Contrary to what I had expected, the Chief Commissioner3 was always very pleasant to me; indeed, he was sometimes quite affable, and given to joking about the cloud we were both under.
He often said he was sure the crowd would hang us both some day, and when in a good mood it was his favorite joke to ask if I had chosen my particular lamp-post yet.
One evening I boldly appropriated a policeman’s cape4 and cap. There were always a number hanging up in the men’s waiting room and, noticing the place to be empty once when I passed, I darted5 in quickly and helped myself to what I hurriedly considered were suitable sizes.
I walked out calmly with them tucked away under my arm and no one took any notice of what I was carrying.
I had been wanting them badly — to go with the policeman’s bicycle I had already annexed6.
There was now such a cloud of suspicion hovering7 over everyone that even a man bicycling slowly along, with full lights glaring, was liable any moment to be stopped and questioned.
But the policeman’s cape and cap would make it quite different, I thought, and upon meeting any patrol-men suspicion would be disarmed8 at once. I chanced it that the loss of the things would not be discovered; at any rate, I guessed no one would ever dream they had been stolen from inside.
I was still taking the nightly dose of paste, but somehow I didn’t feel nearly so keen now about going out upon my dreadful quest of blood.
Whether or not the drug was gradually losing its effect upon me, as the great specialist had suggested, I could not tell, but certainly as the days went on I began only very occasionally to go out.
For one reason, perhaps, I was never certain to be free now until fairly late in the evening, and when the dreadful fits did seize me, I had to work in very late and unprofitable hours. There were then fewer people about and, besides, everyone had by now been so thoroughly9 stirred up and frightened that they took far fewer risks, and either stayed indoors altogether, or went about outside in twos and threes.
I have, strangely enough, a much clearer memory of what happened in those later times and it seems to me now that my various personalities10 were beginning then gradually to coalesce11 and overlap12.
I could no longer keep my mind exactly in compartments13, and one part of my life began to worry about what the other part was doing.
Sometimes for a few minutes thoughts about the future, too, would oppress me and I was no longer content, as I had been, to live wholly in the passing hour. I began to worry about Lucy. One day I caught myself wondering if she would be happy as my wife.
These thoughts did not last for long at a time, but I gradually began to feel they were there. I was like a man with a sore place that was always likely to give trouble.
One night, very late, I found myself near the Zoological Gardens. It had been a fearfully gusty14 day, and the wind was still blowing furiously.
One of my real savage15 moods had returned and I was quite reckless of anything I did. I had ridden boldly up to the city, along the Port Road, and it had been no gratification to me that I had openly passed three patrols without being spoken to and questioned.
I had hidden my bicycle under the bank of the Torrens River and was sullenly16 prowling round, rejoicing in the risks and dangers I was running.
Suddenly, between the gusts18 of wind, I heard the roaring of a lion. It sounded mournful and sorrowful to me, as if the beast were pining for its home. I was in angry pity all at once. What brutes20 men were to cage these poor beasts! They had no right to inflict21 a lifetime of loneliness upon any animal, just to gratify a lot of silly people who paid sixpences and shillings to stare and gape22 at creatures often far nobler than themselves. It ought to be stopped.
Then an idea flashed to me. At any rate, they should have one night of freedom to remember.
I climbed without difficulty over the wall, and in a couple of minutes I was standing23 in front of the cages of the imprisoned24 beasts.
It was the night of a new moon, and I could just make out the dim form of the lion whose despairing roar had called up my train of thought.
He was a magnificent animal and was softly padding to and fro behind the bars of his cage.
I mounted fearlessly to the door at the side and with my short bar of iron, set vigorously to work on the lock. It was a flimsy sort of arrangement at any time, but, clinging to the cage with one arm as I had to, it was quite four or five minutes before I broke it open, and was able to fling wide the door for the lion to come out.
To my annoyance26, however, the beast was nowhere to be seen. My hammering evidently had been too much for its nerves and it had crept into its sleeping apartment, apparently27 afraid.
I rattled28 on the bars disgustedly to make it come out, but it was no good, and then in a fit of rage I walked right in and threw a handful of gravel29 in the direction of where I thought the beast must be.
Nothing happened, however, and for a moment I had serious thoughts of going in to drag it out forcibly, but an angry growl30 in the darkness made me think better of it, and I passed on to the next cage.
There were two young tigers there, and at once both were much interested in my proximity31 to their cage; indeed, I had to hit one vigorously over the paws several times with my iron before I could sufficiently32 divert his attention from my legs to allow me to get to work on the lock.
When I at length did get the door open both animals dashed through so quickly that I was knocked over and left sprawling33 on the gravel, in front of the cage.
I next had a go at the bears. Three brown ones I saw depart inquisitively34 upon a tour of inspection35 in the direction of the manager’s house, but the fourth, a big black one, pig-headedly refused to get up or even budge36 an inch, notwithstanding that I prodded37 vigorously into his back with a long piece of paling that I found on the path, outside his cage. He just grunted39 and rolled over out of reach.
Two wolves also persistently40 refused to leave their cage until, in a terrible rage now, I finally went in and booted them out. I fancied they must have gone in the same direction as the bears, for I later heard an awful row as it they were disagreeing together.
I went to let out the big polar bear, too, but on my approaching his cage he was most anxious at once to commence operations on me. The silly brute19 wouldn’t let me come anywhere near the bars without thrusting his nasty looking claws out and trying to grab at me and pull me in. I hit him and threw gravel at him, but he just snarled41 and kept his place, so I gave him up at last and came away.
I let out a few parrots and broke down the ostrich42 door, but it was poor sport and quite in a disgusted frame of mine I returned to my bicycle and rode off.
Next morning there were all sorts of rumors43 going about. I heard them even going up in the train. All the animals had got loose from the Zoo. The elephants had broken into the Botanic Gardens and eaten all the oranges off the trees. One of the tigers had got right through the city and had walked into the office of the Tramway Trust — he had fortunately, however, discovered at once where he was and had slunk away, abashed44. (The Tramway Trust had just recently raised the tram fares on all their routes.) A big bear had got into the Cathedral, but the Bishop45 had been privately46 rehearsing his Sunday sermon there and the bear had gone off to sleep. A short-sighted old lady had woke him up by prodding47 with her umbrella, thinking it was the Dean — and so on, and so on.
Everyone was much amused and it was only when they found that a tiger was actually somewhere at large in the city that the situation lost something of its humor.
The animal was later located, however, in the garage of a dentist, whose back entrance opened into Gawler Place. With the energetic help of this gentleman it was soon coaxed48 into a large packing case and secured. The jovial49 dentist stood all its captors drinks and, hastily summoning a photographer, had his photo taken sitting on the packing case and surrounded by the four uniformed attendants from the Zoo. He said it was one of the most reasonable patients he had ever attended.
None of the other animals, it appeared later, had got outside the Zoo ground; some even had never left their cages, and, the facts becoming known, the public generally voted them a poor set of wild beasts, and sarcastically50 suggested they should be henceforth allowed to roam loose.
But if the public were amused, the authorities were not, and long and serious confabulations took place at the police head-quarters as to the immunity51 the perpetrator of these continued outrages52 enjoyed.
I did not go out for several nights after that. I had hurt my left hand considerably54 in banging about the cage locks and it was quite stiff and useless for a while. I told everyone I had twisted it in chopping wood.
Two days after the affair at the Zoo, I fancied there was an unusual air of expectation on the faces of the heads at Victoria Square. The Chief himself was in a most happy mood, and chaffed me incessantly55 whenever he saw me.
“Chosen your lamp-post yet, Mr. Wacks?” he laughed genially56. “I’ve chosen mine, just outside Tattersalls Club, to be a warning to all the evildoers there. I hear they’re betting ten to one against us finding our friend within the next six months.”
I frowned coldly at him. I was sure something was going on and was annoyed that we specials were never, even in the very slightest degree, taken into the confidence of the regular officials. Even small unimportant things that were taking place came to my knowledge sometimes in quite a roundabout way from casual conversation with some of my brother specials — and as their chief officer I felt I was being badly treated.
I had expected that quite naturally there would be always some sort of jealousy57 between the regular police and ourselves, but I had expected also that we should receive at least some part of their confidence.
But no — we were never told anything about anything and the youngest policeman would always derive58 pleasure in handing out a snub whenever he could.
I tried tacitly to pump Meadows, but I might just as well have spoken to a piece of cheese. Early one morning, I met him at home, just when he was coming in for breakfast. He looked white and tired, as if he had been up all night; also I noticed his clothes were very dusty and there were reddish patches on his coat.
“Morning, Mr. Meadows,” I said cheerfully. “How’s business? Anything fresh?”
“I haven’t seen the papers yet,” he replied coldly. “We shall be sure to see if there is anything then”— and he passed brusquely back to his own room. Unmannered beast, I thought; I was beginning to hate him.
I was very puzzled, for I knew from Mrs. Bratt that Meadows had lately been sleeping at home a lot during the day, and that, of course, meant he had been out on all-night work.
I was more convinced than ever that something was going on and, in a faint uneasy way, I fell to wondering if it could possibly be anything to do with me.
The solution came to me that afternoon, in a very unexpected manner.
I was walking up North Terrace at lunch time, and suddenly came face to face with Sir Bartle Elkin.
He stopped at once and held out his hand.
“Well, Mr. Wacks,” he said cordially, “and how’s that great abnormal brain of yours today? Any grit59 in the wheels yet, as time goes on, or do you find it working better and better with the exercise you are now giving it?”
I assured him I was well strung up to concert pitch and ready and waiting for anything.
“Now didn’t I tell you,” he went on, “that things must get quieter and quieter in the mania60 line? No outrage53 now for over a week, except that potty little affair at the Zoo, which, after all, may have been only a little ebullition of spirit on the gentleman’s part. But still,” and he wagged his head solemnly, “no relaxation61 of vigilance, mind — no taking things easy now. If he commits, perhaps, only one more crime, that crime may yet turn out to be the most bloody62 and most wicked of the lot. Well — good-bye — hope I shall meet you again some day, and we’ll continue that interesting little discussion we were having at the Governor’s. You know, you’re quite a study to me, and you’re indexed up on my file. Oh, by-the-by, there’s a most interesting case at the hospital just now. I’ve just come from there. A case of delirium63 after snake-bite. A policeman was bitten the day before yesterday, and he’s been raving64 ever since that he was watching a bicycle and the tyres turned into a snake and bit him. Funny, the line of thought, isn’t it?”
“What?” I exclaimed startled, I didn’t know why. “A policeman bitten by a snake — not an Adelaide policeman, surely.”
“Oh, yes — a city one. A red-headed Irishman, and bitten close to the city, too, I think. He’s been very bad, but he’s pulling round nicely now. Good-bye.”
He went off smiling, but left me thinking heavily.
A policeman bitten by a snake and thinking he was watching a bicycle! Snakes — policeman — and a bicycle. Good heavens! How it all smelt65 of the gravel pit. A red-haired Irishman too! It must be Sullivan, and Sullivan was Meadows’s pal38! Meadows’s pal, and the one that always worked with him on double jobs! Could they — could they possibly have traced the bicycle by now? Out there in that lonely gravel-pit behind the brick-kilns on the Torrens Road! Brick-kilns — brick-kilns — bricks — good Lord! — where had I just seen the red dust of bricks? Why Meadows had had brick dust on his coat that very morning! Meadows himself!
In a flash the light came to me and everything was clear as day. Of course, that was the excitement at the police head-quarters. They had found the bicycle and were expecting to trap me at last, thinking any night I might be returning again to get the machine. They were watching the pit. That was why Meadows had been out all night lately, and that was why he had got the brick dust on his coat.
What an escape! And what a fool I had been! I had looked upon the police as asses66 and yet, in less than ten days, they had gone straight to the one spot, out of the many millions I might have chosen, and found the machine. I wondered vaguely67 how they had ever gone on the track, and then I called myself a fool again. Of course, the two lots of people who had challenged me that night when I had taken the bicycle must have reported to the police separately and that had given them some sense of the direction I had gone.
Then, too, Meadows had lived all his life about Bowden, and, of course, he knew every possible or probable hiding place for miles round. No doubt, he had many times thrown stones into the slimy pool at the bottom of the pit, just as I had often done when a boy.
Yes, it was rather simple after all. I wondered then if they had found the policeman’s cape and cap I had hidden under some stones in another part of the pit. Anyhow, it didn’t matter if they had — I wouldn’t go for them again.
I was very absent-minded that afternoon at the office. I felt really worried all the time, and it was quite a new thing for me. I was fidgety and anxious, I didn’t quite know why.
I left early that afternoon and walked up to the police head-quarters. It was easy for me to make an excuse, and I was curious to confirm my suspicions.
As luck would have it, I met the very man I wanted, Inspector Wedlake — he was the Chief’s right-hand man. I asked him carelessly if he were satisfied with the attendance the specials were putting in.
“Certainly,” he replied emphatically, “you’ve got together a smart, keen lot of men, and not one has failed for duty yet.”
“How are your own lambs, Inspector?” I laughed — referring, of course, to the regular police.
“As happy and as frolicsome68 as anyone could wish, Mr. Wacks.”
“None of them ill either, Inspector — every one on duty, too?”
“Certainly, sir — every one on duty — we don’t allow sickness in the force. Why, if any of the poor beggars here fell ill, we should soon have someone writing to the papers to point out what a weak lot we had recruited,” and he laughed in high good humor at his own wit.
What a liar69 the Inspector was, I thought — but there was no doubt they had all got the office to keep the news of Policeman Sullivan’s snakebite from getting about. Of course, if it got out he had been bitten by a snake, everyone would have been interested at once to know how it had happened, and perhaps the purloiner70 of the bicycle might get his suspicions and stay away. The gravel pit was notorious for its evil reputation for snakes.
I was quite satisfied that I had hit on the truth, but still I hadn’t done with the matter yet.
There was a hill about a mile from the gravel pit that would command, I knew, an almost clear view of the brickfields through which anyone would have to pass to get to where I had hidden the bicycle.
I determined71 to watch that evening at dusk, for if they were watching the pit, as I was almost certain they were, it would be at dusk that they would place their sentries72 to be ready for the night.
I made my way home quickly to get the binoculars73 I had bought when Lucy and I went to the races, and about half an hour before dusk I was lying snugly74 among the bushes on the side of the hill I had selected for my observations.
I could see the brickfields quite easily and with the glasses could even pick out small objects lying about on the grass. It was well I had come early, for I was hardly comfortably settled in my position when I saw a solitary75 figure walk quickly over the brickfields and disappear into the little wood.
Another and another followed until in less than five minutes I had counted ten. They had all walked quickly and purposely into the wood, with no loitering or hesitation76. At that distance they had all seemed to have overcoats or mackintoshes on, and one, from the forward way in which he held his head, I could have sworn was Meadows himself.
I waited until dark had actually closed down, but nothing more happened. All was lonely as the grave — I should have added, silent as the grave, too, if once or twice I had not fancied I could hear the deep, but far-off, baying of a hound. Evidently, I thought, they were well prepared, and, hoping an opportunity would present itself, had actually got the bloodhounds handy to lay them quickly on the trail.
That night I determined somehow to get into Meadows’ room. Things could not be more fortunate for me in that respect; Meadows himself, I was certain, would be out all night, and Mrs. Bratt would probably be away, too. Her married sister was very ill at Alberton, about three miles away, and every evening lately Mrs. Bratt had taken herself off with tears and profuse77 apologies, leaving us to look after ourselves.
I was very uneasy about Meadows and a sure instinct told me that, sooner or later, his suspicions were going to fall on me. There were so many little things that might turn his thoughts towards me, and once his suspicions were really awakened78 a dangerous significance would attach to lots of happenings that at present he could think nothing of.
He knew, for instance, that I often came home very late, and upon three occasions when I must have had blood on me, if he had only known it, he had passed and said good-night to me in the hall.
Then there was the business about Boulter’s rabbits. Of course, it was he who had guessed there was some connection between the rabbit killing79 and the other crimes. Only he could have told the Chief of Police about it. Then, this present affair at the gravel pit. He must have guessed that the man who hid the bicycle there would live somewhere handy to the spot. Yes — altogether, I thought, Meadows was a man I must know all I could about. He was going to be very dangerous to me.
I knew he always kept his room locked. I had never been in it, all the five years and more he and I had boarded with Mrs. Bratt. It was always locked except when he was having his meals in the kitchen, and then Mrs. Bratt was allowed to go in and tidy it up a bit. Captain Barker had often laughed about the funny arrangement; he used to suggest Meadows must be keeping dead bodies there.
Mrs. Bratt went out early, as I had thought she would, and waiting a few minutes in case she should be coming back for something she had forgotten, I stealthily set about my investigations80.
I switched off all the lights and put the house in darkness. Then I crept quietly out by the back door and carefully examined Meadows’ window from outside.
As I expected, it was unlatched and wide open. There was only the flyproof wire frame to protect the room from intruders. I soon made short work of that.
I carefully prised out the nails that held the wire frame to the window sill, and in half a minute was inside the room.
I pulled down the blind and boldly switched on the light. It would be far better, I argued, to have the light full on than to be seen sneaking81 about by the flash of my electric torch.
The room was quite nicely furnished though, and there were a lot of books on the shelf. Books on travel, books on law, novels, detective stories, Tudor’s ‘Psychology of Crime,’ Fendleson’s ‘The Art of Disguise,’ a book on Poisons, and two thick volumes on Medical Jurisprudence. Dear me, I thought, a student here. Meadows must be quite a rising young man, and far more than the stolid82, clod-hopping policeman I had always taken him to be.
I opened his cupboard, and his clothes at once profoundly interested me. Heaps and heaps of them, and of all sorts of cuts and shapes. I knew his work often took him out in disguise — for Mrs. Bratt had continually told me so, but I never imagined anything like this. He had countrymen’s and laborers’ suits — a suit of a navvy — one of a railway porter — a rig-out that looked like a tramp’s, and last but not least, a nice, natty-looking, well-cut dress suit.
All, too, were hanging methodically on their separate pegs83. In a box on the bottom shelf I found two wigs84, a lot of tufts of false hair, and a complete grease paint outfit85 for making up.
I was the more and more astonished.
I opened a large tin trunk next, and in it found pile upon pile of newspaper cuttings all neatly86 docketed and arranged.
There was a large map there, which something made me open. I was at once amply repaid.
It was a full-size scale map of Adelaide and its surroundings, and there were little red crosses all over it, with marginal notes at the side. It didn’t take me long before I realised that the little red crosses marked the places where I had attempted or had committed my crimes. Every spot in the city or thereabouts where I had been at any time heard of had been carefully marked down; and the marginal notes explained things, and gave the approximate time.
I felt my back beginning to creep.
Underneath87 the newspapers, I came upon the gem25 of all. A fair-sized, thickish, black book that he had used as a rough diary and that extended back for years. The entries were in neat regular handwriting, but the names of most of the people he referred to were represented by abbreviations or simply by a single letter.
I started upon the book towards the end, and soon found things that interested me. Some of the entries were most trivial, however. ‘Mrs. B. broke water jug,’ was one. ‘Mrs. B’s sister came,’ was another. Then came what were evidently referring to me. ‘Heard W-k speak at Woodville’—‘Met W-k with L.B.’—‘W-k came home at 11.45 to-night.’
Exactly — he spied upon everyone, as I thought. I turned over several more pages and found a lot about Boulter on one. Boulter’s name was written in full — no doubt to distinguish him from other people whose names commenced with B.
I read on. “People Boulter knows,” went on the diary, and then followed a lot of names with mine, of course, among the first. “People Boulter’s dog knows,” and my name again was near the top of the list. I could easily follow the drift of the fellow’s thoughts. He was thinking about the rabbits being killed and was trying to tabulate88 a list of people who might possibly have owed Boulter a grudge89, and he was trying also to call up all the people who were friendly with his dog and who could have entered the back garden that night without being received with growls90 or barks. Then came a terse91 significant entry. “Told C.C.” Yes, that, of course, meant when he went up to the Chief Commissioner and suggested to him that the slayer92 of the rabbits and the terrorizer of the city were one and the same man. Yes, quite a long shot that, Master Meadows, I sneered93, but a bulls-eye, all the same.
I learned a lot from that diary before my eyes so ached that I had, at last, to shut it up. As I had surmised94, it was Meadows himself who had found the bicycle, and found it after nine days’ strenuous95, one-man search. Then for the last three nights he had lain expectant with his comrades upon the gravel pit side — waiting and waiting for the man who never came.
In a strange sort of way, I felt rather sorry for them all. I knew so well the horrible surroundings of the pit.
I could picture their vigil even as I sat reading there. They would be lying prone96 upon the dark pitside and it would be blackest night where they all were. It would be hot and sultry and foul97 smells would drench98 the air. There would be a grave-like silence. Every sense and feeling would be strained, almost to the breaking point. Every moment they would hope to see a shadow creeping down, and every moment they would hope to hear the footfalls of a man picking his way stealthily and with care. But every moment would bring its disappointment to them. The shadow they would never see, and the footfall they would never hear. They would wait and watch in vain.
Fear, too, would be with them all the night — fear of the cold, vile99 reptile100 creatures, crawling and writhing101 all around them, in the pit that was their home. The whole night long death in its most ghastly form would never be far from them and the dawn only could bring relief, both from their hopes and from their fears.
I replaced the book just where I had found it, and, leaving no traces of my visit, climbed softly out of the room.
I slept badly and brokenly that night and my sleep was full of disquieting102 dreams.
Next morning, however, my old confidence had returned, and I went up to the office thinking of Lucy most of the time.
As I was walking up the railway station stairs in Adelaide, I met one of the reporters of ‘The Register’ whom I knew.
“Any news, Mr. Wacks,” he asked briskly, “anything good for copy that you happen to know?”
I shook my head smilingly, and then a thought struck me and I grinned to myself.
“Well, I’ve nothing particular to tell you,” I said slowly, “but I can give you an interesting item of general news. Policeman Sullivan is at present in the Adelaide Hospital, suffering from snake-bite contracted in the course of some special duties. You needn’t necessarily say that it was I who told you, but its a fact, and it may interest the public.”
He thanked me, and that evening, as I expected, there appeared a paragraph in the ‘Evening Journal,’ detailing the news about the snake-bitten policeman. The police being then very much in the public eye the ‘Journal’ people had thought it quite worth their while to send up a reporter to the hospital and gather in all the particulars. An innocent young house surgeon had very amiably103 obliged, and the reporter had worked up quite a nice little story for the edification of the ‘Journal’s’ readers.
I smiled grimly to myself when I read it, and wondered rather spitefully exactly what particular word the Chief Commissioner of the Police would make use of when it came to meet his eye.
That night I got rid of one of my suits of clothes. I had practically always worn the same suit when I had gone out on my expeditions at night. It was a suit of very dark grey.
I had been always most careful to sponge off any stains that had come on it, but as the sponging had generally been done on the mornings following upon the nights that I had been out, I was never sure that it had been effective. I was afraid of what the microscope might reveal.
I had puzzled all day how to get rid of it, but my good fortune was befriending me.
As I came up our garden that evening, I smelled that Mrs. Bratt had been burning rubbish in the yard. She had had quite a good-sized bonfire I saw, and the embers were still glowing, under the big heap of debris104 that she had made. As usual, she had gone off in a great hurry to her sister directly after preparing my tea, and there was no one about the house.
I made a small bundle of my suit and pushed it well into the middle of the smouldering heap. It made a nasty smell, but in an hour or so it was all consumed, and I congratulated myself that that danger was now over once and for all.
Now, Mr. Detective Meadows, I thought, you can just focus your suspicions when you like. I’m quite ready for you.
I saw him coming in that evening about seven o’clock, and he looked very sullen17 and cross.
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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coalesce
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| v.联合，结合，合并 | |
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overlap
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| v.重叠，与…交叠；n.重叠 | |
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compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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sullenly
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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19
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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21
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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22
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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23
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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26
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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27
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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28
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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29
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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30
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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31
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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32
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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33
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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34
inquisitively
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| 过分好奇地； 好问地 | |
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35
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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36
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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37
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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38
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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39
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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40
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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41
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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42
ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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43
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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44
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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46
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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47
prodding
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| v.刺，戳( prod的现在分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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49
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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50
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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51
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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52
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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54
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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58
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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61
relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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65
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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66
asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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67
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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68
frolicsome
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| adj.嬉戏的，闹着玩的 | |
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69
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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70
purloiner
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| [法] 小偷，窃盗者 | |
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71
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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72
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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73
binoculars
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| n.双筒望远镜 | |
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74
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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75
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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76
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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77
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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78
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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79
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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81
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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82
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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83
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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84
wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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85
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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87
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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88
tabulate
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| v.列表，排成表格式 | |
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89
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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90
growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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91
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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92
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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93
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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95
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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96
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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97
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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98
drench
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| v.使淋透，使湿透 | |
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99
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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100
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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101
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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102
disquieting
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| 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 ) | |
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103
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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104
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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