"No," replied Constable Nightingale, "Mr. Felix is altogether a different kind of man. Takes things more coolly. Walks slow, talks slow, thinks slow, looks at you slow. This fellow was like a flash of lightning. Did you catch sight of his face?"
"He was in such a devil of a hurry that there was no catching2 sight of anything except the red handkerchief round his neck. There was no mistaking that. Seemed a youngish man."
"Yes. Been on a visit to Mr. Felix, most likely."
"Or to some other lodger3 in the house," suggested Constable Wigg.
"There ain't no other," said Constable Nightingale. "Every room in it except the basement is let to Mr. Felix."
"A married man, then' with a large family?"
"No," said Constable Nightingale, with a little cough. "Single. Or, perhaps, a widower4. No business of ours, Wigg."
"Certainly not. Go on with your story, Nightingale. 'You're wanted up there' says Mrs. Middlemore."
"Yes. 'You're wanted up there,' she says, meaning Mr. Felix's rooms. 'Did Mr. Felix send for me?' I ask. 'He did,' she answers. 'He rings his bell and says, "Go for a policeman." And he'll not be sorry it's you, Mr. Nightingale, because you're a man as can be trusted,' Mrs. Middlemore's precise words. You see, Wigg, me and her ain't exactly strangers. I'm a single man, and I'm mistook if she ain't got a bit of money put by."
"You're a knowing one, Nightingale,' said Constable Wigg, somewhat enviously5, and it is not to the credit of human nature to state that there flashed into his mind the base idea of endeavoring to supplant6 his brother constable in Mrs. Middlemore's good graces. What should hinder him? He was a single man, many years younger than Constable Nightingale, and much better looking. All was fair in love and war. The "bit of money put by" was a temptation from Lucifer.
"That's what brings me round here now and then," continued Constable Nightingale, complacently7. "A man might go a good deal further than Mrs. Middlemore, and fare a good deal worse. 'I suppose,' says I to her, 'there's somebody with Mr. Felix as he wants to get rid of, and as won't go?' 'I ain't at liberty to say,' she answers, 'but you're pretty near the mark. Come and see for yourself, and don't forget that Mr. Felix has got a liberal heart, and hates fuss.' Upon that, Wigg, I holds my tongue, because I'm a man as knows how to, and I follows Mrs. Middlemore into the house. I'd been inside before, of course, but never upstairs, always down and Mrs. Middlemore had told me such a lot about Mr. Felix's rooms that I was curious to see them. 'Furnished like a palace,' Mrs. Middlemore used to say; so up the stairs I steps, Mrs. Middlemore showing the way, and I don't mind confessing that before we got to the first landing I put my arm round Mrs. Middlemore's waist--but that's neither here nor there. She stops on the landing, and knocks at the door----"
But here Constable Nightingale was compelled to pause, and to hold on tight to his comrade. The storm quite suddenly reached such a pitch of fury that the men could scarcely keep their feet, and it would have been impossible to hear a word that was spoken. It was not a fitful display of temper; so fierce grew the wind that it blew the street door open with a crash, and as the policemen were leaning against it, the consequence was that they were precipitated8 into the passage, and fell flat upon their backs. The reason of the door being blown open so readily was probably, as Constable Nightingale afterward9 remarked, because the man who had recently left the house so hastily had not pulled it tight behind him, but the tempest was raging so furiously that it might well have made light of such an obstacle as an old street door. It was with difficulty the policemen recovered their feet, and the strength of the wind as it rushed through the passage was so great that the idea that they would be safer inside the house than out occurred to both of them at once. To expose themselves to the fury of the elements in the open would undoubtedly10 have been attended with danger. Instinctively11 they advanced to the door, and after a struggle succeeded in shutting it. That being accomplished12, they stood in the dark passage, mentally debating what they should do next.
"There's something moving," whispered Constable Wigg, trembling. He was not remarkable13 for courage, and had a horror of darkness.
Constable Nightingale was made of sterner stuff. He promptly14 pulled out his dark lantern, and cast its circle of light upon the floor; and there, creeping timidly along close to the wall, they saw the miserable15 half-starved cat which had shaken Constable Wigg's nerves earlier in the night. It had taken advantage of the open street door to obtain the shelter for which it had long been seeking.
"It ain't the first time," said Constable Wigg, in a vicious tone, "that this little beast has given me a turn. Just before you come up it run across me and almost sent my heart into my mouth."
But for a mournful, fear-stricken look in its yellow eyes, the light of the dark lantern seemed to deprive the wretched cat of the power of motion. It remained perfectly16 still, cowering17 to the ground. Even when Constable Wigg gave it a spiteful kick it did not move of its own volition18, and it was only when the attention of the policeman was no longer directed toward it that it slunk slowly and stealthily away.
Meanwhile the tempest raged more furiously than ever outside. The shrieking19 wind tore through the streets, carrying devastation20 in its train, and the air was thick with whirling, blinding snow.
"Did you ever hear anything like it?" said Constable Nightingale.
"Never," said Constable Wigg.
"It would be madness to go out," said Constable Nightingale. "We should be dashed to pieces. Besides, what good could we do? Besides, who would be likely to want us? Besides, who's to know?"
* * * * * *
There was a world of philosophy in these reflections, which Constable Wigg was only too ready to acknowledge.
"What do you propose, Nightingale?" he asked.
"That we go down to Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen," replied Constable Nightingale, "and make ourselves comfortable. I know the way."
He led it, and Constable Wigg very cheerfully accompanied him. The kitchen was the coziest of apartments, and their hearts warmed within them as they entered it. Mrs. Middlemore, like a sensible woman, had taken the precaution to bank up the fire before she left the house, and it needed but one touch from the poker21 to cause it to spring into a bright glowing blaze. This touch was applied22 by Constable Nightingale, and the shadows upon walls and ceiling leapt into ruddy life.
"This is something like," said Constable Wigg, stooping and warming himself.
Having no further need for his dark lantern, Constable Nightingale tucked it snugly23 away, and then proceeded to light a candle which, in its flat tin candlestick and a box of matches handy, stood on the kitchen table. They were not the only articles on the table. There was no table-cloth, it is true, but what mattered that? The whitest of table-cloths would have made but a sorry supper, and in the present instance could not have added to the attractions which the lighted candle revealed. There was bread, there was butter, there was cheese, there were pickles24, there was a plate of sausages, there was half a roast fowl25, and there was a fine piece of cold pork. Constable Wigg's eyes wandered to the table, and became, so to speak, glued there. He was now standing26 with his back to the fire, and was being comfortably warmed through. Even a kitchen may become a veritable Aladdin's cave, and this was the case with Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen, in the estimation of Constable Wigg.
"If there's one thing I like better than another for supper," he said, meditatively27, and with pathos28 in his voice, "it is cold pork and pickles. And there's enough for three, Nightingale, there's enough for three."
Constable Nightingale nodded genially29, and, with the air of a man familiar with his surroundings, took up a piece of butter on a knife, and put it to his mouth.
"The best fresh," he observed.
"You don't say so?" exclaimed Constable Wigg, not contentiously30, but in amiable31 wonder.
"Taste it," said Constable Nightingale, handing his comrade the knife with a new knob of butter on it.
"It is the best fresh," said Constable Wigg. "She lives on the fat of the land." This evidence of good living and the cheerful homeliness32 of the kitchen strengthened his notion of supplanting33 Constable Nightingale in the affections of Mrs. Middlemore, but he was careful not to betray himself. "You know your way about, Nightingale. It ain't the first time you've been in this here snuggery."
Constable Nightingale smiled knowingly, and said, "Cold pork and pickles ain't half a bad supper, to say nothing of sausages, roast fowl, and----and----." He sniffed34 intelligently and inquired, "Ain't there a baked tatery smell somewheres near?"
"Now you mention it," replied Constable Wigg, also sniffing35, "I believe there is."
"And here they are, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, opening the door of the oven, and exposing four large, flowery potatoes baking in their skins. "Not yet quite done, not yet quite ready to burst, and all a-growing and a-blowing, and waiting for butter and pepper. They're relishy enough without butter and pepper, but with butter and pepper they're a feast for a emperor."
"Ah," sighed Constable Wigg, "it's better to be born lucky than rich. Now just cast your eye at the door, Nightingale. I'm blessed if that beastly cat ain't poking36 its nose in again." And as though there was within him a superabundance of vicious energy which required immediate37 working off, Constable Wigg threw his truncheon at the cat, which, without uttering a sound, fled from the kitchen. "What riles me about that cat is that it moves about like a ghost, without as much as a whine38. It takes you all of a sudden, like a stab in the back. It'll be up to some mischief39 before the night is out."
"Why, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, with a laugh, "you talk of it as if it wasn't a cat at all."
"I don't believe it is. In my opinion it's a spectre cat, a spirit without a solid body. I lifted it with my foot in the street, and not a sound came from it. I kicked it in the passage, and it crept away like a ghost. I let fly my truncheon at it and hit it on the head, and off it went like a shadder, without a whine. It ain't natural. If it comes across me again I advise it to say its prayers."
Which, to say the least of it, was an absurd recommendation to offer to a cat. But Constable Wigg was in an unreasonable40 and spiteful temper, and he became morose41 and melancholy42 when he saw how thoroughly43 Constable Nightingale was making himself at home in Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen; or perhaps it was the sight of the tempting44 food on the table which, without lawful45 invitation, he dared not touch. However it was, he was not allowed much time for gloomy reflection, his thoughts being diverted by the violent slamming of the street door, and by the further sound of a person breathing heavily in her course downstairs.
"It's Mrs. Middlemore," said Constable Nightingale, in a low tone. "I never thought she'd be able to open the door alone with such a wind blowing. We'll give her a surprise."
They heard Mrs. Middlemore stop outside the kitchen, and exclaim, "Well! To think I should 'ave been so foolish as to leave the candle alight! I could 'ave swore I blowed it out before I left the room!" Then she opened the door, and it was well that Constable Nightingale darted46 forward to her support, for if he had not she would have fallen to the ground in affright, and the supper beer would have been lost to taste, if not to sight. It was as well, too, that he put his face close enough to her lips to partially47 stifle48 a kind of a hysterical49 gurgle which was escaping therefrom. It was, however, a proceeding50 of which Constable Wigg did not inwardly approve.
"Pluck up, Mrs. Middlemore," said Constable Nightingale, cheerily, "there's nothing wrong. It's only me and my mate, Wigg, who's on night duty here. Everything's as right as a fiddle51. Take a pull at the beer--a long pull. Now you feel better, don't you?"
Mrs. Middlemore--her movements being enviously watched by Constable Wigg, whose thirst was growing almost unbearable--removed her lips from the jug52, and said:
"Ever so much. But how did you get in?"
"Didn't get in at all," said Constable Nightingale, jocosely53; "we were blown in."
"Blown in!"
"Yes, my dear. We was standing outside, Wigg and me, leaning against the door, when the wind come like a clap of thunder, and blew it clean open, and of course we went with it, flat on our backs the pair of us. When we got on our feet again the wind was tearing so, and the snow was pelting54 down that fierce, that I thought we might venture to take a liberty, and we come down here to warm ourselves. And that's the long and the short of it, my dear."
He still had his arm round Mrs. Middlemore's waist, and now he gave her a hug. She was a pleasant-faced, round-bodied woman, some forty years of age, and she looked up smilingly as the constable--her favorite constable--hugged her, and said,
"Well, now, I declare you did startle me. When I opened the door, and sor two men a-standing in my kitchen, I thought of burglars, and you might 'ave knocked me down with a feather.
"And now we're here," said Constable Nightingale, "I don't suppose you'd have the heart to turn us out."
"Turn you out!" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore, "I wouldn't turn a cat out on such a night as this!"
"More cats," thought Constable Wigg, with his eyes on the cold pork and pickles.
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1
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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supplant
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| vt.排挤；取代 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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13
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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15
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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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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17
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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18
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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24
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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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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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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contentiously
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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homeliness
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| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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33
supplanting
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| 把…排挤掉，取代( supplant的现在分词 ) | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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35
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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36
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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37
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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39
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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40
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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43
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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44
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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45
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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46
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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48
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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49
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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50
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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51
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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52
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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53
jocosely
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| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
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54
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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