raymondchandler.thehighwindow-第1部分

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　 The　house　was　on　Dresden　Avenue　in　the　Oak　Noll　section　of　Pasadena；　a　big　solid　cool…looking　house　with　burgundy　brick　walls；　a　terra　cotta　tile　roof；　and　a　white　stone　trim。　The　front　windows　were　leaded　downstairs。　Upstairs　windows　were　of　the　cottage　type　and　had　a　lot　of　rococo　imitation　stonework　trimming　around　them。
　 From　the　front　wall　and　its　attendant　flowering　bushes　a　half　acre　or　so　of　fine　green　lawn　drifted　in　a　gentle　slope　down　to　the　street；　passing　on　the　way　an　enormous　deodar　around　which　it　flowed　like　a　cool　green　tide　around　a　rock。　The　sidewalk　and　the　parkway　were　both　very　wide　and　in　the　parkway　were　three　white　acacias　that　were　worth　seeing。　There　was　a　heavy　scent　of　summer　on　the　morning　and　everything　that　grew　was　perfectly　still　in　the　breathless　air　they　get　over　there　on　what　they　call　a　nice　cool　day。
　 All　I　knew　about　the　people　was　that　they　were　a　Mrs。　Elizabeth　Bright　Murdock　and　family　and　that　she　wanted　to　hire　a　nice　clean　private　detective　who　wouldn't　drop　cigar　ashes　on　the　floor　and　never　carried　more　than　one　gun。　And　I　knew　she　was　the　widow　of　an　old　coot　with　whiskers　named　Jasper　Murdock　who　had　made　a　lot　of　money　helping　out　the　munity；　and　got　his　photograph　in　the　Pasadena　paper　every　year　on　his　anniversary；　with　the　years　of　his　birth　and　death　underneath；　and　the　legend：　His　Life　Was　His　Service。
　 I　left　my　car　on　the　street　and　walked　over　a　few　dozen　stumble　stones　set　into　the　green　lawn；　and　rang　the　bell　in　the　brick　portico　under　a　peaked　roof。　A　low　red　brick　wall　ran　along　the　front　of　the　house　the　short　distance　from　the　door　to　the　edge　of　the　driveway。　At　the　end　of　the　walk；　on　a　concrete　block；　there　was　a　little　painted　Negro　in　white　riding　breeches　and　a　green　jacket　and　a　red　cap。　He　was　holding　a　whip；　and　there　was　an　iron　hitching　ring　in　the　block　at　his　feet。　He　looked　a　little　sad；　as　if　he　had　been　waiting　there　a　long　time　and　was　getting　discouraged。　I　went　over　and　patted　his　head　while　I　was　waiting　for　somebody　to　e　to　the　door。
　 After　a　while　a　middle…aged　sourpuss　in　a　maid's　costume　opened　the　front　door　about　eight　inches　and　gave　me　the　beady　eye。
　 〃Philip　Marlowe；〃　I　said。　〃Calling　on　Mrs。　Murdock。　By　appointment。〃
　 The　middle…aged　sourpuss　ground　her　teeth；　snapped　her　eyes　shut；　snapped　them　open　and　said　in　one　of　those　angular　hardrock　pioneer…type　voices：　〃Which　one？〃
　 〃Huh？〃
　 〃Which　Mrs。　Murdock？〃　she　almost　screamed　at　me。
　 〃Mrs。　Elizabeth　Bright　Murdock；〃　I　said。　〃I　didn't　know　there　was　more　than　one。〃
　 〃Well；　there　is；〃　she　snapped。　〃Got　a　card？〃
　 She　still　had　the　door　a　scant　eight　inches　open。　She　poked　the　end　of　her　nose　and　a　thin　muscular　hand　into　the　opening。　I　got　my　wallet　out　and　got　one　of　the　cards　with　just　my　name　on　it　and　put　it　in　the　hand。　The　hand　and　nose　went　in　and　the　door　slammed　in　my　face。
　 I　thought　that　maybe　I　ought　to　have　gone　to　the　back　door。　I　went　over　and　patted　the　little　Negro　on　the　head　again。
　 〃Brother；〃　I　said；　〃you　and　me　both。〃
　 Time　passed；　quite　a　lot　of　time。　I　stuck　a　cigarette　in　my　mouth　but　didn't　light　it。　The　Good　Humor　man　went　by　in　his　little　blue　and　white　wagon；　playing　Turkey　in　the　Straw　on　his　music　box。　A　large　black　and　gold　butterfly　fishtailed　in　and　landed　on　a　hydrangea　bush　almost　at　my　elbow；　moved　its　wings　slowly　up　and　down　a　few　times；　then　took　off　heavily　and　staggered　away　through　the　motionless　hot　scented　air。
　 The　front　door　came　open　again。　The　sourpuss　said：　〃This　way。〃
　 I　went　in。　The　room　beyond　was　large　and　square　and　sunken　and　cool　and　had　the　restful　atmosphere　of　a　funeral　chapel　and　something　of　the　same　smell。　Tapestry　on　the　blank　roughened　stucco　walls；　iron　grilles　imitating　balconies　outside　high　side　windows；　heavy　carved　chairs　with　plush　seats　and　tapestry　backs　and　tarnished　gilt　tassels　hanging　down　their　sides。　At　the　back　a　stained…glass　window　about　the　size　of　a　tennis　court。　Curtained　french　doors　underneath　it。　An　old　musty；　fusty；　narrow…minded；　clean　and　bitter　room。　It　didn't　look　as　if　anybody　ever　sat　in　it　or　would　ever　want　to。　Marble…topped　tables　with　crooked　legs；　gilt　clocks；　pieces　of　small　statuary　in　two　colors　of　marble。　A　lot　of　junk　that　would　take　a　week　to　dust。　A　lot　of　money；　and　all　wasted。　Thirty　years　before；　in　the　wealthy　close…mouthed　provincial　town　Pasadena　then　was；　it　must　have　seemed　like　quite　a　room。
　 We　left　it　and　went　along　a　hallway　and　after　a　while　the　sourpuss　opened　a　door　and　motioned　me　in。
　 〃Mr。　Marlowe；〃　she　said　through　the　door　in　a　nasty　voice；　and　went　away　grinding　her　teeth。
　
　
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　 It　was　a　small　room　looking　out　on　the　back　garden。　It　had　an　ugly　red　and　brown　carpet　and　was　furnished　as　an　office。　It　contained　what　you　would　expect　to　find　in　a　small　office。　A　thin　fragile…looking　blondish　girl　in　shell　glasses　sat　behind　a　desk　with　a　typewriter　on　a　pulled…out　leaf　at　her　left。　She　had　her　hands　poised　on　the　keys；　but　she　didn't　have　any　paper　in　the　machine。　She　watched　me　e　into　the　room　with　the　stiff；　half…silly　expression　of　a　self…conscious　person　posing　for　a　snapshot。　She　had　a　clear　soft　voice；　asking　me　to　sit　down。
　 〃I　am　Miss　Davis。　Mrs。　Murdock's　secretary。　She　wanted　me　to　ask　you　for　a　few　references。〃
　 〃References？〃
　 〃Certainly。　References。　Does　that　surprise　you？〃
　 I　put　my　hat　on　her　desk　and　the　unlighted　cigarette　on　the　brim　of　the　hat。　〃You　mean　she　sent　for　me　without　knowing　anything　about　me？〃
　 Her　lip　trembled　and　she　bit　it。　I　didn't　know　whether　she　was　scared　or　annoyed　or　just　having　trouble　being　cool　and　businesslike。　But　she　didn't　look　happy。
　 〃She　got　your　name　from　the　manager　of　a　branch　of　the　California…Security　Bank。　But　he　doesn't　know　you　personally；〃　she　said。
　 〃Get　your　pencil　ready；〃　I　said。
　 She　held　it　up　and　showed　me　that　it　was　freshly　sharpened　and　ready　to　go。
　 I　said：　〃First　off；　one　of　the　vice…presidents　of　that　same　bank。　George　S。　Leake。　He's　in　the　main　office。　Then　State　Senator　Huston　Oglethorpe。　He　may　be　in　Sacramento；　or　he　may　be　at　his　office　in　the　State　Building　in　L。A。　Then　Sidney　Dreyfus；　Jr。；　of　Dreyfus；　Turner　and　Swayne；　attorneys　in　the　Title…Insurance　Building。　Got　that？〃
　 She　wrote　fast　and　easily。　She　nodded　without　looking　up。　The　light　danced　on　her　blond　hair。
　 〃Oliver　Fry　of　the　Fry…Krantz　Corporation；　Oil　Well　Tools。　They're　over　on　East　Ninth；　in　the　industrial　district。　Then；　if　you　would　like　a　couple　of　cops；　Bernard　Ohls　of　the　D。A。's　staff；　and　Detective…Lieutenant　Carl　Randall　of　the　Central　Homicide　Bureau。　You　think　maybe　that　would　be　enough？〃
　 〃Don't　laugh　at　me；〃　she　said。　〃I'm　only　doing　what　I'm　told。〃
　 〃Better　not　call　the　last　two；　unless　you　know　what　the　job　is；〃　I　said。　〃I'm　not　laughing　at　you。　Hot；　isn't　it？〃
　 〃It's　not　hot　for　Pasadena；〃　she　said；　and　hoisted　her　phone　book　up　on　the　desk　and　went　to　work。
　 While　she　was　looking　up　the　numbers　and　telephoning　hither　and　yon　I　looked　her　over。　She　was　pale　with　a　sort　of　natural　paleness　and　she　looked　healthy　enough。　Her　coarse…grained　coppery　blond　hair　was　not　ugly　in　itself；　but　it　was　drawn　back　so　tightly　over　her　narrow　head　that　it　almost　lost　the　effect　of　being　hair　at　all。　Her　eyebrows　were　thin　and　unusually　straight　and　were　darker　than　her　hair；　almost　a　chestnut　color。　Her　nostrils　had　the　whitish　look　of　an　anaemic　person。　Her　chin　was　too　small；　too　sharp　and　looked　unstable。　She　wore　no　makeup　except　orange…red　on　her　mouth　and　not　much　of　that。　Her　eyes　behind　the　glasses　were　very　large；　cobalt　blue　with　big　irises　and　a　vague　expression。　Both　lids　were　tight　so　that　the　eyes　had　a　slightly　oriental　look；　or　as　if　the　skin　of　her　face　was　naturally　so　tight　that　it　stretched　her　eyes　at　the　corners。　The　whole　face　had　a　sort　of　off…key　neurotic　charm　that　only　needed　some　clever　makeup　to　be　striking。
　 She　wore　a　one…piece　linen　dress　with　short　sleeves　and　no　ornament　of　any　kind。　Her　bare　arms　had　down　on　them；　and　a　few　freckles。
　 I　didn't　pay　much　attention　to　what　she　said　over　the　telephone。　Whatever　was　said　to　her　she　wrote　down　in　shorthand；　with　deft　easy　strokes　of　the　pencil。　When　she　was　through　she　hung　the　phone　book　back　on　a　hook　and　stood　up　and　smoothed　the　linen　dress　down　over　her　thighs　and　said：
　 〃If　you　will　just　wait　a　few　moments〃　and　went　towards　the　door。
　 Halfway　there　she　turned　back　and　pushed　a　top　drawer　of　her　desk　shut　at　the　side。　She　went　out。　The　door　closed。　There　was　silence。　Outside　the　window　bees　buzzed。　Far　off　I　heard　the　whine　of　a　vacuum　cleaner。　I　picked　the　unlighted　cigarette　off　my　hat；　put　it　in　my　mouth　and　stood　up。　I　went　around　the　desk　and　pulled　open　the　drawer　she　had　e　back　to　shut。
　 It　wasn't　any　of　my　business。　I　was　just　curious。　It　wasn't　any　of　my　business　that　she　had　a　small　Colt　automatic　in　the　drawer。　I　shut　it　and　sat　down　again。
　 She　was　gone　about　four　minutes。　She　opened　the　door　and　stayed　at　it　and　said：　〃Mrs。　Murdock　will　see　you　now。〃
　 We　went　along　some　more　hallway　and　she　opened　half　of　a　double　glass　door　and　stood　aside。　I　went　in　and　the　door　was　closed　behind　me。
　 It　was　so　dark　in　there　that　at　first　I　couldn't　see　anything　but　the　outdoors　light　ing　through　thick　bushes　and　screens。　Then　I　saw　that　the　room　was　a　sort　of　sun　porch　that　had　been　allowed　to　get　pletely　overgrown　outside。　It　was　furnished　with　grass　rugs　and　reed　stuff。　There　was　a　reed　chaise　longue　over　by　the　window。　It　had　a　curved　back　and　enough　cushions　to　stuff　an　elephant　and　there　was　a　woman　leaning　back　on　it　with　a　wine　glass　in　her　hand。　I　could　smell　the　thick　scented　alcoholic　odor　of　the　wine　before　I　could　see　her　properly。　Then　my　eyes　got　used　to　the　light　and　I　could　see　her。
　 She　had　a　lot　of　face　and　chin。　She　had　pewter…colored　hair　set　in　a　ruthless　permanent；　a　hard　beak　and　large　moist　eyes　with　the　sympathetic　expression　of　wet　stones。　There　was　lace　at　her　throat；　but　it　was　the　kind　of　throat　that　would　have　looked　better　in　a　football　sweater。　She　wore　a　grayish　silk　dress。　Her　thick　arms　were　bare　and　mottled。　There　were　jet　buttons　in　her　ears。　There　was　a　low　glass…topped　table　beside　her　and　a　bottle　of　port　on　the　table。　She　sipped　from　the　glass　she　was　holding　and　looked　at　me　over　it　and　said　nothing。
　 I　stood　there。　She　let　me　stand　while　she　finished　the　port　in　her　glass　and　put　the　glass　down　on　the　table　and　filled　it　again。　Then　she　tapped　her　lips　with　a　handkerchief。　Then　she　spoke。　Her　voice　had　a　hard　baritone　quality　and　sounded　as　if　it　didn't　want　any　nonsense。
　 〃Sit　down；　Mr。　Marlowe。　Please　do　not　light　that　cigarette。　I'm　asthmatic。〃
　 I　sat　down　in　a　reed　rocker　and　tucked　the　still　unlighted　cigarette　down　behind　the　handkerchief　in　my　outside　pocket。
　 〃I've　never　had　any　dealing　with　private　detectives；　Mr。　Marlowe。　I　don't　know　anything　about　them。　Your　references　seem　satisfactory。　What　are　your　charges？〃
　 〃To　do　what；　Mrs。　Murdock？〃
　 〃It's　a　very　confidential　matter；　naturally。　Nothing　to　do　with　the　police。　If　it　had　to　do　with　the　police；　I　should　have　called　the　police。〃
　 〃I　charge　twenty…five　dollars　a　day；　Mrs。　Murdock。　And　o