“如果我们能赢的话。”杰克闷闷不乐地说。走了半条街后，他说：“马龙，你觉得你的寻物启事会有回复吗？”

“If we win it,” Jake said gloomily. Half a block later he said, “Malone, do you suppose you’ll get any answers to your want ad?”

“至少会有十几个，”马龙说，“但都没什么用。”

“At least a dozen,” Malone said, “and all of them worthless.”

“你十点和迈克尔·文宁的律师有个约会。你觉得你能从他那里了解到什么吗？”

“You have an appointment at ten with Michael Venning’s lawyer. Do you suppose you’ll learn anything from him?”

“我可能会了解到迈克尔·文宁的凶手的情况。”马龙说。

“I might learn about Michael Venning’s murderer,” Malone said.

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“但是迈克尔·文宁还没有被谋杀。”海伦抱怨道。

“But Michael Venning hasn’t been murdered,” Helene plained.

“我在为未来做打算，”律师说，“今天是继承人，明天就可能被枪杀，我总是这么说。”

“I’m looking out for the future,” the lawyer said. “Heir today and guns tomorrow, I always say.”

杰克又叹了口气，然后沉默了。

Jake sighed again and was silent.

他们在一家刚刚开门营业的雪茄店停下来，给马龙的酒店打了个电话。从六点半开始，冯·弗拉纳根队长已经给律师打了四次电话，现在一个高大、红脸的警察正坐在大厅里。

They paused in a cigar store that was just opening up for the day’s trade and phoned Malone’s hotel. Captain von Flanagan had telephoned the lawyer four times since half-past six, and a large, red-faced policeman was now sitting in the lobby.

“那可能是克卢切茨基，”马龙若有所思地说，“冯·弗拉纳根显然想知道我们昨晚怎么会在城北附近的一条小巷里偶然发现罗斯·麦克劳林昏迷的身体。”

“That would be Kluchetsky,” Malone said thoughtfully. “Von Flanagan evidently wants to know how we happened to stumble over Ross McLaurin’s unconscious form in a near-north-side alley last night.”

“或者，”杰克说，“冯·弗拉纳根想找到我，让我再给他挑一些新闻教材。”

“Or,” Jake said, “von Flanagan wants to find me and have me pick out some more journalism text-books for him.”

“再这样下去，”海伦说，“他就要去剪纸而不是编辑报纸了。”

“Much more of this,” Helene said, “and he’ll be cutting up papers instead of editing one.”

他们走到了华盛顿街。突然马龙说：“我不知道你们感觉怎么样，但我需要喝一杯。”

They had reached Washington Street. Suddenly Malone said, “I don’t know how you feel, but I need a drink.”

杰克意识到自己又累又饿又冷。“我需要喝一杯，然后睡二十个小时。”

Jake realized that he was tired and hungry and cold. “I need a drink and twenty hours’ sleep.”

“折衷一下，喝两杯。”海伦说。

“Compromise on two drinks,” Helene said.

天使乔的市政厅酒吧在早上五点离开的顾客和早餐前光顾的新顾客之间惯常的短暂停歇后刚刚开门。乔本人在后面，对着一小堆账目咒骂着。酒吧里除了一个来自州检察官办公室的整洁年轻人（他在去办公室之前快速喝几杯）和一个前一晚留下来的孤独而忧郁的醉汉外，没有其他人。

Joe the Angel’s City Hall Bar was just opening after the customary brief pause between the patrons who left at five in the morning and the new bunch who dropped in before breakfast. Joe himself was out in back, swearing over a small job of bookkeeping. There was no one in the place except a dapper young man from the state’s attorney’s office, who was getting a few quick ones before showing up at the office, and a solitary and morose drunk left over from the night before.

小主，

马龙要了三杯浓黑咖啡，每杯里倒了两小杯古巴朗姆酒，然后看了看表。正好九点。他向酒保要了一杯烈酒，走进电话亭，给莫娜·麦克莱恩打电话。

Malone called for three cups of strong black coffee with two jiggers of Cuban rum poured into each, and looked at his watch. It was just nine o’clock. He asked the bartender for a slug went into the phone booth, and called Mona McClane.

“我想你可能想知道罗斯·麦克劳林还活着，而且情况很好。”

“I thought you might like to know Ross McLaurin is alive and doing nicely.”

“谢天谢地。”她说，“我一直在担心。他在哪里？”

“Thank heaven,” she said. “I was worrying. Where is he?”

“在亨罗廷医院，但别再担心了。他会好起来的。”

“In Henrotin Hospital, but don’t worry any more. He’ll pull through.”