They picked up the young man called "Snow" Gregory from a Lambeth gutter1, and he was dead before the policeman on point duty in Waterloo Road, who had heard the shots, came upon the scene.
He had been shot in his tracks on a night of snow and storm and none saw the murder.
When they got him to the mortuary and searched his clothes they found nothing except a little tin box of white powder which proved to be cocaine2, and a playing card--the Jack3 of Clubs!
His associates had called him "Snow" Gregory because he was a doper, and cocaine is invariably referred to as "snow" by all its votaries4. He was a gambler too, and he had been associated with Colonel Dan Boundary in certain of his business enterprises. That was all. The colonel knew nothing of the young man's antecedents except that he had been an Oxford5 man who had come down in the world. The colonel added a few particulars designed, as it might seem to the impartial6 observer, to prove that he, the colonel, had ever been an uplifting quantity. (This colonelcy was an honorary title which he held by custom rather than by law.)
There were people who said that "Snow" Gregory, in his more exalted7 moments, talked too much for the colonel's comfort, but people were very ready to talk unkindly of the colonel, whose wealth was an offence and a shame.
So they buried "Snow" Gregory, the unknown, and a jury of his fellow-countrymen returned a verdict of "Wilful8 murder against some person or persons unknown."
And that was the end of a sordid9 tragedy, it seemed, until three months later there dawned upon Colonel Boundary's busy life a brand new and alarming factor.
One morning there arrived at his palatial10 flat in Albemarle Place a letter. This he opened because it was marked "Private and Personal." It was not a letter at all--as it proved--but a soiled and stained playing card, the Knave11 of Clubs.
He looked at the thing in perplexity, for the fate of his erstwhile assistant had long since passed from his mind. Then he saw writing on the margin12 of the card, and twisting it sideways read:
Nothing more!
"Jack o' Judgment!"
The colonel screwed up his tired eyes as if to shut out a vision.
"Faugh!" he said in disgust and dropped the pasteboard into his waste-paper basket.
For he had seen a vision--a white face, unshaven and haggard, its lips parted in a little grin, the smile of "Snow" Gregory on the last time they had met.
Later came other cards and unpleasant, not to say disconcerting happenings, and the colonel, taking counsel with himself, determined14 to kill two birds with one stone.
It was a daring and audacious thing to have done, and none but Colonel Dan Boundary would have taken the risk. He knew better than anybody else that Stafford King had devoted15 the whole of his time for the past three years to smashing the Boundary Gang. He knew that this grave young man with the steady, grey eyes, who sat on the other side of the big Louis XV table in the ornate private office of the Spillsbury Syndicate, had won his way to the chief position in the Criminal Intelligence Department by sheer genius, and that he was, of all men, the most to be feared.
No greater contrast could be imagined than that which was presented between the two protagonists--the refined, almost aesthetic16 chief of police on the one hand, the big commanding figure of the redoubtable17 colonel on the other.
Boundary with his black hair parted in the centre of his sleek18 head, his big weary eyes, his long, yellow walrus19 moustache, his double chin, his breadth and girth, his enormous hairy hands, now laid upon the table, might stand for force, brutal20, remorseless, untiring. He stood for cunning too--the cunning of the stalking tiger.
Stafford was watching him with dispassionate interest. He may have been secretly amused at the man's sheer daring, but if he was, his inscrutable face displayed no such emotion.
"I dare say, Mr. King," said the colonel, in his slow, heavy way, "you think it is rather remarkable21 in all the circumstances that I should ask for you? I dare say," he went on, "my business associates will think the same, considering all the unpleasantness we have had."
Stafford King made no reply. He sat erect22, alert and watchful23.
"Give a dog a bad name and hang him," said the colonel sententiously. "For twenty years I've had to fight the unjust suspicions of my enemies. I've been libelled," he shook his head sorrowfully. "I don't suppose there's anybody been libelled more than me--and my business associates. I've had the police nosing--I mean investigating--into my affairs, and I'll be straight with you, Mr. Stafford King, and tell you that when it came to my ears and the ears of my business associates, that you had been put on the job of watching poor old Dan Boundary, I was glad."
"Is that intended as a compliment?" asked Stafford, with the faintest suspicion of a smile.
"Every way," said the colonel emphatically. "In the first place, Mr. King, I know that you are the straightest and most honest police official in England, and possibly in the world. All I want is justice. My life is an open book, which courts the fullest investigation24."
He spread out his huge hands as though inviting25 an even closer inspection26 than had been afforded him hitherto.
Mr. Stafford King made no reply. He knew, very well he knew, the stories which had been told about the Boundary Gang. He knew a little and guessed a lot about its extraordinary ramifications27. He was well aware, at any rate, that it was rich, and that this slow-speaking man could command millions. But he was far from desiring to endorse28 the colonel's inferred claim as to the purity of his business methods.
He leant a little forward.
"I am sure you didn't send for me to tell me all about your hard lot, colonel," he said, a little ironically.
The colonel shook his head.
"I wanted to get to know you," he said with fine frankness. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. King. I am told you do nothing but specialise on the Boundary enterprises, and I tell you, sir, that you can't know too much about me, nor can I know too much about you."
He paused.
"But you're quite right when you say that I didn't ask you to come here--and a great honour it is for a big police chief to spare time to see me--to discuss the past. It is the present I want to talk to you about."
Stafford King nodded.
"I'm a law-abiding citizen," said the colonel unctuously29, "and anything I can do to assist the law, why, I'm going to do it. I wrote you on this matter about a fortnight ago."
He opened a drawer and took out a large envelope embossed with a monogram30 of the Spillsbury Syndicate. This he opened and extracted a plain playing-card. It was a white-backed card of superfine texture31, gilt-edged, and bore a familiar figure.
"The Knave of Clubs," said Stafford King lifting his eyes.
"The Jack of Clubs," said the colonel gravely; "that is its name I understand, for I am not a gambling32 man."
He did not bat a lid nor did Stafford King smile.
"I remember," said the detective chief, "you received one before. You wrote to my department about it."
The colonel nodded.
"Read what's written underneath33."
King lifted the card nearer to his eyes. The writing was almost microscopic34 and read:
"Save crime, save worry, save all unpleasantness. Give back the property you stole from Spillsbury."
It was signed "Jack o' Judgment."
King put the card down and looked across at the colonel.
"What happened after the last card came?" he asked, "there was a burglary or something, wasn't there?"
"The last card," said the colonel, clearing his throat, "contained a diabolical35 and unfounded charge that I and my business associates had robbed Mr. George Fetter36, the Manchester merchant, of L60,000 by means of card tricks--a low practice of which I would not be guilty nor would any of my business associates. My friends and myself knowing nothing of any card game, we of course refused to pay Mr. Fetter, and I am sure Mr. Fetter would be the last person who would ask us to do so. As a matter of fact, he did give us bills for L60,000, but that was in relation to a sale of property. I cannot imagine that Mr. Fetter would ever take money from us or that he knew of this business--I hope not, because he seems a very respectable--gentleman."
The detective looked at the card again.
"What is this story of the Spillsbury deal?" he asked.
"What is that story of the Spillsbury deal?" said the colonel.
He had a trick of repeating questions--it was a trick which frequently gave him a very necessary breathing space.
"Why, there's nothing to it. I bought the motor works in Coventry. I admit it was a good bargain. There's no law against making a profit. You know what business is."
The detective knew what business was. But Spillsbury was young and wild, and his wildness assumed an unpleasant character. It was the kind of wildness which people do not talk about--at least, not nice people. He had inherited a considerable fortune, and the control of four factories, the best of which was the one under discussion.
"I know Spillsbury," said the detective, "and I happen to know Spillsbury's works. I also know that he sold you a property worth L300,000 in the open market for a sum which was grossly inadequate--L30,000, was it not?"
"L35,000," corrected the colonel. "There's no law against making a bargain," he repeated.
"You've been very fortunate with your bargains."
Stafford King rose and picked up his hat.
"You bought Transome's Hotel from young Mrs. Rachemeyer for a sum which was less than a twentieth of its worth. You bought Lord Bethon's slate37 quarries38 for L12,000--their value in the open market was at least L100,000. For the past fifteen years you have been acquiring property at an amazing rate--and at an amazing price."
The colonel smiled.
"You're paying me a great compliment, Mr. Stafford King," he said with a touch of sarcasm39, "and I will never forget it. But don't let us get away from the object of your coming. I am reporting to you, as a police officer, that I have been threatened by a blackguard, a thief, and very likely a murderer. I will not be responsible for any action I may take--Jack o' Judgment indeed!" he growled40.
"Have you ever seen him?" asked Stafford.
The colonel frowned.
"He's alive, ain't he?" he growled. "If I'd seen him, do you think he'd be writing me letters? It is your job to pinch him. If you people down at Scotland Yard spent less time poking41 into the affairs of honest business men----"
Stafford King was smiling now, frankly42 and undisguisedly. His grey eyes were creased43 with silent laughter.
"Colonel, you have _some_ nerve!" he said admiringly, and with no other word he left the room.
收听单词发音 |
1
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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cocaine
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| n.可卡因，古柯碱（用作局部麻醉剂） | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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votaries
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| n.信徒( votary的名词复数 )；追随者；（天主教）修士；修女 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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knave
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| n.流氓；（纸牌中的）杰克 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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16
aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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walrus
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| n.海象 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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ramifications
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| n.结果，后果( ramification的名词复数 ) | |
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endorse
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| vt.(支票、汇票等)背书，背署；批注；同意 | |
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29
unctuously
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| adv.油腻地，油腔滑调地；假惺惺 | |
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monogram
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| n.字母组合 | |
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31
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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33
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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fetter
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| n./vt.脚镣，束缚 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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quarries
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| n.（采）石场( quarry的名词复数 )；猎物（指鸟，兽等）；方形石；（格窗等的）方形玻璃v.从采石场采得( quarry的第三人称单数 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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40
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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41
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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42
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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43
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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