sk.theshining-第38部分
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spapers and records； nothing from 1937 to 1945； from 1957 to 1960； from 1962 to 1963。 Periods when the hotel had been closed； he guessed。
When it had been between suckers grabbing for the brass ring。
Ullman's explanations of the Overlook's checkered career still didn't ring quite true to him。 It seemed that the Overlooks spectacular location alone should have guaranteed its continuing success。 There had always been an American jetset； even before jets were invented； and it seemed to Jack that the Overlook should have been one of the bases they touched in their migrations。 It even sounded right。 The Waldorf in May； the Bar Harbor House in June and July； the Overlook in August and early September； before moving on to Bermuda； Havana； Rio； wherever。 He found a pile of old desk registers and they bore him out。
Nelson Rockefeller in 1950。 Henry Ford & Fam。 in 1927。 Jean Harlow in 1930。
Clark Gable and Carole Lombard。 In 1956 the whole top floor had been taken for a week by 〃Darryl F。 Zanuck & Party。〃 The money must have rolled down the corridors and into the cash registers like a twentieth…century stock Lode。
The management must have been spectacularly bad。
There was history here； all right； and not just in newspaper headlines。 It was buried between the entries in these ledgers and account books and room…service chits where you couldn't quite see it。 In 1922 Warren G。 Harding had ordered a whole salmon at ten o'clock in the evening； and a case of Coors beer。 But whom had he been eating and drinking with？ Had it been a poker game？ A strategy session？ What？
Jack glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that forty…five minutes had somehow slipped by since he had e down here。 His hands and arms were grimy； and he probably smelled bad。 He decided to go up and take a shower before Wendy and Danny got back。
He walked slowly between the mountains of paper； his mind alive and ticking over possibilities in a speedy way that was exhilarating。 He hadn't felt this way in years。 It suddenly seemed that the book he had semijokingly promised himself might really happen。 It might even be right here； buried in these untidy heaps of paper。 It could be a work of fiction； or history； or both…a long book exploding out of this central place in a hundred directions。
He stood beneath the cobwebby light； took his handkerchief from his back pocket without thinking； and scrubbed at his lips with it。 And that was when he saw the scrapbook。
A pile of five boxes stood on his left like some tottering Pisa。 The one on top was stuffed with more invoices and ledgers。 Balanced on top of those； keeping its angle of repose for who knew how many years； was a thick scrapbook with white leather covers； its pages bound with two hanks of gold string that bad been tied along the binding in gaudy bows。
Curious； he went over and took it down。 The top cover was thick with dust。 He held it on a plane at lip level； blew the dust off in a cloud； and opened it。 As he did so a card fluttered out and he grabbed it in mid…air before it could fall to the stone floor。 It was rich and creamy； dominated by a raised engraving of the Overlook with every window alight。 The lawn and playground were decorated with glowing Japanese lanterns。 It looked almost as though you could step right into it； an Overlook Hotel that had existed thirty years ago。
Horace M。 Derwent Requests The Pleasure of Your pany At a Masked Ball to Celebrate The Grand Opening of
THE OVERLOOK HOTEL
Dinner Will Be Served At 8 P。M。
Unmasking And Dancing At Midnight August 29； 1945 RSVP
Dinner at eight！ Unmasking at midnight！
He could almost see them in the dining room； the richest men in America and their women。 Tuxedos and glimmering starched shirts； evening gowns； the band playing； gleaming high…heeled pumps。 The clink of glasses； the jocund pop of champagne corks。 The war was over； or almost over。 The future lay ahead； clean and shining。 America was the colossus of the world and at last she knew it and accepted it。
And later； at midnight； Derwent himself crying： 〃Unmask！ Unmask！〃 The masks ing off and 。 。 。
（The Red Death held sway over all！） He frowned。 What left field had that e out of？ That was Poe； the Great American Hack。 And surely the Overlook…this shining； glowing Overlook on the invitation he held in his hands…was the farthest cry from E。 A。 Poe imaginable。
He put the invitation back and turned to the next page。 A paste…up from one of the Denver papers； and scratched beneath it the date： May 15； 1947。
POSH MOUNTAIN RESORT REOPENS WITH STELLAR GUEST REGISTER Derwent Says Overlook Will Be 〃Showplace of the World〃
By David Felton； Features Editor The Overlook Hotel has been opened and reopened in its thirty…eight…year history； but rarely with such style and dash as that promised by Horace Derwent； the mysterious California millionaire who is the latest owner of the hostelry。
Derwent； who makes no secret of having sunk more than one million dollars into his newest venture…and some say the figure is closer to three million…says that 〃The new Overlook will be one of the world's showplaces； the kind of hotel you will remember overnigbting in thirty years later。〃 When Derwent； who is rumored to have substantial Las Vegas holdings； was asked if his purchase and refurbishing of the Overlook signaled the opening gun in a battle to legalize casino…style gambling in Colorado； the aircraft； movie； munitions； and shipping magnate denied it 。 。 。 with a smile。 〃The Overlook would be cheapened by gambling；〃 he said； 〃and don't think I'm knocking Vegas！ They've got too many of my markers out there for me to do that！ I have no interest in lobbying for legalized gambling in Colorado。 It would be spitting into the wind。〃 When the Overlook opens officially （there was a gigantic and hugely successful party there some time ago when the actual work was finished）； the newly painted； papered； and decorated rooms will be occupied by a stellar guest list； ranging from Chic designer Corbat Stani to 。 。 。
Smiling bemusedly； Jack turned the page。 Now he was looking at a full…page ad from the New York Sunday Times travel section。 On the page after that a story on Derwent himself； a balding man with eyes that pierced you even from an old newsprint photo。 He was wearing rimless spectacles and a forties…style pencil… line mustache that did nothing at all to make him look like Errol Flynn。 His face was that of an accountant。 It was the eyes that made him look like someone or something else。
Jack skimmed the article rapidly。 He knew most of the information from a Newsweek story on Derwent the year before。 Born poor in St。 Paul； never finished high school； joined the Navy instead。 Rose rapidly； then left in a bitter wrangle over the patent on a new type of propeller that he had designed。 In the tug of war between the Navy and an unknown young man named Horace Derwent； Uncle Sam came off the predictable winner。 But Uncle Sam had never gotten another patent； and there had been a lot of them。
In the late twenties and early thirties； Derwent turned to aviation。 He bought out a bankrupt cropdusting pany； turned it into an airmail service； and prospered。 More patents followed： a new monoplane wing design； a bomb carriage used on the Flying Fortresses that had rained fire on Hamburg and Dresden and Berlin； a machine gun that was cooled by alcohol； a prototype of the ejection seat later used in United States jets。
And along the line； the accountant who lived in the same skin as the inventor kept piling up the investments。 A piddling string of munition factories in New York and New Jersey。 Five textile mills in New England。 Chemical factories in the bankrupt and groaning South。 At the end of the Depression his wealth had been nothing but a handful of controlling interests； bought at abysmally low prices； salable only at lower prices still。 At one point Derwent boasted that he could liquidate pletely and realize the price of a threeyear…old Chevrolet。
There bad been rumors； Jack recalled； that some of the means employed by Derwent to keep his head above water were less than savory。 I
