"Yet we must all 'ave one of our own some day," said the cook, who was plainly under the influence of gin; "an' that pore Miss Sophy--me 'art bleeds for 'er!"
"An' she with 'er millions," growled1 a red-faced coachman. "Wot rot!"
"Come now, John, you know Miss Sophy was fond of her father"--this from a sprightly2 housemaid, who was trimming a hat.
"I dunno why," said John. "Master was as cold as ice, an' as silent as 'arf a dozen graves."
The scullery-maid shuddered3, and spread out her grimy hands.
"Oh, Mr. John, don't talk of graves, please! I've 'ad the nightmare over 'em."
"Don't put on airs an' make out as 'ow you've got nerves, Cammelliar," put in the cook tearfully. "It's me as 'as 'em--I've a bundle of 'em--real shivers. Ah, well! we're cut down like green bay-trees, to be sure. Pass that bottle, Mr. Thomas."
This discussion took place in the kitchen of the Moat House. The heiress and Miss Parsh, the housekeeper6, had departed for the seaside immediately after the funeral, and in the absence of control, the domestics were making merry. To be sure, Mr. Marlow's old and trusted servant, Joe Brill, had been told off to keep them in order, but just at present his grief was greater than his sense of duty. He was busy now sorting papers in the library--hence the domestic chaos7.
It was, in truth, a cheerful kitchen, more especially at the present moment, with the noonday sun streaming in through the open casements8. A vast apartment with a vast fireplace of the baronial hall kind; brown oaken walls and raftered roof; snow-white dresser and huge deal table, and a floor of shining white tiles.
There was a moment's silence after the last unanswerable observation of the cook. It was broken by a voice at the open door--a voice which boomed like the drone of a bumble-bee.
"Peace be unto this house," said the voice richly, "and plenty be its portion."
The women screeched9, the men swore--since the funeral their nerves had not been quite in order--and all eyes turned towards the door. There, in the hot sunshine, stood an enormously fat old man, clothed in black, and perspiring10 profusely11. It was, in fact, none other than Cicero Gramp, come in the guise12 of Autolycus to pick up news and unconsidered trifles. He smiled benignly13, and raised his fat hand.
"Peace, maid-servants and men-servants," said he, after the manner of Chadband. "There is no need for alarm. I am a stranger, and you must take me in."
"Who the devil are you?" queried14 the coachman.
"We want no tramps here," growled the footman.
"I am no tramp," said Cicero mildly, stepping into the kitchen. "I am a professor of elocution and eloquence15, and a friend of your late master's. He went up in the world, I dropped down. Now I come to him for assistance, and I find him occupying the narrow house; yes, my friends, Dick Marlow is as low as the worms whose prey16 he soon will be. Pax vobiscum!"
"Calls master 'Dick,'" said the footman.
"Sez 'e's an old friend," murmured the cook.
They looked at each other, and the thought in every mind was the same. The servants were one and all anxious to hear the genesis of their late master, who had dropped into the Moat House, as from the skies, some five years before. Mrs. Crammer, the cook, rose to the occasion with a curtsy.
"I'm sure, sir, I'm sorry the master ain't here to see you," she said, polishing a chair with her apron17. "But as you says--or as I take it you means--'e's gone where we must all go. Take a seat, sir, and I'll tell Joe, who's in the library."
"Joe--my old friend Joe!" said Cicero, sitting down like a mountain. "Ah! the faithful fellow!"
This random18 remark brought forth19 information, which was Cicero's intention in making it.
"Faithful!" growled the coachman, "an' why not? Joe Brill was paid higher nor any of us, he was; just as of living all his life with an iceberg20 deserved it!"
"Poor Dick was an iceberg!" sighed Cicero pensively21. "A cold, secretive man."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Crammer, wiping her eye, "you may well say that. He 'ad secrets, I'm sure, and guilty ones, too!"
"We all have our skeletons, ma'am. But would you mind giving me something to eat and to drink? for I have walked a long way. I am too poor," said Cicero, with a sweet smile, "to ride, as in the days of my infancy22, but spero meliora."
"Talking about skeletons, sir," said the footman when Mr. Gramp's jaws23 were fully5 occupied, "what about the master's?"
"Ah!" said Gramp profoundly. "What indeed!"
"But whatever it is, it has to do with the West Indies," said the man.
"Lor'!" exclaimed the housemaid, "and how do you know that, Mr. Thomas?"
"From observation, Jane, my dear," Thomas smiled loftily. "A week or two afore master had the fit as took him, I brought in a letter with the West Indy stamp. He turned white as chalk when he saw it, and tore it open afore I could get out of the room. I 'ad to fetch a glass of whisky. He was struck all of a 'eap--gaspin', faintin', and cussin' orful."
"Did he show it to Miss Sophy?" asked Mrs. Crammer.
"Not as I knows of. He kept his business to hisself," replied Thomas.
Gramp was taking in all this with greedy ear's.
"Ha!" he said, "when you took in the letter, might you have looked at the postmark, my friend?"
With an access of color, the footman admitted that he had been curious enough to do so.
"And the postmark was Kingston, Jamaica," said he.
"It recalls my youth," said Cicero. "Ah! they were happy, happy days!"
"What was Mr. Marlow, sir?"
"A planter of--of--rice," hazarded Gramp. He knew that there were planters in the West Indies, but he was not quite sure what it was they planted. "Rice--acres of it!"
"Well, he didn't make his money out of that, sir," growled the coachman.
"No, he did not," admitted the professor of elocution. "He acquired his millions in Mashonaland--the Ophir of the Jews."
This last piece of knowledge had been acquired from Slack, the schoolmaster.
"He was precious careful not to part with none of it," said the footman.
"Except to Dr. Warrender," said the cook. "The doctor was always screwing money out of him. Not that it was so much 'im as 'is wife. I can't abear that doctor's wife--a stuck-up peacock, I call her. She fairly ruined her husband in clothes. Miss Sophy didn't like her, neither."
"Dick's child!" cried Gramp, who had by this time procured24 a cigar from the footman. "Ah! is little Sophy still alive?"
He lighted the cigar and puffed25 luxuriously26.
"Still alive!" echoed Mrs. Crammer, "and as pretty as a picture. Dark 'air, dark eyes--not a bit like 'er father."
"No," said Cicero, grasping the idea. "Dick was fair when we were boys. I heard rumors27 that little Sophy was engaged--let me see--to a Mr. Thorold."
"Alan Thorold, Esquire," corrected the coachman gruffly; "one of the oldest families hereabouts, as lives at the Abbey farm. He's gone with her to the seaside."
"To the seaside? Not to Brighton?"
"Nothin' of the sort--to Bournemouth, if you know where that is."
"I know some things, my friend," said Cicero mildly. "It was Bournemouth I meant--not unlike Brighton, I think, since both names begin with a B. I know that Miss Marlow--dear little Sophy!--is staying at the Imperial Hotel, Bournemouth."
"You're just wrong!" cried Thomas, falling into the trap; "she is at the Soudan Hotel. I've got the address to send on letters."
"Can I take them?" asked Gramp, rising. "I am going to Bournemouth to see little Sophy and Mr. Thorold. I shall tell them of your hospitality."
Before the footman could reply to this generous offer, the page-boy of the establishment darted28 in much excited.
"Oh, here's a go!" he exclaimed. "Dr. Warrender's run away, an' the Quiet Gentleman's followed!"
"Wot d'ye mean, Billy?"
"Wot I say. The doctor ain't bin29 'ome all night, nor all mornin', an' Mrs. Warrender's in hysterics over him. Their 'ousemaid I met shoppin' tole me."
The servants looked at one another. Here was more trouble, more excitement.
"And the Quiet Gentleman?" asked the cook with ghoulish interest.
"He's gone, too. Went out larst night, an' never come back. Mrs. Marry thinks he's bin murdered."
There was a babel of voices and cries, but after a moment quiet was restored. Then Cicero placed his hand on the boy's head.
"My boy," he said pompously30, "who is the Quiet Gentleman? Let us be clear upon the point of the Quiet Gentleman."
"Don't you know, sir?" put in the eager cook. "He's a mystery, 'aving bin staying at Mrs. Marry's cottage, she a lone31 widder taking in boarders."
"I'll give a week's notice!" sobbed32 the scullery-maid. "These crimes is too much for me."
"I didn't say the Quiet Gentleman 'ad been murdered," said Billy, the page; "but Mrs. Marry only thinks so, cos 'e ain't come 'ome.'
"As like as not he's cold and stiff in some lonely grave!" groaned34 Mrs. Crammer hopefully.
"The Quiet Gentleman," said Cicero, bent35 upon acquiring further information--"tall, yellow-bearded, with a high forehead and a bald head?"
"Well, I never, sir!" cried Jane, the housemaid. "If you ain't describing Dr. Warrender! Did you know him, sir?"
Cicero was quite equal to the occasion.
"I knew him professionally. He attended me for a relaxed throat. I was vox et pr?terea nihil until he cured me. But what was this mysterious gentleman like? Short, eh?"
"No; tall and thin, with a stoop. Long white hair, longer beard and black eyes like gimblets," gabbled the cook. "I met 'im arter dark one evenin', and I declare as 'is eyes were glow-worms. Ugh! They looked me through and through. I've never bin the same woman since."
At this moment a raucous36 voice came from the inner doorway37.
"What the devil's all this?" was the polite question.
Cicero turned, and saw a heavily-built man surveying the company in general, and himself in particular, anything but favorably. His face was a mahogany hue38, and he had a veritable tangle39 of whiskers and hair. The whole cut of the man was distinctly nautical40, his trousers being of the dungaree, and his pea-jacket plentifully41 sprinkled with brass42 buttons. In his ears he wore rings of gold, and his clenched43 fists hung by his side as though eager for any emergency, and "the sooner the better." That was how he impressed Cicero, who, in nowise fancying the expression on his face, edged towards the door.
"Oh, Joe!" shrieked44 the cook, "wot a turn you give me! an' sich news as we've 'ad!"
"News!" said Joe uneasily, his eyes still on Cicero.
"Mrs. Warrender's lost her husband, and the Quiet Gentleman's disappeared mysterious!"
"Rubbish! Get to your work, all of you!"
So saying, Joe drove the frightened crowd hither and thither45 to their respective duties, and Cicero, somewhat to his dismay, found himself alone with the buccaneer, as he had inwardly dubbed46 the newcomer.
"Who the devil are you?" asked Joe, advancing.
"Fellow," replied Cicero, getting into the doorway, "I am a friend of your late master. Cicero Gramp is my name. I came here to see Dick Marlow, but I find he's gone aloft."
Joe turned pale, even through his tan.
"A friend of Mr. Marlow," he repeated hoarsely47. "That's a lie! I've been with him these thirty years, and I never saw you!"
"Not in Jamaica?" inquired Cicero sweetly.
"Jamaica? What do you mean?"
"What I wrote in that letter your master received before he died."
"Oh, you liar4! I know the man who wrote it." Joe clenched his fists more tightly and swung forward. "You're a rank impostor, and I'll hand you over to the police, lest I smash you completely!"
Cicero saw he had made a mistake, but he did not flinch48. Hardihood alone could carry him through now.
"Do," he said. "I'm particularly anxious to see the police, Mr. Joe Brill."
"Who are you, in Heaven's name?" shouted Joe, much agitated49. "Do you come from him?"
"Perhaps I do," answered Cicero, wondering to whom the "him" might now refer.
"Then go back and tell him he's too late--too late, curse him! and you too, you lubber!"
"Very good." Cicero stepped out into the hot sunshine. "I'll deliver your message--for a sovereign."
Joe Brill tugged50 at his whiskers, and cast an uneasy glance around. Evidently, he was by no means astute51, and the present situation was rather too much for him. His sole idea, for some reason best known to himself, was to get rid of Cicero. With a groan33, he plunged52 his huge fist into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin.
"Here, take it and go to hell!" he said, throwing it to Cicero.
"Mariner53, fata obstant," rolled Gramp in his deep voice.
Then he strode haughtily54 away. He looked round as he turned the corner of the house, and saw Joe clutching his iron-gray locks, still at the kitchen door.
So with a guinea in his pocket and a certain amount of knowledge which he hoped would bring him many more, Cicero departed, considerable uplifted. At the village grocery he bought bread, meat and a bottle of whisky, then he proceeded to shake the dust of Heathton off his feet. As he stepped out on to the moor55 he recalled the Latin words he had used, and he shuddered.
"Why did I say that?" he murmured. "The words came into my head somehow. Just when Joe was talking of my employer, too! Who is my employer? What has he to do with all this? I'm all in the dark! So Dr. Warrender's gone, and the Quiet Gentleman too. It must have been Dr. Warrender who helped to steal Marlow's body. The description tallies56 exactly--tall, fair beard and bald. I wonder if t'other chap was the Quiet Gentleman? And what on earth could they want with the body? Any way, the body's gone, and, as it's a millionaire corpse57, I'll have some of its money or I'm a Dutchman!"
He stopped and placed his hand to his head.
"Bournemouth, Bournemouth!" he muttered. "Ah, that's it--the Soudan Hotel, Bournemouth!"
It was now the middle of the afternoon, and, as he plodded58 on, the moor glowed like a furnace. No vestige59 of shade was there beneath which to rest, not even a tree or a bush. Then, a short distance up the road, he espied60 a hut. It seemed to be in ruins. It was a shepherd's hut, no doubt. The grass roof was torn, the door was broken, though closed, and the mud walls were crumbling61. Impatient of any obstacle, he shoved his back against it and burst it open. It had been fastened with a piece of rope. He fell in, headlong almost. But the gloom was grateful to him, though for the moment he could see but little.
When his eyes had become more accustomed to the half-light, the first object upon which they fell was a stiff human form stretched on the mud floor--a body with a handkerchief over the face. Yelling with terror, Cicero hurled62 himself out again.
"Marlow's body!" he gasped63. "They've put it here!"
With feverish64 haste he produced a corkscrew knife, and opened his whisky bottle. A fiery65 draught66 gave him courage. He ventured back into the hut and knelt down beside the body. Over the heart gaped67 an ugly wound, and the clothes were caked with blood. He gasped again.
"No fit this, but murder! Stabbed to the heart! And Joe--what does Joe know about this--and my employer? Lord!"
He snatched the handkerchief from the face, and fell back on his knees with another cry, this time of wonderment rather than of terror. He beheld68 the dead man's fair beard and bald head.
"Dr. Warrender! And he was alive last night! This is murder indeed!"
Then his nerves gave way utterly69, and he began to cry like a frightened child.
"Murder! Wilful70 and horrible murder!" wept the professor of elocution and eloquence.
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收听单词发音
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1
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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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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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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screeched
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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14
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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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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iceberg
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| n.冰山，流冰，冷冰冰的人 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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28
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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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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pompously
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| adv.傲慢地，盛大壮观地；大模大样 | |
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31
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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32
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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33
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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35
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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36
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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39
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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40
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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41
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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42
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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43
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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46
dubbed
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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47
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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48
flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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49
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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50
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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52
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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53
mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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54
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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55
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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56
tallies
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| n.账( tally的名词复数 )；符合；（计数的）签；标签v.计算，清点( tally的第三人称单数 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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57
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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58
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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59
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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62
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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63
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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67
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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