Mrs. Hableton’s particular grievance was want of money. Not by any means an uncommon4 one, you might remind her; but she snappishly would tell you that “she knowd that, but some people weren’t like other people.” In time one came to learn what she meant by this. She had come to the Colonies in the early days — days when the making of money in appreciable5 quantity was an easier matter than it is now. Owing to a bad husband, she had failed to save any. The late Mr. Hableton — for he had long since departed this life — had been addicted6 to alcohol, and at those times when he should have been earning, he was usually to be found in a drinking shanty7 spending his wife’s earnings8 in “shouting” for himself and his friends. The constant drinking, and the hot Victorian climate, soon carried him off, and when Mrs. Hableton had seen him safely under the ground in the Melbourne Cemetery9, she returned home to survey her position, and see how it could be bettered. She gathered together a little money from the wreck10 of her fortune, and land being cheap, purchased a small “section” at St. Kilda, and built a house on it. She supported herself by going out charing11, taking in sewing, and acting12 as a sick nurse, So, among this multiplicity of occupations, she managed to exist fairly well.
And in truth it was somewhat hard upon Mrs. Hableton. For at the time when she should have been resting and reaping the fruit of her early industry, she was obliged to toil13 more assiduously than ever. It was little consolation14 to her that she was but a type of many women, who, hardworking and thrifty15 themselves, are married to men who are nothing but an incubus16 to their wives and to their families. Small wonder, then, that Mrs. Hableton should condense all her knowledge of the male sex into the one bitter aphorism17, “Men is brutes18.”
Possum Villa20 was an unpretentious-looking place, with one, bow-window and a narrow verandah in front. It was surrounded by a small garden in which were a few sparse21 flowers — the especial delight of Mrs. Hableton. It was, her way to tie an old handkerchief round her head and to go out into the garden and dig and water her beloved flowers until, from sheer desperation at the overwhelming odds22, they gave up all attempt to grow. She was engaged in this favourite occupation about a week after her lodger23 had gone. She wondered where he was.
“Lyin’ drunk in a public-’ouse, I’ll be bound,” she said, viciously pulling up a weed, “a-spendin’ ’is, rent and a-spilin’ ’is inside with beer — ah, men is brutes, drat ’em!”
Just as she said this, a shadow fell across the garden, and on looking up, she saw a man leaning over the fence, staring at her.
“Git out,” she said, sharply, rising from her knees and shaking her trowel at the intruder. “I don’t want no apples to-day, an’ I don’t care how cheap you sells ’em.”
Mrs. Hableton evidently laboured under the delusion24 that the man was a hawker, but seeing no hand-cart with him, she changed her mind.
“You’re takin’ a plan of the ’ouse to rob it, are you?” she said. “Well, you needn’t, ’cause there ain’t nothin’ to rob, the silver spoons as belonged to my father’s mother ’avin’ gone down my ’usband’s, throat long ago, an’ I ain’t ’ad money to buy more. I’m a lone25 pusson as is put on by brutes like you, an’ I’ll thank you to leave the fence I bought with my own ’ard earned money alone, and git out.”
Mrs. Hableton stopped short for want of breath, and stood shaking her trowel, and gasping26 like a fish out of water.
“My dear lady,” said the man at the fence, mildly, “are you — ”
“No, I ain’t,” retorted Mrs. Hableton, fiercely, “I ain’t neither a member of the ‘Ouse, nor a school teacher, to answer your questions. I’m a woman as pays my rates an’ taxes, and don’t gossip nor read yer rubbishin’ newspapers, nor care for the Russings, no how, so git out.”
“Don’t read the papers?” repeated the man, in a satisfied tone, “ah! that accounts for it.”
Mrs. Hableton stared suspiciously at the intruder. He was a burly-looking man, with a jovial27 red face, clean shaven, and his sharp, shrewd-looking grey eyes twinkled like two stars. He was, well-dressed in a suit of light clothes, and wore a stiffly-starched white waistcoat, with a massive gold chain stretched across it. Altogether he gave Mrs. Hableton finally the impression of being a well-to-do tradesman, and she mentally wondered what he wanted.
“What d’y want?” she asked, abruptly28.
“Does Mr. Oliver Whyte live here?” asked the stranger.
“He do, an’ he don’t,” answered Mrs. Hableton, epigrammatically. “I ain’t seen ’im for over a week, so I s’pose ’e’s gone on the drink, like the rest of ’em, but I’ve put sumthin’ in the paper as ’ill pull him up pretty sharp, and let ’im know I ain’t a carpet to be trod on, an’ if you’re a friend of ’im, you can tell ’im from me ’e’s a brute19, an’ it’s no more but what I expected of ’im, ’e bein’ a male.”
The stranger waited placidly29 during the outburst, and Mrs. Hableton, having stopped for want of breath, he interposed, quietly —
“Can I speak to you for a few moments?”
“An’ who’s a-stoppin’ of you?” said Mrs. Hableton, defiantly30. “Go on with you, not as I expects the truth from a male, but go on.”
“Well, really,” said the other, looking up at the cloudless blue sky, and wiping his face with a gaudy32 red silk pocket-handkerchief, “it is rather hot, you know, and — ”
Mrs. Hableton did not give him time to finish, but walking to the gate, opened it with a jerk.
“Use your legs and walk in,” she said, and the stranger having done so, she led the way into the house, and into a small neat sitting-room33, which seemed to overflow34 with antimacassars, wool mats, and wax flowers. There were also a row of emu eggs on the mantelpiece, a cutlass on the wall, and a grimy line of hard-looking little books, set in a stiff row on a shelf, presumably for ornament35, for their appearance in no way tempted36 one to read them.
The furniture was of horsehair, and everything was hard and shiny, so when the stranger sat down in the slippery — looking arm-chair that Mrs. Hableton pushed towards him; he could not help thinking it had been stuffed with stones, it felt so cold and hard. The lady herself sat opposite to him in another hard chair, and having taken the handkerchief off her head, folded it carefully, laid it on her lap, and then looked straight at her unexpected visitor.
“Now then,” she said, letting her mouth fly open so rapidly that it gave one the impression that it was moved by strings37 like a marionette38, “Who are you? what are you? and what do you want?”
The stranger put his red silk handkerchief into his hat, placed it on the table, and answered deliberately39 —
“My name is Gorby. I am a detective. I want Mr. Oliver Whyte.”
“He ain’t here,” said Mrs. Hableton, thinking that Whyte had got into trouble, and was in danger of arrest.
“I know that,” answered Mr. Gorby.
“Then where is ’e?”
Mr. Gorby answered abruptly, and watched the effect of his words.
“He is dead.”
Mrs. Hableton grew pale, and pushed back her chair. “No,” she cried, “he never killed ’im, did ’e?”
“Who never killed him?” queried40 Mr. Gorby, sharply.
Mrs. Hableton evidently knew more than she intended to say, for, recovering herself with a violent effort, she answered evasively —
“He never killed himself.”
Mr. Gorby looked at her keenly, and she returned his gaze with a defiant31 stare.
“Clever,” muttered the detective to himself; “knows something more than she chooses to tell, but I’ll get it out of her.” He paused a moment, and then went on smoothly41,
“Oh, no! he did not commit suicide; what makes you think so?” Mrs. Hableton did not answer, but, rising from her seat, went over to a hard and shiny-looking sideboard, from whence she took a bottle of brandy and a small wine-glass. Half filling the glass, she drank it off, and returned to her seat.
“I don’t take much of that stuff,” she said, seeing the detective’s eyes fixed42 curiously43 on her, “but you ’ave given me such a turn that I must take something to steady my nerves; what do you want me to do?”
“Tell me all you know,” said Mr. Gorby, keeping his eyes fixed on her face.
“Where was Mr. Whyte killed?” she asked.
“He was murdered in a hansom cab on the St. Kilda Road.”
“In the open street?” she asked in a startled tone.
“Yes, in the open street.”
“Ah!” she drew a long breath, and closed her lips, firmly. Mr. Gorby said nothing. He saw that she was deliberating whether or not to speak, and a word from him might seal her lips, so, like a wise man, he kept silent. He obtained his reward sooner than he expected.
“Mr. Gorby,” she said at length, “I ’ave ’ad a ’ard struggle all my life, which it came along of a bad husband, who was a brute and a drunkard, so, God knows, I ain’t got much inducement to think well of the lot of you, but — murder,” she shivered slightly, though the room was quite warm, “I didn’t think of that.”
“In connection with whom?”
“Mr. Whyte, of course,” she answered, hurriedly.
“And who else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then there is nobody else?”
“Well, I don’t know — I’m not sure.”
The detective was puzzled.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I will tell you all I know,” said Mrs. Hableton, “an’ if ’e’s innocent, God will ’elp ’im.”
“If who is innocent?”
“I’ll tell you everythin’ from the start,” said Mrs. Hableton, “an’ you can judge for yourself.”
Mr. Gorby assented44, and she began:
“It’s only two months ago since I decided45 to take in lodgers46; but charin’s ’ard work, and sewin’s tryin’ for the eyes, So, bein’ a lone woman, ’avin’ bin47 badly treated by a brute, who is now dead, which I was allays48 a good wife to ’im, I thought lodgers ’ud ’elp me a little, so I put a notice in the paper, an’ Mr. Oliver Whyte took the rooms two months ago.”
“What was he like?”
“Not very tall, dark face, no whiskers nor moustache, an’ quite the gentleman.”
“Anything peculiar49 about him?”
Mrs. Hableton thought for a moment.
“Well,” she said at length, “he ’ad a mole50 on his left temple, but it was covered with ’is ’air, an’ few people ’ud ’ave seen it.”
“The very man,” said Gorby to himself, “I’m on the right path.”
“Mr. Whyte said ’e ’ad just come from England,” went on the woman.
“Which,” thought Mr. Gorby, “accounts for the corpse51 not being recognised by friends.”
“He took the rooms, an’ said ’e’d stay with me for six months, an’ paid a week’s rent in advance, an’ ’e allays paid up reg’ler like a respectable man, tho’ I don’t believe in ’em myself. He said ’e’d lots of friends, an’ used to go out every night.”
“Who were his friends?”
“That I can’t tell you, for ’e were very close, an’ when ’e went out of doors I never knowd where ’e went, which is jest like ’em; for they ses they’re goin’ to work, an’ you finds ’em in the beershop. Mr. Whyte told me ’e was a-goin’ to marry a heiress, ’e was.”
“Ah!” interjected Mr. Gorby, sapiently52.
“He ’ad only one friend as I ever saw — a Mr. Moreland — who comed ’ere with ’m, an’ was allays with ’im — brother-like.”
“What is this Mr. Moreland like?”
“Good-lookin’ enough,” said Mrs. Hableton sourly, “but ’is ’abits weren’t as good as ’is face — ’andsom is as ’andsom does, is what I ses.”
“I wonder if he knows anything about this affair,” thought Gorby to himself “Where is Mr. Moreland to be found?” he asked.
“Not knowin’, can’t tell,” retorted the landlady53, “’e used to be ’ere reg’lar, but I ain’t seen ’im for over a week.”
“Strange! very!” said Gorby, shaking his head. “I should like to see this Mr. Moreland. I suppose it’s probable he’ll call again?”
“‘Abit bein’ second nature I s’pose he will,” answered the woman, “’e might call at any time, mostly ’avin’ called at night.”
“Ah! then I’ll come down this evening on chance of seeing him,” replied the detective. “Coincidences happen in real life as well as in novels, and the gentleman in question may turn up in the nick of time. Now, what else about Mr. Whyte?”
“About two weeks ago, or three, I’m not cert’in which, a gentleman called to see Mr. Whyte; ’e was very tall, and wore a light coat.”
“Ah! a morning coat?”
“No! ’e was in evenin’ dress, and wore a light coat over it, an’ a soft ’at.”
“The very man,” said the detective below his breath; “go on.”
“He went into Mr. Whyte’s room, an’ shut the door. I don’t know how long they were talkin’ together; but I was sittin’ in this very room and heard their voices git angry, and they were a-swearin’ at one another, which is the way with men, the brutes. I got up and went into the passage in order to ask ’em not to make such a noise, when Mr. Whyte’s door opens, an’ the gentleman in the light coat comes out, and bangs along to the door. Mr. Whyte ’e comes to the door of ’is room, an’ ’e ’ollers out. ‘She is mine; you can’t do anything; an’ the other turns with ’is ’and on the door an’ says, ‘I can kill you, an’ if you marry ’er I’ll do it, even in the open street.’”
“Ah!” said Mr. Gorby, drawing a long breath, “and then?”
“Then he bangs the door to, which it’s never shut easy since, an’ I ain’t got no money to get it put right, an’ Mr. Whyte walks back to his room, laughing.”
“Did he make any remark to you?”
“No; except he’d been worried by a loonatic.”
“And what was the stranger’s name?”
“That I can’t tell you, as Mr. Whyte never told me. He was very tall, with a fair moustache, an’ dressed as I told you.”
Mr. Gorby was satisfied.
“That is the man,” he said to himself, “who got into the hansom cab, and murdered Whyte; there’s no doubt of it! Whyte and he were rivals for the heiress.”
“What d’y think of it?” said Mrs. Hableton curiously.
“I think,” said Mr. Gorby slowly, with his eyes fixed on her, “I think that there is a woman at the bottom of this crime.”
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1
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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7
shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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8
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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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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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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incubus
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| n.负担；恶梦 | |
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aphorism
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| n.格言，警语 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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marionette
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| n.木偶 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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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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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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48
allays
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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51
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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sapiently
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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