preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第55部分

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able　historical　files。　Open　the　next　one。　'78。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　Damn。　Still　no　Leng。
　〃Let's　take　a　quick　look　at　some　of　the　others。〃　Smithback　had　him　open　up　more　cabinets　and　check　the　yellow　index　cards　on　each；　all　the　while　giving　O'Neal　a　steady　stream　of　advice　about　the　importance　of　file…checking。　The　years　crept　inexorably　backward；　and　Smithback　began　to　despair。
　And　then；　in　1870；　he　found　the　name。　Leng。
　His　heart　quickened。　Forgetting　all　about　the　guard；　Smithback　flipped　quickly　through　the　files　themselves；　pausing　at　the　Ls。　Here　he　slowed；　carefully　looked　at　each　one；　then　looked　again。　He　went　through　the　Ls　three　times。　But　the　corresponding　Leng　file　was　missing。
　Smithback　felt　crushed。　It　had　been　such　a　good　idea。
　He　straightened　up；　looked　at　the　guard's　frightened；　eager　face。　The　whole　idea　was　a　failure。　What　a　waste　of　energy　and　brilliance；　frightening　this　poor　guy　for　nothing。　It　meant　starting　over　again；　from　scratch。　But　first；　he'd　better　get　his　ass　out　of　there　before　Bulger　returned；　disgruntled；　spoiling　for　an　argument。
　〃Sir？〃　the　guard　prompted。
　Smithback　wearily　closed　the　drawer。　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　〃I　have　to　be　getting　back。　Carry　on。　You're　doing　a　good　job　here；　O'Neal。　Keep　it　up。〃　He　turned　to　go。
　〃Mr。　Fannin？〃
　For　a　moment　Smithback　wondered　who　the　man　was　talking　to。　Then　he　remembered。　〃Yes？〃
　〃Do　the　carbons　need　a　file　check　also？〃
　〃Carbons？〃　Smithback　paused。
　〃The　ones　in　the　vault。〃
　〃Vault？〃
　〃The　vault。　Back　there。〃
　〃Er；　yes。　Of　course。　Thank　you；　O'Neal。　My　oversight。　Show　me　the　vault。〃
　The　young　guard　led　the　way　through　a　rear　door　to　a　large；　old　safe　with　a　nickel　wheel　and　a　heavy　steel　door。　〃In　here。〃
　Smithback's　heart　sank。　It　looked　like　Fort　Knox。　〃Can　you　open　this？〃
　〃It's　not　locked　anymore。　Not　since　the　high…security　area　was　opened。〃
　〃I　see。　What　are　these　carbons？〃
　〃Duplicates　of　the　files　back　there。〃
　〃Let's　take　a　look。　Open　it　up。〃
　O'Neal　wrestled　the　door　open。　It　revealed　a　small　room；　crammed　with　cabinets。
　〃Let's　take　a　look　at；　say；　1870。〃
　The　guard　glanced　around。　〃There　it　is。〃
　Smithback　made　a　beeline　for　the　drawer；　yanking　it　open。　The　files　were　on　some　early　form　of　photocopy　paper；　like　glossy　sepia…toned　photographs；　faded　and　blurred。　He　quickly　pawed　through　to　the　Ls。
　There　it　was。　A　security　clearance　for　Enoch　Leng；　dated　1870：　a　few　sheets；　tissue…thin；　faded　to　light　brown；　covered　in　long　spidery　script。　With　one　swift　stroke　Smithback　slipped　them　out　of　the　file　and　into　his　jacket　pocket；　covering　the　motion　with　a　loud　cough。
　He　turned　around。　〃Very　good。　All　this　will　need　to　be　file…checked；　too；　of　course。〃
　He　stepped　out　of　the　vault。　〃Listen；　O'Neal；　other　than　the　file　check；　you're　doing　a　fine　job　down　here。　I'll　put　in　a　good　word　for　you。〃
　〃Thank　you；　Mr。　Fannin。　I　try；　I　really　do…〃
　〃Wish　I　could　say　the　same　for　Bulger。　Now　there's　someone　with　an　attitude。〃
　〃You're　right；　sir。〃
　〃Good　day；　O'Neal。〃　And　Smithback　beat　a　hasty　retreat。
　He　was　just　in　time。　In　the　hall；　he　again　passed　Bulger；　striding　back；　his　face　red　and　splotchy；　thumbs　hooked　in　his　belt　loops；　lips　and　belly　thrust　forward　aggressively；　keys　swaying　and　jingling。　He　looked　pissed。
　As　Smithback　made　for　the　nearest　exit；　it　almost　felt　as　if　the　pilfered　papers　were　burning　a　hole　in　the　lining　of　his　jacket。
　
　The　Old；　Dark　House
　
　ONE
　　
　SAFELY　ON　THE　street；　Smithback　ducked　through　the　Seventy…seventh　Street　gate　into　Central　Park　and　settled　on　a　bench　by　the　lake。　The　brilliant　fall　morning　was　already　warming　into　a　lovely　Indian　summer　day。　He　breathed　in　the　air　and　thought　once　again　of　what　a　dazzling　reporter　he　was。　Bryce　Harriman　couldn't　have　gotten　his　hands　on　these　papers　if　he　had　a　year　to　do　it　and　all　the　makeup　people　of　Industrial　Light　and　Magic　behind　him。　With　a　sense　of　delicious　anticipation；　he　removed　the　three　sheets　from　his　pocket。　The　faint　scent　of　dust　reached　his　nose　as　sunlight　hit　the　top　page。
　It　was　an　old　brown　carbon；　faint　and　difficult　to　read。　At　the　top　of　the　first　sheet　was　printed：　Application　for　Access　to　the　Collections：　The　New　York　Museum　of　Natural　History
　　
　Applicant：　Prof。　Enoch　Leng；　M。D。；　Ph。D。　（Oxon。）；　O。B。E。；　F。R。S。　&tc。
　　
　Remender：　Professor　Tinbury　McFadden；　Department　of　Mammalogy
　　
　Seconder：　Professor　Augustus　Spragg；　Department　of　Ornithology
　　
　The　applicant　will　please　describe　to　the　mittee；　in　brief；　the　purposes　of　his　application：
　　
　The　applicant；　Dr。　Enoch　Leng；　wishes　access　to　the　collections　of　anthropology　and　mammalogy　to　conduct　research　on　taxonomy　and　classification；　and　to　prepare　parative　essays　in　physical　anthropology；　human　osteology；　and　phrenology。
　　
　The　applicant　will　please　state　his　academic　qualifications；　giving　degrees　and　honors；　with　appropriate　dates：
　　
　The　applicant；　Prof。　Enoch　Leng；　graduated　Artium　Baccalaurei；　with　First　Honors；　from　Oriel　College；　Oxford；　Doctor　of　Natural　Philosophy；　New　College；　Oxford；　with　First　Honors；　Elected　Fellow　of　the　Royal　Society　1865；　Elected　to　White's；　1868；　Awarded　Order　of　the　Garter；　1869。
　　
　The　applicant　will　please　state　his　permanent　domicile　and　his　current　lodgings　in　New　York；　if　different：
　　
　Prof。　Enoch　Leng
　891　Riverside　Drive；
　New　York　New　York
　　
　Research　laboratory　at
　Shottum's　Cabinet　of　Natural　Productions　and　Curiosities
　Catherine　Street；　New　York
　New　York
　　
　The　applicant　will　please　attach　a　list　of　publications；　and　will　supply　offprints　of　at　least　two　for　the　review　of　the　mittee。
　　
　Smithback　looked　through　the　papers；　but　realized　he　had　missed　this　crucial　piece。
　　
　The　disposition　of　the　mittee　is　presented　below：
　　
　Professor　is　hereby　given　permission　to　the　free　and　open　use　of　the　Collections　and　Library　of　the　New　York　Museum　of　Natural　History；　this　27th　Day　of　March；　1870。
　　
　Authorized　Signatory：　Tinbury　McFadden
　　
　　Signed：　E。　Leng。
　　
　Smithback　swore　under　his　breath。　He　felt　abruptly　deflated。　This　was　thin…thin　indeed。　It　was　too　bad　that　Leng　hadn't　gotten　his　degree　in　America…that　would　have　been　much　easier　to　follow　up。　But　maybe　he　could　pry　the　information　out　of　Oxford　over　the　telephone…although　it　was　possible　the　academic　honors　were　false。　The　list　of　publications　would　have　been　much　easier　to　check；　and　far　most　interesting；　but　there　was　no　way　he　could　go　back　and　get　it　now。　It　had　been　such　a　good　idea；　and　he'd　pulled　it　off　so　well。　Damn。
　Smithback　searched　through　the　papers　again。　No　photograph；　no　curriculum　vitae；　no　biography　giving　place　and　date　of　birth。　The　only　thing　here　at　all　was　an　address。
　Damn。　Damn。
　But　then；　a　new　thought　came　to　him。　He　recalled　the　address　was　what　Nora　had　been　trying　to　find。　Here；　at　least；　was　a　peace　offering。
　Smithback　did　a　quick　calculation：　891　Riverside　lay　uptown；　in　Harlem　somewhere。　There　were　a　lot　of　old　mansions　still　standing　along　that　stretch　of　Riverside　Drive：　those　that　remained　were　mostly　abandoned　or　broken　up　into　apartments。　Chances　were；　of　course；　that　Leng's　house　had　been　torn　down　a　long　time　ago。　But　there　was　a　chance　it　might　still　stand。　That　might　make　a　good　picture；　even　if　it　was　an　old　wreck。　Especially　if　it　was　an　old　wreck。　e　to　think　of　it；　there　might　even　be　bodies　buried　about　the　premises；　or　walled　up　in　the　basement。　Perhaps　Leng's　own　body　might　be　there；　moldering　in　a　corner。　That　would　please　O'Shaughnessy；　help　Nora。　And　what　a　great　capstone　for　his　own　article…the　investigative　journalist　finding　the　corpse　of　America's　first　serial　killer。　Of　course；　it　was　very　unlikely；　but　even　so　。　。　。
　Smithback　checked　his　watch。　Almost　one　o'clock。
　Oh；　God。　Such　a　brilliant　bit　of　detective　work　and　all　he'd　really　got　was　the　damn　address。　Well；　it　was　a　matter　of　an　hour　or　two　to　simply　go　check　and　see　if　the　house　was　still　standing。
　Smithback　stuffed　the　papers　back　into　his　pocket　and　strolled　to　Central　Park　West。　There　wasn't　much　point　in　flagging　down　a　cab…they'd　refuse　to　take　him　that　far　uptown；　and　once　there　he'd　never　find　a　cab　to　take　him　home　again。　Even　though　it　was　broad　daylight；　he　had　no　intention　of　doing　any　wandering　around　in　that　dangerous　neighborhood。
　The　best　thing　to　do　might　be　to　rent　a　car。　The　Times　had　a　special　arrangement　with　Hertz；　and　there　was　a　branch　not　far　away　on　Columbus。　Now　that　he　thought　about　it；　if　the　house　did　still　exist；　he'd　probably　want　to　check　inside；　talk　to　current　tenants；　find　out　if　anything　unusual　had　e　to　light　during　renovations；　that　sort　of　thing。
　It　might　be　dark　before　he　was　through。
　That　did　it：　he　was　renting　a　car。
　　
　Forty…five　minutes　later；　he　was　heading　up　Central　Park　West　in　a　silver　Taurus。　His　spirits　had　risen　once　again。　This　still　could　be　a　big　story。　After　he'd　checked　on　the　house；　he　could　do　a　search　of　the　New　York　Public　Library；　see　if　he　could　turn　up　any　published　articles　of　Leng。　Maybe　he　could　even　search　the　police　files　to　see　if　anything　unusual　had　happened　in　the　vicinity　of　Leng's　house　during　the　time　he　was　alive。
　There　were　still　a　lot　of　strong　leads　to　follow　up　here。　Leng　could　be　as　big　as　Jack　the　Ripper。　The　similarities　were　there。　All　it　took　was　a　journalist　to　make　it　e　alive。
　With　enough　information；　this　could　be　his　next　book。
　He；　Smithback；　would　be　a　shoo…in　for　that　Pulitzer　which　always　seemed　to　elude　him。　And　even　more　important…well；　just　as　important；　at　least…he'd　have　a　chance　to　square　himself　with　Nora。　This　would　save　her　and　Pendergast　a　lot　of　time　wading　through　city　deeds。　And　it　would　please　Pendergast；　who　he　sensed　was　a　silent　ally。　Yes：　all　in　all；　this　was　going　to　work　out　well。
　Reaching　the　end　of　the　park；　he　headed　west　on　Cathedral　Parkway；　then　turned　north　onto　Riverside　Drive。　As　he　passed　125th　Street　he　slowed；　scanning　the　addresses　of　the　broken　buildings。　Six　Hundred　Seventy。　Seven　Hundred　One。　Another　ten　blocks　went　by。　As　he　continued　north；　he　slowed　still　further；　holding　his　breath　in　anticipation。
　And　then　his　eye　alighted　on　891