df.theedge-第15部分

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　　Daffodil　Quentin　came　down　and　passed　close　by　me　in　clouds　of　chinchilla；　excitement　and　a　musky　scent。　She　preened　coquettishly；　receiving　pliments　and　the　trophy；　and　Filmer；　ever　at　her　side；　gallantly　kissed　her　hand。
　　A　let…off　murderer；　I　thought；　kissing　an　unproven　insurance　swindler。　How　very　nice。　Television　cameras　whirred　and　flash　photographers　outdid　the　sun。
　　I　caught　sight　of　Bill　Baudelaire　scowling；　and　I　knew　what　John　Millington　would　have　said。
　　It　was　enough　to　make　you　sick。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Six
　　
　　On　Saturday　evening　and　early　Sunday　morning　I　packed　two　bags；　the　new　suitcase　from　England　and　a　softer　holdall　bought　in　Toronto。
　　Into　the　first　I　put　the　rich　young　owner's　suit；　cashmere　pullover　and　showy　shirts　and　into　the　second　the　new　younger…looking　clothes　for　off…duty　Tommy；　jeans；　sweatshirts；　woolly　hat　and　trainers。　I　packed　the　Scandinavian　jersey　I'd　worn　at　Woodbine　into　the　suitcase　just　in　case　it　jogged　anyone's　memory；　and　got　dressed　in　dark　trousers；　open…necked　shirt　and　a　short　zipped　navy　jacket　with　lighter　blue　bands　round　waist　and　wrists。
　　The　rich　young　owner's　expensive　brown　shoes　went　away。　Tommy；　following　instructions　from　the　uniform　department；　had　shiny　new　black　ones；　with　black　socks。
　　Into　Tommy's　holdall　went　the　binoculars…camera　and　the　hair　curler　（one　never　knew）；　and　I　had　the　cigarette　lighter…camera　as　always　in　my　pocket。　Tommy　also　had　the　rich　young　owner's　razor　and　toothbrush；　along　with　his　underclothes；　pyjamas　and　stock　of　fresh　films。　The　suitcase；　which　held　my　passport；　had　a　Merry　&　Co　label　on　it　addressed　to　the　Vancouver　Four　Seasons　Hotel；　the　holdall　had　no　identification　at　all。
　　With　everything　ready；　I　telephoned　Brigadier　Catto　in　England　and　told　him　about　Daffodil　Quentin　and　the　touching　little　scene　in　the　winners'　circle。
　　'Damn！'　he　said。　'Why　does　that　sort　of　thing　always　happen？　Absolutely　the　wrong　person　winning。'
　　The　general　public　didn't　seem　to　mind。　The　horse　was　third　favourite；　quite　well　backed。　Daffodil　Quentin　seems　to　be　acceptable　to　the　other　owners；　who　of　course　probably　don't　know　about　her　three　dead　horses。　They're　bound　to　take　to　Filmer　too；　you　know　how　civilized　he　can　seem；　and　I　don't　suppose　news　of　the　trial　got　muchattention　here　since　it　collapsed　almost　before　it　began。　Anyway；　Filmer　and　Daffodil　left　the　races　together　in　what　looked　like　her　own　car；　with　a　chauffeur。'
　　'Pity　you　couldn't　follow　them。'
　　'Well；　I　did　actually；　in　a　hired　car。　They　went　to　the　hotel；　where　Filmer　and　the　other　owners　from　the　train　are　staying；　and　they　went　into　the　bar　for　a　drink。　After　that；　Daffodil　left　in　her　Rolls　and　Filmer　went　upstairs。　Nothing　of　note。　He　looked　relaxed。'
　　The　Brigadier　said；　'You're　sure　they　didn't　spot　you　at　the　hotel？'
　　'Quite　sure。　The　entrance　hall　of　the　hotel　was　a　big　as　a　railway　station　itself。　There　were　dozens　of　people　sitting　around　waiting　for　other　people。　It　was　easy。'
　　It　had　even　been　easy　following　them　from　the　racecourse；　as　when　I　went　out　to　where　my　driver　had　parked　his　car　I　had　a　clear　view　from　a　distance　of　Daffodil　at　the　exit　gate　being　spooned　into　a　royal　blue　Rolls…Royce　by　Filmer　and　her　chauffeur。　My　driver；　with　raised　eyebrows　but　without　spoken　question；　agreed　to　keep　the　Rolls　in　sight　for　as　long　as　possible；　which　he　did　without　trouble　all　the　way　back　to　the　city。　At　the　hotel　I　paid　him　in　cash　with　a　bonus　and　sent　him　on　his　way；　and　was　in　time　to　see　Filmer's　backview　receding　into　a　dark…looking　bar　as　I　walked　into　the　big　central　hall　lobby。
　　It　had　been　an　exercise　without　much　in　the　way　of　results；　but　then　many　of　my　days　were　like　that；　and　it　was　only　by　knowing　the　normal　that　the　abnormal；　when　it　happened；　could　be　spotted。
　　'Would　you　mind　telling　me；'　I　said　diffidently　to　the　Brigadier；　'whether　Filmer　has　made　a　positive　threat　to　disrupt　this　train？'
　　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