raymondchandler.thehighwindow-第15部分

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lack　shirt　and　a　pale　yellow　scarf　was　fumbling　magazines　at　the　rack。　He　didn't　look　like　a　gunman。
　 I　pulled　the　booth　shut　and　picked　up　the　phone　and　said：　〃A　rat　was　gnawing　my　foot。　It's　all　right　now。　You　got　it　back；　you　said。　Just　like　that。　How？〃
　 〃I　hope　you　are　not　too　disappointed；〃　she　said　in　her　unpromising　baritone。　〃The　circumstances　are　a　little　difficult。　I　may　decide　to　explain　and　I　may　not。　You　may　call　at　the　house　tomorrow　morning。　Since　I　do　not　wish　to　proceed　with　the　investigation；　you　will　keep　the　retainer　as　payment　in　full。〃
　 〃Let　me　get　this　straight；〃　I　said。　〃You　actually　got　the　coin　backnot　a　promise　of　it；　merely？〃
　 〃Certainly　not。　And　I'm　getting　tired。　So；　if　you〃
　 〃One　moment；　Mrs。　Murdock。　It　isn't　going　to　be　as　simple　as　all　that。　Things　have　happened。〃
　 〃In　the　morning　you　may　tell　me　about　them；〃　she　said　sharply；　and　hung　up。
　 I　pushed　out　of　the　booth　and　lit　a　cigarette　with　thick　awkward　fingers。　I　went　back　along　the　store。　The　druggist　was　alone　now。　He　was　sharpening　a　pencil　with　a　small　knife；　very　intent；　frowning。
　 〃That's　a　nice　sharp　pencil　you　have　there；〃　I　told　him。　He　looked　up；　surprised。　The　girls　at　the　pinball　machine　looked　at　me；　surprised。　I　went　over　and　looked　at　myself　in　the　mirror　behind　the　counter。　I　looked　surprised。
　 I　sat　down　on　one　of　the　stools　and　said：　〃A　double　Scotch；　straight。〃
　 The　counter　man　looked　surprised。　〃Sorry；　this　isn't　a　bar；　sir。　You　can　buy　a　bottle　at　the　liquor　counter。〃
　 〃So　it　is；〃　I　said。　〃I　mean；　so　it　isn't。　I've　had　a　shock。　I'm　a　little　dazed。　Give　me　a　cup　of　coffee；　weak；　and　a　very　thin　ham　sandwich　on　stale　bread。　No；　I　better　not　eat　yet　either。　Good…by。〃
　 I　got　down　off　the　stool　and　walked　to　the　door　in　a　silence　that　was　as　loud　as　a　ton　of　coal　going　down　a　chute。　The　man　in　the　black　shirt　and　yellow　scarf　was　sneering　at　me　over　the　New　Republic。
　 〃You　ought　to　lay　off　that　fluff　and　get　your　teeth　into　something　solid；　like　a　pulp　magazine；〃　I　told　him；　just　to　be　friendly。
　 I　went　on　out。　Behind　me　somebody　said：　〃Hollywood's　full　of　them。〃
　
　
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　 The　wind　had　risen　and　had　a　dry　taut　feeling；　tossing　the　tops　of　trees；　and　making　the　swung　arc　light　up　the　side　street　cast　shadows　like　crawling　lava。　I　turned　the　car　and　drove　east　again。
　 The　hock　shop　was　on　Santa　Monica；　near　Wilcox；　a　quiet　old…fashioned　little　place；　washed　gently　by　the　lapping　waves　of　time。　In　the　front　window　there　was　everything　you　could　think　of；　from　a　set　of　trout　flies　in　a　thin　wooden　box　to　a　portable　organ；　from　a　folding　baby　carriage　to　a　portrait　camera　with　a　four…inch　lens；　from　a　mother…of…pearl　lorgnette　in　a　faded　plush　case　to　a　Single　Action　Frontier　Colt；　。44　caliber；　the　model　they　still　make　for　Western　peace　officers　whose　grandfathers　taught　them　how　to　file　the　trigger　and　shoot　by　fanning　the　hammer　back。
　 I　went　into　the　shop　and　a　bell　jangled　over　my　head　and　somebody　shuffled　and　blew　his　nose　far　at　the　back　and　steps　came。　An　old　Jew　in　a　tall　black　skull　cap　came　along　behind　the　counter；　smiling　at　me　over　cut　out　glasses。
　 I　got　my　tobacco　pouch　out；　got　the　Brasher　Doubloon　out　of　that　and　laid　it　on　the　counter。　The　window　in　front　was　clear　glass　and　I　felt　naked。　No　paneled　cubicles　with　handcarved　spittoons　and　doors　that　locked　themselves　as　you　closed　them。
　 The　Jew　took　the　coin　and　lifted　it　on　his　hand。　〃Gold；　is　it？　A　gold　hoarder　you　are　maybe；〃　he　said；　twinkling。
　 〃Twenty…five　dollars；〃　I　said。　〃The　wife　and　the　kiddies　are　hungry。〃
　 〃Oi；　that　is　terrible。　Gold；　it　feels；　by　the　weight。　Only　gold　and　maybe　platinum　it　could　be。〃　He　weighed　it　casually　on　a　pair　of　small　scales。　〃Gold　it　is；〃　he　said。　〃So　ten　dollars　you　are　wanting？〃　
　 〃Twenty…five　dollars。〃
　 〃For　twenty…five　dollars　what　would　I　do　with　it？　Sell　it；　maybe？　For　fifteen　dollars　worth　of　gold　is　maybe　in　it。　Okay。　Fifteen　dollars。〃
　 〃You　got　a　good　safe？〃
　 〃Mister；　in　this　business　are　the　best　safes　money　can　buy。　Nothing　to　worry　about　here。　It　is　fifteen　dollars；　is　it？〃
　 〃Make　out　the　ticket。〃
　 He　wrote　it　out　partly　with　his　pen　and　partly　with　his　tongue。　I　gave　my　true　name　and　address。　Bristol　Apartments；　1634　North　Bristol　Avenue；　Hollywood。
　 〃You　are　living　in　that　district　and　you　are　borrowing　fifteen　dollars；〃　the　Jew　said　sadly；　and　tore　off　my　half　of　the　ticket　and　counted　out　the　money。
　 I　walked　down　to　the　corner　drugstore　and　bought　an　envelope　and　borrowed　a　pen　and　mailed　the　pawnticket　to　myself。
　 I　was　hungry　and　hollow　inside。　I　went　over　to　Vine　to　eat；　and　after　that　I　drove　downtown　again。　The　wind　was　still　rising　and　it　was　drier　than　ever。　The　steering　wheel　had　a　gritty　feeling　under　my　fingers　and　the　inside　of　my　nostrils　felt　tight　and　drawn。
　 The　lights　were　on　here　and　there　in　the　tall　buildings。　The　green　and　chromium　clothier's　store　on　the　corner　of　Ninth　and　Hill　was　a　blaze　of　it。　In　the　Belfont　Building　a　few　windows　glowed　here　and　there；　but　not　many。　The　same　old　plowhorse　sat　in　the　elevator　on　his　piece　of　folded　burlap；　looking　straight　in　front　of　him；　blank…eyed；　almost　gathered　to　history。
　 I　said：　〃I　don't　suppose　you　know　where　I　can　get　in　touch　with　the　building　superintendent？〃
　 He　turned　his　head　slowly　and　looked　past　my　shoulder。　〃I　hear　how　in　Noo　York　they　got　elevators　that　just　whiz。　Go　thirty　floors　at　a　time。　High　speed。　That's　in　Noo　York。〃
　 〃The　hell　with　New　York；〃　I　said。　〃I　like　it　here。〃
　 〃Must　take　a　good　man　to　run　them　fast　babies。〃
　 〃Don't　kid　yourself；　dad。　All　those　cuties　do　is　push　buttons；　say　'Good　Morning；　Mr。　Whoosis；'　and　look　at　their　beauty　spots　in　the　car　mirror。　Now　you　take　a　Model　T　job　like　thisit　takes　a　man　to　run　it。　Satisfied？〃
　 〃I　work　twelve　hours　a　day；〃　he　said。　〃And　glad　to　get　it。〃
　 〃Don't　let　the　union　hear　you。〃
　 〃You　know　what　the　union　can　do？〃　I　shook　my　head。　He　told　me。　Then　he　lowered　his　eyes　until　they　almost　looked　at　me。　〃Didn't　I　see　you　before　somewhere？〃
　 〃About　the　building　super；〃　I　said　gently。
　 〃Year　ago　he　broke　his　glasses；〃　the　old　man　said。　〃I　could　of　laughed。　Almost　did。〃
　 〃Yes。　Where　could　I　get　in　touch　with　him　this　time　of　the　evening？〃
　 He　looked　at　me　a　little　more　directly。
　 〃Oh；　the　building　super？　He's　home；　ain't　he？〃
　 〃Sure。　Probably。　Or　gone　to　the　pictures。　But　where　is　home？　What's　his　name？〃
　 〃You　want　something？〃
　 〃Yes。〃　I　squeezed　a　fist　in　my　pocket　and　tried　to　keep　from　yelling。　〃I　want　the　address　of　one　of　the　tenants。　The　tenant　I　want　the　address　of　isn't　in　the　phone　bookat　his　home。　I　mean　where　he　lives　when　he's　not　in　his　office。　You　know；　home。〃　I　took　my　hands　out　and　made　a　shape　in　the　air；　writing　the　letters　slowly；　h　o　m　e。
　 The　old　man　said：　〃Which　one？〃　It　was　so　direct　that　it　jarred　me。
　 〃Mr。　Morningstar。〃
　 〃He　ain't　home。　Still　in　his　office。〃
　 〃Are　you　sure？〃
　 〃Sure　I'm　sure。　I　don't　notice　people　much。　But　he's　old　like　me　and　I　notice　him。　He　ain't　been　down　yet。〃
　 I　got　into　the　car　and　said：　〃Eight。〃
　 He　wrestled　the　doors　shut　and　we　ground　our　way　up。　He　didn't　look　at　me　anymore。　When　the　car　stopped　and　I　got　out　he　didn't　speak　or　look　at　me　again。　He　just　sat　there　blank…eyed；　hunched　on　the　burlap　and　the　wooden　stool。　As　I　turned　the　angle　of　the　corridor　he　was　still　sitting　there。　And　the　vague　expression　was　back　on　his　face。
　 At　the　end　of　the　corridor　two　doors　were　alight。　They　were　the　only　two　in　sight　that　were。　I　stopped　outside　to　light　a　cigarette　and　listen；　but　I　didn't　hear　any　sound　of　activity。　I　opened　the　door　marked　Entrance　and　stepped　into　the　narrow　office　with　the　small　closed　typewriter　desk。　The　wooden　door　was　still　ajar。　I　walked　along　to　it　and　knocked　on　the　wood　and　said：　〃Mr。　Morningstar。〃
　 No　answer。　Silence。　Not　even　a　sound　of　breathing。　The　hairs　moved　on　the　back　of　my　neck。　I　stepped　around　the　door。　The　ceiling　light　glowed　down　on　the　glass　cover　of　the　jeweller's　scales；　on　the　old　polished　wood　around　the　leather　desk　top；　down　the　side　of　the　desk；　on　a　squaretoed；　elastic…sided　black　shoe；　with　a　white　cotton　sock　above　it。
　 The　shoe　was　at　the　wrong　angle；　pointing　to　the　corner　of　the　ceiling。　The　rest　of　the　leg　was　behind　the　corner　of　the　big　safe。　I　seemed　to　be　wading　through　mud　as　I　went　on　into　the　room。
　 He　lay　crumpled　on　his　back。　Very　lonely；　very　dead。
　 The　safe　door　was　wide　open　and　keys　hung　in　the　lock　of　the　inner　partment。　A　metal　drawer　was　pulled　out。　It　was　empty　now。　There　may　have　been　money　in　it　once。
　 Nothing　else　in　the　room　seemed　to　be　different。
　 The　old　man's　pockets　had　been　pulled　out；　but　I　didn't　touch　him　except　to　bend　over　and　put　the　back　of　my　hand　against　his　livid；　violet…colored　face。　It　was　like　touching　a　frog's　belly。　Blood　had　oozed　from　the　side　of　his　forehead　where　he　had　been　hit。　But　there　was　no　powder　smell　on　the　air　this　time；　and　the　violet　color　of　his　skin　showed　that　he　had　died　of　a　heart　stoppage；　due　to　shock　and　fear；　probably。　That　didn't　make　it　any　less　murder。
　 I　left　the　lights　burning；　wiped　the　doorknobs；　and　walked　down　the　fire　stairs　to　the　sixth　floor。　I　read　the　names　on　the　doors　going　along；　for　no　reason　at　all。　H。　R。　Teager　Dental　Laboratories；　L。　Pridview；　Public　Accountant；　Dalton　and　Rees　Typewriting　Service；　Dr。　E。　J。　Blaskowitz；　and　underneath　the　name　in　small　letters：　Chiropractic　Physician。
　 The　elevator　came　growling　up　and　the　old　man　didn't　look　at　me。　His　face　was　as　empty　as　my　brain。
　 I　called　the　Receiving　Hospital　from　the　corner；　giving　no　name。
　
　
　
　
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　 The　chessmen；　red　and　white　bone；　were　lined　up　ready　to　go　and　had　that　sharp；　petent　and　plicated　look　they　always　have　at　the　beginning　of　a　game。　It　was　ten　o'clock　in　the　evening；　I　was　home　at　the　apartment；　I　had　a　pipe　in　my　mouth；　a　drink　at　my　elbow　and　nothing　on　my　mind　except　two　murders　and　the　mystery　of　how　Mrs。　Elizabeth　Bright　Murdock　had　got　her　Brasher　Doubloon　back　while　I　still　had　it　in　my　pocket。
　 I　opened　a　little　paper…bound　book　of　tournament　games　published　in　Leipzig；　picked　out　a　dashing…looking　Queen's　Ga