Matters had reached this stage at the abbey. Everybody was thoroughly tired of the piece, and, but for the thought of the disappointment which—presumably—would rack the neighboring nobility and gentry13 if it were not to be produced, would have resigned without a twinge of regret. People who had schemed to get the best and longest parts were wishing now that they had been content with First Footman or Giles, a villager.
Charteris to Jimmy, almost tearfully the night before the production.
"It's not good enough. Most of them aren't word-perfect yet. And we've
"It'll be all right on——"
"Oh, don't say it'll be all right on the night."
"I wasn't going to," said Jimmy. "I was going to say it'll be all right after the night. People will soon forget how badly the thing went."
"You're a nice, comforting sort of man, aren't you?" said Charteris.
"Why worry?" said Jimmy. "If you go on like this, it'll be Westminster
Abbey for you in your prime. You'll be getting brain fever."
Jimmy himself was feeling particularly cheerful. He was deriving15 a keen amusement at present from the manoeuvres of Mr. Samuel Galer, of New York. This lynx-eyed man, having been instructed by Mr. McEachern to watch Jimmy, was doing so with a pertinacity16 which would have made a man with the snowiest of consciences suspicious. If Jimmy went to the billiard room after dinner, Mr. Galer was there to keep him company. If, during the course of the day, he had occasion to fetch a handkerchief or a cigarette case from his bedroom, he was sure, on emerging, to stumble upon Mr. Galer in the corridor. The employees of Wragge's Detective Agency, Ltd., believed in earning their salaries. Occasionally, after these encounters, Jimmy would come upon Sir Thomas Blunt's valet, the other man in whom Spike's trained eye had discerned the distinguishing trait of the detective. He was usually somewhere round the corner at these moments, and, when collided with, apologized with great politeness. It tickled17 Jimmy to think that both these giant brains should be so greatly exercised on his account.
Spennie, meanwhile, had been doing quite an unprecedented18 amount of thinking. Quite an intellectual pallor had begun to appear on his normally pink cheeks. He had discovered the profound truth that it is one thing to talk about paying one's debts, another actually to do it, and that this is more particularly the case when we owe twenty pounds and possess but six pounds seven shillings and fourpence. Spennie was acutely conscious of the fact that, if he could not follow up his words to Wesson with actual coin, the result would be something of an anticlimax19. Somehow or other he would have to get the money—and at once. The difficulty was that no one seemed at all inclined to lend it to him.
There is a good deal to be said against stealing as a habit; but it cannot he denied that, in certain circumstances, it offers an admirable solution of a difficulty, and if the penalties were not so exceedingly unpleasant, it is probable that it would become far more fashionable than it is.
Spennie's mind did not turn immediately to this outlet20 from his embarrassment21. He had never stolen before, and it did not occur to him directly to do so now. There is a conservative strain in all of us. But gradually, as it was borne in upon him that it was the only course possible, unless he applied22 to his stepfather—a task for which his courage was not sufficient—he found himself contemplating23 the possibility of having to secure the money by unlawful means. By lunch time, on the morning of the day fixed24 for the theatricals25, he had decided26 definitely to do so. By dinner time he had fixed upon the object of his attentions.
With a vague idea of keeping the thing in the family, he had resolved to make his raid upon Sir Thomas Blunt. Somehow it did not seem so bad robbing one's relatives.
A man's first crime is, as a rule, a shockingly amateurish27 affair. Now and then, it is true, we find beginners forging with the accuracy of old hands or breaking into houses with the finish of experts. But these are isolated28 cases. The average tyro29 lacks generalship altogether. Spennie may be cited as a typical novice30. It did not strike him that inquiries31 might be instituted by Sir Thomas, when he found his money gone, and that Wesson, finding a man whom he knew to be impecunious32 suddenly in possession of twenty pounds, might have suspicions. His mind was entirely33 filled with the thought of getting the money. There was no room in it for any other reflection.
His plan was simple. Sir Thomas, he knew, always carried a good deal of money with him. It was unlikely that he kept this on his person in the evening. A man to whom the set of his clothes is as important as it was to Sir Thomas, does not carry a pocket-book full of banknotes when he is dressed for dinner. He would leave it somewhere, reasoned Spennie. Where, he asked himself. The answer was easy. In his dressing34 room. Spennie's plan of campaign was complete.
The theatricals began at half-past eight. The audience had been hustled35 into their seats, happier than is usual in such circumstances from the rumor36 that the proceedings37 were to terminate with an informal dance. The abbey was singularly well constructed for such a purpose. There was plenty of room, and a sufficiency of retreat for those who sat out, in addition to a conservatory38 large enough to have married off half the couples in the county. The audience was in an excellent humor, and the monologue39, the first item of the programme, was received with a warmth which gave Charteris, whom rehearsals had turned into a pessimist40, a faint hope that the main item on the programme might not be the complete failure it had promised to be.
Spennie's idea had been to get through his burglarious specialty41 during the monologue, when his absence would not be noticed. It might be that if he disappeared later in the evening people would wonder what had become of him.
As he was passing through the hall, a hand fell on his shoulder.
Conscience makes cowards of us all. Spennie bit his tongue and leaped
three inches into the air.
"Hello, Charteris!" he said gaspingly.
"Spennie, my boyhood's only friend," said Charteris, "where are you off to?"
"What—what do you mean? I was just going upstairs."
"Then don't. You're wanted. Our prompter can't be found. I want you to take his place till he blows in. Come along."
The official prompter arrived at the end of the monologue with the remark that he had been having a bit of a smoke in the garden and his watch had gone wrong. Leaving him to discuss the point with Charteris, Spennie slipped quietly away, and flitted up the stairs toward Sir Thomas' dressing room. At the door, he stopped and listened. There was no sound. The house might have been deserted43. He opened the door, and switched on the electric light.
Fortune was with him. On the dressing table, together with a bunch of keys and some small change, lay a brown leather pocketbook. Evidently Sir Thomas did not share Lady Blunt's impression that the world was waiting for a chance to rob him as soon as his back was turned.
Spennie opened the pocketbook, and counted the contents. There were two ten-pound notes, and four of five pounds.
Then he walked rapidly down the corridor to his own room.
Just as he reached it, he received a shock only less severe than the former one from the fact that this time no hand was placed on his shoulder.
"Spennie!" cried a voice.
He turned, to see Molly. She wore the costume of the stage milkmaid. Coming out of her room after dressing for her part, she had been in time to see Spennie emerge through Sir Thomas' door with a look on his face furtive45 enough to have made any jury bring in a verdict of guilty on any count without further evidence. She did not know what he had been doing; but she was very certain that it was something which he ought to have left undone46.
"Er—hullo, Molly!" said Spennie bonelessly.
"What were you doing in Uncle Thomas' room, Spennie?"
"Nothing. I was just looking round."
"Just looking round?"
"That's all."
Molly was puzzled.
"Why did you look like that when you came out?"
"Like what?"
"So guilty."
"Guilty! What are you talking about?"
Molly suddenly saw light.
"Spennie," she said, "what were you putting in your pocket as you came out?"
"Putting in my pocket!" said Spennie, rallying with the desperation of one fighting a lost cause. "What do you mean?"
"You were putting something."
Another denial was hovering47 on Spennie's lips, when, in a flash, he saw what he had not seen before, the cloud of suspicion which must hang over him when the loss of the notes was discovered. Sir Thomas would remember that he had tried to borrow money from him. Wesson would wonder how he had become possessed48 of twenty pounds. And Molly had actually seen him coming out of the room, putting something in his pocket.
He threw himself at the mercy of the court.
"It's like this, Molly," he said. And, having prefaced his narrative49 with the sound remark that he had been a fool, he gave her a summary of recent events.
"I see," said Molly. "And you must pay him at once?"
"By the end of the week. We had—we had a bit of a row."
"What about?"
"Oh, nothing," said Spennie. "Anyhow, I told him I'd pay him by
Saturday, and I don't want to have to climb down."
"Of course not. Jimmy shall lend you the money."
"Who? Jimmy Pitt?"
"Yes."
"But, I say, look here, Molly. I mean, I've been to him, already. He lent me a fiver. He might kick if I tried to touch him again so soon."
"I'll ask him for it."
"But, look here, Molly——"
"Jimmy and I are engaged, Spennie."
"What! Not really? I say, I'm frightfully pleased. He's one of the best. I'm fearfully glad. Why, that's absolutely topping. It'll be all right. I'll sweat to pay him back. I'll save out of my allowance. I can easily do it if I cut out a few things and don't go about so much. You're a frightfully good sort, Molly. I say, will you ask him to-night? I want to pay Wesson first thing to-morrow morning."
"Very well. You'd better give me those notes, Spennie. I'll put them back."
The amateur cracksman handed over his loot, and retired50 toward the stairs. Molly could hear him going down them three at a time, in a whirl of relief and good resolutions. She went to Sir Thomas' room, and replaced the notes. Having done this, she could not resist the temptation to examine herself in the glass for a few moments. Then she turned away, switched off the light, and was just about to leave the room when a soft footstep in the passage outside came to her ears.
She shrank back. She felt a curiously51 guilty sensation, as if she had been in the room with criminal rather than benevolent52 intentions. Her motives53 in being where she was were excellent—but she would wait till this person had passed before coming out into the passage.
Then it came to her with a shock that the person was not going to pass. The footsteps halted outside the door.
There was a curtain at her side, behind which hung certain suits of
Sir Thomas'. She stepped noiselessly behind this.
The footsteps passed on into the room.
点击收听单词发音
1 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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2 rehearsals | |
n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 );排练;复述;重复 | |
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3 rehearsal | |
n.排练,排演;练习 | |
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4 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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5 irritability | |
n.易怒 | |
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6 intermittent | |
adj.间歇的,断断续续的 | |
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7 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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8 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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9 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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10 suavity | |
n.温和;殷勤 | |
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11 demeanor | |
n.行为;风度 | |
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12 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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13 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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14 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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15 deriving | |
v.得到( derive的现在分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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16 pertinacity | |
n.执拗,顽固 | |
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17 tickled | |
(使)发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)愉快,逗乐 | |
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18 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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19 anticlimax | |
n.令人扫兴的结局;突降法 | |
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20 outlet | |
n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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21 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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22 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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23 contemplating | |
深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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24 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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25 theatricals | |
n.(业余性的)戏剧演出,舞台表演艺术;职业演员;戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 );剧场的;炫耀的;戏剧性的 | |
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26 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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27 amateurish | |
n.业余爱好的,不熟练的 | |
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28 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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29 tyro | |
n.初学者;生手 | |
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30 novice | |
adj.新手的,生手的 | |
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31 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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32 impecunious | |
adj.不名一文的,贫穷的 | |
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33 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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34 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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35 hustled | |
催促(hustle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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36 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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37 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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38 conservatory | |
n.温室,音乐学院;adj.保存性的,有保存力的 | |
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39 monologue | |
n.长篇大论,(戏剧等中的)独白 | |
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40 pessimist | |
n.悲观者;悲观主义者;厌世 | |
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41 specialty | |
n.(speciality)特性,特质;专业,专长 | |
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42 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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43 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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44 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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45 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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46 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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47 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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48 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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49 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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50 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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51 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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52 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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53 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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