He was now in the Rectory dining-room with a good glass of port beside him, and Mr. Phelps, standing5 on the hearthrug, was supplying him with all the details he had collected in connection with the mystery. The case was getting so much more interesting than Blair, the sad and silent, had expected that he was becoming, for him, quite vivacious6. He asked the Rector one question after another.
"Mr. Thorold has gone to Dixon's Rents, sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Inspector; I expect he'll have some news for us when he returns to-night."
"He seems a clever young gentleman," Blair said musingly7. "I dare say he will bring this man Gramp with him."
"Do you think that Gramp can point out the guilty person?"
"That, sir, I am not prepared to say offhand8. If convenient, I should like to take a look round."
"Certainly. Where shall we go, Mr. Inspector?" and Mr. Phelps rose briskly.
"To the vault9, if you please, sir. Afterwards we will call on Mrs. Marry."
The Rector paused at the door.
"I told you all Mrs. Marry had to say about Brown."
"Quite so, sir. But I wish to have a look at the rooms occupied by the man. Also, I think it would be as well to examine his luggage."
"Can you do that without a warrant?"
"I'll take the risk," said Blair coolly. "An examination may not be quite legal under the circumstances, but as Brown undoubtedly10 procured11 the key of the vault by that forged letter, I am entitled to look upon him as a suspicious character. Should he come back, sir--of which I have my doubts--I can account for my action."
"Humph! I think you are right. Come, then, and look at the vault."
To the vault they went, and found Jarks showing the outside of it to a crowd of morbid12 sightseers. Indeed, the tragedy had drawn13 people from far and near to Heathton, and the usually quiet place buzzed like a hive. Mrs. Timber was making her fortune, and blessed the day she had turned Cicero the tramp out of her house. To him alone did Mrs. Timber ascribe the theft of the body. As to his connection with the murder of Dr. Warrender, she was not so certain.
"Come, come!" cried Mr. Phelps, in his fussy15 manner, on finding Jarks haranguing16 the crowd. "This is most ridiculous--most out of place. Jarks, I am astonished at your desecrating17 the graveyard18 in this way."
"No desecration19, reverend sir," said Jarks, in his rusty20 voice, "I wos only showing 'em where I laid Muster21 Marlow by, comfortable. Go----"
"Go away--go away, all of you!"
"Come on to the right!" shouted Jarks. "I'll show 'ee where a soocide as they brought in crazy is tucked away. A lovely grave with a good view, an' as nice a stone as I iver seed. In my young days he'd have been buried in cross-roads with a stake, but they do trate 'em kindly22 nowadays. Ah yis. This way to the soocide, neighbors!" And Jarks headed the crowd to the other side of the graveyard. The keen, cold eye of Inspector Blair cleared them out more quickly than Jarks' invitation.
"Dear me! most indiscreet of Jarks!" said the Rector, opening the door of the vault. "Come in, Mr. Inspector. Here's a candle. Tut, tut! I've burnt my fingers. Deuce take---- Hum--God forgive me for bad language! This is the niche23, Mr. Inspector; yonder the coffin24--a very handsome one. The lead is cut, you perceive. Ah, poor soul! And we meant it to last till the Great Day."
While the Rector ran on in this fashion, Blair the silent examined the empty coffin. He noted25 that the lead casing had been cut with a sharp instrument, and very neatly26 done--so neatly that the inspector became thoughtful.
"That wasn't done by a man in a hurry," he mused27. But he said nothing, and merely turned to Mr. Phelps with a question: "Who screwed down the coffin?"
"Who?--bless me, let me think! Yes, yes. Dr. Warrender--poor soul!--and Joe Brill. Faithful fellow, Joe! Would see the last of his master."
"Wasn't the undertaker present?"
"Crank? Well, yes, he was. But I am sorry to say, Mr. Inspector"--here the face of the Rector became severe--"that on that day Crank was intoxicated28."
"H'm! Who made him drunk?"
"Himself, I suppose," rejoined Mr. Phelps, a trifle tartly29. "Crank requires no one to tempt30 him."
"Few men do, sir," said Blair, and again examined the coffin. He passed his long, delicate hand over every inch of it, particularly fingering the lid; then he looked round the niche where it rested, peered into the others, and considered well all that he saw, while Mr. Phelps chattered31. "Quite so," said the detective at length; "let us go outside."
He examined the graveyard as carefully as he had done the vault. In the angle formed by the Lady Chapel32 he found the long grass crushed down, and part of it torn up to make a pillow.
"Humph! a squatting-place," said Blair, who had read a good deal about prehistoric33 man. "A tramp has been sleeping here."
"A tramp!" repeated the Rector. "Of course that was Cicero Gramp, who wrote the letter."
"No doubt. I dare say he saw the whole business." Blair continued his researches, and came to a halt at the wall which divided church, yard from pine-wood. He pointed34 to a loose stone which had been knocked off. "Did you observe this before, sir?"
"No," replied Mr. Phelps, raising his pince-nez. "But that's nothing. You see, the wall has been put together without mortar--simply stones piled one on top of the other. A high wind, now----"
"I don't think a high wind knocked this stone off. You will notice, sir, that it has fallen on the other side. Excuse me," and Blair, active as a deer, leaped over the wall and disappeared into the pine-belt. Phelps rubbed his nose, not understanding these Red Indian methods. In ten minutes the inspector returned. "I can't find the trail," said he, "but from the evidence of that wall, I suspect the body was carried over it."
"Where to, Mr. Inspector?"
"Probably to a cart waiting on the highroad, which runs across the moor35. But, of course, I'm in the dark as to that. Let me see the keyhole of the vault-door." He went back and had a good look at it. There were no scratches to be seen. "Humph!" said the inspector; "this was opened quietly enough, and by a man who knew what he was about. There was no hurry or fumbling36 in putting in the key."
"Ah!" said the Rector, looking wise. "What key? Not this one?"
"No, Mr. Phelps, I don't suspect you. Probably the key was that stolen from Mr. Thorold's desk by the Quiet Gentleman."
"You speak as though you were not quite sure."
"There might have been a third key," Blair said cautiously.
"If so, why should Brown have stolen Thorold's key?"
"That's one of the things I have to find out. Let us call on Mrs. Marry."
Mrs. Marry was a voluble, buxom37 woman, with rosy38 cheeks, and a great amount of curiosity as to matters which did not concern her. But, clever as she was, it seemed that she had nothing to tell about Mr. Brown. With many curtsies and much talk she conducted Rector and inspector into a gimcrack parlor39 full of gaudy40 furniture, Berlin wool mats, antimacassars, and wax flowers.
"When Jeremiah died," explained the widow with pride, "I spent the nest-egg he left me on that elegant set of chairs and sofa, also on the curtains, table, and glass lusters41, which are considered very fine. It was my intent, gentlemen, as a lone14 widder, to take in single gentlemen, and they likes something to tickle42 the eye."
"A most inviting43 room, Mrs. Marry," said the Rector, perching himself carefully on a fragile chair, all varnish44 and design, but entirely45 wanting in solidity; "but Mr. Brown----"
"Ah, sir, he's gone where we must all go;" and Mrs. Marry wiped away an imaginary tear.
But her remark called forth46 a question from Blair, who had been making a close examination of the room:
"How do you know he is dead?"
"Bless the man! wouldn't he be back if he wasn't? I'm sure he was comfortable enough, and my cooking is above blame, thank Heaven! If any one----"
"Mr. Brown went out at nine o'clock?" said Blair, cutting her short.
"I won't deceive you, Mr. Policeman, he did. He stayed in most of the day, and went out in the afternoon. At six he came back for his bit and sup, and at nine he went out again to take the air. He said so, at least, and I ain't set eyes on him since."
"He said so?" remarked Mr. Phelps.
"On his fingers, of course. He was dumb, sir, but not deaf, and he conversed47 on his fingers wonderful. I can talk myself that way," said Mrs. Marry gravely, "having a niece as is deaf and dumb in an asylum48. I expect it was my knowing the language as brought Mr. Brown here to lodge49."
"Where did he come from?"
"London town, he gave me to understand, sir. But he didn't talk much--on his fingers--about himself. He was very quiet, ate and drank, read books----"
"What kind of books?"
"Novels, sir--yellow novels, in a foreign tongue. Here, sir, is the rosewood bookcase. He also wrote a great deal, but what I don't know. I thought he had ideas of becoming a writing person himself."
Blair opened the bookcase, and one by one examined a dozen or so of French novels ranged on the lower shelf. They were all by good authors, the usual paper-covered cheap editions--nothing strange about them. No name was written in any one of them. He shut up the bookcase with a look of disappointment.
"Was your lodger50 a Frenchman?" he asked.
"Lor', sir, I dunno! He talked English with his fingers. I've seen him reading the newspapers."
"He did not look like a foreigner," remarked the Rector.
"Ah! I quite forgot you knew the man, Mr. Phelps. Can you describe his looks?"
"He was not very tall, had long white hair and a beard, ruddy cheeks, and dark eyes. He was usually dressed in a gray suit, and walked with a stout51 stick."
"Gout in his feet," put in Mrs. Marry, not at all pleased at being left out in the cold. "He wore cloth boots for his gout--walked very badly, did Mr. Brown."
"Strange!" murmured Blair, again looking round the room. "How could an old man helpless through gout in the feet carry off a dead body? Humph!"
"He carried off no dead body!" cried Mrs. Marry, crimson52 with wrath53, "if it's Mr. Marlow's corpse54 you're talking of. I believe Mr. Brown's bin55 murdered like the doctor."
"Why do you believe so?"
"Because I've made up my mind to believe it," said Mrs. Marry fiercely. "And I'd like to see the man as would change my mind."
"So should I," remarked Blair. "Well, Mrs. Marry, show me Mr. Brown's room. I must examine his luggage."
"There's only one box, and that's locked."
"I'll take the liberty of opening it."
"But you can't. I'm an honest woman. What'll Mr. Brown say when he comes back and finds his things gone? Besides, there's a trifle of rent, and----"
"Hold your tongue!" said the inspector, with a glance which quelled56 her. "I will take nothing away. You forget who I am, Mrs. Marry. Show me the bedroom." And the landlady57, thinking better of it, obeyed without further argument.
The box was there--a common, brown-painted traveling-box. There was no name on it, and it proved to be locked. The inspector asked for a chisel58, and forced it open. Within he found three suits of gray clothes, some linen59 and socks, together with a pair of cloth boots--nothing else. No name on the shirts, no tailor's tag on the clothes. Evidently nothing of Mr. Brown's identity was to be learned from his belongings60.
"The man from nowhere," said Phelps, gazing blankly around him.
But Inspector Blair was not yet satisfied. He searched both sitting-room61 and bedroom, questioned Mrs. Marry, looked at some torn pieces of paper in the fireplace, and--found nothing. Rector and inspector walked out of the cottage as wise as when they had entered it. So far their search had been a failure.
All that afternoon Blair hunted the village for evidence. He heard how Warrender had called at Mrs. Marry's house, how he had left there to follow the Quiet Gentleman, who had been seen by the peasant going in the direction of the moor. Blair recalled the loose stone dropped from the churchyard wall, and his own theory that the corpse had been taken to a cart on the road. He sent out the police, and had the heath searched, even to the hut where the corpse had been, but all with no result. And as yet he was ignorant of what Cicero knew.
Tired and baffled, he returned to Heathton to the inn. Here he found a messenger from Mr. Phelps, asking him to call at the Rectory. He hurried there, and was met by Alan Thorold, who presented Cicero and Mrs. Warrender. Then the tramp told the story of all that he had seen. Blair rubbed his chin.
"Can the doctor have helped Brown to do it?" he said half aloud.
"No, he did not!" cried Mrs. Warrender angrily. "My husband was as good a man as ever lived. Why should he steal a corpse?"
"Humph! Why indeed!"
Blair recollected62 something he had seen in the vault of which he cared not to speak until he could be more certain. So he held his peace.
"Even if the late lamented63 Dr. Warrender did violate the sanctity of the tomb," said Cicero softly, "who killed the late lamented Dr. Warrender?"
"Perhaps the shorter man who helped him," said the Rector.
"That was----"
"Hold your tongue just now," whispered Alan, for Cicero was about to mention Joe Brill's name; "we'll come to that later. Who's that?"
It proved to be Mrs. Marry, who came in with part of a torn envelope in her hand. On the envelope was an obliterated64 stamp, but the writing had been torn off.
"I found this in Mr. Brown's room," she said, "on the floor by the edge of the carpet. How it escaped my dusting I don't know."
Blair looked at this piece of evidence.
"Jamaica stamp," he said.
"Strange!" cried the Rector. "I know Marlow was at one time in Jamaica."
"And my husband, Dr. Warrender, came from Jamaica," said the widow.
There was silence. They looked at one another. But no one had any explanation to offer.
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1
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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4
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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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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6
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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8
offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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11
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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12
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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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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14
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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15
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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16
haranguing
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| v.高谈阔论( harangue的现在分词 ) | |
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17
desecrating
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的现在分词 ) | |
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18
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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20
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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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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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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24
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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27
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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28
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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30
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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31
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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32
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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40
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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lusters
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| n.光泽( luster的名词复数 )；光辉；光彩；荣耀 | |
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42
tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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43
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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44
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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45
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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46
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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48
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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49
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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50
lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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52
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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53
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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54
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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55
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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56
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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58
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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59
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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60
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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61
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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62
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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