p&c.brimstone-第60章
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t rise or move。
〃John？〃 D'Agosta asked。
He gave a faint nod。
D'Agosta went over to the bed； showed his badge。 The man's face was creased and sunken； and his eyes were yellow。 〃We just want a little bit of information； and then we'll be gone。〃
〃Yes；〃 the man said。 His voice was quiet； slow； and sad。
〃Jed； downstairs； said you might have saved some personal effects belonging to Ranier Beckmann； who lived here several years back。〃
There was a long pause。 The yellowed eyes glanced over toward one of the piles。 〃In the corner。 Second box from the bottom。Beck written on it。〃
D'Agosta laboriously made his way to the tottering stack and found the box in question： stained； moldy； and half flattened from the weight of the boxes on top。
〃May I take a look？〃
The man nodded。
D'Agosta shifted the boxes and retrieved Beckmann's。 It was small； inside were a few books and an old cigar box wrapped in rubber bands。 Pendergast came up and looked over his shoulder。
〃James；Letters from Florence ；〃 he murmured； glancing at the spines of the books。 〃Berenson；Italian Painters of the Renaissance。 Vasari；Lives of the Painters。 Cellini；Autobiography 。 I see our Mr。 Beckmann was interested in Renaissance art history。〃
D'Agosta picked up the cigar box and began to remove the rubber bands； which were so old and rotten they snapped at his touch。 He opened the lid。 The box exuded a perfume of dust； old cigars； and paper。 Inside； he could see a moth…eaten rabbit's foot； a gold cross； a picture of Padre Pio； an old postcard of Moosehead Lake in Maine； a greasy pack of cards； a toy Corgi car； some coins； a couple of matchbooks； and a few other mementos。 〃Looks like we found Beckmann's little chest of treasures；〃 he said。
Pendergast nodded。 He reached over and picked up the matchbook。 〃Trattoria del Carmine；〃 he read aloud。 His slender white fingers drifted over the coins and other mementos。 Next he reached for the books； plucking the Vasari from the box and leafing through it。 〃Required reading for anyone wishing to understand the Renaissance；〃 he said。 〃And look at this。〃
He handed the book to D'Agosta。 Scrawled on the flyleaf was a dedication：
To Ranier； my favorite student；
Charles F。 Ponsonby Jr。
D'Agosta took out a book himself。 There was no inscription in this one； but as he rifled through it； a photograph dropped from between the pages。 He picked it off the floor。 It was a faded color snapshot of four youths； all male； arms draped around each other's necks； before what looked like a blurry marble fountain。
D'Agosta heard a sharp intake of breath from Pendergast。 〃May I？〃 the agent asked。
D'Agosta handed him the photograph。 He stared at it intently； then handed it back。
〃The one on the far right； I believe； is Beckmann。 And do you recognize his friends？〃
D'Agosta looked。 Almost instantly he recognized the massive head and jutting brows of Locke Bullard。 The others took a moment longer； but once recognized were unmistakable： Nigel Cutforth and Jeremy Grove。
He glanced over at Pendergast。 The man's silvery eyes were positively glittering。 〃There it is； Vincent： the connection we've been looking for。〃
He turned to the man lying on the bed。 D'Agosta had almost forgotten him； he had been so silent。 〃John； may we take these items？〃
〃It's what I've been saving them for。〃
〃How so？〃 D'Agosta asked。
〃That's what I do。 I keep the things they treasured； in trust for their families。〃
〃Who'sthey ？〃
〃The ones that die。〃
〃Do the families ever e？〃
The question hung in the air。 〃Everybody has a family；〃 John finally said。
It looked to D'Agosta like some of the boxes were so rotten and discolored they'd been sitting around for twenty years。 It was a long time to wait for a family member to e calling。
〃Did you know Beckmann well？〃
The man shook his head。 〃He kept to himself。〃
〃Did he ever have visitors？〃
〃No。〃 The man sighed。 His hair was brittle and his eyes were watering。 It seemed to D'Agosta that he was dying； that he knew it； and that he weled it。
Pendergast picked up the small box of memorabilia and tucked it under his arm。 〃Is there anything we can do for you； John？〃 he asked quietly。
The man shook his head and turned to the wall。
They left the room without speaking。 At the stoop； they passed the three drunks again。
〃Find what you were looking for？〃 Jed asked。
〃Yes；〃 said D'Agosta。 〃Thanks。〃
The man touched his brow with his finger。 D'Agosta turned。 〃What will happen to all the stuff in John's room whenhe dies？〃
The drunk shrugged。 〃They'll toss it。〃
〃That was a most valuable visit；〃 Pendergast said as they got into the car。 〃We now know that Ranier Beckmann lived in Italy； probably in 1974； that he spoke Italian decently； perhaps fluently。〃
D'Agosta looked at him； astonished。 〃How did you figure that out？〃
〃It's what he said when he lost at rummy。 'Kay Biskerow。' It's not a name； it's an expression。Che bischero！ It's Italian； a Florentine dialect expostulation meaning 'What a jerk！' Only someone who had lived in Florence would know it。 The coins in that cigar box are all Italian lire； dated 1974 and before。 The fountain behind the four friends； although I don't recognize it； is clearly Italianate。〃
D'Agosta shook his head。 〃You figured all that out just from that little box of things？〃
〃Sometimes the small things speak the loudest。〃 And as the Rolls shot from the curb and accelerated down the street； Pendergast glanced over。 〃Would you slide my laptop out of the dash there； Vincent？ Let us find out what light Professor Charles F。 Ponsonby Jr。 can shed on things。〃
47
As Pendergast drove south； D'Agosta booted the laptop； accessedthe Internet via a wireless cellular connection； and initiated a search on Charles F。 Ponsonby Jr。 Within a few minutes； he had more information than he knew what to do with； starting with the fact that Ponsonby was Lyman Professor of Art History at Princeton University。
〃I thought the name was familiar；〃 Pendergast said。 〃A specialist in the Italian Renaissance； I believe。 Lucky for us he's still teaching…no doubt as professor emeritus by now。 Bring up his curriculum vitae； if you will； Vincent。〃
As Pendergast merged onto the New Jersey Turnpike and smoothly accelerated into the afternoon traffic； D'Agosta read off the professor's appointments； awards； and publications。 It was a lengthy process； made lengthier by the numerous abstracts Pendergast insisted on hearing recited verbatim。
At last； he was done。 Pendergast thanked him； then slipped out his cell phone； dialed； spoke to directory information； redialed； spoke again briefly。 〃Ponsonby will see us；〃 he said as he replaced the phone。 〃Reluctantly。 We're very close； Vincent。 The photograph proves that all four of them were together at least once。 Now we need to know exactly where they met； and…even more important…just what happened during that fateful encounter to somehow bind them together for the rest of their lives。〃
Pendergast pushed the car still faster。 D'Agosta shot a surreptitious glance in his direction。 The man looked positively eager； like a hound on a scent。
Ninety minutes later the Rolls was cruising down Nassau Street； quaint shops on the left and the Princeton campus on the right； Gothic buildings rising from manicured lawns。 Pendergast slid the Rolls into a parking space and fed the meter； nodding to a crowd of students who stopped to gawk。 They crossed the street； passed through the great iron gates； and approached the enormous facade of Firestone Library； the largest open…stack library in the world。
A small man with a thatch of untidy white hair stood before the glass doors。 He was exactly what D'Agosta imagined a Professor Ponsonby would look like： fussy； tweedy； and pedantic。 The only thing missing was a briar pipe。
〃Professor Ponsonby？〃 Pendergast asked。
〃You're the FBI agent？〃 the man replied in a reedy voice； making a show of examining his watch。
Three minutes late； D'Agosta thought。
Pendergast shook his hand。 〃Indeed I am。〃
〃You didn't say anything about bringing apoliceman 。〃
D'Agosta felt himself bristling at th
