sidneysheldon.astrangerinthemirror-第2部分

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　Dessard　hung　up；　filled　with　a　growing　sense　of　unease。　He　left　his　office　and　headed　for　Jill　Temple's　suite。　He　was　halfway　there　when　the　next　singular　event　occurred。　As　Dessard　reached　the　boat　deck；　he　felt　the　rhythm　of　the　ship's　motion　change。　He　glanced　out　at　the　ocean　and　saw　that　they　had　arrived　at　the　Ambrose　Lightship；　where　they　would　drop　their　pilot　tug　and　the　liner　would　head　for　the　open　sea。　But　instead；　the　Bretagne　was　slowing　to　a　stop。　Something　out　of　the　ordinary　was　happening。　Dessard　hurried　to　the　railing　and　looked　over　the　side。　In　the　sea　below；　the　pilot　tug　had　been　snugged　against　the　cargo　hatch　of　the　Bretagne；　and　two　sailors　were　transferring　luggage　from　the　liner　to　the　tug。　As　Dessard　watched；　a　passenger　stepped　from　the　ship's　hatch　onto　the　small　boat。　Dessard　could　only　catch　a　glimpse　of　the　person's　back；　but　he　was　sure　that　he　must　have　been　mistaken　in　his　identification。　It　was　simply　not　possible。　In　fact；　the　incident　of　a　passenger　leaving　the　ship　in　this　fashion　was　so　extraordinary　that　the　chief　purser　felt　a　small　frisson　of　alarm。　He　turned　and　hurriedly　made　his　way　to　Jill　Temple's　suite。　There　was　no　response　to　his　knock。　He　knocked　again；　this　time　a　little　more　loudly。　
　〃Madame　Temple。。。　This　is　Claude　Dessard；　the　chief　purser。　I　was　wondering　if　I　might　be　of　any　service。〃　
　There　was　no　answer。　By　now；　Dessard's　internal　warning　system　was　screaming。　His　instincts　told　him　that　there　was　something　terribly　wrong；　and　he　had　a　premonition　that　it　centered；　somehow；　around　this　woman。　A　series　of　wild；　outrageous　thoughts　danced　through　his　brain。　She　had　been　murdered　or　kidnapped　or　　He　tried　the　handle　of　the　door。　It　was　unlocked。　Slowly；　Dessard　pushed　the　door　open。　Jill　Temple　was　standing　at　the　far　end　of　the　cabin；　looking　out　the　porthole；　her　back　to　him。　Dessard　opened　his　mouth　to　speak；　but　something　in　the　frozen　rigidity　of　her　figure　stopped　him。　He　stood　there　awkwardly　for　a　moment；　debating　whether　to　quietly　withdraw；　when　suddenly　the　cabin　was　filled　with　an　unearthly；　keening　sound；　like　an　animal　in　pain。　Helpless　before　such　a　deep　private　agony；　Dessard　withdrew；　carefully　closing　the　door　behind　him。　Dessard　stood　outside　the　cabin　a　moment；　listening　to　the　wordless　cries　from　within。　Then；　deeply　shaken；　he　turned　and　headed　for　the　ship's　theater　on　the　main　deck。　A　porter　was　mopping　up　a　trail　of　blood　in　front　of　the　theater。　Mon　Dieu；　Dessard　thought。　What　next？　He　tried　the　door　to　the　theater。　It　was　unlocked。　Dessard　entered　the　large；　modern　auditorium　that　could　seat　six　hundred　passengers。　The　auditorium　was　empty。　On　an　impulse；　he　went　to　the　projection　booth。　The　door　was　locked。　Only　two　people　had　keys　to　this　door；　he　and　the　projectionist。　Dessard　opened　it　with　his　key　and　went　inside。　Everything　seemed　normal。　He　walked　over　to　the　two　Century　35…mm。　projectors　in　the　room　and　put　his　hands　on　them。　One　of　them　was　warm。　In　the　crew's　quarters　on　D　deck；　Dessard　found　the　projectionist；　who　assured　him　that　he　knew　nothing　about　the　theater　being　used。　On　the　way　back　to　his　office；　Dessard　took　a　shortcut　through　the　kitchen。　The　chef　stopped　him；　in　a　fury。　
　〃Look　at　this；〃　he　manded　Dessard。　〃Just　look　what　some　idiot　has　done！〃　On　a　marble　pastry　table　was　a　beautiful；　six…tiered　wedding　cake；　with　delicate；　spun…sugar　figures　of　a　bride　and　groom　on　top。　Someone　had　crushed　in　the　head　of　the　bride。　
　〃It　was　at　that　moment；〃　Dessard　would　tell　the　spellbound　patrons　at　his　bistro；　〃that　I　knew　something　terrible　was　about　to　happen。〃　
　
　
BOOK　ONE　
　In　1919；　Detroit；　Michigan；　was　the　single　most　successful　industrial　city　in　the　world。　World　War　I　had　ended；　and　Detroit　had　played　a　significant　part　in　the　Allies'　victory；　supplying　them　with　tanks　and　trucks　and　aeroplanes。　Now；　with　the　threat　of　the　Hun　over；　the　automobile　plants　once　again　turned　their　energies　to　retooling　for　motorcars。　Soon；　four　thousand　automobiles　a　day　were　being　manufactured；　assembled　and　shipped。　Skilled　and　unskilled　labor　came　from　all　parts　of　the　world　to　seek　jobs　in　the　automotive　industry。　Italians；　Irish；　Germans　…　they　came　in　a　flood　tide。　Among　the　new　arrivals　were　Paul　Templarhaus　and　his　bride；　Frieda。　Paul　had　been　a　butcher's　apprentice　in　Munich。　With　the　dowry　he　received　when　he　married　Frieda；　he　emigrated　to　New　York　and　opened　a　butcher　shop；　which　quickly　showed　a　deficit。　He　then　moved　to　St。　Louis；　Boston　and；　finally；　Detroit；　failing　spectacularly　in　each　city。　In　an　era　when　business　was　booming　and　an　increasing　affluence　meant　a　growing　demand　for　meat；　Paul　Templarhaus　managed　to　lose　money　everywhere　he　opened　a　shop。　He　was　a　good　butcher　but　a　hopelessly　inpetent　businessman。　In　truth　he　was　more　interested　in　writing　poetry　than　in　making　money。　He　would　spend　hours　dreaming　up　rhymes　and　poetic　images。　He　would　set　them　down　on　paper　and　mail　them　off　to　newspapers　and　magazines；　but　they　never　bought　any　of　his　masterpieces。　To　Paul；　money　was　unimportant。　He　extended　credit　to　everyone；　and　the　word　quickly　spread：　if　you　had　no　money　and　wanted　the　finest　of　meats；　go　to　Paul　Templarhaus。　
　Paul's　wife；　Frieda；　was　a　plain…looking　girl　who　had　had　no　experience　with　men　before　Paul　had　e　along　and　proposed　to　heror；　rather；　as　was　properto　her　father。　Frieda　had　pleaded　with　her　father　to　accept　Paul's　suit；　but　the　old　man　had　needed　no　urging；　for　he　had　been　desperately　afraid　he　was　going　to　be　stuck　with　Frieda　the　rest　of　his　life。　He　had　even　increased　the　dowry　so　that　Frieda　and　her　husband　would　be　able　to　leave　Germany　and　go　to　the　New　World。　Frieda　had　fallen　shyly　in　love　with　her　husband　at　first　sight。　She　had　never　seen　a　poet　before。　Paul　was　thin　and　intellectual…looking；　with　pale　myopic　eyes　and　receding　hair；　and　it　was　months　before　Frieda　could　believe　that　this　handsome　young　man　truly　belonged　to　her。　She　had　no　illusions　about　her　own　looks。　Her　figure　was　lumpy；　the　shape　of　an　oversized；　uncooked　potato　kugel。　Her　best　feature　was　her　vivid　blue　eyes；　the　color　of　gentians；　but　the　rest　af　her　face　seemed　to　belong　to　other　people。　Her　nose　was　her　grandfather's；　large　and　bulbous；　her　forehead　was　an　uncle's；　high　and　sloping；　and　her　chin　was　her　father's；　square　and　grim。　Somewhere　inside　Frieda　was　a　beautiful　young　girl；　trapped　with　a　face　and　body　that　God　had　given　her　as　some　kind　of　cosmic　joke。　But　people　could　see　only　the　formidable　exterior。　Except　for　Paul。　Her　Paul。　It　was　just　as　well　that　Frieda　never　knew　that　her　attraction　lay　in　her　dowry；　which　Paul　saw　as　an　escape　from　the　bloody　sides　of　beef　and　hog　brains。　Paul's　dream　had　been　to　go　into　business　for　himself　and　make　enough　money　so　that　he　could　devote　himself　to　his　beloved　poetry。　
　Frieda　and　Paul　went　to　an　inn　outside　Salzburg　for　their　honeymoon；　a　beautiful　old　castle　on　a　lovely　lake；　surrounded　by　meadows　and　woods。　Frieda　had　gone　over　the　honeymoonnight　scene　a　hundred　times　in　her　mind。　Paul　would　lock　the　door　and　take　her　into　his　arms　and　murmur　sweet　endearments　as　he　began　to　undress　her。　His　lips　would　find　hers　and　then　slowly　move　down　her　naked　body；　the　way　they　did　it　in　all　the　little　green　books　she　had　secretly　read。　His　organ　would　be　hard　and　erect　and　proud；　like　a　German　banner；　and　Paul　would　carry　her　to　the　bed　（perhaps　it　would　be　safer　if　he　walked　her　to　it）　and　tenderly　lay　her　down。　Mein　Gott；　Frieda；　he　would　say。　I　love　your　body。　You　are　not　like　those　skinny　little　girls。　You　have　the　body　of　a　woman。　
　The　actuality　came　as　a　shock。　It　was　true　that　when　they　reached　their　room；　Paul　locked　the　door。　After　that；　the　reality　was　a　stranger　to　the　dream。　As　Frieda　watched；　Paul　quickly　stripped　off　his　shirt；　revealing　a　high；　thin；　hairless　chest。　Then　he　pulled　down　his　pants。　Between　his　legs　lay　a　limp；　tiny　penis；　hidden　by　a　foreskin。　It　did　not　resemble　in　any　way　the　exciting　pictures　Frieda　had　seen。　Paul　stretched　out　on　the　bed；　waiting　for　her；　and　Frieda　realized　that　he　expected　her　to　undress　herself。　Slowly；　she　began　to　take　off　her　clothes。　Well；　size　is　not　everything；　Frieda　thought。　Paul　will　be