I had been assured by my medical agent, Mr. Turcival, that I should find the practice of which I was now taking charge "an exceedingly soft billet, and suitable for a studious man;" and certainly he had not misled me, for the patients were, in fact, so few that I was quite concerned for my principal, and rather dull for want of work. Hence, when my friend John Thorndyke, the well-known medico-legal expert, proposed to come down and stay with me for a weekend and perhaps a few days beyond, I hailed the proposal with delight, and welcomed him with open arms.
"You certainly don't seem to be overworked, Jervis," he remarked, as we turned out of the gate after tea, on the day of his arrival, for a stroll on the shore. "Is this a new practice, or an old one in a state of senile decay?"
"Why, the fact is," I answered, "there is virtually no practice. Cooper—my principal—has been here about six years, and as he has private means he has never made any serious effort to build one up; and the other man, Dr. Burrows11, being uncommonly12 keen, and the people very conservative, Cooper has never really got his foot in. However, it doesn't seem to trouble him."
"Well, if he is satisfied, I suppose you are," said Thorndyke, with a smile. "You are getting a seaside holiday, and being paid for it. But I didn't know you were as near to the sea as this."
We were entering, as he spoke14, an artificial gap-way cut through the low cliff, forming a steep cart-track down to the shore. It was locally known as Sundersley Gap, and was used principally, when used at all, by the farmers' carts which came down to gather seaweed after a gale15.
"What a magnificent stretch of sand!" continued Thorndyke, as we reached the bottom, and stood looking out seaward across the deserted16 beach. "There is something very majestic18 and solemn in a great expanse of sandy shore when the tide is out, and I know of nothing which is capable of conveying the impression of solitude19 so completely. The smooth, unbroken surface not only displays itself untenanted for the moment, but it offers convincing testimony20 that it has lain thus undisturbed through a considerable lapse21 of time. Here, for instance, we have clear evidence that for several days only two pairs of feet besides our own have trodden this gap."
"How do you arrive at the 'several days'?" I asked.
"In the simplest manner possible," he replied. "The moon is now in the third quarter, and the tides are consequently neap-tides. You can see quite plainly the two lines of seaweed and jetsam which indicate the high-water marks of the spring-tides and the neap-tides respectively. The strip of comparatively dry sand between them, over which the water has not risen for several days, is, as you see, marked by only two sets of footprints, and those footprints will not be completely obliterated22 by the sea until the next spring-tide—nearly a week from to-day."
"Yes, I see now, and the thing appears obvious enough when one has heard the explanation. But it is really rather odd that no one should have passed through this gap for days, and then that four persons should have come here within quite a short interval24 of one another."
"What makes you think they have done so?" Thorndyke asked.
"Well," I replied, "both of these sets of footprints appear to be quite fresh, and to have been made about the same time."
"Not at the same time, Jervis," rejoined Thorndyke. "There is certainly an interval of several hours between them, though precisely25 how many hours we cannot judge, since there has been so little wind lately to disturb them; but the fisherman unquestionably passed here not more than three hours ago, and I should say probably within an hour; whereas the other man—who seems to have come up from a boat to fetch something of considerable weight—returned through the gap certainly not less, and probably more, than four hours ago."
I gazed at my friend in blank astonishment26, for these events befell in the days before I had joined him as his assistant, and his special knowledge and powers of inference were not then fully27 appreciated by me.
"It is clear, Thorndyke," I said, "that footprints have a very different meaning to you from what they have for me. I don't see in the least how you have reached any of these conclusions."
"I suppose not," was the reply; "but, you see, special knowledge of this kind is the stock-in-trade of the medical jurist, and has to be acquired by special study, though the present example is one of the greatest simplicity28. But let us consider it point by point; and first we will take this set of footprints which I have inferred to be a fisherman's. Note their enormous size. They should be the footprints of a giant. But the length of the stride shows that they were made by a rather short man. Then observe the massiveness of the soles, and the fact that there are no nails in them. Note also the peculiar29 clumsy tread—the deep toe and heel marks, as if the walker had wooden legs, or fixed30 ankles and knees. From that character we can safely infer high boots of thick, rigid31 leather, so that we can diagnose high boots, massive and stiff, with nailless soles, and many sizes too large for the wearer. But the only boot that answers this description is the fisherman's thigh-boot—made of enormous size to enable him to wear in the winter two or three pairs of thick knitted stockings, one over the other. Now look at the other footprints; there is a double track, you see, one set coming from the sea and one going towards it. As the man (who was bow-legged and turned his toes in) has trodden in his own footprints, it is obvious that he came from the sea, and returned to it. But observe the difference in the two sets of prints; the returning ones are much deeper than the others, and the stride much shorter. Evidently he was carrying something when he returned, and that something was very heavy. Moreover, we can see, by the greater depth of the toe impressions, that he was stooping forward as he walked, and so probably carried the weight on his back. Is that quite clear?"
"Perfectly32," I replied. "But how do you arrive at the interval of time between the visits of the two men?"
"That also is quite simple. The tide is now about halfway33 out; it is thus about three hours since high water. Now, the fisherman walked just about the neap-tide, high-water mark, sometimes above it and sometimes below. But none of his footprints have been obliterated; therefore he passed after high water—that is, less than three hours ago; and since his footprints are all equally distinct, he could not have passed when the sand was very wet. Therefore he probably passed less than an hour ago. The other man's footprints, on the other hand, reach only to the neap-tide, high-water mark, where they end abruptly34. The sea has washed over the remainder of the tracks and obliterated them. Therefore he passed not less than three hours and not more than four days ago—probably within twenty-four hours."
As Thorndyke concluded his demonstration35 the sound of voices was borne to us from above, mingled36 with the tramping of feet, and immediately afterwards a very singular party appeared at the head of the gap descending38 towards the shore. First came a short burly fisherman clad in oilskins and sou'-wester, clumping39 along awkwardly in his great sea-boots, then the local police-sergeant40 in company with my professional rival Dr. Burrows, while the rear of the procession was brought up by two constables41 carrying a stretcher. As he reached the bottom of the gap the fisherman, who was evidently acting43 as guide, turned along the shore, retracing44 his own tracks, and the procession followed in his wake.
"A surgeon, a stretcher, two constables, and a police-sergeant," observed Thorndyke. "What does that suggest to your mind, Jervis?"
"A fall from the cliff," I replied, "or a body washed up on the shore."
"Probably," he rejoined; "but we may as well walk in that direction."
We turned to follow the retreating procession, and as we strode along the smooth surface left by the retiring tide Thorndyke resumed:
"The subject of footprints has always interested me deeply for two reasons. First, the evidence furnished by footprints is constantly being brought forward, and is often of cardinal45 importance; and, secondly46, the whole subject is capable of really systematic47 and scientific treatment. In the main the data are anatomical, but age, sex, occupation, health, and disease all give their various indications. Clearly, for instance, the footprints of an old man will differ from those of a young man of the same height, and I need not point out to you that those of a person suffering from locomotor ataxia or paralysis48 agitans would be quite unmistakable."
"Yes, I see that plainly enough," I said.
"Here, now," he continued, "is a case in point." He halted to point with his stick at a row of footprints that appeared suddenly above high-water mark, and having proceeded a short distance, crossed the line again, and vanished where the waves had washed over them. They were easily distinguished49 from any of the others by the clear impressions of circular rubber heels.
"Do you see anything remarkable50 about them?" he asked.
"I notice that they are considerably51 deeper than our own," I answered.
"Yes, and the boots are about the same size as ours, whereas the stride is considerably shorter—quite a short stride, in fact. Now there is a pretty constant ratio between the length of the foot and the length of the leg, between the length of leg and the height of the person, and between the stature52 and the length of stride. A long foot means a long leg, a tall man, and a long stride. But here we have a long foot and a short stride. What do you make of that?" He laid down his stick—a smooth partridge cane53, one side of which was marked by small lines into inches and feet—beside the footprints to demonstrate the discrepancy54.
"The depth of the footprints shows that he was a much heavier man than either of us," I suggested; "perhaps he was unusually fat."
"Yes," said Thorndyke, "that seems to be the explanation. The carrying of a dead weight shortens the stride, and fat is practically a dead weight. The conclusion is that he was about five feet ten inches high, and excessively fat." He picked up his cane, and we resumed our walk, keeping an eye on the procession ahead until it had disappeared round a curve in the coast-line, when we mended our pace somewhat. Presently we reached a small headland, and, turning the shoulder of cliff, came full upon the party which had preceded us. The men had halted in a narrow bay, and now stood looking down at a prostrate55 figure beside which the surgeon was kneeling.
"We were wrong, you see," observed Thorndyke. "He has not fallen over the cliff, nor has he been washed up by the sea. He is lying above high-water mark, and those footprints that we have been examining appear to be his."
As we approached, the sergeant turned and held up his hand.
"I'll ask you not to walk round the body just now, gentlemen," he said. "There seems to have been foul56 play here, and I want to be clear about the tracks before anyone crosses them."
Acknowledging this caution, we advanced to where the constables were standing57, and looked down with some curiosity at the dead man. He was a tall, frail-looking man, thin to the point of emaciation58, and appeared to be about thirty-five years of age. He lay in an easy posture59, with half-closed eyes and a placid60 expression that contrasted strangely enough with the tragic61 circumstances of his death.
"It is a clear case of murder," said Dr. Burrows, dusting the sand from his knees as he stood up. "There is a deep knife-wound above the heart, which must have caused death almost instantaneously."
"How long should you say he has been dead, Doctor?" asked the sergeant.
"Twelve hours at least," was the reply. "He is quite cold and stiff."
PLAN OF ST. BRIDGET'S BAY.
PLAN OF ST. BRIDGET'S BAY.
+ Position of body. A, Top of Shepherd's Path. B, Overhanging cliff. C, Footpath62 along edge of cliff. D D D, Tracks of Hearn's shoes. E, Tracks of the nailed shoes. F, Shepherd's Path ascending64 shelving cliff.
"Twelve hours, eh?" repeated the officer. "That would bring it to about six o'clock this morning."
"I won't commit myself to a definite time," said Dr. Burrows hastily. "I only say not less than twelve hours. It might have been considerably more."
"Ah!" said the sergeant. "Well, he made a pretty good fight for his life, to all appearances." He nodded at the sand, which for some feet around the body bore the deeply indented65 marks of feet, as though a furious struggle had taken place. "It's a mighty66 queer affair," pursued the sergeant, addressing Dr. Burrows. "There seems to have been only one man in it—there is only one set of footprints besides those of the deceased—and we've got to find out who he is; and I reckon there won't be much trouble about that, seeing the kind of trade-marks he has left behind him."
"No," agreed the surgeon; "there ought not to be much trouble in identifying those boots. He would seem to be a labourer, judging by the hob-nails."
"No, sir; not a labourer," dissented68 the sergeant. "The foot is too small, for one thing; and then the nails are not regular hob-nails. They're a good deal smaller; and a labourer's boots would have the nails all round the edges, and there would be iron tips on the heels, and probably on the toes too. Now these have got no tips, and the nails are arranged in a pattern on the soles and heels. They are probably shooting-boots or sporting shoes of some kind." He strode to and fro with his notebook in his hand, writing down hasty memoranda70, and stooping to scrutinize71 the impressions in the sand. The surgeon also busied himself in noting down the facts concerning which he would have to give evidence, while Thorndyke regarded in silence and with an air of intense preoccupation the footprints around the body which remained to testify to the circumstances of the crime.
"It is pretty clear, up to a certain point," the sergeant observed, as he concluded his investigations73, "how the affair happened, and it is pretty clear, too, that the murder was premeditated. You see, Doctor, the deceased gentleman, Mr. Hearn, was apparently74 walking home from Port Marston; we saw his footprints along the shore—those rubber heels make them easy to identify—and he didn't go down Sundersley Gap. He probably meant to climb up the cliff by that little track that you see there, which the people about here call the Shepherd's Path. Now the murderer must have known that he was coming, and waited upon the cliff to keep a lookout75. When he saw Mr. Hearn enter the bay, he came down the path and attacked him, and, after a tough struggle, succeeded in stabbing him. Then he turned and went back up the path. You can see the double track between the path and the place where the struggle took place, and the footprints going to the path are on top of those coming from it."
"If you follow the tracks," said Dr. Burrows, "you ought to be able to see where the murderer went to."
"I'm afraid not," replied the sergeant. "There are no marks on the path itself—the rock is too hard, and so is the ground above, I fear. But I'll go over it carefully all the same."
The investigations being so far concluded, the body was lifted on to the stretcher, and the cortège, consisting of the bearers, the Doctor, and the fisherman, moved off towards the Gap, while the sergeant, having civilly wished us "Good-evening," scrambled77 up the Shepherd's Path, and vanished above.
"A very smart officer that," said Thorndyke. "I should like to know what he wrote in his notebook."
"His account of the circumstances of the murder seemed a very reasonable one," I said.
"Very. He noted78 the plain and essential facts, and drew the natural conclusions from them. But there are some very singular features in this case; so singular that I am disposed to make a few notes for my own information."
He stooped over the place where the body had lain, and having narrowly examined the sand there and in the place where the dead man's feet had rested, drew out his notebook and made a memorandum79. He next made a rapid sketch80-plan of the bay, marking the position of the body and the various impressions in the sand, and then, following the double track leading from and to the Shepherd's Path, scrutinized81 the footprints with the deepest attention, making copious82 notes and sketches83 in his book.
"We may as well go up by the Shepherd's Path," said Thorndyke. "I think we are equal to the climb, and there may be visible traces of the murderer after all. The rock is only a sandstone, and not a very hard one either."
We approached the foot of the little rugged track which zigzagged84 up the face of the cliff, and, stooping down among the stiff, dry herbage, examined the surface. Here, at the bottom of the path, where the rock was softened85 by the weather, there were several distinct impressions on the crumbling86 surface of the murderer's nailed boots, though they were somewhat confused by the tracks of the sergeant, whose boots were heavily nailed. But as we ascended87 the marks became rather less distinct, and at quite a short distance from the foot of the cliff we lost them altogether, though we had no difficulty in following the more recent traces of the sergeant's passage up the path.
When we reached the top of the cliff we paused to scan the path that ran along its edge, but here, too, although the sergeant's heavy boots had left quite visible impressions on the ground, there were no signs of any other feet. At a little distance the sagacious officer himself was pursuing his investigations, walking backwards88 and forwards with his body bent89 double, and his eyes fixed on the ground.
"Not a trace of him anywhere," said he, straightening himself up as we approached. "I was afraid there wouldn't be after all this dry weather. I shall have to try a different tack76. This is a small place, and if those boots belong to anyone living here they'll be sure to be known."
"The deceased gentleman—Mr. Hearn, I think you called him," said Thorndyke as we turned towards the village—"is he a native of the locality?"
"Oh no, sir," replied the officer. "He is almost a stranger. He has only been here about three weeks; but, you know, in a little place like this a man soon gets to be known—and his business, too, for that matter," he added, with a smile.
"What was his business, then?" asked Thorndyke.
"Pleasure, I believe. He was down here for a holiday, though it's a good way past the season; but, then, he had a friend living here, and that makes a difference. Mr. Draper up at the Poplars was an old friend of his, I understand. I am going to call on him now."
We walked on along the footpath that led towards the village, but had only proceeded two or three hundred yards when a loud hail drew our attention to a man running across a field towards us from the direction of the cliff.
"Why, here is Mr. Draper himself," exclaimed the sergeant, stopping short and waving his hand. "I expect he has heard the news already."
Thorndyke and I also halted, and with some curiosity watched the approach of this new party to the tragedy. As the stranger drew near we saw that he was a tall, athletic-looking man of about forty, dressed in a Norfolk knickerbocker suit, and having the appearance of an ordinary country gentleman, excepting that he carried in his hand, in place of a walking-stick, the staff of a butterfly-net, the folding ring and bag of which partly projected from his pocket.
"Is it true, Sergeant?" he exclaimed as he came up to us, panting from his exertions90. "About Mr. Hearn, I mean. There is a rumour91 that he has been found dead on the beach."
"It's quite true, sir, I am sorry to say; and, what is worse, he has been murdered."
"My God! you don't say so!"
He turned towards us a face that must ordinarily have been jovial92 enough, but was now white and scared and, after a brief pause, he exclaimed:
"Murdered! Good God! Poor old Hearn! How did it happen, Sergeant? and when? and is there any clue to the murderer?"
"We can't say for certain when it happened," replied the sergeant, "and as to the question of clues, I was just coming up to call on you."
"On me!" exclaimed Draper, with a startled glance at the officer. "What for?"
"Well, we should like to know something about Mr. Hearn—who he was, and whether he had any enemies, and so forth93; anything, in fact, that would give as a hint where to look for the murderer. And you are the only person in the place who knew him at all intimately."
Mr Draper's pallid94 face turned a shade paler, and he glanced about him with an obviously embarrassed air.
"I'm afraid," he began in a hesitating manner, "I'm afraid I shan't be able to help you much. I didn't know much about his affairs. You see he was—well—only a casual acquaintance—"
"Well," interrupted the sergeant, "you can tell us who and what he was, and where he lived, and so forth. We'll find out the rest if you give us the start."
"I see," said Draper. "Yes, I expect you will." His eyes glanced restlessly to and fro, and he added presently: "You must come up to-morrow, and have a talk with me about him, and I'll see what I can remember."
"I'd rather come this evening," said the sergeant firmly.
"Not this evening," pleaded Draper. "I'm feeling rather—this affair, you know, has upset me. I couldn't give proper attention—"
His sentence petered out into a hesitating mumble95, and the officer looked at him in evident surprise at his nervous, embarrassed manner. His own attitude, however, was perfectly firm, though polite.
"I don't like pressing you, sir," said he, "but time is precious—we'll have to go single file here; this pond is a public nuisance. They ought to bank it up at this end. After you, sir."
The pond to which the sergeant alluded96 had evidently extended at one time right across the path, but now, thanks to the dry weather, a narrow isthmus97 of half-dried mud traversed the morass98, and along this Mr. Draper proceeded to pick his way. The sergeant was about to follow, when suddenly he stopped short with his eyes riveted99 upon the muddy track. A single glance showed me the cause of his surprise, for on the stiff, putty-like surface, standing out with the sharp distinctness of a wax mould, were the fresh footprints of the man who had just passed, each footprint displaying on its sole the impression of stud-nails arranged in a diamond-shaped pattern, and on its heel a group of similar nails arranged in a cross.
The sergeant hesitated for only a moment, in which he turned a quick startled glance upon us; then he followed, walking gingerly along the edge of the path as if to avoid treading in his predecessor's footprints. Instinctively100 we did the same, following closely, and anxiously awaiting the next development of the tragedy. For a minute or two we all proceeded in silence, the sergeant being evidently at a loss how to act, and Mr. Draper busy with his own thoughts. At length the former spoke.
"You think, Mr. Draper, you would rather that I looked in on you to-morrow about this affair?"
"Much rather, if you wouldn't mind," was the eager reply.
"Then, in that case," said the sergeant, looking at his watch, "as I've got a good deal to see to this evening, I'll leave you here, and make my way to the station."
With a farewell flourish of his hand he climbed over a stile, and when, a few moments later, I caught a glimpse of him through an opening in the hedge, he was running across the meadow like a hare.
The departure of the police-officer was apparently a great relief to Mr. Draper, who at once fell back and began to talk with us.
"You are Dr. Jervis, I think," said he. "I saw you coming out of Dr. Cooper's house yesterday. We know everything that is happening in the village, you see." He laughed nervously101, and added: "But I don't know your friend."
I introduced Thorndyke, at the mention of whose name our new acquaintance knitted his brows, and glanced inquisitively102 at my friend.
"Thorndyke," he repeated; "the name seems familiar to me. Are you in the Law, sir?"
Thorndyke admitted the impeachment104, and our companion, having again bestowed105 on him a look full of curiosity, continued: "This horrible affair will interest you, no doubt, from a professional point of view. You were present when my poor friend's body was found, I think?"
"No," replied Thorndyke; "we came up afterwards, when they were removing it."
Our companion then proceeded to question us about the murder, but received from Thorndyke only the most general and ambiguous replies. Nor was there time to go into the matter at length, for the footpath presently emerged on to the road close to Mr. Draper's house.
"You will excuse my not asking you in to-night," said he, "but you will understand that I am not in much form for visitors just now."
We assured him that we fully understood, and, having wished him "Good-evening," pursued our way towards the village.
"The sergeant is off to get a warrant, I suppose," I observed.
"Yes; and mighty anxious lest his man should be off before he can execute it. But he is fishing in deeper waters than he thinks, Jervis. This is a very singular and complicated case; one of the strangest, in fact, that I have ever met. I shall follow its development with deep interest."
"The sergeant seems pretty cocksure, all the same," I said.
"He is not to blame for that," replied Thorndyke. "He is acting on the obvious appearances, which is the proper thing to do in the first place. Perhaps his notebook contains more than I think it does. But we shall see."
When we entered the village I stopped to settle some business with the chemist, who acted as Dr. Cooper's dispenser, suggesting to Thorndyke that he should walk on to the house; but when I emerged from the shop some ten minutes later he was waiting outside, with a smallish brown-paper parcel under each arm. Of one of these parcels I insisted on relieving him, in spite of his protests, but when he at length handed it to me its weight completely took me by surprise.
"I should have let them send this home on a barrow," I remarked.
"So I should have done," he replied, "only I did not wish to draw attention to my purchase, or give my address."
Accepting this hint I refrained from making any inquiries106 as to the nature of the contents (although I must confess to considerable curiosity on the subject), and on arriving home I assisted him to deposit the two mysterious parcels in his room.
When I came downstairs a disagreeable surprise awaited me. Hitherto the long evenings had been spent by me in solitary and undisturbed enjoyment107 of Dr. Cooper's excellent library, but to-night a perverse108 fate decreed that I must wander abroad, because, forsooth, a preposterous109 farmer, who resided in a hamlet five miles distant, had chosen the evening of my guest's arrival to dislocate his bucolic110 elbow. I half hoped that Thorndyke would offer to accompany me, but he made no such suggestion, and in fact seemed by no means afflicted111 at the prospect112 of my absence.
"I have plenty to occupy me while you are away," he said cheerfully; and with this assurance to comfort me I mounted my bicycle and rode off somewhat sulkily along the dark road.
My visit occupied in all a trifle under two hours, and when I reached home, ravenously113 hungry and heated by my ride, half-past nine had struck, and the village had begun to settle down for the night.
"Sergeant Payne is a-waiting in the surgery, sir," the housemaid announced as I entered the hall.
"Confound Sergeant Payne!" I exclaimed. "Is Dr. Thorndyke with him?"
"No, sir," replied the grinning damsel. "Dr. Thorndyke is hout."
"Hout!" I repeated (my surprise leading to unintentional mimicry).
"Yes, sir. He went hout soon after you, sir, on his bicycle. He had a basket strapped114 on to it—leastways a hamper115—and he borrowed a basin and a kitchen-spoon from the cook."
I stared at the girl in astonishment. The ways of John Thorndyke were, indeed, beyond all understanding.
"Well, let me have some dinner or supper at once," I said, "and I will see what the sergeant wants."
The officer rose as I entered the surgery, and, laying his helmet on the table, approached me with an air of secrecy116 and importance.
"Well, sir," said he, "the fat's in the fire. I've arrested Mr. Draper, and I've got him locked up in the court-house. But I wish it had been someone else."
"So does he, I expect," I remarked.
"You see, sir," continued the sergeant, "we all like Mr. Draper. He's been among us a matter of seven years, and he's like one of ourselves. However, what I've come about is this; it seems the gentleman who was with you this evening is Dr. Thorndyke, the great expert. Now Mr. Draper seems to have heard about him, as most of us have, and he is very anxious for him to take up the defence. Do you think he would consent?"
"I expect so," I answered, remembering Thorndyke's keen interest in the case; "but I will ask him when he comes in."
"Thank you, sir," said the sergeant. "And perhaps you wouldn't mind stepping round to the court-house presently yourself. He looks uncommon13 queer, does Mr. Draper, and no wonder, so I'd like you to take a look at him, and if you could bring Dr. Thorndyke with you, he'd like it, and so should I, for, I assure you, sir, that although a conviction would mean a step up the ladder for me, I'd be glad enough to find that I'd made a mistake."
I was just showing my visitor out when a bicycle swept in through the open gate, and Thorndyke dismounted at the door, revealing a square hamper—evidently abstracted from the surgery—strapped on to a carrier at the back. I conveyed the sergeant's request to him at once, and asked if he was willing to take up the case.
"As to taking up the defence," he replied, "I will consider the matter; but in any case I will come up and see the prisoner."
With this the sergeant departed, and Thorndyke, having unstrapped the hamper with as much care as if it contained a collection of priceless porcelain117, bore it tenderly up to his bedroom; whence he appeared, after a considerable interval, smilingly apologetic for the delay.
"No," he replied. "I have been considering this murder. Really it is a most singular case, and promises to be uncommonly complicated, too."
"Then I assume that you will undertake the defence?"
"I shall if Draper gives a reasonably straightforward119 account of himself."
It appeared that this condition was likely to be fulfilled, for when we arrived at the court-house (where the prisoner was accommodated in a spare office, under rather free-and-easy conditions considering the nature of the charge) we found Mr. Draper in an eminently120 communicative frame of mind.
"I want you, Dr. Thorndyke, to undertake my defence in this terrible affair, because I feel confident that you will be able to clear me. And I promise you that there shall be no reservation or concealment121 on my part of anything that you ought to know."
"Very well," said Thorndyke. "By the way, I see you have changed your shoes."
"Yes, the sergeant took possession of those I was wearing. He said something about comparing them with some footprints, but there can't be any footprints like those shoes here in Sundersley. The nails are fixed in the soles in quite a peculiar pattern. I had them made in Edinburgh."
"Have you more than one pair?"
"No. I have no other nailed boots."
"That is important," said Thorndyke. "And now I judge that you have something to tell us that bears on this crime. Am I right?"
"Yes. There is something that I am afraid it is necessary for you to know, although it is very painful to me to revive memories of my past that I had hoped were buried for ever. But perhaps, after all, it may not be necessary for these confidences to be revealed to anyone but yourself."
"I hope not," said Thorndyke; "and if it is not necessary you may rely upon me not to allow any of your secrets to leak out. But you are wise to tell me everything that may in any way bear upon the case."
At this juncture122, seeing that confidential123 matters were about to be discussed, I rose and prepared to withdraw; but Draper waved me back into my chair.
"You need not go away, Dr. Jervis," he said. "It is through you that I have the benefit of Dr. Thorndyke's help, and I know that you doctors can be trusted to keep your own counsel and your clients' secrets. And now for some confessions124 of mine. In the first place, it is my painful duty to tell you that I am a discharged convict—an 'old lag,' as the cant126 phrase has it."
He coloured a dusky red as he made this statement, and glanced furtively128 at Thorndyke to observe its effect. But he might as well have looked at a wooden figure-head or a stone mask as at my friend's immovable visage; and when his communication had been acknowledged by a slight nod, he proceeded:
"The history of my wrong-doing is the history of hundreds of others. I was a clerk in a bank, and getting on as well as I could expect in that not very progressive avocation129, when I had the misfortune to make four very undesirable130 acquaintances. They were all young men, though rather older than myself, and were close friends, forming a sort of little community or club. They were not what is usually described as 'fast.' They were quite sober and decently-behaved young follows, but they were very decidedly addicted132 to gambling133 in a small way, and they soon infected me. Before long I was the keenest gambler of them all. Cards, billiards134, pool, and various forms of betting began to be the chief pleasures of my life, and not only was the bulk of my scanty135 salary often consumed in the inevitable136 losses, but presently I found myself considerably in debt, without any visible means of discharging my liabilities. It is true that my four friends were my chief—in fact, almost my only—creditors137, but still, the debts existed, and had to be paid.
"Now these four friends of mine—named respectively Leach138, Pitford, Hearn, and Jezzard—were uncommonly clever men, though the full extent of their cleverness was not appreciated by me until too late. And I, too, was clever in my way, and a most undesirable way it was, for I possessed139 the fatal gift of imitating handwriting and signatures with the most remarkable accuracy. So perfect were my copies that the writers themselves were frequently unable to distinguish their own signatures from my imitations, and many a time was my skill invoked140 by some of my companions to play off practical jokes upon the others. But these jests were strictly141 confined to our own little set, for my four friends were most careful and anxious that my dangerous accomplishment142 should not become known to outsiders.
"And now follows the consequence which you have no doubt foreseen. My debts, though small, were accumulating, and I saw no prospect of being able to pay them. Then, one night, Jezzard made a proposition. We had been playing bridge at his rooms, and once more my ill luck had caused me to increase my debt. I scribbled143 out an IOU, and pushed it across the table to Jezzard, who picked it up with a very wry144 face, and pocketed it.
"'Look here, Ted17,' he said presently, 'this paper is all very well, but, you know, I can't pay my debts with it. My creditors demand hard cash.'
"'I'm very sorry,' I replied, 'but I can't help it.'
"'Yes, you can,' said he, 'and I'll tell you how.' He then propounded145 a scheme which I at first rejected with indignation, but which, when the others backed him up, I at last allowed myself to be talked into, and actually put into execution. I contrived146, by taking advantage of the carelessness of some of my superiors at the bank, to get possession of some blank cheque forms, which I filled up with small amounts—not more than two or three pounds—and signed with careful imitations of the signatures of some of our clients. Jezzard got some stamps made for stamping on the account numbers, and when this had been done I handed over to him the whole collection of forged cheques in settlement of my debts to all of my four companions.
"The cheques were duly presented—by whom I do not know; and although, to my dismay, the modest sums for which I had drawn147 them had been skilfully148 altered into quite considerable amounts, they were all paid without demur149 excepting one. That one, which had been altered from three pounds to thirty-nine, was drawn upon an account which was already slightly overdrawn150. The cashier became suspicious; the cheque was impounded, and the client communicated with. Then, of course, the mine exploded. Not only was this particular forgery151 detected, but inquiries were set afoot which soon brought to light the others. Presently circumstances, which I need not describe, threw some suspicion on me. I at once lost my nerve, and finally made a full confession125.
"The inevitable prosecution152 followed. It was not conducted vindictively153. Still, I had actually committed the forgeries154, and though I endeavoured to cast a part of the blame on to the shoulders of my treacherous155 confederates, I did not succeed. Jezzard, it is true, was arrested, but was discharged for lack of evidence, and, consequently, the whole burden of the forgery fell upon me. The jury, of course, convicted me, and I was sentenced to seven years' penal156 servitude.
"During the time that I was in prison an uncle of mine died in Canada, and by the provisions of his will I inherited the whole of his very considerable property, so that when the time arrived for my release, I came out of prison, not only free, but comparatively rich. I at once dropped my own name, and, assuming that of Alfred Draper, began to look about for some quiet spot in which I might spend the rest of my days in peace, and with little chance of my identity being discovered. Such a place I found in Sundersley, and here I have lived for the last seven years, liked and respected, I think, by my neighbours, who have little suspected that they were harbouring in their midst a convicted felon157.
"All this time I had neither seen nor heard anything of my four confederates, and I hoped and believed that they had passed completely out of my life. But they had not. Only a month ago I met them once more, to my sorrow, and from the day of that meeting all the peace and security of my quiet existence at Sundersley have vanished. Like evil spirits they have stolen into my life, changing my happiness into bitter misery158, filling my days with dark forebodings and my nights with terror."
Here Mr. Draper paused, and seemed to sink into a gloomy reverie.
"Under what circumstances did you meet these men?" Thorndyke asked.
"Ah!" exclaimed Draper, arousing with sudden excitement, "the circumstances were very singular and suspicious. I had gone over to Eastwich for the day to do some shopping. About eleven o'clock in the forenoon I was making some purchases in a shop when I noticed two men looking in the window, or rather pretending to do so, whilst they conversed159 earnestly. They were smartly dressed, in a horsy fashion, and looked like well-to-do farmers, as they might very naturally have been since it was market-day. But it seemed to me that their faces were familiar to me. I looked at them more attentively161, and then it suddenly dawned upon me, most unpleasantly, that they resembled Leach and Jezzard. And yet they were not quite like. The resemblance was there, but the differences were greater than the lapse of time would account for. Moreover, the man who resembled Jezzard had a rather large mole162 on the left cheek just under the eye, while the other man had an eyeglass stuck in one eye, and wore a waxed moustache, whereas Leach had always been clean-shaven, and had never used an eyeglass.
"As I was speculating upon the resemblance they looked up, and caught my intent and inquisitive103 eye, whereupon they moved away from the window; and when, having completed my purchases, I came out into the street, they were nowhere to be seen.
"That evening, as I was walking by the river outside the town before returning to the station, I overtook a yacht which was being towed down-stream. Three men were walking ahead on the bank with a long tow-line, and one man stood in the cockpit steering163. As I approached, and was reading the name Otter164 on the stern, the man at the helm looked round, and with a start of surprise I recognized my old acquaintance Hearn. The recognition, however, was not mutual165, for I had grown a beard in the interval, and I passed on without appearing to notice him; but when I overtook the other three men, and recognized, as I had feared, the other three members of the gang, I must have looked rather hard at Jezzard, for he suddenly halted, and exclaimed: 'Why, it's our old friend Ted! Our long-lost and lamented166 brother!' He held out his hand with effusive167 cordiality, and began to make inquiries as to my welfare; but I cut him short with the remark that I was not proposing to renew the acquaintance, and, turning off on to a footpath that led away from the river, strode off without looking back.
"Naturally this meeting exercised my mind a good deal, and when I thought of the two men whom I had seen in the town, I could hardly believe that their likeness168 to my quondam friends was a mere169 coincidence. And yet when I had met Leach and Jezzard by the river, I had found them little altered, and had particularly noticed that Jezzard had no mole on his face, and that Leach was clean-shaven as of old.
"But a day or two later all my doubts were resolved by a paragraph in the local paper. It appeared that on the day of my visit to Eastwich a number of forged cheques had been cashed at the three banks. They had been presented by three well-dressed, horsy-looking men who looked like well-to-do farmers. One of them had a mole on the left cheek, another was distinguished by a waxed moustache and a single eyeglass, while the description of the third I did not recognize. None of the cheques had been drawn for large amounts, though the total sum obtained by the forgers was nearly four hundred pounds; but the most interesting point was that the cheque-forms had been manufactured by photographic process, and the water-mark skilfully, though not quite perfectly, imitated. Evidently the swindlers were clever and careful men, and willing to take a good deal of trouble for the sake of security, and the result of their precautions was that the police could make no guess as to their identity.
"The very next day, happening to walk over to Port Marston, I came upon the Otter lying moored170 alongside the quay171 in the harbour. As soon as I recognized the yacht, I turned quickly and walked away, but a minute later I ran into Leach and Jezzard, who were returning to their craft. Jezzard greeted me with an air of surprise. 'What! Still hanging about here, Ted?' he exclaimed. 'That is not discreet172 of you, dear boy. I should earnestly advise you to clear out.'
"'What do you mean?' I asked.
"'Tut, tut!' said he. 'We read the papers like other people, and we know now what business took you to Eastwich. But it's foolish of you to hang about the neighbourhood where you might be spotted173 at any moment.'
"The implied accusation174 took me aback so completely that I stood staring at him in speechless astonishment, and at that unlucky moment a tradesman, from whom I had ordered some house-linen, passed along the quay. Seeing me, he stopped and touched his hat.
"'Beg pardon, Mr. Draper,' said he, 'but I shall be sending my cart up to Sundersley to-morrow morning if that will do for you.'
"I said that it would, and as the man turned away, Jezzard's face broke out into a cunning smile.
"So you are Mr. Draper, of Sundersley, now, are you?' said he. 'Well, I hope you won't be too proud to come and look in on your old friends. We shall be staying here for some time.'
"That same night Hearn made his appearance at my house. He had come as an emissary from the gang, to ask me to do some work for them—to execute some forgeries, in fact. Of course I refused, and pretty bluntly, too, whereupon Hearn began to throw out vague hints as to what might happen if I made enemies of the gang, and to utter veiled, but quite intelligible175, threats. You will say that I was an idiot not to send him packing, and threaten to hand over the whole gang to the police; but I was never a man of strong nerve, and I don't mind admitting that I was mortally afraid of that cunning devil, Jezzard.
"The next thing that happened was that Hearn came and took lodgings176 in Sundersley, and, in spite of my efforts to avoid him, he haunted me continually. The yacht, too, had evidently settled down for some time at a berth178 in the harbour, for I heard that a local smack-boy had been engaged as a deck-hand; and I frequently encountered Jezzard and the other members of the gang, who all professed179 to believe that I had committed the Eastwich forgeries. One day I was foolish enough to allow myself to be lured180 on to the yacht for a few minutes, and when I would have gone ashore181, I found that the shore ropes had been cast off, and that the vessel182 was already moving out of the harbour. At first I was furious, but the three scoundrels were so jovial and good-natured, and so delighted with the joke of taking me for a sail against my will, that I presently cooled down, and having changed into a pair of rubber-soled shoes (so that I should not make dents183 in the smooth deck with my hobnails), bore a hand at sailing the yacht, and spent quite a pleasant day.
"From that time I found myself gradually drifting back into a state of intimacy184 with these agreeable scoundrels, and daily becoming more and more afraid of them. In a moment of imbecility I mentioned what I had seen from the shop-window at Eastwich, and, though they passed the matter off with a joke, I could see that they were mightily185 disturbed by it. Their efforts to induce me to join them were redoubled, and Hearn took to calling almost daily at my house—usually with documents and signatures which he tried to persuade me to copy.
"A few evenings ago he made a new and startling proposition. We were walking in my garden, and he had been urging me once more to rejoin the gang—unsuccessfully, I need not say. Presently he sat down on a seat against a yew-hedge at the bottom of the garden, and, after an interval of silence, said suddenly:
"'Then you absolutely refuse to go in with us?'
"'Of course I do,' I replied. 'Why should I mix myself up with a gang of crooks186 when I have ample means and a decent position?'
"'Of course,' he agreed, 'you'd be a fool if you did. But, you see, you know all about this Eastwich job, to say nothing of our other little exploits, and you gave us away once before. Consequently, you can take it from me that, now Jezzard has run you to earth, he won't leave you in peace until you have given us some kind of a hold on you. You know too much, you see, and as long as you have a clean sheet you are a standing menace to us. That is the position. You know it, and Jezzard knows it, and he is a desperate man, and as cunning as the devil.'
"'I know that,' I said gloomily.
"'Very well,' continued Hearn. 'Now I'm going to make you an offer. Promise me a small annuity—you can easily afford it—or pay me a substantial sum down, and I will set you free for ever from Jezzard and the others.'
"'How will you do that?' I asked.
"'Very simply,' he replied. 'I am sick of them all, and sick of this risky187, uncertain mode of life. Now I am ready to clean off my own slate188 and set you free at the same time; but I must have some means of livelihood189 in view.'
"'You mean that you will turn King's evidence?' I asked.
"'Yes, if you will pay me a couple of hundred a year, or, say, two thousand down on the conviction of the gang.'
"I was so taken aback that for some time I made no reply, and as I sat considering this amazing proposition, the silence was suddenly broken by a suppressed sneeze from the other side of the hedge.
"Hearn and I started to our feet. Immediately hurried footsteps were heard in the lane outside the hedge. We raced up the garden to the gate and out through a side alley190, but when we reached the lane there was not a soul in sight. We made a brief and fruitless search in the immediate37 neighbourhood, and then turned back to the house. Hearn was deathly pale and very agitated191, and I must confess that I was a good deal upset by the incident.
"'This is devilish awkward,' said Hearn.
"'I don't feel so sure of that,' said he. 'At any rate, we were stark193 lunatics to sit up against a hedge to talk secrets.'
"He paced the garden with me for some time in gloomy silence, and presently, after a brief request that I would think over his proposal, took himself off.
"I did not see him again until I met him last night on the yacht. Pitford called on me in the morning, and invited me to come and dine with them. I at first declined, for my housekeeper194 was going to spend the evening with her sister at Eastwich, and stay there for the night, and I did not much like leaving the house empty. However, I agreed eventually, stipulating195 that I should be allowed to come home early, and I accordingly went. Hearn and Pitford were waiting in the boat by the steps—for the yacht had been moved out to a buoy—and we went on board and spent a very pleasant and lively evening. Pitford put me ashore at ten o'clock, and I walked straight home, and went to bed. Hearn would have come with me, but the others insisted on his remaining, saying that they had some matters of business to discuss."
"Which way did you walk home?" asked Thorndyke.
"I came through the town, and along the main road."
"And that is all you know about this affair?"
"Absolutely all," replied Draper. "I have now admitted you to secrets of my past life that I had hoped never to have to reveal to any human creature, and I still have some faint hope that it may not be necessary for you to divulge196 what I have told you."
"Your secrets shall not be revealed unless it is absolutely indispensable that they should be," said Thorndyke; "but you are placing your life in my hands, and you must leave me perfectly free to act as I think best."
With this he gathered his notes together, and we took our departure.
"A very singular history, this, Jervis," he said, when, having wished the sergeant "Good-night," we stepped out on to the dark road. "What do you think of it?"
"I hardly know what to think," I answered, "but, on the whole, it seems rather against Draper than otherwise. He admits that he is an old criminal, and it appears that he was being persecuted197 and blackmailed198 by the man Hearn. It is true that he represents Jezzard as being the leading spirit and prime mover in the persecution199, but we have only his word for that. Hearn was in lodgings near him, and was undoubtedly200 taking the most active part in the business, and it is quite possible, and indeed probable, that Hearn was the actual deus ex machina."
Thorndyke nodded. "Yes," he said, "that is certainly the line the prosecution will take if we allow the story to become known. Ha! what is this? We are going to have some rain."
"Yes, and wind too. We are in for an autumn gale, I think."
"And that," said Thorndyke, "may turn out to be an important factor in our case."
"How can the weather affect your case?" I asked in some surprise. But, as the rain suddenly descended201 in a pelting202 shower, my companion broke into a run, leaving my question unanswered.
On the following morning, which was fair and sunny after the stormy night, Dr. Burrows called for my friend. He was on his way to the extemporized203 mortuary to make the post-mortem examination of the murdered man's body. Thorndyke, having notified the coroner that he was watching the case on behalf of the accused, had been authorized204 to be present at the autopsy205; but the authorization206 did not include me, and, as Dr. Burrows did not issue any invitation, I was not able to be present. I met them, however, as they were returning, and it seemed to me that Dr. Burrows appeared a little huffy.
"Your friend," said he, in a rather injured tone, "is really the most outrageous207 stickler208 for forms and ceremonies that I have ever met."
"Here was a body," Dr. Burrows continued irritably210, "found under circumstances clearly indicative of murder, and bearing a knife-wound that nearly divided the arch of the aorta211; in spite of which, I assure you that Dr. Thorndyke insisted on weighing the body, and examining every organ—lungs, liver, stomach, and brain—yes, actually the brain!—as if there had been no clue whatever to the cause of death. And then, as a climax212, he insisted on sending the contents of the stomach in a jar, sealed with our respective seals, in charge of a special messenger, to Professor Copland, for analysis and report. I thought he was going to demand an examination for the tubercle bacillus, but he didn't; which," concluded Dr. Burrows, suddenly becoming sourly facetious213, "was an oversight214, for, after all, the fellow may have died of consumption."
Thorndyke chuckled again, and I murmured that the precautions appeared to have been somewhat excessive.
"Not at all," was the smiling response. "You are losing sight of our function. We are the expert and impartial216 umpires, and it is our business to ascertain217, with scientific accuracy, the cause of death. The prima facie appearances in this case suggest that the deceased was murdered by Draper, and that is the hypothesis advanced. But that is no concern of ours. It is not our function to confirm an hypothesis suggested by outside circumstances, but rather, on the contrary, to make certain that no other explanation is possible. And that is my invariable practice. No matter how glaringly obvious the appearances may be, I refuse to take anything for granted."
Dr. Burrows received this statement with a grunt218 of dissent69, but the arrival of his dogcart put a stop to further discussion.
Thorndyke was not subpoenaed219 for the inquest. Dr. Burrows and the sergeant having been present immediately after the finding of the body, his evidence was not considered necessary, and, moreover, he was known to be watching the case in the interests of the accused. Like myself, therefore, he was present as a spectator, but as a highly interested one, for he took very complete shorthand notes of the whole of the evidence and the coroner's comments.
I shall not describe the proceedings220 in detail. The jury, having been taken to view the body, trooped into the room on tiptoe, looking pale and awe-stricken, and took their seats; and thereafter, from time to time, directed glances of furtive127 curiosity at Draper as he stood, pallid and haggard, confronting the court, with a burly rural constable42 on either side.
The medical evidence was taken first. Dr. Burrows, having been sworn, began, with sarcastic221 emphasis, to describe the condition of the lungs and liver, until he was interrupted by the coroner.
"Is all this necessary?" the latter inquired. "I mean, is it material to the subject of the inquiry222?"
"I should say not," replied Dr. Burrows. "It appears to me to be quite irrelevant223, but Dr. Thorndyke, who is watching the case for the defence, thought it necessary."
"I think," said the coroner, "you had better give us only the facts that are material. The jury want you to tell them what you consider to have been the cause of death. They don't want a lecture on pathology."
"The cause of death," said Dr. Burrows, "was a penetrating224 wound of the chest, apparently inflicted225 with a large knife. The weapon entered between the second and third ribs226 on the left side close to the sternum or breast-bone. It wounded the left lung, and partially227 divided both the pulmonary artery228 and the aorta—the two principal arteries229 of the body."
"Was this injury alone sufficient to cause death?" the coroner asked.
"Yes," was the reply; "and death from injury to these great vessels230 would be practically instantaneous."
"Could the injury have been self-inflicted?"
"So far as the position and nature of the wound are concerned," replied the witness, "self-infliction would be quite possible. But since death would follow in a few seconds at the most, the weapon would be found either in the wound, or grasped in the hand, or, at least, quite close to the body. But in this case no weapon was found at all, and the wound must therefore certainly have been homicidal."
"Did you see the body before it was moved?"
"Yes. It was lying on its back, with the arms extended and the legs nearly straight; and the sand in the neighbourhood of the body was trampled231 as if a furious struggle had taken place."
"Did you notice anything remarkable about the footprints in the sand?"
"I did," replied Dr. Burrows. "They were the footprints of two persons only. One of these was evidently the deceased, whose footmarks could be easily identified by the circular rubber heels. The other footprints were those of a person—apparently a man—who wore shoes, or boots, the soles of which were studded with nails; and these nails were arranged in a very peculiar and unusual manner, for those on the soles formed a lozenge or diamond shape, and those on the heel were set out in the form of a cross."
"Have you ever seen shoes or boots with the nails arranged in this manner?"
"Yes. I have seen a pair of shoes which I am informed belong to the accused; the nails in them are arranged as I have described."
"Would you say that the footprints of which you have spoken were made by those shoes?"
"No; I could not say that. I can only say that, to the best of my belief, the pattern on the shoes is similar to that in the footprints."
This was the sum of Dr. Burrows' evidence, and to all of it Thorndyke listened with an immovable countenance232, though with the closest attention. Equally attentive160 was the accused man, though not equally impassive; indeed, so great was his agitation233 that presently one of the constables asked permission to get him a chair.
The next witness was Arthur Jezzard. He testified that he had viewed the body, and identified it as that of Charles Hearn; that he had been acquainted with deceased for some years, but knew practically nothing of his affairs. At the time of his death deceased was lodging177 in the village.
"Why did he leave the yacht?" the coroner inquired. "Was there any kind of disagreement!"
"Not in the least," replied Jezzard. "He grew tired of the confinement234 of the yacht, and came to live ashore for a change. But we were the best of friends, and he intended to come with us when we sailed."
"When did you see him last?"
"On the night before the body was found—that is, last Monday. He had been dining on the yacht, and we put him ashore about midnight. He said as we were rowing him ashore that he intended to walk home along the sands as the tide was out. He went up the stone steps by the watch-house, and turned at the top to wish us good-night. That was the last time I saw him alive."
"Do you know anything of the relations between the accused and the deceased?" the coroner asked.
"Very little," replied Jezzard. "Mr. Draper was introduced to us by the deceased about a month ago. I believe they had been acquainted some years, and they appeared to be on excellent terms. There was no indication of any quarrel or disagreement between them."
"What time did the accused leave the yacht on the night of the murder?"
"About ten o'clock. He said that he wanted to get home early, as his housekeeper was away and he did not like the house to be left with no one in it."
This was the whole of Jezzard's evidence, and was confirmed by that of Leach and Pitford. Then, when the fisherman had deposed235 to the discovery of the body, the sergeant was called, and stepped forward, grasping a carpet-bag, and looking as uncomfortable as if he had been the accused instead of a witness. He described the circumstances under which he saw the body, giving the exact time and place with official precision.
"You have heard Dr. Burrows' description of the footprints?" the coroner inquired.
"Yes. There were two sets. One set were evidently made by deceased. They showed that he entered St. Bridget's Bay from the direction of Port Marston. He had been walking along the shore just about high-water mark, sometimes above and sometimes below. Where he had walked below high-water mark the footprints had of course been washed away by the sea."
"How far back did you trace the footprints of deceased?"
"About two-thirds of the way to Sundersley Gap. Then they disappeared below high-water mark. Later in the evening I walked from the Gap into Port Marston, but could not find any further traces of deceased. He must have walked between the tide-marks all the way from Port Marston to beyond Sundersley. When these footprints entered St. Bridget's Bay they became mixed up with the footprints of another man, and the shore was trampled for a space of a dozen yards as if a furious struggle had taken place. The strange man's tracks came down from the Shepherd's Path, and went up it again; but, owing to the hardness of the ground from the dry weather, the tracks disappeared a short distance up the path, and I could not find them again."
"What were these strange footprints like?" inquired the coroner.
"They were very peculiar," replied the sergeant. "They were made by shoes armed with smallish hob-nails, which were arranged in a diamond-shaped pattern on the holes and in a cross on the heels. I measured the footprints carefully, and made a drawing of each foot at the time." Here the sergeant produced a long notebook of funereal236 aspect, and, having opened it at a marked place, handed it to the coroner, who examined it attentively, and then passed it on to the jury. From the jury it was presently transferred to Thorndyke, and, looking over his shoulder, I saw a very workmanlike sketch of a pair of footprints with the principal dimensions inserted.
Thorndyke surveyed the drawing critically, jotted237 down a few brief notes, and returned the sergeant's notebook to the coroner, who, as he took it, turned once more to the officer.
"Have you any clue, sergeant, to the person who made these footprints?" he asked.
By way of reply the sergeant opened his carpet-bag, and, extracting therefrom a pair of smart but stoutly238 made shoes, laid them on the table.
"Those shoes," he said, "are the property of the accused; he was wearing them when I arrested him. They appear to correspond exactly to the footprints of the murderer. The measurements are the same, and the nails with which they are studded are arranged in a similar pattern."
The Sergeant's Sketch
The Sergeant's Sketch
Extreme length, 11¾ inches.
Width at A, 4½ inches.
Length of heel, 3¼ inches
Width of heel at cross, 3 inches.
"Would you swear that the footprints were made with these shoes?" asked the coroner.
"No, sir, I would not," was the decided131 answer. "I would only swear to the similarity of size and pattern."
"Had you ever seen these shoes before you made the drawing?"
"No, sir," replied the sergeant; and he then related the incident of the footprints in the soft earth by the pond which led him to make the arrest.
The coroner gazed reflectively at the shoes which he held in his hand, and from them to the drawing; then, passing them to the foreman of the jury, he remarked:
"Well, gentlemen, it is not for me to tell you whether these shoes answer to the description given by Dr. Burrows and the sergeant, or whether they resemble the drawing which, as you have heard, was made by the officer on the spot and before he had seen the shoes; that is a matter for you to decide. Meanwhile, there is another question that we must consider." He turned to the sergeant and asked: "Have you made any inquiries as to the movements of the accused on the night of the murder?"
"I have," replied the sergeant, "and I find that, on that night, the accused was alone in the house, his housekeeper having gone over to Eastwich. Two men saw him in the town about ten o'clock, apparently walking in the direction of Sundersley."
This concluded the sergeant's evidence, and when one or two more witnesses had been examined without eliciting239 any fresh facts, the coroner briefly240 recapitulated241 the evidence, and requested the jury to consider their verdict. Thereupon a solemn hush242 fell upon the court, broken only by the whispers of the jurymen, as they consulted together; and the spectators gazed in awed243 expectancy244 from the accused to the whispering jury. I glanced at Draper, sitting huddled245 in his chair, his clammy face as pale as that of the corpse246 in the mortuary hard by, his hands tremulous and restless; and, scoundrel as I believed him to be, I could not but pity the abject247 misery that was written large all over him, from his damp hair to his incessantly248 shifting feet.
The jury took but a short time to consider their verdict. At the end of five minutes the foreman announced that they were agreed, and, in answer to the coroner's formal inquiry, stood up and replied:
"We find that the deceased met his death by being stabbed in the chest by the accused man, Alfred Draper."
"That is a verdict of wilful249 murder," said the coroner, and he entered it accordingly in his notes. The Court now rose. The spectators reluctantly trooped out, the jurymen stood up and stretched themselves, and the two constables, under the guidance of the sergeant, carried the wretched Draper in a fainting condition to a closed fly that was waiting outside.
"I was not greatly impressed by the activity of the defence," I remarked maliciously250 as we walked home.
Thorndyke smiled. "You surely did not expect me to cast my pearls of forensic251 learning before a coroner's jury," said he.
"I expected that you would have something to say on behalf of your client," I replied. "As it was, his accusers had it all their own way."
"And why not?" he asked. "Of what concern to us is the verdict of the coroner's jury?"
"It would have seemed more decent to make some sort of defence," I replied.
"My dear Jervis," he rejoined, "you do not seem to appreciate the great virtue252 of what Lord Beaconsfield so felicitously253 called 'a policy of masterly inactivity'; and yet that is one of the great lessons that a medical training impresses on the student."
"That may be so," said I. "But the result, up to the present, of your masterly policy is that a verdict of wilful murder stands against your client, and I don't see what other verdict the jury could have found."
"Neither do I," said Thorndyke.
I had written to my principal, Dr. Cooper, describing the stirring events that were taking place in the village, and had received a reply from him instructing me to place the house at Thorndyke's disposal, and to give him every facility for his work. In accordance with which edict my colleague took possession of a well-lighted, disused stable-loft254, and announced his intention of moving his things into it. Now, as these "things" included the mysterious contents of the hamper that the housemaid had seen, I was possessed with a consuming desire to be present at the "flitting," and I do not mind confessing that I purposely lurked255 about the stairs in the hopes of thus picking up a few crumbs256 of information.
But Thorndyke was one too many for me. A misbegotten infant in the village having been seized with inopportune convulsions, I was compelled, most reluctantly, to hasten to its relief; and I returned only in time to find Thorndyke in the act of locking the door of the loft.
"A nice light, roomy place to work in," he remarked, as he descended the steps, slipping the key into his pocket.
"Yes," I replied, and added boldly: "What do you intend to do up there?"
"Work up the case for the defence," he replied, "and, as I have now heard all that the prosecution have to say, I shall be able to forge ahead."
This was vague enough, but I consoled myself with the reflection that in a very few days I should, in common with the rest of the world, be in possession of the results of his mysterious proceedings. For, in view of the approaching assizes, preparations were being made to push the case through the magistrate257's court as quickly as possible in order to obtain a committal in time for the ensuing sessions. Draper had, of course, been already charged before a justice of the peace and evidence of arrest taken, and it was expected that the adjourned258 hearing would commence before the local magistrates259 on the fifth day after the inquest.
The events of these five days kept me in a positive ferment260 of curiosity. In the first place an inspector261 of the Criminal Investigation72 Department came down and browsed262 about the place in company with the sergeant. Then Mr. Bashfield, who was to conduct the prosecution, came and took up his abode263 at the "Cat and Chicken." But the most surprising visitor was Thorndyke's laboratory assistant, Polton, who appeared one evening with a large trunk and a sailor's hammock, and announced that he was going to take up his quarters in the loft.
As to Thorndyke himself, his proceedings were beyond speculation264. From time to time he made mysterious appearances at the windows of the loft, usually arrayed in what looked suspiciously like a nightshirt. Sometimes I would see him holding a negative up to the light, at others manipulating a photographic printing-frame; and once I observed him with a paintbrush and a large gallipot; on which I turned away in despair, and nearly collided with the inspector.
"Dr. Thorndyke is staying with you, I hear," said the latter, gazing earnestly at my colleague's back, which was presented for his inspection265 at the window.
"That is where he does his bedevilments, I suppose?" the officer suggested.
"That's what I mean," said the inspector; and, as Thorndyke at this moment turned and opened the window, our visitor began to ascend63 the steps.
"I've just called to ask if I could have a few words with you, Doctor," said the inspector, as he reached the door.
"Certainly," Thorndyke replied blandly269. "If you will go down and wait with Dr. Jervis, I will be with you in five minutes."
The officer came down the steps grinning, and I thought I heard him murmur215 "Sold!" But this may have been an illusion. However, Thorndyke presently emerged, and he and the officer strode away into the shrubbery. What the inspector's business was, or whether he had any business at all, I never learned; but the incident seemed to throw some light on the presence of Polton and the sailor's hammock. And this reference to Polton reminds me of a very singular change that took place about this time in the habits of this usually staid and sedate little man; who, abandoning the somewhat clerical style of dress that he ordinarily affected270, broke out into a semi-nautical271 costume, in which he would sally forth every morning in the direction of Port Marston. And there, on more than one occasion, I saw him leaning against a post by the harbour, or lounging outside a waterside tavern272 in earnest and amicable273 conversation with sundry274 nautical characters.
On the afternoon of the day before the opening of the proceedings we had two new visitors. One of them, a grey-haired spectacled man, was a stranger to me, and for some reason I failed to recall his name, Copland, though I was sure I had heard it before. The other was Anstey, the barrister who usually worked with Thorndyke in cases that went into Court. I saw very little of either of them, however, for they retired275 almost immediately to the loft, where, with short intervals276 for meals, they remained for the rest of the day, and, I believe, far into the night. Thorndyke requested me not to mention the names of his visitors to anyone, and at the same time apologized for the secrecy of his proceedings.
"But you are a doctor, Jervis," he concluded, "and you know what professional confidences are; and you will understand how greatly it is in our favour that we know exactly what the prosecution can do, while they are absolutely in the dark as to our line of defence."
I assured him that I fully understood his position, and with this assurance he retired, evidently relieved, to the council chamber277.
The proceedings, which opened on the following day, and at which I was present throughout, need not be described in detail. The evidence for the prosecution was, of course, mainly a repetition of that given at the inquest. Mr. Bashfield's opening statement, however, I shall give at length, inasmuch as it summarized very clearly the whole of the case against the prisoner.
"The case that is now before the Court," said the counsel, "involves a charge of wilful murder against the prisoner Alfred Draper, and the facts, in so far as they are known, are briefly these: On the night of Monday, the 27th of September, the deceased, Charles Hearn, dined with some friends on board the yacht Otter. About midnight he came ashore, and proceeded to walk towards Sundersley along the beach. As he entered St. Bridget's Bay, a man, who appears to have been lying in wait, and who came down the Shepherd's Path, met him, and a deadly struggle seems to have taken place. The deceased received a wound of a kind calculated to cause almost instantaneous death, and apparently fell down dead.
"And now, what was the motive278 of this terrible crime? It was not robbery, for nothing appears to have been taken from the corpse. Money and valuables were found, as far as is known, intact. Nor, clearly, was it a case of a casual affray. We are, consequently, driven to the conclusion that the motive was a personal one, a motive of interest or revenge, and with this view the time, the place, and the evident deliberateness of the murder are in full agreement.
"So much for the motive. The next question is, Who was the perpetrator of this shocking crime? And the answer to that question is given in a very singular and dramatic circumstance, a circumstance that illustrates279 once more the amazing lack of precaution shown by persons who commit such crimes. The murderer was wearing a very remarkable pair of shoes, and those shoes left very remarkable footprints in the smooth sand, and those footprints were seen and examined by a very acute and painstaking280 police-officer, Sergeant Payne, whose evidence you will hear presently. The sergeant not only examined the footprints, he made careful drawings of them on the spot—on the spot, mind you, not from memory—and he made very exact measurements of them, which he duly noted down. And from those drawings and those measurements, those tell-tale shoes have been identified, and are here for your inspection.
"And now, who is the owner of those very singular, those almost unique shoes? I have said that the motive of this murder must have been a personal one, and, behold281! the owner of those shoes happens to be the one person in the whole of this district who could have had a motive for compassing the murdered man's death. Those shoes belong to, and were taken from the foot of, the prisoner, Alfred Draper, and the prisoner, Alfred Draper, is the only person living in this neighbourhood who was acquainted with the deceased.
"It has been stated in evidence at the inquest that the relations of these two men, the prisoner and the deceased, were entirely282 friendly; but I shall prove to you that they were not so friendly as has been supposed. I shall prove to you, by the evidence of the prisoner's housekeeper, that the deceased was often an unwelcome visitor at the house, that the prisoner often denied himself when he was really at home and disengaged, and, in short, that he appeared constantly to shun283 and avoid the deceased.
"One more question and I have finished. Where was the prisoner on the night of the murder? The answer is that he was in a house little more than half a mile from the scene of the crime. And who was with him in that house? Who was there to observe and testify to his going forth and his coming home? No one. He was alone in the house. On that night, of all nights, he was alone. Not a soul was there to rouse at the creak of a door or the tread of a shoe—to tell as whether he slept or whether he stole forth in the dead of the night.
"Such are the facts of this case. I believe that they are not disputed, and I assert that, taken together, they are susceptible284 of only one explanation, which is that the prisoner, Alfred Draper, is the man who murdered the deceased, Charles Hearn."
Immediately on the conclusion of this address, the witnesses were called, and the evidence given was identical with that at the inquest. The only new witness for the prosecution was Draper's housekeeper, and her evidence fully bore out Mr. Bashfield's statement. The sergeant's account of the footprints was listened to with breathless interest, and at its conclusion the presiding magistrate—a retired solicitor285, once well known in criminal practice—put a question which interested me as showing how clearly Thorndyke had foreseen the course of events, recalling, as it did, his remark on the night when we were caught in the rain.
"Did you," the magistrate asked, "take these shoes down to the beach and compare them with the actual footprints?"
"I obtained the shoes at night," replied the sergeant, "and I took them down to the shore at daybreak the next morning. But, unfortunately, there had been a storm in the night, and the footprints were almost obliterated by the wind and rain."
When the sergeant had stepped down, Mr. Bashfield announced that that was the case for the prosecution. He then resumed his seat, turning an inquisitive eye on Anstey and Thorndyke.
The former immediately rose and opened the case for the defence with a brief statement.
"The learned counsel for the prosecution," said he, "has told us that the facts now in the possession of the Court admit of but one explanation—that of the guilt286 of the accused. That may or may not be; but I shall now proceed to lay before the Court certain fresh facts—facts, I may say, of the most singular and startling character, which will, I think, lead to a very different conclusion. I shall say no more, but call the witnesses forthwith, and let the evidence speak for itself."
The first witness for the defence was Thorndyke; and as he entered the box I observed Polton take up a position close behind him with a large wicker trunk. Having been sworn, and requested by Anstey to tell the Court what he knew about the case, he commenced without preamble287:
"About half-past four in the afternoon of the 28th of September I walked down Sundersley Gap with Dr. Jervis. Our attention was attracted by certain footprints in the sand, particularly those of a man who had landed from a boat, had walked up the Gap, and presently returned, apparently to the boat.
"As we were standing there Sergeant Payne and Dr. Burrows passed down the Gap with two constables carrying a stretcher. We followed at a distance, and as we walked along the shore we encountered another set of footprints—those which the sergeant has described as the footprints of the deceased. We examined these carefully, and endeavoured to frame a description of the person by whom they had been made."
"And did your description agree with the characters of the deceased?" the magistrate asked.
"Not in the least," replied Thorndyke, whereupon the magistrate, the inspector, and Mr. Bashfield laughed long and heartily288.
"When we turned into St. Bridget's Bay, I saw the body of deceased lying on the sand close to the cliff. The sand all round was covered with footprints, as if a prolonged, fierce struggle had taken place. There were two sets of footprints, one set being apparently those of the deceased and the other those of a man with nailed shoes of a very peculiar and conspicuous289 pattern. The incredible folly290 that the wearing of such shoes indicated caused me to look more closely at the footprints, and then I made the surprising discovery that there had in reality been no struggle; that, in fact, the two sets of footprints had been made at different times."
"At different times!" the magistrate exclaimed in astonishment.
"Yes. The interval between them may have been one of hours or one only of seconds, but the undoubted fact is that the two sets of footprints were made, not simultaneously291, but in succession."
"But how did you arrive at that fact?" the magistrate asked.
"It was very obvious when one looked," said Thorndyke. "The marks of the deceased man's shoes showed that he repeatedly trod in his own footprints; but never in a single instance did he tread in the footprints of the other man, although they covered the same area. The man with the nailed shoes, on the contrary, not only trod in his own footprints, but with equal frequency in those of the deceased. Moreover, when the body was removed, I observed that the footprints in the sand on which it was lying were exclusively those of the deceased. There was not a sign of any nail-marked footprint under the corpse, although there were many close around it. It was evident, therefore, that the footprints of the deceased were made first and those of the nailed shoes afterwards."
As Thorndyke paused the magistrate rubbed his nose thoughtfully, and the inspector gazed at the witness with a puzzled frown.
"The singularity of this fact," my colleague resumed, "made me look at the footprints yet more critically, and then I made another discovery. There was a double track of the nailed shoes, leading apparently from and back to the Shepherd's Path. But on examining these tracks more closely, I was astonished to find that the man who had made them had been walking backwards; that, in fact, he had walked backwards from the body to the Shepherd's Path, had ascended it for a short distance, had turned round, and returned, still walking backwards, to the face of the cliff near the corpse, and there the tracks vanished altogether. On the sand at this spot were some small, inconspicuous marks which might have been made by the end of a rope, and there were also a few small fragments which had fallen from the cliff above. Observing these, I examined the surface of the cliff, and at one spot, about six feet above the beach, I found a freshly rubbed spot on which were parallel scratches such as might have been made by the nailed sole of a boot. I then ascended the Shepherd's Path, and examined the cliff from above, and here I found on the extreme edge a rather deep indentation, such as would be made by a taut292 rope, and, on lying down and looking over, I could see, some five feet from the top, another rubbed spot with very distinct parallel scratches."
"You appear to infer," said the chairman, "that this man performed these astonishing evolutions and was then hauled up the cliff?"
"That is what the appearances suggested," replied Thorndyke.
The chairman pursed up his lips, raised his eyebrows293, and glanced doubtfully at his brother magistrates. Then, with a resigned air, he bowed to the witness to indicate that he was listening.
"That same night," Thorndyke resumed, "I cycled down to the shore, through the Gap, with a supply of plaster of Paris, and proceeded to take plaster moulds of the more important of the footprints." (Here the magistrates, the inspector, and Mr. Bashfield with one accord sat up at attention; Sergeant Payne swore quite audibly; and I experienced a sudden illumination respecting a certain basin and kitchen spoon which had so puzzled me on the night of Thorndyke's arrival.) "As I thought that liquid plaster might confuse or even obliterate23 the prints in sand, I filled up the respective footprints with dry plaster, pressed it down lightly, and then cautiously poured water on to it. The moulds, which are excellent impressions, of course show the appearance of the boots which made the footprints, and from these moulds I have prepared casts which reproduce the footprints themselves.
"The first mould that I made was that of one of the tracks from the boat up to the Gap, and of this I shall speak presently. I next made a mould of one of the footprints which have been described as those of the deceased."
"Have been described!" exclaimed the chairman. "The deceased was certainly there, and there were no other footprints, so, if they were not his, he must have flown to where he was found."
"I will call them the footprints of the deceased," replied Thorndyke imperturbably294. "I took a mould of one of them, and with it, on the same mould, one of my own footprints. Here is the mould, and here is a cast from it." (He turned and took them from the triumphant295 Polton, who had tenderly lifted them out of the trunk in readiness.) "On looking at the cast, it will be seen that the appearances are not such as would be expected. The deceased was five feet nine inches high, but was very thin and light, weighing only nine stone six pounds, as I ascertained296 by weighing the body, whereas I am five feet eleven and weigh nearly thirteen stone. But yet the footprint of the deceased is nearly twice as deep as mine—that is to say, the lighter297 man has sunk into the sand nearly twice as deeply as the heavier man."
The magistrates were now deeply attentive. They were no longer simply listening to the despised utterances298 of a mere scientific expert. The cast lay before them with the two footprints side by side; the evidence appealed to their own senses and was proportionately convincing.
"This is very singular," said the chairman; "but perhaps you can explain the discrepancy?"
"I think I can," replied Thorndyke; "but I should prefer to place all the facts before you first."
"Undoubtedly that would be better," the chairman agreed. "Pray proceed."
"There was another remarkable peculiarity299 about these footprints," Thorndyke continued, "and that was their distance apart—the length of the stride, in fact. I measured the steps carefully from heel to heel, and found them only nineteen and a half inches. But a man of Hearn's height would have an ordinary stride of about thirty-six inches—more if he was walking fast. Walking with a stride of nineteen and a half inches he would look as if his legs were tied together.
"I next proceeded to the Bay, and took two moulds from the footprints of the man with the nailed shoes, a right and a left. Here is a cast from the mould, and it shows very clearly that the man was walking backwards."
"How does it show that?" asked the magistrate.
"There are several distinctive300 points. For instance, the absence of the usual 'kick off' at the toe, the slight drag behind the heel, showing the direction in which the foot was lifted, and the undisturbed impression of the sole."
"You have spoken of moulds and casts. What is the difference between them?"
"A mould is a direct, and therefore reversed, impression. A cast is the impression of a mould, and therefore a facsimile of the object. If I pour liquid plaster on a coin, when it sets I have a mould, a sunk impression, of the coin. If I pour melted wax into the mould I obtain a cast, a facsimile of the coin. A footprint is a mould of the foot. A mould of the footprint is a cast of the foot, and a cast from the mould reproduces the footprint."
"Thank you," said the magistrate. "Then your moulds from these two footprints are really facsimiles of the murderer's shoes, and can be compared with these shoes which have been put in evidence?"
"Yes, and when we compare them they demonstrate a very important fact."
"What is that?"
"It is that the prisoner's shoes were not the shoes that made those footprints." A buzz of astonishment ran through the court, but Thorndyke continued stolidly301: "The prisoner's shoes were not in my possession, so I went on to Barker's pond, on the clay margin302 of which I had seen footprints actually made by the prisoner. I took moulds of those footprints, and compared them with these from the sand. There are several important differences, which you will see if you compare them. To facilitate the comparison I have made transparent303 photographs of both sets of moulds to the same scale. Now, if we put the photograph of the mould of the prisoner's right shoe over that of the murderer's right shoe, and hold the two superposed photographs up to the light, we cannot make the two pictures coincide. They are exactly of the same length, but the shoes are of different shape. Moreover, if we put one of the nails in one photograph over the corresponding nail in the other photograph, we cannot make the rest of the nails coincide. But the most conclusive304 fact of all—from which there is no possible escape—is that the number of nails in the two shoes is not the same. In the sole of the prisoner's right shoe there are forty nails; in that of the murderer there are forty-one. The murderer has one nail too many."
There was a deathly silence in the court as the magistrates and Mr. Bashfield pored over the moulds and the prisoner's shoes, and examined the photographs against the light. Then the chairman asked: "Are these all the facts, or have you something more to tell us?" He was evidently anxious to get the key to this riddle305.
"There is more evidence, your Worship," said Anstey. "The witness examined the body of deceased." Then, turning to Thorndyke, he asked:
"You were present at the post-mortem examination?"
"I was."
"Did you form any opinion as to the cause of death?"
"Yes. I came to the conclusion that death was occasioned by an overdose of morphia."
A universal gasp306 of amazement307 greeted this statement. Then the presiding magistrate protested breathlessly:
"But there was a wound, which we have been told was capable of causing instantaneous death. Was that not the case?"
"There was undoubtedly such a wound," replied Thorndyke. "But when that wound was inflicted the deceased had already been dead from a quarter to half an hour."
"This is incredible!" exclaimed the magistrate. "But, no doubt, you can give us your reasons for this amazing conclusion?"
"My opinion," said Thorndyke, "was based on several facts. In the first place, a wound inflicted on a living body gapes309 rather widely, owing to the retraction311 of the living skin. The skin of a dead body does not retract310, and the wound, consequently, does not gape308. This wound gaped312 very slightly, showing that death was recent, I should say, within half an hour. Then a wound on the living body becomes filled with blood, and blood is shed freely on the clothing. But the wound on the deceased contained only a little blood-clot. There was hardly any blood on the clothing, and I had already noticed that there was none on the sand where the body had lain."
"And you consider this quite conclusive?" the magistrate asked doubtfully.
"I do," answered Thorndyke. "But there was other evidence which was beyond all question. The weapon had partially divided both the aorta and the pulmonary artery—the main arteries of the body. Now, during life, these great vessels are full of blood at a high internal pressure, whereas after death they become almost empty. It follows that, if this wound had been inflicted during life, the cavity in which those vessels lie would have become filled with blood. As a matter of fact, it contained practically no blood, only the merest oozing313 from some small veins314, so that it is certain that the wound was inflicted after death. The presence and nature of the poison I ascertained by analyzing315 certain secretions316 from the body, and the analysis enabled me to judge that the quantity of the poison was large; but the contents of the stomach were sent to Professor Copland for more exact examination."
"Is the result of Professor Copland's analysis known?" the magistrate asked Anstey.
"The professor is here, your Worship," replied Anstey, "and is prepared to swear to having obtained over one grain of morphia from the contents of the stomach; and as this, which is in itself a poisonous dose, is only the unabsorbed residue317 of what was actually swallowed, the total quantity taken must have been very large indeed."
"Thank you," said the magistrate. "And now, Dr. Thorndyke, if you have given us all the facts, perhaps you will tell us what conclusions you have drawn from them."
"The facts which I have stated," said Thorndyke, "appear to me to indicate the following sequence of events. The deceased died about midnight on September 27, from the effects of a poisonous dose of morphia, how or by whom administered I offer no opinion. I think that his body was conveyed in a boat to Sundersley Gap. The boat probably contained three men, of whom one remained in charge of it, one walked up the Gap and along the cliff towards St. Bridget's Bay, and the third, having put on the shoes of the deceased, carried the body along the shore to the Bay. This would account for the great depth and short stride of the tracks that have been spoken of as those of the deceased. Having reached the Bay, I believe that this man laid the corpse down on his tracks, and then trampled the sand in the neighbourhood. He next took off deceased's shoes and put them on the corpse; then he put on a pair of boots or shoes which he had been carrying—perhaps hung round his neck—and which had been prepared with nails to imitate Draper's shoes. In these shoes he again trampled over the area near the corpse. Then he walked backwards to the Shepherd's Path, and from it again, still backwards, to the face of the cliff. Here his accomplice318 had lowered a rope, by which he climbed up to the top. At the top he took off the nailed shoes, and the two men walked back to the Gap, where the man who had carried the rope took his confederate on his back, and carried him down to the boat to avoid leaving the tracks of stockinged feet. The tracks that I saw at the Gap certainly indicated that the man was carrying something very heavy when he returned to the boat."
"But why should the man have climbed a rope up the cliff when he could have walked up the Shepherd's Path?" the magistrate asked.
"Because," replied Thorndyke, "there would then have been a set of tracks leading out of the Bay without a corresponding set leading into it; and this would have instantly suggested to a smart police-officer—such as Sergeant Payne—a landing from a boat."
"Your explanation is highly ingenious," said the magistrate, "and appears to cover all the very remarkable facts. Have you anything more to tell us?"
"No, your Worship," was the reply, "excepting" (here he took from Polton the last pair of moulds and passed them up to the magistrate) "that you will probably find these moulds of importance presently."
As Thorndyke stepped from the box—for there was no cross-examination—the magistrates scrutinized the moulds with an air of perplexity; but they were too discreet to make any remark.
When the evidence of Professor Copland (which showed that an unquestionably lethal319 dose of morphia must have been swallowed) had been taken, the clerk called out the—to me—unfamiliar name of Jacob Gummer. Thereupon an enormous pair of brown dreadnought trousers, from the upper end of which a smack-boy's head and shoulders protruded320, walked into the witness-box.
Jacob admitted at the outset that he was a smack-master's apprentice321, and that he had been "hired out" by his master to one Mr. Jezzard as deck-hand and cabin-boy of the yacht Otter.
"Now, Gummer," said Anstey, "do you remember the prisoner coming on board the yacht?"
"Yes. He has been on board twice. The first time was about a month ago. He went for a sail with us then. The second time was on the night when Mr. Hearn was murdered."
"Do you remember what sort of boots the prisoner was wearing the first time he came?"
"Yes. They were shoes with a lot of nails in the soles. I remember them because Mr. Jezzard made him take them off and put on a canvas pair."
"What was done with the nailed shoes?"
"Mr. Jezzard took 'em below to the cabin."
"And did Mr. Jezzard come up on deck again directly?"
"No. He stayed down in the cabin about ten minutes."
"Do you remember a parcel being delivered on board from a London boot-maker?"
"Yes. The postman brought it about four or five days after Mr. Draper had been on board. It was labelled 'Walker Bros., Boot and Shoe Makers322, London.' Mr. Jezzard took a pair of shoes from it, for I saw them on the locker323 in the cabin the same day."
"Did you ever see him wear them?"
"No. I never see 'em again."
"Have you ever heard sounds of hammering on the yacht?"
"Yes. The night after the parcel came I was on the quay alongside, and I heard someone a-hammering in the cabin."
"What did the hammering sound like?"
"It sounded like a cobbler a-hammering in nails."
"Have you over seen any boot-nails on the yacht?"
"Yes. When I was a-clearin' up the cabin the next mornin', I found a hobnail on the floor in a corner by the locker."
"Were you on board on the night when Mr. Hearn died?"
"Yes. I'd been ashore, but I came aboard about half-past nine."
"Did you see Mr. Hearn go ashore?"
"I see him leave the yacht. I had turned into my bunk324 and gone to sleep, when Mr. Jezzard calls down to me: 'We're putting Mr. Hearn ashore,' says he; 'and then,' he says, 'we're a-going for an hour's fishing. You needn't sit up,' he says, and with that he shuts the scuttle325. Then I got up and slid back the scuttle and put my head out, and I see Mr. Jezzard and Mr. Leach a-helpin' Mr. Hearn acrost the deck. Mr. Hearn he looked as if he was drunk. They got him into the boat—and a rare job they had—and Mr. Pitford, what was in the boat already, he pushed off. And then I popped my head in again, 'cause I didn't want them to see me."
"Did they row to the steps?"
"No. I put my head out again when they were gone, and I heard 'em row round the yacht, and then pull out towards the mouth of the harbour. I couldn't see the boat, 'cause it was a very dark night."
"Very well. Now I am going to ask you about another matter. Do you know anyone of the name of Polton?"
"Yes," replied Gummer, turning a dusky red. "I've just found out his real name. I thought he was called Simmons."
"Tell us what you know about him," said Anstey, with a mischievous326 smile.
"Well," said the boy, with a ferocious327 scowl328 at the bland268 and smiling Polton, "one day he come down to the yacht when the gentlemen had gone ashore. I believe he'd seen 'em go. And he offers me ten shillin' to let him see all the boots and shoes we'd got on board. I didn't see no harm, so I turns out the whole lot in the cabin for him to look at. While he was lookin' at 'em he asks me to fetch a pair of mine from the fo'c'sle, so I fetches 'em. When I come back he was pitchin' the boots and shoes back into the locker. Then, presently, he nips off, and when he was gone I looked over the shoes, and then I found there was a pair missing. They was an old pair of Mr. Jezzard's, and what made him nick 'em is more than I can understand."
"Would you know those shoes if you saw them!"
"Yes, I should," replied the lad.
"Are these the pair?" Anstey handed the boy a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes, which he seized eagerly.
"Yes, these is the ones what he stole!" he exclaimed.
Anstey took them back from the boy's reluctant hands, and passed them up to the magistrate's desk. "I think," said he, "that if your Worship will compare these shoes with the last pair of moulds, you will have no doubt that these are the shoes which made the footprints from the sea to Sundersley Gap and back again."
The magistrates together compared the shoes and the moulds amidst a breathless silence. At length the chairman laid them down on the desk.
"It is impossible to doubt it," said he. "The broken heel and the tear in the rubber sole, with the remains of the chequered pattern, make the identity practically certain."
As the chairman made this statement I involuntarily glanced round to the place where Jezzard was sitting. But he was not there; neither he, nor Pitford, nor Leach. Taking advantage of the preoccupation of the Court, they had quietly slipped out of the door. But I was not the only person who had noted their absence. The inspector and the sergeant were already in earnest consultation329, and a minute later they, too, hurriedly departed.
The proceedings now speedily came to an end. After a brief discussion with his brother-magistrates, the chairman addressed the Court.
"The remarkable and I may say startling evidence, which has been heard in this court to-day, if it has not fixed the guilt of this crime on any individual, has, at any rate, made it clear to our satisfaction that the prisoner is not the guilty person, and he is accordingly discharged. Mr. Draper, I have great pleasure in informing you that you are at liberty to leave the court, and that you do so entirely clear of all suspicion; and I congratulate you very heartily on the skill and ingenuity330 of your legal advisers331, but for which the decision of the Court would, I am afraid, have been very different."
That evening, lawyers, witnesses, and the jubilant and grateful client gathered round a truly festive332 board to dine, and fight over again the battle of the day. But we were scarcely halfway through our meal when, to the indignation of the servants, Sergeant Payne burst breathlessly into the room.
"They've gone, sir!" he exclaimed, addressing Thorndyke. "They've given us the slip for good."
"Why, how can that be?" asked Thorndyke.
"They're dead, sir! All three of them!"
"Dead!" we all exclaimed.
"Yes. They made a burst for the yacht when they left the court, and they got on board and put out to sea at once, hoping, no doubt, to get clear as the light was just failing. But they were in such a hurry that they did not see a steam trawler that was entering, and was hidden by the pier333. Then, just at the entrance, as the yacht was creeping out, the trawler hit her amidships, and fairly cut her in two. The three men were in the water in an instant, and were swept away in the eddy334 behind the north pier; and before any boat could put out to them they had all gone under. Jezzard's body came up on the beach just as I was coming away."
We were all silent and a little awed, but if any of us felt regret at the catastrophe335, it was at the thought that three such cold-blooded villains336 should have made so easy an exit; and to one of us, at least, the news came as a blessed relief.
点击收听单词发音
1 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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2 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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3 contingent | |
adj.视条件而定的;n.一组,代表团,分遣队 | |
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4 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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5 sedate | |
adj.沉着的,镇静的,安静的 | |
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6 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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7 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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8 fleeting | |
adj.短暂的,飞逝的 | |
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9 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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10 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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11 burrows | |
n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 );翻寻 | |
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12 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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13 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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14 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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15 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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16 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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17 ted | |
vt.翻晒,撒,撒开 | |
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18 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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19 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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20 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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21 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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22 obliterated | |
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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23 obliterate | |
v.擦去,涂抹,去掉...痕迹,消失,除去 | |
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24 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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25 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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26 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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27 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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28 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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29 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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30 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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31 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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32 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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33 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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34 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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35 demonstration | |
n.表明,示范,论证,示威 | |
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36 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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37 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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38 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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39 clumping | |
v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的现在分词 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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40 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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41 constables | |
n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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42 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
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43 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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44 retracing | |
v.折回( retrace的现在分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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45 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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46 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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47 systematic | |
adj.有系统的,有计划的,有方法的 | |
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48 paralysis | |
n.麻痹(症);瘫痪(症) | |
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49 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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50 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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51 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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52 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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53 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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54 discrepancy | |
n.不同;不符;差异;矛盾 | |
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55 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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56 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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57 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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58 emaciation | |
n.消瘦,憔悴,衰弱 | |
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59 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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60 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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61 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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62 footpath | |
n.小路,人行道 | |
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63 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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64 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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65 indented | |
adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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66 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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67 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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68 dissented | |
不同意,持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69 dissent | |
n./v.不同意,持异议 | |
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70 memoranda | |
n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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71 scrutinize | |
n.详细检查,细读 | |
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72 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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73 investigations | |
(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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74 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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75 lookout | |
n.注意,前途,瞭望台 | |
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76 tack | |
n.大头钉;假缝,粗缝 | |
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77 scrambled | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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78 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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79 memorandum | |
n.备忘录,便笺 | |
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80 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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81 scrutinized | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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83 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
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84 zigzagged | |
adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路,曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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86 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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87 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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89 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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90 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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91 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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92 jovial | |
adj.快乐的,好交际的 | |
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93 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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94 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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95 mumble | |
n./v.喃喃而语,咕哝 | |
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96 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97 isthmus | |
n.地峡 | |
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98 morass | |
n.沼泽,困境 | |
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99 riveted | |
铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 ); 把…固定住; 吸引; 引起某人的注意 | |
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100 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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101 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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102 inquisitively | |
过分好奇地; 好问地 | |
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103 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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104 impeachment | |
n.弹劾;控告;怀疑 | |
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105 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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107 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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108 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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109 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
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110 bucolic | |
adj.乡村的;牧羊的 | |
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111 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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113 ravenously | |
adv.大嚼地,饥饿地 | |
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114 strapped | |
adj.用皮带捆住的,用皮带装饰的;身无分文的;缺钱;手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词);用皮带抽打;包扎;给…打绷带 | |
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115 hamper | |
vt.妨碍,束缚,限制;n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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116 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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117 porcelain | |
n.瓷;adj.瓷的,瓷制的 | |
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118 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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119 straightforward | |
adj.正直的,坦率的;易懂的,简单的 | |
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120 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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121 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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122 juncture | |
n.时刻,关键时刻,紧要关头 | |
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123 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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124 confessions | |
n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
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125 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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126 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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127 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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128 furtively | |
adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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129 avocation | |
n.副业,业余爱好 | |
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130 undesirable | |
adj.不受欢迎的,不良的,不合意的,讨厌的;n.不受欢迎的人,不良分子 | |
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131 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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132 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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133 gambling | |
n.赌博;投机 | |
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134 billiards | |
n.台球 | |
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135 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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136 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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137 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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138 leach | |
v.分离,过滤掉;n.过滤;过滤器 | |
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139 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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140 invoked | |
v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 );行使(权利等);祈求救助;恳求 | |
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141 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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142 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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143 scribbled | |
v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
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144 wry | |
adj.讽刺的;扭曲的 | |
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145 propounded | |
v.提出(问题、计划等)供考虑[讨论],提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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147 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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148 skilfully | |
adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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149 demur | |
v.表示异议,反对 | |
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150 overdrawn | |
透支( overdraw的过去分词 ); (overdraw的过去分词) | |
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151 forgery | |
n.伪造的文件等,赝品,伪造(行为) | |
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152 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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153 vindictively | |
adv.恶毒地;报复地 | |
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154 forgeries | |
伪造( forgery的名词复数 ); 伪造的文件、签名等 | |
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155 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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156 penal | |
adj.刑罚的;刑法上的 | |
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157 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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158 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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159 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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160 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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161 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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162 mole | |
n.胎块;痣;克分子 | |
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163 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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164 otter | |
n.水獭 | |
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165 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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166 lamented | |
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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167 effusive | |
adj.热情洋溢的;感情(过多)流露的 | |
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168 likeness | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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169 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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170 moored | |
adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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171 quay | |
n.码头,靠岸处 | |
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172 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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173 spotted | |
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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174 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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175 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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176 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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177 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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178 berth | |
n.卧铺,停泊地,锚位;v.使停泊 | |
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179 professed | |
公开声称的,伪称的,已立誓信教的 | |
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180 lured | |
吸引,引诱(lure的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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181 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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182 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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183 dents | |
n.花边边饰;凹痕( dent的名词复数 );凹部;减少;削弱v.使产生凹痕( dent的第三人称单数 );损害;伤害;挫伤(信心、名誉等) | |
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184 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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185 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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186 crooks | |
n.骗子( crook的名词复数 );罪犯;弯曲部分;(牧羊人或主教用的)弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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187 risky | |
adj.有风险的,冒险的 | |
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188 slate | |
n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
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189 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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190 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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191 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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192 yokel | |
n.乡下人;农夫 | |
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193 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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194 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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195 stipulating | |
v.(尤指在协议或建议中)规定,约定,讲明(条件等)( stipulate的现在分词 );规定,明确要求 | |
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196 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
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197 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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198 blackmailed | |
胁迫,尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的过去式 ) | |
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199 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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200 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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201 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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202 pelting | |
微不足道的,无价值的,盛怒的 | |
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203 extemporized | |
v.即兴创作,即席演奏( extemporize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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204 authorized | |
a.委任的,许可的 | |
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205 autopsy | |
n.尸体解剖;尸检 | |
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206 authorization | |
n.授权,委任状 | |
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207 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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208 stickler | |
n.坚持细节之人 | |
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209 chuckled | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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210 irritably | |
ad.易生气地 | |
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211 aorta | |
n.主动脉 | |
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212 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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213 facetious | |
adj.轻浮的,好开玩笑的 | |
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214 oversight | |
n.勘漏,失察,疏忽 | |
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215 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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216 impartial | |
adj.(in,to)公正的,无偏见的 | |
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217 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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218 grunt | |
v.嘟哝;作呼噜声;n.呼噜声,嘟哝 | |
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219 subpoenaed | |
v.(用传票)传唤(某人)( subpoena的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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220 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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221 sarcastic | |
adj.讥讽的,讽刺的,嘲弄的 | |
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222 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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223 irrelevant | |
adj.不恰当的,无关系的,不相干的 | |
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224 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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225 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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226 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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227 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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228 artery | |
n.干线,要道;动脉 | |
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229 arteries | |
n.动脉( artery的名词复数 );干线,要道 | |
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230 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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231 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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232 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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233 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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234 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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235 deposed | |
v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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236 funereal | |
adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
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237 jotted | |
v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 );草草记下,匆匆记下 | |
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238 stoutly | |
adv.牢固地,粗壮的 | |
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239 eliciting | |
n. 诱发, 引出 动词elicit的现在分词形式 | |
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240 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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241 recapitulated | |
v.总结,扼要重述( recapitulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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242 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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243 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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244 expectancy | |
n.期望,预期,(根据概率统计求得)预期数额 | |
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245 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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246 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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247 abject | |
adj.极可怜的,卑屈的 | |
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248 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
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249 wilful | |
adj.任性的,故意的 | |
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250 maliciously | |
adv.有敌意地 | |
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251 forensic | |
adj.法庭的,雄辩的 | |
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252 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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253 felicitously | |
adv.恰当地,适切地 | |
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254 loft | |
n.阁楼,顶楼 | |
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255 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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256 crumbs | |
int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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257 magistrate | |
n.地方行政官,地方法官,治安官 | |
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258 adjourned | |
(使)休会, (使)休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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259 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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260 ferment | |
vt.使发酵;n./vt.(使)激动,(使)动乱 | |
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261 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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262 browsed | |
v.吃草( browse的过去式和过去分词 );随意翻阅;(在商店里)随便看看;(在计算机上)浏览信息 | |
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263 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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264 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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265 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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266 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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267 haughtily | |
adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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268 bland | |
adj.淡而无味的,温和的,无刺激性的 | |
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269 blandly | |
adv.温和地,殷勤地 | |
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270 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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271 nautical | |
adj.海上的,航海的,船员的 | |
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272 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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273 amicable | |
adj.和平的,友好的;友善的 | |
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274 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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275 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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276 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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277 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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278 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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279 illustrates | |
给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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280 painstaking | |
adj.苦干的;艰苦的,费力的,刻苦的 | |
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281 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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282 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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283 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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284 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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285 solicitor | |
n.初级律师,事务律师 | |
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286 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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287 preamble | |
n.前言;序文 | |
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288 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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289 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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290 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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291 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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292 taut | |
adj.拉紧的,绷紧的,紧张的 | |
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293 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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294 imperturbably | |
adv.泰然地,镇静地,平静地 | |
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295 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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296 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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297 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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298 utterances | |
n.发声( utterance的名词复数 );说话方式;语调;言论 | |
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299 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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300 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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301 stolidly | |
adv.迟钝地,神经麻木地 | |
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302 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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303 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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304 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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305 riddle | |
n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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306 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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307 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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308 gape | |
v.张口,打呵欠,目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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309 gapes | |
v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的第三人称单数 );张开,张大 | |
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310 retract | |
vt.缩回,撤回收回,取消 | |
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311 retraction | |
n.撤消;收回 | |
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312 gaped | |
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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313 oozing | |
v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的现在分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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314 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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315 analyzing | |
v.分析;分析( analyze的现在分词 );分解;解释;对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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316 secretions | |
n.分泌(物)( secretion的名词复数 ) | |
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317 residue | |
n.残余,剩余,残渣 | |
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318 accomplice | |
n.从犯,帮凶,同谋 | |
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319 lethal | |
adj.致死的;毁灭性的 | |
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320 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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321 apprentice | |
n.学徒,徒弟 | |
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322 makers | |
n.制造者,制造商(maker的复数形式) | |
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323 locker | |
n.更衣箱,储物柜,冷藏室,上锁的人 | |
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324 bunk | |
n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位;废话 | |
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325 scuttle | |
v.急赶,疾走,逃避;n.天窗;舷窗 | |
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326 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
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327 ferocious | |
adj.凶猛的,残暴的,极度的,十分强烈的 | |
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328 scowl | |
vi.(at)生气地皱眉,沉下脸,怒视;n.怒容 | |
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329 consultation | |
n.咨询;商量;商议;会议 | |
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330 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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331 advisers | |
顾问,劝告者( adviser的名词复数 ); (指导大学新生学科问题等的)指导教授 | |
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332 festive | |
adj.欢宴的,节日的 | |
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333 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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334 eddy | |
n.漩涡,涡流 | |
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335 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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336 villains | |
n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 );罪犯;(小说、戏剧等中的)反面人物;淘气鬼 | |
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