“That is quite true, Mr. Jones,” replied the smiling young man opposite to him. “Wrong doing amongst educated and refined people seems always to have more element of adventure behind it”— he smiled —“and certainly the smells of Mayfair are much to be preferred to those of Bethnal Green.”
The two were closeted one morning in the private room of Gilbert Larose, in Scotland Yard, and as usual the great investigator4, Naughton Jones, was laying down the law with his accustomed gusto.
“But I am sorry to note from the reports in the Press, Mr. Larose,” he went on frowningly, “that your energies of late seem to have been almost entirely5 confined to the East End; to Shoreditch, Wapping, Limehouse and other unpleasant places.”
“Well, I have to go where I am sent,” laughed Larose, “and I can’t pick and choose like you can, now can I?”
“No, no, of course you can’t,” agreed Jones at once. A thought seemed to strike him suddenly, and he regarded the detective with cold and reproving eyes. “By-the-bye, although I saw you got the Limehouse murderer in the end, still I think you were hardly up to your usual form in that case.”
“No!” exclaimed Larose, rather surprised, “but I had him in the cells within four days!”
Jones raised one long forefinger7 solemnly. “But it would have saved you a lot of trouble if, when you had been brought to the scene of the crime, you had at once realised the significance of two things. The first — that according to the medical evidence, the knife with which he had stabbed the woman and cut her throat must have been of small size and as keen as a razor, and the second — that the two disreputable old boots he left behind him were odd ones and of differing sizes.” He shrugged9 his shoulders. “These two facts, taken together, immediately suggested to me, as you discovered later, that the murderer was a boot repairer by trade, for there was the sharp knife of a man whose occupation included the trimming of leather, and there were the odd boots that had been left behind with him upon his informing their owners that the fellows to them were beyond repair.” He regarded Larose with the frown of a schoolmaster reproving a pupil. “Where now, pray, would you be likely to find nearly worn-out odd boots of differing sizes — except among the discards in a boot repairer’s shop? It is so very simple.”
The detective flushed slightly, “It certainly does seem so now,” he remarked slowly, “after you have pointed10 it out. Still —”
“Not that I have not always a great admiration11 for talents,” broke in Jones quickly, “or indeed I should not be here.” He smiled coldly. “I suppose that with my well-known aversion to any association with the regular police, except for the purely12 mechanical part of effecting the arrest when I have myself run the criminal to earth, you are wondering why I have come here at all.”
“Yes,” replied Larose, “for I know you are always busy and never given to wasting any time.”
“Exactly,” said Jones with a sigh, “and it is on that account that I am here now.” He passed his hand over his forehead, “I have been overdoing13 it and my medical adviser14, Sir Bumble Brown, insists that I go into a nursing home for rest and treatment. I am a nervous wreck15.”
“Oh! I am so sorry,” exclaimed Larose with great sympathy, “for you will be missed by such a lot of people.”
“Yes,” nodded Jones significantly, “and it is in the interest of one of them that I have come to you now.” He drew his chair up close to the detective and lowered his voice significantly. “I am in the middle of an important case and have to drop it, because, as I have told you, of my health, and as you are going to be sent in my place, I am wanting to put you wise to a few things so that you may commence your investigations16 under the most advantageous18 conditions possible.”
“I— going to be sent in your place!” exclaimed Larose, looking very surprised.
“Yes,” replied Jones. “I have arranged it.”
The detective laughed quietly. “Then you must have great influence, Mr. Jones, to be able to dictate19 to the Chief Commissioner20 what he is to do. I often find him hard to manage.”
“It is not I who really have the influence,” frowned Jones, “but a pretty society woman. It is she who has pulled the strings21; but now listen, and I’ll explain everything.”
He took a map and some papers from his pocket and laid them before him upon the desk.
“Now, of course, you have heard of Lady Helen Ardane,” he began, and when Larose shook his head, he snapped, “Well, you ought to have heard, for she is one of our best-known society hostesses.” He went on. “She is the widow of the late baronet, Sir Charles Ardane, the big whisky distiller, and lives at Carmel Abbey, in the north-west corner of Norfolk. She has one child, whom she idolises, a boy of four, the present baronet. She is an American by birth, and at the age of nineteen was married by her parents to the late Sir Charles, a man well over fifty. She is a very wealthy woman.”
“How old is she now?” asked Larose.
“About twenty-seven,” replied Jones, “and, like your Commissioner, difficult to manage, for she has been spoilt and pampered22 all her life, and has red hair.” He paused a minute here as if to collect his thoughts and then went on quickly. “Well, three weeks ago she received an anonymous23 letter, warning her that the child was going to be kidnapped, and bidding her look out.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Larose, smiling, “she herself an American and her child going to be kidnapped. Really, it would make her feel quite at home with us!”
“She took no notice of the letter,” continued Jones, ignoring the interruption, “for in the security of this country, she believed it to be only one of those cranky communications that people of means are always receiving, but a week after its receipt she got a terrible shock, for, but for an almost miraculous24 happening, her child would have undoubtedly25 been seized and taken away.”
“An attempt was actually made then?” asked Larose.
“No,” said Jones, “an attempt was not actually made, but it was within an ace6 of being made and carried to a successful issue, too. Not only that, but from what did happen, the very disquieting26 fact emerged that the would-be kidnappers27 were undoubtedly in possession of inside information as to what exactly were going to be the child’s movements upon that particular day, and that therefore there was a confederate helping29 them, some where among the inmates30 of the Abbey.”
He went on. “Now what took place is this, and please listen carefully. On the Tuesday night Lady Ardane arranged with her head nurse, a woman, by-the-bye, of unimpeachable31 character that if the weather continued fine and mild the child should so on the morrow to play on the Brancaster sands, about three miles away. Her ladyship would be prevented from accompanying them on account of her social duties, but a little party was to be made up, consisting of the housekeeper32, the two nurses and an elderly chauffeur33, and they were to leave after an early lunch, in one of the Abbey cars. Well, the Wednesday turning out to be a beautiful day, everything was carried out as arranged, and by a quarter to two they had arrived by the sea shore and the car was parked upon the sands. Then the women and the child went in for a paddle, while the chauffeur, taking himself off about 250 yards, lay down among the short grass upon one of the sandhills and proceeded to amuse himself with a small telescope that he had brought with him. I must mention here that Brancaster Bay is a very lonely spot. There are no habitations anywhere near, and except when rifle practice is going on at the butts34 at the far end, there is hardly ever anyone to be seen there.”
“I’ve got a good idea where it is,” said Larose. “I motored round that coast last year, and it’s about five miles from Hunstanton.”
Jones nodded. “Yes, just over five miles. Well, the chauffeur says he was almost dropping off to sleep, when a car, driven at a good pace, appeared upon the narrow road, and pulled up behind one of the sandhills, about a quarter of a mile from where he was lying. He saw four men then get out and was at once interested in them, because their actions were so peculiar35. With bent36 backs and every appearance of not wishing to be seen, they crept up the sandhill nearest to them, and then lay down among the sand-grass just as he was doing. One of them then produced a pair of binoculars37 and it was evident at once that they were particularly interested in the little party from the Abbey, who were paddling on the sands. The chauffeur began to wonder what the deuce was up.”
Naughton Jones broke off here and asked the detective if there were any objection to his smoking. He smiled dryly as he took the cigarette that the detective at once offered him. “I know the red-tape in these places,” he remarked, “and I don’t want to run counter to any of their absurd regulations.”
He went on. “Now let me see. Ah! I had got to the point when the chauffeur was watching those four men. Well, nothing happened for about a quarter of an hour. The men just watched the paddlers and he watched them. Then suddenly it became apparent to him that the man with the binoculars had all at once become very excited and was pointing out to the others something at sea. So he put up his little telescope and scanned the horizon too, and was at once rewarded by the sight of a small motor yacht cleaving38 swiftly through the waters and leaving behind it a broad wake of foam39. Its progress shorewards was very rapid, and barely five minutes could have elapsed since it was first seen, so the chauffeur estimates, when it slowed down, turned sharply at right angles and dropped anchor, less than a hundred yards from the sands.
“The four men then immediately jumped up from where they had been lying and spreading themselves out as they ran, proceeded to race down the sandhills in the direction of the all unconscious little party from the Abbey.
“The chauffeur says that instantly then a feeling of dire40 consternation41 took possession of him, for as one who has lived the greater part of his life in America and is conversant42 with the customs of that great country, it came to him in a flash what was about to happen.
“The little baronet was going to be kidnapped.” Naughton Jones paused here and smiled at the expression of absorbed attention upon the detective’s face.
“Looked pretty hopeless unless a miracle happened, didn’t it?” he remarked. “At least six men, and probably all of them armed, against a defenseless elderly chauffeur!”
“Great Scott! it did look hopeless,” exclaimed Larose. “Hopeless to the world!”
Jones nodded. “But the miracle did happen.” he went on, “for just as the chauffeur was running down on to the sands to put up what resistance he could, the roar of motor engines was again heard among the sandhills, and two motor charabancs came tearing up, with their passengers, about fifty or sixty strapping43 young fellows, all carrying rifles. It appears it was the afternoon of the yearly match between the rifle clubs of Holt and Hunstanton, and they were going to shoot it off as usual at the butts on Brancaster Sands.
“The charabancs stopped and the riflemen sprang down. Then the chauffeur ran up to them, and waving his hand in the direction of the nurses and the four men shouted ‘Load up, boys, and go to the rescue of those girls down there. Quick!’
“The young fellows thought it was a joke, but entering into the spirit of the fun, they snapped at their magazines and ran down on to the sands. The four men stopped and looked round in amazement44, and the chauffeur swears he saw two of them produce pistols, but perceiving the crowd of armed youths swooping45 down upon them, after quick signs to one another, they turned upon their heels and sauntered back to their car. The two rowers in the boat, also taking in what was happening, pulled round and rowed back to the yacht.”
The great investigator leant back in his chair. “It was all over in three minutes, and in six the men had disappeared in their car and the motor yacht was heading back to sea.” He rubbed his hands together. “Quite a little epic46 in its way.”
“Very dramatic, Mr. Jones,” said the detective, “and you told it very nicely, too. Really, you are a born teller47 of stories!” He frowned. “But it doesn’t end there! Surely, they made some attempt to arrest the men?”
“What for?” asked Jones blandly48. “There was no evidence about anything against them, for the nurses hadn’t even set eyes upon them until all the danger was passed. They had been too occupied in watching the motor yacht and thinking how pretty it looked with its wake of foam.” He frowned now in his turn. “No, that’s the trouble. There was not a shred49 of evidence against anyone, and the only suspicion”— he nodded solemnly —“what the chauffeur saw.”
“Well, what happened next?” asked Larose.
“The chauffeur very rightly insisted upon returning at once to the Abbey, and as a precaution went back in a roundabout way and took two of the armed riflemen along with him.”
“And that’s all,” asked Larose, because Jones had stopped speaking, “that finishes everything!”
“That begins everything,” replied Jones testily50, “for that same night I was called down.” He tapped impatiently upon the desk. “Yes, sir, her ladyship is no sluggard51, and awakening52 from her dreams of fancied security, and realising that transAtlantic methods were being brought over here, with no hesitation53 she proceeded to form her own bodyguard54 and to obtain the best services that she could.” His voice hardened. “And she is neglecting no precautions, I can assure you, for she knows the ghastly toll55 of little lives that has been taken in her own country. She remembers the dead body of the Lindberg baby and has no intention that her child shall be put under the ground in the same way.” He nodded solemnly again. “So, today, Carmel Abbey is an armed camp.”
“But why does she not leave the Abbey for a few months?” asked Larose sharply, “for so near to that lonely stretch of coast, she must see there is always the possibility of being raided from the sea.”
Naughton Jones smiled disdainfully. “You don’t know Lady Helen Ardane yet, but when you have had speech with her you will not repeat the question. She is a woman of spirit with that red head of hers, and not only is she refusing to leave Carmel Abbey but she is carrying on her social duties as if nothing had happened, and she has even made no alterations56 for the house party that will begin assembling tomorrow for the opening of the pheasant shooting on the first, although she has been warned by a second letter that among her guests,” his voice hardened sternly, “will be another traitor57 in league with the kidnappers.”
“Then with a confederate inside the Abbey, as you say,” commented Larose, “the kidnappers must be quite aware that she is being warned and therefore I cannot understand how —”
“They are not quite aware,” interrupted Jones sharply, “and that is the only pull we have over them. They have heard nothing of either letter, for Lady Ardane’s widowhood has developed considerable powers of self-reliance in her, and she has not taken every one into her confidence.”
“She has told no one!” exclaimed Larose, very surprised.
“Only her father, Senator Harvey, who is upon a visit to her,” replied Jones, “and not even her aunt who lives with her. The first letter she immediately threw into the fire, not considering it worth mentioning to anybody. Then when the affair upon the sands took place, she grasped instantly the supreme58 importance of not letting it be known that she had a friend in the enemy’s camp and she held her tongue.” He nodded emphatically. “Yes, we are fortunate there.”
“Then the kidnappers, not being aware that she had any warning,” said Larose, “cannot be positive that it is definitely realised what was intended to happen that afternoon upon the sands.”
“Well, they must be very dull witted,” scoffed59 Jones, “if they did not at once become positive of that fact when they saw the precautions that were taken at the Abbey immediately afterwards.” He thumped60 upon the desk. “Not positive! Why man, they knew I had been called in, and I was shot at upon the third day, following upon my arrival, the very first time that I set foot outside the Abbey walls, and then the day before yesterday a second attempt was made upon my life by a wretch61 endeavoring to run me down in a big car. I was upon my bicycle and just outside the castle grounds. Also the two Alsatian hounds that upon my suggestion were procured62 to keep guard outside the Abbey, were promptly63 poisoned before they had been on the place for even four and twenty hours.” He laughed sardonically64. “You take it, it is not a picnic that I am sending you down to, and they may be playing the ‘Dead March’ over you in much less than a week.” He spoke65 carelessly. “Her ladyship is most generous and is certain to pay for a choral service.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Larose at once looking very pleased, “then I see I shall relish66 the whole business, for I am sick of going after people who commit only one crime, and then hide away like rabbits until I dig them out.” He nodded. “I admire this red-haired woman of yours for sticking to her guns.”
“It is the only thing she can do.” said Jones with a shrug8, “unless she prefers to go on being haunted every day of her life.” He looked very stern. “She must carry on the fight to a finish now, and not only must she break up the kidnapping gang, but she must unmask, too, the traitors67 in her own household and among her own friends.” He put his finger to his lips. “Ah! that’s the trouble, for as I tell you, she can make no move in any direction to protect the child, without its becoming known at once to the people who are after him. We have definite proof that they leave instantly, and I cannot, for the life of me, find out how it is done.” He appeared very disturbed. “Just as they got to know that the child was going on the morrow to the Brancaster sands, so they got to know that I was in the Abbey, and so”— he threw out his hands —“I have no doubt they will know who you are the very moment you arrive.”
“You have been staying there a fortnight, then, Mr. Jones?” said the detective thoughtfully.
“A fortnight today,” growled68 the great man, “and I have never spent two more unprofitable weeks in my life.” He spoke sharply. “You know my reputation and my methods, Mr. Larose, and if I tell you I have discovered nothing, then you will realise that the secret is well hidden.”
He spread out the map upon the table. “But now for chapter and verse, for I am going into a nursing home tonight, and have a lot of things to arrange. See, this is Burnham Norton and there is the Abbey, and as you have remarked, their comparatively isolated69 position leaves them open to attack. Well, the affair upon the sands took place on the afternoon of Wednesday, and at 11.30 that night Lady Ardane rang me up. She impressed upon me the extreme urgency of the matter, but I was not able to go at once, for I had an appointment with a Cabinet Minister at midnight. Still, at 8.30 the next morning I was breakfasting in the Abbey.”
He sighed heavily. “And I at once found I had a most difficult task before me. For the moment I was not concerned so much with the kidnappers outside, realising that the vital thing was to discover at once who was the confederate inside the Abbey. That was what was terrifying Lady Ardane, and I agreed with her that there must be a confederate.” He nodded emphatically. “You, too, can be perfectly70 assured on that point, and you can be assured also that whoever he or she may be, or perhaps there are two or three of them there, they are not only able to learn all that is going on inside the Abbey, but, as I tell you, they are in a position to pass on that information in the most expeditious71 manner possible to those who are waiting to operate outside.”
“But why are you so certain there?” asked Larose.
“Firstly,” replied Jones, “because the fact that the child was going to the Brancaster Sands on the Wednesday was not mentioned or even thought of until the Tuesday evening about half-past six when he was bidding goodnight to his mother, and yet by two o’clock on the following afternoon the kidnappers had been able to perfect most elaborate arrangements for abducting72 him there. Not only were some of them gathered in readiness among the sandhills to prevent all chances of the Abbey party getting back to their car, but others were approaching from far out to sea in a motor yacht which must have been waiting a long way away, because neither before nor after can we light upon any traces of it anywhere along the coast. Everything, then, pointed to preparations that could not possibly have been carried out on the spur of the moment.”
“Go on,” said Larose, because Jones had stopped speaking.
“Secondly,” said Jones, “because the third night after I arrived, I happened to mention at dinner that I had thoughts of cycling into Wells to obtain a favorite tobacco, and Lady Ardane suggested that if I wanted to extend my excursion for exercise, I should proceed there by way of Overy Marshes73 and return through Holkhum Park. I did so.” He spoke very slowly. “Well, with no resource to the telephone, plans were made instantly by someone to waylay74 me, for I was fired upon, both going and returning, which proves conclusively76 that within a few minutes of my decision, the miscreants77 had been informed in which particular directions I should be proceeding78 upon both parts of my journey.”
“But perhaps you were followed from the moment you left the Abbey,” suggested Larose.
“Impossible!” exclaimed Jones sharply, “for it was bright moonlight and I was keeping far too good a look out. No, I was ambushed79 both times, and from the crack of the rifles — I am an old rifleman myself — I was fired at with two different rifles. On the marshes an old Mauser was used, but in the park I don’t know what was fired.”
“Anything else?” asked Larose.
“Yes, a third happening,” replied Jones, “and it is in every way as significant as the other two. To hark back to the morning following the attempt at Brancaster Sands, Lady Ardane had requisitioned five young fellows of the Hunstanton Rifle Club to come and stay at the Abbey as a temporary bodyguard, and it was arranged they should be picked up at The Drake Hotel in Hunstanton at 3 o’clock. She sent a car from the Abbey to fetch them, and until they were all ready it was run into the hotel yard. Then, when a quarter of an hour later it was proceeding at a good pace along the Burnham Norton road, one of the front wheels came off and a terrible accident was narrowly averted80. It was then found that the hub caps of all the wheels had been unscrewed and the safety pins pulled out.” He shook his head gloomily. “There could not be more conclusive75 evidence that there is a confederate inside the Abbey, for someone had at once passed on the information that these men were coming out.”
He handed a sheaf of papers to the detective. “Now, here are some notes that I have made and they should save you a lot of trouble. They include the life histories of the twenty-six employees at the Abbey, and impressions I have formed of the temperaments82 and characters, also my opinion of the friends of Lady Ardane who were staying with her when I arrived and are still there now.”
He shook his head disgustedly. “Really, I have never fished in more empty waters, for none of these men or women appear likely to be taking any part against Lady Ardane. She is most popular with everyone and the child, too. It is true that few of the servants have a record of long service behind them, but they are a foolish lot, and I can pick out no one among them who seems in any way competent enough to be assisting in a conspiracy83 such as this. And the same with these friends of hers now at the Abbey, including some very uninteresting and shallow society women.” He shrugged his shoulders. “At any rate, I gave the women the ‘once-over’ and then dismissed them at once from my calculations.” He smiled sarcastically84. “But perhaps you may be more successful there than I have been. I am no ladies man.”
“Well, what exactly am I being sent down for?” asked Larose.
“Mainly to determine who are the confederates inside the Abbey and through them get a line as to where the gang are, outside, and incidentally, help keep an eye upon the child and make sure nothing happens to him.”
“And those letters that Lady Ardane received?” asked Larose. “What about them?”
“Both in the same disguised hand-writing and very short. The first, as far as her ladyship remembers, ‘Look out or your child will be taken from you, but on no account let it be known that you have been warned or I shall suffer,’ and the second, received only yesterday, ‘Be on your guard more than ever now, for among your shooting party will be another who is your enemy and the luck may not be with you this time.’ Both posted in Norwich.”
“And she has asked for no police protection?” frowned Larose.
Naughton Jones shook his head. “What would have been the good of it? She could not have the police hanging about indefinitely, and besides, Mr. Larose”— he looked very stern and uncompromising —“her ladyship is, as I have told you, an American, and she has a profound distrust of all police officials, indeed, it was with some difficulty that I persuaded her to ask for your services. She was very much against it at first.”
A short silence followed and then Larose said slowly. “And you really must throw up the case, Mr. Jones?”
“Yes,” replied Jones curtly85. “I must”
“But you and I together,” began the detective, “we ——”
Jones turned away his eyes. “I must throw it up,” he repeated. “There is no help for it.”
“But I should have thought,” persisted Larose, “that at such a critical stage ——”
Jones turned on him angrily. “I don’t want to leave it,” he said quickly. “Don’t you understand that, and don’t you understand also, what two weeks of complete failure mean to a man of my temperament81? Do you think I am not sorry, too, for that poor woman eating out her heart, and night and day expecting some dreadful blow to fall?” His voice dropped suddenly to gentler tones. “I am doing the best I can for her and in advising her to ask for your services I am thereby86 going against all the prejudices of my life.” He frowned scornfully. “Must I again refer to my estimation of the official police, and must I ask you to realise how humiliating it is for me to come here this morning? Please, please Mr. Larose, stress no more upon my enforced departure. It is unavoidable.”
“All right, Mr. Jones,” said Larose quickly. “I will not refer to it again.” He glanced down at the papers on the desk. “So I am to appear there as a guest, am I?”
Naughton Jones smiled a disdainful smile. “You may appear to some people there as a guest, but if I have any grasp of the situation at Abbey, to those with whom we are most concerned your true identity will become known at once.”
He pointed to the papers before them on the desk. “You will find all your instructions there. Yes, you are to go down as a friend of her cousin Paris Lestrange, the K.C., and you are to call upon this gentleman straight away at his chambers87 in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, so that you will not be entirely unknown to each other when you meet at the Abbey. I have just come from him and made an appointment for you at 12.30.” He looked rather annoyed. “We had to take him into our confidence because it would have seemed strange for Lady Ardane to have invited a man of your age — as her friend.”
“What sort of a man is he?” asked Larose.
Naughton Jones pursed up his lips. “Oh! quite reliable and all that, but personally, one I do not particularly care for.” He frowned as if at some unpleasant memory. “I crossed swords with him last year at the Leeds Assizes when he was defending the forger88, Stringer Blake, and although he was most rude and discourteous89 to me when in the witness box, it is generally conceded he did not come too well out of the encounter. At any rate my evidence turned the scale and friend Stringer was sent down for seven years.”
“Ah! I remember now!” exclaimed Larose. “I’ve seen this Lestrange in the Courts. Between thirty-five and forty, dark and rather good-looking. He goes in for racing90 and owns a few horses himself.”
Jones nodded. “Yes, that’s the fellow, and if the report speaks true he’s anxious to hang up his hat at the Abbey. Admiral Charters, one of the visitors up there, told me last week that he’d proposed many times to Lady Ardane and everyone knew it.” The great investigator smiled acidly. “A very presumptuous91 and conceited92 man!”
“And I am to go and see him now,” asked Larose, “directly I have received that order that you told me I am about to have from the Chief.”
“Yes,” nodded Jones, “I have just come from Lincoln Inn Fields, and have arranged the appointment for you.” He looked amused. “I might mention he did not seem over-pleased.”
Larose looked amused. “What displeased93 him?” he asked. “Association with a policeman?” He laughed. “I suppose he thinks I’ll be disgracing him by putting my knife into my mouth! Really ——”
But the telephone tinkled94 and he cut short what he was going to say. He lifted the receiver and then making the reply, “Very good, sir, I’ll come at once,” replaced it and rose quickly to his feet.
“It’s the Chief, Mr. Jones,” he explained. “Just wait a minute or two, will you. He says very little, and I don’t suppose he’ll keep me long,” and then, receiving a nod of acquiescence95, he left the room.
With the closing of the door, the gloomy look dropped at once from the face of the great investigator, and taking a highly-colored pink newspaper out of his pocket, he began to scan down its columns with all appearance of great interest.
“Hum! hum!” he remarked, “a very tricky96 programme with the winners well concealed97, and if anyone’s not careful, he’ll be brought home a cot case this afternoon. Ho! ho!” he went on, “but ‘Track–Watcher’ is all at sea in these selections and that nap for the 3.30 is indicative of very poor judgement, to my mind.” He shook his head emphatically. “‘Wet Kisses’ will never act in the heavy going, and ‘The Bishop’ will come right away from her as he turns for home.” He snorted contemptuously. “Then, of course, ‘Maid of Orleans’ will be too strong for ‘The Parson’s Nose,’ and ‘Sweet Seventeen’ will beat the ‘The Unwanted Babe’ every time.”
His contempt became accentuated98 as he read on. “Numbskull! Fool! Imbecile!” he ejaculated. “So, his best bets of the day are ‘Slippery Dick’ and ‘Dirty Dog!’ Why, ‘Slippery Dick’ will never get round those turns and ‘Dirty Dog’ just hates the mud!” He almost gasped99. “Great Scot! the man must have been intoxicated100 when he picked those out and ——” But he heard someone outside, and in a lightning movement the pink paper was back in his pocket.
The door opened, and Larose returned to the room. “Yes, it’s all right,” he announced cheerfully. “I’m to go and I’ll be starting in less than half an hour.” He reseated himself at the desk and went on in sharp and business-like tones. “And now, please Mr. Jones, just tell me who at the Abbey, besides Lady Ardane, know that I am coming down?”
“No one, not a soul,” replied Jones emphatically, “and there, at any rate for the time being, we are quite safe. We only decided101 upon everything this morning, and our conversation took place outdoors, in whispers, and in a part of the garden where we could not possibly be overheard.”
“Good,” exclaimed Larose, “then I’ll get you to give me an introduction to her ladyship at once.”
“There’s a letter among the papers there, and you’ll present it to her when you arrive.”
“But that’s not the sort of introduction I mean,” said Larose. “I want you to introduce me over the phone, so that she’ll be able to recognise my voice, and I want to say something particular to her, as well. What’s her number?”
Jones gave it with a frown and then sat with a very bored expression on his face until the call was put through.
“Just say that you want to introduce a friend to her,” whispered Larose quickly, when Jones was holding the receiver to his ear. “Don’t on any account mention my name.”
Jones flashed him a look of withering102 scorn, and began to speak into the mouthpiece. “Yes — yes — a most pleasant journey, thank you . . . Certainly, everything is all right . . . No thanks at all. I knew I could manage it . . . Now, I have a friend here and ——”
But Larose had deftly103 plucked the receiver from his hand, and with a smile of apology to the amazed Jones, he at once took up the conversation.
“It is the friend speaking . . . Good afternoon . . . I’m sure it’s very kind of you to ask me down for the shooting, although kangaroos are more in my line than pheasants . . . Still, I have shot more than kangaroos in my time, and as I’m quite handy with my gun, I may be a welcome acquisition to your house-party. I’m starting almost at once, but I want to speak to you to-night, right away from where you are now . . . You understand? . . . Yes, I want to have a chat with you before I arrive . . . Let me see. Now it’s exactly 12 o’clock . . . Certainly, it is absolutely necessary, and not a soul must know, until the last moment, that you are motoring anywhere . . . Well, say the Royal Hotel, then . . . In the lounge at ten minutes to six . . . Yes, I must see you. All right then, you’ll be there at ten minutes to six and please don’t be late . . . Oh! I shall recognise you, and I’ll come up and speak to you . . . Oh! one thing more. Please bring a plan of your place, if you have one. No, that’s all. Good morning.”
He hung up the receiver and turned to Naughton Jones. “Well, that’s all right,” he smiled, “and now, I shall start off with a clean sheet.”
“But you’re giving her a journey of thirty-five miles each way,” frowned Jones reprovingly, “and you won’t always find her so complaisant104. She has a strong will, and ideas of her own.”
“Then it will be a pleasure to work with her,” commented Larose.
They talked on for a few minutes, and then Jones got up to take his leave. “Now, you go very carefully through those notes,” he said, “and I hope you’ll do credit to my recommendation.”
“I hope so, too, Mr. Jones,” smiled Larose. “At any rate, I’ll do my very best.”
“You’ve improved a lot in appearance lately, I notice.” went on Jones with great condescension105. “Your face has filled out and shows a lot more character.” He nodded. “Some women might almost call you handsome.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” said Larose, with an appearance of great humility106, “I’m sure it’s very good of you to say so.”
“Well, you be most careful,” nodded Jones, “for you may be all that stands now between that poor woman and a dreadful tragedy.” He shook his head gloomily. “This morning before I came here, I was scanning through my book of newspaper cuttings dealing107 with scores and scores of kidnapping cases in America, and although I have been quite aware of the fact for a long time, still I realised more than ever, that the mentality108 of the kidnapper28 is as debased as that of any type of criminal in the world, and that he is crueller and more merciless than any jungle beast of prey109.”
“I’ll be careful,” replied Larose reassuringly110, “and I promise you I’ll not be fighting in kid-gloves, either.”
“And you remember for your own sake,” were final words of Naughton Jones, “that you will not be the only one with a secret at the Abbey, or the only one who will be masked night and day.” His voice vibrated in its earnestness. “Among those smiling men and women will be another guest who will be masked, too, and he will be close near you every hour. He will be at your elbow as you sit at meals, he will stalk behind you as you pass from room to room, and he will stand by your pillow, as you toss and stir in your troubled dreams. Yes, and he will be waiting for you to make just one mistake. Just one little mistake, Mr. Larose, and then his mask will drop off, and you will see in your last waning111 consciousness, that all along your shadow has been death. You understand! Good-bye.”
“Whew!” whistled the detective when he was again alone, “and after that I think I’ll have a cigarette.” He helped himself to one out of a well filled box upon his desk and then added with a grin. “Really it’s a pity perhaps, that I bought so many, for I may not want them all.”
A quarter of an hour later he was being ushered112 into a beautifully furnished room which formed part of the chambers of the rising King’s Counsel, Paris Lestrange.
The barrister was seated before a large table upon which was heaped in orderly disarray113 a number of papers, tied together with countless114 pieces of the usual red tape.
He was dark and handsome, with a long intellectual face and deep-set, penetrating115 eyes. His hair was as beautifully brushed as if he had just come out of the barber’s chair. He was immaculately dressed and his expression was proud and rather disdainful.
He rose and inclined his head ever so slightly when the visitor was announced, and then, making no effort to shake hands, sank back into his chair and assumed a very bored expression.
“This is an unfortunate business,” he began in a deep voice, “but of course you have been coached in the part you are to play?”
Larose nodded. “Mr. Naughton Jones has just been with me,” he replied. “I am to go down as a supposed friend of yours.”
“Yes,” said the K.C., dwelling116 slightly upon the adjective, “as a supposed friend.” He eyed the detective critically and asked in a haughty117 tone:—
“Then have you had any experience of the usages of Society, Mr. Larose?”
“Oh! yes, all except the divorce parts,” replied Larose, annoyed at his unfriendly manner and willfully misunderstanding the question. “Over here and in Australia I’ve been in the Criminal Investigation17 Department for more than ten years.”
The K.C. stared hard as if uncertain how quite to take the reply. “But that is not what I mean,” he said quickly. He frowned as if rather worried. “Do you think, Mr. Larose, that you will be able to pass as one accustomed to associate with the class of people you will meet at Carmel Abbey?”
The rudeness of the question was patent, but the detective repressed the anger that he felt, and continued in his previous vein118. “Yes, that will be quite all right,” he said meekly119, “for only a few months back I served as a footman in the household of the Duke of Blair when it was thought an attempt was about to be made upon the family jewels, and no one but his Grace ever became aware who I was. I picked up quite a lot of wrinkles then.” He smiled cheerfully. “I play a good hand of bridge, I am something of a judge of wine, and from overhearing many conversations, I know exactly what kind of stories are considered good form to tell to the ladies.” There was just the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. “You need not be afraid that I shall let you down.”
Lestrange continued to frown, but now went off upon another track.
“Of course” he said, “at Lady Ardane’s request I have agreed, as Mr. Jones puts it, to sponsor you as my friend, but at the same time, I am by no means convinced that there is any need at all for your services. The evidence as to any intended kidnapping is in my opinion, most lamentably120 weak. The imagination of an excitable chauffeur, the forgetfulness of some motor mechanic when replacing those car wheels,”— he drummed upon the table with his fingers —“and the entirely unsupported conjectures121 of Mr. Naughton Jones!”
“But Mr. Jones says he was actually fired upon,” said Larose.
“Yes, yes, of course,” commented the barrister. “Still, Mr. Jones is always positive that he is the centre of every happening that occurs. I have had some experience with him in court.” He looked sharply at the detective. “But, never mind that. The question is, if you are supposed to be my friend, where did I meet you?” He screwed up his face as if he were partaking of a dose of particularly unpleasant medicine. “What have we in common?”
The detective pointed smilingly to a gold cigarette case upon the table. “Smoking,” he exclaimed with the delight of one making a great discovery, “and you can say you met me somewhere in a tobacconist’s shop.”
The K.C.‘s eyes hardened and his face flushed. “Humor, Mr. Larose,” he began sternly, “is out of place now and I am ——”
“Well, say you met me in racing circles,” interrupted Larose quickly, and speaking now in sharp and decisive tones and very different to those he had hitherto used. “I am, of course, aware that you are interested in racing, and I am interested, too. I’ve stayed twice with Lord Garnet at his place in Newmarket, so we can say we became acquainted there.” He rose up to terminate the interview. “Now how are you going down tomorrow?”
“By car of course,” replied Lestrange sharply, and in spite of his self-assurance, decidedly nonplussed122 by the rapid change in the demeanor123 of the detective.
“Will you pick me up then, in Norwich tomorrow,” asked Larose, “or would you prefer that I went to the Abbey on my own?”
The K.C. considered. “I had better pick you up,” he said. He smiled sourly. “That will obviate124 any effusive125 greetings when we meet.”
“And what time will you be in Norwich?” asked Larose.
Lestrange considered again. “Between two and five,” he replied carelessly, and then added as if only his own convenience were to be considered, “You will have to wait for me.”
“All right,” said Larose, “then I’ll be ready in the lounge of the Royal Hotel from two o’clock onwards,” and with a nod quite as off-hand as that of the barrister’s, he let himself out of the room.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sordid
|
|
| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
intriguing
|
|
| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
breaches
|
|
| 破坏( breach的名词复数 )； 破裂； 缺口； 违背 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
investigator
|
|
| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
ace
|
|
| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
shrug
|
|
| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
overdoing
|
|
| v.做得过分( overdo的现在分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
adviser
|
|
| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
wreck
|
|
| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
investigations
|
|
| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
investigation
|
|
| n.调查，调查研究 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
advantageous
|
|
| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
dictate
|
|
| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
commissioner
|
|
| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
pampered
|
|
| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
anonymous
|
|
| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
miraculous
|
|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
disquieting
|
|
| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
kidnappers
|
|
| n.拐子，绑匪( kidnapper的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
kidnapper
|
|
| n.绑架者，拐骗者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
inmates
|
|
| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
unimpeachable
|
|
| adj.无可指责的；adv.无可怀疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
housekeeper
|
|
| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
chauffeur
|
|
| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
butts
|
|
| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
binoculars
|
|
| n.双筒望远镜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
cleaving
|
|
| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
foam
|
|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
dire
|
|
| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
consternation
|
|
| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
conversant
|
|
| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
strapping
|
|
| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
swooping
|
|
| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
epic
|
|
| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
teller
|
|
| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
blandly
|
|
| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
shred
|
|
| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
testily
|
|
| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
sluggard
|
|
| n.懒人；adj.懒惰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
awakening
|
|
| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
bodyguard
|
|
| n.护卫，保镖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
toll
|
|
| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
alterations
|
|
| n.改动( alteration的名词复数 )；更改；变化；改变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
traitor
|
|
| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
scoffed
|
|
| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
thumped
|
|
| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
procured
|
|
| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
sardonically
|
|
| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
relish
|
|
| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
traitors
|
|
| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
isolated
|
|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
expeditious
|
|
| adj.迅速的，敏捷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
abducting
|
|
| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的现在分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
marshes
|
|
| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
waylay
|
|
| v.埋伏，伏击 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
conclusive
|
|
| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
conclusively
|
|
| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
miscreants
|
|
| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
ambushed
|
|
| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
temperaments
|
|
| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
conspiracy
|
|
| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
sarcastically
|
|
| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
curtly
|
|
| adv.简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
forger
|
|
| v.伪造；n.（钱、文件等的）伪造者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
discourteous
|
|
| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
racing
|
|
| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
presumptuous
|
|
| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
conceited
|
|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
tinkled
|
|
| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
acquiescence
|
|
| n.默许；顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
tricky
|
|
| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
accentuated
|
|
| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
withering
|
|
| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
complaisant
|
|
| adj.顺从的，讨好的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
condescension
|
|
| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
humility
|
|
| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
dealing
|
|
| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
mentality
|
|
| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
reassuringly
|
|
| ad.安心，可靠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
waning
|
|
| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
ushered
|
|
| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
disarray
|
|
| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
countless
|
|
| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
vein
|
|
| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
meekly
|
|
| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
lamentably
|
|
| adv.哀伤地，拙劣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
conjectures
|
|
| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
nonplussed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的，陷于窘境的v.使迷惑( nonplus的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
demeanor
|
|
| n.行为；风度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
obviate
|
|
| v.除去，排除，避免，预防 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
effusive
|
|
| adj.热情洋溢的；感情(过多)流露的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |