But to none of those millions did the news come with such a sense of personal shock and affront5 as to our old acquaintance, Dr. William Martin, of The Elms, near Brent village, on the Great North Road. Dr. Martin, it will be remembered, was the man who, on the night on which Constable6 Walker watched from behind his tree, called at St. Malo and insisted on Felix accompanying him home to play bridge. The two men were close friends. Many an afternoon they had spent together on the banks of a neighbouring trout7 stream, many an evening had slipped rapidly away round the doctor’s billiard table. And with Martin’s family also Felix was a favourite. No member of it but was pleased to welcome the Frenchman to the house, or but had some special confidence to share with him.
At first Dr. Martin could hardly believe his eyes as they rested on the fatal headlines. That Felix, his friend, his trusted companion, should be arrested! And for murder! The thought was so incredible, so utterly8 horrible, he could not take it in. But, unlike the nightmare to which he compared it, the idea had permanence. Though his thoughts might wander, it was always there, grim and terribly definite, for them to return to.
He began to think over his friend’s circumstances. Felix had always been reticent9 about his life, but to the doctor he had seemed a lonely man. He lived alone, and Martin had never known him to have visitors staying in the house. Nor could the doctor recall the Frenchman’s ever having spoken of relatives. ‘Who,’ he wondered, ‘will help him now?’
But with so kindly10 and warm-hearted a man as Dr. Martin, such a question could not long remain unanswered. ‘I must go and see him,’ he thought. ‘I must find out who is going to act for him. If he has no one, then I must do the best I can myself.’
But a practical difficulty arose. How were orders to visit prisoners obtained? The doctor did not know. For a man of his age and standing11 he was singularly ignorant of legal matters. But when such came his way he invariably adopted the same simple expedient12. He ‘saw Clifford.’ This difficulty he would meet in the same way. He would ‘see Clifford.’
‘Clifford’—otherwise John Wakefield Clifford, senior partner of Messrs. Clifford and Lewisham, Solicitors13, Grey’s Inn—was Martin’s man of business, friend, and crony. The chance that they took the same weekly half-holiday had thrown them together on the links, and they had followed up the acquaintanceship by occasional visits at each other’s houses. Mr. Clifford was an almost startling contrast to the breezy doctor. Small, elderly, and rather wizened14, with white hair and moustache, and dressed always with meticulous15 care, he seemed the embodiment of conventional propriety16. His manner was precise and dry, but the fortunate gift of a sense of humour saved him from becoming dull.
He was a fine lawyer. His admirers, who were many, held that an opinion from him was as good as Counsel’s any day, and knew that, beneath the keenness which made him so formidable an opponent, there lay a deep vein17 of very real human kindness.
A press of unavoidable business kept Martin at work till the afternoon, but three o’clock saw him ascending18 the stairs of Messrs Clifford and Lewisham’s office.
‘How are you, Martin?’ the senior partner greeted him. ‘I am glad to see you. This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘Thanks, old chap,’ returned the doctor, accepting the cigarette the other offered, and sinking back into a deep, leather-lined arm-chair. ‘But I’m afraid there won’t be much pleasure about my visit. It’s business, and nasty business at that. Have you a few minutes to spare?’
The little man bowed gravely.
‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘I am at your service.’
‘It’s about that neighbour of mine, Léon Felix,’ went on the doctor, plunging19 without further preamble20 into his subject. ‘You saw he was arrested last night on a charge of murdering the woman whose body was found in the cask? You know about it?’
‘I read the account in this morning’s paper. And so Felix was a neighbour of yours?’
‘Yes, and a close friend. He was in and out of the house like one of the family.’
‘Indeed? I am sorry to hear that.’
‘Yes. I thought a good deal of him and I’m naturally upset. We all are, as a matter of fact. I wanted your advice as to what could be done for him.’
‘You mean with regard to his defence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you seen him since his arrest?’
‘No. That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about. I am not quite sure how you get an order.’
‘That can be obtained where a sufficient reason for its application can be shown. I understand, then, that you are unaware21 of his own plans for his defence?’
‘Yes. My idea was to see him and talk the thing over, and, unless he has made some other arrangement, to ask you to undertake it.’
The lawyer nodded slowly. Martin’s suggestion was eminently22 satisfactory to him. Apart from the mere23 money involved, this case, from its unusual and dramatic nature, promised to be at least one of the most famous of the year. He decided24 that if it came his way he would attend to it personally, and see that no stone was left unturned to secure an acquittal.
‘If you put the case in our hands,’ he replied at length, ‘quite apart from our personal friendship, you may depend on our doing our utmost for your friend. But I am afraid it will be an expensive business. We shall have to retain counsel, perhaps two or even three men, and their fees are not negligible. Then, as you can imagine’—Mr. Clifford gave a wintry little smile—‘we also have to live, or at all events we think so. There will unquestionably be expense in hunting up witnesses, a private detective may have to be employed, in short, the defence of a big case means heavy outlay25. Now, can your friend meet this? What are his circumstances financially?’
‘I think he is all right,’ answered Martin, ‘but, in any case, the money will be my affair. Felix may pay what he can. I shall be responsible for the rest.’
Clifford looked at the speaker keenly.
‘Very handsome of you, Martin, I’m sure.’ He hesitated a moment as if about to continue the subject, then, with a change of manner, he went on:—
‘I think, in that case, you should see Felix and ascertain26 his plans. If you can spare the time now, I shall go with you to Bow Street and try and procure27 for you an immediate28 visiting order. If, after your conversation, you find you require our assistance, we shall be very pleased to take up the case; if not, you are perfectly29 free to go elsewhere. Is that agreed?’
‘Thank you, Clifford. That’s all right. Nothing could be better.’
After introducing his prospective30 client to the authorities at the famous police station, the lawyer excused himself on the ground of another engagement, while Martin sat down to await the order. The formalities took some time, and it was not till nearly five that the door of Felix’s cell opened to admit his friend.
‘Martin!’ cried the unhappy inmate31, springing up and seizing his visitor’s hand in both his own. ‘But this is good of you! I hardly dared to expect you.’
‘Couldn’t see a pal32 in a hole without butting33 in,’ answered the doctor gruffly, somewhat affected34 by the warmth of the other’s welcome. ‘You’re a nice one, getting yourself into such a mess, eh? What have you been up to that’s raised this dust?’
Felix passed his hand wearily over his forehead.
‘My God, Martin,’ he groaned35, ‘I don’t know. I’m absolutely at sea. I know no more about the wretched business than you do. The proceedings36 to-day were purely37 formal, so that the evidence against me—whatever it can be—did not come out. I can’t conceive what they have got hold of, that has made them suspect me.’
‘I’ve heard nothing about the case at all. I just came along to see you when I saw what had happened.’
‘Martin, I can never thank you! I can never repay you! I thought of writing to you to-day to ask your help, and I should probably have done it to-morrow. But you can’t think what it means to me, your coming without being asked. It means, for one thing, that you don’t believe this abominable38 charge? Doesn’t it?’
‘Well, naturally. You keep your heart up and don’t get flustered39. You’ve got some friends left still. All the family are upset about the thing. The mater’s shocked, and so are the boys. They all say for you to cheer up, and that the mistake is sure to be put right soon.’
‘God bless them for that,’ cried Felix, rising and pacing the cell in evident emotion. ‘Tell them—how much I appreciate—what all their thought means to me.’
‘Rot!’ said the doctor shortly. ‘What would you expect? But now, I have only a minute or two here, and what I want to ask you is this, what plans have you made for your defence?’
‘Defence? None, I fear. I just haven’t been able to think about it. I haven’t an idea who to turn to, or what to do. What would you advise?’
‘Clifford.’
‘Eh? What? I don’t follow.’
‘Employ Clifford, of Clifford and Lewisham. He’s a dry stick, but as clever as they’re made, and a good sort. He’s your man.’
‘I don’t know him. Do you think he would take up the case?’
‘Sure. Fact is, I went around to ask him how I could get an order to see you—I know him pretty well—and I pumped him. The firm would take it on if they were asked, but that means himself, and you couldn’t have a better man.’
‘Martin, you put new life into me! God bless you for all you’re doing! Will you arrange it with him? But, wait a minute, can I afford it? Are his fees very high?’
‘What can you afford?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Say a thousand pounds.’
‘More than enough. I shall arrange it with him at once.’
The friends conversed40 for some minutes, and then a warder opened the door of the cell. Martin’s time was up. He left Felix cheered by the promise of a further visit, and with tears of thankfulness glistening41 in his eyes.
Determined42 to lose no time in completing his work, Martin returned direct to the offices of Messrs Clifford and Lewisham. But there the day’s work was over, and all but one or two junior clerks had already left. The doctor therefore made an appointment for the next day and, with a glow of righteous self-satisfaction, went home to tell his family what he had done.
On the following afternoon he again found himself in the solicitor’s office.
‘Now,’ said Mr. Clifford, when it had been definitely agreed that his firm was to take up the case, ‘I have to warn you that proceedings will be slow. First, the prosecution43 will make up their case—get depositions44 of the evidence, you know, and so on—and that will take time. We, of course, shall also immediately start work, but it is improbable we shall make much headway till we learn the full evidence against us. Additional time will therefore be required for the preparation of the defence. If Felix is returned for trial—and I fear from what I have heard, he will be—weeks and months will probably elapse before both sides are ready. You and I shall therefore require to exercise patience.’
‘I can believe it,’ muttered the doctor. ‘You lawyers take the devil of a time over everything.’
‘We can’t cover our mistakes like you, so we have to be careful,’ retorted the lawyer with his dry, wintry smile.
‘Ha! ha!’ he laughed. ‘That’s good. You had me there. But I musn’t be wasting your time. There were some things you wanted to speak to me about?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Clifford, ‘a couple of points. Firstly, I propose to retain Heppenstall—you know, Lucius Heppenstall, the K.C. He may want one or two juniors. I suppose that is all right?’
‘Of course. You know what is best to be done.’
‘The other point is that I want you to tell me everything you possibly can about Felix.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ returned Martin, ‘I can’t tell you very much. I was just thinking over what I knew of him, and I was amazed it was so little. We became acquainted about four years ago. Felix had just taken St. Malo, an empty house a couple of hundred yards from my own, and the first thing he did was to go and get pneumonia47. I was called in, but the attack was bad, and for a time it was touch and go with him. However, he pulled through, and, during his convalescence48, we became very good friends. When he came out of the hospital I invited him to my house for a week or two—he had only a not very satisfactory housekeeper49 at St. Malo—and the family took to him, till he became quite like one of ourselves. Since then he has been in and out like a pet dog. He dines quite often, and, in return, insists on taking the boys to the theatre, and the mater when she’ll go.’
‘He lives quite alone, you say?’
‘Quite, except for the housekeeper.’
‘And you haven’t met any of his people?’
‘None. I’ve never even heard of his people. I don’t think he has any. If he has, he never speaks of them.’ Martin hesitated for a moment, then went on: ‘It may be my fancy, but it has struck me that he seems to avoid women, and the only cynical50 remarks I have heard him make have been at their expense. I have often wondered if he has had some love disappointment. But he has never hinted at such a thing.’
‘How does he live?’
‘He is an artist. He designs for some poster firm in the City, and he draws for the better-class magazines. I do not know if he has private means, but he seems to do well enough.’
‘Do you know anything about this extraordinary business of the cask?’
‘No, except this. On—let me see, what night was it? Monday, I think—yes, Monday, the 5th of April, a couple of friends turned in, and we wanted a rubber of bridge. I went round to St. Malo to see if Felix would make a fourth. That was about 8.30 o’clock. At first he hesitated, but afterwards he agreed to come. I went in and waited while he changed. The study fire had just been freshly lighted and the room, and indeed the whole house, was cold and cheerless. We played bridge till nearly one. The next thing we heard was that he was in St. Thomas’s Hospital, prostrated51 from a mental shock. Not professionally, but as a friend, I went to see him, and then he told me about the cask.’
‘And what did he tell you?’
‘He said he had had a letter saying a cask of money was being sent him—he will tell you the details himself—and that he had just got this cask from the steamer and brought it to St. Malo when I called on that Monday evening. The reason he hesitated about leaving home was that he was on tenterhooks52 to unpack53 the cask.’
‘Why did he not tell you about it?’
‘I asked him that, and he said he had had trouble with the steamer people about getting it away, and he did not want any one to know where the cask was, lest it should get round to these steamer folk. But I would rather he would tell you about that himself.’
‘I shall ask him, but I want to hear from you anything you know personally about it.’
‘Well, there is nothing more than that.’
‘Can you tell me anything of his friends?’
‘Nothing. I think only twice in all the years I have known him have I met acquaintances of his, in each case artists who were looking at the paintings in his studio, and who I know did not stay the night. Whom he met during the day I can’t tell.’
The lawyer sat silent for some minutes.
‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘I think that is all we can do to-day. I’ll let you know how things go on, but, as I warned you before, the business will be slow.’
With a hearty54 handshake and a word of thanks the doctor took his leave, while Clifford sat down to write to Heppenstall, K.C., to know if he would take up the case.
点击收听单词发音
1 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 intrigued | |
adj.好奇的,被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式);激起…的兴趣或好奇心;“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 affront | |
n./v.侮辱,触怒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 trout | |
n.鳟鱼;鲑鱼(属) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 reticent | |
adj.沉默寡言的;言不如意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 expedient | |
adj.有用的,有利的;n.紧急的办法,权宜之计 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 solicitors | |
初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 wizened | |
adj.凋谢的;枯槁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 meticulous | |
adj.极其仔细的,一丝不苟的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 plunging | |
adj.跳进的,突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 preamble | |
n.前言;序文 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 outlay | |
n.费用,经费,支出;v.花费 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 prospective | |
adj.预期的,未来的,前瞻性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 inmate | |
n.被收容者;(房屋等的)居住人;住院人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 pal | |
n.朋友,伙伴,同志;vi.结为友 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 butting | |
用头撞人(犯规动作) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 flustered | |
adj.慌张的;激动不安的v.使慌乱,使不安( fluster的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 depositions | |
沉积(物)( deposition的名词复数 ); (在法庭上的)宣誓作证; 处置; 罢免 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 thigh | |
n.大腿;股骨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 pneumonia | |
n.肺炎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 convalescence | |
n.病后康复期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 prostrated | |
v.使俯伏,使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 );(指疾病、天气等)使某人无能为力 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 tenterhooks | |
n.坐立不安 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 unpack | |
vt.打开包裹(或行李),卸货 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |