df.theedge-第5部分

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　　On　the　night　of　Derry　Welfram's　death；　I　walked　into　the　bar　at　ten　to　eight　and　ordered　a　glass　of　Burgundy　and　a　couple　of　beef　sandwiches　which　came　promptly　because　of　the　post…cricket…season　absence　of　a　hundred　devotees　discussing　leg…breaks　and　insider　politics　at　the　tops　of　their　voices。　There　were　still　a　good　number　of　customers；　but　from　late　September　to　the　middle　of　April　one　could　talk　all　night　without　laryngitis　the　next　day；　and　when　the　Brigadier　arrived　he　greeted　me　audibly　and　cheerfully　as　a　fellow　member　well　met　and　began　telling　me　his　assessment　of　the　Test　team　just　assembled　for　the　winter　tour　abroad。
　　'They've　disregarded　Withers；'　he　plained。　'How　are　they　ever　going　to　get　Balping　out　if　they　leave　our　best　in…swinger　biting　his　knuckles　at　home？'
　　I　hadn't　the　faintest　idea；　and　he　knew　it。　With　a　gleam　of　a　smile　he　bought　himself　a　double　Scotch　drowned　in　a　large　glass　of　water；　and　led　the　way　to　one　of　the　small　tables　round　the　edge　of　the　room；　still　chatting　on　about　the　whys　and　wherefores　of　the　selected　team。
　　'Now；'　he　said　without　change　of　speed　or　volume；　'Welfram's　dead；　Shacklebury's　dead；　Gideon's　dead；　and　the　problem　is　what　do　we　do　next？'
　　The　question；　I　knew；　had　to　be　rhetorical。　He　never　called　me　to　the　Hobbs　Sandwich　to　ask　my　advice　but　always　to　direct　me　towards　some　new　course　of　action；　though　he　would　listen　and　change　his　requirements　if　I　put　forward　any　huge　objections；　which　I　didn't　often。　He　waited　for　a　while；　though；　as　if　for　an　answer；　and　took　a　slow　contemplative　mouthful　of　weak　whisky。
　　'Did　Mr　Gideon　leave　any　notes？'　I　asked　eventually。
　　'Not　as　far　as　we　know。　Nothing　as　helpful　as　telling　us　why　he　sold　his　horses　to　Filmer；　if　that's　what　you　mean。　Not　unless　a　letter　es　in　the　post　next　week；　which　I　very　much　doubt。'
　　Gideon　had　been　frightened　beyond　death；　I　thought。　The　threat　must　have　been　to　the　living；　an　ongoing　perpetual　threat。
　　'Mr　Gideon　has　daughters；'　I　said。
　　The　Brigadier　nodded。　'Three。　And　five　grandchildren。　His　wife　died　years　ago；　I　suppose　you　know。　Am　I　reading　you　*aright？'
　　'That　the　daughters　and　grandchildren　were　hostages？　Yes。　Do　you　think　they　could　know　it？'
　　'Positive　they　don't；'　the　Brigadier　said。　'I　talked　with　his　eldest　daughter　today。　Nice；　sensible　woman；　about　fifty。　Gideon　shot　himself　yesterday　evening；　around　five　they　think；　but　no　one　found　him　for　hours　as　he　did　it　out　in　the　woods。　I　went　down　to　the　house　today。　His　daughter；　Sarah；　said　he's　been　ultra…depressed　lately；　going　deeper　and　deeper；　but　she　didn't　know　what　had　caused　it。　He　wouldn't　discuss　it。　Sarah　was　in　tears；　of　course；　and　also　of　course　feeling　guilty　because　she　didn't　prevent　it；　but　she　couldn't　have　prevented　it；　it's　almost　impossible　to　stop　a　determined　suicide；　you　can't　force　people　to　go　on　living。　Short　of　imprisonment；　of　course。　Anyway；　if　she　was　any　sort　of　a　hostage；　she　didn't　know　it。　It　wasn't　that　sort　of　guilt。'
　　I　offered　him　one　of　my　so　far　uneaten　sandwiches。　He　took　one　absentmindedly　and　began　to　chew；　and　I　ate　one　myself。　The　problem　of　what　to　do　about　Filmer　lay　in　morose　wrinkles　across　his　brow　and　I'd　heard　he　considered　the　collapse　of　the　conspiracy　trial　a　personal　failure。
　　'I　went　to　see　Ezra　Gideon　myself　after　you　and　John　Millington　flushed　out　Welfram；'　he　said。　'I　showed　Ezra　your　photograph　of　Welfram。　I　thought　he　would　faint；　he　went　so　white；　but　he　still　wouldn't　speak。　And　now；　God　damn　it；　in　one　day　we've　lost　both　contacts。　We　don't　know　who　Filmer　will　get　to　next；　or　if　he's　already　active　again；　and　we'll　have　the　devil's　own　job　spotting　another　frightener。'
　　'He　won't　have　found　one　himself　yet；　I　shouldn't　think；'　I　said。　'Certainly　not　one　as　effective。　They　aren't　that　mon；　are　they？'
　　'The　police　say　they're　getting　younger。'
　　He　looked　unusually　discouraged　for　someone　whose　success　rate　in　all　other　fields　was　impressive。　The　lost　battle　rankled：　the　victories　had　been　shrugged　off。　I　drank　some　wine　and　waited　for　the　manding　officer　to　emerge　from　the　worried　man；　waited　for　him　to　unfold　the　plan　of　campaign。
　　He　surprised　me；　however；　by　saying；　'I　didn't　think　you'd　stick　this　job　this　long。'
　　'Why　not？'
　　'You　know　damn　well　why　not。　You're　not　dim。　Clement　told　me　the　pile　your　father　left　you　simply　multiplied　itself　for　twenty　years；　growing　like　a　mushroom。　And　still　does。　Like　a　whole　field　of　mushrooms。　Why　aren't　you　out　there　picking　them？'
　　I　sat　back　in　my　chair　wondering　what　to　say。　I　knew　very　well　why　I　didn't　pick　them；　but　I　wasn't　sure　it　would　sound　sensible。
　　'Go　on；'　he　said。　'I　need　to　know。'
　　I　glanced　at　his　intent　eyes　and　sensed　his　concentration；　and　realized　suddenly　that　he　might　mean　in　some　obscure　way　to　base　the　future　plan　on　my　answer。
　　'It　isn't　so　easy；'　I　said　slowly；　'and　don't　laugh；　it　really　isn't　so　easy　to　be　able　to　afford　anything　you　want。　Short　of　the　Crown　Jewels　and　trifles　like　that。　Well。。。　I　don't　find　it　easy。　I'm　like　a　child　loose　in　a　sweet　shop。　I　could　eat　and　eat。。。　and　make　myself　sick。。。　and　greedy。。。　and　a　jellyfish。　So　I　keep　my　hands　off　the　sweets　and　occupy　my　time　following　crooks。　Is　that　any　sort　of　answer？'
　　He　grunted　nonmittally。　'How　strong　is　the　temptation？'
　　'On　freezing　cold　days　in　sleet　and　wind　at　say　Doncaster　races；　very　strong　indeed。　At　Ascot　in　the　sunshine　I　don't　feel　it。'
　　'Be　serious；'　he　said。　'Put　it　another　way。　How　strong　is　your　mitment　to　the　Security　Service？'
　　'They're　really　two　different　things；'　I　said。　'I　don't　pick　too　many　mushrooms　because　I　want　to　retain　order。。。　to　keep　my　feet　well　planted。　Mushrooms　can　be　hallucinogenic；　after　all。　I　work　for　you；　for　the　Service；　rather　than　in　banking　or　farming　and　so　on；　because　I　like　it　and　I'm　not　all　that　bad　at　what　I　do；　really；　and　it's　useful；　and　I'm　not　terribly　good　at　twiddling　my　thumbs。　I　don't　know　that　I'd　die　for　you。　Is　that　what　you　want？'
　　His　lips　twitched。　He　said；　'Fair　enough。　How　do　you　feel　about　danger　nowadays？　I　know　you　did　risky　enough　things　on　your　travels。'
　　After　a　brief　pause；　I　said；　'What　sort　of　danger？'
　　'Physical；　I　suppose。'　He　rubbed　a　thumb　and　forefinger　down　his　nose　and　looked　at　me　with　steady　eyes。　'Perhaps。'
　　'What　do　you　want　me　to　do？'
　　We　had　e　to　the　point　of　the　meeting；　but　he　backed　away　from　it　still。
　　I　knew　in　a　way　that　it　was　because　of　what　he'd　called　the　mushrooms　that　he'd　grown　into　the　way　of　speaking　to　me　as　he　did；　proposing　but　seldom　giving　straight　orders。　He　would　have　been　more　forthright　if　I'd　been　a　junior　army　officer　in　uniform。　Millington；　who　didn't　know　about　the　mushrooms；　could　uninhibitedly　boss　me　around　like　a　sergeant…major；　and　did　so　pretty　sharply　under　pressure。
　　Millington　mostly　called　me　Kelsey　and　only　occasionally；　on　good　days；　Tor。　（'Tor？　What　sort　of　name　is　that？'　he'd　demanded　at　the　beginning。　'Short　for　Torquil；'　I　said。　'Torquil？　Huh。　I　don't　blame　you。　'）　He　always　referred　to　himself　as　Millington　（'Millington　here；'　when　he　telephoned）　and　that　was　how　I　thought　of　him：　he　had　never　asked　me　to　call　him　John。　I　supposed　that　a　man　who　had　served　in　a　strongly　hierarchical　organization　for　a　long　time　found　surnames　natural。
　　The　Brigadier's　attention　still　seemed　to　be　focused　on　the　glass　he　was　slowly　revolving　in　his　hands；　but　finally　he　put　it　down　precisely　in　the　centre　of　a　beer　mat　as　if　ing　to　a　precise　conclusion　in　his　thoughts。
　　'I　had　a　telephone　call　yesterday　from　my　counterpart　in　the　Canadian　Jockey　Club。'　He　paused　again。　'Have　you　ever　been　to　Canada？'
　　'Yes；'　I　said。　'Once；　for　a　while；　for　maybe　three　months；　mostly　in　the　west。　Calgary。。。　Vancouver。。。　I　went　up　by　boat　from　there　to　Alaska。'
　　'Did　you　go　to　the　races　in　Canada？'
　　'Yes；　a　few　times；　but　it　must　be　about　six　years　ago　。。。　and　I　don't　know　anyone　'　I　stopped；　puzzled；　not　knowing　what　kind　of　response　he　wanted。
　　'Do　you　know　about　this　train？'　he　said。　'The　Transcontinental　Mystery　Race　Train？　Ever　heard　of　it？'
　　'Um；'　I　said；　reflecting。　'I　read　somethi