It was the following evening, and still early—barely eight o'clock. Captain Francis Newcombe turned the corner of one of these gloomily lighted streets, and drew instantly back to crouch6, as an animal crouches7 before it springs, in the deep shadows of a wretched tenement8 building. Light footfalls sounded; came nearer. Two forms, skulking9, yet moving swiftly, came into sight around the corner.
Captain Francis Newcombe sprang. His fist crashed with terrific force to the point of an opposing jaw10. A queer grunt—and one of the two men sprawled11 his length on the pavement and lay quite still. Captain Francis Newcombe's movements were incredibly swift. His left hand was at the second man's throat now, and a revolver was shoved into the other's face.
"A bit of a 'cushing' expedition, was it?" said the ex-captain of territorials13 calmly. "I looked a likely victim, didn't I? Just the usual bash on the head with a neddy, and then the usual stripping even down to the boots if they were good enough—and mine were good enough, eh? And I might get over that bash on the head, or my skull14 might be cracked; I might wake up in one of your filthy15 passageways here, or I might never wake up! What would it matter? It's done every night. You make your living that way. And who's to know who did it?" His grip tightened16 suddenly on the other's throat. "Your kind are better dead," said Captain Francis Newcombe, and there was something of horrible callousness17 in his conversational18 tones. "You lack art; you have no single redeeming19 feature." It was as though now he were debating in cold precision with himself. "Yes, you are much better dead!"
"Gor' blimy, guv'nor, let me go," half choked, half whined20 the other. "We wasn't goin' to touch you. No fear! Me an' me mate was just goin' round to the pub for an 'arf-pint—"
"It would make a noise," said Captain Francis Newcombe unemotionally. "That is the trouble. I should have to clear out of here, and be put to the annoyance21 of waiting a half hour or so before I could come back and attend to my own affairs. That's the only reason I haven't fired this thing off in your face, and I'm not sure that reason's good enough. But it's a bit of a fag to argue it out, so—don't move, you swine, or that'll settle it quicker still!" His fingers, from the other's throat, searched his own waistcoat pocket, and produced a silver coin. "Heads or tails?" he inquired casually22. "You call it."
"My Gawd, guv'nor," whimpered the man, "yer don't mean that! Yer wouldn't shoot a cove23 down like that, would yer? My Gawd, yer wouldn't do that!"
"Heads or tails?" The ex-captain of territorial's voice was bored. "I shan't ask you again."
The light was poor. The man's features, save that they were dirty and unshaven, were almost indistinguishable; but the eyes roved everywhere in hunted fear, and he lumped the fingers of one hand together and plucked with them in an unhinged way at his lips.
"I—no!" gurgled the man. "My Gawd!" His words were thick. His fingers, plucking, clogged24 his lips. "I carn't—I—" The mechanism25 of the revolver intruded26 itself—as unemotional as its owner—an unemotional click. The man screamed out. "No, no—wait, guv'nor! Wait!" he screamed. "'Eads! Gawd! 'Eads!"
Captain Francis Newcombe examined the coin; the sense of touch, as he rubbed his fingers over it, helping27 out the bad light.
"Right, you are!" he said indifferently. "Heads it is! You're in luck!" He tossed the coin on the pavement. "I'd keep that, if I were you." His voice was still level, still bored. "You haven't got anything, of course, to do any sniping with, for anything as valuable as that would never remain in the possession of your kind for more than five minutes before you would have pawned28 it." He glanced at the prostrate29 form of the thug's companion, who was now beginning to show signs of returning consciousness. "I fancy you'll find his jaw's broken. Better give him a leg up," he said, and, turning on his heel, walked on down the street.
Captain Francis Newcombe did not look back. He traversed the murky30 block, turned a corner, turned still another, and presently made his way through an entrance, long since doorless, into the hallway of a tenement house. It was little better than a pit of blackness here, but his movements were without hesitation31, as one long and intimately familiar with his surroundings. He mounted a rickety flight of stairs, and, without ceremony, opened the door of a room on the first landing, entered, and closed the door behind him. The room had no light in it.
"Who's there?" demanded a weak, querulous, female voice.
The visitor made no immediate32 reply. The place reeked33 with the odour of salt fish; the air was stale, and an offence that assaulted the nostrils34. Captain Francis Newcombe crossed to the window, wrenched35 at it, and flung it viciously open.
A protracted36 fit of coughing came from a corner behind him.
"'Ow, it's you, is it?" said the woman's voice. "Well, I ain't never done it afore, 'ave I? Not in three years I ain't."
"You've done it now; you've done it to-night—and that's once too often!" returned Captain Francis Newcombe savagely38. "And before I'm through with you, I'll promise you you'll never do it again!"
"No," she answered out of the darkness, "I won't never do it again, an' that's why I done it to-night—'cause I won't never 'ave another chance. The doctor 'e says I ain't goin' to be 'ere in the mornin'."
Captain Francis Newcombe lit a match. It disclosed a tallow dip and a piece of salt fish on a battered39 chair—and, beyond, the shadowy outline of a bed. He swept the piece of fish to the floor out of his way, lighted the candle, and, leaning forward, held it over the bed.
A woman's face stared back at him in the flickering41 light; a curiously42 blotched face, and one that was emaciated43 until the cheek bones seemed the dominant44 feature. Her dull, almost glazed45, grey eyes blinked painfully in even the candle rays; a dirty woollen wrap was fastened loosely around a scrawny neck, and over this there straggled strands46 of tangled47 and unkempt grey hair.
"Well, I fancy the diagnosis48 isn't far wrong," said the ex-captain of territorials critically. "I've been too good to you—and prosperity's let you down. For three years you haven't lifted a finger except to carry a glass of gin to your lips. And now this is the end, is it?"
The woman did not answer. She breathed heavily. The hectic49 spots on her cheeks burned a little wider.
Captain Francis Newcombe set the candle back on the chair, and, with his hands in his pockets, stood looking at her. His face exhibited no emotion.
"I haven't heard yet why you sent for me," he said sharply.
"Polly," she said thickly. "I wanter know wot abaht Polly?"
Captain Francis Newcombe smiled without mirth.
"My dear Mrs. Wickes," he said evenly, "you know all about Polly. I distinctly remember bringing you the letter she enclosed for you in mine ten days ago, because I distinctly remember that after you had read it I watched you tear it up. And as your education is such that you cannot write in return, I also distinctly remember that you gave me messages for her which I was to incorporate in my own reply. Since then I have not heard from Polly."
The woman raised herself suddenly on her elbow, and, her face contorted, shook her fist.
"My dear Mrs. Wickes!" she mimicked50 furiously through a burst of coughing. "Yer a cool 'un, yer are. That's wot yer says, yer stands there an' smiles like a bloomin' hangel, an' yer says, my dear Mrs. Wickes! Curse yer, I knows more abaht yer than yer thinks for. Three years I've watched yer, an' hif I've kept my tongue to meself that don't say I don't know wot I knows."
"Indeed!" Captain Francis Newcombe shrugged51 his shoulders. He smiled slightly. "Then I should say, if it were true, that it is sometimes dangerous, Mrs. Wickes—to know even a little about some things."
The woman rocked in the bed, and hugged her thin bosom52 against a spasm53 of coughing that came near to strangulation.
"Bah!" she shouted, when she could get her breath. "I ain't afraid of yer any more. Damn yer, I'm dyin' anyhow! It's nothin' to you wiv yer smug smile, except yer glad I'll be out of the wye—an'—an', Gawd, it ain't nothin' to me either. I'm sick, of it all, an' I'm glad, I am; but afore I goes I wanter know wot abaht Polly. Wot'd yer tyke her awye for three years ago?"
"For the price of two quid paid weekly to a certain Mrs. Wickes, who is Polly's mother," said Captain Francis Newcombe composedly; "and with which the said Mrs. Wickes has swum in gin ever since."
"Wot for?" she whispered in fierce insistence55. "I wanter know wot for?"
"Well," said Captain Francis Newcombe, "even at fifteen Polly was an amazingly pretty little girl—and she showed amazing promise. I'm wondering how she has developed. Extremely clever youngster! Don't see, in fact, Mrs. Wickes, where she got it from! Not even the local desecration56 of the king's English—in spite of the board schools! Amazing! We couldn't let a flower like that bloom uncultivated, could we?"
The woman was up in the bed again.
"A gutter57 brat58!" she cried out. "An' you says send 'er to school wiv the toffs in America, 'cause there wouldn't be no chance of doin' that 'ere at 'ome; an' I says the toffs don't tyke 'er kind there neither. An' you says she goes as yer ward40, an' yer can get 'er in, only she 'as to forget abaht these 'ere London slums. An' she ain't to write no letters to me except through you, 'cause hif any was found down 'ere they'd turn their noses up over there an' give Polly the bounce."
"Quite right, Mrs. Wickes!" said Captain Francis Newcombe imperturbably59. "And for three years Polly has been in one of the most exclusive girls' seminaries in America—and incidentally I might say I am arranging to go over there shortly for a little visit. If her photographs are to be relied upon, she has more than fulfilled her early promise. A very beautiful young woman, educated, and now, Mrs. Wickes—a lady. She has made a circle of friends among the best and the wealthiest. Why, even now, with the summer holidays coming on, you know, I understand she is to be the guest of a school friend in a millionaire's home. Think of that, Mrs. Wickes! What more could any woman ask for her daughter? And why should you, for instance, ask more to-night? Why this eleventh hour curiosity? You agreed to it all three years ago, Mrs. Wickes—for two quid a week."
"Yes," said the woman passionately60, "an' I'm probably goin' to 'ell for it now! I knowed then yer wasn't doin' this for Polly's sake, an' in the three years I kept on knowin' yer more an' more for the devil you are. But I says to meself that I'm 'ere to see Polly don't come to no harm, but—but I ain't goin' to be 'ere no more, an' that's wot I wants to know to-night. An' I asks yer, wot's yer game?"
"Really!" Captain Francis Newcombe shrugged his shoulders again. "This isn't very interesting, Mrs. Wickes. And in any case, I fail to see what you are going to do about it, or what lever you could possibly bring to bear to make me divulge61 what you are pleased to imagine is some base and ulterior motive62 in what I have done. It is quite well known among Captain Newcombe's circle that he is educating a ward in America. It is—er—rather to his credit, is it not?"
"Gawd curse yer wiv yer smooth tongue!" said Mrs. Wickes wildly. "I knows! I knows yer got a game—some dirty game wiv Polly in it. Yer clever, yer are—an' yer ain't human. But yer won't win, an' all along 'o Polly. She won't do nothin' that ain't straight, she won't. Polly ain't that kind."
"Oh, as to that, and granting my wickedness," said Captain Francis Newcombe indifferently, "I shouldn't worry. Having you in mind, Mrs. Wickes, I fancy even that would be quite all right—blood always tells, you know."
"Blood! Blood'll tell, will it?" The woman was rocking in the bed again. She burst into harsh laughter. It brought on another, and even more severe, strangling fit of coughing. "Blood'll tell, will it?" she choked, as she gasped63 for breath. "Well, so it will! So it will!"
Captain Francis Newcombe stared at her from narrowed eyes. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded sharply.
But Mrs. Wickes had fallen back upon her pillow in utter exhaustion64. She lay fighting painfully, pitifully now for every breath.
"What do you mean by that?" repeated Captain Francis Newcombe still more sharply.
And then suddenly, as though some strange premonition were at work, all fight gone from her, the woman threw out her arms in a broken gesture of supplication65.
"I'm a wicked woman, a bloody66 wicked 'un I've been. Gawd forgive me for it!" she whispered. "Polly ain't no blood of mine."
Captain Francis Newcombe rested his elbows on the back of the chair, and smiled coolly.
"I think," he said evenly, "it's my turn now to ask what the game is? That's a bit thick, isn't it—after three years?"
The hectic spots had faded from the woman's face, and an ominous67 greyness was taking their place. She was crying now.
"It's Gawd's truth," she said. "I was afraid yer wouldn't 'ave give me the two quid a week hif yer'd known I 'adn't no 'old on 'er. Polly don't know. No one knows but me, an'—" Her voice trailed off through weakness.
Captain Francis Newcombe, save that his eyes had narrowed a little more, made no movement. He watched her without comment as she struggled for her breath again.
"I didn't mean to 'ave no fight wiv yer, Gawd knows I didn't. Gawd knows I didn't send for yer for that. I only wanted to ask yer wot abaht Polly, an' to ask yer to be good to 'er, an'—an' tell yer wot I'm tellin' yer now afore it's too late. An'—an'—" She raised herself with a sudden convulsive effort to her elbow. "Gawd, I—I'm goin' now."
With a swift movement Captain Francis Newcombe whipped a flask68 from his pocket, and held it to the woman's lips.
She swallowed a few drops with difficulty, and lay still.
Presently Mrs. Wickes' lips moved.
Captain Francis Newcombe, close beside the bed now, leaned over her.
"A lydy 'er mother was, an' 'er father 'e was a gentleman born 'e was. I—I don't know nothin' abaht 'em except she was a guverness an' 'e 'adn't much money. Neither of 'em 'adn't no family accordin' to 'er, an' countin' wot 'appened she told the truth, poor soul."
Again Mrs. Wickes lay silent. Her lips continued to move, but they were soundless. She seemed suddenly to become conscious of this, and motioned weakly for the flask. And again with difficulty she swallowed a few drops.
"Years ago this was." Mrs. Wickes forced the words with long pauses between. "'Ard times came on 'em. 'E got killed in a haccident. An' she took sick after Polly came, an' the money went, an' she wouldn't 'ave charity, an' she got down to this, like us 'uns 'ere, tryin' to keep body an' soul together on the bit she 'ad left. An' she died, an' I took Polly. Two years old Polly was then. There wasn't no good of tellin' Polly an' 'ave 'er give 'erself airs when she 'ad to go out an' do 'er bit an' earn something. An', wot's more, if she'd known I wasn't 'er mother she might 'ave stopped workin' for me—an' I couldn't 'ave made 'er, 'avin' lost my hold on 'er—an' I wasn't goin' to 'ave anything like that. Polly Wickes—Polly Wickes—the flower girl. Flowers—posies—pretty posies—that's where yer saw 'er—"
The woman's voice had thickened; her words, in snatches, were incoherent:
"Polly Wickes—Polly Wickes—Polly Gray—Polly Gray 'er name is—Polly Gray. I got the lines an' the birth paper. I kept 'em all these years. 'Ere! I got 'em 'ere."
"'Ere!" Mrs. Wickes plucked feebly at the edge of the bed clothing. "'Ere!"
Captain Francis Newcombe thrust his hand quickly in under the mattress70. After a moment's search he brought out a soiled envelope. It bore a faded superscription in a scrawling71 hand. He picked up the candle from the chair and read it:
"Polly's papers which is God's truth,
Mrs. Wickes X her mark."
He tore the envelope open rather carefully at the end. It contained two papers that were turned a little yellow with age. Yes, it was quite true! His eyes travelled swiftly over the names:
"Harold Morton Gray.... Elizabeth Pauline Forbes. Pauline Gray...."
There was a sudden sound from the bed—like a long, fluttering sigh. Captain Francis Newcombe swung sharply about. The woman's arm was stretched out toward him; dulled eyes seemed to be striving desperately72 in their fading vision to search his face.
"Polly!" Mrs. Wickes whispered. "For—for for Christ's sake—be—be good to Polly—be good to—"
The outstretched arm fell to the bed covering—and Mrs. Wickes lay still.
Captain Francis Newcombe leaned forward, holding the candle, searching the form on the bed critically with his eyes. After a moment he straightened up.
Mrs. Wickes was dead.
Captain Francis Newcombe replaced the papers in the envelope, and placed the envelope in his pocket. He set the candle back on the chair, blew it out, and walked across the room to the door.
"Gray, eh?" said Captain Francis Newcombe under his breath, as he closed the door behind him. "Polly Gray, eh? Well, it doesn't matter, does it? It's just as good an iron in the fire whether it's—Wickes or Gray!"
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1
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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3
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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7
crouches
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| n.蹲着的姿势( crouch的名词复数 )v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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10
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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11
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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12
tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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territorials
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| n.（常大写）地方自卫队士兵( territorial的名词复数 ) | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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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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callousness
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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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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30
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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31
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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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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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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35
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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40
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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41
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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42
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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43
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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44
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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45
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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46
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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48
diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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49
hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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scrawling
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的现在分词 ) | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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