There was nothing in all the world, apparently15, to worry him, and yet he had that vague uneasiness in his mind. During one of his periodical tossings and turnings he heard the nurse go along the corridor, and decided16 that he would get up and see if he could be of any use. He put on his dressing-gown and made for the wedge of light that came from the door she had left ajar. As he went, she came behind him with a candle.
“He’s quite safe, Inspector17,” she said, and the mockery in her tone stung him as being unfair.
“I wasn’t asleep, and I heard you moving and thought I might be of some use,” he said, with as much dignity as one can achieve in the déshabillé of the small hours.
She relented a little. “No, thank you,” she said; “there’s nothing to do. He’s still unconscious.” She pushed open the door and led him in.
There was a lamp at the bedside, but otherwise the room was dark and filled with the sound of the sea — the gentle hushzsh which is so different from the roar of breakers on an open coast. The man, as she said, was still unconscious, and Grant examined him critically in the light of the lamp. He looked better, and his breathing was better. “He’ll be conscious before morning,” she said, and it sounded more like a promise than a statement.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Grant said suddenly, “that you should have had all this — that you should have been brought into this.”
“Don’t worry, Inspector; I’m not at all fragile. But I’d like to keep my mother and uncle from knowing about it. Can you manage that?”
“Oh, I think so. We can get Dr. Anderson to prescribe some treatment for him.”
She moved abruptly18, and he was conscious of the unhappiness of his phrase, but could see no way of remedying it, and was silent.
“Is he a bad lot?” she asked suddenly. “I mean, apart from —”
“No,” said Grant, “not as far as we know.” And then, afraid that the green growth he had burned out last night might begin to shoot again, and more pain be in store for her, he added, “But he stuck his friend in the back.”
“The man in the queue?” she said, and Grant nodded. Even yet he was waiting momentarily for the “I don’t believe it.” But it did not come. He had at last met a woman whose common sense was greater than her emotions. She had known the man only three days, he had lied to her every hour of these days, and the police wanted him for murder. That was sufficient evidence in her clear eyes to prevent her taking any brief in his favour.
“I have just put the kettle on the gas-ring in the bathroom for tea,” she said. “Will you have some?” and Grant accepted and they drank the scalding liquid by the open window, the sea heaving below them in the strangely balmy west-coast night. And Grant went to bed again quite sure that it was not Miss Dinmont’s emotions that worried him, but still uneasy about something, And now, writing triumphant20 telegrams to Barker in the golden morning, with the comfortable smell of bacon and eggs con-tending amiably21 with the fragrance22 of sea-weed, he was still not as happy as he should have been. Miss Dinmont had come in, still in the white overall that made her look half surgeon, half religieuse, to say that her patient was conscious, but would Grant not come to him until Dr. Anderson had been? — she was afraid of the excitement; and Grant had thought that eminently23 reasonable.
“Has he just come round?” he asked,
No, she said; he had been conscious for some hours, and she went serenely24 away, leaving Grant wondering what had passed between patient and nurse in those few hours. Drysdale joined him at breakfast, with his queer mixture of taciturnity and amiability25, and arranged that he should have a real day’s fishing as an offset26 to the distracted flogging of the water which had occupied him Yesterday. Grant said that, once Anderson had been and he had heard a report of his man, he would go. He supposed any telegrams could be sent down to him.
“Oh, yes; there’s nothing Pidgeon likes like being important. He’s in his element at the moment.”
Dr. Anderson, a little man in ancient and none too clean tweeds, said that the patient was very well indeed — even his memory was unimpaired — but he would advise Grant, whom he took to be the man’s nearest friend, not to see him until this evening. It would be best to give him a day to be quiet in. And since Miss Dinmont seemed determined27 to look after him, they need have no fear about him. She was an excellent nurse.
“When can he travel?” asked Grant. “We’re in a hurry to get south.”
“If it is very important, the day after to-morrow, perhaps.” And seeing Grant look disappointed, “Or even tomorrow, if the journey were made comfortable. It all depends on the comfort of the travel. But I wouldn’t recommend it till the day after to-morrow at the earliest.”
“What’s the hurry?” Drysdale said. “Why spoil the ship for a ha’p’orth of tar19?”
“Afraid of loose moorings,” Grant said.
“Don’t worry. The excellent Pidgeon will dote on being head warder.”
Then Grant turned to the surprised doctor and explained the truth of the situation. “There’s no chance of his getting away if we let him stay here till he is stronger?”
“He’s safe enough today,” Anderson said. “The man isn’t fit to lift a little finger at the moment. He’d have to be carried if he escaped, and I don’t suppose there’s any one here who would be willing to carry him.”
So Grant, conscious of being entirely28 unreasonable29 and at sea with himself, agreed, wrote a second report to Barker to supplement the one he had written on the previous night, and departed to the river with Drysdale.
After a day of wide content, broken only by the arrival of Pidgeon’s subordinate, a youth with a turned-up nose and ears that stuck out like handles, with telegrams from Barker, they came back to the house between tea and dinner; and Grant, after a wash, knocked at the door that sheltered Lamont. Miss Dinmont admitted him, and he met the black eyes of the man on the bed with a distinct feeling of relief; he was still there.
Lamont was the first to speak. “Well, you’ve got me,” he said, drawling a little.
“Looks like it,” said Grant. “But you had a good run for your money.”
“Yes,” agreed the man, his eyes going to Miss Dinmont and coming back at once. “Tell me, what made you dive off the boat? What was the idea?”
“Because swimming and diving is the thing I’m best at. If I hadn’t slipped, I could have got to the rocks under water and lain there with only my nose and my mouth out until you got tired looking for me, or the dark came. But you won — by a head.” The pun seemed to please him.
There was a little silence, and Miss Dinmont said in her clear, deliberate voice, “I think, Inspector, he’s well enough to be left now. At least, he won’t need professional services any longer. Perhaps some one in the house would look after him to-night?”
Grant deduced that this was her way of saying that the man was strong enough now to have a more adequate guard, and thankfully agreed. “Do you want to go now?”
“Just as soon as some one can take my place without any one being upset.”
Grant rang, and explained the situation to the maid that came. “I’ll stay if you would like to go now,” he said when the maid had gone, and she agreed.
Grant went to the window and stood looking out at the loch, so that, if she wanted to say anything to Lamont, the way was clear, and she began to collect her things. There was no sound of conversation, and, looking round, he saw that she was apparently quite absorbed in the task of leaving nothing behind her, and the man was watching her unblinkingly, his whole being waiting for the moment of her leave-taking. Grant turned back to the sea, and presently he heard her say, “Shall I see you again before you go?” There was no answer to that, and Grant turned round to find that she was addressing himself.
“Oh, yes, I hope so,” he said. “I’ll call at the manse if I don’t see you otherwise — if I may.”
“All right,” she said, “then I needn’t say goodbye just now.” And she went out of the room with her bundle.
Grant glanced at his captive and looked away at once. It is indecent to pry30 too far into even a murderer’s soul. When he looked back again, the man’s eyes were closed and his face was a mask of such un-speakable misery31 that Grant was unexpectedly moved. He had cared for her, then — it had not been merely opportunism.
“Can I do anything for you, Lamont?” he asked presently.
The black eyes opened and considered him unseeingly. “I suppose it is too much to expect any one to believe that I didn’t do it,” he said at length.
“It is, rather,” said Grant dryly.
“But I didn’t, you know.”
“No? Well, we hardly expected you to say you did.”
“That’s what she said.”
“Who?” asked Grant, surprised.
“Miss Dinmont. When I told her I hadn’t done it.”
“Oh? Well, it’s a simple process of elimination32, you see. And everything fits in too well for the possibility of a mistake. Even down to this.” And picking up Lamont’s hand from where it lay on the counterpane, he indicated the scar on the inside of his thumb. “Where did you get that?”
“I got it carrying my trunk up the stairs to my new rooms in Brixton — that morning.”
“Well, well,” said Grant indulgently, “we won’t argue the affair now, and you’re not well enough to make a statement. If I took one now, they’d hold it up to me that I had got it from you when you weren’t compos mentis.”
“My statement’ll be the same whenever you take it,” the man said; “only, no one will believe it. If they would have believed it, I wouldn’t have run.”
Grant had heard that tale before. It was a favourite gambit with criminals who had no case. When a man plays injured innocence33, the layman34 immediately considers the possibility of a mistake; but the police officer, who has a long acquaintance with the doubtedly guilty, is less impressionable — in fact, is not impressed at all. A police officer who was impressed with a hard-luck story, however well told, would be little use in a force designed for the suppression of that most plausible35 of creatures, the criminal. So Grant merely smiled and went back to the window. The loch was like glass this evening, the hills on either side reflected to their last detail in the still water. Master Robert rode below the boathouse —“a painted ship”— only that no paint could reproduce the translucence36 of the sea as it was now.
Presently Lamont said, “How did you find where I had come to?”
“Fingerprints38,” said Grant succinctly39.
“Have you got fingerprints of mine?”
“No, not yours. I’m going to take them in a minute.”
“Whose, then?”
“Mrs. Everett’s.”
“What has Mrs. Everett got to do with it?” the man said, with the first hint of defiance40.
“I expect you know more about that than I do. Don’t talk. I want you to be able to travel tomorrow or the next day.”
“But look here, you haven’t done any-thing to Mrs. Everett, have you?”
Grant grinned. “No; I think it’s what Mrs. Everett’s done to us.”
“What do you mean? You haven’t arrested her, have you?”
There was obviously no hope of the man being quiet until he knew how they had traced him, so Grant told him. “We found a fingerprint37 of Mrs. Everett’s in your rooms, and as Mrs. Everett had told us she didn’t know where your new rooms were, it was a fair conclusion that she had a finger in the pie. We found that her relations stayed here, and then we found the man you fooled at King’s Cross, and his description of Mrs. Everett made things sure. We only just missed you at the Brixton place.”
“Mrs. Everett won’t get into trouble over it, will she?”
“Probably not — now that we’ve got you.”
“I was a fool to run, in the first place. If I’d come and told the truth in the beginning, it couldn’t be any worse than it is now, and I’d have saved all the hell between.” He was lying with his eyes on the sea. “Funny to think that, if some one hadn’t killed Bert, I’d never have seen this place or — or anything.”
The “anything” the inspector took to be the manse. “M’m! And who do you think killed him?”
“I don’t know. There wasn’t any one I know of who’d do that to Bert. I think perhaps some one did it by mistake.”
“Not looking what they were doing with the needle, as it were?”
“No, in mistake for some one else.”
“And you’re the left-handed man with a scar on his thumb who quarrelled with Sorrell just before his death, and who has all the money Sorrell had in the world, but you’re quite innocent.”
The man turned his head wearily away. “I know,” he said. “You don’t need to tell me how bad it is.”
A knock came to the door, and the boy with the protruding41 ears appeared in the doorway42 and said that he had been sent to relieve Mr. Grant, if that was what Mr. Grant wanted. Grant said, “I’ll want you in five minutes or so. Come back when I ring.” And the boy melted, grin last, into the dark of the passage like a Cheshire cat. Grant took something out of his pocket and fiddled43 with it at the washstand. Then he came over to the bedside and said, “Fingerprints, please. It’s quite a painless process, so you needn’t mind.” He took prints of both hands on the prepared sheets of paper, and the man submitted with an indifference44 tinged45 with the interest one shows in experiencing something, however mild, for the first time. Grant knew even as he pressed the fingertips on the paper that the man had no Scotland Yard record. The prints would be of value only in relation to the other prints in the case.
As he laid them aside to dry, Lamont said, “Are you the star turn at Scotland Yard?”
“Not yet,” said grant. “You flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I only thought — seeing your photograph in the paper.”
“That was why you ran last Saturday night in the Strand46.”
“Was it only last Saturday? I wish the traffic had done for me then!”
“Well, it very nearly did for me.”
“Yes; I got an awful jolt47 when I saw you behind me so soon.”
“If it’s any comfort to you, I got a much worse one when I saw you arriving back in the Strand. What did you do then?”
“Took a taxi. There was one passing.”
“Tell me,” the inspector said, his curiosity getting the better of him, “were you planning the boat escape all the time at the manse tea?”
“No; I had no plans at all. I thought of the boat afterwards only because I’m used to boats, and I thought you’d think of them last. I was going to try to escape somehow, but I didn’t think of it until I saw the pepper-pot as I was going out. It was the only way I could think of, you see. Bert had my gun.”
“Your gun? Was that your gun in his pocket?”
“Yes; that’s what I went to the queue for.”
But Grant did not want statements of that sort tonight. “Don’t talk!” he said, and rang for the boy. “I’ll take any statement you want to give me tomorrow. If there’s any-thing I can do for you tonight, tell the boy and he’ll let me know.”
“There isn’t anything, thank you. You’ve been awfully48 decent — far more decent than I thought the police ever were — to criminals.”
That was so obviously an English version of Raoul’s gentil that Grant smiled involuntarily, and the shadow of a smile was reflected on Lamont’s swarthy face. “I say,” he said, “I’ve thought a lot about Bert, and it’s my belief that, if it wasn’t a mistake, it was a woman.”
“Thanks for the tip,” said Grant dryly, and left him to the tender mercies of the grinning youth. But as he made his way downstairs he was wondering why he had thought of Mrs. Ratcliffe.
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收听单词发音
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1
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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epicure
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| n.行家，美食家 | |
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apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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7
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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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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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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19
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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offset
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| n.分支，补偿；v.抵消，补偿 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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31
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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32
elimination
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| n.排除，消除，消灭 | |
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33
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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36
translucence
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| n.半透明 | |
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fingerprint
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| n.指纹；vt.取...的指纹 | |
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fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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41
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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42
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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43
fiddled
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| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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44
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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45
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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47
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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48
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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