df.theedge-第35节

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ers；　I　took　my　grip　and　vanished　on　foot　and；　after　asking　directions；　made　a　homing　line　to　where　no　one　else　was　staying。
　　In　my　buttoned…up　grey　VIA　raincoat；　I　was　unexceptional　to　the　receptionists　of　the　Sheraton：　the　only　problem；　they　said；　was　that　they　were　full。　It　was　late　in　the　evening。　The　whole　city　was　full。
　　'An　annexe？'　I　suggested。
　　Two　of　them　shook　their　heads　and　consulted　with　each　other　in　low　voices。　Although　they　had　no　single　rooms　left；　they　said　finally；　they　had　had　a　late　cancellation　of　a　suite。　They　looked　doubtful。　I　wouldn't　be　interested　in　that；　they　supposed。
　　'Yes；　I　would；'　I　said　and　gave　them　my　American　Express　card　with　alacrity。　So　Tommy　the　waiter　carefully　hung　up　his　yellow　waistcoat　with　its　white　lining　and　ordered　some　wine　from　room　service　and　in　a　while　after　a　long　easing　shower　slept　for　eight　solid　hours　and　didn't　dream　about　Filmer。
　　In　the　morning；　I　telephoned　Mrs　Baudelaire　and　listened　again　to　the　almost　girlish　voice　on　the　wire。
　　'Messages　for　the　invisible　man；'　she　said　cheerfully。　'Er　。。。　are　you　still　invisible？'
　　'Mostly；　yes；　I　think。'
　　'Bill　says　Val　Catto　would　like　to　know　if　you　are　still　invisible　to　the　quarry。　Does　that　make　sense　to　you？'
　　'It　makes　sense；　and　the　answer　is　yes。'
　　'They're　both　anxious。'
　　'And　not　alone；'　I　said。　'Will　you　tell　them　the　quarry　has　an　ally　on　the　train；　travelling　I　think　with　the　racegoers。　I've　seen　him　once　and　will　try　to　photograph　him。'
　　'Goodness！'
　　'Also　will　you　ask　them　whether　certain　numbers；　which　I'll　tell　you；　have　any　significance　in　the　quarry's　life。'
　　'Intriguing；'　she　said。　'Fire　away。'
　　'Well。。。　three　numbers　I　don't　know。　Three　question　marks；　say。　Then　one…five…one。　''Three　question　marks；　then　one…five…one。　Right？'
　　'Right。　I　know　it's　not　his　car's　number　plate；　or　not　the　car　he　usually　travels　in；　but　ask　if　it　fits　his　birthday　in　any　way；　or　his　phone　number；　or　anything　at　all　they　can　think　of。　I　want　to　know　what　the　first　three　digits　are。'
　　'I'll　ask　Bill　right　away；　when　I've　finished　talking　to　you。　He　gave　me　some　answers　to　give　you　about　your　questions　yesterday　evening。'
　　'Great。'
　　'The　answers　are　that　Mr　and　Mrs　Young　who　own　Sparrowgrass　are　frequent　and　wele　visitors　to　England　and　are　entertained　by　the　Jockey　Club　at　many　race　meetings。　They　were　friends　of　Ezra　Gideon。　Val　Catto　doesn't　know　if　they　know　that　Ezra　Gideon　sold　two　horses　to　Mr　J。　A。　Filmer。　Does　that　make　sense？'
　　'Yes；'　I　said。
　　'I'm　glad　you　understand　what　I'm　talking　about。　How　about　this　one；　then？'　She　paused　for　breath。　'Sheridan　Lorrimore　was　sent　down…expelled…from　Cambridge　University　last　May；　amid　some　sort　of　hushed…up　scandal。　Mercer　Lorrimore　was　over　in　England　at　that　time；　and　stayed　and　went　racing　at　Newmarket　in　July；　but　the　Jockey　Club　found　him　grimmer　than　his　usual　self　and　understood　it　was　something　to　do　with　his　son；　although　he　didn't　say　what。　Val　Catto　is　seeing　what　he　can　find　out　from　Cambridge。'
　　'That's　fine；'　I　said。
　　'Sheridan　Lorrimore！'　she　said；　sounding　shocked。　'I　hope　it's　not　true。'
　　'Brace　yourself；'　I　said　dryly。
　　'Oh　dear。'
　　'How　well　do　you　know　him？'　I　asked。
　　'Hardly　at　all。　But　it　does　no　good；　does　it；　for　one　of　our　golden　families　to　hit　the　tabloids。'
　　I　loved　the　expression；　and　remembered　she'd　owned　a　magazine。
　　'It　demeans　the　whole　country；'　she　went　one。　'I　just　hope　whatever　it　was　will　stay　hushed　up。'
　　'Whatever　it　was？'
　　'Yes；'　she　said　firmly。　'For　his　family's　sake。　For　his　mother's　sake。　I　know　Bambi　Lorrimore。　She's　a　proud　woman。　She　doesn't　deserve　to　be　disgraced　by　her　son。'
　　I　wasn't　so　sure　about　that：　didn't　know　to　what　extent　she　was　responsible　for　his　behaviour。　But　perhaps　not　much。　Perhaps　no　one　deserved　a　son　like　Sheridan。　Perhaps　people　like　Sheridan　were　born　that　way；　as　if　without　arms。
　　'Are　you　still　there？'　Mrs　Baudelaire　asked。
　　'I　sure　am。'
　　'Bill　says　the　Lorrimores'　private　car　got　detached　from　the　train　on　Sunday　evening。　Is　that　really　true？　There's　a　great　fuss　going　on；　isn't　there？　It's　been　on　the　television　news　and　it's　all　over　the　papers　this　morning。　Bill　says　it　was　apparently　done　by　some　lunatic　for　reasons　unknown；　but　he　wants　to　know　if　you　have　any　information　about　it　that　he　doesn't　have。'
　　I　told　her　what　had　happened：　how　Xanthe　had　casually　nearly　walked　off　into　space。
　　'Tell　Bill　the　quarry　sat　relaxed　and　unconcerned　throughout　both　the　incident　and　the　enquiry　held　at　Thunder　Bay　yesterday　morning；　and　I'm　certain　he　didn't　plan　the　uncoupling。　I　think　he　did　plan　something　though；　with　his　ally　on　the　train；　and　I　think　Bill　should　see　that　they　guard　the　train's　horses　very　carefully　out　at　the　track。'
　　'I'll　tell　him。'
　　'Tell　him　there's　a　slight　possibility　that　the　horses'　drinking　water　was　tampered　with　on　the　train；　before　it　got　to　Thunder　Bay。　But　I　think　that　if　it　had　been；　the　horses　should　have　been　showing　distress　by　last　night；　which　they　weren't。　I　can't　check　them　this　morning。　I　supposed　if　there's　anything　wrong　with　them；　Bill　will　know　pretty　soon。　Anyway；　I　took　four　samples　of　the　drinking　water　which　I　will　take　to　the　races　this　evening。'
　　'Good　heavens。'
　　'Tell　Bill　I'll　get　them　to　him　somehow。　They'll　be　in　a　package　with　his　name　on　it。'
　　'Let　me　write　some　of　this　down。　Don't　go　away。'
　　There　was　a　quiet　period　while　she　put　down　the　receiver　and　wrote　her　notes。　Then　she　came　back　on　the　line　and　faithfully　repeated　everything　I'd　told　her；　and　everything　I'd　asked。
　　'Is　that　right？'　she　demanded；　at　the　end。
　　'Perfect；'　I　said　fervently。　'When　in　general　is　it　a　good　time　for　me　to　phone　you？　I　don't　like　to　disturb　you　at　bad　moments。'
　　'Phone　any　time。　I'll　be　here。　Have　a　good　day。　Stay　invisible。'
　　I　laughed；　and　she'd　gone　off　the　line　before　I　could　ask　her　about　her　health。
　　A　plimentary　copy　of　a　Winnipeg　newspaper　had　been　slipped　under　my　sitting…room　door。　I　picked　it　up　and　checked　on　what　news　it　gave　of　the　train。　The　story　wasn't　exactly　all　over　the　front　page；　but　it　started　there　with　photographs　of　Mercer　and　Bambi　and　continued　inside；　with　a　glamorous　back…lit　formal　shot　of　Xanthe；　which　made　her　look　a　lot　older　than　her　published　age；　fifteen。
　　I　suspected　ironically　that　the　extra　publicity　given　to　the　Great　Transcontinental　Mystery　Race　Train　hadn't　hurt　the　enterprise　in　the　least。　Blame　hadn't　been　fastened　on　anyone　except　some　unknown　nutter　back　in　the　wilds　of　Ontario。　Winnipeg　was　full　of　racegoing　visitors　who　were　contributing　handsomely　to　the　local　economy。　Winnipeg　was　pleased　to　wele　them。　Don't　forget；　the　paper　prominently　said；　that　the　first　of　the　two　Celebration　of　Canadian　Racing　meetings　would　be　held　this　evening　with　the　regular　post　time　of　7　p。　m。；　while　the　second　meeting；　including　the　running　of　the　Jockey　Club　Race　Train　Stakes　would　be　tomorrow　afternoon；　post　time　1。　30。　The　afternoon　had　been　declared　a　local　holiday；　as　everyone　knew；　and　it　would　be　a　fitting　finale　to　the　year's　thoroughbred　racing　programme　at　Assiniboia　Downs。　（Harness　racing；　it　said　in　brackets；　would　hold　the　first　meeting　of　its　winter　season　the　following　Sunday。　）
　　I　spent　most　of　the　day　mooching　around　Winnipeg；　seeing　a　couple　of　owners　once　in　a　shop　selling　Eskimo　sculptures；　but　never　ing　face　to　face　with　anyone　who　might　know　me。　I　didn't　waste　much　time　trying　to　see　what　Filmer　did　or　where　he　went；　because　I'd　quickly　discovered　that　the　Westin　Hotel　was　sitting　over　an　entrance　to　a　subterranean　shopping　mall　that　stretched　like　a　rabbit　warren　in　all　directions。　Shopping；　in　Canada；　had　largely　gone　underground　to　defeat　the　climate。　Filmer　could　go　in　and　out　of　the　Westin　without　a　sniff　of　fresh　air；　and　probably　had。
　　There　were　racetrack　express　buses；　I　found；　going　from　the　city　to　the　Downs；　so　I　went　on　one　at　about　six　o'clock　and　strolled　around　at　ground　level　looking　for　some　way　of　conveying　to　Bill　Baudelaire　the　water　samples　which　were　now　individually　wrapped　inside　the　nondescript　plastic　carrier。
　　It　was　made　easy　for　me。　A　girl　of　about　Xanthe's　age　bounced　up　to　my　side　as　I　walked　slowly　along　in　front　of　the　grandstand；　and　said；　'Hi！　I'm　Nancy。　If　that's　for　Clarrie　Baudelaire；　I'll　take　it　up　if　you　like。'
　　'Where　is　she？'　I　asked。
　　'Dining　with　her　dad　up　there　by　a　window　in　the　Clubhouse。'　She　pointed　to　a　part　of　the　grandstand。　'He　said　you　were　bringing　her　some　thirst　quenchers；　and　he　asked　me　to　run　down　and　collect　them。　Is　that　right？'
　　'Spot　on；'　I　said　appreciatively。
　　She　was　pretty；　with　freckles；　wearing　a　bright　blue　tracksuit　with　a　white　and　gold　studded　belt。　I　gave　her　the　carrier　and　watched　her　jaunty　backview　disappear　with　it　into　the　crowds；　and　I　was　more　and　more　sure　that　what　she　was　carrying　was　harmless。　Bill　Baudelaire　wouldn't　be　calmly　eating　dinner　with　his　daughter　if　there　were　a　multi…horse　crisis　going　on　over　in　the　racecourse　stables。
　　The　Clubhouse；　from　where　diners　could　watch　the　sport；　took　up　one　whole　floor　of　t