I was to have a further proof that day of the success of Poirot’s tactics. That challenge of his had been a subtle touch born of his knowledge of human nature. A mixture of fear and guilt1 had wrung2 the truth from Mrs. Ackroyd. She was the first to react.
That afternoon when I returned from seeing my patients, Caroline told me that Geoffrey Raymond had just left.
“Did he want to see me?” I asked, as I hung up my coat in the hall.
“It was M. Poirot he wanted to see,” she said. “He’d just come from The Larches4. M. Poirot was out. Mr. Raymond thought that he might be here, or that you might know where he was.”
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“I tried to make him wait,” said Caroline, “but he said he would call back at The Larches in half an hour, and went away down the village. A great pity, because M. Poirot came in practically the minute after he left.”
“Came in here?”
“No, to his own house.”
“How do you know?”
179
“Aren’t you going across?”
“Across where?”
“To The Larches, of course.”
“My dear Caroline,” I said, “what for?”
“Mr. Raymond wanted to see him very particularly,” said Caroline. “You might hear what it’s all about.”
“Curiosity is not my besetting8 sin,” I remarked coldly. “I can exist comfortably without knowing exactly what my neighbors are doing and thinking.”
“Stuff and nonsense, James,” said my sister. “You want to know just as much as I do. You’re not so honest, that’s all. You always have to pretend.”
Ten minutes later Caroline tapped at the door and entered. In her hand she held what seemed to be a pot of jam.
“I wonder, James,” she said, “if you would mind taking this pot of medlar jelly across to M. Poirot? I promised it to him. He has never tasted any home-made medlar jelly.”
“Why can’t Annie go?” I asked coldly.
“She’s doing some mending. I can’t spare her.”
Caroline and I looked at each other.
“Very well,” I said, rising. “But if I take the beastly thing, I shall just leave it at the door. You understand that?”
180
My sister raised her eyebrows.
“Naturally,” she said. “Who suggested you should do anything else?”
The honors were with Caroline.
“If you do happen to see M. Poirot,” she said, as I opened the front door, “you might tell him about the boots.”
It was a most subtle parting shot. I wanted dreadfully to understand the enigma10 of the boots. When the old lady with the Breton cap opened the door to me, I found myself asking if M. Poirot was in, quite automatically.
Poirot sprang up to meet me, with every appearance of pleasure.
“Sit down, my good friend,” he said. “The big chair? This small one? The room is not too hot, no?”
I thought it was stifling11, but refrained from saying so. The windows were closed, and a large fire burned in the grate.
“The English people, they have a mania12 for the fresh air,” declared Poirot. “The big air, it is all very well outside, where it belongs. Why admit it to the house? But let us not discuss such banalities. You have something for me, yes?”
“Two things,” I said. “First—this—from my sister.”
I handed over the pot of medlar jelly.
“How kind of Mademoiselle Caroline. She has remembered her promise. And the second thing?”
“Information—of a kind.”
181
And I told him of my interview with Mrs. Ackroyd. He listened with interest, but not much excitement.
“It clears the ground,” he said thoughtfully. “And it has a certain value as confirming the evidence of the housekeeper13. She said, you remember, that she found the silver table lid open and closed it down in passing.”
“What about her statement that she went into the drawing-room to see if the flowers were fresh?”
“Ah! we never took that very seriously, did we, my friend? It was patently an excuse, trumped14 up in a hurry, by a woman who felt it urgent to explain her presence—which, by the way, you would probably never have thought of questioning. I considered it possible that her agitation15 might arise from the fact that she had been tampering16 with the silver table, but I think now that we must look for another cause.”
“Yes,” I said. “Whom did she go out to meet? And why?”
“You think she went to meet some one?”
“I do.”
Poirot nodded.
“So do I,” he said thoughtfully.
There was a pause.
“By the way,” I said, “I’ve got a message for you from my sister. Ralph Paton’s boots were black, not brown.”
I was watching him closely as I gave the message, and I fancied that I saw a momentary17 flicker18 of discomposure. If so, it passed almost immediately.
“She is absolutely positive they are not brown?”
“Absolutely.”
182
“Ah!” said Poirot regretfully. “That is a pity.”
And he seemed quite crestfallen19.
He entered into no explanations, but at once started a new subject of conversation.
“The housekeeper, Miss Russell, who came to consult you on that Friday morning—is it indiscreet to ask what passed at the interview—apart from the medical details, I mean?”
“Not at all,” I said. “When the professional part of the conversation was over, we talked for a few minutes about poisons, and the ease or difficulty of detecting them, and about drug-taking and drug-takers.”
“How did you know?” I asked, somewhat surprised.
For answer, the little man rose and crossed the room to where newspapers were filed. He brought me a copy of the Daily Budget, dated Friday, 16th September, and showed me an article dealing21 with the smuggling22 of cocaine. It was a somewhat lurid23 article, written with an eye to picturesque24 effect.
“That is what put cocaine into her head, my friend,” he said.
I would have catechized him further, for I did not quite understand his meaning, but at that moment the door opened and Geoffrey Raymond was announced.
“How are you, doctor? M. Poirot, this is the second time I’ve been here this morning. I was anxious to catch you.”
183
“Perhaps I’d better be off,” I suggested rather awkwardly.
“Not on my account, doctor. No, it’s just this,” he went on, seating himself at a wave of invitation from Poirot, “I’ve got a confession26 to make.”
“En verité?” said Poirot, with an air of polite interest.
“Oh, it’s of no consequence, really. But, as a matter of fact, my conscience has been pricking27 me ever since yesterday afternoon. You accused us all of keeping back something, M. Poirot. I plead guilty. I’ve had something up my sleeve.”
“And what is that, M. Raymond?”
“As I say, it’s nothing of consequence—just this. I was in debt—badly, and that legacy29 came in the nick of time. Five hundred pounds puts me on my feet again with a little to spare.”
He smiled at us both with that engaging frankness that made him such a likable youngster.
“You know how it is. Suspicious looking policeman—don’t like to admit you were hard up for money—think it will look bad to them. But I was a fool, really, because Blunt and I were in the billiard room from a quarter to ten onwards, so I’ve got a watertight alibi30 and nothing to fear. Still, when you thundered out that stuff about concealing32 things, I felt a nasty prick28 of conscience, and I thought I’d like to get it off my mind.”
He got up again and stood smiling at us.
“You are a very wise young man,” said Poirot, nodding at him with approval. “See you, when I know that184 any one is hiding things from me, I suspect that the thing hidden may be something very bad indeed. You have done well.”
“I’m glad I’m cleared from suspicion,” laughed Raymond. “I’ll be off now.”
“So that is that,” I remarked, as the door closed behind the young secretary.
“Yes,” agreed Poirot. “A mere33 bagatelle—but if he had not been in the billiard room—who knows? After all, many crimes have been committed for the sake of less than five hundred pounds. It all depends on what sum is sufficient to break a man. A question of the relativity, is it not so? Have you reflected, my friend, that many people in that house stood to benefit by Mr. Ackroyd’s death? Mrs. Ackroyd, Miss Flora34, young Mr. Raymond, the housekeeper, Miss Russell. Only one, in fact, does not, Major Blunt.”
“I don’t quite understand you?” I said.
“Two of the people I accused have given me the truth.”
“As for that,” remarked Poirot nonchalantly, “there is a saying, is there not, that Englishmen conceal only one thing—their love? And Major Blunt, I should say, is not good at concealments.”
“Sometimes,” I said, “I wonder if we haven’t rather jumped to conclusions on one point.”
“What is that?”
185
“We’ve assumed that the blackmailer36 of Mrs. Ferrars is necessarily the murderer of Mr. Ackroyd. Mightn’t we be mistaken?”
Poirot nodded energetically.
“Very good. Very good indeed. I wondered if that idea would come to you. Of course it is possible. But we must remember one point. The letter disappeared. Still, that, as you say, may not necessarily mean that the murderer took it. When you first found the body, Parker may have abstracted the letter unnoticed by you.”
“Parker?”
“Yes, Parker. I always come back to Parker—not as the murderer—no, he did not commit the murder; but who is more suitable than he as the mysterious scoundrel who terrorized Mrs. Ferrars? He may have got his information about Mr. Ferrars’s death from one of the King’s Paddock servants. At any rate, he is more likely to have come upon it than a casual guest such as Blunt, for instance.”
“Parker might have taken the letter,” I admitted. “It wasn’t till later that I noticed it was gone.”
“How much later? After Blunt and Raymond were in the room, or before?”
“I can’t remember,” I said slowly. “I think it was before—no, afterwards. Yes, I’m almost sure it was afterwards.”
“That widens the field to three,” said Poirot thoughtfully. “But Parker is the most likely. It is in my mind to try a little experiment with Parker. How say you, my friend, will you accompany me to Fernly?”
186
I acquiesced37, and we set out at once. Poirot asked to see Miss Ackroyd, and presently Flora came to us.
“Mademoiselle Flora,” said Poirot, “I have to confide38 in you a little secret. I am not yet satisfied of the innocence39 of Parker. I propose to make a little experiment with your assistance. I want to reconstruct some of his actions on that night. But we must think of something to tell him—ah! I have it. I wish to satisfy myself as to whether voices in the little lobby could have been heard outside on the terrace. Now, ring for Parker, if you will be so good.”
“You rang, sir?”
“Yes, my good Parker. I have in mind a little experiment. I have placed Major Blunt on the terrace outside the study window. I want to see if any one there could have heard the voices of Miss Ackroyd and yourself in the lobby that night. I want to enact41 that little scene over again. Perhaps you would fetch the tray or whatever it was you were carrying?”
Parker vanished, and we repaired to the lobby outside the study door. Presently we heard a chink in the outer hall, and Parker appeared in the doorway42 carrying a tray with a siphon, a decanter of whisky, and two glasses on it.
“One moment,” cried Poirot, raising his hand and seemingly very excited. “We must have everything in order. Just as it occurred. It is a little method of mine.”
187
“A foreign custom, sir,” said Parker. “Reconstruction of the crime they call it, do they not?”
He was quite imperturbable43 as he stood there politely waiting on Poirot’s orders.
“Ah! he knows something, the good Parker,” cried Poirot. “He has read of these things. Now, I beg you, let us have everything of the most exact. You came from the outer hall—so. Mademoiselle was—where?”
“Here,” said Flora, taking up her stand just outside the study door.
“Quite right, sir,” said Parker.
“I had just closed the door,” continued Flora.
“Yes, miss,” agreed Parker. “Your hand was still on the handle as it is now.”
“Then allez,” said Poirot. “Play me the little comedy.”
Flora stood with her hand on the door handle, and Parker came stepping through the door from the hall, bearing the tray.
“Oh! Parker. Mr. Ackroyd doesn’t want to be disturbed again to-night.”
“Is that right?” she added in an undertone.
“To the best of my recollection, Miss Flora,” said Parker, “but I fancy you used the word evening instead of night.” Then, raising his voice in a somewhat theatrical45 fashion: “Very good, miss. Shall I lock up as usual?”
“Yes, please.”
188
“Is that enough?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Admirable,” declared the little man, rubbing his hands. “By the way, Parker, are you sure there were two glasses on the tray that evening? Who was the second one for?”
“I always bring two glasses, sir,” said Parker. “Is there anything further?”
“Nothing. I thank you.”
Poirot stood in the middle of the hall frowning. Flora came down and joined us.
“Has your experiment been successful?” she asked. “I don’t quite understand, you know——”
Poirot smiled admiringly at her.
“It is not necessary that you should,” he said. “But tell me, were there indeed two glasses on Parker’s tray that night?”
Flora wrinkled her brows a minute.
“I really can’t remember,” she said. “I think there were. Is—is that the object of your experiment?”
Poirot took her hand and patted it.
“Put it this way,” he said. “I am always interested to see if people will speak the truth.”
“And did Parker speak the truth?”
“I rather think he did,” said Poirot thoughtfully.
189
“One must say something,” he remarked. “That particular question did as well as any other.”
I stared at him.
“At any rate, my friend,” he said more seriously, “I know now something I wanted to know. Let us leave it at that.”
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收听单词发音
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1
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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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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3
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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larches
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| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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5
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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14
trumped
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| v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的过去分词 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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tampering
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| v.窜改( tamper的现在分词 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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crestfallen
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| adj. 挫败的，失望的，沮丧的 | |
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cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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enact
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| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
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42
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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44
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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45
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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46
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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48
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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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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50
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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