df.theedge-第12部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ltogether。　We　won't　know　until　we　start。　Probably　not　then；　unless　we　actually　count。'
　　I　could　get　lost　among　two　hundred　more　easily　than　among　forty…eight；　I　thought。　Perhaps　it　might　not　be　too　bad。　Yet　the　owners　would　be　looking　for　actors。。。　for　people　who　weren't　what　they　seemed。
　　'You　asked　about　contact；'　Bill　Baudelaire　said。
　　'Yes。'
　　'I've　discussed　it　with　some　of　our　Jockey　Club；　and　we　think　you'll　simply　have　to　telephone　us　from　the　stops。'
　　I　said　with　some　alarm；　'How　many　of　your　Jockey　Club　know　I'm　going　on　the　train？'
　　He　looked　surprised。　'I　suppose　everyone　in　the　executive　office　knows　we'll　have　a　man　in　place。　They　don't　know　exactly　who。　Not　by　name。　Not　yet。　Not　until　I'd　met　you　and　approved。　They　don't　and　won't　know　what　you　look　like。'
　　'Would　you　please　not　tell　them　my　name；'　I　said。
　　He　was　half　bewildered；　half　affronted。　'But　our　Jockey　Club　are　sensible　men。　Discreet。'
　　'Information　leaks；'　I　said。
　　He　looked　at　me　broodingly；　vodka　and　ice　cubes　tinkling　in　a　fresh　glass。　'Are　you　serious？'　he　said。
　　'Yes；　indeed。'
　　His　brow　wrinkled。　'I'm　afraid　I　may　have　mentioned　your　name　to　one　or　two。　But　I　will　impress　on　them　not　to　repeat　it。'
　　It　was　too　late；　I　supposed；　for　much　else。　Perhaps　I　was　getting　too　obsessed　with　secrecy。　Still。。。
　　'I'd　rather　not　telephone　direct　to　the　Jockey　Club；'　I　said。
　　'Couldn't　I　leave　messages　where　only　you　will　get　them？　Like　your　own　home？'
　　His　face　melted　into　an　almost　boyish　grin。　'I　have　three　teenage　daughters　and　a　busy　wife。　The　receiver　is　almost　never　in　the　cradle。'　He　thought　briefly；　then　wrote　a　number　on　a　sheet　of　a　small　notepad　and　gave　it　to　me。
　　'Use　this　one；'　he　said。　'It's　my　mother's　number。　She's　always　there。　She's　not　well　and　spends　a　good　deal　of　time　in　bed。　But　her　brains　are　intact。　She's　quick…witted。　And　because　she's　ill；　if　she　calls　me　at　the　office　she　gets　put　straight　through　to　me　or　else　she　gets　told　where　to　find　me。　If　you　give　her　a　message；　it　will　reach　me　personally　with　minimum　delay。　Will　that　do？'
　　'Yes；　fine；'　I　said；　and　kept　my　doubts　hidden。　Carrier　pigeons；　I　thought；　might　be　better。
　　'Anything　else？'　he　asked。
　　'Yes。。。　do　you　think　you　could　ask　Laurentide　Ice's　owner　why　he　sold　a　half…share　to　Filmer？'
　　'It's　a　she。　I'll　enquire。'　He　seemed　to　have　hesitations　in　his　mind　but　he　didn't　explain　them。　'Is　that　all？'　he　said。
　　'My　ticket？'
　　'Oh　yes。　The　travel　pany；　Merry　&　Co；　they'll　have　it。　They're　still　sorting　out　who's　to　sleep　where；　since　we've　added　you　in。　We'll　have　to　tell　them　your　name；　of　course；　but　all　we've　said　so　far　is　that　we　absolutely　have　to　have　another　ticket　and　even　if　it　looked　impossible　it　would　have　to　be　done。　They'll　bring　your　ticket　to　Union　Station　in　Toronto　on　Sunday　morning　and　you　can　pick　it　up　there。　All　the　owners　are　picking　theirs　up　then。'
　　'All　right。'
　　He　stood　up　to　go。　'Well。。。　bon　voyage；'　he　said；　and　after　a　short　pause　added；　'Perhaps　he　won't　try　anything。'
　　'Hope　not。'
　　He　nodded；　shook　my　hand；　finished　the　last　of　his　vodka　at　a　gulp　and　left　me　alone　with　my　thoughts。
　　The　first　of　those　was　that　if　I　were　going　across　a　whole　continent　by　train　I　might　as　well　start　out　as　I　meant　to　go　on。　If　there　was　a　train　from　Ottawa　to　Toronto　I　would　take　it　instead　of　flying。
　　There　was　indeed　a　train；　the　hotel　confirmed。　Leaving　at　five…fifty；　arriving　four　hours　later。　Dinner　on　board。
　　Ottawa　had　shovelled　its　centre…of…town　railway　station　under　a　rug；　so　to　speak；　as　if　railways　should　be　kept　out　of　sight　like　the　lower　orders；　and　built　a　great　new　station　several　miles　away　from　anywhere　useful。　The　station　itself；　however；　proved　a　delight；　a　vast　airy　tent　of　glass　set　among　trees　with　the　sun　flooding　in　with　afternoon　light　and　throwing　angular　shadows　on　the　shiny　black　floor。
　　People　waiting　for　the　train　had　put　their　luggage　down　in　a　line　and　gone　to　sit　on　the　seats　along　the　glass　walls；　and　thinking　it　a　most　civilized　arrangement　I　put　my　suitcase　at　the　rear　of　the　queue　and　found　myself　a　seat　also。　Filmer　or　not；　I　thought；　I　was　definitely　enjoying　myself。
　　Dinner　on　the　train　was　arranged　as　in　aeroplanes　with　several　stewards　in　shirtsleeves　and　deep　yellow　waistcoats　rolling　first　a　drinks　trolley；　then　a　food　trolley　down　the　centre　aisle；　serving　to　right　and　left　as　they　went。　I　watched　them　idly　for　quite　a　long　time；　and　when　they'd　gone　past　me　I　couldn't　remember　their　faces。　I　drank　French　wine　as　the　daylight　faded　across　the　flying　landscape　and　ate　a　better…than…many…airlines　dinner　after　dark；　and　thought　about　chameleons：　and　at　Toronto　I　took　a　cab　and　booked　into　another　in　the　chain　of　the　Four　Seasons　hotels；　as　I　had　told　Bill　Baudelaire　I　would。
　　In　the　morning；　a　few　hundred　thoughts　later；　I　followed　the　hotel　porter's　directions　and　walked　to　the　offices　of　the　travel　organizers；　Merry　&　Co；　as　given　in　their　brochure。
　　The　street…level　entrance　was　unimposing；　the　building　deceptively　small；　but　inside　there　seemed　to　be　acres　of　space　all　brightly　lit；　with　pale　carpeting；　blond　woods　and　an　air　of　absolute　calm。　There　were　some　green　plants；　a　sofa　or　two　and　a　great　many　desks　behind　which　quiet　unhurried　conversations　seemed　to　be　going　on　at　a　dozen　telephones。　All　the　telephonists　faced　the　centre　of　the　huge　room；　looking　out　and　not　at　the　walls。
　　I　walked　to　one　desk　whose　occupant　wasn't　actually　speaking　on　the　wire；　a　purposeful…looking　man　with　a　beard　who　was　cleaning　his　nails。
　　'Help　you？'　he　asked　economically。
　　I　said　I　was　looking　for　the　person　organizing　the　race　train。
　　'Oh　yes。　Over　there。　Third　desk　along。'
　　I　thanked　him。　The　third　desk　along　over　there　was　unoccupied。
　　'She'll　be　back　in　a　minute；'　forted　the　second　desk　along。　'Sit　down　if　you　like。'
　　There　were　chairs；　presumably　for　clients；　on　the　near　sides　of　the　desks。　fortable　chairs；　clients　for　the　pampering　of；　I　thought　vaguely；　sitting　in　one。
　　The　empty　desk　had　a　piece　of　engraved　plastic　on　it　announcing　its　absent　owner's　name：　Nell。　A　quiet　voice　behind　me　said；　'Can　I　help　you？'　and　I　stood　up　politely　and　said；　'Yes；　please。'
　　She　had　fair　hair；　grey　eyes；　a　sort　of　clean　look　with　a　dust　of　freckles；　but　she　was　not　as　young；　I　thought；　as　her　immediate　impression；　which　was　about　eighteen。
　　'I　came　about　the　train；'　I　said。
　　'Yes。　Could　you　possibly　press　it　into　five　minutes？　There's　such　a　lot　still　to　arrange。'　She　walked　round　to　the　back　of　her　desk　and　sat；　looking　down　at　an　array　of　list　upon　list。
　　'My　name　is　Tor　Kelsey；'　I　began。
　　Her　head　lifted　fast。　'Really？　The　Jockey　Club　told　us　your　name　this　morning。　Well；　we've　put　you　in　because　Bill　Baudelaire　said　he'd　cancel　the　whole　production　if　we　didn't。'　The　unemphatic　grey　eyes　assessed　me；　not　exactly　showing　that　she　didn't　think　the　person　she　saw　to　be　worth　the　fuss；　but　pretty　near。　'It's　the　dining　car　that's　the　trouble；'　she　said。　'There　are　only　forty…eight　places。　We　have　to　have　everyone　seated　at　the　same　time　because　the　mystery　is　acted　before　and　after　meals；　and　two　or　three　of　those　places　are　taken　by　actors。　Or　are　supposed　to　be；　only　now　there　isn't　room　for　them　either；　as　my　boss　sold　too　many　tickets　to　late　applicants；　and　you　are　actually　number　forty…nine。'　She　stopped　briefly。　'I　suppose　that's　our　worry；　not　yours。　We've　given　you　a　roomette　for　sleeping；　and　Bill　Baudelaire　says　anything　you　ask　for　will　we　please　let　you　have。　We　said　what　would　you　ask　for　and　he　didn't　know。　Maddeningly　unhelpful。　Do　you　yourself　know　what　you　want？'
　　'I'd　like　to　know　who　the　actors　are；　and　the　story　they're　going　to　enact。'
　　'No；　we　can't　do　that。　It'll　spoil　it　for　you。　We　never　tell　the　passengers　anything。'
　　'Did　Bill　Baudelaire　tell　you；'　I　asked；　'why　he　so　particularly　wanted　me　on　the　train？'
　　'Not　really。'　She　frowned　slightly。　'I　didn't　give　it　much　thought；　I've　so　much　else　to　see　to。　He　simply　insisted　we　take　you；　and　since　the　Jockey　Club　are　our　clients；　we　do　what　the　client　asks。'
　　'Are　you　goi