Harold March had come to the little table and sat down at it with a subdued2 excitement smoldering3 in his somewhat cloudy and dreamy blue eyes. In the newspapers which he tossed from him on to the table there was enough to explain some if not all of his emotion. Public affairs in every department had reached a crisis. The government which had stood so long that men were used to it, as they are used to a hereditary4 despotism, had begun to be accused of blunders and even of financial abuses. Some said that the experiment of attempting to establish a peasantry in the west of England, on the lines of an early fancy of Horne Fisher's, had resulted in nothing but dangerous quarrels with more industrial neighbors. There had been particular complaints of the ill treatment of harmless foreigners, chiefly Asiatics, who happened to be employed in the new scientific works constructed on the coast. Indeed, the new Power which had arisen in Siberia, backed by Japan and other powerful allies, was inclined to take the matter up in the interests of its exiled subjects; and there had been wild talk about ambassadors and ultimatums5. But something much more serious, in its personal interest for March himself, seemed to fill his meeting with his friend with a mixture of embarrassment7 and indignation.
Perhaps it increased his annoyance8 that there was a certain unusual liveliness about the usually languid figure of Fisher. The ordinary image of him in March's mind was that of a pallid10 and bald-browed gentleman, who seemed to be prematurely11 old as well as prematurely bald. He was remembered as a man who expressed the opinions of a pessimist12 in the language of a lounger. Even now March could not be certain whether the change was merely a sort of masquerade of sunshine, or that effect of clear colors and clean-cut outlines that is always visible on the parade of a marine13 resort, relieved against the blue dado of the sea. But Fisher had a flower in his buttonhole, and his friend could have sworn he carried his cane14 with something almost like the swagger of a fighter. With such clouds gathering15 over England, the pessimist seemed to be the only man who carried his own sunshine.
"Look here," said Harold March, abruptly17, "you've been no end of a friend to me, and I never was so proud of a friendship before; but there's something I must get off my chest. The more I found out, the less I understood how you could stand it. And I tell you I'm going to stand it no longer."
Horne Fisher gazed across at him gravely and attentively18, but rather as if he were a long way off.
"You know I always liked you," said Fisher, quietly, "but I also respect you, which is not always the same thing. You may possibly guess that I like a good many people I don't respect. Perhaps it is my tragedy, perhaps it is my fault. But you are very different, and I promise you this: that I will never try to keep you as somebody to be liked, at the price of your not being respected."
"I know you are magnanimous," said March after a silence, "and yet you tolerate and perpetuate19 everything that is mean." Then after another silence he added: "Do you remember when we first met, when you were fishing in that brook20 in the affair of the target? And do you remember you said that, after all, it might do no harm if I could blow the whole tangle21 of this society to hell with dynamite22."
"Yes, and what of that?" asked Fisher.
"Only that I'm going to blow it to hell with dynamite," said Harold March, "and I think it right to give you fair warning. For a long time I didn't believe things were as bad as you said they were. But I never felt as if I could have bottled up what you knew, supposing you really knew it. Well, the long and the short of it is that I've got a conscience; and now, at last, I've also got a chance. I've been put in charge of a big independent paper, with a free hand, and we're going to open a cannonade on corruption23."
"That will be—Attwood, I suppose," said Fisher, reflectively.
"Timber merchant. Knows a lot about China."
"He knows a lot about England," said March, doggedly24, "and now I know it, too, we're not going to hush25 it up any longer. The people of this country have a right to know how they're ruled—or, rather, ruined. The Chancellor26 is in the pocket of the money lenders and has to do as he is told; otherwise he's bankrupt, and a bad sort of bankruptcy27, too, with nothing but cards and actresses behind it. The Prime Minister was in the petrol-contract business; and deep in it, too. The Foreign Minister is a wreck28 of drink and drugs. When you say that plainly about a man who may send thousands of Englishmen to die for nothing, you're called personal. If a poor engine driver gets drunk and sends thirty or forty people to death, nobody complains of the exposure being personal. The engine driver is not a person."
"If you agree with us, why the devil don't you act with us?" demanded his friend. "If you think it's right, why don't you do what's right? It's awful to think of a man of your abilities simply blocking the road to reform."
"We have often talked about that," replied Fisher, with the same composure. "The Prime Minister is my father's friend. The Foreign Minister married my sister. The Chancellor of the Exchequer30 is my first cousin. I mention the genealogy31 in some detail just now for a particular reason. The truth is I have a curious kind of cheerfulness at the moment. It isn't altogether the sun and the sea, sir. I am enjoying an emotion that is entirely32 new to me; a happy sensation I never remember having had before."
"What the devil do you mean?"
"I am feeling proud of my family," said Horne Fisher.
Harold March stared at him with round blue eyes, and seemed too much mystified even to ask a question. Fisher leaned back in his chair in his lazy fashion, and smiled as he continued.
"Look here, my dear fellow. Let me ask a question in turn. You imply that I have always known these things about my unfortunate kinsmen33. So I have. Do you suppose that Attwood hasn't always known them? Do you suppose he hasn't always known you as an honest man who would say these things when he got a chance? Why does Attwood unmuzzle you like a dog at this moment, after all these years? I know why he does; I know a good many things, far too many things. And therefore, as I have the honor to remark, I am proud of my family at last."
"But why?" repeated March, rather feebly.
"I am proud of the Chancellor because he gambled and the Foreign Minister because he drank and the Prime Minister because he took a commission on a contract," said Fisher, firmly. "I am proud of them because they did these things, and can be denounced for them, and know they can be denounced for them, and are standing34 firm for all that. I take off my hat to them because they are defying blackmail35, and refusing to smash their country to save themselves. I salute36 them as if they were going to die on the battlefield."
After a pause he continued: "And it will be a battlefield, too, and not a metaphorical37 one. We have yielded to foreign financiers so long that now it is war or ruin, Even the people, even the country people, are beginning to suspect that they are being ruined. That is the meaning of the regrettable incidents in the newspapers."
"The meaning of the outrages on Orientals," replied Fisher, "is that the financiers have introduced Chinese labor39 into this country with the deliberate intention of reducing workmen and peasants to starvation. Our unhappy politicians have made concession40 after concession; and now they are asking concessions41 which amount to our ordering a massacre42 of our own poor. If we do not fight now we shall never fight again. They will have put England in an economic position of starving in a week. But we are going to fight now; I shouldn't wonder if there were an ultimatum6 in a week and an invasion in a fortnight. All the past corruption and cowardice43 is hampering44 us, of course; the West country is pretty stormy and doubtful even in a military sense; and the Irish regiments45 there, that are supposed to support us by the new treaty, are pretty well in mutiny; for, of course, this infernal coolie capitalism46 is being pushed in Ireland, too. But it's to stop now; and if the government message of reassurance47 gets through to them in time, they may turn up after all by the time the enemy lands. For my poor old gang is going to stand to its guns at last. Of course it's only natural that when they have been whitewashed48 for half a century as paragons49, their sins should come back on them at the very moment when they are behaving like men for the first time in their lives. Well, I tell you, March, I know them inside out; and I know they are behaving like heroes. Every man of them ought to have a statue, and on the pedestal words like those of the noblest ruffian of the Revolution: 'Que mon nom soit fletri; que la France soit libre.'"
"Good God!" cried March, "shall we never get to the bottom of your mines and countermines?"
After a silence Fisher answered in a lower voice, looking his friend in the eyes.
"Did you think there was nothing but evil at the bottom of them?" he asked, gently. "Did you think I had found nothing but filth50 in the deep seas into which fate has thrown me? Believe me, you never know the best about men till you know the worst about them. It does not dispose of their strange human souls to know that they were exhibited to the world as impossibly impeccable wax works, who never looked after a woman or knew the meaning of a bribe51. Even in a palace, life can be lived well; and even in a Parliament, life can be lived with occasional efforts to live it well. I tell you it is as true of these rich fools and rascals52 as it is true of every poor footpad and pickpocket53; that only God knows how good they have tried to be. God alone knows what the conscience can survive, or how a man who has lost his honor will still try to save his soul."
There was another silence, and March sat staring at the table and Fisher at the sea. Then Fisher suddenly sprang to his feet and caught up his hat and stick with all his new alertness and even pugnacity54.
"Look here, old fellow," he cried, "let us make a bargain. Before you open your campaign for Attwood come down and stay with us for one week, to hear what we're really doing. I mean with the Faithful Few, formerly55 known as the Old Gang, occasionally to be described as the Low Lot. There are really only five of us that are quite fixed56, and organizing the national defense57; and we're living like a garrison58 in a sort of broken-down hotel in Kent. Come and see what we're really doing and what there is to be done, and do us justice. And after that, with unalterable love and affection for you, publish and be damned."
Thus it came about that in the last week before war, when events moved most rapidly, Harold March found himself one of a sort of small house party of the people he was proposing to denounce. They were living simply enough, for people with their tastes, in an old brown-brick inn faced with ivy60 and surrounded by rather dismal61 gardens. At the back of the building the garden ran up very steeply to a road along the ridge62 above; and a zigzag63 path scaled the slope in sharp angles, turning to and fro amid evergreens64 so somber65 that they might rather be called everblack. Here and there up the slope were statues having all the cold monstrosity of such minor66 ornaments67 of the eighteenth century; and a whole row of them ran as on a terrace along the last bank at the bottom, opposite the back door. This detail fixed itself first in March's mind merely because it figured in the first conversation he had with one of the cabinet ministers.
The cabinet ministers were rather older than he had expected to find them. The Prime Minister no longer looked like a boy, though he still looked a little like a baby. But it was one of those old and venerable babies, and the baby had soft gray hair. Everything about him was soft, to his speech and his way of walking; but over and above that his chief function seemed to be sleep. People left alone with him got so used to his eyes being closed that they were almost startled when they realized in the stillness that the eyes were wide open, and even watching. One thing at least would always make the old gentleman open his eyes. The one thing he really cared for in this world was his hobby of armored weapons, especially Eastern weapons, and he would talk for hours about Damascus blades and Arab swordmanship. Lord James Herries, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, was a short, dark, sturdy man with a very sallow face and a very sullen69 manner, which contrasted with the gorgeous flower in his buttonhole and his festive70 trick of being always slightly overdressed. It was something of a euphemism71 to call him a well-known man about town. There was perhaps more mystery in the question of how a man who lived for pleasure seemed to get so little pleasure out of it. Sir David Archer72, the Foreign Secretary, was the only one of them who was a self-made man, and the only one of them who looked like an aristocrat73. He was tall and thin and very handsome, with a grizzled beard; his gray hair was very curly, and even rose in front in two rebellious74 ringlets that seemed to the fanciful to tremble like the antennae75 of some giant insect, or to stir sympathetically with the restless tufted eyebrows76 over his rather haggard eyes. For the Foreign Secretary made no secret of his somewhat nervous condition, whatever might be the cause of it.
"Do you know that mood when one could scream because a mat is crooked77?" he said to March, as they walked up and down in the back garden below the line of dingy78 statues. "Women get into it when they've worked too hard; and I've been working pretty hard lately, of course. It drives me mad when Herries will wear his hat a little crooked—habit of looking like a gay dog. Sometime I swear I'll knock it off. That statue of Britannia over there isn't quite straight; it sticks forward a bit as if the lady were going to topple over. The damned thing is that it doesn't topple over and be done with it. See, it's clamped with an iron prop59. Don't be surprised if I get up in the middle of the night to hike it down."
They paced the path for a few moments in silence and then he continued. "It's odd those little things seem specially68 big when there are bigger things to worry about. We'd better go in and do some work."
Horne Fisher evidently allowed for all the neurotic79 possibilities of Archer and the dissipated habits of Herries; and whatever his faith in their present firmness, did not unduly80 tax their time and attention, even in the case of the Prime Minister. He had got the consent of the latter finally to the committing of the important documents, with the orders to the Western armies, to the care of a less conspicuous81 and more solid person—an uncle of his named Horne Hewitt, a rather colorless country squire82 who had been a good soldier, and was the military adviser83 of the committee. He was charged with expediting the government pledge, along with the concerted military plans, to the half-mutinous command in the west; and the still more urgent task of seeing that it did not fall into the hands of the enemy, who might appear at any moment from the east. Over and above this military official, the only other person present was a police official, a certain Doctor Prince, originally a police surgeon and now a distinguished84 detective, sent to be a bodyguard85 to the group. He was a square-faced man with big spectacles and a grimace86 that expressed the intention of keeping his mouth shut. Nobody else shared their captivity87 except the hotel proprietor88, a crusty Kentish man with a crab-apple face, one or two of his servants, and another servant privately91 attached to Lord James Herries. He was a young Scotchman named Campbell, who looked much more distinguished than his bilious-looking master, having chestnut92 hair and a long saturnine93 face with large but fine features. He was probably the one really efficient person in the house.
After about four days of the informal council, March had come to feel a sort of grotesque94 sublimity95 about these dubious96 figures, defiant97 in the twilight98 of danger, as if they were hunchbacks and cripples left alone to defend a town. All were working hard; and he himself looked up from writing a page of memoranda100 in a private room to see Horne Fisher standing in the doorway101, accoutered as if for travel. He fancied that Fisher looked a little pale; and after a moment that gentleman shut the door behind him and said, quietly:
"Well, the worst has happened. Or nearly the worst."
"Oh, I knew the enemy would land," said Fisher, with composure. "Yes, he's landed; but that's not the worst that could happen. The worst is that there's a leak of some sort, even from this fortress103 of ours. It's been a bit of a shock to me, I can tell you; though I suppose it's illogical. After all, I was full of admiration104 at finding three honest men in politics. I ought not to be full of astonishment105 if I find only two."
He ruminated106 a moment and then said, in such a fashion that March could hardly tell if he were changing the subject or no:
"It's hard at first to believe that a fellow like Herries, who had pickled himself in vice107 like vinegar, can have any scruple108 left. But about that I've noticed a curious thing. Patriotism109 is not the first virtue110. Patriotism rots into Prussianism when you pretend it is the first virtue. But patriotism is sometimes the last virtue. A man will swindle or seduce111 who will not sell his country. But who knows?"
"But what is to be done?" cried March, indignantly.
"My uncle has the papers safe enough," replied Fisher, "and is sending them west to-night; but somebody is trying to get at them from outside, I fear with the assistance of somebody inside. All I can do at present is to try to head off the man outside; and I must get away now and do it. I shall be back in about twenty-four hours. While I'm away I want you to keep an eye on these people and find out what you can. Au revoir." He vanished down the stairs; and from the window March could see him mount a motor cycle and trail away toward the neighboring town.
On the following morning, March was sitting in the window seat of the old inn parlor112, which was oak-paneled and ordinarily rather dark; but on that occasion it was full of the white light of a curiously113 clear morning—the moon had shone brilliantly for the last two or three nights. He was himself somewhat in shadow in the corner of the window seat; and Lord James Herries, coming in hastily from the garden behind, did not see him. Lord James clutched the back of a chair, as if to steady himself, and, sitting down abruptly at the table, littered with the last meal, poured himself out a tumbler of brandy and drank it. He sat with his back to March, but his yellow face appeared in a round mirror beyond and the tinge114 of it was like that of some horrible malady115. As March moved he started violently and faced round.
"My God!" he cried, "have you seen what's outside?"
"Outside?" repeated the other, glancing over his shoulder at the garden.
"Oh, go and look for yourself," cried Herries in a sort of fury.
"Hewitt's murdered and his papers stolen, that's all."
He turned his back again and sat down with a thud; his square shoulders were shaking. Harold March darted116 out of the doorway into the back garden with its steep slope of statues.
The first thing he saw was Doctor Prince, the detective, peering through his spectacles at something on the ground; the second was the thing he was peering at. Even after the sensational117 news he had heard inside, the sight was something of a sensation.
The monstrous118 stone image of Britannia was lying prone119 and face downward on the garden path; and there stuck out at random120 from underneath121 it, like the legs of a smashed fly, an arm clad in a white shirt sleeve and a leg clad in a khaki trouser, and hair of the unmistakable sandy gray that belonged to Horne Fisher's unfortunate uncle. There were pools of blood and the limbs were quite stiff in death.
"Couldn't this have been an accident?" said March, finding words at last.
"Look for yourself, I say," repeated the harsh voice of Herries, who had followed him with restless movements out of the door. "The papers are gone, I tell you. The fellow tore the coat off the corpse122 and cut the papers out of the inner pocket. There's the coat over there on the bank, with the great slash123 in it."
"But wait a minute," said the detective, Prince, quietly. "In that case there seems to be something of a mystery. A murderer might somehow have managed to throw the statue down on him, as he seems to have done. But I bet he couldn't easily have lifted it up again. I've tried; and I'm sure it would want three men at least. Yet we must suppose, on that theory, that the murderer first knocked him down as he walked past, using the statue as a stone club, then lifted it up again, took him out and deprived him of his coat, then put him back again in the posture124 of death and neatly125 replaced the statue. I tell you it's physically126 impossible. And how else could he have unclothed a man covered with that stone monument? It's worse than the conjurer's trick, when a man shuffles127 a coat off with his wrists tied."
"Could he have thrown down the statue after he'd stripped the corpse?" asked March.
"And why?" asked Prince, sharply. "If he'd killed his man and got his papers, he'd be away like the wind. He wouldn't potter about in a garden excavating128 the pedestals of statues. Besides—Hullo, who's that up there?"
High on the ridge above them, drawn129 in dark thin lines against the sky, was a figure looking so long and lean as to be almost spidery. The dark silhouette130 of the head showed two small tufts like horns; and they could almost have sworn that the horns moved.
"Archer!" shouted Herries, with sudden passion, and called to him with curses to come down. The figure drew back at the first cry, with an agitated131 movement so abrupt16 as almost to be called an antic. The next moment the man seemed to reconsider and collect himself, and began to come down the zigzag garden path, but with obvious reluctance132, his feet falling in slower and slower rhythm. Through March's mind were throbbing133 the phrases that this man himself had used, about going mad in the middle of the night and wrecking134 the stone figure. Just so, he could fancy, the maniac135 who had done such a thing might climb the crest136 of the hill, in that feverish137 dancing fashion, and look down on the wreck he had made. But the wreck he had made here was not only a wreck of stone.
When the man emerged at last on to the garden path, with the full light on his face and figure, he was walking slowly indeed, but easily, and with no appearance of fear.
"This is a terrible thing," he said. "I saw it from above; I was taking a stroll along the ridge."
"Do you mean that you saw the murder?" demanded March, "or the accident? I mean did you see the statue fall?"
"No," said Archer, "I mean I saw the statue fallen."
Prince seemed to be paying but little attention; his eye was riveted138 on an object lying on the path a yard or two from the corpse. It seemed to be a rusty89 iron bar bent139 crooked at one end.
"One thing I don't understand," he said, "is all this blood. The poor fellow's skull140 isn't smashed; most likely his neck is broken; but blood seems to have spouted141 as if all his arteries142 were severed143. I was wondering if some other instrument . . . that iron thing, for instance; but I don't see that even that is sharp enough. I suppose nobody knows what it is."
"I know what it is," said Archer in his deep but somewhat shaky voice. "I've seen it in my nightmares. It was the iron clamp or prop on the pedestal, stuck on to keep the wretched image upright when it began to wobble, I suppose. Anyhow, it was always stuck in the stonework there; and I suppose it came out when the thing collapsed144."
Doctor Prince nodded, but he continued to look down at the pools of blood and the bar of iron.
"I'm certain there's something more underneath all this," he said at last. "Perhaps something more underneath the statue. I have a huge sort of hunch99 that there is. We are four men now and between us we can lift that great tombstone there."
They all bent their strength to the business; there was a silence save for heavy breathing; and then, after an instant of the tottering145 and staggering of eight legs, the great carven column of rock was rolled away, and the body lying in its shirt and trousers was fully146 revealed. The spectacles of Doctor Prince seemed almost to enlarge with a restrained radiance like great eyes; for other things were revealed also. One was that the unfortunate Hewitt had a deep gash147 across the jugular148, which the triumphant149 doctor instantly identified as having been made with a sharp steel edge like a razor. The other was that immediately under the bank lay littered three shining scraps150 of steel, each nearly a foot long, one pointed151 and another fitted into a gorgeously jeweled hilt or handle. It was evidently a sort of long Oriental knife, long enough to be called a sword, but with a curious wavy152 edge; and there was a touch or two of blood on the point.
"I should have expected more blood, hardly on the point," observed Doctor Prince, thoughtfully, "but this is certainly the instrument. The slash was certainly made with a weapon shaped like this, and probably the slashing153 of the pocket as well. I suppose the brute154 threw in the statue, by way of giving him a public funeral."
March did not answer; he was mesmerized155 by the strange stones that glittered on the strange sword hilt; and their possible significance was broadening upon him like a dreadful dawn. It was a curious Asiatic weapon. He knew what name was connected in his memory with curious Asiatic weapons. Lord James spoke156 his secret thought for him, and yet it startled him like an irrelevance157.
"Where is the Prime Minister?" Herries had cried, suddenly, and somehow like the bark of a dog at some discovery.
"I cannot find him anywhere," he said. "I looked for him at once, as soon as I found the papers were gone. That servant of yours, Campbell, made a most efficient search, but there are no traces."
There was a long silence, at the end of which Herries uttered another cry, but upon an entirely new note.
"Well, you needn't look for him any longer," he said, "for here he comes, along with your friend Fisher. They look as if they'd been for a little walking tour."
The two figures approaching up the path were indeed those of Fisher, splashed with the mire159 of travel and carrying a scratch like that of a bramble across one side of his bald forehead, and of the great and gray-haired statesman who looked like a baby and was interested in Eastern swords and swordmanship. But beyond this bodily recognition, March could make neither head nor tail of their presence or demeanor160, which seemed to give a final touch of nonsense to the whole nightmare. The more closely he watched them, as they stood listening to the revelations of the detective, the more puzzled he was by their attitude—Fisher seemed grieved by the death of his uncle, but hardly shocked at it; the older man seemed almost openly thinking about something else, and neither had anything to suggest about a further pursuit of the fugitive161 spy and murderer, in spite of the prodigious162 importance of the documents he had stolen. When the detective had gone off to busy himself with that department of the business, to telephone and write his report, when Herries had gone back, probably to the brandy bottle, and the Prime Minister had blandly163 sauntered away toward a comfortable armchair in another part of the garden, Horne Fisher spoke directly to Harold March.
"My friend," he said, "I want you to come with me at once; there is no one else I can trust so much as that. The journey will take us most of the day, and the chief business cannot be done till nightfall. So we can talk things over thoroughly164 on the way. But I want you to be with me; for I rather think it is my hour."
March and Fisher both had motor bicycles; and the first half of their day's journey consisted in coasting eastward165 amid the unconversational noise of those uncomfortable engines. But when they came out beyond Canterbury into the flats of eastern Kent, Fisher stopped at a pleasant little public house beside a sleepy stream; and they sat down to eat and to drink and to speak almost for the first time. It was a brilliant afternoon, birds were singing in the wood behind, and the sun shone full on their ale bench and table; but the face of Fisher in the strong sunlight had a gravity never seen on it before.
"Before we go any farther," he said, "there is something you ought to know. You and I have seen some mysterious things and got to the bottom of them before now; and it's only right that you should get to the bottom of this one. But in dealing166 with the death of my uncle I must begin at the other end from where our old detective yarns167 began. I will give you the steps of deduction168 presently, if you want to listen to them; but I did not reach the truth of this by steps of deduction. I will first of all tell you the truth itself, because I knew the truth from the first. The other cases I approached from the outside, but in this case I was inside. I myself was the very core and center of everything."
Something in the speaker's pendent eyelids169 and grave gray eyes suddenly shook March to his foundations; and he cried, distractedly, "I don't understand!" as men do when they fear that they do understand. There was no sound for a space but the happy chatter170 of the birds, and then Horne Fisher said, calmly:
"It was I who killed my uncle. If you particularly want more, it was I who stole the state papers from him."
"Fisher!" cried his friend in a strangled voice.
"Let me tell you the whole thing before we part," continued the other, "and let me put it, for the sake of clearness, as we used to put our old problems. Now there are two things that are puzzling people about that problem, aren't there? The first is how the murderer managed to slip off the dead man's coat, when he was already pinned to the ground with that stone incubus171. The other, which is much smaller and less puzzling, is the fact of the sword that cut his throat being slightly stained at the point, instead of a good deal more stained at the edge. Well, I can dispose of the first question easily. Horne Hewitt took off his own coat before he was killed. I might say he took off his coat to be killed."
"Do you call that an explanation?" exclaimed March. "The words seem more meaningless, than the facts."
"Well, let us go on to the other facts," continued Fisher, equably.
"The reason that particular sword is not stained at the edge with
Hewitt's blood is that it was not used to kill Hewitt."
"But the doctor," protested March, "declared distinctly that the wound was made by that particular sword."
"I beg your pardon," replied Fisher. "He did not declare that it was made by that particular sword. He declared it was made by a sword of that particular pattern."
"But it was quite a queer and exceptional pattern," argued March; "surely it is far too fantastic a coincidence to imagine—"
"It was a fantastic coincidence," reflected Horne Fisher. "It's extraordinary what coincidences do sometimes occur. By the oddest chance in the world, by one chance in a million, it so happened that another sword of exactly the same shape was in the same garden at the same time. It may be partly explained, by the fact that I brought them both into the garden myself . . . come, my dear fellow; surely you can see now what it means. Put those two things together; there were two duplicate swords and he took off his coat for himself. It may assist your speculations172 to recall the fact that I am not exactly an assassin."
"A duel173!" exclaimed March, recovering himself. "Of course I ought to have thought of that. But who was the spy who stole the papers?"
"My uncle was the spy who stole the papers," replied Fisher, "or who tried to steal the papers when I stopped him—in the only way I could. The papers, that should have gone west to reassure174 our friends and give them the plans for repelling175 the invasion, would in a few hours have been in the hands of the invader176. What could I do? To have denounced one of our friends at this moment would have been to play into the hands of your friend Attwood, and all the party of panic and slavery. Besides, it may be that a man over forty has a subconscious177 desire to die as he has lived, and that I wanted, in a sense, to carry my secrets to the grave. Perhaps a hobby hardens with age; and my hobby has been silence. Perhaps I feel that I have killed my mother's brother, but I have saved my mother's name. Anyhow, I chose a time when I knew you were all asleep, and he was walking alone in the garden. I saw all the stone statues standing in the moonlight; and I myself was like one of those stone statues walking. In a voice that was not my own, I told him of his treason and demanded the papers; and when he refused, I forced him to take one of the two swords. The swords were among some specimens178 sent down here for the Prime Minister's inspection179; he is a collector, you know; they were the only equal weapons I could find. To cut an ugly tale short, we fought there on the path in front of the Britannia statue; he was a man of great strength, but I had somewhat the advantage in skill. His sword grazed my forehead almost at the moment when mine sank into the joint180 in his neck. He fell against the statue, like Caesar against Pompey's, hanging on to the iron rail; his sword was already broken. When I saw the blood from that deadly wound, everything else went from me; I dropped my sword and ran as if to lift him up. As I bent toward him something happened too quick for me to follow. I do not know whether the iron bar was rotted with rust90 and came away in his hand, or whether he rent it out of the rock with his apelike strength; but the thing was in his hand, and with his dying energies he swung it over my head, as I knelt there unarmed beside him. I looked up wildly to avoid the blow, and saw above us the great bulk of Britannia leaning outward like the figurehead of a ship. The next instant I saw it was leaning an inch or two more than usual, and all the skies with their outstanding stars seemed to be leaning with it. For the third second it was as if the skies fell; and in the fourth I was standing in the quiet garden, looking down on that flat ruin of stone and bone at which you were looking to-day. He had plucked out the last prop that held up the British goddess, and she had fallen and crushed the traitor181 in her fall. I turned and darted for the coat which I knew to contain the package, ripped it up with my sword, and raced away up the garden path to where my motor bike was waiting on the road above. I had every reason for haste; but I fled without looking back at the statue and the body; and I think the thing I fled from was the sight of that appalling182 allegory.
"Then I did the rest of what I had to do. All through the night and into the daybreak and the daylight I went humming through the villages and markets of South England like a traveling bullet, till I came to the headquarters in the West where the trouble was. I was just in time. I was able to placard the place, so to speak, with the news that the government had not betrayed them, and that they would find supports if they would push eastward against the enemy. There's no time to tell you all that happened; but I tell you it was the day of my life. A triumph like a torchlight procession, with torchlights that might have been firebrands. The mutinies simmered down; the men of Somerset and the western counties came pouring into the market places; the men who died with Arthur and stood firm with Alfred. The Irish regiments rallied to them, after a scene like a riot, and marched eastward out of the town singing Fenian songs. There was all that is not understood, about the dark laughter of that people, in the delight with which, even when marching with the English to the defense of England, they shouted at the top of their voices, 'High upon the gallows183 tree stood the noble-hearted three . . . With England's cruel cord about them cast.' However, the chorus was 'God save Ireland,' and we could all have sung that just then, in one sense or another.
"But there was another side to my mission. I carried the plans of the defense; and to a great extent, luckily, the plans of the invasion also. I won't worry you with strategics; but we knew where the enemy had pushed forward the great battery that covered all his movements; and though our friends from the West could hardly arrive in time to intercept184 the main movement, they might get within long artillery185 range of the battery and shell it, if they only knew exactly where it was. They could hardly tell that unless somebody round about here sent up some sort of signal. But, somehow, I rather fancy that somebody will."
With that he got up from the table, and they remounted their machines and went eastward into the advancing twilight of evening. The levels of the landscape were repeated in flat strips of floating cloud and the last colors of day clung to the circle of the horizon. Receding186 farther and farther behind them was the semicircle of the last hills; and it was quite suddenly that they saw afar off the dim line of the sea. It was not a strip of bright blue as they had seen it from the sunny veranda, but of a sinister187 and smoky violet, a tint188 that seemed ominous189 and dark. Here Horne Fisher dismounted once more.
"We must walk the rest of the way," he said, "and the last bit of all I must walk alone."
He bent down and began to unstrap something from his bicycle. It was something that had puzzled his companion all the way in spite of what held him to more interesting riddles190; it appeared to be several lengths of pole strapped191 together and wrapped up in paper. Fisher took it under his arm and began to pick his way across the turf. The ground was growing more tumbled and irregular and he was walking toward a mass of thickets192 and small woods; night grew darker every moment. "We must not talk any more," said Fisher. "I shall whisper to you when you are to halt. Don't try to follow me then, for it will only spoil the show; one man can barely crawl safely to the spot, and two would certainly be caught."
"I would follow you anywhere," replied March, "but I would halt, too, if that is better."
"I know you would," said his friend in a low voice. "Perhaps you're the only man I ever quite trusted in this world."
A few paces farther on they came to the end of a great ridge or mound193 looking monstrous against the dim sky; and Fisher stopped with a gesture. He caught his companion's hand and wrung194 it with a violent tenderness, and then darted forward into the darkness. March could faintly see his figure crawling along under the shadow of the ridge, then he lost sight of it, and then he saw it again standing on another mound two hundred yards away. Beside him stood a singular erection made apparently195 of two rods. He bent over it and there was the flare196 of a light; all March's schoolboy memories woke in him, and he knew what it was. It was the stand of a rocket. The confused, incongruous memories still possessed197 him up to the very moment of a fierce but familiar sound; and an instant after the rocket left its perch198 and went up into endless space like a starry199 arrow aimed at the stars. March thought suddenly of the signs of the last days and knew he was looking at the apocalyptic200 meteor of something like a Day of judgment201.
Far up in the infinite heavens the rocket drooped202 and sprang into scarlet203 stars. For a moment the whole landscape out to the sea and back to the crescent of the wooded hills was like a lake of ruby204 light, of a red strangely rich and glorious, as if the world were steeped in wine rather than blood, or the earth were an earthly paradise, over which paused forever the sanguine205 moment of morning.
"God save England!" cried Fisher, with a tongue like the peal206 of a trumpet207. "And now it is for God to save."
As darkness sank again over land and sea, there came another sound; far away in the passes of the hills behind them the guns spoke like the baying of great hounds. Something that was not a rocket, that came not hissing208 but screaming, went over Harold March's head and expanded beyond the mound into light and deafening209 din9, staggering the brain with unbearable210 brutalities of noise. Another came, and then another, and the world was full of uproar211 and volcanic212 vapor213 and chaotic214 light. The artillery of the West country and the Irish had located the great enemy battery, and were pounding it to pieces.
In the mad excitement of that moment March peered through the storm, looking again for the long lean figure that stood beside the stand of the rocket. Then another flash lit up the whole ridge. The figure was not there.
Before the fires of the rocket had faded from the sky, long before the first gun had sounded from the distant hills, a splutter of rifle fire had flashed and flickered215 all around from the hidden trenches216 of the enemy. Something lay in the shadow at the foot of the ridge, as stiff as the stick of the fallen rocket; and the man who knew too much knew what is worth knowing.
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1
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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2
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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3
smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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4
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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5
ultimatums
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| 最后通牒( ultimatum的名词复数 ) | |
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6
ultimatum
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| n.最后通牒 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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10
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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12
pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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13
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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14
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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15
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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16
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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17
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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18
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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19
perpetuate
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| v.使永存，使永记不忘 | |
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20
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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21
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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22
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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23
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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24
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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25
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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26
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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27
bankruptcy
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| n.破产；无偿付能力 | |
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28
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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29
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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30
exchequer
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| n.财政部；国库 | |
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31
genealogy
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| n.家系，宗谱 | |
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32
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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33
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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36
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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metaphorical
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| a.隐喻的，比喻的 | |
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38
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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40
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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41
concessions
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| n.（尤指由政府或雇主给予的）特许权( concession的名词复数 )；承认；减价；（在某地的）特许经营权 | |
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42
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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43
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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44
hampering
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的现在分词 ) | |
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45
regiments
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| （军队的）团( regiment的名词复数 )； 大量的人或物 | |
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46
capitalism
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| n.资本主义 | |
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47
reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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48
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
paragons
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| n.模范( paragon的名词复数 )；典型；十全十美的人；完美无缺的人 | |
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50
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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51
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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52
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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53
pickpocket
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| n.扒手；v.扒窃 | |
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54
pugnacity
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| n.好斗，好战 | |
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55
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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57
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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58
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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59
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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60
ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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61
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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63
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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64
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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65
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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66
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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69
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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70
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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71
euphemism
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| n.婉言，委婉的说法 | |
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72
archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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73
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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75
antennae
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| n.天线；触角 | |
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76
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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77
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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80
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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81
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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82
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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83
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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84
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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85
bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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86
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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87
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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88
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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89
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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91
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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92
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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93
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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94
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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95
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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96
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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97
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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98
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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99
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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100
memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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101
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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102
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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103
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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104
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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105
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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106
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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107
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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108
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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109
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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110
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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111
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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112
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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113
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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114
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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115
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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116
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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117
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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118
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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119
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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120
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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121
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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122
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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123
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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124
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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125
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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126
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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127
shuffles
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| n.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的名词复数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的第三人称单数 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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128
excavating
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| v.挖掘( excavate的现在分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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129
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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130
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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131
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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132
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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133
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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134
wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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135
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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136
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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137
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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138
riveted
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| 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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139
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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140
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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141
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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142
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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143
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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144
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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145
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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146
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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147
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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148
jugular
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| n.颈静脉 | |
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149
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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150
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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151
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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152
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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153
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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154
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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155
mesmerized
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| v.使入迷( mesmerize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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156
spoke
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| 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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157
irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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158
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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159
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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160
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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161
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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162
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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163
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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164
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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165
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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166
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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167
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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168
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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169
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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170
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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171
incubus
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| n.负担；恶梦 | |
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172
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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173
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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174
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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175
repelling
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| v.击退( repel的现在分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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176
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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177
subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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178
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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179
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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180
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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181
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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182
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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183
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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184
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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185
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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186
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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187
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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188
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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189
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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190
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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191
strapped
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| 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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192
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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193
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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194
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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195
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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196
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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197
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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198
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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199
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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200
apocalyptic
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| adj.预示灾祸的，启示的 | |
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201
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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202
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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203
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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204
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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205
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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206
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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207
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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208
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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209
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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210
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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211
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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212
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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213
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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214
chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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215
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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216
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
参考例句： |
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