rr.eastofealing-第20部分

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ess。
　
　14
　John　Omally　pressed　his　way　through　Professor　Slobe's　ever…open　French　windows。　The　old　scholar　sat　in　a　fireside　chair　earnestly　conversing　with　the　hawk…nosed　man　from　another　time。　He　waved　his　hand　in　familiar　fashion　towards　the　whisky　decanter。
　'So　where　is　lucky　Jim？'　Sherlock　Holmes　asked。　Tutting　in　his　bid　for　the　brewery？'
　Omally　shook　his　head　and　his　face　showed　more　than　just　a　trace　of　bitterness。　'I　Was　to　meet　Jim　at　the　bench。　We　were　planning　a　Nile　cruise。'　John　flung　the　bundle　of　holiday　brochures　he　had　acquired　the　night　before　into　the　Professor's　fire。　'I　missed　him。　No　doubt　he　is　lying　even　now　in　the　arms　of　some　avaricious　female。　Oh；　cruel　fate。'
　'Cruel　fate　indeed；'　said　Holmes　darkly。　'Lucky　Jim　may　not　be　quite　so　lucky　as　he　thinks　himself　to　be。'
　Omally　pinched　at　the　top　of　his　nose。　'We　sank　a　few　last　night　and　that　is　a　fact。　Jim　wisely　kept　back　a　wheelbarrow…load　for　expenses。　He　was　more　than　generous。'
　'So　I　understand。　I　regret　that　we　were　unable　to　attend　the　festivities。　Tell　me　now；　would　I　be　right　in　assuming　that　Jim　was　wearing　gloves　last　night？'
　Omally　nodded。　'Said　that　the　money　had　given　him　a　rash。　I　didn't　give　it　a　lot　of　thought；　you　know　what　these　millionaires　are　like；　walking　round　in　Kleenex　boxes　and　drinking　Campbells　soup　from　tins；　it's　quite　regular　to　those　lads。'
　Sherlock　Holmes　leant　forward　in　his　seat。　'Might　I　ask　you　to　show　me　your　hands？'
　Omally　thrust　them　hurriedly　behind　his　back。
　'As　I　deduced；'　said　the　great　detective。　'Both　door　and　window　was　it？'
　Omally　bit　at　his　lip　and　nodded　ruefully。　'Until　but　a　few　minutes　since。'
　Professor　Slobe　cast　Holmes　a　questioning　glance。
　'Purely　a　matter　of　deduction；'　that　man　explained。　'Let　me　see　if　I　can　set　the　scene；　as　it　were。　Mr　Omally　here　has　seen　his　dearest　friend　bee　a　multimillionaire　in　the　matter　of　an　hour　and　a　half。　He　helps　him　transport　these　riches　to　the　bank　and　the　two　spend　the　night　in　revelry；　finally　returning　to　their　respective　abodes。　But　our　friend　cannot　sleep；　he　paces　the　floor；　he　is　assailed　with　doubts。　Will　the　money　change　his　panion；　will　it　destroy　their　long　and　enduring　friendship？　Will　he　turn　his　back　upon　him？　At　last　he　can　stand　it　no　longer；　his　mind　is　made　up。　He　will　set　out　at　once　to　his　friend's　house　and　knock　him　up。　But　this　is　not　to　be。　He　tries　to　open　his　door　but　it　will　not　move。　After　many　vain　attempts　to　secure　his　freedom　he　tries　the　window；　this　proves　similarly　unrewarding；　the　glass　cannot　even　be　broken。'
　Professor　Slobe　looked　quizzically　towards
　Omally　who　was　catching　flies　with　his　mouth。　'Is　this　true？'　he　asked。
　'In　most　respects；　it　fair　put　the　fear　of　the　Almighty　into　me　I　can　tell　you。'
　'We　are　indeed　dealing　with　mighty　forces　here；'　said　Sherlock　Holmes；　springing　to　his　feet。　'And　now　I　think　that　should　we　wish　to　entertain　any　hope　of　saving　your　friend　we　had　best　move　with　some　expediency。　Let　us　pray　that　the　trail　is　not　yet　cold。'　Without　uttering　another　word　he　whisked　on　his　tweedy　jacket　and　plunged　out　through　the　French　windows；　followed　by　Professor　Slobe。　Omally　shook　his　head　in　total　disbelief　at　it　all；　tossed　back　his　drink；　and　followed　in　hot　pursuit。
　Holmes　strode　ahead　up　the　sweeping　tree…lined　drive　of　the　Butts　Estate　and　crossed　the　road　towards　the　Memorial　Library。　Before　Pooley's　bench　he　halted　and　threw　himself　to　his　hands　and　knees。　'Aha；'　he　said；　taking　up　the　spent　butt　of　an　expensive　cigarette。　'He's　been　here　and　he　walked　towards　the　kerb。'　Omally　and　the　Professor　looked　at　one　another。　Omally　shrugged。　Holmes　scrutinized　the　roadway。　'He　entered　a　roadster　here　and　was　driven　off　at　some　speed　in　that　direction。'
　'Can　you　make　out　the　licence　plate　number？'　Omally　said　cynically。
　Holmes　looked　him　up　and　down　coldly。　'I　can　tell　you　that　he　was　helped　into　the　car　by　a　gentleman　of　foreign　extraction；　who　parts　his　hair　on　the　left　side　and　has　his　shoes　hand…made；　size　seven　and　a　half。'
　Omally's　eyes　widened。　'Antoine；　Bob　the　bookie's　chauffeur。'
　'Such　was　my　conclusion。　Now；　unless　you　wish　to　waste　more　valuable　time　in　fruitless　badinage；　I　would　suggest　that　we　make　haste。　Time　is　of　the　essence。'
　'Lead　on；'　said　John　Omally。
　It　is　a　goodly　jog　from　the　Memorial　Library　to　the　old　quarry；　but　Holmes　led　the　way　without　faltering　once　upon　his　course。　Here　and　there　along　the　route　he　dropped　once　more　to　his　knees　and　examined　the　road　surface。　Each　time　Omally　felt　certain　that　he　had　lost　his　way；　but　each　time　the　detective　rose　again　and　pointed　the　way　ahead。　At　length　the　three　men　turned　into　the　old　quarry　road。　Ahead　in　the　distance　lay　the　crumpled　wreckage　which　had　been　Jim　Pooley。　With　a　small　cry　Omally　bounded　forward　and　came　to　a　standstill　over　the　disaster　area。　'Oh；　no；'　said　he；　sinking　to　his　knees。　'Oh　no；　it　wasn't　worth　this。'
　Sherlock　Holmes　and　the　Professor　slowly　approached；　the　old　man　supporting　himself　upon　his　stick　and　wheezing　terribly。　'Is　he。。。　？'　the　words　stuck　in　the　Professor's　throat。
　Omally　buried　his　face　in　his　hands。　'My　true　friend；'　he　mumbled；　his　voice　choked　by　emotion。　He　slumped　back　on　his　knees　and　stared　up　at　the　sky。　Tears　had　formed　in　his　deep…blue　eyes　and　fell　over　his　unshaven　cheeks。　'Why？'　he　shouted　up　at　the　firmament。　'Tell　me　why？'
　Holmes　came　forward　and；　stooping；　turned　Pooley's　right　palm　upwards。　The　eighteen　lines　glowed　darkly　in　the　otherwise　brilliant　sunlight。　'There　is　nothing　you　can　do　for　him　now；'　he　said。
　'No！'　Omally　elbowed　the　detective's　hand　away。　'Leave　him　alone；　you　are　part　of　this。　What　the　hell　is　going　on　here　anyway？　Why　did　it　happen？'
　'e；　John；'　said　the　Professor；　laying　a　slim　hand　upon　the　Irishman's　shoulder。　'e　away　now；　there　is　nothing　that　can　be　done。'
　Omally　looked　up　bitterly　at　the　old　man。　'You　knew　about　this；　didn't　you？'　he　said。　'You　knew　something　bad　was　going　on；　you　should　have　stopped　it。　You　and　your　numbers　and　your　magic。'
　'e；　John；　e　please。'
　Omally　rose　slowly　to　his　feet　and　stared　down　at　Pooley's　mortal　remains。　'I　will　kill　the　man　who　did　this；　Jim；'　he　said　slowly　and　painfully。
　Professor　Slobe　pressed　his　hand　once　more　to　John's　shoulder；　and　led　the　stumbling　man　away。
　'All　well　and　bloody　good；'　came　a　voice　from　the　grave。　'But　who　is　going　to　turn　my　head　around　for　me？'
　Omally　spun　about。　'Jim；　you　old　bastard！'
　'Who　else　would　it　bloody　be？　My　head；　John；　if　you　please？　It　is　most　unfortable。'
　The　lads　at　the　Cottage　Hospital　were　nothing　if　not　thorough。　Spending　their　days　as　they　did；　playing　dominoes　and　hunt　the　hypodermic；　they　were　more　than　willing　to　face　up　to　the　challenge　of　the　bloody　spectacle　Professor　Slobe　presented　them　with。　Having　run　a　light…pen　quickly　over　Pooley's　right　hand　they　pronounced　him　private　patient　and　went　about　their　tasks　with　a　will。　Had　not　the　Professor　been　a　member　of　the　Board　of　Governors；　there　seemed　little　doubt　that　they　would　have　been　a　great　deal　more　thorough　than　they　were。　Most　likely　to　the　extremes　of　an　exploratory　operation　or　two；　with　the　removal　of　Pooley's　tonsils　as　an　encore。　As　it　was　they　prodded　and　poked；　applied　iodine；　took　X…rays；　forced　him　to　remove　his　trousers；　turned　his　head　to　the　right；　and　made　him　cough。　As　an　afterthought　they　inoculated　him　against　tetanus；　mumps；　whooping　cough；　and　diphtheria。　As　Doctor　Kildare　came　up　on　the　hospital　tele…video　they　summarily　dismissed　him　with　a　few　kind　words；　a　large　bill；　and　a　prescription　for　Interferon　no　chemist　could　ever　hope　to　fill。
　'See；'　said　Omally；　as　the　four　men　left　the　hospital；　'all　this　fuss　and　not　a　bone　broken。'
　Pooley　felt　doubtfully　at　his　bruised　limbs。　'I　will　not　bore　you　with　my　opinion　of　the　National　Health　Service；'　said　he。　'Nor　even　waste　my　time　bewailing　my　lot；　as　my　pleas　for　sympathy　fall　for　ever　upon　deaf　ears。'
　At　last　the　four　men　entered　the　Professor's　study。　A　large　medicinal　gold　watch　was　handed　at　once　to　the　invalid　who　was　placed　in　a　heavily…cushioned　chair。　'My　thanks；'　said　Jim；　pocketing　it　away　in　his　throat。　The　sun　danced　in　u