cb.imajica1-第10部分

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　was　the　world　of　difference　between　us。　With；　without。　I　envied　you　that　day　the　way　I'd　never　envied　any　other　man；　just　for　having　her　beside　you。　Later；　of　course；　I　saw　the　same　look　on　other　men's　faces…〃
　〃I　didn't　e　here　to　hear　this；〃　Gentle　said。
　〃No；　I　realize　that。　It's　just　necessary　for　me　to　express　how　very　precious　she　was　to　me。　I　count　the　years　1　had　with　her　as　the　best　of　my　life。　But　of　course　the　best　can't　go　on　forever；　can　they；　or　how　are　they　the　best？〃　He　drank　again。　〃You　know；　she　never　talked　about　you；〃　he　said。　〃I　tried　to　provoke　her　into　doing　so；　but　she　said　she'd　put　you　out　of　her　mind　pletely…she'd　forgotten　you；　she　said…which　is　nonsense；　of　course。〃
　〃I　believe　it。〃
　〃Don't；〃　Estabrook　said　quickly。　〃You　were　her　guilty　secret。〃
　〃Why　are　you　trying　to　flatter　me？〃
　〃It's　the　truth。　She　still　loved　you；　all　through　the　time　she　was　with　me。　That's　why　we're　talking　now。　Because　I　know　it；　and　I　think　you　do　too。〃
　Not　once　so　far　had　they　mentioned　her　by　name；　almost　as　though　from　some　superstition。　She　was　she；　her；　the　woman：　an　absolute　and　invisible　power。　Her　men　seemed　to　have　their　feet　on　solid　ground；　but　in　truth　they　drifted　like　the　kites；　tethered　to　reality　only　by　the　memory　of　her。
　〃I've　done　a　terrible　thing；　John；〃　Estabrook　said。　The　flask　was　at　his　lips　again。　He　took　several　gulps　before　sealing　it　and　pocketing　it。　〃And　I　regret　it　bitterly。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃May　we　walk　a　little　way？〃　Estabrook　said；　glancing　towards　the　kite　flyers；　who　were　both　too　distant　and　too　involved　in　their　sport　to　be　eavesdropping。　But　he　was　not　fortable　with　sharing　his　secret　until　he'd　put　twice　the　distance　between　his　confession　and　their　ears。　When　he　had；　he　made　it　simply　and　plainly。　〃I　don't　know　what　kind　of　madness　overtook　me；〃　he　said；　〃but　a　little　while　ago　I　made　a　contract　with　somebody　to　have　her　killed。〃
　〃You　did　iv/wtf？〃
　〃Does　it　appall　you？〃
　〃What　do　you　think？　Of　course　it　appalls　me。〃
　〃It's　the　highest　form　of　devotion；　you　know；　to　want　to　end　somebody's　existence　rather　than　let　them　live　on　without　you。　It's　love　of　the　highest　order。〃
　〃It's　a　fucking　obscenity。〃
　〃Oh；　yes；　it's　that　too。　But　I　couldn't　bear　。　。　。　just　couldn't　bear　。　。　。　the　idea　of　her　being　alive　and　me　not　being　with　her。　。　。。〃　His　delivery　was　now　deteriorating；　the　words　being　tears。　〃She　was　so　dear　to　me。　。　。。〃
　Gentle's　thoughts　were　of　his　last　exchange　with　Judith：　the　half…drowned　telephone　call　from　New　York；　which　had　ended　with　nothing　said。　Had　she　known　then　that　her　life　was　in　jeopardy？　If　not；　did　she　now？　My　God；　was　she　even　alive？　He　took　hold　of　Estabrook's　lapel　with　the　same　force　that　the　fear　took　hold　of　him。
　〃You　haven't　brought　me　here　to　tell　me　she's　dead。〃
　〃No。　No；〃　he　protested；　making　no　attempt　to　disengage　Gentle's　hold。　〃I　hired　this　man；　and　I　want　to　call　him　off。〃
　〃So　do　it；〃　Gentle　said；　letting　the　coat　go。
　〃I　can't。〃
　Estabrook　reached　into　his　pocket　and　pulled　out　a　sheet　of　paper。　To　judge　by　its　crumpled　state　it　had　been　thrown　away；　then　reclaimed。
　〃This　came　from　the　man　who　found　me　the　assassin；〃　he　went　on。　〃It　was　delivered　to　my　home　two　nights　ago。　He　was　obviously　drunk　or　drugged　when　he　wrote　it；　but　it　indicates　that　he　expects　to　be　dead　by　the　time　I　read　it。　I'm　assuming　he's　correct。　He　hasn't　made　contact。　He　was　my　only　route　to　the　assassin。〃
　〃Where　did　you　meet　this　man？〃
　〃He　found　me。〃
　〃And　the　assassin？〃
　〃I　met　him　somewhere　south　of　the　river；　I　don't　know　where。　It　was　dark。　I　was　lost。　Besides；　he　won't　be　there。　He's　gone　after　her。〃
　〃So　warn　her。〃
　〃I've　tried。　She　won't　accept　my　calls。　She's　got　another　lover　now。　He's　being　covetous　the　way　I　was。　My　letters；　my　telegrams；　they're　all　sent　back　unopened。　But　he　won't　be　able　to　save　her。　This　man　I　hired；　his　name's　Pie…〃
　〃What's　that；　some　kind　of　code？〃
　〃I　don't　know；〃　Estabrook　said。　〃I　don't　know　anything　except　I've　done　something　unforgivable　and　you　have　to　help　me　undo　it。　You　have　to。　This　man　Pie　is　lethal。〃
　〃What　makes　you　think　she'll　see　me　when　she　won't　see　you？〃
　〃There's　no　guarantee。　But　you're　a　younger；　fitter　man；　and　you've　had　some　。　。　。　experience　of　the　criminal　mind。　You've　a　better　chance　of　ing　between　her　and　Pie　than　1　have。　I'll　give　you　money　for　the　assassin。　You　can　pay　him　off。　And　I'll　pay　whatever　you　ask。　I'm　rich。　Just　warn　her；　Zacharias；　and　get　her　to　e　home。　I　can't　have　her　death　on　my　conscience。〃
　〃It's　a　little　late　to　think　about　that。〃
　〃I'm　making　what　amends　I　can。　Do　we　have　a　deal？〃　He　took　off　his　leather　glove　in　preparation　for　shaking　Gentle's　hand。
　〃I'd　like　the　letter　from　your　contact；〃　Gentle　said。
　〃It　barely　makes　any　sense；〃　Estabrook　said。
　〃If　he　is　dead；　and　she　dies　too；　that　letter's　evidence　whether　it　makes　sense　or　not。　Hand　it　over；　or　no　deal。〃
　Estabrook　reached　into　his　inside　pocket；　as　if　to　pull　out　the　letter；　but　with　his　fingers　upon　it　he　hesitated。　Despite　all　his　talk　about　having　a　clear　conscience；　about　Gentle　being　the　man　to　save　her；　he　was　deeply　reluctant　to　part　with　the　letter。
　〃I　thought　so；〃　Gentle　said。　〃You　want　to　make　sure　I　look　like　the　guilty　party　if　anything　goes　wrong。　Well；　go　fuck　yourself。〃
　He　turned　from　Estabrook　and　started　down　the　hill。　Estabrook　came　after　him；　calling　his　name；　but　Gentle　didn't　slow　his　pace。　He　let　the　man　run。
　〃All　right！〃　he　heard　behind　him。　〃All　right；　have　it！　Have　it！〃
　Gentle　slowed　but　didn't　stop。　Gray　with　exertion；　Estabrook　caught　up　with　him。　〃The　letter's　yours；〃　he　said。
　Gentle　took　it；　pocketing　it　without　unfolding　it。　There'd　be　plenty　of　time　to　study　it　on　the　flight。
　
　
　6
　
　Chant's　body　was　discovered　the　following　day　by　ninety…three…year…old　Albert　Burke；　who　found　it　while　looking　for　his　errant　mongrel；　Kipper。　The　animal　had　sniffed　from　the　street　what　its　owner　only　began　to　nose　as　he　climbed　the　stairs；　whistling　for　his　hound　between　curses：　the　rotting　tissue　at　the　top。　In　the　autumn　of　1916；　Albert　had　fought　for　his　country　at　the　Somme；　sharing　trenches　with　dead　panions　for　days　at　a　time。　The　sights　and　smells　of　death　didn't　much　distress　him。　Indeed；　his　sanguine　response　to　his　discovery　lent　color　to　the　story；　when　it　reached　the　evening　news；　and　assured　it　of　greater　coverage　than　it　might　otherwise　have　merited；　that　focus　in　turn　bringing　a　penetrating　eye　to　bear　on　the　identity　of　the　dead　man。　Within　a　day　a　portrait　of　the　deceased　as　he　might　have　looked　in　life　had　been　produced；　and　by　Wednesday　a　woman　living　on　a　council　estate　south　of　the　river　had　identified　him　as　her　next…door　neighbor；　Mr。　Chant。
　An　examination　of　his　flat　turned　up　a　second　picture；　not　of　Chant's　flesh；　this　time；　but　of　his　life。　It　was　the　conclusion　of　the　police　that　the　dead　man　was　a　practitioner　of　some　obscure　religion。　It　was　reported　that　a　small　altar　dominated　his　room；　decorated　with　the　withered　heads　of　animals　that　forensics　could　not　identify；　its　centerpiece　an　idol　of　so　explicitly　sexual　a　nature　no　newspaper　dared　publish　a　sketch　of　it；　let　atone　a　photograph。　The　gutter　press　particularly　enjoyed　the　story；　especially　as　the　artifacts　had　belonged　to　a　man　now　thought　to　have　been　murdered。　They　editorialized　with　barely　concealed　racism　on　the　influx　of　perverted　foreign　religions。　Between　this　and　stories　on　Burke　of　the　Somme；　Chant's　death　attracted　a　lot　of　column　inches。　That　fact　had　several　consequences。　It　brought　a　rash　of　right…wing　attacks　on　mosques　in　greater　London；　it　brought　a　call　for　the　demolition　of　the　estate　where　Chant　had　lived；　and　it　brought　Dowd　up　to　a　certain　tower　in　Highgate；　where　he　was　summoned　in　lieu　of　his　absentee　master；　Estabrook's　brother；　Oscar　Godolphin。
　
　In　the　1780s；　when　Highgate　Hill　was　so　steep　and　deeply　rutted　that　carriages　regularly　failed　to　make　the　grade　and　the　drive　to　town　was　sufficiently　dangerous　that　a　wise　man　went　with　pistols；　a　merchant　called　Thomas　Rox…borough　had　constructed　a　handsome　house　on　Hornsey　Lane；　designed　for　him　by　one　Henry　Holland。　At　that　time　it　had　manded　fine　views：　south　all　the　way　to　the　river；　north　and　west　over　the　lush　pastures　of　the　region　towards　the　tiny　village　of　Hampstead。　The　former　view　was　still　available　to　the　tourist；　from　the　bridge　that　spanned　the　Archway　Road；　but　Roxborough's　fine　house　had　gone；　replaced　in　the　late　thirties　with　an　anonymous　ten…story　tower；　set　back　from　the　street。　There　was　a　screen　of　well…tended　trees　between　tower　and　road；　not　sufficiently　thick　to　conceal　the　building　entirely；　but　enough　to　render　what　was　already　an　undistinguished　building　virtually　invisible。　The　only　mail　that　was　delivered　there　was　circulars　and　official　paperwork　of　one　kind　or　another。　There　were　no　tenants；　either　individuals　or　businesses。　Yet　Roxborough　Tower　was　kept　well　by　its　owners；　who　once　every　month　or　so　gathered　in　the　single　room　which　occupied　the　top　floor　of　the　building；　in　the　name　of　the　man　who　had　owned　this　plot　of　land　two　hundred　years　before　and　who　had　left　it　to　the　society　he　founded。　The　men　and　women　（eleven　in　all）　who　met　here　and　talked　for　a　few　hours　and　went　their　unremarkable　ways　were　the　descendants　of　the　impassioned　few　Roxborough　had　gathered　around　him　in　the　dark　days　following　the　failure　of　the　Reconciliation。　There　was　no　passion　among　them　now；　nor　more　than　a　vague　prehension　of　Roxborough's　purpose　in　forming　what　he'd　called　the　Society　of　the　Tabula　Rasa；　or　the　Clean　Slate。　But　they　met　anyway；　in　part　because　in　their　early　childhood　one　or　other　of　their　parents；　usually　but　not　always　the　father；　had　taken　them　aside　and　told　them　a　great　responsibility　would　fall　to　them…the　carrying　forward　of　a　hermetically　protected　family　secret…and　in　part　because　the　Society　looked　after　its　own。　Roxborough　had　been　a　man　of　wealth　and　insight。　He'd　purchased　considerable　tracts　of　land　during　his　lifetime；　and　the　profits　that　accrued　from　that　investment　had　ballooned　as　London　grew。　The　sole　recipient　of　those　monies　was　the　Society；　though　the　funds　were　so　ingeniously　routed；　through　panies