p&c.brimstone-第54节

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erk！'　Only　someone　who　had　lived　in　Florence　would　know　it。　The　coins　in　that　cigar　box　are　all　Italian　lire；　dated　1974　and　before。　The　fountain　behind　the　four　friends；　although　I　don't　recognize　it；　is　clearly　Italianate。〃　
　D'Agosta　shook　his　head。　〃You　figured　all　that　out　just　from　that　little　box　of　things？〃　
　〃Sometimes　the　small　things　speak　the　loudest。〃　And　as　the　Rolls　shot　from　the　curb　and　accelerated　down　the　street；　Pendergast　glanced　over。　〃Would　you　slide　my　laptop　out　of　the　dash　there；　Vincent？　Let　us　find　out　what　light　Professor　Charles　F。　Ponsonby　Jr。　can　shed　on　things。〃　
　　　
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　As　Pendergast　drove　south；　D'Agosta　booted　the　laptop；　accessedthe　Internet　via　a　wireless　cellular　connection；　and　initiated　a　search　on　Charles　F。　Ponsonby　Jr。　Within　a　few　minutes；　he　had　more　information　than　he　knew　what　to　do　with；　starting　with　the　fact　that　Ponsonby　was　Lyman　Professor　of　Art　History　at　Princeton　University。　
　〃I　thought　the　name　was　familiar；〃　Pendergast　said。　〃A　specialist　in　the　Italian　Renaissance；　I　believe。　Lucky　for　us　he's　still　teaching…no　doubt　as　professor　emeritus　by　now。　Bring　up　his　curriculum　vitae；　if　you　will；　Vincent。〃　
　As　Pendergast　merged　onto　the　New　Jersey　Turnpike　and　smoothly　accelerated　into　the　afternoon　traffic；　D'Agosta　read　off　the　professor's　appointments；　awards；　and　publications。　It　was　a　lengthy　process；　made　lengthier　by　the　numerous　abstracts　Pendergast　insisted　on　hearing　recited　verbatim。　
　At　last；　he　was　done。　Pendergast　thanked　him；　then　slipped　out　his　cell　phone；　dialed；　spoke　to　directory　information；　redialed；　spoke　again　briefly。　〃Ponsonby　will　see　us；〃　he　said　as　he　replaced　the　phone。　〃Reluctantly。　We're　very　close；　Vincent。　The　photograph　proves　that　all　four　of　them　were　together　at　least　once。　Now　we　need　to　know　exactly　where　they　met；　and…even　more　important…just　what　happened　during　that　fateful　encounter　to　somehow　bind　them　together　for　the　rest　of　their　lives。〃　
　Pendergast　pushed　the　car　still　faster。　D'Agosta　shot　a　surreptitious　glance　in　his　direction。　The　man　looked　positively　eager；　like　a　hound　on　a　scent。　
　Ninety　minutes　later　the　Rolls　was　cruising　down　Nassau　Street；　quaint　shops　on　the　left　and　the　Princeton　campus　on　the　right；　Gothic　buildings　rising　from　manicured　lawns。　Pendergast　slid　the　Rolls　into　a　parking　space　and　fed　the　meter；　nodding　to　a　crowd　of　students　who　stopped　to　gawk。　They　crossed　the　street；　passed　through　the　great　iron　gates；　and　approached　the　enormous　facade　of　Firestone　Library；　the　largest　open…stack　library　in　the　world。　
　A　small　man　with　a　thatch　of　untidy　white　hair　stood　before　the　glass　doors。　He　was　exactly　what　D'Agosta　imagined　a　Professor　Ponsonby　would　look　like：　fussy；　tweedy；　and　pedantic。　The　only　thing　missing　was　a　briar　pipe。　
　〃Professor　Ponsonby？〃　Pendergast　asked。　
　〃You're　the　FBI　agent？〃　the　man　replied　in　a　reedy　voice；　making　a　show　of　examining　his　watch。　
　Three　minutes　late；　D'Agosta　thought。　
　Pendergast　shook　his　hand。　〃Indeed　I　am。〃　
　〃You　didn't　say　anything　about　bringing　apoliceman　。〃　
　D'Agosta　felt　himself　bristling　at　the　way　he　pronounced　the　word。　
　〃May　I　present　my　associate；　Sergeant　Vincent　D'Agosta？〃　
　The　professor　shook　his　hand　with　obvious　reluctance。　〃I　have　to　tell　you；　Agent　Pendergast；　that　I　don't　much　like　being　questioned　by　the　FBI。　I　will　not　be　bullied　into　giving　out　information　on　former　students。〃　
　〃Of　course。　Now；　Professor；　where　may　we　chat？〃　
　〃We　can　talk　right　there　on　that　bench。　I　would　rather　not　bring　an　FBI　agent　and　a　policeman　back　to　my　office；　if　you　don't　mind。〃　
　〃Of　course。〃　
　The　professor　marched　stiffly　over　to　a　bench　beneath　ancient　sycamores　and　sat　down；　fussily　cocking　one　knee　over　the　other。　Pendergast　strolled　over　and　took　a　seat　beside　him。　There　wasn't　room　for　D'Agosta；　so　he　stood　to　one　side；　arms　folded。　
　Ponsonby　removed　a　briar　pipe　from　his　pocket；　knocked　out　the　dottle；　began　packing　it。　
　Now　it's　perfect；thought　D'Agosta。　
　〃You　aren't　the　Charles　Ponsonby　who　just　won　the　Berenson　Medal　in　Art　History；　are　you？〃　asked　Pendergast。　
　〃I　am。〃　He　removed　a　box　of　wooden　matches　from　his　pocket；　extracted　one；　and　lit　the　pipe；　sucking　in　the　flame　with　a　low　gurgle。　
　〃Ah！　Then　you　are　the　author　of　that　new　catalogue　raisonné　of　Pontormo。〃　
　〃Correct。〃　
　〃A　splendid　book。〃　
　〃Thank　you。〃　
　〃I　shall　never　forget　seeingThe　Visitation　in　the　little　church　in　Carmignano。　The　most　perfect　orange　in　all　of　art　history。　In　your　book…〃　
　〃May　we　get　to　the　point；　Mr。　Pendergast？〃　
　There　was　a　silence。　Ponsonby　apparently　had　no　interest　in　discussing　academic　subjects　with　gumshoes；　no　matter　how　cultivated。　For　once；　Pendergast's　usual　charm　offensive　had　failed。　
　〃I　believe　you　had　a　student　named　Ranier　Beckmann；〃　Pendergast　went　on。　
　〃You　mentioned　that　on　the　phone。　I　was　his　thesis　adviser。〃　
　〃I　wonder　if　I　could　ask　you　a　few　questions。〃　
　〃Why　don't　you　ask　him　directly？　I　have　no　intention　of　being　an　FBI　informant；　thank　you。〃　
　D'Agosta　had　run　into　this　type　before。　Deeply　suspicious　of　law　enforcement；　treating　every　question　as　a　personal　challenge。　They　refused　to　be　flattered　into　pliance　and　fought　you　every　step　of　the　way；　citing　all　kinds　of　spurious　legalisms　about　the　right　to　privacy；　the　Fifth　Amendment；　the　usual　bullshit。　
　〃Oh；　you　didn't　know？〃　Pendergast　said；　his　voice　smooth　as　honey。　〃Mr。　Beckmann　died。　Tragically。〃　
　Silence。　〃No；　I　didn't　know。〃　More　silence。　〃How？〃　
　Now　it　was　Pendergast's　turn　to　be　unforthing。　Instead；　he　dropped　another　tantalizing　nugget。　〃I've　just　e　from　the　exhumation　of　his　body　。　。　。　But　perhaps　this　isn't　an　appropriate　topic　of　conversation；　seeing　as　how　you　two　weren't　close。〃　
　〃Whoever　told　you　that　was　misinformed。　Ranier　was　one　of　my　best　students。〃　
　〃Then　how　is　it　you　didn't　hear　about　his　death？〃　
　The　professor　shifted　uneasily。　〃We　lost　touch　after　he　graduated。〃　
　〃I　see。　Then　perhaps　you　won't　be　able　to　help　us；　after　all。〃　And　Pendergast　made　a　show　of　preparing　to　stand。　
　〃He　was　a　brilliant　student；　one　of　the　best　I've　ever　had。　I　was…I　was　very　disappointed　he　didn't　want　to　go　on　to　graduate　school。　He　wanted　to　go　to　Europe；　do　a　grand　tour　on　his　own；　a　sort　of　wandering　journey　without　any　kind　of　academic　structure。　I　did　not　approve。〃　Ponsonby　paused。　〃May　I　ask　how　he　died　and　why　the　body　was　exhumed？〃　
　〃I'm　sorry；　but　that　information　can　be　disclosed　only　to　Mr。　Beckmann's　family　and　friends。〃　
　〃I　tell　you；　we　were　very　close。　I　gave　him　a　book　at　parting。　I've　only　done　that　with　half　a　dozen　students　in　my　forty　years　of　teaching。〃　
　〃And　this　was　in　1976？〃　
　〃No；　it　was　in　1974。〃　The　professor　was　very　glad　to　offer　the　correction。　Then　a　new　thought　seemed　to　strike　him。　He　looked　at　Pendergast　afresh。　〃It　wasn't　homicide　。　。　。　was　it？〃　
　〃Really；　Professor；　unless　you　can　get　the　permission　of　a　family　member　to　release　this　information…youdo　know　someone　in　his　family；　I　daresay？〃　
　The　professor's　face　fell。　〃No。　No　one。〃　
　Pendergast　arched　his　eyebrows　in　surprise。　
　〃He　wasn't　close　to　his　family。　I　can't　recall　him　ever　mentioning　them。〃　
　〃Pity。　And　so　you　say　that　Beckmann　left　for　Europe　in　1974；　right　after　graduation；　and　that　was　the　last　you　heard　of　him？〃　
　〃No。　I　got　a　note　from　Scotland　at　the　end　of　August　of　that　year。　He　was　preparing　to　leave　some　farming　mune　he'd　joined　and　head　to　Italy。　I　felt　it　was　just　some　stage　he　had　to　go　through。　To　tell　you　the　truth；　these　past　dozen　years　I'd　been　half　expecting　to　see　his　name　turn　up　in　one　of　the　journals；　or　perhaps　to　hear　of　an　art　opening　of　his。　I've　often　thought　of　him　over　the　years。　Really；　Mr。　Pendergast；　I　would　appreciate　hearing　anything　you　might　be　able　to　tell　me　about　him。〃　
　Pendergast　paused。　〃It　would　be　highly　irregular　。　。　。〃　He　let　his　voice　trail　off。　
　D'Agosta　had　to　smile。　Flattery　hadn't　worked；　so　Pendergast　had　taken　another　tack。　And　now　he　had　the　professor　begging　him　for　information。　
　〃Surely　you　can　at　least　tell　me　how　he　died。〃　
　His　pipe　had　gone　out；　and　Pendergast　waited　while　the　professor　drew　out　another　match。　As　Ponsonby　struck　it；　Pendergast　spoke。　〃He　died　an　alcoholic　in　a　flophouse　in　Yonkers　and　was　buried　in　the　local　potter's　field。〃　
　The　professor　dropped　the　burning　match；　his　face　a　mask　of　horror。　〃Good　God。　I　had　no　idea。〃　
　〃Very　tragic。〃　
　The　professor　tried　to　cover　up　his　shock　by　opening　the　matchbox　again；　but　his　shaking　hands　spilled　them　over　the　bench。　
　Pendergast　helped　pick　them　up。　The　professor　poked　them　back　one　by　one　into　the　trembling　box。　He　put　his　pipe　away；　unlit。　D'Agosta　was　surprised　to　see　the　old　man's　eyes　film　over。　〃Such　afine　student；〃　he　said；　almost　to　himself。　
　Pendergast　let　the　silence　grow。　Then　he　slipped　Beckmann's　copy　ofLives　of　the　Painters　out　from　his　suit　coat　and　held　it　out　to　Ponsonby。　
　For　a　moment；　the　old　man　didn't　appear　to　recognize　it。　Then　he　started　violently。　〃Where　did　you　get　this？〃　he　asked；　grasping　it　quickly。　
　〃It　was　with　Mr。　Beckmann's　effects。〃　
　〃This　is　the　book　I　gave　him。〃　A