raymondchandler.farewellmylovely-第10部分

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n　scraped。　It　hurts。　It　feels　scraped。　That　way　I　know　it's　scraped。　No；　I　can't　see　it。　I　don't　have　to　see　it。　It's　my　chin　and　I　know　whether　it's　scraped　or　not。　Maybe　you　want　to　make　something　of　it。　Okey；　shut　up　and　let　me　think。　What　with？　。　。　。
　The　watch　showed　10。56　p。m。　That　meant　I　had　been　out　for　twenty　minutes。
　Twenty　minutes'　sleep。　Just　a　nice　doze。　In　that　time　I　had　muffed　a　job　and　lost　eight　thousand　dollars。　Well；　why　not？　In　twenty　minutes　you　can　sink　a　battleship；　down　three　or　four　planes；　hold　a　double　execution。　You　can　die；　get　married；　get　fired　and　find　a　new　job；　have　a　tooth　pulled；　have　your　tonsils　out。　In　twenty　minutes　you　can　even　get　up　in　the　morning。　You　can　get　a　glass　of　water　at　a　night　club…maybe。
　Twenty　minutes'　sleep。　That's　a　long　time。　Especially　on　a　cold　night；　out　in　the　open。　I　began　to　shiver。
　I　was　still　on　my　knees。　The　smell　of　the　sage　was　beginning　to　bother　me。　The　sticky　ooze　from　which　wild　bees　get　their　honey。　Honey　was　sweet；　much　too　sweet。　My　stomach　took　a　whirl。　I　clamped　my　teeth　tight　and　just　managed　to　keep　it　down　my　throat。　Cold　sweat　stood　out　in　lumps　on　my　forehead；　but　I　shivered　just　the　same。　I　got　up　on　one　foot；　then　on　both　feet；　straightened　up；　wobbling　a　little。　I　felt　like　an　amputated　leg。
　I　turned　slowly。　The　car　was　gone。　The　dirt　road　stretched　empty；　back　up　the　shallow　hill　towards　the　paved　street；　the　end　of　Camino　de　la　Costa。　To　the　left　the　barrier　of　white…painted　four…by…fours　stood　out　against　the　darkness。　Beyond　the　low　wall　of　brush　the　pale　glow　in　the　sky　would　be　the　lights　of　Bay　City。　And　over　farther　to　the　right　and　near　by　were　the　lights　of　the　Belvedere　Club。
　I　went　over　where　the　car　had　stood　and　got　a　fountain　pen　flash　unclipped　from　my　pocket　and　poked　the　little　light　down　at　the　ground。　The　soil　was　red　loam；　very　hard　in　dry　weather；　but　the　weather　was　not　bone　dry。　There　was　a　little　fog　in　the　air；　and　enough　of　the　moisture　had　settled　on　the　surface　of　the　ground　to　show　where　the　car　had　stood。　I　could　see；　very　faint；　the　tread　marks　of　the　heavy　ten…ply　Vogue　tires。　I　put　the　light　on　them　and　bent　over　and　the　pain　made　my　head　dizzy。　I　started　to　follow　the　tracks。　They　went　straight　ahead　for　a　dozen　feet；　then　swung　over　to　the　left。　They　didn't　turn；　They　went　towards　the　gap　at　the　left　hand　end　of　the　white　barricade。　Then　I　lost　them。
　I　went　over　to　the　barricade　and　shone　the　little　light　on　the　brush。　Fresh…broken　twigs。　I　went　through　the　gap；　on　down　the　curving　road。　The　ground　was　still　softer　here。　More　marks　of　the　heavy　tires。　I　went　on　down；　rounded　the　curve　and　was　at　the　edge　of　the　hollow　closed　in　by　brush。
　It　was　there　all　right；　the　chromium　and　glossy　paint　shining　a　little　even　in　the　dark；　and　the　red　reflector　glass　of　the　tail…lights　shining　back　at　the　pencil　flash。　It　was　there；　silent；　lightless；　all　the　doors　shut。　I　went　towards　it　slowly；　gritting　my　teeth　at　every　step。　I　opened　one　of　the　rear　doors　and　put　the　beam　of　the　flash　inside。　Empty。　The　front　was　empty　too。　The　ignition　was　off。　The　key　hung　in　the　lock　on　a　thin　chain。　No　torn　upholstery；　no　scarred　glass；　no　blood；　no　bodies。　Everything　neat　and　orderly。　I　shut　the　doors　and　circled　the　car　slowly；　looking　for　a　sign　and　not　finding　any。
　A　sound　froze　me。
　A　motor　throbbed　above　the　rim　of　the　brush。　I　didn't　jump　more　than　a　foot。　The　flash　in　my　hand　went　out。　A　gun　slid　into　my　hand　all　by　itself。　Then　headlight　beams　tilted　up　towards　the　sky；　then　tilted　down　again。　The　motor　sounded　like　a　small　car。　It　had　that　contented　sound　that　es　with　moisture　in　the　air。
　The　lights　tilted　down　still　more　and　got　brighter。　A　car　was　ing　down　the　curve　of　the　dirt　road。　It　came　two…thirds　of　the　way　and　then　stopped。　A　spotlight　clicked　on　and　swung　out　to　the　side；　held　there　for　a　long　moment；　went　out　again。　The　car　came　on　down　the　hill。　I　slipped　the　gun　out　of　my　pocket　and　crouched　behind　the　motor　of　Marriott's　car。
　A　small　coupe　of　no　particular　shape　or　color　slid　into　the　hollow　and　turned　so　that　its　headlights　raked　the　sedan　from　one　end　to　the　other。　I　got　my　head　down　in　a　hurry。　The　lights　swept　above　me　like　a　sword。　The　coupe　stopped。　The　motor　died。　The　headlights　died。　Silence。　Then　a　door　opened　and　a　light　foot　touched　the　ground。　More　silence。　Even　the　crickets　were　silent。　Then　a　beam　of　light　cut　the　darkness　low　down；　parallel　to　the　ground　and　only　a　few　inches　above　it。　The　beam　swept；　and　there　was　no　way　I　could　get　my　ankles　out　of　it　quickly　enough。　The　beam　stopped　on　my　feet。　Silence。　The　beam　came　up　and　raked　the　top　of　the　hood　again。
　Then　a　laugh。　It　was　a　girl's　laugh。　Strained；　taut　as　a　mandolin　wire。　A　strange　sound　in　that　place。　The　white　beam　shot　under　the　car　again　and　settled　on　my　feet。
　The　voice　said；　not　quite　shrilly：　〃All　right；　you。　e　out　of　there　with　your　hands　up　and　very　damned　empty。　You're　covered。〃
　I　didn't　move。
　The　light　wavered　a　little；　as　though　the　hand　that　held　it　wavered。　It　swept　slowly　along　the　hood　once　more。　The　voice　stabbed　at　me　again。
　〃Listen；　stranger。　I'm　holding　a　ten　shot　automatic。　I　can　shoot　straight。　Both　your　feet　are　vulnerable。　What　do　you　bid？〃
　〃Put　it　up…or　I'll　blow　it　out　of　your　hand！〃　I　snarled。　My　voice　sounded　like　somebody　tearing　slats　off　a　chicken　coop。
　〃Oh…a　hardboiled　gentleman。〃　There　was　a　quaver　in　the　voice；　a　nice　little　quaver。　Then　it　hardened　again。　〃ing　out？　I'll　count　three。　Look　at　the　odds　I'm　giving　you…twelve　fat　cylinders；　maybe　sixteen。　But　your　feet　will　hurt。　And　ankle　bones　take　years　and　years　to　get　well　and　sometimes　they　never　do　really…〃
I　straightened　up　slowly　and　looked　into　the　beam　of　the　flashlight。
〃I　talk　too　much　when　I'm　scared　too；〃　I　said。
〃Don't…don't　move　another　inch！　Who　are　you？〃
　I　moved　around　the　front　of　the　car　towards　her。　When　I　was　six　feet　from　the　slim　dark　figure　behind　the　flash　I　stopped。　The　flash　glared　at　me　steadily。
　〃You　stay　right　there；〃　the　girl　snapped　angrily；　after　I　had　stopped。　〃Who　are　you？〃
　〃Let's　see　your　gun。〃
　She　held　it　forward　into　the　light。　It　was　pointed　at　my　stomach。　It　was　a　little　gun；　it　looked　like　a　small　Colt　vest　pocket　automatic。
　〃Oh；　that；〃　I　said。　〃That　toy。　It　doesn't　either　hold　ten　shots。　It　holds　six。　It's　just　a　little　gun；　a　butterfly　gun。　They　shoot　butterflies　with　them。　Shame　on　you　for　telling　a　deliberate　lie　like　that。〃
〃Are　you　crazy？〃
〃Me？　I've　been　sapped　by　a　holdup　man。　I　might　be　a　little　goofy。〃
〃Is　that…is　that　your　car？〃
〃Who　are　you？〃
〃What　were　you　looking　at　back　there　with　your　spotlight？〃
〃I　get　it。　You　ask　the　answers。　He…man　stuff。　I　was　looking　at　a　man。〃
〃Does　he　have　blond　hair　in　waves？〃
〃Not　now；〃　she　said　quietly。　〃He　might　have　had…once。〃
　That　jarred　me。　Somehow　I　hadn't　expected　it。　〃I　didn't　see　him；〃　I　said　lamely。　〃I　was　following　the　tire　marks　with　a　flashlight　down　the　hill。　Is　he　badly　hurt？〃　I　went　another　step　towards　her。　The　little　gun　jumped　at　me　and　the　flash　held　steady。
　〃Take　it　easy；〃　she　said　quietly。　〃Very　easy。　Your　friend　is　dead。〃
　I　didn't　say　anything　for　a　moment。　Then　I　said：　〃All　right；　let's　go　look　at　him。〃
　〃Let's　stand　right　here　and　not　move　and　you　tell　me　who　you　are　and　what　happened。〃　The　voice　was　crisp。　It　was　not　afraid。　It　meant　what　it　said。
〃Marlowe。　Philip　Marlowe。　An　investigator。　Private。〃
〃That's　who　you　are…if　it's　true。　Prove　it。〃
〃I'm　going　to　take　my　wallet　out。〃
　〃I　don't　think　so。　Just　leave　your　hands　where　they　happen　to　be。　We'll　skip　the　proof　for　the　time　being。　What's　your　story？〃
　〃This　man　may　not　be　dead。〃
　〃He's　dead　all　right。　With　his　brains　on　his　face。　The　story；　mister。　Make　it　fast。〃
　〃As　I　said…he　may　not　be　dead。　We'll　go　look　at　him。〃　I　moved　one　foot　forward。
　〃Move　and　I'll　drill　you！〃　she　snapped。
　I　moved　the　other　foot　forward。　The　flash　jumped　about　a　little。　I　think　she　took　a　step　back。
　〃You　take　some　awful　chances；　mister；〃　she　said　quietly。　〃All　right；　go　on　ahead　and　I'll　follow。　You　look　like　a　sick　man。　If　it　hadn't　been　for　that…〃
　〃You'd　have　shot　me。　I've　been　sapped。　It　always　makes　me　a　little　dark　under　the　eyes。〃
　〃A　nice　sense　of　humor…like　a　morgue　attendant；〃　she　almost　wailed。
　I　turned　away　from　the　light　and　immediately　it　shone　on　the　ground　in　front　of　me。　I　walked　past　the　little　coup；　an　ordinary　little　car；　clean　and　shiny　under　the　misty　starlight。　I　went　on；　up　the　dirt　road；　around　the　curve。　The　steps　were　close　behind　me　and　the　flashlight　guided　me。　There　was　no　sound　anywhere　now　except　our　steps　and　the　girl's　breathing。　I　didn't　hear　mine。
　
　11
　Halfway　up　the　slope　I　looked　off　to　the　right　and　saw　his　foot。　She　swung　the　light。　Then　I　saw　all　of　him。　I　ought　to　have　seen　him　as　I　came　down；　but　I　had　been　bent　over；　peering　at　the　ground　with　the　fountain　pen　flash；　trying　to　read　tire　marks　by　a　light　the　size　of　a　quarter。
　〃Give　me　the　flash；〃　I　said　and　reached　back。
　She　put　it　into　my　hand；　without　a　word。　I　went　down　on　a　knee。　The　ground　felt　cold　and　damp　through　the　cloth。
　He　lay　smeared　to　the　ground；　on　his　back；　at　the　base　of　a　bush；　in　that　bag…of…clothes　position　that　always　means　the　same　thing。　His　face　was　a　face　I　had　never　seen　before。　His　hair　was　dark　with　blood；　the　beautiful　blond　ledges　were　tangled…with　blood　and　some　thick　grayish　ooze；　like　primeval　slime。
　The　girl　behind　me　breathed　hard；　but　she　didn't　speak。　I　held　the　light　on　his　face。　He　had　been　beaten　to　a　pulp。　One　of　his　hands　was　flung　out　in　a　frozen　gesture；　the　fingers　curled。　His　overcoat　was　half　twisted　under　him；　as　though　he　had　rolled　as　he　fell。　His　legs　were　crossed。　There　was　a　trickle　as　black　as　dirty　oil　at　the　corner　of　his　mouth。
　〃Hold　the　flash　on　him；〃　I　said；　passing　it　back　to　her。　〃If　it　doesn't　make　you　sick。〃
　She　took　it　and　held　it　without　a　word；　as　steady　as　an　old　homicide　veteran。　I　got　my　fountain　pen　flash　out　again　and　started　to　go　through　his　pockets；　trying　not　to　move　him。
　〃You　shouldn't　do　that；〃　she　said　tensely。　〃You　shouldn't　touch　him　until　the　police　e。〃
　〃That's　right；〃　I　said。　〃And　the　prowl　car　boys　are　not　s