“马克斯?胡克？” 马龙问。
“Max Hook?” Malone asked.
“对。我想问问他，冈布里尔的那个小盒子里到底装了什么。他一定知道，不然不会那么急着想要拿到它。”
“Right. I’d like to ask him just what is in that little box of Gumbril’s. He must know, or he wouldn’t have been so all-fired anxious to get it.”
两个人沉默地走了半条街。“唉，见鬼，” 杰克终于说，“我不可能想到所有事情。这个胡克住哪儿，马龙？”
The two men were eloquently silent for half a block. “Well damn it,” Jake said finally, “I can’t think of everything. Where does this Hook hang himself, Malone?”
马龙说了一个湖滨大道的地址。
Malone named an address on Lake Shore Drive.
“怎么会是那栋楼！” 海伦小声惊呼。
“Not that building!” Helene said with a little gasp.
“为什么不行？” 马龙说，“他是那栋楼的主人。”
“Why not?” Malone snapped. “He owns it.”
五分钟后，海伦把车停在湖滨大道的一栋大楼前，这个地址每周在社交版面上至少出现四次。他们穿过大厅，进了电梯。
Five minutes later Helene parked the car before the Lake Shore Drive building whose address appeared on the society pages at least four times a week. They walked through the lobby and got in the elevator.
“二十三层，” 马龙说。
“Twenty-three,” Malone said.
电梯男孩犹豫了一下，优雅地咳了一声。“哪一层，先生？”
The elevator boy hesitated a moment, coughed delicately. “What floor, sir?”
“二十三层，” 马龙严肃地说，“中间不停。”
“Twenty-three,” Malone said grimly, “and no stops.”
电梯急速上升。海伦注意到男孩的后颈很苍白。二十三层到了，马龙轻轻敲了敲门，喊道：“是约翰?马龙和朋友们。” 门开了，他们走进了一间可能是芝加哥市内装饰最华丽的公寓。
The elevator shot upward. Helene noticed the back of the boy’s neck was pale. On the twenty-third floor Malone tapped lightly on a door, called out, “It’s John J. Malone and friends.” The door opened and they stepped into what was probably the most ornately decorated apartment in the city of Chicago.
客厅宽敞无比，铺着玫瑰色的地毯，摆满了精雕细琢、缎面装饰的家具，还有无数盏装饰着粉色灯罩的小灯，以及似乎有成百上千个小丝绸抱枕。窗户上挂着印花窗帘，用巨大的缎带蝴蝶结束起。到处都摆放着彩绘瓷盒、切割水晶烟灰缸、小花瓶和小雕像，以及珐琅钟。靠着一面墙放着一张巨大的卷盖式书桌，是某种漆成棕色的木头制成的，上面布满了刻痕和刮痕。书桌后面坐着马克斯?胡克本人。
The living room was immense, rose-carpeted, filled with delicately carved, satin-upholstered furniture, with innumerable little decorative lamps, pink-shaded, and with what seemed to be hundreds upon hundreds of small silk pillows. At the windows feminine printed draperies were held back by enormous satin ribbon bows. Everywhere there were painted china boxes, cut crystal ash trays, tiny vases and statuettes, and enameled clocks. Against one wall stood a huge roll-top desk, of some brown-painted wood, badly nicked and scarred. Behind it sat Max Hook himself.
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