　gentle　into　that　good　night。'　Odd　how　poets'　words　stuck　in　one's　head。　Dylan　Thomas；　wasn't　it？　Do　not　go　gentle　into　that　good　night　。。。　because　that　good　night　was　death。
　　The　train　was　slowly　going　to　sleep。
　　There　would　be　precious　little　peace；　I　thought；　in　the　minds　of　the　Lorrimores；　father；　mother　and　son。　Little　peace　also　in　Filmer　who　would　know　now　from　Johnson　that　the　departure　of　Lenny　Higgs　had　robbed　him　of　the　lever　to　be　used　against　Daffodil；　who　could　have　doubts　at　the　very　least　about　Mercer's　future　reactions；　who　would　know　that　Cumber　Young　would　find　out　soon　who　had　taken　Ezra　Gideon's　horses；　who　would　realize　he　was　riding　a　flood　tide　of　contempt。　I　wished　him　more　than　an　upset　stomach。　I　wished　him　remorse；　which　was　the　last　thing　he　would　feel。
　　I　wandered　back　through　the　train　past　George's　office；　which　was　empty；　and　stretched　out　in　my　own　room　on　the　bed；　still　dressed；　with　the　door　open　and　the　light　on；　meaning　just　to　rest　but　stay　awake：　and　not　surprisingly　I　went　straight　to　sleep。
　　I　awoke　to　the　sound　of　someone　calling　'George。。。　George。。。'　Woke　with　a　start　and　looked　at　my　watch。　I　hadn't　slept　long；　not　more　than　ten　minutes；　but　in　that　time　the　train　had　stopped。
　　That　message　got　me　off　the　bed　in　a　hurry。　The　train　should　have　been　moving；　there　was　no　stop　scheduled　for　almost　an　hour。　I　went　out　into　the　passage　and　found　an　elderly　man　in　a　VIA　grey　suit　like　George's　peering　into　the　office。　The　elderly　man　looked　at　my　uniform　and　said　urgently；　'Where's　George？'
　　'I　don't　know；'　I　said。　'What's　the　matter？'
　　'We've　got　a　hot　box。'　He　was　deeply　worried。　'George　must　radio　to　the　despatcher　to　stop　the　Canadian。'
　　Not　again；　I　thought　wildly。　I　went　into　George's　office；　following　the　VIA　Rail　man　who　said　he　was　the　assistant　conductor；　George's　deputy。
　　'Can't　you　use　the　radio？'　I