pdouglas.thecodex-第4部分

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ne　who　looked　like　the　least　petent　liar。
　〃Our　father　sent　us　a　letter。〃
　〃What　about？〃
　〃Well　。。。〃　Vernon　glanced　at　his　brothers　nervously。　〃He　didn't　say。〃
　〃Any　guesses？〃
　〃Not　really。〃
　Barnaby　switched　his　gaze。　〃Philip？〃
　〃I　haven't　the　slightest。〃
　He　swiveled　his　gaze　to　the　other　one；　Tom。　He　found　he　liked　Tom's　face。　It　was　a　no…bullshit　face。　〃So　Tom；　you　want　to　help　me　out　here？〃
　〃I　think　it　was　to　talk　to　us　about　our　inheritance。〃
　〃Inheritance？　How　old　was　your　father？〃
　〃Sixty　。。。〃
　Fenton　leaned　forward　to　interrupt；　his　voice　harsh。　〃Was　he　sick？〃
　〃Yes。〃
　〃How　sick？〃
　〃He　was　dying　of　cancer；〃　said　Tom　coldly。
　〃I'm　sorry；〃　said　Barnaby；　putting　a　restraining　arm　on　Fenton　as　if　to　stop　him　from　asking　more　tactless　questions。　〃Any　of　you　got　your　copy　of　the　letter？〃
　All　three　produced　the　same　letter；　handwritten；　on　ivory　laid　paper。　Interesting；　Barnaby　thought；　that　each　one　had　his　copy。　Said　something　about　the　importance　they　attached　to　this　meeting。　Barnaby　took　one　and　read：
　
　Dear　Tom；
　I　want　you　to　e　to　my　house　in　Santa　Fe；　on　April　15；　at　exactly　1：00　P。M。；　regarding　a　very　important　matter　affecting　your　future。　I've　asked　Philip　and　Vernon　as　well。　I　have　enclosed　funds　to　pay　for　your　travel。　Please　be　on　time：　one　o'clock　sharp。　Do　your　old　man　this　one　last　courtesy。
　Father
　
　〃Any　chance　of　a　recovery　from　the　cancer；　or　was　he　a　goner？〃　Fenton　asked。
　Philip　stared　at　Fenton　and　then　turned　to　Barnaby。　〃Who　is　this　man？〃
　Barnaby　shot　a　warning　glance　at　Fenton；　who　often　got　out　of　hand。　〃We're　all　on　the　same　side　here；　trying　to　solve　this　crime。〃
　〃As　I　understand　it〃　Philip　said　grudgingly；　〃there　was　no　chance　of　recovery。　Our　father　had　gone　through　radiation　treatments　and　chemotherapy；　but　the　cancer　had　metastasized　and　there　was　no　getting　rid　of　it。　He　declined　further　treatment。〃
　〃I'm　sorry；〃　said　Barnaby；　trying　unsuccessfully　to　summon　up　a　modicum　of　sympathy。　〃Getting　back　to　this　letter；　it　says　something　here　about　funds。　How　much　money　came　with　it？〃
　〃Twelve　hundred　dollars　in　cash；〃　said　Tom。
　〃Cash？　In　what　form？〃
　〃Twelve　one…hundred…dollar　bills。　Sending　cash　like　that　was　typical　of　Father。〃
　Fenton　interrupted　again。　〃How　long　did　he　have　to　live？〃　He　asked　this　question　directly　at　Philip；　thrusting　his　head　forward。　Fenton's　was　an　ugly　head；　very　narrow　and　sharp；　with　thick　eyebrow　ridges；　deep…set　eyes；　a　huge　nose　with　each　nostril　projecting　a　thicket　of　black　nosehairs；　crooked　brown　teeth；　and　a　receding　chin。　He　had　olive　skin；　despite　the　Anglo　name；　Fenton　was　a　Hispano　from　the　town　of　Truchas；　way　back　up　in　the　Sangre　de　Cristo　Mountains。　He　was　scary；　if　you　didn't　know　he　was　the　kindliest　man　alive。
　〃About　six　months。〃
　〃So　he　invited　you　here　for　what？　To　do　a　little　eeny　meeny　meiny　moe　with　his　stuff？〃
　Fenton　could　be　awful　when　he　wanted。　But　the　man　got　results。
　Philip　said　icily；　〃That's　a　charming　way　of　putting　it。　I　suppose　that's　possible。〃
　Barnaby　broke　in　smoothly。　〃But　with　a　collection　like　this；　Philip；　wouldn't　he　have　made　arrangements　to　leave　it　to　a　museum？〃
　〃Maxwell　Broadbent　loathed　museums。〃
　〃Why？〃
　〃Museums　had　taken　the　lead　in　criticizing　our　father's　somewhat　unorthodox　collecting　practices。〃
　〃Which　were？〃
　〃Buying　artwork　of　dubious　provenance；　dealing　with　tomb　robbers　and　looters；　smuggling　antiquities　across　borders。　He　even　robbed　tombs　himself。　I　can　appreciate　his　antipathy。　Museums　are　bastions　of　hypocrisy；　greed；　and　cupidity。　They　criticize　in　everyone　else　the　very　methods　they　themselves　employed　to　get　their　collections。〃
　〃What　about　leaving　the　collection　to　a　university？〃
　〃He　hated　academics。　Tweedy…dums　and　tweedy…dees；　he　called　them。　The　academics；　especially　the　archaeologists；　accused　Maxwell　Broadbent　of　looting　temples　in　Central　America。　I'm　not　spilling　any　family　secrets　here：　It's　a　well…known　story。　You　can　pick　up　just　about　any　copy　of　Archaeology　magazine　and　read　about　how　our　father　was　their　version　of　the　devil　incarnate。〃
　〃Was　he　planning　to　sell　the　collection？〃　Barnaby　pushed　on。
　Philip's　lip　curled　with　contempt。　〃Sell？　My　father　had　to　deal　with　auction　houses　and　art　dealers　all　his　life。　He　would　die　the　death　of　a　thousand　cuts　before　he'd　consign　them　one　mediocre　print　to　sell。〃
　〃So　he　planned　to　leave　it　all　to　you　three？〃
　There　was　an　awkward　silence。　〃That；〃　said　Philip　finally；　〃was　the　assumption。〃
　Fenton　broke　in。　〃Church？　Wife？　Girlfriend？〃
　Philip　removed　the　pipe　between　his　teeth　and；　in　a　perfect　imitation　of　Fenton's　clipped　style；　answered　him：　〃Atheist。　Divorced。　Misogynist。〃
　The　other　two　brothers　broke　out　laughing。　Hutch　Barnaby　even　found　himself　enjoying　Fenton's　disfort。　It　was　so　rare　that　anyone　got　the　better　of　him　during　an　interrogation。　This　Philip　character；　despite　his　pretensions；　was　tough。　But　there　was　something　sad　in　the　long；　intelligent　face；　something　lost。
　Barnaby　held　out　the　bill　of　lading　for　the　shipment　of　cookware。　〃Any　idea　what　this　is　all　about　or　where　the　stuff　might　have　gone？〃
　They　examined　it；　shook　their　heads；　and　handed　it　back。　〃He　didn't　even　like　to　cook；〃　said　Tom。
　Barnaby　shoved　the　document　into　his　pocket。　〃Tell　me　about　your　father。　Looks；　personality；　character；　business　dealings；　that　sort　of　thing。〃
　It　was　Tom　who　spoke　again。　〃He's　。。。　one　of　a　kind。〃
　〃How　so？〃
　〃He's　a　physical　giant　of　a　man；　six　foot　five；　fit；　handsome；　broad　shoulders；　not　a　trace　of　flab；　white　hair　and　white　beard；　solid　as　a　lion　with　a　roaring　voice　to　match。　People　say　he　looks　like　Hemingway。〃
　〃Personality？〃
　〃He's　the　kind　of　man　who's　never　wrong；　who　rides　roughshod　over　everyone　and　everything　to　get　what　he　wants。　He　lives　by　his　own　rules　in　life。　He　never　graduated　high　school；　but　he　knows　more　about　art　and　archaeology　than　most　Ph。D's。　Collecting　is　his　religion。　He　despises　other　people's　religious　beliefs；　and　that's　one　reason　why　he　takes　so　much　pleasure　in　buying　and　selling　things　stolen　from　tombs…and　robbing　tombs　himself。〃
　〃Tell　me　more　about　this　tomb　robbing。〃
　Philip　spoke　this　time；　〃Maxwell　Broadbent　was　born　into　a　working…class　family。　He　went　to　Central　America　when　he　was　young　and　disappeared　into　the　jungle　for　two　years。　He　made　a　big　discovery；　robbed　some　Mayan　temple；　and　smuggled　the　stuff　back。　That's　how　he　got　started。　He　was　a　dealer　in　questionable　art　and　antiquities…everything　from　Greek　and　Roman　statues　that　had　been　spirited　out　of　Europe　to　Khmer　reliefs　chiseled　out　of　Cambodian　funerary　temples　to　Renaissance　paintings　stolen　in　Italy　during　the　war。　He　dealt　not　to　make　money　but　to　finance　his　own　collecting。〃
　〃Interesting。〃
　〃Maxwell's　methods；〃　Philip　said；　〃were　really　the　only　way　a　person　nowadays　could　acquire　truly　great　art。　There　probably　wasn't　a　single　piece　in　his　collection　that　was　clean。〃
　Vernon　spoke：　〃He　once　robbed　a　tomb　that　had　a　curse　on　it。　He　quoted　it　at　cocktail　parties。〃
　〃A　curse？　What　did　it　say？〃
　〃Something　like　He　who　disturbs　these　hones　shall　he　skinned　alive　and　fed　to　diseased　hyenas。　And　then　a　herd　of　asses　will　copulate　with　his　mother。　Or　words　to　that　effect。〃
　Fenton　let　a　laugh　escape。
　Barnaby　shot　him　a　cautionary　glance。　He　directed　his　next　question　to　Philip；　now　that　he　had　the　man　talking。　Funny　how　people　liked　to　plain　about　their　parents。　〃What　made　him　tick？〃
　Philip　frowned；　his　broad　brow　furrowing。　〃It　was　like　this。　Maxwell　Broadbent　loved　his　Lippi　Madonna　more　than　he　loved　any　real　woman。　He　loved　his　Bronzino　portrait　of　little　Bia　de'　Medici　more　than　he　loved　any　of　his　real　children。　He　loved　his　two　Braques；　his　Monet；　and　his　Mayan　jade　skulls　more　than　the　real　people　in　his　life。　He　worshiped　his　collection　of　thirteenth…century　French　reliquaries　containing　the　alleged　bones　of　saints　more　than　he　worshiped　any　real　saint。　His　collections　were　his　lovers；　his　children；　and　his　religion。　That's　what　made　him　tick：　beautiful　things。〃
　〃None　of　that's　true；〃　said　Vernon。　〃He　loved　us。〃
　Philip　gave　a　little　snort　of　derision。
　〃You　say　he　was　divo