A ragged2, shuffling3 figure, that of a hollow-cheeked young man, was passing at the moment. The young fellow, apparently4 a homeless vagrant5, or worse, paused as the car drew up to the curb6, then darted7 forward and opened the door.
Doctor Follansbee muttered something under his breath, seemingly derogatory to the volunteer, and he and Stone crossed the pavement and vanished through the doorway8 while the car went on up the street.
Apparently disgusted by his bad luck in not obtaining a tip, the disreputable-looking young man crossed the street and disappeared into the shadows of an areaway, which primitive9 lodging10 place seemed to be his choice for the night.
Meanwhile, Follansbee had unlocked the door with his latchkey, switched on the lights in the hall and office, and motioned his companion to enter the latter. The lights shone brightly on the former mine owner’s face, and the doctor was almost startled by the change in it. The hard, sour, brooding expression that had so characterized the tanned features had vanished now, and in its place was a very sane11 anxiety, coupled with shocked recollection. James Stone was plainly suffering in a way that few men are called upon to suffer. “Now,” he said at once, refusing the proffered12 chair, “tell me what you mean.”
Even his voice had subtly changed. It was still deep, but the hoarseness13 had gone from it, and it had taken on a little of the mellowness14 of Crawford’s own.
Follansbee advanced to his desk and dropped into a chair.
“Won’t you sit down?” he repeated, with perfect self-possession. “It’s a rather long story.”
“No, no! I would rather stand,” Stone replied, pressing his hand to his brow. “I feel dazed and sick; I feel as though a great gap had come into my life, and that I was only returning to the world again after a long absence.”
“Everything—or nearly everything—is misty,” he went on, “but I know that I came to you on the recommendation of young Doctor Floyd down in Brazil. He sent me to you to get help for my trouble, but—but somehow, instead of that, we hatched a devilish plot to murder the best friend I have in the world, Win Crawford. In Heaven’s name what’s to be done? What did you mean just now when you said I had come to my senses? I have come to them, I hope, but if it’s too late to help Win, I would have been far better off as I was. If he dies now, I shall kill myself. I could not bear to live knowing that I had murdered him. You don’t know—nobody knows—how much he has meant to me. Tell me, man, what you meant? Is there—is there any hope?”
His terrible anxiety was pathetic to see, but it seemed to have no effect on Stephen Follansbee. The latter looked on as if he were witnessing a play, and as soon as Stone paused, his cold voice cut like a knife through the silence.
“For a considerable period, Mr. Stone—several months, I understand—your mind has been seriously affected16 in certain respects,” he said. “Perhaps I should say that it has been affected in one particular respect. A few days ago you came to me and seemed to jump to the conclusion that I was the archfiend himself, or something little better. If you had been sane, I would have thrown you out of the house for your insults. As it was, I listened to you and led you on until you made an extraordinary proposal; nothing less than that I should help you to put your partner out of the way. Frankly17 I came very near to using the telephone then and there, and having you placed in custody18.”
“I wish now you had!” Stone burst out.
He was laboring19 under the greatest excitement and remorse20, but he was obviously as sane as he had ever been in his life.
“I did not do so, however,” Follansbee went on, ignoring the interruption, “for I saw that your trouble was monomania; serious enough in itself, but leaving you sane in all other ways. I diagnosed it also as a mere21 temporary derangement22, and I did not feel justified23 in submitting you to the ordeal24 of publicity25, or of committing you to an asylum26.”
“Go on! Be quick about it! What did you do? For Heaven’s sake tell me the whole thing at once!”
Follansbee slipped his hand into the inside breast pocket of his coat and drew out a little leather case.
“I simply played a professional trick on you, Mr. Stone,” he declared quietly. “It’s true that the drug in the vial was a powerful narcotic27, and at this very moment I have no doubt that your friend is still under the influence of it.”
“But this,” he went on, tapping the instrument, “was charged with nothing more harmful than pure glycerine.”
“Is that true?” the miner demanded, striding forward and towering above the diminutive29 specialist. “If it is——”
“I can easily convince you that it is,” Follansbee assured him.
“Watch!” he said.
点击收听单词发音
1 swerve | |
v.突然转向,背离;n.转向,弯曲,背离 | |
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2 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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3 shuffling | |
adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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4 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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5 vagrant | |
n.流浪者,游民;adj.流浪的,漂泊不定的 | |
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6 curb | |
n.场外证券市场,场外交易;vt.制止,抑制 | |
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7 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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8 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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9 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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10 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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11 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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12 proffered | |
v.提供,贡献,提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 hoarseness | |
n.嘶哑, 刺耳 | |
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14 mellowness | |
成熟; 芳醇; 肥沃; 怡然 | |
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15 anguished | |
adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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16 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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17 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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18 custody | |
n.监护,照看,羁押,拘留 | |
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19 laboring | |
n.劳动,操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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20 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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21 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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22 derangement | |
n.精神错乱 | |
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23 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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24 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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25 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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26 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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27 narcotic | |
n.麻醉药,镇静剂;adj.麻醉的,催眠的 | |
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28 spoke | |
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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29 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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30 cuff | |
n.袖口;手铐;护腕;vt.用手铐铐;上袖口 | |
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