“Seymour,”my brother-in-law said, with a deep-drawn sigh, as we left Lake George next day by the Rennselaer and Saratoga Railroad,“no more Peter Porter for me, if you please!I'm sick of disguises. Now that we know Colonel Clay is here in America, they serve no good purpose;so I may as well receive the social consideration and proper respect to which my rank and position naturally entitle me.”
“And which they secure for the most part(except from hotel clerks),even in this republican land,”I answered briskly.
For in my humble opinion, for sound copper-bottomed snobbery, registered A1 at Lloyd's, give me the free-born American citizen.
We travelled through the States, accordingly, for the next four months, from Maine to California, and from Oregon to Florida, under our own true names,“Confirming the churches,”as Charles facetiously put it—or in other words, looking into the management and control of railways, syndicates, mines, and cattle-ranches. We inquired about everything.And the result of our investigations appeared to be, as Charles further remarked, that the Sabeans who so troubled the sons of Job seemed to have migrated in a body to Kansas and Nebraska, and that several thousand head of cattle seemed mysteriously to vanish,à la Colonel Clay, into the pure air of the prairies just before each branding.
However, we were fortunate in avoiding the incursions of the Colonel himself, who must have migrated meanwhile on some enchanted carpet to other happy hunting-grounds.
It was chill October before we found ourselves safe back in New York, en route for England. So long a term of freedom from the Colonel's depredations(as Charles fondly imagined—but I will not anticipate)had done my brother-in-law's health and spirits a world of good;he was so lively and cheerful that he began to fancy his tormentor must have succumbed to yellow fever, then raging in New Orleans, or eaten himself ill, as we nearly did ourselves, on a generous mixture of clam-chowder, terrapin, soft-shelled crabs, Jersey peaches, canvas-backed ducks, Catawba wine, winter cherries, brandy cocktails, strawberry-shortcake, ice-creams, corn-dodger, and a judicious brew commonly known as a Colorado corpse-reviver.However that may be, Charles returned to New York in excellent trim;and, dreading in that great city the wiles of his antagonist, he cheerfully accepted the invitation of his brother millionaire, Senator Wrengold of Nevada, to spend a few days before sailing in the Senator's magnifcent and newly-fnished palace at the upper end of Fifth Avenue.
“There, at least, I shall be safe, Sey,”he said to me plaintively, with a weary smile.“Wrengold, at any rate, won't try to take me in—except, of course, in the regular way of business.”
Boss-Nugget Hall(as it is popularly christened)is perhaps the handsomest brown stone mansion in the Richardsonian style on all Fifth Avenue. We spent a delightful week there.The lines had fallen to us in pleasant places.On the night we arrived Wrengold gave a small bachelor party in our honour.He knew Sir Charles was travelling without Lady Vandrift, and rightly judged he would prefer on his frst night an informalparty, with cards and cigars, instead of being bothered with the charming, but still somewhat hampering addition of female society.
The guests that evening were no more than seven, all told, ourselves included—making up, Wrengold said, that perfect number, an octave. He was a nouveau riche himself—the newest of the new—commonly known in exclusive old-fashioned New York society as the Gilded Squatter;for he“struck his reef”no more than ten years ago;and he was therefore doubly anxious, after the American style, to be“just dizzy with culture.”In his capacity of M?cenas, he had invited amongst others the latest of English literary arrivals in New York—Mr.Algernon Coleyard, the famous poet, and leader of the Briar-rose school of West-country fction.
“You know him in London, of course?”he observed to Charles, with a smile, as we waited dinner for our guests.
“No,”Charles answered stolidly.“I have not had that honour. We move, you see, in different circles.”
I observed by a curious shade which passed over Senator Wrengold's face that he quite misapprehended my brother-in-law's meaning. Charles wished to convey, of course, that Mr.Coleyard belonged to a mere literary and Bohemian set in London, while he himself moved on a more exalted plane of peers and politicians.But the Senator, better accustomed to the new-rich point of view, understood Charles to mean that he had not the entrée of that distinguished coterie in which Mr.Coleyard posed as a shining luminary.Which naturally made him rate even higher than before his literary acquisition.
At two minutes past the hour the poet entered. Even if we had not been already familiar with his portrait at all ages in The Strand Magazine, we should have recognised him at once for a genuine bard by his impassioned eyes, his delicate mouth, the artistic twirl of one gray lockupon his expansive brow, the grizzled moustache that gave point and force to the genial smile, and the two white rows of perfect teeth behind it.Most of our fellow-guests had met Coleyard before at a reception given by the Lotus Club that afternoon, for the bard had reached New York but the previous evening;so Charles and I were the only visitors who remained to be introduced to him.The lion of the hour was attired in ordinary evening dress, with no foppery of any kind, but he wore in his buttonhole a dainty blue flower whose name I do not know;and as he bowed distantly to Charles, whom he surveyed through his eyeglass, the gleam of a big diamond in the middle of his shirt-front betrayed the fact that the Briar-rose school, as it was called(from his famous epic),had at least succeeded in making money out of poetry.He explained to us a little later, in fact, that he was over in New York to look after his royalties.“The beggars,”he said,“only gave me eight hundred pounds on my last volume.I couldn't stand that, you know;for a modern bard, moving with the age, can only sing when duly wound up;so I've run across to investigate.Put a penny in the slot, don't you see, and the poet will pipe for you.”
“Exactly like myself,”Charles said, fnding a point in common.“I'm interested in mines;and I, too, have come over to look after my royalties.”
The poet placed his eyeglass in his eye once more, and surveyed Charles deliberately from head to foot.“Oh,”he murmured slowly. He said not a word more;but somehow, everybody felt that Charles was demolished.I saw that Wrengold, when we went in to dinner, hastily altered the cards that marked their places.He had evidently put Charles at frst to sit next the poet;he varied that arrangement now, setting Algernon Coleyard between a railway king and a magazine editor.I have seldom seen my respected brother-in-law so completely silenced.
The poet's conduct during dinner was most peculiar. He kept quotingpoetry at inopportune moments.
“Roast lamb or boiled turkey, sir?”said the footman.
“Mary had a little lamb,”said the poet.“I shall imitate Mary.”
Charles and the Senator thought the remark undignifed.
After dinner, however, under the mellowing influence of some excellent Roederer, Charles began to expand again, and grew lively and anecdotal. The poet had made us all laugh not a little with various capital stories of London literary society—at least two of them, I think, new ones;and Charles was moved by generous emulation to contribute his own share to the amusement of the company.He was in excellent cue.He is not often brilliant;but when he chooses, he has a certain dry vein of caustic humour which is decidedly funny, though not perhaps strictly without being vulgar.On this particular night, then, warmed with the admirable Wrengold champagne—the best made in America—he launched out into a full and embroidered description of the various ways in which Colonel Clay had deceived him.I will not say that he narrated them in full with the same frankness and accuracy that I have shown in these pages;he suppressed not a few of the most amusing details—on no other ground, apparently, than because they happened to tell against himself;and he enlarged a good deal on the surprising cleverness with which several times he had nearly secured his man;but still, making all allowances for native vanity in concealment and addition, he was distinctly funny—he represented the matter for once in its ludicrous rather than in its disastrous aspect.He observed also, looking around the table, that after all he had lost less by Colonel Clay in four years of persecution than he often lost by one injudicious move in a single day on the London Stock Exchange;while he seemed to imply to the solid men of New York, that he would cheerfully sacrifce such a feabite as that, in return for the amusement andexcitement of the chase which the Colonel had afforded him.
The poet was pleased.“You are a man of spirit, Sir Charles,”he said.“I love to see this fne old English admiration of pluck and adventure!The fellow must really have some good in him, after all. I should like to take notes of a few of those stories;they would supply nice material for basing a romance upon.”
“I hardly know whether I'm exactly the man to make the hero of a novel,”Charles murmured, with complacence. And he certainly didn't look it.
“I was thinking rather of Colonel Clay as the hero,”the poet responded coldly.
“Ah, that's the way with you men of letters,”Charles answered, growing warm.“You always have a sneaking sympathy with the rascals.”
“That may be better,”Coleyard retorted, in an icy voice,“than sympathy with the worst forms of Stock Exchange speculation.”
The company smiled uneasily. The railway king wriggled.Wrengold tried to change the subject hastily.But Charles would not be put down.
“You must hear the end, though,”he said.“That's not quite the worst. The meanest thing about the man is that he's also a hypocrite.He wrote me such a letter at the end of his last trick—here, positively here, in America.”And he proceeded to give his own version of the Quackenboss incident, enlivened with sundry imaginative bursts of pure Vandrift fancy.
When Charles spoke of Mrs. Quackenboss the poet smiled.“The worst of married women,”he said,“is—that you can't marry them;the worst of unmarried women is—that they want to marry you.”But when it came to the letter, the poet's eye was upon my brother-in-law.Charles, I must fain admit, garbled the document sadly.Still, even so, some gleam of good feeling remained in its sentences.But Charles ended all by saying,“So, to crown his misdemeanours, the rascal shows himself a whining cur and a disgusting Pharisee.”
“Don't you think,”the poet interposed, in his cultivated drawl,“he may have really meant it?Why should not some grain of compunction have stirred his soul still?—some remnant of conscience made him shrink from betraying a man who confded in him?I have an idea, myself, that even the worst of rogues have always some good in them. I notice they often succeed to the end in retaining the affection and fdelity of women.”
“Oh, I said so!”Charles sneered.“I told you you literary men have always an underhand regard for a scoundrel.”
“Perhaps so,”the poet answered.“For we are all of us human. Let him that is without sin among us cast the frst stone.”And then he relapsed into moody silence.
We rose from table. Cigars went round.We adjourned to the smoking-room.It was a Moorish marvel, with Oriental hangings.There, Senator Wrengold and Charles exchanged reminiscences of bonanzas and ranches and other exciting post-prandial topics;while the magazine editor cut in now and again with a pertinent inquiry or a quaint and sarcastic parallel instance.It was clear he had an eye to future copy.Only Algernon Coleyard sat brooding and silent, with his chin on one hand, and his brow intent, musing and gazing at the embers in the freplace.The hand, by the way, was remarkable for a curious, antique-looking ring, apparently of Egyptian or Etruscan workmanship, with a projecting gem of several large facets.Once only, in the midst of a game of whist, he broke out with a single comment.
“Hawkins was made an earl,”said Charles, speaking of some London acquaintance.
“What for?”asked the Senator.
“Successful adulteration,”said the poet tartly.
“Honours are easy,”the magazine editor put in.
“And two by tricks to Sir Charles,”the poet added.
Towards the close of the evening, however—the poet still remaining moody, not to say positively grumpy—Senator Wrengold proposed a friendly game of Swedish poker. It was the latest fashionable variant in Western society on the old gambling round, and few of us knew it, save the omniscient poet and the magazine editor.It turned out afterwards that Wrengold proposed that particular game because he had heard Coleyard observe at the Lotus Club the same afternoon that it was a favourite amusement of his.Now, however, for a while he objected to playing.He was a poor man, he said, and the rest were all rich;why should he throw away the value of a dozen golden sonnets just to add one more pinnacle to the gilded roofs of a millionaire's palace?Besides, he was half-way through with an ode he was inditing to Republican simplicity.The pristine austerity of a democratic senatorial cottage had naturally inspired him with memories of Dentatus, the Fabii, Camillus.But Wrengold, dimly aware he was being made fun of somehow, insisted that the poet must take a hand with the fnanciers.“You can pass, you know,”he said,“as often as you like;and you can stake low, or go it blind, according as you're inclined to.It's a democratic game;every man decides for himself how high he will play, except the banker;and you needn't take bank unless you want it.”
“Oh, if you insist upon it,”Coleyard drawled out, with languid reluctance,“I'll play, of course. I won't spoil your evening.But remember, I'm a poet;I have strange inspirations.”
The cards were“squeezers”—that is to say, had the suit and the number of pips in each printed small in the corner, as well as over the face, for ease of reference. We played low at frst.The poet seldom staked;and when he did—a few pounds—he lost, with singular persistence.He wanted to play for doubloons or sequins, and could with difficulty be induced to condescend to dollars.Charles looked across at him at last;the stakes by that time were fast rising higher, and we played for ready money.Notes lay thick on the green cloth.“Well,”he murmured provokingly,“how about your inspiration?Has Apollo deserted you?”
It was an unwonted flight of classical allusion for Charles, and I confess it astonished me.(I discovered afterwards he had cribbed it from a review in that evening's Critic.)But the poet smiled.
“No,”he answered calmly,“I am waiting for one now. When it comes, you may be sure you shall have the beneft of it.”
Next round, Charles dealing and banking, the poet staked on his card, unseen as usual. He staked like a gentleman.To our immense astonishment he pulled out a roll of notes, and remarked, in a quiet tone,“I have an inspiration now.Half-hearted will do.I go fve thousand.”That was dollars, of course;but it amounted to a thousand pounds in English money—high play for an author.
Charles smiled and turned his card. The poet turned his—and won a thousand.
“Good shot!”Charles murmured, pretending not to mind, though he detests losing.
“Inspiration!”the poet mused, and looked once more abstracted.
Charles dealt again. The poet watched the deal with boiled-fishy eyes.His thoughts were far away.His lips moved audibly.“Myrtle, and kirtle, and hurtle,”he muttered.“They'll do for three.Then there's turtle, meaning dove;and that finishes the possible.Laurel and coral make a very bad rhyme.Try myrtle;don't you think so?”
“Do you stake?”Charles asked, severely, interrupting his reverie.
The poet started.“No, pass,”he replied, looking down at his card, and subsided into muttering. We caught a tremor of his lips again, and heard something like this:“Not less but more republican than thou, Half-hearted watcher by the Western sea, After long years I come to visit thee, And test thy fealty to that maiden vow, That bound thee in thy budding prime For Freedom's bride—”
“Stake?”Charles interrupted, inquiringly, again.
“Yes, fve thousand,”the poet answered dreamily, pushing forward his pile of notes, and never ceasing from his murmur:“For Freedom's bride to all succeeding time. Succeeding;succeeding;weak word, succeeding.Couldn't go fve dollars on it.”
Charles turned his card once more. The poet had won again.Charles passed over his notes.The poet raked them in with a far-away air, as one who looks at infnity, and asked if he could borrow a pencil and paper.He had a few priceless lines to set down which might otherwise escape him.
“This is play,”Charles said pointedly.“Will you kindly attend to one thing or the other?”
The poet glanced at him with a compassionate smile.“I told you I had inspirations,”he said.“They always come together. I can't win your money as fast as I would like, unless at the same time I am making verses.Whenever I hit upon a good epithet, I back my luck, don't you see?I won a thousand on Half-hearted and a thousand on budding;if I were to back succeeding, I should lose, to a certainty.You understand my system?”
“I call it pure rubbish,”Charles answered.“However, continue. Systems were made for fools—and to suit wise men.Sooner or later you must lose at such a stupid fancy.”
The poet continued.“For Freedom's bride to all ensuing time.”
“Stake!”Charles cried sharply. We each of us staked.
“Ensuing,”the poet murmured.“To all ensuing time. First-rate epithet that.I go ten thousand, Sir Charles, on ensuing.”
We all turned up. Some of us lost, some won;but the poet had secured his two thousand sterling.
“I haven't that amount about me,”Charles said, in that austerely nettled voice which he always assumes when he loses at cards;“but—I'll settle it with you to-morrow.”
“Another round?”the host asked, beaming.
“No, thank you,”Charles answered;“Mr. Coleyard's inspirations come too pat for my taste.His luck beats mine.I retire from the game, Senator.”
Just at that moment a servant entered, bearing a salver, with a small note in an envelope.“For Mr. Coleyard,”he observed;“and the messenger said, urgent.”
Coleyard tore it open hurriedly. I could see he was agitated.His face grew white at once.
“I—I beg your pardon,”he said.“I—I must go back instantly. My wife is dangerously ill—quite a sudden attack.Forgive me, Senator.Sir Charles, you shall have your revenge to-morrow.”
It was clear that his voice faltered. We felt at least he was a man of feeling.He was obviously frightened.His coolness forsook him.He shook hands as in a dream, and rushed downstairs for his dust-coat.Almost as he closed the front door, a new guest entered, just missing him in the vestibule.
“Halloa, you men,”he said,“we've been taken in, do you know?It's all over the Lotus. The man we made an honorary member of the club to-day is not Algernon Coleyard.He's a blatant impostor.There's a telegram come in on the tape to-night saying Algernon Coleyard is dangerously illat his home in England.”
Charles gasped a violent gasp.“Colonel Clay!”he shouted, aloud.“And once more he's done me. There's not a moment to lose.After him, gentlemen!after him!”
Never before in our lives had we had such a close shave of catching and fxing the redoubtable swindler. We burst down the stairs in a body, and rushed out into Fifth Avenue.The pretended poet had only a hundred yards'start of us, and he saw he was discovered.But he was an excellent runner.So was I, weight for age;and I dashed wildly after him.He turned round a corner;it proved to lead nowhere, and lost him time.He darted back again, madly.Delighted with the idea that I was capturing so famous a criminal, I redoubled my efforts—and came up with him, panting.He was wearing a light dust-coat.I seized it in my hands.“I've got you at last!”I cried;“Colonel Clay, I've got you!”
He turned and looked at me.“Ha, old Ten Per Cent!”he called out, struggling.“It's you, then, is it?Never, never to you, sir!”And as he spoke, he somehow flung his arms straight out behind him, and let the dust-coat slip off, which it easily did, the sleeves being new and smoothly silk-lined. The suddenness of the movement threw me completely off my guard, and off my legs as well.I was clinging to the coat and holding him.As the support gave way I rolled over backward, in the mud of the street, and hurt my back seriously.As for Colonel Clay, with a nervous laugh, he bolted off at full speed in his evening coat, and vanished round a corner.
It was some seconds before I had suffciently recovered my breath to pick myself up again, and examine my bruises. By this time Charles and the other pursuers had come up, and I explained my condition to them.Instead of commending me for my zeal in his cause—which had cost me a barked arm and a good evening suit—my brother-in-law remarked, withan unfeeling sneer, that when I had so nearly caught my man I might as well have held him.
“I have his coat, at least,”I said.“That may afford us a clue.”And I limped back with it in my hands, feeling horribly bruised and a good deal shaken.
When we came to examine the coat, however, it bore no maker's name;the strap at the back, where the tailor proclaims with pride his handicraft, had been carefully ripped off, and its place was taken by a tag of plain black tape without inscription of any sort. We searched the breast-pocket.A handkerchief, similarly nameless, but of finest cambric.The side-pockets—ha, what was this?I drew a piece of paper out in triumph.It was a note—a real fnd—the one which the servant had handed to our friend just before at the Senator's.
We read it through breathlessly:—
“DARLING PAUL,—I told you it was too dangerous.You should have listened to me.You ought never to have imitated any real person.I happened to glance at the hotel tape just now, to see the quotations for Cloetedorps to-day, and what do you think I read as part of the latest telegram from England?‘Mr.Algernon Coleyard, the famous poet, is lying on his death-bed at his home in Devonshire.’By this time all New York knows.Don’t stop one minute.Say I’m dangerously ill, and come away at once.Don’t return to the hotel.I am removing our things.Meet me at Mary’s.Your devoted,
MARGOT.”
“This is very important,”Charles said.“This does give us a clue. We know two things now:his real name is Paul—whatever else it may be, andMadame Picardet's is Margot.”
I searched the pocket again, and pulled out a ring. Evidently he had thrust these two things there when he saw me pursuing him, and had forgotten or neglected them in the heat of the mêlée.
I looked at it close. It was the very ring I had noticed on his fnger while he was playing Swedish poker.It had a large compound gem in the centre, set with many facets, and rising like a pyramid to a point in the middle.There were eight faces in all, some of them composed of emerald, amethyst, or turquoise.But one face—the one that turned at a direct angle towards the wearer's eye—was not a gem at all, but an extremely tiny convex mirror.In a moment I spotted the trick.He held this hand carelessly on the table while my brother-in-law dealt;and when he saw that the suit and number of his own card mirrored in it by means of the squeezers were better than Charles's, he had“an inspiration,”and backed his luck—or rather his knowledge—with perfect confdence.I did not doubt, either, that his odd-looking eyeglass was a powerful magnifer which helped him in the trick.Still, we tried another deal, by way of experiment—I wearing the ring;and even with the naked eye I was able to distinguish in every case the suit and pips of the card that was dealt me.
“Why, that was almost dishonest,”the Senator said, drawing back. He wished to show us that even far-Western speculators drew a line somewhere.
“Yes,”the magazine editor echoed.“To back your skill is legal;to back your luck is foolish;to back your knowledge is—”
“Immoral,”I suggested.
“Very good business,”said the magazine editor.
“It's a simple trick,”Charles interposed.“I should have spotted it if it had been done by any other fellow. But his patter about inspirationput me clean off the track.That's the rascal's dodge.He plays the regular conjurer's game of distracting your attention from the real point at issue—so well that you never fnd out what he's really about till he’s sold you irretrievably.”
We set the New York police upon the trail of the Colonel;but of course he had vanished at once, as usual, into the thin smoke of Manhattan. Not a sign could we find of him.“Mary's,”we found an insuffcient address.
We waited on in New York for a whole fortnight. Nothing came of it.We never found“Mary's.”The only token of Colonel Clay's presence vouchsafed us in the city was one of his customary insulting notes.It was conceived as follows:—
“O ETERNAL GULLIBLE!—Since I saw you on Lake George, I have run back to London, and promptly come out again.I had business to transact there, indeed, which I have now completed;the excessive attentions of the English police sent me once more, like great Orion,“sloping slowly to the west.”I returned to America in order to see whether or not you were still impenitent.On the day of my arrival I happened to meet Senator Wrengold, and accepted his kind invitation solely that I might see how far my last communication had had a proper effect upon you.As I found you quite obdurate, and as you furthermore persisted in misunderstanding my motives, I determined to read you one more small lesson.It nearly failed;and I confess the accident has affected my nerves a little.I am now about to retire from business altogether, and settle down for life at my place in Surrey.I mean to try just one more small coup;and, when that is finished, Colonel Clay will hang up his sword, like Cincinnatus, and take to farming.You need no longer fear
me.I have realised enough to secure me for life a modest competence;and as I am not possessed like yourself with an immoderate greed of gain, I recognise that good citizenship demands of me now an early retirement in favour of some younger and more deserving rascal.I shall always look back with pleasure upon our agreeable adventures together;and as you hold my dust-coat, together with a ring and letter to which I attach importance, I consider we are quits, and I shall withdraw with dignity.Your sincere well-wisher,
CUTHBERT CLAY, Poet.”
“Just like him!”Charles said,“to hold this one last coup over my head in terrorem. Though even when he has played it, why should I trust his word?A scamp like that may say it, of course, on purpose to disarm me.”
For my own part, I quite agreed with“Margot.”When the Colonel was reduced to dressing the part of a known personage I felt he had reached almost his last card, and would be well advised to retire into Surrey.
But the magazine editor summed up all in a word.“Don't believe that nonsense about fortunes being made by industry and ability,”he said.“In life, as at cards, two things go to produce success—the frst is chance;the second is cheating.”
我們第二天坐倫斯勒—薩拉托加列車離開喬治湖時(shí),查爾斯長(zhǎng)嘆一聲:“西摩,我再也不化名成什么彼得·波特了,我受夠這些偽裝了。既然我們知道克雷上?,F(xiàn)在就在美國(guó),那么再怎么裝也沒什么用,所以我還是安心地享受我應(yīng)有的待遇和尊敬吧,這是我這種身份和地位的人該得的。”
“即便在這片共和的土地上,你在大多數(shù)情況下也都能享受得到(酒店職員那是算個(gè)例外)。”我立刻接過話。
依我之愚見,要是為了能夠完全確保擺擺架子就能夠享受到勞埃德保險(xiǎn)社AI標(biāo)準(zhǔn)的船只,還是讓我做一回生而自由的美國(guó)公民吧。
于是在接下來的四個(gè)月中,我們周游各州,從緬因州到加利福尼亞州,從俄勒岡州到佛羅里達(dá)州,用的全是我們的真名。“落實(shí)一下做禮拜的事情。”查爾斯這么打趣地說——或者換句話說,就是調(diào)查一下鐵路、辛迪加、工礦還有畜牧場(chǎng)的經(jīng)營(yíng)和控制情況。我們倆什么都打聽。經(jīng)過我們的調(diào)查,正如查爾斯進(jìn)一步指出的,那些騷擾約伯兒子們的士巴人,貌似已經(jīng)一股腦全都移民到了堪薩斯州還有內(nèi)布拉斯加州,那幾千頭牲畜也似乎像克雷上校一樣,在打烙印之前從草原上憑空消失了。
不管怎么說,我們很幸運(yùn),沒有遇到克雷上校的騷擾,想必他定是乘了什么魔毯去了其他某個(gè)歡樂地了。
直到陰冷的十月,我們才安全回到紐約,準(zhǔn)備返回英國(guó)。這么長(zhǎng)時(shí)間以來,克雷上校沒來劫財(cái)(查爾斯對(duì)此正暗自高興——不過,我卻不這么認(rèn)為),這對(duì)我內(nèi)兄的身心大有裨益。他現(xiàn)在生龍活虎,興致頗高,甚至都有點(diǎn)擔(dān)心克雷上校是不是染上了黃熱病——當(dāng)時(shí)黃熱病正在新奧爾良市肆虐——或者擔(dān)心他是不是把自己吃壞了。我們也差點(diǎn)吃壞了身子,胡吃海喝,什么都往肚子里塞,什么蛤蜊湯、淡水龜、軟殼蟹、澤西桃、帆背潛鴨、卡托巴酒、酸漿、白蘭地雞尾酒、草莓酥餅、冰激凌、玉米烤餅,還有一種俗稱為“僵尸復(fù)活”的酒飲。不管怎么說,查爾斯回到紐約時(shí)心情很不錯(cuò)。由于擔(dān)心在這個(gè)了不起的城市受到克雷上校的算計(jì),他便欣然接受了他的兄弟溫古德的邀請(qǐng),先在他那兒待上幾天,然后再住進(jìn)在第五大道盡頭新建成的宏偉的參議員宮殿;溫古德是內(nèi)華達(dá)州的參議員,也是位百萬富翁。
“西,在那兒,至少我可以保證自己的安全,”他滿腹牢騷,臉上掛著疲憊的笑容,“不管怎樣,溫古德不會(huì)騙我——當(dāng)然,平時(shí)做生意是另一碼事。”
鮑斯—納格特會(huì)堂(大家都這么叫)也許是第五大道上最漂亮的理查森風(fēng)格的上流宅邸。我們?cè)谀莾捍艘粋€(gè)星期,十分高興。用繩量給我們的地界,坐落在佳美之處。我們抵達(dá)那兒的當(dāng)天晚上,溫古德為我們辦了一場(chǎng)小型單身派對(duì)。他知道查爾斯這次旅行沒有帶夫人同行,便猜到了查爾斯希望頭一天晚上來個(gè)非正式的派對(duì),打打牌,抽抽煙,而不用費(fèi)神去理會(huì)女眷們,雖然她們?cè)趫?chǎng)會(huì)讓晚會(huì)添彩不少,但多少也會(huì)讓男士們放不開手腳。
那天晚上算上我們一共只有七位客人——溫古德說,加上他自己剛好八人,這個(gè)數(shù)字不錯(cuò)。他是位暴發(fā)戶——暴發(fā)戶中資歷最淺的——傳統(tǒng)排外的紐約社交圈稱他為“有錢的僭據(jù)人”。他開始“發(fā)跡”不到十年,因此他像其他美國(guó)人一樣,急切地想“被文化沖昏頭腦”。他作為文學(xué)贊助人,還邀請(qǐng)了英國(guó)文學(xué)界的著名詩(shī)人阿爾杰農(nóng)·克雷亞德先生,他是西部鄉(xiāng)村小說中野薔薇派的領(lǐng)軍人物,剛剛抵達(dá)紐約。
“你在倫敦肯定聞其大名了吧?”我們?cè)诘瓤腿司筒蜁r(shí),他笑著問查爾斯。
“沒聽說過,”查爾斯不冷不熱地回了一句,“我可沒那份榮幸。你也知道,我們不是一個(gè)圈子的人。”
溫古德參議員的臉上掠過一絲奇怪的表情,我發(fā)現(xiàn)他完全誤解了我內(nèi)兄的意思。查爾斯想表達(dá)的當(dāng)然是,克雷亞德先生只是倫敦文學(xué)界還有波西米亞那個(gè)圈子的,而他自己本人則在有錢人和政客這個(gè)更高級(jí)別的圈子內(nèi)活動(dòng)。不過,那位參議員已經(jīng)習(xí)慣了從新富的角度看問題,覺得查爾斯的意思是,大名鼎鼎的克雷亞德先生所在的那個(gè)上流團(tuán)體,他查爾斯還沒有資格加入。這自然使得溫古德對(duì)克雷亞德這位文學(xué)之交的敬意又增添了幾分。
詩(shī)人進(jìn)來時(shí)已經(jīng)遲到了兩分鐘。即使我們沒見過《海濱雜志》上他本人各時(shí)期的肖像,也能一眼就看出他是位真正的詩(shī)人:充滿激情的雙眸,秀美的嘴唇,一縷灰色鬈發(fā)搭在寬闊的額頭前,一臉和善的笑容在斑白胡須的映襯下更顯真摯,可以看到兩排整齊潔白的牙齒。詩(shī)人在前一天晚上才抵達(dá)紐約,其他大部分客人早在第二天下午蓮花俱樂部舉辦的招待會(huì)上見過克雷亞德,所以只有我和查爾斯需要引見。他一身普通晚禮服,沒有任何紈绔習(xí)氣,不過扣眼上戴了一朵藍(lán)色小花,不知何名。他透過眼鏡打量著查爾斯,遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)地鞠了一躬,襯衫的胸部正中央有一大塊鉆石閃閃發(fā)光,至少可以看出,野薔薇派(世人因?yàn)樗鞘字氖吩?shī)而這么稱呼)靠著詩(shī)歌發(fā)了一筆財(cái)。后來,他略微向我們解釋,實(shí)際上他來紐約是為了處理自己的版稅問題。“我那最后一部作品,”他說,“那些窮光蛋只給八百英鎊。這誰能受得了?現(xiàn)代詩(shī)人要與時(shí)俱進(jìn),只有給了適當(dāng)?shù)募?lì),才能放聲歌唱,所以我大老遠(yuǎn)過來看看這是怎么一回事。大家都明白,只要給錢,詩(shī)人就會(huì)為你歌唱。”
“跟我一樣,”查爾斯說道,找到一個(gè)雙方的共同點(diǎn),“我對(duì)礦山感興趣;我同你一樣,大老遠(yuǎn)過來也是為了我的‘特許使用費(fèi)’問題。”
詩(shī)人又把眼鏡戴上,把查爾斯渾身上下仔細(xì)打量了一番。“哦。”他拖著長(zhǎng)調(diào)咕噥了一聲,一個(gè)字也沒多說。不過,不知怎的,所有人都覺得查爾斯顏面盡失。吃晚飯時(shí),我看到溫古德急急忙忙調(diào)換了標(biāo)記座位的桌簽。顯然他一開始安排查爾斯緊挨著詩(shī)人坐著,現(xiàn)在調(diào)整之后,他把詩(shī)人放在了一位鐵路大王和一名雜志編輯中間。我內(nèi)兄一句話都沒說,這種情況我極少碰到。
詩(shī)人就餐期間的舉止極為古怪,他總是不合時(shí)宜地引詩(shī)摘句。
“先生,要烤羊羔還是燉火雞?”仆人問道。
“瑪麗有只小羊羔,”詩(shī)人道,“我就學(xué)學(xué)瑪麗吧!”
查爾斯還有參議員覺得這話說得有失身份。
不管怎樣,晚餐后,查爾斯喝了一些上好的羅德爾紅酒,就又開始高談闊論起來,變得活躍、八卦。詩(shī)人講了一些倫敦文學(xué)界的趣事,引得眾人大笑不止——至少有兩件事,我從未聽說過。查爾斯倍感壓力,也分享一些逸事來愉悅眾人。他那天心情很好。他平日里不怎么愛開玩笑,不過只要他樂意,就能展示出自己冷幽默的一面,雖然嚴(yán)格地講不免粗俗,但絕對(duì)有意思。就在那天晚上,他喝了幾杯溫古德的上等香檳——美國(guó)最上乘的香檳——就開始添油加醋地描述克雷上校是如何想盡各種辦法來騙他的。他說的話可不像我的文字這么坦誠(chéng)、準(zhǔn)確,好多最有意思的細(xì)節(jié)都跳過了——原因很明顯,因?yàn)橛袚p他的形象,而對(duì)他好幾次差點(diǎn)抓住上校時(shí)所表現(xiàn)出來的機(jī)智則夸大其詞。不過,由于查爾斯的虛榮天性,他講起來有些閃爍其詞、添枝加葉,但他講得還是絕對(duì)滑稽——只講這些事荒唐可笑的一面,而不講損失慘重的一面,這在他還是頭一遭。他環(huán)顧在座的諸位,還表示,這四年來克雷上校從他身上騙走的錢財(cái),遠(yuǎn)比不上由于失手而在倫敦股票交易所一天的損失。他說這話,大概是想對(duì)紐約的這些實(shí)力派傳達(dá)這一信息:為了能享受克雷上校追隨他而帶來的樂趣和刺激,這點(diǎn)小痛小癢的損失,他倒也樂意犧牲。
詩(shī)人很高興。“查爾斯爵士,你是個(gè)有血性的漢子,”他說,“崇尚勇氣與冒險(xiǎn),我倒想一睹英國(guó)人這一優(yōu)良傳統(tǒng)!不過,話又說回來,這家伙身上肯定有些為人稱道的地方。我得就這些故事做些筆記,要?jiǎng)?chuàng)作一則冒險(xiǎn)故事;這都是些不錯(cuò)的素材。”
“我也不清楚自己到底適不適合做小說的主人公。”查爾斯揚(yáng)揚(yáng)自得地小聲說道。顯然,詩(shī)人實(shí)際上并不是這個(gè)意思。
“我的意思是,讓克雷上校做主人公。”詩(shī)人冷冷地回敬道。
“啊,你們玩弄筆墨的人都這樣,”查爾斯接過話,語(yǔ)氣緩和了些,“你們都暗地里同情那些無賴。”
“這也比同情股票交易所那些最見不得人的投機(jī)行為要強(qiáng)。”詩(shī)人冷冷地反嗆了一句。
在場(chǎng)的其他人都不自在地笑了。那位鐵路大王扭了扭身子。溫古德趕忙轉(zhuǎn)換話題,不過查爾斯不肯善罷甘休。
“不過,你得聽聽最后的結(jié)局,”他說道,“這還不是最糟的。那人最壞的一點(diǎn),就是他還是個(gè)偽君子。他上一次騙完我之后——就在這兒騙的我,就在美國(guó)騙的我——他給我寫了這么一封信。”他接著講了一通夸肯鮑斯那件事,中間零零碎碎夾雜著些許純粹他自己個(gè)人的臆想。
當(dāng)查爾斯提到夸肯鮑斯夫人時(shí),詩(shī)人笑了。“已婚女士最不好的一點(diǎn),”他說,“就是——你不能娶她們;未婚女士最不好的一點(diǎn)就是——她們想嫁給你。”不過,說到那封信時(shí),詩(shī)人的眼睛一直盯著我內(nèi)兄。查爾斯不幸地曲解了信中的內(nèi)容,這一點(diǎn)我不得不承認(rèn)。即便這樣,信中還是流露出了一些善意。不過,查爾斯最后說道:“因此,那個(gè)無賴讓自己成了一個(gè)愛發(fā)牢騷的雜種,一個(gè)讓人唾棄的偽善者,一個(gè)完完全全徹頭徹尾的渾球兒。”
“難道你不覺得,”詩(shī)人不慌不忙地插話道,很有風(fēng)度,“他也許說的是真話?你不覺得有一絲悔恨觸動(dòng)了他的靈魂?——你不覺得殘存的一些良知讓他也誠(chéng)心地對(duì)待一個(gè)信任自己的人?我有一種觀點(diǎn):即便最無恥的無賴,內(nèi)心也總會(huì)有好的一面。我發(fā)現(xiàn),他們常常能一直讓女性愛自己,并且對(duì)自己忠誠(chéng)。”
“哈!我早就說過!”查爾斯嗤之以鼻,“我早就說過,搞文學(xué)的人總是對(duì)無賴有一種見不得人的想法。”
“也許你說得對(duì),”詩(shī)人冷笑道,“因?yàn)槟阄叶际欠踩?。咱們中間誰要是問心無愧,沒有什么罪過,那就先站出來教訓(xùn)教訓(xùn)我吧!”說完他就在一邊賭氣,閉口不言。
我們起身離桌,拿上雪茄,轉(zhuǎn)身去吸煙室。那個(gè)房間是摩爾風(fēng)格的裝潢,富麗堂皇,配的是東方風(fēng)格的墻幔。溫古德參議員在那兒同查爾斯談些富礦帶、大農(nóng)場(chǎng),還有一些其他振奮人心的飯后談資;那位雜志編輯則時(shí)而插話問個(gè)相關(guān)的問題,時(shí)而也說個(gè)古怪而諷刺的類似事件。很明顯,他心中想的是以后要把這些發(fā)表出來。只有阿爾杰農(nóng)·克雷亞德一個(gè)人坐在一旁想著心事,一句話不說,一只手托著下巴,眉頭緊鎖,眼睛盯著火爐中的灰燼。順便說一句,他手上戴了一個(gè)稀奇古怪的戒指,一眼就能認(rèn)出是埃及人或伊特魯里亞人造的,上面鑲的寶石向外凸起,琢面很大。他只是在打惠斯特橋牌的時(shí)候突然冒了一句話。
“霍金斯當(dāng)伯爵了。”查爾斯說道,說的是倫敦某位相識(shí)。
“他何德何能?”參議員問道。
“會(huì)造假唄!”詩(shī)人刻薄地答道。
“榮耀名譽(yù),這一切太容易。”雜志編輯插話道。
“查爾斯爵士靠?;^也弄了兩個(gè)。”詩(shī)人補(bǔ)充道。
夜幕快要降臨時(shí),溫古德參議員提議玩一玩瑞典撲克,這是一種容易上手的游戲——此時(shí)詩(shī)人雖說不是怒發(fā)沖冠,但也依舊郁郁寡歡。這游戲是根據(jù)過去的賭博游戲演化而來的,最近在西方社會(huì)非常流行,不過在座的眾人,除了那位萬事通詩(shī)人還有雜志編輯,幾乎無人了解。后來才知道,溫古德之所以提議玩這個(gè)游戲,是因?yàn)樗?dāng)天下午在蓮花俱樂部聽克雷亞德說,這是他最喜歡的娛樂消遣。不過,他此刻不愿意玩。他說自己沒錢,而其他諸位都是富翁,自己為什么要把十幾首漂亮的十四行詩(shī)賺來的錢拱手讓給百萬富翁,好讓他們?cè)诮鸨梯x煌的百萬富翁的宮殿上再添一磚加一瓦呢?此外,他正在寫一首頌詩(shī),稱贊共和國(guó)的簡(jiǎn)樸。民主黨參議員宅邸的簡(jiǎn)單樸素讓他不禁想到了登塔圖斯、法比家族,還有卡美盧斯。溫古德隱隱地感到他在取笑自己,不過仍然堅(jiān)持詩(shī)人一定要同這些金融家一起玩玩牌。“你可以不叫牌,”他說,“多少次都行。你可以把賭注下得低一些,或者隨便碰碰運(yùn)氣,你隨意。這個(gè)游戲很民主,除了莊家,其他人自己決定下多大的注。你要是不想坐莊,可以不坐。”
“哦,要是你這么堅(jiān)持,”克雷亞德懶洋洋地,透著一股不情愿,慢悠悠地說,“我就不得不從命了,要不然會(huì)掃了你的興。不過,你可記住,我是詩(shī)人,我有神秘的靈感。”
這些紙牌,為了方便辨認(rèn),除了牌面上有花色和點(diǎn)數(shù),角上也有花色和點(diǎn)數(shù)。一開始,我們的賭注很小。詩(shī)人很少下注,每次下注——幾英鎊——他總輸,很奇怪。他想用古西班牙金幣或古威尼斯金幣下注,費(fèi)了不少勁才說服他用美元。查爾斯最后隔著牌桌看著他,那時(shí)賭注在快速增加,都用現(xiàn)錢。紙幣在綠色桌布上厚厚地摞著。“喂,”他低語(yǔ)道,有些挑釁,“你的靈感呢?阿波羅不管你了嗎?”
查爾斯能用上這么經(jīng)典的暗指,這夠稀奇的,老實(shí)說,我自己都覺得不可思議(后來發(fā)現(xiàn),他看了當(dāng)晚的《評(píng)論家》雜志的一篇評(píng)論,現(xiàn)學(xué)現(xiàn)賣)。不過,詩(shī)人微微一笑。
“沒有哇,”他平靜地答道,“我現(xiàn)在正在醞釀靈感。靈感來的時(shí)候,肯定讓你吃不了兜著走。”
接下來的一局,查爾斯坐莊發(fā)牌,詩(shī)人下注,和之前一樣,不讓別人看到。他下注時(shí),一副紳士派頭。讓我們?nèi)f萬沒想到的是,他抽出一沓鈔票,平和地說道:“現(xiàn)在靈感來了。‘心不在焉’這個(gè)詞剛好,我押五千。”當(dāng)然是五千美元,換成英國(guó)貨幣約一千英鎊——對(duì)一名以寫作為生的人來講,這是個(gè)大賭注。
查爾斯笑了笑,攤了牌,詩(shī)人也亮了牌——于是贏了一千英鎊。
“運(yùn)氣不錯(cuò)嘛!”查爾斯低聲說道,雖然輸了錢不高興,但他仍裝出一副若無其事的樣子。
“靈感嘛!”詩(shī)人沉思道,又變得心不在焉起來。
查爾斯再次發(fā)牌。雖然詩(shī)人的一雙死魚眼在盯著發(fā)牌,思緒卻不知飛到哪兒去了。他嘴唇翕動(dòng)著,念念有詞。“郊游、水手、行走,”他咕噥著,“湊夠三個(gè)了。對(duì)了,還有楊柳,‘柳’的意思是留。這下就大功告成了。月桂、畫眉這兩個(gè)詞押韻押得不好。用‘郊游’試試,你覺得怎么樣?”
“下不下注?”查爾斯接過話,口氣嚴(yán)厲,把詩(shī)人拉回了現(xiàn)實(shí)。
詩(shī)人一驚。“不下,你們繼續(xù)。”他回應(yīng)道,低頭看牌,又陷入沉思。我們又看到他雙唇在顫抖,聽到他念道:“西海邊心不在焉的守望者/我比你更擁護(hù)共和/多年后,我前來看你/少女的誓言是否仍還銘記/如花似錦的年紀(jì)/誓做自由妻——”
“下不下注?”查爾斯再次試探著打斷他。
“下,五千,”詩(shī)人在半睡半醒中回答,把自己面前的一堆紙幣推上前去,嘴上一直沒閑著,“來日誓做自由妻。‘來日’,‘來日’,這個(gè)詞乏味得連五塊錢都不值得下。”
查爾斯再次亮牌,詩(shī)人又贏了。查爾斯把錢推過去,詩(shī)人心不在焉地?cái)埩诉^來,好像在注視著無際的遠(yuǎn)方,問誰能借他鉛筆還有紙。有幾行難得的詩(shī)句,他要記下來,否則很可能就忘了。
“這是在打牌,”查爾斯厲聲說道,“你能不能只專注一件事?”
詩(shī)人望了他一眼,臉上掛著同情的笑容。“早就給你說了,我有靈感,”他說,“詩(shī)和靈感形影不離。你的錢我不能想贏多快就贏多快,除非我打牌的時(shí)候作作詩(shī)。每每我想到好詞好句,我都要賭一賭運(yùn)氣。你沒發(fā)現(xiàn)嗎,我靠著‘心不在焉’這個(gè)詞贏了一千,靠‘如花似錦’又贏了一千。要是我為‘來日’這詞下注,我肯定會(huì)輸。懂不懂我這套規(guī)則?”
“要我說,這純粹是瞎扯,”查爾斯回應(yīng)道,“不管這些,接著打牌。規(guī)則是給蠢貨準(zhǔn)備的——卻是為了迎合智者??窟@種瞎想,你早晚會(huì)輸。”
詩(shī)人繼續(xù)道:“此生誓做自由妻。”
“下注!”查爾斯厲聲喊道,我們都下了注。
“此生,”詩(shī)人咕噥道,“此后余生。這個(gè)詞夠妙。我押一萬美元,查爾斯爵士,押‘此生’這個(gè)詞。”
大家都亮了牌,有輸有贏,詩(shī)人則贏了兩千英鎊。
“我身上沒帶這么多錢,”查爾斯說道,語(yǔ)氣嚴(yán)肅而惱怒,他輸牌時(shí)通常都是這種語(yǔ)氣,“不過——我明天會(huì)把錢給你結(jié)清。”
“再來一局?”主人問道,滿臉堆笑。
“謝謝,還是算了吧!”查爾斯答道,“克雷亞德先生的靈感來得太是時(shí)候了。他的運(yùn)氣太好了,參議員先生,我不玩了。”
就在此時(shí),一名仆人進(jìn)來了,手托一個(gè)托盤,上面有一個(gè)信封,里面裝了一封短箋。“是給克雷亞德先生的,”他說,“送信人說十分緊急。”
克雷亞德趕忙撕開信封。能看出來他很焦慮,臉立刻就白了。
“抱……抱歉,”他說道,“我……我現(xiàn)在必須馬上回去了。我妻子病危——發(fā)作得很突然。參議員先生,請(qǐng)?jiān)彙2闋査咕羰?,你明天再?bào)仇吧。”
很明顯,他說話時(shí)有些哽咽。我們覺得他最起碼是個(gè)重感情的人。他顯然有些害怕,再也無法冷靜。他在恍惚中同各位握手道別,接著便沖下樓梯找自己的風(fēng)衣。就在他關(guān)上前門的那一刻,又來了一位客人,兩人在玄關(guān)擦肩而過。
“各位先生,好哇,”他張口道,“咱們被騙了,知道嗎?從蓮花俱樂部說起,我們接納為俱樂部名譽(yù)會(huì)員的那個(gè)人,并不是阿爾杰農(nóng)·克雷亞德。他是位招搖撞騙的騙子。今晚來的電報(bào)說,阿爾杰農(nóng)·克雷亞德在英格蘭的家中,現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)病危。”
查爾斯倒抽了一口長(zhǎng)氣。“克雷上校,”他叫道,聲音很大,“他這次又把我騙了。沒時(shí)間了,趕緊追,先生們!趕緊追!”
我們之前從未有過如此唾手可得的一個(gè)機(jī)會(huì),去抓那令人敬畏的騙子,收拾他一頓。我們便一股腦兒三步并作兩步奔下樓梯,沖到第五大道上。那位冒牌詩(shī)人只在我們前面一百碼的距離,并發(fā)現(xiàn)事情已經(jīng)敗露了。不過,他是位跑步健將??紤]到年齡還有體重,我跑起來也不慢,在后面狂奔追趕。他在一個(gè)拐角轉(zhuǎn)了彎,前方無路可逃,浪費(fèi)了一些時(shí)間,他又發(fā)瘋似的迅速折回。我想到自己正在追捕的是這么一個(gè)名聲顯赫的罪犯就感到興奮,便又加了一把勁兒——氣喘吁吁地追上了他。他穿了件輕薄的風(fēng)衣,我用手一把抓住,喊道:“終于抓到你了,克雷上校,你逃不了了!”
他轉(zhuǎn)過身看著我。“哈,記不記得那百分之十!”他一邊掙扎一邊喊道,“是你干的,對(duì)不對(duì)?先生,你永遠(yuǎn)、永遠(yuǎn)別想抓住我!”說時(shí)遲,那時(shí)快,他在說話的空當(dāng)兒,把雙臂向后并攏,想讓風(fēng)衣滑掉;風(fēng)衣是新做的,袖子里面是平滑的絲襯,一下子就滑掉了。他這一下讓我猝不及防,腳下也沒站穩(wěn)。我抓著他的外套,外套一掉我便仰面向后倒去,滾進(jìn)了街上的泥漿里,背摔得很疼。那克雷上校不安地笑了笑,便穿著晚禮服全速逃跑,在街角一轉(zhuǎn)便不見了蹤影。
過了一會(huì)兒,我才緩過氣,從地上爬起來,看看自己的傷勢(shì)如何。這時(shí),查爾斯還有其他人都已趕到,我向他們說明了事情經(jīng)過。我對(duì)查爾斯的事情如此上心——胳膊摔破了,那件不錯(cuò)的晚禮服也毀了,我的內(nèi)兄非但沒有稱贊我?guī)拙?,反而冷冷地說,既然只差那么一點(diǎn)就能抓住了,我就應(yīng)該把他抓住的。
“至少,我拿到了他的外套,”我說,“這也許會(huì)給我們提供一點(diǎn)線索。”我手里拿著那件外套一瘸一拐、搖搖晃晃地往回走,身上摔得青一塊紫一塊。
我們開始檢查那外套,不過上面沒有找到裁縫的名字。衣服后背處裁縫借以標(biāo)榜自己手藝的帶子被小心地撕掉了,取而代之的是一條純黑的帶子,沒有任何字跡。我們又搜了搜胸前的口袋,找到了一塊手帕,是用最好的細(xì)麻紗做的,也沒留下什么名字。再看看兩側(cè)的口袋——哈,這是什么?我喜出望外,掏出一張紙。是一張短箋——這是一個(gè)真正有價(jià)值的發(fā)現(xiàn)——就是剛剛仆人在參議員家中遞給他的那張短箋。
我們一口氣讀完。
親愛的保羅,我早就跟你說過,這樣太冒險(xiǎn),為什么不聽我一勸呢?你就不該冒充現(xiàn)實(shí)中的人物。我剛剛碰巧瞧了一眼酒店的自動(dòng)電報(bào)機(jī),打算看看克羅地多普公司今天的行情怎樣。你猜我在從英格蘭發(fā)過來的電報(bào)中看到了什么消息?阿爾杰農(nóng)·克雷亞德先生,就是那位大名鼎鼎的詩(shī)人,現(xiàn)在在德文郡家中的床上病死了?,F(xiàn)在整個(gè)紐約都知曉了此事。就說我病危,立刻回來,一分鐘都不要耽誤。別回酒店,我正在轉(zhuǎn)移咱們的東西,到瑪麗家找我。
你忠心的,
瑪格特
“這張短箋非常重要!”查爾斯說道,“它給了我們一條線索。其他的先不管,現(xiàn)在我們知道了兩件事:他的真名叫保羅,皮卡迪特夫人的真名叫瑪格特。”
我又搜了搜口袋,找到一枚戒指。顯然,他發(fā)現(xiàn)我在追他時(shí),就把這兩樣?xùn)|西塞到了口袋里,在扭扯中忘了這事,或者說根本顧不上了。
我仔細(xì)地看了看,這就是他玩瑞典撲克時(shí)戴在手上的那枚戒指,中間鑲有一枚合成的大寶石,有好幾個(gè)面,像金字塔一樣向中間突起。一共有八個(gè)面,有些面上是祖母綠、紫水晶,或綠松石,不過有一面——與佩戴者的眼睛成直角的那一面——根本不是什么珠寶,而是一塊非常小的凸面鏡。我一下子明白了他這葫蘆里賣的什么藥。我內(nèi)兄發(fā)牌時(shí),他就漫不經(jīng)心地把手搭在桌上,當(dāng)通過鏡面折射,看到自己的點(diǎn)數(shù)與花色比查爾斯的要好時(shí),就來了“靈感”,便信心十足地為自己的運(yùn)氣下注——或者說為自己的內(nèi)幕信息下注。同樣,我確信他那樣子奇怪的眼鏡是個(gè)高倍的放大鏡,在這種把戲中助了他一臂之力。于是,我們又發(fā)了一次牌,試了一下——我戴上戒指,即便裸眼也都能每次認(rèn)出發(fā)給我的牌的點(diǎn)數(shù)與花色。
“好哇,這跟作弊差不多。”參議員說道,后退了一步。他想向我們表明,即便是在美國(guó)的偏遠(yuǎn)西部地區(qū)的投機(jī)者也會(huì)有個(gè)底線。
“說得對(duì),”雜志編輯應(yīng)和道,“為自己的牌技下注合規(guī)合法,為自己的運(yùn)氣下注是沒有頭腦,為自己的內(nèi)幕信息下注是——”
“不講道德。”我提示了一下。
“說得非常好。”雜志編輯接過話。
“騙法很簡(jiǎn)單,”查爾斯插話道,“換成其他人,我早就識(shí)破了。但是他喋喋不休地說著自己的靈感,把我的注意力引開了,這就是那個(gè)無賴的障眼法。他用一般騙子的手段來轉(zhuǎn)移你的注意力——他這一招用得太好了,等你發(fā)現(xiàn)他的真實(shí)意圖,一切都無可挽回了。”
我們讓紐約警方追尋克雷上校,不過,當(dāng)然他又同以往一樣,已經(jīng)化作曼哈頓的一縷輕煙,立刻消失得無影無蹤,一絲線索都沒有。“瑪麗家”,我們得到的是個(gè)不全的地址。
我們又在紐約等了整整兩星期,一點(diǎn)消息都沒有,沒找到什么“瑪麗家”。唯一能表明克雷上校在這個(gè)城市的東西,是他按慣例寫來的羞辱信。內(nèi)容如下:
哎,那位一直上當(dāng)受騙的:
自從咱們?cè)趩讨魏娒嬉院?,我就回了倫敦,不過馬上又回來了。實(shí)際上,我在倫敦有筆買賣要做,現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)做完了。英國(guó)警方的高度戒備又讓我像天上偉大的獵戶座一樣,“緩緩地向西移動(dòng)”。我又回到美國(guó),是想看看你是否仍有悔恨之心。剛到的那天,我就碰到了溫古德參議員,便接受了他的熱情邀請(qǐng),純粹是想看看我上次給你的信對(duì)你的影響有多大。結(jié)果,我發(fā)現(xiàn)你還是相當(dāng)冥頑不靈,并且固執(zhí)地誤解我的初衷,于是我決定再給你來個(gè)小小的教訓(xùn)。這次差一點(diǎn)就失敗了,我承認(rèn)這個(gè)意外事件讓我緊張了一把?,F(xiàn)在我即將徹底罷手,在薩里郡安頓下來度過余生。我打算再略微騙你一次,事成之后,克雷上校就會(huì)像辛辛納圖斯一樣,棄甲歸田。到時(shí)候,你就不必再提心吊膽。我已為余生準(zhǔn)備得差不多了,不像你那么貪得無厭?,F(xiàn)在我意識(shí)到要成為一名好公民,得及早收手,以便給那些更年輕、更有資格的無賴更多的機(jī)會(huì)。咱們共同經(jīng)歷的愉快冒險(xiǎn),我今后定會(huì)常常愉悅地回味一番。既然你拿到了我的外套,還有一枚戒指,一封對(duì)我來講十分重要的信件,咱們就算扯平了,我也就體面地罷手了。
衷心祝愿你的,
詩(shī)人庫(kù)斯伯特·克雷
“這就是他一貫的風(fēng)格!”查爾斯說道,“說是要再最后騙我一次,算是給我一個(gè)警告。即便他這么做了,我為什么要信他的話?他那種無賴說這些話,當(dāng)然也可能就是為了故意讓我放松警惕。”
就我而言,我十分贊同“瑪格特”的話。當(dāng)上校不得不冒充某位知名人士時(shí),我覺得他已經(jīng)基本黔驢技窮了,最好還是到薩里郡安度余生吧。
不過,雜志編輯把這一切總結(jié)成了一句話:“勤勞和能力創(chuàng)造財(cái)富,這是瞎扯,千萬別信。人生就像打牌,成功源自兩個(gè)因素——一個(gè)是機(jī)會(huì),另一個(gè)就是作弊。”
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