df.theedge-第2部分

快捷操作: 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! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

　beyond　doubt　arranged　the　stable　lad's　killing。
　　Julius　Apollo　Filmer　smirked　with　satisfaction　at　the　'Not　Guilty'　verdict　and　clasped　his　lawyer　in　a　bear…hug。　Justice　had　been　mocked。　The　stable　lad's　parents　wept　bitter　tears　over　his　grave　and　the　Jockey　Club　ground　its　collective　teeth。　Millington　swore　to　get　Filmer　somehow；　anyhow；　in　the　future；　and　had　made　it　into　a　personal　vendetta；　the　pursuit　of　this　one　villain　filling　his　mind　to　the　exclusion　of　nearly　everything　else。
　　He　had　spent　a　great　deal　of　time　in　the　Newmarket　pubs　going　over　the　ground　the　regular　police　had　already　covered；　trying　to　find　out　exactly　what　Paul　Shacklebury；　the　dead　stable　lad；　had　known　to　the　detriment　of　Filmer。　No　one　knew　　or　no　one　was　saying。　And　who　could　blame　anyone　for　not　risking　a　quick　trip　to　the　ditch。
　　Millington　had　had　more　luck　with　the　hysterical　witness；　now　back　home　but　still　suffering　fits　of　the　shivers。　She；　the　witness；　was　a　chambermaid　in　the　hotel　where　Filmer　had　plotted。　She　had　heard；　and　had　originally　been　prepared　to　swear　she　had　heard　Filmer　say　to　an　unidentified　man；　'If　he's　dead；　he's　worth　five　grand　to　you　and　five　to　the　hatchet；　so　go　and　fix　it。'
　　She　had　been　hanging　fresh　towels　in　the　bathroom　when　the　two　men　came　in　from　the　corridor；　talking。　Filmer　had　been　abrupt　with　her　and　bundled　her　out　and　she　hadn't　looked　at　the　other　man。　She　remembered　the　words　clearly　but　hadn't　of　course　seen　their　significance　until　later。　It　was　because　of　the　word　'hatchet'　that　she　remembered　particularly。
　　A　month　after　the　trial　Millington　got　from　her　a　half…admission　that　she'd　been　threatened　not　to　give　evidence。　Who　had　threatened　her'　A　man　she　didn't　know。　But　she　would　deny　it。　She　would　deny　everything；　she　would　have　another　collapse。　The　man　had　threatened　to　harm　her　sixteen…year…old　daughter。　Harm　he'd　spelled　out　all　the　dreadful　programme　lying　ahead。
　　Millington；　who　could　lay　on　the　syrup　if　it　pleased　him；　had　persuaded　her　with　many　a　honeyed　promise　（that　he　wouldn't　necessarily　keep）　to　e　for　several　days　to　the　races；　and　there；　from　the　safety　of　various　strategically　placed　security　offices；　he'd　invited　her　to　look　out　of　the　window。　She　would　be　in　shadow；　seated；　fortable；　invisible；　and　he　would　point　out　a　few　people　to　her。　She　was　nervous　and　came　in　a　wig　and　dark　glasses。　Millington　got　her　to　remove　the　glasses。　She　sat　in　an　upright　armchair　and　twisted　her　head　to　look　over　her　shoulder　at　me；　where　I　stood　quietly　behind　her。
　　'Never　mind　about　him；'　Millington　said。　'He's　part　of　the　scenery。'
　　All　the　world　went　past　those　windows　on　racing　afternoons；　which　was　why；　of　course；　the　windows　were　where　they　were。　Over　three　long　sessions　during　a　single　week　on　three　different　racecourses　Millington　pointed　out　to　her　almost　every　known　associate　and　friend　of　Filmer's；　but　she　shook　her　head　to　them　all。　At　the　fourth　attempt；　the　following　week；　Filmer　himself　strolled　past；　and　I　thought　we'd　have　a　repeat　of　the　hysterics：　but　though　our　chambermaid　wobbled　and　wept　and　begged　for　repeated　assurances　he　would　never　know　she　had　seen　him；　she　stayed　at　her　post。　And　she　astonished　us；　shortly　after；　by　pointing　towards　a　group　of　passing　people　we'd　never　before　linked　with　Filmer。
　　'That's　him；'　she　said；　gasping　'Oh　my　God。。。　that's　him。。。　I'd　know　him　anywhere。'
　　'Which　one？'　Millington　said　urgently。
　　'In　the　navy。。。　with　the　grey　sort　of　hair。　Oh　my　God。。。　don't　let　him　know。。。'　Her　voice　rose　with　panic。
　　I　could　hear　the　beginnings　of　Millington's　reassurances　as　I　fairly　sprinted　out　of　the　office　and　through　to　the　open　air；　slowing　there　at　once　to　the　much　slower　speed　of　the　crowd　making　its　way　from　paddock　to　stands　for　the　next　race。　The　navy　suit　with　the　silvery　hair　above　it　was　in　no　hurry；　going　along　with　the　press。　I　followed　him　discreetly　for　the　rest　of　the　afternoon；　and　only　once　did　he　touch　base　with　Filmer；　and　then　as　if　accidentally；　as　between　strangers。
　　The　exchange　looked　as　if　navy…suit　asked　Filmer　the　time。　Filmer　looked　at　his　watch　and　spoke。　Navy…suit　nodded　and　walked　on。　Navy…suit　was　Filmer's　man；　all　right；　but　was　never　to　be　seen　to　be　that　in　public：　just　like　me　and　Millington。
　　I　followed　navy…suit　from　the　racecourse　in　the　going…home　traffic　and　telephoned　from　my　car　to　Millington。
　　'He's　driving　a　Jaguar；'　I　said；　'licence　number　A　576　FDD。　He　spoke　to　Filmer。　He's　our　man。'
　　'Right。'
　　'How's　the　lady？'　I　asked。
　　'Who？　Oh；　her。　I　had　to　send　Harrison　all　the　way　back　to　Newmarket　with　her。　She　was　half　off　her　rocker　again。　Have　you　still　got　our　man　in　sight？'
　　'Yep。　'；
　　'I'll　get　back　to　you。'
　　Harrison　was　one　of　Millington's　regular　troops；　an　ex…policeman；　heavy；　avuncular；　near　to　pensioned　retirement。　I'd　never　spoken　to　him；　but　I　knew　him　well　by　sight；　as　I　knew　all　the　others。　It　had　taken　me　quite　a　while　to　get　used　to　belonging　to　a　body　of　men　who　didn't　know　I　was　there；　rather　as　if　I　were　a　ghost。
　　I　was　never　noticeable。　I　was　twenty…nine；　six　foot　tall；　brown　haired；　brown　eyed；　twelve　stone　in　weight　with；　as　they　say；　no　distinguishing　features。　I　was　always　part　of　the　moving　race　crowd；　looking　at　my　race…card；　wandering　about；　looking　at　horses；　watching　races；　having　a　bet　or　two。　It　was　easy　because　there　were　always　a　great　many　other　people　around　doing　exactly　the　same　thing。　I　was　a　grazing　sheep　in　a　flock。　I　changed　my　clothes　and　general　appearance　from　day　to　day　and　never　made　acquaintances；　and　it　was　lonely　quite　often；　but　also　fascinating。
　　I　knew　by　sight　all　the　jockeys　and　trainers　and　very　many　owners；　because　all　one　needed　for　that　was　eyes　and　race…cards；　but　also　I　knew　a　lot　of　their　histories　from　long　memory；　as　I'd　spent　much　of　my　childhood　and　teens　on　racecourses；　towed　along　by　the　elderly　race…mad　aunt　who　had　brought　me　up。　Through　her　knowledge　and　via　her　witty　tongue　I　had　bee　a　veritable　walking　data　bank；　and　then；　at　eighteen；　after　her　death；　I'd　gone　world…wandering　for　seven　years。　When　I　returned；　I　no　longer　looked　like　the　unmatured　youth　I'd　been；　and　the　eyes　of　the　people　who　had　known　me　vaguely　as　a　child　slid　over　me　without　recognition。
　　I　returned　to　England　finally　because　at　twenty…five　I'd　e　into　inheritances　from　both　my　aunt　and　my　father；　and　my　trustees　were　wanting　instructions。　I　had　been　in　touch　with　them　from　time　to　time；　and　they　had　despatched　funds　to　far…flung　outposts　fairly　often；　but　when　I　walked　into　the　hushed　book…lined　law　office　of　the　senior　partner　of　Cornborough；　Cross　and　George；　old　Clement　Cornborough　greeted　me　with　a　frown　and　stayed　sitting　down　behind　his　desk。
　　'You're　not。。。　er。。。'　he　said；　looking　over　my　shoulder　for　the　one　he'd　expected。
　　'Well。。。　yes；　I　am。　Tor　Kelsey。'
　　'Good　Lord。'　He　stood　up　slowly；　leaning　forward　to　extend　a　hand。　'But　you've　changed。　You。。。　er。。。'
　　'Taller；　heavier　and　older；'　I　said；　nodding。　Also　suntanned；　at　that　moment；　from　a　spell　in　Mexico。
　　'I'd。。。　er。。。　pencilled　in　lunch；'　he　said　doubtfully。
　　'That　would　be　fine；'　I　said。
　　He　took　me　to　a　similarly　hushed　restaurant　full　of　other　solicitors　who　nodded　to　him　austerely。　Over　roast　beef　he　told　me　that　I　would　never　have　to　work　for　a　living　（which　I　knew）　and　in　the　same　breath　asked　what　I　was　going　to　do　with　my　life；　a　question　I　couldn't　answer。　I'd　spent　seven　years　learning　how　to　live；　which　was　different；　but　I'd　had　no　formal　training　in　anything。　I　felt　claustrophobic　in　offices　and　I　was　not　academic。　I　understood　machines　and　was　quick　with　my　hands。　I　had　no　overpowering　ambitions。　I　wasn't　the　entrepreneur　my　father　had　been；　but　nor　would　I　squander　the　fortune　he　had　left　me。
　　'What　have　you　been　doing？'　old　Cornborough　said；　making　conversation　valiantly。　'You've　been　to　some　interesting　places；　haven't　you？'
　　Travellers'　tales　were　pretty　boring；　I　thought。　It　was　always　better　to　live　it。　'I　mostly　worked　with　horses；'　I　said　politely。　'Australia；　South　America；　United　States；　anywhere。　Racehorses；　polo　ponies；　a　good　deal　in　rodeos。　Once　in　a　circus；　'
　　'Good　heavens。'
　　'It's　not　easy　now；　though；　and　getting　harder；　to　work　one's　passage。　Too　many　countries　won't　allow　it。　And　I　won't　go　back　to　it。　I've　done　enough。　Grown　out　of　it。'
　　'So　what　next？'
　　'Don't　know。'　I　shrugged。　'Look　around。　I'm　not　getting　in　touch　with　my　mother's　people；　so　don't　tell　them　I'm　here。'
　　'If　you　say　so。'
　　My　mother　had　e　from　an　impoverished　hunting　family　who　were　scandalized　when　at　twenty　she　married　a　sixty…five…year…old　giant　of　a　Yorkshireman　with　an　empire　in　second…hand　car　auctions　and　no　relatives　in　Burke's　Peerage。　They'd　said　it　was　because　he　showered　her　with　horses；　but　it　always　sounded　to　me　as　if　she'd　been　truly　attracted。　He　at　any　rate　was　besotted　with　her；　as　his　sister；　my　aunt；　had　often　told　me；　and　he'd　seen　no　point　in　living　after　she　was　killed　in　a　hunting　accident；　when　I　was　two。　He'd　lasted　three　years　and　died　of　cancer；　and　because　my　mother's　family　hadn't　wanted　me；　my　aunt　Viv　Kelsey　had　taken　me　over　and　made