It was all very well for Poirot to say that we were acquiring information all the time and gaining an insight into our adversaries1' minds—I felt myself that I required some more tangible2 success than this.
Since we had come into contact with the Big Four, they had committed two murders, abducted3 Halliday, and had been within an ace4 of killing5 Poirot and myself; whereas so far we had hardly scored a point in the game.
Poirot treated my complaints lightly.
"So far, Hastings," he said, "they laugh. That is true, but you have a proverb, have you not: 'He laughs best who laughs at the end'? And at the end, mon ami, you shall see.
"You must remember, too," he added, "that we deal with no ordinary criminal, but with the second greatest brain in the world."
I forbore to pander6 to his conceit7 by asking the obvious question. I knew the answer, at least I knew what Poirot's answer would be, and instead I tried without success to elicit8 some information as to what steps he was taking to track down the enemy. As usual he had kept me completely in the dark as to his movements, but I gathered that he was in touch with secret service agents in India, China, and Russia, and, from his occasional bursts of self-glorification, that he was at least progressing in his favourite game of gauging9 his enemy's mind.
He had abandoned his private practice almost entirely10, and I know that at this time he refused some remarkably11 handsome fees. True, he would sometimes investigate cases which intrigued12 him, but he usually dropped them the moment he was convinced that they had no connection with the activities of the Big Four.
This attitude of his was remarkably profitable to our friend, Inspector13 Japp. Undeniably he gained much kudos14 for solving several problems in which his success was really due to a half-contemptuous hint from Poirot.
In return for such service Japp supplied full details of any case which he thought might interest the little Belgian, and when he was put in charge of what the newspaper called "The Yellow Jasmine Mystery," he wired Poirot, asking him whether he would care to come down and look into the case.
It was in response to this wire that, about a month after my adventure in Abe Ryland's house, we found ourselves alone in a railway compartment15 whirling away from the smoke and dust of London, bound for the little town of Market Handford in Worcestershire, the seat of the mystery.
Poirot leant back in his corner.
"And what exactly is your opinion of the affair, Hastings?"
"It all seems so complicated," I said cautiously.
"Does it not?" said Poirot delightedly.
"I suppose our rushing off like this is a pretty clear sign that you consider Mr. Paynter's death to be murder—not suicide or the result of an accident?"
"No, no; you misunderstand me, Hastings. Granting that Mr. Paynter died as the result of a particularly terrible accident, there are still a number of mysterious circumstances to be explained."
"That was what I meant when I said it was all so complicated."
"Let us go over all the main facts quietly and methodically. Recount them to me, Hastings, in an orderly and lucid17 fashion."
I started forthwith, endeavouring to be as orderly and lucid as I could.
"We start," I said, "with Mr. Paynter. A man of fifty-five, rich, cultured, and somewhat of a globetrotter. For the last twelve years he has been little in England, but suddenly tiring of incessant18 travelling, he bought a small place in Worcestershire, near Market Handford, and prepared to settle down. His first action was to write to his only relative, a nephew, Gerald Paynter, the son of his younger brother, and to suggest to him that he should come and make his home at Croftlands (as the place is called) with his uncle. Gerald Paynter, who is an impecunious19 young artist, was glad enough to fall in with the arrangement, and had been living with his uncle for about seven months when the tragedy occurred."
"Your narrative20 style is masterly," murmured Poirot. "I say to myself, it is a book that talks, not my friend Hastings."
Paying no attention to Poirot, I went on, warming to the story.
"Mr. Paynter kept up a fair staff at Croftlands—six servants as well as his own Chinese body servant—Ah Ling."
"His Chinese servant, Ah Ling," murmured Poirot.
"On Tuesday last, Mr. Paynter complained of feeling unwell after dinner, and one of the servants was despatched to fetch the doctor. Mr. Paynter received the doctor in his study, having refused to go to bed. What passed between them was not then known, but before Doctor Quentin left, he asked to see the housekeeper21, and mentioned that he had given Mr. Paynter a hypodermic injection as his heart was in a very weak state, recommended that he should not be disturbed, and then proceeded to ask some rather curious questions about the servants—how long they had been there, from whom they had come, etc.
"The housekeeper answered these questions as best she could, but was rather puzzled as to their purport22. A terrible discovery was made on the following morning. One of the housemaids, on descending23, was met by a sickening odour of burned flesh which seemed to come from her master's study. She tried the door, but it was locked on the inside. With the assistance of Gerald Paynter and the Chinaman that was soon broken in, but a terrible sight greeted them. Mr. Paynter had fallen forward into the gas fire, and his face and head were charred24 beyond recognition.
"Of course, at the moment, no suspicion was aroused as to its being anything but a ghastly accident. If blame attached to any one, it was to Doctor Quentin for giving his patient a narcotic25 and leaving him in such a dangerous position. And then a rather curious discovery was made.
"There was a newspaper on the floor, lying where it had slipped from the old man's knees. On turning it over, words were found to be scrawled27 across it, feebly traced in ink. A writing-table stood close to the chair in which Mr. Paynter had been sitting, and the forefinger28 of the victim's right hand was ink-stained up to the second joint29. It was clear that, too weak to hold a pen, Mr. Paynter had dipped his finger in the ink-pot and managed to scrawl26 these two words across the surface of the newspaper he held—but the words themselves seemed utterly30 fantastic: Yellow Jasmine—just that and nothing more.
"Croftlands has a large quantity of yellow jasmine growing up its walls, and it was thought that this dying message had some reference to them, showing that the poor old man's mind was wandering. Of course, the newspapers, agog31 for anything out of the common, took up the story hotly, calling it the Mystery of the Yellow Jasmine—though in all probability the words are completely unimportant."
"They are unimportant, you say?" said Poirot. "Well, doubtless, since you say so, it must be so."
"And then," I continued, "there came the excitements of the inquest."
"This is where you lick your lips, I perceive."
"There was a certain amount of feeling evidenced against Dr. Quentin. To begin with, he was not the regular doctor, only a locum, putting in a month's work, whilst Dr. Bolitho was away on a well-earned holiday. Then it was felt that his carelessness was the direct cause of the accident. But his evidence was little short of sensational33. Mr. Paynter had been ailing34 in health ever since his arrival at Croftlands. Dr. Bolitho had attended him for some time, but when Dr. Quentin first saw his patient, he was mystified by some of the symptoms. He had only attended him once before the night when he was sent for after dinner. As soon as he was alone with Mr. Paynter, the latter had unfolded a surprising tale. To begin with, he was not feeling ill at all, he explained, but the taste of some curry35 that he had been eating at dinner had struck him as peculiar36. Making an excuse to get rid of Ah Ling for a few minutes, he had turned the contents of his plate into a bowl, and he now handed it over to the doctor with injunctions to find out if there were really anything wrong with it.
"In spite of his statement that he was not feeling ill, the doctor noted37 that the shock of his suspicions had evidently affected38 him, and that his heart was feeling it. Accordingly he administered an injection—not of a narcotic, but of strychnine.
"That, I think, completes the case—except for the crux39 of the whole thing—the fact that the uneaten curry, duly analysed, was found to contain enough powdered opium40 to have killed two men!"
I paused.
"And your conclusions, Hastings?" asked Poirot quietly.
"It's difficult to say. It might be an accident—the fact that some one attempted to poison him the same night might be merely a coincidence."
"But you don't think so? You prefer to believe it—murder!"
"Don't you?"
"Mon ami, you and I do not reason in the same way. I am not trying to make up my mind between two opposite solutions—murder or accident—that will come when we have solved the other problem—the mystery of the 'Yellow Jasmine.' By the way, you have left out something there."
"You mean the two lines at right angles to each other faintly indicated under the words? I did not think they could be of any possible importance."
"What you think is always so important to yourself, Hastings. But let us pass from the mystery of the Yellow Jasmine to the Mystery of the Curry."
"I know. Who poisoned it? Why? There are a hundred questions one can ask. Ah Ling, of course, prepared it. But why should he wish to kill his master? Is he a member of a tong, or something like that. One reads of such things. The tong of the Yellow Jasmine, perhaps. Then there is Gerald Paynter."
"Yes," said Poirot, nodding his head. "There is Gerald Paynter, as you say. He is his uncle's heir. He was dining out that night, though."
"He might have got at some of the ingredients of the curry," I suggested. "And he would take care to be out, so as not to have to partake of the dish."
I think my reasoning rather impressed Poirot. He looked at me with a more respectful attention than he had given me so far.
"He returns late," I mused42, pursuing a hypothetical case. "Sees the light in his uncle's study, enters, and, finding his plan has failed, thrusts the old man down into the fire."
"Mr. Paynter, who was a fairly hearty43 man of fifty-five, would not permit himself to be burnt to death without a struggle, Hastings. Such a reconstruction44 is not feasible."
"Well, Poirot," I cried, "we're nearly there, I fancy. Let us hear what you think?"
"Assuming murder, the question at once arises, why choose that particular method? I can think of only one reason—to confuse identity, the face being charred beyond recognition."
"What?" I cried. "You think—"
"A moment's patience, Hastings. I was going on to say that I examine that theory. Is there any ground for believing that the body is not that of Mr. Paynter? Is there any one else whose body it possibly could be? I examine these two questions and finally I answer them both in the negative."
"Oh!" I said, rather disappointed. "And then?"
Poirot's eyes twinkled a little.
"And then I say to myself, 'since there is here something that I do not understand, it would be well that I should investigate the matter. I must not permit myself to be wholly engrossed47 by the Big Four.' Ah! we are just arriving. My little clothes brush, where does it hide itself? Here it is—brush me down, I pray you, my friend, and then I will perform the same service for you."
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, as he put away the brush, "one must not permit oneself to be obsessed48 by one idea. I have been in danger of that. Figure to yourself, my friend, that even here, in this case, I am in danger of it. Those two lines you mentioned, a downstroke and a line at right angles to it, what are they but the beginning of a 4?"
"Good gracious, Poirot," I cried, laughing.
"Is it not absurd? I see the hand of the Big Four everywhere. It is well to employ one's wits in a totally different milieu49. Ah! there is Japp come to meet us."
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1
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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abducted
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| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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pander
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| v.迎合；n.拉皮条者，勾引者；帮人做坏事的人 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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gauging
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| n.测量[试]，测定，计量v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的现在分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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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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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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kudos
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| n.荣誉，名声 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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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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narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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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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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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crux
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| adj.十字形；难事，关键，最重要点 | |
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40
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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41
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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42
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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44
reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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45
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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46
pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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47
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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49
milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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