raymondchandler.farewellmylovely-第30部分

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〃Gin；〃　I　said。　〃That　just　gives　you　an　idea。　Nice　folks　don't　drink　gin。〃
〃Nice　folks　don't　drink　no　liquor　at　all；〃　Old　Nosey　said　pointedly。
〃Yeah；〃　I　said。　〃e　Monday；　that　being　today；　and　the　mailman　went　by　again。　This　time　she　was　really　sore。〃
〃Kind　of　smart　guesser；　ain't　you；　young　man？　Can't　wait　for　folks　to　get　their　mouth　open　hardly。〃
　〃I'm　sorry；　Mrs。　Morrison。　This　is　an　important　matter　to　us…〃
　〃This　here　young　man　don't　seem　to　have　no　trouble　keepin'　his　mouth　in　place。〃
　〃He's　married；〃　I　said。　〃He's　had　practice。〃
　Her　face　turned　a　shade　of　violet　that　reminded　me；　unpleasantly；　of　cyanosis。　〃Get　out　of　my　house　afore　I　call　the　police！〃　she　shouted。
　〃There　is　a　police　officer　standing　before　you；　madam；〃　Randall　said　shortly。　〃You　are　in　no　danger。〃
　〃That's　right　there　is；〃　she　admitted。　The　violet　tint　began　to　fade　from　her　face。　〃I　don't　take　to　this　man。〃
　〃You　have　pany；　madam。　Mrs。　Florian　didn't　get　her　registered　letter　today　either…is　that　it？〃
　〃No。〃　Her　voice　was　sharp　and　short。　Her　eyes　were　furtive。　She　began　to　talk　rapidly；　too　rapidly。　〃People　was　there　last　night。　I　didn't　even　see　them。　Folks　took　me　to　the　picture　show。　Just　as　we　got　back…no；　just　after　they　driven　off…a　car　went　away　from　next　door。　Fast　without　any　lights。　I　didn't　see　the　number。〃
　She　gave　me　a　sharp　sidelong　look　from　her　furtive　eyes。　I　wondered　why　they　were　furtive。　I　wandered　to　the　window　and　lifted　the　lace　curtain。　An　official　blue…gray　uniform　was　nearing　the　house。　The　man　wearing　it　wore　a　heavy　leather　bag　over　his　shoulder　and　had　a　vizored　cap。
I　turned　away　from　the　window；　grinning。
〃You're　slipping；〃　I　told　her　rudely。　〃You'll　be　playing　shortstop　in　a　Class　C　league　next　year。〃
〃That's　not　smart；〃　Randall　said　coldly。
〃Take　a　look　out　of　the　window。〃
　He　did　and　his　face　hardened。　He　stood　quite　still　looking　at　Mrs。　Morrison。　He　was　waiting　for　something；　a　sound　like　nothing　else　on　earth。　It　came　in　a　moment。
　It　was　the　sound　of　something　being　pushed　into　the　front　door　mail　slot。　It　might　have　been　a　handbill；　but　it　wasn't。　There　were　steps　going　back　down　the　walk；　then　along　the　street；　and　Randall　went　to　the　window　again。　The　mailman　didn't　stop　at　Mrs。　Florian's　house。　He　went　on；　his　blue…gray　back　even　and　calm　under　the　heavy　leather　pouch。
　Randall　turned　his　head　and　asked　with　deadly　politeness：　〃How　many　mail　deliveries　a　morning　are　there　in　this　district；　Mrs。　Morrison？〃
　She　tried　to　face　it　out。　〃Just　the　one；〃　she　said　sharply…〃one　mornings　and　one　afternoons。〃
　Her　eyes　darted　this　way　and　that。　The　rabbit　chin　was　trembling　on　the　edge　of　something。　Her　hands　clutched　at　the　rubber　frill　that　bordered　the　blue　and　white　apron。
　〃The　morning　delivery　just　went　by；〃　Randall　said　dreamily。　〃Registered　mail　es　by　the　regular　mailman？〃
　〃She　always　got　it　Special　Delivery；〃　the　old　voice　cracked。
　〃Oh。　But　on　Saturday　she　ran　out　and　spoke　to　the　mailman　when　he　didn't　stop　at　her　house。　And　you　said　nothing　about　Special　Delivery。〃
　It　was　nice　to　watch　him　working…on　somebody　else。
　Her　mouth　opened　wide　and　her　teeth　had　the　nice　shiny　look　that　es　from　standing　all　night　in　a　glass　of　solution。　Then　suddenly　she　made　a　squawking　noise　and　threw　the　apron　over　her　head　and　ran　out　of　the　room。
　He　watched　the　door　through　which　she　had　gone。　It　was　beyond　the　arch。　He　smiled。　It　was　a　rather　tired　smile。
　〃Neat；　and　not　a　bit　gaudy；〃　I　said。　〃Next　time　you　play　the　tough　part。　I　don't　like　being　rough　with　old　ladies…even　if　they　are　lying　gossips。〃
　He　went　on　smiling。　〃Same　old　story。〃　He　shrugged。　〃Police　work。　Phooey。　She　started　with　facts；　as　she　knew　facts。　But　they　didn't　e　fast　enough　or　seem　exciting　enough。　So　she　tried　a　little　lily…gilding。〃
　He　turned　and　we　went　out　into　the　hall。　A　faint　noise　of　sobbing　came　from　the　back　of　the　house。　For　some　patient　man；　long　dead；　that　had　been　the　weapon　of　final　defeat；　probably。　To　me　it　was　just　an　old　woman　sobbing；　but　nothing　to　be　pleased　about。
　We　went　quietly　out　of　the　house；　shut　the　front　door　quietly　and　made　sure　that　the　screen　door　didn't　bang。　Randall　put　his　hat　on　and　sighed。　Then　he　shrugged；　spreading　his　cool　well…kept　hands　out　far　from　his　body。　There　was　a　thin　sound　of　sobbing　still　audible；　back　in　the　house。
　The　mailman's　back　was　two　houses　down　the　street。
　〃Police　work；〃　Randall　said　quietly；　under　his　breath；　and　twisted　his　mouth。
　We　walked　across　the　space　to　the　next　house。　Mrs。　Florian　hadn't　even　taken　the　wash　in。　It　still　jittered；　stiff　and　yellowish　on　the　wire　line　in　the　side　yard。　We　went　up　on　the　steps　and　rang　the　bell。　No　answer。　We　knocked。　No　answer。
　〃It　was　unlocked　last　time；〃　I　said。
　He　tried　the　door；　carefully　screening　the　movement　with　his　body。　It　was　locked　this　time。　We　went　down　off　the　porch　and　walked　around　the　house　on　the　side　away　from　Old　Nosey。　The　back　porch　had　a　hooked　screen。　Randall　knocked　on　that。　Nothing　happened。　He　came　back　off　the　two　almost　paintless　wooden　steps　and　went　along　the　disused　and　overgrown　driveway　and　opened　up　a　wooden　garage。　The　doors　creaked。　The　garage　was　full　of　nothing。　There　were　a　few　battered　old…fashioned　trunks　not　worth　breaking　up　for　firewood。　Rusted　gardening　tools；　old　cans；　plenty　of　those；　in　cartons。　On　each　side　of　the　doors；　in　the　angle　of　the　wall　a　nice　fat　black　widow　spider　sat　in　its　casual　untidy　web。　Randall　picked　up　a　piece　of　wood　and　killed　them　absently。　He　shut　the　garage　up　again；　walked　back　along　the　weedy　drive　to　the　front　and　up　the　steps　of　the　house　on　the　other　side　from　Old　Nosey。　Nobody　answered　his　ring　or　knock。
　He　came　back　slowly；　looking　across　the　street　over　his　shoulder。
　〃Back　door's　easiest；〃　he　said。　〃The　old　hen　next　door　won't　do　anything　about　it　now。　She's　done　too　much　lying。〃
　He　went　up　the　two　back　steps　and　slide　a　knife　blade　neatly　into　the　crack　of　the　door　and　lifted　the　hook。　That　put　us　in　the　screen　porch。　It　was　full　of　cans　and　some　of　the　cans　were　full　of　flies。
　〃Jesus；　what　a　way　to　live！〃　he　said。
　The　back　door　was　easy。　A　five…cent　skeleton　key　turned　the　lock。　But　there　was　a　bolt。
　〃This　jars　me；〃　I　said。　〃I　guess　she's　beat　it。　She　wouldn't　lock　up　like　this。　She's　too　sloppy。〃
　〃Your　hat's　older　than　mine；〃　Randall　said。　He　looked　at　the　glass　panel　in　the　back　door。　〃Lend　it　to　me　to　push　the　glass　in。　Or　shall　we　do　a　neat　job？〃
〃Kick　it　in。　Who　cares　around　here？〃
〃Here　goes。〃
　He　stepped　back　and　lunged　at　the　lock　with　his　leg　parallel　to　the　floor。　Something　cracked　idly　and　the　door　gave　a　few　inches。　We　heaved　it　open　and　picked　a　piece　of　jagged　cast　metal　off　the　linoleum　and　laid　it　politely　on　the　woodstone　drainboard；　beside　about　nine　empty　gin　bottles。
　Flies　buzzed　against　the　closed　windows　of　the　kitchen。　The　place　reeked。　Randall　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　floor；　giving　it　the　careful　eye。
　Then　he　walked　softly　through　the　swing　door　without　touching　it　except　low　down　with　his　toe　and　using　that　to　push　it　far　enough　back　so　that　it　stayed　open。　The　living　room　was　much　as　I　had　remembered　it。　The　radio　was　off。
　〃That's　a　nice　radio；〃　Randall　said。　〃Cost　money。　If　it's　paid　for。　Here's　something。〃
　He　went　down　on　one　knee　and　looked　along　the　carpet。　Then　he　went　to　the　side　of　the　radio　and　moved　a　loose　cord　with　his　foot。　The　plug　came　into　view。　He　bent　and　studied　the　knobs　on　the　radio　front。
　〃Yeah；〃　he　said。　〃Smooth　and　rather　large。　Pretty　smart；　that。　You　don't　get　prints　on　a　light　cord；　do　you？〃
　〃Shove　it　in　and　see　if　it's　turned　on。〃
　He　reached　around　and　shoved　it　into　the　plug　in　the　baseboard。　The　light　went　on　at　once。　We　waited。　The　thing　hummed　for　a　while　and　then　suddenly　a　heavy　volume　of　sound　began　to　pour　out　of　the　speaker。　Randall　jumped　at　the　cord　and　yanked　it　loose　again。　The　sound　was　snapped　off　sharp。
　When　he　straightened　his　eyes　were　full　of　light。
　We　went　swiftly　into　the　bedroom。　Mrs。　Jessie　Pierce　Florian　lay　diagonally　across　the　bed；　in　a　rumpled　cotton　house　dress；　with　her　head　close　to　one　end　of　the　footboard。　The　corner　post　of　the　bed　was　smeared　darkly　with　something　the　flies　liked。
　She　had　been　dead　long　enough。
　Randall　didn't　touch　her。　He　stared　down　at　her　for　a　long　time　and　then　looked　at　me　with　a　wolfish　baring　of　his　teeth。
　〃Brains　on　her　face；〃　he　said。　〃That　seems　to　be　the　theme　song　of　this　case。　Only　this　was　done　with　just　a　pair　of　hands。　But　Jesus　what　a　pair　of　hands。　Look　at　the　neck　bruises；　the　spacing　of　the　finger　marks。〃
　〃You　look　at　them；〃　I　said。　I　turned　away。　〃Poor　old　Nulty。　It's　not　just　a　shine　killing　any　more。〃
　
　31
　A　shiny　black　bug　with　a　pink　head　and　pink　spots　on　it　crawled　slowly　along　the　polished　top　of　Randall's　desk　and　waved　a　couple　of　feelers　around；　as　if　testing　the　breeze　for　a　takeoff。　It　wobbled　a　little　as　it　crawled；　like　an　old　woman　carrying　too　many　parcels。　A　nameless　dick　sat　at　another　desk　and　kept　talking　into　an　old…fashioned　hushaphone　telephone　mouthpiece；　so　that　his　voice　sounded　like　someone　whispering　in　a　tunnel。　He　talked　with　his　eyes　half　closed；　a　big　scarred　hand　on　the　desk　in　front　of　him　holding　a　burning　cigarette　between　the　knuckles　of　the　first　and　second　fingers。
　The　bug　reached　the　end　of　Randall's　desk　and　marched　straight　off　into　the　air。　It　fell　on　its　back　on　the　floor；　waved　a　few　thin　worn　legs　in　the　air　feebly　and　then　played　dead。　Nobody　cared；　so　it　began　waving　the　legs　again　and　finally　struggled　over　on　its　face。　It　trundled　slowly　off　into　a　corner　towards　nothing；　going　nowhere。
　The　police　loudspeaker　box　on　the　wall　put　out　a　bulletin　about　a　holdup　on　San　Pedro　south　of　Forty…fourth。　The　holdup　was　a　middle…aged　man　wearing　a　dark　gray　suit　and　gray　felt　hat。　He　was　last　seen　running　east　on　Forty…fourth　and　then　dodging　between　two　houses。　〃Approach　carefully；〃　the　announcer　said。　〃This　suspect　is　armed　with　a　。32　caliber　revolver　and　has　just　held　up　the　proprietor　of　a　Greek　restaurant　at　Number　3966　South　San　Pedro。〃
　A　flat　click　and　the　announcer　went　off　the　air　and　another　one　came　on　and　started　to　read　a　hot　car　list；　in　a　slow　mon