Our firm rarely dealt with criminal cases, but the Patterson family were long standing2 clients, and they naturally turned to us when the trouble came. Ordinarily, so important a matter would have been put in the hands of one of the older men, but it happened that I was the one who had drawn3 up the will for Patterson Senior the night before his suicide, therefore the brunt of the work devolved upon me. The most unpleasant part of the whole affair was the notoriety. Could we have kept it from the papers, it would not have been so bad, but that was a physical impossibility; Terry Patten was on our track, and within a week he had brought down upon us every newspaper in New York.
The first I ever heard of Terry, a card was sent in bearing the inscription4, "Mr. Terence K. Patten," and in the lower left-hand corner, "of the Post-Dispatch." I shuddered5 as I read it. The Post-Dispatch was at that time the yellowest of the yellow journals. While I was still shuddering6, Terry walked in through the door the office boy had inadvertently left open.
He nodded a friendly good morning, helped himself to a chair, tossed his hat and gloves upon the table, crossed his legs comfortably, and looked me over. I returned the scrutiny7 with interest while I was mentally framing a polite formula for getting rid of him without giving rise to any ill feeling. I had no desire to annoy unnecessarily any of the Post-Dispatch's young men.
At first sight my caller did not strike me as unlike a dozen other reporters. His face was the face one feels he has a right to expect of a newspaper man—keen, alert, humorous; on the look-out for opportunities. But with a second glance I commenced to feel interested. I wondered where he had come from and what he had done in the past. His features were undeniably Irish; but that which chiefly awakened8 my curiosity, was his expression. It was not only wide-awake and intelligent; it was something more. "Knowing" one would say. It carried with it the mark of experience, the indelible stamp of the street. He was a man who has had no childhood, whose education commenced from the cradle.
I did not arrive at all of these conclusions at once, however, for he had finished his inspection9 before I had fairly started mine. Apparently10 he found me satisfactory. The smile which had been lurking11 about the corners of his mouth broadened to a grin, and I commenced wondering uncomfortably what there was funny about my appearance. Then suddenly he leaned forward and began talking in a quick, eager way, that required all my attention to keep abreast12 of him. After a short preamble13 in which he set forth14 his view of the Patterson-Pratt case—and a clearsighted view it was—he commenced asking questions. They were such amazingly impudent15 questions that they nearly took my breath away. But he asked them in a manner so engagingly innocent that I found myself answering them before I was aware of it. There was a confiding16 air of bonne camaraderie17 about the fellow which completely put one off one's guard.
At the end of fifteen minutes he was on the inside track of most of my affairs, and was giving me advice through a kindly18 desire to keep me from getting things in a mess. The situation would have struck me as ludicrous had I stopped to think of it; but it is a fact I have noted19 since, that, with Terry, one does not appreciate situations until it is too late.
When he had got from me as much information as I possessed20, he shook hands cordially, said he was happy to have made my acquaintance, and would try to drop in again some day. After he had gone, and I had had time to review our conversation, I began to grow hot over the matter. I grew hotter still when I read his report in the paper the next morning. I could not understand why I had not kicked him out at first sight, and I sincerely hoped that he would drop in again, that I might avail myself of the opportunity.
He did drop in, and I received him with the utmost cordiality. There was something entirely21 disarming22 about Terry's impudence23. And so it went. He continued to comment upon the case in the most sensational24 manner possible, and I railed against him and forgave him with unvarying regularity25. In the end we came to be quite friendly over the affair. I found him diverting at a time when I was in need of diversion, though just what attraction he found in me, I have never been able to fathom26. It was certainly not that he saw a future source of "stories," for he frankly27 regarded corporation law as a pursuit devoid28 of interest. Criminal law was the one branch of the profession for which he felt any respect.
We frequently had lunch together; or breakfast, in his case. His day commenced about noon and lasted till three in the morning. "Well, Terry, what's the news at the morgue today?" I would inquire as we settled ourselves at the table. And Terry would rattle29 off the details of the latest murder mystery with a cheerfully matter-of-fact air that would have been disgusting had it not been so funny.
It was at this time that I learned his history prior to the days of the Post-Dispatch. He was entirely frank about himself, and if one half of his stories were true, he has achieved some amazing adventures. I strongly suspected at times that the reporting instinct got ahead of the facts, and that he embroidered31 incidents as he went along.
His father, Terry Senior, had been an Irish politician of considerable ability and some prominence32 on the East River side of the city. The boy's early education had been picked up in the streets (his father had got the truant33 officer his position) and it was thorough. Later he had received a more theoretical training in the University of New York, but I think it was his early education which stuck by him longest, and which, in the end, was probably the more useful of the two. Armed with this equipment, it was inevitable34 that he should develop into a star reporter. Not only did he write his news in an entertaining form, but he first made the news he wrote about. When any sensational crime had been committed which puzzled the police, Terry had an annoying way of solving the mystery himself, and publishing the full particulars in the Post-Dispatch with the glory blatantly35 attributed to "our reporter." The paper was fully30 aware that Terence K. Patten was an acquisition to its staff. It had sent him on various commissions to various entertaining quarters of the globe, and in the course of his duty he had encountered experiences. One is forced to admit that he was not always fastidious as to the rôle he played. He had cruised about the Mediterranean36 as assistant cook on a millionaire's yacht, and had listened to secrets between meals. He had wandered about the country with a monkey and a hand-organ in search of a peddler he suspected of a crime. He had helped along a revolution in South America, and had gone up in a captive war balloon which had broken loose and floated off.
But all this is of no concern at present. I am merely going to chronicle his achievement in one instance—in what he himself has always referred to as the "Four-Pools Mystery." It has already been written up in reporter style as the details came to light from day to day. But a ten-year-old newspaper story is as dead as if it were written on parchment, and since the part Terry played was rather remarkable37, and many of the details were at the time suppressed, I think it deserves a more permanent form.
It was through the Patterson-Pratt business by a roundabout way that I got mixed up in the Four-Pools affair. I had been working very hard over the forgery case; I spent every day on it for nine weeks—and nearly every night. I got into the way of lying awake, puzzling over the details, when I should have been sleeping, and that is the sort of work which finishes a man. By the middle of April, when the strain was over, I was as near being a nervous wreck38 as an ordinarily healthy chap can get.
At this stage my doctor stepped in and ordered a rest in some quiet place out of reach of the New York papers; he suggested a fishing expedition to Cape39 Cod40. I apathetically41 fell in with the idea, and invited Terry to join me. But he jeered42 at the notion of finding either pleasure or profit in any such trip. It was too far from the center of crime to contain any interest for Terry.
"Heavens, man! I'd as lief spend a vacation in the middle of the Sahara Desert."
"Oh, the fishing would keep things going," I said.
"Fishing! We'd die of ennui43 before we had a bite. I'd be murdering you at the end of the first week just for some excitement. If you need a rest—and you are rather seedy—forget all about this Patterson business and plunge44 into something new. The best rest in the world is a counter-irritant."
This was Terry all over; he himself was utterly45 devoid of nerves, and he could not appreciate the part they played in a man of normal make-up. My being threatened with nervous prostration46 he regarded as a joke. His pleasantries rather damped my interest in deep-sea fishing, however, and I cast about for something else. It was at this juncture47 that I thought of Four-Pools Plantation48. "Four-Pools" was the somewhat fantastic name of a stock farm in the Shenandoah Valley, belonging to a great-uncle whom I had not seen since I was a boy.
A few months before, I had had occasion to settle a little legal matter for Colonel Gaylord (he was a colonel by courtesy; so far as I could discover he had never had his hands on a gun except for rabbit shooting) and in the exchange of amenities49 which followed, he had given me a standing invitation to make the plantation my home whenever I should have occasion to come South. As I had no prospect50 of leaving New York, I thought nothing of it at the time; but now I determined51 to take the old gentleman at his word, and spend my enforced vacation in getting acquainted with my Virginia relatives.
This plan struck Terry as just one degree funnier than the fishing expedition. The doctor, however, received the idea with enthusiasm. A farm, he said, with plenty of outdoor life and no excitement, was just the thing I needed. But could he have foreseen the events which were to happen there, I doubt if he would have recommended the place for a nervous man.
该作者的其它作品
《DADDY-LONG-LEGS 长腿叔叔》
该作者的其它作品
《DADDY-LONG-LEGS 长腿叔叔》
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1
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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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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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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8
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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9
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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camaraderie
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| n.同志之爱，友情 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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22
disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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30
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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31
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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34
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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blatantly
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| ad.公开地 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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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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38
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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39
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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40
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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41
apathetically
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| adv.不露感情地；无动于衷地；不感兴趣地；冷淡地 | |
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42
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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44
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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45
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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46
prostration
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| n. 平伏, 跪倒, 疲劳 | |
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47
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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48
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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49
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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50
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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51
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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