df.theedge-第6部分

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　　'Um；'　I　said；　reflecting。　'I　read　something　about　it　the　other　day。　A　lot　of　top　Canadian　owners　are　going　on　a　jolly　with　their　horses；　stopping　to　race　at　tracks　along　the　way。　Is　that　the　one　you　mean？'
　　'It　is　indeed。　But　the　owners　aren't　all　Canadian。　Some　of　them　are　American；　some　are　Australian　and　some　are　British。　One　of　the　British　passengers　is　Julius　Filmer。'
　　'Oh；　'I　said。
　　'Yes；　oh。　The　Canadian　Jockey　Club　has　given　its　blessing　to　the　whole　affair　because　it's　attracting　world…wide　publicity　and　they　are　hoping　for　bumper　attendances；　hoping　to　give　all　Canadian　racing　an　extra　boost。　Yesterday；　my　counterpart；　Bill　Baudelaire；　told　me　he'd　been　talking　with　the　pany　who　are　arranging　everything…they've　had　regular　liaison　meetings；　it　seems…and　he　found　there　was　a　late　addition　to　the　passenger　list；　Julius　Filmer。　Bill　Baudelaire　of　course　knows　all　about　the　conspiracy　fiasco。　He　wanted　to　know　if　there　wasn't　some　way　we　could　keep　the　undesirable　Mr　Filmer　off　that　prestigious　train。　Couldn't　we　possibly　declare　him　persona　non　grata　on　all　racetracks；　including　and　especially　Canadian。　I　told　him　if　we'd　had　any　grounds　to　warn　Filmer　off　we'd　have　done　it　already；　but　the　man　was　acquitted。　We　can't　be　seen　to　disgrace　him　when　he's　been　declared　not　guilty；　we'd　be　in　all　sorts　of　trouble。　We　can't　warn　him　off　for　buying　two　horses　from　Gideon。　These　days；　we　can't　just　warn　him　off　because　we　want　to；　he　can　only　be　warned　off　for　transgressing　against　the　rules　of　racing。'
　　All　the　frustrated　fury　of　the　Jockey　Club　vibrated　in　his　voice。　He　wasn't　a　man　to　take　impotence　lightly。
　　'Bill　Baudelaire　knows　all　that；　of　course；'　he　went　on。　'He　said　if　we　couldn't　get　Filmer　off　the　train；　would　we　please　get　one　of　our　grandees　on。　Although　the　whole　thing　is　sold　out；　he　twisted　the　arms　of　the　promoters　to　say　they　would　let　him　have　one　extra　ticket；　and　he　wanted　one　of　our　Stewards；　or　one　of　the　Jockey　Club　department　heads；　or　me　myself；　to　go　along　conspicuously；　so　that　Filmer　would　know　he　was　being　closely　watched　and　would　refrain　from　any　sins　he　had　in　mind。'
　　'Are　you　going？'　I　asked；　fascinated。
　　'No；　I'm　not。　You　are。'
　　'Um。。。'　I　said　a　shade　breathlessly；　'I　hardly　fit　the　bill。'
　　'I　told　Bill　Baudelaire；'　the　Brigadier　said　succinctly；　'that　I　would　send　him　a　passenger　Filmer　didn't　know。　One　of　my　men。　Then　if　Filmer　does　try　anything；　and　after　all　it's　a　big　if；　we　might　have　a　real　chance　of　finding　out　how　and　what；　and　catching　him　at　it。'
　　My　God；　I　thought。　So　simple；　put　like　that。　So　absolutely　impossible　of　performance。
　　I　swallowed。　'What　did　Mr　Baudelaire　say？'
　　'I　talked　him　into　agreeing。　He's　expecting　you。'
　　I　blinked。
　　'Well；'　the　Brigadier　said；　'not　you　by　name。　Someone。　Someone　fairly　young；　I　said；　but　experienced。　Someone　who　wouldn't　seem　out　of　place。。。'　his　teeth　gleamed　briefly　'。。。　on　the　millionaires'　express。'
　　'But'　I　said；　and　stopped　dead；　my　mind　full　of　urgent　reservations　and　doubts　that　I　was　good　enough　for　a　job　like　that。　Yet　on　the　other　hand；　what　a　lark。
　　'Will　you　go？'　he　asked。
　　'Yes；'　I　said。
　　He　smiled。　'I　hoped　you　might。'
　　Brigadier　Catto；　who　lived　ninety　miles　from　London　in　Newmarket；　was　staying　overnight；　as　he　often　did；　in　a　fortable　bedroom　upstairs　in　the　club。　I　left　him　in　the　bar　after　a　while　and　drove　the　last　half…mile　home　to　where　I　lived　in　a　quiet　residential　street　in　Kennington。
　　I　had　looked　in　that　district　for　somewhere　to　put　down　a　few　roots　on　the　grounds　that　I　wouldn't　be　bothered　to　use　the　club　much　if　I　lived　on　the　other　side　of　London。　Kennington；　south　of　the　Thames；　rubbing　shoulders　with　the　grittiness　of　Lambeth　and　Brixton；　was　not　where　the　racing　crowd　panted　to　be　seen；　and　in　fact　I'd　never　spotted　anyone　locally　that　I　knew　by　sight　on　the　racecourse。
　　I'd　e　across　an　advertisement：　'House　share　available；　for　single　presentable　yuppy。　2　rooms；　bath；　share　kit；　mortgage　and　upkeep。　Call　evenings'；　and　although　I'd　been　thinking　in　terms　of　a　flat　on　my　own；　house　sharing　had　suddenly　seemed　attractive；　especially　after　the　loneliness　of　work。　I'd　presented　myself　by　appointment；　been　inspected　by　the　four　others　in　residence；　and　let　in　on　trial；　and　it　had　all　worked　very　well。
　　The　four　others　were　currently　two　sisters　working　in　publishing　（whose　father　had　originally　bought　the　house　and　set　up　the　running…mortgage　scheme）；　one　junior　barrister　who　tended　to　stutter；　and　an　actor　with　a　supporting　role　in　a　television　series。　The　house　rules　were　simple：　pay　on　the　dot；　show　good　manners　at　all　times；　don't　pry　into　the　others'　business；　and　don't　let　overnight　girl/boy　friends　clog　up　any　of　the　three　bathrooms　for　hours　in　the　morning。
　　There　was　a　fair　amount　of　laughter　and　camaraderie；　but　we　tended　to　share　coffee；　beer；　wine　and　saucepans　more　than　confidences。　I　told　them　I　was　a　dedicated　racegoer　and　no　one　asked　whether　I　won　or　lost。
　　The　actor；　Robbie；　on　the　top　floor；　had　been　of　enormous　use　to　me；　though　I　doubted　he　really　knew　it。　He'd　invited　me　up　for　a　beer　early　one　evening　a　few　days　after　I　went　to　live　there；　and　I'd　found　him　sitting　before　a　brightly　lit　theatrical　dressing　table　creating；　as　he　said；　a　new　make…up　for　a　part　he'd　accepted　in　a　play。　I'd　been　startled　to　see　how　a　different　way　of　brushing　his　hair；　how　a　large　false　moustache　and　heavier　eyebrows　had　changed　him。
　　'Tools　of　the　trade；'　he　said；　gesturing　to　the　grease　paints　and　false　hair　lying　in　neat　rows　and　boxes　before　him。　'Instant　stubble；　Fauntleroy　curls…what　would　you　like？'
　　'Curls；'　I　said　slowly。
　　'Sit　down；　then；'　he　said　cheerfully；　getting　up　to　give　me　his　place；　and　he　brought　out　a　butane　hair　curler　and　wound　my　almost　straight　hair　on　to　it　bit　by　bit　there　and　then；　and　within　minutes　I　looked　like　a　brown　poodle；　tousled；　unbrushed；　totally　different。
　　'How's　that？'　he　said；　bending　to　look　with　me　into　the　looking　glass。
　　'Amazing。'　And　easy；　I　thought。　I　could　do　it　in　the　car；　any　time。
　　'It　suits　you；'　Robbie　said。　He　knelt　down　beside　me；　put　his　arm　round　my　shoulders；　gave　me　a　little　squeeze　and　smiled　with　unmistakable　invitation　into　my　eyes。
　　'No；'　I　said　matter　of　factly　'I　like　girls。'
　　He　wasn't　offended。　'Haven't　you　ever　tried　the　other？'
　　'It's　just　not　me；　dear；'　I　said；　'as　one　might　say。'
　　He　laughed　and　took　his　arm　away。　'Never　mind；　then。　No　harm　in　trying。'
　　We　drank　the　beer　and　he　showed　me　how　to　shape　and　stick　on　a　bold　macho　moustache；　holding　out　a　pair　of　thick…framed　glasses　for　good　measure。　I　regarded　the　stranger　looking　back　at　me　from　the　glass　and　said　I'd　never　realized　how　easy　it　was　to　mislead
　　'Sure　thing。　All　it　takes　is　a　bit　of　nerve。'
　　And　he　was　right　about　that。　I　bought　a　butane　curler　for　myself；　but　I　took　it　with　me　for　a　week　in　the　car　before　I　screwed　myself　up　to　stop　in　a　lay…by　on　the　way　to　Newbury　races　and　actually　use　it。　In　the　three　years　since　then；　I'd　done　it　dozens　of　times　without　a　thought；　brushing　and　damping　out　the　effects　on　the　way　home。
　　Sundays　I　usually　spent　lazily　in　my　two　big　bright　rooms　on　the　first　floor　（the　barrister　directly　above；　the　sisters　below）　sleeping；　reading；　pottering　about。　For　about　a　year　some　time　earlier　I'd　spent　my　Sundays　with　the　daughter　of　one　of　the　Hobbs　Sandwich　members；　but　it　had　been　a　mutual　passing　pleasure　rather　than　a　grand　passion　for　both　of　us；　and　in　the　end　she'd　drifted　away　and　married　someone　else。　I　supposed　I　too　would　marry　one　day：　knew　I　would　like　to：　felt　there　was　no　hurry　this　side　of　thirty。
　　On　the　Sunday　morning　after　meeting　the　Brigadier　in　the　club　I　began　to　think　about　what　I　should　pack　for　Canada。　He'd　told　me　to　be　what　I　spent　so　much　time　not　being；　a　rich　young　loafer　with　nothing　to　do　but　enjoy　myself。　'All　you　need　to　do　is　talk　about　horses　to　the　other　passengers　and　keep　your　eyes　open。'
　　'Yes；　'I　said。
　　'Look　the　part。'
　　'Yes；　right。'
　　'I've　caught　sight　of　you　sometimes　at　the　races；　you　know；　looking　like　a　stockbroker　one　day　and　a　hill