Through the whole of the night, chopping, shifting winds had been tearing through the streets of London, now from the north, now from the south, now from the east, now from the west, now from all points of the compass at once; which last caprice--taking place for at least the twentieth time in the course of the hour which the bells of Big Ben were striking--was enough in itself to make the policeman on the beat doubtful of his senses.
"What a chap hears in weather like this," he muttered, "and what he fancies he hears, is enough to drive him mad."
He had sufficient justification1 for the remark, for there were not only the wild pranks2 of Boreas to torment3 and distract him, but there was the snow which, blown in fine particles from roofs and gables, and torn from nooks where it lay huddled4 up in little heaps against stone walls (for the reason that being blown there by previous winds it could get no further), seemed to take a spiteful pleasure in whirling into his face, which was tingling5 and smarting with cold, and as a matter of course into his eyes, which it caused to run over with tears. With a vague idea that some appeal had been made officially to him as a representative of law and order, he steadied himself and stood still for a few moments, with a spiritual cold freezing his heart, even as the temporal cold was freezing his marrow6.
"Help!"
The bells of Big Ben were still proclaiming the hour of midnight. If a man at such a time might have reasonably been forgiven the fancy that old Westminster's tower had been invaded by an army of malicious7 witches, how much more readily might he have been forgiven for not being able to fix the direction from which this cry for help proceeded? Nay8, he could scarcely have been blamed for doubting that the cry was human.
For the third time--
"Help!"
Then, so far as that appeal was concerned, silence. The cry was heard no more.
The policeman still labored9 under a vague impression that his duty lay somewhere in an undefined direction, and his attitude was one of strained yet bewildered attention. Suddenly he received a terrible shock. Something touched his foot. He started back, all his nerves thrilling with an unreasonable10 spasm11 of horror. Instinctively12 looking down, he discovered that he had been ridiculously alarmed by a miserable13, half-starved, and nearly whole-frozen cat, which, with the scanty14 hairs on its back sticking up in sharp points, was creeping timorously15 along in quest of an open door. Recovering from his alarm, the policeman stamped his feet and clapped his hands vigorously to keep the circulation in them.
His beat was in the heart of Soho, and he was at that moment in Gerard Street, in which locality human life is represented in perhaps stranger variety than can be found in any other part of this gigantic city of darkness and light. As a protection against the fierce wind he had taken refuge within the portal of the closed door of an old house which lay a little back from the regular line of buildings in the street. Little did he dream that the cry for help had proceeded from that very house, the upper portion of which was inhabited by a gentleman known as M. Felix by some, as Mr. Felix by others. Well named, apparently16, for although he was not young, M. Felix was distinguished17 by a certain happy, light-hearted air, which marked him as one who held enjoyment18 of the pleasures of life as a kind of religion to be devoutly19 observed. The lower portion of the house was occupied by the landlady20, Mrs. Middlemore, who acted as housekeeper21 to M. Felix. It was the nightly habit of this estimable woman to go for her supper beer at half-past eleven, and return, beaming, at a few minutes after twelve.
These late hours did not interfere22 with the performance of her duties, because M. Felix was by no means an early riser, seldom breakfasting, indeed, before noon. Despite the inclemency23 of the weather, Mrs. Middlemore had not deviated24 on this night from her usual custom. She was a widow, without responsibilities, and no person had a right to meddle25 with her affairs. Besides, as she frequently remarked, she was quite able to take care of herself.
A welcome diversion occurred to the constable26 who was stamping his feet within the portal of Mrs. Middlemore's street door. A brother constable sauntered up, and accosted27 him.
"Is that you, Wigg?"
"As much as there's left of me," replied Constable Wigg.
"You may well say that," observed the new-comer, who rejoiced in the name of Nightingale. "It's all a job to keep one's self together. What a night!"
"Bitter. I've been regularly blown off my feet."
"My case. I'm froze to a stone. The North Pole ain't in it with this, and whether I've got a nose on my face is more than I'd swear to. Anything up?"
"Nothing, except----"
"Except what?" asked Constable Nightingale, as his comrade paused. He put his hand to his nose as he asked the question, his reference to it having inspired doubts as to his being still in possession of the feature.
"A minute or two ago," said Constable Wigg, "I had half a fancy that I heard somebody cry out 'Help!'"
"Ah! Did you go?"
"How could I? I wasn't sure, you know."
"Who could be sure of anything," remarked Constable Nightingale, charitably, "on such a night?"
"Nobody. It must have been the wind."
"Not a doubt of it. If anybody told me he saw Polar bears about I shouldn't dispute with him." Then Constable Nightingale took a step forward, and glanced up at the windows of the front rooms occupied by M. Felix, in which shone a perfect blaze of light. "He must be jolly warm up there."
"Who?" inquired Constable Wigg, his eyes following his comrade's glance.
"Mr. Felix."
"And who's Mr. Felix when he's at home?"
"Why, you don't mean to say you don't know him!"
"Never heard of him. I've only been on the beat two nights."
"I forgot. He's a trump28, a regular A-one-er. You're in for a good tip or two. I was on night duty here this time last year, and he behaved handsome. Tipped me at Christmas, and tipped me at New Year's. Half a sov. each time. And at other times, too. Altogether he was as good as between four and five pounds to me while I was here."
"That's something like," said Constable Wigg, with something of eager hope in his voice; "not many like him knocking around. But"--with sudden suspicion--"why should he be so free? Anything wrong about him?"
"Not a bit of it," replied Constable Nightingale, blowing on his ice-cold fingers. "He's a diamond of the first water--a tip-top swell29, rolling in money. That's what's the matter with Mr. Felix. Don't you wish you had the same complaint? 'Constable,' said he to me, when I came on this beat last year, 'you're on night duty here, eh?' 'Yes, sir,' I answers. 'Very good,' he says, acting30 like a gentleman; 'I live in this house'--we were standing31 at this very door--'and I always make it a point to look after them as looks after me.'"
"And a very good point it is," remarked Constable Wigg, with growing interest, "for a gentleman to make."
"I thought so myself, and I found it so. 'And I always make it a point,' says he, of 'looking after them as looks after me.' Fact is, Wigg, he comes home late sometimes, with a glass of wine to much in him, and he knows the usefulness of us. Carries a lump of money about him, and likes to feel himself safe. Never what you call drunk, you know. Just a bit sprung, as a real gentleman should be, and always with a pleasant word ready. So, whenever I met him coming home late, I'd walk behind him to his door here, and give him good-night; which he appreciated."
"Much obliged to you for the information, Nightingale."
"Ought to do these little turns for one another, Wigg. The man who was on the beat before me gave me the office, and it's only friendly for me to give it to you." Constable Nightingale looked pensively32 over the shoulder of his brother constable, and added, "I behaved liberal to him."
"I'll do likewise to you," said Constable Wigg, "if anything happens."
"Was sure you would, Wigg," responded Constable Nightingale, briskly. "What would the force be worth if we didn't stick together? When I see Mr. Felix I'll put in a good word for you. He took a regular fancy to me, and told me if I got the beat again to come to him immediate33. Once you see him, you can't miss knowing him. Tall and slim, with hair getting gray. No whiskers; only a mustache, curled. Speaks with a foreign accent--parleyvooish. His clothes fit like a glove. Patent leather boots always, except when he wears shoes; white tie generally. I remember Mrs. Middlemore----"
"Who's she?"
"His landlady. A most respectable woman--made of the right stuff. Ah, a real good sort she is! Goes out every night for her supper beer between eleven and twelve."
"I must have seen her half an hour ago."
"Of course you did. If it was to rain cats and dogs or snowed for a month, she wouldn't miss going. Has she come back?"
"No."
"She stops out as a rule till about this time; fond of a gossip, you know. Most of us are. She'll be here soon, if she can keep her feet. The snow's getting thicker--and listen to the wind! Let's get close to the door. Well, I remember Mrs. Middlemore coming out to me one night, and saying, 'You're wanted up there,' meaning in Mr. Felix's rooms----"
Constable Wigg interposed. "Just now you said parleyvooish."
"So I did, and so I meant."
"Speaks with a foreign accent, you said."
"I don't deny it."
"And you keep on saying Mr. Felix."
"Well?"
"Shouldn't it be Monseer?"
"Well, perhaps; but not Monseer--Monshure."
"I give in to you, Nightingale; I'm not a French scholar."
"Let's call him Mr., for all that. Monshure twists the tongue unless you're born there."
"I'm agreeable. Call him Mr. if you like. Hallo!"
The exclamation34 was caused by Mrs. Middlemore's street door being suddenly opened without any preliminary warning from within, and with such swiftness and violence that the policemen almost fell through it into the passage. As they were recovering their equilibrium35 a man stepped out of the house, or rather stumbled out of it, in a state of great excitement. He had a crimson36 scarf round his neck; it was loosely tied, and the ends floated in the wind. The little bit of color shone bright in the glare of white snow. Its wearer pulled the door after him and hurried along the street, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and taking no notice of the policemen, who strained their eyes after him. He walked very unsteadily, and was soon out of sight.
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1
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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2
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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3
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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4
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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5
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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6
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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7
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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8
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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9
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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10
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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11
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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12
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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13
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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14
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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15
timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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16
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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17
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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18
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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19
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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20
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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21
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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22
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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23
inclemency
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| n.险恶，严酷 | |
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24
deviated
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| v.偏离，越轨( deviate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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26
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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27
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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28
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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29
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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30
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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31
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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32
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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33
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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34
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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35
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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36
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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