cb.damnationgame-第25部分

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　Whitehead's　species　of　integrity　at　work；　and　had　profited　by　it。　Now；　he　felt；　the　stability　he　had　e　to　enjoy　was　threatened　with　extinction。　Already　the　old　man　was　clearly　withholding　information…perhaps　pivotal　to　Marty's　understanding　of　the　situation…about　the　intruder　and　his　motives。　In　place　of　Whitehead's　previous　plain　talking；　there　was　innuendo　and　threats。　That　was　his　prerogative；　of　course。　But　it　left　Marty　with　a　guessing　game　on　his　hands。
　　One　point　was　unarguable：　whatever　Whitehead　claimed；　the　man　at　the　fence　had　been　no　conventional　hired　killer。　Several　inexplicable　things　had　happened　at　the　fence。　The　lights　had　waxed　and　waned　as　if　on　cue；　the　cameras　had　mysteriously　failed　when　the　man　had　appeared。　The　dogs　had　registered　this　riddle　too。　Why　else　had　they　shown　such　a　confusion　of　anger　and　apprehension？　And　there　remained　the　illusions…those　air…burning　pictures。　No　sleight　of　hand；　however　elaborate；　could　explain　them　satisfactorily。　If　Whitehead　knew　this　〃assassin〃　as　well　as　he　claimed；　then　he　must　know　the　man's　skills　too：　he　was　simply　too　afraid　to　talk　about　them。
　　Marty　spent　the　day　asking　the　discreetest　of　questions　around　the　house　but　it　rapidly　became　apparent　that　Whitehead　had　said　nothing　of　the　events　to　Pearl；　Lillian　or　Luther。　This　was　odd。　Surely　now　was　the　very　time　to　make　everyone　more　vigilant？　The　only　person　to　suggest　he　had　any　knowledge　of　the　night's　events　was　Bill　Toy；　but　when　Marty　raised　the　subject　he　was　evasive。
　　〃I　realize　you've　been　put　in　a　difficult　situation；　Marty；　but　so　are　we　all　at　the　moment。〃　〃I　just　feel　I　could　do　the　job　better　〃
　　〃…if　you　knew　the　facts。〃　〃Yes。〃　〃Well；　I　think　you　have　to　concede　that　Joe　knows　best。〃　He　made　a　rueful　face。　〃We　should　all　have　that　tattooed　on　our　hands；　don't　you　think？　Joe　Knows　Best。　I　wish　I　could　tell　more。　I　wish　I　knew　more。　I　think　it's　probably　easiest　for　all　concerned　if　you　let　the　matter　drop。〃　〃He　gave　me　a　gun；　Bill。〃　〃I　know。〃　〃And　he　told　me　to　use　it。〃　Toy　nodded；　he　looked　pained　by　all　of　this；　even　regretful。
　　〃These　are　bad　times；　Marty。　We're　all　。　。　。　all　having　to　do　a　lot　of　things　we　don't　want　to；　believe　me。〃　Marty　did　believe　him；　he　trusted　Toy　sufficiently　to　know　that　if　there'd　been　anything　he　could　say　on　the　subject；　it　would　have　been　said。　It　was　entirely　possible　that　Toy　didn't　even　know　who　had　broken　the　seal　on　the　Sanctuary。　If　it　was　some　private　confrontation　between　Whitehead　and　the　stranger；　then　maybe　a　full　explanation　could　only　e　from　the　old　man　himself；　and　that　would　clearly　not　be　forthing。
　　Marty　had　one　final　interviewee。　Carys。
　　He　hadn't　seen　her　since　he'd　trespassed　on　the　upper　landing　the　day　before。　What　he'd　seen　between　Carys　and　her　father　had　unsettled　him；　and　there　was；　he　knew；　a　childish　urge　in　him　to　punish　her　by　withholding　his　pany。　Now　he　felt　obliged　to　seek　her　out；　however　unfortable　the　meeting　might　prove。
　　He　found　her　that　afternoon；　loitering　in　the　vicinity　of　the　dovecote。　She　was　wrapped　up　in　a　fur　coat　that　looked　as　if　it　had　been　bought　at　a　thrift　shop；　it　was　several　sizes　too　big　for　her；　and　moth…eaten。　As　it　was；　she　seemed　overdressed。　The　weather　was　warm　even　if　the　wind　was　gusty；　and　the　clouds　that　passed　across　a　Wedgwood…blue　sky　carried　little　threat：　too　small；　too　white。　They　were　April　clouds；　containing　at　worst　a　light　shower。
　　〃Carys。〃　She　fixed　him　with　eyes　so　ringed　with　tiredness　his　first　thought　was　that　they　were　bruised。　In　her　hand　she　had　a　bundle；　rather　than　a　bunch；　of　flowers；　many　still　buds。
　　〃Smell；〃　she　said；　proffering　them。
　　He　sniffed　at　them。　They　were　practically　scentless：　they　just　smelled　of　eagerness　and　earth。
　　〃Can't　smell　much。〃　〃Good；〃　she　said。　〃I　thought　I　was　losing　my　senses。〃　She　let　the　bundle　drop　to　the　ground；　impatient　with　them。
　　〃You　don't　mind　if　I　interrupt；　do　you？〃　She　shook　her　head。　〃Interrupt　all　you　like；〃　she　replied。　The　strangeness　of　her　manner　struck　him　more　forcibly　than　ever；　she　always　spoke　as　though　she　had　some　private　joke　on　her　mind。　He　longed　to　join　in　the　game；　to　learn　her　secret　language；　but　she　seemed　so　sealed　up；　an　anchorite　behind　a　wall　of　sly　smiles。
　　〃I　suppose　you　heard　the　dogs　last　night；〃　he　said。
　　〃I　don't　remember；〃　she　replied；　frowning。　〃Maybe。〃　〃Did　anybody　say　anything　to　you　about　it？〃　〃Why　should　they？〃　〃I　don't　know。　I　just　thought…〃　She　put　him　out　of　his　disfort　with　a　fierce　little　nod　of　her　head。
　　〃Yes；　if　you　want　to　know。　Pearl　told　me　there's　been　an　intruder。　And　you　scared　him　off；　is　that　right？　You　and　the　dogs。〃　〃Me　and　the　dogs。〃　〃And　which　of　you　bit　off　his　finger？〃　Had　Pearl　told　her　about　the　finger　too；　or　was　it　the　old　man　who'd　vouchsafed　that　vicious　detail？　Had　they　been　together　today；　in　her　room？　He　canceled　the　scene　before　it　flared　up　in　his　head。
　　〃Did　Pearl　tell　you　that？〃　he　said。
　　〃I　haven't　seen　the　old　man；〃　she　replied；　〃if　that's　what　you're　driving　at。
　　His　thought　encapsulated；　it　was　eerie。　She　even　used　his　phraseology。　〃The　old　man；〃　she　called　him；　not　〃Papa。〃　〃Shall　we　walk　down　to　the　lake？〃　she　suggested；　not　really　seeming　to　care　one　way　or　the　other。
　　〃Sure。〃　〃You　were　right　about　the　dovecote；　you　know；〃　she　said。　〃It's　ugly　when　it's　empty　like　this。　I　never　thought　of　it　like　that　before。〃　The　image　of　the　deserted　dovecote　genuinely　seemed　to　unnerve　her。　She　shivered；　even　in　the　thick　coat。
　　〃Did　you　run　today？〃　she　asked。
　　〃No。　I　was　too　tired。〃　〃Was　it　that　bad？〃　〃Was　what　that　bad？〃　〃Last　night。〃　He　didn't　know　how　to　begin　to　answer。　Yes；　of　course；　it　had　been　bad；　but　even　if　he　trusted　her　enough　to　describe　the　illusion　he'd　seen…and　he　was　by　no　means　sure　he　did…his　vocabulary　was　woefully　inadequate。
　　Carys　paused　as　they　came　in　sight　of　the　lake。　Small　white　flowers　starred　the　grass　beneath　their　feet；　Marty　didn't　know　their　names。　She　studied　them　as　she　said：　〃Is　it　just　another　prison；　Marty？〃　〃What？〃　〃Being　here。〃　She　had　her　father's　skill　with　non　sequiturs。　He　hadn't　anticipated　the　question　at　all；　and　it　threw　him。　Nobody　had　really　asked　him　how　he'd　felt　since　arriving。　Certainly　not　beyond　a　superficial　inquiry　as　to　his　fort。　Perhaps　consequently　he　hadn't　really　bothered　to　ask　himself。　His　answer…when　it　came…came　haltingly。
　　〃Yes　。　。　。　I　suppose　it's　still　a　prison；　I　hadn't　really　thought　。　。　。　I　mean；　I　can't　just　up　and　leave　anytime　I　want　to；　can　I？　But　it　doesn't　pare　。　。　。　with；　Wandsworth〃…again；　his　vocabulary　failed　him…〃this　is　just　another　world。〃　He　wanted　to　say　he　loved　the　trees；　the　size　of　the　sky；　the　white　florets　they　stepped　through　as　they　walked；　but　he　knew　such　utterances　would　sound　leaden　out　of　his　mouth。　He　hadn't　got　the　knack　of　that　kind　of　talk：　not　like　Flynn；　who　could　babble　instant　poetry　as　though　it　were　a　second　tongue。　Irish　blood；　he　used　to　claim；　to　explain　this　loquacity。　All　Marty　could　say　was：　〃I　can　run　here。〃　She　murmured　something　he　failed　to　catch；　perhaps　just　assent。　Whatever；　his　answer　seemed　to　satisfy　her；　and　he　could　feel　the　anger　he'd　started　out　with；　the　resentment　at　her　clever　talk　and　her　secret　life　with　Papa；　dissolving。
　　〃Do　you　play　tennis？〃　she　asked；　again　out　of　nowhere。
　　〃No；　I　never　have。〃　〃Like　to　learn？〃　she　suggested；　half…looking　around　at　him　and　grinning。　〃I　could　teach　you。　When　the　weather　gets　warmer。〃　She　looked　too　frail　for　any　strenuous　exercise；　living　on　the　edge　all　the　time　seemed　to　weary　her；　though　on　the　edge　of　what　he　didn't　know。
　　〃You　teach　me：　I'll　play；〃　he　said；　happy　with　the　bargain。
　　〃That's　a　deal？〃　she　asked。
　　〃A　deal。〃　…and　her　eyes；　he　thought；　are　so　dark；　ambiguous　eyes　that　dodge　and　skim　sometimes；　and　sometimes；　when　you　least　expect　it；　look　at　you　with　such　directness　you're　sure　she's　stripping　your　soul。
　　…and　he　isn't　handsome；　she　thought；　he's　too　used　to　be　that；　and　he　runs　to　keep　himself　fit　because　if　he　stopped　he'd　get　flabby。　He's　probably　a　narcissist：　I　bet　he　stands　in　front　of　the　mirror　every　night　and　looks　at　himself　and　wishes　he　was　still　a　pretty…boy　instead　of　being　solid　and　somber。
　　She　caught　a　thought　from　him；　her　mind　reaching　up；　easily　up；　above　her　head　（this　was　the　way　she　pictured　it；　at　least）　and　snatching　it　out　of　the　air。　She　did　it　all　the　time…to　Pearl；　to　her　father…often　forgetting　that　other　people　lacked　the　skill　to　pry　with　such　casualness。
　　The　thought　she　had　snatched　was：　I　would　have　to　learn　to　be　gentle；　that；　or　something　like　it。　He　was　afraid　she'd　bruise；　for　Christ's　sake。　That　was　why　he　was　all　dammed　up　when　he　was　with　her；　so　circuitous　in　his　dealings。
　　〃I'm　not　going　to　break；〃　she　said；　and　a　patch　of　skin　at　his　neck　blushed。
　　〃I'm　sorry；〃　he　answered。　She　wasn't　sure　if　he　was　conceding　his　error　or　simply　hadn't　understood　her　observation。
　　〃There's　no　need　to　handle　me　with　kid　gloves。　I　don't　want　that　from　you。　I　get　it　all　the　time。〃　He　threw　her　a　disconsolate　glance。　Why　didn't　he　believe　what　she　told　him？　She　waited；　hoping　for　some　clue；　but　none　was　offered；　however　tentative。
　　They'd　e　to　the　weir　that　fed　the　lake。　It　was　high；　and　fast。　People　had　drowned　in　it；　she'd　been　told；　as　recently　as　a　couple　of　decades　ago；　just　before　Papa　had　bought　the　estate。　She　started　to　explain　all　this；　and　about　a　coach　and　horses　that　had　been　driven　into　the　lake　during　a　storm；　telling　him　without　listening　to　herself；　working　out　how　to　get　past　his　courtesy　and　his　machismo　to　the　part　of　him　that　might　be　of　use　to　her。
　　〃And　the　coach　is　still　in　there？〃　he　asked；　staring　into　the　threshing　water。
　　〃Presumably；〃　she　said。　The　story　had　lost　its　charm　already。
　　〃Why　don't　you　trust　me？〃　she　asked　him　straight　out。
　　He　didn't　reply；　but　he　was　clearly　struggling　with　something。　The　frown　of　puzzlement　he　displayed　deepened　to　dismay。　Damn；　she　thought；　I've　really　spoiled　things　somehow。　But　it　was　done。　She'd　asked　him　outright；　and　she　was　ready　to　take　the　bad　news；　whatever　it　was。
　　Almost　without　planning　the　theft；　she　stole　another　thought　from　him；　and　it　was　s