(Tuesday, September 11; 11.15 a. m.)
Heath had stepped out into the hall, and now returned with the day telephone operator, a sallow thin young man who, we learned, was named Spively. His almost black hair, which accentuated1 the pallor of his face, was sleeked2 back from his forehead with pomade; and he wore a very shallow moustache which barely extended beyond the alæ of his nostrils3. He was dressed in an exaggeratedly dapper fashion, in a dazzling chocolate-colored suit cut very close to his figure, a pair of cloth-topped buttoned shoes, and a pink shirt with a stiff turn-over collar to match. He appeared nervous, and immediately sat down in the wicker chair by the door, fingering the sharp creases4 of his trousers, and running the tip of his tongue over his lips.
Markham went straight to the point.
“I understand you were at the switchboard yesterday afternoon and last night until ten o’clock. Is that correct?”
Spively swallowed hard, and nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
“What time did Miss Odell go out to dinner?”
“About seven o’clock. I’d just sent to the restaurant next door for some sandwiches——”
“Did she go alone?” Markham interrupted his explanation.
“No. A fella called for her.”
“Did you know this ‘fella’?”
“I’d seen him a couple of times calling on Miss Odell, but I didn’t know who he was.”
“What did he look like?” Markham’s question was uttered with hurried impatience5.
Spively’s description of the girl’s escort tallied6 with Jessup’s description of the man who had accompanied her home, though Spively was more voluble and less precise than Jessup had been. Patently, Miss Odell had gone out at seven and returned at eleven with the same man.
“Now,” resumed Markham, putting an added stress on his words, “I want to know who else called on Miss Odell between the time she went out to dinner and ten o’clock when you left the switchboard.”
“Some one evidently did,” said Markham. “And he got into her apartment, and was there when she returned at eleven.”
The youth’s eyes opened wide, and his lips fell apart.
“My God, sir!” he exclaimed. “So that’s how they murdered her!—laid in wait for her! . . .” He stopped abruptly9, suddenly realizing his own proximity10 to the mysterious chain of events that had led up to the crime. “But nobody got into her apartment while I was on duty,” he blurted11, with frightened emphasis. “Nobody! I never left the board from the time she went out until quitting time.”
“Couldn’t any one have come in the side door?”
“What! Was it unlocked?” Spively’s tone was startled. “It never is unlocked at night. The janitor12 bolts it when he leaves at six.”
“And you didn’t unbolt it last night for any purpose? Think!”
“No, sir, I didn’t!” He shook his head earnestly.
“And you are positive that no one got into the apartment through the front door after Miss Odell left?”
“Positive! I tell you I didn’t leave the board the whole time, and nobody could’ve got by me without my knowing it. There was only one person that called and asked for her——”
“Oh! So some one did call!” snapped Markham. “When was it? And what happened?—Jog your memory before you answer.”
“It wasn’t anything important,” the youth assured him, genuinely frightened. “Just a fella who came in and rang her bell and went right out again.”
“Never mind whether it was important or not.” Markham’s tone was cold and peremptory13. “What time did he call?”
“About half past nine.”
“And who was he?”
“A young fella I’ve seen come here several times to see Miss Odell. I don’t know his name.”
“Tell me exactly what took place,” pursued Markham.
Again Spively swallowed hard and wetted his lips.
“It was like this,” he began, with effort. “The fella came in and started walking down the hall, and I said to him: ‘Miss Odell isn’t in.’ But he kept on going, and said: ‘Oh, well, I’ll ring the bell anyway to make sure.’ A telephone call came through just then, and I let him go on. He rang the bell and knocked on the door, but of course there wasn’t any answer; and pretty soon he came on back and said: ‘I guess you were right.’ Then he tossed me half a dollar, and went out.”
“You actually saw him go out?” There was a note of disappointment in Markham’s voice.
“Sure, I saw him go out. He stopped just inside the front door and lit a cigarette. Then he opened the door and turned toward Broadway.”
Markham was loath16 to relinquish17 his hope in the criminal possibilities of this one caller who had come and gone at half past nine.
“What was this man like?” he asked. “Can you describe him?”
Spively sat up straight, and when he answered, it was with an enthusiasm that showed he had taken special note of the visitor.
“He was good-looking, not so old—maybe thirty. And he had on a full-dress suit and patent-leather pumps, and a pleated silk shirt——”
“What, what?” demanded Vance, in simulated unbelief, leaning over the back of the davenport. “A silk shirt with evening dress! Most extr’ordin’ry!”
“Oh, a lot of the best dressers are wearing them,” Spively explained, with condescending18 pride. “It’s all the fashion for dancing.”
“You don’t say—really!” Vance appeared dumbfounded. “I must look into this. . . . And, by the bye, when this Beau Brummel of the silk shirt paused by the front door, did he take his cigarette from a long flat silver case carried in his lower waistcoat pocket?”
The youth looked at Vance in admiring astonishment19.
“How did you know?” he exclaimed.
“Simple deduction,” Vance explained, resuming his recumbent posture20. “Large metal cigarette-cases carried in the waistcoat pocket somehow go with silk shirts for evening wear.”
Markham, clearly annoyed at the interruption, cut in sharply with a demand for the operator to proceed with his description.
“He wore his hair smoothed down,” Spively continued, “and you could see it was kind of long; but it was cut in the latest style. And he had a small waxed moustache; and there was a big carnation22 in the lapel of his coat, and he had on chamois gloves. . . .”
“My word!” murmured Vance. “A gigolo!”
Markham, with the incubus23 of the night clubs riding him heavily, frowned and took a deep breath. Vance’s observation evidently had launched him on an unpleasant train of thought.
“Was this man short or tall?” he asked next.
“He wasn’t so tall—about my height,” Spively explained. “And he was sort of thin.”
There was an easily recognizable undercurrent of admiration24 in his tone, and I felt that this youthful telephone operator had seen in Miss Odell’s caller a certain physical and sartorial25 ideal. This palpable admiration, coupled with the somewhat outré clothes affected26 by the youth, permitted us to read between the lines of his remarks a fairly accurate description of the man who had unsuccessfully rung the dead girl’s bell at half past nine the night before.
When Spively had been dismissed, Markham rose and strode about the room, his head enveloped27 in a cloud of cigar smoke, while Heath sat stolidly28 watching him, his brows knit.
Vance stood up and stretched himself.
“The absorbin’ problem, it would seem, remains29 in statu quo,” he remarked airily. “How, oh how, did the fair Margaret’s executioner get in?”
“You know, Mr. Markham,” rumbled30 Heath sententiously, “I’ve been thinking that the fellow may have come here earlier in the afternoon—say, before that side door was locked. Odell herself may have let him in and hidden him when the other man came to take her to dinner.”
“It looks that way,” Markham admitted. “Bring the maid in here again, and we’ll see what we can find out.”
When the woman had been brought in, Markham questioned her as to her actions during the afternoon, and learned that she had gone out at about four to do some shopping, and had returned about half past five.
“Did Miss Odell have any visitor with her when you got back?”
“No, sir,” was the prompt answer. “She was alone.”
“Did she mention that any one had called?”
“No, sir.”
“Now,” continued Markham, “could any one have been hidden in this apartment when you went home at seven?”
“Where could any one hide?” she asked, looking round the apartment.
“There are several possible places,” Markham suggested: “in the bathroom, in one of the clothes-closets, under the bed, behind the window draperies. . . .”
The woman shook her head decisively. “No one could have been hidden,” she declared. “I was in the bathroom half a dozen times, and I got Miss Odell’s gown out of the clothes-closet in the bedroom. As soon as it began to get dark I drew all the window-shades myself. And as for the bed, it’s built almost down to the floor; no one could squeeze under it.” (I glanced closely at the bed, and realized that this statement was quite true.)
“What about the clothes-closet in this room?” Markham put the question hopefully, but again the maid shook her head.
“Nobody was in there. That’s where I keep my own hat and coat, and I took them out myself when I was getting ready to go. I even put away one of Miss Odell’s old dresses in that closet before I left.”
“And you are absolutely certain,” reiterated33 Markham, “that no one could have been hidden anywhere in these rooms at the time you went home?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Do you happen to remember if the key of this clothes-closet was on the inside or the outside of the lock when you opened the door to get your hat?”
The woman paused, and looked thoughtfully at the closet door.
“It was on the outside, where it always was,” she announced, after several moments’ reflection. “I remember because it caught in the chiffon of the old dress I put away.”
Markham frowned and then resumed his questioning.
“You say you don’t know the name of Miss Odell’s dinner companion last night. Can you tell us the names of any men she was in the habit of going out with?”
“Miss Odell never mentioned any names to me,” the woman said. “She was very careful about it, too—secretive, you might say. You see, I’m only here in the daytime, and the gentlemen she knew generally came in the evening.”
“And you never heard her speak of any one of whom she was frightened—any one she had reason to fear?”
“No, sir—although there was one man she was trying to get rid of. He was a bad character—I wouldn’t have trusted him anywhere—and I told Miss Odell she’d better look out for him. But she’d known him a long time, I guess, and had been pretty soft on him once.”
“How do you happen to know this?”
“One day, about a week ago,” the maid explained, “I came in after lunch, and he was with her in the other room. They didn’t hear me, because the portières were drawn34. He was demanding money, and when she tried to put him off, he began threatening her. And she said something that showed she’d given him money before. I made a noise, and then they stopped arguing; and pretty soon he went out.”
“What did this man look like?” Markham’s interest was reviving.
“He was kind of thin—not very tall—and I’d say he was around thirty. He had a hard face—good-looking, some would say—and pale blue eyes that gave you the shivers. He always wore his hair greased back, and he had a little yellow moustache pointed35 at the ends.”
“Ah!” said Vance. “Our gigolo!”
“Has this man been here since?” asked Markham.
“I don’t know, sir—not when I was here.”
“That will be all,” said Markham; and the woman went out.
“She didn’t help us much,” complained Heath.
“And just what portions of her information do you consider particularly illuminating37?” asked Markham, with ill-concealed annoyance38.
“We now know, do we not,” rejoined Vance serenely39, “that no one was lying perdu in here when the bonne departed yesterevening.”
“Instead of that fact being helpful,” retorted Markham, “I’d say it added materially to the complications of the situation.”
“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it, now? But, then—who knows?—it may prove to be your brightest and most comfortin’ clue. . . . Furthermore, we learned that some one evidently locked himself in that clothes-press, as witness the shifting of the key, and that, moreover, this occultation did not occur until the abigail had gone, or, let us say, after seven o’clock.”
“Sure,” said Heath with sour facetiousness40; “when the side door was bolted and an operator was sitting in the front hall, who swears nobody came in that way.”
“It is a bit mystifyin’,” Vance conceded sadly.
Heath, who was now staring with meditative42 pugnacity43 into the closet, shook his head helplessly.
“What I don’t understand,” he ruminated44, “is why, if the fellow was hiding in the closet, he didn’t ransack45 it when he came out, like he did all the rest of the apartment.”
“Sergeant,” said Vance, “you’ve put your finger on the crux46 of the matter. . . . Y’ know, the neat, undisturbed aspect of that closet rather suggests that the crude person who rifled these charming rooms omitted to give it his attention because it was locked on the inside and he couldn’t open it.”
“Come, come!” protested Markham. “That theory implies that there were two unknown persons in here last night.”
Vance sighed. “Harrow and alas47! I know it. And we can’t introduce even one into this apartment logically. . . . Distressin’, ain’t it?”
Heath sought consolation48 in a new line of thought.
“Anyway,” he submitted, “we know that the fancy fellow with the patent-leather pumps who called here last night at half past nine was probably Odell’s lover, and was grafting49 on her.”
“And in just what recondite50 way does that obvious fact help to roll the clouds away?” asked Vance. “Nearly every modern Delilah has an avaricious51 amoroso. It would be rather singular if there wasn’t such a chap in the offing, what?”
“That’s all right, too,” returned Heath. “But I’ll tell you something, Mr. Vance, that maybe you don’t know. The men that these girls lose their heads over are generally crooks52 of some kind—professional criminals, you understand. That’s why, knowing that this job was the work of a professional, it don’t leave me cold, as you might say, to learn that this fellow who was threatening Odell and grafting on her was the same one who was prowling round here last night. . . . And I’ll say this, too: the description of him sounds a whole lot like the kind of high-class burglars that hang out at these swell53 all-night cafés.”
“You’re convinced, then,” asked Vance mildly, “that this job, as you call it, was done by a professional criminal?”
Heath was almost contemptuous in his reply. “Didn’t the guy wear gloves, and use a jimmy? It was a yeggman’s job, all right.”
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收听单词发音
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1
accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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sleeked
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| 使…光滑而发亮( sleek的过去式 ) | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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moot
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| v.提出；adj.未决议的；n.大会；辩论会 | |
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carnation
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| n.康乃馨（一种花） | |
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incubus
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| n.负担；恶梦 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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sartorial
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| adj.裁缝的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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40
facetiousness
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| n.滑稽 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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pugnacity
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| n.好斗，好战 | |
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44
ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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45
ransack
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| v.彻底搜索，洗劫 | |
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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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47
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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48
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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49
grafting
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| 嫁接法，移植法 | |
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50
recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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51
avaricious
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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52
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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