“No wonder the servants heard M. Renauld mounting the stairs; not a board of them but creaks fit to wake the dead!”
At the head of the staircase, a small passage branched off.
“The servants’ quarters,” explained Bex.
We continued along a corridor, and Françoise tapped on the last door to the right of it.
A faint voice bade us enter, and we passed into a large sunny apartment looking out towards the sea, which showed blue and sparkling about a quarter of a mile distant.
On a couch, propped3 up with cushions, and attended by Dr. Durand, lay a tall, striking-looking woman. She was middle-aged4, and her once dark hair was now almost entirely5 silvered, but the intense vitality6 and strength of her personality would have made itself felt anywhere. You knew at once that you were in the presence of what the French call “une maitresse femme.”
“Pray be seated, monsieurs.”
We took chairs, and the magistrate9’s clerk established himself at a round table.
“I hope, madame,” began M. Hautet, “that it will not distress10 you unduly11 to relate to us what occurred last night?”
“Not at all, monsieur. I know the value of time, if these scoundrelly assassins are to be caught and punished.”
“Very well, madame. It will fatigue12 you less, I think, if I ask you questions and you confine yourself to answering them. At what time did you go to bed last night?”
“At half-past nine, monsieur. I was tired.”
“And your husband?”
“About an hour later, I fancy.”
“Did he seem disturbed—upset in any way?”
“No, not more than usual.”
“What happened then?”
“We slept. I was awakened13 by a hand being pressed over my mouth. I tried to scream out, but the hand prevented me. There were two men in the room. They were both masked.”
“Can you describe them at all, madame?”
“One was very tall, and had a long black beard, the other was short and stout14. His beard was reddish. They both wore hats pulled down over their eyes.”
“H’m,” said the magistrate thoughtfully, “too much beard, I fear.”
“You mean they were false?”
“Yes, madame. But continue your story.”
“It was the short man who was holding me. He forced a gag into my mouth, and then bound me with rope hand and foot. The other man was standing16 over my husband. He had caught up my little dagger17 paper-knife from the dressing18-table and was holding it with the point just over his heart. When the short man had finished with me, he joined the other, and they forced my husband to get up and accompany them into the dressing-room next door. I was nearly fainting with terror, nevertheless I listened desperately19.
“They were speaking in too low a tone for me to hear what they said. But I recognized the language, a bastard20 Spanish such as is spoken in some parts of South America. They seemed to be demanding something from my husband, and presently they grew angry, and their voices rose a little. I think the tall man was speaking. ‘You know what we want!’ he said. ‘The secret! Where is it?’ I do not know what my husband answered, but the other replied fiercely: ‘You lie! We know you have it. Where are your keys?’
“Then I heard sounds of drawers being pulled out. There is a safe on the wall of my husband’s dressing-room in which he always keeps a fairly large amount of ready money. Léonie tells me this has been rifled and the money taken, but evidently what they were looking for was not there, for presently I heard the tall man, with an oath, command my husband to dress himself. Soon after that, I think some noise in the house must have disturbed them, for they hustled22 my husband out into my room only half dressed.”
“No, monsieur, there is only the communicating door into my room. They hurried my husband through, the short man in front, and the tall man behind him with the dagger still in his hand. Paul tried to break away to come to me. I saw his agonized24 eyes. He turned to his captors. ‘I must speak to her,’ he said. Then, coming to the side of the bed, ‘It is all right, Eloise,’ he said. ‘Do not be afraid. I shall return before morning.’ But, although he tried to make his voice confident, I could see the terror in his eyes. Then they hustled him out of the door, the tall man saying: ‘One sound—and you are a dead man, remember.’
“After that,” continued Mrs. Renauld, “I must have fainted. The next thing I recollect25 is Léonie rubbing my wrists, and giving me brandy.”
“Madame Renauld,” said the magistrate, “had you any idea what it was for which the assassins were searching?”
“None whatever, monsieur.”
“Had you any knowledge that your husband feared something?”
“Yes. I had seen the change in him.”
“How long ago was that?”
Mrs. Renauld reflected.
“Ten days perhaps.”
“Not longer?”
“Possibly. I only noticed it then.”
“Did you question your husband at all as to the cause?”
“Once. He put me off evasively. Nevertheless, I was convinced that he was suffering some terrible anxiety. However, since he evidently wished to conceal26 the fact from me, I tried to pretend that I had noticed nothing.”
“Were you aware that he had called in the services of a detective?”
“A detective?” exclaimed Mrs. Renauld, very much surprised.
“Yes, this gentleman—M. Hercule Poirot.” Poirot bowed. “He arrived today in response to a summons from your husband.” And taking the letter written by M. Renauld from his pocket he handed it to the lady.
“Now, madame, I will beg of you to be frank with me. Is there any incident in your husband’s past life in South America which might throw light on his murder?”
Mrs. Renauld reflected deeply, but at last shook her head.
“I can think of none. Certainly my husband had many enemies, people he had got the better of in some way or another, but I can think of no one distinctive29 case. I do not say there is no such incident—only that I am not aware of it.”
The examining magistrate stroked his beard disconsolately30.
“Yes, I distinctly remember hearing the clock on the mantelpiece strike two.” She nodded towards an eight-day travelling clock in a leather case which stood in the centre of the chimney-piece.
Poirot rose from his seat, scrutinized32 the clock carefully, and nodded, satisfied.
“And here too,” exclaimed M. Bex, “is a wrist watch, knocked off the dressing-table by the assassins, without doubt, and smashed to atoms. Little did they know it would testify against them.”
Gently he picked away the fragments of broken glass. Suddenly his face changed to one of utter stupefaction.
“Mon Dieu!” he ejaculated.
“What is it?”
“The hands of the watch point to seven o’clock!”
“What?” cried the examining magistrate, astonished.
But Poirot, deft33 as ever, took the broken trinket from the startled commissary, and held it to his ear. Then he smiled.
“The glass is broken, yes, but the watch itself is still going.”
The explanation of the mystery was greeted with a relieved smile. But the magistrate bethought him of another point.
“But surely it is not seven o’clock now?”
“No,” said Poirot gently, “it is a few minutes after five. Possibly the watch gains, is that so, madame?”
Mrs. Renauld was frowning perplexedly.
“It does gain,” she admitted, “but I’ve never known it to gain quite so much as that.”
With a gesture of impatience34, the magistrate left the matter of the watch and proceeded with his interrogatory.
“Madame, the front door was found ajar. It seems almost certain that the murderers entered that way, yet it has not been forced at all. Can you suggest any explanation?”
“Possibly my husband went out for a stroll the last thing, and forgot to latch35 it when he came in.”
“Is that a likely thing to happen?”
“Very. My husband was the most absent-minded of men.”
There was a slight frown on her brow as she spoke21, as though this trait in the dead man’s character had at times vexed36 her.
“There is one inference I think we might draw,” remarked the commissary suddenly. “Since the men insisted on M. Renauld dressing himself, it looks as though the place they were taking him to, the place where ‘the secret’ was concealed37, lay some distance away.”
The magistrate nodded.
“Yes, far, and yet not too far, since he spoke of being back by morning.”
“What times does the last train leave the station of Merlinville?” asked Poirot.
“Eleven-fifty one way, and 12:17 the other, but it is more probable that they had a motor waiting.”
“Of course,” agreed Poirot, looking somewhat crestfallen38.
“Indeed, that might be one way of tracing them,” continued the magistrate, brightening. “A motor containing two foreigners is quite likely to have been noticed. That is an excellent point, M. Bex.”
He smiled to himself, and then, becoming grave once more, he said to Mrs. Renauld:
“There is another question. Do you know any one of the name of ‘Duveen’?”
“Duveen?” Mrs. Renauld repeated, thoughtfully. “No, for the moment, I cannot say I do.”
“You have never heard your husband mention any one of that name?”
“Never.”
He watched Mrs. Renauld narrowly as he spoke, seeking to surprise any signs of anger or consciousness, but she merely shook her head in quite a natural manner. He continued his questions.
“Are you aware that your husband had a visitor last night?”
Now he saw the red mount slightly in her cheeks, but she replied composedly.
“No, who was that?”
“A lady.”
“Indeed?”
But for the moment the magistrate was content to say no more. It seemed unlikely that Madame Daubreuil had any connection with the crime, and he was anxious not to upset Mrs. Renauld more than necessary.
He made a sign to the commissary, and the latter replied with a nod. Then rising, he went across the room, and returned with the glass jar we had seen in the outhouse in his hand. From this, he took the dagger.
“Madame,” he said gently, “do you recognize this?”
She gave a little cry.
“Yes, that is my little dagger.” Then—she saw the stained point, and she drew back, her eyes widening with horror. “Is that—blood?”
“Yes, madame. Your husband was killed with this weapon.” He removed it hastily from sight. “You are quite sure about it’s being the one that was on your dressing-table last night?”
“Oh, yes. It was a present from my son. He was in the Air Force during the War. He gave his age as older than it was.” There was a touch of the proud mother in her voice. “This was made from a streamline40 aeroplane wire, and was given to me by my son as a souvenir of the War.”
“I see, madame. That brings us to another matter. Your son, where is he now? It is necessary that he should be telegraphed to without delay.”
“Jack? He is on his way to Buenos Ayres.”
“What?”
“Yes. My husband telegraphed to him yesterday. He had sent him on business to Paris, but yesterday he discovered that it would be necessary for him to proceed without delay to South America. There was a boat leaving Cherbourg for Buenos Ayres last night, and he wired him to catch it.”
“Have you any knowledge of what the business in Buenos Ayres was?”
“No, monsieur, I know nothing of its nature, but Buenos Ayres is not my son’s final destination. He was going overland from there to Santiago.”
“Santiago! Again Santiago!”
It was at this moment, when we were all stunned42 by the mention of that word, that Poirot approached Mrs. Renauld. He had been standing by the window like a man lost in a dream, and I doubt if he had fully taken in what had passed. He paused by the lady’s side with a bow.
“Pardon, madame, but may I examine your wrists.”
Though slightly surprised at the request, Mrs. Renauld held them out to him. Round each of them was a cruel red mark where the cords had bitten into the flesh. As he examined them, I fancied that a momentary43 flicker44 of excitement I had seen in his eyes disappeared.
“They must cause you great pain,” he said, and once more he looked puzzled.
But the magistrate was speaking excitedly.
“Young M. Renauld must be communicated with at once by wireless45. It is vital that we should know anything he can tell us about this trip to Santiago.” He hesitated. “I hoped he might have been near at hand, so that we could have saved you pain, madame.” He paused.
“You mean,” she said in a low voice, “the identification of my husband’s body?”
The magistrate bowed his head.
“I am a strong woman, monsieur. I can bear all that is required of me. I am ready—now.”
“Oh, tomorrow will be quite soon enough, I assure you—”
“I prefer to get it over,” she said in a low tone, a spasm46 of pain crossing her face. “If you will be so good as to give me your arm, Doctor?”
The doctor hastened forward, a cloak was thrown over Mrs. Renauld’s shoulders, and a slow procession went down the stairs. M. Bex hurried on ahead to open the door of the shed. In a minute or two Mrs. Renauld appeared in the doorway47. She was very pale, but resolute48. Behind her, M. Hautet was clacking commiserations and apologies like an animated49 hen.
She raised her hand to her face.
“A moment, messieurs, while I steel myself.”
She took her hand away and looked down at the dead man. Then the marvellous self-control which had upheld her so far deserted50 her.
“Paul!” she cried. “Husband! Oh, God!” And pitching forward she fell unconscious to the ground.
Instantly Poirot was beside her, he raised the lid of her eye, felt her pulse. When he had satisfied himself that she had really fainted, he drew aside. He caught me by the arm.
“I am an imbecile, my friend! If ever there was love and grief in a woman’s voice, I heard it then. My little idea was all wrong. Eh bien! I must start again!”
作者的其它作品
斯泰尔斯庄园奇案 The Mysterious Affair at Styles
作者的其它作品
斯泰尔斯庄园奇案 The Mysterious Affair at Styles
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1
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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2
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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7
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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8
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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9
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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10
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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11
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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12
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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13
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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15
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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16
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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17
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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19
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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20
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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21
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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22
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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23
egress
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| n.出去；出口 | |
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24
agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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25
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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26
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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27
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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28
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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29
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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30
disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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31
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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32
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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34
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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35
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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36
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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37
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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38
crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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39
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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40
streamline
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| vt.使成流线型；使简化；使现代化 | |
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41
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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42
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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43
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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44
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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45
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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46
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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47
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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48
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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49
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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50
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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