“According to our instructions, yes. The first house after the first turn to the right. We took the first turn, and this is the first house. Romantic situation, eh? But a bit lonesome for a city chap? Shall I help you down?”
While talking, Sweetwater, who was already in the road, held up his elbow to Mr. Gryce, who slowly descended1. It was early morning, and the glory of sunshine was everywhere misleading the eye from the ravages2 of the night before; yet neither of these two men wore an air in keeping with the freshness of renewed life and the joyous3 aspect of exultant4 nature. There seemed to be an oppression upon them both — a hesitation5 not common to either, and to all appearance without cause.
To end what he probably considered a weakness, Sweetwater approached the door staring somewhat blankly from the flat front of the primitive6 old house whose privacy they were about to invade, and rapped on its weather-beaten panels, first gently and then with quick insistence8.
There was no response from within; no sound of movement; no token that he had been so much as heard. Sweetwater turned and consulted his companion before making another attempt.
“It’s early. Perhaps she’s not up yet,” rejoined the old detective as he painfully advanced. The storm of the preceding night had got into his bones.
“I don’t know. There’s something uncanny about this silence. She ought to be here; but I’m afraid she isn’t.” Sweetwater rapped again, this time with decided9 vehemence10.
Suddenly in one of the uncurtained windows a face appeared. They saw it, and both drew a deep breath. The eyes were looking their way, but they were like ghost’s eyes. Without sight or speculation11 in them, they simply looked; then the face slowly withdrew, growing ghastlier every minute, and the window stared on, but the woman was gone. Yet the door did not open.
“I hate to use force,” objected Sweetwater.
Before answering, Mr. Gryce stepped to one side and cast a glance around the corner of the house in the direction of the gorge12 opening in the rear.
“There is something like a yard at the back,” he announced, “but the fence which shut it in is so high and so protected by means of prickly underbrush that you would have difficulty in climbing it.”
“Just so at this end,” called out Sweetwater after a short run to the left. “If we get in at all,” he remarked on coming back, “it will have to be by the window you see there with one pane7 knocked out.”
“I don’t like that; I don’t like any of it. But we can’t stay out here any longer. The looks of the woman herself forbid it. We sha’n’t forget that hollow stare.”
“They said the woman who lived here was dead.”
“Yes. It’s a bad business, Sweetwater. Rap once more, and then if she doesn’t come, throw up the window and climb in.”
Sweetwater did as he was bid, and meeting with no more response than before, thrust his hand through the hole made by the broken pane; and finding the window had been left unlocked, he pushed it up and entered. In another moment he appeared at the front door, where Mr. Gryce joined him, and together they took their first look at the small but surprisingly well-furnished interior.
The hall in which they stood was without staircase and had many of the appointments of a room. Doors opened here and there along its length, and in the rear they saw a closed one evidently leading into the yard. There was no one within sight. One would have said that with the death and carrying out of the owner of this little dwelling13, all life had departed from it. Yet these two men knew that life was there; and raising his voice, Mr. Gryce called out in the least alarming way possible:
“Madame Duclos!” following this utterance14 of her name with an apology for the intrusion and a prayer for one minute’s interview.
Silence was his answer — no stir anywhere.
Apprehensive15 of they knew not what, the two detectives started simultaneously16, one for the door on their right, the other for that on the left. When they met again in the ill-lighted hall, Mr. Gryce was shaking his head, but Sweetwater had lifted a beckoning17 finger. Unconsciously moderating his step, Mr. Gryce followed him through one room to the door of another which he saw standing18 partly open.
Through the crack thus made between the hinges, they could get a very fair glimpse of what was going on inside. They saw a bed, and a woman kneeling beside this bed, her eyes upraised in prayer. The look which had awed19 them at the window was gone, and in its place was one so high and so full of religious faith that for an instant they were conscious of the reversal of all their ideas.
But only for an instant; for while they waited, hesitating to break in upon her evidently sincere devotions, she started to her feet and with a half-insane look about her, disappeared from their view in the direction of the hall.
Sweetwater was after her in a twinkling; but by the time he and Mr. Gryce, each going his separate way, had themselves reached the hall, it was to see the end door — the one giving upon the plateau — closing behind her.
“Madame!” called out Sweetwater, bounding briskly in her wake.
Mr. Gryce said nothing but approached with hastening steps the door which Sweetwater had left open behind him, and took a quick survey of the fenced-in plateau, the bridge and the towering trees beyond, toward which she seemed to be making.
“She cannot escape,” was his ready conclusion; and he shouted to Sweetwater to go easy.
Sweetwater, who was in the act of setting foot upon the bridge down which she was running, slacked up at this command and presently stopped, for she had stopped herself and was looking back from a spot about halfway20 across, with the air of one willing, at last, to hear what they had to say.
“Who are you?” she cried. “And what do you want of me?”
“Are you not Madame Duclos?”
“Yes, I am Antoinette Duclos.”
“Then you must know why you are wanted by the police authorities of New York. Your daughter —”
Her hand went up.
“I’ve nothing to say — nothing. Will you take that for your answer and let me go?”
“Alas, madam, we cannot!” spoke21 up Mr. Gryce in his calm, benevolent22 way. “Miss Duclos’ death was of a nature demanding an inquest. Your testimony23, hard as it may be for you to give it, is necessary for a righteous verdict. That is all we want —”
“It is too much!” she cried. And with a quick glance upward she took another step or two along the bridge till she had reached the broken rail; and before Sweetwater in his dismay could more than give a horrified24 bound in her direction, she had made the fatal leap and was gone from their sight into the gorge below.
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收听单词发音
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1
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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2
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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3
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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5
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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6
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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7
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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8
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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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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10
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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12
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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13
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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14
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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15
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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16
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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17
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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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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19
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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21
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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22
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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23
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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24
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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