“’Tis all very well to say as how this here is a free country,” remarked the voice, “but I do allow as ’tain’t so free as that a man may call murder agin a woman! That there be what they call libel and slander3, what folks goes to ’sizes for—it be a punishable matter that. I count as how you’ll git yourself into sore tribulation4, Bill Carver, if so be as you do go up and down a-saying that Mistress Braxfield her did murder pore young Muster5 Guy—so you will!”
“Ain’t a-saying as how her did murder he!” retorted Bill Carver. “What I says is that ’tis my belief as how her did shoot he dead—main different matter! Might ha’ bin6 done accidental, like!”
“Oh, if ’twas accidental, like, ’tis a vastly different circumstance!” said the correcting voice. “There’s bin a deal o’ serious and bloody7 murders done accidental, I do allow! But it seem strange if this here catastrophe8 bin brought about i’ that way. Mistress Braxfield, she say nothing o’ that, so far.”
“’Tain’t likely as her would,” declared Bill Carver. “Her’ve more sense! Ain’t no ’casion as I knows on for any man or woman to go for to accuse theirselves o’ terrible doings. Wouldn’t be a common-sense thing for anybody as that happened to come for’rard and say as they done it! Ain’t Christian9 conduck for anybody to walk into a trap wi’ his eyes open, I do reckon.”
“’Tis very true!” assented10 another wiseacre. “Noo—I don’t count as how any well-disposed, law abiding11 citizen have any call to ’criminate his-self—’tis agin religion and nature, which is powerful commodities. Noo!—I reckon that if Mistress Braxfield done this, accidental like, wi’ that pistol what Bill Carver refer to, she say to herself ‘Well,’ she say, ‘this here is a sad misfortune to happen to me, but I ain’t no call to tell about it,’ she say, and then, of course, she say nothing. That be the way of it—common-sense, like. And we all knows that accidents does happen to the meekest12 of us!”
“Accident’ll happen to I, if I don’t get homealong?” remarked Bill Carver with a laugh, as he rose from his corner and made for the door. “My old woman, she do have supper ready nine o’clock Sunday nights, and if I ain’t to the minute, her’ll let me hear the sound of her tongue. I bids ’ee all a good night!”
He strode out amidst a chorus of farewells, but stopped in the hall, pulled up by a tap on his arm, and turned to find Blick at his elbow.
“A word with you,” said Blick. “Come in here.” He led Carver into his sitting-room13, and closed the door. “You know what I am, Carver?” he went on in a low voice. “A detective! Very well—now, I heard what you said in there. Is it true that you’ve seen Mrs. Braxfield shooting at things with a pistol—early of a morning?”
“True enough, master,” replied Carver. “I seen her do that more than once. Been working up in they woods all this winter and spring, I have, and gone to my work uncommon14 early since the mornings got light. I seen Mistress Braxfield out about her house now and again, taking a pop at they foxes—there’s a wealth o’ them varmints up there, and I did hear her say as they was allays15 at her chickens. Oh, aye, I seen her wi’ her pistol!”
“You didn’t see her last Tuesday morning?—the morning Mr. Guy was shot?”
“I didn’t, master, ’cause I wasn’t in them parts at all, that day—I was over t’other side of Greycloister, two miles off.” He paused, regarding the detective with knowing eyes. “Don’t want to make no trouble, master,” he went on, suddenly, “but I could ha’ said a deal more in there than what I did say!”
“What?” demanded Blick. “If you know anything, tell it!”
“Don’t know anything partic’lar,” said Carver. “But I said, in there—accidental! Nor, there is them in the village what says—on purpose!”
“Do you mean that there are people in Markenmore who are saying that Mrs. Braxfield meant to shoot Mr. Guy?” asked Blick. “Is that it?”
“That’s it, master!” replied Carver. “They are saying it, some of ’em, round about where I lives—on one Mitbourne road. But only since it come out that Mistress Braxfield’s lass—young Poppy—be wed1 to Master Harry16. When that comes out, the folk began to talk same as I do tell ’ee. ‘Ah!’ says they. ‘That be the true colour of it! Her shooted Master Guy so’s his poor brother could be Sir Harry and that young damsel be my Lady Markenmore! So ’tis,’ says they; ‘ain’t no doubt on ’t.’ But you’ll bear in mind, master, as how I don’t say that. I do say her, very like, shooted he accidental.”
Blick paid no attention to Carver’s personal opinion; he was thinking of the common gossip.
“Are many of them saying that?” he asked. “Your neighbours, I mean?”
“All on ’ems a-saying of it!” declared Carver. “Down our way, you understand—far end o’ the village. Them here chaps what you sees i’ th’ bar there, they belong to this end o’ the place—us don’t know what they’m thinking. But down along wi’ us, that be the general talk—her shooted Master Guy so’s Master Harry ’ud be Sir Harry, and the young gel’ ud be my lady! See, master?” He paused again—and again gave the detective a shrewd, knowing look. “Her’s a sharp, spry female, Mistress Braxfield!” he continued suddenly. “I could tell ’ee more nor that, only I ain’t one for to get nobody into trouble. But so I could!”
“If you know anything, you ought to tell it,” said Blick. “What do you mean, now, about Mrs. Braxfield?”
“Well, master, I tells ’ee,” said Carver, after a pause. “Mebbe you didn’t see I, but I was up at that Crowner’s ’quest what they held at the Court. Mistress Braxfield, her wented into the witness-box and gived evidence. Her said as how her see’d Master Harborough at a certain place on the hillside from her chamber17 window, at a certain time that Tuesday morning. Master, her didn’t do nothing o’ that sort! Her couldn’t see that place from her chamber window!—’tis impossible! I did help to build that there house of hers—Woodland Cottage—and from her chamber window you couldn’t see that place where she said her did see Master John. But—her could ha’ seen it, and him, or whoever was there, from somewhere else, where very like her was!”
“Where?” demanded Blick.
“Bit of a spinney, right against Markenmore Hollow,” answered Carver. “Where I seen her, more than once, a-looking out for they foxes.”
Blick suddenly remembered his big Ordnance18 Survey Map, still pinned against the wall. He led Carver over to it, and pointed19 out certain landmarks20.
“I seen a drawing like this afore, master,” said Carver. “Old Muster Tompkins, to Beech21 Farm, he have one o’ them here, framed, in his parlour—many’s the time I’ve studied he when I bin waiting there for the old gentleman to give me my orders. And I’ll show ’ee what I do mean about what I say.” He pulled out a wooden match from his pocket, and proceeded to point out places and trace lines on the map before him. “Now here be Woodland Cottage, master, so plainwritten as never was, and there be the spot where Mistress Braxfield do say she see Muster Harborough. But, as you see, between them two places there be the rise of a bit of a hill! Her couldn’t see through that, nohow, could her? No! But now you comes along here, as it med be, from her house, across the hill-side, to this here bit of a spinney, on the edge of Markenmore Hollow, and you sees that from that her could see, straight down, to the place where she said she see Muster Harborough: ’tis all visible, so to speak, from that. There med be no doubt her did see Muster Harborough at that partic’lar spot that morning, but her didn’t see him from her chamber window, ’cause her couldn’t! If her see’d him at all, her see’d him from that spinney, where I assures ’ee I see her more than once, popping at they foxes.”
“Did you ever see the pistol she used?” asked Blick. He was certain by then that at last he had got on a definite trail, and he felt that he might as well pursue it.
“Seen it in her hand, time and again,” replied Carver.
Blick suddenly produced the automatic pistol and held it out to his companion.
“Was that it?” he asked.
Carver looked down at the exhibit with a flash of curiosity.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “If ’tain’t, ’tis the very spit and image of that there what I sees her handle! But they things be pretty much of a muchness, I reckon, master.”
Blick put the automatic pistol back in his pocket, and laid his hand on Carver’s arm.
“Now, look here!” he said. “Just you keep all this to yourself, there’s a good man! Don’t say a word about it to anybody—not even to your wife. I hope you won’t get into trouble by being late for your supper. But—silence, now—not a word!”
“I understand ’ee, master,” responded Carver, with a knowing grin. “And I ’on’t go for to breathe a syllable22 till you tells I ’tis convenient. Howsomever, do ’ee remember, master, as how what I says is—accidental it med be! Ain’t no sort of hands at shooting off guns and pistols, isn’t wimmin, as you knows.”
When Carver had departed into the night, Blick walked up and down his sitting-room for a good ten minutes, thinking. At the end of that time he went up to his bedroom, got into an overcoat, and made ready for going out. Descending23 to the hall, he encountered Grimsdale, just entering the house.
“Late walk, Mr. Blick?” asked the landlord, with a smile. “Fine night, too!”
“I’m going into Selcaster,” replied Blick, “and look here—I don’t think I shall be back tonight; I shall stay the night at the Mitre. You’ll see me sometime tomorrow morning.”
Grimsdale nodded in acquiescence24 and let his guest out. And Blick went away along the starlit road towards Selcaster, still thinking, speculating, putting things together, and all his thoughts and speculations25 came to a point in Mrs. Braxfield.
Mrs. Braxfield was in her tidy kitchen next morning at half-past eight o’clock, giving orders to the charwoman who always came to Woodland Cottage on Mondays, when a knock sounded on her front door. She opened the door herself, and confronted Blick, the Chief Constable26, and another man—in plain clothes, but obviously a policeman. The three men, all watching her keenly, saw her start, frown, and turn pale. But they affected27 to notice nothing unusual, and the Chief Constable’s voice, addressing her, was polite and cheery.
“Good morning, Mrs. Braxfield!” he said. “Just called to have a little chat with you, ma’am. May we come in?”
Mrs. Braxfield turned back into the hall, and opening a door, motioned her visitors into the room in which Blick had listened to Mr. Fransemmery’s story three nights previously28. The plain-clothes man, entering last, carefully closed the door, and remained standing29 before it.
“What do you want?” demanded Mrs. Braxfield. The colour had come back to her cheeks, and she was looking decidedly angry; anger, too, was apparent in her voice.
“We want to have a talk to you about last Tuesday morning, Mrs. Braxfield,” replied the Chief Constable. “Just a quiet talk—between ourselves.”
“I’m not so sure about that ‘between ourselves!’” exclaimed Mrs. Braxfield with unmistakable asperity30. “It strikes me that some folk, when they say ‘between ourselves’ mean a good deal of the very opposite. I believe some of you”—here she gave Blick an indignant glance—“some of you have been talking about me, behind my back! Here’s my charwoman just come up from the village, and she says there’s talk going on down there about me and the murder! Nay31!—there’s more! They’re saying, some of them, that I had something to do with it—did it myself, some of them are saying, straight out! Now where’s all that originated, I should like to know? But I’ll find out—and then I’ll see what my lawyer has to say!”
“Quite so, Mrs. Braxfield,” agreed the Chief Constable. “You’ll be quite within your rights to do that if false rumours32 are being spread about you. But we’ve heard of these rumours, and we want to ask a few questions. I’m sure you’ll see that it will be advisable for you to answer them—eh, Mrs. Braxfield?”
“Depends what they are!” replied Mrs. Braxfield, still angry. “I shall please myself!”
“Well, the first thing is this,” continued the Chief Constable, becoming somewhat sterner in manner. “I’m afraid you didn’t tell the exact truth at the inquest the other day. You said that you saw Mr. John Harborough at a certain spot on the hill-side from your chamber window—your bedroom window. Now, Mrs. Braxfield, you couldn’t see him at that place from your bedroom window—there’s the rise of a hill between your house and that particular place. What have you to say to that?”
Mrs. Braxfield had paled again, and started visibly at this, and her lips compressed themselves for an instant.
“I did see him all the same!” she said sullenly33. “I might get mixed up about exactly where it was from, but——”
“Now, where was it from?” asked the Chief Constable. “Come!—you can’t have forgotten that—an important matter!”
But Mrs. Braxfield’s lips again compressed themselves, and in the middle of her pale cheeks, red, angry spots began to show.
“If you won’t speak, I’ll refresh your memory,” said the Chief Constable. “Wasn’t it from the edge of that little spinney near Markenmore Hollow? Come, now?”
“What if it was?” retorted Mrs. Braxfield.
“What were you doing there, at that time of the morning?” asked the Chief Constable.
The Chief Constable shook his head.
“Oh, well!” he answered. “If you are going to adopt that tone, Mrs. Braxfield, we must show our hand a little more openly. Now, Mrs. Braxfield, listen to me; we know certain things. You’ve been in the habit of going to that spinney, or round about it, very early of a morning, to have a shot at foxes; the foxes, we hear, have given you trouble about your fowls35. Is that so?”
“What if it is?” demanded Mrs. Braxfield. “Do you think I’m going to have my valuable fowls and chickens carried off by foxes? I’m not!—not for all the hunting men in the country! So there! I wish I could shoot every fox that’s running about! As it is, all I’ve done has been to frighten them.”
“You can settle your affairs about the foxes with the Master of Foxhounds, Mrs. Braxfield,” said the Chief Constable good-humouredly. “It’s a truly awful crime to shoot a fox, in the opinion of hunting people, but it’s one that doesn’t come within police regulations. But now, Mrs. Braxfield, what did you use in shooting at the foxes? Was it a rifle, or a sporting gun, or a revolver? Or—was it an automatic pistol? Come!”
“Who’s been telling you all this?” she suddenly exclaimed. “Who’s been——”
“It was an automatic pistol, wasn’t it?” persisted the Chief Constable. “Come, now, Mrs. Braxfield, why not answer straight out?”
“What if it was?” muttered Mrs. Braxfield.
“Then it was! Very well; now then,” continued the Chief Constable, “where did you get it?”
Mrs. Braxfield, who until then had been standing by the table in the centre of the room, facing her three visitors, suddenly sat down in the nearest chair, folded her hands on her lap, looked calmly from one to the other.
“Look here!” she said quietly, finally fixing her eyes on the Chief Constable. “You no doubt think you’re being very plain, and outspoken37, and all that, but if you want any information out of me, you’ll have to be a good deal plainer! And I’ll tell you straight out that you’re not going to get me to incriminate myself! I haven’t said that I had any automatic pistol. You said: ‘Was it an automatic pistol that I used, to scare the foxes?’ I replied: ‘What if it was?’ That isn’t saying that it was, or that I ever had one. I’m willing to give any information that I can, but you’re treating me with suspicion, and I’m not going to be forced into any admission that might be damaging—damaging to me and to others, very likely. You treat me fair, and——”
“Mrs. Braxfield,” broke in the Chief Constable, “we’ve no wish for anything else than to treat you fairly. But we know certain things, and we’re bound to ask you for some explanation. Now, as you ask me to be more explicit39, I will! I may as well tell you that an automatic pistol has been found.”
The Chief Constable stopped suddenly. Mrs. Braxfield, taken unawares, had turned pale to the lips, and her hands tightened40. She started palpably.
“Found!” she exclaimed.
“Found, Mrs. Braxfield!” said the Chief Constable sternly. “I needn’t ask you if you have any ideas as to where it was found—I think you have. Now that automatic pistol has, of course, a mark and a number, and it has been identified by a gunsmith in Selcaster as one that he sold, comparatively recently, to Mr. Harry Markenmore—your son-in-law. Now, Mrs. Braxfield, we know beyond any question that you have been in the habit of using an automatic pistol of that particular sort to scare or shoot foxes. Be candid41. Was the pistol that you’ve been using given to you by Mr. Harry Markenmore—the pistol that is now in our possession? Come!”
Mrs. Braxfield sat silent for a while. Now and then she looked at her questioner; now and then at the rings on her fingers, which she was mechanically turning round and round. It seemed a long time before she spoke38. But when she did, it was to the accompaniment of an unusually dogged and defiant42 look.
“I’m not going to say another word!” she said. “Bear you in mind, all of you, that I’ve admitted nothing!”
The Chief Constable glanced at Blick and sighed—the sigh of a man upon whom an unpleasant duty is forced, much against his will.
“Very well, Mrs. Braxfield,” he said quietly. “Then there’s nothing else for it—you’ll have to come with us.”
“Do you mean that you’re going to take me to Selcaster?” asked Mrs. Braxfield, with suspicious calmness. “All right!—and you’ll be more than sorry for it, as you’ll see! Very well—I suppose I can go upstairs and make ready?”
“No!” said the Chief Constable. “Not out of my sight, now! You’ve a woman in the house—you can ring for her, and tell her to get all you want. Then—we’ve a cab outside.”
“Ah!” remarked Mrs. Braxfield maliciously43. “You’re only doing what you meant to do! All right, Mr. Chief Constable, and the other two of you—you’ll be sorry for this!”
But the Chief Constable silently motioned to Blick to ring the bell for the charwoman.
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1
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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2
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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3
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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4
tribulation
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| n.苦难，灾难 | |
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5
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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6
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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7
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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8
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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10
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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12
meekest
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| adj.温顺的，驯服的( meek的最高级 ) | |
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13
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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14
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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15
allays
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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16
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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17
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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20
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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23
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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24
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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25
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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28
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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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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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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31
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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32
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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33
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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35
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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36
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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37
outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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38
spoke
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| 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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39
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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40
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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41
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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42
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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43
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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