(Tuesday, September 11; afternoon)
On our way down-town that morning we were delayed for a considerable time in the traffic congestion1 just north of Madison Square, and Markham anxiously looked at his watch.
“It’s past noon,” he said. “I think I’ll stop at the club and have a bite of lunch. . . . I presume that eating at this early hour would be too plebeian2 for so exquisite3 a hothouse flower as you.”
Vance considered the invitation.
“Since you deprived me of my breakfast,” he decided4, “I’ll permit you to buy me some eggs Bénédictine.”
A few minutes later we entered the almost empty grill5 of the Stuyvesant Club, and took a table near one of the windows looking southward over the treetops of Madison Square.
Shortly after we had given our order a uniformed attendant entered and, bowing deferentially6 at the District Attorney’s elbow, held out an unaddressed communication sealed in one of the club’s envelopes. Markham read it with an expression of growing curiosity, and as he studied the signature a look of mild surprise came into his eyes. At length he looked up and nodded to the waiting attendant. Then, excusing himself, he left us abruptly7. It was fully8 twenty minutes before he returned.
“Funny thing,” he said. “That note was from the man who took the Odell woman to dinner and the theatre last night. . . . A small world,” he mused9. “He’s staying here at the club—he’s a non-resident member and makes it his headquarters when he’s in town.”
“You know him?” Vance put the question disinterestedly10.
“I’ve met him several times—chap named Spotswoode.” Markham seemed perplexed11. “He’s a man of family, lives in a country house on Long Island, and is regarded generally as a highly respectable member of society—one of the last persons I’d suspect of being mixed up with the Odell girl. But, according to his own confession12, he played around a good deal with her during his visits to New York—‘sowing a few belated wild oats,’ as he expressed it—and last night took her to Francelle’s for dinner and to the Winter Garden afterwards.”
“Not my idea of an intellectual, or even edifyin’, evening,” commented Vance. “And he selected a deuced unlucky day for it. . . . I say, imagine opening the morning paper and learning that your petite dame13 of the preceding evening had been strangled! Disconcertin’, what?”
“He’s certainly disconcerted,” said Markham. “The early afternoon papers were out about an hour ago, and he’d been phoning my office every ten minutes, when I suddenly walked in here. He’s afraid his connection with the girl will leak out and disgrace him.”
“And won’t it?”
“I hardly see the necessity. No one knows who her escort was last evening; and since he obviously had nothing to do with the crime, what’s to be gained by dragging him into it? He told me the whole story, and offered to stay in the city as long as I wanted him to.”
“I infer, from the cloud of disappointment that enveloped14 you when you returned just now, that his story held nothing hopeful for you in the way of clues.”
“No,” Markham admitted. “The girl apparently15 never spoke16 to him of her intimate affairs; and he couldn’t give me a single helpful suggestion. His account of what happened last night agreed perfectly17 with Jessup’s. He called for the girl at seven, brought her home at about eleven, stayed with her half an hour or so, and then left her. When he heard her call for help he was frightened, but on being assured by her there was nothing wrong, he concluded she had dozed18 off into a nightmare, and thought no more of it. He drove direct to the club here, arriving about ten minutes to twelve. Judge Redfern, who saw him descend19 from the taxi, insisted on his coming up-stairs and playing poker20 with some men who were waiting in the Judge’s rooms for him. They played until three o’clock this morning.”
“Your Long Island Don Juan has certainly not supplied you with any footprints in the snow.”
“Anyway, his coming forward at this time closes one line of inquiry21 over which we might have wasted considerable time.”
“If many more lines of inquiry are closed,” remarked Vance dryly, “you’ll be in a distressin’ dilemma22, don’t y’ know.”
“There are enough still open to keep me busy,” said Markham, pushing back his plate and calling for the check. He rose; then pausing, regarded Vance meditatingly. “Are you sufficiently23 interested to want to come along?”
“Eh, what? My word! . . . Charmed, I’m sure. But, I say, sit down just a moment—there’s a good fellow!—till I finish my coffee.”
I was considerably24 astonished at Vance’s ready acceptance, careless and bantering25 though it was, for there was an exhibition of old Chinese prints at the Montross Galleries that afternoon, which he had planned to attend. A Riokai and a Moyeki, said to be very fine examples of Sung painting, were to be shown; and Vance was particularly eager to acquire them for his collection.
We rode with Markham to the Criminal Courts building and, entering by the Franklin Street door, took the private elevator to the District Attorney’s spacious26 but dingy27 private office which overlooked the gray-stone ramparts of the Tombs. Vance seated himself in one of the heavy leather-upholstered chairs near the carved oak table on the right of the desk, and lighted a cigarette with an air of cynical28 amusement.
“I await with anticipat’ry delight the grinding of the wheels of justice,” he confided29, leaning back lazily.
“You are doomed30 not to hear the first turn of those wheels,” retorted Markham. “The initial revolution will take place outside of this office.” And he disappeared through a swinging door which led to the judges’ chambers32.
Five minutes later he returned, and sat down in the high-backed swivel chair at his desk, with his back to the four tall narrow windows in the south wall of the office.
“I just saw Judge Redfern,” he explained—“it happened to be the midday recess—and he verified Spotswoode’s statement in regard to the poker game. The Judge met him outside of the club at ten minutes before midnight, and was with him until three in the morning. He noted33 the time because he had promised his guests to be back at half past eleven, and was twenty minutes late.”
“Why all this substantiation34 of an obviously unimportant fact?” asked Vance.
“A matter of routine,” Markham told him, slightly impatient. “In a case of this kind every factor, however seemingly remote to the main issue, must be checked.”
“Really, y’ know, Markham”—Vance laid his head back on the chair and gazed dreamily at the ceiling—“one would think that this eternal routine, which you lawyer chaps worship so devoutly35, actually got one somewhere occasionally; whereas it never gets one anywhere. Remember the Red Queen in ‘Through the Looking-Glass——’ ”
“I’m too busy at present to debate the question of routine versus36 inspiration,” Markham answered brusquely, pressing a button beneath the edge of his desk.
Swacker, his youthful and energetic secretary, appeared at the door which communicated with a narrow inner chamber31 between the District Attorney’s office and the main waiting-room.
“Yes, Chief?” The secretary’s eyes gleamed expectantly behind his enormous horn-rimmed glasses.
“Tell Ben to send me in a man at once.”11
Swacker went out through the corridor door, and a minute or two later a suave37, rotund man, dressed immaculately and wearing a pince-nez, entered, and stood before Markham with an ingratiating smile.
“Morning, Tracy.” Markham’s tone was pleasant but curt38. “Here’s a list of four witnesses in connection with the Odell case that I want brought down here at once—the two phone operators, the maid, and the janitor39. You’ll find them at 184 West 71st Street: Sergeant40 Heath is holding them there.”
“Right, sir.” Tracy took the memorandum41, and with a priggish, but by no means inelegant, bow went out.
During the next hour Markham plunged42 into the general work that had accumulated during the forenoon, and I was amazed at the man’s tremendous vitality43 and efficiency. He disposed of as many important matters as would have occupied the ordinary business man for an entire day. Swacker bobbed in and out with electric energy, and various clerks appeared at the touch of a buzzer44, took their orders, and were gone with breathless rapidity. Vance, who had sought diversion in a tome of famous arson45 trials, looked up admiringly from time to time, and shook his head in mild reproach at such spirited activity.
It was just half past two when Swacker announced the return of Tracy with the four witnesses; and for two hours Markham questioned and cross-questioned them with a thoroughness and an insight that even I, as a lawyer, had rarely seen equalled. His interrogation of the two phone operators was quite different from his casual questioning of them earlier in the day; and if there had been a single relevant omission46 in their former testimony47, it would certainly have been caught now by Markham’s gruelling catechism. But when, at last, they were told they could go, no new information had been brought to light. Their stories now stood firmly grounded: no one—with the exception of the girl herself and her escort, and the disappointed visitor at half past nine—had entered the front door and passed down the hall to the Odell apartment from seven o’clock on; and no one had passed out that way. The janitor reiterated48 stubbornly that he had bolted the side door a little after six, and no amount of wheedling49 or aggression50 could shake his dogged certainty on that point. Amy Gibson, the maid, could add nothing to her former testimony. Markham’s intensive examination of her produced only repetitions of what she had already told him.
Not one new possibility—not one new suggestion—was brought out. In fact, the two hours’ interlocutory proceedings51 resulted only in closing up every loophole in a seemingly incredible situation. When, at half past four, Markham sat back in his chair with a weary sigh, the chance of unearthing52 a promising53 means of approach to the astonishing problem seemed more remote than ever.
“I tell you, Markham old chap,” he grinned, “this case requires umbilicular contemplation, not routine. Why not call in an Egyptian seeress with a flair55 for crystal-gazing?”
“If this sort of thing goes on much longer,” returned Markham dispiritedly, “I’ll be tempted56 to take your advice.”
Just then Swacker looked in through the door to say that Inspector57 Brenner was on the wire. Markham picked up the telephone receiver, and as he listened he jotted58 down some notes on a pad. When the call had ended, he turned to Vance.
“You seemed disturbed over the condition of the steel jewel-case we found in the bedroom. Well, the expert on burglar tools just called up; and he verifies his opinion of this morning. The case was pried59 open with a specially60 made cold chisel61 such as only a professional burglar would carry or would know how to use. It had an inch-and-three-eighths bevelled bit and a one-inch flat handle. It was an old instrument—there was a peculiar62 nick in the blade—and is the same one that was used in a successful house-break on upper Park Avenue early last summer. . . . Does that highly exciting information ameliorate your anxiety?”
“Can’t say that it does.” Vance had again become serious and perplexed. “In fact, it makes the situation still more fantastic. . . . I could see a glimmer63 of light—eerie and unearthly, perhaps, but still a perceptible illumination—in all this murkiness64 if it wasn’t for that jewel-case and the steel chisel.”
Markham was about to answer when Swacker again looked in and informed him that Sergeant Heath had arrived and wanted to see him.
Heath’s manner was far less depressed65 than when we had taken leave of him that morning. He accepted the cigar Markham offered him, and seating himself at the conference table in front of the District Attorney’s desk, drew out a battered66 note-book.
“We’ve had a little good luck,” he began. “Burke and Emery—two of the men I put on the case—got a line on Odell at the first place they made inquiries67. From what they learned, she didn’t run around with many men—limited herself to a few live wires, and played the game with what you’d call finesse68. . . . The principal one—the man who’s been seen most with her—is Charles Cleaver69.”
Markham sat up.
“I know Cleaver—if it’s the same one.”
“It’s him, all right,” declared Heath. “Former Brooklyn Tax Commissioner70; been interested in a pool-room for pony-betting over in Jersey71 City ever since. Hangs out at the Stuyvesant Club, where he can hobnob with his old Tammany Hall cronies.”
“That’s the one,” nodded Markham. “He’s a kind of professional gay-dog—known as Pop, I believe.”
Vance gazed into space.
“Well, well,” he murmured. “So old Pop Cleaver was also entangled72 with our subtle and sanguine73 Dolores. She certainly couldn’t have loved him for his beaux yeux.”
“I thought, sir,” went on Heath, “that, seeing as how Cleaver is always in and out of the Stuyvesant Club, you might ask him some questions about Odell. He ought to know something.”
“Glad to, Sergeant.” Markham made a note on his pad. “I’ll try to get in touch with him to-night. . . . Any one else on your list?”
“There’s a fellow named Mannix—Louis Mannix—who met Odell when she was in the ‘Follies’; but she chucked him over a year ago, and they haven’t been seen together since. He’s got another girl now. He’s the head of the firm of Mannix and Levine, fur importers, and is one of your night-club rounders—a heavy spender. But I don’t see much use of barking up that tree—his affair with Odell went cold too long ago.”
“Yes,” agreed Markham; “I think we can eliminate him.”
“I say, if you keep up this elimination74 much longer,” observed Vance, “you won’t have anything left but the lady’s corpse75.”
“And then, there’s the man who took her out last night,” pursued Heath. “Nobody seems to know his name—he must’ve been one of those discreet76, careful old boys. I thought at first he might have been Cleaver, but the descriptions don’t tally77. . . . And by the way, sir, here’s a funny thing: when he left Odell last night he took the taxi down to the Stuyvesant Club, and got out there.”
Markham nodded. “I know all about that, Sergeant. And I know who the man was; and it wasn’t Cleaver.”
“The Stuyvesant Club seems to be well in the forefront of this case,” he said. “I do hope it doesn’t suffer the sad fate of the Knickerbocker Athletic79.”12
Heath was intent on the main issue.
“Who was the man, Mr. Markham?”
Markham hesitated, as if pondering the advisability of taking the other into his confidence. Then he said: “I’ll tell you his name, but in strict confidence. The man was Kenneth Spotswoode.”
He then recounted the story of his being called away from lunch, and of his failure to elicit80 any helpful suggestions from Spotswoode. He also informed Heath of his verification of the man’s statements regarding his movements after meeting Judge Redfern at the club.
“And,” added Markham, “since he obviously left the girl before she was murdered, there’s no necessity to bother him. In fact, I gave him my word I’d keep him out of it for his family’s sake.”
“If you’re satisfied, sir, I am.” Heath closed his note-book and put it away. “There’s just one other little thing. Odell used to live on 110th Street, and Emery dug up her former landlady81 and learned that this fancy guy the maid told us about used to call on her regularly.”
“That reminds me, Sergeant.” Markham picked up the memorandum he had made during Inspector Brenner’s phone call. “Here’s some data the Professor gave me about the forcing of the jewel-case.”
Heath studied the paper with considerable eagerness. “Just as I thought!” He nodded his head with satisfaction. “Clear-cut professional job, by somebody who’s been in the line of work before.”
Vance roused himself.
“Still, if such is the case,” he said, “why did this experienced burglar first use the insufficient82 poker? And why did he overlook the living-room clothes-press?”
“I’ll find all that out, Mr. Vance, when I get my hands on him,” asserted Heath, with a hard look in his eyes. “And the guy I want to have a nice quiet little chat with is the one with the pleated silk shirt and the chamois gloves.”
“Chacun à son goût,” sighed Vance. “For myself, I have no yearning83 whatever to hold converse84 with him. Somehow, I can’t just picture a professional looter trying to rend85 a steel box with a cast-iron poker.”
“Forget the poker,” Heath advised gruffly. “He jimmied the box with a steel chisel; and that same chisel was used last summer in another burglary on Park Avenue. What about that?”
“Ah! That’s what torments86 me, Sergeant. If it wasn’t for that disturbin’ fact, d’ ye see, I’d be lightsome and sans souci this afternoon, inviting87 my soul over a dish of tea at Claremont.”
Detective Bellamy was announced, and Heath sprang to his feet.
“That’ll mean news about those finger-prints,” he prophesied88 hopefully.
Bellamy entered unemotionally, and walked up to the District Attorney’s desk.
“Cap’n Dubois sent me over,” he said. “He thought you’d want the report on those Odell prints.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a small flat folder89 which, at a sign from Markham, he handed to Heath. “We identified ’em. Both made by the same hand, like Cap’n Dubois said; and that hand belonged to Tony Skeel.”
“ ‘Dude’ Skeel, eh?” The Sergeant’s tone was vibrant90 with suppressed excitement. “Say, Mr. Markham, that gets us somewhere. Skeel’s an ex-convict and an artist in his line.”
He opened the folder and took out an oblong card and a sheet of blue paper containing eight or ten lines of typewriting. He studied the card, gave a satisfied grunt91, and handed it to Markham. Vance and I stepped up and looked at it. At the top was the familiar rogues’-gallery photograph showing the full face and profile of a regular-featured youth with thick hair and a square chin. His eyes were wide-set and pale, and he wore a small, evenly trimmed moustache with waxed, needle-point ends. Below the double photograph was a brief tabulated92 description of its sitter, giving his name, aliases93, residence, and Bertillon measurements, and designating the character of his illegal profession. Underneath94 were ten little squares arranged in two rows, each containing a finger-print impression made in black ink—the upper row being the impressions of the right hand, the lower row those of the left.
“So that’s the arbiter95 elegantiarum who introduced the silk shirt for full-dress wear! My word!” Vance regarded the identification card satirically. “I wish he’d start a craze for gaiters with dinner-jackets—these New York theatres are frightfully drafty in winter.”
Heath put the card back in the folder, and glanced over the typewritten paper that had accompanied it.
“He’s our man, and no mistake, Mr. Markham. Listen to this: ‘Tony (Dude) Skeel. Two years Elmira Reformatory, 1902 to 1904. One year in the Baltimore County jail for petit larceny96, 1906. Three years in San Quentin for assault and robbery, 1908 to 1911. Arrested Chicago for house-breaking, 1912; case dismissed. Arrested and tried for burglary in Albany, 1913; no conviction. Served two years and eight months in Sing Sing for house-breaking and burglary, 1914 to 1916.’ ” He folded the paper and put it, with the card, into his breast-pocket. “Sweet little record.”
“That dope what you wanted?” asked the imperturbable97 Bellamy.
Bellamy lingered expectantly with one eye on the District Attorney; and Markham, as if suddenly remembering something, took out a box of cigars and held it out.
“Much obliged, sir,” said Bellamy, helping99 himself to two Mi Favoritas; and putting them into his waistcoat pocket with great care, he went out.
“I’ll use your phone now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Markham,” said Heath.
He called the Homicide Bureau.
“Look up Tony Skeel—Dude Skeel—pronto, and bring him in as soon as you find him,” were his orders to Snitkin. “Get his address from the files, and take Burke and Emery with you. If he’s hopped100 it, send out a general alarm and have him picked up—some of the boys’ll have a line on him. Lock him up without booking him, see? . . . And, listen. Search his room for burglar tools: he probably won’t have any laying around, but I specially want a one-and-three-eighths-inch chisel with a nick in the blade. . . . I’ll be at Headquarters in half an hour.”
He hung up the receiver and rubbed his hands together.
“Now we’re sailing,” he rejoiced.
Vance had gone to the window, and stood staring down on the “Bridge of Sighs,” his hands thrust deep into his pockets. Slowly he turned, and fixed101 Heath with a contemplative eye.
“It simply won’t do, don’t y’ know,” he asserted. “Your friend, the Dude, may have ripped open that bally box, but his head isn’t the right shape for the rest of last evening’s performance.”
Heath was contemptuous.
“Not being a phrenologist, I’m going by the shape of his finger-prints.”
“A woeful error in the technic of criminal approach, sergente mio,” replied Vance dulcetly. “The question of culpability102 in this case isn’t so simple as you imagine. It’s deuced complicated. And this glass of fashion and mould of form whose portrait you’re carryin’ next to your heart has merely added to its intricacy.”
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congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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deferentially
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| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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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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disinterestedly
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perplexed
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confession
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dame
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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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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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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descend
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poker
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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sufficiently
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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bantering
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spacious
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dingy
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cynical
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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doomed
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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chambers
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noted
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substantiation
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devoutly
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versus
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suave
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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janitor
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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memorandum
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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buzzer
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| n.蜂鸣器；汽笛 | |
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arson
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| n.纵火，放火 | |
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omission
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| n.省略，删节；遗漏或省略的事物，冗长 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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48
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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wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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aggression
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| n.进攻，侵略，侵犯，侵害 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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52
unearthing
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| 发掘或挖出某物( unearth的现在分词 )； 搜寻到某事物，发现并披露 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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54
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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flair
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| n.天赋，本领，才华；洞察力 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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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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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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murkiness
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| n.阴暗；混浊；可疑；黝暗 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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finesse
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| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
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cleaver
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| n.切肉刀 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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elimination
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| n.排除，消除，消灭 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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tally
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| n.计数器，记分，一致，测量；vt.计算，记录，使一致；vi.计算，记分，一致 | |
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chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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tabulated
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| 把（数字、事实）列成表( tabulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aliases
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| n.别名，化名( alias的名词复数 ) | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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96
larceny
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| n.盗窃（罪） | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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98
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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99
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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100
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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101
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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102
culpability
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| n.苛责，有罪 | |
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