马龙探案卷四 之 正确的凶案 十三

早上八点，马龙打电话给玛吉，告诉她他可能要到下午才会去办公室，如果去的话。在此期间，她可以在他的酒店找到他。那时罗斯?麦克劳林正在睡觉，但这是纯粹疲惫后的正常、清醒的睡眠。然后他打电话给杰克，安排九点在戈登餐厅和他一起吃早餐。

It was eight in the morning when Malone called Maggie and told her he probably wouldn’t show up at the office till afternoon, if at all. In the meantime, she could reach him at his hotel. By that time Ross McLaurin was sleeping, but it was the normal, sober sleep of pure exhaustion. Then he phoned Jake, and arranged to meet him at Gordon’s for breakfast, at nine.

杰克挂断电话，坐在床边，一只袜子穿上了，另一只在他手里晃荡着。马龙的电话打来时他已经醒了。事实上，他整晚都没睡。

Jake hung up the receiver and sat on the edge of his bed, one sock on, the other dangling from his hand. Malone’s telephone call had found him awake. He had, in fact, been awake all night.

他慢慢地、若有所思地穿上另一只袜子，没有注意到它穿反了。公寓里一团糟。在二十四小时内，他成功地把它弄得像松鼠笼的底部。现在它需要女人的手来整理。他在凌晨两点得出了这个最初的结论。

He put on the other sock slowly and thoughtfully, without noticing that it was inside out. The apartment was a mess. In twenty-four hours he had managed to make it look like the bottom of a squirrel cage. What it needed now was a woman’s hand. He had e to this original conclusion at two o’clock that morning.

杰克穿上一只鞋，系好鞋带，然后决定整理一下公寓。他从地板上捡起一堆衬衫、内衣和袜子，大约一半是干净的，把它们藏在一个五斗橱的抽屉里看不见的地方。他把一堆昨天的报纸堆在废纸篓周围，有膝盖那么高。

Jake put on one shoe, tied it, and then decided to straighten up the apartment. He picked up a mass of shirts, underwear, and socks, about half of them clean, from the floor and dumped them out of sight in a bureau drawer. He assembled a heap of yesterday’s newspapers knee-high around the wastebasket.

客厅有长长的窗户和深深的、软软的椅子，是为了营造欢快和随意的舒适感而设计的。但在杰克看来，它就像雾中的一片孤独的沼泽地一样沉闷。一月薄薄的灰色雨丝顺着窗户滑落，把房间笼罩在一片阴暗的半明半暗之中。椅子和桌子似乎都放错了地方。每张桌子上都有一小堆令人厌恶的杂物，有空火柴盒、小纸片、皱巴巴的香烟盒和满得溢出来的烟灰缸。杰克的领带无精打采地挂在一盏桥灯下，他的大衣扔在沙发的一端。到处都是没读过的杂志，最大的椅子旁边的地板上有一瓶喝了一半的苏格兰威士忌，书架上放着一瓶满满的杜松子酒。

小主，

The living room, with its long windows and deep, cushiony chairs, had been designed for cheerfulness and informal fort. To Jake it looked about as cheerful as a lonely stretch of swampland in a fog. A thin, gray January rain slid down the windows, curtaining the room to a gloomy half-darkness. Chairs and tables all seemed to be in the wrong places. On every table was a revolting little litter of empty match folders, tiny scraps of waste-paper, crumpled cigarette packages, and overflowing ash trays. Jake’s tie hung limply over a bridge lamp, his overcoat was flung over one end of the sofa. There were unread magazines everywhere, a half-empty bottle of Scotch was on the floor beside the biggest chair, and a full bottle of gin stood on the bookcase.

杰克站在这片荒芜的中央，回忆起来。海伦，在这个房间里举行的派对上，他们结婚的那天。就是在那个派对上，莫娜?麦克莱恩下了那个该死的赌注。海伦，在靠窗的大蓝色椅子上。海伦在小厨房里调酒。海伦在门边的镜子前整理帽子。海伦无处不在。杰克决定不打扫公寓了。去他的。

Jake stood in the middle of the desolation and remembered. Helene, at the party here in this room, the day of their marriage. It had been at that party Mona McClane had made her damned bet. Helene, in the big blue chair by the window. Helene mixing a drink in the kitchenette. Helene adjusting her hat by the mirror near the door. Helene everywhere. Jake decided not to clean up the apartment. The hell with it.

他感觉糟透了。

He felt terrible.

他们俩本可以在这个公寓里度过一段美好的时光。

The two of them could have had a swell time here in this apartment.

他给自己倒了四分之三英寸高的苏格兰威士忌，回到卧室，穿上另一只鞋。

He poured himself three quarters of an inch of Scotch, went back to the bedroom, and put on the other shoe.

二十分钟后，他在戈登餐厅的一张桌子对面面对着马龙。

Twenty minutes later he faced Malone across a table in Gordon’s.

“我希望你昨晚睡得比我好。” 杰克咆哮道。

“I hope you had a better night’s sleep than I did,” Jake growled.

马龙本想说他根本就没睡，不管是好是坏，又改变了主意，说：“当然，好极了。”

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Malone started to say he hadn't had any kind of night's sleep, good or bad, thought better of it, and said, “Sure, swell.”

服务员走后，杰克看了看表。他说：“这里九点的时候，哈瓦那也是九点。我想海伦现在刚醒。”

After the waiter had gone, Jake looked at his watch. He said, “When it's nine o'clock here, it's nine o'clock in Havana, too. I suppose Helene is just waking up now.”

马龙听到最后一句话，刚想说 “她……”，又及时忍住了。“更有可能的是她刚要睡觉。你在乎什么？”

Malone heard the last words, said, “She was—” and caught himself just in time. “More likely she's just getting to bed. What do you care?”

“我不在乎。” 杰克冷酷地说。“不过，很奇怪你没收到她的明信片。”

“I don't,” Jake said grimly. “Funny, though, that you didn't get a postcard from her.”

“在哈瓦那谁都没时间寄明信片。” 马龙说着，把大量的奶油倒进咖啡里。“我不明白他们在那儿卖明信片干嘛。” 他用力搅拌着。“也许我该给她写封信，告诉她你气色不错。”

“Nobody ever has time to send postcards from Havana,” Malone said, pouring cream lavishly into his coffee. “I don't see why they even bother to sell postcards down there.” He stirred vigorously. “Maybe I ought to drop her a note and tell her you're looking well.”

杰克的勺子当啷一声掉在地上。“听着，马龙。如果你现在或者以后给海伦写信，我不想让你提到我。甚至连我的名字都别提。明白吗？”

Jake dropped his spoon with a noisy clatter. “Look here, Malone. If you do write to Helene now, or any other time, I don't want you to mention me at all. Not even mention my name. See?”

“当然，当然，当然。” 律师急忙说。“你为什么不和她和好呢？”

“Sure, sure, sure,” the lawyer said hastily. “Why don't you make up with her?”

“你去死吧，少管闲事。”

“You go to hell and mind your own business.”

“两个一起还是我可以选一个？”

“Both, or do I get a choice?”

马龙喝着咖啡，思考着当天的问题。海伦不久就会出现，帮忙从罗斯?麦克劳林那里套出证据。眼下得想办法让杰克离远点。一个模糊的想法在他脑海中慢慢形成。

Malone sipped his coffee and pondered the problem of the day. Helene would show up before long to help pry evidence from Ross McLaurin. Somehow Jake had to be kept out of the way for the time being. A vague idea began to form slowly in his mind.

小主，

杰克愁眉苦脸地盯着他的煎蛋卷。“那个该死的女人！”