彭德利?泰德韦尔笑得更灿烂了。“没迈克尔?文宁那么难拍。他对相机有恐惧症。有一天晚上他在浴室里追着我跑，恨不得拧断我的脖子。”

Pendley Tidewell’s grin widened. “Not as hard as Michael Venning is. He’s got a phobia about cameras. Chased me out of his bathroom the other night all ready to break my neck.”

“也许他更喜欢一个人洗澡。” 莫娜提议道。

“Maybe he’d rather bathe alone,” Mona suggested.

“他很守旧。” 年轻人承认道。“而且他确实讨厌相机。莫娜，你不记得了吗，他们在旧金山靠岸的时候，他把一个船讯摄影师的相机给砸了？这就是为什么我那么急于给他拍张照片，从来没人拍到过。” 他看起来几乎是虔诚的。“也许我甚至能把照片卖给报纸。”

“He is reactionary,” the young man admitted. “And he does hate cameras. Don’t you remember, Mona, he smashed the camera of a ship news photographer when they docked in San Francisco? That’s why I’m so anxious to get a picture of him, no one ever has.” He looked almost reverent. “Maybe I could even sell it to the newspapers.”

“我想看看你的一些照片。” 马龙说，尽量让自己听起来像是真心想看。

“I’d like to see some of your pictures,” Malone said, trying to sound as if he really meant it.

彭德利?泰德韦尔的脸垮了下来。“我还没拍出好的照片呢。不过也许这些会拍得不错。我现在就上楼去冲洗照片。” 他又朝马龙咧嘴笑了笑。“莫娜在楼上给我弄了个暗房。有空来看看。”

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Pendley Tidewell’s face fell. “I haven’t made any good ones yet. But maybe these will turn out well. I’m going upstairs and develop them right away.” He grinned at Malone again. “Mona’s made me a darkroom upstairs. Come and see it sometime.”

他跑上楼后，房间似乎显得更大了，也安静了许多许多。

The room seemed much larger and far, far quieter after he had raced up the stairs.

“他真是个好孩子。” 莫娜说。

“He’s really a nice boy,” Mona said.

“可能有颗金子般的心。” 马龙表示赞同。

“Probably a heart of gold,” Malone agreed.

“他是伊迪莎?文宁的侄子。” 她告诉他，“一个孤儿，身无分文。文宁夫妇供他上学。我想他一定很高兴迈克尔?文宁后天就五十岁了，虽然他看起来对钱一点都不在乎，只在乎他的相机。”

“He’s Editha Venning’s nephew,” she told him, “an orphan, and penniless. The Vennings educated him. I imagine he feels greatly relieved that Michael Venning’s going to be fifty day after tomorrow, though he doesn’t seem to care anything about money, only about his camera.”

马龙还没弄明白她的意思，大厅里就传来一阵轻微的骚动，两个人从前门走了进来。其中一个人，一个穿着难看但昂贵的黄绿格子大衣的男人，走进房间向莫娜?麦克莱恩问好。他手里拿着一顶深绿色的软边帽子，帽沿上装饰着一根俏皮的羽毛。

Before Malone could figure out what she meant, there was a mild motion in the hall as two people came in the front door. One of them, a man in an ugly, but expensive yellow and green plaid overcoat, came into the room to greet Mona McClane. In his hand he carried a dark-green slouch brim trimmed with a jaunty feather.

“伊迪莎的外套被雨给毁了。”

“Editha’s ruined her coat in the rain.”

他回到大厅。马龙听到有人在脱外套和套鞋的声音。男人回来了，没穿外套，还带着一个女人。莫娜?麦克莱恩介绍他们是迈克尔?文宁先生和夫人，然后开始调兑苏格兰威士忌和苏打水。

He went back into the hall. Malone caught the sound of wraps and overshoes being shed. The man returned, without the overcoat, a woman with him. Mona McClane introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Michael Venning, and began mixing Scotch and sodas.

“天气糟透了。” 文宁先生说。他那有教养的声音带着恰到好处的英国腔。“在热带生活了二十年，人会有这种感觉。” 他轻声笑了笑。“考虑到我是在这儿出生的，芝加哥现在对我来说显得非常陌生。”

“Frightful weather,” Mr. Venning said. His well-bred voice had just the right tinge of British. “After living in the tropics for twenty years, one feels it.” He laughed, not too loudly. “Chicago seemed amazingly strange to me, considering I was born here.”

小主，

迈克尔?文宁，马龙想。这个名字似乎有点熟悉。他在记忆中搜索。哦，对了，老迈克尔?文宁在世纪之交靠房地产发了大财，然后娶了北岸一个更富有的家庭的独生女。这是他们的独生子。

Michael Venning, Malone thought. The name seemed familiar. He searched his memory. Oh yes, old Michael Venning had made a great fortune in real estate at the turn of the century, and then married the only daughter of one of the wealthier North Shore families. This was their one child.

他带着新的兴趣看着迈克尔?文宁。他是个高个子男人，骨架大，肩膀很宽，显然刚开始发福。他的黑发在太阳穴处开始有点变灰，而且晒得很黑。在马龙看来，他是那种在美国人在东方生活了二十年后，回到家乡比任何英国人都更像英国人的人，显然只专注于养成那些更令人讨厌的习惯。

He looked at Michael Venning with a new interest. He was a tall man, big-boned, heavy around the shoulders, and evidently just beginning to put on weight. His dark hair was starting to gray a little above the temples, and he was deeply tanned. To Malone he seemed to be one of the Americans who, after spending twenty years in the Orient, e home far more British than any of the British themselves, having apparently concentrated on adopting only the more objectionable habits.

文宁夫人喝了一口饮料说：“可怜的迈克尔确实非常怕冷。”

Mrs. Venning took a drink and said, “Poor Michael does feel the cold so badly.”

马龙转过头看着她。她也很高，有点瘦长。马龙觉得大多数人都会被她吸引，尤其是那些喜欢马的人。她有着那种身材健美的结实感，穿什么衣服或者不穿衣服都好看，而且行动起来带着一些运动型女性所具有的那种无意识且自然的优雅。不过，她的脸布满深深的皱纹，显得憔悴；她的黑眼睛看起来不开心，几乎带着恐惧。有一道很宽的纯白色条纹从她额头的一侧开始，向后穿过她深棕色的头发。

Malone turned to look at her. She too was tall, a trifle rangy. Malone thought most people would be attracted to her, especially those who liked horses. She had that kind of well-built muscular solidity that looked well in any kind of clothes or without them, and moved with the unconscious and unstudied grace that some athletic women develop. Her face, though, was deeply lined, haggard; her dark eyes seemed unhappy and almost frightened. There was one wide streak of pure white that began at one side of her forehead and waved back through her darkbrown hair.

小主，

马龙礼貌地问她是否也来自芝加哥。

Malone asked her politely if she too came from Chicago.

“是的，确实。我出生在这里，在这里长大。我们一直住在东方只是因为迈克尔喜欢那里。” 她说话的方式奇怪地急促而紧张。马龙突然有种感觉，不管迈克尔感觉如何，她并不怎么喜欢东方。

“Yes, indeed. I was born here, and I grew up here. We’ve only lived in the Orient all this time because Michael liked it.” She spoke in an oddly jerky, nervous manner. Malone had a sudden notion that however Michael might have felt, she hadn’t liked the Orient much.

“我们时不时会去欧洲。” 文宁说，好像他并不指望有人会在意。

“We went over to Europe now and then,” Venning said, as though he didn’t expect anyone to care.

马龙的注意力分散了。他想起了彭德利?泰德韦尔，不知道他冲洗照片进行得怎么样了。另一个女人走进房间，在伊迪莎?文宁旁边坐下。莫娜?麦克莱恩介绍她是卢埃拉?怀特。

Malone’s attention wandered. He thought of Pendley Tidewell and wondered how he was getting on with his developing. Another woman entered the room and sat down close to Editha Venning. Mona McClane introduced her as Louella White.

马龙记起来了，这是伊迪莎?文宁的同伴。她看起来就像一座军人和水手纪念碑一样不亲切。卢埃拉?怀特是个大块头的女人，胸部丰满，脚很平，脚踝很粗，胳膊很结实，穿着一件不好看且非常朴素的棕色缎面连衣裙。她那毫无表情的大脸像商业区小巷一侧的建筑物一样坚硬、不妥协且毫无装饰，只是她的眉毛被修成了细细的弯曲线条。她那卷曲的头发是红棕色的，马龙觉得可能是染的。她打开一个编织袋，拿出一件不成形的东西和一大团深灰色的毛线，然后以机器般的节奏开始编织起来。

This was Editha Venning’s panion, Malone remembered. She looked about as panionable as a soldiers’ and sailors’ monument. Louella White was a large woman, wide-bosomed, with flat, substantial feet, thick ankles, and muscular arms, dressed in an unbeing and perfectly plain brown satin dress. Her big, expressionless face was as hard, unpromising, and undecorated as the alley side of a Loop building, save that her eyebrows were plucked to fine, curved lines. Her crimped hair was a reddish brown, probably dyed, Malone thought. She opened a knitting bag, took out some shapeless article and a mass of heavy dark-gray yarn, and began to knit, with machine-like rhythm.

“红十字会的活儿？” 他礼貌地问道。

“Red Cross?” he asked politely.