刚过霍华德街，马龙说：“我不太认识这些北区的警察。走外车道，然后全速开往芝加哥大街。”

Just beyond Howard Street, Malone said, “I don’t know any of these north-side cops very well. Take the outer drive and go like hell down to Chicago Avenue.”

海伦严格按照指示行事。在芝加哥大街，他们向西转时，杰克在六十个街区里第三次倒吸了一口气。

Helene carried out instructions to the letter. At Chicago Avenue, as they turned west, Jake caught his breath for the third time in sixy blocks.

“开过克拉克街，”马龙说，“向左转，在街区的半道上你会找到一条小巷。我们在那儿下车。”

“Drive past Clark Street,” Malone said, “turn left, and you’ll find an alley halfway down the block. We’ll get out there.”

他们拐进小巷时，仪表盘上的时钟正好显示三点半。仍然昏迷不醒的罗斯·麦克劳林被从灵车上抬下来，放在了路面上。马龙把自己的名片递给哈里·科瓦尔克，说：“给我寄账单。把剩下的黑麦威士忌带回家路上喝。”

It was exactly half-past three by the clock on the dashboard when they turned into the alley. Ross McLaurin, still unconscious, was lifted out of the hearse and laid on the pavement. Malone gave Harry Kowalke his card and said, “Send me a bill. Take the rest of the rye to drink on the way home.”

这章没有结束，请点击下一页继续阅读！

“还有，谢谢。”杰克补充道。

“And thanks,” Jake added.

哈里·科瓦尔克说：“为朋友两肋插刀。”然后上了灵车开走了。

Harry Kowalke said, “Anything for a pal,” got in the hearse, and drove away.

马龙检查了一下这个年轻人，发现他的呼吸稍微平稳了一些，脉搏也更强了。

Malone examined the young man, saw that his breathing was a little more regular and his pulse stronger.

“现在，”他说，“杰克，你赶紧去最近的电话亭给芝加哥大街警察局打电话。我们从午夜就开始找这个人，刚刚发现他躺在一条小巷里。我在这儿陪着他等你回来。”

“Now,” he said, “Jake, you beat it up to the nearest phone and call the Chicago Avenue police station. We’ve been out looking for this guy since midnight, and just found him lying in an alley. I’ll stay here with him till you get back.”

杰克离开后，他蹲在那个一动不动的人旁边。罗斯·麦克劳林的脸毫无表情，苍白得像粉笔。突然，他喘了口气，似乎有点噎住了，然后睁开了眼睛。

While Jake was gone, he squatted down beside the still figure. Ross McLaurin’s face was expressionless and pale, the color of chalk. Suddenly he gasped, seemed to choke a little, and opened his eyes.

“你没事了。”马龙含糊而又安慰地说。

“You’re O. K.,” Malone said, vaguely and helpfully.

年轻人眼中的神情变成了认出他的样子。“我现在想起来了。你是……马龙。”

The look in the young man’s eyes changed to one of recognition. “I remember now. You’re—Malone.”

“是我。”律师说。

“That’s me,” the lawyer said.

“别说话。”海伦说着，俯身在年轻人身上。

“Don’t try to talk,” Helene said, bending over the young man.

“我想起来了。”罗斯·麦克劳林低声说。“我跟着……那个被杀的人……沿着谢尔曼酒店附近停车场旁边的小巷走。”他慢慢地、痛苦地吸了口气。“他不想让我……跟着他……但我想帮他……找到你。我看到他……被杀了。我以为是我自己干的。但现在我知道……不是我……”

“I remember,” Ross McLaurin whispered. “I followed—the man who was killed—up the alley near the parking lot—near the Sherman Hotel.” He drew a slow, painful breath. “He didn’t want me—with him—but I wanted to help him—find you. I saw him—killed. I thought I did it myself. But I know now—I didn’t—”

“那另一个呢？”马龙轻声问。

“And the other one?” Malone said quietly.

“我……没杀他。我走进他的房间……发现他死了。”

“I—didn’t kill him. I went into his room and—found him dead.”

本小章还未完，请点击下一页继续阅读后面精彩内容！

海伦在他身边跪下。“今天下午你怎么了，罗斯？”

“Helene knelt down beside him. “What happened to you this afternoon, Ross?”

“我想起了……我刚刚告诉你的事。我想……找到你……或者那个女孩……或者其他人……然后告诉……”他的呼吸开始变得缓慢。“我们……正打算出去找你……然后……”他停了下来。

“I remembered—what I’ve just told you. I wanted to—find you—or that girl—or someone—and tell—” His breath began to e slowly. “We—were going out to find you—and then—” He paused.

“继续说。”马龙沙哑地说。“谁刺伤了你？”

“Go on,” Malone said hoarsely. “Who stabbed you?”

罗斯·麦克劳林苍白的嘴唇吐出一个词，但没有声音发出。他蓝色的眼睛与律师的目光短暂交汇，然后像鸟儿收起翅膀一样轻轻地闭上了。

Ross McLaurin’s white lips formed a word, but no sound came. His blue eyes met the lawyer’s in one brief glance, and closed as gently as the folding of a bird’s wing.