"Cheer up, Tom," he encouraged. "We are on the home stretch now."
"Perhaps—if they don't beat us to the tape," I answered disconsolately2. "What are you going to do next?"
"While you were snatching a little sleep, I was rummaging3 around and found a number of letters in a table drawer, up there. One was a note, evidently to the garage keeper, and signed merely, 'Chief.' I'll wager5 that the handwriting is the same as that in the blackmailing6 letter to Miss Winslow."
"What of it?" I asked, refusing to be comforted. "We haven't got him and the prospects—"
"No, we haven't got him," interrupted Garrick, "but the note was just a line to tell the Boss, who seemed to have been up there in the country at the time, to meet the Chief at 'the Joint7,' on Second Avenue."
I nodded, but before I could speak, he added, "It didn't say any more, but I think I know the place. It is the old International Cafe, a regular hang-out for crooks8, where they come to gamble away the proceeds of their crimes in stuss, the great game of the East Side, now. Anyhow, we'll just drop into the place. We may not find them, but we'll have an interesting time. Then, there is the possibility of getting a strangle hold on someone, anyhow."
Garrick was evidently figuring on having driven our gunman back into the haunts of the underworld.
There seemed to be no other course that presented itself and therefore, rather than remain inactive until something new turned up, I consented to accompany him in his excursion.
Forbes, still uncommunicatively protesting that he would say nothing until he had an opportunity to consult a lawyer, had been taken down to New York by Dillon during the morning and was lodged9 in a West Side prison under a technical charge which was sufficient to hold him until Garrick could investigate his case and fix his real status.
We had taken a cross-town car, with the intention of looking over the dive where Garrick believed the crooks might drop in. The ride itself was uninteresting, but not so by any means the objective point of our journey.
Over on the East Side, we found the International Cafe, and slouched into the back room. It was not the room devoted10 to stuss, but the entrance to it, which Garrick informed me was through a heavy door concealed11 in a little hallway, so that its very existence would not be suspected except by the initiate12.
We made no immediate13 attempt to get into the hang-out proper, which was a room perhaps thirty feet wide and seventy feet deep. Instead, we sat down at one of the dirty, round tables, and ordered something from the waiter, a fat and oily Muscowitz in a greasy14 and worn dinner coat.
It seemed that in the room where we were had gathered nearly every variety of the populous15 underworld. I studied the men and women at the tables curiously16, without seeming to do so. But there could be no concealment17 here. Whatever we might be, they seemed to know that we were not of them, and they greeted us with black looks and now and then a furtive18 scowl19.
It was not long, however, before it became evident that in some way word had been passed that we were not mere4 sightseers. Perhaps it was by a sort of wireless20 electric tension that seemed to pervade21 the air. At any rate, it was noticeable.
"There's no use staying here," remarked Garrick to me under his breath, affecting not to notice the scowls22, "unless we do something. Are you game for trying to get into the stuss joint?"
He said it with such determination to go himself that I did not refuse. I had made up my mind that the only thing to do was to follow him, wherever he went.
Garrick rose, stretched himself, yawned as though bored, and together we lounged out into the public hall, just as someone from the outside clamoured for admission to the stuss joint through the strong door.
The door had already been opened, when Garrick deftly23 inserted his shoulder. Through the crack in the door, I could see the startled roomful of players of all degrees in crookdom, in the thick, curling tobacco smoke.
The man at the door called out to Garrick to get out, and raised his arm to strike. Garrick caught his fist, and slowly with his powerful grip bent24 it back until the man actually writhed25. As his wrist went back by fractions of an inch, his fingers were forced to relax. I knew the trick. It was the scientific way to open a clenched26 fist. As the tendons refused to stretch any farther, his fingers straightened, and a murderous looking blackjack clattered27 to the floor.
All was confusion. Money which was on the various tables disappeared as if by magic. Cards were whisked away as if a ghost had taken them. In a moment there was no more evidence of gambling28 than is afforded by any roomful of men, so easy was it to hide the paraphernalia29, or, rather, lack of paraphernalia of stuss.
It was the custom, I knew, for criminals, after they had made a haul to retire into such places as these stuss parlors30, not only to spend the proceeds of their robberies, but for protection. Even though they were unmercifully fleeced by the gamblers, they might depend on them to warn of the approach of the "bulls" and if possible count on being hidden or spirited off to safety.
Apparently31 we had come just at a time when there were some criminals in hiding among the players. It was the only explanation I could offer of the strange action that greeted our simple attempt to gain admission to the stuss room. Whether they were criminals who had really made a haul or mere fugitives32 from justice, I could not guess. But that a warning had been given the man at the door to be on his guard, seemed evident from the manner in which we had been met.
There was a rush of feet in the room. I expected that we would be overwhelmed. Instead, as together we pushed on the now half-open door, the room emptied like a sieve33. Whoever it might be who had taken refuge there had probably disappeared, among the first, by tacit understanding of the rest, for the whole thing had the air of being run off according to instructions.
"It's a collar!" had sounded through the room, the moment we had appeared at the door, and it was now empty.
I wondered whether the letter which Garrick had found might not, after all, have brought us straight to the last resort of those whom we sought.
"Where have they gone?" I panted, as the door opened at last, and we found only one man in the place.
There he stood apparently ready to be arrested, in fact courting it if we could show the proper authority, since he knew that it would be only a question of hours when he would be out again and the game would be resumed, in full blast.
The man shook his head blankly in answer to my question.
"There must be a trap door somewhere," cried Garrick. "It is no use to find it. They are all on the street by this time. Quick—before anyone catches us in the rear."
We had been not a moment too soon in gaining the street. Though we had done nothing but attempt to get into the stuss room, ostensibly as players, the crowd in the cafe was pressing forward.
On the street, we saw men filing quickly from a cellar, a few doors down the block. We mingled35 with the excited crowd in order to cover ourselves.
"That must have been where the trap door and passage led," whispered
Garrick.
A familiar figure ducked out of the cellar, surrounded by others, and the crowd made for two taxicabs standing34 on the opposite side of the street near a restaurant which was really not a tough joint but made a play at catering36 to people from uptown who wanted a taste of near-crime and did not know when they were being buncoed.
Another cab swung up to the stand, just as the first two pulled away.
Its sign was up: "Vacant."
Quick as a flash, Garrick was in it, dragging me after him. The driver must have thought that we, too, were escaping, for he needed only one order from Garrick to leap ahead in the wake of the cabs which had already started.
A moment later, Garrick's head was out of the window. He had drawn37 his revolver and was pegging38 away at the tires of the cabs ahead. An answering shot came back to us. Meanwhile, a policeman at a corner leaped on a passing trolley39 and urged the motorman to put on the full power in a vain effort to pursue us as we swept by up the broad avenue.
Even the East Side, accustomed to frequent running fights on the streets between rival gunmen and gangs, was roused by such an outburst. The crack of revolver shots, the honking40 of horns, the clang of the trolley bell, and the shouts of men along the street brought hundreds to the windows, as the cars lurched and swayed up the avenue.
The cars ahead swerved41 to dodge42 a knot of pedestrians43, but their pace never slackened. Then the rearmost of the two began to buck44 and almost leap off the roadway. There came a rattle45 and roar from the rear wheels which told that the tires had been punctured46 and that the heavy wheels were riding on their rims47, cutting the deflated48 tubes. At a cross street the first car turned, just in time to avoid a truck, and dodged49 down a maze50 of side streets, but the second ran squarely into the truck.
As the first car disappeared we caught a glimpse of a man leaning out of it. He seemed to be swinging something around and around at arm's length. Suddenly he let it go and it shot high up in the air on the roof of a tenement51 house.
"The automobile52 is the most dangerous weapon ever used by criminals," muttered Garrick, as the first car shot down through a mass of trucking which had backed up and shifted, making pursuit momentarily more impossible for us. "These people know how to use the automobile, too. But we've got someone here, anyhow," he cried, leaping out and pushing aside the crowd that had collected about the wrecked53 car.
In the bottom of it we found a man, stunned54 and crumpled55 into a heap.
Blood flowed from his arm where one of the bullets had struck him.
Several bullets had struck the back of the cab and both tires were cut
by them.
As I came up and looked over Garrick's shoulder at the prostrate56 and unconscious figure in the car, I could not restrain an exclamation57 of surprise.
It was the garage keeper, the Boss—at last!
Policemen had come up in the meantime, and several minutes were consumed while Garrick proved to them his identity.
"What was that thing the fellow in the forward car whirled over his head?" I whispered.
"A revolver, I think," returned Garrick. "That's a favourite trick of the gunmen. With a stout58 cord tied to a gun you can catapult it far enough to destroy the evidence that will hold you under the Sullivan law, at least. I mean to get that gun as soon as we are through with this fellow here."
Someone had turned in a call for an ambulance which came jangling up soon after, and we stood in a group close to the young surgeon as he worked to bring around the captured gangster59.
"Where's the Chief?" he mumbled60, dazed.
Garrick motioned to us to be quiet.
The man rambled61 on with a few inconsequential remarks, then opened his eyes, caught sight of the white coated surgeon working over him, of us standing behind, and of the crowd about him.
Memory of what had happened flitted back to him. With an effort he was himself again, close-mouthed, after the manner of the gangsters62.
The surgeon had done all in his power and the man was sufficiently63 recovered to be taken to the hospital, now, under arrest. As far as we were concerned, our work was done. The Boss could be found now, at any time that we needed him, but that he would speak all the traditions of gangland made impossible.
I wondered what Garrick would do. As for myself, I had no idea what move to make.
It surprised me, therefore, to see him with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
"I'll see you this afternoon, Tom," he said merely, as the ambulance bore the wounded Boss away. "Meanwhile, I wish you'd take the time to go over to headquarters and give Dillon our version of this affair. Tell him to hold to-night open, too. I have a little work to do this afternoon, and I'll call him up later."
Dillon, I found, was overjoyed when I reported to him the capture of at least one man whom we had failed to get the night before.
"Things seem to be clearing up, after all," he remarked. "Tell Garrick I shall hold open to-night for him. Meanwhile, good luck, and let me know the moment you get any word about the Chief. He must have been in. that first cab, all right."
As I left Dillon's office, I ran into Herman in the hall, coming in. I bowed to him and he nodded surlily. Evidently, I thought, he had heard of the result of our activities. I did not ask him what progress he had made in the case, for I had had experience with professional jealousy64 before, and thought that the less said on the subject the better.
Recalling what Garrick had said, I curbed65 my impatience66 as best I could, in order to give him ample time to complete the work that he had to do. It was not until the middle of the afternoon that I rejoined him in his office.
I found him at work at a table, still, with a microscope and an arrangement which I recognised as the apparatus67 for making microphotographs. Several cartridges68, carefully labelled, were lying before him, as well as the peculiar70 pistol we had found when we had captured Forbes in the little room. There were also the guns we had captured in the garage and one found in the cab which we had chased and wrecked.
On the end of the table was a large number of photographs of a most peculiar nature. I picked up one. It looked like an enlarged photograph of an orange, or like some of the pictures which the astronomers71 make of the nearer planets.
"What are these?" I asked curiously, as he leaned back from his work, with a smile of quiet satisfaction.
"That is a collection of microphotographs which I have gathered," he answered, adding, "as well as some that I have just made. I hope to use them in a little stereopticon entertainment I am arranging to-night for those who have been interested in the case."
Garrick smiled. "Have you ever heard?" he asked, "that the rounded end of the firing pin of every rifle when it is examined under a microscope bears certain irregularities of marking different from those of every other firing pin and that the primer of every shell fired in a rifle is impressed with the particular markings of that firing pin?"
I had not, but Garrick went on, "I know that it is true. Such markings are distinctive72 for each rifle and can be made by no other. I have taken rifles bearing numbers preceding and following that of a particular one, as well as a large number of other firing pins. I have tried the rifles and the firing pins, one by one, and after I made microphotographs of the firing pins with special reference to the rounded ends and also photographs of the corresponding rounded depressions in the primers fired by them, it was forced upon me that cartridges fired by each individual firing pin could be positively73 identified."
I had been studying the photographs. It was a new idea, and it appealed to me strongly. "How about revolvers?" I asked quickly.
"Well, Dr. Balthazard, the French criminologist, has made experiments on the identification of revolver bullets and has a system that might be compared to that of Bertillon for identifying human beings. He has showed by greatly enlarged photographs that every gun barrel leaves marks on a bullet and that the marks are always the same for the same barrel but never identical for two different barrels. He has shown that the hammer of a revolver, say a centre fire, strikes the cartridge69 at a point which is never the exact centre of the cartridge, but is always the same for the same weapon. He has made negatives of bullets nearly a foot wide. Every detail appears very distinctly and it can be decided74 with absolute certainty whether a certain bullet or cartridge was fired by a certain revolver."
He had picked up one of the microphotographs and was looking at it attentively75 through a small glass.
"You will see," he explained, "on the edge of this photograph a rough sketch76 calling attention to a mark like an L which is the chief characteristic of this hammer, although there are other detailed77 markings which show well under the microscope but not in a photograph. You will note that the marks on a hammer are reversed on the primer in the same way that a metal type and the character printed by it are reversed as regards one another. Moreover, depressions on the end of a hammer become raised on the primer and raised markings on the hammer become depressions on the primer.
"Now, here is another. You can see that it is radically78 different from the first, which was from the cartridge used in killing79 poor Rena Taylor. This second one is from that gun which I found on the tenement roof this morning. It lacks the L mark as well as the concentric circles. Here is another. Its chief characteristics are a series of pits and elevations80 which, examined under the microscope and measured, will be found to afford a set of characters utterly81 different from those of any other hammer.
"In short," he concluded with an air of triumph, "the ends of firing pins are turned and finished in a lathe82 by the use of tools designed for that purpose. The metal tears and works unevenly83 so that microscopical84 examination shows many pits, lines, circles, and irregularities. The laws of chance are as much against two of these firing pins or hammers having the same appearance under the microscope as they are against the thumb prints of two human subjects being identical."
I picked up the curious little arrangement which we had found in the drawer in Forbes' room and examined it closely.
"I have been practicing with that pistol, if you may call it that," he remarked, "on cartridges of my own and examining the marks made by the peculiar hammer. I have studied marks of the gun which we found on the roof. I have compared them with the marks on cartridges which we have picked up at the finding of Rena Taylor's body, at the garage that night of the stupefying bullet, with bullets such as were aimed at Warrington, with others, both cartridges and bullets, at various times, and the conclusion is unescapable."
Who, I asked myself, was the scientific gunman? I knew it was useless to try to hurry Garrick. First, by a sort of intuition he had picked him out, then by the evidence of hammer and bullet he had made it practically certain. But I knew that to his scientific mind nothing but absolute certainty would suffice.
While I was waiting for him to proceed, he had already begun to work on some apparatus behind a screen at the end of his office. Close to the wall at the left was a stereopticon which, as nearly as I could make out, shot a beam of light through a tube to a galvanometer about three feet distant. In front of this beam whirled a five-spindled wheel governed by a chronometer86 which was so accurate, he said, that it erred87 only a second a day.
Between the poles of the galvanometer was stretched a slender thread of fused quartz88 plated with silver. It was the finest thread I could imagine, only a thousandth of a millimeter in diameter, far too tenuous89 to be seen. Three feet further away was a camera with a moving plate holder90 which carried a sensitized photographic plate. Its movement was regulated by a big fly-wheel at the extreme right.
"You see," remarked Garrick, now engrossed91 on the apparatus and forgetting the hammer evidence for the time, "the beam of light focussed on that fine thread in the galvanometer passes to this photographic plate. It is intercepted92 by the five spindles of the wheel, which turns once a second, thus marking the picture off in exact fifths of a second. The vibrations93 of the thread are enormously magnified on the plate by a lens and produce a series of wavy94 or zigzag95 lines. I have shielded the sensitized plate by a wooden hood96 which permits no light to strike it except the slender ray that is doing the work. The plate moves across the field slowly, its speed regulated by the fly-wheel. Don't you think it is neat and delicate? All these movements are produced by one of the finest little electric motors I ever saw."
I could not get the idea of the revolvers out of my head so quickly. I agreed with him, but all I could find to say was, "Do you think there was more than this one whom they call the Chief engaged in the shootings?"
"I can't say absolutely anything more than I have told you, yet," he answered in a tone that seemed to discourage further questioning along that line.
He continued to work on the delicate apparatus with its thread stretched between the stationary97 magnets of the galvanometer, a thread so delicate that it might have been spun98 by a microscopic85 spider, so light that no scales made by human hands could weigh it, so slender that the mind could hardly grasp it. It was about one-third the diameter of a red corpuscle of blood and its weight had been estimated as about .00685 milligrams, truly a fairy thread. It was finer than the most delicate cobweb and could be seen with the naked eye only when a strong light was thrown on it so as to catch the reflection.
"All I can say is," he admitted, "that the bullets which committed this horrible series of crimes have been proven all to be shot from the same gun, presumably, I think I shall show, by the same hand, and that hand is the same that wrote the blackmailing letter."
"Whose gun was it?" I asked. "Was there a way to connect it and the bullets and the cartridges with the owner—four things, all separated—and then that owner with the curious and tragic99 succession of events that had marked the case since the theft of Warrington's car?"
Garrick had apparently completed his present work of adjusting the delicate apparatus. He was now engaged on another piece which also had a powerful light in it and an attachment100 which bore a strong resemblance to a horn.
He paused a moment, regarding me quizzically. "I think you'll find it sufficiently novel to warrant your coming, Tom," he added. "I have already invited Dillon and his man, Herman, over the telephone just before you came in. McBirney will be there, and Forbes, of course. He'll have to come, if I want him. By the way, I wish you'd get in touch with Warrington and see how he is. If it is all right, tell him that I'd like to have him escort Miss Winslow and her aunt here, to-night. Meanwhile I shall find out how our friend the Boss is getting on. He ought to be here, at any cost, and I've put it off until to-night to make sure that he'll be in fit condition to come. To-night at nine—here in this office—remember," he concluded gayly. "In the meantime, not a word to anybody about what you have seen here this afternoon."
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1
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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6
blackmailing
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| 胁迫，尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的现在分词 ) | |
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7
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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9
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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11
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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12
initiate
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| vt.开始，创始，发动；启蒙，使入门；引入 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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15
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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scowls
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| 不悦之色，怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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parlors
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| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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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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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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pegging
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| n.外汇钉住，固定证券价格v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的现在分词 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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40
honking
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| v.（使）发出雁叫似的声音，鸣（喇叭），按（喇叭）( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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41
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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43
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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punctured
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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deflated
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| adj. 灰心丧气的 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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gangster
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| n.匪徒，歹徒，暴徒 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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gangsters
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| 匪徒，歹徒( gangster的名词复数 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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curbed
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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elevations
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| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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lathe
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| n.车床，陶器，镟床 | |
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unevenly
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| adv.不均匀的 | |
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microscopical
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| adj.显微镜的，精微的 | |
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microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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chronometer
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| n.精密的计时器 | |
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erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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quartz
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| n.石英 | |
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tenuous
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| adj.细薄的，稀薄的，空洞的 | |
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holder
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| n.持有者，占有者；(台，架等)支持物 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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