Even now I can hardly bear to write of those days in March.
Poirot—the unique, the inimitable Hercule Poirot—dead! There was a particularly diabolical1 touch in the disarranged match-box, which was certain to catch his eye, and which he would hasten to rearrange—and thereby2 touch off the explosion. That, as a matter of fact, it was I who actually precipitated3 the catastrophe4 never ceased to fill me with unavailing remorse5. It was, as Doctor Ridgeway said, a perfect miracle that I had not been killed, but had escaped with a slight concussion6.
Although it had seemed to me as though I regained7 consciousness almost immediately, it was in reality over twenty-four hours before I came back to life. It was not until the evening of the day following that I was able to stagger feebly into an adjoining room, and view with deep emotion the plain elm coffin9 which held the remains10 of one of the most marvellous men this world has ever known.
From the very first moment of regaining11 consciousness I had only one purpose in mind—to avenge12 Poirot's death, and to hunt down the Big Four remorselessly.
I had thought that Ridgeway would have been of one mind with me about this, but to my surprise the good doctor seemed unaccountably lukewarm.
"Get back to South America" was his advice, tendered on every occasion. Why attempt the impossible? Put as delicately as possible, his opinion amounted to this:—If Poirot, the unique Poirot, had failed, was it likely that I should succeed?
But I was obstinate13. Putting aside any question as to whether I had the necessary qualifications for the task (and I may say in passing that I did not entirely14 agree with his views on this point), I had worked so long with Poirot that I knew his methods by heart, and felt fully15 capable of taking up the work where he had laid it down; it was, with me, a question of feeling. My friend had been foully16 murdered. Was I to go tamely back to South America without an effort to bring his murderers to justice?
I said all this and more to Ridgeway, who listened attentively17 enough.
"All the same," he said when I had finished, "my advice does not vary. I am earnestly convinced that Poirot himself, if he were here, would urge you to return. In his name, I beg of you, Hastings, abandon these wild ideas and go back to your ranch18."
To that only one answer was possible, and, shaking his head sadly, he said no more.
It was a month before I was fully restored to health. Towards the end of April, I sought, and obtained, an interview with the Home Secretary.
Mr. Crowther's manner was reminiscent of that of Dr. Ridgeway. It was soothing20 and negative. Whilst appreciating the offer of my services, he gently and considerately declined them. The papers referred to by Poirot had passed into his keeping, and he assured me that all possible steps were being taken to deal with the approaching menace.
With that cold comfort I was forced to be satisfied. Mr. Crowther ended the interview by urging me to return to South America. I found the whole thing profoundly unsatisfactory.
I should, I suppose, in its proper place, have described Poirot's funeral. It was a solemn and moving ceremony, and the extraordinary number of floral tributes passed belief. They came from high and low alike, and bore striking testimony21 to the place my friend had made for himself in the country of his adoption22. For myself, I was frankly23 overcome by emotion as I stood by the grave side and thought of all our varied24 experiences and the happy days we had passed together.
By the beginning of May I had mapped out a plan of campaign. I felt that I could not do better than keep Poirot's scheme of advertising25 for any information respecting Claud Darrell. I had an advertisement to this effect inserted in a number of morning newspapers, and I was sitting in a small restaurant in Soho, and judging of the effect of the advertisement, when a small paragraph in another part of the paper gave me a nasty shock.
Very briefly26, it reported the mysterious disappearance27 of Mr. John Ingles from the S.S. Shanghai shortly after the latter had left Marseilles. Although the weather was perfectly28 smooth, it was feared that the unfortunate gentleman must have fallen overboard. The paragraph ended with a brief reference to Mr. Ingles's long and distinguished29 service in China.
The news was unpleasant. I read into Ingles's death a sinister30 motive31. Not for one moment did I believe the theory of an accident. Ingles had been murdered, and his death was only too clearly the handiwork of that accursed Big Four.
As I sat there, stunned32 by the blow, and turning the whole matter over in my mind, I was startled by the remarkable33 behaviour of the man sitting opposite me. So far I had not paid much attention to him. He was a thin, dark man of middle age, sallow of complexion34, with a small pointed35 beard. He had sat down opposite me so quietly that I had hardly noticed his arrival.
But his actions now were decidedly peculiar36, to say the least of them. Leaning forward, he deliberately37 helped me to salt, putting it in four little heaps round the edge of my plate.
"You will excuse me," he said, in a melancholy38 voice. "To help a stranger to salt is to help them to sorrow, they say. That may be an unavoidable necessity. I hope not, though. I hope that you will be reasonable."
Then, with a certain significance, he repeated his operations with the salt on his own plate. The symbol 4 was too plain to be missed. I looked at him searchingly. In no way that I could see did he resemble young Templeton, or James the footman, or any other of the various personalities39 we had come across. Nevertheless, I was convinced that I had to do with no less than the redoubtable40 Number Four himself. In his voice there was certainly a faint resemblance to the buttoned-up-stranger who had called upon us in Paris.
I looked round, undecided as to my course of action. Reading my thoughts, he smiled and gently shook his head.
"I should not advise it," he remarked. "Remember what came of your hasty action in Paris. Let me assure you that my way of retreat is well assured. Your ideas are inclined to be a little crude, Captain Hastings, if I may say so."
"Heated—just a trifle heated. Your late lamented42 friend would have told you that a man who keeps calm has always a great advantage."
"You dare to speak of him," I cried. "The man you murdered so foully. And you come here—"
He interrupted me.
"I came here for an excellent and peaceful purpose. To advise you to return at once to South America. If you do so, that is the end of the matter as far as the Big Four are concerned. You and yours will not be molested43 in any way. I give you my word as to that."
I laughed scornfully.
"And if I refuse to obey your autocratic command?"
"It is hardly a command. Shall we say that it is—a warning?"
There was a cold menace in his tone.
"The first warning," he said softly. "You will be well advised not to disregard it."
Then, before I had any hint of his intention, he rose and slipped quickly away towards the door. I sprang to my feet and was after him in a second, but by bad luck I cannoned44 straight into an enormously fat man who blocked the way between me and the next table. By the time I had disentangled myself, my quarry45 was just passing through the doorway46, and the next delay was from a waiter carrying a huge pile of plates who crashed into me without the least warning. By the time I got to the door there was no sign of the thin man with the dark beard.
The waiter was fulsome47 in apologies, the fat man was sitting placidly48 at a table ordering his lunch. There was nothing to show that both occurrences had not been a pure accident. Nevertheless, I had my own opinion as to that. I knew well enough that the agents of the Big Four were everywhere.
Needless to say, I paid no heed49 to the warning given me. I would do or die in the good cause. I received in all only two answers to the advertisements. Neither of them gave me any information of value. They were both from actors who had played with Claud Darrell at one time or another. Neither of them knew him at all intimately, and no new light was thrown upon the problem of his identity and present whereabouts.
No further sign came from the Big Four until about ten days later. I was crossing Hyde Park, lost in thought, when a voice, rich with a persuasive50 foreign inflection, hailed me.
"Captain Hastings, is it not?"
A big limousine51 had just drawn52 up by the pavement. A woman was leaning out. Exquisitely53 dressed in black, with wonderful pearls, I recognised the lady first known to us as Countess Vera Rossakoff, and afterwards under a different alias54 as an agent of the Big Four. Poirot, for some reason or other, had always had a sneaking55 fondness for the countess. Something in her very flamboyance56 attracted the little man. She was, he was wont57 to declare in moments of enthusiasm, a woman in a thousand. That she was arrayed against us, on the side of our bitterest enemies, never seemed to weigh in his judgment58. "Ah, do not pass on!" said the countess. "I have something most important to say to you. And do not try to have me arrested either, for that would be stupid. You were always a little stupid—yes, yes, it is so. You are stupid now, when you persist in disregarding the warning we sent you. It is the second warning I bring you. Leave England at once. You can do no good here—I tell you that frankly. You will never accomplish anything."
"In that case," I said stiffly, "it seems rather extraordinary that you are all so anxious to get me out of the country."
"For my part, I think that, too, stupid. I would leave you here to play about happily. But the chiefs, you see, are fearful that some word of yours may give great help to those more intelligent than yourself. Hence—you are to be banished60."
The countess appeared to have a flattering idea of my abilities. I concealed62 my annoyance63. Doubtless this attitude of hers was assumed expressly to annoy me and to give me the idea that I was unimportant.
"It would, of course, be quite easy to—remove you," she continued, "but I am quite sentimental64 sometimes. I pleaded for you. You have a nice little wife somewhere, have you not? And it would please the poor little man who is dead to know that you were not to be killed. I always liked him, you know. He was clever—but clever! Had it not been a case of four against one I honestly believe he might have been too much for us. I confess it frankly—he was my master! I sent a wreath to the funeral as a token of my admiration—an enormous one of crimson65 roses. Crimson roses express my temperament66."
I listened in silence and a growing distaste.
"You have the look of a mule67 when it puts its ears back and kicks. Well, I have delivered my warning. Remember this, the third warning will come by the hand of the Destroyer—"
She made a sign, and the car whirled away rapidly. I noted68 the number mechanically, but without the hope that it would lead to anything. The Big Four were not apt to be careless in details.
I went home a little sobered. One fact had emerged from the countess's flood of volubility. I was in real danger of my life. Though I had no intention of abandoning the struggle, I saw that it behoved me to walk warily69 and adopt every possible precaution.
Whilst I was reviewing all these facts and seeking for the best line of action, the telephone bell rang. I crossed the room and picked up the receiver.
"Yes. Hallo. Who's speaking?"
A crisp voice answered me.
"This is St. Giles' Hospital. We have a Chinaman here, knifed in the street and brought in. He can't last long. We rang you up because we found in his pocket a piece of paper with your name and address on it."
I was very much astonished. Nevertheless, after a moment's reflection I said that I would come down at once. St. Giles' Hospital was, I knew, down by the docks, and it occurred to me that the Chinaman might have just come off some ship.
It was on my way down there that a sudden suspicion shot into my mind. Was the whole thing a trap? Wherever a Chinaman was, there might be the hand of Li Chang Yen70. I remembered the adventure of the Baited Trap. Was the whole thing a ruse71 on the part of my enemies?
A little reflection convinced me that at any rate a visit to the hospital would do no harm. It was probable that the thing was not so much a plot as what is vulgarly known as a "plant." The dying Chinaman would make some revelation to me upon which I should act, and which would have the result of leading me into the hands of the Big Four. The thing to do was to preserve an open mind, and whilst feigning72 credulity be secretly on my guard.
On arriving at St. Giles' Hospital, and making my business known, I was taken at once to the accident ward19, to the bedside of the man in question. He lay absolutely still, his eyelids73 closed, and only a very faint movement of the chest showed that he still breathed. A doctor stood by the bed, his fingers on the Chinaman's pulse.
"He's almost gone," he whispered to me. "You know him, eh?"
I shook my head.
"I've never seen him before."
"Then what was he doing with your name and address in his pocket? You are Captain Hastings, aren't you?"
"Yes, but I can't explain it any more than you can."
"Curious thing. From his papers he seems to have been the servant of a man called Ingles—a retired74 Civil Servant. Ah, you know him, do you?" he added quickly, as I started at the name.
Ingles's servant! Then I had seen him before. Not that I had ever succeeded in being able to distinguish one Chinaman from another. He must have been with Ingles on his way to China, and after the catastrophe he had returned to England with a message, possibly, for me. It was vital, imperative75 that I should hear that message.
"Is he conscious?" I asked. "Can he speak? Mr. Ingles was an old friend of mine, and I think it possible that this poor fellow has brought me a message from him. Mr. Ingles is believed to have gone overboard about ten days ago."
"He's just conscious, but I doubt if he has the force to speak. He lost a terrible lot of blood, you know. I can administer a stimulant76, of course, but we've already done all that is possible in that direction."
Nevertheless, he administered a hypodermic injection, and I stayed by the bed, hoping against hope for a word—a sign—that might be of the utmost value to me in my work. But the minutes sped on and no sign came.
And suddenly a baleful idea shot across my mind? Was I not already falling into the trap? Suppose that this Chinaman had merely assumed the part of Ingles's servant, that he was in reality an agent of the Big Four? Had I not once read that certain Chinese priests were capable of simulating death? Or, to go further still, Li Chang Yen might command a little band of fanatics77 who would welcome death itself if it came at the command of their master. I must be on my guard.
Even as these thoughts flashed across my mind, the man in the bed stirred. His eyes opened. He murmured something incoherently. Then I saw his glance fasten upon me. He made no sign of recognition, but I was at once aware that he was trying to speak to me. Be he friend or foe78, I must hear what he had to say.
I leaned over the bed, but the broken sounds conveyed no sort of meaning to me. I thought I caught the word "hand," but in what connection it was used I could not tell. Then it came again, and this time I heard another word, the word "Largo79." I stared in amazement80, as the possible juxtaposition81 of the two suggested itself to me.
The Chinaman's eyelids flickered83 rapidly, as though in assent84, and he added another Italian word, the word "carrozza." Two or three more words of murmured Italian came to my ears, and then he fell back abruptly85.
The doctor pushed me aside. It was all over. The man was dead.
I went out into the air again thoroughly86 bewildered.
"Handel's Largo," and a "carrozza." If I remembered rightly, a carrozza was a carriage. What possible meaning could lie behind those simple words. The man was a Chinaman, not an Italian, why should he speak in Italian? Surely, if he were indeed Ingles's servant, he must know English? The whole thing was profoundly mystifying. I puzzled over it all the way home. Oh, if only Poirot had been there to solve the problem with his lightning ingenuity87!
I let myself in with my latch-key and went slowly up to my room. A letter was lying on the table, and I tore it open carelessly enough. But in a minute I stood rooted to the ground whilst I read.
It was a communication from a firm of solicitors88.
"Dear Sir (it ran),—As instructed by our late client, M. Hercule Poirot, we forward you the enclosed letter. This letter was placed in our hands a week before his death, with instructions that in the event of his demise89, it should be sent to you at a certain date after his death.
"Yours faithfully, etc."
I turned the enclosed missive over and over. It was undoubtedly90 from Poirot. I knew that familiar writing only too well. With a heavy heart, yet a certain eagerness, I tore it open.
"Mon Cher Ami (it began),—When you receive this I shall be no more. Do not shed tears about me, but follow my orders. Immediately upon receipt of this, return to South America. Do not be pig-headed about this. It is not for sentimental reasons that I bid you undertake the journey. It is necessary. It is part of the plan of Hercule Poirot! To say more is unnecessary, to any one who has the acute intelligence of my friend Hastings.
"Ever thine,
"Hercule Poirot."
I read and re-read this astonishing communication. One thing was evident. This amazing man had so provided for every eventuality that even his own death did not upset the sequence of his plans! Mine was to be the active part—his the directing genius. Doubtless I should find full instructions awaiting me beyond the seas. In the meantime my enemies, convinced that I was obeying their warning, would cease to trouble their heads about me. I could return, unsuspected, and work havoc92 in their midst.
There was now nothing to hinder my immediate8 departure. I sent off cables, booked my passage, and one week later found me embarking93 in the Ansonia en route for Buenos Ayres.
Just as the boat left the quay94, a steward95 brought me a note. It had been given him, so he explained, by a big gentleman in a fur coat who had left the boat last thing before the gangway planks96 were lifted.
"You are wise," it ran. It was signed with a big figure 4.
I could afford to smile to myself!
The sea was not too choppy. I enjoyed a passable dinner, made up my mind as to the majority of my fellow passengers, and had a rubber or two of Bridge. Then I turned in and slept like a log as I always do on board ship.
I was awakened98 by feeling myself persistently99 shaken. Dazed and bewildered, I saw that one of the ship's officers was standing100 over me. He gave a sigh of relief as I sat up.
"Thank the Lord I've got you awake at last. I've had no end of a job. Do you always sleep like that?"
"What's the matter?" I asked, still bewildered and not fully awake. "Is there anything wrong with the ship?"
"I expect you know what's the matter better than I do," he replied dryly. "Special instructions from the Admiralty. There's a destroyer waiting to take you off."
"What?" I cried. "In mid-ocean?"
"It seems a most mysterious affair, but that's not my business. They've sent a young fellow aboard who is to take your place, and we are all sworn to secrecy101. Will you get up and dress?"
Utterly102 unable to conceal61 my amazement I did as I was told. A boat was lowered, and I was conveyed aboard the destroyer. There I was received courteously103, but got no further information. The commander's instructions were to land me at a certain spot on the Belgian coast. There his knowledge and responsibility ended.
The whole thing was like a dream. The one idea I held to firmly was that all this must be part of Poirot's plan. I must simply go forward blindly, trusting in my dead friend.
I was duly landed at the spot indicated. There a motor was waiting, and soon I was rapidly whirling along across the flat Flemish plains. I slept that night at a small hotel in Brussels. The next day we went on again. The country became wooded and hilly. I realised that we were penetrating104 into the Ardennes, and I suddenly remembered Poirot's saying that he had a brother who lived at Spa.
But we did not go to Spa itself. We left the main road and wound into the leafy fastnesses of the hills, till we reached a little hamlet, and an isolated105 white villa106 high on the hill-side. Here the car stopped in front of the green door of the villa.
The door opened as I alighted. An elderly man-servant stood in the doorway bowing.
"M. le Capitaine Hastings?" he said in French. "Monsieur le Capitaine is expected. If he will follow me."
He led the way across the hall, and flung open a door at the back, standing aside to let me pass in.
I blinked a little, for the room faced west and the afternoon sun was pouring in. Then my vision cleared and I saw a figure waiting to welcome me with outstretched hands.
It was—oh, impossible, it couldn't be—but yes!
"Poirot!" I cried, and for once did not attempt to evade107 the embrace with which he overwhelmed me.
"But yes, but yes, it is indeed I! Not so easy to kill Hercule Poirot!"
"But Poirot—why?"
"But you might have told me!"
"No, Hastings, I could not. Never, never, in a thousand years, could you have acted the part at the funeral. As it was, it was perfect. It could not fail to carry conviction to the Big Four."
"But what I've been through—"
"Do not think me too unfeeling. I carried out the deception109 partly for your sake. I was willing to risk my own life, but I had qualms110 about continually risking yours. So, after the explosion, I have an idea of great brilliancy. The good Ridgeway, he enables me to carry it out. I am dead, you will return to South America. But, mon ami, that is just what you would not do. In the end I have to arrange a solicitor's letter, and a long rigmarole. But, at all events, here you are—that is the great thing. And now we lie here—perdu—till the moment comes for the last grand coup—the final overthrowing111 of the Big Four."
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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coffin
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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avenge
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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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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foully
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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ranch
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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soothing
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testimony
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adoption
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frankly
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varied
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advertising
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briefly
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disappearance
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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distinguished
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sinister
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motive
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stunned
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remarkable
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complexion
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pointed
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peculiar
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deliberately
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melancholy
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personalities
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redoubtable
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incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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44
cannoned
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| vi.与…猛撞（cannon的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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45
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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46
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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47
fulsome
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| adj.可恶的，虚伪的，过分恭维的 | |
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48
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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49
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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50
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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51
limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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52
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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54
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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55
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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56
flamboyance
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| n.火红；艳丽；炫耀 | |
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57
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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58
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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59
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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60
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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62
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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63
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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65
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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67
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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68
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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70
yen
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| n. 日元；热望 | |
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71
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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72
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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73
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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76
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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largo
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| n.广板乐章；adj.缓慢的，宽广的；adv.缓慢地，宽广地 | |
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80
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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81
juxtaposition
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| n.毗邻，并置，并列 | |
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82
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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83
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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85
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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87
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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88
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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89
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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91
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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93
embarking
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| 乘船( embark的现在分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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94
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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95
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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96
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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97
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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98
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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99
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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100
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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101
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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102
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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103
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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104
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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105
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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106
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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107
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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108
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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109
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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110
qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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111
overthrowing
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| v.打倒，推翻( overthrow的现在分词 )；使终止 | |
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