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双语·非洲的百万富翁 第九章 镀漆公文箱

所属教程:译林版·非洲的百万富翁

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2022年04月28日

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“Sey,”my brother-in-law said next spring,“I'm sick and tired of London!Let's shoulder our wallets at once, and I will to some distant land, where no man doth me know.”

“Mars or Mercury?”I inquired;“for, in our own particular planet, I'm afraid you'll fnd it just a trife diffcult for Sir Charles Vandrift to hide his light under a bushel.”

“Oh, I'll manage it,”Charles answered.“What's the good of being a millionaire, I should like to know, if you're always obliged to‘behave as sich'?I shall travel incog. I'm dog-tired of being dogged by these endless impostors.”

And, indeed, we had passed through a most painful winter. Colonel Clay had stopped away for some months, it is true, and for my own part, I will confess, since it wasn't my place to pay the piper, I rather missed the wonted excitement than otherwise.But Charles had grown horribly and morbidly suspicious.He carried out his principle of“distrusting everybody and disbelieving everything,”till life was a burden to him.He spotted impossible Colonel Clays under a thousand disguises;he was quite convinced he had frightened his enemy away at least a dozen times over, beneath the varying garb of a fat club waiter, a tall policeman, a washerwoman's boy, a solicitor's clerk, the Bank of England beadle, andthe collector of water-rates.He saw him as constantly, and in as changeful forms, as medi?val saints used to see the devil.Amelia and I really began to fear for the stability of that splendid intellect;we foresaw that unless the Colonel Clay nuisance could be abated somehow, Charles might sink by degrees to the mental level of a common or ordinary Stock-Exchange plunger.

So, when my brother-in-law announced his intention of going away incog. to parts unknown, on the succeeding Saturday, Amelia and I felt a fush of relief from long-continued tension.Especially Amelia—who was not going with him.

“For rest and quiet,”he said to us at breakfast, laying down the Morning Post,“give me the deck of an Atlantic liner!No letters;no telegrams. No stocks;no shares.No Times;no Saturday.I'm sick of these papers!”

“The World is too much with us,”I assented cheerfully. I regret to say, nobody appreciated the point of my quotation.

Charles took infnite pains, I must admit, to ensure perfect secrecy. He made me write and secure the best state-rooms—main deck, amidships—under my own name, without mentioning his, in the Etruria, for New York, on her very next voyage.He spoke of his destination to nobody but Amelia;and Amelia warned Césarine, under pains and penalties, on no account to betray it to the other servants.Further to secure his incog.,Charles assumed the style and title of Mr.Peter Porter, and booked as such in the Etruria at Liverpool.

The day before starting, however, he went down with me to the City for an interview with his brokers in Adam's Court, Old Broad Street. Finglemore, the senior partner, hastened, of course, to receive us.As we entered his private room a good-looking young man rose and loungedout.“Halloa, Finglemore,”Charles said,“that's that scamp of a brother of yours!I thought you had shipped him off years and years ago to China?”

“So I did, Sir Charles,”Finglemore answered, rubbing his hands somewhat nervously.“But he never went there. Being an idle young dog, with a taste for amusement, he got for the time no further than Paris.Since then, he's hung about a bit, here, there, and everywhere, and done no particular good for himself or his family.But about three or four years ago he somehow‘struck ile':he went to South Africa, poaching on your preserves;and now he's back again—rich, married, and respectable.His wife, a nice little woman, has reformed him.Well, what can I do for you this morning?”

Charles has large interests in America, in Santa Fé and Topekas, and other big concerns;and he insisted on taking out several documents and vouchers connected in various ways with his widespread ventures there.He meant to go, he said, for complete rest and change, on a general tour of private inquiry—New York, Chicago, Colorado, the mining districts.It was a millionaire’s holiday.So he took all these valuables in a black japanned dispatch-box, which he guarded like a child with absurd precautions.He never allowed that box out of his sight one moment;and he gave me no peace as to its safety and integrity.It was a perfect fetish.“We must be cautious,”he said,“Sey, cautious!Especially in travelling.Recollect how that little curate spirited the diamonds out of Amelia’s jewel-case!I shall not let this box out of my sight.I shall stick to it myself, if we go to the bottom.”

We did not go to the bottom. It is the proud boast of the Cunard Company that it has“never lost a passenger's life”;and the captain would not consent to send the Etruria to Davy Jones's locker, merely in order to give Charles a chance of sticking to his dispatch-box undertrying circumstances.On the contrary, we had a delightful and uneventful passage;and we found our fellow-passengers most agreeable people.Charles, as Mr.Peter Porter, being freed for the moment from his terror of Colonel Clay, would have felt really happy, I believe—had it not been for the dispatch-box.He made friends from the first hour(quite after the fearless old fashion of the days before Colonel Clay had begun to embitter life for him)with a nice American doctor and his charming wife, on their way back to Kentucky.Dr.Elihu Quackenboss—that was his characteristically American name—had been studying medicine for a year in Vienna, and was now returning to his native State with a brain close crammed with all the latest bacteriological and antiseptic discoveries.His wife, a pretty and piquant little American, with a tip-tilted nose and the quaint sharpness of her countrywomen, amused Charles not a little.The funny way in which she would make room for him by her side on the bench on deck, and say, with a sweet smile,“You sit right here, Mr.Porter;the sun's just elegant,”delighted and fattered him.He was proud to fnd out that female attention was not always due to his wealth and title;and that plain Mr.Porter could command on his merits the same amount of blandishments as Sir Charles Vandrift, the famous millionaire, on his South African celebrity.

During the whole of that voyage, it was Mrs. Quackenboss here, and Mrs.Quackenboss there, and Mrs.Quackenboss the other place, till, for Amelia's sake, I was glad she was not on board to witness it.Long before we sighted Sandy Hook, I will admit, I was fairly sick of Charles's two-stringed harp—Mrs.Quackenboss and the dispatch-box.

Mrs. Quackenboss, it turned out, was an amateur artist, and she painted Sir Charles, on calm days on deck, in all possible attitudes.She seemed to fnd him a most attractive model.

The doctor, too, was a precious clever fellow. He knew something of chemistry—and of most other subjects, including, as I gathered, the human character.For he talked to Charles about various ideas of his, with which he wished to“liven up folks in Kentucky a bit,”on his return, till Charles conceived the highest possible regard for his intelligence and enterprise.“That's a go-ahead fellow, Sey!”he remarked to me one day.“Has the right sort of grit in him!Those Americans are the men.Wish I had a round hundred of them on my works in South Africa!”

That idea seemed to grow upon him. He was immensely taken with it.He had lately dismissed one of his chief superintendents at the Cloetedorp mine, and he seriously debated whether or not he should offer the post to the smart Kentuckian.For my own part, I am inclined to connect this fact with his expressed determination to visit his South African undertakings for three months yearly in future;and I am driven to suspect he felt life at Cloetedorp would be rendered much more tolerable by the agreeable society of a quaint and amusing American lady.

“If you offer it to him,”I said,“remember, you must disclose your personality.”

“Not at all,”Charles answered.“I can keep it dark for the present, till all is arranged for. I need only say I have interests in South Africa.”

So, one morning on deck, as we were approaching the Banks, he broached his scheme gently to the doctor and Mrs. Quackenboss.He remarked that he was connected with one of the biggest fnancial concerns in the Southern hemisphere;and that he would pay Elihu ffteen hundred a year to represent him at the diggings.

“What, dollars?”the lady said, smiling and accentuating the tip-tilted nose a little more.“Oh, Mr. Porter, it ain't good enough!”

“No, pounds, my dear madam,”Charles responded.“Pounds sterling, you know. In United States currency, seven thousand fve hundred.”

“I guess Elihu would just jump at it,”Mrs. Quackenboss replied, looking at him quizzically.

The doctor laughed.“You make a good bid, sir,”he said, in his slow American way, emphasising all the most unimportant words:“but you overlook one element. I am a man of science, not a speculator.I have trained myself for medical work, at considerable cost, in the best schools of Europe, and I do not propose to fing away the results of much arduous labour by throwing myself out elastically into a new line of work for which my faculties may not perhaps equally adapt me.”

(“How thoroughly American!”I murmured, in the background.)

Charles insisted;all in vain. Mrs.Quackenboss was impressed;but the doctor smiled always a sphinx-like smile, and reiterated his belief in the unfitness of mid-stream as an ideal place for swopping horses.The more he declined, and the better he talked, the more eager Charles became each day to secure him.And, as if on purpose to draw him on, the doctor each day gave more and more surprising proofs of his practical abilities.“I am not a specialist,”he said.“I just ketch the drift, appropriate the kernel, and let the rest slide.”

He could do anything, it really seemed, from shoeing a mule to conducting a camp-meeting;he was a capital chemist, a very sound surgeon, a fair judge of horseflesh, a first class euchre player, and a pleasing baritone. When occasion demanded he could occupy a pulpit.He had invented a cork-screw which brought him in a small revenue;and he was now engaged in the translation of a Polish work on the“Application of Hydrocyanic Acid to the Cure of Leprosy.”

Still, we reached New York without having got any nearer our goal, as regarded Dr. Quackenboss.He came to bid us good-bye at thequay, with that sphinx-like smile still playing upon his features.Charles clutched the dispatch-box with one hand, and Mrs.Quackenboss's little palm with the other.

“Don't tell us,”he said,“this is good-bye—for ever!”And his voice quite faltered.

“I guess so, Mr. Porter,”the pretty American replied, with a telling glance.“What hotel do you patronise?”

“The Murray Hill,”Charles responded.

“Oh my, ain't that odd?”Mrs. Quackenboss echoed.“The Murray Hill!Why, that's just where we're going too, Elihu!”

The upshot of which was that Charles persuaded them, before returning to Kentucky, to diverge for a few days with us to Lake George and Lake Champlain, where he hoped to over-persuade the recalcitrant doctor.

To Lake George therefore we went, and stopped at the excellent hotel at the terminus of the railway. We spent a good deal of our time on the light little steamers that ply between that point and the road to Ticonderoga.Somehow, the mountains mirrored in the deep green water reminded me of Lucerne;and Lucerne reminded me of the little curate.For the frst time since we left England a vague terror seized me.Could Elihu Quackenboss be Colonel Clay again, still dogging our steps through the opposite continent?

I could not help mentioning my suspicion to Charles—who, strange to say, pooh-poohed it. He had been paying great court to Mrs.Quackenboss that day, and was absurdly elated because the little American had rapped his knuckles with her fan and called him“a real silly.”

Next day, however, an odd thing occurred. We strolled out together, all four of us, along the banks of the lake, among woods just carpeted withstrange, triangular flowers—trilliums, Mrs.Quackenboss called them—and lined with delicate ferns in the frst green of springtide.

I began to grow poetical.(I wrote verses in my youth before I went to South Africa.)We threw ourselves on the grass, near a small mountain stream that descended among moss-clad boulders from the steep woods above us. The Kentuckian fung himself at full length on the sward, just in front of Charles.He had a strange head of hair, very thick and shaggy.I don't know why, but, of a sudden, it reminded me of the Mexican Seer, whom we had learned to remember as Colonel Clay's frst embodiment.At the same moment the same thought seemed to run through Charles's head;for, strange to say, with a quick impulse he leant forward and examined it.I saw Mrs.Quackenboss draw back in wonder.The hair looked too thick and close for nature.It ended abruptly, I now remembered, with a sharp line on the forehead.Could this, too, be a wig?It seemed very probable.

Even as I thought that thought, Charles appeared to form a sudden and resolute determination. With one lightning swoop he seized the doctor's hair in his powerful hand, and tried to lift it off bodily.He had made a bad guess.Next instant the doctor uttered a loud and terrifed howl of pain, while several of his hairs, root and all, came out of his scalp in Charles's hand, leaving a few drops of blood on the skin of the head in the place they were torn from.There was no doubt at all it was not a wig, but the Kentuckian's natural hirsute covering.

The scene that ensued I am powerless to describe. My pen is unequal to it.The doctor arose, not so much angry as astonished, white and incredulous.“What did you do that for, any way?”he asked, glaring fercely at my brother-in-law.Charles was all abject apology.He began by profusely expressing his regret, and offering to make any suitable reparation, monetary or otherwise.Then he revealed his whole hand.He admitted that he was Sir Charles Vandrift, the famous millionaire, and that he had suffered egregiously from the endless machinations of a certain Colonel Clay, a machiavellian rogue, who had hounded him relentlessly round the capitals of Europe.He described in graphic detail how the impostor got himself up with wigs and wax, so as to deceive even those who knew him intimately;and then he threw himself on Dr.Quackenboss's mercy, as a man who had been cruelly taken in so often that he could not help suspecting the best of men falsely.Mrs.Quackenboss admitted it was natural to have suspicions—”Especially,”she said, with candour,“as you're not the frst to observe the notable way Elihu's hair seems to originate from his forehead,”and she pulled it up to show us.But Elihu himself sulked on in the dumps:his dignity was offended.“If you wanted to know,”he said,“you might as well have asked me.Assault and battery is not the right way to test whether a citizen's hair is primitive or acquired.”

“It was an impulse,”Charles pleaded;“an instinctive impulse!”

“Civilised man restrains his impulses,”the doctor answered.“You have lived too long in South Africa, Mr. Porter—I mean, Sir Charles Vandrift, if that's the right way to address such a gentleman.You appear to have imbibed the habits and manners of the Kaffrs you lived among.”

For the next two days, I will really admit, Charles seemed more wretched than I could have believed it possible for him to be on somebody else's account. He positively grovelled.The fact was, he saw he had hurt Dr.Quackenboss's feelings, and—much to my surprise—he seemed truly grieved at it.If the doctor would have accepted a thousand pounds down to shake hands at once and forget the incident—in my opinion Charles would have gladly paid it.Indeed, he said as much in other words to the pretty American—for he could not insult her by offering her money.Mrs.Quackenboss did her best to make it up, for she was a kindly little creature, in spite of her roguishness;but Elihu stood aloof.Charles urged him still to go out to South Africa, increasing his bait to two thousand a year;yet the doctor was immovable.“No, no,”he said;“I had half decided to accept your offer—till that unfortunate impulse;but that settled the question.As an American citizen, I decline to become the representative of a British nobleman who takes such means of investigating questions which affect the hair and happiness of his fellow-creatures.”

I don't know whether Charles was most disappointed at missing the chance of so clever a superintendent for the mine at Cloetedorp, or elated at the novel description of himself as“a British nobleman;”which is not precisely our English idea of a colonial knighthood.

Three days later, accordingly, the Quackenbosses left the Lakeside Hotel. We were bound on an expedition up the lake ourselves, when the pretty little woman burst in with a dash to tell us they were leaving.She was charmingly got up in the neatest and completest of American travelling-dresses.Charles held her hand affectionately.“I'm sorry it's good-bye,”he said.“I have done my best to secure your husband.”

“You couldn't have tried harder than I did,”the little woman answered, and the tip-tilted nose looked quite pathetic;“for I just hate to be buried right down there in Kentucky!However, Elihu is the sort of man a woman can neither drive nor lead;so we've got to put up with him.”And she smiled upon us sweetly, and disappeared for ever.

Charles was disconsolate all that day. Next morning he rose, and announced his intention of setting out for the West on his tour of inspection.He would recreate by revelling in Colorado silver lodes.

We packed our own portmanteaus, for Charles had not brought even Simpson with him, and then we prepared to set out by the morning trainfor Saratoga.

Up till almost the last moment Charles nursed his dispatch-box. But as the“baggage-smashers”were taking down our luggage, and a chambermaid was lounging officiously about in search of a tip, he laid it down for a second or two on the centre table while he collected his other immediate impedimenta.He couldn't find his cigarette-case, and went back to the bedroom for it.I helped him hunt, but it had disappeared mysteriously.That moment lost him.When we had found the cigarette-case, and returned to the sitting-room—lo, and behold!the dispatch-box was missing!Charles questioned the servants, but none of them had noticed it.He searched round the room—not a trace of it anywhere.

“Why, I laid it down here just two minutes ago!”he cried. But it was not forthcoming.

“It'll turn up in time,”I said.“Everything turns up in the end—including Mrs. Quackenboss's nose.”

“Seymour,”said my brother-in-law,“your hilarity is inopportune.”

To say the truth, Charles was beside himself with anger. He took the elevator down to the“Bureau,”as they call it, and complained to the manager.The manager, a sharp-faced New Yorker, smiled as he remarked in a nonchalant way that guests with valuables were required to leave them in charge of the management, in which case they were locked up in the safe and duly returned to the depositor on leaving.Charles declared somewhat excitedly that he had been robbed, and demanded that nobody should be allowed to leave the hotel till the dispatch-box was discovered.The manager, quite cool, and obtrusively picking his teeth, responded that such tactics might be possible in an hotel of the European size, putting up a couple of hundred guests or so;but that an American house, with over a thousand visitors—many of whom came and went daily—could notundertake such a quixotic quest on behalf of a single foreign complainant.

That epithet,“foreign,”stung Charles to the quick. No Englishman can admit that he is anywhere a foreigner.“Do you know who I am, sir?”he asked, angrily.“I am Sir Charles Vandrift, of London—a member of the English Parliament.”

“You may be the Prince of Wales,”the man answered,“for all I care. You'll get the same treatment as anyone else, in America.But if you're Sir Charles Vandrift,”he went on, examining his books,“how does it come you've registered as Mr.Peter Porter?”

Charles grew red with embarrassment. The diffculty deepened.

The dispatch-box, always covered with a leather case, bore on its inner lid the name“Sir Charles Vandrift, K. C.M.G.,”distinctly painted in the orthodox white letters.This was a painful contretemps:he had lost his precious documents;he had given a false name;and he had rendered the manager supremely careless whether or not he recovered his stolen property.Indeed, seeing he had registered as Porter, and now“claimed”as Vandrift, the manager hinted in pretty plain language he very much doubted whether there had ever been a dispatch-box in the matter at all, or whether, if there were one, it had ever contained any valuable documents.

We spent a wretched morning. Charles went round the hotel, questioning everybody as to whether they had seen his dispatch-box.Most of the visitors resented the question as a personal imputation;one fiery Virginian, indeed, wanted to settle the point then and there with a six-shooter.Charles telegraphed to New York to prevent the shares and coupons from being negotiated;but his brokers telegraphed back that, though they had stopped the numbers as far as possible, they did so with reluctance, as they were not aware of Sir Charles Vandrift being now inthe country.Charles declared he wouldn't leave the hotel till he recovered his property;and for myself, I was inclined to suppose we would have to remain there accordingly for the term of our natural lives—and longer.

That night again we spent at the Lakeside Hotel. In the small hours of the morning, as I lay awake and meditated, a thought broke across me.I was so excited by it that I rose and rushed into my brother-in-law's bedroom.“Charles, Charles!”I exclaimed,“we have taken too much for granted once more.Perhaps Elihu Quackenboss carried off your dispatch-box!”

“You fool,”Charles answered, in his most unamiable manner(he applies that word to me with increasing frequency);“is that what you've waked me up for?Why, the Quackenbosses left Lake George on Tuesday morning, and I had the dispatch-box in my own hands on Wednesday.”

“We have only their word for it,”I cried.“Perhaps they stopped on—and walked off with it afterwards!”

“We will inquire to-morrow,”Charles answered.“But I confess I don't think it was worth waking me up for. I could stake my life on that little woman's integrity.”

We did inquire next morning—with this curious result:it turned out that, though the Quackenbosses had left the Lakeside Hotel on Tuesday, it was only for the neighbouring Washington House, which they quitted on Wednesday morning, taking the same train for Saratoga which Charles and I had intended to go by. Mrs.Quackenboss carried a small brown paper parcel in her hands—in which, under the circumstances, we had little difficulty in recognising Charles's dispatch-box, loosely enveloped.

Then I knew how it was done. The chambermaid, loitering about the room for a tip, was—Mrs.Quackenboss!It needed but an apron totransform her pretty travelling-dress into a chambermaid's costume;and in any of those huge American hotels one chambermaid more or less would pass in the crowd without fear of challenge.

“We will follow them on to Saratoga,”Charles cried.“Pay the bill at once, Seymour.”

“Certainly,”I answered.“Will you give me some money?”

Charles clapped his hand to his pockets.“All, all in the dispatch-box,”he murmured.

That tied us up another day, till we could get some ready cash from our agents in New York;for the manager, already most suspicious at the change of name and the accusation of theft, peremptorily refused to accept Charles's cheque, or anything else, as he phrased it, except“hard money.”So we lingered on perforce at Lake George in ignoble inaction.

“Of course,”I observed to my brother-in-law that evening,“Elihu Quackenboss was Colonel Clay.”

“I suppose so,”Charles murmured resignedly.“Everybody I meet seems to be Colonel Clay nowadays—except when I believe they are, in which case they turn out to be harmless nobodies. But who would have thought it was he after I pulled his hair out?Or after he persisted in his trick, even when I suspected him—which, he told us at Seldon, was against his frst principles?”

A light dawned upon me again. But, warned by previous ebullitions, I expressed myself this time with becoming timidity.“Charles,”I suggested,“may we not here again have been the slaves of a preconception?We thought Forbes-Gaskell was Colonel Clay—for no better reason than because he wore a wig.We thought Elihu Quackenboss wasn't Colonel Clay—for no better reason than because he didn't wear one.But how do we know he ever wears wigs?Isn't it possible, after all, that those hintshe gave us about make-up, when he was Medhurst the detective, were framed on purpose, so as to mislead and deceive us?And isn't it possible what he said of his methods at the Seamew's island that day was similarly designed in order to hoodwink us?”

“That is so obvious, Sey,”my brother-in-law observed, in a most aggrieved tone,“that I should have thought any secretary worth his salt would have arrived at it instantly.”

I abstained from remarking that Charles himself had not arrived at it even now, until I told him. I thought that to say so would serve no good purpose.So I merely went on:“Well, it seems to me likely that when he came as Medhurst, with his hair cut short, he was really wearing his own natural crop, in its simplest form and of its native hue.By now it has had time to grow long and bushy.When he was David Granton, no doubt, he clipped it to an intermediate length, trimmed his beard and moustache, and dyed them all red, to a fne Scotch colour.As the Seer, again, he wore his hair much the same as Elihu's;only, to suit the character, more combed and fuffy.As the little curate, he darkened it and plastered it down.As Von Lebenstein, he shaved close, but cultivated his moustache to its utmost dimensions, and dyed it black after the Tyrolese fashion.He need never have had a wig;his own natural hair would throughout have been suffcient, allowing for intervals.”

“You're right, Sey,”my brother-in-law said, growing almost friendly.“I will do you the justice to admit that's the nearest thing we have yet struck out to an idea for tracking him.”

On the Saturday morning a letter arrived which relieved us a little from our momentary tension. It was from our enemy himself—but most different in tone from his previous bantering communications:—

“Saratoga, Friday.

“SIR CHARLES VANDRIFT—Herewith I return your dispatch-box, intact, with the papers untouched.As you will readily observe, it has not even been opened.

“You will ask me the reason for this strange conduct.Let me be serious for once, and tell you truthfully.

“White Heather and I(for I will stick to Mr.Wentworth’s judicious sobriquet)came over on the Etruria with you, intending, as usual, to make something out of you.We followed you to Lake George—for I had‘forced a card,’after my habitual plan, by inducing you to invite us, with the fixed intention of playing a particular trick upon you.It formed no part of our original game to steal your dispatch-box;that I consider a simple and elementary trick unworthy the skill of a practised operator.We persisted in the preparations for our coup, till you pulled my hair out.Then, to my great surprise, I saw you exhibited a degree of regret and genuine compunction with which, till that moment, I could never have credited you.You thought you had hurt my feelings;and you behaved more like a gentleman than I had previously known you to do.You not only apologised, but you also endeavoured voluntarily to make reparation.That produced an effect upon me.You may not believe it, but I desisted accordingly from the trick I had prepared for you.

“I might also have accepted your offer to go to South Africa, where I could soon have cleared out, having embezzled thousands.But, then, I should have been in a position of trust and responsibility—and I am not quite rogue enough to rob you under those conditions.

“Whatever else I am, however, I am not a hypocrite.I do not pretend to be anything more than a common swindler.If I return you your papers intact, it is only on the same principle as that of the

Australian bushranger, who made a lady a present of her own watch because she had sung to him and reminded him of England.In other words, he did not take it from her.In like manner, when I found you had behaved, for once, like a gentleman, contrary to my expectation, I declined to go on with the trick I then meditated.Which does not mean to say I may not hereafter play you some other.That will depend upon your future good behaviour.

“Why, then, did I get White Heather to purloin your dispatch-box, with intent to return it?Out of pure lightness of heart?Not so;but in order to let you see I really meant it.If I had gone off with no swag, and then written you this letter, you would not have believed me.You would have thought it was merely another of my failures.But when I have actually got all your papers into my hands, and give them up again of my own free will, you must see that I mean it.

“I will end, as I began, seriously.My trade has not quite crushed out of me all germs or relics of better feeling;and when I see a millionaire behave like a man, I feel ashamed to take advantage of that gleam of manliness.

“Yours, with a tinge of penitence, but still a rogue,

CUTHBERT CLAY.”

The frst thing Charles did on receiving this strange communication was to bolt downstairs and inquire for the dispatch-box. It had just arrived by Eagle Express Company.Charles rushed up to our rooms again, opened it feverishly, and counted his documents.When he found them all safe, he turned to me with a hard smile.“This letter,”he said, with quivering lips,“I consider still more insulting than all his previous ones.”

But, for myself, I really thought there was a ring of truth about it. Colonel Clay was a rogue, no doubt—a most unblushing rogue;but even a rogue, I believe, has his better moments.

And the phrase about the“position of trust and responsibility”touched Charles to the quick, I suppose, in re the Slump in Cloetedorp Golcondas. Though, to be sure, it was a hit at me as well, over the ten per cent commission.

“西,”我内兄第二年春天说道,“我受够伦敦了!咱们立刻收拾行囊,远走高飞,到一个别人不认识我的地方去吧!”

“去火星还是水星?”我问道,“要知道,在咱们这个特殊的星球上,要让查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士不露锋芒、不为人知,还真有点困难。”

“哦,我会处理好的,”查尔斯应道,“你要是成天到晚都得‘举止得体’,我真想知道,当个百万富翁究竟有什么好处?我要隐姓埋名去旅行。这些骗子一而再,再而三地跟着我,我彻底受够了。”

实际上,那年冬天极其难熬。克雷上校也已有几个月不见踪影了,这倒是真的。就我而言,我必须承认,因为我没有什么损失,我相当怀念他平日里给我们带来的刺激。不过查尔斯早已疑神疑鬼、草木皆兵,他始终秉着“不信任何人,不信任何事”这一原则,生活已经成了他的负担。他已识破克雷上校的成千上万种伪装,不过那些人都不可能是克雷上校,他还深信自己把对方吓跑十几次之多。有时对方扮成肥胖的酒吧侍者、高挑的警察、洗衣婆的儿子、律师的书记员、英格兰银行的小吏,还有收水费的。就像中世纪的圣徒能随时随地看到恶魔一样,查尔斯也能时时刻刻看到变化多端的上校。我和艾米莉亚真的开始担心他还能否像以前那么精明。我们觉得,除非克雷上校少给我们惹点事,否则查尔斯的头脑会逐渐沦落到一位平庸的证券交易所冒险投机者的水平。

因此,当我内兄宣布他打算在随后的这个星期六隐姓埋名,到某个不为人知的地方时,我和艾米莉亚感到一阵轻松,从长期的紧张状态中解脱出来了。尤其是艾米莉亚——因为她不同他一起出去。

“想休息休息,清静清静,”早饭时,他放下《晨报》对我们说,“让我到大西洋班轮的甲板上去吧!没有信函、电报,不谈股票、股份,也没什么《泰晤士报》,也没什么《星期六报》。这些都让人烦透了!”

“世事纷繁无停歇。”我兴高采烈地表示同意。不过很遗憾,没人体会到我引用这句话的精妙之处。

不得不说,为了绝对保密,查尔斯费了不少心思。他让我不要提他的名字,而是以我自己的名义写信订好伊特鲁里亚号开往纽约下一航班最好的特等舱——在船中部的主甲板上。这次的目的地,他只跟艾米莉亚说了,艾米莉亚警告西塞琳,无论如何绝不能将此事告诉其他用人。为了进一步隐姓埋名,查尔斯乔装成彼得·波特先生,并用这个名字在利物浦订了伊特鲁里亚号的船票。

不过,出发的前一天,我同查尔斯一起去伦敦,同他在老宽街亚当斯厅的经纪人会个面。老搭档芬戈摩尔急忙上前迎接我们。我们走进他的私人房间时,一位长相不错的年轻人便站起身来,信步离去。“好哇,芬戈摩尔,”查尔斯说,“刚刚那位就是你的浪荡兄弟吧?我还以为你早就把他打发到中国去了呢!”

“是把他打发走了,查尔斯爵士,”芬戈摩尔一边答道,一边略显紧张地搓着手,“可他压根儿就没去那个地方。他是个游手好闲的青年,喜欢吃喝玩乐,当时去的最远的地方就是巴黎。从那以后,他到处闲逛,但于己于家无益。不过大约三四年前,不知怎的,他‘开窍了’:去了南非,在你的保护区里偷猎,现在又回来了——有钱了,结了婚,有头有脸。他那漂亮的小娇妻让他洗了心革了面。对了,你今早前来有何贵干?”

查尔斯在美国圣达菲还有托皮卡有不少股份,还有些其他重要事项,所以他坚持带一些与他那广布的商业投资相关的各种公文、证件等材料。他说,这次出行纯粹为了休息、转换心情,是一次普通的个人调查之旅——转转纽约、芝加哥、科罗拉多、采矿区等。这是百万富翁式的休假。于是他把这些所有的贵重物品装进了一只黑色的镀漆公文箱,像小孩一样守着,那股小心劲儿真是荒唐。他的视线一刻也不离开那箱子,为了确保箱子完好无损,也扰得我不得安宁。这真是变态。“我们千万要小心,”他说,“西,要小心!尤其是出门在外。想想那个小副牧师是如何从艾米莉亚的珠宝箱中偷走钻石的!我绝不允许这个箱子离开我的视线。就算咱们葬身海底,我也要带着它。”

我们没有葬身海底。“从未让任何旅客丧生”,这正是丘纳德公司感到自豪之处。仅仅为了能让查尔斯在情况危急时抱着自己的公文箱,就让伊特鲁里亚号葬身海底,船长才不会同意。情况刚好相反,我们的行程很愉快,同行的旅客也都非常易于相处,没什么事情发生。查尔斯化名彼得·波特先生,暂时不用担心克雷上校来骗自己。我觉得要是没有那公文箱,查尔斯一定会非常开心。旅行一开始,他就同一对和善的美国医生夫妇交了朋友(就跟以前一样,无所顾忌,那时克雷上校还没出来扰乱他的生活),那夫妇二人准备回肯塔基。伊莱休·夸肯鲍斯医生——一个典型的美国名字——在维也纳学了一年的医学,现在要回到自己的祖国,他满脑子装的都是细菌学以及抗菌剂方面的最新发现。他妻子是位漂亮且风趣的美国人,身材娇小,鼻头上翘,还有美国女性的机智和精明,这让查尔斯为之倾倒。在甲板的条凳上,她在身旁为查尔斯腾出点空儿,还一边露出甜甜的微笑,一边说道:“波特先生,你就坐这儿吧;太阳可真好。”查尔斯很吃这一套,甚是高兴。他发现女性并不总是因为他的财富还有地位才注意他;还有,他作为一位普普通通的波特先生,别人对他的魅力的欣赏不亚于对大名鼎鼎的南非百万富翁查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士的敬仰,这让他感到自豪。

航程从头到尾,查尔斯张口闭口全都是夸肯鲍斯夫人这,夸肯鲍斯夫人那,幸好艾米莉亚没有在甲板上看到这一切。说实话,早在抵达桑迪岬以前,我就受够了查尔斯天天挂在嘴边的那两件东西——夸肯鲍斯夫人,还有那只公文箱。

我们发现,夸肯鲍斯夫人是位业余画家,风和日丽的时候,她会在甲板上给查尔斯画肖像,极尽各种姿态。好像在她看来,查尔斯是位魅力非凡的模特。

那位医生也是不可多得,非常聪明。他对化学有些研究——许多其他的学科(我猜,也包括人类性格)也略有涉猎,因为他跟查尔斯谈了自己的想法,说回去打算用这些想法“让肯塔基那儿的人变得有活力一些”,说得查尔斯对他的这些想法和事业赞不绝口。“西,那个家伙能说到做到!”查尔斯有一天对我说,“他说一不二!这种美国人才是真正的男人。多希望我在南非的工矿里能有上百来号这种人!”

查尔斯的这一愿望变得越来越强烈,他都有点沉醉于其中了。他最近辞掉了克罗地多普矿上的一名主管,正在认真地考虑要不要把这个位置留给那位精明的肯塔基人。就我而言,我倒是觉得这件事同他说过的今后每年要有三个月待在南非的公司有关。我也开始怀疑,他是不是觉得能有位离奇且有趣的美国妇人做伴,在克罗地多普的日子会好过很多。

“不要忘了,”我说,“你要给他这一职位,就得暴露自己的身份。”

“大可不必,”查尔斯回答,“在一切安排妥当之前,我可以暂时隐瞒自己的身份,只需说,我在南非有些股份就行了。”

于是,一天早上,我们快要到班克斯镇时,查尔斯在甲板上向医生夫妇二人小心地说出了自己的想法。他说自己同南半球最大的金融财团有联系,会每年付伊莱休一千五百块让他到矿区代自己做事。

“什么?美元吗?”那女士问道,边问边微笑着,这一笑鼻头就翘得更厉害了,“啊,波特先生,这不够!”

“不是美元,夫人,是英镑,”查尔斯回应道,“英镑,换成美元的话,合七千五百美元。”

“我想,伊莱休肯定会毫不犹豫就接受的。”夸肯鲍斯夫人边说边探询地盯着丈夫。

医生大笑。“先生,你出的价码不错,”他一字一顿,以美国人的方式缓缓地说道,“可是你忽略了一点。我是科学家,不是投机者。我付出了相当大的成本在欧洲最好的大学接受医学训练,我才不会把自己辛辛苦苦获得的成果抛到一边,转身跳到另一个新行当里。再说了,能不能适应这个新行当还是个问题。”

(“彻头彻尾的美国佬。”我在背后小声咕哝了一句。)

查尔斯一再坚持,不过一切都是徒劳。夸肯鲍斯夫人心动了,不过那医生却总是面带狮身人面像一般神秘莫测的笑容,他还反复重申,自己坚信半路改行就如同中途换马、危局易人——不合适。他越是拒绝,说得越头头是道,查尔斯就越想说服他。另外,医生每天都会拿出越来越多让人意想不到的证据,来证明自己在各方面的能力,好像故意要引诱查尔斯。“我不是什么专家,”他说,“我只是抓住重点,抓住核心,其余的就随它去吧。”

他好像真的无所不能,能给骡子钉掌钉,还能组织一场野营聚会。他是位了不起的化学家、无可挑剔的外科医生、品鉴马肉的行家、玩尤克牌的高手,还是讨人喜欢的男中音。如有需要,他还能登台布道。他发明了一种拔塞器,让自己小赚了一笔。当前,他正在翻译一篇波兰语的文章《论氢氰酸在麻风病治疗中的应用》。

不过,当我们抵达纽约时,我们在说服夸肯鲍斯医生方面并没有什么新进展。在码头上,他上前同我们道别,脸上还挂着那副神秘莫测的笑容。查尔斯则一手抓着公文箱,另一只手攥着夸肯鲍斯夫人的小手。

“千万别说这是最后的见面了!”他说道,声音颤抖得厉害。

“恐怕真是最后一次了,波特先生。”那位漂亮的美国妇人答道,说着递了个眼色,“你们住在哪家酒店?”

“莫里山酒店。”查尔斯答道。

“天哪,不是太巧了吗?”夸肯鲍斯夫人应道,“莫里山酒店!巧不巧!伊莱休,咱们也住在那家酒店!”

查尔斯劝他们在回肯塔基州之前,抽出几天时间陪我们一起去乔治湖还有尚普兰湖转转,希望能在那儿说服这位倔强的医生。

于是,我们去了乔治湖,住进了位于铁路终点站的一家很不错的酒店。在酒店与通往泰孔德罗加的路之间有通勤的小型轻载蒸汽船,我们很多时间是在那上面度过的。不知怎的,映在碧绿湖水中的山峦让我想起了卢塞恩,进而又想到了小副牧师。自打我们离开英国以来,我第一次隐隐地感到被恐惧包围。夸肯鲍斯会不会又是克雷上校乔装的,一直跟着我们来到了大洋彼岸?

我忍不住把这一想法跟查尔斯提了提——很奇怪,他却对此嗤之以鼻。他那天一直在向夸肯鲍斯夫人大献殷勤,那位美国小妇人用扇子敲了敲他的指节,叫了他一声“小傻瓜”,他就兴奋得不知所以了。

不过,第二天发生了一件奇怪的事。我们四人一起沿着湖畔散步,湖的四周全是树木,树下覆了一层奇异的三角形的花——夸肯鲍斯夫人称之为延龄草——还有一排排漂亮的蕨类植物,它们是春天里第一批冒出绿色的植物。

我开始诗兴大发。(年轻时,去南非前我写过诗。)我们躺在草地上,身旁是一小股山溪,溪水从上方矗立的树林里沿着满是青苔的石块中间流下来。那位肯塔基人全身舒展地躺在草地上,就在查尔斯的前方。他留了一头奇怪的头发,非常浓密、蓬松。不知为何,这突然让我想到了那位墨西哥先知,他是克雷上校的第一个化身,我们一直记着。就在这时,查尔斯头脑中好像也冒出了同样的想法,因为,说来也怪,他一时兴起,就俯身向前,仔细观察那头发。我看到夸肯鲍斯夫人感到纳闷,还往后退了退。那头发太浓密,不像是真的。我现在还记得,他前额处的发际线十分整齐。这会不会也是假发呢?似乎极有可能。

正当我思量这件事时,查尔斯好像突然下定了决心。他用他那有力的手以迅雷不及掩耳之势一把抓住医生的头发,想使劲把它扯掉。这次他猜错了。接着,医生疼得号叫起来,听得人毛骨悚然,几根头发从头皮上被连根拔起,攥在查尔斯手上,头皮上被拔掉头发的地方还有几滴血。毫无疑问,这浓密、蓬松的头发不是假发,是那位肯塔基人天生的。

接下来的场面,我已无力描述,任何文字都显得苍白。医生起身,与其说是生气,倒不如说是感到震惊;他面色苍白,一副难以置信的神情。“你究竟想干吗?”他问道,生气地瞪着我内兄。查尔斯不停地赔礼道歉,不断地忏悔,主动提出要做些适当的补偿,不管是通过金钱还是其他方式。接着,他便把秘密和盘托出,说自己是查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士,就是那位知名的百万富翁,有个叫克雷上校的人总是不断地用阴谋诡计骗他,让他深受其苦;那个克雷上校是个狡猾的无赖,在全欧洲不断地跟踪他,一刻也不消停。他又详尽地描述了那个骗子是如何用假发和蜡来乔装的,甚至连最亲近的人都认不出来。接着他又请求夸肯鲍斯医生原谅他,说自己被骗得太多且太惨了,有时也冤枉了一些最正派的人。夸肯鲍斯夫人说怀疑也是正常的——她说得很坦诚:“尤其是伊莱休的头发好像是从前额冒出来的,很引人注意,早就有人发现这一点了。”她还把他的头发撩起来给我们看。不过伊莱休伤了脸面,又气又恼。“你要是想知道,”他说,“不妨问一下我。要想知道一个人的头发是不是真的,进行人身攻击这种方式可不合适。”

“是一时冲动,”查尔斯赔礼道,“本能的冲动!”

“文明人会抑制冲动,”医生回应道,“你在南非住得太久了,波特先生——我是说,查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士,不知道咱们面前的这种绅士还配不配得上这一名号。你貌似染上了与你共同生活的南非黑人的行为习惯。”

不得不说,在接下来的两天里,我不敢相信查尔斯竟然会因为其他人而如此情绪低落。他确确实实放下了身段。因为,他意识到自己伤了夸肯鲍斯医生的感情,并且——让我大为惊奇的是——他貌似由衷地对此感到伤心。如果给医生一千英镑能让双方立即握手言和,不计前嫌,我觉得查尔斯肯定会乐于这么做。实际上,他已经通过其他方式向夸肯鲍斯夫人表达了此意——因为他不能说给她钱,以免羞辱了她。夸肯鲍斯夫人也尽自己所能来调解此事,她虽然有些淘气,但心肠不坏;不过伊莱休对此却敬而远之。查尔斯仍继续催他去南非,把价码开到了每年两千英镑,不过医生仍不为所动。“不行,不行,”他答道,“我本来快打算接受你的提议了——可是发生了那件倒霉事,不过也好,这件事也就就此作罢。作为一位美国公民,我拒绝做某位英国贵族的代表,他那调查问题的方式不仅让我丢了些头发,还让我丢了心情。”

我不知道查尔斯是否会因为克罗地多普矿失去一位如此精明的主管而大失所望,还是会因为第一次有人称他为“某位英国贵族”而感到高兴,要知道英国人可不认为殖民地的爵士是什么贵族。

三天后,夸肯鲍斯夫妇二人按照计划要离开湖畔酒店。我们准备自己到湖上游玩一番,这时那位漂亮的小妇人突然进来,说他们要走了。她穿了一身美式旅行衣,干干净净、整整齐齐,十分迷人。查尔斯深情地握住她的手。“真遗憾,”他说,“现在得说再见了,我已尽了全力来说服你丈夫。”

“我比你费的口舌还多,”那妇人答道,她那上翘的鼻子更显得楚楚动人,“因为我不愿意在肯塔基待一辈子!不过,伊莱休这人,对女的软硬都不吃,所以我们只能忍忍吧。”她冲我们甜甜一笑,就再也不见了踪影。

查尔斯那天一整天都郁郁不乐。第二天早上起床,他说打算向西出发做些调查。科罗拉多的白银矿脉会让他沉醉其中。

查尔斯此行连辛普森都没带,我们只能自己收拾旅行皮箱,然后准备出发,乘早班列车去萨拉托加。

查尔斯自始至终一直在小心地看护着他那只公文箱。不过在“行李搬运工”把我们的行李带下去时,有位女服务员懒洋洋地在周围转来转去,想要小费。他把公文箱在中间的桌子上放了一会儿,就自己去收拾其他随身行李了。他的烟盒不见了,就回到卧室找找。我帮他一起找,可是那烟盒就是神秘地消失了。他一时之间不知所措。等我们找到烟盒回到客厅时——看哪!公文箱不见了!查尔斯问了几个服务生,都说没看见。他又在屋子里找来找去——一点影子也没有。

“可是,我在两分钟前明明就把它放在这儿的!”他叫道。不过叫也没用。

“到时候,箱子自己就出来了,”我说,“一切东西到头来都会冒出(翘起)来的——夸肯鲍斯夫人的鼻子也不例外。”

“西摩,”我内兄答道,“你这玩笑开得可真是时候。”

说实在的,查尔斯当时气疯了。他坐电梯下楼到所谓的“办事处”(他们是这么叫的),向经理投诉了此事。那位经理是个纽约人,脸庞轮廓分明,一边微笑一边漠然地说道,客人携带的贵重物品应当按照要求交予酒店保管,酒店会将物品锁到保险箱中,待客人离开时再归还给他们。查尔斯情绪有点激动,说自己被抢了,还说找不到公文箱,所有人都不能离开酒店半步。那位经理相当冷静,一边冒冒失失地剔着牙,一边回应道,这在欧洲那种规模的酒店也许可行,只有大约几百位客人;不过,这是美国的酒店,住着一千多名旅客——每天都有人来有人走——不会因为某个外国人的要求,而采取这种不切实际的措施。

“外国人”这个字眼戳到了查尔斯的痛处。不管在哪儿,没有哪位英国人会承认自己是外国人。“先生,你知道我是谁吗?”查尔斯生气地问,“我是来自伦敦的查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士——英国国会议员。”

“你也可能是英国王子,”那人回敬道,“这与我又有何干?在美国,你同其他人的待遇一样。不过,话又说回来,要是你是查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士,”他继续道,手里翻着名册,“为什么要登记成彼得·波特先生?”

查尔斯窘得满脸通红。又多了一层麻烦。

那只公文箱一直放在皮箱里,盖子内侧用白色标准字体清清楚楚地写着“查尔斯·凡德里夫特一等勋爵士”。这场意外真把查尔斯害惨了:他丢了宝贵的文件,用了假名字,并且把酒店经理惹得已经毫不在乎他到底有没有找回丢失的财物。实际上,经理见他用“波特”登记,现在又“宣称”自己是查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士,已经非常怀疑到底有没有这么一只公文箱;还有,即使有这么一只公文箱,也怀疑里面到底有没有什么贵重的文件。经理虽然没有直说,但已经把意思暗示得很清楚了。

那天早上我们很狼狈。查尔斯在酒店见人就问有没有看到他那只公文箱。大部分房客觉得这问题有辱个人声誉,十分恼火;一位暴躁的弗吉尼亚人掏出左轮手枪,要立刻把问题就地解决。查尔斯给纽约方面发电报,防止股票和息票被别人转卖,但他的经纪人回电说,虽然他们已经尽快冻结了这些票据,不过做得不太情愿,因为他们不知道查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士现在就在美国。查尔斯放出话,找不回丢失的东西他绝不离开酒店。就我而言,我感觉我们在有生之年——甚至在更长一段时间内,得一直待在那个地方了。

那天晚上,我们还是住在湖畔酒店。在清晨的几个小时里,我在床上躺着,琢磨着这件事,突然冒出个想法。这让我非常兴奋,便起身冲进查尔斯的卧室。“查尔斯,查尔斯!”我喊道,“咱们又一次太想当然了。说不定是伊莱休·夸肯鲍斯把你的公文箱拿走了!”

“你个笨蛋,”查尔斯回道,语气很不客气(这个词,他冲我说得越来越频繁了),“你把我吵醒就为了这个?想一想,夸肯鲍斯夫妇在星期二早上离开的乔治湖,可星期三的时候公文箱还在我的手上呢。”

“他们只是嘴上这么说说而已,”我大声说道,“也许他们当时没有走——后来才把公文箱偷走了!”

“咱们明天问问,”查尔斯应道,“不过,说真的,我觉得你不该为这事把我吵醒。那小妇人的人品,我敢用生命担保。”

我们第二天问了问——得到的回复让人感到蹊跷:原来,虽然夸肯鲍斯夫妇星期二离开了湖畔酒店,但他们只是搬到了附近的华盛顿酒店,直到星期三早上才离开,坐同一班火车去了萨拉托加,正是我和查尔斯打算乘坐的那列火车。夸肯鲍斯夫人手里拿了个棕色的小纸质包裹——这样一来,我们不难猜出,那里面就是查尔斯的公文箱,只是包得有些松。

我知道这是怎么一回事了。那位在房间里晃来晃去要小费的女服务员就是——夸肯鲍斯夫人!只需一件围裙,就能让她那漂亮的旅行装束变成女服务员的一身行头。在美国任何一家大酒店里,女服务员在人群中穿梭都大可不必担心被识破。

“咱们跟着他们,一起去萨拉托加,”查尔斯叫道,“马上把账单结清,西摩。”

“好的,”我答道,“你能不能给我点钱?”

查尔斯拍拍口袋,咕哝了句:“所有的钱都在那只公文箱里。”

这件事又耽误了我们一天,一直到后来,我们才从在纽约的代理人那里拿到了一些现金。那位酒店经理,对查尔斯改名换姓、声称失窃早就深表怀疑,便趾高气扬地拒绝接受查尔斯用支票之类的付款,用他的话说,只认“硬通货”。于是,我们只好低三下四地在湖畔酒店继续待着,什么也做不了。

“毫无疑问,”当天晚上我对查尔斯说,“伊莱休·夸肯鲍斯就是克雷上校。”

“我猜也是,”查尔斯顺着我的话咕哝了一句,“我现在碰到的所有人好像都是克雷上校——除了我确信他们就是的时候,这个时候他们又变成了无辜的路人。我都把他的头发揪下来了,谁还能想到是他呢?我甚至都怀疑他了——他在塞尔登跟我们说过,这违背了他的首要原则——可谁又能想得到,他还能把戏接着演下去?”

我又突然灵光一闪。不过,想到上一次说话口无遮拦,这次我说话时适当地谨慎起来。“查尔斯,”我说道,“咱们这次不是又受了偏见的左右了吗?我们之前认为福布斯—盖斯克尔是克雷上校——理由就是他戴了假发。这次我们觉得伊莱休·夸肯鲍斯不是克雷上校——理由仅仅是他没戴假发。问题是,我们怎么知道克雷上校戴不戴假发?有没有这种可能:当他还是梅德赫斯特,那个私人侦探时,他给我们的关于乔装的那些提示,是故意设的一个圈套,目的就是要误导和欺骗我们?有没有可能,他那天在海鸥岛提到的那些方法也同样是为了打算骗我们一把?”

“西,这太明显了,”我内兄评价道,语气极为不满,“我觉得任何一位称职的秘书都应该立刻想到这一点。”

即便现在,在我没告诉查尔斯之前,他自己也一直没明白这是怎么一回事。不过,这一点我没说。我觉得说出来不会有什么好处。于是,我又继续道:“对了,我觉得他乔装成梅德赫斯特时把头发剪短了,那是他自身天生的短发,没有任何修饰。这段时间以来,它足以长得长而密了。他乔装成大卫·格兰顿时,不用说,就把头发剪到中等长度,修了修下巴还有两鬓的胡子,并且全染成红色,纯正的苏格兰人胡子的颜色。咱们再回到他乔装成先知的时候,那时,他的头发和伊莱休基本一样,只不过为了让自己打扮得更像,那时头发梳得更整齐也更蓬松罢了。乔装成小副牧师时,他把头发的颜色染深,又用发油抚平。乔装成凡·莱本斯坦时,他把头发剪得很短,还尽量蓄络腮胡子,并且按照蒂罗尔的时尚染成了黑色。他自始至终从不需要什么假发,考虑到每次事件中间的时间间隔,他自己天生的头发就完全够用了。”

“西,你说得对,”我内兄说道,态度变得极其友好,“我得替你说句公道话,这是咱们目前在追踪上校这件事上得出的最靠谱的想法。”

星期六早上,我们收到一封信,稍微缓解了一下我们当时的紧张情绪。发信人还是我们的死对头——不过语气同以往大为不同,不再是揶揄和嘲讽:

萨拉托加,星期五

查尔斯·凡德里夫特爵士:

我现在将公文箱原封不动地归还于你,里面的文件丝毫未动。箱子没有开启过,你一眼就能看出来。

你也许会问,我为什么会有这么奇怪的举动。这一次,我认认真真地把实话告诉你。

我和“白石南花”(温特沃斯先生起的这个绰号很合适,我会继续用下去)同你一起登上伊特鲁里亚号,同以往一样,想从你身上捞点东西。我们同你俩一起登上乔治湖——因为我按照我们以往的计划,诱使你邀请我们,算是“迫牌”,一直打算再耍你一次。按照计划,我们原本没有打算偷你的公文箱,我觉得这种小儿科的把戏不值得我这老将出马。我们一直按照原计划准备,直到后来,你把我的头发拽了下来。我当时很诧异,因为我看到你表现出了某种歉意,还有发自内心的悔恨,以前我根本想不到你会这样。你自己觉得伤害了我的感情,并且你的言行举止比我所了解的以往任何时候都更像位绅士。你不仅道了歉,还主动要求做些补偿。这让我改变了主意。你也许不信,不过我还是就此放弃了之前准备骗你的计划。

我原本也可以接受你的邀请去南非,到那里先把钱拿到手,然后很快就可以脱身。不过,当时我肩负着信任与责任——我是有点无赖,但还没无赖到在这种情形下仍要继续骗你。

暂且不论我这个人其他方面如何,不过我不是什么伪君子。我只是一个普通的骗子而已。我把你的文件完整奉还,想法同澳大利亚的那位绿林好汉一样:他把一位女士自己的手表送还给她,因为她唱歌给他听,让他想起了英格兰。换句话说,他没有将手表从她身上偷走。同样,我发现你这次的表现像个绅士,仅此一次,完全出乎我所料,于是我就打算放弃当时正在酝酿的计划了。不过,这并不是说我今后不会以其他方式来骗你,这还得看你今后的表现。

为什么我让“白石南花”偷走你的公文箱,然后又还回来?仅仅是因为我心情好才这么做的吗?不是。这么做是为了让你知道,我说的这一切都是真的。要是我两手空空就走了,然后再给你写这封信,你肯定不会相信我的话。你肯定会觉得,我这么做只是因为这次又失手了。不过,当我把你的文件拿到手,再主动归还给你时,你肯定就会明白我说的是真的了。

就像信的开头那样,信的结尾我也认认真真地说上几句。我虽然干这一行,但还存有一定的良知。当我看到一位百万富翁有着男子汉的担当时,我要是再利用这一点敲他一杠,那我也就感到无地自容了。

略表悔意,但我依然是个无赖。

克雷上校奉上

收到这封奇怪的信时,查尔斯的第一反应就是冲到楼下去找公文箱。鹰递公司刚刚送过来,他又急匆匆地跑回我们房间,迫不及待地打开并清点文件。当看到文件都在时,他转过身对着我淡然一笑,嘴唇颤抖,说道:“这封信,我觉得比他以往任何一封都更羞辱人。”

不过,就我而言,我真觉得信中的话不无道理。克雷上校是个无赖,这一点不容置疑——他还是个极为恬不知耻的无赖。可是,我相信,即便无赖也有心地善良的一面。

我想,“肩负着信任与责任”这几个字眼戳到了查尔斯的痛处,让他想到了克罗地多普·戈尔康达公司的股价暴跌那件事。不过,我也为之一震,因为它让我想到了那百分之十的佣金。

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