iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第53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！


　Just　as　we　enter　north　campus；　I　spot　Paul　in　the　courtyard　between　the　library　and　the　history　department；　walking　toward　McCosh。
　〃Paul！〃　I　call　out　the　window。
　〃What　are　you　doing？〃　Charlie　snaps　at　him；　pulling　up　to　the　curb。
　〃I　solved　it！〃　Paul　says；　surprised　to　see　us。　〃The　whole　thing。　I　just　need　the　blueprint。　Tom；　you're　not　going　to　believe　this。　It's　the　most　amaz…〃
　〃What？　Tell　me。〃
　But　Charlie　isn't　hearing　any　of　it。　〃You're　not　going　to　Taft's；〃　he　says。
　〃You　don't　understand。　It's　done　。　。　。　。〃
　Charlie　leans　on　the　car　horn；　filling　the　courtyard　with　noise。
　〃Listen　to　me；〃　Charlie　interrupts。　〃Paul；　get　in　the　car。　We're　going　home。〃
　〃He's　right；〃　I　say。　〃You　shouldn't　have　e　out　here　alone。〃
　〃I'm　going　to　Vincent's；〃　Paul　says　quietly；　and　begins　walking　in　the　direction　of　Taft's　office。　〃I　know　what　I'm　doing。〃
　Charlie　forces　the　car　into　reverse；　keeping　up　with　Paul。　〃You　think　he's　just　going　to　give　you　what　you　want？〃
　〃He　called　me；　Charlie。　That's　what　he　said　he　was　going　to　do。〃
　〃He　admitted　he　stole　it　from　Curry？〃　I　ask。　〃Why　would　he　give　you　the　blueprint　now？〃
　〃Paul；〃　Charlie　says；　stopping　the　car。　〃He's　not　giving　you　anything。〃
　The　way　he　says　it；　Paul　stops。
　Charlie　lowers　his　voice　and　explains　what　he　learned　from　the　reporter。　〃When　the　police　asked　Taft　last　night　if　he　could　think　of　anyone　who　might've　done　something　like　this　to　Stein；　Taft　said　he　could　think　of　two　people。〃
　The　expression　on　Paul's　face　starts　to　fade；　the　excitement　of　his　discovery　waning。
　〃The　first　was　Curry；〃　Charlie　says。　〃The　second　was　you。〃　He　pauses；　letting　the　emphasis　stand。　〃So　I　don't　care　what　the　man　told　you　over　the　phone。　You　need　to　stay　away　from　him。〃
　An　old　white　pickup　truck　rumbles　down　the　road　past　us；　snow　crunching　beneath　its　tires。
　〃Then　help　me；〃　Paul　says。
　〃We　will。〃　Charlie　opens　the　door。　〃We'll　drive　you　home。〃
　Paul　tightens　his　coat　around　him。　〃Help　me　by　ing　with　me。　After　I　get　the　blueprint　from　Vincent；　I　don't　need　him　anymore。〃
　Charlie　stares。　〃Are　you　even　hearing　us？〃
　But　there　are　sides　to　this　that　Charlie　doesn't　understand。　He　doesn't　know　what　it　means　that　Taft　has　been　hiding　the　blueprint　all　along。
　〃I'm　this　close　to　having　it　in　my　hands；　Charlie；〃　Paul　says。　〃All　I　have　to　do　is　stand　up　for　what　I've　found。　And　you're　telling　me　to　go　home？〃
　〃Look；〃　Charlie　begins；　〃I'm　just　saying　we　need　to…〃
　But　I　interrupt。　〃Paul；　we'll　e　with　you。〃
　〃What？〃　Charlie　says。
　〃e　on。〃　I　open　the　passenger　door。
　Paul　turns；　not　expecting　this。
　〃If　he's　going　with　or　without　us；〃　I　say　to　Charlie　under　my　breath；　leaning　back　into　the　car；　〃then　I'm　going　too。〃
　Paul　begins　walking　toward　McCosh　as　Charlie　considers　his　position。
　〃Taft　can't　do　anything　if　there　are　three　of　us；〃　I　say。　〃You　know　that。〃
　Charlie　exhales　slowly；　sending　a　cloud　of　steam　into　the　air。　Finally　he　makes　a　space　for　the　car　in　the　snow　and　pulls　the　keys　from　the　ignition。
　　
　The　walk　to　Taft's　office　takes　an　eternity；　pacing　up　to　the　gray　edifice　in　the　snow。　The　room　lies　in　the　bowels　of　McCosh；　where　the　hallways　are　so　cramped　and　the　stairs　are　so　steep；　we　have　to　descend　single　file。　It's　hard　to　believe　Vincent　Taft　can　breathe　in　here；　let　alone　move。　Even　I　get　the　sensation　of　being　too　big　for　the　place。　Charlie　must　feel　like　he's　trapped。
　I　look　back；　just　to　make　sure　he's　still　there。　The　sight　of　him　behind　us；　filling　the　doorways　and　covering　our　backs；　gives　me　enough　confidence　to　keep　moving。　I　realize　now　what　I　was　too　bluff　to　admit　before：　if　Charlie　hadn't　e　with　us；　I　couldn't　have　gone　through　with　this。
　Paul　leads　us　down　a　final　hallway；　toward　the　single　room　at　the　end。　Because　of　the　weekend　and　the　holiday；　every　other　office　is　locked　up　and　dark。　Only　beneath　the　white　door　bearing　the　placard　of　Taft's　name　do　I　see　the　rich　glow　of　light。　The　paint　on　the　door　is　chipped；　curling　over　itself　near　the　edge；　where　it　closes　into　the　jamb。　On　the　bottom　of　the　panel　is　a　faint　line　of　discoloration；　the　high…water　mark　of　an　old　flood　from　the　steam　tunnels　coiled　just　beneath　the　basement　floor；　a　stain　unpainted　since　Taft's　arrival　in　the　time　before　time。
　Paul　raises　his　hand　to　knock；　when　a　voice　es　from　inside。　〃You're　late；〃　Taft　growls。
　The　knob　squeaks　when　Paul　turns　it。　I　feel　Charlie　bump　up　against　my　back。
　〃Go　on；〃　he　whispers；　pushing　me　forward。
　Taft　is　sitting　alone　behind　a　great　antique　desk；　sunken　into　a　leather　chair。　He　has　thrown　his　tweed　coat　over　the　back　of　the　chair；　and　with　shirtsleeves　rolled　up　to　his　forearms；　he　is　proofing　manuscript　pages　with　a　red　pen　that　looks　tiny　in　his　fist。
　〃Why　are　they　here？〃　he　demands。
　〃Give　me　the　blueprint；〃　Paul　says；　ing　right　to　the　point。
　Taft　looks　at　Charlie；　then　at　me。　〃Sit　down；〃　he　says；　pointing　toward　a　pair　of　chairs　with　two　thick　fingers。
　I　glance　around；　trying　to　ignore　him。　Wooden　bookshelves　line　the　tiny　office　on　all　sides；　covering　the　white　walls。　Trails　run　through　the　dust　on　their　surfaces　where　volumes　have　been　dragged　off　to　be　read。　There　is　a　path　worn　in　the　carpet　where　Taft　walks　from　the　door　to　his　desk。
　〃Sit；〃　Taft　repeats。
　Paul　is　about　to　refuse；　when　Charlie　nudges　him　into　the　chair；　wanting　to　get　this　over　with。
　Taft　balls　a　rag　in　his　hand　and　wipes　his　mouth　with　it。　〃Tom　Sullivan；〃　he　says；　the　resemblance　finally　occurring　to　him。
　I　nod；　but　say　nothing。　There's　an　old　pillory　on　the　wall　above　his　head；　mounted　with　its　jaws　open。　The　only　hint　of　light　or　color　in　the　room　is　the　red　morocco　of　book　bindings　and　the　gold　of　gilt　pages。
　〃Leave　him　alone；〃　Paul　says；　sitting　forward。　〃Where's　the　blueprint？〃
　I'm　surprised　how　strong　he　sounds。
　Taft　tuts；　bringing　a　cup　of　tea　to　his　mouth。　There's　an　unpleasant　look　in　his　eyes；　as　if　he's　waiting　for　one　of　us　to　put　up　a　fight。　Finally；　he　rises　from　the　leather　chair；　forces　the　sleeves　of　his　shirt　up　higher；　and　plods　over　to　a　space　in　the　bookshelves　where　a　safe　has　been　built　into　the　wall。　He　spins　the　bination　with　a　hairy　hand；　then　pulls　the　lever　and　swings　the　door　on　its　hinges。　Reaching　inside；　he　produces　a　leather　notebook。
　〃Is　that　it？〃　Paul　says　faintly。
　When　Taft　opens　it　and　hands　something　to　Paul；　though；　it's　only　a　typed　piece　of　Institute　stationery；　dated　two　weeks　ago。
　〃I　want　you　to　know　where　things　stand；〃　Taft　says。　〃Read　it。〃
　When　I　see　the　effect　the　paper　has　on　Paul；　I　lean　over　to　read　it　as　well。
　
　Dean　Meadows：
　
　Pursuant　to　our　conversation　of　12　March　regarding　Paul　Harris；　herewith　the　additional　information　you　requested。　As　you　know；　Mr。　Harris　petitioned　for　several　extensions；　and　has　been　highly　secretive　concerning　the　content　of　his　work。　Only　when；　at　my　insistence；　he　submitted　a　final　progress　report　last　week；　did　I　understand　why。　Enclosed　please　find　a　copy　of　my　uping　article；　〃Unveiling　the　Mystery：　Francesco　Colonna　and　the　Hypnerotomachia　Poliphili；　〃　tentatively　scheduled　for　fall　publication　in　Renaissance　Quarterly。　Also　enclosed　is　a　copy　of　Mr。　Harris's　progress　report；　for　the　purposes　of　parison。　Please　contact　me　with　any　further　inquiries。
　
　Sincerely；　
　Dr。　Vincent　Taft
　
　We're　speechless。
　The　ogre　turns　to　Charlie　and　me。　〃I've　worked　on　this　for　thirty　years；〃　he　says；　a　strange　evenness　in　his　voice。　〃Now　the　results　don't　even　bear　my　name。　You　have　never　been　grateful　to　me；　Paul。　Not　when　I　introduced　you　to　Steven　Gelbman。　Not　when　you　received　special　access　to　the　Rare　Books　Room。　Not　even　when　I　granted　you　multiple　extensions　on　your　ineffectual　work。　Never。〃
　Paul　is　too　stunned　to　respond。
　〃I　won't　have　you　take　this　from　me；〃　Taft　continues。　〃I've　waited　too　long。〃
　〃They　have　my　other　progress　reports；〃　Paul　stutters。　〃They　have　Bill's　records。〃
　〃They've　never　seen　a　progress　report　from　you；〃　Taft　says；　opening　a　drawer　and　pulling　out　a　sheaf　of　forms。　〃And　they　certainly　don't　have　Bill's　records。〃
　〃They'll　know　it　wasn't　yours。　You　haven't　published　anything　on　Francesco　in　twenty…five　years。　You　don't　even　work