Colonel Menendez was an epicure5 with an endless purse. The excellence6 of one of the courses upon which I had commented led to a curious incident.
“You approve of the efforts of my chef?” said the Colonel.
Colonel Menendez bowed in his cavalierly fashion and Madame de Stämer positively8 beamed upon me.
“You shall speak for him,” said the Spaniard. “He was with me in Cuba, but has no reputation in London. There are hotels that would snap him up.”
I looked at the speaker in surprise.
“Surely he is not leaving you?” I asked.
“No, no. No, no,” he replied, waving his hand gracefully11, “I was only thinking that he—” there was a scarcely perceptible pause—“might wish to better himself. You understand?”
I understood only too well; and recollecting14 the words spoken by Paul Harley that afternoon, respecting the Colonel’s will to live, I became conscious of an uncomfortable sense of chill.
If I had doubted that in so speaking he had been contemplating16 his own death, the behaviour of Madame de Stämer must have convinced me. Her complexion17 was slightly but cleverly made up, with all the exquisite18 art of the Parisienne, but even through the artificial bloom I saw her cheeks blanch19. Her face grew haggard and her eyes burned unnaturally20. She turned quickly aside to address Paul Harley, but I knew that the significance of this slight episode had not escaped him.
He was by no means at ease. In the first place, he was badly puzzled; in the second place, he was angry. He felt it incumbent21 upon him to save this man from a menace which he, Paul Harley, evidently recognized to be real, although to me it appeared wildly chimerical23, and the very person upon whose active coöperation he naturally counted not only seemed resigned to his fate, but by deliberate omission24 of important data added to Harley’s difficulties.
How much of this secret drama proceeding25 in Cray’s Folly was appreciated by Val Beverley I could not determine. On this occasion, I remember, she was simply but perfectly26 dressed and, in my eyes, seemed the most sweetly desirable woman I had ever known. Realizing that I had already revealed my interest in the girl, I was oddly self-conscious, and a hundred times during the progress of dinner I glanced across at Harley, expecting to detect his quizzical smile. He was very stern, however, and seemed more reserved than usual. He was uncertain of his ground, I could see. He resented the understanding which evidently existed between Colonel Menendez and Madame de Stämer, and to which, although his aid had been sought, he was not admitted.
It seemed to me, personally, that an almost palpable shadow lay upon the room. Although, save for this one lapse27, our host throughout talked gaily28 and entertainingly, I was obsessed29 by a memory of the expression which I had detected upon his face that morning, the expression of a doomed30 man.
What, in Heaven’s name, I asked myself, did it all mean? If ever I saw the fighting spirit looking out of any man’s eyes, it looked out of the eyes of Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez. Why, then, did he lie down to the menace of this mysterious Bat Wing, and if he counted opposition31 futile32, why had he summoned Paul Harley to Cray’s Folly?
With the passing of every moment I sympathized more fully12 with the perplexity of my friend, and no longer wondered that even his highly specialized33 faculties34 had failed to detect an explanation.
Remembering Colin Camber as I had seen him at the Lavender Arms, it was simply impossible to suppose that such a man as Menendez could fear such a man as Camber. True, I had seen the latter at a disadvantage, and I knew well enough that many a genius has been also a drunkard. But although I was prepared to find that Colin Camber possessed35 genius, I found it hard to believe that this was of a criminal type. That such a character could be the representative of some remote negro society was an idea too grotesque36 to be entertained for a moment.
I was tempted37 to believe that his presence in the neighbourhood of this haunted Cuban was one of those strange coincidences which in criminal history have sometimes proved so tragic38 for their victims.
Madame de Stämer, avoiding the Colonel’s glances, which were pathetically apologetic, gradually recovered herself, and:
“My dear,” she said to Val Beverley, “you look perfectly sweet to-night. Don’t you think she looks perfectly sweet, Mr. Knox?”
“Perfectly,” I replied.
“Oh, Mr. Knox,” cried the girl, “why do you encourage her? She says embarrassing things like that every time I put on a new dress.”
Her reference to a new dress set me speculating again upon the apparent anomaly of her presence at Cray’s Folly. That she was not a professional “companion” was clear enough. I assumed that her father had left her suitably provided for, since she wore such expensively simple gowns. She had a delightful40 trick of blushing when attention was focussed upon her, and said Madame de Stämer:
“To be able to blush like that I would give my string of pearls—no, half of it.”
“My dear Marie,” declared Colonel Menendez, “I have seen you blush perfectly.”
“No, no,” Madame disclaimed41 the suggestion with one of those Bernhardt gestures, “I blushed my last blush when my second husband introduced me to my first husband’s wife.”
“Madame!” exclaimed Val Beverley, “how can you say such things?” She turned to me. “Really, Mr. Knox, they are all fables42.”
“In fables we renew our youth,” said Madame.
“Ah,” sighed Colonel Menendez; “our youth, our youth.”
“Why sigh, Juan, why regret?” cried Madame, immediately. “Old age is only tragic to those who have never been young.”
She directed a glance toward him as she spoke15 those words, and as I had felt when I had seen his tragic face on the veranda44 that morning I felt again in detecting this look of Madame de Stämer’s. The yearning45 yet selfless love which it expressed was not for my eyes to witness.
“Thank God, Marie,” replied the Colonel, and gallantly46 kissed his hand to her, “we have both been young, gloriously young.”
When, at the termination of this truly historic dinner, the ladies left us:
“Remember, Juan,” said Madame, raising her white, jewelled hand, and holding the fingers characteristically curled, “no excitement, no billiards47, no cards.”
Colonel Menendez bowed deeply, as the invalid48 wheeled herself from the room, followed by Miss Beverley. My heart was beating delightfully49, for in the moment of departure the latter had favoured me with a significant glance, which seemed to say, “I am looking forward to a chat with you presently.”
“Ah,” said Colonel Menendez, when we three men found ourselves alone, “truly I am blessed in the autumn of my life with such charming companionship. Beauty and wit, youth and discretion50. Is he not a happy man who possesses all these?”
“He should be,” said Harley, gravely.
The saturnine51 Pedro entered with some wonderful crusted port, and Colonel Menendez offered cigars.
“I believe you are a pipe-smoker,” said our courteous52 host to Harley, “and if this is so, I know that you will prefer your favourite mixture to any cigar that ever was rolled.”
“Many thanks,” said Harley, to whom no more delicate compliment could have been paid.
He was indeed an inveterate53 pipe-smoker, and only rarely did he truly enjoy a cigar, however choice its pedigree. With a sigh of content he began to fill his briar. His mood was more restful, and covertly54 I watched him studying our host. The night remained very warm and one of the two windows of the dining room, which was the most homely55 apartment in Cray’s Folly, was wide open, offering a prospect56 of sweeping57 velvet58 lawns touched by the magic of the moonlight.
A short silence fell, to be broken by the Colonel.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I trust you do not regret your fishing excursion?”
“I could cheerfully pass the rest of my days in such ideal surroundings,” replied Paul Harley.
I nodded in agreement.
“But,” continued my friend, speaking very deliberately59, “I have to remember that I am here upon business, and that my professional reputation is perhaps at stake.”
He stared very hard at Colonel Menendez.
“I have spoken with your butler, known as Pedro, and with some of the other servants, and have learned all that there is to be learned about the person unknown who gained admittance to the house a month ago, and concerning the wing of a bat, found attached to the door more recently.”
“And to what conclusion have you come?” asked Colonel Menendez, eagerly.
He bent22 forward, resting his elbows upon his knees, a pose which he frequently adopted. He was smoking a cigar, but his total absorption in the topic under discussion was revealed by the fact that from a pocket in his dinner jacket he had taken out a portion of tobacco, had laid it in a slip of rice paper, and was busily rolling one of his eternal cigarettes.
“I might be enabled to come to one,” replied Harley, “if you would answer a very simple question.”
“What is this question?”
“It is this—Have you any idea who nailed the bat’s wing to your door?”
“You have heard my story, Mr. Harley,” he replied, softly. “If I know the explanation, why do I come to you?”
“I merely wondered if your suspicions tended in the direction of Mr. Colin Camber,” he said.
“Colin Camber!”
As the Colonel spoke the name either I became victim of a strange delusion62 or his face was momentarily convulsed. If my senses served me aright then his pronouncing of the words “Colin Camber” occasioned him positive agony. He clutched the arms of his chair, striving, I thought, to retain composure, and in this he succeeded, for when he spoke again his voice was quite normal.
“Have you any particular reason for your remark, Mr. Harley?”
“I have a reason,” replied Paul Harley, “but don’t misunderstand me. I suggest nothing against Mr. Camber. I should be glad, however, to know if you are acquainted with him?”
“We have never met.”
“You possibly know him by repute?”
“I have heard of him, Mr. Harley. But to be perfectly frank, I have little in common with citizens of the United States.”
A note of arrogance63, which at times crept into his high, thin voice, became perceptible now, and the aristocratic, aquiline face looked very supercilious64.
How the conversation would have developed I know not, but at this moment Pedro entered and delivered a message in Spanish to the Colonel, whereupon the latter arose and with very profuse65 apologies begged permission to leave us for a few moments.
“I am going upstairs to write a letter, Knox,” said Paul Harley. “Carry on with your old duties to-day, your new ones do not commence until to-morrow.”
With that he laughed and walked out of the dining room, leaving me wondering whether to be grateful or annoyed. However, it did not take me long to find my way to the drawing room where the two ladies were seated side by side upon a settee, Madame’s chair having been wheeled into a corner.
“Scarcely deserted, I think. They are merely straggling.”
“Absent without leave,” murmured Val Beverley.
I laughed, and drew up a chair. Madame de Stämer was smoking, but Miss Beverley was not. Accordingly, I offered her a cigarette, which she accepted, and as I was lighting68 it with elaborate care, every moment finding a new beauty in her charming face, Pedro again appeared and addressed some remark in Spanish to Madame.
“My chair, Pedro,” she said; “I will come at once.”
The Spanish butler wheeled the chair across to the settee, and lifting her with an ease which spoke of long practice, placed her amidst the cushions where she spent so many hours of her life.
“I know you will excuse me, dear,” she said to Val Beverley, “because I feel sure that Mr. Knox will do his very best to make up for my absence. Presently, I shall be back.”
Pedro holding the door open, she went wheeling out, and I found myself alone with Val Beverley.
At the time I was much too delighted to question the circumstances which had led to this tête-à-tête, but had I cared to give the matter any consideration, it must have presented rather curious features. The call first of host and then of hostess was inconsistent with the courtesy of the master of Cray’s Folly, which, like the appointments of his home and his mode of life, was elaborate. But these ideas did not trouble me at the moment.
Suddenly, however, indeed before I had time to speak, the girl started and laid her hand upon my arm.
“Did you hear something?” she whispered, “a queer sort of sound?”
“No,” I replied, “what kind of sound?”
“An odd sort of sound, almost like—the flapping of wings.”
I saw that she had turned pale, I saw the confirmation69 of something which I had only partly realised before: that her life at Cray’s Folly was a constant fight against some haunting shadow. Her gaiety, her lightness, were but a mask. For now, in those wide-open eyes, I read absolute horror.
“Miss Beverley,” I said, grasping her hand reassuringly71, “you alarm me. What has made you so nervous to-night?”
“To-night!” she echoed, “to-night? It is every night. If you had not come—” she corrected herself—“if someone had not come, I don’t think I could have stayed. I am sure I could not have stayed.”
“Doubtless the attempted burglary alarmed you?” I suggested, intending to sooth her fears.
“Burglary?” She smiled unmirthfully. “It was no burglary.”
“Why do you say so, Miss Beverley?”
“Do you think I don’t know why Mr. Harley is here?” she challenged. “Oh, believe me, I know—I know. I, too, saw the bat’s wing nailed to the door, Mr. Knox. You are surely not going to suggest that this was the work of a burglar?”
I seated myself beside her on the settee.
“You have great courage,” I said. “Believe me, I quite understand all that you have suffered.”
“No, it is wonderful, but to a sympathetic observer only acting, nevertheless.”
“Would you like to tell me all about it,” I continued; “or would this merely renew your fears?”
“I should like to tell you,” she replied in a low voice, glancing about her as if to make sure that we were alone. “Except for odd people, friends, I suppose, of the Colonel’s, we have had so few visitors since we have been at Cray’s Folly. Apart from all sorts of queer happenings which really”—she laughed nervously75—“may have no significance whatever, the crowning mystery to my mind is why Colonel Menendez should have leased this huge house.”
“He does not entertain very much, then?”
“Scarcely at all. The ‘County’—do you know what I mean by the ‘County?’—began by receiving him with open arms and ended by sending him to Coventry. His lavish76 style of entertainment they labelled ‘swank’—horrible word but very expressive77! They concluded that they did not understand him, and of everything they don’t understand they disapprove78. So after the first month or so it became very lonely at Cray’s Folly. Our foreign servants—there are five of them altogether—got us a dreadfully bad name. Then, little by little, a sort of cloud seemed to settle on everything. The Colonel made two visits abroad, I don’t know exactly where he went, but on his return from the first visit Madame de Stämer changed.”
“Changed?—in what way?”
“I am afraid it would be hopeless to try to make you understand, Mr. Knox, but in some subtle way she changed. Underneath80 all her vivacity81 she is a tragic woman, and—oh, how can I explain?” Val Beverley made a little gesture of despair.
“Perhaps you mean,” I suggested, “that she seemed to become even less happy than before?”
“Yes,” she replied, looking at me eagerly. “Has Colonel Menendez told you anything to account for it?”
“Nothing,” I said, “He has left us strangely in the dark. But you say he went abroad on a second and more recent occasion?”
“Yes, not much more than a month ago. And after that, somehow or other, matters seemed to come to a head. I confess I became horribly frightened, but to have left would have seemed like desertion, and Madame de Stämer has been so good to me.”
“Did you actually witness any of the episodes which took place about a month ago?”
Val Beverley shook her head.
“I never saw anything really definite,” she replied.
“Yet, evidently you either saw or heard something which alarmed you.”
“Yes, that is true, but it is so difficult to explain.”
“Could you try to explain?”
“I will try if you wish, for really I am longing82 to talk to someone about it. For instance, on several occasions I have heard footsteps in the corridor outside my room.”
“At night?”
“Yes, at night.”
“Strange footsteps?”
She nodded.
“That is the uncanny part of it. You know how familiar one grows with the footsteps of persons living in the same house? Well, these footsteps were quite unfamiliar83 to me.”
“And you say they passed your door?”
“Yes. My rooms are almost directly overhead. And right at the end of the corridor, that is on the southeast corner of the building, is Colonel Menendez’s bedroom, and facing it a sort of little smoke-room. It was in this direction that the footsteps went.”
“To Colonel Menendez’s room?”
“This took place late at night?”
“Quite late, long after everyone had retired.”
She paused, staring at me with a sort of embarrassment, and presently:
“Were the footsteps those of a man or a woman?” I asked.
“Of a woman. Someone, Mr. Knox,” she bent forward, and that look of fear began to creep into her eyes again, “with whose footsteps I was quite unfamiliar.”
“You mean a stranger to the house?”
“Yes. Oh, it was uncanny.” She shuddered85. “The first time I heard it I had been lying awake listening. I was nervous. Madame de Stämer had told me that morning that the Colonel had seen someone lurking86 about the lawns on the previous night. Then, as I lay awake listening for the slightest sound, I suddenly detected these footsteps; and they paused—right outside my door.”
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed. “What did you do?”
“Frankly, I was too frightened to do anything. I just lay still with my heart beating horribly, and presently they passed on, and I heard them no more.”
“Was your door locked?”
“No.” She laughed nervously. “But it has been locked every night since then!”
“And these sounds were repeated on other nights?”
“Yes, I have often heard them, Mr. Knox. What makes it so strange is that all the servants sleep out in the west wing, as you know, and Pedro locks the communicating door every night before retiring.”
“It is certainly strange,” I muttered.
“It is horrible,” declared the girl, almost in a whisper. “For what can it mean except that there is someone in Cray’s Folly who is never seen during the daytime?”
“But that is incredible.”
“It is not so incredible in a big house like this. Besides, what other explanation can there be?”
“There must be one,” I said, reassuringly. “Have you spoken of this to Madame de Stämer?”
“Yes.”
Val Beverley’s expression grew troubled.
“Had she any explanation to offer?”
“None. Her attitude mystified me very much. Indeed, instead of reassuring70 me, she frightened me more than ever by her very silence. I grew to dread79 the coming of each night. Then—” she hesitated again, looking at me pathetically—“twice I have been awakened87 by a loud cry.”
“What kind of cry?”
“I could not tell you, Mr. Knox. You see I have always been asleep when it has come, but I have sat up trembling and dimly aware that what had awakened me was a cry of some kind.”
“You have no idea from whence it proceeded?”
“None whatever. Of course, all these things may seem trivial to you, and possibly they can be explained in quite a simple way. But this feeling of something pending88 has grown almost unendurable. Then, I don’t understand Madame and the Colonel at all.”
She suddenly stopped speaking and flushed with embarrassment.
“If you mean that Madame de Stämer is in love with her cousin, I agree with you,” I said, quietly.
“Oh, is it so evident as that?” murmured Val Beverley. She laughed to cover her confusion. “I wish I could understand what it all means.”
At this point our tête-à-tête was interrupted by the return of Madame de Stämer.
“Oh, la la!” she cried, “the Colonel must have allowed himself to become too animated89 this evening. He is threatened with one of his attacks and I have insisted upon his immediate43 retirement90. He makes his apologies, but knows you will understand.”
I expressed my concern, and:
“Ah,” Madame shrugged92 characteristically. “Juan has travelled too much of the road of life on top speed, Mr. Knox.” She snapped her white fingers and grimaced93 significantly. “Excitement is bad for him.”
She wheeled her chair up beside Val Beverley, and taking the girl’s hand patted it affectionately.
“You look pale to-night, my dear,” she said. “All this bogey94 business is getting on your nerves, eh?”
“Oh, not at all,” declared the girl. “It is very mysterious and annoying, of course.”
“But M. Paul Harley will presently tell us what it is all about,” concluded Madame. “Yes, I trust so. We want no Cuban devils here at Cray’s Folly.”
I had hoped that she would speak further of the matter, but having thus apologized for our host’s absence, she plunged95 into an amusing account of Parisian society, and of the changes which five years of war had brought about. Her comments, although brilliant, were superficial, the only point I recollect13 being her reference to a certain Baron96 Bergmann, a Swedish diplomat97, who, according to Madame, had the longest nose and the shortest memory in Paris, so that in the cold weather, “he even sometimes forgot to blow his nose.”
Her brightness I thought was almost feverish98. She chattered99 and laughed and gesticulated, but on this occasion she was overacting. Underneath all her vivacity lay something cold and grim.
Harley rejoined us in half an hour or so, but I could see that he was as conscious of the air of tension as I was. All Madame’s high spirits could not enable her to conceal100 the fact that she was anxious to retire. But Harley’s evident desire to do likewise surprised me very greatly; for from the point of view of the investigation101 the day had been an unsatisfactory one. I knew that there must be a hundred and one things which my friend desired to know, questions which Madame de Stämer could have answered. Nevertheless, at about ten o’clock we separated for the night, and although I was intensely anxious to talk to Harley, his reticent102 mood had descended103 upon him again, and:
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1
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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epicure
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| n.行家，美食家 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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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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momentary
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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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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contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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blanch
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| v.漂白；使变白；使(植物)不见日光而变白 | |
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unnaturally
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incumbent
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bent
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chimerical
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omission
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proceeding
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perfectly
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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gaily
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obsessed
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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opposition
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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faculties
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possessed
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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tempted
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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disclaimed
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fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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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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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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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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grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bogey
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| n.令人谈之变色之物；妖怪，幽灵 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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99
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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102
reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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103
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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104
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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