rc.theladyinthelake-第16部分

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　　〃Where　would　you　guess　I　found　that？〃　Patton　asked。
　　I　picked　the　chain　up　and　tried　to　fit　the　cut　ends　together。　They　didn't　fit。　I　made　no　ment　on　that；　but　moistened　a　finger　and　touched　the　powder　and　tasted　it。
　　〃In　a　can　or　box　of　confectioner's　sugar；〃　I　said。　〃The　chain　is　an　anklet。　Some　women　never　take　them　off；　like　wedding　rings。　Whoever　took　this　one　off　didn't　have　the　key。〃
　　〃What　do　you　make　of　it？〃
　　〃Nothing　much；〃　I　said。　〃There　wouldn't　be　any　point　in　Bill　cutting　it　off　Muriel's　ankle　and　leaving　that　green　necklace　on　her　neck。　There　wouldn't　be　any　point　in　Muriel　cutting　it　off　herself…assuming　she　had　lost　the　key…and　hiding　it　to　be　found。　A　search　thorough　enough　to　find　it　wouldn't　be　made　unless　her　body　was　found　first。　If　Bill　cut　it　off；　he　would　have　thrown　it　into　the　lake。　But　if　Muriel　wanted　to　keep　it　and　yet　hide　it　from　Bill；　there's　some　sense　in　the　place　where　it　was　hidden。〃　Patton　looked　puzzled　this　time。　〃Why　is　that？〃
　　〃Because　it's　a　woman's　hiding　place。　Confectioner's　sugar　is　used　to　make　cake　icing。　A　man　would　never　look　there。　Pretty　clever　of　you　to　find　it；　sheriff。〃　He　grinned　a　little　sheepishly。　〃Hell；　I　knocked　the　box　over　and　some　of　the　sugar　spilled；〃　he　said。　〃Without　that　I　don't　guess　I　ever　would　have　found　it。〃　He　rolled　the　paper　up　again　and　slipped　it　back　into　his　pocket。　He　stood　up　with　an　air　of　finality。
　　〃You　staying　up　here　or　going　back　to　town；　Mr。　Marlowe？〃
　　〃Back　to　town。　Until　you　want　me　for　the　inquest。　I　suppose　you　will。〃
　　〃That's　up　to　the　coroner；　of　course。　If　you'll　kind　of　shut　that　window　you　bust　in；　I'll　put　this　lamp　out　and　lock　up。〃　I　did　what　he　said　and　he　snapped　his　flash　on　and　put　out　the　lamp。　We　went　out　and　he　felt　the　cabin　door　to　make　sure　the　lock　had　caught。　He　closed　the　screen　softly　and　stood　looking　across　the　moonlit　lake。
　　〃I　don't　figure　Bill　meant　to　kill　her；〃　he　said　sadly。　〃He　could　choke　a　girl　to　death　without　meaning　to　at　all。　He　has　mighty　strong　hands。　Once　done　he　has　to　use　what　brain。　God　gave　him　to　cover　up　what　he　done。　I　feel　real　bad　about　it；　but　that　don't　alter　the　facts　and　the　probabilities。　It's　simple　and　natural　and　the　simple　and　natural　things　usually　turn　out　to　be　right。〃　I　said：　〃I　should　think　he　would　have　run　away。　I　don't　see　how　he　could　stand　it　to　stay　here。〃　Patton　spat　into　the　black　velvet　shadow　of　a　manzanita　bush。　He　said　slowly：　〃He　had　a　government　pension　and　he　would　have　to　run　away　from　that　too。　And　most　men　can　stand　what　they've　got　to　stand；　when　it　steps　up　and　looks　them　straight　in　the　eye。　Like　they're　doing　all　over　the　world　right　now。　Well；　goodnight　to　you。　I'm　going　to　walk　down　to　that　little　pier　again　and　stand　there　awhile　in　the　moonlight　and　feel　bad。　A　night　like　this；　and　we　got　to　think　about　murders。〃　He　moved　quietly　off　into　the　shadows　and　became　one　of　them　himself。　I　stood　there　until　be　was　out　of　sight　and　then　went　back　to　the　locked　gate　and　climbed　over　it。　I　got　into　the　car　and　drove　back　down　the　road　looking　for　a　place　to　hide。
　　
　　
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　　Three　hundred　yards　from　the　gate　a　narrow　track；　sifted　over　with　brown　oak　leaves　from　last　fall；　curved　around　a　granite　boulder　and　disappeared。　I　followed　it　around　and　bumped　along　the　stones　of　the　outcrop　for　fifty　or　sixty　feet；　then　swung　the　car　around…　a　tree　and　set　it　pointing　back　the　way　it　had　e。　I　cut　the　lights　and　switched　off　the　motor　and　sat　there　waiting。
　　Half　an　hour　passed。　Without　tabacco　it　seemed　a　long　time。　Then　far　off　I　heard　a　car　motor　start　up　and　grow　louder　and　the　white　beam　of　headlights　passed　below　me　on　the　road。　The　sound　faded　into　the　distance　and　a　faint　dry　tang　of　dust　hung　in　the　air　for　a　while　after　it　was　gone。
　　I　got　out　of　my　car　and　walked　back　to　the　gate　and　to　the　Chess　cabin。　A　hard　push　opened　the　sprung　window　this　time。　I　climbed　in　again　and　let　myself　down　to　the　floor　and　poked　the　flash　I　had　brought　across　the　room　to　the　table　lamp。　I　switched　the　lamp　on　and　listened　moment；　heard　nothing；　and　went　out　to　the　kitchen。　I　switched　on　a　hanging　bulb　over　the　sink。
　　The　woodbox　beside　the　stove　was　neatly　piled　with　split　wood。　There　were　no　dirty　dishes　in　the　sink；　no　foul…smelling　pots　on　the　stove。　Bill　Chess；　lonely　or　not；　kept　his　house　in　good　order。　A　door　opened　from　the　kitchen　into　the　bedroom；　and　from　that　a　very　narrow　door　led　into　a　tiny　bathroom　which　had　evidently　been　built　on　to　the　cabin　fairly　recently。　The　clean　celotex　lining　showed　that。　The　bathroom　told　me　nothing。
　　The　bedroom　contained　a　double　bed；　a　pinewood　dresser　with　a　round　mirror　on　the　wall　above　it；　a　bureau；　two　straight　chairs；　and　a　tin　waste　basket。　There　were　two　oval　rag　rugs　on　the　floor；　one　on　each　side　of　the　bed。　On　the　walls　Bill　Chess　had　tacked　up　a　set　of　war　maps　from　the　_National　Geographic_。　There　was　a　silly…looking　red　and　white　flounce　on　the　dressing　table。
　　I　poked　around　in　the　drawers。　An　imitation　leather　trinket　box　with　an　assortment　of　gaudy　costume　jewelry　had　not　been　taken　away。　There　was　the　usual　stuff　women　use　on　their　faces　and　fingernails　and　eyebrows；　and　it　seemed　to　me　that　there　was　too　much　of　it。　But　that　was　just　guessing。　The　bureau　contained　both　man's　and　woman's　clothes；　not　a　great　deal　of　either。　Bill　Chess　had　a　very　noisy　check　shirt　with　starched　matching　collar；　among　other　things。　Underneath　a　sheet　of　blue　tissue　paper　in　one　corner　I　found　something　I　didn't　like。　A　seemingly　brand　new　peach…colored　silk　slip　trimmed　with　lace。　Silk　slips　were　not　being　left　behind　that　year；　not　by　any　woman　in　her　senses。
　　This　looked　bad　for　Bill　Chess。　I　wondered　what　Patton　had　thought　of　it。　I　went　back　to　the　kitchen　and　prowled　the　open　shelves　above　and　beside　the　sink。　They　were　thick　with　cans　and　jars　of　household　staples。　The　confectioner's　sugar　was　in　a　square　brown　box　with　a　torn　corner。　Patton　had　made　an　attempt　to　clean　up　what　was　spilled。　Near　the　sugar　were　salt；　borax；　baking　soda；　cornstarch；　brown　sugar　and　so　on。　Something　might　be　hidden　in　any　of　them；　Something　that　had　been　clipped　from　a　chain　anklet　whose　cut　ends　did　not　fit　together。
　　I　shut　my　eyes　and　poked　a　finger　out　at　random　and　it　came　to　rest　on　the　baking　soda。　I　got　a　newspaper　from　the　back　of　the　woodbox　and　spread　it　out　and　dumped　the　soda　out　of　the　box。　I　stirred　it　around　with　a　spoon。　There　seemed　to　be　an　indecent　lot　of　baking　soda；　but　that　was　all　there　was。　I　funnelled　it　back　into　the　box　and　tried　the　borax。　Nothing　but　borax。　Third　time　lucky。　I　tried　the　cornstarch。　It　made　too　much　fine　dust；　and　there　was　nothing　but　cornstarch。
　　The　sound　of　distant　steps　froze　me　to　the　ankles。　I　reached　up　and　yanked　the　light　out　and　dodged　back　into　the　living　room　and　reached　for　the　lamp　switch。　Much　too　late　to　be　of　any　use；　of　course。　The　steps　sounded　again；　soft　and　cautious。　The　hackles　rose　on　my　neck。
　　I　waited　in　the　dark；　with　the　flash　in　my　left　hand。　A　deadly　long　two　minutes　crept　by。　I　spent　some　of　the　time　breathing；　but　not　all。　It　wouldn't　be　Patton。　He　would　walk　up　to　the　door　and　open　it　and　tell　me　off。　The　careful　quiet　steps　seemed　to　move　this　way　and　that；　a　movement；　a　long　pause；　another　movement；　another　long　pause。　I　sneaked　across　to　the　door　and　twisted　the　knob　silently。　I　yanked　the　door　wide　and　stabbed　out　with　the　flash。
　　It　made　golden　lamps　of　a　pair　of　eyes。　There　was　a　leaping　movement　and　a　quick　thudding　of　hoofs　back　among　the　trees。　It　was　only　an　inquisitive　deer。
　　I　closed　the　door　again　and　followed　my　flashlight　beam　back　into　the　kitchen。　The　small　round　glow　rested　squarely　on　the　box　of　confectioner's　sugar。
　　I　put　the　light　on　again；　lifted　the　box　down　and　emptied　it　on　the　newspaper。
　　Patton　hadn't　gone　deep　enough。　Having　found　one　thing　by　accident　he　had　assumed　that　was　all　there　was。　He　hadn't　seemed　to　notice　that　there　ought　to　be　something　else。
　　Another　twist　of　white　tissue　showed　in　the　fine　white　powdered　sugar。　I　shook　it　clean　and　unwound　it。　It　contained　a　tiny　gold　heart；　no　larger　than　a　woman's　little　finge