preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第17节

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once　again　recovered　its　poise。　Now　Officer　O'Shaughnessy；　looking　skeptical；　emerged　from　the　shadows。　Nora　wondered　what；　exactly；　the　policeman　had　to　do　with　Pendergast。
　They　stood　before　the　large；　grotesque　elephant's　foot；　replete　with　brass　fittings。
　〃So　it's　an　elephant's　foot；〃　O'Shaughnessy　said。　〃So？〃
　〃Not　just　a　foot；　Sergeant；〃　Pendergast　replied。　〃A　box；　made　from　an　elephant's　foot。　Quite　mon　among　big…game　hunters　and　collectors　in　the　last　century。　Rather　a　nice　specimen；　too；　if　a　little　worn。〃　He　turned　to　Nora。　〃Shall　we　look　inside？〃
　Nora　unclasped　the　fittings　and　lifted　the　top　of　the　box。　The　grayish　skin　felt　rough　and　nubbled　beneath　her　gloved　fingers。　An　unpleasant　smell　rose　up。　The　box　was　empty。
　She　glanced　over　at　Pendergast。　If　the　agent　was　disappointed；　he　showed　no　sign。
　For　a　moment；　the　little　group　was　still。　Then　Pendergast　himself　bent　over　the　open　box。　He　examined　it　a　moment；　his　body　immobile　save　for　the　pale　blue　eyes。　Then　his　fingers　shot　forward　and　began　moving　over　the　surface　of　the　box；　pressing　here　and　there；　alighting　at　one　spot　for　a　moment；　then　scuttling　on。　Suddenly　there　was　a　click；　and　a　narrow　drawer　shot　out　from　below；　raising　a　cloud　of　dust。　Nora　jumped　at　the　sound。
　〃Rather　clever；〃　said　Pendergast；　removing　a　large　envelope；　faded　and　slightly　foxed；　from　the　drawer。　He　turned　it　over　once　or　twice；　speculatively。　Then　he　ran　a　gloved　finger　beneath　the　seam；　easing　it　open　and　withdrawing　several　sheets　of　cream…laid　paper。　He　unfolded　them　carefully；　passed　his　hand　across　the　topmost　sheet。
　And　then　he　began　to　read。
　
　FIVE
　　
　TO　MY　COLLEAGUE；　Tinbury　McFadden
　　
　July　12；　1881
　　
　Esteemed　Colleague；
　　
　I　write　these　lines　in　earnest　hope　that　you　will　never　have　need　to　read　them；　that　I　will　be　able　to　tear　them　up　and　dash　them　into　the　coal　scuttle；　products　of　an　overworked　brain　and　fevered　imagination。　And　yet　in　my　soul　I　know　my　worst　fears　have　already　been　proven　true。　Everything　I　have　uncovered　points　incontrovertibly　to　such　a　fact。　I　have　always　been　eager　to　think　the　best　of　my　fellow　man…after　all；　are　we　not　all　moulded　from　the　same　clay？　The　ancients　believed　life　to　have　generated　spontaneously　within　the　rich　mud　of　the　Nile；　and　who　am　I　to　question　the　symbolism；　if　not　the　scientific　fact；　of　such　belief？　And　yet　there　have　been　Events；　McFadden；　dreadful　events　that　can　support　no　innocent　explanation。
　It　is　quite　possible　that　the　details　I　relate　herein　may　cause　you　to　doubt　the　quality　of　my　mind。　Before　I　proceed；　let　me　assure　you　that　I　am　in　full　mand　of　my　faculties。　I　offer　this　document　as　evidence；　both　to　my　dreadful　theorem　and　to　the　proofs　I　have　undertaken　in　its　defense。
　I　have　spoken　before　of　my　growing　doubts　over　this　business　of　Leng。　You　know；　of　course；　the　reasons　I　allowed　him　to　take　rooms　on　the　third　floor　of　the　Cabinet。　His　talks　at　the　Lyceum　proved　the　depth　of　his　scientific　and　medical　knowledge。　In　taxonomy　and　chemistry　he　has　few；　if　any；　peers。　The　notion　that　enlightening；　perhaps　even　forward…reaching；　experiments　would　be　taking　place　beneath　my　own　roof　was　a　pleasant　one。　And；　on　a　practical　note；　the　additional　hard　currency　offered　by　his　rent　was　not　unwele。
　At　first；　my　trust　in　the　man　seemed　fully　justified。　His　curatorial　work　at　the　Cabinet　proved　excellent。　Although　he　kept　highly　irregular　hours；　he　was　unfailingly　polite；　if　a　little　reserved。　He　paid　his　rent　money　promptly；　and　even　offered　medical　advice　during　the　bouts　of　grippe　that　plagued　me　throughout　the　winters　of　'73　and　'74。
　It　is　hard　to　date　with　any　precision　my　first　glimmerings　of　suspicion。　Perhaps　it　began　with　what；　in　my　perception；　was　a　growing　sense　of　secretiveness　about　the　man's　affairs。　Although　he　had　promised　early　on　to　share　the　formal　results　of　his　experiments；　except　for　an　initial　joint　inspection　when　the　lease　was　signed　I　was　never　invited　to　see　his　chambers。　As　the　years　passed；　he　seemed　to　grow　more　and　more　absorbed　in　his　own　studies；　and　I　was　forced　to　take　on　much　of　the　curatorial　duties　for　the　Cabinet　myself。
　I　had　always　believed　Leng　to　be　rather　sensitive　about　his　work。　You　will　no　doubt　recall　the　early　and　somewhat　eccentric　talk　on　Bodily　Humours　he　presented　to　the　Lyceum。　It　was　not　well　received…some　members　even　had　the　ill　breeding　to　titter　on　one　or　two　occasions　during　the　lecture…and　henceforth　Leng　never　returned　to　the　subject。　His　future　talks　were　all　models　of　traditional　scholarship。　So　at　first；　I　ascribed　his　hesitancy　to　discuss　personal　work　to　this　same　innate　circumspection。　However；　as　time　went　on；　I　began　to　realize　that　what　I　had　thought　to　be　professional　shyness　was；　in　fact；　active　concealment。
　One　spring　evening　earlier　this　year；　I　had　occasion　to　stay　on　very　late　at　the　Cabinet；　finishing　work　on　an　accumulation　of　documents　and　preparing　the　exhibition　space　for　my　latest　acquisition；　the　double…brained　child；　of　which　we　have　previously　spoken。　This　latter　task　proved　far　more　engrossing　than　the　tiresome　paperwork；　and　I　was　rather　surprised　to　hear　the　city　bell　toll　midnight。
　It　was　in　the　moments　following；　as　I　stood；　listening　to　the　echoes　of　the　bell　die　away；　that　I　became　aware　of　another　sound。　It　came　from　over　my　head：　a　kind　of　heavy　shuffling；　as　if　of　a　man　bearing　some　heavy　burden。　I　cannot　tell　you　why　precisely；　McFadden；　but　there　was　something　in　that　sound　that　sent　a　thrill　of　dread　coursing　through　me。　I　listened　more　intently。　The　sound　died　away　slowly；　the　footsteps　retreating　into　a　more　distant　room。
　Of　course　there　was　nothing　for　me　to　do。　In　the　morning；　as　I　reflected　on　the　event；　I　realized　the　culprit　was　undoubtedly　my　own　tired　nerves。　Unless　some　more　sinister　meaning　should　prove　to　be　attached　to　the　footsteps…which　seemed　a　remote　possibility…there　was　no　cause　for　approaching　Leng　on　the　matter。　I　ascribed　my　alarm　to　my　own　perverse　state　of　mind　at　the　time。　I　had　succeeded　in　creating　a　rather　sensational　backdrop　for　displaying　the　double…brained　child；　and　no　doubt　this；　along　with　the　late　hour；　had　roused　the　more　morbid　aspects　of　my　imagination。　I　resolved　to　put　the　matter　behind　me。
　It　chanced　that　some　few　weeks　later…the　fifth　of　July；　last　week；　to　be　precise…another　event　took　place　to　which　I　most　earnestly　mend　your　attention。　The　circumstances　were　similar：　I　remained　late　at　the　Cabinet；　preparing　my　uping　paper　for　the　Lyceum　journal。　As　you　know；　writing　for　learned　bodies　such　as　the　Lyceum　is　difficult　for　me；　and　I　have　fallen　into　certain　routines　which　ease　the　process　somewhat。　My　old　teakwood　writing　desk；　the　fine　vellum　paper　upon　which　this　note　is　now　being　written；　the　fuchsia…colored　ink　made　by　M。　Dupin　in　Paris…these　are　the　petty　niceties　which　make　position　less　onerous。　This　evening；　inspiration　came　rather　more　easily　than　usual；　however；　and　around　half　past　ten　I　found　it　necessary　to　sharpen　some　new　pens　before　work　could　continue。　I　turned　away　from　my　desk　briefly　to　effect　this。　When　I　returned　I　found；　to　my　utmost　astonishment；　that　the　page　on　which　I　had　been　at　work　had　been　soiled　with　some　small　number　of　inkstains。
　I　am　most　fastidious　with　a　pen；　and　was　at　a　loss　to　explain　how　this　came　about。　It　was　only　when　I　took　up　my　blotter　to　clear　away　the　stains　that　I　realized　they　differed　slightly　in　color　from　the　fuchsia　of　my　pen；　being　a　somewhat　lighter　shade。　And　when　I　blotted　them　aside；　I　realized　they　were　of　a　thicker；　more　viscous；　consistency　than　my　French　ink。
　Imagine　my　horror；　then；　when　a　fresh　drop　landed　upon　my　wrist　as　I　was　in　the　act　of　lifting　the　blotter　from　the　paper。
　Immediately；　I　lifted　my　eyes　to　the　ceiling　above　my　head。　What　devilment　was　this？　A　small　but　widening　crimson　stain　was　leaching　between　the　floorboards　of　Leng's　chambers　overhead。
　It　was　the　work　of　a　moment　to　mount　the　stairs　and　pound　upon　his　door。　I　cannot　describe　precisely　the　sequence　of　thoughts　that　ran　through　my　mind…foremost　among　them；　however；　was　fear　that　the　Doctor　had　fallen　victim　to　foul　play。　There　had　been　rumors　circulating　through　the　neighborhood　of　a　certain　vicious　and　predatory　murderer；　but　one　pays　little　heed　to　the　gossip　of　the　lower　classes；　and　alas；　death　is　a　frequent　visitor　to　the　Five　Points。
　Leng　answered　my　frantic　summons　in　due　course；　sounding　a　trifle　winded。　An　accident；　he　said　through　the　door：　he　had　cut　his　arm　rather　severely　during　an　experimental　procedure。　He　declined　my　offers　of　assistance；　and　said　he　had　already　done　the　necessary　suturing　himself。　He　regretted　the　incident；　but　refused　to　open　the　door。　At　last　I　went　away；　riven　by　perplexity　and　doubt。
　The　morning　following；　Leng　appeared　at　my　doorstep。　He　had　never　called　on　me　at　my　residence　before；　and　I　was　surprised　to　see　him。　I　observed　that　one　arm　had　been　bandaged。　He　apologized　profusely　for　the　inconvenience　of　the　previous　night。　I　invited　him　inside；　but　he　would　not　stay。　With　another　apology；　he　took　his　leave。
　I　watched　with　unsettled　heart　as　he　descended　the　walk　and　stepped　into　an　omnibus。　I　pray　you　will　do　the　honor