Perchance to Dream

    There was another sound in the voice. Besides the tiredness and the iron self-control, there was a wistful sound, a sound of what might have been, a sound of sins revisited but irredeemable. And it was that sound which held me, as I knew it held Norris, if only in memory, long after the speaker had fallen silent.

    "Vivian went to good schools of the snob type and to college. Carmen went to half a dozen schools of greater and greater liberality, and ended up where she started. I presume they both had, and still have, all the usual vices. If I sound a little sinister as a parent, Mr. Marlowe, it is because my hold on life is too slight to include any Victorian hypocrisy." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, then opened them again suddenly. "I need not add that a man who indulges in parenthood for the first time at the age of fifty-four deserves all he gets…"

***

    "She was doing very well at the sanitarium," Norris said. "I myself had the privilege of visiting her every week."

    "And Vivian?" I said. The daughters' names seemed to dispel the father's ghost.

    "Miss Vivian visited whenever she was, ah, able." Norris turned the cup slowly in his clean strong hands. "Her father's death was difficult for her. And she is still seeing Mr. Mars."

    Norris's voice was careful when he said it, empty of any evaluation. The voice of the perfect servant, not thinking, merely recording.

    "How nice for her," I said. "Did she tell you to call me?"

    "No, sir. I took that liberty. Miss Vivian feels that Mr. Mars will find Miss Carmen and return her to the sanitarium."

    "His price will be higher than mine," I said.

    "Exactly so, sir."

    "And you know what I charge?"

    "Yes, sir. You'll recall that I handled the General's checkbook for him when he employed you previously."

    "And you can afford me?"

    "The General was very generous to me in his will, sir."

    I took a lungful of smoke and let it out slowly and tilted my chair on its back legs.

    "But still you're working here," I said.

    "I believe the General would have wished that, sir. His daughters…" Norris let the rest of the sentence disappear into an eloquent servant's self-effacement.

    "Yes," I said. "I'm sure he would have. When did Carmen disappear?"

    "A week ago. I went on my weekly visit and found that she was gone. The staff was somewhat reticent about her disappearance, but I was able to ascertain that she had in fact been gone for at least two nights."

    "And no one had reported it?"

    "Apparently not, sir. I informed Miss Vivian Sternwood, of course, and took the liberty of speaking on the telephone with Captain Gregory of the Missing Persons Bureau."

    "And?" I said.

    "And it was, as I remember his words, 'the first I'd heard of it.' "

    "And Vivian?" I said.

    "Miss Vivian said that I was not to worry about it. That she had resources and that Carmen would turn up."

    "And by 'resources' you understood her to mean Eddie Mars?" I said.

    "I did, sir."

    "How does she feel about you calling me?" I said.

    "I have not yet informed her of that, sir."

    I drank the rest of the coffee laced with brandy. It had cooled enough to go down softly. I nodded more to myself than to Norris.

    "What is the name of this sanitarium?" I said.

    "Resthaven, sir. It is supervised by a Dr. Bonsentir."

    "Okay," I said, "I'll take a run out there."

    "Yes, sir," Norris said. "Thank you very much, sir. May I give you a retainer?"

    "A dollar will do for now," I said. "Make it official. We'll talk about the rest of it later."

    "That's very kind indeed, sir," Norris said. He took a long pale leather wallet out of his inside pocket and extracted a dollar bill and gave it to me. I wrote him out a receipt, took the bill, and put it in my pocket, negligently, like there were many more in there and I had no need to think about it.

    "May I call you here?" I said.

    "Indeed, sir. I often receive calls here. Answering the phone is normally among my duties."

    "And how is Vivian?" I said.

    "She is still very beautiful, sir, if I may be so bold."

    "And still dating a loonigan," I said.

    "If you mean Mr. Mars, sir, I'm afraid that is the case."

CHAPTER 2

    I came out of the Sternwood house and stood on the front stoop with my hat in my hand, holding it by the brim against my right thigh. Below me, many terraced levels down the hill, was the big spiked fence that separated the Sternwoods, or what was left of them, from the people who still worked for a living. The sun glinted off the gilt spear points of the fence. To the north it shone on the snow in the San Gabriel Mountains. I looked back down the lawn the other way, at the few creaking oil derricks still tiredly pumping five or six barrels a day. It was hard to see them from here, and impossible to see beyond them to the stinking sump where Rusty Regan lay dreamless, sleeping the big sleep.

    Behind me the door opened.

    "Marlowe?"