cw.blackalibi-第38部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ong　the　water's　edge；　head　attentively　bent。　The　hungry　birds；　meanwhile；　were　banked　nearly　solidly　around　her　on　the　water　side；　jostling　and　nudging　one　another　aside；　and　the　whole　body　of　them　moving　first　up　the　shore；　then　down　it；　in　pany　with　her　own　slow　coursing。
　　Behind　her　heroically　oblivious　back；　nothing　stirred；　nothing　moved。　There　wasn't　a　rustle　from　the　dark　feathery　masses　of　bush　and　underbrush　all　about。　Not　the　snap　of　a　twig。
　　She'd　found　it　at　last。　He　saw　her　dip　suddenly；　draw　something　from　the　outermost　inch　or　two　of　water　that　winked　in　the　moonlight　as　she　straightened　with　it；　holding　it　semialoft。　She　hovered　with　proprietary　delight　over　it　for　a　moment　or　two；　in　clever　pantomime。　Drying　it；　turning　it　this　way　and　that。　Then　she　put　it　in　the　bag　on　her　wrist。　Now　she　began　her　feeding　of　the　swans。　Her　arm　went　out　toward　them；　in　toward　the　napkin；　held　back　a　moment；　then　out　toward　them；　in　toward　the　napkin；　while　she　slowly　strolled　along；　a　bountiful　lady　on　the　banks　of　the　Styx。
　　Manning's　position　had　changed　slightly　when　she　had　first　e　into　view。　The　one　alteration　was：　his　forearm　was　up　now；　holding　his　gun　motionless　at　belt…buckle　level；　butt　against　his　body。　His　head　kept　swiveling　slowly　from　side　to　side；　covering　every　inch　of　ground　within　a　i8odegree　arc。
　　Suddenly　he　heard　the　horse；　unseen　up　there　on　the　driveway　and　motionless　until　now；　whinny　uneasily。　Its　hoofs　shifted　about　a　little　within　the　confines　of　the　traces。
　　His　head　was　instantly　pulled　tautly　around　the　other　way…toward　her。　The　swans　were　streaking　out　away　from　her　like　so　many　black　rays　across　the　silvery　lake　surface。　In　a　moment　more　she　was　standing　there　alone　at　the　water's　edge；　hand　extended　uselessly　with　offered　crumbs。
　　Manning　drew　the　gun　up　higher；　to　the　level　of　his　bottom　rib；　froze　it　there。
　　She　was　standing　still；　facing　the　receding　swans。　A　shimmering　line　of　brightness　coursed　down　her　motionless　back。　Was　she　trembling　at　the　imminence　of　danger；　or　was　it　just　the　moonlight　rippling　on　the　beads　sewn　to　her　dress？　He　couldn't　tell。
　　The　horse's　forelegs　struck　the　ground　sharply；　as　though　its　full　weight　were　behind　the　impact；　and　the　carriage　joints　groaned　and　strained　protestingly。　It　must　have　reared　and　then　dropped　down　again；　Manning　realized。　It　neighed　rebelliously。　He　started　his　own　leg　downward　out　of　the　tree　socket；　let　it　dangle　to　within　a　foot　of　the　ground　in　readiness；　on　the　water　side；　where　the　trunk　hid　it。
　　And　still　the　space　between；　from　up　there　where　the　carriage　was　to　down　below　where　she　was；　remained　blankly　inscrutable。
　　She　didn't　look　around；　although　she　must　have　heard　the　telltale　sounds　from　the　driveway　as　plainly　as　he　had。　She　was　bending　slightly　forward　above　the　waist　now；　pretending　to　try　to　coax　the　recalcitrant　swans　back　within　range。　They　refused　to　e。　Finally；　with　a　studied　gesture　of　impatience；　she　flung　the　napkin　holding　the　remainder　of　the　rejected　crumbs　away　from　her；　as　if　disappointed　at　their　lack　of　interest。
　　She　fumbled　in　the　small　bag　looped　to　her　wrist；　he　heard　the　crackle　of　wax　paper；　and　a　match　flare　glowed　before　her　face　as　she　lit　the　test　cigarette　he　had　told　her　to。　All　without　turning　her　head。
　　It　was　the　height　of　courage；　he　had　never　seen　anything　like　it　before。　For；　for　all　she　knew；　something　might　be　creeping　up　behind　her　at　that　very　moment。　He　was　in　a　position　to　see　that　nothing　was；　but　she　wasn't。
　　The　horse　took　an　abortive　two　or　three　rapid　steps　forward；　as　if　about　to　break　into　a　headlong　run；　then　was　quickly　reined　in；　backed　up　again；　with　further　creaking　protests　of　the　carriage　joints　and　a　jiggling　of　the　wheel　rims。
　　A　halo　of　cigarette　haze　about　her　head　in　the　moonlight；　she　was　following　his　instructions　to　the　letter。　She　began　to　saunter　aimlessly　still　further　along　the　lake　margin；　well　out　of　sight　of　carriage　and　driver…but　fortunately　over　toward　the　side　on　which　the　reeds　lay；　although　she　could　not　have　known　that　there　was　a　safeguard　in　their　midst。　She　stopped　about　halfway　to　them；　well　out　of　sight　of　the　carriage；　and　stood　there　as　if　idly　contemplating　the　lake；　arms　folded　tight　across　her　chest。　The　red　mote　of　her　cigarette　made　an　occasional　spiral　Out　from　them　and　up　to　her　mouth　and　down　again。　Manning　could　barely　see　her　any　more　at　this　distance；　she　was　just　a　white　blur　in　the　gloom　over　there；　for　she　had　stepped　out　of　open　moonlight　into　the　shadow　of　some　trees。　It　was　up　to　Belmonte　now　to　guard　her；　over　on　the　side　where　he　was。
　　There　wasn't　a　sound；　except　for　an　occasional　pawing　or　clump　from　the　horse　up　above；　whose　restlessness　had　bee　chronic　by　now　but　apparently　was　being　kept　under　strict　control　by　the　driver。　The　animal's　whole　demeanor　showed　there　was　some　unseen　danger　close　at　hand　in　the　shadows　of　the　Bosque；　but　it　stubbornly　remained　concealed。　failed　to　materialize。　The　tableau　of　palpitant　tension　protracted　itself　almost　unbearably；　the　two　hidden　men　and　the　visible　girl；　the　magnet　midway　between　them；　smoking　down　by　the　water's　edge　as　if　lost　in　thought。
　　At　last　she　finished　it。　Its　red　dot　described　an　arc　and　went　out　in　the　water。　She　turned　and　began　to　make　her　way　back。　Once　she　stumbled　slightly；　and　he　knew　it　was　in　sheer　terror；　but　to　someone　else　it　might　only　have　seemed　as　if　her　toe　had　caught　in　a　root。
　　She　came　out　into　the　open　moonlight　again　and　started　up　the　slope。　She　passed　the　tree　where　Manning　was；　as　unseeing　as　the　first　time；　and　went　on　up　the　rest　of　the　way；　over　the　lip　of　the　declivity；　onto　the　level　where　the　roadway　was；　and　out　of　his　direct　line　of　vision。
　　He　let　his　tentatively　suspended　leg　reach　down　the　remaining　foot　or　two　to　solid　ground；　and　let　the　other　one　trail　down　after　it。　The　blood　came　rushing　back　into　them　in　excruciating　repossession。
　　Her　voice　carried　clearly　to　him　as　she　reached　the　carriage　once　more。　〃All　right；　now　you　can　take　me　back。〃　The　footrest　creaked　as　she　mounted　it。　The　coachman　didn't　even　have　to　click　his　tongue　or　use　the　whip　to　start　the　horse；　Manning　could　tell。　At　the　first　slackening　of　the　reins　he　had　been　pulling　in　so　tightly　until　now；　the　terrified　horse　instantly　broke　into　a　rapid　trot　that　soon　became　a　headlong　gallop；　so　anxious　was　it　to　get　away　from　the　threatening　spot。
　　Manning　sidled　noiselessly　out　from　under　the　tree　and　stood　waiting　for　his　panion…in…hiding　to　break　cover　and　join　him。　The　reeds　failed　to　part　at　his　whistle。　When　he　had　repeated　it　a　second　time　and　still　no　sign　of　Belmonte；　he　made　his　way　over　to　them　himself；　a　strange　sort　of　foreboding　beginning　to　chill　him。
　　〃Raul！〃　he　whispered　urgently；　picking　his　way　into　their　midst　across　the　waterlogged　stones。　The　reeds　were　empty。　He　could　see　some　of　them　bent　flat；　around　where　his　panion　had　been　crouched；　but　there　was　no　one　in　them　any　more。
　　He　emerged；　went　back；　and　started　up　the　slope　alone。
　　The　road　was　empty　in　the　moonlight　when　he　reached　it。　He　had　hardly　taken　a　preliminary　step　or　two　along　it　than　he　became　aware　of　some　sort　of　disturbance；　offside　to　him。　On　the　side　away　from　the　lake；　that　is。　He　stood　rigid；　listening。　It　came　again；　a　muffled　scuffling　or　threshing　sound；　as　of　a　large　animal　caught　in　a　trap　or　incapacitated　in　some　way　and　trying　to　free　itself。
　　He　veered　toward　it；　moving　warily。　It　came　a　third　time；　unmistakable　now：　a　violent；　frantic　agitation　against　leaves　or　plants；　an　attempt　at　extrication。　He　drew　his　gun；　plunged　in　off　the　road　toward　it；　warding　off　branches　and　briars　as　he　went。
　　The　thrashing　accelerated；　as　though　driven　to　a　frenzy　of　haste　by　his　very　approach。
　　A　moment　later　he　went　down　flat　and　his　gun　crashed　deafeningly；　set　off　by　the　fall　itself。　Something　or　somebody　lying　tied　up　in　his　path　had　tripped　him。
　　He　groveled　around　rearward；　wiping　a　smarting　powder　smudge　off　his　cheek；　found　his　light；　and　thumbed　it　on。　It　revealed　a　huddled　human　form　lying　face　down；　hands　bound　behind　it　with　a　knitted　necktie　evidently　taken　from　its　own　attire。
　　Manning　turned　him　over　and　it　was　a　grizzled　man　of　fifty；　with　bedraggled　walrus　mustaches。　A　mass　of　rumpled　linen　had　been　pressed　into　his　mouth　to　gag　him。　Manning　pulled　it　out；　and　it　seemed　to　keep　ing　endlessly。　It　turned　pinkish　toward　the　end。　He'd　been　badly　bludgeoned　about　the　head；　thin　but　numerous　streams　of　blood　were　crisscrossed　all　down　his　face。
　　He　was　only　barely　conscious；　the　whites　of　his　eyes　rolled　expiringly　as　Manning　propped　him　up。　He　shook　him　urgently。
　　〃Who　are　you？　What　happened？　Who　did　this　to　you？〃
　　〃I　don't　know；〃　the　dying　man　said　faintly。　〃Somebody…from　behind…down　off　the　box…〃　He　went　limp；　with　a　sort　of　convulsive　spasm。
　　Manning　let　go　of　him；　jumped　to　his　feet　with　a　hoarse　cry　of　horror　that　went　crackling　through　the　trees。　This　must　be　Marjorie's　coachman；　who　had　brought　her　here。　And　if　he　had　been　struck　down；　left　trussed　up　here　like　this；　it　could　only　mean　one　thing…！
　　The　very　Thing　he　was　out　to　trap　had　hold　of　her　at　this　moment；　had　driven　oil　with　her　to　finish　her　at　his　leisure！
　　He　burst　out　through　the　underbrush；　sprinted　down　the　road；　pocketing　his　gun　as　he　went。　When　he　veered　offside　into　the　small　treesurrounded　clearing　in　which　Belmonte　had　left　his　car；　hoping　against　hope；　almost　praying…　he　found　what　he'd　dreaded　to　find　all　along；　the　place　was　empty；　the　car　was　gone。　And　no　one　could　have　taken　it　but　its　owner；　Manning　himself　had　seen　him　pocket　the　keys　when　they　both　got　out。
　　He　emerged　again；　went　staggering　down　the　long　desolate　tube　of　silver　and　black　that　was　the　road；　forced　to　go　on　afoot　now。　The　odds　were　hopeless　this　way；　he　could　never　hope　to　overtake　her　in　time。
　　Just　before　the　desolate　road　turned　in　to　unite　with　the　main　driveway　once　more；　something　came　sidling　toward　him　along　its　surface。　Something　that　glinted　as　he　approached。　He　recognized　it　as　he　stooped　to　pick　it　up。　It　was　the　revolver　that　he　himself　had　handed　her　at　the　Inglaterra　only　a