Rouletabille and I had been walking for several minutes, by the side of a long wall bounding the vast property of Monsieur Stangerson and had already come within sight of the entrance gate, when our attention was drawn1 to an individual who, half bent2 to the ground, seemed to be so completely absorbed in what he was doing as not to have seen us coming towards him. At one time he stooped so low as almost to touch the ground; at another he drew himself up and attentively3 examined the wall; then he looked into the palm of one of his hands, and walked away with rapid strides. Finally he set off running, still looking into the palm of his hand. Rouletabille had brought me to a standstill by a gesture.
“Hush! Frederic Larsan is at work! Don’t let us disturb him!”
Rouletabille had a great admiration4 for the celebrated5 detective. I had never before seen him, but I knew him well by reputation. At that time, before Rouletabille had given proof of his unique talent, Larsan was reputed as the most skilful6 unraveller of the most mysterious and complicated crimes. His reputation was world-wide, and the police of London, and even of America, often called him in to their aid when their own national inspectors7 and detectives found themselves at the end of their wits and resources.
No one was astonished, then, that the head of the Surete had, at the outset of the mystery of The Yellow Room, telegraphed his precious subordinate to London, where he had been sent on a big case of stolen securities, to return with all haste. Frederic who, at the Surete, was called the “great Frederic,” had made all speed, doubtless knowing by experience that, if he was interrupted in what he was doing, it was because his services were urgently needed in another direction; so, as Rouletabille said, he was that morning already “at work.” We soon found out in what it consisted.
What he was continually looking at in the palm of his right hand was nothing but his watch, the minute hand of which he appeared to be noting intently. Then he turned back still running, stopping only when he reached the park gate, where he again consulted his watch and then put it away in his pocket, shrugging his shoulders with a gesture of discouragement. He pushed open the park gate, reclosed and locked it, raised his head and, through the bars, perceived us. Rouletabille rushed after him, and I followed. Frederic Larsan waited for us.
“Monsieur Fred,” said Rouletabille, raising his hat and showing the profound respect, based on admiration, which the young reporter felt for the celebrated detective, “can you tell me whether Monsieur Robert Darzac is at the chateau8 at this moment? Here is one of his friends, of the Paris Bar, who desires to speak with him.”
“I really don’t know, Monsieur Rouletabille,” replied Fred, shaking hands with my friend, whom he had several times met in the course of his difficult investigations9. “I have not seen him.”
“The concierges10 will be able to inform us no doubt?” said Rouletabille, pointing to the lodge11 the door and windows of which were close shut.
“The concierges will not be able to give you any information, Monsieur Rouletabille.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were arrested half an hour ago.”
“Arrested!” cried Rouletabille; “then they are the murderers!”
Frederic Larsan shrugged12 his shoulders.
“When you can’t arrest the real murderer,” he said with an air of supreme13 irony14, “you can always indulge in the luxury of discovering accomplices15.”
“Did you have them arrested, Monsieur Fred?”
“Not I!—I haven’t had them arrested. In the first place, I am pretty sure that they have not had anything to do with the affair, and then because—”
“Because of what?” asked Rouletabille eagerly.
“Because of nothing,” said Larsan, shaking his head.
“Because there were no accomplices!” said Rouletabille.
“Aha!—you have an idea, then, about this matter?” said Larsan, looking at Rouletabille intently, “yet you have seen nothing, young man—you have not yet gained admission here!”
“I shall get admission.”
“I doubt it. The orders are strict.”
“I shall gain admission, if you let me see Monsieur Robert Darzac. Do that for me. You know we are old friends. I beg of you, Monsieur Fred. Do you remember the article I wrote about you on the gold bar case?”
The face of Rouletabille at the moment was really funny to look at. It showed such an irresistible16 desire to cross the threshold beyond which some prodigious17 mystery had occurred; it appealed with so much eloquence18, not only of the mouth and eyes, but with all its features, that I could not refrain from bursting into laughter. Frederic Larsan, no more than myself, could retain his gravity. Meanwhile, standing19 on the other side of the gate, he calmly put the key in his pocket. I closely scrutinised him.
He might be about fifty years of age. He had a fine head, his hair turning grey; a colourless complexion20, and a firm profile. His forehead was prominent, his chin and cheeks clean shaven. His upper lip, without moustache, was finely chiselled21. His eyes were rather small and round, with a look in them that was at once searching and disquieting22. He was of middle height and well built, with a general bearing elegant and gentlemanly. There was nothing about him of the vulgar policeman. In his way, he was an artist, and one felt that he had a high opinion of himself. The sceptical tone of his conversation was that of a man who had been taught by experience. His strange profession had brought him into contact with so many crimes and villanies that it would have been remarkable23 if his nature had not been a little hardened.
Larsan turned his head at the sound of a vehicle which had come from the chateau and reached the gate behind him. We recognised the cab which had conveyed the examining magistrate24 and his Registrar25 from the station at Epinay.
“Ah!” said Frederic Larsan, “if you want to speak with Monsieur Robert Darzac, he is here.”
The cab was already at the park gate and Robert Darzac was begging Frederic Larsan to open it for him, explaining that he was pressed for time to catch the next train leaving Epinay for Paris. Then he recognised me. While Larsan was unlocking the gate, Monsieur Darzac inquired what had brought me to the Glandier at such a tragic26 moment. I noticed that he was frightfully pale, and that his face was lined as if from the effects of some terrible suffering.
“Is Mademoiselle getting better?” I immediately asked.
“Yes,” he said. “She will be saved perhaps. She must be saved!”
He did not add “or it will be my death”; but I felt that the phrase trembled on his pale lips.
Rouletabille intervened:
“You are in a hurry, Monsieur; but I must speak with you. I have something of the greatest importance to tell you.”
Frederic Larsan interrupted:
“May I leave you?” he asked of Robert Darzac. “Have you a key, or do you wish me to give you this one.”
“Thank you. I have a key and will lock the gate.”
Larsan hurried off in the direction of the chateau, the imposing27 pile of which could be perceived a few hundred yards away.
Robert Darzac, with knit brow, was beginning to show impatience28. I presented Rouletabille as a good friend of mine, but, as soon as he learnt that the young man was a journalist, he looked at me very reproachfully, excused himself, under the necessity of having to reach Epinay in twenty minutes, bowed, and whipped up his horse. But Rouletabille had seized the bridle29 and, to my utter astonishment30, stopped the carriage with a vigorous hand. Then he gave utterance31 to a sentence which was utterly32 meaningless to me.
“The presbytery has lost nothing of its charm, nor the garden its brightness.”
The words had no sooner left the lips of Rouletabille than I saw Robert Darzac quail33. Pale as he was, he became paler. His eyes were fixed34 on the young man in terror, and he immediately descended35 from the vehicle in an inexpressible state of agitation36.
“Come!—come in!” he stammered37.
Then, suddenly, and with a sort of fury, he repeated:
“Let us go, monsieur.”
He turned up by the road he had come from the chateau, Rouletabille still retaining his hold on the horse’s bridle. I addressed a few words to Monsieur Darzac, but he made no answer. My looks questioned Rouletabille, but his gaze was elsewhere.
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收听单词发音
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1
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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concierges
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| n.看门人，门房( concierge的名词复数 ) | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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12
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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15
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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chiselled
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| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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registrar
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| n.记录员，登记员；(大学的)注册主任 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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29
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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32
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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35
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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36
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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