BH继续
"The painting holds the key," Twila had told him in his dream, and she had not lied. Gregory took this as confirmation that it was, an some sense, really her.
In the foreground of the painting, he saw a bald man in his late fifties with a short, thick goatee, smiling to reveal a golden tooth. Despite his apparent age, the man was still in fantastic shape, with a thick neck and powerful arms. Hanging from a chain around his neck was a large, tarnished silver key covered with mysterious arabesques. Gregory recognized the man. Twila's father, John Henry Price.
The gleaming marble staircase painted into the background put to rest any lingering doubts Gregory had about the authenticity of Twila's appearance in his dream. For a brief second, he even thought he saw her image on the steps, speaking to him. "Find the key, Gregory. Find the key." He rubbed his eyes, and looked again at the painting.
Twila was gone, if ever there at all. Gregory Gry set out at once for Price Manor.
* * *
A child of privilege, Twila was given everything she wanted growing up. Ironically, this had caused her to develop a rather low opinion of her father who, she felt, was trying to buy her love and respect. Gregory Gry had a different view altogether of John Henry Price: the man was eccentric, borderline insane, and needed to be handled with care.
"Like I've said many times, Gregory, I'm thrilled and amazed that Katie has fallen in with a man such as yourself. When she left home, you could only imagine the torment I felt, wondering what kind of scoundrel she would find." As he said this, he loaded a bullet into one of his prized ivory-studded pistols, taking aim at a target across the expansive and well-tended lawn. "When you came to me and introduced yourself, explaining the situation, I knew you would take care of her, and treat her with respect." He fired, and the distant targets, apparently a potted plant, exploded. "I knew I wouldn't have to kill you."
"That possibility, sir, was precisely why I first came to see you. She had quite a bit to say about you, and I need to confront the truth for myself." Gregory was not quiet as humble and upstanding as Twila's father believed, but his experience at the card tables had taught him the value of appearing the person others desired him to be.
"Yes, yes, I know all about the truth, son." Price smiled, and for a second Gregory Gry wondered just how well the ex-Agency detective knew him. So he said nothing, and waited for Twila's father to continue. "Rumor has it she left you." A strange light gleamed in the old man's eye, and he began to chuckle. "Oh yes, indeed, she has. I can see it on your face. Apparently we have something in common!" He slapped Gregory on the shoulder, and Gregory winced. The man was even stronger than he appeared. "This is cause for a drink!" He turned to the manor, and beckoned for Gregory to follow.
Inside, over a glass of brandy, the conversation continued. "Do you know, son, where she has gone? Do we need to kill someone?"
"No, I don't think that's the problem. I think we -- or more precisely, I -- have to track her down. But I need your help."
"Of course you do, son, of course you do. Tell me what you need, and you will have it. My dear Katie..." He looked Gregory in the eye, and sipped from his glass.
"Have you ever seen, or heard your daughter mentions a large, elaborate silver key?" Gregory asked.
Price dropped his glass, and it shattered on the floor.
