小主，
很明显，这就是解释。那个陌生人是个将死之人，他不可能说得清楚。而他，马龙，一直在喝酒，也不能指望他听得清楚。鉴于这两个事实，很容易理解为什么 “马龙” 这个词听起来像 “电话”。律师把这两个词嘟囔了几遍。“马龙，电话。马龙。电话。” 当然就是这样。最后，陌生人把钥匙，误以为是硬币，塞进了他的手里，因为那是第一个伸过来的手。
Obviously that was the explanation. The stranger had been a dying man; he couldn’t have spoken clearly. He Malone, had been drinking; he couldn’t have been expected to hear clearly. Between those two facts, it was easy to see how the word “telephone” had sounded like “Malone.” The lawyer muttered the two words over a few times. “Malone, ’lphone. Malone. ’lphone.” Of course that was it. Finally the stranger had slipped the key, believing it to be a coin, into his hand because it had been the first hand offered him.
约翰?J?马龙对这个完全合理的解释非常满意，他重新打开标有 “信息” 的文件抽屉，拿出了剩下的一半黑麦威士忌。生活也不是完全糟糕。他哼了几句《雨中花园》，回到办公桌前，对着四十八张明信片说：“就算给我五百万美元我也不会去百慕大。” 然后大声叫着玛吉。
John J. Malone felt so pleased with this entirely reasonable explanation that he reopened the file drawer marked “Information” and took down half the remaining rye. Life was not altogether bad. He hummed a few bars of Just a Garden in the Rain, returned to his desk, remarked to the forty-eight postcards, “I wouldn’t be in Bermuda for five million bucks,” and bawled loudly for Maggie.
黑发秘书出现在门口。
The black-haired secretary appeared in the doorway.
“银行对账单显示透支的时候，你是撕开信封的吗？”
“When that bank statement showing the overdraft came, did you tear the envelope open?”
“没有。我用小刀挑起信封口。你告诉过我银行来的信都要这么做。”
“No. I lifted up the flap with a penknife. You told me always to do that with letters from the bank.”
他赞许地点点头。“把对账单和信封拿给我。”
He nodded approvingly. “Bring me the statement and the envelope.”
他看了一眼银行对账单，打了个哆嗦，然后把它放回信封里。他伸手拿过一瓶胶水，小心地把信封口重新封好，确保从外表看它从未被打开过。然后他把一个小海绵浸入墨水瓶中，在信封上挤出刚好足够的墨水遮住街道地址和他名字的首字母，等墨渍干了之后，用铅笔在信封正面写上 “误投” 两个字。
He took one glance at the bank statement, shuddered, and replaced it in the envelope. Reaching for a bottle of mucilage, he carefully resealed the flap, making sure that to all appearances it had never been opened. Then he dipped a small sponge in the ink bottle, squeezed just enough ink on the envelope to obscure the street address and the initials of his name, waited for the blot to dry, and then, in pencil, wrote the word “misdirected” across the front of the envelope.
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“在最后一次取信之后把这个投进邮箱。等它经过邮局，再回到银行，然后再回到我这里的时候，三天就过去了。”
“Drop this in the mail box just after the last pickup. By the time it’s gone through the post office, back to the bank, and back again to me, three days will have gone by.”
“然后呢？”
“And then?”
“三天里会发生很多事情。” 他高兴地对她说。
“A lot can happen in three days,” he told her happily.
小个子律师严肃地看着一张署名 “海伦” 的明信片，对它说：“生在富贵人家的麻烦就是你会错过破产的所有乐趣。”
The little lawyer looked gravely at a postcard signed “Helene” and told it, “The trouble with being born rich is that you miss all the fun of being broke.”
当冯?弗拉纳根再次打来电话的时候，他决定接听。这个警察应该知道新年前夜发生的事情的解释。
When von Flanagan called again, he decided to answer. The police officer deserved to know the explanation of the events of New Year’s Eve.
冯?弗拉纳根先开口。“你终于到办公室了。我一整天都在试着联系你。” 马龙还没来得及回答，他又愤怒地补充道，“你是过来谈谈，还是我让人把你带来接受询问？”
Von Flanagan spoke first. “It’s about time you got to your office. I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” Before Malone could answer, he added in an outraged tone, “Will you e over here and talk, or do I have to have you picked up and brought in for questioning?”
马龙对着电话皱起眉头。“你到底在说什么？”
Malone scowled at the telephone. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
听筒里传来一声低沉、愤怒的咆哮。“我就知道你有所隐瞒。我顺着你的直觉去查了那个被刺伤的人，检查了乔天使酒吧三个街区范围内的所有酒吧。他去过其中八家，都是你常去的地方。在任何一家都没人以前见过他。他总共给自己买了四杯酒。在每一个地方，他都问你有没有在那儿或者他在哪里能找到你。”
A low, indignant growl came from the receiver. “I knew you were holding out on me. I followed up your hunch about that guy who was stabbed, and checked all the bars within three blocks of Joe the Angel’s. He’d been in eight of ’em, all hangouts of yours. No one had seen him before in any of ’em. Bought himself four drinks altogether. In every single place he went, he asked if you’d been there or where he might find you.”
律师屏住呼吸数到十，然后说：“听着，冯?弗拉纳根，我发誓我从没见过……”
The lawyer held his breath and counted ten before he said, “Listen, von Flanagan, so help me I never saw—”
小主，
“他在找你。” 冯?弗拉纳根大声吼道。“我已经对你忍了很多了，但这次太过分了。你是过来谈谈，还是我让克鲁切茨基去……”
“He was out looking for you,” von Flanagan bellowed. “I’ve put up with a lot from you, but this is too much. Will you e over here and talk, or shall I send Kluchetsky over to—”
马龙赶紧说：“你想让我给你家打电话留个言，说我找到了你落在伯莎?戴利家的手套吗……”
Malone said quickly, “Do you want me to call your house and leave a message for you that I’ve found your gloves that you left at Bertha Daly’s—”
“我这辈子都没……” 冯?弗拉纳根咆哮道，突然停了下来，然后用较为温和的语气说，“行行好，马龙。只要你方便的时候过来一趟，给我讲讲这个家伙的底细。我保证你不会被牵扯进来。该死。我只是想尽我所能，现在报纸紧追着我不放，警察局长也……”
“I never in my life!” von Flanagan roared, stopped abruptly, and said in a milder tone, “Have a heart, Malone. If you’ll only drop in at your convenience and give me the low-down on this guy. I’ll see to it you’re not involved in any way. Damn it. I’m only trying to do the best I can, and with the newspapers on my tail and the police missioner—”
“好吧。” 马龙疲倦地说。“我尽快过去。” 他在警察再说出一个字之前猛地挂上了电话。
“All right,” Malone said wearily. “I’ll be in as soon as I can.” He banged down the receiver before the police officer could say another word.
一个完美的理论全泡汤了。它曾经看起来也那么合乎逻辑。
A beautiful theory all shot to hell. It had seemed so wonderfully logical, too.
要是他只知道那该死的钥匙到底发生了什么事就好了。在打架之前它一直在他口袋里，他相当确定这一点。至少，就像他确定天亮前最后几个小时里发生的任何事情一样确定。那场架是不是有人故意挑起的，目的就是为了从他那里把钥匙拿走？他皱起眉头，闭上眼睛，努力回忆那个挑起斗殴的陌生人。不是他认识的人。他又睁开眼睛，难过地摇了摇头，想到乔天使可能认识那个人。