The friend with whom Latimer shared these Barkers Inn chambers11 was seated by the fire clothed comfortably in a suit of shabby old flannels12, reading a letter and smoking a briar-root, complacently13 at ease. He nodded when Dick stormed into the room, and spoke14 with his pipe between his teeth.
"Beastly night, isn't it?" remarked Mr. Fuller, who had been spending the evening at home very pleasantly.
"You'd say much more than that, Alan, my boy, if you'd been out in the fog," retorted Latimer. "Bur-r-r I'm glad to be indoors and to find you still out of bed at the eleventh hour. I've had adventures: official adventures."
"Connected with your employment as a journalist, I suppose," said Fuller in a lazy manner, and tucking the letter into his breast pocket, "but seriously speaking, Dicky, are adventures to be found in this over-civilized city?"
"Romance stalks the London streets, more or less disguised as the commonplace, my son. I can a tale unfold, but sha'n't do so until I change my kit16 and have a Scotch17 hot on the way to my mouth. Is the water boiling?" he demanded, directing his gaze towards the old-fashioned grate where a small black kettle fumed18 and hissed19 on the hob.
"It's been boiling for me," said Fuller, indicating an empty tumbler at his elbow, "but I've enough water for your needs."
"I only hope you've left enough whisky, which is far more precious. Poke15 up the fire and warm my slippers20 and make a fuss over me. I want to be fussed," said Dick plaintively21, as he retreated to his bedroom, "for I'm a poor orphan22 boy alone in this foggy world."
"Ass7!" observed Alan politely, and exposed the soles of his friend's slippers to the fire, "what about supper?"
"I've had that," sang out Latimer, "at someone else's cost."
"You must have ruined him then with your appetite," answered Fuller, laughing; while he tilted23 back his chair to place his feet against the mantelpiece and his hands behind his head. In this position he smoked quietly and admired the photograph of an extremely pretty girl, which stood beside the clock, while the small black kettle sang the song of home.
The room was both long and broad with a low whitewash24 ceiling, crossed with black oak beams, a somewhat slanting25 floor--owing to the great age of the building--and three squat26 windows which overlooked the dingy27 courtyard. These were draped with faded curtains of green rep, drawn28 at this late hour to exclude the cold, and before one stood the writing-table of Latimer, while the escritoire of Fuller bulked largely against the other. Between the two, and blocking the approach to the middle window, stretched a slippery horse-hair sofa, covered with a rugged29 Eastern shawl to hide its many deficiencies. A shabby Kidderminster carpet concealed30 the worn floor, but its sad hues31 were brightened by three or four gayly colored mats, purchased at a cheap price. The round table, the unmatched chairs, the heavy sideboard, the sofa aforesaid, and the chipped bookcase, were all the flotsam and jetsam of auction32 rooms, belonging, more or less, to the comfortably ugly style of the Albert period. On the plain green-papered walls were various photographs of men and women, with sundry33 college groups; pictures of football teams, cricketers and boating-crews; odd bits of china and miniature statues on brackets; likewise foils, fencing masks, boxing gloves and such-like paraphernalia34 of sport. It was a real man's room, suggestive of exuberant35 virility36, and remarkably37 untidy. All the same there was order in its disorder38, as both Latimer and Fuller knew exactly where to lay their hands on any article they wanted. The room was chaotic39 enough to drive a woman to distraction40, but comfortable and home-like for all that.
The journalist returned in a well-worn smoking suit, and proceeded to light his pipe. Fuller brewed41 him a glass of grog, and handed it across as he sat down in the saddleback chair on the verge42 of the hearthrug. The two men were fine specimens43 of humanity in their different ways. Latimer was large and fair and heavily built, with big limbs, and a suggestion of great strength. He had untidy yellow hair and a yellow mustache which he tugged44 at hard when perplexed45. His blue eyes were keen, but on the whole he did not reveal much brain power in his face, which undoubtedly46 told the truth, since he was more of an athlete than a scholar. Fuller, on the contrary, was brilliantly clever, and as a solicitor47 was doing very well for himself in a dingy Chancery Lane office. He was tall and slim, with a wiry frame, and a lean, clean-shaven face, clearly cut and bronzed. Indeed with his steady dark eyes and closely clipped black hair, and remarkably upright figure, he suggested the soldier. This was probably due to heredity, since he came of a fighting line for generations, although his father was a country vicar. Also, in spite of his sedentary occupation, the young man lived as much as possible in the open, and when not running down to his native village for weekends, haunted the parks on every possible occasion, or walked four miles on Hampstead Heath and into the country beyond. It was no wonder that he looked tanned, alert, bright-eyed, and active, more like a squire49 of the Midlands than a votary50 of Themis. Since Fuller senior was poor, the boy had to earn his bread and butter somehow, and after he left Cambridge had elected to become a lawyer. Shortly after he blossomed out into a full-blown solicitor, he chanced upon his old school friend, Dick Latimer, who had taken to journalism51, and the two had set up house together in the ancient Inn. On the whole they were fairly comfortable, if not blessed with an excess of the world's goods. Finally, being young, both were healthy and happy and hopeful and extremely enterprising.
"Well now, Dicky, what have you been doing?" asked Alan, when his friend, clothed and in his right mind, sipped52 his grog and puffed53 smoke-clouds.
"Attending an inquest at Rotherhithe."
"Oh, that murder case!"
Latimer nodded and stared into the fire. "It's a queer affair."
"So far as I have read the newspaper reports, it seems to be a very commonplace one."
"I told you that Romance was often disguised as the Commonplace, Alan."
"As how, in this instance?"
His friend did not reply directly. "What do you know of the matter?" he asked so abruptly54 that Fuller looked up in surprise.
"Why, what can I know save what I have read in the papers?"
"Nothing, of course. I never suggested that you do know anything. But it's no use my going over old ground, so I wish to hear what you have learned from the reports."
"Very little, if you will be so precise," said Alan after a pause. "In a fourth-class Rotherhithe boarding-house frequented chiefly by seamen55, a man called Baldwin Grison was found dead in his bedroom and on his bed, a few days ago. The Dagoes and Lascars and such British seamen as live under the same roof are not accused of committing the crime, and as Grison was desperately56 poor and degraded, there was no reason why he should be murdered, since he wasn't worth powder and shot. Old Mother Slaig, who keeps the house, declared that Grison retired57 to his room at ten o'clock, and it was only next morning, when he did not come down, that she learned of his death."
Latimer nodded again. "All true and plainly stated. You certainly think in a methodical manner, Alan. The man was found lying on his bed in the usual shabby suit of clothes he wore. But his breast was bare, and he had been pierced to the heart by some fine instrument which cannot be found. Death must have been instantaneous according to the report of the doctor who was called in. But you are wrong in thinking that the crime was motiveless58. I believe that robbery was the motive59."
"The papers didn't report any belief of the police that such was the case."
"The police don't know everything--at least the inspector60 didn't, although he knows a great deal more now," said Latimer, removing his pipe, "but the single room occupied by the deceased was tumbled upside down, so it is evident that the assassin was looking for the fruits of his crime. Whether he found what he wanted is questionable61."
"What was it?" asked Fuller, interested in the mystery.
"I'll tell you that later, although I really can't say for certain if I am right. Let us proceed gradually and thresh out the matter thoroughly62."
"Fire ahead. I am all attention."
"The police," continued Dick meditatively63, "hunted out evidence as to the identity and the status of the dead man, between the time of death and the holding of the inquest. Inspector Moon--he's the Rotherhithe chap in charge of the case--advertised, or made inquiries64, or got hold of the sister somehow. At all events she turned up yesterday and appeared at the inquest this very day."
"Who is the sister?"
"An elderly shrimp65 of a woman with light hair and a shrill66 voice, and a pair of very hard blue eyes. She heard that her brother was murdered, or Moon hunted her up in some way, and willingly came forward with her story."
"What is her story?"
"I'm just coming to it. What an impatient chap you are, Alan. Miss Grison--Louisa is her Christian67 name--keeps a shabby boarding-house in Bloomsbury, and is one of those people who have seen better days. It seems that her brother Baldwin was secretary to a person, whose name I shall tell you later, and was kicked out of his billet twenty years ago, because he couldn't run straight."
"What had he done?"
"I can't say. Miss Grison wouldn't confess, and as the story wasn't pertinent68 to the murder she wasn't pressed to confess. All she said was that her brother was an opium69-smoker and after losing his billet drifted to Rotherhithe, where he could indulge in his vice70. She tried to keep him respectable, and allowed him ten shillings a week to live on. But he sank lower and lower, so she saw very little of him. All she knew was that she sent the ten shilling postal71 order regularly every Friday so that Baldwin might get it on Saturday. He never visited her and he never wrote to her, but lived more or less like a hermit72 in Mother Slaig's boarding-house, and went out every night to smoke opium in some den48 kept by a Chinaman called Chin-Chow. Miss Grison sobbed73 bitterly when she gave her evidence and insisted that her brother owed his degradation74 to the enmity of people."
"What sort of people?"
"She didn't particularize. He was weak rather than bad, she insisted, and when he lost his situation, he lost heart also. At all events he devoted75 himself to the black smoke, and lived in the Rotherhithe slum, until he was found dead by the old hag who keeps the house."
"Did Miss Grison's evidence throw any light on the crime?"
"No. She declared that she did not know of anyone who would have killed the poor devil."
"Was there any evidence on the part of the doctor, or Mother Slaig, or those seamen in the house to show who murdered the man?" asked Fuller.
"Not the slightest. The house was open morn, noon and night, and those who lived there came and went at their will without being watched. It's a rowdy locality and a rowdy house, but Mother Slaig keeps fairly good order as she's a formidable old hag resembling Vautrin's aunt in Balzac's story."
"Madame Nourrisau; I remember," said Fuller, nodding. "Then I take it that no one in the house heard any struggle, or cry for help?"
"No. Besides, as I have told you, death must have been instantaneous. No one, so far as Mother Slaig or others in the house knew, visited Grison on that night, or indeed on any other occasion--so they say--since the man was more or less of a hermit. He went to bed at ten and at the same hour next morning he was found dead with his room all upside down."
"Was anything missed?"
"There was nothing to miss," said Latimer quickly. "I saw the room, which only contained a small bed, a small table and two chairs. The man had but one, suit of ragged76 clothes, which he concealed under a fairly good overcoat his sister declared she sent to him last Christmas. He was desperately poor and never seemed to do anything but smoke opium."
"What kind of a man was he to look at?"
"Something like the sister. Small and fair-haired, with blue eyes. Of course, owing to the black smoke, he was a wreck77 morally and physically78 and mentally, according to Mother Slaig, and the boys used to throw stones at him in the streets. However, to make a long story short, nothing could be found to show how the poor wretch79 had come by his death, so an open verdict was brought in--the sole thing which could be done. To-morrow his sister, who seems to have loved him in spite of his degradation, is taking away the corpse80 for burial."
"Where is it to be buried?"
Latimer looked up slowly. "In the churchyard of Belstone, Sussex," he said.
Alan sat up very straight and his manner expressed his unbounded astonishment81. "That's my father's parish," he gasped82.
"Yes. And the churchyard is attached to the building your father preaches in, my son," said Latimer dryly, "odd coincidence, isn't it?"
"But--but--what has this murdered man to do with Belstone?" asked Fuller in a bewildered manner.
"That's what I want to find out, Alan. Can't you remember the name?"
"Never heard of it. And yet the name Baldwin Grison is not a common one. I should certainly have remembered it had it been mentioned to me. It is odd certainly, as Belstone isn't exactly the hub of the universe. Grison! Baldwin Grison." Fuller shook his head. "No, I can't recall it. To be sure he may have been in the village twenty years ago, since you say that he has lived since that time in Rotherhithe. I was only seven years of age then, so I can remember nothing. But my father may know. I'll ask him when I go down this week-end."
"There's another thing I wish you to ask him."
"What is that?"
"The romantic thing which lifts this case out of the commonplace. Only Inspector Moon knows what I am about to tell you and he informed me with a recommendation not to make it public."
"Then why do you tell me?" said Fuller quickly. "Is it wise?"
"Quite wise," responded his friend imperturbably83, "because I asked Moon's permission to take you into our confidence."
Fuller looked puzzled. "Why?"
Again Dicky replied indirectly84. "It seems that Grison, unlucky beggar, had one friend, a street-arab brat85 called Jotty."
"Jotty what--or is Jotty a surname?"
"It's the only name the boy has. He's a clever little Cockney of fourteen, and wise beyond his years, picking up a living as best he can. Grison used to give him food occasionally, and sometimes money. Jotty ran errands for the man, and was the sole person admitted to his room."
"Well! well! well!" said Alan impatiently. "I'm coming to it, if you don't hurry me," said Latimer coolly. "Jotty on one occasion entered the room, and found Grison nursing between his hands--what do you think?"
"How the deuce should I know?"
"A peacock of jewels!"
Alan stared, and cast a swift glance at the photograph of the pretty girl on the mantelpiece. "A peacock of jewels!" he repeated under his breath.
"Or a jewelled peacock, if you like. Grison put it away when he saw the boy: but that he had such an article is quite certain, as Jotty hasn't the imagination to describe the thing. Now in spite of all search, Inspector Moon can't find that peacock, and you may be sure that after Jotty told his tale the inspector searched very thoroughly.
"Well?" Alan cast a second look at the photograph.
"Well," echoed Dick, rather annoyed, "can't you draw an inference. I think, and Moon thinks, that the assassin murdered Grison in order to gain possession of the peacock, which was of great value. If he wants to make money out of it he will have to sell it, and in this way the inspector hopes to trap the beast. For that reason, and so that the assassin may not be placed on his guard, Moon doesn't want anyone but you and me and himself to know the truth. You can't guess why I have told you this."
"Yes." Alan nodded and rubbed his knees, while a puzzled look came over his dark clean-cut face. "I remember telling you about the fetish of the Inderwicks ages ago."
"Tell me again as soon as you can withdraw your gaze from that photo."
Fuller colored, and laughed consciously. "When a man is in love, much may be forgiven him. And you must admit, Dicky, that she's the beauty of the world. Now isn't she?"
Latimer eyed the photograph in his turn. "She's pretty," he said judicially86.
"Pretty," echoed Fuller with great indignation, "she's an angel, and the loveliest girl ever created, besides being the most fascinating of women."
"Oh, spare me your raptures," broke in Dick impatiently. "Your taste in looks isn't mine, and I've met Miss Marie Inderwick, which you seem to forget. She is very nice and very pretty and----"
"Oh, hang your lukewarm phraseology," interrupted the other. "She's the most adorable girl in the universe."
"I admit that, for the sake of getting on with the business in hand. Now what about the peacock of jewels?"
"I told you all I know, which isn't much," said Alan, reluctantly changing the subject. "Marie lives at the big house in Belstone which is called 'The Monastery87' because it was given by Henry VIII., to the Inderwick of----"
"Oh, confound Henry VIII. What about the peacock?"
"It's the family fetish, and for one hundred years has been in the possession of the Inderwicks. It was stolen some twenty years ago, and no one ever knew what became of it. Now----"
"Now it turns up in the possession of Baldwin Grison, who has evidently been murdered on its account. And yet you deny latter-day romance."
"Well," observed Alan rubbing his knees again, "I admit that your truth is stranger than your professional journalistic fiction. But how did this man become possessed88 of the ornament89?"
Latimer shrugged90 his mighty91 shoulders. "How dense92 you are! Didn't I tell you how Louisa Grison declared that her brother had been secretary to a certain person, whose name I said I would tell you later on. I shall tell you now, if you aren't clever enough to guess it."
"Rats," said Fuller inelegantly. "How can you expect me to guess it?"
"By using what common-sense Nature has given you. Hang it, man, here is an excessively unique ornament belonging to the Inderwick family which has been missing for over twenty years. Grison's sister says that she intends to bury her brother's body in Belstone churchyard, and declared at the inquest that at one time he was the secretary to a certain person. Now if you put two and two together, you will find that the person is----"
"Mr. Sorley. Randolph Sorley," cried Fuller suddenly enlightened.
"In other words, the uncle and guardian93 of Miss Marie Inderwick. Well now, you can see that two and two do make four."
"Humph!" Fuller nursed his chin and looked thoughtfully at the fire. "So this murdered man was Mr. Sorley's secretary. According to his sister he lost the situation--perhaps, Dick, because he stole the peacock."
"We can't be positive of that, Alan. Grison, in his secretarial capacity, certainly lived at The Monastery and assisted Mr. Sorley in preparing for the press that dreary94 book about precious stones which seems to be his life work. He had every chance to steal, but if Mr. Sorley had suspected him he assuredly would have had him arrested."
"Perhaps Grison bolted and could not be traced."
"I think not. He was, so far as I can gather from what Miss Grison says, dismissed in due form. He lived with her for a time at the Bloomsbury boarding-house and later on drifted to Rotherhithe to indulge in his love for the black smoke. No! no! no! my son. Mr. Sorley could never have believed that Grison was in possession of the peacock of jewels."
"Then why did he discharge him?"
"We must find out, and that won't be easy after twenty years. Mr. Sorley is growing old and may not remember clearly. But Grison on the evidence of Jotty undoubtedly had this peacock, and since it cannot be found, he must have been murdered by someone who desired the ornament. The disorder of that sordid95 room shows that a strict search was made by the assassin, and it could be for nothing save the golden peacock. Now, if the assassin did find it, Alan, and if you and I and Moon and Jotty keep silent, the man will think that he is safe and will sell his plunder96."
"Wait a bit, Dick. He may unset the jewels and sell them separately. Then it will be difficult to trace him by the sale of the article."
"True enough of Solomon. However we must take our chance of that. If he is certain that the loss is not suspected he may sell the whole without splitting it into parts. If he does, Moon--who has his eye on all pawnshops and jewellers and on various receivers of stolen goods--can spot the beast and arrest him. But, as a second string to our bow, it is just as well to know all about this family fetish, since its history may throw some light on the mystery of its disappearance97. Now what you have to do, my son, is to go down to Belstone and learn all you can about Grison when he was secretary to old Sorley. Ask Miss Inderwick and her uncle about him."
"Marie won't know anything save by hearsay," said Alan, shaking his head. "Remember she's only twenty years of age, and was an infant in arms when the family fetish disappeared. Besides if I make inquiries I shall have to account for my curiosity by revealing what you have told me to keep secret."
"H'm! h'm! h'm!" murmured the other, frowning, "there is that objection certainly. We must put out our sprat to catch the mackerel. However, it wants three days till Saturday, so I shall see Moon and hear what he suggests about the matter. The Inderwicks are poor, aren't they, Alan?"
"There is only one Inderwick left," answered the young solicitor, rising to stretch his limbs, "and that is Marie. Of course she is desperately poor, as I told you ages ago. She has The Monastery, the few acres of the park, and two hundred a year to live on. Sorley is her mother's brother, her uncle and guardian, with another two hundred income. By pooling the cash, the two manage to keep things going."
"H'm! It's a dull life for the girl. Do you like Mr. Sorley?"
"No," replied Fuller serenely98. "He's a selfish old animal, who only regards Marie as a necessary piece of furniture. She was at school for many years and only returned home some twelve months ago. Now she acts as her uncle's housekeeper99, and leads an infernally dull life. Mr. Sorley never seems to think that Marie is young and requires enjoyment100. He's a beast."
"Ho," chuckled101 Dick shrewdly, "you seem to dislike him excessively. I can easily see that he doesn't favour your suit."
"No, hang him, he doesn't. If Marie married me, the old man would be left with his two hundred a year to get on as best he could, and you may be jolly well sure, Dicky, that he doesn't want to leave the big house."
"Natural enough," yawned Latimer. "Well, my son, you help Moon to hunt down Grison's assassin and recover the fetish of the Inderwicks and perhaps the old man, out of gratitude102, may accept you as a nephew-in-law."
"It's worth trying for at all events," said Alan thoughtfully. "Marie's an angel, and I'm bound to marry her sooner or later. I'll go down on Saturday and start operations."
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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crooked
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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hurled
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chambers
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flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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complacently
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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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poke
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kit
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scotch
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fumed
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hissed
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slippers
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plaintively
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orphan
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tilted
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whitewash
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slanting
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squat
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dingy
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rugged
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concealed
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hues
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auction
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sundry
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paraphernalia
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exuberant
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virility
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37
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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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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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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votary
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| n.崇拜者；爱好者；adj.誓约的，立誓任圣职的 | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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52
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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motiveless
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| adj.无动机的，无目的的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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shrimp
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| n.虾，小虾；矮小的人 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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imperturbably
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| adv.泰然地，镇静地，平静地 | |
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84
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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85
brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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86
judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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87
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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91
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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92
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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93
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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96
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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99
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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100
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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101
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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