pgw.piccadillyjim-第34部分

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　He　had　been　perfectly　right。　There　it　was；　in　gold　letters。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　THE　LONELY　HEART
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　BY
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　ANN　CHESTER
　He　extracted　the　volume　from　the　shelf　in　a　sort　of　stupor。　Even　now　he　was　inclined　to　give　his　goddess　of　the　red　hair　the　benefit　of　the　doubt；　and　assume　that　some　one　else　of　the　same　name　had　written　it。　For　it　was　a　defect　in　Jimmy's　characterone　of　his　many　defectsthat　he　loathed　and　scorned　minor　poetry　and　considered　minor　poets；　especially　when　feminine；　an　unnecessary　affliction。　He　declined　to　believe　that　Ann；　his　Ann；　a　girl　full　of　the　finest　traits　of　character；　the　girl　who　had　been　capable　of　encouraging　a　parative　stranger　to　break　the　law　by　impersonating　her　cousin　Jimmy　Crocker；　could　also　be　capable　of　writing　The　Lonely　Heart　and　other　poems。　He　skimmed　through　the　first　one　he　came　across；　and　shuddered。　It　was　pure　slush。　It　was　the　sort　of　stuff　they　filled　up　pages　with　in　the　magazines　when　the　detective　story　did　not　run　long　enough。　It　was　the　sort　of　stuff　which　long…haired　blighters　read　alone　to　other　long…haired　blighters　in　English　suburban　drawing…rooms。　It　was　the　sort　of　stuff　whichto　be　briefgave　him　the　Willies。　No；　it　could　not　be　Ann　who　had　written　it。
　The　next　moment　the　horrid　truth　was　thrust　upon　him。　There　was　an　inscription　on　the　title　page。
　〃To　my　dearest　uncle　Peter；　with　love　from　the　author；　Ann　Chester。〃
　The　room　seemed　to　reel　before　Jimmy's　eyes。　He　felt　as　if　a　friend　had　wounded　him　in　his　tenderest　feelings。　He　felt　as　if　some　loved　one　had　smitten　him　over　the　back　of　the　head　with　a　sandbag。　For　one　moment；　in　which　time　stood　still；　his　devotion　to　Ann　wobbled。　It　was　as　if　he　had　found　her　out　in　some　terrible　crime　that　revealed　unsuspected　flaws　in　her　hitherto　ideal　character。
　Then　his　eye　fell　upon　the　date　on　the　title　page；　and　a　strong　spasm　of　relief　shook　him。　The　clouds　rolled　away；　and　he　loved　her　still。　This　frightful　volume　had　been　published　five　years　ago。
　A　wave　of　pity　swept　over　Jimmy。　He　did　not　blame　her　now。　She　had　been　a　mere　child　five　years　ago；　scarcely　old　enough　to　distinguish　right　from　wrong。　You　couldn't　blame　her　for　writing　sentimental　verse　at　that　age。　Why；　at　a　similar　stage　in　his　own　career　he　had　wanted　to　be　a　vaudeville　singer。　Everything　must　be　excused　to　Youth。　It　was　with　a　tender　glow　of　affectionate　forgiveness　that　he　turned　the　pages。
　As　he　did　so　a　curious　thing　happened　to　him。　He　began　to　have　that　feeling；　which　every　one　has　experienced　at　some　time　or　other；　that　he　had　done　this　very　thing　before。　He　was　almost　convinced　that　this　was　not　the　first　time　he　had　seen　that　poem　on　page　twenty…seven　entitled　〃A　Lament。〃　Why；　some　of　the　lines　seemed　extraordinarily　familiar。　The　people　who　understood　these　things　explained　this　phenomenon；　he　believed；　by　some　stuff　about　the　cells　of　the　brain　working　simultaneously　or　something。　Something　about　cells；　anyway。　He　supposed　that　that　must　be　it。
　But　that　was　not　it。　The　feeling　that　he　had　read　all　this　before　grew　instead　of　vanishing；　as　is　generally　the　way　on　these　occasions。　He　had　read　this　stuff　before。　He　was　certain　of　it。　But　when？　And　where？　And　above　all　why？　Surely　he　had　not　done　it　from　choice。
　It　was　the　total　impossibility　of　his　having　done　it　from　choice　that　led　his　memory　in　the　right　direction。　There　had　only　been　a　year　or　so　in　his　life　when　he　had　been　obliged　to　read　things　which　he　would　not　have　read　of　his　own　free　will；　and　that　had　been　when　he　worked　on　the　Chronicle。　Could　it　have　been　that　they　had　given　him　this　book　of　poems　to　review？　Or？
　And　then　memory；　in　its　usual　eccentric　way；　having　taken　all　this　time　to　make　the　first　part　of　the　journey；　finished　the　rest　of　it　with　one　lightning　swoop；　and　he　knew。
　And　with　the　illumination　came　dismay。　Worse　than　dismay。　Horror。
　〃Gosh！〃　said　Jimmy。
　He　knew　now　why　he　had　thought　on　the　occasion　of　their　first　meeting　in　London　that　he　had　seen　hair　like　Ann's　before。　The　mists　rolled　away　and　he　saw　everything　clear　and　stark。　He　knew　what　had　happened　at　that　meeting　five　years　before；　to　which　she　had　so　mysteriously　alluded。　He　knew　what　she　had　meant　that　evening　on　the　boat；　when　she　had　charged　one　Jimmy　Crocker　with　having　cured　her　of　sentiment。　A　cold　sweat　sprang　into　being　about　his　temples。　He　could　remember　that　interview　now；　as　clearly　as　if　it　had　happened　five　minutes　ago　instead　of　five　years。　He　could　recall　the　article　for　the　Sunday　Chronicle　which　he　had　written　from　the　interview；　and　the　ghoulish　gusto　with　which　he　had　written　it。　He　had　had　a　boy's　undisciplined　sense　of　humour　in　those　days；　the　sense　of　humour　which　riots　like　a　young　colt；　careless　of　what　it　bruises　and　crushes。　He　shuddered　at　the　recollection　of　the　things　he　had　hammered　out　so　gleefully　on　his　typewriter　down　at　the　Chronicle　office。　He　found　himself　recoiling　in　disgust　from　the　man　he　had　been；　the　man　who　could　have　done　a　wanton　thing　like　that　without　punction　or　ruth。　He　had　read　extracts　from　the　article　to　an　appreciative　colleague。　。　。　。
　A　great　sympathy　for　Ann　welled　up　in　him。　No　wonder　she　hated　the　memory　of　Jimmy　Crocker。
　It　is　probable　that　remorse　would　have　tortured　him　even　further；　had　he　not　chanced　to　turn　absently　to　page　forty…six　and　read　a　poem　entitled　〃Love's　Funeral。〃　It　was　not　a　long　poem；　and　he　had　finished　it　inside　of　two　minutes；　but　by　that　time　a　change　had　e　upon　his　mood　of　self…loathing。　He　no　longer　felt　like　a　particularly　mean　murderer。　〃Love's　Funeral〃　was　like　a　tonic。　It　braced　and　invigourated　him。　It　was　so　unspeakably　absurd；　so　poor　in　every　respect。　All　things；　he　now　perceived；　had　worked　together　for　good。　Ann　had　admitted　on　the　boat　that　it　was　his　satire　that　had　crushed　out　of　her　the　fondness　for　this　sort　of　thing。　If　that　was　so；　then　the　part　he　had　played　in　her　life　had　been　that　of　a　rescuer。　He　thought　of　her　as　she　was　now　and　as　she　must　have　been　then　to　have　written　stuff　like　this；　and　he　rejoiced　at　what　he　had　done。　In　a　manner　of　speaking　the　Ann　of　to…day；　the　glorious　creature　who　went　about　the　place　kidnapping　Ogdens；　was　his　handiwork。　It　was　he　who　had　destroyed　the　minor　poetry　virus　in　her。
　The　refrain　of　an　old　song　came　to　him。
　　　　　　　　〃You　made　me　what　I　am　to…day！　　　　　　　　　　I　hope　you're　satisfied！〃
　He　was　more　than　satisfied。　He　was　proud　of　himself。
　He　rejoiced；　however；　after　the　first　flush　of　enthusiasm　somewhat　moderately。　There　was　no　disguising　the　penalty　of　his　deed　of　kindness。　To　Ann　Jimmy　Crocker　was　no　rescuer；　but　a　sort　of　blend　of　ogre　and　vampire。　She　must　never　learn　his　real　identityor　not　until　he　had　succeeded　by　assiduous　toil；　as　he　hoped　he　would；　in　neutralising　that　prejudice　of　the　distant　past。　　A　footstep　outside　broke　in　on　his　thoughts。　He　thrust　the　book　quickly　back　into　its　place。　Ann　came　in；　and　shut　the　door　behind　her。
　〃Well？〃　she　said　eagerly。
　Jimmy　did　not　reply　for　a　moment。　He　was　looking　at　her　and　thinking　how　perfect　in　every　way　she　was　now；　as　she　stood　there　purged　of　sentimentality；　all　aglow　with　curiosity　to　know　how　her　nefarious　plans　had　succeeded。　It　was　his　Ann　who　stood　there；　not　the　author　of　〃The　Lonely　Heart。〃
　〃Did　you　ask　her？〃
　〃Yes。　But〃
　Ann's　face　fell。
　〃Oh！　She　won't　let　him　e　back？〃
　〃She　absolutely　refused。　I　did　my　best。〃
　〃I　know　you　did。〃
　There　was　a　silence。
　〃Well；　this　settles　it；〃　said　Jimmy。　〃Now　you　will　have　to　let　me　help　you。〃
　Ann　looked　troubled。
　〃But　it's　such　a　risk。　Something　terrible　might　happen　to　you。　Isn't　impersonation　a　criminal　offence？〃
　〃What　does　it　matter？　They　tell　me　prisons　are　excellent　places　nowadays。　Concerts；　picnicsall　that　sort　of　thing。　I　shan't　mind　going　there。　I　have　a　nice　singing…voice。　I　think　I　will　try　to　make　the　glee…club。〃
　〃I　suppose　we　are　breaking　the　law；〃　said　Ann　seriously。　〃I　told　Jerry　that　nothing　could　happen　to　us　except　the　loss　of　his　place　to　him　and　being　sent　to　my　grandmother　to　me；　but　I'm　bound　to　say　I　said　that　just　to　encourage　him。　Don't　you　think　we　ought　to　know　what　the　penalty　is；　in　case　we　are　caught？〃
　〃It　would　enable　us　to　make　our　plans。　If　it's　a　life　sentence；　I　shouldn't　worry　about　selecting　my　future　career。〃
　〃You　see；〃　explained　Ann；　〃I　suppose　they　would　hardly　send　me　to　prison；　as　I'm　a　relationthough　I　would　far　rather　go　there　than　to　grandmother's。　She　lives　all　alone　miles　away　in　the　country；　and　is　strong　on　disciplinebut　they　might　do　all　sorts　of　things　to　you；　in　spite　of　my　pleadings。　I　really　think　you　had　better　give　up　the　idea；　I'm　afraid　my　enthusiasm　carried　me　away。　I　didn't　think　of　all　this　before。〃
　〃Never。　This　thing　goes　through；　or　fails　over　my　dead　body。　What　are　you　looking　for？〃
　Ann　was　deep　in　a　bulky　volume　which　stood　on　a　lectern　by　the　window。
　〃Catalogue；〃　she　said　briefly；　turning　the　pages。　〃Uncle　Peter　has　heaps　of　law　books。　I'll　look　up　kidnapping。　Here　we　are。　Law　Encyclopedia。　Shelf　X。　Oh；　that's　upstairs。　I　shan't　be　a　minute。〃
　She　ran　to　the　little　staircase；　and　disappeared。　Her　voice　came　from　the　gallery。
　〃Here　we　are。　I've　got　it。〃
　〃Shoot；〃　said　Jimmy。
　〃There's　such　a　lot　of　it；〃　called　the　voice　from　above。　〃Pages　and　pages。　I'm　just　skimming。　Wait　a　moment。〃
　A　rustling　followed　from　the　gallery；　then　a　sneeze。
　〃This　is　the　dustiest　place　I　was　ever　in；〃　said　the　voice。　〃It's　inches　deep　everywhere。　It's　full　of　cigarette　ends；　too。　I　must　tell　uncle。　Oh；　here　it　is。　Kidnappingpenalties〃
　〃Hush〃　called　Jimmy。　〃There's　some　one　ing。〃
　The　door　opened。
　〃Hello；〃　said　Ogden；　strolling　in。　〃I　was　looking　for　you。　Didn't　think　you　would　be　here。〃
　〃e　right　in；　my　little　man；　and　make　yourself　at　home；〃　said　Jimmy。
　Ogden　eyed　him　with　disfavour。
　〃You're　pretty　fresh；　aren't　you？〃
　〃This　is　praise　from　Sir　Hubert　Stanley。〃
　〃Eh？　Who's　he？〃
　〃Oh；　a　gentleman　who　knew　what　was　what。〃
　Ogden　closed　the　door。
　〃Well；　I　know　what's　what；　too。　I　know　what　you　are　for　one　thing。〃　He　chuckled。　〃I've　got　your　number　all　right。〃
　〃In　what　respect？〃
　Another　chuckle　proceeded　from　the　bulbous　boy。
　〃You　think　you're　smooth；