df.theedge-第39部分

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　　'Excuse　me；　miss；'　I　said　abruptly；　standing　well　back　between　two　tables　to　let　Filmer　go　by；　'I'll　be　right　with　you。'
　　'What？　'　She　was　puzzled；　but　paused　and　stepped　sideways　also　to　let　others　behind　her　walk　on　through　the　car。　Filmer　himself　had　gone　on　without　stopping；　without　paying　Nell　or　me　the　least　attention；　and　when　his　back　was　way　down　the　car　and　well　out　of　earshot　of　a　quiet　conversation；　I　turned　back　to　Nell　with　enquiry。
　　'It's　a　bit　of　a　mix…up；'　she　said。　She　was　standing　on　the　far　side　of　the　table　from　me；　and　speaking　across　it。　'Apparently　the　telephone　in　George　Burley's　office　was　ringing　when　he　got　back　on　board；　and　it　was　a　woman　wanting　to　speak　to　a　Mr　Kelsey。　George　Burley　consulted　his　lists　and　said　there　was　no　Mr　Kelsey　on　board。　So　whoever　it　was　asked　him　to　give　a　message　to　me；　which　he　did。'
　　It　must　have　been　Mrs　Baudelaire　phoning；　I　thought'　no　one　else　knew　the　number。　Bill　himself　could　never　be　mistaken　for　a　woman。　Not　his　secretary。。。　？　heaven　forbid。
　　'What's　the　message？'　I　asked。
　　'I　don't　know　if　between　us　George　Burley　and　I　have　got　it　right。'　She　was　frowning。　'It's　meaningless；　but。。。　zero　forty…nine。　That's　the　whole　message；　zero　forty…nine。'　She　looked　at　my　face。　'You　look　happy　enough　about　it；　anyway。'
　　I　was　also　appalled；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　at　how　close　Filmer　had　e　to　hearing　it。
　　I　said；　'Yes；　well。。。　please　don't　tell　anyone　else　about　the　message；　and　please　forget　it　if　you　can。'
　　'I　can't。'
　　'I　was　afraid　not。'　I　hunted　around　if　not　for　explanations　at　least　for　a　reasonable　meaning。　'It's　to　do；'　I　said；　'with　the　border　between　Canada　and　America；　with　the　forty…ninth　parallel。'
　　'Oh；　sure。'　She　was　unsure　by　the　look　of　things；　but　willing　to　let　it　go。
　　I　said；　'Someone　will　bring　a　letter　to　the　Chateau　some　time　this　evening　addressed　to　you。　It　will　have　a　photo　in　it。　It's　for　me；　from　Bill　Baudelaire。　Will　you　see　that　I　get　it？'
　　'Yes；　OK。'　She　briefly　glanced　at　her　clipboard。　'I　wanted　to　talk　to　you　anyway　about　rooms。'　A　passenger　or　two　walked　past；　and　she　waited　until　they　had　gone。　'The　train　crew　are　staying　in　the　staff　annexe　at　Chateau　Lake　Louise　and　the　actors　will　be　in　the　hotel　itself。　Which　do　you　want？　I　have　to　write　the　list。'
　　'Our　passengers　will　be　in　the　hotel？'
　　'Ours；　yes；　but　not　the　racegoers。　They're　all　getting　off　in　Banff。　That's　the　town　before　Lake　Louise。　The　owners　are　all　staying　in　the　Chateau。　So　am　I。　Which　do　you　want？'
　　'To　be　with　you；'　I　said。
　　'Seriously。'
　　I　thought　briefly。　'Is　there　anywhere　else？'
　　'There's　a　sort　of　village　near　the　station　about　a　mile　from　the　Chateau　itself；　but　it's　just　a　few　shops；　and　they're　closing　now　at　this　time　of　the　year；　ready　for　winter。　A　lot　of　places　are　closed　by　this　time；　in　the　mountains。'　She　paused。　'The　Chateau　stands　by　itself　on　the　lake　shore。　It's　beautiful　there。'
　　'Is　it　big？'　I　asked。
　　'Huge。'
　　'OK。　I'll　stay　there　and　risk　it。'
　　'Risk　what？'
　　'Being　stripped　of　my　waistcoat。'
　　'But　you　won't　wear　it　there；'　she　assured　me。
　　'No。。。　metaphorically。'
　　She　lowered　the　clipboard　and　clicked　her　pen　for　writing。
　　'Tommy　Titmouse；'　I　said。
　　Her　lips　curved。　T。　Titmuss。'　She　spelled　it　out。　'That　do？'
　　'Fine。'
　　'What　are　you　really？'
　　'Wait　and　see；'　I　said。
　　She　gave　me　a　dry　look　but　no　answer　because　some　passengers　came　by　with　questions；　and　I　went　forward　into　the　dome　car　to　see　how　firmly　Julius　Apollo　would　appear　to　be　seated；　wondering　whether　it　would　be　safe　to　try　to　look　inside　his　briefcase　or　whether　I　should　most　stringently　obey　the　mand　not　to　risk　being　arrested。　If　he　hadn't　hoped　I　would　look；　the　Brigadier　wouldn't　have　relayed　the　number。　But　if　I　looked　and　got　caught　looking；　it　would　blow　the　whole　operation。
　　Filmer　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。
　　From　the　top　of　the　staircase；　I　searched　again　through　the　rows　of　backs　of　heads　under　the　dome。　No　thick　black　well…brushed　thatch　with　a　scattering　of　grey　hairs。　Bald；　blond；　tangled　and　trimmed；　but　no　Filmer。
　　He　wasn't　in　the　downstairs　lounge；　and　he　wasn't　in　the　bar　where　the　poker　school　was　as　usual　in　progress；　oblivious　to　the　scenery。　That　left　only　the　Lorrimores'　car。。。。　He　had　to　be　with　Mercer；　Bambi　and　Sheridan。　Xanthe　was　with　Rose　and　Cumber　Young；　watching　the　approach　of　the　distant　white　peaks　under　a　cloudless　sky。
　　I　walked　irresolutely　back　towards　Filmer's　bedroom；　wondering　whether　the　disinclination　I　felt　to　enter　it　was　merely　prudence　or　otherwise　plain　fear；　and　being　afraid　it　was　the　latter。
　　I　would　have　to　do　it；　I　thought；　because　if　I　didn't　I'd　spend　too　much　of　my　life　regretting　it。　A　permanent　D　minus　in　the　balance　sheet。　By　the　time　I　left　the　dining　room　and　started　along　the　corridor　past　the　kitchen；　I　was　already　feeling　breathless；　already　conscious　of　my　heart；　and　it　was　not　in　any　way　good　for　self…confidence。　With　a　dry　mouth　I　crossed　the　chilly　shifting　join　between　cars；　opening　and　closing　the　doors；　every　step　bringing　me　nearer　to　the　risky　mitment。
　　Filmer's　was　the　first　room　in　the　sleeping　car　beyond　the　kitchen。　I　rounded　the　corner　into　the　corridor　with　the　utmost　reluctance　and　was　just　about　to　put　my　hand　to　the　door　handle　when　the　sleeping…car　attendant；　dressed　exactly　as　I　was；　came　out　of　his　roomette　at　the　other　end　of　the　car；　saw　me；　waved　and　started　walking　towards　me。
　　With　craven　relief　I　went　slowly　towards　him；　and　he　said；　'Hi；'　and　how　was　I　doing。
　　He　was　the　familiar　one　who'd　told　me　about　Filmer's　private　breakfast；　who'd　shown　me　how　to　fold　and　unfold　the　armchairs　and　bunks；　the　one　who　looked　after　both　the　car　we　were　in　and　the　three　bedrooms；　Daffodil's　among　them；　in　the　dome　car。　He　had　all　afternoon　and　nothing　to　do　and　was　friendly　and　wanted　to　talk；　and　he　made　it　impossible　for　me　to　shed　him　and　get　back　to　my　nefarious　business。
　　He　talked　about　Daffodil　and　the　mess　she　had　made　of　her　bedroom。
　　'Mess？　'
　　'If　you　ask　me；'　he　said；　nodding；　'she'd　had　a　bottle　of　vodka　in　her　suitcase。。。。　There　was　broken　glass　all　over　the　place。　Broken　vodka　bottle。　And　the　mirror　over　the　washbasin。　In　splinters。　All　over　the　place。　I'd　guess　she　threw　the　vodka　bottle　at　the　mirror　and　they　both　broke。'
　　'A　bore　for　you　to　have　to　clear　that　up；'　I　said。
　　He　seemed　surprised。　'I　didn't　clear　it。　It's　still　like　that。　George　can　take　a　look　at　it。'　He　shrugged。　'I　don't　know　if　the　pany　will　charge　for　her　for　it。　Shouldn't　be　surprised。'
　　He　looked　over　my　shoulder　at　someone　ing　into　the　car　from　the　dining　car。
　　'Afternoon；　sir；'　he　said。
　　There　was　no　reply　from　behind　me。　I　turned　my　head　and　saw　Filmer's　backview　going　into　his　bedroom。
　　Dear　God；　I　thought　in　horror：　I　would　have　been　in　there　with　his　briefcase　open；　reading　his　papers。　I　felt　almost　sick。
　　I　sensed　more　than　saw　Filmer　e　out　of　his　bedroom　again　and　walk　towards　us。
　　'Can　I　help　you；　sir？'　the　sleeping…car　attendant　said；　going　past　me；　towards　him。
　　'Yes。　What　do　we　do　about　our　bags　at　Lake　Louise？'
　　'Leave　it　to　me；　sir。　We're　collecting　everyone's　cases　and　transporting　them　to　the　Chateau。　They'll　be　delivered　to　your　room　in　the　Chateau；　sir。'
　　'Good；'　Filmer　said；　and　went　back　into　his　lair；　closing　the　door。　Beyond　the　merest　flicker　of　a　glance　at　about　waist　level；　he　hadn't　looked　at　me　at　all。
　　'We　did　the　same　with　the　bags　at　Winnipeg；'　the　sleeping…car　attendant　said　to　me　resignedly。　'You'd　think　they'd　learn。'
　　'Perhaps　they　will　by　Vancouver。'
　　'Yeah。'
　　I　left　him　after　a　while　and　went　and　sat　in　my　own　roomette　and　did　some　deep　breathing　and　thanked　every　guardian　angel　in　the　firmament　for　my　deliverance；　and　in　particular　the　angel　in　the　sleeping…car　attendant's　yellow　waistcoat。
　　Outside　the　window；　the　promise　of　the　mountains　became　an　embrace；　rocky　hillsides　covered　with　tall　narrow　pines　crowding　down　to　the　railway　line　winding　through　the　valley　of　the　Bow　River。　There　were　thick　untidy　collections　of　twigs　sitting　like　Ascot　hats　on　the　top　of　a　good　many　telegraph　poles；　which　looked　quite　extraordinary；　one　of　the　passengers　had　said　the　hats　were　osprey　nests；　and　that　the　poles　were　made　with　platforms　on　especially　to　acmodate　them。　Brave　birds；　I　thought；　laying　their　eggs　near　to　the　roaring　trains。　Hair…raising　entertainment　for　the　hatchlings。
　　Our　speed　had　slowed　from　the　brisk　prairie　rattle　to　a　grunting　uphill　slither；　the　train　taking　two　hours　to　cover　the　seventy　miles　from　Calgary　to　Banff。　When　it　stopped　there；　in　the　broad　part　of　the　valley；　the　snow…topped　peaks　were　suddenly　revealed　as　standing　around　in　a　towering；　glistening；　uneven　ring；　the　quintessential　mountains　rising　in　bare　majestic　rocky　grandeur　from　the　thronging　forested　courtier　foothills。　I　felt　then；　as　most　people　do；　the　strong　lure　of　high　mysterious　frozen　places　and；　Filmer　or　not；　I　found　myself　smiling　with　pleasure；　lighthearted　to　the　bone。
　　It　had　been　noticeably　warm　in　Calgary；　owing；　it　was　said；　to　the　north　winds　blowing　down　from　the　mountains；　but　in　Banff　it　was　suitably　cold。　The　engine　huffed　and　puffed　about　and　split　the　train　in　two；　taking　the　racegoers　and　all　the　front　part　off　to　a　siding　and　ing　back　to　pick　up　just　the　owners'　quarters；　the　three　sleeping　cars；　the　dining　car；　the　dome　car　and　the　Lorrimores。　Abbreviated　and　much　lighter；　these　remains　of　the　train　climbed　at　good　speed　for　another　three…quarters　of　an　hour　and　triumphantly　drew　up　beside　the　log…cabin　station　of　Lake　Louise。
　　With　great　cheerfulness　the　passengers　disembarked；　shivering　even　in　their　coats　after　the　warmth　of　the　cars；　but　full　of　expectation；　Daffodil　forgotten。　They　filed　on　to　a　waiting　bus；　while　their　suitcases　were　loaded　into　a　separate　truck。　I　clung　to　a　fraction　of　hope　that　Filmer　would　leave　his　briefcase　to　be　ferried　in　that　fashion；　but　when　he　emerged　from　the　train　the　case　went　with　him；　clutched　firmly　in　his　fist。
　　I　told　Nell　I　would　walk　up　the　mile　or　so　from　the　station　so　as　not　to　arrive　until　everyone　had