That shadow of which I have spoken elsewhere seemed to have become almost palpable. In vain I had ascribed it to a morbid3 imagination: persistently4 it lingered.
Madame de Stämer’s gaiety rang more false than ever. She twirled the rings upon her slender fingers and shot little enquiring5 glances all around the table. This spirit of unrest, from wherever it arose, had communicated itself to everybody. Madame’s several bon mots one and all were failures. She delivered them without conviction like an amateur repeating lines learned by heart. The Colonel was unusually silent, eating little but drinking much. There was something unreal, almost ghastly, about the whole affair; and when at last Madame de Stämer retired6, bearing Val Beverley with her, I felt certain that the Colonel would make some communication to us. If ever knowledge of portentous7 evil were written upon a man’s face it was written upon his, as he sat there at the head of the table, staring straightly before him. However:
“Gentlemen,” he said, “if your enquiries here have led to no result of, shall I say, a tangible8 character, at least I feel sure that you must have realized one thing.”
Harley stared at him sternly.
“Ah!” murmured the Colonel, and he clutched the edge of the table with his strong brown hands.
“But,” continued my friend, “I have realized something more. You have asked for my aid, and I am here. Now you have deliberately10 tied my hands.”
“What do you mean, sir?” asked the other, softly.
“I will speak plainly. I mean that you know more about the nature of this danger than you have ever communicated to me. Allow me to proceed, if you please, Colonel Menendez. For your delightful11 hospitality I thank you. As your guest I could be happy, but as a professional investigator12 whose services have been called upon under most unusual circumstances, I cannot be happy and I do not thank you.”
Their glances met. Both were angry, wilful13, and self-confident. Following a few moments of silence:
“Perhaps, Mr. Harley,” said the Colonel, “you have something further to say?”
“I have this to say,” was the answer: “I esteem14 your friendship, but I fear I must return to town without delay.”
The Colonel’s jaws15 were clenched16 so tightly that I could see the muscles protruding17. He was fighting an inward battle; then:
“What!” he said, “you would desert me?”
“I have sought your aid.”
“Then accept it!” cried Harley. “This, or allow me to retire from the case. You ask me to find an enemy who threatens you, and you withhold19 every clue which could aid me in my search.”
Paul Harley stood up.
“It is useless to discuss the matter further, Colonel Menendez,” he said, coldly.
The Colonel rose also, and:
“Mr. Harley,” he replied, and his high voice was ill-controlled, “if I give you my word of honour that I dare not tell you more, and if, having done so, I beg of you to remain at least another night, can you refuse me?”
Harley stood at the end of the table watching him.
“Colonel Menendez,” he said, “this would appear to be a game in which my handicap rests on the fact that I do not know against whom I am pitted. Very well. You leave me no alternative but to reply that I will stay.”
“I thank you, Mr. Harley. As I fear I am far from well, dare I hope to be excused if I retire to my room for an hour’s rest?”
Harley and I bowed, and the Colonel, returning our salutations, walked slowly out, his bearing one of grace and dignity. So that memorable21 luncheon terminated, and now we found ourselves alone and faced with a problem which, from whatever point one viewed it, offered no single opening whereby one might hope to penetrate22 to the truth.
Paul Harley was pacing up and down the room in a state of such nervous irritability23 as I never remembered to have witnessed in him before.
I had just finished an account of my visit to the Guest House and of the indignity24 which had been put upon me, and:
“Conundrums25! conundrums!” my friend exclaimed. “This quest of Bat Wing is like the quest of heaven, Knox. A hundred open doors invite us, each one promising26 to lead to the light, and if we enter where do they lead?—to mystification. For instance, Colonel Menendez has broadly hinted that he looks upon Colin Camber as an enemy. Judging from your reception at the Guest House to-day, such an enmity, and a deadly enmity, actually exists. But whereas Camber has resided here for three years, the Colonel is a newcomer. We are, therefore, offered the spectacle of a trembling victim seeking the sacrifice. Bah! it is preposterous27.”
“If you had seen Colin Camber’s face to-day, you might not have thought it so preposterous.”
“But I should, Knox! I should! It is impossible to suppose that Colonel Menendez was unaware28 when he leased Cray’s Folly29 that Camber occupied the Guest House.”
“And Mrs. Camber is a Cuban,” I murmured.
“Don’t, Knox!” my friend implored30. “This case is driving me mad. I have a conviction that it is going to prove my Waterloo.”
“My dear fellow,” I said, “this mood is new to you.”
“Why don’t you advise me to remember Auguste Dupin?” asked Harley, bitterly. “That great man, preserving his philosophical31 calm, doubtless by this time would have pieced together these disjointed clues, and have produced an elegant pattern ready to be framed and exhibited to the admiring public.”
He dropped down upon the bed, and taking his briar from his pocket, began to load it in a manner which was almost vicious. I stood watching him and offered no remark, until, having lighted the pipe, he began to smoke. I knew that these “Indian moods” were of short duration, and, sure enough, presently:
“God bless us all, Knox,” he said, breaking into an amused smile, “how we bristle32 when someone tries to prove that we are not infallible! How human we are, Knox, but how fortunate that we can laugh at ourselves.”
I sighed with relief, for Harley at these times imposed a severe strain even upon my easy-going disposition33.
“Let us go down to the billiard room,” he continued. “I will play you a hundred up. I have arrived at a point where my ideas persistently work in circles. The best cure is golf; failing golf, billiards34.”
The billiard room was immediately beneath us, adjoining the last apartment in the east wing, and there we made our way. Harley played keenly, deliberately, concentrating upon the game. I was less successful, for I found myself alternately glancing toward the door and the open window, in the hope that Val Beverley would join us. I was disappointed, however. We saw no more of the ladies until tea-time, and if a spirit of constraint35 had prevailed throughout luncheon, a veritable demon36 of unrest presided upon the terrace during tea.
Madame de Stämer made apologies on behalf of the Colonel. He was prolonging his siesta37, but he hoped to join us at dinner.
“It is mysterious, the state of his health,” she replied. “An old trouble, which began years and years ago in Cuba.”
Harley nodded sympathetically, but I could see that he was not satisfied. Yet, although he might doubt her explanation, he had noted40, and so had I, that Madame de Stämer’s concern was very real. Her slender hands were strangely unsteady; indeed her condition bordered on one of distraction41.
Harley concealed42 his thoughts, whatever they may have been, beneath that mask of reserve which I knew so well, whilst I endeavoured in vain to draw Val Beverley into conversation with me.
I gathered that Madame de Stämer had been to visit the invalid44, and that she was all anxiety to return was a fact she was wholly unable to conceal43. There was a tired look in her still eyes, as though she had undertaken a task beyond her powers to perform, and, so unnatural45 a quartette were we, that when presently she withdrew I was glad, although she took Val Beverley with her.
Paul Harley resumed his seat, staring at me with unseeing eyes. A sound reached us through the drawing room which told us that Madame de Stämer’s chair was being taken upstairs, a task always performed when Madame desired to visit the upper floors by Manoel and Pedro’s daughter, Nita, who acted as Madame’s maid. These sounds died away, and I thought how silent everything had become. Even the birds were still, and presently, my eye being attracted to a black speck46 in the sky above, I learned why the feathered choir47 was mute. A hawk48 was hovering49 loftily overhead.
Noting my upward glance, Paul Harley also raised his eyes.
“Ah,” he murmured, “a hawk. All the birds are cowering50 in their nests. Nature is a cruel mistress, Knox.”
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1
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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enquiring
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| a.爱打听的，显得好奇的 | |
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6
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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8
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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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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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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investigator
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| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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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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withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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conundrums
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| n.谜，猜不透的难题，难答的问题( conundrum的名词复数 ) | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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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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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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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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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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47
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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48
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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49
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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50
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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