马龙探案卷四 之 正确的凶案 二十六
又下雪了，大片白色的湿雪花粘在马龙办公室的窗户上。当这位小律师脱下他的大衣，海伦在最舒服的椅子上坐下来时，杰克闷闷不乐地望着窗外那些迅速被白雪覆盖的屋顶。
It was snowing again, great white, wet feathers that clung to the window in Malone’s office. While the little lawyer peeled off his overcoat, and Helene settled down in the most fortable chair, Jake stared moodily out across the roofs that were being rapidly buried in white.
“这该死的雪。”他生气地说，“现在我们永远也弄不清在枫树公园的那些脚印通向哪里了。”
“This damned snow,” he said angrily. “Now we’ll never be able to find out where those footprints led out in Maple Park.”
“忘了它吧。”马龙厉声说，“我的麻烦已经够多了，但你还想让我去看脚印。你指望我怎么做——拿着放大镜去看那些脚印，然后马上告诉你是谁杀了杰拉尔德·图伊兹和——杰拉尔德·图伊兹？”
“Forget it,” Malone snapped. “I don’t have enough trouble on my mind, but you want me to go look at footprints. What do you expect me to do—take a gander at them with a magnifying glass, and tell you right off who murdered Gerald Tuesday and—Gerald Tuesday?”
杰克说：“不管怎样，我们还是去枫树公园吧。我想让你看看那个坟墓。”
Jake said, “Let’s go out to Maple Park anyway. I want you to see that grave.”
“谢了。”马龙说，“我刚看过一个。而且，自从我去了那里，三个小时里冯·弗拉纳根给我打了五次电话，我最好给他回个电话。”他拨了号码，靠在椅子上，手里拿着电话。
“Thanks,” Malone said. “I’ve just seen one. Besides, von Flanagan has phoned me five times in the three hours since I was there, and I’d better call him back.” He dialed the number and leaned back in his chair, the telephone in his hand.
冯·弗拉纳根在电话里大声抱怨说，谋杀已经够糟糕了，但人们会做出的那些事……“你知道在莫娜·麦克莱恩家被谋杀的那个人吧。嗯，我们从一家市中心的银行得到了关于他的报告。他昨天来到镇上的那个早上——他去了这家银行存一张大支票并开一个账户。你猜他用什么当身份证明？”
Von Flanagan plained loudly into the telephone that murder was bad enough, but the things that people would do—“You know that guy that was murdered up at Mona McClane’s. Well, we got a report on him from a Loop bank. The morning he came to town—yesterday—he went to this bank to deposit a big check and open an account. And what do you think he used for identification?”
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“别告诉我。”马龙央求道，“让我在报纸上读到吧。”
“Don’t tell me,” Malone begged. “Let me read about it in the papers.”
“一本护照。”这位警察官员说，“你猜护照上是什么名字？”
“A passport,” the police official said. “And what name do you think was on the passport?”
“我猜不出来。”律师疲倦地说。
“I can’t guess,” the lawyer said wearily.
“杰拉尔德·图伊兹。”
“Gerald Tuesday.”
“听着。”马龙说，“我告诉你一件事。我现在很有灵媒的感觉。不，不，不，我这辈子从没感觉这么好过。我的意思是我能预知未来会发生什么。我能告诉你谋杀那两个人的人的名字。”
“Listen,” Malone said, “I’ll tell you something. I’m getting very psychic. No, no, no, I never felt better in my life. I mean I can tell what’s going to happen in the future. I can tell you the name of the man who murdered those two guys.”
“是什么？”冯·弗拉纳根怀疑地问。
“What is it?” von Flanagan asked suspiciously.
马龙说：“杰拉尔德·图伊兹。”然后迅速挂了电话。他把整个对话内容告诉了杰克和海伦。
Malone said, “Gerald Tuesday,” and hung up quick. He reported the whole conversation to Jake and Helene.
“如果凶手真的叫杰拉尔德·图伊兹，那可真是个天大的笑话。”海伦说。
“It would be a swell joke on you if the murderer really was named Gerald Tuesday,” Helene said.
“这不会让我惊讶。”马龙告诉她，“这件事快把我逼疯了。每次我想到杰拉尔德·图伊兹我就开始看到重影。”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Malone told her. “This business is driving me nuts. Every time I think of Gerald Tuesday I start seeing double.”
“没有一件事说得通。”杰克抱怨道，“两个叫杰拉尔德·图伊兹的人，都以同样的方式被谋杀。某个醉鬼以为他杀了他们两个，却又记不起任何细节。这个女人在找她丈夫的坟墓，然后又跑到市中心去见她丈夫。那个坟墓就在那里，还有某个笨蛋从树后面朝我开枪。那把钥匙，还有那两个人在死前都想跟你谈谈。还有杰拉尔德·图伊兹在 1921 年被葬在罗斯代尔公墓。这一切都毫无道理。”
“Nothing makes sense,” Jake plained. “Two guys named Gerald Tuesday, both murdered the same way. Some drunk thinking he murdered both of them, and not able to remember any details. This dame looking for her husband’s grave, and then trotting off downtown to meet her husband. And the grave being there, and some dope shooting at me from the trees. The key, and those two guys trying to talk to you before they cashed in. And Gerald Tuesday buried in Rosedale cemetery in 1921. None of it makes any sense.”
小主，
“恐怕说得通。”马龙若有所思地说，“我几乎希望它说不通，但它确实说得通。邪恶的道理，而且是在某个理智的头脑的运作下。任何看起来像这样疯狂的事情肯定有其道理。”
“I’m afraid it does,” Malone said meditatively. “I almost wish it didn’t, but it does. Diabolical sense, and in the working of some sane mind, too. Anything that seems as crazy as this is bound to make sense.”
“与此同时。”杰克问道，“莫娜·麦克莱恩到底杀了谁？”
“In the meantime.” Jake demanded, “who the hell did Mona McClane murder?”
律师叹了口气。“这两起谋杀案和莫娜·麦克莱恩之间肯定有某种联系。”他说，“我们所要做的就是找出是什么联系。”
The lawyer sighed. “There must be some connection between these two murders and Mona McClane,” he said. “All we need to do is find out what it is.”
他皱着眉头看着桌上的纸。那是一份名叫杰拉尔德·图伊兹的人的死亡证明的副本，1892 年生于印第安纳州埃尔克哈特，1921 年在芝加哥死于心脏病。
He scowled at the paper on his desk. It was a copy of the death certificate of one Gerald Tuesday, born in Elkhart. Indiana, in 1892, and dead of heart disease in Chicago in 1921.
“签署那份证明的医生的名字看起来很熟悉。”杰克皱着眉头说。
“The name of the doctor who signed that certificate seems familiar,” Jake said, frowning.
“应该熟悉。”马龙说，“大约五年前，他因为给一个逃犯做面部手术而被送进了监狱。承办人的名字也应该很熟悉。他卷入了帮派战争，大约在 1930 年被枪杀了。一对不错的下流胚。”
“It should,” Malone said. “He was sent to jail about five years ago for performing a facial operation on an escaped convict. The name of the undertaker should seem familiar, too. He was messed up with the gang war, and got himself shot about 1930. A nice brace of lowlifes.”
“与此同时。”海伦说，“罗斯代尔公墓的那个坟墓里有什么？”
“Meantime.” Helene said, “what is in that grave in Rosedale cemetery?”
“我不知道。”马龙说，“但也许明天我就会知道——在我信任的几个人今晚闯进那里并查明之后。与此同时。”他又叹了口气，“也许我能查到更多关于这些杰拉尔德·图伊兹的事情——如果这份证明上的出生地是正确的。”
“I don’t know,” Malone said. “But maybe I will tomorrow—after a couple of boys I can trust break in there tonight and find out. Meantime,” he sighed again, “maybe I can find out more about these Gerald Tuesdays—if the birthplace named on this certificate is correct.”
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“要是你没把那把钥匙丢了就好了。”海伦哀叹道，“马龙，就没有找到它的可能了吗？”
“If only you hadn’t lost that key,” Helene wailed. “Malone, isn’t there any chance of finding it?”
“我可能把它丢在出租车里、街上或者十几个其他地方中的任何一个地方。”马龙沮丧地说，“要再找到它得有奇迹发生。”
“I might have lost it in a taxi, or on the street, or in any of a dozen places,” Malone said gloomily. “It would take a miracle to find it again.”
“你想过登寻物启事吗？”
“Have you thought of the want ads?”
“没有。不，我没有。”
“No. No, I haven’t.”
“嗯，去登吧。”杰克热心地说，“这是启动你那个巨大脑袋的简单方法。”
“Well, do,” Jake said cordially. “It’s an easy way to start that giant brain working.”
马龙坐下来想了几分钟，然后叫来了玛吉。
Malone sat thinking for a few minutes, then called for Maggie.
“在所有报纸上登这条寻物启事。新年前夜丢失，标有 114 的钥匙。重酬。”
“Run this want ad in all the papers. Lost, on New Year’s Eve, key marked 114. Large reward.”
她把它写下来。“你最好给出一些你丢失它的地点的线索。”
“She wrote it down. “You’d better give some idea of where you lost it.”
“我们可没那么多版面。”马龙说，“就这样登吧。”她走后，他皱着眉头说，“假设我们真的找回了钥匙。你觉得我们要用它打开什么标有 114 的东西呢？”
“We couldn’t afford the space,” Malone said. “Go on, run it the way it is.” After she had gone, he said, scowling, “Suppose we do get the key back. What the hell do you think we’re going to unlock with it?”
“某个标有 114 的东西。”杰克得意地说。
“Something marked 114,” Jake said smugly.
马龙哼了一声。“当然。这就全清楚了。”他皱起眉头。“文宁也牵扯进这件事里了。那个坟墓的事，还有那个面无表情一直盯着他妻子的同伴，以及莫娜·麦克莱恩说过的一句话——等一下，让我想想。”有几分钟他出神地望着空中。“我们当时在谈论彭德利·泰德韦尔。她说他是伊迪莎·文宁的侄子。她说——他会非常欣慰迈克尔·文宁后天就五十岁了——现在就是明天了——尽管他，也就是彭德利，似乎并不在乎钱。”
Malone snorted. “Sure. That clears it all up.” He frowned. “Venning is mixed up in this, too. The business of the grave, and that frozen-faced panion who watches his wife every minute, and a crack Mona McClane made—wait a minute, let me think.” For a few minutes he stared dreamily into space. “We were talking about Pendley Tidewell. She said he was Editha Venning’s nephew. She said—he’d feel greatly relieved that Michael Venning was going to be fifty day after tomorrow—that’s tomorrow now—although he, meaning Pendley, didn’t seem to care anything about money.”
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