rl.thebourneidentity-第7部分

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aircase　used　by　patrons　going　to　the　upstairs　washrooms。　There　was　also　a　window　through　which　an　interested　party　outside　could　see　anyone　who　used　this　particular　staircase；　and　the　patient　was　sure　that　if　he　waited　long　enough　he　would　see　two　people　doing　so。　They　would　undoubtedly　go　up　separately；　neither　heading　for　a　washroom　but；　instead；　to　a　bedroom　above　the　kitchen。　The　patient　wondered　which　of　the　expensive　cars　parked　on　the　quiet　street　belonged　to　the　Marquis　de　Chambord。　Whichever；　the　middle…aged　manservant　in　the　butcher's　shop　need　not　be　concerned；　his　employer　would　not　be　driving　it。
　Money。
　The　woman　arrived　shortly　before　one　o'clock。　She　was　a　windswept　blonde；　her　large　breasts　stretching　the　blue　silk　of　her　blouse；　her　long　legs　tanned；　striding　gracefully　above　spiked　heels；　thighs　and　fluid　hips　outlined　beneath　the　tight…fitting　white　skirt。　Chambord　might　have　problems　but　he　also　bad　taste。
　Twenty　minutes　later　he　could　see　the　white　skirt　through　the　window；　the　girl　was　heading　upstairs。　Less　than　sixty　seconds　later　another　figure　filled　the　window　frame；　dark　trousers　and　a　blazer　beneath　a　white　face　cautiously　lurched　up　the　staircase。　The　patient　counted　off　the　minutes；　he　hoped　the　Marquis　de　Chambord　owned　a　watch。
　Carrying　his　canvas　knapsack　as　unobtrusively　as　possible　by　the　straps；　the　patient　walked　down　the　flagstone　path　to　the　entrance　of　the　restaurant。　Inside；　he　turned　left　in　the　foyer；　excusing　himself　past　an　elderly　man　trudging　up　the　staircase；　reached　the　first　floor　and　turned　left　again　down　a　long　corridor　that　led　towards　the　rear　of　the　building；　above　the　kitchen。　He　passed　the　washrooms　and　came　to　a　closed　door　at　the　end　of　the　narrow　hallway　where　he　stood　motionless；　his　back　pressed　into　the　wall。　He　turned　his　head　and　waited　for　the　elderly　man　to　reach　the　washroom　door　and　push　it　open　while　unzipping　his　trousers。
　The　patient　…　instinctively；　without　thinking；　really　…　raised　the　soft　knapsack　and　placed　it　against　the　centre　of　the　door　panel。　He　held　it　securely　in　place　with　his　outstretched　arms；　stepped　back　and；　in　one　swift　movement；　crashed　his　left　shoulder　into　the　canvas；　dropping　his　right　hand　as　the　door　sprang　open；　gripping　the　edge　before　the　door　could　smash　into　a　wall。　No　one　below　in　the　restaurant　could　have　heard　the　muted　forced　entry。
　'Nom　de　Dieul'
　'Mere　de　Christ！'
　'Quiestla？。。。'
　'Silencer'
　The　Marquis　de　Chambord　spun　off　the　naked　body　of　the　blonde　woman；　sprawling　over　the　edge　of　the　bed　onto　the　floor。　He　was　a　sight　from　a　ic　opera；　still　wearing　his　starched　shirt；　the　tie　knotted　in　place；　and　on　his　feet　black　silk；　knee…length　socks；　but　that　was　all　he　wore。　The　woman　grabbed　the　covers；　doing　her　best　to　lessen　the　indelicacy　of　the　moment。
　The　patient　issued　his　mands　swiftly。　'Don't　raise　your　voices。　No　one　will　be　hurt　if　you　do　exactly　as　I　say。
　'My　wife　hired　you！'　cried　Chambord；　his　words　slurred；　his　eyes　barely　in　focus。　I'll　pay　you　more！'
　'That's　a　beginning；'　answered　Dr　Washburn's　patient。　Take　off　your　shirt　and　tie。　Also　the　socks。'　He　saw　the　glistening　gold　band　around　the　Marquis's　wrist　'And　the　watch。'
　Several　minutes　later　the　transformation　was　plete。　The　Marquis's　clothes　were　not　a　perfect　fit；　but　no　one　could　deny　the　quality　of　the　cloth　or　the　original　tailoring。　Also；　the　watch　was　a　Gerard…Perregaux；　and　Chambord's　wallet　contained　over　thirteen　thousand　francs。　The　car　keys　were　also　impressive；　they　were　set　in　monogrammed　heads　of　sterling　silver　with　the　familiar　big　cat　device。
　'For　the　love　of　God；　give　me　your　clothes！'　said　the　Marquis；　the　implausibility　of　his　predicament　penetrating　the　haze　of　alcohol。
　'I'm　sorry；　but　I　can't　do　that。！　replied　the　intruder；　gathering　up　both　his　own　clothes　and　those　of　the　blonde　woman。　'You　can't　take　mine　I'　she　yelled。　'I　told　you　to　keep　your　voices　down。'　'All　right；　all　right；'　she　continued；　'but　you　can't。。。'　'Yes；　I　can。'　The　patient　looked　around　the　room；　there　was　a　telephone　on　a　desk　by　a　window。　He　crossed　to　it　and　yanked　the　cord　out　of　the　socket。　'Now　no　one　will　disturb　you；'　he　added；　picking　up　the　knapsack。
　'You　won't　go　free；　you　know！'　snapped　Chambord。　'You　won't　get　away　with　this　I　The　police　will　find　you！'
　'The　police？'　asked　the　intruder。　'Do　you　really　think　you　should　call　the　police？　A　formal　report　will　have　to　be　made；　the　circumstances　described。　I'm　not　so　sure　that's　such　a　good　idea。　I　think　you'd　be　better　off　waiting　for　that　fellow　to　pick　you　up　later　this　afternoon。　I　heard　him　say　he　was　going　to　get　you　past　the　Marquise　into　the　stables。　All　things　considered；　I　honestly　believe　that's　what　you　should　do。　I'm　sure　you　can　e　up　with　a　better　story　than　what　really　happened　here。　I　won't　contradict　you。'
　The　unknown　thief　left　the　room；　closing　the　damaged　door　behind　him。
　You　are　not　helpless。　You　will　find　your　way。
　So　far　he　had　and　it　was　a　little　frightening。　What　had　Wash…burn　said？　That　his　skills　and　talents　would　e　back。。。　but　I　don't　think　you'll　ever　be　able　to　relate　them　to　anything　in　your　past。　The　past。　What　kind　of　past　was　it　that　produced　the　skills　he　had　displayed　during　the　past　twenty…four　hours？　Where　had　he　learned　to　maim　and　cripple　with　lunging　feet；　and　fingers　entwined　into　hammers？　How　did　he　know　precisely　where　to　deliver　the　blows？　Who　had　taught　him　to　play　upon　the　criminal　mind；　provoking　and　evoking　a　reluctant　mitment？　How　did　he　zero　in　so　quickly　on　mere　implications；　convinced　beyond　doubt　that　his　instincts　were　right？　Where　had　he　learned　to　discern　instant　extortion　in　a　casual　conversation　overheard　in　a　butcher's　shop？　More　to　the　point；　perhaps；　was　the　simple　decision　to　carry　out　the　crime。　My　God；　how　could　he？
　The　more　you　fight　it；　the　more　you　crucify　yourself；　the　worse　it　will　be。
　He　concentrated　on　the　road　and　on　the　mahogany　dashboard　of　the　Marquis　de　Chambord's　Jaguar。　The　array　of　instruments　were　not　familiar；　his　past　did　not　include　extensive　experience　with　such　cars。　He　supposed　that　told　him　something。
　In　less　than　an　hour　he　crossed　a　bridge　over　a　wide　canal　and　knew　he　had　reached　Marseilles。　Small　square　houses　of　stone；　angling　like　blocks　up　from　the　water；　narrow　streets　and　walls　everywhere　…　the　outskirts　of　the　old　harbour。　He　knew　it　all；　and　yet　he　did　not　know　it。　High　in　the　distance；　silhouetted　on　one　of　the　surrounding　hills；　were　the　outlines　of　a　huge　cathedral；　a　statue　of　the　Virgin　seen　clearly　atop　its　steeple。　Notre…Dame　de　la　Garde。　The　name　came　to　him；　he　had　seen　it　before　…　and　yet　he　had　not　seen　it。
　Oh；　Christ！　Stop　it！
　Within　minutes　he　was　in　the　pulsing　centre　of　the　city；　driving　along　the　crowded　rue　Cannebiere；　with　its　proliferation　of　expensive　shops；　the　rays　of　the　afternoon　sun　bouncing　off　expanses　of　tinted　glass　on　either　side；　and　on　either　side　enormous　pavement　cafes。　He　turned　left；　towards　the　harbour；　passing　warehouses　and　small　factories　and　fenced…off　areas　that　contained　cars　prepared　for　transport　north　to　the　showrooms　of　Saint…Etienne；　Lyons　and　Paris。　And　to　points　south　across　the　Mediterranean。
　Instinct。　Follow　instinct。　For　nothing　could　be　disregarded。　Every　resource　had　an　immediate　use；　there　was　value　in　a　rock　if　it　could　be　thrown；　or　a　vehicle　if　someone　wanted　it。　He　chose　a　lot　where　the　cars　were　both　new　and　used；　but　all　expensive；　he　parked　at　the　kerb　and　got　out。　Beyond　the　fence　was　a　small　cavern　of　a　garage；　mechanics　in　overalls　laconically　wandering　about　carrying　tools。　He　walked　casually　around　inside　until　he　spotted　a　man　in　a　thin　pin…striped　suit　whom　instinct　told　him　to　approach。
　It　took　less　than　ten　minutes；　explanations　kept　to　a　minimum；　a　Jaguar's　disappearance　to　North　Africa　guaranteed；　with　the　filing　of　engine　numbers。
　The　silver　monogrammed　keys　were　exchanged　for　six　thousand　francs；　roughly　one…fifth　the　value　of　Chambord's　car。　Then　Or　Washburn's　patient　found　a　taxi　and　asked　to　be　taken　to　a　pawnbroker　…　but　not　an　establishment　that　asked　too　many　questions。　The　message　was　clear；　this　was　Marseilles。　And　half　an　hour　later　the　gold　Gerard…Perregaux　was　no　longer　on　his　wrist；　having　been　replaced　by　a　Seiko　chronograph　and　eight　hundred　francs。　Everything　had　a　value　in　relationship　to　its　practicality；　the　chronograph　was　shockproof。
　The　next　stop　was　a　medium…sized　department　store　in　the　south…east　section　of　rue　Cannebiere。　Clothes　were　chosen　off　the　racks　and　shelves；　paid　for　and　worn　out　of　the　fitting　rooms；　an　ill…fitting　dark　blazer　and　trousers　left　behind。
　From　a　display　on　the　floor；　he　selected　a　soft　leather　suitcase；　additional　garments　were　placed　inside　with　the　knapsack。　The　patient　glanced　at　his　new　watch；　it　was　nearly　five　o'clock；　time　to　find　a　fortable　hotel。　He　had　not　really　slept　for　several　days；　he　needed　to　rest　before　his　appointment　in　the　rue　Sarasin；　at　a　cafe　called　Le　Bouc　de　Mer；　where　arrangements　could　be　made　for　a　more　important　appointment　in　Zurich。
　He　lay　back　on　the　bed　and　stared　at　the　ceiling；　the　wash　of　the　streetlamps　below　causing　irregular　patterns　of　light　to　dance　across　the　smooth　white　surface。　Night　had　e　rapidly　to　Marseilles；　and　with　its　arrival　a　certain　sense　of　freedom　came　to　the　patient。　It　was　as　if　the　darkness　were　a　gigantic　blanket；　blocking　out　the　harsh　glare　of　daylight　that　revealed　too　much　too　quickly。　He　was　learning　something　else　about　himself：　he　was　more　fortable　in　the　night。　Like　a　half…starved　cat　he　would　forage　better　in　the　darkness。　Yet　there　was　a　contradiction；　and　he　recognized　that；　too。　During　the　months　in　lie　de　Port　Noir；　he　had　craved　the　sunlight；　hungered　for　it；　waited　for　it　each　dawn；　wishing　only　for　the　darkness　to　go　away。
　Things　were　happening　to　him；　he　was　changing。
　Things　had　happened。　Events　that　gave　a　certain　lie　to　the　concept　of　foraging　more　successfully　at　night。　Twelve　hours　ago　he　was　on　a　fishing　boat　in　the　Mediterranean；　an　objective　in　mind　and　two　thousand　francs　strapped　to　his　waist。　Two　thousand　francs；　something　less　than　five　hundred　American　dollars　according　to　the　daily　rate　of　exchange　posted　in