We left Mr. Hoopdriver at the door of the little tea, toy, and tobacco shop. You must not think that a strain is put on coincidence when I tell you that next door to Mrs. Wardor's--that was the name of the bright-eyed, little old lady with whom Mr. Hoopdriver had stopped--is the Angel Hotel, and in the Angel Hotel, on the night that Mr. Hoopdriver reached Midhurst, were 'Mr.' and 'Miss' Beaumont, our Bechamel and Jessie Milton. Indeed, it was a highly probable thing; for if one goes through Guildford, the choice of southward roads is limited; you may go by Petersfield to Portsmouth, or by Midhurst to Chichester, in addition to which highways there is nothing for it but minor1 roadways to Petworth or Pulborough, and cross-cuts Brightonward. And coming to Midhurst from the north, the Angel's entrance lies yawning to engulf2 your highly respectable cyclists, while Mrs. Wardor's genial3 teapot is equally attractive to those who weigh their means in little scales. But to people unfamiliar4 with the Sussex roads--and such were the three persons of this story--the convergence did not appear to be so inevitable5.
Bechamel, tightening6 his chain in the Angel yard after dinner, was the first to be aware of their reunion. He saw Hoopdriver walk slowly across the gateway7, his head enhaloed in cigarette smoke, and pass out of sight up the street. Incontinently a mass of cloudy uneasiness, that had been partly dispelled8 during the day, reappeared and concentrated rapidly into definite suspicion. He put his screw hammer into his pocket and walked through the archway into the street, to settle the business forthwith, for he prided himself on his decision. Hoopdriver was merely promenading9, and they met face to face.
At the sight of his adversary10, something between disgust and laughter seized Mr. Hoopdriver and for a moment destroyed his animosity. "'Ere we are again!" he said, laughing insincerely in a sudden outbreak at the perversity11 of chance.
The other man in brown stopped short in Mr. Hoopdriver's way, staring. Then his face assumed an expression of dangerous civility. "Is it any information to you," he said, with immense politeness, "when I remark that you are following us?"
Mr. Hoopdriver, for some occult reason, resisted his characteristic impulse to apologise. He wanted to annoy.the other man in brown, and a sentence that had come into his head in a previous rehearsal12 cropped up appropriately. "Since when," said Mr. Hoopdriver, catching13 his breath, yet bringing the question out valiantly14, nevertheless,--"since when 'ave you purchased the county of Sussex?"
"May I point out," said the other man in brown, "that I object-- we object not only to your proximity15 to us. To be frank--you appear to be following us--with an object."
"You can always," said Mr. Hoopdriver, "turn round if you don't like it, and go back the way you came."
"Oh-o!" said the other man in brown. "THAT'S it! I thought as much."
"Did you?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, quite at sea, but rising pluckily16 to the unknown occasion. What was the man driving at?
"I see," said the other man. "I see. I half suspected--" His manner changed abruptly17 to a quality suspiciously friendly. "Yes- -a word with you. You will, I hope, give me ten minutes."
Wonderful things were dawning on Mr. Hoopdriver. What did the other man take him for? Here at last was reality! He hesitated. Then he thought of an admirable phrase. "You 'ave some communication--"
"We'll call it a communication," said the other man.
"I can spare you the ten minutes," said Mr. Hoopdriver, with dignity.
"This way, then," said the other man in brown, and they walked slowly down the North Street towards the Grammar School. There was, perhaps, thirty seconds' silence. The other man stroked his moustache nervously18. Mr. Hoopdriver's dramatic instincts were now fully19 awake. He did not quite understand in what role he was cast, but it was evidently something dark and mysterious. Doctor Conan Doyle, Victor Hugo, and Alexander Dumas were well within Mr. Hoopdriver's range of reading, and he had not read them for nothing.
"I will be perfectly20 frank with you," said the other man in brown.
"Frankness is always the best course," said Mr. Hoopdriver.
"Well, then--who the devil set you on this business?"
"Set me ON this business?"
"Don't pretend to be stupid. Who's your employer? Who engaged you for this job?"
"Well," said Mr. Hoopdriver, confused. "No--I can't say."
"Quite sure?" The other man in brown glanced meaningly down at his hand, and Mr. Hoopdriver, following him mechanically, saw a yellow milled edge glittering in the twilight21. Now your shop assistant is just above the tip-receiving class, and only just above it--so that he is acutely sensitive on the point.
Mr. Hoopdriver flushed hotly, and his eyes were angry as he met those of the other man in brown. "Stow it!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, stopping and facing the tempter.
"What!" said the other man in brown, surprised. "Eigh?" And so saying he stowed it in his breeches pocket.
"D'yer think I'm to be bribed22?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, whose imagination was rapidly expanding the situation. "By Gosh! I'd follow you now--"
"My dear sir," said the other man in brown, "I beg your pardon. I misunderstood you. I really beg your pardon. Let us walk on. In your profession--"
"What have you got to say against my profession?"
"Well, really, you know. There are detectives of an inferior description--watchers. The whole class. Private Inquiry23--I did not realise--I really trust you will overlook what was, after all--you must admit--a natural indiscretion. Men of honour are not so common in the world--in any profession."
It was lucky for Mr. Hoopdriver that in Midhurst they do not light the lamps in the summer time, or the one they were passing had betrayed him. As it was, he had to snatch suddenly at his moustache and tug24 fiercely at it, to conceal25 the furious tumult26 of exultation27, the passion of laughter, that came boiling up. Detective! Even in the shadow Bechamel saw that a laugh was stifled28, but he put it down to the fact that the phrase "men of honour" amused his interlocutor. "He'll come round yet," said Bechamel to himself. "He's simply holding out for a fiver." He coughed.
"I don't see that it hurts you to tell me who your employer is."
"Don't you? I do."
"Prompt," said Bechamel, appreciatively. "Now here's the thing I want to put to you--the kernel29 of the whole business. You need not answer if you don't want to. There's no harm done in my telling you what I want to know. Are you employed to watch me--or Miss Milton?"
"I'm not the leaky sort," said Mr. Hoopdriver, keeping the secret he did not know with immense enjoyment30. Miss Milton! That was her name. Perhaps he'd tell some more. "It's no good pumping. Is that all you're after?" said Mr. Hoopdriver.
Bechamel respected himself for his diplomatic gifts. He tried to catch a remark by throwing out a confidence. "I take it there are two people concerned in watching this affair."
"Who's the other?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, calmly, but controlling with enormous internal tension his selfappreciation. "Who's the other?" was really brilliant, he thought.
"There's my wife and HER stepmother."
"And you want to know which it is?"
"Yes," said Bechamel.
"Well--arst 'em!" said Mr. Hoopdriver, his exultation getting the better of him, and with a pretty consciousness of repartee31. "Arst 'em both."
Bechamel turned impatiently. Then he made a last effort. "I'd give a five-pound note to know just the precise state of affairs," he said.
"I told you to stow that," said Mr. Hoopdriver, in a threatening tone. And added with perfect truth and a magnificent mystery, "You don't quite understand who you're dealing32 with. But you will!" He spoke33 with such conviction that he half believed that that defective34 office of his in London--Baker Street, in fact-- really existed.
With that the interview terminated. Bechamel went back to the Angel, perturbed35. "Hang detectives!" It wasn't the kind of thing he had anticipated at all. Hoopdriver, with round eyes and a wondering smile, walked down to where the mill waters glittered in the moonlight, and after meditating36 over the parapet of the bridge for a space, with occasional murmurs37 of, "Private Inquiry" and the like, returned, with mystery even in his paces, towards the town.
收听单词发音 |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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engulf
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| vt.吞没，吞食 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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7
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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8
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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promenading
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| v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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13
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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16
pluckily
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| adv.有勇气地，大胆地 | |
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17
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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18
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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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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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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21
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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22
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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23
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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24
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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25
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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26
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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28
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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29
kernel
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| n.(果实的)核，仁；(问题)的中心，核心 | |
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30
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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31
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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32
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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33
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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34
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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35
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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37
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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