preston&child.thecabinetofcuriosities-第61节
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able historical files。 Open the next one。 '78。〃
〃Yes； sir。〃
Damn。 Still no Leng。
〃Let's take a quick look at some of the others。〃 Smithback had him open up more cabinets and check the yellow index cards on each； all the while giving O'Neal a steady stream of advice about the importance of file…checking。 The years crept inexorably backward； and Smithback began to despair。
And then； in 1870； he found the name。 Leng。
His heart quickened。 Forgetting all about the guard； Smithback flipped quickly through the files themselves； pausing at the Ls。 Here he slowed； carefully looked at each one； then looked again。 He went through the Ls three times。 But the corresponding Leng file was missing。
Smithback felt crushed。 It had been such a good idea。
He straightened up； looked at the guard's frightened； eager face。 The whole idea was a failure。 What a waste of energy and brilliance； frightening this poor guy for nothing。 It meant starting over again； from scratch。 But first； he'd better get his ass out of there before Bulger returned； disgruntled； spoiling for an argument。
〃Sir？〃 the guard prompted。
Smithback wearily closed the drawer。 He glanced at his watch。 〃I have to be getting back。 Carry on。 You're doing a good job here； O'Neal。 Keep it up。〃 He turned to go。
〃Mr。 Fannin？〃
For a moment Smithback wondered who the man was talking to。 Then he remembered。 〃Yes？〃
〃Do the carbons need a file check also？〃
〃Carbons？〃 Smithback paused。
〃The ones in the vault。〃
〃Vault？〃
〃The vault。 Back there。〃
〃Er； yes。 Of course。 Thank you； O'Neal。 My oversight。 Show me the vault。〃
The young guard led the way through a rear door to a large； old safe with a nickel wheel and a heavy steel door。 〃In here。〃
Smithback's heart sank。 It looked like Fort Knox。 〃Can you open this？〃
〃It's not locked anymore。 Not since the high…security area was opened。〃
〃I see。 What are these carbons？〃
〃Duplicates of the files back there。〃
〃Let's take a look。 Open it up。〃
O'Neal wrestled the door open。 It revealed a small room； crammed with cabinets。
〃Let's take a look at； say； 1870。〃
The guard glanced around。 〃There it is。〃
Smithback made a beeline for the drawer； yanking it open。 The files were on some early form of photocopy paper； like glossy sepia…toned photographs； faded and blurred。 He quickly pawed through to the Ls。
There it was。 A security clearance for Enoch Leng； dated 1870： a few sheets； tissue…thin； faded to light brown； covered in long spidery script。 With one swift stroke Smithback slipped them out of the file and into his jacket pocket； covering the motion with a loud cough。
He turned around。 〃Very good。 All this will need to be file…checked； too； of course。〃
He stepped out of the vault。 〃Listen； O'Neal； other than the file check； you're doing a fine job down here。 I'll put in a good word for you。〃
〃Thank you； Mr。 Fannin。 I try； I really do…〃
〃Wish I could say the same for Bulger。 Now there's someone with an attitude。〃
〃You're right； sir。〃
〃Good day； O'Neal。〃 And Smithback beat a hasty retreat。
He was just in time。 In the hall； he again passed Bulger； striding back； his face red and splotchy； thumbs hooked in his belt loops； lips and belly thrust forward aggressively； keys swaying and jingling。 He looked pissed。
As Smithback made for the nearest exit； it almost felt as if the pilfered papers were burning a hole in the lining of his jacket。
The Old； Dark House
ONE
SAFELY ON THE street； Smithback ducked through the Seventy…seventh Street gate into Central Park and settled on a bench by the lake。 The brilliant fall morning was already warming into a lovely Indian summer day。 He breathed in the air and thought once again of what a dazzling reporter he was。 Bryce Harriman couldn't have gotten his hands on these papers if he had a year to do it and all the makeup people of Industrial Light and Magic behind him。 With a sense of delicious anticipation； he removed the three sheets from his pocket。 The faint scent of dust reached his nose as sunlight hit the top page。
It was an old brown carbon； faint and difficult to read。 At the top of the first sheet was printed： Application for Access to the Collections： The New York Museum of Natural History
Applicant： Prof。 Enoch Leng； M。D。； Ph。D。 （Oxon。）； O。B。E。； F。R。S。 &tc。
Remender： Professor Tinbury McFadden； Department of Mammalogy
Seconder： Professor Augustus Spragg； Department of Ornithology
The applicant will please describe to the mittee； in brief； the purposes of his application：
The applicant； Dr。 Enoch Leng； wishes access to the collections of anthropology and mammalogy to conduct research on taxonomy and classification； and to prepare parative essays in physical anthropology； human osteology； and phrenology。
The applicant will please state his academic qualifications； giving degrees and honors； with appropriate dates：
The applicant； Prof。 Enoch Leng； graduated Artium Baccalaurei； with First Honors； from Oriel College； Oxford； Doctor of Natural Philosophy； New College； Oxford； with First Honors； Elected Fellow of the Royal Society 1865； Elected to White's； 1868； Awarded Order of the Garter； 1869。
The applicant will please state his permanent domicile and his current lodgings in New York； if different：
Prof。 Enoch Leng
891 Riverside Drive；
New York New York
Research laboratory at
Shottum's Cabinet of Natural Productions and Curiosities
Catherine Street； New York
New York
The applicant will please attach a list of publications； and will supply offprints of at least two for the review of the mittee。
Smithback looked through the papers； but realized he had missed this crucial piece。
The disposition of the mittee is presented below：
Professor is hereby given permission to the free and open use of the Collections and Library of the New York Museum of Natural History； this 27th Day of March； 1870。
Authorized Signatory： Tinbury McFadden
Signed： E。 Leng。
Smithback swore under his breath。 He felt abruptly deflated。 This was thin…thin indeed。 It was too bad that Leng hadn't gotten his degree in America…that would have been much easier to follow up。 But maybe he could pry the information out of Oxford over the telephone…although it was possible the academic honors were false。 The list of publications would have been much easier to check； and far most interesting； but there was no way he could go back and get it now。 It had been such a good idea； and he'd pulled it off so well。 Damn。
Smithback searched through the papers again。 No photograph； no curriculum vitae； no biography giving place and date of birth。 The only thing here at all was an address。
Damn。 Damn。
But then； a new thought came to him。 He recalled the address was what Nora had been trying to find。 Here； at least； was a peace offering。
Smithback did a quick calculation： 891 Riverside lay uptown； in Harlem somewhere。 There were a lot of old mansions still standing along that stretch of Riverside Drive： those that remained were mostly abandoned or broken up into apartments。 Chances were； of course； that Leng's house had been torn down a long time ago。 But there was a chance it might still stand。 That might make a good picture； even if it was an old wreck。 Especially if it was an old wreck。 e to think of it； there might even be bodies buried about the premises； or walled up in the basement。 Perhaps Leng's own body might be there； moldering in a corner。 That would please O'Shaughnessy； help Nora。 And what a great capstone for his own article…the investigative journalist finding the corpse of America's first serial killer。 Of course； it was very unlikely； but even so 。 。 。
Smithback checked his watch。 Almost one o'clock。
Oh； God。 Such a brilliant bit of detective work and all he'd really got was the damn address。 Well； it was a matter of an hour or two to simply go check and see if the house was still standing。
Smithback stuffed the papers back into his pocket and strolled to Central Park West。 There wasn't much point in flagging down a cab…they'd refuse to take him that far uptown； and once there he'd never find a cab to take him home again。 Even though it was broad daylight； he had no intention of doing any wandering around in that dangerous neighborhood。
The best thing to do might be to rent a car。 The Times had a special arrangement with Hertz； and there was a branch not far away on Columbus。 Now that he thought about it； if the house did still exist； he'd probably want to check inside； talk to current tenants； find out if anything unusual had e to light during renovations； that sort of thing。
It might be dark before he was through。
That did it： he was renting a car。
Forty…five minutes later； he was heading up Central Park West in a silver Taurus。 His spirits had risen once again。 This still could be a big story。 After he'd checked on the house； he could do a search of the New York Public Library； see if he could turn up any published articles of Leng。 Maybe he could even search the police files to see if anything unusual had happened in the vicinity of Leng's house during the
