Malcolm Grey handled the piece of dirty india-rubber almost tenderly. There was a smile on his face which somewhat irritated Tanza. The little Italian, usually so quick at picking up a clue, was quite baffled now. His instinct told him that Grey had made an important discovery. He stretched out his hand eagerly.
"Let me look at it," he said.
"Certainly," Grey said good-naturedly. "Look at it, by all means, but you won't make much out of the thing. It is simply a finger of a glove made of india-rubber, which might mean anything. But to me it conveys a good deal."
"And to me it conveys nothing," Tanza replied. "Now, let me see. Who are the sort of men who wear india-rubber gloves? I suppose they are manufactured for a certain class of sportsmen. I know they are used by electricians, and latterly by up-to-date burglars. You know these gentry1 have adopted india-rubber gloves to obliterate2 finger-marks. No doubt one of the fraternity has been here, though I am bound to confess that we are not getting much farther. What do you make of it?"
"If you don't mind, I won't tell you yet," Grey said. "Of course, you have already invented a theory of your own, which may be right and which may be wrong. You may not agree with me, but it is possible that if I tell you my theory you will modify yours, to the destruction of, perhaps, a really logical sequence of ideas. Now, if you keep your notion to yourself and I keep mine to myself we may get a definite conclusion all the sooner. Don't you think I am right?"
"Well, perhaps you are," Tanza said thoughtfully. "As for me, I have already got a notion, so we will both preserve our ideas and see which leads to the goal first."
"I am glad you said that," Grey remarked gravely. "I must confess that when I picked up that finger-stall I was startled. It indicated a fresh train of thought to me. It suggested one of the most startling and most original crimes of modern times. The idea came to me like a flash. But it is one thing to discover the source of a crime, and quite another to put your hand upon the criminal. And now, if you don't mind, I think I should like to be alone. There are one or two things I want to do before I can put my theory into practice, and it would be much more prudent4 if I exercised this discretion5 by myself."
"Right you are," Tanza said gaily6. "I will return to the yacht. I suppose you will be back to dinner?"
Grey made no reply. Already he seemed to be immersed in his own thoughts. He was more or less oblivious7 of the presence of his companion. When he was alone he walked round the marble basin of the fountain, scrutinising every inch of the ground with minutest attention. Round and round he went, with his eyes bent8 upon the earth, his body doubled. But though he spent some considerable time there, nothing seemed to reward his search. He shook his head as he turned away from the fountain, and proceeded to walk backwards9 and forwards across the lawn, like a man searching for some object which he has dropped. It was not till he got to the edge of the grass that his face lighted and a grim smile trembled on his thin lips. From the gravel3 path he took up a mass of silk thread all ravelled up together, and a little farther on was a piece of wire about the length of a pin, and also a small square of india-rubber not larger than a postage stamp. These trivial objects Grey placed in an envelope which he put in his pocket. As he looked up he saw Charlock watching him curiously10 out of one of the windows of the house. He was about to move away, when the artist beckoned11 to him. He lingered a moment, and Charlock appeared at the front door and asked him curtly12 if he would come in.
"I want to ask you a question or two," Charlock said. "You seem to have built up a pretty good reputation since we used to meet at the Old Bohemian Club in Craven Street. I believe you have studied medicine, among other things?"
"Quite right," Grey smiled. "All the same, you don't look as if you want a doctor. You are the picture of health."
Charlock smiled in his grimmest fashion.
"Am I?" he said. "In that case my looks belie13 me. I am not a crank or a faddist14, but certain signs which I have had lately are not to be disregarded. I am strong enough physically15, but those early days of poverty have left their mark. It isn't good for a young man to starve for weeks at a time, as I used to do. And of late I have been working far too hard. You see, the trouble that worries me is here."
Charlock laid his hand upon his heart. He seemed to have some difficulty in speaking. The smile died from Grey's lips and he became serious. He had seen too many men of perfect physique with that fatal heart weakness to make light of Charlock's fears. He motioned him to a chair.
"Take off your coat and waistcoat," he said, "and let me listen. It is as well to be on the safe side."
The speaker laid his ear to Charlock's heart for a moment or two, and when he rose there was a certain gravity in his eyes, which Charlock noticed with a cynical16 smile.
"Well," he said, "is it very bad?"
"No," Grey said gravely. "I don't think so. Of course, I can't be absolutely certain without a stethoscope, but I think there is nothing organically wrong. You have been overstraining yourself and there is a weakness which is more or less pronounced. A month's holiday, with plenty of open air and exercise, will put you right again. Still, there is another test which ought to settle the matter. Do you happen to have such a thing in the house as a bottle of sal volatile17? Or a little brandy would do."
"No brandy for me," Charlock said. "I never touch the stuff. I shouldn't wonder if there was a bottle of sal volatile in that unfortunate maid's room. I understand that Hortense was hysterical18 and used to doctor herself with the remedy you speak of. I'll ring the bell and see."
A servant came in answer to the summons, but she stood hesitating as Charlock told her what he needed. She was a domestic of the country type, with vacant face and staring eyes. She shook her head stubbornly.
"I couldn't do it, sir," she said. "I wouldn't go into Hortense's room—no, not if you was to double my wages. It isn't safe, my mother always said, to go into the room of a suicide. It makes you feel that way yourself."
Charlock appeared to be on the verge19 of an explosion of temper, when Grey cut in. Expostulation was useless.
"Oh, never mind," he said. "Show me the room and I'll look for myself. Now come along. I won't even ask you to come inside. If you will point out the room to me——"
The round-eyed domestic accepted the compromise cheerfully. She piloted Grey up the stairs and indicated a room at the far end of the corridor. Then she retired20 precipitately21, to Grey's great amusement. He knew that it was useless to argue with rustics22 of that sort. He entered the room and glanced around him.
The bedroom was comfortably furnished. There was a variety of pictures and knickknacks on the walls, and a book-shelf was laden23 with French novels. The maid had furnished her bedroom in imitation of a lady's boudoir. She was of luxurious24 habits, too, for a fire was laid in the grate and an attempt had been made to light it. Paper and sticks were charred25 away, but the coal had been obstinate26 and had refused to burn. A few letters had been torn up and thrown in the back of the fire, and these, for the most part, were charred and smoked until only a few words could be read. In a spirit of idle curiosity, Grey knelt down and examined these. He smiled to himself at his own weakness. Clearly he had caught this fever of investigation27 from his Italian friend. After a moment or two, however, his amused smile vanished, he grew deeply interested. A fragment of one of the letters was in his hand. He could make out a few words thereon, among which stood out prominently the expression "be cautious," and then, lower down, the still more significant words "the sundial."
There was nothing on the back of the paper, nothing more to indicate the writer's meaning. But, whoever the writer was, he had conveyed a warning to Hortense by means of his letter, and in some strange, inscrutable way that warning was mixed up with the old Roman sundial. No doubt the maid had torn up the letter and thrown it on the fire while the sticks were still burning, taking it for granted, of course, that the letter was destroyed.
"A lucky find," Grey murmured to himself. "There is more here than meets the eye. I shall have a fine story for Tanza. Still, it is one thing to know how a crime is committed and another to discover the perpetrator. I wonder if I can find a further clue—hallo!"
Grey almost started as he pulled from the grate a photograph which had been torn across the middle. He placed the two pieces together and examined them by the light of the window. There was a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the photograph, which was that of two men dressed for some outdoor sport. One face was strange to him, but he recognised the other.
"Arnold Rent," he muttered. "Rent, to a certainty."
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1
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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obliterate
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| v.擦去，涂抹，去掉...痕迹，消失，除去 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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faddist
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| n.趋于时尚者，好新奇的人 | |
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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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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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volatile
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| adj.反复无常的，挥发性的，稍纵即逝的，脾气火爆的；n.挥发性物质 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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rustics
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| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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