I had no right to divulge2 the girl’s secret to my two companions. I recognised this in an instant.
She had told me in confidence, and here was plain proof of what she had explained.
“What is it?” asked Price. “Something that surprises you?”
“Well, yes,” I answered as carelessly as I could. “It’s a letter from a woman.”
“From Lucie Miller3!” cried Sammy, whose sharp eyes had caught the signature. “What does she say? Tell us,” he asked eagerly.
“No,” I said firmly. “Recollect4 that whatever or whoever this man is, he is dead. Therefore let his private affairs rest. It is surely no concern of ours.”
“No—of yours, perhaps,” my friend laughed. “Remember what I told you about her.”
“I recollect every word.”
“And yet you are all the time anxious to meet her again, Godfrey! Do you know, I really believe the girl has captivated you—like she has so many others.”
“You don’t take me for a fool—do you?” I snapped, rather annoyed. “She was in distress5 and I am wondering if she has yet extricated6 herself.”
Price made inquiry8 as to whom we were discussing, but in a few quick sentences I satisfied his curiosity.
“I should be very sorry if she ever comes here again,” declared Sammy. “I have no wish to meet her. The memory of my poor friend Carrera is far too painful.”
“You believe, then, that his death was due to her—that she induced him to leave his jacket upon the lawn?”
“I make no direct charge, my dear fellow. I only say that she’s daughter of one of the most ingenious ‘crooks’ in Europe—a member, if not the actual leader, of one of the cleverest of the international gangs. They are possessed9 of ample means, and the police are no match for their ingenuity10.”
“You have your opinion, my dear old chap; I have mine,” I said, glancing round the room and recollecting11 vividly12 how she had stood there and looked upon the white drawn13 face of the man who had refused to extricate7 her from her deadly peril14.
He took up the yellow paper, glanced it over, and put it down again without being able to make anything out of it.
I said I would translate it later, and placed it aside, together with the strange letter of appeal.
Neither of my companions was very well satisfied, I could see. They wished to know what the mysterious Lucie had written, while I, on my part, was equally determined15 not to tell them. It was surely not fair to her to divulge what had been meant for Nardini’s eye alone; therefore, I intended to keep possession of the letter, and to hand it to her to destroy, should we ever meet again.
Now that I recall those hours following the stranger’s decease and the English girl’s mysterious visit I cannot even now explain why I so suddenly commenced to take an interest in her. She was beautiful, it was true, but man-of-the-world that I was, and a constant wanderer across the face of Europe, I knew dozens of women quite as graceful16, if not even more beautiful. Besides, there was the dark stigma17 upon her which Sammy had alleged18, and which, by what I had now discovered, seemed fully19 borne out.
No. I think the mystery of the affair was responsible for my undue20 interest in her. Sammy, of course, put it down to her personal attractions, but he was decidedly and distinctly in error. She had told me of her perilous21 position, and of the dead man’s refusal to assist her. Therefore it was but natural that I was curious to know how she fared.
Again, was she not in some mysterious way acquainted with a secret of my own life? Perhaps it was also that fact which caused me a longing22 to know the real truth concerning her.
There was certainly nothing of the adventuress about her. She was quiet, refined, graceful, neatly23 dressed, and spoke24 with easy, well-bred accents that were essentially25 those of a lady.
I do not think my worst enemy has ever declared me to be impressionable where women were concerned, for truth to tell, an incident that had occurred four years before had soured my life, and caused my resolution to ever remain a bachelor.
Ah! It was all over—the old story of the mad passion of a man for one who proved—well, unworthy. Ah! how I had adored my Ella; how I worshipped the very ground upon which she trod; how I would have conquered the very world for her sake. Yes. I saw her now, so young in her white muslin dress with her gold-brown hair falling upon her shoulders, her laughing blue eyes, and the red rose in her breast as we walked that June afternoon along those white English cliffs with the blue Channel at our feet. That never-to-be-forgotten afternoon we pledged our love, our hot lips met in their first fierce caress26, our hearts beat in unison27. She was my all in all. For months we lived in a world that was entirely28 our own—a bright rosy29 world of high ideals and ineffable30 sweetness, for we loved, ay we loved in a manner, I believe, that man and maiden31 never loved before. Even the remembrance of it now was sweet and yet—ah! so intensely bitter.
But why need I trouble you with that incident of long ago? Suffice it to say that my little Ella preferred money to a man’s love, and she became engaged to a stout32, grey-haired fellow old enough to be her father. Six months later she sickened, and then I heard that she was dead. Ah! the blow was to me terrible! I became from that day a changed man.
Since my little Ella preferred money to my love, I had again been wandering hither and thither33, a careless, aimless man, just as I had wandered before meeting her. If I had had a profession it would have been different, but my father committed the unpardonable folly34 of leaving me comfortably off, therefore I simply developed into an idler, preferring life at the gay continental35 resorts—now in Monte Carlo, now in Paris, now in Rome, or elsewhere, just as my inclinations36 led me—to the dull humdrum37 existence of chambers38 in London. Ella—Ella! I thought of none save of my sweet dead love, now lost to me for ever.
Therefore, when Sammy hinted that I had become bewitched by Lucie Miller I firmly and frankly39 denied such assertion. Four years is a breach40 in a man’s life, but even four years had not caused me to forget my first and only true passion—the passion that had ended so tragically41. Sometimes life does not count by years. Some suffer a lifetime in a day, and so grow old between the rising and the setting of the sun.
When Price had concluded the inventory42 of the dead man’s papers, I sorted out all those which had any official bearing. Perhaps I ought to have communicated at once with the Italian Consulate43, seeing that the dead man was an Italian subject, but at the time it never occurred to me. The papers which had so evidently been abstracted from the archives of the Ministry44 of Justice in Rome I tied up in a bundle and placed them apart. The others, with the exception of the yellow folio and the letter of appeal, we replaced in the portmanteaux.
Later that afternoon, when alone, I drew out the letter again and re-read it. Translated into English it was as follows:—
“Your Excellency Signor Nardini—For the last time I throw myself upon your charity and ask you to speak and clear me of this disgraceful allegation they have made against me. You alone know that I am entirely innocent. You alone know that on the evening of the affair I was at the Villa45 Verde. Therefore, how could I have been in Rome? How can I be culpable46? A single word from you will vanquish47 these lying, unscrupulous enemies of mine who have thus attacked my honour and seek to connect me with an affair of which I swear I am in utter ignorance.
“Surely you will not refuse to make this one single declaration to save me! Reflect well all that it means to me—this disgraceful accusation48 against my honour. I know your reluctance49. You fear that your own admission that I was at your villa out at Tivoli on that night may give rise to some scandalous gossip. But will you not risk it in order to save a woman’s life? Shall I not suffer more than you—a man? Yet I am quite ready to face the scandal of our names being connected in order to free myself from this most disgraceful charge. Say what you wish concerning me—tell all you know, if it suits your purpose—only I pray of you to shield me from these fierce, relentless50 enemies of mine.
“I, a defenceless and desperate woman, beg of you to speak the truth and clear me. Will you not hear my appeal?
“To-morrow, at noon, I shall call upon you personally for a reply.
“Speak—speak, I beg of you most humbly51 and with all my heart. You are the only person who can save me, and I pray that God in His justice may direct your action of mercy. Lucie.”
Was not the truth plainly written there? Surely she had not misled me in her motive52 in coming to England, to make one final appeal to the man whose lips had, alas53! been closed by death!
I re-read the piteous letter, sighing the while. Every word of it showed her mad desperation at being unable to prove her innocence54 of this mysterious allegation. The reason of the man’s silence was now obvious. If he had spoken he would have had to tell the truth—which from her letter appeared to be an unpleasant one and likely to cause scandal. Yet she asserted that she was fearless of anything the world might say; therefore did not that very fact suggest that there was no ground for any scandal?
Then I opened the yellow official paper which had been preserved with the letter of appeal.
Headed “Amministrazione di Pubblica Sicurezza” and bearing the number 28,280, it was, I saw, the Italian police record regarding an Englishman named James Harding Miller, son of William Miller, born at Studland, in Dorsetshire, widower55, and resident in Rome. After the name and the statement that he was sometimes known as Milner, a minute description was given of the person whom the record concerned, and in that column headed “Connotati,” or personal appearance, was the following:—
Statura: alto.
Corporature: secco.
Colorito: bruno.
Capelli: castagna.
Barba: c.
Occhi: c.
Naso: greco.
Bocca: reg.
Fronte: guista.
Segni: porta lenti.
The meaning of this was that Mr Milner, or Miller, was tall of stature56, dark complexion57, chestnut58 beard, hair and eyes, Greek nose, and that he habitually59 wore pince-nez. In fact upon the back of the document were pasted four photographs, taken in different positions, and probably by different photographers.
The information contained in the record was, however, of more interest to me, and I read it through very carefully from end to end.
Briefly60, what was chronicled there was to the effect that the Englishman Miller had on several occasions been suspected of being implicated61 in various schemes of fraud in association with certain persons against whom were previous convictions. It appeared that so strong were the suspicions concerning him in the case of an extensive fraud upon French’s bank in Florence by means of forged securities two years before that Miller was arrested, but after exhaustive inquiries62 was allowed his freedom as there was insufficient63 evidence.
The lines of even writing went on to state: “The man’s daughter, Lucie Lilian Miller, is constantly with him, and may participate in his schemes. There is, however, no direct allegation against her.” Miller, it continued, evidently possessed a secret source of income which was believed to be derived64 from dishonest sources, though the actual truth had not yet been discovered. The record ended with the words added as a postscript65 in another handwriting: “After exhaustive inquiries made by the Questura in Rome, in Florence and in Leghorn, it is now established beyond doubt that the Englishman is in active communication with a clever international association of ‘sharpers’.”
After reading that I was compelled to accept the truth of Sammy’s statement. The man Miller had evidently plotted and obtained the securities in the young Chilian’s despatch-box.
Yet had Lucie, I wondered, any knowledge of that dastardly conspiracy66 which had ended in a tragedy?
点击收听单词发音
1 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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2 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
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3 miller | |
n.磨坊主 | |
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4 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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5 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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6 extricated | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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8 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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9 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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10 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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11 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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12 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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13 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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14 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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15 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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16 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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17 stigma | |
n.耻辱,污名;(花的)柱头 | |
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18 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
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19 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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20 undue | |
adj.过分的;不适当的;未到期的 | |
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21 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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22 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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23 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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24 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 | |
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25 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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26 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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27 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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28 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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29 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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30 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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31 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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33 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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34 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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35 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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36 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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37 humdrum | |
adj.单调的,乏味的 | |
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38 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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39 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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40 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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41 tragically | |
adv. 悲剧地,悲惨地 | |
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42 inventory | |
n.详细目录,存货清单 | |
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43 consulate | |
n.领事馆 | |
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44 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
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45 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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46 culpable | |
adj.有罪的,该受谴责的 | |
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47 vanquish | |
v.征服,战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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48 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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49 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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50 relentless | |
adj.残酷的,不留情的,无怜悯心的 | |
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51 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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52 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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53 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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54 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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55 widower | |
n.鳏夫 | |
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56 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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57 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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58 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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59 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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60 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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61 implicated | |
adj.密切关联的;牵涉其中的 | |
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62 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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63 insufficient | |
adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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64 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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65 postscript | |
n.附言,又及;(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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66 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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