Part I - ENGLAND Chapter 1 Part I - ENGLAND Chapter 1 "Linnet Ridgeway!" "That's her!" said Mr Burnaby, the landlord of the Three Crowns. He nudged his companion. The two men stared with round bucolic eyes and slightly open mouths. A big scarlet Rolls Royce had just stopped in front of the local post office. A girl jumped out, a girl without a hat and wearing a frock that looked (but only looked) simple. A girl with golden hair and straight autocratic features - a girl with a lovely shape - a girl such as was seldom seen in Malton-under-Wode. With a quick imperative step she passed into the post office. "That's her!" said Mr Burnaby again. And he went on in a low awed voice: "Millions she's got... Going to spend thousands on the place. Swimming pools there's going to be, and Italian gardens and a ballroom and half of the house pulled down and rebuilt..." "She'll bring money into the town," said his friend. He was a lean seedy-looking man. His tone was envious and grudging. Mr Burnaby agreed. "Yes, it's a great thing for Malton-under-Wode. A great thing it is." Mr Burnaby was complacent about it. "Wake us all up proper," he added. "Bit of a difference from Sir George," said the other. "Ah, it was the 'orses did for him," said Mr Burnaby indulgently. "Never 'ad no luck." "What did he get for the place?" "A cool sixty-thousand, so I've heard." The lean man whistled. Mr Burnaby went on triumphantly: "And they say she'll have spent another sixty-thousand before she's finished!" "Wicked!" said the lean man. "Where'd she get all that money from?" "America, so I've heard. Her mother was the only daughter of one of those millionaire blokes. Quite like the Pictures, isn't it?" The girl came out of the post office and climbed into the car. As she drove off the lean man followed her with his eyes. He muttered: "It seems all wrong to me - her looking like that. Money and looks - it's too much! If a girl's as rich as that she's no right to be a good-looker as well. And she is a good-looker. Got everything, that girl has. Doesn't seem fair." 第一部 英国 1 第一部 英国 1 “林娜•黎吉薇。” “这就是她！”三冠地主波纳比先生说道。 他以肘轻轻触了同伴一下。两人同时睁大圆眼，微张嘴唇，看着眼前的景 象。 一辆巨型的猩红色罗尔斯•罗伊斯恰恰停在当地邮局的正门口。 车里跳出一位少女，她没有戴帽，身着一件式样简单大方的罩袍；发色金 黄，个性坦率而专断；是美尔敦—下渥德地区罕见的俏丽女郎。 迈着快捷而令人生畏的步伐，她走进邮局。 “这就是她！”波纳比先生又说了一遍。他压低嗓门，继续说道：“她获得 百万财产，准备动用数万元在此地建一游泳池、意大利式花园、舞厅，原有的房 屋半数都要拆除重建……” “她会把钱带进本地。”他的朋友说道。这是一个精神萎靡的瘦子，话语中 充满羡慕与嫉妒。 波纳比先生赞同道： “对，这对美尔敦—下渥德地区是件大事，确实是件大事。” 波纳比先生对自己的消息灵通颇为自豪。随后他又加了一句：“此事必会在 本地引起一阵震撼。” 他的朋友说：“与乔治爵士截然不同。” “噢，乔治爵士，他是靠赛马致富的。”波纳比先生宽宏大度地说，“全凭 运气才赢得那么多钱的。” “他装修房子花了多少钱？” “我听说是整整六万元。” 瘦子吹了一声唿哨。 波纳比先生得意洋洋地继续说：“她呢，据说在房子完工前就得再花另外的 六万元。” “真邪门！”瘦子说，“她哪儿来的这么多钱？” “据说是从美国。她母亲是一位百万富翁的独女儿。很像电影里的情节，不 是吗？” 那少女走出邮局，钻进轿车里。 车子发动了。那瘦子以眼睛追随着她的倩影，喃喃道： “我似乎完全判断错误了——看她的长相。金钱与美貌——太多了！像她这 样富有的女孩实在没有权利又长得漂亮。而她的脸蛋确实俏丽。这女孩样样俱 全，实在不公平。” Chapter 2 Chapter 2 Extract from the Social column of the Daily Blague. Among those supping at Chez Ma Tante I noticed beautiful Linnet Ridgeway. She was with the Hon. Joanna Southwood, Lord Windlesham and Mr Toby Bryce. Miss Ridgeway, as everyone knows, is the daughter of Melhuish Ridgeway who married Anna Hartz. She inherits from her grandfather, Leopold Hartz, an immense fortune. The lovely Linnet is the sensation of the moment and it is rumoured that an engagement may be announced shortly. Certainly Lord Windlesham seemed very épris! 第一部 英国 2 2 于“在姑妈家”餐厅吃饭时，我注意到美丽的林娜•黎吉薇也在座。她与乔 安娜•邵斯伍德小姐、温特显姆伯爵、托比•布莱斯先生共进晚餐。大家都知 道，黎吉薇小姐是梅尔勒•黎吉薇与安娜•哈兹的女儿。她从她外祖父李奥波 德•哈兹那里继承了一大笔遗产。俏丽的黎吉薇是大众瞩目的焦点，盛传不久她 将宣布她的订婚大事。当然温特显姆应该是最有希望的人选…… Chapter 3 Chapter 3 The Hon. Joanna Southwood said: "Darling, I think it's going to be all perfectly marvellous!" She was sitting in Linnet Ridgeway's bedroom at Wode Hall. From the window the eye passed over the gardens to open country with blue shadows of woodlands. "It's rather perfect, isn't it?" said Linnet. She leaned her arms on the window sill. Her face was eager, alive, dynamic. Beside her, Joanna Southwood seemed, somehow, a little dim - a tall thin young woman of twenty-seven, with a long clever face and freakishly plucked eyebrows. "And you've done so much in the time! Did you have lots of architects and things?" "Three." "What are architects like? I don't think I've ever seen any." "They were all right. I found them rather unpractical sometimes." "Darling, you soon put that right! You are the most practical creature!" Joanna picked up a string of pearls from the dressing-table. "I suppose these are real, aren't they, Linnet?" "Of course." "I know it's 'of course' to you, my sweet, but it wouldn't be to most people. Heavily cultured or even Woolworth! Darling, they really are incredible, so exquisitely matched. They must be worth the most fabulous sums!" "Rather vulgar, you think?" "No, not at all - just pure beauty. What are they worth?" "About fifty thousand." "What a lovely lot of money! Aren't you afraid of having them stolen?" "No, I always wear them - and anyway they're insured." "Let me wear them till dinner time, will you, darling? It would give me such a thrill." Linnet laughed. "Of course, if you like." "You know, Linnet, I really do envy you. You've simply got everything. Here you are at twenty, your own mistress, with any amount of money, looks, superb health. You've even got brains! When are you twenty-one?" "Next June. I shall have a grand coming-of-age party in London." "And then are you going to marry Charles Windlesham? All the dreadful little gossip writers are getting so excited about it. And he really is frightfully devoted." Linnet shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I don't really want to marry anyone yet." "Darling, how right you are! It's never quite the same afterward, is it?" The telephone shrilled and Linnet went to it. "Yes? Yes?" The butler's voice answered her. "Miss de Bellefort is on the line. Shall I put her through?" "Bellefort? Oh, of course, yes, put her through." A click and a voice, an eager, soft, slightly breathless voice: "Hullo, is that Miss Ridgeway? Linnet!" "Jackie darling! I haven't heard anything of you for ages and ages!" "I know. It's awful. Linnet, I want to see you terribly." "Darling, can't you come down here? My new toy. I'd love to show it to you." "That's just what I want to do." "Well, jump into a train or a car." "Right, I will. A frightfully dilapidated two-seater. I bought it for fifteen pounds, and some days it goes beautifully. But it has moods. If I haven't arrived by tea time you'll know it's had a mood. So long, my sweet." Linnet replaced the receiver. She crossed back to Joanna. "That's my oldest friend, Jacqueline de Bellefort. We were together at a convent in Paris. She's had the most terribly bad luck. Her father was a French Count, her mother was American - a Southerner. The father went off with some woman, and her mother lost all her money in the Wall Street crash. Jackie was left absolutely broke. I don't know how she's managed to get along the last two years." Joanna was polishing her deep-blood-coloured nails with her friend's nail pad. She leant back with her head on one side scrutinizing the effect. "Darling," she drawled, "won't that be rather tiresome? If any misfortunes happen to my friends I always drop them at once! It sounds heartless, but it saves such a lot of trouble later! They always want to borrow money off you, or else they start a dressmaking business and you have to get the most terrible clothes from them. Or they paint lampshades, or do Batik scarves." "So if I lost all my money, you'd drop me tomorrow?" "Yes, darling, I would. You can't say I'm not honest about it! I only like successful people. And you'll find that's true of nearly everybody - only most people won't admit it. They just say that really they can't put up with Mary or Emily or Pamela any more! 'Her troubles have made her so bitter and peculiar, poor dear!"' "How beastly you are, Joanna!" "I'm only on the make, like everyone else." "I'm not on the make!" "For obvious reasons! You don't have to be sordid when good-looking, middle-aged American trustees pay you over a vast allowance every quarter." "And you're wrong about Jacqueline," said Linnet. "She's not a sponge. I've wanted to help her, but she won't let me. She's as proud as the devil." "What's she in such a hurry to see you for? I'll bet she wants something! You just wait and see." "She sounded excited about something," admitted Linnet. "Jackie always did get frightfully worked up over things. She once stuck a penknife into someone!" "Darling, how thrilling!" "A boy who was teasing a dog. Jackie tried to get him to stop. He wouldn't. She pulled him and shook him but he was much stronger than she was, and at last she whipped out a penknife and plunged it right into him. There was the most awful row!" "I should think so. It sounds most uncomfortable!" Linnet's maid entered the room. With a murmured word of apology, she took down a dress from the wardrobe and went out of the room with it. "What's the matter with Marie?" asked Joanna. "She's been crying." "Poor thing. You know I told you she wanted to marry a man who has a job in Egypt. She didn't know much about him, so I thought I'd better make sure he was all right. It turned out that he had a wife already - and three children." "What a lot of enemies you must make, Linnet." "Enemies?" Linnet looked surprised. Joanna nodded and helped herself to a cigarette. "Enemies, my sweet. You're so devastatingly efficient. And you're so frightfully good at doing the right thing." Linnet laughed. "Why, I haven't got an enemy in the world!" 第一部 英国 3 第一部 英国 3 乔安娜•邵斯伍德说： “亲爱的，我认为事情会进展得十分顺利！” 她坐在林娜•黎吉薇“渥德园”的闺房里。 从窗口望出去，花园之外是广阔乡间葱郁苍翠的林木。 “这景致真棒，不是吗？”琳娜问。 她手臂倚靠着窗缘，脸上流露出热切、活泼与充沛的精力。乔安娜•邵斯伍 德一站在她身边就显得黯然失色——她是高瘦、年满二十七岁的年轻女郎，聪明 的长脸蛋，眉毛却修剪得有些怪诞。 “你一天的工作量太多了！你请了建筑师吗？” “三个。” “这些建筑师怎么样？我好像不曾见到半个。” “他们都很不错。有时我只发现他们不切实际。” “亲爱的，你快别这么说。你是最实际的动物！” 乔安娜从梳妆台拿起一串珍珠项链。 “我猜这是真的珍珠，是吧，林娜？” “当然是真的。” “我晓得对你而言，当然是真的，甜蜜，但对大多数人则不然。你受过高等 教育，家里又有钱！亲爱的，这串珠链的手艺真是巧夺天工，搭配得也恰到好 处。它们一定值一大笔数目！” “相当粗俗，是吧？” “不，一点也不粗俗——而是真的很美。它们价值多少？” “大约五万元。” “好大一笔钱。你不怕被偷吗？” “不，我经常佩戴在身——再说也保过险了。” “借我一直戴到吃饭前，好吧，亲爱的？这东西使我兴奋不已。” 林娜大笑。 “你要戴就戴吧！” “你知道，林娜，我真的很嫉妒你。你样样不缺。刚年满二十岁，就拥有自 己的头衔、大笔财产、美貌及健康的体格。甚至你还有头脑！你二十一岁生日是 什么时候？” “明年六月。我将在伦敦举行盛大的成年舞会。” “然后你要嫁给查理斯•温特显姆？那些专爱说人闲话的小记者对这件事兴 奋得不得了。不过他确实为你投下了不少心血。” 林娜耸耸肩。 “我不知道。我还没想要嫁人。” “亲爱的，你的想法很正确！结婚以后就不一样，是吧？” 电话铃响了起来，林娜走过去接。 “喂？喂？” “是杜贝尔弗小姐打来的。要我接过来吗？” “杜贝尔弗？哦，当然，好，你接过来。” 啪达一声，一个急切、温柔、略微喘息的声音响起，“喂，是林娜•黎吉薇 吗？林娜！” “贾姬，亲爱的！我几百年没有你的消息了。” “我知道。真可怕。林娜，我急想见你。” “亲爱的，你能来这里吗？我的新玩意，我亟欲让你看看。” “我正想这么做。” “那就跳进一辆火车或汽车吧。” “好，我会的。我花费十五磅，买了一辆破旧得可怕的双人座汽车，有时走 得挺顺利。但它太有脾气了。如果喝茶时间我还没赶到，你就知道它又闹情绪 了。再见，我的蜜糖。” 林娜放下话筒，走回乔安娜身边。 “这是我的老朋友贾克琳•杜贝尔弗。在巴黎时我们一起住在修道院里。她 的运气坏透了。她父亲是法国伯爵，母亲是美国南方人。父亲跟某个女人跑了， 母亲则在华尔街搞金融搞破产。贾姬被拖累得沦落不堪。不知道她最后两年是如 何度过的。” 乔安娜正用闺友的指甲油在涂亮自己深红色的指甲。她头侧向一边，仔细 端详着涂油后自己的指甲。 “亲爱的，”她慢吞吞地说，“这不是相当烦人吗？我的朋友若碰上霉运， 我一定立刻将他们甩开。这话听起来很绝情，但省却以后多少麻烦！他们不是想 向你借钱，就是开张做衣服的生意，然后你就从他们那里拿到最糟糕的衣服。不 然他们就是描灯罩或做蜡染。” “所以如果我失去我所有的钱，你明天就把我甩掉？” “当然，亲爱的，我会这么做。你不能说我待朋友不忠诚。我只是喜欢结交 成功的朋友罢了。你会发现几乎每个人都会这么做——只是大部分人不肯承认罢 了。他们只是说他们再也受不了玛丽或爱蜜丽或帕美拉啦！‘挫折使她变得如此 哭丧、龌龊不堪，可怜的人！’” “你真现实，乔安娜！” “我只是像其他人一样趋炎附势而已！” “我不会趋炎附势！” “你漂亮，每季又有中年的美国托管人付给你生活津贴。在这种条件下，你 显然不必做这种卑鄙的事。” “你对贾克琳的看法不正确，”林娜说，“她不是那种依赖朋友为生的人。 我曾想帮助她，但她拒绝了。她像魔鬼一样自负。” “那她干嘛这么急着要见你？我敢打赌她一定有事才登三宝殿。你等着瞧好 了。” “她的声音听起来似乎有什么事很紧急。”林娜承认道，“贾姬一向太过于 冲动。有一次她还拿削铅笔刀去刺一个人！” “亲爱的，这多可怕！” “有一个男孩在欺侮一只小狗。贾姬企图制止他。但他不听。她就拖住他摇 他的身体，但他力气比她大，最后她就亮出一把削铅笔刀，直直插进他的身体。 结果大家乱成一团！” “我可以想像。这种事听起来极不舒服！” 林娜的女仆走进闺房，喃喃地道歉了一声。她从衣橱里取出一件衣服，就赶 紧走开了。 “玛丽怎么啦？”乔安娜问，“她在哭哩。” “可怜的东西。你知道我告诉过你她要嫁给一个在埃及工作的男人。她对他 的背景了解不多，我想最好替她打听一下他这人正直不正直。结果发现他已经有 一个太太——还有三个小孩。” “林娜，你这样会树立多少敌人！” “敌人？”林娜很吃惊的样子。 乔安娜点点头，替自己点燃一枝烟。 “敌人，甜蜜。你这样任性破坏人家的事，你这样固执，可知道会招惹多少 怨恨呢！” 林娜大笑。 “可是在这世上我还没有半个敌人呢。” Chapter 4 Chapter 4 Lord Windlesham sat under the cedar tree. His eyes rested on the graceful proportions of Wode Hall. There was nothing to mar its old world beauty; the new buildings and additions were out of sight round the corner. It was a fair and peaceful sight bathed in the Autumn sunshine. Nevertheless, as he gazed, it was no longer Wode Hall that Charles Windlesham saw. Instead, he seemed to see a more imposing Elizabethan mansion, a long sweep of park, a more bleak background. It was his own family seat, Charltonbury, and in the foreground stood a figure - a girl's figure, with bright golden hair and an eager confident face... Linnet as mistress of Charltonbury! He felt very hopeful. That refusal of hers had not been at all a definite refusal. It had been little more than a plea for time. Well, he could afford to wait a little. How amazingly suitable the whole thing was. It was certainly advisable that he should marry money, but not such a matter of necessity that he could regard himself as forced to put his own feelings on one side. And he loved Linnet. He would have wanted to marry her even if she had been practically penniless, instead of one of the richest girls in England. Only, fortunately, she was one of the richest girls in England... His mind played with attractive plans for the future. The Mastership of the Roxdale perhaps, the restoration of the west wing, no need to let the Scotch shooting... Charles Windlesham dreamed in the sun. 第一部 英国 4 第一部 英国 4 温特显姆伯爵坐在一株西洋杉树下。他的眼光停留在“渥德园”某个优雅的 角落。“渥德园”属于旧世界的美无物堪比，四周新式建筑及其他屋宅都被抛出 视野之外。一切都沉静而安详地浸浴在八月的阳光底下。然而在凝神谛视之际， 查理斯•温特显姆眼前所呈现的不再是“渥德园”，恍惚中他似乎看到一幢更加 堂皇雄伟的伊丽莎白式建筑，有着长形、范围广大的花园，背景则更显荒凉…… 那是他自己的家宅所在——查尔敦伯利，前景站着一个人——一位女郎的身影， 发色金黄，脸庞热切而自信。林娜，查尔敦伯利的女主人。 他觉得前程在望。她的拒绝一点也不是断然的拒绝。只是要求再多一点时间 考虑。也罢，他还可以再等待一段时间。 整件事实在配得太巧妙了。当然有人会说他是为了金钱而娶她，但他何必在 乎这点而强把自己的感情抛置一边呢。他爱林娜，即使她身无分文，而不是全英 国最富有的女孩之一，他也要娶她。然而幸运的是，她是全英国最富有的女孩之 一。 他的脑海中汹涌着对未来的美丽憧憬，譬如掌握洛克思达尔的支配权，西翼 的修护，不让苏格兰人狩猎等。 查理斯•温特显姆在白日下做梦。 Chapter 5 Chapter 5 It was four o'clock when the dilapidated little two-seater stopped with a sound of crunching gravel. A girl got out of it - a small slender creature with a mop of dark hair. She ran up the steps and tugged at the bell. A few minutes later she was being ushered into the long stately drawing-room, and an ecclesiastical butler was saying with the proper mournful intonation, "Miss de Bellefort." "Linnet!" "Jackie!" Windlesham stood a little aside, watching sympathetically as this fiery little creature flung herself open-armed upon Linnet. "Lord Windlesham - Miss de Bellefort - my best friend." A pretty child, he thought - not really pretty but decidedly attractive, with her dark curly hair and her enormous eyes. He murmured a few tactful nothings and then managed unobtrusively to leave the two friends together. Jacqueline pounced - in a fashion that Linnet remembered as being characteristic of her. "Windlesham? Windlesham? That's the man the papers always say you're going to marry! Are you, Linnet? Are you?" Linnet murmured, "Perhaps." "Darling - I'm so glad! He looks nice." "Oh, don't make up your mind about it - I haven't made up my own mind yet." "Of course not! Queens always proceed with due deliberation to the choosing of a consort!" "Don't be ridiculous, Jackie." "But you are a queen, Linnet! You always were. Sa Majesté, la reine Linette. Linette la blonde! And I - I'm the Queen's confidante! The trusted Maid of Honour." "What nonsense you talk, Jackie darling! Where have you been all this time? You just disappear. And you never write." "I hate writing letters. Where have I been? Oh, about three parts submerged, darling. In jobs, you know. Grim jobs with grim women!" "Darling, I wish you'd -" "Take the Queen's bounty? Well, frankly, darling, that's what I'm here for. No, not to borrow money. It's not got to that yet! But I've come to ask a great big important favour!" "Go on." "If you're going to marry the Windlesham man, you'll understand, perhaps." Linnet looked puzzled for a minute; then her face cleared. "Jackie, do you mean -" "Yes, darling, I'm engaged!" "So that's it! I thought you were looking particularly alive somehow. You always do, of course, but even more than usual." "That's just what I feel like." "Tell me all about him." "His name's Simon Doyle. He's big and square and incredibly simple and boyish and utterly adorable! He's poor - got no money. He's what you call 'county' all right - but very impoverished county - a younger son and all that. His people come from Devonshire. He loves country and country things. And for the last five years he's been in the city in a stuffy office. And now they're cutting down and he's out of a job. Linnet, I shall die if I can't marry him! I shall die! I shall die! I shall die." "Don't be ridiculous, Jackie." "I shall die, I tell you! I'm crazy about him. He's crazy about me. We can't live without each other." "Darling, you have got it badly!" "I know. It's awful, isn't it? This love business gets hold of you and you can't do anything about it." She paused for a minute. Her dark eyes dilated, looked suddenly tragic. She gave a little shiver. "It's - even frightening sometimes! Simon and I were made for each other. I shall never care for anyone else. And you've got to help us, Linnet. I heard you'd bought this place and it put an idea into my head. Listen, you'll have to have a land agent - perhaps two. I want you to give the job to Simon." "Oh!" Linnet was startled. Jacqueline rushed on: "He's got all that sort of thing at his fingertips. He knows all about estates - was brought up on one. And he's got his business training too. Oh, Linnet, you will give him a job, won't you, for love of me? If he doesn't make good, sack him. But he will. And we can live in a little house, and I shall see lots of you, and everything in the garden will be too, too divine." She got up. "Say you will, Linnet. Say you will. Beautiful Linnet! Tall golden Linnet! My own very special Linnet! Say you will!" "Jackie -" "You will?" Linnet burst out laughing. "Ridiculous Jackie! Bring along your young man and let me have a look at him and we'll talk it over." Jackie darted at her, kissing her exuberantly: "Darling Linnet - you're a real friend! I knew you were. You wouldn't let me down - ever. You're just the loveliest thing in the world. Good-bye." 第 9 页 共 241 页 http://www.en8848.com.cn/ 原版英语阅读网 "But, Jackie, you're staying." "Me? No, I'm not. I'm going back to London, and tomorrow I'll come back and bring Simon and we'll settle it all up. You'll adore him. He really is a pet." "But can't you wait and just have tea?" "No, I can't wait, Linnet. I'm too excited. I must get back and tell Simon. I know I'm mad, darling, but I can't help it. Marriage will cure me, I expect. It always seems to have a very sobering effect on people." She turned at the door, stood a moment, then rushed back for a last quick bird-like embrace. "Dear Linnet - there's no one like you." 第一部 英国 5 第一部 英国 5 午后四点钟，一辆破旧的小型双人乘坐汽车嘎然作响地停了下来。一个少女 从车里跳出——身躯娇小玲珑，满头乌云。她蹬上石阶，按了一下门铃。 几分钟之后她被领进一间长形的雅致的客厅，一位牧师模样的仆役用哭丧的 音调叫道：“杜贝尔弗小姐来到。” “林娜！” “贾姬！” 温特显姆稍微站开一边，他以同情的眼光望着这副娇小的身躯张开双臂投进 林娜的怀中。 “这是温特显姆伯爵。这位是杜贝尔弗小姐——我最好的朋友。” 他想，漂亮的女孩——不是挺漂亮，不过蛮有魅力。黑亮卷曲的秀发，大大 的眼睛。他喃喃说了几句得体的寒暄语，然后就准备退出去让这两个友人好好聚 聚。 他一退出去，贾克琳就像机关枪一样猛攻起来——林娜记得这是她性格上的 特征。 “温特显姆？温特显姆？他就是报上常说的你准备嫁给他的那个人？是吗？” 林娜喃喃道：“大概吧。” “亲爱的——我真为你高兴。他看来人很好。” “哦，不要把这件事太当真——我自己还没打定主意哩。” 当然你还不能决定！女王在选夫婿的时候总是格外慎重小心的。” “快别胡说了，贾姬。” “但你确是一位女王哩，林娜！你一向都是的。林娜女王阁下——金发的林 娜！我是女王的心腹！‘忠心耿耿的宫女！’” “你在胡说些什么，亲爱的贾姬。你这一向都在哪儿？你完全失踪了。你又 不写信来。” “我讨厌写信。我这段时间都在哪儿？噢，大致在三个地方浮移不定。你知 道，就是在工作之中，不快乐的女孩跟不快乐的工作！” “亲爱的，希望你——” “接受女王的捐助？嗯，亲爱的，坦白说，这正是我此行的目的。不，不是 来借钱，还没有流落到这步田地。但我来求你给我一个更重大的帮助！” “说下去。” “如果你准备嫁给包括温特显姆在内的男人，或许你就会了解。” 林娜疑惑了一会，然后她的面色开朗了。 “贾姬，你意思是——” “是的，亲爱的，我订婚了！” “原来如此。难怪我觉得你看起来特别有活力。当然你一向都如此，但现在 比以往更精力充沛。” “我自己也这么觉得。” “告诉我关于他的一切。” “他名叫希蒙•道尔。他高大，脸型方正，人很单纯，孩子气而可爱！他很 穷——没钱。你可以称他是‘郡民’——不过是非常赤贫的郡民的小儿子。他的 家族来自德汉夏尔郡。他喜爱乡村及乡村的事物。最近五年他一直在城里一间令 人窒息的办公室里办公。现在公司倒闭，他也就失业了。林娜，我若不能嫁给他 我会死掉！我会死！我会死！” “不要说傻话，贾姬！” “我会死，我告诉你！我爱他爱疯了。他对我也很疯狂。我们没有对方根本 活不下去。” “亲爱的，这样就糟了！” “我知道，这很可怕，不是吗？爱情一旦攫住你，你就束手无策。” 她停顿一会，深黑的眼睛湿润了，乍看之下极富悲剧意味。她颤抖了一下。 “感情的事有时甚至令人恐怖！希蒙为我而造，我为希蒙而造。我永远也不 会关心别人了。林娜，你必须帮助我们两人。我听说你买下这个地方，我心里就 有个主意。听着，你将来得有一个地产经纪人——或者两个。我要你把这个工作 交给希蒙。” “噢！”林娜吃了一惊。 贾克琳滔滔不绝往下说：“他做这种事易如反掌。他对地产的事全盘了解— —他一向注意研究。再说，他也受过这方面的职业训练。噢，林娜，为了我们两 人的交情，你愿意给他这个工作机会吧！如果他表现不佳，你尽可解雇他。但他 一定能胜任的。我们可以住到小屋里，我可以为你照管许多事务，花园会整理得 井井有条。” 她站起身。 “说好呀，林娜。说好呀。娇媚的林娜！高大金发的林娜！我与众不同的林 娜！说好呀！” “贾姬——” “你答应了是不是？” 林娜爆笑出来。 “荒唐的贾姬！把你的年轻人带来，让我看看，谈谈话。” 贾姬扑向她，不住地吻她。 “最亲爱的林娜——你真够朋友！我以前就了解你是这样的人。你决不会让 我失望的。你是世上最可爱的人。再见。” “贾姬，你不多待一会？” “不，我不能再逗留了。我要赶回伦敦，明天再来，带希蒙来，把事情做个 了结。你会赏识他的。他真是令人宠爱。” “你不留下喝杯茶吗？” “不，我不留了，林娜。我太兴奋了。我必须赶回去告诉希蒙。亲爱的，我 知道我疯了。但我情不由己。希望婚姻能治疗我。据说婚姻很有清醒作用。” 杜贝尔弗小姐转向房门，站立一会，然后冲回来，像小鸟般最后一次迅速地 拥抱她。 “亲爱的林娜——没有人像你。” Chapter 6 Chapter 6 M. Gaston Blondin, the proprietor of that modish little restaurant Chez Ma Tante, was not a man who delighted to honour many of his clientéle. The rich, the beautiful, the notorious and the well- born might wait in vain to be signalled out and paid special attention. Only in the rarest cases did M. Blondin, with gracious condescension, greet a guest, accompany him to a privileged table, and exchange with him suitable and apposite remarks. On this particular night, M. Blondin had exercised his royal prerogative three times - once for a Duchess, once for a famous racing peer, and once for a little man of comical appearance with immense black moustaches, who, a casual onlooker would have thought, could bestow no favour on Chez Ma Tante by his presence there. M. Blondin, however, was positively fulsome in his attentions. Though clients had been told for the last half hour that a table was not to be had, one now mysteriously appeared, placed in a most favourable position. M. Blondin conducted the client to it with every appearance of empressement. "But naturally, for you there is always a table, Monsieur Poirot! How I wish that you would honour us oftener." Hercule Poirot smiled, remembering that past incident wherein a dead body, a waiter, M. Blondin, and a very lovely lady had played a part. "You are too amiable, Monsieur Blondin," he said. "And you are alone, Monsieur Poirot?" "Yes, I am alone." "Oh, well, Jules here will compose for you a little meal that will be a poem - positively a poem! Women, however charming, have this disadvantage: they distract the mind from food! You will enjoy your dinner, Monsieur Poirot; I promise you that. Now, as to wine -" A technical conversation ensued, Jules, the maitre d'hфtel, assisting. Before departing, M. Blondin lingered a moment, lowering his voice confidentially. "You have grave affairs on hand?" Poirot shook his head. "I am, hélas, a man of leisure," he said sadly. "I have made the economies in my time and I have now the means to enjoy a life of idleness." "I envy you." "No, no, you would be unwise to do so. I can assure you, it is not so gay as it sounds." He sighed. "How true is the saying that man was forced to invent work in order to escape the strain of having to think." M. Blondin threw up his hands. "But there is so much! There is travel!" "Yes, there is travel. Already I have done not so badly. This winter I shall visit Egypt, I think. The climate, they say, is superb! One will escape from the fogs, the greyness, the monotony of the constantly falling rain." "Ah! Egypt," breathed M. Blondin. "One can even voyage there now, I believe, by train, escaping all sea travel except the Channel." "Ah, the sea, it does not agree with you?" Hercule Poirot shook his head and shuddered slightly. "I, too," said M. Blondin with sympathy. "Curious the effect it has upon the stomach." "But only upon certain stomachs! There are people on whom the motion makes no impression whatever. They actually enjoy it!" "An unfairness of the good God," said M. Blondin. He shook his head sadly, and, brooding on the impious thought, withdrew. Smooth-footed, deft-handed waiters ministered to the table. Toast Melba, butter, an ice pail, all the adjuncts to a meal of quality. The Negro orchestra broke into an ecstasy of strange discordant noises. London danced. Hercule Poirot looked on, registering impressions in his neat orderly mind. How bored and weary most of the faces were! Some of those stout men, however, were enjoying themselves... whereas a patient endurance seemed to be the sentiment exhibited on their partners' faces. The fat woman in purple was looking radiant... Undoubtedly the fat had certain compensations in life... a zest - a gusto - denied to those of more fashionable contours. A good sprinkling of young people - some vacant looking - some bored - some definitely unhappy. How absurd to call youth the time of happiness - youth, the time of greatest vulnerability! His glance softened as it rested on one particular couple. A well-matched pair - tall broad- shouldered man, slender delicate girl. Two bodies that moved in a perfect rhythm of happiness. Happiness in the place, the hour, and in each other. The dance stopped abruptly. Hands clapped and it started again. After a second encore the couple returned to their table close by Poirot. The girl was flushed, laughing. As she sat, he could study her face, lifted laughing to her companion. There was something else beside laughter in her eyes. Hercule Poirot shook his head doubtfully. "She cares too much, that little one," he said to himself. "It is not safe. No, it is not safe." And then a word caught his ear, "Egypt." Their voices came to him clearly - the girl's young, fresh, arrogant, with just a trace of soft- sounding foreign R's, and the man's pleasant, low-toned, well-bred English. "I'm not counting my chickens before they're hatched, Simon. I tell you Linnet won't let us down!" "I might let her down." "Nonsense - it's just the right job for you." "As a matter of fact I think it is... I haven't really any doubts as to my capability. And I mean to make good - for your sake!" The girl laughed softly, a laugh of pure happiness. "We'll wait three months - to make sure you don't get the sack - and then -" "And then I'll endow thee with my worldly goods - that's the hang of it, isn't it?" "And, as I say, we'll go to Egypt for our honeymoon. Damn the expense! I've always wanted to go to Egypt all my life. The Nile and the pyramids and the sand..." He said, his voice slightly indistinct: "We'll see it together, Jackie... together. Won't it be marvellous?" "I wonder. Will it be as marvellous to you as it is to me? Do you really care - as much as I do?" Her voice was suddenly sharp - her eyes dilated - almost with fear. The man's answer came quickly crisp, "Don't be absurd, Jackie." But the girl repeated, "I wonder..." Then she shrugged her shoulders. "Let's dance." Hercule Poirot murmured to himself: "Un qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer. Yes, I wonder too." 第一部 英国 6 第一部 英国 6 “在姑妈家”餐厅是间格调新颖的小餐厅， M•贾思顿•布伦定不是个喜欢 接待他所有顾客的店老板。不少有钱、漂亮、著名或名门出身的顾客等着他做暗 号给予特别服务而不果。只有极稀少的例子， M•布伦定会彬彬有礼地欢迎一位 客人，陪着他来到特别座，跟他交谈几句。 在这个特别的夜晚， M•布伦定亲自出马三次——一次是接待一位伯爵夫 人，一次是一位著名的赛马贵族，第三回是一位长相滑稽、留着一大把黑胡子的 矮个子。不细心的旁观者一定会认为，这种角色凭他的长相到“在姑妈家”餐厅 来一定不会得到什么好脸色。 然而， M•布伦定对这矮个子的光临却热诚得有点出人预料。最后这半小时 进来的客人都找不到空位了，可是现在像变魔术一般，一组桌椅又出现了，被安 置在最舒适的所在，M•布伦定极亲切周到地引这位客人来到这个座位上。 “白罗先生，对您永远是有空位的。希望您能够经常来光顾本店。” 赫邱里•白罗微笑着，脑中闪过过去一桩事件的影像：一具死尸、一名侍 者、M•布伦定和一位非常可人的女士。 “你太客气了，布伦定先生。”白罗说。 “白罗先生，就您一个人？” “是的，今天我落单。” “那这儿的朱理斯会特地为你安排一顿精致的餐点，美味得像首诗——道地 的一首诗！无论多迷人的女人都不能把握品尝美食的良机——她们吃饭不专心！ 白罗先生，我向你保证：这一餐一定让你回味无穷。至于酒——” 有关酒食的谈话持续下去。餐厅的主厨朱理斯则在一旁助阵。 离座前，M•布伦定又流连了一会，他降低声说： “你有要事在身？” 白罗摇摇头。 “啊呀，我正闲着哩，”他平静地说，“我的时间都是有妥善安排的，这会 儿我正在享受闲散的生活。” “我羡慕你。” “不，不，你这样想就不明智了。我可以向你保证，这种事听来惬意，实则 不然。”他叹口气，“为了逃避思考，人类不得不发明工作。这句话说得对极 了。” M•布伦定举起双手。 “但用脑做事有多少好处！还可以旅行！” “是的，可以旅行。这方面我的成绩还不坏。今年冬天我准备去埃及度假。 听说那儿天气很好，没有浓重、阴霾的云层及单调、不停降落的雨水。” “噢，埃及！” M•布伦定吸一口气。 “我相信，那儿现在也适于登山探险，除了运河之外，可以搭乘火车，不必 总是经由海上旅行。” “噢，海，你不太能适应？” 赫邱里•白罗摇摇头，并略略耸耸肩膀。 “我也不能适应，” M•布伦定同情地说，“奇怪，海上航行总是使你的胃 极不舒服。” “但只是对某些人的胃会这样！有些人对船的摇晃根本不在意，他们还挺享 受那种动感呢！” “这是上帝不公平之处。”M•布伦定说。 他悲哀地摇摇头，一面想着心事一面退出去。 侍者轻移脚步，双手利落地摆菜上桌，有烤脆的面包片、牛油、一桶冰块及 其他食物等等。 黑人乐队奏出怪异、不和谐而令人入迷的音乐。伦敦在起舞。 赫邱里•白罗静静旁观，将印象映入他灵敏而有条理的脑子里。 这些脸孔多么令人烦厌啊！不过，那几个硕壮的男人似乎沉醉了……而他们 的舞伴脸上则流露出耐心忍受的神色。那穿紫衣的胖女人春风满面……胖子在生 活上无疑可以得到一些补偿，比曲线玲珑的人更能陶醉在情趣与纵乐上。 零零落落几对年轻人，有的迷惘，有的烦躁，有的不快乐。称年轻是快乐的 时光真无稽——不，年轻是最脆弱的！ 他的视线停留在一对特殊的年轻人身上时，目光不觉温柔了许多。真是巧配 ——高大方肩的男子，娇小玲珑的女郎！他俩的身体随着曼妙、愉悦的韵律起伏 不已，幸福地享受这个场所，这个时刻及彼此的身心。 舞动虽然终止，手分开，又重新合拢。跳过四支舞曲后，这年轻的一对回到 他们的座位，就在白罗紧邻。那女孩坐下来，白罗可以详细看到她脸上的各种表 情。她兴奋得满面通红，放情笑着，也把笑意传染给她的同伴。 在她眼中除了笑意之外还有些别的东西。赫邱里•白罗怀疑地摇摇头。 “她爱得太深了，这娇小的女孩，”他自言自语道，“这不安全，极不安 全。” 然后有一个字眼传进他的耳朵——“埃及”。 他们的声音听来较清晰了——女孩是年轻、清新、流利、温柔而稍带外国腔 的口音，男子则是轻快、低沉而教养良好的英国腔。 “我不是在妄想，希蒙。我告诉你林娜不会让我们失望的！” “我可能会让她失望。” “胡说——这工作很适合你。” “事实上我是认为如此。我不会真正怀疑过自己的能力。为了你，我也想好 好干。” 这女孩温馨地笑了，笑容中确实幸福洋溢。 “我们待三个月——证实你不会被炒鱿鱼——然后——” “然后我将献给你我世上的一切。事情就这么决定，好吧？” “依照我的计划，我们就去埃及度蜜月。去他的那么昂贵的旅费！我有生以 来一直想去埃及。尼罗河、金字塔及沙地。” “我们一块儿去游览，贾姬。一块儿。那不是很棒吗？”他说，语气却不热 心。 “我不信。去埃及旅行对你会像对我一样兴奋吗？你真在乎，像我一样多 吗？” 她的声音突然尖利起来，瞳孔放大，几乎害怕了。 那男子赶紧爽快地回答，“快别胡思乱想了，贾姬。” 但那女孩重复道：“我不信。” 然后她耸耸肩。 “我们去跳舞吧。” 赫邱里•白罗喃喃自语：“‘爱人的也会被爱。’是的，我也不信。” Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Joanna Southwood said, "And suppose he's a terrible tough?" Linnet shook her head. "Oh, he won't be. I can trust Jacqueline's taste." Joanna murmured, "Ah, but people don't run true to form in love affairs." Linnet shook her head impatiently. Then she changed the subject. "I must go and see Mr Pierce about those plans!" "Plans?" "Yes, some dreadful insanitary old cottages. I'm having them pulled down and the people moved." "How sanitary and public-spirited of you, darling!" "They'd have had to go anyway. Those cottages would have overlooked my new swimming pool." "Do the people who lived in them like going?" "Most of them are delighted. One or two are being rather stupid about it - really tiresome in fact. They don't seem to realize how vastly improved their living conditions will be!" "But you're being quite high-handed about it, I presume." "My dear Joanna, it's to their advantage really." "Yes, dear, I'm sure it is. Compulsory benefit." Linnet frowned. Joanna laughed. "Come now, you are a tyrant, admit it. A beneficent tyrant if you like!" "I'm not the least bit a tyrant." "But you like your own way!" "Not especially." "Linnet Ridgeway, can you look me in the face and tell me of any one occasion on which you've failed to do exactly as you wanted?" "Heaps of times." "Oh, yes, 'heaps of times' - just like that - but no concrete example. And you simply can't think up one, darling, however hard you try! The triumphal progress of Linnet Ridgeway in her golden car." Linnet said sharply, "You think I'm selfish?" "No - just irresistible. The combined effect of money and charm. Everything goes down before you. What you can't buy with cash you buy with a smile. Result: Linnet Ridgeway, the Girl Who Has Everything." "Don't be ridiculous, Joanna!" "Well, haven't you got everything?" "I suppose I have... It sounds rather disgusting, somehow!" "Of course it's disgusting, darling! You'll probably get terribly bored and blasé by and by. In the meantime, enjoy the triumphal progress in the golden car. Only I wonder, I really do wonder, what will happen when you want to go down a street which has a board up saying 'No Thoroughfare.'" "Don't be idiotic, Joanna." As Lord Windlesham joined them, Linnet said, turning to him, "Joanna is saying the nastiest things to me." "All spite, darling, all spite," said Joanna vaguely as she got up from her seat. She made no apology for leaving them. She had caught the glint in Windlesham's eye. He was silent for a minute or two. Then he went straight to the point. "Have you come to a decision, Linnet?" Linnet said slowly: "Am I being a brute? I suppose, if I'm not sure, I ought to say 'No' -" He interrupted her. "Don't say it. You shall have time - as much time as you want. But I think, you know, we should be happy together." "You see," Linnet's tone was apologetic, almost childish, "I'm enjoying myself so much - especially with all this." She waved a hand. "I wanted to make Wode Hall into my real ideal of a country house, and I do think I've got it nice, don't you?" "It's beautiful. Beautifully planned. Everything perfect. You're very clever, Linnet." He paused a minute and went on: "And you like Charltonbury, don't you? Of course it wants modernizing and all that - but you're so clever at that sort of thing. You'd enjoy it." "Why, of course, Charltonbury's divine." She spoke with ready enthusiasm, but inwardly she was conscious of a sudden chill. An alien note had sounded, disturbing her complete satisfaction with life. She did not analyse the feeling at the moment, but later, when Windlesham had gone into the house, she tried to probe into the recesses of her mind. Charltonbury - yes, that was it - she had resented the mention of Charltonbury. But why? Charltonbury was modestly famous. Windlesham's ancestors had held it since the time of Elizabeth. To be mistress of Charltonbury was a position unsurpassed in society. Windlesham was one of the most desirable partis in England. Naturally he couldn't take Wode seriously... It was not in any way to be compared with Charltonbury. Ah, but Wode was hers! She had seen it, acquired it, rebuilt and re-dressed it, lavished money on it. It was her own possession - her kingdom. But in a sense it wouldn't count if she married Windlesham. What would they want with two country places? And of the two, naturally Wode Hall would be the one to be given up. She, Linnet Ridgeway, wouldn't exist any longer. She would be Countess of Windlesham, bringing a fine dowry to Charltonbury and its master. She would be queen consort, not queen any longer. "I'm being ridiculous," said Linnet to herself. But it was curious how she did hate the idea of abandoning Wode... And wasn't there something else nagging at her? Jackie's voice with that queer blurred note in it saying: "I shall die if I can't marry him! I shall die. I shall die..." So positive, so earnest. Did she, Linnet, feel like that about Windlesham? Assuredly she didn't. Perhaps she could never feel like that about anyone. It must be - rather wonderful - to feel like that... The sound of a car came through the open window. Linnet shook herself impatiently. That must be Jackie and her young man. She'd go out and meet them. She was standing in the open doorway as Jacqueline and Simon Doyle got out of the car. "Linnet!" Jackie ran to her. "This is Simon. Simon, here's Linnet. She's just the most wonderful person in the world." Linnet saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with very dark blue eyes, crisply curling brown hair, a square chin and a boyish, appealingly simple smile... She stretched out a hand. The hand that clasped hers was firm and warm... She liked the way he looked at her, the naпve genuine admiration. Jackie had told him she was wonderful, and he clearly thought that she was wonderful... A warm sweet feeling of intoxication ran through her veins. "Isn't this all lovely?" she said. "Come in, Simon, and let me welcome my new land agent properly." And as she turned to lead the way she thought: "I'm frightfully - frightfully happy. I like Jackie's young man... I like him enormously..." And then with a sudden pang, "Lucky Jackie." 第一部 英国 7 第一部 英国 7 乔安娜•邵斯伍德说：“倘使他是个可怕的莽汉呢？” 林娜摇摇头，“噢，不会的。我信任贾克琳的品味。” 乔安娜喃喃道：“噢，但爱情总是使人迷糊的。” 林娜不耐烦地摇摇头。然后她转换话题。 “我要去跟毕耶士先生商讨一些计划了。” “计划？” “不错，是关于几间极不卫生的老房子。我正要派人去拆迁。” “亲爱的，你真爱干净，又有公德心！” “他们不能不迁走。若不迁这几间屋子就会俯视我的新游泳池。” “住户愿意迁走吗？” “大多数人很乐意。只有一两个顽固分子——实在很烦人。他们似乎不了解 他们的生活状况将会因此改善多少。” “我猜想你的态度一定十分专横。” “亲爱的乔安娜，这真正是为他们的利益设想呢。” “不错，我相信是。强迫中奖。” 林娜眉头紧皱。乔安娜纵声大笑。 “来吧，坦承你是个暴君。一个给人甜头的暴君，如果你喜欢！” “我一点也不像暴君。” “但你喜欢照你自己的意思行事！” “这不希奇。” “林娜•黎吉薇，你能看着我，告诉我哪一次你没有完全按照你的意思做事 吗？” “许多次。” “噢，是的，‘许多次’——就像这次——但没有具体的例子。亲爱的，无 论你如何去想你都想不出一次的。驾着金色的轿车的林娜•黎吉薇的胜利行列。” 林娜尖厉地说：“你认为我自私？” “不，只是太独断。金钱与魅力交互作用的结果。每件事都拜服在你眼前。 用支票买不到的你就用微笑买到。结果是：林娜•黎吉薇，样样不缺的女孩。” “快别胡说了，乔安娜！” “嗯，难道你不是样样东西在手吗？” “或许我是，然而这种生活也相当腻味！” “亲爱的，当然腻味！你可能不时觉得烦厌与倦怠，但同时你又享受着驾轿 车做胜利游行的滋味，只是我怀疑，我真的怀疑，当你准备上街，路上偏偏横着 一块上书‘此路不通’的牌子时，会发生什么事？” “别傻了，乔安娜。”林娜说。 这时温特显姆伯爵恰巧踏进屋，林娜转向他说：“乔安娜正在向我说些最不 愉快的事。” “算啦，亲爱的，算啦。”她含混不清地说，一面从座位上站起来。 她没告辞就离去了。她在温特显姆眼里捕捉到一种光芒。 他沉默了一两分钟，然后开门见山问道：“林娜，你决定了没有？” 林娜缓缓说道：“我变成傻子了吗？如果我不确定，我想我顶好说：‘不 要’……” 他打断她道：“快别这么说了。你会有时间考虑的——你愿意要多少时间就 要多少时间。但我认为我们生活在一起会很幸福。” “你知道，”林娜的声音里充满歉意，几乎像小孩子一样撒起娇来，“我自 己过得很愉快——特别是跟这里的一切。”她摇摇手道：“我要把渥德园建造成 我心目中理想的乡间别墅，我认为我做得不错，你呢？” “很好。计划周详。每个地方都完善至极。林娜，你很有头脑。”他停顿一 会，接着说：“你喜欢查尔敦伯利吧？当然还要改造得现代化一点——这种事你 很在行。你可以慢慢着手的。” “啊！当然，查尔敦伯利是雄伟的。”她敷衍地说，内在却感觉到一阵突然 的颤抖。一种外国人的口音响起，扰乱了她对生活的纯然满足。这时她尚未去分 析这种感觉，但一会儿之后温特显姆走开了，她才试着去探索自己的心灵深处。 查尔敦伯利——是的，就是它——她憎恨查尔敦伯利的建筑。为什么呢？查 尔敦伯利名闻遐尔，温特显姆的祖先在伊丽莎白时代就建造了它。变成查尔敦伯 利的女主人，在社会上的地位是崇高无比的。温特显姆是全英国最佳的配偶之 一。 当然他不会把渥德园太看在眼里。它是绝对无法跟查尔敦伯利媲美的。 噢，但渥德园是她的！她看中它，买下来，重建，又为它披上新装，在它身 上投下巨资。这是她自己的财产——她的王国。 但如果她嫁给温特显姆，按照常情，渥德园就不算什么了。他们干嘛要两处 乡间别墅？在两者之间，渥德园自然会被舍弃的。 她，林娜•黎吉薇，也就不再存在了。她将成为温特显姆伯爵夫人，为查尔 敦伯利及其主人带进一大笔妆奁。她将变成国王的配偶，再也不是女王了。 “我在胡思乱想。”林娜对自己说。 奇怪的是她竟然如此憎恨放弃渥德园的念头…… 什么声音在向她唠叨不休？ 贾姬奇特而模糊不清的声音又在她耳际响起： “我若不能嫁给他我会死掉！我会死！我会死！” 如此坚决，如此热切。她，林娜，对温特显姆有这种感觉吗？当然她没有。 也许她永远不会对任何人有这种感觉。像这样感觉——一定很好…… 车子的响声透过敞开的窗户传了进来。 林娜不耐烦地动一动身子。这一定是贾姬跟她男友来了。她必须出去见他 们。 她站在大门口，贾克琳和希蒙•道尔从车里钻出来。 “林娜！”贾姬跑向她。“这是希蒙。希蒙，这是林娜。她是世上最好的 人。” 林娜看见一个高大方肩的年轻人，有着深蓝的眼睛、卷曲的棕发、方正的脸 颊、孩子气而单纯的笑容。 她伸出一只手。握紧她的是坚毅而温暖的手。她喜欢他看她的方式，那是一 种天真的、真心的赞赏。 贾姬告诉过他她很艳丽，他觉得她确实很艳丽。 一股甜美的醉意流过她的血液。 “这儿的景致不是很可爱吗？”她说，“进来，希蒙，让我正式欢迎我的新 地产经纪人。”她一面带路一面想：“我快乐极了。我喜欢贾姬的男人，我真心 喜欢他。” 然后她的心突然剧痛起来，“幸运的贾姬。” Chapter 8 Chapter 8 Tim Allerton leant back in his wicker chair and yawned as he looked out over the sea. He shot a quick sidelong glance at his mother. Mrs Allerton was a good-looking, white-haired woman of fifty. By imparting an expression of pinched severity to her mouth every time she looked at her son, she sought to disguise the fact of her intense affection for him. Even total strangers were seldom deceived by this device and Tim himself saw through it perfectly. He said, "Do you really like Majorca, Mother?" "Well," Mrs Allerton considered, "it's cheap." "And cold," said Tim with a slight shiver. He was a tall, thin young man, with dark hair and a rather narrow chest. His mouth had a very sweet expression; his eyes were sad and his chin was indecisive. He had long delicate hands. Threatened by consumption some years ago, he had never displayed a really robust physique. He was popularly supposed "to write," but it was understood among his friends that inquiries as to literary output were not encouraged. "What are you thinking of, Tim?" Mrs Allerton was alert. Her bright, dark-brown eyes looked suspicious. Tim Allerton grinned at her. "I was thinking of Egypt." "Egypt?" Mrs Allerton sounded doubtful. "Real warmth, darling. Lazy golden sands. The Nile. I'd like to go up the Nile, wouldn't you?" "Oh, I'd like it." Her tone was dry. "But Egypt's expensive, my dear. Not for those who have to count the pennies." Tim laughed. He rose, stretched himself. Suddenly he looked alive and eager. There was an excited note in his voice. "The expense will be my affair. Yes, darling. A little flutter on the Stock Exchange. With thoroughly satisfactory results. I heard this morning." "This morning?" said Mrs Allerton sharply. "You only had one letter and that -" She stopped and bit her lip. Tim looked momentarily undecided whether to be amused or annoyed. Amusement gained the day. "And that was from Joanna," he finished coolly. "Quite right, Mother. What a Queen of detectives you'd make! The famous Hercule Poirot would have to look to his laurels if you were about." Mrs Allerton looked rather cross. "I just happened to see the handwriting -" "And knew it wasn't that of a stockbroker? Quite right. As a matter of fact it was yesterday I heard from them. Poor Joanna's handwriting is rather noticeable - sprawls about all over the envelope like an inebriated spider." "What does Joanna say? Any news?" Mrs Allerton strove to make her voice sound casual and ordinary. The friendship between her son and his second cousin, Joanna Southwood, always irritated her. Not, as she put it to herself, that there was "anything in it." She was quite sure there wasn't. Tim had never manifested a sentimental interest in Joanna, nor she in him. Their mutual attraction seemed to be founded on gossip and the possession of a large number of friends and acquaintances in common. They both liked people and discussing people. Joanna had an amusing if caustic tongue. It was not because Mrs Allerton feared that Tim might fall in love with Joanna that she found herself always becoming a little stiff in manner if Joanna were present or when letters from her arrived. It was some other feeling hard to define - perhaps an unacknowledged jealousy in the unfeigned pleasure Tim always seemed to take in Joanna's society. He and his mother were such perfect companions that the sight of him absorbed and interested in another woman always startled Mrs Allerton slightly. She fancied, too, that her own presence on these occasions set some barrier between the two members of the younger generation. Often she had come upon them eagerly absorbed in some conversation and, at sight of her, their talk had wavered, had seemed to include her rather too purposefully and as in duty bound. Quite definitely, Mrs Allerton did not like Joanna Southwood. She thought her insincere, affected and essentially superficial. She found it very hard to prevent herself saying so in unmeasured tones. In answer to her question, Tim pulled the letter out of his pocket and glanced through it. It was quite a long letter, his mother noted. "Nothing much," he said. "The Devenishes are getting a divorce. Old Monty's been had up for being drunk in charge of a car. Windlesham's gone to Canada. Seems he was pretty badly hit when Linnet Ridgeway turned him down. She's definitely going to marry this land agent person." "How extraordinary! Is he very dreadful?" "No, no, not at all. He's one of the Devonshire Doyles. No money, of course - and he was actually engaged to one of Linnet's best friends. Pretty thick, that." "I don't think it's at all nice," said Mrs Allerton, flushing. Tim flashed her a quick affectionate glance. "I know, darling. You don't approve of snapping other people's husbands and all that sort of thing." "In my day we had our standards," said Mrs Allerton. "And a very good thing too! Nowadays young people seem to think they can just go about doing anything they choose." Tim smiled. "They don't only think it. They do it. Vide Linnet Ridgeway!" "Well, I think it's horrid!" Tim twinkled at her. "Cheer up, you old die-hard! Perhaps I agree with you. Anyway, I haven't helped myself to anyone's wife or fiancée yet." "I'm sure you'd never do such a thing," said Mrs Allerton. She added with spirit, "I've brought you up properly." "So the credit is yours, not mine." He smiled teasingly at her as he folded the letter and put it away again. Mrs Allerton let the thought just flash across her mind: "Most letters he shows to me. He only reads me snippets from Joanna's." But she put the unworthy thought away from her, and decided, as ever, to behave like a gentlewoman. "Is Joanna enjoying life?" she asked. "So so. Says she thinks of opening a delicatessen shop in Mayfair." "She always talks about being hard up," said Mrs Allerton with a tinge of spite, "but she goes about everywhere and her clothes must cost her a lot. She's always beautifully dressed." "Ah, well," said Tim, "she probably doesn't pay for them. No, Mother, I don't mean what your Edwardian mind suggests to you. I just mean quite literally that she leaves her bills unpaid." Mrs Allerton sighed. "I never know how people manage to do that." "It's a kind of special gift," said Tim. "If only you have sufficiently extravagant tastes, and absolutely no sense of money values, people will give you any amount of credit." "Yes, but you come to the Bankruptcy Court in the end like poor Sir George Wode." "You have a soft spot for that old horse coper - probably because he called you a rosebud in eighteen seventy-nine at a dance." "I wasn't born in eighteen seventy-nine," Mrs Allerton retorted with spirit. "Sir George has charming manners, and I won't have you calling him a horse coper." "I've heard funny stories about him from people that know." "You and Joanna don't mind what you say about people; anything will do so long as it's sufficiently ill-natured." Tim raised his eyebrows. "My dear, you're quite heated. I didn't know old Wode was such a favourite of yours." "You don't realize how hard it is for him, having to sell Wode Hall. He cared terribly about that place." Tim suppressed the easy retort. After all, who was he to judge? Instead he said thoughtfully: "You know, I think you're not far wrong there. Linnet asked him to come down and see what she'd done to the place, and he refused quite rudely." "Of course. She ought to have known better than to ask him." "And I believe he's quite venomous about her - mutters things under his breath whenever he sees her. Can't forgive her for having given him an absolutely top price for the worm-eaten family estate." "And you can't understand that?" Mrs Allerton spoke sharply. "Frankly," said Tim calmly, "I can't. Why live in the past? Why cling on to things that have been?" "What are you going to put in their place?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Excitement, perhaps. Novelty. The joy of never knowing what may turn up from day to day. Instead of inheriting an useless tract of land, the pleasure of making money for yourself - by your own brains and skill." "A successful deal on the Stock Exchange in fact!" He laughed. "Why not?" "And what about an equal loss on the Stock Exchange?" "That, dear, is rather tactless. And quite inappropriate today. What about this Egypt plan?" "Well -" He cut in, smiling at her: "That's settled. We've both always wanted to see Egypt." "When do you suggest?" "Oh, next mouth. January's about the best time there. We'll enjoy the delightful society in this hotel a few weeks longer." "Tim," said Mrs Allerton reproachfully. Then she added guiltily: "I'm afraid I promised Mrs Leech that you'd go with her to the police station. She doesn't understand any Spanish." Tim made a grimace. "About her ring? The blood-red ruby of the horse leech's daughter? Does she still persist in thinking it's been stolen? I'll go if you like, but it's a waste of time. Shell only get some wretched chambermaid into trouble. I distinctly saw it on her finger when she went into the sea that day. It came off in the water and she never noticed." "She says she is quite sure she took it off and left it on her dressing-table." "Well, she didn't. I saw it with my own eyes. The woman's a fool. Any woman's a fool who goes prancing into the sea in December, pretending the water's quite warm just because the sun happens to be shining rather brightly at the moment. Stout women oughtn't to be allowed to bathe anyway; they look so revolting in bathing dresses." Mrs Allerton murmured, "I really feel I ought to give up bathing." Tim gave a shout of laughter. "You? You can give most of the young things points and to spare." Mrs Allerton sighed and said, "I wish there were a few more young people for you here." Tim Allerton shook his head decidedly. "I don't. You and I get along rather comfortably without outside distractions." "You'd like it if Joanna were here." "I wouldn't." His tone was unexpectedly resolute. "You're all wrong there. Joanna amuses me, but I don't really like her, and to have her around much gets on my nerves. I'm thankful she isn't here. I should be quite resigned if I were never to see Joanna again." He added, almost below his breath, "There's only one woman in the world I've got a real respect and admiration for, and I think, Mrs Allerton, you know very well who that woman is." His mother blushed and looked quite confused. Tim said gravely: "There aren't very many really nice women in the world. You happen to be one of them." 第一部 英国 8 第一部  英国                                                           8                             提姆·艾乐顿背靠在柳条编制的椅子上，一面看着大海，一面打呵欠。他很             快地斜视他的母亲一眼。                 艾乐顿太太是个已经五十岁的白发妇人，但脸孔依然姣好。每回看自己的儿             子，她的嘴唇就会严肃地紧闭起来，她用这种表情掩饰自己对儿子的强烈爱意。             但即使是陌生人也很少会为她这种掩饰所蒙骗，提姆当然是更了然于心。                 他说：“妈，你真喜欢马祖卡？”                 “嗯。”艾乐顿太太思索了一下说，“这段旅程费用较省。”                 “而且寒冷。”提姆微微抖了一下说。                 他是个高瘦的年轻人，发色乌黑，胸部略嫌狭小一点。嘴唇的表情很甜，眼             神忧郁，脸颊显得优柔寡断。双手纤长。数年前患了一场肺病之后，他的身体就             一直不很健康。一般人认为他可以往写作的路上发展，但他的朋友了解，文学创             作需要呕心沥血，并不适合他。                 “提姆，你在想什么？”                 艾乐顿太太明亮而呈黑褐色的眼睛留神而疑惑地望着他。                 提姆·艾乐顿朝她咧嘴而笑。                 “我在想埃及。”                 “埃及？”艾乐顿太太困惑地问道。                 “真正暖和的天气，金黄色懒洋洋的沙滩，尼罗河。我宁愿去尼罗河，您赞             成吗？”                 “哦，我当然赞成。”她的语气淡淡地。“但去埃及的旅费相当昂贵，宝             贝，对于锱铢必较的人实在是去不起。”                 提姆纵声大笑。他站起来，伸伸身躯，顿时又显得有朝气有活力了。他略显             兴奋地说：“亲爱的妈，旅费由我来张罗。在证券交易所稍微动动脑筋，就会有             令人全然满意的结果。今天早上我接到了好消息。”                 “今天早上？”艾乐顿太太尖声说，“你只接到一封信，而……”                 她没说下去，咬了咬唇。                 提姆一时不能决定自己该不该动怒，最后不发脾气占了上风。                 “那是乔安娜寄来的。”他冷淡地结束他的话，“妈，你判断得相当正确，             您已经变成一名侦探女士了！有您在，著名的赫邱里·白罗最好看紧他的名誉。”                 艾乐顿太太显得十分不高兴。                 “我只是恰巧看出她的笔迹。”                 “您也知道那不是证券经纪人寄来的？您猜得不错。事实上我是昨天听他们             说的。可怜的乔安娜的笔迹相当容易辨认——像一只被灌的蜘蛛在信封上歪来倒             去地乱爬。”                 “乔安娜说些什么？有没有什么新闻？”                 艾乐顿太太努力使自己的声音听来跟平常没有什么两样。儿子跟他二表妹乔             安娜·邵斯伍德的交往总是今她不高兴。并不是她怕他们有什么“儿女私情”。             这点她很确信。提姆对乔安娜从来没有显露出爱慕，乔安娜对他也是如此。他们             相互吸引的原因似乎是建立在闲扯一大堆朋友及大众熟知的名人。他们两个都喜             欢大人物。乔安娜有一副爱嘻笑而刻薄的嘴巴。                 并不是艾乐顿太太怕提姆可能跟乔安娜谈恋爱，所以乔安娜一在场或来信，             她的态度就变得有点不自然。而是一些难以描述的感觉——可能是经常看到提姆             衷心喜悦地加入乔安娜的社交团体而产生一种不自觉的嫉妒心理吧！她和他形影             相随已经惯了，一旦看到他被另外一个女人所吸引或发生兴趣，总是令她无法释             然。她也考虑到，自己出现在那些社交场合上会不会变成年轻一代的阻碍？她经             常碰到他们原本热切地谈论某些话题，但一旦她在场，为了迁就她，不使她感到             受冷落，他们的谈话就变得游移松散。艾乐顿太太打从心底不喜欢乔安娜·邵斯             伍德。在她眼中，乔安娜是个随便、矫饰而肤浅的女孩。她发觉谈到乔安娜的时             候自己很难不用较偏激的言辞。                 为了回答她的问题，提姆从口袋掏出信件，匆匆瞥一下。他母亲注意到，那             封信相当长。                 “没提太多事，”他说，“只提到德汉尼旭要跟他太太离婚，老孟棕受控酗             酒驾车。还有林娜·黎吉薇拒绝温特显姆的求婚，温特显姆心力交瘁折返加拿             大。林娜·黎吉薇显然将下嫁一个地产经纪人。”                 “真是奇事！他很厉害吗？”                 “不，不，一点也不。他是德文夏尔郡道尔家的后代。没钱，想当然尔——             事实上他原来已跟林娜最要好的一个朋友订婚了。真亲密，这对。”                 “我不认为这种事有什么好。”艾乐顿太太说，脸色泛红。                 提姆迅速地、了然于心地看了她一眼。                 “亲爱的妈，我了解您的心理。您不赞同抢别人的丈夫诸如此类的事情。”                 “在我们那个时代我们有我们的标准，”艾乐顿太太说，“那的确没什么不             好。现在的年轻人似乎认为他们可以随心所欲。”                 提姆笑了起来。                 “他们不只是想，他们还做出来。参看林娜·黎吉薇这件事就知道了。”                 “哼，我认为这种事很可厌！”                 提姆向她眨眨眼。                 “高兴起来，您这老顽固！我也许可以赞同您的看法。再怎么说，我也还没             有去抢别人的太太或未婚妻哩。”                 “我相信你绝不会这么做。”艾乐顿太太说。她得意地加了一句：“我把你             教养得很不错。”                 “您有这种自信，我可没有。”                 他戏谑地朝她笑笑，一面把信重新折好，放回口袋里。艾乐顿太太脑际闪过             一丝念头：“大部分信件他都让我过目，乔安娜的信他只跳着读给我听。”                 但她甩开这种没意义的想头，像往常一般决定像贵妇一样行止。                 “乔安娜生活过得怎样？”她问。                 “还不错。她提到她想在伦敦西端上流社会住宅区开一家卖熟菜的店铺。”                 “她总是说她手头紧，”艾乐顿太太不以为然地说，“但她什么地方都去，             又经常装扮得漂漂亮亮．，恐怕得花不少钱吧？”                 “噢，嗯，”提姆说，“她可能不必付服装费。不，妈，我的意思不是您爱             德华时代的脑筋所想的。我的意思只是说她不必付现金。”                 艾乐顿太太叹了一口气。                 “我从来不懂人们怎么办得到。”                 “那是一项特别的礼物，”提姆说，“只要你有奢靡的习惯，又绝无金钱观             念，人们可以有各种方式让你赊欠。”                 “是的，但到头来你只有像可怜的乔治·渥德爵士一样踏入破产法庭。”                 “你对那个老马贩有一种妇人之仁——也许是因为他在一八七九年一场舞会             上称你做玫瑰花蕾。”                 “一八七九年我还没出生哩，”艾乐顿太太反驳道，“乔治爵士风度翩翩，             我不许你称他马贩。”                 “我从了解内情的人那里听到不少有关他的趣事。”                 “你和乔安娜都不顾忌你们说了别人一些什么话，只要居心不良都不会有什             么好结果。”                 提姆扬扬眉。                 “亲爱的妈，您火气太大了。我不知道老渥德是您这么欣赏的一位人物。”                 “你不了解被逼得不得不出售渥德园在他是何等椎心痛苦的事。他太在意那             个地方了。”                 提姆本可轻易地反驳，但他忍住了。他评断谁又怎样呢？因而他若有所思地             说：“您知道，我认为您的看法不错。林娜邀请他来参观她改建那个地方的成             果，他悍然拒绝了。”                 “他当然会拒绝。她如果了解他就不会去邀请他了。”                 “我相信他对她一定不怀好感——每逢谈到她，他就嘴里喃喃不知在说些什             么。为了她给那些陈旧的家产出了挺高的价钱，他就不能原谅她。”                 “而你无法了解这种心理？”艾乐顿太太尖声问道。                 提姆平静地回答：“坦白说，我不能了解。干嘛活在过去的岁月里？干嘛对             往事眷恋不忘？”                 “如果你处在他们的地位你要怎样做？”                 提姆耸耸肩。“也许去找刺激，过高贵生活，享受不知今夕何夕的感觉。我             才不要承继一片没有多大用途的广大土地哩，我要获得用自己的头脑及技术去赚             钱的快乐。”                 “实际上是在证券交易所做一笔成功的交易！”                 提姆笑道：“这有什么不好？”                 “同样在证券交易所做失败了又怎么说？”                 “亲爱的妈，这种事很没定准。再说今天谈这种事也不适当，去埃及您认为             如何？”                 “嗯。”                  他笑着插嘴道：“就这么决定了。我们两个一直都想去看看埃及。”                 “你认为什么时间比较妥当？”                 “噢，下个月。那里正月是最怕人的时节。我们还可以在这个饭店里跟人们             愉快地再相处几个星期。”                 “提姆。”艾乐顿太太以责备的口气喊着他的名字。然后她带有犯罪感地加             了一句：“我怕我已答应李蕴太太说你可以跟她到警局一趟。她一句西班牙话也             不会讲。”                 提姆扮个鬼脸。                 “是关于她戒指的事？这个吸马血者的女儿，她的红宝石不见了？她依然坚             称她的指环被偷了，您要我去我就去，但那是浪费时间。她只会让清理卧室的女             仆惹上麻烦。那天，她跳进海里时我还清楚看见戒指在她手上。可能戒指落入水             中，她没注意到。”                 “她说她十分确信她曾把戒指脱下，放在梳妆台上。”                 “哼，她没有脱下。我亲眼看见它的。女人都是蠢蛋。在十二月天跳进海             里，只因太阳在那个时刻刚巧露出脸来就假装海水很温暖的女人都是蠢蛋。脑筋             不灵光的女人都该禁止游泳，她们穿上泳装实在是不堪一看。”                 艾乐顿太太喃喃道：“我真觉得我该放弃游泳了。”                 提姆纵声大笑起来。                 “您？您的身材比大多数年轻小姐还要好看，不在这个禁令之列。”                 艾乐顿太太叹口气道：“但愿这儿有更多年轻人能跟你做伴。”                 提姆·艾乐顿断然地摇摇头。                 “我不这么想。你我没有外在事物来分心可以十分惬意地相处在一起。”                 “如果乔安娜在这里你就会喜欢跟别人打交道了。”                 “我不会。”他的口气顽固得有点离奇。“您完全料错了。乔安娜能逗我             笑，但实际上我并不喜欢她，有她整天在身边那更要我的命。她不在这儿我真感             天谢地。如果我可以永远不再见到她，我会活得更满足。”                 他降低声音又说：“世界上我真正崇敬及赞赏的女人只有一个，艾乐顿太             太，我想你非常清楚那个女人是谁。”                 他的母亲脸色一下子通红起来，显得十分不好意思。                 提姆郑重地说：“世界上真正的好女人并不多，您正是其中的一个。” Chapter 9 Chapter 9 In an apartment overlooking Central Park in New York, Mrs Robson exclaimed: "If that isn't just too lovely! You really are the luckiest girl, Cornelia." Cornelia Robson flushed responsively. She was a big clumsy-looking girl with brown doglike eyes. "Oh, it will be wonderful!" she gasped. Old Miss Van Schuyler inclined her head in a satisfied fashion at this correct attitude on the part of poor relations. "I've always dreamed of a trip to Europe," sighed Cornelia, "but I just didn't feel I'd ever get there." "Miss Bowers will come with me as usual, of course," said Miss Van Schuyler, "but as a social companion I find her limited - very limited. There are many little things that Cornelia can do for me." "I'd just love to, Cousin Marie," said Cornelia eagerly. "Well, well, then that's settled," said Miss Van Schuyler. "Just run and find Miss Bowers, my dear. It's time for my eggnog." Cornelia departed. Her mother said: "My dear Marie, I'm really most grateful to you! You know I think Cornelia suffers a lot from not being a social success. It makes her feel kind of mortified. If I could afford to take her to places - but you know how it's been since Ned died." "I'm very glad to take her," said Miss Van Schuyler. "Cornelia has always been a nice handy girl, willing to run errands, and not so selfish as some of these young people nowadays." Mrs Robson rose and kissed her rich relative's wrinkled and slightly yellow face. "I'm just ever so grateful," she declared. On the stairs she met a tall capable looking woman who was carrying a glass containing a yellow foamy liquid. "Well, Miss Bowers, so you're off to Europe?" "Why, yes, Mrs Robson." "What a lovely trip!" "Why, yes, I should think it would be very enjoyable." "But you've been abroad before?" "Oh, yes, Mrs Robson. I went over to Paris with Miss Van Schuyler last Fall. But I've never been to Egypt before." Mrs Robson hesitated. "I do hope - there won't be any - trouble." She had lowered her voice. Miss Bowers, however, replied in her usual tone: "Oh, no, Mrs Robson; I shall take good care of that. I keep a very sharp look-out always." But there was still a faint shadow on Mrs Robson's face as she slowly continued down the stairs. 第一部 英国 9 第一部 英国 9 纽约一间俯临中央公园的公寓里。罗柏森太太叫道：“这不是太棒了吗！坷 妮亚，你真是最幸运的女孩子。” 坷妮亚•罗柏森敏感地脸色一下通红起来。她是一个大块头、长相不挺出色 的女孩，有着棕色的诚挚大眼。 “噢，这趟旅行一定令我终身难忘！”她气喘地说道。 老小姐梵舒乐看到穷亲戚表现出来的反应正如她所预料，满意地倾着头。 “我一向梦想去欧洲旅游，”坷妮亚叹息道，“但我总觉得我没有机会去。” “当然，跟往常一样，鲍尔斯小姐会伴随我去，”梵舒乐小姐说，“但作为 社交场合上的伴侣我发现她这方面很欠缺——非常欠缺。有许多琐事坷妮亚可以 替我办。” “玛丽表姊，我很乐意去办。”坷妮亚热切地说。 “好吧，好吧，那事情就这么说定了，”梵舒乐小姐说，“亲爱的，去把鲍 尔斯小姐找来。现在是我喝蛋酒的时间了。” 坷妮亚跑开了。她母亲说：“亲爱的玛丽，真谢谢你！你知道坷妮亚常因不 能参加社交场合而懊恼，她认为这是一种耻辱。如果我能带她到各处去就好了 ——但你晓得自奈德过世后情况变得多么不允许。” “我很乐意带她去，”梵舒乐小姐说，“坷妮亚一向是听话的乖女孩，勤于 替人跑腿，又不似时下一些年轻人那样自私。” 罗柏森太太站起身，吻了吻她富裕亲戚多皱纹而略呈黄色的脸颊。 “我从来没有这么高兴过。”她说。 在阶梯上她碰见一个高挑、美丽的女郎，那女孩手上拿着一只盛有黄色冒泡 液体的玻璃杯。 “鲍尔斯小姐，你也要去欧洲？” “是呀，罗柏森太太。” “多迷人的旅程！” “是的，我想一定很好玩。” “以前你出过国吗？” “噢，是的，罗柏森太太。去年秋天我跟梵舒乐小姐去过巴黎。但我从来没 有去过埃及。” 罗柏森太太迟疑了一下。“我真希望不会出什么乱子。”她降低嗓门说。 鲍尔斯小姐依然以她没有抑扬顿挫的嗓音回答。 “噢，不会的，罗柏森太太。我会照料妥当的。我一向盯梢盯得很紧。” 慢慢步下阶梯时，罗柏森太太的脸上仍旧笼罩着一层淡淡的阴影。 Chapter 10 Chapter 10 In his office down town Mr Andrew Pennington was opening his personal mail. Suddenly his fist clenched itself and came down on his desk with a bang; his face crimsoned and two big veins stood out on his forehead. He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a smart looking stenographer appeared with commendable promptitude. "Tell Mr Rockford to step in here." "Yes, Mr Pennington." A few minutes later, Stemdale Rockford, Pennington's partner, entered the office. The two men were not unlike - both tall, spare, with greying hair and clean-shaven, clever faces. "What's up, Pennington?" Pennington looked up from the letter he was re-reading. He said, "Linnet's married." "What?" "You heard what I said! Linnet Ridgeway's married!" "How? When? Why didn't we hear about it?" Pennington glanced at the calendar on his desk. "She wasn't married when she wrote this letter, but she's married now. Morning of the fourth. That's today." Rockford dropped into a chair. "Whew! No warning? Nothing? Who's the man?" Pennington referred again to the letter. "Doyle. Simon Doyle." "What sort of a fellow is he? Ever heard of him?" "No. She doesn't say much..." He scanned the lines of clear, upright handwriting. "Got an idea there's something hole-and-corner about the business.... That doesn't matter. The whole point is, she's married." The eyes of the two men met. Rockford nodded. "This needs a bit of thinking out," he said quietly. "What are we going to do about it?" "I'm asking you." The two men sat silent. Then Rockford asked, "Got any plan?" Pennington said slowly: "The Normandie sails today. One of us could just make it." "You're crazy! What's the big idea?" Pennington began, "Those British lawyers -" and stopped. "What about 'em? Surely you're not going over to tackle 'em? You're mad!" "I'm not suggesting that you - or I - should go to England." "What's the big idea, then?" Pennington smoothed out the letter on the table. "Linnet's going to Egypt for her honeymoon. Expects to be there a month or more." "Egypt - eh?" Rockford considered. Then he looked up and met the other's glance. "Egypt," he said, "that's your idea!" "Yes - a chance meeting. Over on a trip. Linnet and her husband - honeymoon atmosphere. It might be done." Rockford said doubtfully, "She's sharp, Linnet is... but -" Pennington went on softly, "I think there might be ways of managing it." Again their eyes met. Rockford nodded. "All right, big boy." Pennington looked at the clock. "We'll have to hustle - whichever of us is going." "You go," said Rockford promptly. "You always made a hit with Linnet. 'Uncle Andrew.' That's the ticket!" Pennington's face had hardened. He said, "I hope I can pull it off." "You've got to pull it off," his partner said. "The situation's critical..." 第一部 英国 10 第一部 英国 10 坐在下城的办公室里，安德鲁•潘宁顿先生正在拆阅他私人的信函。陡然间 他的拳头握紧了，“砰”一声敲在书桌上，他的脸色涨得通紫，两条青筋爆出在 额头上。他摁摁桌上的蜂音器，一位精干的速记员出现了，随时待命的神情。 “请洛克弗德先生过来。” “是，潘宁顿先生。” 几分钟之后，史登达尔•洛克弗德——潘宁顿的合伙人——走进办公室。这 两个男人外表有点相像，都是高高瘦瘦、灰发、胡子刮得干干净净、精明的生意 人。 “什么事，潘宁顿？” 潘宁顿从他正在重读的信上抬起头，说道：“林娜结婚了。” “什么？” “你听到我说的话吧！林娜•黎吉薇结婚了！” “怎么会？什么时候？我们为什么都没听说？” 潘宁顿瞄瞄桌历。 “写这封信时她还没结婚，但现在她已经结婚了。四号上午。就是今天。” 洛克弗德瘫在椅上。 “哎呀！没有警告！没有说一声！男的是谁？” 潘宁顿又看看信。 “道尔。希蒙•道尔。” “他是何等人物？听说过他吗？” “不曾。她也没怎么提……”他瞥一眼那清晰整齐的字迹。“我觉得这件事 有点蹊跷。不过关系倒不大。要紧的是她结婚了。” 四目交接。洛克弗德点点头。 “这件事需要细心思虑。”他平静地说。 “现在我们该怎么办？” “我在问你呀。” 两人默默对坐。 接着洛克弗德问：“想到什么主意没有？” 潘宁顿缓缓道：“诺曼第号今天开航。我们中有一个得赶上。” “你疯了！这是什么好主意？” 潘宁顿开言道：“那些英国律师……”然后又停口不说。 “他们怎么样？你该不是想对付他们吧？你疯了？” “我不是在建议你或我去英国。” “那你有什么好打算？” 潘宁顿将信摊开在桌上。 “林娜将去埃及度蜜月，预计一个多月。” “埃及——噢？” 洛克弗德思索了一会，然后他抬起头，与另一个人的眼睛交会。 “埃及，”他说，“这是你的主意！” “是的——偶然相遇，在旅途上。林娜和她丈夫——蜜月的气氛里。事情可 能办到。” 洛克弗德以怀疑的口吻说：“林娜很精明，她是，然而——” 潘宁顿柔和地接下去说：“我认为这可能办到——计划一下吧。” 四目再度交接。洛克弗德点点头。 “好吧，老大。” 潘宁顿看看时钟。 “速度要快——我们谁去？” “你去，”洛克弗德赶紧说，“你跟林娜的关系向来不错。‘安德鲁叔叔’。 这是车票！” 潘宁顿神色凝重地说：“但愿我办得成。” “你只许成功，”他的合伙人说，“情况很危急！” Chapter 11 Chapter 11 William Carmichael said to the thin, weedy youth who opened the door inquiringly, "Send Mr Jim to me, please." Jim Fanthorp entered the room and looked inquiringly at his uncle. The older man looked up with a nod and a grunt. "Humph, there you are." "You asked for me?" "Just cast an eye over this." The young man sat down and drew the sheaf of papers toward him. The elder man watched him. "Well?" The answer came promptly, "Looks fishy to me, sir." Again the senior partner of Carmichael, Grant & Carmichael uttered his characteristic grunt. Jim Fanthorp re-read the letter which had just arrived by air mail from Egypt: ... It seems wicked to be writing business letters on such a day. We have spent a week at Mena House and made an expedition to the Fayum. The day after tomorrow we are going up the Nile to Luxor and Assuan by steamer, and perhaps on to Khartoum. When we went into Cook's this morning to see about our tickets who do you think was the first person I saw? - my American trustee, Andrew Pennington. I think you met him two years ago when he was over. I had no idea he was in Egypt and he had no idea that I was! Nor that I was married! My letter, telling him of my marriage, must just have missed him. He is actually going up the Nile on the same trip that we are. Isn't it a coincidence? Thank you so much for all you have done in this busy time. I... As the young man was about to turn the page, Mr Carmichael took the letter from him. "That's all," he said. "The rest doesn't matter. Well, what do you think?" His nephew considered for a moment - then he said: "Well - I think - not a coincidence." The other nodded approval. "Like a trip to Egypt?" he barked out. "You think that's advisable?" "I think there's no time to lose." "But why me?" "Use your brains, boy; use your brains. Linnet Ridgeway has never met you; no more has Pennington. If you go by air you may get there in time." "I - I don't like it, sir. What am I to do?" "Use your eyes. Use your ears. Use your brains - if you've got any. And, if necessary - act." "I - I don't like it." "Perhaps not - but you've got to do it." "It's - necessary?" "In my opinion," said Mr Carmichael, "it's absolutely vital." 第一部 英国 11 第一部 英国 11 威廉•卡密契尔向开门探问的一位高瘦青年说道：“去唤吉姆先生来。” 吉姆•芬索普踏进室内，询问地望着他的叔叔。年纪较大的男人点头往上看 了看，嘴里发出低沉的咕噜声。 “嗯，你来了。” “你找我有事？” “大略看看这些文件。” 年轻人坐下，把递给他的一束文件抖开。年纪较大的男人看着他。 “怎样？” 答复来得挺快：“先生，我认为很可疑。” 格兰特—卡密契尔公司的资深合伙人再度发出他典型的低沉哈哈声。 吉姆•芬索普把刚自埃及寄达的航空邮简再读了一遍： ……在这样一个日子里写商业书信似乎不是挺愉快的。我们在 玛娜园待了一星期，又到法鲁门探险。后天我们将搭乘轮船经由尼 罗河前往卢克瑟及亚思温，也可能到喀土木。今早我们至“科克” 店看看我们的船票买得怎样时，你猜我第一个碰到的是谁？——是 我美国托管人安德鲁•潘宁顿。我记得两年前他来这里时你见过 他。我不知道他在埃及，他也没想到会在埃及碰见我，更不知道我 已经结婚了！我通知他婚事的信函他一定错过了。他恰巧也有事要 航经尼罗河，就跟我们同一艘船。这不是太巧合了吗？谢谢你替我 办了这么多事。我…… 年轻男子正待翻过一页，卡密契尔先生把信收了回去。 “就是这些了，”他说，“余下的无关紧要。你认为如何？” 他的侄子考虑了一会，然后说道： “嗯，我——认为——那不是巧遇……” 另一人点点头表示同意。 “喜欢去埃及旅游吗？”他大声问道。 “你认为这样做妥当吗？” “我认为不能再浪费时间了。” “但为何挑上我？” “动动你的头脑，孩子，动动你的头脑。林娜•黎吉薇不曾见过你，潘宁顿 也没见过。如果搭乘飞机，你就可以及时赶到那儿。” “我——我不喜欢这工作，先生，我要做些什么？” “用你的眼睛，用你的耳朵，用你的头脑——如果你有的话。再者，必要时 ——采取行动。” “我——我不喜欢这工作。” “你也许不喜欢，但你必得去做。” “这是——势在必行的？” “在我的想法里，”卡密契尔先生说，“这是极端紧要的。” Chapter 12 Chapter 12 Mrs Otterbourne, readjusting the turban of native material that she wore draped round her head, said fretfully: "I really don't see why we shouldn't go on to Egypt. I'm sick and tired of Jerusalem." As her daughter made no reply, she said, "You might at least answer when you're spoken to." Rosalie Otterbourne was looking at a newspaper reproduction of a face. Below it was printed: Mrs Simon Doyle, who before her marriage was the well-known society beauty, Miss Linnet Ridgeway. Mr and Mrs Doyle are spending their holiday in Egypt. Rosalie said, "You'd like to move on to Egypt, Mother?" "Yes, I would," Mrs Otterbourne snapped. "I consider they've treated us in a most peculiar fashion here. My being here is an advertisement - I ought to get a special reduction in terms. When I hinted as much, I consider they were most impertinent - most impertinent. I told them exactly what I thought of them." The girl sighed. She said: "One place is very like another. I wish we could go right away." "And this morning," went on Mrs Otterbourne, "the manager actually had the impertinence to tell me that all the rooms had been booked in advance and that he would require ours in two days' time." "So we've got to go somewhere." "Not at all. I'm quite prepared to fight for my rights." Rosalie murmured: "I suppose we might as well go on to Egypt. It doesn't make any difference." "It's certainly not a matter of life or death," agreed Mrs Otterbourne. But there she was quite wrong - for a matter of life and death was exactly what it was. 第一部 英国 12 第一部 英国 12 鄂特伯恩太太理理头上所包的用本地布料制成的头巾，烦躁地说：“我真不 明白我们干嘛不去埃及。我已经厌倦耶路撒冷了。” 她女儿不答腔。她又说：“你若不想讲话你至少也回答我呀。” 罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩正在看报上一张照片。照片下有一行字写着： 希蒙•道尔太太，婚前即社交界名美人林娜•黎吉薇。道尔先 生及夫人此刻在埃及度假。 罗莎莉说：“妈，你愿意转往埃及吗？” “是的，我愿意，”鄂特伯恩太太尖刻地说，“我认为这里的人待我们太傲 慢了。我来这里是替他们做广告，旅馆费应该特别打折。当我这样暗示，他们的 态度就变得很无礼——非常无礼。我告诉他们我对他们的确实看法。” 那女孩叹口气道：“到处都一样。希望我们可以迅速离开这儿。” “而且今天早上，”鄂特伯恩太太继续说，“经理很无理地跟我说，所有房 间都被预定一空，他要我们两天之内把房间腾空还给他。” “所以我们必须到别处去。” “我才不换到别处哩。我准备竭力为我们的权利争取。” 罗莎莉喃喃道：“我认为我们最好接着去埃及。那没什么分别的。” “当然那不是什么生死攸关的事情。”鄂特伯恩太太说道。 但她完全料错了——事实上那是生死攸关之事。 Part II - EGYPT Chapter 1 Part II - EGYPT Chapter 1 "That's Hercule Poirot, the detective," said Mrs Allerton. She and her son were sitting in brightly painted scarlet basket chairs outside the Cataract Hotel at Assuan. They were watching the retreating figures of two people - a short man dressed in a white silk suit and a tall slim girl. Tim Allerton sat up in an unusually alert fashion. "That funny little man?" he asked incredulously. "That funny little man!" "What on earth's he doing out here?" Tim asked. His mother laughed. "Darling, you sound quite excited. Why do men enjoy crime so much? I hate detective stories and never read them. But I don't think Monsieur Poirot is here with any ulterior motive. He's made a good deal of money and he's seeing life, I fancy." "Seems to have an eye for the best looking girl in the place." Mrs Allerton tilted her head a little on one side as she considered the retreating backs of M. Poirot and his companion. The girl by his side over-topped him by some three inches. She walked well, neither stiffly nor slouchingly. "I suppose she is quite good-looking," said Mrs Allerton. She shot a little glance sideways at Tim. Somewhat to her amusement the fish rose at once. "She's more than quite. Pity she looks so bad-tempered and sulky." "Perhaps that's just expression, dear." "Unpleasant young devil, I think. But she's pretty enough." The subject of these remarks was walking slowly by Poirot's side. Rosalie Otterbourne was twirling an unopened parasol, and her expression certainly bore out what Tim had just said. She looked both sulky and bad-tempered. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown and the scarlet line of her mouth was drawn downward. They turned to the left out of the hotel gate and entered the cool shade of the public gardens. Hercule Poirot was prattling gently, his expression that of beatific good humour. He wore a white silk suit, carefully pressed, and a panama hat and carried a highly ornamental fly whisk with a sham amber handle. "- it enchants me," he was saying. "The black rocks of Elephantine, and the sun, and the little boats on the river. Yes, it is good to be alive." He paused and then added, "You do not find it so, Mademoiselle?" Rosalie Otterbourne said shortly: "It's all right, I suppose. I think Assuan's a gloomy sort of place. The hotel's half empty, and everyone's about a hundred -" She stopped - biting her lip. Hercule Poirot's eyes twinkled. "It is true, yes, I have one leg in the grave." "I - I wasn't thinking of you," said the girl. "I'm sorry. That sounded rude." "Not at all. It is natural you should wish for companions of your own age. Ah, well, there is one young man, at least." "The one who sits with his mother all the time? I like her - but I think he looks dreadful - so conceited!" Poirot sniffed. "And I - am I conceited?" "Oh, I don't think so." She was obviously uninterested - but the fact did not seem to annoy Poirot. He merely remarked with placid satisfaction, "My best friend says that I am very conceited." "Oh, well," said Rosalie vaguely, "I suppose you have something to be conceited about. Unfortunately crime doesn't interest me in the least." Poirot said solemnly, "I am delighted to learn that you have no guilty secret to hide." Just for a moment the sulky mask of her face was transformed as she shot him a swift questioning glance. Poirot did not seem to notice it as he went on: "Madame, your mother, was not at lunch today. She is not indisposed, I trust?" "This place doesn't suit her," said Rosalie briefly. "I shall be glad when we leave." "We are fellow passengers, are we not? We both make the excursion up to Wвdi Halfa and the Second Cataract?" "Yes." They came out from the shade of the gardens onto a dusty stretch of road bordered by the river. Five watchful bead sellers, two vendors of postcards, three sellers of plaster scarabs, a couple of donkey boys and some detached but hopeful infantile riff-raff closed in upon them. "You want beads, sir? Very good, sir. Very cheap." "Lady, you want scarab? Look - great queen - very lucky." "You look, sir - real lapis. Very good, very cheap..." "You want ride donkey, sir? This very good donkey. This donkey Whisky and Soda, sir..." "You want to go granite quarries, sir? This very good donkey. Other donkey very bad, sir, that donkey fall down..." "You want postcard - very cheap - very nice..." "Look, lady... Only ten piastres - very ivory..." "This very good fly whisk - this - all amber." "You go out in boat, sir? I got very good boat, sir." "You ride back to hotel, lady? This first class donkey." Hercule Poirot made vague gestures to rid himself of this human cluster of flies. Rosalie stalked through them like a sleep walker. "It's best to pretend to be deaf and blind," she remarked. The infantile riff-raff ran alongside murmuring plaintively: "Bakshish? Bakshish? Hip hip hurrah - very good, very nice..." Their gaily coloured rags trailed picturesquely, and the flies lay in clusters on their eyelids. They were the most persistent. The others fell back and launched a fresh attack on the next comer. Now Poirot and Rosalie only ran the gauntlet of the shops - suave, persuasive accents here... "You visit my shop today, sir?" "You want that ivory crocodile, sir?" "You not been in my shop yet, sir? I show you very beautiful things." They turned into the fifth shop and Rosalie handed over several rolls of films - the object of the walk. Then they came out again and walked toward the river's edge. One of the Nile steamers was just mooring. Poirot and Rosalie looked interestedly at the passengers. "Quite a lot, aren't there?" commented Rosalie. She turned her head as Tim Allerton came up and joined them. He was a little out of breath as though he had been walking fast. They stood there for a moment or two and then Tim spoke. "An awful crowd as usual, I suppose," he remarked disparagingly, indicating the disembarking passengers. "They're usually quite terrible," agreed Rosalie. All three wore the air of superiority assumed by people who are already in a place when studying new arrivals. "Hullo!" exclaimed Tim, his voice suddenly excited. "I'm damned if that isn't Linnet Ridgeway." If the information left Poirot unmoved, it stirred Rosalie's interest. She leaned forward and her sulkiness quite dropped from her as she asked: "Where? That one in white?" "Yes, there with the tall man. They're coming ashore now. He's the new husband, I suppose. Can't remember her name now." "Doyle," said Rosalie. "Simon Doyle. It was in all the newspapers. She's simply rolling, isn't she?" "Only about the richest girl in England," replied Tim cheerfully. The three lookers-on were silent watching the passengers come ashore. Poirot gazed with interest at the subject of the remarks of his companions. He murmured, "She is beautiful." "Some people have got everything," said Rosalie bitterly. There was a queer grudging expression on her face as she watched the other girl come up the gangplank. Linnet Doyle was looking as perfectly turned out as if she were stepping onto the centre of the stage of a Revue. She had something too of the assurance of a famous actress. She was used to being looked at, to being admired, to being the centre of the stage wherever she went. She was aware of the keen glances bent upon her - and at the same time almost unaware of them; such tributes were part of her life. She came ashore playing a rфle, even though she played it unconsciously. The rich beautiful society bride on her honeymoon. She turned, with a little smile and a light remark, to the tall man by her side. He answered, and the sound of his voice seemed to interest Hercule Poirot. His eyes lit up and he drew his brows together. The couple passed close to him. He heard Simon Doyle say: "We'll try and make time for it, darling. We can easily stay a week or two if you like it here." His face was turned toward her, eager, adoring, a little humble. Poirot's eyes ran over him thoughtfully - the square shoulders, the bronzed face, the dark blue eyes, the rather childlike simplicity of the smile. "Lucky devil," said Tim after they had passed. "Fancy finding an heiress who hasn't got adenoids and flat feet!" "They look frightfully happy," said Rosalie with a note of envy in her voice. She added suddenly, but so low that Tim did not catch the words, "It isn't fair." Poirot heard, however. He had been frowning somewhat perplexedly but now he flashed a quick glance toward her. Tim said, "I must collect some stuff for my mother now." He raised his hat and moved off. Poirot and Rosalie retraced their steps slowly in the direction of the hotel, waving aside fresh proffers of donkeys. "So it is not fair, Mademoiselle?" asked Poirot gently. The girl flushed angrily. "I don't know what you mean." "I am repeating what you said just now under your breath. Oh, yes, you did." Rosalie Otterbourne shrugged her shoulders. "It really seems a little too much for one person. Money, good looks, marvellous figure and -" She paused and Poirot said: "And love? Eh? And love? But you do not know - she may have been married for her money!" "Didn't you see the way he looked at her?" "Oh, yes, Mademoiselle. I saw all there was to see - indeed I saw something that you did not." "What was that?" Poirot said slowly: "I saw, Mademoiselle, dark lines below a woman's eyes. I saw a hand that clutched a sunshade so tight that the knuckles were white..." Rosalie was staring at him. "What do you mean?" "I mean that all is not the gold that glitters. I mean that, though this lady is rich and beautiful and beloved, there is all the same something that is not right. And I know something else." "Yes?" "I know," said Poirot, frowning, "that somewhere, at some time, I have heard that voice before - the voice of Monsieur Doyle - and I wish I could remember where." But Rosalie was not listening. She had stopped dead. With the point of her sunshade she was tracing patterns in the loose sand. Suddenly she broke out fiercely: "I'm awful, I'm quite odious. I'm just a beast through and through. I'd like to tear the clothes off her back and stamp on her lovely, arrogant, self-confident face. I'm just a jealous cat - but that's what I feel like. She's so horribly successful and poised and assured." Hercule Poirot looked a little astonished by the outburst. He took her by the arm and gave her a friendly little shake. "Tenez - you will feel better for having said that!" "I just hate her! I've never hated anyone so much at first sight." "Magnificent!" Rosalie looked at him doubtfully. Then her mouth twitched and she laughed. "Bien," said Poirot, and laughed too. They proceeded amicably back to the hotel. "I must find Mother," said Rosalie, as they came into the cool, dim hall. Poirot passed out on the other side onto the terrace overlooking the Nile. Here were little tables set for tea, but it was early still. He stood for a few moments looking at the river, then strolled down through the gardens. Some people were playing tennis in the hot sun. He paused to watch them for a while, then went on down the steep path. It was there, sitting on a bench overlooking the Nile, that he came upon the girl of Chez Ma Tante. He recognized her at once. Her face, as he had seen it that night, was securely etched upon his memory. The expression on it now was very different. She was paler, thinner, and there were lines that told of a great weariness and misery of spirit. He drew back a little. She had not seen him, and he watched her for a while without her suspecting his presence. Her small foot tapped impatiently on the ground. Her eyes, dark with a kind of smouldering fire, had a queer kind of suffering dark triumph in them. She was looking out across the Nile where the white sail-boats glided up and down the river. A face - and a voice. He remembered them both. This girl's face and the voice he had heard just now, the voice of a newly made bridegroom... And even as he stood there considering the unconscious girl, the next scene in the drama was played. Voices sounded above. The girl on the seat started to her feet. Linnet Doyle and her husband came down the path. Linnet's voice was happy and confident. The look of strain and tenseness of muscle had quite disappeared. Linnet was happy. The girl who was standing there took a step or two forward. The other two stopped dead. "Hullo, Linnet," said Jacqueline de Bellefort. "So here you are! We never seem to stop running into each other. Hullo, Simon, how are you?" Linnet Doyle had shrunk back against the rock with a little cry. Simon Doyle's good-looking face was suddenly convulsed with rage. He moved forward as though he would have liked to strike the slim girlish figure. With a quick bird-like turn of her head she signalled her realization of a stranger's presence. Simon turned his head and noticed Poirot. He said awkwardly, "Hullo, Jacqueline; we didn't expect to see you here." The words were unconvincing in the extreme. The girl flashed white teeth at them. "Quite a surprise?" she asked. Then, with a little nod, she walked up the path. Poirot moved delicately in the opposite direction. As he went he heard Linnet Doyle say: "Simon - for God's sake! Simon - what can we do?" 第二部 埃及 1 第二部 埃及 1 “那一位是私家侦探白罗。”艾乐顿太太说。 她和她儿子正坐在亚思温瀑布酒店门外的猩红色柳条制背椅上，注视着两个 逐渐消逝的人影——一个穿白色丝绸上衣的矮个子和一个修长的少女。 提姆•艾乐顿以不寻常的警觉性站立起来。 “那个滑稽的小矮子？”他以怀疑的口吻问道。 “那个滑稽的小矮子！” “他在这儿干什么？”提姆问道。 他的母亲笑道：“亲爱的，你似乎很激动。为什么男人总是对凶杀案件特别 感兴趣？我最讨厌侦探小说，也从来没有读过，不过，我想白罗先生此行倒没有 什么特别目的，他赚了不少钱，现在来体验一下人生吧。” “他似乎颇懂得鉴赏漂亮的女孩子。” 艾乐顿太太侧过头细看白罗和他同伴的背影。 他身边的女郎比他高出大约三寸，走起路来婀娜多姿。 “我想她还蛮漂亮的。”艾乐顿太太说。 她斜睨了提姆一眼。想不到提姆霍然站了起来。“她不只漂亮，而是很漂 亮。可惜脾气好像不太好，而且郁郁不乐。” “或许只是表面如此吧！” “不太开朗的丫头。不过她确实长得很美。” 罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩正是他们谈论的对象，她在白罗身边缓缓走着，手中转动 着一把折叠的太阳伞，脸上表情正如提姆所形容：郁郁不乐、情绪不好。她眉头 深锁，嘴唇的猩红色线条往下垂。 他们左转走出酒店大门，来到公园的树荫下。 赫邱里•白罗谈吐温文，表情愉悦而幽默。他穿戴着仔细烫过的白丝绸上 衣、一顶巴拿马帽和装饰精巧、把柄用假琥珀制成的驱蝇杖。 “真迷人，”他说，“亚勒芬廷的黑色岩石，阳光，河中小舟。唉，活着真 好！” 他停顿一下，加了一句，“你不认为如此吧，小姐？” 罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩简短地回答：“我也认为这地方很不错。亚思温在我感觉 里是个阴郁的地方。酒店半空，每个人都跑到一百……” 她咬紧嘴唇，不再说话。 赫邱里•白罗双眼闪耀着。 “这是实情，我一脚已经踏入坟墓。” “我——我不是指你，”那女郎说，“抱歉，这样说很没礼貌。” “一点也不会。自然你希望有跟你同年龄的友伴。哦，你看，那里有一个年 轻男子。” “那个整天跟他母亲坐在一起的青年？我喜欢他母亲，他呢，我觉得看来怪 可怕的——不可一世的样子。” 白罗笑了起来。 “我呢——是否也一副不可一世的样子？” “你，当然不会。” 她显然不太感兴趣——但白罗不在意。他以不为所动的得意状说道：“我最 好的朋友说我非常自负。” 罗莎莉淡然地说：“你确有你值得自傲之处。可惜犯罪终究不能吸引我。” 白罗神色不悦起来，“很高兴知道你没有什么罪恶的秘密要隐瞒。” 她迅速投给他质问的一瞥，脸上阴郁的表情有一阵子转变了。白罗似乎没注 意到，继续说： “小姐，你母亲今天没有吃午餐。她不是不舒服吧？” “这地方不大适合她。”罗莎莉简洁地回答，“我很盼望旅程赶快结束。” “我们是旅伴，不是吗？一起到瓦第•哈尔法和第二瀑布区游览如何？” “好。” 他们走出公园的绿荫地，来到灰尘弥漫的环河道路。五个兜揽游客的珠贩、 两个推销风景明信片的商人、三个售卖石膏制古埃及蜣蟑像的小贩、两个卖驴子 的男孩都拥了上来。 “要珠子吗，先生？顶好的珠子哩，先生。顶便宜……” “女士，要蜣蟑像吗？你看——伟大的女王——幸运……” “你看，先生——真正的珠宝。顶好，顶便宜的……” “你要骑驴吗，先生？性能极佳的驴子。如假包换。” “你要去参观花岗岩采石场吗，先生？这是一匹好驴。其它都很差，先生。” “要买风景明信片吗？——顶便宜——顶好……” “你看，女士……只要十埃及银币——非常便宜——宝石——这块象牙……” “这是很管用的驱蝇杖——完全用琥珀制成。” “你要坐船出去吗，先生？我有艘性能良好的船……” “你要骑驴回酒店吗，女士？这是最上等的驴子……” 赫邱里•白罗轻轻挥手，似乎要驱赶这群人群。罗莎莉像梦游般走过人群。 “最好是装聋作哑。”她说。 一群脏孩子沿路跑着，一面诉苦地喃喃道：“小费？小费？哇，哇！——好 棒，好棒！” 他们五彩斑斓、缀有许多补钉的破衣服在地上拖曳着。苍蝇成群落在他们的 眼睑上。他们是最顽固的一群。刚挥走一群，另外一群马上飞回，又开始攻击下 一个来客。 白罗和罗莎莉走在两排商店的中间——温柔的、说服的声调不时响起。 “今天就来光顾本店吧，先生？”“要买这个象牙鳄鱼吗，先生？”“你还 没光顾本店哩，先生？我们有非常精美的物品，让我拿给你看。” 他们走进第五家商店，罗莎莉买了数卷底片——此行的目的。 他们踏出商店，朝河岸走去。 尼罗河上一艘汽艇正在泊岸。白罗和罗莎莉满含兴趣地观望艇上的来客。 “好多人，是不是？”罗莎莉说。 她转过头，提姆走上来。他微微喘着气，大概是走得太快的关系。 他们站立了一两分钟，然后提姆说道： “只是拥挤的一大群。”他不悦地说道，指着正在登岸的乘客。 “是呀，真怕人！”罗莎莉同意地说。 他们三人都摆出凌人的气势，正如已经抵达终点的人端详着周围一切的人。 “嗨！”提姆叫道，语气突然兴奋起来，“那不是林娜•黎吉薇吗？” 白罗或许不觉什么，罗莎莉却显然极感兴趣。她身子往前倾，一反阴沉的神 态问道：“哪一个？穿白衣那个？” “对，跟高个子在一起的那位。他们上岸来了；那男子是林娜的新婚丈夫 ——一时记不起他的名字了。” “道尔。”罗莎莉说，“希蒙•道尔。每家报纸都刊登过。她很有钱，是 吧？” “大概是全英国最富有的女子吧！”提姆兴致勃勃地答道。 岸上的三个人默默地看着汽艇上的乘客上岸。白罗一面欣赏同伴正在议论的 对象，一面喃喃地道：“她很漂亮。” “有些人可以得到一切。”罗莎莉悻悻然道，当她看着林娜步上跳板时，一 股莫名的嫉妒流露在她脸上。 林娜•黎吉薇活像轻歌舞剧舞台上的女主角。她也像著名的女伶般自信十 足。她早已习惯人们的欣赏和羡慕，每到一处都充当中心人物。 她每一刻钟都察觉到投向她的艳羡目光——却同时又仿佛毫不知情。人们的 称扬是她生活的一部分。 尽管她不是有意识的，但她一登岸就显现出是富有又漂亮的名流新娘在蜜月 旅行。她微笑地轻声询问身旁的高大男子。那男子的回答和声音似乎引起了白罗 莫大的兴趣，他双眼凝视着他，不觉眉头一皱。 一对新人从白罗身旁走过。他听见希蒙•道尔说： “我们可以尽情享受，亲爱的。如果你喜欢这儿的话，我们大可逗留一两个 星期。” 希蒙面向林娜，一副恳切、倾慕和谦逊的样子。 白罗仔细端详了希蒙一会——方正的肩膀、铜色的面庞、深蓝的眼睛和略带 孩子气的纯真笑容。 “幸运的家伙！”提姆目送他们走过后说，“竟能找到一个没有腺状肿、腿 又不粗的女继承人。” “他俩好像十分开心，”罗莎莉略带嫉妒口吻说道，接着突然轻轻加上一 句，“实在太不公平了！”声音低得听不清。 然而白罗却听到了。原先充满疑惑的他，骤然把目光转向罗莎莉。 提姆说：“我得替母亲买点东西了。”他掀一掀帽子走开了。白罗跟罗莎莉 沿着通往酒店的路缓缓走去，又有新的驴贩拥上，他们挥手叫这些人走开。 “看来这真是很不公平吧，小姐？”白罗温和地问道。 罗莎莉又气又羞愧。 “我根本不知道你在说什么！” “我只是在重复你刚才悄悄说的话。不错，你的确这样说过。” 罗莎莉耸耸肩。 “对一个人来说这似乎太优越了。金钱、美貌、动人的身材——” 她顿了一顿，白罗接着说： “还有爱情，是吗？还有爱情？不过你或者不晓得——她的丈夫可能只看上 了她的金钱哩！” “你没有瞧见他看她的神情吗？” “噢，我看到。我什么都看到——我还看到一些你不曾发觉的东西哩！” “什么？” 白罗缓缓道：“小姐，我看到一个女人眼底下的阴影；我更看到一个紧握着 的拳头和发白的关节……” 罗莎莉瞪着他。 “你的意思是什么？” “我是指闪亮的黄金并不能代表一切。尽管这位女士富有、迷人而且被爱 着，但某些不对劲的事情始终存在。我还知道别的。” “什么？” “我晓得，”白罗皱着眉说道，“在某个地方，某个时间，我听过那声音 ——道尔先生的声音——真希望我能记起是在什么地方。” 罗莎莉没有留心倾听。她突然停下脚步，用太阳伞的伞尖在沙上画着图案， 出人意外地厉声叫道： “我真可鄙，十分可鄙。我十足像个野兽。我真想撕破她的衣服，在她那漂 亮、自负的脸上践踏。我只是一只善妒的猫——但我真正感到这样。看她那么成 功、泰然和自信！？” 白罗对她的举动感到有点震惊。他友善地摇动罗莎莉的肩膀。 “说出来，你会觉得舒服一点！” “我只是憎恨她！我从来没有这样憎恨过一个初见面的人！” “真有趣！” 罗莎莉怀疑地看着白罗。然后她的嘴唇蠕动了一下，笑了起来。 “哈——”白罗也笑了。 他俩和睦地走回酒店。 踏进凉适、微暗的大厅，罗莎莉说：“我要去找我妈妈。” 白罗走到可以俯视尼罗河的露台上。这儿摆有为下午茶而设的小桌子。时间 尚早，他眺望了一会尼罗河上的景色，便漫步到下面的花园。 一些人正在烈日下打网球。他驻脚观看了一会，继续遛达到斜径上。他遇见 一位在“在姑妈家”餐厅见过的女孩，那女孩坐在长凳上，凝望河面。他立刻认 出她。她的面容——一如白罗遇见她的当晚一样——已深深铭刻在他的脑海里。 但如今她的神色截然不同。她显得苍白、瘦削，脸上的皱纹使人感觉到她心力俱 乏。 白罗后退一步。那少女没看到他，他注视她好一会儿。她纤细的双脚，不耐 烦地踏着地面，墨黑的眼珠闪耀着痛苦与胜利交织的火焰。她凝望前方，河面正 有白色帆船在滑行。 脸庞和声音，白罗全记得。这个少女的脸庞和声音，他刚刚听过，新嫁娘的 声音…… 就在他待在那儿思索着这个毫无知觉少女的事情之际，另一幕“戏”又上演 了。 声音从上面传来。那少女从椅上站了起来。林娜•道尔和她丈夫走下小径。 林娜的声音充满喜悦和自信，紧张和不安匿迹了。她是快乐的。 站在一旁的少女往前挪动了一两步。他俩骤然停住了 “嗨，林娜！”贾克琳•杜贝尔弗说道，“你们也在这儿！我们好像到哪儿 都会碰在一起哩！嗨，希蒙！你好吗？” 林娜•道尔轻叫一声，退缩到石头旁。希蒙•道尔俊秀的脸庞突然显得异常 愤怒。他身子前倾，似欲击打眼前的瘦削少女。 少女机智地转过头，示意有陌生人在旁。希蒙转身看到白罗。他尴尬地说： “嗨，贾克琳，没想到会在这里碰到你。”贾克琳向他们露出雪白的牙齿。 “蛮吃惊的吧？”她问道。然后微微点点头，就走上小径去了。 白罗漫不经心地从另一方向走去，听见林娜•道尔说：“我的天，希蒙，希 蒙！我们该怎么办？” Chapter 2 Chapter 2 Dinner was over. The terrace outside the Cataract Hotel was softly lit. Most of the guests staying at the hotel were there sitting at little tables. Simon and Linnet Doyle came out, a tall, distinguished looking grey-haired man, with a keen, clean-shaven American face, beside them. As the little group hesitated for a moment in the doorway, Tim Allerton rose from his chair near by and came forward. "You don't remember me, I'm sure," he said pleasantly to Linnet, "but I'm Joanna Southwood's cousin." "Of course - how stupid of me! You're Tim Allerton. This is my husband -" a faint tremor in the voice, pride, shyness? - "and this is my American trustee, Mr Pennington." Tim said, "You must meet my mother." A few minutes later they were sitting together in a party - Linnet in the corner, Tim and Pennington each side of her, both talking to her, vying for her attention. Mrs Allerton talked to Simon Doyle. The swing doors revolved. A sudden tension came into the beautiful upright figure sitting in the corner between the two men. Then it relaxed as a small man came out and walked across the terrace. Mrs Allerton said: "You're not the only celebrity here, my dear. That funny little man is Hercule Poirot." She had spoken lightly, just out of instinctive social tact to bridge an awkward pause, but Linnet seemed struck by the information. "Hercule Poirot? Of course - I've heard of him..." She seemed to sink into a fit of abstraction. The two men on either side of her were momentarily at a loss. Poirot had strolled across to the edge of the terrace, but his attention was immediately solicited. "Sit down, Monsieur Poirot. What a lovely night." He obeyed. "Mais oui, Madame, it is indeed beautiful." He smiled politely at Mrs Otterbourne. What draperies of black ninon and that ridiculous turban effect! Mrs Otterbourne went on in her high complaining voice: "Quite a lot of notabilities here now, aren't there? I expect we shall see a paragraph about it in the papers soon. Society beauties, famous novelists -" She paused with a slight mock-modest laugh. Poirot felt, rather than saw, the sulky frowning girl opposite him flinch and set her mouth in a sulkier line than before. "You have a novel on the way at present, Madame?" he inquired. Mrs Otterbourne gave her little self-conscious laugh again. "I'm being dreadfully lazy. I really must set to. My public is getting terribly impatient - and my publisher, poor man! Appeals by every post! Even cables!" Again he felt the girl shift in the darkness. "I don't mind telling you, Monsieur Poirot, I am partly here for local colour. Snow on the Desert's Face - that is the title of my new book. Powerful - suggestive. Snow - on the desert - melted in the first flaming breath of passion." Rosalie got up, muttering something, and moved away down into the dark garden. "One must be strong," went on Mrs Otterbourne, wagging the turban emphatically. "Strong meat - that is what my books are - all important. Libraries banned - no matter! I speak the truth. Sex - ah! Monsieur Poirot - why is everyone so afraid of sex? The pivot of the universe! You have read my books?" "Alas, Madame! You comprehend, I do not read many novels. My work -" Mrs Otterbourne said firmly: "I must give you a copy of Under the Fig Tree. I think you will find it significant. It is outspoken - but it is real!" "That is most kind of you, Madame. I will read it with pleasure." Mrs Otterbourne was silent a minute or two. She fidgeted with a long chain of beads that was wound twice round her neck. She looked swiftly from side to side. "Perhaps - I'll just slip up and get it for you now." "Oh, Madame, pray do not trouble yourself. Later -" "No, no. It's no trouble." She rose. "I'd like to show you -" "What is it, Mother?" Rosalie was suddenly at her side. "Nothing, dear. I was just going up to get a book for Monsieur Poirot." "The Fig Tree? I'll get it." "You don't know where it is, dear. I'll go." "Yes, I do." The girl went swiftly across the terrace and into the hotel. "Let me congratulate you, Madame, on a very lovely daughter," said Poirot, with a bow. "Rosalie? Yes, yes - she is good-looking. But she's very hard, Monsieur Poirot. And no sympathy with illness. She always thinks she knows best. She imagines she knows more about my health than I do myself -" Poirot signalled to a passing waiter. "A liqueur, Madame? A chartreuse? A créme de menthe?" Mrs Otterbourne shook her head vigorously. "No, no. I am practically a tee-totaller. You may have noticed I never drink anything but water - or perhaps lemonade. I cannot bear the taste of spirits." "Then may I order you a lemon squash, Madame?" He gave the order - one lemon squash and one Benedictine. The swing door revolved. Rosalie passed through and came toward them, a book in her hand. "Here you are," she said. Her voice was quite expressionless - almost remarkably so. "Monsieur Poirot has just ordered me a lemon squash," said her mother. "And you, Mademoiselle, what will you take?" "Nothing." She added, suddenly conscious of the curtness, "Nothing, thank you." Poirot took the volume which Mrs Otterbourne held out to him. It still bore its original jacket, a gaily coloured affair representing a lady, with smartly shingled hair and scarlet fingernails, sitting on a tiger skin, in the traditional costume of Eve. Above her was a tree with the leaves of an oak, bearing large and improbably coloured apples. It was entitled Under the Fig Tree, by Salome Otterbourne. On the inside was a publisher's blurb. It spoke enthusiastically of the superb courage and realism of this study of a modern woman's love life. "Fearless, unconventional, realistic," were the adjectives used. Poirot bowed and murmured, "I am honoured, Madame." As he raised his head, his eyes met those of the authoress's daughter. Almost involuntarily he made a little movement. He was astonished and grieved at the eloquent pain they revealed. It was at that moment that the drinks arrived and created a welcome diversion. Poirot lifted his glass gallantly. "A votre santé, Madame - Mademoiselle." Mrs Otterbourne, sipping her lemonade, murmured, "So refreshing - delicious!" Silence fell on the three of them. They looked down to the shining black rocks in the Nile. There was something fantastic about them in the moonlight. They were like vast prehistoric monsters lying half out of the water. A little breeze came up suddenly and as suddenly died away. There was a feeling in the air of hush - of expectancy. Hercule Poirot brought his gaze back to the terrace and its occupants. Was he wrong, or was there the same hush of expectancy there? It was like a moment on the stage when one is waiting for the entrance of the leading lady. And just at that moment the swing doors began to revolve once more. This time it seemed as though they did so with a special air of importance. Everyone had stopped talking and was looking toward them. A dark slender girl in a wine coloured evening frock came through. She paused for a minute, then walked deliberately across the terrace and sat down at an empty table. There was nothing flaunting, nothing out of the way about her demeanour, and yet it had somehow the studied effect of a stage entrance. "Well," said Mrs Otterbourne. She tossed her turbaned head. "She seems to think she is somebody, that girl!" Poirot did not answer. He was watching. The girl had sat down in a place where she could look deliberately across at Linnet Doyle. Presently, Poirot noticed, Linnet Doyle leant forward and said something and a moment later got up and changed her seat. She was now sitting facing in the opposite direction. Poirot nodded thoughtfully to himself. It was about five minutes later that the other girl changed her seat to the opposite side of the terrace. She sat smoking and smiling quietly, the picture of contented ease. But always, as though unconsciously, her meditative gaze was on Simon Doyle's wife. After a quarter of an hour Linnet Doyle got up abruptly and went into the hotel. Her husband followed her almost immediately. Jacqueline de Bellefort smiled and twisted her chair round. She lit a cigarette and stared out over the Nile. She went on smiling to herself. 第二部 埃及 2 第二部 埃及 2 晚餐过后，瀑布酒店的露台上灯光柔和，大多数宾客都围坐在小桌边闲谈。 希蒙和林娜•道尔走出来，旁边跟着一个高大、貌似名流的灰发男子——一 张敏锐、光洁的美国人面孔。 聚集在门口的一小群人霎时停止交谈，提姆•艾乐顿站起来，走上前。 “我想你已经忘了我了，”他温文地向林娜说，“我是乔安娜•邵斯伍德的 表弟。” “哦，我记性真差！你是提姆•艾乐顿嘛。这是我先生。”——林娜的声音 有点颤抖。不知是骄傲还是害羞？“这是我美国的托管人——潘宁顿先生。” 提姆说：“让我介绍你跟我母亲认识。” 几分钟后，他们已围坐在一起——林娜坐在角落，提姆和潘宁顿在她两旁， 艾乐顿太太坐在林娜对面。提姆争着跟林娜谈话以赢取她的注意。艾乐顿太太则 和希蒙闲谈。 旋转门转动了一下。坐在两个男子中间的美丽女郎突显紧张，随即又松弛下 来——进来的是个矮个子。 艾乐顿太太说：“亲爱的，你可不是这里惟一的名人哩！那个滑稽的矮个子 是赫邱里•白罗。” 艾乐顿太太语气平淡，用意只是出乎本能的应变能力，欲打破刚才尴尬的停 顿，但林娜却听了她的介绍似乎颇为触动。 “白罗？哦——我听过他的名字……” 她好像陷入思索，身旁的两位男士感到有点不知所措。 白罗缓步走到露台的边沿，他的注意力立刻被分散了。 “请坐，白罗先生。好迷人的夜晚！” 他遵命坐下来了。 “是的，夫人，的确很迷人！”他礼貌地向鄂特伯恩太太笑笑。她的黑色绢 衣及头巾，看来有些可笑。 鄂特伯恩太太以高声抱怨的口吻继续说：“这里现在可住了不少名人，不是 吗？但愿报纸上很快就会刊登照片。社会名媛、著名作家……”她讥讽地笑道。 白罗感到他对面的阴郁少女把嘴唇绷得更紧了。 “你正在写小说吗，夫人？”他问道。 鄂特伯恩太太颇有自知之明地笑道：“我这人很懒。我真的必须动笔了。我 的出版人愈来愈没耐性了——那可怜的家伙天天写信来催，还拍电报哩！” 白罗感到那少女的脸色再往下沉。 “不瞒你说，白罗先生，我来这里是为攫取灵感。《沙漠上的白雪》——这 是我新书的书名。有力——具有暗示性：白雪在沙漠上——融化在初恋的欲火 下。” 罗莎莉站起身，喃喃不知说了什么，便跑到黑暗的花园里去了。 “人必须强壮，”鄂特伯恩太太继续说，一面摇摇她的头巾。“强壮的肉体 ——我书上讲的就是这个——多重要。图书馆列为禁书——不碍事！我说的是实 情。——哦，白罗先生，干嘛每个人都这么害怕‘性’？宇宙的枢纽！你读过我 的小说吗？” “啊，夫人！你知道，我很少看小说。我的工作……” 鄂特伯恩太太坚持地说：“我一定要送你一本我写的《无花果树下》，你一 定会觉得挺有意思！写得或许白了点——却是实情！” “谢谢你，夫人！我一定乐意一读。” 鄂特伯恩太太沉默了一会。她不停地玩弄着颈项上盘了两圈的长串珍珠。她 坐不住了。 “或许——我现在就上楼拿给你吧。” “啊，夫人，不必太麻烦了！等一下……” “不，不，一点也不麻烦。”鄂特伯恩太太站起来。“我想让你看……” “什么事啊，妈？”罗莎莉突然在她身旁出现。 “没什么，我正想上楼拿本书给白罗先生。” “是《无花果树下》？我去拿！” “你不晓得我放在哪里，我自个儿去拿吧！” “不，我晓得。” 罗莎莉迅速越过露台，折返酒店内。 “夫人，我得恭喜你，有这么一个可爱的女儿。”白罗深深地一鞠躬。 “罗莎莉？不错——她长相不错。但你不知道她的心肠有多硬，对病人一点 也没有同情心。她总觉得自己懂得最多。关于我的健康她好像知道得比我自己还 清楚……” 白罗向走过的侍者示意。 “想喝点什么酒吗，夫人？” 鄂特伯恩太太猛烈地摇着头。 “不，不，我是个绝对反对喝酒的人。你或许留意到我从来只喝清水——或 是柠檬水。我受不了酒精的味道。” “那么我替你要杯柠檬汁，好吗？” 白罗叫了一杯柠檬汁和一杯果子酒。 旋转门转开了。罗莎莉朝他们走上来，手上拿着一本书。 “书拿来了。”她说，语调平平，却很特别。 “白罗先生刚刚为我叫了一杯柠檬汁。”鄂特伯恩太太说道。 “小姐，你想喝点什么吗？” “不要。”蓦然觉得自己太没礼貌，又加了一句，“不必，谢谢你。” 白罗收下鄂特伯恩太太递给他的书。封面还是老样子：一位气色怡人的小 姐，秀丽的短发，涂着寇丹的指甲，坐在虎皮上，身上穿圣诞夜传统的服装。在 她头上是一株橡树，伸展着绿叶，树上结着硕大而不真实的果实。 书名《无花果树下》，作者莎乐美•鄂特伯恩。内文有出版者夸张的推荐 辞，说明这是一本揭露现代女性爱情生活的著作。“大胆、脱俗、真实！”序言 上如此写着。 白罗鞠躬致谢，“女士，你送我这本书，我觉得非常荣幸。” 当他抬起头，他与作者女儿的眼睛四目交接。他几乎是不自觉地震动了一 下。那眼光所流露出的痛苦令他惊讶而叹惜。 就在这时，饮料上来了，场面又转化为娱乐的气氛。 白罗殷勤地举起酒杯，“祝两位好运！” 鄂特伯恩太太喝了几口柠檬汁，喃喃道：“多清凉美味的果汁！” 沉默笼罩着三人。眼下，尼罗河闪闪发光的黑石显得有点奥妙——就像半露 出水面的史前怪兽。一阵微风悄然飘过，又悄然静下。四周充满了一片宁静—— 就像暴风雨前的宁静。 白罗回顾露台上其他的宾客。他的预感对吗？这儿是否有着一种不寻常的宁 静？这一刻就像舞台上女主角将要出场前的一刹那。 就在这当儿，旋转门再一次转动了。仿佛重要的时刻即将降临，每个人都停 止谈话，把目光投向门的那方。 一个皮肤黝黑、瘦长的少女，穿着红葡萄酒色的晚礼服走了进来。她停住 脚，接着故意走过露台，坐在一张空桌子旁。她的举止并不过分招摇，但不知怎 地，却有舞台亮相的效果。 “唔，”鄂特伯恩太太抬起头说，“她似乎觉得自己是重要人物，这少女！” 白罗没答腔。他在观察。那少女故意选择了面对林娜•道尔的位置。白罗立 刻留意到林娜•道尔低声说了几句话，接着起身换了位置，面向另一方。 白罗若有所思地点点头。 五分钟后，露台一边的少女又转换一次位置。她坐在那儿吸烟，微笑，表现 得异常悠闲。但好像有意无意地，她的目光总是投在希蒙•道尔太太身上。 十五分钟过后，林娜•道尔突然站起来，跑回酒店内。 她的丈夫立刻赶上她。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗微笑着把椅子转过来，点起一根香烟，双眼瞪着尼罗河 面，脸上微微露出得意的笑容。 Chapter 3 "Monsieur Poirot." Chapter 3 "Monsieur Poirot." Poirot got hastily to his feet. He had remained sitting out on the terrace alone after everyone else had left. Lost in meditation he had been staring at the smooth shiny black rocks when the sound of his name recalled him to himself. It was a well-bred, assured voice, a charming voice, although perhaps a trifle arrogant. Hercule Poirot, rising quickly, looked into the commanding eyes of Linnet Doyle. She wore a wrap of rich purple velvet over her white satin gown and she looked more lovely and more regal than Poirot had imagined possible. "You are Monsieur Hercule Poirot?" said Linnet. It was hardly a question. "At your service, Madame." "You know who I am, perhaps?" "Yes, Madame. I have heard your name. I know exactly who you are." Linnet nodded. That was only what she had expected. She went on, in her charming autocratic manner: "Will you come with me into the card room, Monsieur Poirot? I am very anxious to speak to you." "Certainly, Madame." She led the way into the hotel. He followed. She led him into the deserted card room and motioned him to close the door. Then she sank down on a chair at one of the tables and he sat down opposite her. She plunged straightaway into what she wanted to say. There were no hesitations. Her speech came flowingly. "I have heard a great deal about you, Monsieur Poirot, and I know that you are a very clever man. It happens that I am urgently in need of someone to help me - and I think very possibly that you are the man who could do it." Poirot inclined his head. "You are very amiable, Madame, but you see, I am on holiday, and when I am on holiday I do not take cases." "That could be arranged." It was not offensively said - only with the quiet confidence of a young woman who had always been able to arrange matters to her satisfaction. Linnet Doyle went on: "I am the subject, Monsieur Poirot, of an intolerable persecution. That persecution has got to stop! My own idea was to go to the police about it, but my - my husband seems to think that the police would be powerless to do anything." "Perhaps - if you would explain a little further?" murmured Poirot politely. "Oh, yes, I will do so. The matter is perfectly simple." There was still no hesitation - no faltering. Linnet Doyle had a clear-cut businesslike mind. She only paused a minute so as to present the facts as concisely as possible. "Before I met my husband, he was engaged to a Miss de Bellefort. She was also a friend of mine. My husband broke off his engagement to her - they were not suited in any way. She, I am sorry to say, took it rather hard... I - am very sorry about that - but these things cannot be helped. She made certain - well, threats - to which I paid very little attention, and which, I may say, she has not attempted to carry out. But instead she has adopted the extraordinary course of - of following us about wherever we go." Poirot raised his eyebrows. "Ah - rather an unusual - er - revenge." "Very unusual - and very ridiculous! But also - annoying." She bit her lip. Poirot nodded. "Yes, I can imagine that. You are, I understand, on your honey-moon?" "Yes. It happened - the first time - at Venice. She was there - at Danielli. I thought it just an embarrasing coincidence - that was all. Then we found her on board the boat at Brindisi. We've understood that she was going on to Palestine. We left her, as we thought, on the boat. But - but when we got to Mena House she was there - waiting for us." Poirot nodded. "And now?" "We came up the Nile by boat. I - I was half expecting to find her on board. When she wasn't there I thought she had stopped being so - so childish. But when we got here - she - she was here - waiting." Poirot eyed her keenly for a moment. She was still perfectly composed, but the knuckles of the hand that was gripping the table were white with the force of her grip. He said, "And you are afraid this state of things may continue?" "Yes." She paused. "Of course the whole thing is idiotic! Jacqueline is making herself utterly ridiculous. I am surprised she hasn't got more pride - more dignity." Poirot made a slight gesture. "There are times, Madame, when pride and dignity - they go by the board! There are other - stronger emotions." "Yes, possibly." Linnet spoke impatiently. "But what on earth can she hope to gain by all this?" "It is not always a question of gain, Madame." Something in his tone struck Linnet disagreeably. She flushed and said quickly: "You are right. A discussion of motives is beside the point. The crux of the matter is that this has got to be stopped." "And how do you propose that that should be accomplished, Madame?" Poirot asked. "Well - naturally - my husband and I cannot continue being subjected to this annoyance. There must be some kind of legal address against such a thing." She spoke impatiently. Poirot looked at her thoughtfully as he asked: "Has she threatened you in actual words in public? Used insulting language? Attempted any bodily harm?" "No." "Then, frankly, Madame, I do not see what you can do. If it is a young lady's pleasure to travel in certain places, and those places are the same where you and your husband find yourselves - eh bien - what of it? The air is free to all! There is no question of her forcing herself upon your privacy? It is always in public that these encounters take place?" "You mean there is nothing that I can do about it?" Linnet sounded incredulous. Poirot said placidly: "Nothing at all as far as I can see. Mademoiselle de Bellefort is within her rights." "But - but it is maddening! It is intolerable that I should have to put up with this!" Poirot said drily, "I sympathize with you, Madame - especially as I imagine that you have not often had to put up with things." Linnet was frowning. "There must be some way of stopping it," she murmured. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "You can always leave - move on somewhere else," he suggested. "Then she will follow!" "Very possibly - yes." "It's absurd!" "Precisely." "Anyway, why should I - we - run away? As though - as though -" She stopped. "Exactly, Madame. As though -! It is all there, is it not?" Linnet lifted her head and stared at him. "What do you mean?" Poirot altered his tone. He leant forward; his voice was confidential, appealing. He said very gently, "Why do you mind so much, Madame?" "Why? But it's maddening! Irritating to the last degree! I've told you why!" Poirot shook his head. "Not altogether." "What do you mean?" Linnet asked again. Poirot leant back, folded his arms and spoke in a detached impersonal manner. "Ecoutez, Madame. I will recount to you a little history. It is that one day, a month or two ago, I am dining in a restaurant in London. At the table next to me are two people, a man and a girl. They are very happy, so it seems, very much in love. They talk with confidence of the future. It is not that I listen to what is not meant for me; they are quite oblivious of who hears them and who does not. The man's back is to me, but I can watch the girl's face. It is very intense. She is in love - heart, soul and body - and she is not of those who love lightly and often. With her it is clearly the life and the death. They are engaged to be married, these two; that is what I gather; and they talk of where they shall pass the days of their honeymoon. They plan to go to Egypt." He paused. Linnet said sharply "Well?" Poirot went on: "That is a month or two ago, but the girl's face - I do not forget it. I know that I shall remember if I see it again. And I remember too the man's voice. And I think you can guess, Madame, when it is I see the one and hear the other again. It is here in Egypt. The man is on his honeymoon, yes - but he is on his honeymoon with another woman." Linnet said sharply: "What of it? I had already mentioned the facts." "The facts - yes." "Well then?" Poirot said slowly: "The girl in the restaurant mentioned a friend - a friend who, she was very positive, would not let her down. That friend, I think, was you, Madame." Linnet flushed. "Yes. I told you we had been friends." "And she trusted you?" "Yes." She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip impatiently; then, as Poirot did not seem disposed to speak, she broke out: "Of course the whole thing was very unfortunate. But these things happen, Monsieur Poirot." "Ah! Yes, they happen, Madame." He paused. "You are of the Church of England I presume?" "Yes." Linnet looked slightly bewildered. "Then you have heard portions of the Bible read aloud in church. You have heard of King David and of the rich man who had many flocks and herds and the poor man who had one ewe lamb - and of how the rich man took the poor man's one ewe lamb. That was something that happened, Madame." Linnet sat up. Her eyes flashed angrily. "I see perfectly what you are driving at, Monsieur Poirot! You think, to put it vulgarly, that I stole my friend's young man. Looking at the matter sentimentally - which is, I suppose, the way people of your generation cannot help looking at things - that is possibly true. But the real hard truth is different. I don't deny that Jackie was passionately in love with Simon, but I don't think you take into account that he may not have been equally devoted to her. He was very fond of her, but I think that even before he met me he was beginning to feel that he had made a mistake. Look at it clearly, Monsieur Poirot. Simon discovers that it is I he loves, not Jackie. What is he to do? Be heroically noble and marry a woman he does not care for - and thereby probably ruin three lives - for it is doubtful whether he could make Jackie happy under those circumstances? If he were actually married to her when he met me I agree that it might be his duty to stick to her - though I'm not really sure of that. If one person is unhappy the other suffers too. But an engagement is not really binding. If a mistake has been made, then surely it is better to face the fact before it is too late. I admit that it was very hard on Jackie, and I'm terribly sorry about it - but there it is. It was inevitable." "I wonder." She stared at him. "What do you mean?" "It is very sensible, very logical -all that you say! But it does not explain one thing." "What is that?" "Your own attitude, Madame. See you, this pursuit of you, you might take it in two ways. It might cause you annoyance - yes, or it might stir your pity - that your friend should have been so deeply hurt as to throw all regards for the conventions aside. But that is not the way you react. No, to you this persecution is intolerable - and why? It can be for one reason only - that you feel a sense of guilt." Linnet sprang to her feet. "How dare you? Really, Monsieur Poirot, this is going too far." "But I do dare, Madame! I am going to speak to you quite frankly. I suggest to you that, although you may have endeavoured to gloss over the fact to yourself, you did deliberately set about taking your husband from your friend. I suggest that you felt strongly attracted to him at once. But I suggest that there was a moment when you hesitated, when you realized that there was a choice - that you could refrain or go on. I suggest that the initiative rested with you - not with Monsieur Doyle. You are beautiful, Madame; you are rich; you are clever, intelligent - and you have charm. You could have exercised that charm or you could have restrained it. You had everything, Madame, that life can offer. Your friend's life was bound up in one person. You knew that, but, though you hesitated, you did not hold your hand. You stretched it out and, like the rich man in the Bible, you took the poor man's one ewe lamb." There was a silence. Linnet controlled herself with an effort and said in a cold voice, "All this is quite beside the point!" "No, it is not beside the point. I am explaining to you just why the unexpected appearances of Mademoiselle de Bellefort have upset you so much. It is because, though she may be unwomanly and undignified in what she is doing, you have the inner conviction that she has right on her side." "That's not true!" Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "You refuse to be honest with yourself." "Not at all." Poirot said gently, "I should say, Madame, that you have had a happy life, that you have been generous and kindly in your attitude toward others." "I have tried to be," said Linnet. The impatient anger died out of her face. She spoke simply - almost forlornly. "And that is why the feeling that you have deliberately caused injury to someone upsets you so much, and why you are so reluctant to admit the fact. Pardon me if I have been impertinent, but the psychology, it is the most important fact in a case." Linnet said slowly: "Even supposing what you say were true - and I don't admit it, mind - what can be done about it now? One can't alter the past; one must deal with things as they are." Poirot nodded. "You have the clear brain. Yes, one cannot go back over the past. One must accept things as they are. And sometimes, Madame, that is all one can do - accept the consequences of one's past deeds." "You mean," asked Linnet incredulously, "that I can do nothing - nothing?" "You must have courage, Madame; that is what it seems like to me." Linnet said slowly: "Couldn't you - talk to Jackie - to Miss de Bellefort? Reason with her?" "Yes, I could do that. I will do that if you would like me to do so. But do not expect much result. I fancy that Mademoiselle de Bellefort is so much in the grip of a fixed idea that nothing will turn her from it." "But surely we can do something to extricate ourselves?" "You could, of course, return to England and establish yourself in your own house." "Even then, I suppose, Jacqueline is capable of planting herself in the village, so that I should see her every time I went out of the grounds." "True." "Besides," said Linnet slowly, "I don't think that Simon would agree to run away." "What is his attitude in this?" "He's furious - simply furious." Poirot nodded thoughtfully. Linnet said appealingly, "You will - talk to her?" "Yes, I will do that. But it is my opinion that I shall not be able to accomplish anything." Linnet said violently: "Jackie is extraordinary! One can't tell what she will do!" "You spoke just now of certain threats she had made. Would you tell me what those threats were?" Linnet shrugged her shoulders. "She threatened to - well - kill us both. Jackie can be rather - Latin sometimes." "I see." Poirot's tone was grave. Linnet turned to him appealingly. "You will act for me?" "No, Madame." His tone was firm. "I will not accept a commission from you. I will do what I can in the interests of humanity. That, yes. There is here a situation that is full of difficulty and danger. I will do what I can to clear it up - but I am not very sanguine as to my chance of success." Linnet Doyle said slowly, "But you will not act for me?" "No, Madame," said Hercule Poirot. 第二部 埃及 3 第二部 埃及 3 “白罗先生。” 白罗赶紧站起身。其他人都离去后，他自己一个人还继续留在露台上。他的 名字被人提起时，他正在失神地凝望圆滑、闪亮的黑石。 那是教养好、自信、迷人、略显傲慢的声音。 赫邱里•白罗站起来，接触到林娜•道尔惯于命令别人的目光。她在白色缎 袍外面套一件华贵的紫色丝绒披肩，比白罗所能想像的更为可爱而庄重。 “你是赫邱里•白罗先生？”林娜问。 这几乎不算是个问题。 “随时为你效劳，夫人。” “你知道我是谁？” “是的，夫人。我听过你的名字。我确实知道你是谁。” 林娜点点头。这正是她所期待的回答。她继续以迷人、专断的态度问道： “白罗先生，你愿意跟我到玩牌室吗？我有要事想跟你谈。” “当然可以，夫人。” 她领先走进酒店。他随后。她引他进入空无一人的玩牌室，示意他把门关 上，然后他们对坐在一张桌子旁。 她毫不迟疑，直接谈到正题。她的话语滔滔不绝。 “我听说很多有关你的事，白罗先生，知道你是个非常聪明的人。恰巧我有 急事需要人帮助——我想你是最适当的人选。” 白罗头往前倾。 “夫人，你真客气。但你知道，我正在度假，度假时候我是不接案子的。” “这点可以商量。” 这句话说来一点也不会冒犯人——只流露出一个年轻女士的冷静自信，她总 是能够把事情处置得称心如意。 林娜•道尔继续说：“白罗先生，我成为一项难以忍受的迫害的目标。这种 迫害必须终止。我本想向警方举报，但我——我先生认为警方是没有能力做到 的。” “也许——你愿意更进一层地解释？”白罗有礼貌地低语道。 “哦，当然，我要。事情很简单。” 仍然没有犹豫，没有支吾其辞。林娜•道尔有一颗精明的生意头脑。她只停 顿一分钟，思索怎样把事情说明清楚。 “在我遇见我先生之前，他已经和杜贝尔弗小姐订婚了。她也是我的一个朋 友。我先生解除了和她的婚约——他们全然不配。她，原谅我这么说，太在意这 件事了。这件事我很抱歉，但事情却不得不如此演变。她——嗯，威胁过我们 ——我根本不放在心上，她也不可能办到。然而她却采取别一种奇特的方式—— 我们走到哪里她就跟到哪里。” 白罗扬扬眉。 “哦，相当特别的报复手段。” “十分不寻常，十分荒谬！也十分恼人！” 她咬咬嘴唇。 白罗点点头。 “是的，我可以想像。你们正在度蜜月？” “是的。事情——第一次——发生在威尼斯。她在丹尼里酒店出现了。我认 为那只是巧遇。很尴尬——不过也没什么。然后我们在意大利布林狄希城登船时 又看到她。我们——我们晓得她正要前往巴勒斯坦。我们离开她，正如我们所想 的，上了船。但是——但是当我们来到孟娜之家，她已经在那儿——等我们。” 白罗点点头。 “现在？” “我们搭乘尼罗河的船只。登船时我——我几乎希望能看到她。她不在那 儿，我想她大概已经停止这种幼稚的举动。但当我们抵达这里——她——她已经 在这里——等待。” 白罗锐利地注视她一会儿。她的举止仍旧完美无缺，只是指关节因用力按在 桌上而泛白。 他说：“你害怕这种事会继续下去？” “是的，”她停顿一下，“当然这整件事是愚蠢透顶！贾克琳把她自己弄得 奇怪极了。我很惊讶她没有索求更多自负——更多自尊。” 白罗微微做个手势。 “夫人，自负和自尊已经过时了，为人忽略了！有另外——更强烈的冲动。” “可能吧。”林娜不耐烦地说，“但她希望藉此‘得到’什么呢？” “并不总是得到什么的问题，夫人。” 他的语调使她颇感不悦。她脸红一下，迅即说：“你是对的。讨论动机确是 扯离正题了。当前最急迫的是这件事必须停止。” “你想这件事该如何处置呢，夫人？”白罗问。 “嗯——自然——我先生和我不能再继续被卷入这项恼人的事件中。必须以 某种合法的补救办法来阻止这件事。”她不耐烦地说道。 白罗若有所思地察看她，接着问：“她曾公开威胁你吗？使用侮辱的字眼？ 企图伤害你的身体？” “没有。” “这样，坦白说来，夫人，我看不出你能采取什么行动。一个年轻女郎高兴 到某些地方去玩，刚好和你以及你先生旅游的地点雷同——这有什么？空气大家 都可以自由呼吸。她没有理由为了怕冒犯你们的私生活而强迫自己改换行程。而 且这种巧遇到处在发生哩！” “你的意思是这种事我一点办法也没有？” 林娜口气有点不信。 白罗平静地说：“就我所知，贾克琳•杜贝尔弗有权利这样做，你没有对 策。” “但——但这件事疯狂透顶，这是无法忍受的事而我却必须忍受！” 白罗冷淡地说：“我同情你，夫人——特别是我猜想你很少忍受不顺意的事 的。” 林娜眉头深锁。 “必须想一些办法阻止它。”她喃喃而语。 白罗耸耸肩。 “你可以离开，转到别的什么地方。”他建议道。 “然后她又要跟踪！” “非常可能——不错。” “真荒唐！” “确是如此！” “不管怎么说，干嘛我——我们——要跑开呢？仿若……” 她停口不语。 “夫人，你说得很正确。仿若——！全部的关键就在这里，不是吗？” 林娜抬起头，瞪着他。 “你什么意思？” 白罗改变了腔调。他身子前倾，声音里饱含着推心置腹与请求之意。他温和 地问：“夫人，你为什么顾虑这么多？” “为什么？这件事不是疯狂透顶吗？令人气愤之极！我已经告诉你为什么 了！” 白罗摇摇头。 “不止于此。” “你什么意思？”林娜再度问道。 白罗靠回椅背，双臂交叉，以超然的、不带个人感情的语气说道：“夫人， 我要提醒你一段小插曲。一两个月以前，有一天我在伦敦一家餐厅用膳。我邻桌 坐了两个人，一男一女。他们神情愉快，似乎正在热恋中。他们充满信心地谈着 未来。不是我故意要倾听他们谈话的内容，而是他们全不顾忌别人是否在听。那 男的背对我，不过我可以看见那女郎的脸，热情洋溢，沐浴在爱河中——以心、 灵魂及肉体——她不是常在闹恋爱、轻佻的女孩。很显然地，她把这次的恋爱视 为生死大事。他俩已经订婚，准备要结婚。我的印象就是这些，另外他们也提到 要去哪里度蜜月。他们计划去埃及。” 他停顿下来。林娜机敏地问：“怎样呢？” 白罗继续说：“这是一两个月以前发生的事，但那女郎的脸——我始终记 得。我知道一旦我再看见它我会记起来的。我也认得那男子的声音。夫人，我想 你猜得到，我什么时候又看见那女子，又听见那男人的声音了。就在这儿——埃 及。不错，那男子是在度蜜月，不过是跟另一个女子了。” 林娜机敏地说：“这有什么？我已经说明实情了。” “不错，是实情。” “又怎样了？” 白罗缓缓而言：“在餐厅里那女郎提到一个朋友——说那朋友做事很决断， 在必要时一定不会不帮助她。我猜那位朋友就是你，夫人。” 林娜面色羞赧。 “是的，我告诉过你我们以前是朋友。” “她很信任你？” “不错。” 她犹豫一下，不耐烦地咬咬樱唇，看看白罗没有意思要说话，她就插言道： “当然这整件事是异常不幸的。但事情终究发生了，白罗先生。” “哦，是的，事情的确发生了，夫人。”他停顿一下，“你是隶属英国教会 的，我猜？” “是的。”林娜一副迷惑不解的表情。 “在教堂里高声朗读圣经章节的场面你该了解。你也该听过大卫王里的一则 故事：有一个拥有许多家禽和兽群的富人跟一个只拥有一只母羊的穷人——后来 富人怎样攫夺了穷人的母羊。这就是事情发生的经过，夫人。” 林娜立起身，眼睛因生气而发红。 “我完全了解你的意向所在了，白罗先生！你认为，说得粗俗点，我偷了我 友人的男朋友。用感性去看待事情——我认为那是你们这代不得不用的方式—— 这可能趋近真实。但真正的、牢不可破的真理却全然不是这么回事。我不否认贾 姬是死心塌地在爱希蒙，但我不认为你曾考虑到，希蒙也许并没有对她投注相等 的感情。他很喜欢她，但我认为即在他遇见我之前他已开始感到他犯了一项错 误。看清一点，白罗先生。希蒙发现，他爱的是我而不是贾姬。他该怎么做呢？ 该像英雄般娶一个他不在意的女人——因而可能伤害三个生命——在此种情况下 他是否能让贾姬过得快乐是很有疑问的。倘若他遇见我时他真的已经娶了她，那 我同意他应该对她忠心——这点我则不敢确定。一个人不快乐，另一个人也会受 苦。何况订婚并无真正的束缚力。错误既未造成，在时犹未晚之前，最好能面对 现实。我了解这点贾姬很难办到，我也觉得非常抱歉——但世事就是如此。这件 事必定会发生的。” “我怀疑。” 她瞪住他： “你什么意思？” “你所说的一切，很富于感情，很合理！但有一件事无法解释。” “什么事？” “你自己的态度，夫人。这种追逐对你而言，不是惹人厌烦，就是激起你的 同情——你的朋友伤心透顶以致不顾世俗的一切顾忌。然而你的反应不是这样。 不，对你而言，这种迫害只是难于忍受。为什么？只有一个理由——你有犯罪 感。” 林娜猛然立起脚跟道：“你怎么敢如此狂言？白罗先生，你实在离题太远 了。” “我就是敢这么说，夫人，我会很坦白地告诉你。虽然你也许曾竭力对自己 蒙蔽事实，但我跟你说，你确是精心策划从你友人的手中夺得你的丈夫。你对他 一见钟情。你犹豫过，也明白这中间有所选择——放手或继续夺取。我认为是你 先采取主动——而不是道尔先生。夫人，你漂亮、富有、聪明、机灵，又迷人。 你可以用你的魅力，你也可以收敛不用。你有生命所能提供的一切。你友人的生 命却只系于一人身上。你了解这些，虽然你曾犹豫，但你不放手。你伸出魔掌， 像圣经上的富人，把穷人的母羊夺走了。” 沉默笼罩着他们两人。林娜努力克制自己，以冷淡的口吻说道：“这些想法 离题太远了！” “不，不离题。我只在跟你解释为什么杜贝尔弗小姐的突然出现会使你如此 烦躁不安。她的行为也许不算高贵，但你内心认为她是有权这样做的。” “这不是事实。” 白罗耸耸肩。 “你拒绝自我坦白。” “根本不是这样。” 白罗温和地说：“夫人，我向你进言，倘若你能够宽厚、大度待人，你的生 活就会有快乐。” “我会试试。”林娜说。她脸上的不耐烦与气愤已经消逝。她的语调单纯， 几近绝望了。 “这就是为什么你有意伤害一个人后自感不安以及为什么你不肯承认这个事 实的原因。我的言辞倘有冒犯之处，请你原谅，但就心理分析的观点，这才是一 个个案的最主要部分。” 林娜慢慢说道：“即使你所说属实——我不承认——现在又能怎样呢？人不 能改变过去，人必须正视现实。” 白罗点点头。 “你的头脑很清明。是的，人不能再回到过去，人必须接受事情的现状。有 时候，夫人，这就是人所能做的——接受既往行为的后果。” “你的意思是，”林娜不肯相信地问道，“我不能做任何事——任何事？” “你必须勇敢承担，夫人。看来只有这样。” 林娜慢慢说道：“你不能——跟贾姬——跟杜贝尔弗小姐谈？向她说明？” “是的，我可以跟她谈。你如果希望我去做我就照办。但不要寄希望太大。 我猜想杜贝尔弗小姐是个极其固执的人，任何人都无法左右她的观念。” “但我们自然可以做一些事使自己脱困？” “当然，你可以回到英国，在自己的家园定居下来。” “即至那时，我猜想，贾克琳也会到乡间安身落户，因而每次我一走出家园 就会看见她。” “你猜想得不错。” “此外，”林娜缓言道，“我不认为希蒙会同意我们两人跑开。” “这件事他的态度如何？” “他很愤怒——只是愤怒。” 白罗若有所思地点点头。 林娜恳求他说：“你会——跟她谈？” “我会。但在我的看法里，我不可能达到什么目的。” 林娜激动地说：“贾姬这个人非常特别！任何人都无法说动她去做什么。” “你刚才提过她曾威胁你们。你肯告诉我她威胁什么吗？” 林娜耸耸肩。 “她威胁——嗯，要杀死我们两人，贾姬的性格有时候很——拉丁化的。” “我懂。”白罗的音调充满悲哀。 林娜恳求似地转向他。 “你愿为我工作吗？” “不，夫人。”他的语气坚定。“我不愿接受你的雇请。基于人道的立场我 愿做我所能做到的。目前的情势充满困难与危险。我会尽力去澄清这件事，但能 否成功我没有十足的把握。” 林娜•道尔一字一字说道：“你愿为我办事吗？” “不，夫人。”赫邱里•白罗回答。 Chapter 4 Chapter 4 Hercule Poirot found Jacqueline de Bellefort sitting on the rocks directly overlooking the Nile. He had felt fairly certain that she had not retired for the night and that he would find her somewhere about the grounds of the hotel. She was sitting with her chin cupped in the palms of her hands, and she did not turn her head or look round at the sound of his approach. "Mademoiselle de Bellefort?" asked Poirot. "You permit that I speak to you for a little moment?" Jacqueline turned her head slightly. A faint smile played round her lips. "Certainly," she said. "You are Monsieur Hercule Poirot, I think? Shall I make a guess? You are acting for Mrs Doyle, who has promised you a large fee if you succeed in your mission." Poirot sat down on the bench near her. "Your assumption is partially correct," he said, smiling. "I have just come from Madame Doyle, but I am not accepting any fee from her and, strictly speaking, I am not acting for her." "Oh!" Jacqueline studied him attentively. "Then why have you come?" she asked abruptly. Hercule Poirot's reply was in the form of another question. "Have you ever seen me before, Mademoiselle?" She shook her head. "No, I do not think so." "Yet I have seen you. I sat next to you once at Chez Ma Tante. You were there with Monsieur Simon Doyle." A strange mask-like expression came over the girl's face. She said, "I remember that evening..." "Since then," said Poirot, "many things have occurred." "As you say, many things have occurred." Her voice was hard with an undertone of desperate bitterness. "Mademoiselle, I speak as a friend. Bury your dead!" She looked startled. "What do you mean?" "Give up the past! Turn to the future! What is done is done. Bitterness will not undo it." "I'm sure that that would suit dear Linnet admirably." Poirot made a gesture. "I am not thinking of her at this moment! I am thinking of you. You have suffered - yes - but what you are doing now will only prolong that suffering." She shook her head. "You're wrong. There are times when I almost enjoy myself." "And that, Mademoiselle, is the worst of all." She looked up swiftly. "You're not stupid," she said. She added slowly, "I believe you mean to be kind." "Go home, Mademoiselle. You are young; you have brains; the world is before you." Jacqueline shook her head slowly. "You don't understand - or you won't. Simon is my world." "Love is not everything, Mademoiselle," Poirot said gently. "It is only when we are young that we think it is." But the girl still shook her head. "You don't understand." She shot him a quick look. "You know all about it, of course? You've talked to Linnet? And you were in the restaurant that night... Simon and I loved each other." "I know that you loved him." She was quick to perceive the inflection of his words. She repeated with emphasis: "We loved each other. And I loved Linnet... I trusted her. She was my best friend. All her life Linnet has been able to buy everything she wanted. She's never denied herself anything. When she saw Simon she wanted him - and she just took him." "And he allowed himself to be - bought?" Jacqueline shook her dark head slowly. "No, it's not quite like that. If it were, I shouldn't be here now... You're suggesting that Simon isn't worth caring for...! If he'd married Linnet for her money, that would be true. But he didn't marry her for her money. It's more complicated than that. There's such a thing as glamour, Monsieur Poirot. And money helps that. Linnet had an 'atmosphere,' you see. She was the queen of a kingdom - the young princess - luxurious to her fingertips. It was like a stage setting. She had the world at her feet, one of the richest and most sought after peers in England wanting to marry her. And she stoops instead to the obscure Simon Doyle... Do you wonder it went to his head?" She made a sudden gesture. "Look at the moon up there. You see her very plainly, don't you? She's very real. But if the sun were to shine you wouldn't be able to see her at all. It was rather like that. I was the moon... When the sun came out, Simon couldn't see me any more... He was dazzled. He couldn't see anything but the sun - Linnet." She paused and then went on: "So you see it was - glamour. She went to his head. And then there's her complete assurance - her habit of command. She's so sure of herself that she makes other people sure. Simon was weak, perhaps; but then he's a very simple person. He would have loved me and me only if Linnet hadn't come along and snatched him up in her golden chariot. And I know - I know perfectly - that he wouldn't ever have fallen in love with her if she hadn't made him." "That is what you think - yes." "I know it. He loved me - he will always love me." Poirot said, "Even now?" A quick answer seemed to rise to her lips, then be stifled. She looked at Poirot and a deep burning colour spread over her face. She looked away; her head dropped down. She said in a low stifled voice: "Yes, I know. He hates me now. Yes, hates me... He'd better be careful!" With a quick gesture she fumbled in a little silk bag that lay on the seat. Then she held out her hand. On the palm of it was a small pearl-handled pistol - a dainty toy it looked. "Nice little thing, isn't it?" she said. "Looks too foolish to be real, but it is real! One of those bullets would kill a man or a woman. And I'm a good shot." She smiled a faraway, reminiscent smile. "When I went home as a child with my mother, to South Carolina, my grandfather taught me to shoot. He was the old-fashioned kind that believes in shooting - especially where honour is concerned. My father, too, he fought several duels as a young man. He was a good swordsman. He killed a man once. That was over a woman. So you see, Monsieur Poirot -" she met his eyes squarely - "I've hot blood in me! I bought this when it first happened. I meant to kill one or other of them - the trouble was I couldn't decide which. Both of them would have been unsatisfactory. If I'd thought Linnet would have looked afraid - but she's got plenty of physical courage. She can stand up to physical action. And then I thought I'd - wait! That appealed to me more and more. After all, I could do it any time; it would be more fun to wait and - think about it! And then this idea came to my mind - to follow them! Whenever they arrived at some faraway spot and were together and happy, they should see me! And it worked! It got Linnet badly - in a way nothing else could have done! It got right under her skin... That was when I began to enjoy myself. And there's nothing she can do about it! I'm always perfectly pleasant and polite! There's not a word they can take hold of! It's poisoning everything - everything - for them." Her laugh rang out, clear and silvery. Poirot grasped her arm. "Be quiet. Quiet, I tell you." Jacqueline looked at him. "Well?" she asked. Her smile was definitely challenging. "Mademoiselle, I beseech you, do not do what you are doing." "Leave dear Linnet alone, you mean?" "It is deeper than that. Do not open your heart to evil." Her lips fell apart; a look of bewilderment came into her eyes. Poirot went on gravely: "Because - if you do - evil will come... Yes, very surely evil will come... It will enter in and make its home within you, and after a little while it will no longer be possible to drive it out." Jacqueline stared at him. Her glance seemed to waver, to flicker uncertainly. She said, "I - don't know -" Then she cried out defiantly, "You can't stop me." "No," said Hercule Poirot. "I cannot stop you." His voice was sad. "Even if I were to - kill her, you couldn't stop me." "No - not if you were willing to pay the price." Jacqueline de Bellefort laughed. "Oh, I'm not afraid of death! What have I got to live for, after all? I suppose you believe it's very wrong to kill a person who has injured you - even if they've taken away everything you had in the world?" Poirot said steadily: "Yes, Mademoiselle. I believe it is the unforgivable offence - to kill." Jacqueline laughed again. "Then you ought to approve of my present scheme of revenge; because, you see, as long as it works, I shan't use that pistol... But I'm afraid - yes, afraid sometimes - it all goes red - I want to hurt her - to stick a knife into her, to put my dear little pistol close against her head and then - just press with my finger - Oh!" The exclamation startled him. "What is it, Mademoiselle?" She had turned her head and was staring into the shadows. "Someone - standing over there. He's gone now." Hercule Poirot looked round sharply. The place seemed quite deserted. "There seems no one here but ourselves, Mademoiselle." He got up. "In any case I have said all I came to say. I wish you good-night." Jacqueline got up too. She said almost pleadingly, "You do understand - that I can't do what you ask me to do?" Poirot shook his head. "No - for you could do it! There is always a moment! Your friend Linnet - there was a moment, too, in which she could have held her hand... She let it pass by. And if one does that, then one is committed to the enterprise and there comes no second chance." "No second chance..." said Jacqueline de Bellefort. She stood brooding for a moment; then she lifted her head defiantly. "Good-night, Monsieur Poirot." He shook his head sadly and followed her up the path to the hotel. 第二部 埃及 4 第二部 埃及 4 白罗在尼罗河畔的石堆中找到了贾克琳•杜贝尔弗。 她正坐着发呆，双手托腮。听到白罗走近的脚步声，也没有回过头来。 “杜贝尔弗小姐吗？”白罗问道，“可不可以打扰你几分钟？” 贾克琳微微回过头，嘴角浮现一丝微笑。 “当然可以，”她说，“你是赫邱里•白罗先生，我想。要我猜测一下吗？ 你为道尔夫人工作，只要你完成任务，她会支付你一大笔酬劳。” 白罗在她身旁的长凳坐下。 “你的推测只有部分正确，”他笑道，“我刚从她那里来，但我没有接受她 的任何支付，简言之，我不是为她工作。” “哦！”贾克琳注意地审视他。 “那你来这里干什么？”她猝然问道。 白罗没有正面回答她。 “你见过我吗，小姐？” 她摇摇头道：“我想没有。” “但我却见过你。有一次在‘在姑妈家’餐厅，我就坐在你的邻座。当时你 跟希蒙•道尔先生一道。” 一种奇异、面具般的表情流过少女面庞。她说：“我记得当天晚上——” “自从那晚以后，”白罗说，“发生了很多事情。” “对，正如你所说，发生了很多事情。” 她的声音冷冷的，隐藏着绝望与苦涩。 “小姐，我以朋友的身分向你进言：埋葬你的过去吧！” 贾克琳震动了一下。 “你是什么意思？” “忘掉过去！面对未来！过去的既已成为事实，痛苦也无法挽救了。” “我确信这句话同时适用于可爱而可敬的林娜。” 白罗摇摇手。 “我这时想的不是她，我是为你设想。你受过苦——不错——但你现在所做 的只能延长你的痛苦。” 贾克琳摇摇头。 “你错了。有些时候，我简直觉得这是一种享受。” “这是最糟的一点。” 贾克琳迅速抬起头。 “你不笨，”她说。随后又加了一句，“你的用意也许是出于善心的。” “回家吧，小姐！你年轻，有头脑，整个世界都属于你。” 贾克琳缓缓地摇着头。 “你不会明白。希蒙就是我的世界。” “小姐，爱情不是一切，”白罗温和地说，“只有当我们年轻的时候，才有 这种想法。” 少女仍然摇头。 “你不了解。”她匆匆扫了白罗一眼，“你知道一切？当然，你跟林娜谈 过。你那晚就在餐厅内……希蒙和我是相爱的。” “我知道你爱他。” 她对白罗所用的字眼，反应敏锐。她加重语气地重复道：“我们彼此相爱。 我也爱林娜……我信任她。她是我最要好的朋友。在她的一生中，林娜总能够买 到她要的东西。她从来没有失望过。当她看到希蒙，她就想要他——就这样拿走 了他。” “而他就让自己给——买去了？” 贾克琳缓缓摇动她一头乌发。 “不，并不是这样。假若是这样，我现在就不会到这儿来……你暗示希蒙不 值得爱……假若他是为了钱而要林娜，那的确不值得我爱。但他并不是这样。事 情更复杂许多。白罗先生，你知道，有种东西叫‘魅力’，而金钱更助长了它的 吸引力。林娜拥有一种‘气派’，你知道。她是一国的王后或年轻的公主，享尽 豪华富贵。她把世界踏在脚下。英国最富有、最令人倾倒的贵族热烈地追求她； 而她竟倾心于藉藉无名的希蒙•道尔身上……你能想像希蒙的感受吗？”她突然 指了一下。“看那天上的月亮。你看见月色很美吧？这一刻她非常真实。但只要 太阳一照，她就立即隐匿无踪。我们的事就像这样。我是月亮……太阳一出来， 希蒙就再也看不到我了。” 她顿了一顿，再往下说：“全是魅力在作祟。它令希蒙失去理智。完全是她 在支配——她颐指气使的习性。她太有自信，也影响别人有信心。或许希蒙是脆 弱的，但他是个单纯的人。他很爱我，只爱我一个，倘若不是林娜的金马车闯进 来把他夺去。我更晓得，倘若不是她追求希蒙，希蒙一定不会爱上她的。” “那只是你自己的想法。” “我非常确信：他爱我，他会永远爱我。” 白罗说：“即使是现在？” 贾克琳的嘴唇动了一下，似欲随口回答，却又沉静下来。她瞪着白罗，面上 烧得通红，她别过脸去，垂下头，以低沉的语调说：“不错，我知道，他现在恨 我。是的，恨我……他最好留心一点！” 她迅速在椅上的一个小银丝包内翻寻。然后伸出手。握在掌上的是一把柄上 镶有珍珠的小手枪——看来像一把精致的玩具枪。 “很不错的小东西吧？”她说，“看来很孩子气，不像是真的，但它却是把 真枪！里面一发子弹可以杀死一个人。我是个射击能手。”她喜孜孜回忆道， “幼年时我与母亲回到南加州，祖父教我射击。他是那种相信射击的老式人—— 特别是名誉攸关的时候。我父亲年轻时也跟人决斗过几次，他是优秀的剑士，有 一次他杀死过一个人。这是一个女人的过去。所以你知道，白罗先生——”她坦 率地接受他的目光，“我的内心奔腾着热血！我一知悉他们的勾当，我就去买了 这玩意儿。我计划杀掉他们之中一个，只是还未决定是哪一个。杀掉两个可不合 我的心意。尽管林娜害怕，她却有反抗的勇气。于是我想，我会等待机会！我什 么时候动手都可以，慢慢来更增加不少乐趣。接着我又有了新主意：就是跟踪他 们！每当他俩抵达一个地方，正在兴致高昂的时候，我就会出现！没有什么方法 比这更好了！林娜简直被弄得精神崩溃……我开始觉得这是一种享受……而她竟 然一点办法也没有！我每次都很礼貌地对待他们，而他们却连一句藉口都抓不 到！这简直破坏了他们的一切一切！”贾克琳大笑起来，笑声清脆响亮。 白罗抓住她的双臂。 “冷静点，请冷静一点。” “嗯？”她问道，微笑中流露出明显的挑衅。 “小姐，我恳求你，赶快停止你所做的一切！” “你是说，别骚扰亲爱的林娜？” “比这更重要的是，别让邪恶进入你的心房。” 她的双唇微张，目光似乎犹疑不定。 “我——不——知道——”她说，接着坚决地叫道：“你没法子阻止我。” “不错，”白罗说，“我的确阻止不了你。”他的声音是悲哀的。 “即使我要——杀她，你也不能阻止我。” “不——即使你心甘情愿付出代价。” 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗纵声大笑。 “哦，我不怕死！事情落到这步田地，我活着做什么？我想，你认为杀一个 伤害过你的人是大大的错误，就算这人抢走了你在世上所有的一切？” 白罗沉着地说：“不错。我相信杀人是不可饶恕的罪行。” 贾克琳再度大笑。 “那么你应该赞成我现在所采取的报复行动，只要这样继续下去，我就用不 着这把手枪……但我恐怕——真的，我恐怕——将会有流血事件——我渴望伤害 她，把刀子戳进她的身体，把小手枪靠近她的头，然后——扣动扳机——噢！” 白罗吓了一跳。 “什么东西，小姐？” 她转过头，瞪着黑暗深处。 “有人——站在那儿。现在跑了。” 白罗审慎地四周察看。 “除了我们之外，这儿似乎没有别的人。”白罗站了起来。“无论如何，我 要说的已经说过了。晚安！” 贾克琳也站了起来，用近乎乞求的语气说：“你真的明白——我为什么不能 依你的话去做吗？” 白罗摇摇头。 “不——因为你一定做得到！总是有那么一刹那……你的朋友林娜——也有 那么一刹那，她可以放手……她让机会过去了。失去一次机会，就没有第二次。” “没有第二次……”贾克琳•杜贝尔弗喃喃道。她站着沉思了一会儿，然后 挑衅地抬起头。 “晚安，白罗先生。” 白罗叹息地摇摇头，随着她踏上回酒店的小径。 Chapter 5 Chapter 5 On the following morning Simon Doyle joined Hercule Poirot as the latter was leaving the hotel to walk down to the town. "Good-morning, Monsieur Poirot." "Good-morning, Monsieur Doyle." "You going to the town? Mind if I stroll along with you?" "But certainly. I shall be delighted." The two men walked side by side, passed out through the gateway and turned into the cool shade of the gardens. Then Simon removed his pipe from his mouth and said, "I understand, Monsieur Poirot, that my wife had a talk with you last night?" "That is so." Simon Doyle was frowning a little. He belonged to that type of men of action who find it difficult to put thoughts into words and who have trouble in expressing themselves clearly. "I'm glad of one thing," he said. "You've made her realize that we're more or less powerless in the matter." "There is clearly no legal redress," agreed Poirot. "Exactly. Linnet didn't seem to understand that." He gave a faint smile. "Linnet's been brought up to believe that every annoyance can automatically be referred to the police." "It would be pleasant if such were the case," said Poirot. There was a pause. Then Simon said suddenly, his face going very red as he spoke: "It's - it's infamous that she should be victimized like this! She's done nothing! If anyone likes to say I behaved like a cad, they're welcome to say so! I suppose I did. But I won't have the whole thing visited on Linnet. She had nothing whatever to do with it." Poirot bowed his head gravely but said nothing. "Did you - er - have you - talked to Jackie - Miss de Bellefort?" "Yes, I have spoken with her." "Did you get her to see sense?" "I'm afraid not." Simon broke out irritably: "Can't she see what an ass she's making of herself? Doesn't she realize that no decent woman would behave as she is doing? Hasn't she got any pride or self-respect?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "She has only a sense of - injury, shall we say?" he replied. "Yes, but damn it all, man, decent girls don't behave like this! I admit I was entirely to blame. I treated her damned badly and all that. I should quite understand her being thoroughly fed up with me and never wishing to see me again. But this following me round - it's - it's indecent! Making a show of herself! What the devil does she hope to get out of it?" "Perhaps - revenge!" "Idiotic! I'd really understand better if she'd tried to do something melodramatic - like taking a pot shot at me." "You think that would be more like her - yes?" "Frankly I do. She's hot-blooded - and she's got an ungovernable temper. I shouldn't be surprised at her doing anything while she was in a white-hot rage. But this spying business -" He shook his head. "It is more subtle - yes! It is intelligent!" Doyle stared at him. "You don't understand. It's playing hell with Linnet's nerves." "And yours?" Simon looked at him with momentary surprise. "Me? I'd like to wring the little devil's neck." "There is nothing, then, of the old feeling left?" "My dear Monsieur Poirot - how can I put it? It's like the moon when the sun comes out. You don't know it's there any more. When once I'd met Linnet - Jackie didn't exist." "Tiens, c'est drфle зa!" muttered Poirot. "I beg your pardon." "Your simile interested me, that is all." Again flushing, Simon said: "I suppose Jackie told you that I'd only married Linnet for her money? Well, that's a damned lie! I wouldn't marry any woman for money! What Jackie doesn't understand is that it's difficult for a fellow when - when - a woman cares for him as she cared for me." Poirot looked up sharply. Simon blundered on, "It - it - sounds a caddish thing to say, but Jackie was too fond of me!" "Un qui aime et un qui se laisse aimer," murmured Poirot. "Eh? What's that you say? You see, a man doesn't want to feel that a woman cares more for him than he does for her." His voice grew warm as he went on. "He doesn't want to feel owned body and soul. It's that damned possessive attitude! This man is mine - he belongs to me! That's the sort of thing I can't stick - no man could stick! He wants to get away - to get free. He wants to own his woman; he doesn't want her to own him." He broke off, and with fingers that trembled slightly he lit a cigarette. Poirot said, "And it is like that that you felt with Mademoiselle Jacqueline?" "Eh?" Simon stared and then admitted: "Er - yes - well, yes, as a matter of fact I did. She doesn't realize that, of course. And it's not the sort of thing I could ever tell her. But I was feeling restless - and then I met Linnet, and she just swept me off my feet! I'd never seen anything so lovely. It was all so amazing. Everyone kowtowing to her - and then her singling out a poor chump like me." His tone held boyish awe and astonishment. "I see," said Poirot. He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes - I see." "Why can't Jackie take it like a man?" demanded Simon resentfully. A very faint smile twitched Poirot's upper lip. "Well, you see, Monsieur Doyle, to begin with she is not a man." "No, no - but I meant take it like a good sport! After all, you've got to take your medicine when it comes to you. The fault's all mine, I admit. But there it is! If you no longer care for a girl, it's simply madness to marry her. And, now that I see what Jackie's really like and the lengths she is likely to go to, I feel I've had rather a lucky escape." "The lengths she is likely to go to," Poirot repeated thoughtfully. "Have you an idea, Monsieur Doyle, what those lengths are?" Simon frowned, then shook his head. "No - at least, what do you mean?" "You know she carries a pistol about with her." Simon looked at him, rather startled. "I don't believe she'll use that - now. She might have done so earlier. But I believe it's got past that. She's just spiteful now - trying to take it out of us both." Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "It may be so," he said doubtfully. "It's Linnet I'm worrying about," declared Simon, somewhat unnecessarily. "I quite realize that," said Poirot. "I'm not really afraid of Jackie doing any melodramatic shooting stuff, but this spying and following business has absolutely got Linnet on the raw. I'll tell you the plan I've made, and perhaps you can suggest improvements on it. To begin with, I've announced fairly openly that we're going to stay here ten days. But tomorrow the steamer Karnak starts from Shellвl to Wвdi Halfa. I propose to book passages on that under an assumed name. Tomorrow we'll go on an excursion to Philae. Linnet's maid can take the luggage. We'll join the Karnak at Shellвl. When Jackie finds we don't come back, it will be too late - we shall be well on our way. She'll assume we have given her the slip and gone back to Cairo. In fact I might even bribe the porter to say so. Inquiry at the tourist offices won't help her, because our names won't appear. How does that strike you?" "It is well imagined, yes. And suppose she waits here till you return?" "We may not return. We could go on to Kharthoum and then perhaps by air to Kenya. She can't follow us all over the globe." "No; there must come a time when financial reasons forbid. She has very little money, I understand." Simon looked at him with admiration. "That's clever of you. Do you know, I hadn't thought of that. Jackie's as poor as they make them." "And yet she has managed to follow you so far?" Simon said doubtfully: "She's got a small income, of course. Something under two hundred a year, I imagine. I suppose - yes, I suppose she must have sold out the capital to do what she's doing." "So that the time will come when she has exhausted her resources and is quite penniless?" "Yes." Simon wriggled uneasily. The thought seemed to make him uncomfortable. Poirot watched him attentively. "No," he remarked. "No, it is not a pretty thought. Simon said rather angrily, "Well, I can't help it!" Then he added, "What do you think of my plan?" "I think it may work, yes. But it is, of course, a retreat." Simon flushed. "You mean, we're running away? Yes, that's true... But Linnet -" Poirot watched him, then gave a short nod. "As you say, it may be the best way. But remember, Mademoiselle de Bellefort has brains." Simon said sombrely: "Someday, I feel, we've got to make a stand and fight it out. Her attitude isn't reasonable." "Reasonable, mon Dieu!" cried Poirot. "There's no reason why women shouldn't behave like rational beings," Simon asserted stolidly. Poirot said drily: "Quite frequently they do. That is even more upsetting!" He added: "I, too, shall be on the Karnak. It is part of my itinerary." "Oh!" Simon hesitated, then said, choosing his words with some embarrassment: "That isn't - isn't - er - on our account in any way? I mean I wouldn't like to think -" Poirot disabused him quickly. "Not at all. It was all arranged before I left London. I always make my plans well in advance." "You don't just move on from place to place as the fancy takes you? Isn't the latter really pleasanter?" "Perhaps. But to succeed in life every detail should be arranged well beforehand." Simon laughed and said, "That is how the more skilful murderer behaves, I suppose." "Yes - though I must admit that the most brilliant crime I remember and one of the most difficult to solve was committed on the spur of the moment." Simon said boyishly, "You must tell us something about your cases on board the Karnak." "No, no; that would be to talk - what do you call it - the shop." "Yes, but your kind of shop is rather thrilling. Mrs Allerton thinks so. She's longing to get a chance to cross-question you." "Mrs Allerton? That is the charming grey-haired woman who has such a devoted son?" "Yes. She'll be on the Karnak too." "Does she know that you - ?" "Certainly not," said Simon with emphasis. "Nobody knows. I've gone on the principle that it's better not to trust anybody." "An admirable sentiment - and one which I always adopt. By the way, the third member of your party, the tall grey-haired man -" "Pennington?" "Yes. He is travelling with you?" Simon said grimly: "Not very usual on a honeymoon, you were thinking? Pennington is Linnet's American trustee. We ran across him by chance in Cairo." "Ah vraiment! You permit a question? She is of age, Madame your wife?" Simon looked amused. "She isn't actually twenty-one yet - but she hadn't got to ask anyone's consent before marrying me. It was the greatest surprise to Pennington. He left New York on the Carmanic two days before Linnet's letter got there telling him of our marriage, so he knew nothing about it." "The Carmanic -" murmured Poirot. "It was the greatest surprise to him when we ran into him at Shepheard's in Cairo." "That was indeed the coincidence!" "Yes, and we found that he was coming on this Nile trip - so naturally we foregathered; couldn't have done anything else decently. Besides that, it's been - well, a relief in some ways." He looked embarrassed again. "You see, Linnet's been all strung up - expecting Jackie to turn up anywhere and everywhere. While we were alone together, the subject kept coming up. Andrew Pennington's a help that way; we have to talk of outside matters." "Your wife has not confided in Mr Pennington?" "No." Simon's jaw looked aggressive. "It's nothing to do with anyone else. Besides, when we started on this Nile trip we thought we'd seen the end of the business." Poirot shook his head. "You have not seen the end of it yet. No - the end is not yet at hand. I am very sure of that." "I say, Monsieur Poirot, you're not very encouraging." Poirot looked at him with a slight feeling of irritation. He thought to himself: "The Anglo Saxon, he takes nothing seriously but playing games! He does not grow up." Linnet Doyle - Jacqueline de Bellefort - both of them took the business seriously enough. But in Simon's attitude he could find nothing but male impatience and annoyance. He said: "You will permit me an impertinent question? Was it your idea to come to Egypt for your honeymoon?" Simon flushed. "No, of course not. As a matter of fact I'd rather have gone anywhere else, but Linnet was absolutely set upon it. And so - and so -" He stopped rather lamely. "Naturally," said Poirot gravely. He appreciated the fact that, if Linnet Doyle was set upon anything, that thing had to happen. He thought to himself: "I have now heard three separate accounts of the affair - Linnet Doyle's, Jacqueline de Bellefort's, Simon Doyle's. Which of them is nearest to the truth?" 第二部 埃及 5 第二部 埃及 5 第二天早晨，正当赫邱里•白罗要离开酒店向镇上走去时，希蒙•道尔朝他 走了过来。 “早安，白罗先生。” “早安，道尔先生。” “你要到市镇去？我跟你一道去，不介意吧？” “当然不介意，我高兴还来不及哩。” 他俩相伴而行，通过酒店大门，转进荫凉的花园。希蒙摘下烟斗，说：“白 罗先生，昨晚我太太和你谈过？” “对。” 希蒙•道尔皱了皱眉头。他属于行动派的男人，很难把内心所想的用言语表 达，一有了困难也不知该如何把事情解释清楚。 “有件事我感到欣慰，”他说，“就是你使她明白了在这桩事件中我们多少 是无能为力的。” “显然没有合法的补偿办法。”白罗同意道。 “确实如此。林娜似乎并不了解这点。”他微微一笑，“林娜始终坚信任何 骚扰都是可以诉诸警方的。” “如果这是刑事案件，那就好办了。”白罗说。 谈话停顿了一下。突然，希蒙满面通红地说： “她受到这样大的伤害，实在是可耻！她没做任何事！人家要说我的举动像 个恶棍，那就随他去说。就算我是个恶棍吧，但我不要把林娜拖累进来，她跟这 件事没有丝毫关系。” 白罗忧郁地低下头，没有答腔。 “你跟贾姬——杜贝尔弗小姐谈过吗？” “是的，我跟她谈过。” “你使她明白事理了吗？” “恐怕没有。” 希蒙气愤地插言道：“她难道看不出来她自己的行为像只蠢驴？她难道不明 白任何正经女人都不会像她这样做的？她没有荣誉感或自尊心吗？” 白罗耸耸肩。 他答道：“我们可以这样说，她现在一心只想——迫害。” “不错，但去他的，正经女人不会这样做的。我承认我最该受谴。我对她负 心。我完全了解她恨死我了，不愿再见到我。但这样到处跟踪我，是——是猥琐 的！看看她自己！她希望从这恶行中得到什么呢？” “也许是——报复！” “白痴！她如果试着像通俗剧上所写的一样——譬如射击我，我会觉得比较 可理解。” “你认为这样比较接近她的做法，是吧？” “坦白说，我是认为这样。她血性刚烈，不太容易控制自己的情绪。她正在 气头上会有任何举动我都不觉得惊讶。但这种窥伺的勾当——”他摇摇头。 “这样做比较归于诡谲——对！有脑筋多了！” 道尔瞪着他。 “你不了解，这样会使林娜神经崩溃。” “你呢？” 希蒙略为讶异地看着他。 “我？我想去扼住那小坏蛋的脖子。” “没有一点从前的感情存在？” “亲爱的白罗先生，我怎样处置这种感情呢？正如太阳出来，月亮就黯然失 色。你不再感觉到它。我一遇见林娜，贾姬就不再存在了。” “奇怪，这事有些蹊跷！”白罗喃喃而语。 “请问你在说什么？” “你的直喻使我感觉有趣，仅此而已。” 希蒙脸又红了，他说：“我猜贾姬告诉你，我娶林娜只是为了她的钱。嗯， 这是可咒的谎言！我不会为了钱而娶任何女人！贾姬不了解的是，一个小伙子深 深被一个女人所爱，就像她深爱我一样，要做选择是相当困难的。” “呀？” 白罗猛然抬头。 希蒙脱口而出，“说得粗鄙一点，贾姬是太爱我了！” “爱人的也会被爱。”白罗喃喃道。 “呃，你说什么？你了解，男人希望去爱而不只是被爱。”往下说时，他的 声音变得有些急躁。“他不要感觉被占有——身体与灵魂。这是可诅咒的占有 欲！这个男人是我的——他属于我！这种事我无法忍受——没有一个男人受得 了！他要逃开——获得自由。他要拥有自己的女人，他不要她拥有他。” 他停顿下来，用微抖的手指点燃一枝香烟。 白罗说：“贾克琳小姐给你的感觉就像这样？” “呃？”希蒙看着白罗，过一下才承认，“哦——是的——嗯，是的，实际 上我的感觉就是如此。当然，她不了解。这种事我不能跟她讲。但这种感觉我挥 之不去。然后我遇见林娜，我完全被她迷住了！我从来没有看过这么美的女人。 真是奇迹，每个男人都拜倒在她石榴裙下，她却从中单单挑了我这一个穷光蛋。” 他的音调流露出小男生般的敬畏与诧异。 “我懂，”白罗说。他若有所思地点点头。“是的，我了解。” “为什么贾姬不能像男人一样承受下来？”希蒙遗憾地说。 白罗的上唇绽现出一丝隐约的笑容。 “嗯，道尔先生，你了解，关键在于她不是男人。” “不，不，但我的意思是该像优秀的运动员一样接受它。最主要的，事情既 然发生了，你只有喝下你的苦药。错处都在我，我承认。但事情终究发生了！如 果你不再爱一个女孩，你又娶她，那真是疯了。现在我已认清贾姬的真面目，也 知道她将会落入什么下场，我能逃开她真是明智之举。” “她会落入什么下场？”白罗若有所思地重述这句话。“道尔先生，你认为 她的下场是什么？” 希蒙皱了皱眉，然后摇摇头道： “不清楚。你这句话什么意思？” “你知道她身上带有一把手枪。” 希蒙非常震惊地看着他。 “我不认为她现在会用枪。要用她早就用了。我相信事态的发展已不止于 此。她现在心怀恶意，想把我们两个都除掉。” 白罗耸耸肩。 “也许这样吧！”他怀疑地说。 “我担心的是林娜。”希蒙多少有些不必要地声明。 “我非常明了。”白罗说。 “贾姬倘若像任何通俗剧上所描述的一样做荒唐的射击我是不怕的，但这样 窥伺、跟踪的勾当却会彻底伤害林娜。我将告诉你我的计划，你也许可以提供一 些意见。首先，我们曾公开宣称我们将在这儿逗留十天。明天有一艘轮船‘卡拿 克’号要从雪莱尔开往瓦第•哈尔法。我准备用假名去登记。明天我们将继续游 览菲理。林娜的侍女可以提行李。我们将至雪莱尔搭乘‘卡拿克’号。等贾姬发 现我们没回来时，已经太迟了——我们会称心愉快地走我们的路。她会推测我们 躲开她，回到开罗。事实上我甚至会贿赂脚夫这样说。她即使去问巡警也没用， 因为名册上没有我们的名字。这个计划你认为如何？” “设计得十分巧妙。但假若她等在这里直到你们回来呢？” “我们不会回来。我们可以接着到喀土木，然后或许搭飞机到肯亚。她不可 能跟着我们绕行整个地球。” “当然不行。经济条件不许可时，追踪就必须中止了。我知道她手头非常拮 据。” 希蒙赞佩地望着他。 “你真聪明。我就没想到这层。贾姬是一穷二白。” “然而到目前为止她还计划要跟踪你们？” 希蒙犹豫地说： “当然她有一小笔收入。一年不到两百元，我猜。我推测为了进行目前的事 她一定卖掉了资产。” “所以她就快要用尽盘缠，变得一文不名了？” “是的……” 希蒙不安地晃动着。这想法似乎使他不适意。白罗注意地观察他。 “不，”他说，“不，这样做不漂亮……” 他异常生气地说：“我不能忍受了！”他又加一句，“你认我的计划如何？” “我认为可行。但当然这是一种退却。” 希蒙脸红着。 “你的意思是，我们逃掉？是的，确实如此。但林娜——” 白罗看看他，然后略点了一下头。 “正如你所说，这也许是最好的方法。但要记住，杜贝尔弗小姐是有脑筋 的。” 希蒙阴郁地说：“我觉得有一天我们两人一定会摆下阵势，争个你死我活。 她的态度是不合理性的。” “理性，我的天！”白罗叫道。 “为什么女人言行不能像有理性的动物，这点实在说不过去。”希蒙不带感 情地断言。 白罗淡然地说：“她们常常做不到。这是更令人烦乱之处！”他加了一句， “我也要搭‘卡拿克’号，那是我旅行路线的一部分。” “哦！”为了选择字眼，希蒙迟疑了一下，才局促不安地说：“那不是—— 不是——我们谈话中你才决定的吧。我的意思是我不想随便臆测——” 白罗很快打断他。 “绝对不是。在离开伦敦之前，我就把一切安排妥当了。我总是提前拟妥计 划。” “你不是想到哪里就走到哪里嘛？这样不是比较轻松愉快？” “也许是这样。但一个人要成功最好是事先把每一个小细节都布置妥善。” 希蒙笑道：“这是比较有技巧的谋杀者的举动，我猜。” “是的。但我必须承认，最高明最难解的凶杀倒是临时起意的。” 希蒙童心顿开，“登上‘卡拿克’号后，你一定要告诉我们你办过的案件。” “不，不；这就像在谈——怎么说呢——本行的事。” “不过你这一行刺激多了。艾乐顿太太也这么认为。她一直渴望找个机会向 你讨教。” “艾乐顿太太？就是有着一头迷人的灰发，总有儿子陪侍在旁的那个妇人？” “是的。她也要搭轮船。” “她晓得你——” “当然不晓得，”希蒙强调一句，“没有人晓得。我的原则是最好不要信任 任何人。” “可佩的观点！我一向也抱持这种见解。随便问一声，你们同伙里面那第三 个人，那高挑、灰发的男子是谁？” “潘宁顿？” “是的。他和你们一起旅行？” 希蒙面露不善，“你正在想，这种事在蜜月旅行中颇不寻常？潘宁顿是林娜 的美国托管人。我们在开罗偶然遇见他。” “真巧合！恕我冒昧问一个问题：尊夫人芳龄几何？” 希蒙略显疑惑。 “她实际上还不到二十一——但嫁给我之前她不必征求任何人的同意。潘宁 顿也大吃一惊。林娜写信告诉他我们结婚的消息之前两天他已经离开纽约，搭上 ‘卡曼尼克’号，所以对这件事他一无所知。” “‘卡曼尼克’号——”白罗喃喃道。 “我们在开罗牧羊人饭店遇见他，最让他惊异不已。” “的确是不寻常的巧合！” “是的，我们发现他也要到尼罗河游历——很自然地我们就凑在一道了。没 有比这样做更适当的了。此外，嗯，在某些方面也是一种缓解。”他又显得局促 不安。“你知道林娜一向是很强健的，若不是贾姬随处随地冒出来。我们单独在 一起，话题总不离她。安德鲁•潘宁顿却是一个解铃人，我们必须聊聊别的事 情。” “你太太不信任潘宁顿先生？” “不。”希蒙露出挑衅的样子。“跟任何人无关。再者，我们既已开始尼罗 河之旅，我们就想把生意的事告个结束。” 白罗摇摇头。 “你们还没有把生意告个结束。没有——还没到了断的时候。这点我很确 定。” “白罗先生，你实在是不能夸奖的。”白罗有点愤怒地看着他。他自忖道： “这个英国人，他凡事都不认真，只在耍手段。他还没有长大。” 林娜•道尔——贾克琳•杜贝尔弗——她们两人都太把事情当真了。但在希 蒙的言行里，他只发现男性的不耐烦与愤怒。 白罗问：“恕我问一个冒昧的问题：来埃及度蜜月是你的意思吗？” 希蒙脸红了一下。 “不，当然不是。事实上我宁愿到别处去，但林娜绝对坚持。所以——所以 ……” 他没说完就停住了。 “自然了。”白罗低沉地说。 他相信这是实话，林娜•道尔决定做什么事就非得办到不可。 白罗自忖道：“我已听过林娜•道尔、贾克琳•杜贝尔弗及希蒙•道尔三人 关于同一件事的不同陈述。哪一种最趋近事实呢？” Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Simon and Linnet Doyle set off on their expedition to Philae about eleven o'clock the following morning. Jacqueline de Bellefort, sitting on the hotel balcony, watched them set off in the picturesque sailing boat. What she did not see was the departure of a car - laden with luggage, and in which sat a demure-looking maid - from the front door of the hotel. It turned to the right in the direction of Shellвl. Hercule Poirot decided to pass the remaining two hours before lunch on the island of Elephantine, immediately opposite the hotel. He went down to the landing stage. There were two men just stepping into one of the hotel boats, and Poirot joined them. The men were obviously strangers to each other. The younger of them had arrived by train the day before. He was a tall, dark-haired young man, with a thin face and a pugnacious chin. He was wearing an extremely dirty pair of grey flannel trousers and a high- necked polo jumper singularly unsuited to the climate. The other was a slightly podgy middle-aged man who lost no time in entering into conversation with Poirot in idiomatic but slightly broken English. Far from taking part in the conversation, the younger man merely scowled at them both and then deliberately turned his back on them and proceeded to admire the agility with which the Nubian boatman steered the boat with his toes as he manipulated the sail with his hands. It was very peaceful on the water, the great smooth slippery black rocks gliding by and the soft breeze fanning their faces. Elephantine was reached very quickly and on going ashore Poirot and his loquacious acquaintance made straight for the Museum. By this time the latter had produced a card which he handed to Poirot with a little bow. It bore the inscription: Signor Guido Richetti, Archeologo. Not to be outdone, Poirot returned the bow and extracted his own card. These formalities completed, the two men stepped into the Museum together, the Italian pouring forth a stream of erudite information. They were by now conversing in French. The young man in the flannel trousers strolled listlessly round the Museum, yawning from time to time, and then escaped to the outer air. Poirot and Signor Richetti at last followed him. The Italian was energetic in examining the ruins, but presently Poirot, espying a green-lined sunshade which he recognized on the rocks down by the river, escaped in that direction. Mrs Allerton was sitting on a large rock, a sketch-book by her side and a book on her lap. Poirot removed his hat politely and Mrs Allerton at once entered into conversation. "Good-morning," she said. "I suppose it would be quite impossible to get rid of some of these awful children." A group of small black figures surrounded her, all grinning and posturing and holding out imploring hands as they lisped "Bakshish" at intervals, hopefully. "I thought they'd get tired of me," said Mrs Allerton sadly. "They've been watching me for over two hours now - and they close in on me little by little; and then I yell 'In shi' and brandish my sunshade at them and they scatter for a minute or two. And then they come back and stare and stare, and their eyes are simply disgusting, and so are their noses, and I don't believe I really like children - not unless they're more or less washed and have the rudiments of manners." She laughed ruefully. Poirot gallantly attempted to disperse the mob for her, but without avail. They scattered and then reappeared, closing in once more. "If there were only any peace in Egypt, I should like it better," said Mrs Allerton. "But you can never be alone anywhere. Someone is always pestering you for money, or offering you donkeys, or beads, or expeditions to native villages, or duck shooting." "It is the great disadvantage, that is true," agreed Poirot. He spread his handkerchief cautiously on the rock and sat somewhat gingerly upon it. "Your son is not with you this morning?" he went on. "No, Tim had some letters to get off before we leave. We're doing the trip to the Second Cataract, you know." "I, too." "I'm so glad. I want to tell you that I'm quite thrilled to meet you. When we were in Majorca, there was a Mrs Leech there, and she was telling us the most wonderful things about you. She'd lost a ruby ring bathing, and she was just lamenting that you weren't there to find it for her." "Ah, parbleu, but I am not the diving seal!" They both laughed. Mrs Allerton went on: "I saw you from my window walking down the drive with Simon Doyle this morning. Do tell me what you make of him? We're all so excited about him." "Ah? Truly?" "Yes. You know his marriage to Linnet Ridgeway was the greatest surprise. She was supposed to be going to marry Lord Windlesham and then suddenly she gets engaged to this man no one had ever heard of!" "You know her well, Madame?" "No, but a cousin of mine, Joanna Southwood, is one of her best friends." "Ah, yes, I have read that name in the papers." He was silent a moment and then went on, "She is a young lady very much in the news, Mademoiselle Joanna Southwood." "Oh, she knows how to advertise herself all right," snapped Mrs Allerton. "You do not like her, Madame?" "That was a nasty remark of mine." Mrs Allerton looked penitent. "You see I'm old-fashioned. I don't like her much. Tim and she are the greatest friends, though." "I see," said Poirot. His companion shot a quick look at him. She changed the subject. "How very few young people there are out here! That pretty girl with the chestnut hair and the appalling mother in the turban is almost the only young creature in the place. You have talked to her a good deal, I notice. She interests me, that child." "Why is that, Madame?" "I feel sorry for her. You can suffer so much when you are young and sensitive. I think she is suffering." "Yes, she is not happy, poor little one." "Tim and I call her the 'sulky girl.' I've tried to talk to her once or twice, but she's snubbed me on each occasion. However I believe she's going on this Nile trip too, and I expect we'll have to be more or less all matey together, shan't we?" "It is a possible contingency, Madame." "I'm very matey really - people interest me enormously. All the different types." She paused, then said: "Tim tells me that that dark girl - her name is de Bellefort - is the girl who was engaged to Simon Doyle. It's rather awkward for them - meeting like this." "It is awkward - yes," agreed Poirot. Mrs Allerton shot a quick glance at him. "You know, it may sound foolish, but she almost frightened me. She looked so - intense." Poirot nodded his head slowly. "You were not far wrong, Madame. A great force of emotion is always frightening." "Do people interest you too, Monsieur Poirot? Or do you reserve your interest for potential criminals?" "Madame - that category would not leave many people outside it." Mrs Allerton looked a trifle startled. "Do you really mean that?" "Given the particular incentive, that is to say," Poirot added. "Which would differ?" "Naturally." Mrs Allerton hesitated - a little smile on her lips. "Even I perhaps?" "Mothers, Madame, are particularly ruthless when their children are in danger." She said gravely, "I think that's true - yes, you're quite right." She was silent a minute or two, then she said, smiling: "I'm trying to imagine motives for crime suitable for everyone in the hotel. It's quite entertaining. Simon Doyle for instance?" Poirot said, smiling: "A very simple crime - a direct shortcut to his objective. No subtlety about it." "And therefore very easily detected?" "Yes; he would not be ingenious." "And Linnet?" "That would be like the Queen in your Alice in Wonderland, 'Off with her head.'" "Of course. The divine right of monarchy! Just a little bit of the Naboth's vineyard touch. And the dangerous girl - Jacqueline de Bellefort - could she do a murder?" Poirot hesitated for a minute or two, then he said doubtfully, "Yes, I think she could." "But you're not sure?" "No. She puzzles me, that little one." "I don't think Mr Pennington could do one, do you? He looks so desiccated and dyspeptic - with no red blood in him." "But possibly a strong sense of self-preservation." "Yes, I suppose so. And poor Mrs Otterbourne in her turban?" "There is always vanity." "As a motive for murder?" Mrs Allerton asked doubtfully. "Motives for murder are sometimes very trivial, Madame." "What are the most usual motives, Monsieur Poirot?" "Most frequent - money. That is to say, gain in its various ramifications. Then there is revenge - and love, and fear, and pure hate, and beneficence -" "Monsieur Poirot!" "Oh, yes, Madame. I have known of - shall we say A? - being removed by B solely in order to benefit C. Political murders often come under that heading. Someone is considered to be harmful to civilization and is removed on that account. Such people forget that life and death are the affair of the good God." He spoke gravely. Mrs Allerton said quietly: "I am glad to hear you say that. All the same, God chooses his instruments." "There is danger in thinking like that, Madame." She adopted a lighter tone. "After this conversation, Monsieur Poirot, I shall wonder that there is anyone left alive!" She got up. "We must be getting back. We have to start immediately after lunch." When they reached the landing stage they found the young man in the polo jumper just taking his place in the boat. The Italian was already waiting. As the Nubian boatman cast the sail loose and they started, Poirot addressed a polite remark to the stranger. "There are very wonderful things to be seen in Egypt, are there not?" The young man was now smoking a somewhat noisome pipe. He removed it from his mouth and remarked briefly and very emphatically, in astonishingly well-bred accents, "They make me sick." Mrs Allerton put on her pince-nez and surveyed him with pleasurable interest. "Indeed? And why is that?" Poirot asked. "Take the Pyramids. Great blocks of useless masonry, put up to minister to the egoism of a despotic bloated king. Think of the sweated masses who toiled to build them and died doing it. It makes me sick to think of the suffering and torture they represent." Mrs Allerton said cheerfully, "You'd rather have no Pyramids, no Parthenon, no beautiful tombs or temples - just the solid satisfaction of knowing that people got three meals a day and died in their beds." The young man directed his scowl in her direction. "I think human beings matter more than stones." "But they do not endure as well," remarked Hercule Poirot. "I'd rather see a well fed worker than any so-called work of art. What matters is the future - not the past." This was too much for Signor Richetti, who burst into a torrent of impassioned speech not too easy to follow. The young man retorted by telling everybody exactly what he thought of the capitalist system. He spoke with the utmost venom. When the tirade was over they had arrived at the hotel landing stage. Mrs Allerton murmured cheerfully, "Well, well," and stepped ashore. The young man directed a baleful glance after her. In the hall of the hotel Poirot encountered Jacqueline de Bellefort. She was dressed in riding clothes. She gave him an ironical little bow. "I'm going donkey riding. Do you recommend the native villages, Monsieur Poirot?" "Is that your excursion today, Mademoiselle? Eh bien, they are picturesque - but do not spend large sums on native curios." "Which are shipped here from Europe? No, I am not so easy to deceive as that." With a little nod she passed out into the brilliant sunshine. Poirot completed his packing - a very simple affair, since his possessions were always in the most meticulous order. Then he repaired to the dining-room and ate an early lunch. After lunch the hotel bus took the passengers for the Second Cataract to the station where they were to catch the daily express from Cairo on to Shellвl - a ten-minute run. The Allertons, Poirot, the young man in the dirty flannel trousers and the Italian were the passengers. Mrs Otterbourne and her daughter had made the expedition to the Dam and to Philae and would join the steamer at Shellвl. The train from Cairo and Luxor was about twenty minutes late. However, it arrived at last, and the usual scenes of wild activity occurred. Native porters taking suitcases out of the train collided with other porters putting them in. Finally, somewhat breathless, Poirot found himself, with an assortment of his own, the Allertons' and some totally unknown luggage, in one compartment, while Tim and his mother were elsewhere with the remains of the assorted baggage. The compartment in which Poirot found himself was occupied by an elderly lady with a very wrinkled face, a stiff white stock, a good many diamonds and an expression of reptilian contempt for the majority of mankind. She treated Poirot to an aristocratic glare and retired behind the pages of an American magazine. A big rather clumsy young woman of under thirty was sitting opposite her. She had eager brown eyes, rather like a dog's, untidy hair, and a terrific air of willingness to please. At intervals the old lady looked over the top of her magazine and snapped an order at her. "Cornelia, collect the rugs." "When we arrive look after my dressing-case. On no account let anyone else handle it." "Don't forget my paper-cutter." The train run was brief. In ten minutes' time they came to rest on the jetty where the S.S. Karnak was awaiting them. The Otterbournes were already on board. The Karnak was a smaller steamer than the Papyrus and the Lotus, the First Cataract steamers, which are too large to pass through the locks of the Assuan dam. The passengers went on board and were shown their accommodation. Since the boat was not full, most of the passengers had accommodation on the promenade deck. The entire forward part of this deck was occupied by an observation saloon, all glass-enclosed, where the passengers could sit and watch the river unfold before them. On the deck below were a smoking-room and a small drawing-room and on the deck below that, the dining-saloon. Having seen his possessions disposed in his cabin, Poirot came out on the deck again to watch the process of departure. He joined Rosalie Otterbourne, who was leaning over the side. "So now we journey into Nubia. You are pleased, Mademoiselle?" The girl drew a deep breath. "Yes. I feel that one's really getting away from things at last." She made a gesture with her hand. There was a savage aspect about the sheet of water in front of them, the masses of rock without vegetation that came down to the water's edge - here and there a trace of houses abandoned and ruined as a result of the damming up of the waters. The whole scene had a melancholy, almost sinister charm. "Away from people," said Rosalie Otterbourne. "Except those of our own number, Mademoiselle?" She shrugged her shoulders. Then she said: "There's something about this country that makes me feel - wicked. It brings to the surface all the things that are boiling inside one. Everything's so unfair - so unjust." "I wonder. You cannot judge by material evidence." Rosalie muttered: "Look at - at some people's mothers - and look at mine. There is no God but Sex, and Salome Otterbourne is its Prophet." She stopped. "I shouldn't have said that, I suppose." Poirot made a gesture with his hands. "Why not say it - to me? I am one of those who hear many things. If, as you say, you boil inside - like the jam - eh bien, let the scum come to the surface, and then one can take it off with a spoon, so." He made the gesture of dropping something into the Nile. "There, it has gone." "What an extraordinary man you are!" Rosalie said. Her sulky mouth twisted into a smile. Then she suddenly stiffened as she exclaimed: "Why, here are Mrs Doyle and her husband! I'd no idea they were coming on this trip!" Linnet had just emerged from a cabin half way down the deck. Simon was behind her. Poirot was almost startled by the look of her - so radiant, so assured. She looked positively arrogant with happiness. Simon Doyle, too, was a transformed being. He was grinning from ear to ear and looking like a happy schoolboy. "This is grand," he said as he too leaned on the rail. "I'm really looking forward to this trip, aren't you, Linnet? It feels somehow, so much less touristy - as though we were really going into the heart of Egypt." His wife responded quickly: "I know. It's so much - wilder, somehow." Her hand slipped through his arm. He pressed it close to his side. "We're off, Lin," he murmured. The steamer was drawing away from the jetty. They had started on their seven-day journey to the Second Cataract and back. Behind them a light silvery laugh rang out. Linnet whipped round. Jacqueline de Bellefort was standing there. She seemed amused. "Hullo, Linnet! I didn't expect to find you here. I thought you said you were staying at Assuan another ten days. This is a surprise!" "You - you didn't -" Linnet's tongue stammered. She forced a ghastly conventional smile. "I - I didn't expect to see you either." "No?" Jacqueline moved away to the other side of the boat. Linnet's grasp on her husband's arm tightened. "Simon - Simon -" All Doyle's good-natured pleasure had gone. He looked furious. His hands clenched themselves in spite of his effort at self-control. The two of them moved a little away. Without turning his head Poirot caught scraps of disjointed words: "... turn back... impossible... we could..." and then, slightly louder, Doyle's voice, despairing but grim: "We can't run away for ever, Lin. We've got to go through with it now..." It was some hours later. Daylight was just fading. Poirot stood in the glass-enclosed saloon looking straight ahead. The Karnak was going through a narrow gorge. The rocks came down with a kind of sheer ferocity to the river flowing deep and swift between them. They were in Nubia now. He heard a movement and Linnet Doyle stood by his side. Her fingers twisted and untwisted themselves; she looked as he had never yet seen her look. There was about her the air of a bewildered child. She said: "Monsieur Poirot, I'm afraid - I'm afraid of everything. I've never felt like this before. All these wild rocks and the awful grimness and starkness. Where are we going? What's going to happen? I'm afraid, I tell you. Everyone hates me. I've never felt like that before. I've always been nice to people - I've done things for them - and they hate me - lots of people hate me. Except for Simon, I'm surrounded by enemies... It's terrible to feel - that there are people who hate you..." "But what is all this, Madame?" She shook her head. "I suppose - it's nerves... I just feel that - everything's unsafe all round me." She cast a quick nervous glance over her shoulder. Then she said abruptly: "How will all this end? We're caught here. Trapped! There's no way out. We've got to go on. I - I don't know where I am." She slipped down onto a seat. Poirot looked down on her gravely; his glance was not untinged with compassion. "How did she know we were coming on this boat?" she said. "How could she have known?" Poirot shook his head as he answered, "She has brains, you know." "I feel as though I shall never escape from her." Poirot said: "There is one plan you might have adopted. In fact I am surprised that it did not occur to you. After all, with you, Madame, money is no object. Why did you not engage your own private dahabiyeh?" Linnet shook her head rather helplessly. "If we'd known about all this - but you see we didn't - then. And it was difficult...." She flashed out with sudden impatience: "Oh! you don't understand half my difficulties. I've got to be careful with Simon... He's - he's absurdly sensitive - about money. About my having so much! He wanted me to go to some little place in Spain with him - he - he wanted to pay all our honeymoon expenses himself. As if it mattered! Men are stupid! He's got to get used to - to - living comfortably. The mere idea of a dahabiyeh upset him - the - the needless expense. I've got to educate him - gradually." She looked up, bit her lip vexedly, as though feeling that she had been led into discussing her difficulties rather too unguardedly. She got up. "I must change. I'm sorry, Monsieur Poirot. I'm afraid I've been talking a lot of foolish nonsense." 第二部 埃及 6 第二部 埃及 6 第二天上午大约十一点，希蒙夫妇起程前往菲理游览。贾克琳•杜贝尔弗， 坐在酒店的露台上，看着他们搭乘画舫离去。她却未曾留意到，一辆载满行李的 车子驶出了酒店的门，朝着雪莱尔的方向奔驰而去。 赫邱里•白罗决定利用午餐前的两个小时，到酒店对岸的爱勒芬廷岛一游。 他来到码头。酒店的一艘专用船中已坐着两个人，白罗踏上船和他们一道。 这两个人彼此都不认识。年轻的一个前天才搭火车来到。他身材高挑，满头黑 发，脸庞瘦削，下颚的造型予人善辩的印象。他身穿一条非常肮脏的灰色法兰绒 裤及一件不合时宜的高领马球装。另一位是略微矮胖的中年人，一路上一直以流 畅而不大标准的英语与白罗交谈。那年轻男子却不加入他们的谈话，只是皱眉看 看他们，然后背转过去，赞叹地观赏努比亚的船夫踮起脚尖，敏捷地操纵船帆。 水面一片平静，光滑的黑色大石从他们身旁擦过，微风不断迎面吹来。没过多 久，船在爱勒芬廷泊岸，白罗跟他的新交立即取道博物馆。中年人递过名片，上 面印着：该杜•黎希提，考古学家。白罗也回敬自己的名片。两人一道参观博物 馆。那意大利人滔滔不绝地倾吐自己丰富的考古学识。他们这时改用法文交谈。 穿法兰绒长裤的年轻人不时打着呵欠，在博物馆里面绕了一圈就逃到外面去 了。 白罗和黎希提先生终于步出博物馆。那意大利人兴致勃勃地要去参观古迹， 但白罗偶然望见一把嵌绿边的阳伞掩映在河边的石头上，便逃往那个方向。 艾乐顿太太坐在一大石上，身旁放着速写簿，膝上放着书本。 白罗礼貌地提一提帽子。艾乐顿太太立即跟他谈起话来。 “早，”她说，“要把这些讨厌的孩子撵开简直不可能。” 一群黑色的小身体围绕在她四周，每人都咧口，做着鬼脸，并且伸出乞求的 双手，口齿不清却满怀希望地发出“给小费！给小费！”的声音。 “他们把我磨惨了，”艾乐顿太太不悦地说，“他们在这里围观已经不止两 个钟头了——他们一步一步地靠近；我喊一声‘走开’，并且拿伞朝他们挥舞， 他们才会散开一下子。然后他们又靠拢来，眼睛盯着，盯着，他们的鼻子也一 样。小孩子除非身子洗干净点，态度上守些规矩，否则我不会喜欢。” 她惨然一笑。 白罗自动要替她解围，依然无效。他们散开了，又出现，再度聚拢。 “只要能让人清清静静，我就会喜欢埃及，”艾乐顿太太说，“事实上你到 任何地方都会被一些人纠缠着，不是向你讨钱，就是怂恿你买驴子、珠子、或到 古老乡村去探险，或去打野鸭。” “这实在是很大的不便。”白罗同意道。 他把手帕摊开在石头上，小心地坐上去。 “令郎今早没有跟你一道？” “没有。我们离开前，他要赶着寄一批信。我们要去第二瀑布区游览，你知 道。” “我也要去。” “噢，那太好了。我正要告诉你：有机会遇见你，令我多么高兴。在马祖卡 的时候，有一位李蕴太太讲了很多关于你的奇事。她在游泳时不慎掉了红宝石戒 指，她还说要是你当时在场，一定能替她找回哩。” “啊，我可不是会潜水的海狮！” 他俩大笑起来。艾乐顿太太接着说： “今天早上，我从窗子往下望，看见你跟希蒙•道尔一起走着。可以告诉我 你对他的看法吗？大家都对他极感兴趣哩！” “哦，真的？” “一点也不错。你知道，他跟林娜•黎吉薇的婚事实在大大出人意料之外。 一般推测她是要嫁给温特显姆伯爵的，谁知突然间却冒出了一个名不见经传的希 蒙•道尔！” “夫人，你跟林娜小姐相当熟？” “不，但我一个侄女乔安娜•邵斯伍德跟她却是挺要好的朋友。” “哦，是的，我在报上看过这个名字。”白罗沉默了一会，然后继续说道： “乔安•邵斯伍德小姐是个出名的新闻人物啊！” “噢，她挺会为自己宣传。”艾乐顿太太尖刻地说道。 “你不喜欢她吗，夫人？” “刚才的评语过分点。”艾乐顿太太有点懊悔地说，“你知道，我这个人很 古板，不大喜欢她。不过，提姆跟她倒很投机。” “哦，原来如此！”白罗说。 艾乐顿太太匆匆望了他一眼，赶快转换话题。 “这儿的年轻人真太少了！那位跟包着头巾的母亲一块儿来的栗发小姐，恐 怕是惟一的一个。我留意到你跟她很谈得来。我对那孩子也很感兴趣哩！” “为什么？” “我替她难过。在多愁善感的年轻时代，大家都是要受许多苦的。我想她内 心必定很痛苦。” “不错，她的确很不开心，可怜的人儿。” “提姆和我称她为‘忧郁的少女’。我几次尝试跟她谈话，可是每次都遭她 冷落。不过，我想这次尼罗河之旅，她也要参加，但愿我们的交情多少能够进展 一点。” “这种事很可能发生。” “老实说，我这人很容易相处。我对各式各类的人都很感兴趣。”她顿了一 顿，然后说，“提姆告诉我，那位皮肤黝黑的女郎——名叫杜贝尔弗的——跟希 蒙•道尔订过婚。他俩一定很尴尬。” 白罗同意道。 艾乐顿太太投给他迅速的一瞥。 “听起来有点荒谬，不过她真吓了我一跳。她的神态是那么——极端。” 白罗缓缓地点头。 “是的，强烈的感情总是令人害怕的。” “白罗先生，你对一般人也感兴趣吗？或只对罪嫌有兴趣？” “夫人——罪嫌也不离一般人范围之外哩。” 艾乐顿太太显然有点诧异。 “你这是指什么？” “我是说，有了特殊的动机，任何人都可能犯罪。” “不同处就在这里？” “自然。” 艾乐顿太太迟疑一下——一丝微笑绽开在她脸上。 “甚至我也有可能？” “夫人，当孩子处于险境时，母亲总会表现得不顾一切。” 艾乐顿太太幽幽地说：“我想这是真的——不错，你说得很对。” 她沉默了一会，然后微笑着说：“我正尝试替酒店每一个人构想一个合适的 犯罪动机。这是个挺有趣的玩意。例如，希蒙•道尔？” 白罗微笑地答道：“简单、直截了当地行事，没有半点神秘色彩。” “那么会是很容易识破的吧？” “不错，他不会有巧妙的安排。” “林娜呢？” “会像‘爱丽丝梦游仙境记’中的女王，‘把她推出去斩首’。” “对，那是帝王的特权！不过多少有些剽窃拿伯的葡萄园（注：Naboth's vineyard，拿伯，耶斯列人，亚哈王所羡慕的葡萄园主，因不应所求而被杀。详 见《圣经》列王纪上二十一章）之嫌。至于那危险女郎——贾克琳•杜贝尔弗 ——她会杀人吗？” 白罗迟疑了一会，然后疑惑地说：“不错，我想她会。” “但你不敢肯定？” “是的，她令我困惑，这个少女。” “我不认为潘宁顿先生会杀人，你呢？他看来冷静、沉实，一点也不会感情 冲动。” “但内心可能压抑着强烈的感情。” “是的，我在想这可能。那位包着头巾、形容可怜的鄂特伯恩太太呢？” “总是虚荣心在作祟。” “这也是谋杀的动机？”艾乐顿太太怀疑地问。 “夫人，谋杀的动机有时是很微细的。” “哪些是最通常的动机，白罗先生？” “最通常是金钱。这即是说，各种形式的获得。然后是报复，以及情欲、恐 惧、憎恨、利益……” “白罗先生！” “哦，不错，夫人。我曾碰过——譬如说A杀掉B，纯粹为了使C受益。政治 谋杀通常都属于这类。某人被认为有害社会文明，因此就被杀掉。这些杀人者忘 记了生与死都是上帝安排的。”白罗沉重地说。 “我很高兴听到你这样说。不过，上帝也选择了行事的人。” “夫人，你这想法太危险了。” 艾乐顿太太缓和了语气。 “经过这番谈话，白罗先生，我很怀疑这世界上还有活着的人哩！” 她站起来。 “我们得回去了。午餐后就立刻起程。” 抵达码头时，他们发现那着马球装的年轻男子已坐在自己的座位上。那意大 利人则在等待。努比亚船夫扬起帆，他们就启航了。白罗礼貌地问了问那陌生 人。 “埃及有不少奇珍异宝值得观赏吧？” 那年轻男子把正在抽的一根微微作响的烟斗从嘴上移开，简洁有力地作答， 发音正确得令人吃惊，“它们使我作呕。” 艾乐顿太太戴上夹鼻眼镜，兴味盎然地研究他。 “真的？为什么？”白罗问。 “你看那些金字塔，一大堆无用的石造物，为了满足专制暴君的自大心理而 建造起来。想想那引起流血流汗的民众，作苦役建造金字塔，甚至死在里面。一 想到他们所受的痛苦和折磨我就想吐。” 艾乐顿太太意兴昂扬地接着说：“你宁愿不要金字塔、巴特农神殿、巍然壮 观的帝陵或神庙——只要人们三餐温饱，死得其所，你就满足了！” 年轻男子蹙额瞪视着她。 “我视人类更重于石头。” “但是他们也不持久。”赫邱里•白罗评议道。 “我宁愿看见一个吃得饱饱的工人，而不愿见任何所谓的艺术品。未来最重 要——不是过去。” 黎希提先生听够了这番话，他猛然迸发出一长串激烈的言辞，因为内容深 奥，所以没有人听得懂。 年轻人即予反驳，他告诉每个人他心目中真正的资本主义体制是什么。他的 言辞激烈而近乎刻毒。 船抵酒店码头，这场争辩始告结束。 艾乐顿太太兴奋地喃喃道：“好好！”然后登上岸。年轻人以恶毒的眼光望 着她离去。 在酒店的大厅，白罗遇见贾克琳•杜贝尔弗。她一身骑马装束。她讥讽地朝 他一鞠躬。 “我要去骑一趟驴子。你认为原始村落值得游览吗，白罗先生？” “这是你今天的节目吗，小姐？唔，这些村落景致倒如诗如画，不过不要花 太多钱在那些纪念品上。” “哦，都是从欧洲运来的吧？我不会轻易上当的。” 微微点头，她穿出去，走进灿烂的阳光底下。 白罗收拾停当——简单几件衣物，他总是把一切安排得有条不紊。然后，在 餐厅里吃了一顿较平日为早的午餐。 午餐后，酒店的旅游巴士把前往第二瀑布区的游客载送到火车站，在这里他 们可以搭乘从开罗开往雪莱尔的快车。行程不过十分钟。 艾乐顿母子、白罗、着法兰绒裤的年轻人及那位意大利人都在游客行列中。鄂特 伯恩母女参观完水坝和菲理，将在雪莱尔上船。 从开罗和卢瑟开来的火车大约晚二十分钟。车一到站，惯常的混乱场面再度 重演：运送行李上车与抢着拿行李下车的土著脚夫撞个满怀。 最后，白罗跟自己的行李，还有艾乐顿家的衣箱及一些不知从何而来的大小 包裹，给挤进了一个车厢。挤得几乎没办法呼吸；提姆跟他母亲挤进另一个车 厢，跟其余的行李在一块。 白罗发现把他推挤在角落的芳邻是一位皱纹满脸的老妇人，襟上别一朵人造 的紫罗兰，通身珠光宝气，一派恨透世人的神情。 她横睨了白罗一眼，便埋没在一本美国杂志的后面。坐在她对面的是一位身 材略嫌笨拙的年轻女郎，大概不满三十岁；棕色眼睛、蓬松的头发、一脸奉迎的 表情。老妇人不时从杂志后伸出头来，向她发号施令。 “珂妮亚，收好席子。”……“到站时，记得看好我的化妆箱，别让任何人 碰它。”……“别忘记我的剪刀。” 十分钟后，一行人来到“卡拿克”渡轮停泊着的码头。鄂特伯恩母女已经上 船。 “卡拿克”号较行走第一瀑布区的渡轮要小，为了便于通过亚思温水坝的水 闸。旅客配好房间。由于并未客满，大部分人都住在上层甲板。上层甲板的前半 部是一间大厅，四周全镶上玻璃，好让乘客坐着观赏河面景色。在这之下是一间 吸烟室及小型客厅；最下层甲板是餐厅。 打点了一下行李后，白罗再登上甲板，观看起锚的情景。他跟倚在船边的罗 莎莉•鄂特伯恩聊起来。 “我们现在要航向努比亚。你开心吗，小姐？” 少女深吸一口气。 “开心。我觉得终于能摆脱一切了。” 她手指一指。逐渐隐退在他们眼下一片汪洋之后的是光秃秃的岩石，建造水 坝之后弃置败落的一列小屋。整个景象显得单调而鼙魅。 “远离人烟。”罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩说道。 “船上的旅伴不算在内吧，小姐？” 罗莎莉耸耸肩，接着说：“这个国家有些事情使我觉得——不自在。它把一 切内在沸腾的事情都表面化了。每件事都极为不公平、不合理。” “我不同意。你不能单凭表面现象就下判断。” 罗莎莉喃喃道：“看看别人的母亲，再看看我自己的。她们的心中没有上 帝，只有性欲，而莎乐美•鄂特伯恩是她们的先知。”她停住了。“唉，我想我 是不应该这样说的。” 白罗做个手势。 “何不干脆说给我听呢？我是最佳的听众。如果正像你所说：内在沸腾—— 譬如做蜜饯——那就让泡沫浮到上面，然后用一只调羹把泡沫捞掉。” 他做个动作，表示把渣滓去到尼罗河里。 “你看泡沫没有了。” “你这人真是太好了！”罗莎莉说。她那阴沉的脸上绽开了笑容，骤然间又 绷紧叫道：“噢，那是道尔太太和她先生！我完全没听说他们也要来！” 林娜刚从甲板下层的一间舱房走出，希蒙尾随其后。她看来心情极其开朗。 希蒙•道尔也显得异常轻松，快乐得像个小学生，不断咧嘴而笑。 “真是太好了。”他一边挨近栏杆，一边说道：“我一直盼望此行。你呢， 林娜？我总觉得这样能减少一些观光的意味，可以真正深入埃及的心脏区。” 林娜迅即回答：“我了解。这儿原始味道较浓。” 她把手穿进希蒙的臂弯，希蒙紧紧地挽着。 “我们要出发了，林娜。”他喃喃道。 渡轮缓缓驶离码头，开始来回第二瀑布区的七天旅程。 希蒙•道尔夫妇背后响起了银铃般的声音。林娜迅速转身。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗就站在那儿，一派有趣的神情。 “嗨，林娜！真没想到会在这里遇见你。我还以为你会在亚思温逗留十天 呐。真是意想不到！” “你——你没——”林娜的舌头像打了结。她勉强装出笑容，“我——我也 没想到会见到你。” “哦？” 贾克琳转向船的另一边。林娜把希蒙的臂膀抓得更紧，“希蒙——希蒙——” 希蒙•道尔的笑容完全消失了，他震怒了。他的拳头紧握着，显得有点控制 不住。 两人移动脚步离去时，白罗隐约听到一些断断续续的语句： “……调头……不可能……我们可以……”接着是希蒙•道尔绝望的声音， “我们不能永远逃避，林娜。我们必须把事情做个了断。” 数小时后，夜幕开始低垂，白罗站在玻璃大厅内眺望前方。“卡拿克”号正 穿过狭窄的峡谷。山石以威猛的气势笔直落下，落进深水里，激溅起浪花。他们 已进入努比亚境内。 白罗听到脚步声，林娜•道尔已出现在他身旁。她不停绞扭双手，一副迷茫 的神色。 “白罗先生，我怕——我怕一切东西。我从来没有过这样的感觉。这些怪 石，还有这阴森、荒凉的气氛。我们往何处去？有什么事会发生？我告诉你，我 怕。每个人都恨我。我从来没有这种感觉。我对每个人都那么友善，替他们做了 许许多多事——但他们却憎恨我。除了希蒙，我身边围满了敌人……这种感觉真 怕人——竟然有这么多人憎恨你……” “到底是怎么回事，小姐？” 林娜摇摇头。 “我想——这是神经紧张……我只觉得——一点安全感也没有。” 她紧张地回头望了一望，然后突然说道： “这一切会如何终结？我们给抓住了，落进了圈套！我们没法脱身，只有硬 着头皮撑下去。我——我不知道自己究竟身在何方！” 白罗沉重地望着她，不禁产生同情之心。 “她怎么知道我们会赶上这班船？”林娜说，“她究竟怎么知道的？” 白罗一边摇头，一边回答：“她很有头脑，你应该明白。” “我想我永远也无法摆脱她。” 白罗说：“有一项计划你可以采纳。事实上我很讶异你竟没想到。对你而 言，夫人，钱不算什么。你干嘛不雇艘自用船呢？” 林娜无助地摇摇头。 “这些我们全想到了，但没有实行。有困难……”她眼光闪动了一下，突然 不耐烦地说：“哦，你不了解我的困难。我必须顾虑希蒙……他——他是极端敏 感的——对于钱。对我有这么多钱！他要我跟他去西班牙一个小所在——他要自 个儿负担我们的蜜月旅费。似乎这很重要！男人都是愚蠢的！他必须去习惯—— 生活舒适。单独雇私家船就震怒了他——不必要的花费。我应该慢慢改造他。” 她望望天，咬咬下唇，似乎这样说出自己的困难是太轻率了。 她立起身。 “我必须得去更衣了。抱歉，白罗先生。我说了太多无聊的蠢事了。” Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Mrs Allerton, looking quiet and distinguished in her simple black lace evening gown, descended two decks to the dining-room. At the door of it her son caught her up. "Sorry, darling. I thought I was going to be late." "I wonder where we sit." The saloon was dotted with little tables. Mrs Allerton paused till the steward, who was busy seating a party of people, could attend to them. "By the way," she added, "I asked little Hercule Poirot to sit at our table." "Mother, you didn't!" Tim sounded really taken aback and annoyed. His mother stared at him in surprise. Tim was usually so easygoing. "My dear, do you mind?" "Yes, I do. He's an unmitigated little bounder!" "Oh, no, Tim! I don't agree with you." "Anyway, what do we want to get mixed up with an outsider for? Cooped up like this on a small boat, that sort of thing is always a bore. He'll be with us morning, noon and night." "I'm sorry, dear." Mrs Allerton looked distressed. "I thought really it would amuse you. After all, he must have had a varied experience. And you love detective stories." Tim grunted. "I wish you wouldn't have these bright ideas, Mother. We can't get out of it now, I suppose?" "Really, Tim, I don't see how we can." "Oh, well, we shall have to put up with it, I suppose." The steward came to them at this minute and led them to a table. Mrs Allerton's face wore rather a puzzled expression as she followed him. Tim was usually so easy-going and good-tempered. This outburst was quite unlike him. It wasn't as though he had the ordinary Britisher's dislike - and mistrust - of foreigners. Tim was very cosmopolitan. Oh, well - she sighed. Men were incomprehensible! Even one's nearest and dearest had unsuspected reactions and feelings. As they took their places, Hercule Poirot came quickly and silently into the dining-saloon. He paused with his hand on the back of the third chair. "You really permit, Madame, that I avail myself of your kind suggestion?" "Of course. Sit down, Monsieur Poirot." "You are most amiable." She was uneasily conscious that, as he seated himself, he shot a swift glance at Tim, and that Tim had not quite succeeded in masking a somewhat sullen expression. Mrs Allerton set herself to produce a pleasant atmosphere. As they drank their soup, she picked up the passenger list which had been placed beside her plate. "Let's try and identify everybody," she suggested cheerfully. "I always think that's rather fun." She began reading: "Mrs Allerton, Mr T. Allerton. That's easy enough! Miss de Bellefort. They've put her at the same table as the Otterbournes, I see. I wonder what she and Rosalie will make of each other. Who comes next? Dr Bessner. Dr Bessner? Who can identify Dr Bessner?" She bent her glance on a table at which four men sat together. "I think he must be the fat one with the closely shaved head and the moustache. A German, I should imagine. He seems to be enjoying his soup very much." Certain succulent noises floated across to them. Mrs Allerton continued: "Miss Bowers? Can we make a guess at Miss Bowers? There are three or four women - No, we'll leave her for the present. Mr and Mrs Doyle. Yes, indeed, the lions of this trip. She really is very beautiful, and what a perfectly lovely frock she is wearing." Tim turned round in his chair. Linnet and her husband and Andrew Pennington had been given a table in the corner. Linnet was wearing a white dress and pearls. "It looks frightfully simple to me," said Tim. "Just a length of stuff with a kind of cord round the middle " "Yes, darling," said his mother. "A very nice manly description of an eighty-guinea model." "I can't think why women pay so much for their clothes," Tim said. "It seems absurd to me." Mrs Allerton proceeded with her study of her fellow passengers. "Mr Fanthorp must be one of the four at that table. The intensely quiet young man who never speaks. Rather a nice face, cautious but intelligent." Poirot agreed. "He is intelligent - yes. He does not talk, but he listens very attentively, and he also watches. Yes, he makes good use of his eyes. Not quite the type you would expect to find travelling for pleasure in this part of the world. I wonder what he is doing here." "Mr Ferguson," read Mrs Allerton. "I feel that Ferguson must be our anti-capitalist friend. Mrs Otterbourne, Miss Otterbourne. We know all about them. Mr Pennington? Alias Uncle Andrew. He's a good-looking man, I think -" "Now, Mother," said Tim. "I think he's very good-looking in a dry sort of way," said Mrs Allerton. "Rather a ruthless jaw. Probably the kind of man one reads about in the paper, who operates on Wall Street - or is it in Wall Street? I'm sure he must be extremely rich. Next - Monsieur Hercule Poirot - whose talents are really being wasted. Can't you get up a crime for Monsieur Poirot, Tim?" But her well-meant banter only seemed to annoy her son anew. He scowled and Mrs Allerton hurried on: "Mr Richetti. Our Italian archaeological friend. Then Miss Robson and last of all Miss Van Schuyler. The last's easy. The very ugly old American lady who obviously feels herself the queen of the boat and who is clearly going to be very exclusive and speak to nobody who doesn't come up to the most exacting standards! She's rather marvellous, isn't she, really? A kind of period piece. The two women with her must be Miss Bowers and Miss Robson - perhaps a secretary, the thin one with pince-nez, and a poor relation, the rather pathetic young woman who is obviously enjoying herself in spite of being treated like a black slave. I think Robson's the secretary woman and Bowers is the poor relation." "Wrong, Mother," said Tim, grinning. He had suddenly recovered his good humour. "How do you know?" "Because I was in the lounge before dinner and the old bean said to the companion woman: 'Where's Miss Bowers? Fetch her at once, Cornelia.' And away trotted Cornelia like an obedient dog." "I shall have to talk to Miss Van Schuyler," mused Mrs Allerton. Tim grinned again. "She'll snub you, Mother." "Not at all. I shall pave the way by sitting near her and conversing, in low (but penetrating), well- bred tones, about any titled relations and friends I can remember. I think a casual mention of your second cousin, once removed, the Duke of Glasgow, would probably do the trick." "How unscrupulous you are, Mother!" Events after dinner were not without their amusing side to a student of human nature. The socialistic young man (who turned out to be Mr Ferguson as deduced) retired to the smoking- room, scorning the assemblage of passengers in the observation saloon on the top deck. Miss Van Schuyler duly secured the best and most undraughty position there by advancing firmly on a table at which Mrs Otterbourne was sitting and saying, "You'll excuse me, I am sure, but I think my knitting was left here!" Fixed by a hypnotic eye, the turban rose and gave ground. Miss Van Schuyler established herself and her suite. Mrs Otterbourne sat down near by and hazarded various remarks, which were met with such chilling politeness that she soon gave up. Miss Van Schuyler then sat in glorious isolation. The Doyles sat with the Allertons. Dr Bessner retained the quiet Mr Fanthorp as a companion. Jacqueline de Bellefort sat by herself with a book. Rosalie Otterbourne was restless. Mrs Allerton spoke to her once or twice and tried to draw her into their group, but the girl responded ungraciously. M. Hercule Poirot spent his evening listening to an account of Mrs Otterbourne's mission as a writer. On his way to his cabin that night he encountered Jacqueline de Bellefort. She was leaning over the rail and, as she turned her head, he was struck by the look of acute misery on her face. There was now no insouciance, no malicious defiance, no dark flaming triumph. "Good-night, Mademoiselle." "Good-night, Monsieur Poirot." She hesitated, then said, "You were surprised to find me here?" "I was not so much surprised as sorry - very sorry." He spoke gravely. "You mean sorry - for me?" "That is what I meant. You have chosen, Mademoiselle, the dangerous course... As we here in this boat have embarked on a journey, so you too have embarked on your own private journey - a journey on a swift-moving river, between dangerous rocks, and heading for who knows what currents of disaster." "Why do you say all this?" "Because it is true... You have cut the bonds that moored you to safety. I doubt now if you could turn back if you would." She said very slowly, "That is true. Then she flung her head back. "Ah, well - one must follow one's star, wherever it leads." "Beware, Mademoiselle, that it is not a false star..." She laughed and mimicked the parrot cry of the donkey boys: "That very bad star, Sir! That star fall down..." He was just dropping off to sleep when the murmur of voices awoke him. It was Simon Doyle's voice he heard, repeating the same words he had used when the steamer left Shellвl. "We've got to go through with it now..." "Yes," thought Hercule Poirot to himself, "we have got to go through with it now." He was not happy. 第二部 埃及 7 第二部 埃及 7 穿着黑色镶边晚礼服，显得雍容华贵的艾乐顿太太，步下两层甲板，来到餐 厅门口，刚巧碰到她的儿子。 “真抱歉，宝贝。我想我快迟到了。” “不知道我们的座位在哪儿。”厅内排列着小餐桌。艾乐顿太太停下来，等 待侍应生招呼他们。 “顺便跟你提一下，”她加上一句，“我邀请了矮个子的白罗先生跟我们坐 在一起。” “妈，你真是！”提姆显得有点不高兴。 艾乐顿太太讶异地注视着儿子，他一向是很随和的。 “宝贝，你介意吗？” “是的，我介意。他是个鄙俗的小人！” “哦，不，提姆！你不能这样说。” “无论如何，我们为什么要跟一个外人处在一起？在这小船上，这样的事只 会带来烦厌，他会终日缠着我们的。” “真抱歉，宝贝。”艾乐顿太太有点失望地说，“我还以为你会喜欢这样的 安排。白罗先生一定会有很多有趣的经历，而你一向爱读侦探小说。” 提姆咕噜着。 “我希望你少出这种好主意，妈。我想现在是不可能摆脱他了吧？” “嗯，提姆，只得这样了。” “好吧，让我们忍受一下吧！” 在这当儿，侍应生走过来引领他们到座位去。艾乐顿太太满面狐疑地跟随 着。提姆向来都是那么随和，不轻易发脾气，今天的态度一点也不像他。虽然他 一向不喜欢英国人——也不信任外国人，但提姆绝不是有地域、国家偏见的人。 唉，她暗自叹息。男人真难捉摸！就连最亲近的人也这样费解。 他俩刚坐下，白罗悄悄地踏进餐厅，在桌边的第三张椅子旁停了下来。 “艾乐顿太太，真欢迎我加入吗？” “当然欢迎。请坐，白罗先生。” “你真客气！” 白罗坐下时，迅速瞥了提姆一眼，提姆掩饰不住他那冷淡的神情。 艾乐顿太太颇觉不安。为了缓和一下气氛，喝汤的时候，她漫不经心地拿起碟旁 的乘客名单。 “让我们来认认每一位旅客吧！”她兴奋地提议，“我觉得这事儿挺有趣。” 她开始朗读：“艾乐顿太太跟提姆•艾乐顿先生，真巧。杜贝尔弗小姐。哦， 她给安排跟鄂特伯恩母女一块坐。我怀疑她怎样跟罗莎莉合得来。下一位是谁？ 贝斯勒医生。贝斯勒医生？谁认得贝斯勒医生？” 她把目光投向坐有三位男士的桌上。 “我猜他一定是那个头发与胡子都细心剃过的胖子，我想他是个德国人。看 来挺欣赏他的汤哩！”一阵有趣的声响传过来。 艾乐顿太太往下读：“鲍尔斯小姐？我们要不要猜一猜？这儿有三、四位女 士——唔，还是暂时撇下她。道尔先生和道尔太太。是的，这趟旅程的要角。道 尔太太的确很迷人，你看她穿的那条漂亮的裙子。” 提姆转过头去。林娜和她先生，还有潘宁顿坐在角落的桌子旁。林娜穿着白 裙，配上一串珍珠项链。 “我倒认为太素了！”提姆说，“一块长布中间加上一串绳子。” “宝贝，”他母亲说，“这一身打扮值八十几尼哩（从前英国金币名，一几 尼等于二十一先令），你这样形容，实在很独特。” “我真想不透女人为什么舍得花这么多钱在服装上。”提姆说。 艾乐顿太太继续研究她的旅伴们。“芬索普先生一定是那边桌上四位男士中 的一个。沉默寡言的年轻人。好英俊的面庞，谨慎、机灵。” 白罗同意她的看法。 “他的确很机灵。他不苟言语，却很留心地倾听、观察别人。啊，他是那么 善用双眼，看来不似游山玩水的闲人。我真想知道他在这儿干什么。” “斐格森先生，”艾乐顿太太读道，“我猜这一定是我们那位反资本主义的 朋友。鄂特伯恩太太和鄂特伯恩小姐，这两位我们都熟识。潘宁顿先生！又称安 德鲁叔叔——一是位漂亮男士，我想——” “好了，妈！”提姆说。 “我是说他漂亮，但略嫌冰冷，”艾乐顿太太说，“言辞苛刻。就像报上所 载的那些在华尔街上，或就住在华尔街的人。我确信他必定很富有。下一位—— 赫邱里•白罗先生——埋没了的天才。提姆，你要不要跟白罗先生谈谈犯案？” 她这善意的玩笑却显然再次惹怒了她儿子。他皱皱眉，艾乐顿太太赶紧往下 念：“黎希提先生，我们的意大利考古学家。罗柏森小姐和最后一位——梵舒乐 小姐。不用说，就是那位丑陋的美国老妇人，却自视为船上的王后！没有身份的 人，休想她会理睬你。好一个看不起人的老家伙！跟她在一道的必定是鲍尔斯小 姐和罗柏森小姐了。带夹鼻眼镜的苗条女子大概是秘书，另一位年轻小姐则是穷 亲戚，尽管被人家黑奴般对待，她却似乎蛮开心的。我猜罗柏森小姐是秘书，鲍 尔斯小姐是穷亲戚。” “错了，妈！”提姆咧嘴而笑。骤然间他的好脾气又活现了。 “你怎么知道？” “用膳前我四处闲逛，听见那老女人对她同伴说，‘鲍尔斯小姐哪里去了？ 立刻叫她来，珂妮亚。’珂妮亚像一只听命的狗赶紧跑开了。” “我要跟梵舒乐小姐谈谈。”艾乐顿太太沉思道。 提姆再度咧嘴而笑。 “她会冷落你，妈。” “绝不会。我会设法坐在她旁边，以低沉（但有见识的）、教养良好的音调 跟她谈我所记得的任何一位有名望的亲友。最好提你的二表哥，已经去职的格拉 斯高勋爵。这样事情大概会奏效。” “妈，你真是不择手段！” 餐后他们加入一位人类学学者的有趣谈话。 那位年轻的社会主义者（猜得不错，他果然是斐格森）退回吸烟室，对那些 聚集在上层甲板了望厅的旅客不断嗤之以鼻。 梵舒乐小姐照例挑了一个视野最佳、通风良好的位置，这儿原是鄂特伯恩太 太先前所坐的桌子。她说：“抱歉，我确定，哦，我想，我把针线活儿留在这里 了！” 依然置身在催眠状态中的鄂特伯恩太太站起来，让出位置。梵舒乐小姐赶紧 坐下来，把自己的位子理好。包着头巾的鄂特伯恩太太只得坐在邻位，她试着谈 不同的话题，但只得到冷冷的、礼貌的几句答覆，她遂沉默不语了。这时梵舒乐 小姐就独坐在她的宝座上。 道尔夫妇跟艾乐顿母子在一道。贝斯勒医生又跟不爱讲话的芬索普先生同 伙。贾克琳•杜贝尔弗坐着看书。罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩一边坐下。艾乐顿太太一两 次要她加入他们的联欢会，罗莎莉婉言拒绝。 白罗花了整个晚上倾听鄂特伯恩太太的写作经历。当他返回房间的时候，遇 上了贾克琳•杜贝尔弗。她倚在船栏上。当她转过头来，白罗留意到她脸充满了 极度的哀伤，而不再是先前那种毫不在乎的挑衅姿态。 “晚安，小姐。” “晚安，白罗先生。”她迟疑了一会，然后说：“你很奇怪会在这里碰到我 吧？” “我感到的不是惊奇，而是遗憾——极度遗憾……”他沉痛地说。 “你是说为我难过？” “正是，小姐，你选择了危险的路途……当渡轮开始我们的旅程时，你也踏 上了个人的险径——急流、危石，航向不测知的险涡……” “你为什么这样说？” “因为——你已砍断了系在你身上的安全索。我很怀疑你现在还能够回转头 去。” 她缓缓地说：“确实是……” 她别过头去。 “啊，每个人都得跟随自己的星宿，无论它指引你往何方……” “小姐，留意那不要是一颗迷途的星星……” 贾克琳笑着，一面模仿看驴小孩的话： “先生，那是颗坏星星！那颗星会掉下来……” 即将沉入梦乡之际，白罗被一阵喃喃的语声惊醒了。是希蒙•道尔的声音， 重复着开船时他所说的话： “我们现在必须把事情做个了断……” “是的，”白罗自忖道，“现在必须把事情了断……”他不开心。 Chapter 8 Chapter 8 The steamer arrived early next morning at Ez-Sebыa. Cornelia Robson, her face beaming, a large flapping hat on her head, was one of the first to hurry on shore. Cornelia was not good at snubbing people. She was of an amiable disposition and disposed to like all her fellow creatures. The sight of Hercule Poirot, in a white suit, pink shirt, large black bow tie and a white topee, did not make her wince as the aristocratic Miss Van Schuyler would assuredly have winced. As they walked together up an avenue of sphinxes, she responded readily to his conventional opening. "Your companions are not coming ashore to view the temple?" "Well, you see, Cousin Marie - that's Miss Van Schuyler - never gets up very early. She has to be very, very careful of her health. And of course she wanted Miss Bowers, that's her hospital nurse, to do things for her. And she said, too, that this isn't one of the best temples - but she was frightfully kind and said it would be quite all right for me to come." "That was very gracious of her," said Poirot drily. The ingenuous Cornelia agreed unsuspectingly. "Oh, she's very kind. It's simply wonderful of her to bring me on this trip. I do feel I'm a lucky girl. I just could hardly believe it when she suggested to Mother that I should come too." "And you have enjoyed it - yes?" "Oh, it's been wonderful! I've seen Italy - Venice and Padua and Pisa - and then Cairo - only Cousin Marie wasn't very well in Cairo, so I couldn't get around much, and now this wonderful trip up to Wвdi Halfa and back." Poirot said, smiling, "You have the happy nature, Mademoiselle." He looked thoughtfully from her to the silent, frowning Rosalie, who was walking ahead by herself. "She's very nice-looking, isn't she?" said Cornelia, following his glance. "Only kind of scornful looking. She's very English, of course. She's not as lovely as Mrs Doyle. I think Mrs Doyle's the loveliest, the most elegant woman I've ever seen! And her husband just worships the ground she walks on, doesn't he? I think that grey-haired lady is kind of distinguished looking, don't you? She's cousin to a Duke, I believe. She was talking about him right near us last night. But she isn't actually titled herself, is she?" She prattled on until the dragoman in charge called a halt and began to intone: "This temple was dedicated to Egyptian God Amun and the Sun God Ré-Harakhte - whose symbol was a hawk's head..." It droned on. Dr Bessner, Baedeker in hand, mumbled to himself in German. He preferred the written word. Tim Allerton had not joined the party. His mother was breaking the ice with the reserved Mr Fanthorp. Andrew Pennington, his arm through Linnet Doyle's, was listening attentively, seemingly most interested in the measurements as recited by the guide. "Sixty-five feet high, is that so? Looks a little less to me. Great fellow, this Rameses. An Egyptian live wire." "A big business man, Uncle Andrew." Andrew Pennington looked at her appreciatively. "You look fine this morning, Linnet. I've been a mite worried about you lately. You've looked kind of peaky." Chatting together, the party returned to the boat. Once more the Karnak glided up the river. The scenery was less stern now. There were palms, cultivation. It was as though the change in the scenery had relieved some secret oppression that had brooded over the passengers. Tim Allerton had got over his fit of moodiness. Rosalie looked less sulky. Linnet seemed almost light-hearted. Pennington said to her, "It's tactless to talk business to a bride on her honeymoon, but there are just one or two things -" "Why, of course, Uncle Andrew." Linnet at once became businesslike. "My marriage has made a difference, of course." "That's just it. Some time or other I want your signature to several documents." "Why not now?" Andrew Pennington glanced round. Their corner of the observation saloon was quite untenanted. Most of the people were outside on the deck space between the observation saloon and the cabins. The only occupants of the saloon were Mr Ferguson - who was drinking beer at a small table in the middle, his legs, encased in their dirty flannel trousers, stuck out in front of him, whilst he whistled to himself in the intervals of drinking - M. Hercule Poirot, who was sitting close up to the front glass, intent on the panorama unfolding before him, and Miss Van Schuyler, who was sitting in a corner reading a book on Egypt. "That's fine," said Andrew Pennington. He left the saloon. Linnet and Simon smiled at each other - a slow smile that took a few minutes to come to full fruition. "All right, sweet?" he asked. "Yes, still all right... Funny how I'm not rattled any more." Simon said with deep conviction in his tone, "You're marvellous." Pennington came back. He brought with him a sheaf of closely written documents. "Mercy!" cried Linnet. "Have I got to sign all these?" Andrew Pennington was apologetic. "It's tough on you, I know, but I'd just like to get your affairs put in proper shape. First of all there's the lease of the Fifth Avenue property... then there are the Western Lands Concessions..." He talked on, rustling and sorting the papers. Simon yawned. The door to the deck swung open and Mr Fanthorp came in. He gazed aimlessly round, then strolled forward and stood by Poirot looking out at the pale blue water and the yellow enveloping sands... "- you sign just there," concluded Pennington, spreading a paper before Linnet and indicating a space. Linnet picked up the document and glanced through it. She turned back once to the first page, then, taking up the fountain pen Pennington had laid beside her, she signed her name - Linnet Doyle. Pennington took away the paper and spread out another. Fanthorp wandered over in their direction. He peered out through the side window at something that seemed to interest him on the bank they were passing. "That's just the transfer," said Pennington. "You needn't read it." But Linnet took a brief glance through it. Pennington laid down a third paper. Again Linnet perused it carefully. "They're all quite straightforward," said Andrew. "Nothing of interest. Only legal phraseology." Simon yawned again. "My dear girl, you're not going to read the whole lot through, are you? You'll be at it till lunch time and longer." "I always read everything through," said Linnet. "Father taught me to do that. He said there might be some clerical error." Pennington laughed rather harshly. "You're a grand woman of business, Linnet." "She's much more conscientious than I'd be," said Simon, laughing. "I've never read a legal document in my life. I sign where they tell me to sign on the dotted line - and that's that." "That's frightfully slipshod," said Linnet disapprovingly. "I've no business head," declared Simon cheerfully. "Never had. A fellow tells me to sign - I sign. It's much the simplest way." Andrew Pennington was looking at him thoughtfully. He said drily, stroking his upper lip, "A little risky sometimes, Doyle?" "Nonsense," replied Simon. "I'm not one of those people who believe the whole world is out to do one down. I'm a trusting kind of fellow - and it pays, you know. I've hardly ever been let down." Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, the silent Mr Fanthorp swung round and addressed Linnet. "I hope I'm not butting in, but you must let me say how much I admire your businesslike capacity. In my profession - er - I am a lawyer - I find ladies sadly unbusinesslike. Never to sign a document before you read it through is admirable - altogether admirable." He gave a little bow. Then, rather red in the face, he turned once more to contemplate the banks of the Nile. Linnet said rather uncertainly, "Er - thank you." She bit her lip to repress a giggle. The young man had looked so preternaturally solemn. Andrew Pennington looked seriously annoyed. Simon Doyle looked uncertain whether to be annoyed or amused. The backs of Mr Fanthorp's ears were bright crimson. "Next, please," said Linnet, smiling up at Pennington. But Pennington was looking decidedly ruffled. "I think perhaps some other time would be better," he said stiffly. "As - er - Doyle says, if you have to read through all these we shall be here till lunch time. We mustn't miss enjoying the scenery. Anyway those first two papers were the only urgent ones. We'll settle down to business later." "It's frightfully hot in here," Linnet said. "Let's go outside." The three of them passed through the swing door. Hercule Poirot turned his head. His gaze rested thoughtfully on Mr Fanthorp's back; then it shifted to the lounging figure of Mr Ferguson who had his head thrown back and was still whistling softly to himself. Finally Poirot looked over at the upright figure of Miss Van Schuyler in her corner. Miss Van Schuyler was glaring at Mr Ferguson. The swing door on the port side opened and Cornelia Robson hurried in. "You've been a long time," snapped the old lady. "Where've you been?" "I'm so sorry, Cousin Marie. The wool wasn't where you said it was. It was in another case altogether -" "My dear child, you are perfectly hopeless at finding anything! You are willing, I know, my dear, but you must try to be a little cleverer and quicker. It only needs concentration." "I'm so sorry, Cousin Marie. I'm afraid I am very stupid." "Nobody need be stupid if they try, my dear. I have brought you on this trip, and I expect a little attention in return." Cornelia flushed. "I'm very sorry, Cousin Marie." "And where is Miss Bowers? It was time for my drops ten minutes ago. Please go and find her at once. The doctor said it was most important -" But at this stage Miss Bowers entered, carrying a small medicine glass. "Your drops, Miss Van Schuyler." "I should have had them at eleven," snapped the old lady. "If there's one thing I detest it's unpunctuality." "Quite," said Miss Bowers. She glanced at her wristwatch. "It's exactly half a minute to eleven." "By my watch it's ten past." "I think you'll find my watch is right. It's a perfect time-keeper. It never loses or gains." Miss Bowers was quite imperturbable. Miss Van Schuyler swallowed the contents of the medicine glass. "I feel definitely worse," she snapped. "I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Van Schuyler." Miss Bowers did not sound sorry. She sounded completely uninterested. She was obviously making the correct reply mechanically. "It's too hot in here," snapped Miss Van Schuyler. "Find me a chair on the deck, Miss Bowers. Cornelia, bring my knitting. Don't be clumsy or drop it. And then I shall want you to wind some wool." The procession passed out. Mr Ferguson sighed, stirred his legs and remarked to the world at large, "Gosh, I'd like to scrag that dame." Poirot asked interestedly, "She is a type you dislike, eh?" "Dislike? I should say so. What good has that woman ever been to anyone or anything? She's never worked or lifted a finger. She's just battened on other people. She's a parasite - and a damned unpleasant parasite. There are a lot of people on this boat I'd say the world could do without." "Really?" "Yes. That girl in here just now, signing share transfers and throwing her weight about. Hundreds and thousands of wretched workers slaving for a mere pittance to keep her in silk stockings and useless luxuries. One of the richest women in England, so someone told me, and never done a hand's turn in her life." "Who told you she was one of the richest women in England?" Mr Ferguson cast a belligerent eye at him. "A man you wouldn't be seen speaking to! A man who works with his hands and isn't ashamed of it! Not one of your dressed-up, foppish good-for-nothings." His eye rested unfavourably on the bow tie and pink shirt. "Me, I work with my brains and am not ashamed of it," said Poirot, answering the glance. Mr Ferguson merely snorted. "Ought to be shot - the lot of them!" he asserted. "My dear young man," said Poirot, "what a passion you have for violence!" "Can you tell me of any good that can be done without it? You've got to break down and destroy before you can build up." "It is certainly much easier and much noisier and much more spectacular." "What do you do for a living? Nothing at all, I bet. Probably call yourself a middle man." "I am not a middle man. I am a top man," declared Hercule Poirot with slight arrogance. "What are you?" "I am a detective," said Hercule Poirot with the modest air of one who says "I am a King." "Good God!" The young man seemed seriously taken aback. "Do you mean that girl actually totes about a dumb dick? Is she as careful of her precious skin as that?" "I have no connection whatever with Monsieur and Madame Doyle," said Poirot stiffly. "I am on a holiday." "Enjoying a vacation - eh?" "And you? Is it not that you are on a holiday also?" "Holiday!" Mr Ferguson snorted. Then he added cryptically, "I'm studying conditions." "Very interesting," murmured Poirot and moved gently out onto the deck. Miss Van Schuyler was established in the best corner. Cornelia knelt in front of her, her arms outstretched with a skein of grey wool upon them. Miss Bowers was sitting very upright reading the Saturday Evening Post. Poirot wandered gently onward down the starboard deck. As he passed round the stern of the boat he almost ran into a woman who turned a startled face toward him - a dark, piquant, Latin face. She was neatly dressed in black and had been standing talking to a big burly man in uniform - one of the engineers, by the look of him. There was a queer expression on both their faces - guilt and alarm. Poirot wondered what they had been talking about. He rounded the stern and continued his walk along the port side. A cabin door opened and Mrs Otterbourne emerged and nearly fell into his arms. She was wearing a scarlet satin dressing-gown. "So sorry," she apologized. "Dear Mr Poirot - so very sorry. The motion - just the motion, you know. Never did have any sea legs. If the boat would only keep still..." She clutched at his arm. "It's the pitching I can't stand... Never really happy at sea... And left all alone here hour after hour. That girl of mine - no sympathy - no understanding of her poor old mother who's done everything for her..." Mrs Otterbourne began to weep. "Slaved for her I have - worn myself to the bone - to the bone. A grande amoureuse - that's what I might have been - a grande amoureuse - sacrificed everything - everything... And nobody cares! But I'll tell everyone - I'll tell them now - how she neglects me - how hard she is - making me come on this journey - bored to death... I'll go and tell them now -" She surged forward. Poirot gently repressed the action. "I will send her to you, Madame. Re-enter your cabin. It is best that way -" "No. I want to tell everyone - everyone on the boat -" "It is too dangerous, Madame. The sea is too rough. You might be swept overboard." Mrs Otterbourne looked at him doubtfully. "You think so. You really think so?" "I do." He was successful. Mrs Otterbourne wavered, faltered and re-entered her cabin. Poirot's nostrils twitched once or twice. Then he nodded and walked on to where Rosalie Otterbourne was sitting between Mrs Allerton and Tim. "Your mother wants you, Mademoiselle." She had been laughing quite happily. Now her face clouded over. She shot a quick suspicious look at him and hurried along the deck. "I can't make that child out," said Mrs Allerton. "She varies so. One day she's friendly; the next day she's positively rude." "Thoroughly spoilt and bad-tempered," said Tim. Mrs Allerton shook her head. "No. I don't think it's that. I think she's unhappy." Tim shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, well, I suppose we've all got our private troubles." His voice sounded hard and curt. A booming noise was heard. "Lunch," cried Mrs Allerton delightedly. "I'm starving." That evening, Poirot noticed that Mrs Allerton was sitting talking to Miss Van Schuyler. As he passed, Mrs Allerton closed one eye and opened it again. She was saying, "Of course at Calfries Castle the dear Duke -" Cornelia, released from attendance, was out on the deck. She was listening to Dr Bessner, who was instructing her somewhat ponderously in Egyptology as culled from the pages of Baedeker. Cornelia listened with rapt attention. Leaning over the rail Tim Allerton was saying, "Anyhow, it's a rotten world..." Rosalie Otterbourne answered, "It's unfair; some people have everything." Poirot sighed. He was glad that he was no longer young. 第二部 埃及 8 第二部 埃及 8 第二天一早，渡轮抵达艾舒巴。 珂妮亚•罗柏森，容光焕发，头戴一顶大草帽，第一个跑上岸。珂妮亚不是 那种会把别人冷落一旁的姑娘。她性情温良，对朋友都是推心置腹。 看到身穿白色套装、粉红色衬衫，别一只大蝶形领夹，头带白色遮阳帽的白 罗先生时，珂妮亚并没有退缩下来，要是贵族气的梵舒乐小姐一定这样做。他们 一道走上竖立着史芬克斯雕像的小径时，白罗寒暄道： “你的同伴没有上岸来参观神殿？” “哦，玛丽表姐——就是梵舒乐小姐——很少早起。她必得异常小心她的健 康。当然她需要特别护士鲍尔斯小姐为她照料事务。她还说，这个神殿不是最好 的。不过，她好心地认为我来是对我有所助益的。” “她真大方。”白罗冷冷地说。 没有心机的珂妮亚毫不怀疑地赞同他的话。 “噢，她很仁慈。这次旅游她肯带我来真是太好了。我觉自己真是幸运。她 跟我妈提我也可以一道来时我真不敢相信呢。” “你玩得很愉快。” “哦，太棒了！我游览过意大利的威尼斯、帕度亚及比萨。然后开罗——可 惜玛丽表姐在开罗精神不佳，所以我不能逛太多地方。再到瓦第•哈尔法游历之 后，我们就要回去了。” 白罗微笑道：“小姐，你生性蛮乐观的。” 他若有所思地从她身上看到走在她前头的沉静且紧皱眉头的罗莎莉。 “她长得很漂亮，不是吗？”随着他的视线，珂妮亚说道，“只是满脸不屑 的神情。她当然是非常典型的英国人。她不像道尔夫人那么可爱。我认为道尔夫 人是我见过的最可爱、最高雅的女人！而她先生只配赞诵她所行过的路径，不是 吗？那个灰发的妇人长相很奇特，你认为呢？听说她是一位勋爵的堂姐。昨晚她 提及那位勋爵就住在我们附近。但她自己并未受勋，不是吗？” 她继续闲谈，直到当班的导游叫停，并加以介绍：“这座神殿供奉着埃及神 Amum及Re-Harkht——其象征是鹰首……” 导游以单调的低语不住说着。贝斯勒医生，用德文喃喃念着“贝狄克旅行指 南”上面的说明，他宁愿研读铭刻在器物上的文字。 提姆•艾乐顿没有加入参观的行列。他母亲与矜持的芬索普先生已经开始融 洽地相处在一起。安德鲁•潘宁顿挽着林娜•道尔的手臂，仔细地倾听着，仿佛 对导游所引介的宝藏深感兴趣。 “这座有六十五尺高吧？看来比我略矮一些。好家伙，这个Rameses，是埃 及一个精力充沛的人。” “也是一个大商人。” 安德鲁•潘宁顿赞赏她。 “林娜，今天早上你看来气色甚佳。近来你憔悴多了，我很为你担心。” 参观的队伍一面聊着，一面踱回船上。“卡拿克”号再度在水面上前行。景 致不再那么险峻，两岸棕榈摇曳生姿。 景色的转换似乎使人紧张的情绪缓和不少。提姆恢复了原来的兴致，罗莎莉 不再那么阴郁，林娜也似乎轻松了一点。 潘宁顿对她说：“跟正度蜜月的新娘谈业务，似乎不合时宜，不过有一两件 事情……” “噢，安德鲁叔叔，”林娜立刻以办公事的口吻说，“我的婚姻使情况改变 了。” “正是这样。过些日子，我再请你签署一些文件。” “为什么不现在拿来？” 潘宁顿向了望厅四处扫了一眼，他们坐着的角落没有其他人。大部份的旅客 都在外面的甲板上。只有斐格森先生坐在中间一张小桌旁饮啤酒，包在肮脏法兰 绒长裤内的腿翘得高高的，一面饮一面吹口哨。还有白罗先生在贴近窗前的座位 上凝神地翻看杂志，梵舒乐小姐则在另一个角落读着一本有关埃及的书。 “好吧！”安德鲁•潘宁顿说着，走出了大厅。 林娜跟希蒙相视而笑——笑得有点牵强。 “亲爱的，觉得怎样？”希蒙问道。 “没什么，还好……奇怪现在我已不再那么紧张。” “真是太好了！” 潘宁顿回来了，手上捧着一大叠文件。 “老天！”林娜叫道，“全要我签的？” 潘宁顿满脸歉意说道： “我知道这有点为难，不过我想尽快把一切料理妥当。首先是第五街房子的 租约……然后是西部地产转让合同……” 他一边说，一边忙碌地将文件分类。希蒙打起呵欠来。 通往甲板的门打开，芬索普先生走了进来。他漫无目的地四周望望，然后缓 步走到白罗近旁，眺望着蓝色的河面和岸上的黄沙…… “——就签在这上面。”潘宁顿说，一边把文件放到林娜面前，指出要签字 的空处。 林娜拿起文件，粗略读了一遍，然后翻到第一页，拿起身旁的原珠笔，签上 自己的名字“林娜•道尔”…… 潘宁顿拿走文件，再递上另一份。 芬索普朝他们的座位方向移动，把头探出窗外，似乎要细看岸上某些有趣的 东西。 “这张只是转让书，”潘宁顿说，“不必细看。” 林娜还是约略看了一遍。潘宁顿递上第三份文件，林娜仍然小心看了一看。 “都是些例行文件，”潘宁顿说，“没有什么特别之处。” 希蒙又在打呵欠。 “我的好太太，你不会打算每份文件都读一遍吧？恐怕到中午你还读不完！” “我习惯细读每份文件。”林娜说，“父亲是这样教我的，他说文书上可能 会有错误。” 潘宁顿刺耳地笑了一笑。 “林娜，你真是个有商业头脑的女人。” “她的确比我谨慎得多！”希蒙笑着说，“我从来就没有读过一张法律文 件，我只是照着指示在虚线上签字——就是这样！” “那恐怕太粗心大意了！”林娜不同意地说。 “我天生不是做生意的料子。”希蒙欣然表示，“完全不是。人家叫我签 名，我就签名，省得麻烦。” 潘宁顿若有所思地望着他。他摸摸上唇冷冷说道：“有时候未免有点冒险 吧，道尔？” “废话！”希蒙答道，“我从来就没有这种杞人忧天的想法。我信任每个 人。正是因为这样，你知道从来没有人失信于我。” 出人意料之外，在一旁沉默不语的芬索普先生忽然转过身来，向林娜说： “恕我插嘴，但我要说我万分欣赏你处理商务的能力。从我的职业观察所得 ——我是个律师——我发觉女士处理商务通常很轻率，能每次签字都遍读内容的 不会有几个。” 他微微一鞠躬，然后腼腆地转过头去，继续研究尼罗河岸。 林娜不很自在地说：“噢，多谢你的夸奖……”她咬咬唇忍住了笑意。这年 轻人刚才是那么超乎常理地严肃。 潘宁顿显然感到很不满。希蒙•道尔则不晓得该笑该怒。芬索普却连耳根也 通红了。 “下一张，请！”林娜微笑地对潘宁顿说。但潘宁顿看来真的发火了。 “我想或许迟些时候比较适合。”他硬绷绷地说，“正如希蒙所说，到午餐 时分你也读不完这大堆文件。我们不该错过美好的风景。况且刚才那两份才是最 紧急的，改天再谈业务吧！” “这里实在太闷热了。”林娜说，“出去吸点新鲜空气吧！” 他们三人消失在门边。白罗转过头来，若有所思地把目光停留在芬索普背 上；又跳到斐格森先生懒洋洋的身上。后者头往后靠，依然轻松地吹着口哨。 最后白罗向坐在角落的梵舒乐小姐望去。梵舒乐小姐则看着斐格森先生。 大厅门打开了，珂妮亚•罗柏森匆匆走进来。 “为什么到现在才回来？”老妇人厉声道，“你究竟上哪儿去了？” “真对不起，玛丽表姐，毛线并不在你说的那地方，给放在另一只箱子里了 ……” “我的乖孩子，你怎么总是没法找到我要的东西？我知道你很乐意去做，但 你得学聪明点，手脚快点。只需要集中精神就成了。” “真是很抱歉，玛丽表姐，我想我很笨。” “如果肯尝试，没有人会笨的。我带你来旅行，希望你反过来也能替我做点 事。” 珂妮亚涨红着脸说：“真是很抱歉，玛丽表姐。” “鲍尔斯小姐又上哪儿去了？十分钟前就该吃药了。快去找她来。医生说一 定要……” 就在这时候，鲍尔斯小姐进来了，手上捧着一小杯药。 “你的药水，梵舒乐小姐。” “十一点就该吃了。”老妇人厉声道，“我最讨厌不守时。” “不错。”鲍尔斯小姐说，一边看看腕表。“现在刚好是十点五十九分。” “我的表已十一点十分了。” “我的表一向很准确，从来不快不慢。”鲍尔斯小姐十分自信地说。 梵舒乐小姐吞下了药水。 “我觉得精神更差了。”她尖刻地说。 “我很为你难过，梵舒乐小姐。” 鲍尔斯的语气一点也不显得难过，完全是漠不关心的样子。 “这儿太热了。”梵舒乐小姐再次尖刻地说道，“鲍尔斯小姐，替我到甲板 找个位子。珂妮亚，替我拿着针线活，不要笨手笨脚丢了毛线，不然我要你再卷 几个毛线团。” 她们这一队出去了。 斐格森先生叹口气，腿动一动，然后仿如向世人宣称般嚷道：“老天，我真 想扼那恶妇的脖子。” 白罗觉得有趣遂问他：“她这类型你不喜欢，呃？” “不喜欢？可以这么说。这种女人给过什么人好处呢？她从不动手，连提一 提手指都不肯。她只会食人而肥。她是个寄生虫——该死的、令人呕心的寄生 虫。这船上有一些人我认为根本不配活在这世界上。” “真的？” “是的。刚才在这里的那位小姐，签签股份转让书，滥施她的权力。成千上 百不幸的工人为了微薄的工资，作牛作马以供应她丝绸衣物及不必要的奢侈品。 人家告诉我她是英国最富有的女人之一——这种女人一辈子也不会回报社会一 下。” “谁告诉你她是全英国最富有的女人之一？” 斐格森先生瞪着他，一副要打架的神情。 “一个你不屑一顾的人！一个用手工作而不引为耻的人！不是你们这种西装 革履、矫饰的无用之人！” 他的眼睛停留在蝶形领带与粉红色衬衫上。 “我，以脑工作，也不以为耻。”白罗针对着这不友善的注视，如此回答 着。 斐格森先生只是喷着鼻息。 “他们大多数人最好闭紧嘴巴！”他断然说道。 “年轻人，你喜欢用暴力解决问题。”白罗说。 “你能告诉我，如果不用暴力，什么问题能得以解决呢？” “这样做自然较为简单、喧哗且场面壮观。” “你靠什么谋生？什么事也不干，我猜。或许你最好自称中等人。” “我不是中等人，我是上等人。”赫邱里•白罗以略显自负的语气回答。 “你的职业是什么？” “我是一名侦探。”白罗傲然回答，仿如宣称“我是一个国王”一般。 “老天！”年轻人似乎颇为震惊。“你的意思是那位女郎真的跟一个愚笨的 侦探扯上关系？她着手这桩事是否跟保养她那柔嫩的皮肤一样审慎呢？” “我与道尔先生或夫人皆无瓜葛。”白罗厉声回答，“我在旅行。” “旅途愉快吗？” “你呢？你是不是也并非在旅行？” “旅行！”斐格森先生喷着鼻息说道。然后他意味深长地加了一句，“我在 研究社会现象。” “很有意思！”白罗喃喃地道，慢步走上甲板。 梵舒乐小姐占了最有利的角落，珂妮亚跪在她跟前，伸出的双臂匝着一大捆 灰色毛线。鲍尔斯小姐则直着身子在看“周末晚报”。 白罗继续踱步到右舷甲板。当他拐弯到船时，几乎跟一个女子撞个正着。那 少女有着黝黑、泼辣、拉丁人式的脸，穿着一身干净的黑衣服，正跟一个穿水手 制服的男人在谈话。从外表看来，他是一个技师。这两个人一副古怪的神情，显 得有点心虚。白罗很怀疑他们刚才在谈论些什么。 他绕过船尾，继续沿着船缘前行。突然一个房间的门打开了，鄂特伯恩太太 几乎跌进他怀里。她穿着一件猩红色的缎面长袍。 “真对不起，”她道歉地说，“亲爱的白罗先生——真对不起。这船摇晃不 定，一会儿也不肯停下来……”她紧挽着白罗的臂膀。“船簸动不停真难受…… 我向来就不喜欢坐船……整天只有我独个儿。我那女儿——一点同情心也没有 ——一点也不体谅母亲的心。亏我为了她……”鄂特伯恩太太哭了起来。“为她 做了一辈子奴隶——捱得骨瘦如柴。伟大的母亲——就是这么一个伟大的母亲 ——牺牲了自己的一切、一切……可是没有人关心我！我要告诉每一个人——现 在就去告诉他们，她怎样忽略我——狠硬的心肠——叫我来旅行——要闷死我 ……我要去告诉他们——现在就去——” 鄂特伯恩太太猛冲向前，白罗温柔地制止她。 “太太，我替你找她来吧。最好先折回你的房间——” “不，我要告诉每一个人——船上的每个人——” “太太，这太危险了。风浪很大，你会被抛下河的。” 鄂特伯恩太太怀疑地望着白罗。 “真的会这样？” “真的。” 白罗的话果然奏效，鄂特伯恩太太踉跄地走回房间。 白罗抽动了一下鼻子，一边点着头一边向坐在艾乐顿太太和提姆中间的罗莎 莉走去。 “小姐，你母亲找你。” 罗莎莉正开心地笑着，面色不觉聚变。她怀疑地看看白罗，接着匆匆走开 了。 “我真摸不透这孩子。”艾乐顿太太说，“她是那么善变，一下子很友善， 一下子冰冷得吓人。” “被娇惯得养成坏脾气。”提姆说。 艾乐顿太太摇摇头。 “不，我不认为，我想她是不快乐。” 提姆耸耸肩。 “我想最好自扫门前雪吧！”提姆的声音僵硬而草率。 一阵刀叉相碰的声响传过来。 “吃饭了，”提姆兴奋地叫道，“我饿死了。” 当天夜晚，白罗注意到，艾乐顿太太已与梵舒乐小姐攀谈起来。他打她们身 边经过，听见艾乐顿太太睁一眼闭一眼在说，“当然在考尔弗莱斯古堡——勋爵 ——” 不用侍候梵舒乐小姐，珂妮亚遂到甲板上轻松一下。贝斯勒医生为她讲解 “贝狄克旅行指南”一书上有关埃及古物学的略嫌琐细的说明文字。珂妮亚全神 贯注地倾听。 背倚船舷上的栏干，提姆•艾乐顿在说，“总之，这是个不健全的社会。” “不公平，有些人什么都不缺。”罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩答道。 白罗叹口气，很庆幸自己不再年轻。 Chapter 9 Chapter 9 On the monday morning various expressions of delight and appreciation were heard on the deck of the Karnak. The steamer was moored to the bank and a few hundred yards away, the morning sun just striking it, was a great temple carved out of the face of the rock. Four colossal figures, hewn out of the cliff, look out eternally over the Nile and face the rising sun. Cornelia Robson said incoherently: "Oh, Monsieur Poirot, isn't it wonderful? I mean they're so big and so peaceful - and looking at them makes one feel that one's so small and - and rather like an insect - and that nothing matters very much really, does it?" Mr Fanthorp, who was standing near by, murmured, "Very - er - impressive." "Grand, isn't it?" said Simon Doyle, strolling up. He went on confidentially to Poirot: "You know, I'm not much of a fellow for temples and sight-seeing and all that, but a place like this sort of gets you, if you know what I mean. Those old Pharaohs must have been wonderful fellows." The others had drifted away. Simon lowered his voice. "I'm no end glad we came on this trip. It's - well, it's cleared things up. Amazing why it should - but there it is. Linnet's got her nerve back. She says it's because she's actually faced the business at last." "I think that is very probable," said Poirot. "She says that when she actually saw Jackie on the boat she felt terrible - and then, suddenly, it didn't matter any more. We're both agreed that we won't try and dodge her any more. We'll just meet her on her own ground and show her that this ridiculous stunt of hers doesn't worry us a bit. It's just damned bad form - that's all. She thought she'd got us badly rattled, but now, well, we just aren't rattled any more. That ought to show her." "Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "So that's splendid, isn't it?" "Oh, yes, yes." Linnet came along the deck. She was dressed in a soft shade of apricot linen. She was smiling. She greeted Poirot with no particular enthusiasm, just gave him a cool nod and then drew her husband away. Poirot realized with a momentary flicker of amusement that he had not made himself popular by his critical attitude. Linnet was used to unqualified admiration of all she was or did. Hercule Poirot had sinned noticeably against this creed. Mrs Allerton, joining him, murmured: "What a difference in that girl! She looked worried and not very happy at Assuan. Today she looks so happy that one might almost be afraid she was fey." Before Poirot could respond as he meant, the party was called to order. The official dragoman took charge and the party was led ashore to visit Abu Simbel. Poirot himself fell into step with Andrew Pennington. "It is your first visit to Egypt - yes?" he asked. "Why, no, I was here in nineteen twenty-three. That is to say, I was in Cairo. I've never been this trip up the Nile before." "You came over on the Carmanic, I believe - at least so Madame Doyle was telling me." Pennington shot a shrewd glance in his direction. "Why, yes, that is so," he admitted. "I wondered if you had happened to come across some friends of mine who were aboard - the Rushington Smiths." "I can't recall anyone of that name. The boat was full and we had bad weather. A lot of passengers hardly appeared, and in any case the voyage is so short one doesn't get to know who is on board and who isn't." "Yes, that is very true. What a pleasant surprise your running into Madame Doyle and her husband. You had no idea they were married?" "No. Mrs Doyle had written me, but the letter was forwarded on and I only received it some days after our unexpected meeting in Cairo." "You have known her for very many years, I understand?" "Why, I should say I have, Monsieur Poirot. I've known Linnet Ridgeway since she was just a cute little thing so high -" He made an illustrating gesture. "Her father and I were lifelong friends. A very remarkable man, Melhuish Ridgeway - and a very successful one." "His daughter comes into a considerable fortune, I understand... Ah, pardon - perhaps it is not delicate what I say there." Andrew Pennington seemed slightly amused. "Oh, that's pretty common knowledge. Yes, Linnet's a wealthy woman." "I suppose, though, that the recent slump is bound to affect any stocks, however sound they may be?" Pennington took a moment or two to answer. He said at last: "That, of course, is true to a certain extent. The position is very difficult in these days." Poirot murmured, "I should imagine, however, that Madame Doyle has a keen business head." "That is so. Yes, that is so. Linnet is a clever practical girl." They came to a halt. The guide proceeded to instruct them on the subject of the temple built by the great Rameses. The four colossi of Rameses himself, one pair on each side of the entrance, hewn out of the living rock, looked down on the little straggling party of tourists. Signor Richetti, disdaining the remarks of the dragoman, was busy examining the reliefs of Negro and Syrian captives on the bases of the colossi on either side of the entrance. When the party entered the temple, a sense of dimness and peace came over them. The still vividly coloured reliefs on some of the inner walls were pointed out, but the party tended to break up into groups. Dr Bessner read sonorously in German from a Baedeker, pausing every now and then to translate for the benefit of Cornelia, who walked in a docile manner beside him. This was not to continue, however. Miss Van Schuyler, entering on the arm of the phlegmatic Miss Bowers, uttered a commanding "Cornelia, come here," and the instruction had perforce to cease. Dr Bessner beamed after her vaguely through his thick lenses. "A very nice maiden, that," he announced to Poirot. "She does not look so starved as some of these young women. No, she has the nice curves. She listens too, very intelligently; it is a pleasure to instruct her." It fleeted across Poirot's mind that it seemed to be Cornelia's fate either to be bullied or instructed. In any case she was always the listener, never the talker. Miss Bowers, momentarily released by the peremptory summons of Cornelia, was standing in the middle of the temple, looking about her with her cool, incurious gaze. Her reaction to the wonders of the past was succinct. "The guide says the name of one of these gods or goddesses was Mut. Can you beat it?" There was an inner sanctuary where sat four figures eternally presiding, strangely dignified in their dim aloofness. Before them stood Linnet and her husband. Her arm was in his, her face lifted - a typical face of the new civilization, intelligent, curious, untouched by the past. Simon said suddenly: "Let's get out of here. I don't like these four fellows - especially the one in the high hat." "That's Amon, I suppose. And that one is Rameses. Why don't you like them? I think they're very impressive." "They're a damned sight too impressive; there's something uncanny about them. Come out into the sunlight." Linnet laughed but yielded. They came out of the temple into the sunshine with the sand yellow and warm about their feet. Linnet began to laugh. At their feet in a row, presenting a momentarily gruesome appearance as though sawn from their bodies, were the heads of half a dozen Nubian boys. The eyes rolled, the heads moved rhythmically from side to side, the lips chanted a new invocation: "Hip, hip hurray! Hip, hip, hurray! Very good, very nice. Thank you very much." "How absurd! How do they do it? Are they really buried very deep?" Simon produced some small change. "Very good, very nice, very expensive," he mimicked. Two small boys in charge of the "show" picked up the coins neatly. Linnet and Simon passed on. They had no wish to return to the boat, and they were weary of sight-seeing. They settled themselves with their backs to the cliff and let the warm sun bake them through. "How lovely the sun is," thought Linnet. "How warm - how safe... How lovely it is to be happy... How lovely to be me - me... me... Linnet..." Her eyes closed. She was half asleep, half awake, drifting in the midst of thought that was like the sand drifting and blowing. Simon's eyes were open. They too held contentment. What a fool he'd been to be rattled that first night... There was nothing to be rattled about... Everything was all right... After all, one could trust Jackie - There was a shout - people running toward him waving their arms - shouting... Simon stared stupidly for a moment. Then he sprang to his feet and dragged Linnet with him. Not a minute too soon. A big boulder hurtling down the cliff crashed pass them. If Linnet had remained where she was she would have been crushed to atoms. White-faced they clung together. Hercule Poirot and Tim Allerton ran up to them. "Ma foi, Madame, that was a near thing." All four instinctively looked up at the cliff. There was nothing to be seen. But there was a path along the top. Poirot remembered seeing some natives walking along there when they had first come ashore. He looked at the husband and wife. Linnet looked dazed still - bewildered. Simon, however, was inarticulate with rage. "God damn her!" he ejaculated. He checked himself with a quick glance at Tim Allerton. The latter said: "Phew, that was near! Did some fool bowl that thing over, or did it get detached on its own?" Linnet was very pale. She said with difficulty, "I think - some fool must have done it." "Might have crushed you like an eggshell. Sure you haven't got an enemy, Linnet?" Linnet swallowed twice and found a difficulty in answering the light-hearted raillery. "Come back to the boat, Madame," Poirot said quickly. "You must have a restorative." They walked there quietly, Simon still full of pent-up rage, Tim trying to talk cheerfully and distract Linnet's mind from the danger she had run, Poirot with a grave face. And then, just as they reached the gangplank, Simon stopped dead. A look of amazement spread over his face. Jacqueline de Bellefort was just coming ashore. Dressed in blue gingham, she looked childish this morning. "Good God!" said Simon under his breath. "So it was an accident, after all." The anger went out of his face. An overwhelming relief showed so plainly that Jacqueline noticed something amiss. "Good-morning," she said. "I'm afraid I'm a little on the late side." She gave them all a nod and stepped ashore and proceeded in the direction of the temple. Simon clutched Poirot's arm. The other two had gone on. "My God, that's a relief. I thought - I thought -" Poirot nodded. "Yes, yes, I know what you thought." But he himself still looked grave and preoccupied. He turned his head and noted carefully what had become of the rest of the party from the ship. Miss Van Schuyler was slowly returning on the arm of Miss Bowers. A little further away Mrs Allerton was standing laughing at the little Nubian row of heads. Mrs Otterbourne was with her. The others were nowhere in sight. Poirot shook his head as he followed Simon slowly onto the boat. 第二部 埃及 9 第二部 埃及 9 星期一早晨“卡拿克”甲板上响遍了喜悦和赞叹的词句。船刚好泊岸，离岸 数码外是一座巨大的神殿。四个巨型石像矗立着，活像永恒地守护在尼罗河畔。 旭日的光芒照耀在它们脸上，倍增石像的庄严肃穆。 珂妮亚透不过气地说：“噢，白罗先生，真是太美妙了！你看它们是那么宏 伟、安详，使人感觉到自己是那么渺小，像昆虫般微不足道！” 站在一旁的芬索普喃喃道：“的确令人印象深刻。” “多伟大啊！”希蒙•道尔缓步走过来，对白罗说：“你知道吗？我个人对 圣殿和名胜等并不特别喜爱。不过这样的一个地方，的确挺吸引人，我想古代那 些法老一定是颇不简单的人物。” 其他人都走开了。希蒙降低嗓门说： “这趟旅行给予我们的愉快是无止境的。嗯，事情终于明朗化了。很奇怪为 何会这样——但确实就这样发生了。林娜神经不再紧张了，她说那是因为她终究 又能料理业务的缘故。” “我觉得这么做的确相当明智。”白罗说。 “她说当她看见贾姬又出现在这艘船上她吓坏了——然后，突然间，这件事 不再困扰她了。我们两人已经协议好，我们不再逃避贾姬。她爱做什么随她去 做，我们则向她显示她那些怪异的举止再也不能困扰我们了。那只是可咒的劣行 ——如此而已。她认为她已逼使我们极度紧张不安，然而现在，我们不再紧张不 安了。这点必须让她明白。” “是的。”白罗若有所思地说。 “事情这样处理，不错吧？” “哦，当然，当然。” 林娜沿着甲板走过来。她穿一件宽松的杏色亚麻布衫。她脸上绽开笑容。但 她并没有热情招呼白罗，只冷冷向他点头，便挽着丈夫走开了。 白罗尚未意会到林娜的神情时，导游已高声召集众人，准备上岸参观阿布• 席姆贝尔。 白罗跟潘宁顿同行。 “你是初次来埃及吧？”白罗问道。 “哦，不。我一九二三年来过，当时只在开罗逗留，没有浏览尼罗河岸。” “你是搭‘卡拿尼克’号来的？道尔太太这样告诉我。”白罗用敏锐的目光 望了他一眼。 “不错，我是搭‘卡拿尼克’号。”潘宁顿应道。 “不知道你有没有在船上碰到我的老朋友——罗逊顿•史密斯一家人？” “我倒记不起有这家人。船上很挤迫，又遇上恶劣天气，好些旅客都躲在房 里。况且旅程很短，根本没有多少机会互相认识。” “啊，这话倒不假。你和道尔夫妇这回相遇可称得上很巧吧！你事前一点也 不知道他们的婚事？” “一点消息都没听说。道尔夫人曾写信给我，但信转过来的时候，我们已经 在开罗相聚了好几天了。” “听说你跟道尔太太认识多年了？” “噢，我认识林娜的时候，她只是个小女孩这般高——”潘宁顿做了一个手 势。“她父亲跟我是多年的老友。梅尔勒•黎吉薇是个杰出、成功的人物。” “他的女儿无疑继承了不少财物。” “噢，那是尽人皆知的了。不错，林娜是位富有的女人。”潘宁顿欣悦地 说。 “我相信，最近股市下跌一定会影响每一种股票，甚至连比较稳的也不例 外，对吗？” 潘宁顿思索了片刻才答道： “这说法在某种程度上当然是对的。这些日子，形势的确相当恶劣。” 白罗喃喃地道：“不过，我想道尔太太很有生意头脑。” “不错，林娜的确聪明能干。” 他们停步下来。开始介绍在伟大的Rameses手上建成的神殿。入口处两人一 对共四座Rameses巨像，以巨石刻凿而成，俯视着三五成群的游客们。黎希提先 生不睬导游的简介，自个儿跑到石像基座上忙着研究黑人和叙利亚战俘的策动浮 雕。当一行人踏入圣殿时，一种憩静的感觉笼罩下来。不多时，游客们三三两两 散开了。 贝斯勒医生以宏亮的德文念着“贝狄克旅行指南”，不时停下来为温驯地走 在他身旁的珂妮亚译介。可惜这件事无法继续下去。梵舒乐小姐在鲍尔斯小姐的 扶持下走了进来，她发令道：“珂妮亚，你过来。”译介不得不终止。贝斯勒医 生透过深度镜片望着她逐渐远去的倩影，脸上不觉绽开笑容。 “性情非常温良的女孩，”他向白罗说道，“她看起来不像那几个年轻女人 饿了几天的模样。她曲线玲珑。再者，她听别人讲话非常专心；能为她讲解是种 愉快的经验。” 白罗脑海闪过一个念头：珂妮亚的命运大概不是被当作弱小来欺凌，就是当 作不懂事的女孩来教导。任何场合，她都是听讲者而非讲解者。 珂妮亚被专横的梵舒乐小姐叫去后，鲍尔斯小姐暂松了一口气，站在神殿中 央，以冷漠的、不太感兴趣的目光随意浏览了四周。她对古代珍宝的反应也是很 平淡的。 “导游提到一位神祗的名字是Mut，你了解其涵义吗？” 内殿有四座石像，他们冷漠、空茫的眼神在众多石像中显得较为特殊，很容 易辨认出来。 林娜跟她丈夫一块站在这四座巨像前，手挽着手，脸庞昂起——一副现代人 好奇的表情。 希蒙突然说：“走吧！我一点也不喜欢这四个家伙，特别是那个戴高帽的。” “那大概是阿曼（古埃及司生命及生殖之神），你为什么不喜欢它们，我认 为它们倒是给人深刻的印象！” “就是过于令人印象深刻，使人有种狡猾的感觉！出去晒晒太阳吧！” 林娜笑了起来，最后还是顺着他的意。他俩走到阳光底下，脚底的黄沙烘暖 了他们的脚。 林娜纵声大笑。在他们脚下片刻间冒出了六个排成一排的努比亚小孩的头， 他们的头仿如跟身体锯开了，看来怪异而恐怖。他们的眼睛滴溜溜转，头部有节 奏地左右晃动，唇角迸出一种祈求的声音： “哇！哇！好好，好棒。真谢谢你们。” “真荒谬！他们怎么办得到？他们真的埋得很深吗？” 希蒙身子稍为移动了几步。 “好好，好棒，好不便宜。”他模拟他们的声音道。 两个编导这场“表演”的小男孩拾起钱币，揩拭干净。 林娜和希蒙继续前行。他们不想回到船上，对观光浏览也厌腻了，他们背倚 着崖壁，让温暖的阳光晒着身体。 “多可爱的阳光！”林娜想道，“多和暖啊！又安全……能够这般开心实在 太美妙……多幸福的我……林娜•道尔……” 她闭上双目，半睡半醒地陶醉在这片遐思中。 希蒙的眼睛睁开，眼底也蕴含着满足。第一天晚上他担忧极了……实在太傻 了……没什么事可担忧……每件事都很顺利……最重要的是，贾姬是很可依赖 的…… 突然间，一声怪叫传来——人群在向着他们跑来，一边挥手，一边大叫着 …… 希蒙呆呆地瞪着他们好一会儿，接着跳起身来，把林娜拖过一旁。 说时迟那时快，一块大石从悬崖滚下，在他们身旁砸个粉碎。倘若林娜还躺在那 儿，势必已被压成肉酱。 他俩苍白着脸，拥抱着。白罗和提姆跑过来。 “好险呀，道尔太太！” 四个人本能地往悬崖顶上望去，什么动静也没有。崖上有一条小径，白罗记 得上午时曾见过一些土人在上面走动。 他望一望道尔夫妇。林娜显得茫然，希蒙却满脸怒气，脱口而出道：“上帝 诅咒她！” 他抑制住自己，眼光迅即向身旁的提姆一瞥。 “呵，真是太惊险了。是哪个家伙干的好事，还是山石因松落而滚下来的？” 提姆问道。 林娜显得十分苍白，艰难地说：“我想是一些蠢家伙干的！” “差点儿把你像鸡蛋般压碎！你没有什么仇人吧，林娜？” 林娜咽了两口唾沫，根本答不上这开玩笑式的问话。 “夫人，快上船吧！”白罗说，“你得服点镇静剂！” 他们疾步回船，希蒙仍然满腔怒火；提姆设法说点轻松的话；白罗则脸色沉 重。他们踏上跳板时，希蒙呆住了。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗正步上岸来。穿着一件有方格条纹的蓝色棉布衣，今天早 晨她看起来很孩子气。 “我的天！”希蒙悄悄地说，“原来真是个意外！” 怒容从他的脸上消失，他的神色使贾克琳也留意到有点不寻常。 “早安，”她说，“我想我是迟了一点。” 她跟各人点头后便朝着圣殿的方向去了。 另外两个人向前行去。希蒙抓住白罗的臂膀说： “唉，总算松了一口气。我还以为——” 白罗点点头。“不错，我知道你刚才怎么想。”但他的神情仍然显得沉重及 满怀心事。他转过头去，细心观察其他旅客的动静。 梵舒乐小姐在鲍尔斯的搀扶下正慢步走回来；不远处艾乐顿太太笑着在看一 排努比亚小孩的头。鄂特伯恩在这方面和她在一起。其他人则不见踪影。 白罗一边摇头，一边随着希蒙•道尔上了船。 Chapter 10 Chapter 10 "Will you explain to me, Madame, the meaning of the word 'fey'?" Mrs Allerton looked slightly surprised. She and Poirot were toiling slowly up to the rock overlooking the Second Cataract. Most of the others had gone up on camels, but Poirot had felt that the motion of the camel was slightly reminiscent of that of a ship. Mrs Allerton had put it on the grounds of personal dignity. They had arrived at Wвdi Halfa the night before. This morning two launches had conveyed all the party to the Second Cataract, with the exception of Signor Richetti, who had insisted on making an excursion of his own to a remote spot called Semna, which, he explained, was of paramount interest as being the gateway of Nubia in the time of Amenemhet III, and where there was a stele recording the fact that on entering Egypt Negroes must pay custom duties. Everything had been done to discourage this example of individuality, but with no avail. Signor Richetti was determined and had waved aside each objection: (1) that the expedition was not worth making, (2) that the expedition could not be made, owing to the impossibility of getting a car there, (3) that no car could be obtained to do the trip, (4) that a car would be a prohibitive price. Having scoffed at 1, expressed incredulity at 2, offered to find a car himself to 3, and bargained fluently in Arabic for 4, Signor Richetti had at last departed - his departure being arranged in a secret and furtive manner, in case some of the other tourists should take it into their heads to stray from the appointed paths of sight-seeing. "'Fey'?" Mrs Allerton put her head on one side as she considered her reply. "Well, it's a Scotch word, really. It means the kind of exalted happiness that comes before disaster. You know - it's too good to be true." She enlarged on the theme. Poirot listened attentively. "I thank you, Madame. I understand now. It is odd that you should have said that yesterday - when Madame Doyle was to escape death so shortly afterward." Mrs Allerton gave a little shiver. "It must have been a very near escape. Do you think some of those little black wretches rolled it over for fun? It's the sort of thing boys might do all over the world - not perhaps really meaning any harm." Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "It may be, Madame." He changed the subject, talking of Majorca and asking various practical questions from the point of view of a possible visit. Mrs Allerton had grown to like the little man very much - partly perhaps out of a contradictory spirit. Tim, she felt, was always trying to make her less friendly to Hercule Poirot, whom he summarized firmly as "the worst kind of bounder." But she herself did not call him a bounder; she supposed it was his somewhat foreign exotic clothing which roused her son's prejudices. She herself found him an intelligent and stimulating companion. He was also extremely sympathetic. She found herself suddenly confiding in him her dislike of Joanna Southwood. It eased her to talk of the matter. And after all, why not? He did not know Joanna - would probably never meet her. Why should she not ease herself of that constantly borne burden of jealous thought? At that same moment Tim and Rosalie Otterbourne were talking of her. Tim had just been half jestingly abusing his luck. His rotten health, never bad enough to be really interesting, yet not good enough for him to have led the life he would have chosen. Very little money, no congenial occupation. "A thoroughly lukewarm, tame existence," he finished discontentedly. Rosalie said abruptly, "You've got something heaps of people would envy you." "What's that?" "Your mother." Tim was surprised and pleased. "Mother? Yes, of course she is quite unique. It's nice of you to see it." "I think she's marvellous. She looks so lovely - so composed and calm - as though nothing could ever touch her, and yet - and yet somehow she's always ready to be funny about things too." Rosalie was stammering slightly in her earnestness. Tim felt a rising warmth toward the girl. He wished he could return the compliment, but, lamentably, Mrs Otterbourne was his idea of the world's greatest menace. The inability to respond in kind made him embarrassed. Miss Van Schuyler had stayed in the launch. She could not risk the ascent either on a camel or on her legs. She had said snappily: "I'm sorry to have to ask you to stay with me, Miss Bowers. I intended you to go and Cornelia to stay, but girls are so selfish. She rushed off without a word to me. And I actually saw her talking to that very unpleasant and ill-bred young man, Ferguson. Cornelia has disappointed me sadly. She has absolutely no social sense." Miss Bowers replied in her usual matter-of-fact fashion. "That's quite all right, Miss Van Schuyler. It would have been a hot walk up there, and I don't fancy the look of those saddles on the camels. Fleas, as likely as not." She adjusted her glasses, screwed up her eyes to look at the party descending the hill and remarked: "Miss Robson isn't with that young man any more. She's with Dr Bessner." Miss Van Schuyler granted. Since she had discovered that Dr Bessner had a large clinic in Czecho-Slovakia and a European reputation as a fashionable physician, she was disposed to be gracious to him. Besides, she might need his professional services before the journey was over. When the party returned to the Karnak Linnet gave a cry of surprise. "A telegram for me." She snatched it off the board and tore it open. "Why - I don't understand-potatoes, beetroots - what does it mean, Simon?" Simon was just coming to look over her shoulder when a furious voice said, "Excuse me, that telegram is for me," and Signor Richetti snatched it rudely from her hand, fixing her with a furious glare as he did so. Linnet stared in surprise for a moment, then turned over the envelope. "Oh, Simon, what a fool I am! It's Richetti - not Ridgeway - and anyway of course my name isn't Ridgeway now. I must apologize." She followed the little archaeologist up to the stern of the boat. "I am so sorry, Signor Richetti. You see my name was Ridgeway before I got married, and I just haven't grown used to -" She paused, her face dimpled with smiles, inviting him to smile upon a young bride's faux pas. But Richetti was obviously "not amused." Queen Victoria at her most disapproving could not have looked more grim. "Names should be read carefully. It is inexcusable to be careless in these matters." Linnet bit her lip and her colour rose. She was not accustomed to have her apologies received in this fashion. She turned away and, rejoining Simon, said angrily, "These Italians are really insupportable." "Never mind, darling; let's go and look at that big ivory crocodile you liked." They went ashore together. Poirot, watching them walk up the landing stage, heard a sharp indrawn breath. He turned to see Jacqueline de Bellefort at his side. Her hands were clenched on the rail. The expression on her face, as she turned it toward him, quite startled him. It was no longer gay or malicious. She looked devoured by some inner consuming fire. "They don't care any more." The words came low and fast. "They've got beyond me. I can't reach them... They don't mind if I'm here or not... I can't - I can't hurt them any more." Her hands on the rail trembled. "Mademoiselle -" She broke in: "Oh, it's too late now - too late for warning... You were right. I ought not to have come. Not on this journey. What did you call it? A journey of the soul? I can't go back; I've got to go on. And I'm going on. They shan't be happy together; they shan't. I'd kill him sooner..." She turned abruptly away. Poirot, staring after her, felt a hand on his shoulder. "Your girl friend seems a trifle upset, Monsieur Poirot." Poirot turned. He stared in surprise, seeing an old acquaintance. "Colonel Race." The tall bronzed man smiled. "Bit of a surprise, eh?" Hercule Poirot had come across Colonel Race a year previously in London. They had been fellow guests at a very strange dinner party - a dinner party that had ended in death for that strange man, their host. Poirot knew that Race was a man of unadvertised goings and comings. He was usually to be found in one of the outposts of Empire where trouble was brewing. "So you are here at Wвdi Halfa," he remarked thoughtfully. "I am here on this boat." "You mean?" "That I am making the return journey with you to Shellвl." Hercule Poirot's eyebrows rose. "That is very interesting. Shall we, perhaps, have a little drink?" They went into the observation saloon, now quite empty. Poirot ordered a whisky for the Colonel and a double orangeade full of sugar for himself. "So you make the return journey with us," said Poirot as he sipped. "You would go faster, would you not, on the Government steamer, which travels by night as well as day?" Colonel Race's face creased appreciatively. "You're right on the spot as usual, Monsieur Poirot," he said pleasantly. "It is, then, the passengers?" "One of the passengers." "Now which one, I wonder?" Hercule Poirot asked of the ornate ceiling. "Unfortunately I don't know myself," said Race ruefully. Poirot looked interested. Race said: "There's no need to be mysterious to you. We've had a good deal of trouble out here - one way and another. It isn't the people who ostensibly lead the rioters that we're after. It's the men who very cleverly put the match to the gunpowder. There were three of them. One's dead. One's in prison. I want the third man - a man with five or six cold-blooded murders to his credit. He's one of the cleverest paid agitators that ever existed... He's on this boat. I know that from a passage in a letter that passed through our hands. Decoded it said: 'X will be on the Karnak trip February seventh to thirteenth.' It didn't say under what name X would be passing." "Have you any description of him?" "No. American, Irish and French descent. Bit of a mongrel. That doesn't help us much. Have you got any ideas?" "An idea - it is all very well," said Poirot meditatively. Such was the understanding between them that Race pressed him no further. He knew that Hercule Poirot did not ever speak unless he was sure. Poirot rubbed his nose and said unhappily, "There passes itself something on this boat that causes me much inquietude." Race looked at him inquiringly. "Picture to yourself," said Poirot, "a person A who has grievously wronged a person B. The person B desires the revenge. The person B makes the threats." "A and B being both on this boat?" Poirot nodded. "Precisely." "And B, I gather, being a woman?" "Exactly." Race lit a cigarette. "I shouldn't worry. People who go about talking of what they are going to do don't usually do it." "And particularly is that the case with les femmes, you would say! Yes, that is true." But he still did not look happy. "Anything else?" asked Race. "Yes, there is something. Yesterday the person A had a very near escape from death, the kind of death that might very conveniently be called an accident." "Engineered by B?" "No, that is just the point. B could have had nothing to do with it." "Then it was an accident." "I suppose so - but I do not like such accidents." "You're quite sure B could have had no hand in it?" "Absolutely." "Oh, well, coincidences do happen. Who is A, by the way? A particularly disagreeable person?" "On the contrary. A is a charming, rich and beautiful young lady." Race grinned. "Sounds quite like a novelette." "Peut-кtre. But I tell you, I am not happy, my friend. If I am right, and after all I am constantly in the habit of being right -" Race smiled into his moustache at this typical utterance - "then there is matter for grave inquietude. And now, you come to add yet another complication. You tell me that there is a man on the Karnak who kills. "He doesn't usually kill charming young ladies." Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. "I am afraid, my friend," he said. "I am afraid... Today, I advised this lady, Madame Doyle, to go with her husband to Khartoun, not to return on this boat. But they would not agree. I pray to Heaven that we may arrive at Shellвl without catastrophe." "Aren't you taking, rather a cynical view?" Poirot shook his head. "I am afraid," he said simply. "Yes, I, Hercule Poirot, am afraid." 第二部 埃及 10 第二部 埃及 10 “夫人，请为我解释一下‘Fey’这个字的意思好吗？” 艾乐顿太太看来有些吃惊。她和白罗正漫步攀上俯视第二瀑布区的岩石。大 多数游客都骑骆驼上去了，但白罗觉得骆驼的走动使他联想起船的摇晃，艾乐顿 太太则基于个人的自尊不愿骑骆驼上去。 他们是昨晚抵达瓦第•哈尔法的。今天早上，两艘游艇将旅客载到第二瀑布 区。只有黎希提先生没来，他坚持独自前往一处叫森拿的偏僻地区，因为该处在 亚曼楞赫特三世统治时期是努比亚的门户，为一最高的首府；且该处有一块碑 石，记载着：黑人在进入埃及境内时须交付关税。导游想尽办法阻止他离队，但 都无法今他回心转意。黎希提先生固执己见，拒绝每一项反对意见：（1）森拿 这个偏远地区不值一探；（2）森拿一地雇不到车子；（3）找不着车子可以完成 这趟旅行；（4）即使找到车子，车资也是贵得离谱。对第一种反对意见，黎希 提先生嗤之以鼻。第二种反对意见，他抱着怀疑态度。对第三、四种，他则为自 己雇到一辆车子，而且价钱公道，因为他能用流利的阿拉伯语跟土人交易。结果 固执的黎希提先生还是单独出发了。一切都是静悄悄地安排的，以避免其他旅客 效法，经常离队，影响行程。 “‘Fey’？”艾乐顿太太头偏向一边，思索着如何答复。“这是一个苏格 兰古字。嗯，没错。意即大灾难降临前的纵乐。你晓得，事情太美好就不像是真 的。” 她把字义扩大范围来解释。白罗仔细地倾听着。 “谢谢你，夫人。现在我了解了。很奇怪昨天当道尔夫人逃出死神掌中的一 瞬你竟说出这个字。” 艾乐顿太太战栗了一下。 “那真是生死关头。你是否认为那是某个黑皮肤的小淘气为了好玩而推下来 的？这种事全世界的小孩都可能会做——并不是故意要伤害人。” 白罗耸耸肩。 “有可能。” 他转换话题，谈到马祖卡岛，并问了一些实际的问题。 艾乐顿太太生性喜欢矮个子的男人——或许是出于矛盾的心理吧。她感到， 提姆总是在设法阻止她跟赫邱里•白罗更接近，他批评白罗是一个“服装俗恶之 人”。但她却不这么认为；她想或许是白罗外国人奇异的装束挑起她儿子的偏见 吧。她自己则发现白罗是个有智慧、精力充沛的伙伴。他也极富同情心。她不自 觉就突然向他坦承她不喜欢乔安娜•邵斯伍德。谈过之后，她觉得心情轻松不 少。总之一句话，为什么不能这样呢？他并不认识乔安娜——可能也从未遇见 她。她说出来，舒解一下经常负荷在胸的嫉妒意念，有何不可呢？ 同时，提姆正和罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩谈到她。提姆以半开玩笑的口吻咒骂着自 己的运气。他说，他虚弱的身体既没有坏到真正危险的程度，也不是好到可以让 他过自个爱过的生活。没有钱，没有合意的工作。 他愤愤不平地为自己下了断语：“不痛不痒、无精打采地活着！” 罗莎莉猝然说：“你拥有一样人人都要嫉妒你的宝贝。” “什么宝贝。” “你的母亲。” 提姆很吃惊也很高兴。 “母亲？当然她是非常独特的。很高兴你能看出这一点。” “我认为她很了不起。她看起来那么可爱——那么自持且镇静——仿佛没有 什么事曾经扰乱过她。然而——然而她又总是以玩赏的心情来看待事物……” 罗莎莉有点口吃地倾吐出由衷之言。 提姆觉得内心对这女郎升起一股暖气。他渴望也恭维一下她的母亲以作为回 报；不幸的是，鄂特伯恩太太在他的印象中是世界上一股最强大的胁迫力量。由 于无力报偿，他深感难以释怀。 梵舒乐小姐留在船上。她不能冒险骑骆驼或爬山上去。她说：“抱歉，鲍尔 斯小姐，让你留下来陪我。我原来要让你去让珂妮亚留下，可是女孩子总是自私 的。她没有跟我讲一声就自个儿跑开了。我亲眼看见她跟那位令人讨厌、教养差 的斐格森在一起谈话。珂妮亚很让我失望。她一点社交概念都没有。” 鲍尔斯小姐以她一惯实事求是的态度作答道： “不必介意，梵舒乐小姐。登上山顶也是够热够累人的，再者我也不想骑在 骆驼上一直看着没多大变化的山峰。” 她调整一下望远镜的距离，凑上眼去观察正在登山的一群人，然后说道： “罗柏森小姐不再和那位年轻人走在一起了。她现在跟贝斯勒医生一道。” 梵舒乐小姐喉咙咕噜了一声。因为她发现贝斯勒医生在捷克开了一家规模宏 大的诊所，在欧洲也以时髦医生而极享盛名，她正打算讨好他。此外，在这趟旅 行结束前她也需要他的诊疗。 当一行人从瀑布区回到“卡拿克号”时，林娜突然惊叫起来： “是我的电报哩！” 她从通告栏上取下电报，撕开了。 “咦，真奇怪——马铃薯、甜菜根——这究竟是什么意思，希蒙？” 希蒙正想从她背后看个清楚，一个愤怒的声音传来，“对不起，这电报应该 是我的！”黎希提先生粗暴地抢走林娜手中的信，还狠狠瞪了她一眼。 林娜呆了一会，然后把信封翻转过来。 “噢，希蒙，我真糊涂。是寄给名叫黎希提的——而不是黎吉薇——当然我 现在已经不叫黎吉薇了。我得道歉才是。” 她尾随那考古学家走到船的后方。 “真抱歉，黎希提先生。婚前我叫黎吉薇。而我新婚不久，所以——”她满 脸笑容地说道，盼望对方也报以一笑。谁知黎希提显然是怒气未消。维多利亚女 王在最不高兴的时候看来也不会像他这样阴郁。 “名字得格外小心念。胡乱拆阅他人的信件是不可原谅的。” 林娜咬着嘴唇，面色骤然大变。她从来不习惯被别人如此对待，特别是她已 经主动道歉过了。她调过头跑回希蒙身边说：“这些意大利人真是不可理喻！” “算了吧，亲爱的。我们还是去看那条你心爱的象牙鳄鱼吧！” 他们一起上岸。白罗望着他俩踏上跳板，突然听到身旁发出沉重的呼气声。 他转过头，发现贾克琳•杜贝尔弗双手紧握着栏杆。当她转身对着他，她脸上的 表情让他吓了一跳：不再是愉快或恶毒，而是像被内心的怒火吞噬了。 “他们不再理会我了。”声音显得低沉、急促。“他们已经摆脱我。我不再 能接近他们……他们根本不重视我的存在……我再不能刺痛他们了……” 她的手在颤抖。 “小姐，你——” 她插嘴道：“我，一切都太迟了——太迟了……你说得对，我不该来。不该 加入这趟旅程。你称它什么？灵魂之旅？现在我已不能回头，我得继续走下去， 而我也只能继续走下去。他们不会快乐地生活在一起的，我会早些杀了他……” 她猛然调头而去。白罗看着她的背影，一只手忽然搭到他的肩膀上。 “白罗先生，你的妇女朋友似乎很不开心。” 白罗转过身来，惊讶于竟然遇上一位老相识。 “雷斯上校！” 那黝黑肤色的高个子微笑道： “有点意想不到吧？” 白罗一年前在伦敦结识雷斯上校，当时两人被邀请参加一次奇特的宴会，结 果宴会以那怪癖的主人之死而告终。 白罗知道雷斯的行踪飘忽，总是在酝酿着麻烦的地方出现。 “你在瓦第•哈尔法有事？”他若有所思地问。 “我在这里上船。” “你是说——？” “我跟你们一道回雪莱尔。” 白罗的眉头一扬。 “这倒很有意思。让我们先喝一杯吧？” 两人走进寂寥无人的了望厅。白罗替上校叫了杯威士忌，自己则要了双份掺 糖的橙汁。 “你要跟我们一块回程？”白罗啜着果汁说，“乘公家的邮船不是更省时 吗？它们日夜不停地行驶。” 上校一脸赞赏的神情。 “白罗，你总是一语中的。”他蛮开心地说。 “那么，是旅客们的问题？” “是旅客中的一个。” “我怀疑，究竟是哪一个？”白罗仰天问道。 “可惜的是，我自己也不知道是哪一个。”雷斯沮丧地说。 白罗似乎很感兴趣。 雷斯道：“对你不必故弄玄虚。这儿最近出了一连串麻烦事。我们并不是在 追查明目张胆的滋事者，而是那些幕后策划人。一共有三个：其中一个已经死 了，另一个在狱中，我要找的就是剩下来的一个。这人最少牵涉了五、六宗谋杀 案，是所有职业滋事者中最机警的一个……他就在这艘船上。我们手头有一封 信，其中一段写着：二月七日至十三日X将在‘卡拿克’号上。却不知X会采用什 么名字出现。” “有没有关于此人特征的任何资料？” “没有，只知道是美国、爱尔兰和法国的混血儿。没有多大帮助。你可有什 么头绪？” “只有一点点。”白罗沉思说。 雷斯体谅地不再追问下去。他晓得在未充分肯定之前，白罗是不会轻易说出 口的。 白罗捏一下鼻子，很不开心地说：“这船上正发生一些令我很不安的事情。” 雷斯用询问的眼神望着他。 “你可以想像一下，”白罗说，“A严重伤害了B，B正打算报复，还作出了 恐吓。” “A和B都同在这艘船上？” 白罗点点头，“正是。” “我猜想，B一定是个女的。” “不错。” 雷斯点燃起一枝香烟。 “我倒一点也不担心。那些扬言要采取行动的人，总是说过就算了。” “特别是对女人来说，是吗？这倒一点也不假。” 但白罗仍然眉头紧皱。 “还有别的事？”雷斯问道。 “还有一点，昨天A差点送了命，可以说是一次意外吧！” “是B干的？” “不，这正是最令人困惑的一点。B跟这事完全无关。” “那么的确是桩意外了。” “我想可能是吧，但我不喜欢这样的意外。” “你肯定B没有参与其事？” “绝对肯定。” “啊，巧合总是会有的。说起来，A是谁？一个特别难以相处的人？” “恰恰相反。A是个迷人、漂亮的富家小姐。” 雷斯咧嘴笑道： “就像小说的情节一样。” “或许是吧！不过，我告诉你，我一点也不开心。假若我的估计正确，而我 的估计向来都是如此准确，”雷斯会心地笑起来——“那么事情的确很不妥当。 而现在，你又在增加事情的复杂性。你告诉我船上竟然又多了一个杀手。” “不过，他向来是不杀漂亮少女的。” “我恐怕，老友，”白罗不清楚地摇着头说，“我恐怕……今天，我会建议 A——道尔夫人——跟她先生去卡登，不要再返回此船。但他们不同意。我惟有 祈祷大家安抵雪莱尔。” “你这不是有点过度悲观吗？” 白罗摇摇头。 “我很害怕。”他说，“不错，我——白罗——的确害怕……” Chapter 11 Chapter 11 Cornelia Robson stood inside the temple of Abu Simbel. It was the evening of the following day - a hot still evening. The Karnak was anchored once more at Abu Simbel to permit a second visit to be made to the temple, this time by artificial light. The difference this made was considerable, and Cornelia commented wonderingly on the fact to Mr Ferguson, who was standing by her side. "Why, you see it ever so much better now!" she exclaimed. "All those enemies having their heads cut off by the King - they just stand right out. That's a cute kind of castle there that I never noticed before. I wish Dr Bessner was here, he'd tell me what it was." "How you can stand that old fool beats me," said Ferguson gloomily. "Why, he's just one of the kindest men I've ever met!" "Pompous old bore." "I don't think you ought to speak that way." The young man gripped her suddenly by the arm. They were just emerging from the temple into the moonlight. "Why do you stick being bored by fat old men - and bullied and snubbed by a vicious old harridan?" "Why, Mr Ferguson!" "Haven't you got any spirit? Don't you know you're just as good as she is?" "But I'm not!" Cornelia spoke with honest conviction. "You're not as rich; that's all you mean." "No, it isn't. Cousin Marie's very, very cultured, and -" "Cultured!" The young man let go of her arm as suddenly as he had taken it. "That word makes me sick." Cornelia looked at him in alarm. "She doesn't like you talking to me, does she?" asked the young man. Cornelia blushed and looked embarrassed. "Why? Because she thinks I'm not her social equal! Pah! Doesn't that make you see red?" Cornelia faltered out, "I wish you wouldn't get so mad about things." "Don't you realize - and you an American - that everyone is born free and equal?" "They're not," said Cornelia with calm certainty. "My good girl, it's part of your constitution!" "Cousin Marie says politicians aren't gentlemen," said Cornelia. "And of course people aren't equal. It doesn't make sense. I know I'm kind of homely looking, and I used to feel mortified about it sometimes, but I've got over that. I'd like to have been born elegant and beautiful like Mrs Doyle, but I wasn't, so I guess it's no use worrying." "Mrs Doyle!" exclaimed Ferguson with deep contempt. "She's the sort of woman who ought to be shot as an example." Cornelia looked at him anxiously. "I believe it's your digestion," she said kindly. "I've got a special kind of pepsin that Cousin Marie tried once. Would you like to try it?" Mr Ferguson said, "You're impossible!" He turned and strode away. Cornelia went on toward the boat. Just as she was crossing onto the gangway, he caught her up once more. "You're the nicest person on the boat," he said. "And mind you remember it." Blushing with pleasure Cornelia repaired to the observation saloon. Miss Van Schuyler was conversing with Dr Bessner - an agreeable conversation dealing with certain royal patients of his. Cornelia said guiltily, "I do hope I haven't been a long time, Cousin Marie." Glancing at her watch the old lady snapped: "You haven't exactly hurried, my dear. And what have you done with my velvet stole?" Cornelia looked round. "Shall I see if it's in the cabin, Cousin Marie?" "Of course it isn't! I had it just after dinner in here, and I haven't moved out of the place. It was on that chair." Cornelia made a desultory search. "I can't see it anywhere, Cousin Marie." "Nonsense!" said Miss Van Schuyler. "Look about." Mr Fanthorp, who was sitting at a neighbouring table decided to help the girl, but the stole wasn't found. It was a hot day and people had retired early after going ashore to view the temple. The Doyles were playing Bridge with Pennington and Race at a table in a corner. The only other occupant of the saloon was Hercule Poirot, who was yawning his head off at a small table near the door. Miss Van Schuyler, making a Royal Progress bedward, with Cornelia and Miss Bowers in attendance, paused by his chair. He sprang politely to his feet, stifling a yawn of gargantuan dimensions. Miss Van Schuyler said: "I have only just realized who you are, Monsieur Poirot. I may tell you that I have heard of you from my old friend Rufus Van Aldin. You must tell me about your cases sometime." Poirot, his eyes twinkling a little through their sleepiness, bowed in an exaggerated manner. With a kindly but condescending nod, Miss Van Schuyler passed on. Poirot yawned once more. He felt heavy and stupid with sleep and could hardly keep his eyes open. He glanced over at the Bridge players, absorbed in their game, then at young Fanthorp, who was deep in a book. Apart from them the saloon was empty. He passed through the swinging door out onto the deck. Jacqueline de Bellefort, coming precipitately along the deck, almost collided with him. "Pardon, Mademoiselle." She said, "You look sleepy, Monsieur Poirot." He admitted it frankly. "Mais oui - I am consumed with sleep. I can hardly keep my eyes open. It has been a day very close and oppressive." "Yes." She seemed to brood over it. "It's been the sort of day when things - snap! Break! When one can't go on..." Her voice was low and charged with passion. She looked not at him, but toward the sandy shore. Her hands were clenched, rigid... Suddenly the tension relaxed. She said, "Good-night, Monsieur Poirot." "Good-night, Mademoiselle." Her eyes met his, just for a swift moment. Thinking it over the next day, he came to the conclusion that there had been appeal in that glance. He was to remember it afterward... After Cornelia carried out all of Miss Van Schuyler's orders, she decided to go back to the salon, as she herself did not feel in the least sleepy. On the contrary she felt wide awake and slightly excited. The Bridge four were still at it. In another chair the quiet Fanthorp read a book. Cornelia sat down to her needlework. Suddenly the door opened and Jacqueline de Bellefort came in. She stood in the doorway, her head thrown back. Then she pressed a bell and sauntered across to Cornelia and sat down. "Been ashore?" she asked. "Yes. I thought it was just fascinating in the moonlight." Jacqueline nodded. "Yes, lovely night... A real honeymoon night." Her eyes went to the Bridge table - rested a moment on Linnet Doyle. The boy came in answer to the bell. Jacqueline ordered a double gin. As she gave the order Simon Doyle shot a quick glance at her. A faint line of anxiety showed between his eyebrows. His wife said, "Simon, we're waiting for you to call." Jacqueline hummed a little tune to herself. When the drink came, she picked it up, said, "Well, here's to crime," drank it off and ordered another. Again Simon looked across from the Bridge table. His calls became slightly absent-minded. His partner, Pennington, took him to task. Jacqueline began to hum again, at first under her breath, then louder: "He was her man and he did her wrong." "Sorry," said Simon to Pennington. "Stupid of me not to return your lead. That gives 'em rubber." Linnet rose to her feet. "I'm sleepy. I think I'll go to bed." "About time to turn in," said Colonel Race. "I'm with you," agreed Pennington. "Coming, Simon?" Doyle said slowly: "Not just yet. I think I'll have a drink first." Linnet nodded and went out. Race followed her. Pennington finished his drink and then followed suit. Cornelia began to gather up her embroidery. "Don't go to bed, Miss Robson," said Jacqueline. "Please don't. I feel like making a night of it. Don't desert me." Cornelia sat down again. "We girls must stick together," said Jacqueline. She threw back her head and laughed - a shrill laugh without merriment. The second drink came. "Have something," said Jacqueline. "No, thank you very much," replied Cornelia. Jacqueline tilted back her chair. She hummed now loudly: "He was her man and he did her wrong..." Mr Fanthorp turned a page of 'Europe from Within'. Simon Doyle picked up a magazine. "Really, I think I'll go to bed," said Cornelia. "It's getting very late." "You can't go to bed yet," Jacqueline declared. "I forbid you to. Tell me all about yourself." "Well - I don't know. There isn't much to tell," Cornelia faltered. "I've just lived at home, and I haven't been around much. This is my first trip to Europe. I'm just loving every minute of it." Jacqueline laughed. "You're a happy sort of person, aren't you? God, I'd like to be you." "Oh! would you? But I mean - I'm sure -" Cornelia felt flustered. Undoubtedly Miss de Bellefort was drinking too much. That wasn't exactly a novelty to Cornelia. She had seen plenty of drunkenness during Prohibition years. But there was something else... Jacqueline de Bellefort was talking to her - was looking at her - and yet, Cornelia felt, it was as though, somehow, she was talking to someone else... But there were only two other people in the room, Mr Fanthorp and Mr Doyle. Mr Fanthorp seemed quite absorbed in his book. Mr Doyle was looking rather odd - a queer sort of watchful look on his face... Jacqueline said again, "Tell me all about yourself." Always obedient, Cornelia tried to comply. She talked, rather heavily, going into unnecessary small details about her daily life. She was so unused to being the talker. Her rфle was so constantly that of listener. And yet Miss de Bellefort seemed to want to know. When Cornelia faltered to a standstill, the other girl was quick to prompt her. "Go on - tell me more." And so Cornelia went on ("Of course, Mother's very delicate - some days she touches nothing but cereals -") unhappily conscious that all she said was supremely uninteresting, yet flattered by the other girl's seeming interest. But was she interested? Wasn't she, somehow, listening to something else - or, perhaps, for something else? She was looking at Cornelia, yes, but wasn't there really someone else, sitting in the room. "And of course we get very good art classes, and last winter I had a course of -" (How late was it? Surely very late. She had been talking and talking. If only something definite would happen...) And immediately, as though in answer to the wish, something did happen. Only, at the moment, it seemed very natural. Jacqueline turned her head and spoke to Simon Doyle. "Ring the bell, Simon. I want another drink." Simon Doyle looked up from his magazine and said quietly: "The stewards have gone to bed. It's after midnight." "I tell you I want another drink." Simon said, "You've had quite enough drinks, Jackie." She swung round at him. "What damned business is it of yours?" He shrugged his shoulders. "None." She watched him for a minute or two. Then she said: "What's the matter, Simon? Are you afraid?" Simon did not answer. Rather elaborately he picked up his magazine again. Cornelia murmured, "Oh, dear - as late as that - I must -" She began to fumble, dropped a thimble... Jacqueline said: "Don't go to bed. I'd like another woman here - to support me." She began to laugh again. "Do you know what Simon over there is afraid of? He's afraid I'm going to tell you the story of my life." "Oh - er -" Cornelia spluttered a little. Jacqueline said clearly, "You see, he and I were once engaged." "Oh, really?" Cornelia was the prey of conflicting emotions. She was deeply embarrassed but at the same time pleasurably thrilled. How - how black Simon Doyle was looking. "Yes, it's a very sad story," said Jacqueline; her soft voice was low and mocking. "He treated me rather badly, didn't you, Simon?" Simon Doyle said brutally: "Go to bed, Jackie. You're drunk." "If you're embarrassed, Simon dear, you'd better leave the room." Simon Doyle looked at her. The hand that held the magazine shook a little, but he spoke bluntly. "I'm staying," he said. Cornelia murmured for the third time, "I really just - it's so late -" "You're not to go," said Jacqueline. Her hand shot out and held the other girl in her chair. "You're to stay and hear what I've got to say." "Jackie," said Simon sharply, "you're making a fool of yourself! For God's sake, go to bed." Jacqueline sat up suddenly in her chair. Words poured from her rapidly in a soft hissing stream. "You're afraid of a scene, aren't you? That's because you're so English - so reticent! You want me to behave 'decently,' don't you? But I don't care whether I behave decently or not! You'd better get out of here quickly - because I'm going to talk - a lot." Jim Fanthorp carefully shut his book, yawned, glanced at his watch, got up and strolled out. It was a very British and utterly unconvincing performance. Jacqueline swung round in her chair and glared at Simon. "You damned fool," she said thickly, "do you think you can treat me as you have done and get away with it?" Simon Doyle opened his lips, then shut them again. He sat quite still as though he were hoping that her outburst would exhaust itself if he said nothing to provoke her further. Jacqueline's voice came thick and blurred. It fascinated Cornelia, totally unused to naked emotions of any kind. "I told you," said Jacqueline, "that I'd kill you sooner than see you go to another woman... You don't think I meant that? You're wrong. I've only been - waiting! You're my man! Do you hear? You belong to me." Still Simon did not speak. Jacqueline's hand fumbled a moment or two on her lap. She leant forward. "I told you I'd kill you, and I meant it." Her hand came up suddenly with something in it that flashed and gleamed. "I'll shoot you like a dog - like the dirty dog you are." Now at last Simon acted. He sprang to his feet, but at the same moment she pulled the trigger... Simon - half twisted - fell across a chair... Cornelia screamed and rushed to the door. Jim Fanthorp was on the deck leaning over the rail. She called to him. "Mr Fanthorp... Mr Fanthorp." He ran to her; she clutched at him incoherently. "She's shot him - Oh! she's shot him..." Simon Doyle still lay as he had fallen half into and across a chair... Jacqueline stood as though paralysed. She was trembling violently, and her eyes, dilated and frightened, were staring at the crimson stain slowly soaking through Simon's trouser leg just below the knee where he held a handkerchief close against the wound. She stammered out: "I didn't mean... Oh, my God, I didn't really mean..." The pistol dropped from her nervous fingers with a clatter on the floor. She kicked it away with her foot. It slid under one of the settees. Simon, his voice faint, murmured: "Fanthorp, for Heaven's sake - there's someone coming... Say it's all right - an accident - something. There mustn't be a scandal over this." Fanthorp nodded in quick comprehension. He wheeled round to the door where a startled Nubian face showed. He said: "All right - all right! Just fun!" The black face looked doubtful, puzzled, then reassured. The teeth showed in a wide grin. The boy nodded and went off. Fanthorp turned back. "That's all right. Don't think anybody else heard. Only sounded like a cork, you know. Now the next thing -" He was startled. Jacqueline suddenly began to weep hysterically. "Oh, God, I wish I were dead... I'll kill myself. I'll be better dead... Oh, what have I done - what have I done?" Cornelia hurried to her. "Hush, dear, hush." Simon, his brow wet, his face twisted with pain, said urgently: "Get her away. For God's sake, get her out of here! Get her to her cabin, Fanthorp. Look here, Miss Robson, get that hospital nurse of yours." He looked appealingly from one to the other of them. "Don't leave her. Make quite sure she's safe with the nurse looking after her. Then get hold of old Bessner and bring him here. For God's sake, don't let any news of this get to my wife." Jim Fanthorp nodded comprehendingly. The quiet young man was cool and competent in an emergency. Between them he and Cornelia got the weeping, struggling girl out of the saloon and along the deck to her cabin. There they had more trouble with her. She fought to free herself; her sobs redoubled. "I'll drown myself... I'll drown myself. I've... Oh, Simon - Simon!" Fanthorp said to Cornelia: "Better get hold of Miss Bowers. I'll stay while you get her." Cornelia nodded and hurried out. As soon as she left, Jacqueline clutched Fanthorp. "I'm not fit to live... His leg - it's bleeding - broken... He may bleed to death. I must go to him... Oh, Simon - Simon - how could I?" Her voice rose. Fanthorp said urgently: "Quietly - quietly. He'll be all right." She began to struggle again. "Let me go! Let me throw myself overboard... Let me kill myself!" Fanthorp, holding her by the shoulders, forced her back onto the bed. "You must stay here. Don't make a fuss. Pull yourself together. It's all right, I tell you." To his relief, the distraught girl did manage to control herself a little, but he was thankful when the curtains were pushed aside and the efficient Miss Bowers, neatly dressed in a hideous kimono, entered, accompanied by Cornelia. "Now then," said Miss Bowers briskly, "what's all this?" She took charge without any sign of surprise and alarm. Fanthorp thankfully left the overwrought girl in her capable hands and hurried along to the cabin occupied by Dr Bessner. He knocked and entered on the top of the knock. "Dr Bessner?" A terrific snore resolved itself, and a startled voice asked: "So? What is it?" By this time Fanthorp had switched the light on. The doctor blinked up at him, looking rather like a large owl. "It's Doyle. He's been shot. Miss de Bellefort shot him. He's in the saloon. Can you come?" The stout doctor reacted promptly. He asked a few curt questions, pulled on his bedroom slippers and a dressing-gown, picked up a little case of necessaries and accompanied Fanthorp to the lounge. Simon had managed to get the window beside him open. He was leaning his head against it, inhaling the air. His face was a ghastly colour. Dr Bessner came over to him. "Ha? So? What have we here?" A handkerchief sodden with blood lay on the carpet and on the carpet itself was a dark stain. The doctor's examination was punctuated with Teutonic grunts and exclamations. "Yes, it is bad this... The bone is fractured. And a big loss of blood. Herr Fanthorp, you and I must get him to my cabin. So - like this. He cannot walk. We must carry him, thus." As they lifted him Cornelia appeared in the doorway. Catching sight of her, the doctor uttered a grunt of satisfaction. "Ach, it is you? Goot. Come with us. I have need of assistance. You will be better than my friend here. He looks a little pale already." Fanthorp emitted a rather sickly smile. "Shall I get Miss Bowers?" he asked. Dr Bessner threw a considering glance over Cornelia. "You will do very well, young lady," he announced. "You will not faint or be foolish, hein?" "I can do what you tell me," said Cornelia eagerly. Bessner nodded in a satisfied fashion. The procession passed along the deck. The next ten minutes was purely surgical and Mr Jim Fanthorp did not enjoy it at all. He felt secretly ashamed of the superior fortitude exhibited by Cornelia. "So, that is the best I can do," announced Dr Bessner at last. "You have been a hero, my friend." He patted Simon approvingly on the shoulder. Then he rolled up his sleeve and produced a hypodermic needle. "And now I will give you something to make you sleep. Your wife, what about her?" Simon said weakly: "She needn't know till the morning." He went on: "I - you mustn't blame Jackie... It's been all my fault. I treated her disgracefully - poor kid - she didn't know what she was doing..." Dr Bessner nodded comprehendingly. "Yes, yes - I understand..." "My fault -" Simon urged. His eyes went to Cornelia. "Someone - ought to - stay with her. She might - hurt herself -" Dr Bessner injected the needle. Cornelia said, with quiet competence: "It's all right, Mr Doyle. Miss Bowers is going to stay with her all night..." A grateful look flashed over Simon's face. His body relaxed. His eyes closed. Suddenly he jerked them open. "Fanthorp?" "Yes, Doyle." "The pistol... ought not to leave it... lying about. The boys will find it in the morning." Fanthorp nodded. "Quite right. I'll go and get hold of it now." He went out of the cabin and along the deck. Miss Bowers appeared at the door of Jacqueline's cabin. "She'll be all right now," she announced. "I've given her a morphine injection." "But you'll stay with her?" "Oh, yes. Morphia excites some people. I shall stay all night." Fanthorp went on to the lounge. Some three minutes later there was a tap on Bessner's cabin door. "Dr Bessner?" "Yes?" The stout man appeared. Fanthorp beckoned him out on the deck. "Look here - I can't find that pistol." "What is that?" "The pistol. It dropped out of the girl's hand. She kicked it away and it went under a settee. It isn't under that settee now." They stared at each other. "But who can have taken it?" Fanthorp shrugged his shoulders. Bessner said: "It is curious, that. But I do not see what we can do about it." Puzzled and vaguely alarmed, the two men separated. 第二部 埃及 11 第二部 埃及 11 珂妮亚•罗柏森站在阿布•席姆贝尔的神殿里面。那是翌日黄昏——一个闷 热的夜晚。“卡拿克”号再度在阿布•席姆贝尔泊岸，以方便旅客在人工的灯光 下再次参观神殿。这回神殿给人的感觉截然不同。珂妮亚向立在身旁的斐格森先 生提出自己的困惑。 “哇，你瞧神殿现在看起来多美啊！”她叫道。“所有被国王斩首的敌人 ——都神灵活现了。这里还有一座小城堡，上回我没注意到。真希望贝斯勒医生 在这里，他会告诉我那是什么城堡。” “你怎能举那个老糊涂来打击我呢！”斐格森沮丧地说。 “为什么不行，他是我碰到的最仁慈的人。” “好表现的老家伙。” “我不认为你可以这样说他。” 他俩走出神殿，正待步入月光下时，那年轻人突然抓紧她的手臂。 “你干嘛老听一个肥胖的老人的胡言——干嘛老受一个狠毒的老恶婆的欺凌 斥骂？” “你怎么这样说，斐格森先生？” “你有灵魂吗？你难道不知道自己是跟她一样崇高？” “但我不是！”珂妮亚坦承道。 “你不像她那么有钱；你的意思是这样。” “不，不是这样。玛丽表姐非常、非常有教养，而且——” “有教养！”那年轻人又突然放开她的手臂。“这字眼令我恶心！” 珂妮亚惊慌地看着他。 “她不喜欢你跟我交谈，是吗？”那年轻人问道。 珂妮亚脸红了，显得很不安。 “为什么？因为她认为我跟她社会地位不平等？哼！这种事难道不会使你愤 怒欲狂？” 珂妮亚支吾地说：“我希望你不要把事情看得这么极端。” “你，生为美国人，难道不了解人人是生而自由、平等的？” “人不是这样的。”珂妮亚镇定地说。 “我的好女孩，那是你们宪法的部分条文。” “玛丽表姐说政治家不是绅士。”珂妮亚说，“因此人类当然不是平等的。 这句话不合理。我知道自己长相平庸，有时候我会引以为耻，但我也必须承受下 来。我盼望自己长得像道尔太太那样动人、可爱，但我没有，所以我想担忧是无 用的。” “道尔太太！”斐格森极为轻蔑地叫道，“她是那种该枪毙儆世的女人！” 珂妮亚忧虑地望着他。 “我相信你的消化器官一定有毛病。”她好心地说道，“我有一种治胃的特 效药，玛丽表姐曾经服用过一次。你要不要计划试试看？” 斐格森先生说：“你真是不可理喻！” 他转身走开。珂妮亚向停泊的船走去。当她正待跨过跳板时，他又再度抓住 她。 “你是船上最好的人，”他说，“但愿你记住。” 珂妮亚羞喜交集地踏进了望厅。梵舒乐小姐正跟贝斯勒医生谈论他的一些皇 室病人。 珂妮亚内疚地说：“希望我没有耽搁太久，玛丽表姐。” 老妇人看了一看腕表，厉声道：“宝贝，你动作真快。你究竟把我的天鹅绒 围巾放到哪儿去了？” 珂妮亚环顾四周。 “让我到房间找找看，玛丽表姐！” “怎么会在房间里？晚餐后我还在这儿用过，我根本没有离开过。刚才是在 那椅子上的。” 珂妮亚随意地找了一遍。 “到处都找不着，玛丽表姐。” “废话！”梵舒乐小姐说，“四周找找！”像对狗一样地发令，而珂妮亚也 像乖顺的狗一样照做。缄默的芬索普，刚好坐在旁边，也站起来帮她找；可是围 巾还是不知哪里去了。 由于白天的气候特别闷热，大部分旅客参观完神殿后都提早休息了。道尔夫 妇跟潘宁顿和雷斯在一角玩桥牌。厅内只剩白罗一个人，他正在门边的小桌旁打 瞌睡。 梵舒乐小姐在珂妮亚和鲍尔斯小姐的陪伴下，神气地离开大厅，经过白罗的 身旁，停了下来。白罗礼貌地站起来，一边忍住呵欠。 梵舒尔小姐说：“白罗先生，我刚刚才知悉你是谁。白罗先生，我曾听我朋 友陆福斯、梵亚丁提过你的大名。有机会请务必谈谈你的案件。” 白罗眨了眨充满睡意的双目，深沉鞠了一个躬。梵舒乐小姐神气优越地也点 了点头，走开了。 白罗又打了一个呵欠。他感到头部沉甸甸的，困得简直连眼睛也睁不开。他 望了一望正聚精会神打着桥牌的四个人，再看一看凝神看书的芬索普。整个了望 厅就只有他们几个人了。 白罗走出甲板，跟匆匆走来的贾克琳•杜贝尔弗几乎撞个正着。 “小姐，很抱歉。” 贾克琳说：“你看来很困呢，白罗先生。” 他坦承道： “是的，我简直连眼睛也睁不开了。今天一天窒闷得令人难受。” “不错。”贾克琳似乎也有同感，“是那种东西‘断折！破裂！’的天气。 当你再没耐性……” 她的声音低沉而充满感情，双目瞪着岸上的黄沙，两手紧握…… 突然间，她松弛下来，说道：“晚安，白罗先生。” 她的目光跟白罗接触了一下。第二天，白罗回想起来，感到那目光当时是充 满恳求的。 白罗走回房间，贾克琳朝着了望厅走去。 珂妮亚应会完了梵舒乐小姐的诸多要求及无理取闹之后，拿了针线活回到了 望厅。她不但一点睡意也没有，还感到兴奋不已。 桥牌局还未散，芬索普仍埋首书本；珂妮亚坐下来，开始做针线活。突然 间，门打开了，贾克琳走进来。她在门前站了一会，然后按动叫铃，接着坐到珂 妮亚身旁。 “你上岸去了吗？”她问道。 “去了，那月色很迷人。” 贾克琳点点头。 “不错，可爱的夜色……的确是蜜月的良夜。” 她的目光投向桥牌桌上——在林娜•道尔的身上停了好一会。 侍应生进来了，贾克琳要了双份琴酒。在这当儿，希蒙•道尔扫了她一眼， 眉宇间流露出一丝烦恼。 他的太太说：“希蒙，我们等你叫牌呢！” 贾克琳轻轻哼着调子。酒来了，她举杯说道：“向罪恶干杯！”然后一饮而 尽，又再叫了一杯。 希蒙再度望过来，他叫的牌变得漫不经心；他的搭挡——潘宁顿开始有点不 满。 贾克琳再哼起调子，先是轻轻地，接着变得大声： “他是她的男人，他伤透了她……” “对不起，”希蒙对潘宁顿说，“我真不该不应你的牌，让他们有机会胜了 这局。” 林娜站起身子说： “我很疲倦，我想回房休息了。” “时候也差不多了。”雷斯上校说。 “好吧！”潘宁顿同意地说。 “希蒙，你来吗？” 希蒙缓缓地说：“哦，我想喝一杯再睡。” 林娜点点头，出去了。雷斯尾随她，潘宁顿喝干了杯子也跟着离去了。 珂妮亚开始收拾针线活。 “不要去休息，罗柏森小姐。”贾克琳说，“请你不要走，别留下我一个 人。” 珂妮亚再度坐下。 “我们女人应该连成一气。”贾克琳说。 她仰头大笑——一种凄冷的笑声。 另一杯酒送来了。 “你也喝点什么吧！”贾克琳说。 “不喝了，谢谢你。”珂妮亚答道。 贾克琳斜靠着椅背，大声哼道：“他是她的男人，他伤透了她……” 芬索普将书翻过一页。 希蒙•道尔拿起一份杂志。 “真的，我想我应该回房了。”珂妮亚说，“已经很晚了。” “你不能走。”贾克琳断言道，“我不准你走。告诉我你的一切。” “啊——我不晓得——没有什么好说的。”珂妮亚口吃地说，“我一向住在 家里，很少出门。这是我第一次来到欧洲，我每一分钟都在享受这旅程。” 贾克琳笑道： “你是个乐天派，对吗？哦，天，但愿我是你。” “哦，你要吗？不过我意思是——我确定——” 珂妮亚感到有点慌张，杜贝尔弗小姐显然是喝多了酒。这也没有什么，她也 见过不少酒鬼，不过，有点不妥的是……贾克琳•杜贝尔弗仿佛正望着她——听 着她讲话，但珂妮亚感到，贾克琳仿佛是在跟另一个人说话…… 但这儿只有另外两个人，芬索普和道尔先生。芬索普先生看来很专心地在看 书，道尔先生的神情则有点怪——好像在监视什么…… 贾克琳再度说道：“告诉我你的一切。” 单纯的珂妮亚，只好顺着她的意思，笨拙地开始述说，并加添了不少日常生 活的琐碎事儿。她本来就不善于辞令，向来都只是最忠实的听众。当珂妮亚口吃 着说不下去时，贾克琳赶忙催促她。 “说下去呀，我想多知道一点。” 于是珂妮亚继续往下说：“母亲身体很孱弱……有些日子，她什么也不吃， 只吃麦片——”她极不高兴地感觉到，自己所说的一切是那么乏味，但对方却偏 偏赞许，很感兴趣似的。可是，贾克琳是否真的感兴趣呢？她又似乎在留心别的 东西——“盼望”听到某些东西。不错，她是看着她；但不是还有“别的人”坐 在了望厅里吗？ “我们学校的美术都是挺不错。去年冬天，我修了一门课程，是——” “现在几点钟了？一定很晚了。”她还在那儿说着、说着。如果有更实在的 事情发生就好了—— 就在这一刹那，好像要满足珂妮亚的心愿似的，事情发生了。只是，在当时 来说，一切看来都很自然。 贾克琳转过头，向希蒙•道尔说： “希蒙，按按那铃，我想再喝一杯。” 希蒙•道尔从杂志上抬起头来，轻声地说： “侍应生都休息了。现在已过了午夜。” “我说我想再喝一杯。” “你已喝了不少了，贾姬。” 她骤然转身向着他： “这关你什么事？” 他耸耸肩，“当然与我无关。” 她望着他好一会，接着说：“怎么了，希蒙？难道你很怕我不成？” 希蒙不答腔，一面再拿起杂志。 珂妮亚喃喃地道：“噢，已经这么晚了！我——我得——”她笨手笨脚地把 针线活掉在地上…… 贾克琳说：“不要回房去。我需要另一个女人——支持我。”她大笑起来： “你知道那边的希蒙先生在害怕什么吗？他害怕我会告诉你有关我自己的故事。” “哦，真的吗？” 珂妮亚是个极受情绪支配的人。她一面感到极度尴尬，一面却觉得异常刺 激。希蒙•道尔的脸色变得多么难看！ “不错，那是个很悲惨的故事。”贾克琳说，柔弱的语气中充满沉痛和嘲 笑。“你对待我很不好。对吗，希蒙？” 希蒙•道尔极感不满。“去睡吧，贾姬。你醉了！” “你如果觉得尴尬，我的好希蒙，你干脆先走。” 希蒙•道尔望着她，拿着杂志的手有点颤抖；但仍然生硬地说，“我不走。” 珂妮亚第三次喃喃地道：“我真的——现在真的太晚——” “你不能走。”贾克琳说，一边伸手把珂妮亚按在椅子上。“你得留在这儿 听我讲。” “贾姬，”希蒙厉声道，“你把自己弄得像个傻瓜！看在上帝份上，去睡 吧！” 贾克琳突然坐直身子，话语连珠炮般爆发出来。 “是你害怕出丑，对吗？因为你像个绅士，要拘谨；你要我也表现得有体 面，对吗？但我管不了自己像不像个淑女！你最好是立刻滚出去——因为我有很 多话要说。” 芬索普悄悄合上书本，伸伸懒腰，望一望腕表，站起来走了出去。这显然是 英国绅士的一贯作风。 贾克琳把椅子猛转过来，怒瞪着希蒙。 “你这笨蛋！”她的声音变得沙哑，“你以为你这样对待我，可以就此了结 吗？” 希蒙•道尔嘴唇微张，又合上了。他静坐在那儿，似乎希望不理会贾克琳， 她的叫嚷就会慢慢平息。 贾克琳的声调变得更沙哑不清。珂妮亚被深深吸引住了，她从来没碰到这样 赤裸裸的感情爆发。 “我告诉你，”贾克琳说，“我宁愿杀了你，也不让你去找那个女人……你 不信我真会这样做？你错了。我只是在等待！你是属于我的！你听见吗？你是我 的……” 希蒙仍然一语不发。贾克琳的手在怀里摸索了一会，接着身子倾向前。 “我曾经告诉你，我会杀你，我不是说过就算了……”她蓦然地举起手来， 亮出一个闪闪发光的东西。“我要杀死你，就像杀一条狗一样——你这只下流的 狗……” 希蒙终于采取行动了，他跳起身子来，但在同一刹那，贾克琳扳动了枪机 …… 希蒙半弯着身子，横倒在椅子上……珂妮亚尖声大叫，冲出门外。芬索普正 倚在甲板的栏杆上，珂妮亚狂奔着向他嚷道： “芬索普先生……芬索普先生……” 芬索普跑向她，珂妮亚紧抓着他！ “她开枪打中了他——噢！她打中……” 希蒙•道尔仍然半躺在他跌下的椅子上……贾克琳则麻木地站在那儿，全身 剧烈地颤抖，瞳孔放得大大的，恐惧地瞪着正从希蒙裤管中渗出来的鲜血。希蒙 正用手巾掩着接近膝盖的伤口…… 她结结巴巴地说： “我不是存心……噢，我的天！我真的不是存心的……” 手枪铿的一声从她的手上跌落到地板，她用脚踢开了它，枪滑进了沙发椅底 下。 希蒙用微弱的声音，喃喃地道：“芬索普，求求你——有人来了，——就说 一切都很好——只是有点意外——一定不要把事情闹大。” 芬索普会意地点点头，赶忙转过身向刚来到的努比亚侍应生说：“没事—— 没事！只是闹着玩罢了！” 好男孩子显得迷惑不解，接着又安心地笑笑走了。 芬索普再转过身来。 “不要紧，我想没有其他人听到。只像开瓶塞的声音。现在——” 贾克琳突然歇斯底里地哭起来。 “噢，上帝，我真希望自己死掉……我要毁灭自己。我还是死了的好…… 啊，我干了些什么，我到底干了些什么？” 珂妮亚连忙迎上去。 “安静点，亲爱的，安静点。” 额角湿润、脸上痛苦地抽搐着的希蒙急促地说： “带她走！求求你们，赶快带她离开这里！芬索普，扶她回房间。罗柏森小 姐，找你的看护小姐。”他恳求地望着两人。“不要丢下她一人，务必让护士小 姐看管着她，然后找老贝斯勒来这儿。求求你们，不要让我的太太知道。” 芬索普不住地点头。这沉默青年在紧急关头时，显得异常镇定。他和珂妮亚 两人挟扶了哭闹着的贾克琳走出了望厅，走过甲板回到房间。在房里，贾克琳闹 得更凶，她不停地挣扎着，哭得更厉害。 “我倒不如跳河死掉好了……让我跳河……我不该活……啊，希蒙，希蒙 呀！” 芬索普对珂妮亚说：“还是快点找鲍尔斯小姐来。我留在这儿陪她。” 珂妮亚点点头，匆匆走了出去。 她刚离去，贾克琳就抓着芬索普说： “他的腿——在流血——断了……他会流血过多而死。我要去找他……噢， 希蒙，我怎么会……” 芬索普急忙说：“镇定一点——镇定一点……他会没事的。” 贾克琳再次挣扎道： “让我去！让我跳河去……让我死掉好了！” 芬索普抓着她的肩膀，把她按在床上。 “你一定要留在这儿，不许乱动。振作一点。我告诉你，一切都不要紧。” 贾克琳终于能够控制自己一点了，芬索普总算松了一口气。当穿着整齐晨褛 的鲍尔斯小姐出现时，他才真正放下心头大石。 “让我看看。”鲍尔斯小姐爽快地说，“到底发生了什么事？” 没有流露出任何震惊或不安，鲍尔斯小姐开始想办法使贾克琳镇静下来。 芬索普把那精神极度紧张的少女交给可信赖的鲍尔斯小姐后，便匆匆走到贝 斯勒医生的房门前。他一边敲门，一边推门进去。 “贝斯勒医生在吗？” 高扬的打鼾声缓和下来，一种诧异的声音问道： “谁呀？有什么事？” 这时芬萦普已扭亮了灯，医生像一只大猫头鹰似的，眨着眼睛望着他。 “是希蒙•道尔。他给枪打伤了，是杜贝尔弗小姐打他的。他现在在了望厅 里。你可以去一趟吗？” 胖医生迅速作出反应。他问了几个简短问题，便穿上睡鞋和睡袍，拿起药 箱，跟芬索普走过甲板。 希蒙已开了身旁的窗子，用头倚着窗边，呼吸着海风，脸色就像纸一般苍 白。 贝斯勒医生走到他跟前。 “啊，看看是怎么回事？” 地毯上有一块手巾沾满了血，地毯本身则留下一个黑印。 医生一边检查，一边发出叹息及惊讶之词。 “唔，的确很严重……骨头折断了。失了大量的血。芬索普先生，你我得扶 他到我房间。来，这儿——他走不动，我们得抬起他。” 就在这当儿，珂妮亚在门外出现，医生作个满意的表示。 “啊，你来得正好。一块来吧！我需要一个助手，你会比这位朋友更适合。 他的脸色已有点苍白了！” 芬索普苦笑了一下。 “需要找鲍尔斯小姐来吗？”他问道。 贝斯勒医生考虑着，望了珂妮亚一眼。 “你会干得来的，小姐。”他说，“你不会晕倒或出乱子的，是吗？” “我会照你的话去做。”珂妮亚热诚地说。 贝斯勒医生满意地点点头。 一行数人步过甲板。 随后的十分钟纯粹是手术的操作。 “唔，这是我所能做的一切了。”贝斯勒医生终于宣布道，“你表现得像个 英雄，我的朋友。”他赞赏地拍拍希蒙的肩膀，然后拿出一枝针筒来，卷起伤者 的衣袖。 “现在，我得使你安眠。你太太呢？” 希蒙虚弱地说：“她到早上再知道也不迟……”他继续说，“我——你不要 责怪贾姬……这全是我的错。我对不起她……可怜——她根本不晓得自己在干什 么……” 贝斯勒医生体谅地点点头。 “是的，是的——我明白……” “是我的错——”希蒙恳求着，目光投向珂妮亚。“应该有人看管着她。她 或许会——伤害自己——” 贝斯勒医生按下针筒。珂妮亚冷静地保证道：“不要紧，道尔先生。鲍尔斯 小姐会整晚陪着她……” 感激的神情显现在希蒙的脸庞上，他松驰下来，闭上眼睛。突然间，他睁开 双眼。“芬索普呢？” “道尔，我在这儿。” “那枝枪……不要随处……乱放。侍应生早上会发现的……” 芬索普点点头。“对，我现在就去放好。” 他走出房间，穿过甲板。鲍尔斯小姐出现在贾克琳的房门口。 “她没什么事了。”她说，“我给她打了一针吗啡。” “不过，你会留在她身边？” “啊，我会。吗啡对某些人有兴奋作用。我会整晚陪伴她。” 芬索普继续前行。 大约三分钟后，有人敲贝斯勒医生的房门。 “贝斯勒医生在吗？” “在。”胖医生应道。 芬索普示意他走出甲板。 “我找不到那枝手枪……” “什么？” “那枝手枪。它从杜贝尔弗小姐的手中跌下，被她踢开了，滑到沙发椅下。 现在却不在椅子下面。” 两人面面相觑。 “谁会拿走呢？” 芬索普耸耸肩。 贝斯勒医生说：“这就奇怪了。但我想我们可没有什么办法。” 两人满腹疑团和略感不安地分手。 Chapter 12 Chapter 12 Hercule Poirot was just wiping the lather from his freshly shaved face when there was a quick tap on the door, and hard on top of it Colonel Race entered unceremoniously. He closed the door behind him. He said: "Your instinct was quite correct. It's happened." Poirot straightened up and asked sharply: "What has happened?" "Linnet Doyle's dead - shot through the head last night." Poirot was silent for a minute, two memories vividly before him - a girl in a garden at Assuan saying in a hard breathless voice, "I'd like to put my dear little pistol against her head and just press the trigger," and another more recent memory, the same voice saying, "One feels one can't go on - the kind of day when something breaks" - and that strange momentary flash of appeal in her eyes. What had been the matter with him not to respond to that appeal? He had been blind, deaf, stupid with his need for sleep. Race went on: "I've got some slight official standing; they sent for me, put it in my hands. The boat's due to start in half an hour, but it will be delayed till I give the word. There's a possibility, of course, that the murderer came from the shore." Poirot shook his head. Race acquiesced in the gesture. "I agree. One can pretty well rule that out. Well, man, it's up to you. This is your show." Poirot had been attiring himself with a neat-fingered celerity. He said now, "I am at your disposal." The two men stepped out on the deck. Race said: "Bessner should be there by now. I sent the steward for him." There were four cabins de luxe, with bathrooms, on the boat. Of the two on the port side one was occupied by Dr Bessner, the other by Andrew Pennington. On the starboard side the first was occupied by Miss Van Schuyler, and the one next to it by Linnet Doyle. Her husband's dressing cabin was next door. A white-faced steward was standing outside the door of Linnet Doyle's cabin. He opened the door for them and they passed inside. Dr Bessner was bending over the bed. He looked up and grunted as the other two entered. "What can you tell us, Doctor, about this business?" asked Race. Bessner rubbed his unshaven jaw meditatively. "Ach! She was shot - shot at close quarters. See - here, just above the ear - that is where the bullet entered. A very little bullet - I should say a twenty-two. The pistol, it was held close against her head; see, there is blackening here, the skin is scorched." Again in a sick wave of memory Poirot thought of those words uttered at Assuan. Bessner went on: "She was asleep; there was no struggle; the murderer crept up in the dark and shot her as she lay there." "Ah! non!" Poirot cried out. His sense of psychology was outraged. Jacqueline de Bellefort creeping into a darkened cabin, pistol in hand - No, it did not "fit," that picture. Bessner stared at him through his thick lenses. "But that is what happened, I tell you." "Yes, yes. I did not mean what you thought. I was not contradicting you." Bessner gave a satisfied grunt. Poirot came up and stood beside him. Linnet Doyle was lying on her side. Her attitude was natural and peaceful. But above the ear was a tiny hole with an incrustation of dried blood round it. Poirot shook his head sadly. Then his gaze fell on the white painted wall just in front of him and he drew in his breath sharply. Its white neatness was marred by a big wavering letter J scrawled in some brownish-red medium. Poirot stared at it, then he leaned over the dead girl and very gently picked up her right hand. One finger of it was stained a brownish-red. "Nom d'un nom d'un nom!" ejaculated Hercule Poirot. "Eh? What is that?" Dr Bessner looked up. "Ach! That." Race said: "Well, I'm damned. What do you make of that, Poirot?" Poirot swayed a little on his toes. "You ask me what I make of it. Eh bien, it is very simple, is it not? Madame Doyle is dying; she wishes to indicate her murderer, and so she writes with her finger, dipped in her own blood, the initial letter of her murderer's name. Oh, yes, it is astonishingly simple." "Ach! but-" Dr Bessner was about to break out, but a peremptory gesture from Race silenced him. "So it strikes you like that?" he asked slowly. Poirot turned round on him nodding his head. "Yes, yes. It is, as I say, of an astonishing simplicity! It is so familiar, is it not? It has been done so often, in the pages of the romance of crime! It is now, indeed, a little vieux jeu! It leads one to suspect that our murderer is - old-fashioned!" Race drew a long breath. "I see," he said. "I thought at first -" He stopped. Poirot said with a very faint smile: "That I believed in all the old clichés of melodrama? But pardon, Dr Bessner, you were about to say -?" Bessner broke out gutturally: "What do I say? Pah! I say it is absurd; it is the nonsense! The poor lady she died instantaneously. To dip her finger in the blood (and as you see, there is hardly any blood) and write the letter J upon the wall - Bah - it is the nonsense - the melodramatic nonsense!" "Ces l'enfantillage," agreed Poirot. "But it was done with a purpose," suggested Race. "That - naturally," agreed Poirot, and his face was grave. "What does J stand for?" asked Race. Poirot replied promptly: "J stands for Jacqueline de Bellefort, a young lady who declared to me less than a week ago that she would like nothing better than to -" he paused and then deliberately quoted, "'to put my dear little pistol close against her head and then just press with my finger.'" "Gott im Himmel!" exclaimed Dr Bessner. There was a momentary silence. Then Race drew a deep breath and said: "Which is just what was done here?" Bessner nodded. "That is so, yes. It was a pistol of very small calibre - as I say probably a twenty-two. The bullet has got to be extracted, of course, before we can say definitely." Race nodded in swift comprehension. Then he asked: "What about time of death?" Bessner stroked his jaw again. His finger made a rasping sound. "I would not care to be too precise. It is now eight o'clock. I will say, with due regard to the temperature last night, that she has been dead certainly six hours and probably not longer than eight." "That puts it between midnight and two A.M." "That is so." There was a pause. Race looked round. "What about her husband? I suppose he sleeps in the cabin next door." "At the moment," said Dr Bessner, "he is asleep in my cabin." Both men looked very surprised. Bessner nodded his head several times. "Ach, so. I see you have not been told about that. Mr Doyle was shot last night in the saloon." "Shot? By whom?" "By the young lady, Jacqueline de Bellefort." Race asked sharply, "Is he badly hurt?" "Yes, the bone was splintered. I have done all that is possible at the moment, but it is necessary, you understand, that the fracture should be X-rayed as soon as possible and proper treatment given such as is impossible on this boat." Poirot murmured, "Jacqueline de Bellefort." His eyes went again to the J on the wall. Race said abruptly: "If there is nothing more we can do here for the moment, let's go below. The management has put the smoking-room at our disposal. We must get the details of what happened last night." They left the cabin. Race locked the door and took the key with him. "We can come back later," he said. "The first thing to do is to get all the facts clear." They went down to the deck below, where they found the Manager of the Karnak waiting uneasily in the doorway of the smoking-room. The poor man was terribly upset and worried over the whole business, and was eager to leave everything in Colonel Race's hands. "I feel I can't do better than leave it to you, Sir, seeing your official position. I'd had orders to put myself at your disposal in the - er - other matter. If you will take charge, I'll see that everything is done as you wish." "Good man! To begin with I'd like this room kept clear for me and for Monsieur Poirot during the inquiry." "Certainly, sir." "That's all at present. Go on with your own work. I know where to find you." Looking slightly relieved the Manager left the room. Race said, "Sit down, Bessner, and let's have the whole story of what happened last night." They listened in silence to the doctor's rumbling voice. "Clear enough," said Race, when he had finished. "The girl worked herself up, helped by a drink or two, and finally took a pot shot at the man with a twenty-two pistol. Then she went along to Linnet Doyle's cabin and shot her as well." But Dr Bessner was shaking his head. "No, no. I do not think so. I do not think that was possible. For one thing she would not write her own initial on the wall; it would be ridiculous, nicht wahr?" "She might," Race declared, "if she were as blindly mad and jealous as she sounds; she might want to - well - sign her name to the crime, so to speak." Poirot shook his head. "No, no, I do not think she would be as - as crude as that." "Then there's only one reason for that J. It was put there by someone else deliberately to throw suspicion on her." Bessner nodded. "Yes, and the criminal was unlucky, because, you see, it is not only unlikely that the young Frдulein did the murder; it is also I think impossible." "How's that?" Bessner explained Jacqueline's hysterics and the circumstances which had led Miss Bowers to take charge of her. "And I think - I am sure - that Miss Bowers stayed with her all night." Race said, "If that's so, it's going to simplify matters very much." "Who discovered the crime?" Poirot asked. "Mrs Doyle's maid, Louise Bourget. She went to call her mistress as usual, found her dead, and came out and flopped into the steward's arms in a dead faint. He went to the Manager, who came to me. I got hold of Bessner and then came for you." Poirot nodded. Race said: "Doyle's got to know. You say he's asleep still?" Bessner nodded. "Yes, he's still asleep in my cabin. I gave him a strong opiate last night." Race turned to Poirot. "Well," he said, "I don't think we need detain the doctor any longer, eh? Thank you, Doctor." Bessner rose. "I will have my breakfast, yes. And then I will go back to my cabin and see if Mr Doyle is ready to wake." "Thanks." Bessner went out. The two men looked at each other. "Well, what about it, Poirot?" Race asked. "You're the man in charge. I'll take my orders from you. You say what's to be done." Poirot bowed. "Eh bien," he said; "we must hold the court of inquiry. First of all, I think we must verify the story of the affair last night. That is to say, we must question Fanthorp and Miss Robson, who were the actual witnesses of what occurred. The disappearance of the pistol is very significant." Race rang a bell and sent a message by the steward. Poirot sighed and shook his head. "It is bad, this," he murmured. "It is bad." "Have you any ideas?" asked Race curiously. "My ideas conflict. They are not well arranged; they are not orderly. There is, you see, the big fact that this girl hated Linnet Doyle and wanted to kill her." "You think she's capable of it?" "I think so - yes." Poirot sounded doubtful. "But not in this way? That's what's worrying you, isn't it? Not to creep into her cabin in the dark and shoot her while she was sleeping. It's the cold-bloodedness that strikes you as not ringing true?" "In a sense, yes." "You think that this girl, Jacqueline de Bellefort, is incapable of a premeditated cold-blooded murder?" Poirot said slowly: "I am not sure, you see. She would have the brains - yes. But I doubt if, physically, she could bring herself to do the act..." Race nodded. "Yes, I see... Well, according to Bessner's story, it would also have been physically impossible." "If that is true it clears the ground considerably. Let us hope it is true." Poirot paused and then added simply: "I shall be glad if it is so, for I have for that little one much sympathy." The door opened and Fanthorp and Cornelia came in. Bessner followed them. Cornelia gasped out: "Isn't this just awful? Poor, poor Mrs Doyle! And she was so lovely too. It must have been a real fiend who could hurt her! And poor Mr Doyle; he'll just go half crazy when he knows! Why, even last night he was so frightfully worried lest she should hear about his accident." "That is just what we want you to tell us about, Miss Robson," said Race. "We want to know exactly what happened last night." Cornelia began a little confusedly, but a question or two from Poirot helped matters. "Ah, yes, I understand. After the Bridge, Madame Doyle went to her cabin. Did she really go to her cabin, I wonder?" "She did," said Race. "I actually saw her. I said good-night to her at the door." "And the time?" "Mercy, I couldn't say," replied Cornelia. "It was twenty past eleven," said Race. "Bien. Then at twenty past eleven, Madame Doyle was alive and well. At that moment there was, in the saloon, who?" Fanthorp answered: "Doyle was there. And Miss de Bellefort. Myself and Miss Robson." "That's so," agreed Cornelia. "Mr Pennington had a drink and then went off to bed." "That was how much later?" "Oh, about three or four minutes." "Before half past eleven, then?" "Oh, yes. "So that there were left in the saloon you, Mademoiselle Robson, Mademoiselle de Bellefort, Monsieur Doyle and Monsieur Fanthorp. What were you all doing?" "Mr Fanthorp was reading a book. I'd got some embroidery. Miss de Bellefort was - she was -" Fanthorp came to the rescue. "She was drinking pretty heavily." "Yes," agreed Cornelia. "She was talking to me mostly and asking me about things at home. And she kept saying things - to me mostly, but I think they were kind of meant for Mr Doyle. He was getting kind of mad at her, but he didn't say anything. I think he thought if he kept quiet she might simmer down." "But she didn't?" Cornelia shook her head. "I tried to go once or twice, but she made me stay, and I was getting very, very uncomfortable. And then Mr Fanthorp got up and went out -" "It was a little embarrassing," said Fanthorp. "I thought I'd make an unobtrusive exit. Miss de Bellefort was clearly working up for a scene." "And then she pulled out the pistol," went on Cornelia, "and Mr Doyle jumped up to try and get it away from her, and it went off and shot him through the leg; and then she began to sob and cry - and I was scared to death and ran out after Mr Fanthorp, and he came back with me, and Mr Doyle said not to make a fuss, and one of the Nubian boys heard the noise of the shot and came along, but Mr Fanthorp told him it was all right; and then we got Jacqueline away to her cabin, and Mr Fanthorp stayed with her while I got Miss Bowers." Cornelia paused breathless. "What time was this?" asked Race. Cornelia said again, "Mercy, I don't know," but Fanthorp, answered promptly: "It must have been about twenty minutes past twelve. I know that it was actually half past twelve when I finally got to my cabin." "Now let me be quite sure on one or two points," said Poirot. "After Madame Doyle left the saloon, did any of you four leave it?" "No." "You are quite certain Mademoiselle de Bellefort did not leave the saloon at all?" Fanthorp answered promptly: "Positive. Neither Doyle, Miss de Bellefort, Miss Robson, nor myself left the saloon." "Good. That establishes the fact that Mademoiselle de Bellefort could not possibly have shot Madame Doyle before - let us say - twenty past twelve. Now, Mademoiselle Robson, you went to fetch Mademoiselle Bowers. Was Mademoiselle de Bellefort alone in her cabin during that period?" "No, Mr Fanthorp stayed with her." "Good! So far, Mademoiselle de Bellefort has a perfect alibi. Mademoiselle Bowers is the next person to interview, but, before I send for her, I should like to have your opinion on one or two points. Monsieur Doyle, you say, was very anxious that Mademoiselle de Bellefort should not be left alone. Was he afraid, do you think, that she was contemplating some further rash act?" "That is my opinion," said Fanthorp. "He was definitely afraid she might attack Madame Doyle?" "No." Fanthorp shook his head. "I don't think that was his idea at all. I think he was afraid she might - er - do something rash to herself." "Suicide?" "Yes. You see, she seemed completely sobered and heartbroken at what she had done. She was full of self-reproach. She kept saying she would be better dead." Cornelia said timidly: "I think he was rather upset about her. He spoke - quite nicely. He said it was all his fault - that he'd treated her badly. He - he was really very nice." Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully. "Now about the pistol," he went on. "What happened to that?" "She dropped it," said Cornelia. "And afterward?" Fanthorp explained how he had gone back to search for it, but had not been able to find it. "Aha!" said Poirot. "Now we begin to arrive. Let us, I pray you, be very precise. Describe to me exactly what happened." "Miss de Bellefort let it fall. Then she kicked it away from her with her foot." "She sort of hated it," explained Cornelia. "I know just what she felt." "And it went under a settee, you say. Now be very careful. Mademoiselle de Bellefort did not recover that pistol before she left the saloon?" Both Fanthorp and Cornelia were positive on that point. "Précisément. I seek only to be very exact, you comprehend. Then we arrive at this point. When Mademoiselle de Bellefort leaves the saloon the pistol is under the settee, and, since Mademoiselle de Bellefort is not left alone - Monsieur Fanthorp, Mademoiselle Robson or Mademoiselle Bowers being with her - she has no opportunity to get back the pistol after she left the saloon. What time was it, Monsieur Fanthorp, when you went back to look for it?" "It must have been just before half past twelve." "And how long would have elapsed between the time you and Dr Bessner carried Monsieur Doyle out of the saloon until you returned to look for the pistol?" "Perhaps five minutes - perhaps a little more." "Then in that five minutes someone removes that pistol from where it lay out of sight under the settee. That someone was not Mademoiselle de Bellefort. Who was it? It seems highly probable that the person who removed it was the murderer of Madame Doyle. We may assume, too, that that person had overheard or seen something of the events immediately preceding." "I don't see how you make that out," objected Fanthorp. "Because," said Hercule Poirot, "you have just told us that the pistol was out of sight under the settee. Therefore it is hardly credible that it was discovered by accident. It was taken by someone who knew it was there. Therefore that someone must have assisted at the scene." Fanthorp shook his head. "I saw no one when I went out on the deck just before the shot was fired." "Ah, but you went out by the door on the starboard side." "Yes. The same side as my cabin." "Then if there had been anybody at the port door looking through the glass you would not have seen him?" "No," admitted Fanthorp. "Did anyone hear the shot except the Nubian boy?" "Not as far as I know." Fanthorp went on: "You see, the windows in here were all closed. Miss Van Schuyler felt a draught earlier in the evening. The swing doors were shut. I doubt if the shot would be at all clearly heard. It would only sound like the pop of a cork." Race said, "As far as I know, no one seems to have heard the other shot - the shot that killed Mrs Doyle." "That we will inquire into presently," said Poirot. "For the moment we still concern ourselves with Mademoiselle de Bellefort. We must speak to Mademoiselle Bowers. But first, before you go -" he arrested Fanthorp and Cornelia with a gesture - "you will give me a little information about yourselves. Then it will not be necessary to call you again later. You first, Monsieur - your full name." "James Lechdale Fanthorp." "Address?" "Glasmore House, Market Donnington, Northamptonshire." "Your profession?" "I am a lawyer." "And your reasons for visiting this country?" There was a pause. For the first time the impassive Mr Fanthorp seemed taken aback. He said at last - almost mumbling the words, "Er - pleasure." "Aha!" said Poirot. "You take the holiday; that is it, yes?" "Er - yes." "Very well, Monsieur Fanthorp. Will you give me a brief account of your own movements last night after the events we have just been narrating?" "I went straight to bed." "That was at -?" "Just after half past twelve." "Your cabin is number twenty-two on the starboard side - the one nearest the saloon?" "Yes." "I will ask you one more question. Did you hear anything - anything at all - after you went to your cabin?" Fanthorp considered. "I turned in very quickly. I think I heard a kind of splash just as I was dropping off to sleep. Nothing else." "You heard a kind of splash? Near at hand?" Fanthorp shook his head. "Really, I couldn't say. I was half asleep." "And what time would that be?" "It might have been about one o'clock. I can't really say." "Thank you, Monsieur Fanthorp. That is all." Poirot turned his attention to Cornelia. "And now, Mademoiselle Robson? Your full name?" "Cornelia Ruth. And my address is The Red House, Bellfield, Connecticut." "What brought you to Egypt?" "Cousin Marie, Miss Van Schuyler, brought me along on a trip." "Had you ever met Madame Doyle previous to this journey?" "No, never." "And what did you do last night?" "I went right to bed after helping Dr Bessner with Mr Doyle's leg." "Your cabin is -?" "Forty-three on the port side - right next door to Miss de Bellefort." "And did you hear anything?" Cornelia shook her head. "I didn't hear a thing." "No splash?" "No, but then I wouldn't, because the boat's against the bank on my side." Poirot nodded. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Robson. Now perhaps you will be so kind as to ask Mademoiselle Bowers to come here." Fanthorp and Cornelia went out. "That seems clear enough," said Race. "Unless three independent witnesses are lying, Jacqueline de Bellefort couldn't have got hold of the pistol. But somebody did. And somebody overheard the scene. And somebody was bold enough to write a big J on the wall." There was a tap on the door and Miss Bowers entered. The hospital nurse sat down in her usual composed, efficient manner. In answer to Poirot she gave her name, address, and qualifications, adding, "I've been looking after Miss Van Schuyler for over two years now." "Is Mademoiselle Van Schuyler's health very bad?" "Why, no, I wouldn't say that," replied Miss Bowers. "She's not very young, and she's nervous about herself, and she likes to have a nurse around handy. There's nothing serious the matter with her. She just likes plenty of attention, and she's willing to pay for it." Poirot nodded comprehendingly. Then he said, "I understand that Mademoiselle Robson fetched you last night?" "Why, yes, that's so." "Will you tell me exactly what happened?" "Well, Miss Robson just gave me a brief outline of what had occurred, and I came along with her. I found Miss de Bellefort in a very excited, hysterical condition." "Did she utter any threats against Madame Doyle?" "No, nothing of that kind. She was in a condition of morbid self-reproach. She'd taken a good deal of alcohol, I should say, and she was suffering from reaction. I didn't think she ought to be left. I gave her a shot of morphia and sat up with her." "Now, Mademoiselle Bowers, I want you to answer this. Did Mademoiselle de Bellefort leave her cabin at all?" "No, she did not." "And you yourself?" "I stayed with her until early this morning." "You are quite sure of that." "Absolutely sure." "Thank you, Mademoiselle Bowers." The nurse went out. The two men looked at each other. Jacqueline de Bellefort was definitely cleared of the crime. Who then had shot Linnet Doyle? 第二部 埃及 12 第二部 埃及 12 白罗正从刚刮净胡子的脸上抹去泡沫，突然传来一阵急促的敲门声，雷斯上 校已迫不及待地走了进来。上校把门关上后说： “你的直觉一点也不差。事情果然发生了。” 白罗挺直身子，尖声问道：“发生了什么事？” “林娜•道尔死了——头部中弹，是昨天晚上的事。” 白罗沉默了好几分钟，脑海清楚地浮现出两幕景象：在亚思温花园里的少 女，用强硬的语气在说，“我要用手枪紧贴住她的额头，然后扳动枪机……”而 另一幕是更新的回忆：同一种声音在说，“那种东西‘断折！破裂！’的天气， 当你再没耐性……”和那充满恳求的眼神。白罗想：为什么自己当时没有对她的 求援作出反应呢？那混账的睡意，竟把自己弄得头昏脑胀。 雷斯继续说：“我有若干官方身份，所以他们找着我，要我负责调查。船本 来预定半个钟头后启航，现在决定延迟，直到我下令为止。当然，凶手有可能来 自岸上。” 白罗摇摇头。 雷斯默然同意白罗的想法。 “是的，这个可能性不可轻易抹杀。朋友，现在就看你的了，你又有机会大 显身手。” 白罗一面穿上整齐的便服，一面说：“一切听你的差遣。” 两人步出甲板。 雷斯说：“贝斯勒医生应该已经到了现场。是我叫侍应生找他的。” 船上有四间套房：左舷的两间分别由贝斯勒医生和潘宁顿占用；右舷的两间 则是梵舒乐小姐和林娜•道尔的房。侍应生站在门外，他替白罗和雷斯开了门。 两人踏进室内，贝斯勒医生正俯在床边，他应声抬起头来，望了两人一眼。 “医生，可以告诉我们你的发现吗？”雷斯问道。 贝斯勒医生思索着摸摸胡子。 “啊！她是被枪杀的——枪在很近的距离发射。看——就在这儿，耳朵的上 部——是子弹穿过的地方。子弹很小——我想是零点二二口径。枪紧贴她的额 头。看，这儿有个黑印，是皮肤被烧焦了。” 白罗再度想起亚思温的那一席话。 贝斯勒医生往下说：“当时她应该是熟睡了，没有半点挣扎；凶手摸黑进 来，走近床前，开枪射死她。” “噢，不！”白罗大声叫道。他感到不能接受这种说法——贾克琳•杜贝尔 弗悄悄摸进漆黑的房间，手枪在手——不，这不符合情理。 贝斯勒医生穿过厚厚的眼镜瞪着他。 “但事情正是这样，我告诉你。” “不错，不错。我不是指你的设想。我不是不赞同你。” 贝斯勒医生满意地哼了一声。 白罗走上前，站到他身旁。林娜•道尔侧身躺着，态度自然安详，但耳上露 出一个小洞，洞的四周有血迹。 白罗沉痛地摇摇头。 接着，他的目光落在身旁的白粉墙上，猛地倒抽了一口气。墙上赫然有一用 红棕色液体谱写的巨大、笔划抖颤的“J”字。 白罗瞪着它，然后俯身举起死者的右手。其中一只手指染有红棕色的印。 “真邪门！”白罗蓦地喊出来。 “哦，什么事？” 贝斯勒医生抬起头来。 “啊！就是这个！” 雷斯说：“该死的！你推测这意指什么，白罗？” 白罗晃了晃身子。 “啊，你问我的推测？那是最简单不过了。道尔夫人临死前盼望指出凶手是 谁，于是用手指沾了自己的血，将凶手名字的英文缩写涂在墙上。就是这么简单 的一回事！” “啊，不过——” 贝斯勒医生正想插嘴，雷斯示意他不要作声。 “这就是你的结论？”雷斯问道。 白罗转过身来，点点头。 “不错，就像我说的一样，出奇的简单！很熟悉吧？小说上的谋杀案不是经 常都有这样一段吗？真有点摸不清！实在使人怀疑这位凶手是个——老套的人。” 雷斯长长地抽一口气。 “啊，原来如此！”他说，“我刚才还以为——”他停住了。 白罗微微笑道：“以为我相信陈套的通俗剧？对不起，贝斯勒医生，刚才你 正想说——？” 贝斯勒医生不悦地嚷道：“我想说什么？唏！我是说这简直荒谬绝伦！这位 可怜的女士是当场毙命的。用手指沾血——你可以看到，这儿根本一滴血也没有 ——又何来血在墙上写下‘J’字呢？呵，全是一派胡言，简直是无中生有！” “啊，医生所言不差。”白罗同意道。 “但这样做法是别有用心的。”雷斯提议道。 “当然。”白罗脸色凝重地说。 “‘J’代表什么？”雷斯问道。 白罗立刻答道：“‘J’字代表贾克琳•杜贝尔弗——一位年轻小姐。正是 她在不到一个星期前曾向我发誓说，她认为最称心不过的事就是——”他顿了一 顿，故意学着贾克琳原来的话，“‘用手枪紧贴住她的额头，然后扳动枪机 ——’” “我的天！”贝斯勒医生惊叫道。 沉默持续了一会儿。接着，雷斯抽了长长的一口气，说道：“就像这儿发生 的一样。” 贝斯勒医生点点头。 “不错。正如我刚才所说，此枪是小口径——可能是点二二厘米。当然，要 把弹头取出来，才可以肯定。” 雷斯同意地点点头，接着问道：“至于死亡时间呢？” 贝斯勒医生再度抓抓下颚，手指发出刺耳的声响。 “我想无需太准确。现在是早上八点。照昨晚的室温估计，我认为她已死亡 六个小时，至多不会超过八小时。” “这么说，是午夜至凌晨二时了。” “不错。” 过了片刻，雷斯望一望四周说： “她先生呢？我想他应该就睡在隔壁。” “他现在正睡在我的房间。”贝斯勒医生说。白罗和雷斯两人感到很诧异。 贝斯勒医生不住地点头。 “啊，原来你们不知道那件事。道尔先生昨晚在了望厅给枪打伤了。” “枪伤？是谁干的？” “是那位年轻女士——贾克琳•杜贝尔弗。” 雷斯厉声问道：“伤势严重吗？” “很严重。骨头碎了。我已经尽了一切能力治疗伤口，但你们应该理解，折 碎部分必须迅速接受X光照射，并且予以适当调理。这些在船上都办不到。” 白罗喃喃地道：“贾克琳•杜贝尔弗。” 他的目光再投向墙上的“J”字。 雷斯突然道：“如果这儿暂时没有其他事情可办的话，我们还是先到下面 去。船上管理部门已经把吸烟室整理停当，我们必须弄清昨晚所发生的一切。” 三人步出房间。雷斯锁上了门，并把钥匙拿走。 “我们待会再来。”他说，“首先把事情澄清一下。” 他们上了甲板。“卡拿克”号的经理不安地在吸烟室外的通道上等候，看来 极度慌张及忧虑，当然更希望把一切事情都尽快交给雷斯上校。 “我想我只好把一切交给你了，上校。你的身分最恰当不过。我已奉命听阁 下差遣，你尽管吩咐好了，一切都会依你的意思办。” “好的！首先，我和白罗先生将要占用这房间作盘问口供之用。” “当然可以。” “暂时就这样。去做你自己的事吧，我晓得怎样找到你。” 船经理松一口气地离开房间。 雷斯说：“贝斯勒医生，请坐吧，告诉我们昨晚整件事情的经过。” 两人静静地聆听医生忆述前一晚的事。 “很明显，”雷斯说，“那少女当时精神极度紧张，喝了两杯后，用点二二 手枪打伤了希蒙先生，然后再前往林娜•道尔的房间，把她一并杀掉。” 但贝斯勒医生猛摇头。 “不，不。我想不是，没有那种可能。第一，她不会把自己的名字缩写写在 墙上那么荒谬吧？” “她可能会这样做。”雷斯说，“假如她像你们所说的那样接近疯狂和极度 忌妒，很可能她会直认自己是凶手。” 白罗摇摇头。“不，不。我想她不会这样——赤裸裸地行事。” “那么只有另外一个可能性：那‘J’字是凶手故意留下的，好让别人怀疑 是贾克琳•杜贝尔弗干的。” 贝斯勒医生点点头。“不错，但那凶手可算倒霉。你知道吗？因为杜贝尔弗 不但未必是凶手，而且是完全不可能。” “何以见得？” 贝斯勒医生解释贾克琳当时歇斯底里的情况，以致后来交由鲍尔斯小姐照 顾。 “而且我想——我敢肯定——鲍尔斯小姐整晚都陪着她。” 雷斯说：“如果真是这样，事情就简化了许多。” “是谁发现尸体的？”白罗问道。 “道尔太太的女佣，露易丝•蒲尔杰。她照往常习惯一样去叫醒主人，发觉 她死了，跑出房间后，就昏倒在侍应生的怀里。那侍应生找着经理，经理再来找 我。我派人去找贝斯勒医生，然后去找你。” 白罗点点头。 雷斯说：“应该通知道尔先生。你说他还未醒来？” 贝斯勒医生点点头。“不错，他还在我房间睡觉。我昨晚给他服了份量很重 的镇定剂。” 雷斯转向白罗。 “唔，”他说，“我想我们不要耽搁医生太久吧？谢谢你，医生。” 贝斯勒医生站起身。“我会先吃点早餐，然后再回房间看看道尔先生醒过来 了没有。” “麻烦你。” 贝斯勒医生出去了，只剩下他们两人对视。 “唔，怎么样，白罗？”雷斯问道，“你是主管，我接受你的指挥。你说该 怎么办？” 白罗弯一弯身。 “啊，”他说，“我们得进行盘问。首先，我们一定要查问芬索普和罗柏森 小姐，他俩是事件的真正目击者。手枪的失踪，意义重大。” 雷斯按动叫铃，派侍应生带口信去了。 白罗叹息着摇摇头。“这事真糟透了。”他喃喃地道，“真的很糟！” “有什么头绪吗？”雷斯好奇地问道。 “很矛盾。线索很纷乱，没一点条理。你看，最显著的事实是那女子憎恨林 娜•道尔，而且想杀她。” “你相信她有这样的能力？” “不错，我是这么想。”白罗有点不大肯定地说。 “但不应是这般手法——不是这样偷偷地摸黑进去，在睡梦中杀死她，对 吗？这冷血的做法不接近你的想法，对吗？” “可以这样说。” “你认为，那少女——贾克琳•杜贝尔弗——没有能力作出计划周详的冷血 谋杀？” 白罗缓缓地说：“这点我不敢肯定。不错，她很有头脑，但我怀疑，她体力 上能不能这样做……” 雷斯点点头。“不错，我明白……况且，照老贝斯勒所说，实际上也不可 能。” “如果那是正确的，疑点就消除了不少。希望真相的确如此。”白罗顿了一 顿，接着加上一句，“如果真是这样，我会开心点，因为我颇同情那位小姐。” 门开处，芬索普和珂妮亚走了进来。贝斯勒医生尾随二人。 珂妮亚气喘地说：“太可怕了！可怜的道尔太太！这么可爱的一位女士，相 信只有狂人才会下手杀她！可怜的道尔先生，他知道这消息后一定会伤透心。昨 晚他还在担心自己的太太会发现他遇上了意外！” “我们正想请你讲述昨晚的事，罗柏森小姐。”雷斯道，“我们想知道详 情。”珂妮亚起初说得比较混淆，幸好白罗从旁引导。 “啊，我明白。打完桥牌后，道尔夫人返回房间。但我怀疑她是否真的直接 回房。” “这点没有疑问。”雷斯说，“我亲眼看到她进房的。我还在门边跟她道晚 安。” “当时是什么时间？” “哎哟，我可记不清楚。”珂妮亚答道。 “是十一点二十分。”雷斯说。 “好的。那么在十一点二十分，道尔夫人还是活着的。当时，在了望厅内有 什么人？” 芬索普答道：“道尔、杜贝尔弗小姐，还有罗柏森小姐和我本人。” “不错。”珂妮亚附和道，“潘宁顿先生喝了一杯，便去休息了。” “是多久之后？” “大约三、四分钟之后。” “就是说十一点半以前。” “对。” “那么留在了望厅里的有你——罗柏森小姐、杜贝尔弗小姐、道尔先生和芬 索普先生。你们每人在做什么？” “芬索普先生在看书，我在做针线活，杜贝尔弗小姐在——她——” 芬索普赶忙帮她接腔，“她在不停地喝酒。” “对。”珂妮亚应和道，“她主要是跟我聊天，问起我家里的情况。她也不 住地说话——主要是向着我，但我想显然是说给道尔先生听的。道尔先生有点气 她，不过却一声不响。我想他以为不作声可以使杜贝尔弗小姐冷静下来。” “但杜贝尔弗小姐的情绪一点也没有好转？” 珂妮亚摇摇头。 “我曾试图离开，她却不让我走。我愈来愈感到不安，接着芬索普先生就起 身走了出去——” “当时场面有点尴尬，”芬索普说，“我自己应该礼貌地避开一下。杜贝尔 弗小姐显然在存心制造事端。” “跟着她便掏出手枪，”珂妮亚往下说，“道尔先生跳起来想抢，但枪走了 火，打中了他的腿。杜贝尔弗小姐开始大哭大叫起来——我吓得要死，便跑出去 找着芬索普先生，和他一块返回厅内。当时道尔先生说不要张扬，一个侍应生听 到声响跑来，但芬索普先生打发他走了。接着，我们两个扶贾克琳回房，芬索普 先生陪着她，我跑去找鲍尔斯小姐。”珂妮亚气喘吁吁地停了下来。 “当时是什么时间？”雷斯问道。 珂妮亚再度答道，“哎哟，我真的不知道。”但芬索普立刻接着说： “一定是十二点二十分左右。我晓得我最后回房时已经是十二点半了。” “让我再弄清楚一、两个关键。”白罗说，“道尔夫人离开了望厅后，你们 四人之中有没有谁走开过？” “没有。” “你们肯定杜贝尔弗小姐根本没有离开过？” 芬索普立刻答道：“百分之百肯定，道尔、杜贝尔弗小姐、罗柏森小姐都没 有踏出了望厅一步。” “好极了。这确定了杜贝尔小姐不可能在——啊，就说十二点二十分——之 前杀死道尔夫人。罗柏森小姐，你接着赶去找鲍尔斯小姐，在那段时间内，杜贝 尔弗小姐是否给单独留在房里？” “不，芬索普先生陪着她。” “好极了，直到目前为止，杜贝尔弗小姐完全是清白的。下一个要见的是鲍 尔斯小姐。不过，未请她来之前，我想问两位一点意见。照你们说，道尔先生当 时很急切地认为杜贝尔弗小姐不应该给单独留下。你们认为，他是否害怕杜贝尔 弗小姐会再干出危险的事？” “我认为是。”芬索普说。 “他必定是害怕她会袭击道尔夫人？” “不，”芬索普摇摇头，“我不认为这是他的想法。我想他是恐怕她会—— 嗯——危害到自己。” “自杀？” “不错。当时她似乎清醒过来，对自己所做的一切显得万分痛苦。她不停地 责怪自己，说是死了还好过点。” 珂妮亚怯怯地道：“道尔先生很担心杜贝尔弗小姐。他很温和地说这全是他 的错——他对不起她。他——他的确是个好人。” 白罗若有所思地点点头：“好了，关于那手枪，”他继续说，“事后，到底 给放到哪里去了？” “她扔掉了。”珂妮亚说。 “然后呢？” 芬索普接着解释他怎样回头找枪，但却找不到。 “呵，”白罗说，“棘手的事终于来了。请你们就这一点，十分准确地详细 述说事情的经过。” “杜贝尔弗小姐让枪从手中滑下来，然后用脚踢开。” “好像很憎恨它似的，”珂妮亚解释道，“我明了她当时的心情。” “于是，照你所说，枪滑到一张沙发底下。现在请仔细回想：杜贝尔弗小姐 在离开了望厅以前，有没有拿回手枪？” 芬索普和珂妮亚都十分肯定这点。 “准确！我只是希望百分之百准确，你们可以理解。下一点是杜贝尔弗小姐 离开了望厅时，枪还是在沙发底下……然后杜贝尔弗小姐并没有给单独留下—— 芬索普先生、罗柏森小姐和鲍尔斯小姐陪伴着她——因此她也没有机会在离去之 后拿回手枪。芬索普先生，你是什么时候回去找枪的？” “一定恰恰在十二点半之前。” “那么，从你和贝斯勒医生扶走道尔先生到你返了望厅，时间相隔多久？” “或许五分钟，或许多一点。” “那么，在那五分钟之内，有人把弃置在沙发底下的手枪拿走，而那个人不 是杜贝尔弗小姐，会是谁呢？这个人很可能就是谋杀道尔夫人的凶手。我们也可 以假定，这个人偷听到或看到在这之前所发生的事。” “我不了解你怎么会这样推测。”芬索普不同意地说。 “因为，”白罗说，“你刚才告诉我，枪给隐没在沙发底下，根本不可能被 人无意中发现。因此拿走枪的人，一定早知道它的所在。这个人当时一定在场。” 芬索普摇摇头。“枪响之前，我在甲板上见不到任何人影。” “啊，但你是从右舷门出去的。” “不错，我的房间也是在同一边。” “那么，假如有人在左舷门往玻璃内望，你就看不到了吧？” “是的。”芬索普承认道。 “除了那侍应生之外，有没有其他人听见枪声？” “就我所知，没有。” 芬索普继续道：“是这样的，当时了望厅内所有的玻璃窗都被关上了。因为 早些时候，梵舒乐小姐怕风太大。旋转门也是关上的。我很怀疑枪声会被清楚听 见，相信只会像瓶塞弹开时一样‘噗’的一声。” 雷斯说：“依我所知，似乎没有人听到另外一声枪响——杀死道尔太太的那 一枪。” “这一点，我们立刻就进行调查。”白罗说，“目前，我们仍将注意力集中 在杜贝尔弗小姐身上。我们得跟鲍尔斯小姐谈谈。不过，首先，在未离去之前，” 他示意芬索普及珂妮亚道，“你们要告诉我们一点个人资料，那么以后便不需要 再麻烦你们了。你先吧，芬索普先生——全名？” “詹姆斯•雷契德尔•芬索普。” “地址？” “诺坦普顿夏郡，都灵顿区，格拉斯摩尔大厦。” “职业？” “我是一名律师。” “此行目的？” 芬索普沉默了一会，似乎感到有点吃惊。最后，他语句含混地说：“嗯—— 旅游。” “哦，”白罗说，“你是来度假的，是吧？” “嗯——不错。” “好极了，芬索普先生。可否约略交代一下在刚才所述说的一连串事情发生 了之后你的行踪。” “我立刻上床休息。” “大约是——” “十二点半多。” “你的房间编号是右舷二十二号——最近了望厅的一间？” “对。” “还有最后一个问题。当你返回房间之后，有没有听到声响——任何声音？” 芬索普想了一会儿。 “我很快便上床了。不过，我想，在刚入睡之前，曾经听到一下水溅声。没 有什么别的了。” “你听到水溅声？就在近处。” 芬索普摇摇头。 “真的，我不能确定，当时我已经进入半睡眠状态。” “会是什么时候的事呢？” “可能大约凌晨一点，我不敢肯定。” “谢谢你，芬索普先生。就这样。” 白罗转向珂妮亚。 “轮到你了，罗柏森小姐。你的全名是？” “珂妮亚•卢斯。我的住址是康乃狄克州，贝尔费尔德市，红屋区。” “为何到埃及来？” “玛丽表姐——即梵舒乐小姐，带我来旅行。” “在这以前，曾否见过道尔夫人？” “没有，从来没有。” “昨晚你做了些什么事？” “我协助贝斯勒医生疗理完道尔先生的腿，便立刻上床去了。” “你的房间是——？” “左舷第四十三号——就在杜贝尔弗小姐隔壁。” “你有没有听到什么声响？” 珂妮亚摇摇头。“我没有听见任何声音。” “水溅声呢？” “没有。就算有，我也不会听到，因为左舷边刚好靠着岸。” 白罗点点头。“多谢你，罗柏森小姐。现在或许麻烦你去请鲍尔斯小姐来。” 芬索普和珂妮亚出去了。 “这看来再明显不过，”雷斯说，“除非三个主人都在说谎，否则贾克琳• 杜贝尔弗没有可能取回手枪。是另外有人把枪拿走了；有人窥视到事件的经过； 更有人愚蠢到把‘J’写在墙上。” 传来了敲门声，鲍尔斯小姐走了进来。护士小姐用她那惯常的镇静、敏捷的 态度坐下。在白罗的询问下，她道出了姓名、住址和资历，还加上一句，“我负 责照顾梵舒乐小姐已经两年多了。” “梵舒乐小姐的健康是否很差？” “不，我不这么认为。”鲍尔斯小姐答道，“她年纪已经不轻，又特别担忧 自己的身体。她喜欢有个护士随侍在侧。其实她的健康情况一点也不严重，她只 是喜欢经常受到照顾，更不介意花点钱。” 白罗同意地点点头，接着说：“我知道罗柏森小姐昨晚把你叫了出来？” “不错，是这样。” “可以详细告诉我发生了什么事情吗？” “唔，罗柏森小姐只是很简单地叙述了事情的经过，我便跟她一起出来了。 我发现杜贝尔弗小姐正处于极度兴奋和歇斯底里的状态中。” “她有没有说出任何威胁道尔夫人的话？” “没有，完全没有。她只是在失去常态地责怪自己。她喝了很多酒，依我 看，当时酒精正在发作。我认为她不应该独处，所以我给她打了一针吗啡，然后 在床边陪她。” “现在，鲍尔斯小姐，请你回答下面的问题：杜贝尔弗小姐曾否离开她的房 间？” “不曾。” “你自己呢？” “我一直陪着她，直到今天早上。” “你十分肯定？” “绝对肯定。” “谢谢你，鲍尔斯小姐。” 护士小姐出去了，又剩下白罗和雷斯两人对视。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗已确定与凶案无关。那么，谁是杀死林娜•道尔的凶手？ Chapter 13 Chapter 13 Race said: "Someone pinched the pistol. It wasn't Jacqueline de Bellefort. Someone knew enough to feel that his crime would be attributed to her. But that someone did not know that a hospital nurse was going to give her morphia and sit up with her all night. Add one thing more. Someone had already attempted to kill Linnet Doyle by rolling a boulder over the cliff; that someone was not Jacqueline de Bellefort. Who was it?" Poirot said: "It will be simpler to say who it could not have been. Neither Monsieur Doyle, Madame Allerton, Monsieur Tim Allerton, Mademoiselle Van Schuyler nor Mademoiselle Bowers could have had anything to do with it. They were all within my sight." "H'm," said Race; "that leaves rather a large field. What about motive?" "That is where I hope Monsieur Doyle may be able to help us. There have been several incidents -" The door opened and Jacqueline de Bellefort entered. She was very pale and she stumbled a little as she walked. "I didn't do it," she said. Her voice was that of a frightened child. "I didn't do it. Oh, please believe me. Everyone will think I did it - but I didn't - I didn't. It's - it's awful. I wish it hadn't happened. I might have killed Simon last night; I was mad, I think. But I didn't do the other..." She sat down and burst into tears. Poirot patted her on the shoulder. "There, there. We know that you did not kill Madame Doyle. It is proved - yes, proved, mon enfant. It was not you." Jackie sat up suddenly, her wet handkerchief clasped in her hand. "But who did?" "That," said Poirot, "is just the question we are asking ourselves. You cannot help us there, my child?" Jacqueline shook her head. "I don't know... I can't imagine... No, I haven't the faintest idea." She frowned deeply. "No," she said at last. "I can't think of anyone who wanted her dead," her voice faltered a little, "except me." Race said, "Excuse me a minute - just thought of something." He hurried out of the room. Jacqueline de Bellefort sat with her head downcast, nervously twisting her fingers. She broke out suddenly: "Death's horrible - horrible! I - I hate the thought of it." Poirot said: "Yes. It is not pleasant to think, is it, that now, at this very moment, someone is rejoicing at the successful carrying out of his or her plan." "Don't - don't!" cried Jackie. "It sounds horrible, the way you put it." Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "It is true." Jackie said in a low voice: "I - I wanted her dead - and she is dead... And, what is worse... she died - just like I said." "Yes, Mademoiselle. She was shot through the head." She cried out: "Then I was right, that night at the Cataract Hotel. There was someone listening!" "Ah!" Poirot nodded his head. "I wondered if you would remember that. Yes, it is altogether too much of a coincidence - that Madame Doyle should be killed in just the way you described." Jackie shuddered. "That man that night - who can he have been?" Poirot was silent for a minute or two, then he said in quite a different tone of voice, "You are sure it was a man, Mademoiselle?" Jackie looked at him in surprise. "Yes, of course. At least-" "Well, Mademoiselle?" She frowned, half closing her eyes in an effort to remember. She said slowly, "I thought it was a man." "But now you are not so sure?" Jackie said slowly: "No, I can't be certain. I just assumed it was a man - but it was really just a - a figure - a shadow..." She paused and then, as Poirot did not speak, she asked: "You think it must have been a woman? But surely none of the women on this boat can have wanted to kill Linnet?" Poirot merely moved his head from side to side. The door opened and Bessner appeared. "Will you come and speak with Mr Doyle, please, Monsieur Poirot. He would like to see you." Jackie sprang up. She caught Bessner by the arm. "How is he? Is he - all right?" "Naturally he is not all right," replied Dr Bessner reproachfully. "The bone is fractured, you understand." "But he's not going to die?" cried Jackie. "Ach, who said anything about dying? We will get him to civilization and there we will have an X- ray and proper treatment." "Oh!" The girl's hands came together in a convulsive pressure. She sank down again on a chair. Poirot stepped out onto the deck with the doctor and at that moment Race joined them. They went up to the promenade deck and along to Bessner's cabin. Simon Doyle was lying propped with cushions and pillows, an improvised cage over his leg. His face was ghastly in colour, the ravages of pain with shock on top of it. But the predominant expression on his face was bewilderment - the sick bewilderment of a child. He muttered: "Please come in. The doctor's told me - told me about Linnet. I can't believe it. I simply can't believe it's true." "I know. It's a bad knock," said Race. Simon stammered: "You know - Jackie didn't do it. I'm certain Jackie didn't do it! It looks black against her, I daresay, but she didn't do it. She - she was a bit tight last night, and all worked up, and that's why she went for me. But she wouldn't - she wouldn't do murder... not cold-blooded murder..." Poirot said gently: "Do not distress yourself, Monsieur Doyle. Whoever shot your wife, it was not Mademoiselle de Bellefort." Simon looked at him doubtfully. "Is that on the square?" "But since it was not Mademoiselle de Bellefort," continued Poirot, "can you give us any idea of who it might have been?" Simon shook his head. The look of bewilderment increased. "It's crazy - impossible. Apart from Jackie nobody could have wanted to do her in." "Reflect, Monsieur Doyle. Has she no enemies? Is there no one who has a grudge against her?" Again Simon shook his head with the same hopeless gesture. "It sounds absolutely fantastic. There's Windlesham, of course. She more or less chucked him to marry me - but I can't see a polite stick like Windlesham committing murder, and anyway he's miles away. Same thing with old Sir George Wode. He'd got a down on Linnet over the house - disliked the way she was pulling it about; but he's miles away in London, and anyway to think of murder in such a connection would be fantastic." "Listen, Monsieur Doyle." Poirot spoke very earnestly. "On the first day we came on board the Karnak I was impressed by a little conversation which I had with Madame your wife. She was very upset - very distraught. She said - mark this well - that everybody hated her. She said she felt afraid - unsafe - as though everyone round her were an enemy." "She was pretty upset at finding Jackie aboard. So was I," said Simon. "That is true, but it does not quite explain those words. When she said she - was surrounded by enemies, she was almost certainly exaggerating, but all the same she did mean more than one person." "You may be right there," admitted Simon. "I think I can explain that. It was a name in the passenger list that upset her." "A name in the passenger list? What name?" "Well, you see, she didn't actually tell me. As a matter of fact I wasn't even listening very carefully. I was going over the Jacqueline business in my mind. As far as I remember, Linnet said something about doing people down in business, and that it made her uncomfortable to meet anyone who had a grudge against her family. You see, although I don't really know the family history very well, I gather that Linnet's mother was a millionaire's daughter. Her father was only just ordinary plain wealthy, but after his marriage he naturally began playing the markets or whatever you call it. And as a result of that, of course, several people got it in the neck. You know, affluence one day, the gutter the next. Well, I gather there was someone on board whose father had got up against Linnet's father and taken a pretty hard knock. I remember Linnet saying, 'It's pretty awful when people hate you without even knowing you.'" "Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully. "That would explain what she said to me. For the first time she was feeling the burden of her inheritance and not its advantages. You are quite sure, Monsieur Doyle, that she did not mention this man's name?" Simon shook his head ruefully. "I didn't really pay much attention. Just said: 'Oh, nobody minds what happened to their fathers nowadays. Life goes too fast for that.' Something of that kind." Bessner said drily: "Ach, but I can have a guess. There is certainly a young man with a grievance on board." "You mean Ferguson?" asked Poirot. "Yes. He spoke against Mrs Doyle once or twice. I myself have heard him." "What can we do to find out?" asked Simon. Poirot replied: "Colonel Race and I must interview all the passengers. Until we have got their stories it would be unwise to form theories. Then there is the maid. We ought to interview her first of all. It would, perhaps, be as well if we did that here. Monsieur Doyle's presence might be helpful." "Yes, that's a good idea," said Simon. "Had she been with Mrs Doyle long?" "Just a couple of months, that's all." "Only a couple of months!" exclaimed Poirot. "Why, you don't think -" "Had Madame any valuable jewellery?" "There were her pearls," said Simon. "She once told me they were worth forty or fifty thousand." He shivered. "My God, do you think those damned pearls -" "Robbery is a possible motive," said Poirot. "All the same it seems hardly credible... Well, we shall see. Let us have the maid here." Louise Bourget was that same vivacious Latin brunette whom Poirot had seen one day and noticed. She was anything but vivacious now. She had been crying and looked frightened. Yet there was a kind of sharp cunning apparent in her face which did not prepossess the two men favourably toward her. "You are Louise Bourget?" "Yes, Monsieur." "When did you last see Madame Doyle alive?" "Last night, Monsieur. I wait in her cabin to undress her." "What time was that?" "It was some time after eleven, Monsieur. I cannot say exactly when. I undress Madame and put her to bed, and then I leave." "How long did all that take?" "Ten minutes, Monsieur. Madame was tired. She told me to put the lights out when I went." "And when you had left her, what did you do?" "I went to my own cabin, Monsieur, on the deck below." "And you heard or saw nothing more that can help us?" "How could I, Monsieur?" "That, Mademoiselle, is for you to say, not for us," Hercule Poirot retorted. She stole a sideways glance at him. "But, Monsieur, I was nowhere near... What could I have seen or heard? I was on the deck below when it happened, on the other side of the boat, even. It is impossible that I should have heard anything. Naturally, if I had been unable to sleep, if I had mounted the stairs, then perhaps I might have seen this assassin, this monster, enter or leave Madame's cabin, but as it is -" She threw out her hands appealingly to Simon. "Monsieur, I implore you - you see how it is? What can I say?" "My good girl," said Simon harshly, "don't be a fool. Nobody thinks you saw or heard anything. You'll be quite all right. I'll look after you. Nobody's accusing you of anything." Louise murmured, "Monsieur is very good," and dropped her eyelids modestly. "We take it, then, that you saw and heard nothing?" asked Race impatiently. "That is what I said, Monsieur." "And you know of no one who had a grudge against your mistress?" To the surprise of her listeners Louise nodded her head vigorously. "Oh, yes. That I do know. To that question I can answer Yes most emphatically." Poirot said, "You mean Mademoiselle de Bellefort?" "She, certainly. But it is not of her I speak. There was someone else on this boat who disliked Madame, who was very angry because of the way Madame had injured him." "Good Lord!" Simon exclaimed. "What's all this?" Louise went on, still emphatically nodding her head with the utmost vigour. "Yes, yes, yes, it is as I say! It concerns the former maid of Madame - my predecessor. There was a man, one of the engineers on this boat, who wanted her to marry him. And my predecessor, Marie her name was, she would have done so. But Madame Doyle, she made inquiries and she discovered that this Fleetwood already he had a wife - a wife of colour you understand, a wife of this country. She had gone back to her own people, but he was still married to her, you understand. And so Madame she told all this to Marie, and Marie she was very unhappy and she would not see Fleetwood any more. And this Fleetwood, he was infuriated, and when he found out that this Madame Doyle had formerly been Mademoiselle Linnet Ridgeway he tells me that he would like to kill her! Her interference ruined his life, he said." Louise paused triumphantly. "This is interesting," said Race. Poirot turned to Simon. "Had you any idea of this?" "None whatever," Simon replied with patent sincerity. "I doubt if Linnet even knew the man was on the boat. She had probably forgotten all about the incident." He turned sharply to the maid. "Did you say anything to Mrs Doyle about this?" "No, Monsieur, of course not." Poirot asked, "Do you know anything about your mistress's pearls?" "Her pearls?" Louise's eyes opened very wide. "She was wearing them last night." "You saw them when she came to bed?" "Yes, Monsieur." "Where did she put them?" "On the table by the side as always." "That is where you last saw them?" "Yes, Sir." "Did you see them there this morning?" A startled look came into the girl's face. "Mon Dieu! I did not even look. I come up to the bed, I see - I see Madame; and then I cry out and rush out of the door, and I faint." Hercule Poirot nodded his head. "You did not look. But I, I have the eyes which notice, and there were no pearls on the table beside the bed this morning." 第二部 埃及 13 第二部 埃及 13 雷斯说：“有人把枪偷去。这人不是贾克琳•杜贝尔弗，但他深知可以把罪 名推委到她身上，可是他却不晓得她会接受吗啡的注射，还有护士整晚陪在身 边。还有一件事，早些时候，已经有人在悬崖上推下大石，企图把林娜•道尔压 死，这件事也证实了不是贾克琳•杜贝尔弗所为。那究竟是谁呢？” 白罗说：“如果说谁不会是此人，事情反而比较简单一点。道尔先生、艾乐 顿夫人、提姆•艾乐顿先生、梵舒乐小姐和鲍尔斯小姐不在此列，因为他们当时 都在我可见的范围之内。” “嗯，”雷斯说，“剩下来可疑的人物倒还不少。至于杀人的动机又是什 么？” “这一点，我希望道尔先生能够提供一些帮助。事实上已发生不少宗意外 ——” 就在这时，门开了，贾克琳•杜贝尔弗闯了进来。她的脸色苍白，脚步踉 跄。 “不是我干的。”她说话的语调显得极度惊惶。“不是我干的。噢，请相信 我。人人都会以为是我干的——但我没有——我没有。真是太——太可怕了。我 真希望这不是真的。昨晚，我或许会杀死希蒙，当时我可能是疯了；但是我没有 把……” 她跌坐在椅子上，放声大哭。 白罗拍拍她的肩膀。 “好啦，好啦，镇静点，我们相信你没有杀死道尔夫人。已经证明了——是 的，事实已经证明，凶手不会是你。” 贾姬突然坐直了身子，手里紧握着湿润的手帕。 “那么凶手是谁？” “这个，”白罗道，“正是我们在寻找的答案。你有办法帮我们解决吗？” 贾克琳摇摇头。 “我不知道……我不能想像……不，我一点头绪也没有。”她皱紧眉头。 “呵，”她最后说，“我想不到有任何人会要她死，”她的声音颤抖了一下， “除了我。” 雷斯说：“失陪一下——我刚想到有点事情要办。”他匆匆走了出去。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗低垂着头，坐在那儿，神经质地扭动着手指。 突然间，她大叫起来：“死亡真可怕——真可怕！我——我恨想到它。” 白罗说：“不错。更令人不安的是，就在这一刻，有人却在庆幸自己的计划 已经成功了！” “不——不！”贾姬叫道，“你这说法，太可怕了！” 白罗耸耸肩说：“但这是事实。” 贾姬用低沉的声调说：“我——我要她死——现在，她真的死了——而，更 糟的是——她的死法跟我所说的一模一样。” “是的，小姐，她是因子弹穿过头部而死的。” 她大叫道：“那么，我没有说错，在瀑布酒店的那个晚上，有人在偷听我们 谈话！” “啊！”白罗点点头，“难得你还记得那么清楚。不错，这不可能是个巧合 ——道尔夫人竟然像你所说一样被杀死。” 贾姬颤抖起来。 “当晚那个男人——会是谁？” 白罗沉默了一两分钟，然后用颇不相同的语气说：“小姐，你敢肯定那是个 男的？” 贾姬诧异地望着他。 “当然。至少——” “怎样呢，小姐？” 她皱起眉，半闭着眼睛设法回忆当晚的情景，然后缓缓地说：“我以为那是 男人……” “但现在你却不那么肯定了？” 贾姬缓缓地说：“对，我不敢肯定。我只是当他是个男的——但当时不过是 ——一个人影——黑影……” 她停了下来，白罗没说什么。于是她补充道：“你认为那是个女的？但可以 肯定的是，这船上没有其他女人会想杀死林娜啊？” 白罗只是摇晃着脑袋。 门开处，出现了贝斯勒医生。 “白罗先生，请你来跟道尔先生谈一谈，他想见你。” 贾姬跳了起来，抓着贝斯勒医生的臂膀。 “他怎么了？他——他没事吧？” “他当然不会没事。”贝斯勒医生责备道，“骨头折断了，你该明白。” “但他不会死去吧！”贾姬喊道。 “呵，谁说他会死？我们会把他送回文明地方，替他照Ｘ光和治疗。” “噢！”少女的双手痉挛地合拢起来，她，再度跌坐在椅上。 白罗跟医生步出甲板，遇到了雷斯，于是一行三人走上上层甲板，向医生的 房间走去。 希蒙•道尔躺在床上，腿的四周围满了坐垫和枕头；脸色难看极了，极度的 痛楚蕴藏着无比的震惊。但他的神情却是迷惘——孩童般的迷惘。 他模糊地道：“请进来。医生已经告诉我——告诉我——有关林娜……我不 相信，我简直不敢相信这是真的。” “我明白，这是个很大的打击。”雷斯说。 希蒙结结巴巴地说：“你知道吗？不是贾姬干的。我敢肯定不是贾姬干的！ 虽然，她的处境很不利，不过真的不是她干的。她——她昨晚是有点失常，神精 有点紧张，所以才会袭击我。但她不会——她不会去杀人的……冷血的凶手……” 白罗温和地说：“不必过虑，道尔先生。杀你太太的不是杜贝尔弗小姐。” 希蒙怀疑地望着他。 “是不是已经证实了？” “不过，既然不是杜贝尔弗小姐，”白罗继续说，“你能够提供一些可疑的 人物吗？” 希蒙摇摇头，迷惘的神情再度充满脸上。 “简直是疯狂——不可能。除了贾姬之外，没有人会要她死。” “回想一下，道尔先生。她有没有仇人？或是跟任何人有什么恩怨？” 希蒙再度摇头，依旧一副茫然的神情。 “这绝对是子虚乌有的事。当然，温特显姆也许不满意她，她多少算是抛弃 他而嫁给我，但我不认为像温特显姆这样一位彬彬有礼的绅士会犯下谋杀罪。再 说他远在数哩外。乔治•提德老先生也是一样，为了房子的事他不太满意林娜 ——他不喜欢她布置房子的方式；然而他人也远在伦敦。照这样去推想谋杀者一 定落空。” “听着，道尔先生。”白罗热切地说，“登上‘卡拿克’号的第一天，你太 太的一席话曾留给我深刻的印象。她当时极度不安——很沮丧。她说——请留意 ——人人都憎恨她。她说她感到很害怕——没安全感——好像身旁的每一个人都 是她的敌人。” “她见到贾姬在船上，的确很不安。当时我也是一样。”希蒙说。 “这是事实，但并不能完全解释她那席话。当她说自己被敌人所包围，固然 是有点夸张，但无论如何，她心目中的敌人一定不只一个。” “这一点，你可能说对了。”希蒙承认道，“我想我可以解释。旅客名单上 有一个名字使她感到不安。” “旅客名单上的一个名字？哪一个？” “嗯，她没有确实告诉我。事实上，我当时并没有留心听。我正想着贾姬的 事。据我记忆所及，林娜提起过，碰到某人令她不安这番话，她第一次感到她继 承巨富所带来的负累。” “道尔先生，你肯定，她没有提及那人的名字？”雷斯插嘴问道。 希蒙苦笑着摇摇头。 “我当时并没有很在意，只是说，‘啊，现在再没有人会关心他们父亲那一 辈的事了。日子过得太快了。’大约就是这样。” 贝斯勒冷冷地说：“我猜到一个人。船上确实有一个年轻人对林娜不满。” “你是指斐格森？”白罗问。 “嗯。他抨击道尔太太一两次，我亲耳听见的。” “我们怎样找证据呢？”希蒙问。 白罗答道：“雷斯上校和我得接见其他旅客。在未听完每一个人的故事之 前，任何推断都是徒然的。还有道尔夫人的女佣，我们应该先接见她。就在这儿 进行吧！道尔先生在场可能会方便点。” “不错，这是个好主意。”希蒙说。 “她服侍道尔夫人很久了吗？” “只有一两个月。” “一两个月！”白罗颇感诧异。 “难道你认为——” “道尔夫人有没有贵重的珠宝？” “有珍珠。”希蒙说，“有一次她告诉我她那些珍珠值四、五千镑。”他打 了一个冷颤。“我的天，你以为那些该死的珠宝——” “劫财是个可能的动机。”白罗说，“但似乎又不大可能……唔，再看看。 先见一见那女佣吧！” 露易丝•蒲尔杰正是白罗注意过的那个轻佻妇人。 不过，她现在却是一点也不轻松了。她似乎哭过一场，并且十分惧怕。尽管 如此，她的脸上充满狡猾，使白罗和雷斯不免产生一点偏见。 “你就是露易丝•蒲尔杰？” “是的，先生。” “你最后一次见到道尔夫人，是在什么时候？” “昨天晚上，我在她房间服侍她休息。” “当时是几点钟？” “大约十一点过后。先生，我不能准确地说出是几点钟。我安排太太上了 床，就离开了。” “大约花了多少时间？” “十分钟。太太当时很累，她吩咐我出去时把灯关掉。” “你离开她后，做些什么事？” “先生，我返回自己的房间——就在甲板下一层。” “你有没有听到或见到什么，也许对我们有帮助？” “我会听到或看到什么啊，先生？” “小姐，这正是你要回答我们的问题。” 她偷偷地斜望了他一眼。 “不过，先生，我又不在附近……我会看到或听到什么？我住甲板下层，而 且我的房间又在船的另一边，我根本不可能听到什么。当然，如果我睡不着，如 果我爬上楼梯，那么或许我会见到那凶手，狂魔，走进或离开太太的房间。但问 题是——”她哀求地把手伸向希蒙。 “先生，我求求你！你看怎么办？我该怎么说？” “我的好露易丝，”希蒙安慰她道，“别像个傻瓜。没有人说你见到或听到 什么。你会没事的。我会照顾你。没人会诬蔑你的。” 露易丝喃喃道：“先生真是好人。”她怯怯地眨了一下眼。 “这么说，我们就当你没有见到或听到任何东西？”雷斯不耐烦地问道。 “正是这样，先生。” “你知道有任何人对你主人怀恨在心吗？” 出乎各人意料之外，露易丝猛然地点头。 “噢，有的。我知道，我可以百分之一百肯定地答复你：有的。” 白罗说：“你是指杜贝尔弗小姐？” “她当然是罗，但我不是说她，这船上还有一个人极不喜欢太太。他因为太 太曾经伤害过他，而感到很愤怒。” “我的天！”希蒙惊叫道，“到底是怎么回事？” 露易丝往下说，仍然不停地点头。 “是的，是的，正如我所说。这跟太太的旧佣人有关，就是我接替的那一 个。有一个男人，是这船上的工程师，想娶她。玛丽——太太的上一任仆人—— 很愿意嫁给他。但道尔太太调查过后，发现这个胡利伍德原来已经有了太太—— 是本地人。虽然已经返家乡，但你知道，他跟她仍然是有婚约的。所以道尔太太 把一切都告知玛丽。玛丽很不开心，此后也不想见胡利伍德。当时胡利伍德非常 愤怒。当他听说道尔太太就是从前的林娜•黎吉薇小姐，就对我说想杀死她！他 说太太好管闲事，毁了他一生！” 露易丝兴奋地停了下来。 “这真有意思。”雷斯说。 白罗转向希蒙。 “你知道这件事吗？” “完全没听过。”希蒙格外诚恳地回答道，“我怀疑林娜知不知道有这样一 个人在船上。她可能早已把事情忘得一干二净。” 他厉声对露易丝说：“你将这种事告知太太了吗？” “没有，先生，当然没有。” 白罗问道：“你知道有关主人珍珠项链的事吗？” “她的珍珠项链？”露易丝睁大眼睛。“昨晚她还戴着哩。” “她回房时，你见到项链还在她身上吗？” “是的，先生。” “她把项链脱下后，放在哪儿？” “在床边的柜台上，就跟往常一样。” “那就是你最后见到项链的地方？” “是的，先生。” “今天早上，你见到项链依然在那儿吗？” 露易丝的脸上显出诧异的神色。 “哎哟！我根本望也没望一眼。我走到床边，就——发现太太——接着便大 叫着跑出来，昏倒了。” 白罗点点头。 “你没望一眼。但我——我的眼睛什么也不会遗漏。今天早上，床边的柜台 上没有珍珠项链！” Chapter 14 Chapter 14 Hercule Poirot's observation had not been at fault. There were no pearls on the table by Linnet Doyle's bed. Louise Bourget was bidden to make a search among Linnet's belongings. According to her, all was in order. Only the pearls had disappeared. As they emerged from the cabin a steward was waiting to tell them that breakfast had been served in the smoking-room. As they passed along the deck, Race paused to look over the rail. "Ah! I see you have had an idea, my friend." "Yes. It suddenly came to me, when Fanthorp mentioned thinking he had heard a splash, that I too had been awakened sometime last night by a splash. It's perfectly possible that, after the murder, the murderer threw the pistol overboard." Poirot said slowly, "You really think that is possible, my friend?" Race shrugged his shoulders. "It's a suggestion. After all, the pistol wasn't anywhere in the cabin. First thing I looked for." "All the same," said Poirot, "it is incredible that it should have been thrown overboard." Race asked, "Where is it then?" Poirot replied thoughtfully, "If it is not in Madame Doyle's cabin, there is, logically, only one other place where it could be." "Where's that?" "In Mademoiselle de Bellefort's cabin." Race said thoughtfully: "Yes. I see -" He stopped suddenly. "She's out of her cabin. Shall we go and have a look now?" Poirot shook his head. "No, my friend, that would be precipitate. It may not yet have been put there." "What about an immediate search of the whole boat?" "That way we should show our hand. We must work with great care. It is very delicate, our position, at the moment. Let us discuss the situation as we eat." Race agreed. They went into the smoking-room. "Well," said Race as he poured himself out a cup of coffee, "we've got two definite leads. There's the disappearance of the pearls. And there's the man Fleetwood. As regards the pearls, robbery seems indicated, but - I don't know whether you'll agree with me -" Poirot said quickly, "But it was an odd moment to choose?" "Exactly. To steal the pearls at such a moment invites a close search of everybody on board. How then could the thief hope to get away with his booty?" "He might have gone ashore and dumped it." "The company always has a watchman on the bank." "Then that is not feasible. Was the murder committed to divert attention from the robbery? No, that does not make sense; it is profoundly unsatisfactory. But supposing that Madame Doyle woke up and caught the thief in the act?" "And therefore the thief shot her? But she was shot whilst she slept." "So that too does not make sense... You know, I have a little idea about those pearls - and yet - no - it is impossible. Because if my idea was right the pearls would not have disappeared. Tell me, what did you think of the maid?" "I wondered," said Race slowly, "if she knew more than she said." "Ah, you too had that impression." "Definitely not a nice girl," said Race. Hercule Poirot nodded. "Yes, I would not trust her, that one." "You think she had something to do with the murder?" "No, I would not say that." "With the theft of the pearls, then?" "That is more probable. She had only been with Madame Doyle a very short time. She may be a member of a gang that specializes in jewel robberies. In such a case there is often a maid with excellent references. Unfortunately we are not in a position to seek information on these points. And yet that explanation does not quite satisfy me... Those pearls - ah, sacré, my little idea ought to be right. And yet nobody would be so imbecile -" He broke off. "What about the man Fleetwood?" "We must question him. It may be that we have there the solution. If Louise Bourget's story is true, he had a definite motive for revenge. He could have overheard the scene between Jacqueline and Monsieur Doyle, and when they have left the saloon he could have darted in and secured the gun. Yes, it is all quite possible. And that letter J scrawled in blood. That, too, would accord with a simple, rather crude nature." "In fact, he's just the person we are looking for?" "Yes - only -" Poirot rubbed his nose. He said with a slight grimace: "See you, I recognize my own weaknesses. It has been said of me that I like to make a case difficult. This solution that you put to me - it is too simple, too easy. I cannot feel that it really happened. And yet, that may be sheer prejudice on my part." "Well, we'd better have the fellow here." Race rang the bell and gave the order. Then he asked, "Any other - possibilities?" "Plenty, my friend. There is, for example, the American trustee." "Pennington?" "Yes, Pennington. There was a curious little scene in here the other day." He narrated the happenings to Race. "You see - it is significant. Madame, she wanted to read all the papers before signing. So he makes the excuse of another day. And then, the husband, he makes a very significant remark." "What was that?" "He says - 'I never read anything. I sign where I am told to sign.' You perceive the significance of that. Pennington did. I saw it in his eye. He looked at Doyle as though an entirely new idea had come into his head. Just imagine, my friend, that you have been left trustee to the daughter of an intensely wealthy man. You use, perhaps, that money to speculate with. I know it is so in all detective novels - but you read of it too in the newspapers. It happens, my friend, it happens." "I don't dispute it," said Race. "There is, perhaps, still time to make good by speculating wildly. Your ward is not yet of age. And then - she marries! The control passes from your hands into hers at a moment's notice! A disaster! But there is still a chance. She is on a honeymoon. She will perhaps be careless about business. A casual paper, slipped in among others, signed without reading... But Linnet Doyle was not like that. Honeymoon or no honeymoon, she was a business woman. And then her husband makes a remark, and a new idea comes to that desperate man who is seeking a way out from ruin. If Linnet Doyle were to die, her fortune would pass to her husband - and he would be easy to deal with; he would be a child in the hands of an astute man like Andrew Pennington. Mon cher Colonel, I tell you I saw the thought pass through Andrew Pennington's head. 'If only it were Doyle I had got to deal with.' That is what he was thinking." "Quite possible, I daresay," said Race drily, "but you've no evidence." "Alas, no." "Then there's young Ferguson," said Race. "He talks bitterly enough. Not that I go by talk. Still, he might be the fellow whose father was ruined by old Ridgeway. It's a little far-fetched - but it's possible. People do brood over bygone wrongs sometimes." He paused a minute and then said, "And there's my fellow." "Yes, there is 'your fellow' as you call him." "He's a killer," said Race. "We know that. On the other hand, I can't see any way in which he could have come up against Linnet Doyle. Their orbits don't touch." Poirot said slowly, "Unless, accidentally, she had become possessed of evidence showing his identity." "That's possible, but it seems highly unlikely." There was a knock at the door. "Ah, here's our would-be bigamist." Fleetwood was a big, truculent looking man. He looked suspiciously from one to the other of them as he entered the room. Poirot recognized him as the man he had seen talking to Louise Bourget. Fleetwood asked suspiciously, "You wanted to see me?" "We did," said Race. "You probably know that a murder was committed on this boat last night?" Fleetwood nodded. "And I believe it is true that you had reason to feel anger against the woman who was killed." A look of alarm sprang up in Fleetwood's eyes. "Who told you that?" "You considered that Mrs Doyle had interfered between you and a young woman." "I know who told you that - that lying French hussy. She's a liar through and through, that girl." "But this particular story happens to be true." "It's a dirty lie!" "You say that, although you don't know what it is yet." The shot told. The man flushed and gulped. "It is true, is it not, that you were going to marry the girl Marie, and that she broke it off when she discovered that you were a married man already?" "What business was it of hers?" "You mean, what business was it of Mrs Doyle's? Well, you know, bigamy is bigamy." "It wasn't like that. I married one of the locals out here. It didn't answer. She went back to her people. I've not seen her for half a dozen years." "Still you were married to her." The man was silent. Race went on: "Mrs Doyle, or Miss Ridgeway as she then was, found out all this?" "Yes, she did, curse her! Nosing about where no one ever asked her to. I'd have treated Marie right. I'd have done anything for her. And she'd never have known about the other, if it hadn't been for that meddlesome young lady of hers. Yes, I'll say it, I did have a grudge against the lady, and I felt bitter about it when I saw her on this boat, all dressed up in pearls and diamonds and lording it all over the place, with never a thought that she'd broken up a man's life for him! I felt bitter all right, but if you think I'm a dirty murderer - if you think I went and shot her with a gun, well, that's a damned lie! I never touched her. And that's God's truth." He stopped. The sweat was rolling down his face. "Where were you last night between the hours of twelve and two?" "In my bunk asleep - and my mate will tell you so." "We shall see," said Race. He dismissed him with a curt nod. "That'll do." "Eh bien?" inquired Poirot as the door closed behind Fleetwood. Race shrugged his shoulders. "He tells quite a straight story. He's nervous, of course, but not unduly so. We'll have to investigate his alibi - though I don't suppose it will be decisive. His mate was probably asleep, and this fellow could have slipped in and out if he wanted to. It depends whether anyone else saw him." "Yes, one must inquire as to that." "The next thing, I think," said Race, "is whether anyone heard anything which might give us a clue to the time of the crime. Bessner places it as having occurred between twelve and two. It seems reasonable to hope that someone among the passengers may have heard the shot - even if they did not recognize it for what it was. I didn't hear anything of the kind myself. What about you?" Poirot shook his head. "Me, I slept absolutely like the log. I heard nothing - but nothing at all. I might have been drugged, I slept so soundly." "A pity," said Race. "Well, let's hope we have a bit of luck with the people who have cabins on the starboard side. Fanthorp we've done. The Allertons come next. I'll send the steward to fetch them." Mrs Allerton came in briskly. She was wearing a soft grey striped silk dress. Her face looked distressed. "It's too horrible," she said as she accepted the chair that Poirot placed for her. "I can hardly believe it. That lovely creature, with everything to live for - dead. I almost feel I can't believe it." "I know how you feel, Madame," said Poirot sympathetically. "I'm glad you are on board," said Mrs Allerton simply. "You'll be able to find out who did it. I'm so glad it isn't that poor tragic girl." "You mean Mademoiselle de Bellefort. Who told you she did not do it?" "Cornelia Robson," replied Mrs Allerton, with a faint smile. "You know, she's simply thrilled by it all. It's probably the only exciting thing that has ever happened to her, and probably the only exciting thing that ever will happen to her. But she's so nice that she's terribly ashamed of enjoying it. She thinks it's awful of her." Mrs Allerton gave a look at Poirot and then added: "But I mustn't chatter. You want to ask me questions." "If you please. You went to bed at what time, Madame?" "Just after half past ten." "And you went to sleep at once?" "Yes. I was sleepy." "And did you hear anything - anything at all - during the night?" Mrs Allerton wrinkled her brows. "Yes, I think I heard a splash and someone running - or was it the other way about? I'm rather hazy. I just had a vague idea that someone had fallen overboard at sea - a dream, you know - and then I woke up and listened, but it was all quite quiet." "Do you know what time that was?" "No, I'm afraid I don't. But I don't think it was very long after I went to sleep. I mean it was within the first hour or so." "Alas, Madame, that is not very definite." "No, I know it isn't. But it's no good my trying to guess, is it, when I haven't really the vaguest idea?" "And that is all you can tell us, Madame?" "I'm afraid so." "Had you ever actually met Madame Doyle before?" "No, Tim had met her. And I'd heard a good deal about her through a cousin of ours, Joanna Southwood, but I'd never spoken to her till we met at Assuan." "I have one other question, Madame, if you will pardon me for asking." Mrs Allerton murmured with a faint smile, "I should love to be asked an indiscreet question." "It is this. Did you, or your family, ever suffer any financial loss through the operations of Madame Doyle's father, Melhuish Ridgeway?" Mrs Allerton looked thoroughly astonished. "Oh, no! The family finances have never suffered except by dwindling... you know, everything paying less interest than it used to. There's never been anything melodramatic about our poverty. My husband left very little money, but what he left I still have, though it doesn't yield as much as it used to yield." "I thank you, Madame. Perhaps you will ask your son to come to us." Tim said lightly, when his mother came to him: "Ordeal over? My turn now! What sort of things did they ask you?" "Only whether I heard anything last night," said Mrs Allerton. "And unluckily I didn't hear anything at all. I can't think why not. After all, Linnet's cabin is only one away from mine. I should think I'd have been bound to hear the shot. Go along, Tim; they're waiting for you." To Tim Allerton Poirot repeated his previous question. Tim answered: "I went to bed early, half past ten or so. I read for a bit. Put out my light just after eleven." "Did you hear anything after that?" "Heard a man's voice saying good-night, I think, not far away." "That was I saying good-night to Mrs Doyle," said Race. "Yes. After that I went to sleep. Then, later, I heard a kind of hullabaloo going on, somebody calling Fanthorp, I remember." "Mademoiselle Robson when she ran out from the observation saloon." "Yes, I suppose that was it. And then a lot of different voices. And then somebody running along the deck. And then a splash. And then I heard old Bessner booming out something about 'Careful now' and 'Not too quick.'" "You heard a splash?" "Well, something of that kind." "You are sure it was not a shot you heard?" "Yes, I suppose it might have been... I did hear a cork pop. Perhaps that was the shot. I may have imagined the splash from connecting the idea of the cork with liquid pouring into a glass... I know my foggy idea was that there was some kind of party on, and I wished they'd all go to bed and shut up." "Anything more after that?" Tim thought. "Only Fanthorp barging round in his cabin next door. I thought he'd never get to bed." "And after that?" Tim shrugged his shoulders. "After that - oblivion." "You heard nothing more?" "Nothing whatever." "Thank you, Monsieur Allerton." Tim got up and left the cabin. 第二部 埃及 14 第二部 埃及 14 白罗的观察——一点也没错，林娜•道尔床边柜台上的确没有了珍珠项链。 露易丝•蒲尔杰遵照吩咐在林娜的行李中搜寻一遍。结果她说，其它东西都 在，就是不见了那串珍珠项链。 他们从房里走出来，侍应生告知早餐已经准备好。他们步过甲板，雷斯停下 来在船杆旁俯望。 “呵，朋友，我看你好像想到了什么事！” “不错。芬索普说他好像听到一阵水溅声，我现在突然想起，我自己昨晚也 曾被类似的声音惊醒。极有可能的是：凶手在行凶后把手枪抛到河里。” 白罗缓缓地说：“你真的认为有此可能吗？”雷斯耸耸肩。 “这是个提示。无论如何，凶枪并不在死者房里，我到现场后首先就找枪。” “尽管如此。”白罗说，“枪给抛进河里的想法仍是有点不可思议。” 雷斯问道：“那么，枪究竟在哪儿呢？” 白罗若有所思地答道：“倘若枪不在道尔夫人房里，照逻辑推断，它只能在 一个地方。” “在什么地方？” “杜贝尔弗小姐的房里。” 雷斯若有所悟地说；“啊，我明白——” 他突然停下来。 “她此刻不在房里，我们去搜一遍，好吗？” 白罗摇摇头。“不，我的朋友，这会打草惊蛇。枪可能还没放在那儿。” “那么立刻全船搜查一次，怎么样？” “这样会露出端倪。我们得小心行事。目前我们的处境很微妙，让我们一边 吃早餐，一边研究情况吧！” 雷斯同意了。两人走进吸烟室。 “唔，”雷斯边倒咖啡边说，“我们有两个肯定的线索：一是失踪的项链， 一是胡利伍德这船员。项链似乎显示了这是一宗劫案，但——不晓得你是否同意 我……” 白罗立刻接下去，“但劫匪却选择了这个特别时刻？” “正是如此。在这样的情况下偷去项链，将会导致全船的人被严密搜查。那 贼怎能设想脱身呢？” “他可以跑上岸，把它埋起来。” “船公司派了守卫在岸上经常巡逻。” “那么，刚才的说法是不可能了。然则，劫匪是为了转移注意力，而故意犯 下谋杀？不，这不合情理，完全不合逻辑。不过，倘若是道尔夫人突然惊醒，发 现了劫匪？” “于是那贼向她开枪？但她是在睡梦中被杀的啊！” “那么，这也不合情理……你知道吗？关于那串珠链，我有个想法——不过 ——不——这不可能。因为如果我的想法正确，珠链不会无故失踪。告诉我，你 对露易丝的印象如何？” “我怀疑，”雷斯缓缓地说，“她知道的比她所说的要多。” “啊，你也有这样的印象？” “一定不是个好女人。”雷斯说。 白罗点点头。“对，我不会信任这样的人。” “你认为她与凶案有关？” “不，我不会这么想。” “那么，与失窃案有关？” “这个可能性较大。她跟道尔夫人相处只有很短的时间。她可能是职业珠宝 盗窃集团的一员。这类案件通常都牵涉到一位由有力保证人推荐的女佣。可惜， 我们现在没法找到这方面的资料。不过，这种解释我还是不满意……那串珠链 ——啊，我的想法应该没错。但没有人会如此低能……” 他停顿下来。 “胡利伍德这个人又怎样？” “我们得查问他，可能从那儿找到答案。倘若露易丝•蒲尔杰的故事是真 的，胡利伍德的确有报复的动机。他可能无意中看到了道尔先生和贾克琳在了望 厅内的纠葛，于是在他们离去后，迅速走进了望厅，拿走沙发底下的枪。不错， 这很有可能。恰恰解释了墙上留下的‘J’字，这很符合一个头脑简单、鲁莽的 人的做法。” “事实上，他正是我们要找的人？” “不错——只是——”白罗捏捏鼻子，扮了一个鬼脸说道，“你知道吗？我 很清楚自己的弱点。他们常常说我喜欢把事情复杂化。刚才你所引导的答案—— 似乎太简单了。我感到事情的真相并非如此。不过，可能纯粹出于我本身的偏 见。” “嗯，我们还是叫那家伙进来吧！” 雷斯按动了铃，下达了命令，然后问道：“其他可能性呢？” “老友，多着哩！例如那美国托管人。” “潘宁顿？” “对，正是他。那天就在这儿发生了古怪的一幕。”白罗把事情复述了一 遍。“你看——这很值得注意。道尔夫人要看过所有文件才签字，于是潘宁顿就 找籍口把事情延宕。接着，做丈夫的说了一句很有意思的话。” “什么话？” “他说，‘我从来不去读任何文件。我只是按人家指示签字。’你领悟出这 话的重要性吗？潘宁顿立刻察觉到这点，我看得出他的眼神。他看着希蒙•道 尔，仿佛突然灵机一动似的。老友，只要想一想，你当上了一个大富翁的女儿的 托管人。或许，你会利用那笔钱去干点投机。侦探小说里都有这样的情节——报 纸上也时有所闻啊！老友，的确有这样的事情，的确会这样。” “我不反对的确有这回事。”雷斯说。 “或者还有时间伺机大肆投机。因为你的受托人还未到法定年龄。然而—— 她结婚了！控制权瞬息间从你的手中转回给她！一声霹雳！但尚有一次机会。她 正在度蜜月，或许会疏忽业务。只需把一纸文件夹杂在其他合约中，让她无意间 签了字……但林娜•道尔并不是大意的人。度蜜月与否，她总表现得像个精明的 企业家。无意中她的丈夫说了一句话，给正试图脱离厄运的那个人带来了新的灵 感。如果林娜•道尔死了，她的财产自然落在她先生手中——这可是个容易应付 的人，一个任由潘宁顿这老手摆布的小孩。上校先生，我可以想像到当时潘宁顿 脑袋中涌起的念头：‘如果对手是希蒙•道尔，那么……’不错，这正是他的想 法。” “我敢说，这很有可能。”雷斯淡淡地说，“不过，你没有证据。” “唉，的确没有。” “还有斐格森这个年轻人，”雷斯说，“他说的话够刻毒了，不像是随意说 说，再者，他可能是被老黎吉薇打败的对手的儿子。这种设想略微牵强但不是不 可能。人有时候确会牢记以往的错失哩。” 他顿了一会又说：“别忘记还有我那个家伙哩！” “对，还有‘你的’家伙！” “他是个杀手，”雷斯说，“我们都很清楚。可是，我怎么样也想不透他会 跟林娜•道尔过不去。他俩根本扯不上关系。” 白罗缓缓地说；“除非，道尔夫人无意中发现了他的身份。” “这有可能，但成数又不大。”传来了敲门声。“啊，是我们的重婚未遂者 来了！” 胡利伍德是个粗鲁高大的汉子。进门后，他不断怀疑地打量雷斯和白罗两 人。白罗立刻认出他就是那天跟露易丝•蒲尔杰站在一起谈话的人。 胡利伍德疑惑地问道：“你们要见我？” “不错，”雷斯说，“昨晚船上发生凶杀案，你应该知道了吧？” 胡利伍德点点头。 “我相信你有理由憎恨那位遇害的太太。” 警觉的意识闪过胡利伍德的双目。 “是谁说的？” “你认为道尔太太破坏了你跟一位姑娘的好事。” “我知道是谁告诉你的，是那个乱打狂语的法国贼妇。她是个如假包换的撒 谎者！” “但这特别的故事却是真实的。” “全是骗人的鬼话！” “我还没说清是哪一个故事哩！” 胡利伍德顿时语塞。 “你不是打算跟一位名叫玛丽的女子结婚吗？后来，她发现你已经有太太， 于是拒绝了婚事，对吗？” “这关她屁事？” “你的意思是这关道尔太太什么事？不过，你要知道，重婚是犯法的。” “完全不是这么一回事。我跟本地出生的一个女孩结了婚。对方家长没有回 音。她返回自己的部族，我不见她已经五、六年了。” “但你仍然是她丈夫。” 胡利伍德无话可说。雷斯继续道：“道尔太太——那时是黎吉薇小姐——揭 发了这件事？” “正是她！他妈的！又没有人要她这么做。我会好好对待玛丽，为她牺牲一 切。她永远也不会知道关于我前妻的事，如果不是因为她那好管闲事的女主人。 不错，我的确非常痛恨她。当我见到她在船上，珠光宝气地四处招摇，却全未设 想到自己曾一手摧毁了一个男人的家庭生活，我的确恨死她。但如果你以为我是 个杀人凶手——以为我会开枪杀死她——那全是鬼话！我碰也没碰过她。我可以 向天发誓。” 胡利伍德停口不语，汗珠从脸上滴下。 “昨晚十二点至两点这段时间内，你在何处？” “在床上睡着了，我的同房可以证明。” “我们一定会调查明白。”雷斯说，然后点头示意他可以走了。“今天到此 为止。” “怎么样？”白罗一面关门，一面问。 雷斯耸耸肩。“他的答话相当直率。当然，他神色紧张，却是合乎常理的。 我们得调查他的不在场证明——尽管我认为不会有什么肯定的结果。他的同房可 能睡得很熟，这家伙大可随意溜进溜出。主要看是否有其他人见到他。” “对，这一点需要弄清楚。” “我想，下一步是，”雷斯说，“查问有没有人听到什么特别的声响。这是 决定凶案时间的线索。贝斯勒医生假设是十二点至两点这段时间内。希望旅客之 中有人听到枪声——尽管他们当时没有察觉那是枪响。我自己却什么也没听见。 你呢？” 白罗摇摇头。 “我？我睡得像死去一样，什么也没听到。我仿佛服了迷药似的，不省人 事。” “真可惜。”雷斯说，“唔，但愿能从睡在右舷边的旅客身上碰到点运气 吧！芬索普已经问过了，下一个房间是艾乐顿母子所宿。我派侍应生去请他们 来。” 不消片刻，艾乐顿太太进来了，身上穿着灰色、有条纹的丝质衣衫，脸上充 满悲伤神情。 “太可怕了！”她说毕，坐到白罗递给她的椅子上。“我真不敢相信，一位 如此可爱的女子——拥有人生一切最美好的东西——竟然死了。我真认为这不可 能是事实。” “我能了解你的感受，夫人。”白罗同情地说。 “我真高兴有你在船上，”艾乐顿太太说，“你一定能够找出凶手。我真高 兴凶手不是那位可怜的悲剧型的少女。” “你是指杜贝尔弗小姐？谁告诉你她不是凶手？” “珂妮亚。”艾乐顿太太微笑着答道，“你知道，她正因此事而兴奋不已 哩！这可能是她一生中所遇见过的惟一最刺激的事，也可能就只有这么一次！但 她是心地善良的女孩，她觉得自己这样兴奋太可耻，也太可怖了。” 艾乐顿太太瞥了白罗一眼，接着补充说：“我不该再闲扯一通了。你要问我 一些问题？” “倘若你不介意的话。夫人，你昨晚何时上床休息？” “十点半过一点。” “你立刻入睡了？” “不错，当时我很困。” “那么，你在夜里有没有听到任何声响呢？” 艾乐顿太太皱一皱眉头。 “唔，我想我听到一下水溅声，然后是有人奔跑的脚步声——又或许是脚步 声，然后是水声？我只是模模糊糊地感到有人掉进海里——一场梦，你知道—— 然后我醒过来，侧耳倾听，可是再也没有什么声响了。” “你知道当时是几点钟吗？” “不！恐怕弄不清楚了。不过我想不会距离我入睡的时间很久，大概是一个 钟头之内吧！” “啊，夫人，这太不肯定了！” “是啊，我知道是很不准确。不过，既然我一点头绪也没有，更不应该胡乱 猜忖。” “你能提供给我们的就这些吗，夫人？” “恐怕就这些了。” “以前你见过道尔夫人吗？” “没有。提姆倒见过。我也时而听闻她的事——是从侄女乔安娜口中得知 的。不过直至来亚思温，才有机会跟她坐一起。” “我还有一个问题，夫人，如果你不介意我问的话。” 艾乐顿太太微笑着喃喃道：“我乐意回答任何问题。” “是这样的，你或你的家人，曾否由于道尔夫人的父亲——即黎吉薇先生的 关系，而受到重大的经济上的损失呢？” 艾乐顿太太显得极度诧异。 “噢，不！家里的经济从来没有受到严重打击，只是每况愈下……你知道， 利息愈来愈低了。我们的贫穷并不是由于什么戏剧性的转变。我的丈夫留下很少 财产，不过他遗下的一切仍然在我手中，尽管它们所带来的入息已不及往日。” “谢谢你，夫人。或者你愿意请令郎来一趟。” 提姆迎着他的母亲，轻松地说：“审讯完毕了吗？轮到我了！他们问你什 么？” “只问我昨晚有没有听到什么声响。”艾乐顿太太说，“很可惜我什么也没 听到。我真猜不透为什么会这样。林娜和我只相隔一个房间，我应该是会听到枪 声的。快去吧，提姆，他们在等你。” 白罗向提姆重复了刚才的问题。 提姆答道；“我很早便上床，大约是十点半。我看了一会书，刚过十一点便 熄灯休息。” “可曾听到什么声响？” “听到一位男士说晚安。我想，就在不远处。” “那是我向道尔太太说晚安。”雷斯说。 “对了。然后我便睡下。不久，听到一片吵闹。我记起了，是有人在叫芬索 普。” “是罗柏森小姐，她从了望厅奔出来。” “对，我相信就是这时候。接着是几种不同的声音。然后有人跑过甲板。再 后是一阵水溅声。然后我听见老贝斯勒在叫‘小心点’和‘不要太快’。” “你听到水溅声？” “嗯，是类似这样的声音。” “你肯定不是枪声？” “不错，我相信这可能是……我的确听到‘噗’的一声。或许那就是枪响， 也可能是因为瓶塞打开似的声音而联想到液体倒进杯里的声响……我可是模模糊 糊地感到外面闹哄哄的一片，心里希望他们赶快回房休息。” “这之后，还有什么声响吗？” 提姆想了一会。“只是芬索普在邻室走来走去，好像永远不想上床休息似 的。” “再后呢？” 提姆耸耸肩。“再后——记不起了！” “你再没有听到什么声音？” “什么也没有。” “谢谢你，艾乐顿先生。” 提姆站起来，离开了吸烟室。 Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Race poured thoughtfully over a plan of the promenade deck of the Karnak. "Fanthorp, young Allerton, Mrs Allerton. Then an empty cabin, Simon Doyle's... Now who's on the other side of Mrs Doyle's? The old American dame. If anyone heard anything, she should have done. If she's up we'd better have her along." Miss Van Schuyler entered the room. She looked even older and yellower than usual this morning. Her small, dark eyes had an air of venomous displeasure in them. Race rose and bowed. "We're very sorry to trouble you, Miss Van Schuyler. It's very good of you. Please sit down." Miss Van Schuyler said sharply: "I dislike being mixed up in this. I resent it very much. I do not wish to be associated in any way with this - er - very unpleasant affair." "Quite - quite. I was just saying to Monsieur Poirot that the sooner we took your statement the better, as then you need have no further trouble." Miss Van Schuyler looked at Poirot with something approaching favour. "I'm glad you both realize my feelings. I am not accustomed to anything of this kind." Poirot said soothingly: "Precisely, Mademoiselle. That is why we wish to free you from unpleasantness as quickly as possible. Now you went to bed last night - at what time?" "Ten o'clock is my usual time. Last night I was rather later, as Cornelia Robson, very inconsiderately, kept me waiting." "Très bien, Mademoiselle. Now what did you hear after you had retired?" Miss Van Schuyler said: "I sleep very lightly." "A merveille! That is very fortunate for us." "I was awakened by that rather flashy young woman, Mrs Doyle's maid, who said, 'Bonne nuit, Madame' in what I cannot but think an unnecessarily loud voice." "And after that?" "I went to sleep again. I woke up thinking someone was in my cabin, but I realized that it was someone in the cabin next door." "In Madame Doyle's cabin?" "Yes. Then I heard someone outside on the deck and then a splash." "You have no idea what time this was?" "I can tell you the time exactly. It was ten minutes past one." "You are sure of that?" "Yes. I looked at my little clock that stands by my bed." "You did not hear a shot?" "No, nothing of the kind." "But it might possibly have been a shot that awakened you?" Miss Van Schuyler considered the question, her toadlike head on one side. "It might," she admitted rather grudgingly. "And you have no idea what caused the splash you heard?" "Not at all - I know perfectly." Colonel Race sat up alertly. "You know?" "Certainly. I did not like this sound of prowling around, I got up and went to the door of my cabin. Miss Otterbourne was leaning over the side. She had just dropped something into the water." "Miss Otterbourne?" Race sounded really surprised. "Yes." "You are quite sure it was Miss Otterbourne?" "I saw her face distinctly." "She did not see you?" "I do not think so." Poirot leaned forward. "And what did her face look like, Mademoiselle?" "She was in a condition of considerable emotion." Race and Poirot exchanged a quick glance. "And then?" Race prompted. "Miss Otterbourne went away round the stern of the boat and I returned to bed." There was a knock at the door and the Manager entered. He carried in his hand a dripping bundle. "We've got it, Colonel." Race took the package. He unwrapped fold after fold of sodden velvet. Out of it fell a coarse handkerchief, faintly stained with pink, wrapped round a small pearl-handled pistol. Race gave Poirot a glance of slightly malicious triumph. "You see," he said, "my idea was right. It was thrown overboard." He held the pistol out on the palm of his hand. "What do you say, Monsieur Poirot? Is this the pistol you saw at the Cataract Hotel that night?" Poirot examined it carefully; then he said quietly: "Yes - that is it. There is the ornamental work on it - and the initials J.B. It is an article de luxe, a very feminine production, but it is none the less a lethal weapon." "Twenty-two," murmured Race. He took out the clip. "Two bullets fired. Yes, there doesn't seem much doubt about it." Miss Van Schuyler coughed significantly. "And what about my stole?" she demanded. "Your stole, Mademoiselle?" "Yes, that is my velvet stole you have here." Race picked up the dripping folds of material. "This is yours, Miss Van Schuyler?" "Certainly it's mine!" the old lady snapped. "I missed it last night. I was asking everyone if they'd seen it." Poirot questioned Race with a glance, and the latter gave a slight nod of assent. "Where did you see it last, Miss Van Schuyler?" "I had it in the saloon yesterday evening. When I came to go to bed I could not find it anywhere." Race said quietly, "You realize what it's been used for?" He spread it out, indicating with a finger the scorching and several small holes. "The murderer wrapped it round the pistol to deaden the noise of the shot." "Impertinence!" snapped Miss Van Schuyler. The colour rose in her wizened cheeks. Race said, "I shall be glad, Miss Van Schuyler, if you will tell me the extent of your previous acquaintance with Mrs Doyle." "There was no previous acquaintance." "But you knew of her?" "I knew who she was, of course." "But your families were not acquainted?" "As a family we have always prided ourselves on being exclusive, Colonel Race. My dear mother would never have dreamed of calling upon any of the Hartz family, who, outside their wealth, were nobodies." "That is all you have to say, Miss Van Schuyler?" "I have nothing to add to what I have told you. Linnet Ridgeway was brought up in England and I never saw her till I came aboard this boat." She rose. Poirot opened the door for her and she marched out. The eyes of the two men met. "That's her story," said Race, "and she's going to stick to it! It may be true. I don't know. But - Rosalie Otterbourne? I hadn't expected that." Poirot shook his head in a perplexed manner. Then he brought down his hand on the table with a sudden bang. "But it does not make sense," he cried. "Nom d'un nom d'un nom! It does not make sense." Race looked at him. "What do you mean exactly?" "I mean that up to a point it is all the clear sailing. Someone wished to kill Linnet Doyle. Someone overheard the scene in the saloon last night. Someone sneaked in there and retrieved the pistol - Jacqueline de Bellefort's pistol, remember. Somebody shot Linnet Doyle with that pistol and wrote the letter J on the wall... All so clear, is it not? All pointing to Jacqueline de Bellefort as the murderess. And then what does the murderer do. Leave the pistol - the damning pistol - Jacqueline de Bellefort's pistol, for everyone to find? No, he - or she - throws the pistol, that particularly damning bit of evidence, overboard. Why, my friend, why?" Race shook his head. "It's odd." "It is more than odd - it is impossible!" "Not impossible, since it happened?" "I do not mean that. I mean that the sequence of events is impossible. Something is wrong." 第二部 埃及 15 第二部 埃及 15 雷斯若有所思地俯视着“卡拿克”号上层甲板的平面图。 “芬索普、提姆、艾乐顿太太，接着是一个空房间——希蒙•道尔的；在道 尔太太另一边又是谁呢？唔，是那美国老妇人。其他人既然听到声响，她也应该 听到。如果她已经起来了，我们最好先见见她。” 梵舒乐小姐进来了。她看来比以前更憔悴、更枯黄；一对黑色小眼睛充满不 高兴的神采。 雷斯站起来，鞠一个躬。 “很抱歉要麻烦你，梵舒乐小姐。多谢你肯来这里，请坐！” 梵舒乐小姐尖声道：“我不喜欢牵涉在内，简直令我反感。我不希望跟这 ……嗯……不愉快的事件有任何牵连。” “是的……是的。我正跟白罗先生商量，愈快取得你的证词愈好，以后就不 用再麻烦你了。” 梵舒乐小姐用满意的眼光望着白罗。 “很高兴，你们能了解我的感受。我从来不习惯这种场合。” 白罗安慰她道：“正是如此，梵舒乐小姐。所以我们也希望能尽快解决这件 事。好了，昨晚你上床休息的时间——是什么时候？” “我通常十点就寝。昨晚却很迟，完全是因为那全不替人着想的柯妮亚•罗 柏森让我等了老半天。” “哦，是这么回事。那么，你上床后，可曾听到什么声响？” 梵舒乐小姐说：“我通常都睡得很浅。” “啊，那对我们很有帮助。” “我被道尔太太的女佣吵醒了，她对主人道晚安的声量委实不需要那么大。” “这之后呢？” “我再度睡着了。醒来的时候，还以为有人进了我的房间，后来才发觉是在 邻房。” “在道尔夫人的房间？” “不错。接着我听见有人在外面的甲板上，然后是一下水溅声。” “你能否确定当时是几点？” “我可以准确地告诉你，那是一点十分。” “你敢肯定？” “对。我曾经看过床头的小钟。” “你没有听到枪声？” “没有，没有这类的声音。” “不过，你可能是被枪声惊醒的，是吗？” 梵舒乐小姐侧头想了一会。 “唔，有可能。”她极不情愿地承认道。 “你当然不晓得那水溅声是由什么东西所引起的，是吗？” “不——我知道得很清楚。” 雷斯上校敏感地坐直了身子。“你知道？” “当然。我不喜欢这吵吵闹闹的声音，于是起来开门看个究竟。鄂特伯恩小 姐正倚在栏杆上，刚抛了一些东西进水里。” “鄂特伯恩小姐？”雷斯显得有点震惊。 “是的。” “你十分确定是鄂特伯恩小姐？” “我清清楚楚看到她的脸。” “她见不到你？” “我想她见不到。” 白罗身子前倾。 “当时她的神色怎样，夫人？” “她看来颇为激动。” 雷斯跟白罗迅速交换了一下眼色。 “然后呢？”雷斯催促道。 “鄂特伯恩小姐向船尾走去，我则回房休息。” 一阵敲门声。船经理走了进来，手上拿着一包湿漉漉的东西。 “我们找到了，上校。” 雷斯接过包裹，打开一层又一层的绒布。一条染上粉红色彩的劣质手绢卷着 一把镶有珍珠柄的小枪掉了出来。 雷斯用颇为得意的目光望一望白罗。 “瞧，”他说，“我的估计没错。的确是给抛进河里去了。”他把手枪放到 手掌上。 “你说呢，白罗先生，这把枪是否就是那晚你在瀑布酒店见到的那一把？” 白罗谨慎地检查了一遍，镇静地说：“不错，正是这把。其上有精细的刻工 及缩写字母J•B。造型别致而富于女人味，但无疑也是一把致命的武器。” “点二二口径。”雷斯喃喃地道。他打开枪膛。“发射了两粒子弹。不错， 看来没有任何疑问。” 梵舒乐小姐重重地咳了一声。 “我的围巾又怎么样？”她问。 “夫人，你的围巾？” “是的，你刚才拿着的正是我的天鹅绒围巾。” 雷斯拉起那湿透的布料。 “这是你的，梵舒乐小姐？” “当然是我的！”老妇人厉声道，“我昨晚遗失的，我还四处问人有没有见 到。” 白罗以询问的眼光看一看雷斯，后者点头表示同意。 “你最后见到这围巾是在哪里，梵舒乐小姐？” “昨天晚上在了望厅我还用过，到要上床休息就找不着了。” 雷斯镇静地说：“你晓得它曾被用作什么用途吗？”他摊开围巾，用手指显 示出布上烧过的痕迹和几个小洞。“凶手利用它包着手枪，减低声浪。” “荒谬透顶！”梵舒乐小姐厉声说，枯槁的双颊骤然变色。 雷斯说：“梵舒乐小姐，你若肯告诉我以前你跟道尔太太的交情，我会很感 激。” “以前从来没有什么交情。” “但你知道她？” “我当然知道她是谁。” “但你俩的家族并没有交往？” “我们家族的人素来是不喜欢随便结识外人的，雷斯上校。我的母亲从来没 有想到要去拜访赫兹家。他们除了有钱外，根本是无名小卒。” “梵舒乐小姐，这就是你所要说的了？” “除了刚才所讲的，我没有什么要说的了。林娜•道尔在英国长大，我在登 上‘卡拿克’号之前，跟她素未谋面。” 她站起来。白罗为她开门，她昂首走出去。 室内两人互望了一眼。 “这就是她的故事。”雷斯说，“她是决不会反口的了。这可能是事实，我 可不敢说。不过——罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩？我倒没有想过会是她！” 白罗困惑地摇摇头，突然以手掌拍桌。 “但这不合情理！”他叫道，“去他的，不合情理！” 雷斯望着他。 “你究竟指什么？” “我是说直到目前，一切是那么清楚、明显。有人要杀林娜•道尔；有人偷 听到昨晚在了望厅所发生的事情；有人偷溜进去，偷走手枪——记住，是贾克 琳•杜贝尔弗的手枪；有人用那枪杀死林娜•道尔，然后在墙上写个‘J’字 ……一切不是很明显吗？箭头都指向贾克琳•杜贝尔弗。然后凶手怎么做？留下 手枪——杀人的凶器——是贾克琳•杜贝尔弗的手枪，让每个人都能找到？不， 他竟然把手枪——这致命的证据，抛进河里去！为什么，老友，究竟为什么？” 雷斯摇摇头。“的确很古怪。” “不单古怪——简直不可能！” “不是不可能，事情恰恰是这样！” “我不是说这不可能发生，我是说事件的程序不可能是这样。一定有不妥当 之处。” Chapter 16 Chapter 16 Colonel Race glanced curiously at his colleague. He respected - he had reason to respect - the brain of Hercule Poirot. Yet for the moment he did not follow the other's process of thought. He asked no question, however. He seldom did ask questions. He proceeded straightforwardly with the matter in hand. "What's the next thing to be done? Question the Otterbourne girl?" "Yes, that may advance us a little." Rosalie Otterbourne entered ungraciously. She did not look nervous or frightened in any way - merely unwilling and sulky. "Well," she asked, "what is it?" Race was the spokesman. "We're investigating Mrs Doyle's death," he explained. Rosalie nodded. "Will you tell me what you did last night?" Rosalie reflected a minute. "Mother and I went to bed early - before eleven. We didn't hear anything in particular, except a bit of fuss outside Dr Bessner's cabin. I heard the old man's German voice booming away. Of course I didn't know want it was all about till this morning." "You didn't hear a shot?" "No." "Did you leave your cabin at all last night?" "No." "You are quite sure of that?" Rosalie stared at him. "What do you mean? Of course I'm sure of it." "You did not, for instance, go round to the starboard side of the boat and throw something overboard?" The colour rose in her face. "Is there any rule against throwing things overboard?" "No, of course not. Then you did?" "No, I didn't. I never left my cabin, I tell you." "Then if anyone says that they saw you -" She interrupted him. "Who says they saw me?" "Miss Van Schuyler." "Miss Van Schuyler?" She sounded genuinely astonished. "Yes. Miss Van Schuyler says she looked out of her cabin and saw you throw something over the side." Rosalie said clearly, "That's a damned lie." Then, as though struck by a sudden thought, she asked, "What time was this?" It was Poirot who answered. "It was ten minutes past one, Mademoiselle." She nodded her head thoughtfully. "Did she see anything else?" Poirot looked at her curiously. He stroked his chin. "See - no," he replied, "but she heard something." "What did she hear?" "Someone moving about in Madame Doyle's cabin." "I see," muttered Rosalie. She was pale now - deadly pale. "And you persist in saying that you threw nothing overboard, Mademoiselle?" "What on earth should I run about throwing things overboard for in the middle of the night?" "There might be a reason - an innocent reason." "Innocent?" repeated the girl sharply. "That's what I said. You see, Mademoiselle, something was thrown overboard last night - something that was not innocent." Race silently held out the bundle of stained velvet, opening it to display its contents. Rosalie Otterbourne shrank back. "Was that - what - she was killed with?" "Yes, Mademoiselle." "And you think that I - I did it? What utter nonsense! Why on earth should I want to kill Linnet Doyle? I don't even know her!" She laughed and stood up scornfully. "The whole thing is too ridiculous." "Remember, Miss Otterbourne," said Race, "that Miss Van Schuyler is prepared to swear she saw your face quite clearly in the moonlight." Rosalie laughed again. "That old cat? She's probably half blind anyway. It wasn't me she saw." She paused. "Can I go now?" Race nodded and Rosalie Otterbourne left the room. The eyes of the two men met. Race lighted a cigarette. "Well, that's that. Flat contradiction. Which of 'em do we believe?" Poirot shook his head. "I have a little idea that neither of them was being quite frank." "That's the worst of our job," said Race despondently. "So many people keep back the truth for positively futile reasons. What's our next move? Get on with the questioning of the passengers?" "I think so. It is always well to proceed with order and method." Race nodded. Mrs Otterbourne, dressed in floating batik material, succeeded her daughter. She corroborated Rosalie's statement that they had both gone to bed before eleven o'clock. She herself had heard nothing of interest during the night. She could not say whether Rosalie had left their cabin or not. On the subject of the crime she was inclined to hold forth. "The crime passionnel!" she exclaimed. "The primitive instinct - to kill! So closely allied to the sex instinct. That girl, Jacqueline, half Latin, hot-blooded, obeying the deepest instincts of her being, stealing forth, revolver in hand -" "But Jacqueline de Bellefort did not shoot Madame Doyle. That we know for certain. It is proved," explained Poirot. "Her husband, then," said Mrs Otterbourne, rallying from the blow. "The blood lust and the sex instinct - a sexual crime. There are many well-known instances." "Mr Doyle was shot through the leg and he was quite unable to move - the bone was fractured," explained Colonel Race. "He spent the night with Dr Bessner." Mrs Otterbourne was even more disappointed. She searched her mind hopefully. "Of course!" she said. "How foolish of me! Miss Bowers!" "Miss Bowers?" "Yes. Naturally. It's so clear psychologically. Repression! The repressed virgin! Maddened by the sight of these two - a young husband and wife passionately in love with each other. Of course it was her! She's just the type - sexually unattractive, innately respectable. In my book, The Barren Vine -" Colonel Race interposed tactfully: "Your suggestions have been most helpful, Mrs Otterbourne. We must get on with our job now. Thank you so much." He escorted her gallantly to the door and came back wiping his brow. "What a poisonous woman! Whew! Why didn't somebody murder her?" "It may yet happen," Poirot consoled him. "There might be some sense in that. Whom have we got left? Pennington - we'll keep him for the end, I think. Richetti - Ferguson." Signor Richetti was very voluble, very agitated. "But what a horror, what an infamy - a woman so young and so beautiful - indeed an inhuman crime!" Signor Richetti's hands flew expressively up in the air. His answers were prompt. He had gone to bed early - very early. In fact immediately after dinner. He had read for a while - a very interesting pamphlet lately published - Prдhistorische Forschung in Kleinasien - throwing an entirely new light on the painted pottery of the Anatolian foothills. He had put out his light some time before eleven. No, he had not heard any shot. Nor any sound like the pop of a cork. The only thing he had heard - but that was later, in the middle of the night - was a splash, a big splash, just near his porthole. "Your cabin is on the lower deck, on the starboard side, is it not?" "Yes, yes, that is so. And I hear the big splash." His arms flew up once more to describe the bigness of the splash. "Can you tell me at all what time that was?" Signor Richetti reflected. "It was one, two, three hours after I go to sleep. Perhaps two hours." "About ten minutes past one, for instance?" "It might very well be, yes. Ah! but what a terrible crime - how inhuman... So charming a woman..." Exit Signor Richetti, still gesticulating freely. Race looked at Poirot. Poirot raised his eyebrows expressively, then shrugged his shoulders. They passed on to Mr Ferguson. Ferguson was difficult. He sprawled insolently in a chair. "Grand to-do about this business!" he sneered. "What's it really matter? Lot of superfluous women in the world!" Race said coldly, "Can we have an account of your movements last night, Mr Ferguson?" "Don't see why you should, but I don't mind. I mooched around a good bit. Went ashore with Miss Robson. When she went back to the boat I mooched around by myself for a while. Came back and turned in round about midnight." "Your cabin is on the lower deck, starboard side?" "Yes. I'm not up among the nobs." "Did you hear a shot? It might only have sounded like the popping of a cork." Ferguson considered. "Yes, I think I did hear something like a cork... Can't remember when - before I went to sleep. But there were still a lot of people about then - commotion, running about on the deck above." "That was probably the shot fired by Miss de Bellefort. You didn't hear another?" Ferguson shook his head. "Nor a splash?" "A splash? Yes, I believe I did hear a splash. But there was so much row going on I can't be sure about it." "Did you leave your cabin during the night?" Ferguson grinned. "No, I didn't. And I didn't participate in the good work, worse luck." "Come, come, Mr Ferguson, don't behave childishly." The young man reacted angrily. "Why shouldn't I say what I think? I believe in violence." "But you don't practise what you preach?" murmured Poirot. "I wonder." He leaned forward. "It was the man, Fleetwood, was it not, who told you that Linnet Doyle was one of the richest women in England?" "What's Fleetwood got to do with this?" "Fleetwood, my friend, had an excellent motive for killing Linnet Doyle. He had a special grudge against her." Mr Ferguson came up out of his seat like a Jack in the Box. "So that's your dirty game, is it?" he demanded wrathfully. "Put it on to a poor devil like Fleetwood, who can't defend himself, who's got no money to hire lawyers. But I tell you this - if you try and saddle Fleetwood with this business you'll have me to deal with." "And who exactly are you?" asked Poirot sweetly. Mr Ferguson got rather red. "I can stick by my friends anyway," he said gruffly. "Well, Mr Ferguson, I think that's all we need for the present," said Race. As the door closed behind Ferguson he remarked unexpectedly, "Rather a likable young cub, really." "You don't think he is the man you are after?" asked Poirot. "I hardly think so. I suppose he is on board. The information was very precise. Oh, well, one job at a time. Let's have a go at Pennington." 第二部 埃及 16 第二部 埃及 16 雷斯上校用好奇的眼光望着他的同事。他尊重——他有理由尊重——白罗那 聪明的脑袋。但此刻他却无法追随这老朋友的想法。不过，他没有发言；事实 上，他向来甚少追问；他只知直截了当地解决眼前的事务。 “下一步该怎么办？查问鄂特伯恩小姐？” “不错，这样我们可以推近一点。” 罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩很不礼貌地走进来，脸上没有丝毫紧张或恐惧，只有不乐 意和愠怒。 “到底什么事？”她问。 答话的是雷斯。 “我们正在调查道尔太太的死因。”他解释。 罗莎莉点点头。 “你能告诉我昨晚你做些什么事吗？” 罗莎莉想了一会。 “母亲和我很早就休息——大概是十一点以前。我们没有听到什么特别的声 响，只是贝斯勒医生门外似乎有点扰攘。我听见那老医生沉重的德国口音。到了 今天早上，我才知道发生了事情。” “你有没有听见枪声？” “没有。” “你可曾离开房间？” “不曾。” “你很确定？” 罗莎莉瞪着他。 “你什么意思？当然我确定。” “譬如，你并没有走过船的右舷，抛东西进河里？” 罗莎莉的脸色骤变。 “有法令规定不准丢东西进河里吗？” “噢，当然没有。但你的确曾抛东西进河里，是吗？” “没有。我已经说过，我半步也没有离开过房间。” “那么，倘若有人说曾经见到你……” 她打断了雷斯的话。“谁说见到我？” “梵舒乐小姐。” “梵舒乐小姐？”她确实非常惊讶。 “是的。梵舒乐小姐说她从房间外望，见你把东西抛进河里。” 罗莎莉清晰地说：“那是他妈的谎言！”接着，好像突然想起什么似的，她 问道，“是什么时候？” 答话的是白罗。 “是一点十分，小姐。” 她若有所悟地点点头。“她还见到什么别的没有？” 白罗好奇地望着她，一面摸着下巴说，“见到？嗯，没有。不过，她只听到 一些声音。” “她听到什么？” “有人在道尔夫人的房里走动。” “哦。”罗莎莉喃喃地道。 此刻她的脸色苍白，简直像死灰一样。 “小姐，你仍然坚持没有丢东西进河里吗？” “我干吗三更半夜跑来跑去，乱把东西丢进河里？” “可能是某种原因——清白的原因。” “清白？”罗莎莉尖声地重复道。 “正是。你知道吗，小姐？昨晚有些东西给抛进河里，而这些东西却不清 白。” 雷斯静静地取出那绒布包，打开里面的物件。 罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩退缩了一下。“这……这就是……用来杀死她的吗？” “不错。” “而你们以为是我……我干的？真是弥天大谎！我干吗要杀死林娜•道尔？ 我根本不认识她！” 她大笑着，蔑视地站起来。“这整件事情实在太荒谬了。” “请记住，鄂特伯恩小姐，”雷斯说，“梵舒乐小姐将会发誓她曾经在月色 下清楚看见你的脸。” 罗莎莉再次笑起来。“那只老猫？她差不多半瞎了。她看到的不是我。”她 顿了一顿，“我可以走了吗？” 雷斯点点头，罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩走了出去。 两人的目光接触一下。雷斯燃起一根香烟。 “嗯，就是如此。明显的矛盾。我们该信哪一个？” 白罗摇摇头。“我总觉得他们都不很坦白。” “我们的工作最麻烦的就在这里。”雷斯泄气地说，“人们总是为了某些缘 故而隐瞒事实。下一步做什么？继续查问旅客？” “是啦！按程序和方法办事总是最妥善的。” 雷斯点点头。 穿着有蜡染图案的摆裙的鄂特伯恩太太是下一个被查问对象。她证实了罗莎 莉所说的：她们是在十一点以前上床休息的。她自己在夜里倒没有听到什么特别 的声响，也无法说出罗莎莉究竟有没有离开房间。对于凶案，她倒有不少意见。 “犯罪的欲望！”她激动地说，“那女孩子，贾克琳，一半拉丁血统，冲 动，在她自己杀人欲念的驱使下，悄悄地摸索向前，手握着枪……” “不过，贾克琳•杜贝尔弗小姐并不是杀道尔夫人的凶手。这点我们已确 定，而且证实了。”白罗解释道。 “那么就是她先生了。”遭受挫折的鄂特伯恩太太，重新采取攻势。“嗜血 和性欲——是性罪行。有不少著名的案例。” “道尔先生腿部中了一枪，无法动弹，骨头也折断了。”雷斯解释道，“他 整晚都在贝斯勒医生房中。” 鄂特伯恩太太更失望了。她在脑中极力搜索。 “噢，对了！”她说，“我真笨！是鲍尔斯小姐！” “鲍尔斯小姐？” “对，自然是她。从心理学上看，很明显。压抑！一个性压抑的处女！一见 这对年轻的恩爱夫妇，就疯狂起来。当然是她！她正是这种类型——缺乏性感， 却摆出庄重的模样。在我那本《不孕的葡萄》中……” 雷斯上校技巧地截住她的话，“你的意见对我们很有启发性，鄂特伯恩太 太。我们现在得继续工作。非常感谢你。” 他礼貌地送她走出房门。回来时，一边抹着额上的汗。 “好恶毒的女人！呼！为什么没有人想到要杀她？” “倒不是没有可能的。”白罗安慰他道。 “这还有点道理。还剩下几个人？潘宁顿——我想我们把他放到最后，黎希 提——斐格森。” 黎希提先生显得很困扰，说话滔滔不绝。 “多恐怖、多丑恶的一回事啊！一个如此美貌、漂亮的女子竟然给谋杀了 ——真是没人性的罪行！”他一面说，一面舞动双手。 他回答问题很爽快。他很早便上床，事实是晚餐过后，他在床上看书——一 本最近出版的考古学资料《Prahistorische Forschung in Kleinasien》，对安 那托里亚山丘的彩陶有许多新发现。约十一点以前，他便熄灯就寝。没有，他没 有听到任何枪响；也没有听到像瓶塞开启的声音。他惟一听到的是……是后来， 午夜时分的一阵水溅声；很大的水声，就在他的舷窗附近。 “你的房间是在下层甲板，右舷那边，对吗？” “对，对，没错。我听到很响的水溅声。”他用手比划着巨浪。 “你可以告诉我，那是什么时候吗？” 黎希提想了一会。 “可能是我入睡后一、两个小时，大抵是两小时吧！” “譬如一点十分？” “可能。啊！不过，真是太残忍——太不人道了……那么可爱的女子……” 黎希提走了出去，仍然做着手势。 雷斯望着白罗。白罗扮个鬼脸，然后耸耸肩。 “我们还是试试潘宁顿吧！”雷斯说。 Chapter 17 Chapter 17 Andrew Pennington displayed all the conventional reactions of grief and shock. He was, as usual, carefully dressed. He had changed into a black tie. His long clean-shaven face bore a bewildered expression. "Gentlemen," he said sadly, "this business has got me right down! Little Linnet - why, I remember her as the cutest little thing you can imagine. How proud of her Melhuish Ridgeway used to be, too! Well, there's no point in going into that. Just tell me what I can do; that's all I ask." Race said, "To begin with, Mr Pennington, did you hear anything last night?" "No, sir, I can't say I did. I have the cabin right next to Dr Bessner's, number forty - forty-one, and I heard a certain commotion going on in there round about midnight or so. Of course I didn't know what it was at the time." "You heard nothing else? No shots?" Andrew Pennington shook his head. "Nothing whatever of that kind." "And you went to bed at what time?" "Must have been some time after eleven." He leant forward. "I don't suppose it's news to you to know that there's plenty of rumours going about the boat. That half French girl - Jacqueline de Bellefort - there was something fishy there, you know. Linnet didn't tell me anything, but naturally I wasn't born blind and deaf. There'd been some affair between her and Simon, some time, hadn't there? Cherchez la femme - that's a pretty good sound rule, and I should say you wouldn't have to cherchez far." "You mean that in your belief Jacqueline de Bellefort shot Madame Doyle?" Poirot asked. "That's what it looks like to me. Of course I don't know anything..." "Unfortunately we do know something!" "Eh?" Mr Pennington looked startled. "We know that it is quite impossible for Mademoiselle de Bellefort to have shot Madame Doyle." He explained carefully the circumstances. Pennington seemed reluctant to accept them. "I agree it looks all right on the face of it - but this hospital nurse woman, I'll bet she didn't stay awake all night. She dozed off and the girl slipped out and in again." "Hardly likely, Monsieur Pennington. She had administered a strong opiate, remember. And anyway a nurse is in the habit of sleeping lightly and waking when her patient wakes." "It all sounds rather fishy to me," declared Pennington. Race said, in a gently authoritative manner: "I think you must take it from me, Mr Pennington, that we have examined all the possibilities very carefully. The result is quite definite - Jacqueline de Bellefort did not shoot Mrs Doyle. So we are forced to look elsewhere. That is where we hope you may be able to help us." "I?" Pennington gave a nervous start. "Yes. You were an intimate friend of the dead woman's. You know the circumstances of her life, in all probability, much better than her husband does, since he only made her acquaintance a few months ago. You would know, for instance, of anyone who had a grudge against her. You would know, perhaps, whether there was anyone who had a motive for desiring her death." Andrew Pennington passed his tongue over rather dry looking lips. "I assure you, I have no idea... You see Linnet was brought up in England. I know very little of her surroundings and associations." "And yet," mused Poirot, "there was someone on board who was interested in Madame Doyle's removal. She had a near escape before, you remember, at this very place, when that boulder crashed down. Ah! but you were not there, perhaps?" "No. I was inside the temple at the time. I heard about it afterward, of course. A very near escape. But possibly an accident, don't you think?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "One thought so at the time. Now - one wonders." "Yes - yes, of course." Pennington wiped his face with a fine silk handkerchief. Colonel Race went on: "Mrs Doyle happened to mention someone being on board who bore a grudge - not against her personally, but against her family. Do you know who that could be?" Pennington looked genuinely astonished. "No, I've no idea." "She didn't mention the matter to you?" "No." "You were an intimate friend of her father's - you cannot remember any business operations of his that might have resulted in ruin for some business opponent?" Pennington shook his head helplessly. "No outstanding case. Such operations were frequent, of course, but I can't recall anyone who uttered threats - nothing of that kind." "In short, Mr Pennington, you cannot help us?" "It seems so. I deplore my inadequacy, gentlemen." Race interchanged a glance with Poirot, then he said: "I'm sorry too. We'd had hopes." He got up as a sign the interview was at an end. Andrew Pennington said: "As Doyle's laid up, I expect he'd like me to see to things. Pardon me, Colonel, but what exactly are the arrangements?" "When we leave here we shall make a non-stop run to Shellвl, arriving there tomorrow morning." "And the body?" "Will be removed to one of the cold storage chambers." Andrew Pennington bowed his head. Then he left the room. Poirot and Race again interchanged a glance. "Mr Pennington," said Race, lighting a cigarette, "was not at all comfortable." Poirot nodded. "And," he said, "Mr Pennington was sufficiently perturbed to tell a rather stupid lie. He was not in the temple of Abu Simbel when that boulder fell. I - moi qui vous parle - can swear to that. I had just come from there." "A very stupid lie," said Race, "and a very revealing one." Again Poirot nodded. "But for the moment," he said, and smiled, "we handle him with the gloves of kid, is it not so?" "That was the idea," agreed Race. "My friend, you and I understand each other to a marvel." There was a faint grinding noise, a stir beneath their feet. The Karnak had started on her homeward journey to Shellвl. "The pearls," said Race. "That is the next thing to be cleared up." "You have a plan?" "Yes." He glanced at his watch. "It will be lunch time in half an hour. At the end of the meal I propose to make an announcement - just state the fact that the pearls have been stolen, and that I must request everyone to stay in the dining-saloon while a search is conducted." Poirot nodded approvingly. "It is well imagined. Whoever took the pearls still has them. By giving no warning beforehand, there will be no chance of their being thrown overboard in a panic." Race drew some sheets of paper toward him. He murmured apologetically: "I like to make a brief précis of the facts as I go along. It keeps one's mind free of confusion." "You do well. Method and order, they are everything," replied Poirot. Race wrote for some minutes in his small neat script. Finally he pushed the result of his labours toward Poirot. "Anything you don't agree with there?" Poirot took up the sheets. They were headed: 'Murder of Mrs Linnet Doyle' Mrs Doyle was last seen alive by her maid, Louise Bourget. Time: 11.30 (approx). From 11.30- 12.20 following have alibis: Cornelia Robson, James Fanthorp, Simon Doyle, Jacqueline de Bellefort - nobody else - but crime almost certainly committed after that time, since it is practically certain that pistol used was Jacqueline de Bellefort's, which was then in her handbag. That her pistol was used is not absolutely certain until after post-mortem and expert evidence re bullet - but it may be taken as overwhelmingly probable. Probable course of events: X (murderer) was witness of scene between Jacqueline and Simon Doyle in observation saloon and noted where pistol went under settee. After the saloon was vacant, X procured pistol - his or her idea being that Jacqueline de Bellefort would be thought guilty of crime. On this theory certain people are automatically cleared of suspicion: Cornelia Robson, since she had no opportunity to take pistol before James Fanthorp returned to search for it. Miss Bowers - same. Dr Bessner - same. N.B. - Fanthorp is not definitely excluded from suspicion, since he could actually have pocketed pistol while declaring himself unable to find it. Any other person could have taken the pistol during that ten minutes' interval. Possible motives for the murder: Andrew Pennington. This is on the assumption that he has been guilty of fraudulent practices. There is a certain amount of evidence in favour of that assumption, but not enough to justify making out a case against him. If it was he who rolled down the boulder, he is a man who can seize a chance when it presents itself. The crime, clearly, was not premeditated except in a general way. Last night's shooting scene was an ideal opportunity. Objections to the theory of Pennington's guilt: Why did he throw the pistol overboard, since it constituted a valuable clue against J.B.? Fleetwood. Motive, revenge. Fleetwood considered himself injured by Linnet Doyle. Might have overheard scene and noted position of pistol. He may have taken pistol because it was a handy weapon, rather than with the idea of throwing guilt on Jacqueline. This would fit in with throwing it overboard. But if that were the case, why did he write J in blood on the wall? N.B. - Cheap handkerchief found with pistol more likely to have belonged to a man like Fleetwood than to one of the well-to-do passengers. Rosalie Otterbourne. Are we to accept Miss Van Schuyler's evidence or Rosalie's denial? Something was thrown overboard at that time and that something was presumably the pistol wrapped up in the velvet stole. Points to be noted. Had Rosalie any motive? She may have disliked Linnet Doyle and even been envious of her - but as a motive for murder that seems grossly inadequate. The evidence against her can be convincing only if we discover an adequate motive. As far as we know, there is no previous knowledge or link between Rosalie Otterbourne and Linnet Doyle. Miss Van Schuyler. The velvet stole in which pistol was wrapped belongs to Miss Van Schuyler. According to her own statement she last saw it in the observation saloon. She drew attention to its loss during the evening, and a search was made for it without success. How did the stole come into the possession of X? Did X purloin it some time early in the evening? But if so, why? Nobody could tell, in advance, that there was going to be a scene between Jacqueline and Simon. Did X find the stole in the saloon when he went to get the pistol from under the settee? But if so, why was it not found when the search for it was made? Did it never leave Miss Van Schuyler's possession? That is to say: Did Miss Van Schuyler murder Linnet Doyle? Is her accusation of Rosalie Otterbourne a deliberate lie? If she did murder her, what was her motive? Other possibilities: Robbery as a motive. Possible, since the pearls have disappeared, and Linnet Doyle was certainly wearing them last night. Someone with a grudge against the Ridgeway family. Possibly - again no evidence. We know that there is a dangerous man on board - a killer. Here we have a killer and a death. May not the two be connected? But we should have to show that Linnet Doyle possessed dangerous knowledge concerning this man. Conclusions: We can group the persons on board into two classes - those who had a possible motive or against whom there is definite evidence, and those who, as far as we know, are free of suspicion. Group I Andrew Pennington Fleetwood Rosalie Otterbourne Miss Van Schuyler Louise Bourget (Robbery?) Ferguson (Political?) Group II Mrs Allerton Tim Allerton Cornelia Robson Miss Bowers Mrs Otterbourne James Fanthorp Dr Bessner Signor Richetti Poirot pushed the paper back. "It is very just, very exact, what you have written there." "You agree with it?" "Yes." "And now what is your contribution?" Poirot drew himself up in an important manner. "Me, I pose to myself one question: 'Why was the pistol thrown overboard?'" "That's all?" "At the moment, yes. Until I can arrive at a satisfactory answer to that question, there is no sense anywhere. That is - that must be the starting point. You will notice, my friend, that, in your summary of where we stand, you have not attempted to answer that point." Race shrugged his shoulders. "Panic." Poirot shook his head perplexedly. He picked up the sodden velvet wrap and smoothed it out, wet and limp, on the table. His finger traced the scorched marks and the burnt holes. "Tell me, my friend," he said suddenly. "You are more conversant with firearms than I am. Would such a thing as this, wrapped round a pistol, make much difference in muffling the sound?" "No, it wouldn't. Not like a silencer, for instance." Poirot nodded. He went on: "A man - certainly a man who had had much handling of firearms - would know that. But a woman - a woman would not know." Race looked at him curiously. "Probably not." "No. She would have read the detective stories where they are not always very exact as to details." Race flicked the little pearl-handled pistol with his finger. "This little fellow wouldn't make much noise anyway," he said. "Just a pop, that's all. With any other noise around, ten to one you wouldn't notice it." "Yes, I have reflected as to that." Poirot picked up the handkerchief and examined it. "A man's handkerchief - but not a gentleman's handkerchief. Ce cher Woolworth, I imagine. Threepence at most." "The sort of handkerchief a man like Fleetwood would own." "Yes. Andrew Pennington, I notice, carries a very fine silk handkerchief." "Ferguson?" suggested Race. "Possibly. As a gesture. But then it ought to be a bandana." "Used it instead of a glove, I suppose, to hold the pistol and obviate fingerprints." Race added, with slight facetiousness, "'The Clue of the Blushing Handkerchief.'" "Ah, yes. Quite a jeune fille colour, is it not?" He laid it down and returned to the stole, once more examining the powder marks. "All the same," he murmured, "it is odd..." "What's that?" Poirot said gently: "Cette pauvre Madame Doyle. Lying there so peacefully... with the little hole in her head. You remember how she looked?" Race looked at him curiously. "You know," he said, "I've got an idea you're trying to tell me something - but I haven't the faintest idea what it is." 第二部 埃及 17 第二部 埃及 17 安德鲁•潘宁顿的表现是悲哀和震惊。他像往常一样穿戴整齐，脖子上结了 一条黑色领带；长而刮净的脸上带着困惑的神色。 “先生们，”他哀伤地说，“这件事使我极为震动。小林娜——我把她看做 美丽可爱的小东西。老梅尔勒•黎吉薇一向多么以她为荣啊！唉，现在多说也没 有用了，我只想知道我能够做些什么。” 雷斯说：“首先，潘宁顿先生，你昨晚曾听到什么特别的声响吗？” “没有，先生。我的房间就在贝斯勒医生的隔壁，四十……四十一号，大约 是在夜半时分，我听到那儿好像有片刻的扰攘。当时我当然不晓得发生了什么事 情。” “你没有听到别的声音？没有枪声？” 潘宁顿摇摇头。 “没听见这类的声音。” “你是几点上床休息的？” “一定是十一点过后。” 他身子前倾。 “我相信你们早已知晓船上满布的谣言。那个一半法国血统的少女——贾克 琳•杜贝尔弗——确实有点古怪。林娜没有告诉我什么，但我既不瞎也没聋。希 蒙跟那少女曾经有过一段关系。我想你们的目标也不需放得太远。” “你意思是你认为是贾克琳射杀了道尔夫人？”白罗问道。 “事情看来是这样。不过，当然我一点也不知道……” “不幸的是，我们却知道一点事实！” “哦？”潘宁顿显得惊讶。 “我们知道，贾克琳小姐几乎不可能去杀道尔夫人。” 他详细解释当时的情况。潘宁顿似乎极不愿意接受这些事实。 “我同意表面上看来没有什么不妥——可是，那护士，我敢打赌她没有整晚 醒着。贾克琳可以趁她打瞌睡时，偷偷溜出来又溜进去。” “很不可能，潘宁顿先生。请记住，她给打了大量吗啡。况且，护士们是习 惯睡得很浅的，病人醒来的时候，她们也会同时惊醒。” “依我看来，一切都似乎很不寻常。”潘宁顿坚持说。 雷斯以婉转而稍带官方的口吻说：“我想你可以相信我的话，潘宁顿先生， 我们已经谨慎调查分析过一切可能性。结果是颇为肯定的——贾克琳•杜贝尔弗 并非杀道尔太太的凶手。所以我们才被迫转移目标，这正是我们希望你能帮忙的 地方。” “我？”潘宁顿语带紧张。 “不错。你是被害者的亲密朋友，你了解她的生活情况，在各方面，你比她 丈夫更能深入了解她，因为他只认识死者几个月。譬如，你应该知道她跟什么人 有过节，又或许谁有杀她的动机。” 潘宁顿舔一舔干裂的嘴唇。 “我向你保证，我一点头绪也没有……你知道，林娜是在英国长大的。我对 她身边的朋友和各方面的联系知道得不多。” “不过，”白罗若有所思地说，“船上却有人极欲除掉道尔夫人。你应该记 得，她曾经逃过一次大难：就是这个地方——那滚下来的石头！噢！你或许当时 并不在场？” “是的。当时我在圣殿里，事后才听到消息。生死关头。不过可能是意外， 你不认为吗？” 白罗耸耸肩。 “当时是这样想。现在——可值得怀疑。” “嗯，嗯……当然。”潘宁顿用丝帕抹着脸说。 雷斯上校继续道：“道尔太太提及船上有人跟她家（不是跟她）有宿仇。你 知道这人是谁？” 潘宁顿真的很惊讶的样子。 “不，我一点也不晓得。” “道尔太太没有跟你提及？” “没有。” “你是她父亲的亲近朋友——你不记得他曾在生意上严重地打垮过任何对 手？” 潘宁顿绝望地摇摇头。“没有特别的事件。当然这类事经常发生，不过我记 不起有谁曾经恶意恐吓黎吉薇——完全没有这回事。” “简单说来，潘宁顿先生，你不能协助我们？” “似乎如此。我向两位表示歉意。” 雷斯跟白罗交换一下眼色，然后说：“我也深感遗憾。我们原来是满怀希望 的。” 他站起来，表示询问终结。 安德鲁•潘宁顿说：“由于希蒙行动不便，我想他希望我照料一切事情。上 校，请问事情如何安排？” “船开航后，将直驶雪莱尔。明早可以抵达。” “尸体呢？” “将移往冷藏室。” 潘宁顿鞠一个躬，走出房间。 雷斯跟白罗再度交换眼色。 “潘宁顿先生，”雷斯点燃香烟，说：“似乎很不自在。” 白罗点点头说：“潘宁顿先生更在极度不安之下撒了一个笨拙的谎言。大石 滚下来的时候，他并不在阿布•席姆贝尔神殿内。这点我可以发誓，当时我刚好 从殿内走出。” “很笨拙很明显的谎言。”雷斯说。 白罗再度点点头。 “然而目前，”他微笑着说，“我们就当他是清白者般对待他吧！” “就这样。”雷斯同意地说。 “老友，我和你的默契真是天衣无缝！” 脚下开始震动，一阵微弱的磨擦声响了起来。“卡拿克”号回头朝雪莱尔行 驶。 “那珍珠项链，”雷斯说，“下一步要澄清。” “你有计划了？” “对。”他看看腕表。“半个钟头后便是午餐时间。我打算在餐后宣布—— 公开声明项链不见了，要求每人留在餐厅里，以便我们展开搜索。” 白罗同意地点点头。 “绝妙的安排。拿了项链的显然仍然赃物在手，在毫无事先警告之下，他是 没有机会在惶恐中把珍珠抛进河里的。” 雷斯拿出一叠白纸放在面前，然后满怀歉意地喃喃道： “我想边查边把所得的资料作一简短总结，免得搞混了。” “这样做很好。方法与程序，万事所系。”白罗答道。 雷斯以细小干净的字迹书写了一会，最后把工作的成果推到白罗面前。“有 什么不同意的地方吗？” 白罗拿起纸张，只见标题是： 林娜•道尔太太被杀案 最后见到道尔太太的是她的女佣，露易丝•蒲尔杰。时间：约 十一点半。 十一点三十分至十二点二十分，只有下列各人有不在场证明： 珂妮亚•罗柏森、吉姆•芬索普、希蒙•道尔及贾克琳•杜贝尔 弗。没有其他人。但凶案几乎可确定是在这段时间后发生，因为凶 枪查明是贾克琳•杜贝尔弗的，而在此之前，一直放在她的手提袋 里。虽然这点并非百分之一百确实，还需验尸及专家鉴定弹头，但 这可能性甚大。 事件发生的大致过程：Ｘ（凶手）目睹贾克琳跟希蒙•道尔在 了望厅内争吵的一幕，注意到手枪被踢进沙发底下。厅内空无一人 时，Ｘ取得该手枪——意图将罪嫌推在贾克琳身上。根据这个推 理，若干人等自动被列为不受嫌疑之列。 珂妮亚•罗柏森——在詹姆斯•芬索普回去寻找手枪时，她并 没机会取得凶枪。 鲍尔斯小姐——理由同上。 贝斯勒医生——理由同上。 附注：芬索普并不绝对清白，因为他可能把手枪收起，佯称找 不着。 其余各人都可以在那十分钟空档内取去手枪。 谋杀的可能动机： 安德鲁•潘宁顿——设想根据是此人犯下诈欺行为。已有若干 对他不利证据，但尚不足指控他。倘若他是推石下崖的人，他确实 懂得把握机会。这宗凶案显然不算早有预谋。昨晚枪伤事件系一良 机。 反证是：他何必把手枪丢进河里？凶器上的J•B缩写显然是指 控贾克琳的最有力线索。 胡利伍德——动机：报复。此人认定自己为林娜•道尔所害。 可能无意中听到那幕争吵，并看到手枪的位置。他取走手枪，因为 枪是最便利的武器，然而他心中并未想到要嫁祸贾克琳。这点颇吻 合枪被抛掉的理由。但如果属实，他又为什么要沾血在墙上写下 “J”字？ 附注：跟凶枪一起被寻获的廉价手帕，比较符合胡利伍德的身 分，而不适于富有的旅客。 罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩——该接受梵舒乐小姐的指证，或罗莎莉本 人的否认呢？当时的确有物件被抛进河里，而该物件初步断定是用 绒布围巾包裹的手枪。 值得注意的几点：罗莎莉有杀人动机吗？她可能不喜欢林娜• 道尔，甚至嫉妒她——但这显然不足以构成谋杀动机。只有找到充 分的动机，对她的不利证据才能有说服力。就我们所知，罗莎莉• 鄂特伯恩跟林娜•道尔以前并不认识。 梵舒乐小姐——包裹凶枪的绒布围巾系她所有。根据她本人所 说，最后看见围巾是在了望厅。当晚她曾声称围巾失踪了，但大家 遍寻不着。 围巾如何落在Ｘ手中？是Ｘ傍晚时分便偷得？倘若仅此，到底 为什么？没人预知贾克琳会跟希蒙起冲突。是Ｘ在取手枪时，无意 中发现了围巾？既然如此，为什么早些时候却没人能找到？是围巾 根本没离开过梵舒乐小姐的身边？这就说：梵舒乐小姐是杀林娜• 道尔的凶手？她对罗莎莉的诬告，是编出来的谎话？如果她是凶 手，动机又是什么？ 其他可能性： 动机是偷窃——有可能。因为珍珠项链不见了，而林娜•道尔 昨晚还戴在身上。 跟黎吉薇家有宿仇的人——有可能，但缺乏证据。 船上还有一危险人物——一个杀手。凶案与杀手之间有无关 联？但我们得证明林娜•道尔拥有对此人不利的资料。 结论：我们可以把船上旅客分成两组：一是有杀人动机及明显 证据的；二是直至目前所知，仍属清白的。 第一组： 安德鲁•潘宁顿 胡利伍德 罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩 梵舒乐小姐 露易丝•蒲尔杰（偷窃？） 斐格森（政治因素？） 第二组： 艾乐顿太太 提姆•艾乐顿 珂妮亚•罗柏森 鲍尔斯小姐 鄂特伯恩太太 吉姆•芬索普 贝斯勒医生 黎希提 白罗把纸推回给雷斯。 “你所写的一切都很正确、很公允。” “你同意吗？” “同意。” “现在你能贡献什么意见？” 白罗慎重地站起来。 “我？我问自己一个问题：凶枪为什么给丢进河里？” “如此而已？” “目前为止就这个问题。直到我找出满意的答案，否则任何推论都是徒然。 这就是说，总得找出头绪。老友，你应该留意到，在你那份简表里，并没针对这 问题企图找出答案。” 雷斯耸耸肩。 “棘手啊！” 白罗困惑地摇着头，一边拿起那块湿透的围巾，摊开铺在桌面上。他的手指 勾划出巾上的灼过的痕迹和烧穿的小洞。 “老友，告诉我，”他突然说，“你对军火比我更有研究。用这样一块布来 包手枪，可以减低很大声量吗？” “不，不会。远不如一个灭声器。” 白罗点点头，然后往下说：“一个男人——显然一个对枪械很熟悉的男人 ——会懂得这个道理。但是一个女人——一个女人未必晓得。” 雷斯好奇地望着他。“很可能如此。” “是的，女人可能从侦探小说中取得一知半解的知识。” 雷斯玩弄着那枝珍珠柄手枪。 “这小东西无论如何不会发出多大响声。”他说，“顶多是‘扑’的一声。 在其他声响掩盖下，十之八九不会被听到。” “是的，我也想过这点。” 白罗拿走手帕，检查了一遍。 “男人手帕——但不是高级男士用品。顶多值三便士。” “很吻合胡利伍德的身分。” “不错，我留意到潘宁顿用的是丝质手帕。” “我想，是用来当手套，以免留下指纹。”雷斯半开玩笑地补充说，“‘粉 红手帕破案记’？” “啊，很迷人的颜色，是吗？”白罗放下手帕，再度检查围巾上的火药痕 迹。 “一样，”他喃喃地道，“还是蹊跷……” “怎么样？” 白罗柔声地说：“道尔夫人安详地躺在那儿……头上小小的弹孔。你记得她 死时的神态吗？” 雷斯好奇地望着他。“你知道吗？”他说，“我感觉到你在试图说明某个问 题——但我却一点也不晓得那该是什么。” Chapter 18 Chapter 18 There was a tap on the door. "Come in," Race called. A steward entered. "Excuse me, Sir," he said to Poirot, "but Mr Doyle is asking for you." "I will come." Poirot rose. He went out of the room and up the companionway to the promenade deck and along it to Dr Bessner's cabin. Simon, his face flushed and feverish, was propped up with pillows. He looked embarrassed. "Awfully good of you to come along, Monsieur Poirot. Look here, there's something I want to ask you." "Yes?" Simon got still redder in the face. "It's - it's about Jackie. I want to see her. Do you think - would you mind - would she mind, d'you think, if you asked her to come along here? You know I've been lying here thinking... That wretched kid - she is only a kid after all - and I treated her damn badly - and -" He stammered to silence. Poirot looked at him with interest. "You desire to see Mademoiselle Jacqueline? I will fetch her." "Thanks. Awfully good of you." Poirot went on his quest. He found Jacqueline de Bellefort sitting huddled up in a corner of the observation saloon. There was an open book on her lap but she was not reading. Poirot said gently: "Will you come with me, Mademoiselle? Monsieur Doyle wants to see you." She started up. Her face flushed - then paled. She looked bewildered. "Simon? He wants to see me - to see me?" He found her incredulity moving. "Will you come, Mademoiselle?" She went with him in a docile fashion, like a child, but like a puzzled child. "I - yes, of course I will." Poirot passed into the cabin. "Here is Mademoiselle." She stepped in after him, wavered, stood still... standing there mute and dumb, her eyes fixed on Simon's face. "Hullo, Jackie." He, too, was embarrassed. He went on: "Awfully good of you to come. I wanted to say - I mean - what I mean is -" She interrupted him then. Her words came out in a rush. "Simon - I didn't kill Linnet. You know I didn't do that. I was mad last night. Oh, can you ever forgive me?" Words came more easily to him now. "Of course. That's all right! Absolutely all right! That's what I wanted to say. Thought you might be worrying a bit, you know..." "Worrying? A bit? Oh! Simon!" "That's what I wanted to see you about. It's quite all right, see, old girl? You just got a bit rattled last night - a shade tight. All perfectly natural." "Oh, Simon! I might have killed you!" "Not you. Not with a rotten little peashooter like that." "And your leg! Perhaps you'll never walk again. Her mouth went sulky at once. "Now, look here, Jackie, don't be maudlin. As soon as we get to Assuan they're going to put the X- rays to work, and dig out that tin pot bullet, and everything will be as right as rain." Jacqueline gulped twice; then she rushed forward and knelt down by Simon's bed, burying her face and sobbing. Simon patted her awkwardly on the head. His eyes met Poirot's and, with a reluctant sigh, the latter left the cabin. He heard broken murmurs as he went: "How could I be such a devil? Oh, Simon! I'm so dreadfully sorry..." Outside Cornelia Robson was leaning over the rail. She turned her head. "Oh, it's you, Monsieur Poirot. It seems so awful somehow that it should be such a lovely day." Poirot looked up at the sky. "When the sun shines you cannot see the moon," he said. "But when the sun is gone - ah, when the sun is gone." Cornelia's mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon?" "I was saying, Mademoiselle, that when the sun has gone down, we shall see the moon. That is so, is it not?" "Why - why, yes - certainly." She looked at him doubtfully. Poirot laughed gently. "I utter the imbecilities," he said. "Take no notice." He strolled gently toward the stern of the boat. As he passed the next cabin he paused for a minute. He caught fragments of speech from within: "Utterly ungrateful - after all I've done for you - no consideration for your wretched mother - no idea of what I suffer." Poirot's lips stiffened as he pressed them together. He raised a hand and knocked. There was a startled silence and Mrs Otterbourne's voice called: "Who's that?" "Is Mademoiselle Rosalie there?" Rosalie appeared in the doorway. Poirot was shocked at her appearance. There were dark circles under her eyes and drawn lines round her mouth. "What's the matter?" she said ungraciously. "What do you want?" "The pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with you, Mademoiselle. Will you come?" She shot him a suspicious look. "Why should I?" "I entreat you, Mademoiselle." "Oh, I suppose -" She stepped out on the deck, closing the door behind her. "Well?" Poirot took her gently by the arm and drew her along the deck, still in the direction of the stern. They had the stern part of the deck to themselves. The Nile flowed away behind them. Poirot rested his elbows on the rail. Rosalie stood up straight and stiff. "Well?" she asked again, and her voice held the same ungracious tone. "I could ask you certain questions, Mademoiselle, but I do not think for one moment that you would consent to answer them." "Seems rather a waste to bring me along here then." Poirot drew a finger slowly along the wooden rail. "You are accustomed, Mademoiselle, to carrying your own burdens... But you can do that too long. The strain becomes too great. For you, Mademoiselle, the strain is becoming too great." "I don't know what you are talking about," said Rosalie. "I am talking about facts, Mademoiselle - plain ugly facts. Let us call the spade the spade and say it in one little short sentence. Your mother drinks, Mademoiselle." Rosalie did not answer. Her mouth opened; then she closed it again. For once she seemed at a loss. "There is no need for you to talk, Mademoiselle. I will do all the talking. I was interested at Assuan in the relations existing between you. I saw at once that, in spite of your carefully studied unfilial remarks, you were in reality passionately protecting her from something. I very soon knew what that something was. I knew it long before I encountered your mother one morning in an unmistakable state of intoxication. Moreover, her case, I could see, was one of secret bouts of drinking - by far the most difficult kind of case with which to deal. You were coping with it manfully. Nevertheless, she had all the secret drunkard's cunning. She managed to get hold of a secret supply of spirits and to keep it successfully hidden from you. I should not be surprised if you discovered its hiding place only yesterday. Accordingly, last night, as soon as your mother was really soundly asleep, you stole out with the contents of the cache, went round to the other side of the boat (since your own side was up against the bank) and cast it overboard into the Nile." He paused. "I am right, am I not?" "Yes - you're quite right." Rosalie spoke with sudden passion. "I was a fool not to say so, I suppose! But I didn't want everyone to know. It would go all over the boat. And it seemed so - so silly - I mean - that I -" Poirot finished the sentence for her. "So silly that you should be suspected of committing a murder?" Rosalie nodded. Then she burst out again: "I've tried so hard to - keep everyone from knowing... It isn't really her fault. She got discouraged. Her books didn't sell any more. People are tired of all that cheap sex stuff... It hurt her - it hurt her dreadfully. And so she began to - to drink. For a long time I didn't know why she was so queer. Then, when I found out, I tried to - to stop it. She'd be all right for a bit, and then, suddenly, she'd start, and there would be dreadful quarrels and rows with people. It was awful." She shuddered. "I had always to be on the watch - to get her away. "And then - she began to dislike me for it. She - she's turned right against me. I think she almost hates me sometimes." "Pauvre petite," said Poirot. She turned on him vehemently. "Don't be sorry for me. Don't be kind. It's easier if you're not." She sighed - a long heart-rending sigh. "I'm so tired... I'm so deadly, deadly tired." "I know," said Poirot. "People think I'm awful. Stuck-up and cross and bad-tempered. I can't help it. I've forgotten how to be - to be nice." "That is what I said to you; you have carried your burden by yourself too long." Rosalie said slowly: "It is a relief - to talk about it. You - you've always been kind to me, Monsieur Poirot. I'm afraid I've been rude to you often." "La politesse, it is not necessary between friends." The suspicion came back to her face suddenly. "Are you - are you going to tell everyone? I suppose you must, because of those damned bottles I threw overboard." "No, no, it is not necessary. Just tell me what I want to know. At what time was this? Ten minutes past one?" "About that, I should think. I don't remember exactly." "Now tell me, Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle Van Schuyler saw you, did you see her?" Rosalie shook her head. "No, I didn't." "She says that she looked out of the door of her cabin." "I don't think I should have seen her. I just looked along the deck and then out to the river." Poirot nodded. "And did you see anyone - anyone at all, when you looked down the deck?" There was a pause - quite a long pause. Rosalie was frowning. She seemed to be thinking earnestly. At last she shook her head quite decisively. "No," she said. "I saw nobody." Hercule Poirot slowly nodded his head. But his eyes were grave. 第二部 埃及 18 第二部 埃及 18 一阵敲门声。 “进来。”雷斯应道。一个侍应生走进来。 “对不起，先生。”他对白罗说，“道尔先生想见你。” “好，我去一下。” 白罗站起来，走出吸烟室，沿着甲板通往船舱的梯路，来到贝斯勒医生的房 间。 脸颊不知是羞赧亦或发高烧而通红的希蒙，背靠着枕头。他有点不好意思的 样子。 “白罗先生，你来了真好。我有点事情想请你帮忙。” “什么事？” 他脸上红得更厉害。 “是……是有关贾姬的。我想见见她。你认为——你会介意——介意她吗， 如果你叫她来一趟？你知道我一直躺在这儿想着……那可怜的孩子——她从来只 不过是一个孩子——而我竟如此对待她……我……”他结结巴巴了。 白罗有趣地看着他。 “你想见贾克琳小姐？我去找她来。” “谢谢你。你真是太好了。” 白罗应他的请求而去，发现贾克琳•杜贝尔弗蜷缩在了望厅的一个角落里， 膝上放着一本书，但她看也没看。 白罗温柔地说：“小姐，请跟我来。道尔先生想见你。” 贾克琳蓦地坐直身子，脸色泛红——接着变为苍白。她显然感到很困惑。 “希蒙？他要见我……见我？” 白罗发觉她半信半疑。 “你会来吗，小姐？” “我……嗯，当然我会来。” 她像个温顺的孩子跟着他走，一个困惑的孩子。 白罗踏进贝斯勒医生的房间。 “贾克琳小姐来了。” 她跟在他身后走进来，身子晃了晃，站住了……呆呆地立在那儿，双眼瞪着 希蒙的脸。 “你好吗，贾姬？”希蒙显得同样尴尬。他继续道：“你肯来真是太好了。 我想跟你说一句……我的意思是……” 她打断了他的话，急促而绝望地说； “希蒙……我没有杀林娜。你知道我没有那样干……我……昨晚确实发疯 了。噢，你能原谅我吗？” 希蒙这时说话较顺畅了。 “当然我会原谅你。没事了，完全没事了！我要说的就是这句话。我想你会 有点担心，你知道……” “担心？一点点？噢，希蒙！” “我见你就是想告诉你，现在什么事也没有了。瞧，你昨晚只是有点神经紧 张，心弦稍微绷紧了，那是很自然的事。” “噢，希蒙！我可能已经杀了你！” “不会的。那小小的家伙……” “你的腿！或许你再也不能走动……” “看着我，贾姬，不必过虑。到亚思温，他们会立刻替我照Ｘ光，拿走弹 头，一切使会恢复正常。” 贾克琳抽咽了两下，接着冲上前，跪倒在希蒙床边，掩着脸啜泣起来。希蒙 尴尬地拍摸着她的头。当他的目光跟白罗接触的时候，后者叹一口气，走了出 去。 离去时，白罗断断续续听到： “我怎会这般狠毒？噢，希蒙……我真正抱歉。” 外面珂妮亚•罗柏森正斜倚船杆。她转过头。 “哦，是你，白罗先生。今天天气这样好似乎有点怪异。” 白罗仰头看天。 “太阳照耀时你见不到月亮，”他说，“但当太阳消失……噢，当太阳消失 ……” 珂妮亚嘴唇微张。 “抱歉，我不懂。” “我是说，小姐，当太阳沉下，我们就会看见月亮。事实就是这样吧？” “怎么……怎么，当然是啊。”她怀疑地看着他。 白罗哂然一笑。 “我不小心几乎说出了蠢话。”他说。 他漫步走向船尾，经过隔壁房间时，他停住了一会，听到房内片段的谈话： “真没良心——也不想想我为你所做的事——一点也不体谅你可怜的母亲 ——一点也不晓得我所受的苦……” 白罗的嘴角紧绷起来。他举手敲门。 房内突然静默下来，鄂特伯恩太太应道，“谁？” “罗莎莉小姐在吗？” 罗莎莉在门口出现，她的样子吓了白罗一跳：眼圈黑黑的，嘴边布满皱纹。 “什么事？”她充满敌意地问道，“你想做什么？” “可以跟你谈几分钟吗，小姐？请随我来。” 她的脸色立刻沉下来，怀疑地扫了白罗一眼。 “我干嘛要？” “算我请求你好吗？” “哦，好吧。”她走出甲板，顺手关上房门。 “怎样？” 白罗轻轻挽着她的臂膀，沿甲板走向船尾。他们经过舱房，拐个弯，船尾就 只剩下他们两人了。身后尼罗河起伏不定。 白罗把肘搁在栏杆上，罗莎莉则笔直站着。 “怎样？”她再度问道，仍然充满敌意。 白罗选择词句缓缓说道：“小姐，我可以问你一些问题吗？但我想你是不愿 回答的。” “那你带我来这儿似乎是多此一举了。” 白罗一根手指顺着栏杆慢慢移动。 “小姐，你习惯于承担一切……但不能坚持太久的。压力实在太大了。小 姐，对你而言，压力太大了。” “我根本不知道你在说什么。”罗莎莉说。 “小姐，我所说的都是事实——明显而丑恶的事实。就让我直截了当地说出 来吧！小姐，你的母亲是个酒徒。” 罗莎莉没有答话。她的嘴张开，又合上。她看来首次感到不知所措。 “你不必说什么，小姐，让我来替你说！早在亚思温的时候，我已经很留意 你们母女的关系，立刻体会到，尽管你用尽一切不孝之词，实质上你却在设法维 护自己的母亲，免得她遭受某种东西的伤害。我很快便知悉那东西是什么。事实 上，早在我碰到你母亲喝得醉醺醺的那天早上之前，我已知晓了。而且，更发现 她是属于偷喝的类型，因而显得更难应付。虽然你已步步为营，但所有酒鬼都是 那么狡猾，她设法购得一批酒，并且顺利地不被你发觉。我想你是昨天才知道她 的藏酒处。所以昨晚，你母亲一睡着，你便悄悄把那些酒拿到船的另一边（因为 你们的房间恰巧靠近岸边），抛进尼罗河里。” 白罗停下来。 “我说得对吗？” “不错，你说中了。”罗莎莉突然激动地说，“我想，我真不该不说出来。 但我不愿弄得人人皆知。这似乎太……太荒谬了……我是说……我……” 白罗替她说完。 “你被怀疑作杀人凶手，是太荒谬了，对吗？” 罗莎莉点点头。 接着她又哭起来，“我尽了最大的……免得每个人知道……真的这不是她的 过错。她实在很灰心。她的作品不再受人欢迎；人们早已厌倦了那些无聊的性故 事……这打击太大了，所以她才开始酗酒。有很长一段时间，我无法谅解她的怪 诞行为，后来我发现了，我尝试去阻止她。她一阵子很正常，然后突然又开始狂 饮起来，跟人大吵大闹。真可怕！”她打了一个冷颤。“我得随时监视着——制 止她……然而，由于这个原因她开始不喜欢我。她……她讨厌我。我想她有时甚 至憎恨我。” “太不幸了！”白罗说。 她猛地转向他。 “不要替我难过，不要同情我。这样容易得多。”她叹口气，长长的、心碎 的叹气。“我好疲倦……彻底的疲倦。” “我了解。”白罗说。 “别人以为我很可怕。傲慢、愤怒、坏脾气。我实在不能自已。我已经忘记 了怎样……怎样善待别人。” “正如我所说，你独自承担这副重担太久了。” 罗莎莉缓缓地说：“能够说出来——是个很大的解脱。你……你一直对我很 好，白罗先生。我恐怕自己却时常很粗暴地对待你。” “朋友之间是不需要过份有礼貌的。” 怀疑的神色骤然重回她脸上。 “你……你要去告诉每个人吗？我想你必定会说出去，因为我抛下船的那些 该死的瓶子。” “不，不，没有必要。只要告诉我一件事：当时是几点钟？一点十分？” “大概是吧！我记不清楚。” “现在告诉我：梵舒乐小姐见到你，你见到她了吗？” 罗莎莉摇摇头。 “没有。” “她说她从房门口望见你。” “我想我不会见到她。我只是沿着甲板向河面张望。” 白罗点点头。 “那么，当你望向甲板时，看见其他人了吗？” 接着是一片沉默。罗莎莉皱起眉，似乎在努力思索。最后她肯定地摇摇头。 “没有，”她说，“我没有见到任何人。” 赫邱里•白罗缓缓地点点头。但他的眼神是沉重的。 Chapter 19 Chapter 19 People crept into the dining-saloon by ones and twos in a very subdued manner. There seemed a general feeling that to sit down eagerly to food displayed an unfortunate heartlessness. It was with an almost apologetic air that one passenger after another came and sat down at their tables. Tim Allerton arrived some few minutes after his mother had taken her seat. He was looking in a thoroughly bad temper. "I wish we'd never come on this blasted trip," he growled. Mrs Allerton shook her head sadly. "Oh, my dear, so do I. That beautiful girl! It all seems such a waste. To think that anyone could shoot her in cold blood. It seems awful to me that anyone could do such a thing. And that other poor child." "Jacqueline?" "Yes; my heart aches for her. She looks so dreadfully unhappy." "Teach her not to go round loosing off toy firearms," said Tim unfeelingly as he helped himself to butter. "I expect she was badly brought up -" "Oh, for God's sake, Mother, don't go all maternal about it." "You're in a shocking bad temper, Tim." "Yes, I am. Who wouldn't be?" "I don't see what there is to be cross about. It's just frightfully sad." Tim said crossly: "You're taking the romantic point of view! What you don't seem to realize is that it's no joke being mixed up in a murder case." Mrs Allerton looked a little startled. "But surely -" "That's just it. There's no 'But surely' about it. Everyone on this damned boat is under suspicion - you and I as well as the rest of them." Mrs Allerton demurred. "Technically we are, I suppose - but actually it's ridiculous!" "There's nothing ridiculous where murder's concerned! You may sit there, darling, just exuding virtue and conscious rectitude, but a lot of unpleasant policemen at Shellвl or Assuan won't take you at your face value." "Perhaps the truth will be known before then." "Why should it be?" "Monsieur Poirot may find out." "That old mountebank? He won't find out anything. He's all talk and moustaches." "Well, Tim," said Mrs Allerton, "I daresay everything you say is true, but, even if it is, we've got to go through with it, so we might as well make up our minds to it and go through with it as cheerfully as we can." But her son showed no abatement of gloom. "There's this blasted business of the pearls being missing, too." "Linnet's pearls?" "Yes. It seems somebody must have pinched 'em." "I suppose that was the motive for the crime," said Mrs Allerton. "Why should it be? You're mixing up two perfectly different things." "Who told you that they were missing?" "Ferguson. He got it from his tough friend in the engine room, who got it from the maid." "They were lovely pearls," declared Mrs Allerton. Poirot sat down at the table, bowing to Mrs Allerton. "I am a little late," he said. "I expect you have been busy," Mrs Allerton replied. "Yes, I have been much occupied." He ordered a fresh bottle of wine from the waiter. "We're very catholic in our tastes," said Mrs Allerton. "You drink wine always; Tim drinks whisky and soda, and I try all the different brands of mineral water in turn." "Tiens!" said Poirot. He stared at her for a moment. He murmured to himself, "It is an idea, that..." Then, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders, he dismissed the sudden preoccupation that had distracted him and began to chat lightly of other matters. "Is Mr Doyle badly hurt?" asked Mrs Allerton. "Yes, it is a fairly serious injury. Dr Bessner is anxious to reach Assuan so that his leg can be X- rayed and the bullet removed. But he hopes that there will be no permanent lameness." "Poor Simon," said Mrs Allerton. "Only yesterday he looked such a happy boy, with everything in the world he wanted. And now his beautiful wife killed and he himself laid up and helpless. I do hope -" "What do you hope, Madame?" asked Poirot as Mrs Allerton paused. "I hope he's not too angry with that poor child." "With Mademoiselle Jacqueline? Quite the contrary. He was full of anxiety on her behalf." He turned to Tim. "You know, it is a pretty little problem of psychology, that. All the time that Mademoiselle Jacqueline was following them from place to place, he was absolutely furious; but now, when she has actually shot him, and wounded him dangerously - perhaps made him lame for life - all his anger seems to have evaporated. Can you understand that?" "Yes," said Tim thoughtfully, "I think I can. The first thing made him feel a fool -" Poirot nodded. "You are right. It offended his male dignity." "But now - if you look at it a certain way, it's she who's made a fool of herself. Everyone's down on her, and so -" "He can be generously forgiving," finished Mrs Allerton. "What children men are!" "A profoundly untrue statement that women always make," murmured Tim. Poirot smiled. Then he said to Tim, "Tell me, Madame Doyle's cousin, Miss Joanna Southwood, did she resemble Madame Doyle?" "You've got it a little wrong, Monsieur Poirot. She was our cousin and Linnet's friend." "Ah, pardon - I was confused. She is a young lady much in the news, that. I have been interested in her for some time." "Why?" asked Tim sharply. Poirot half rose to bow to Jacqueline de Bellefort, who had just come in and passed their table on the way to her own. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, and her breath came a little unevenly. As he resumed his seat Poirot seemed to have forgotten Tim's question. He murmured vaguely, "I wonder if all young ladies with valuable jewels were as careless as Madame Doyle was?" "It is true, then, that they were stolen?" asked Mrs Allerton. "Who told you so, Madame?" "Ferguson said so," Tim volunteered. Poirot nodded gravely. "It is quite true." "I suppose," said Mrs Allerton nervously, "that this will mean a lot of unpleasantness for all of us. Tim says it will." Tim seemed upset by this comment and Poirot asked: "Ah, you have had previous experience, perhaps? You have been in a house where there was a robbery?" "Never," said Tim. "Oh, yes, darling, you were at the Portarlingtons' that time - when that awful woman's diamonds were stolen." "You always get things hopelessly wrong, Mother. I was there when it was discovered that the diamonds she was wearing round her fat neck were only paste! The actual substitution was probably done months earlier. As a matter of fact, a lot of people said she'd had it done herself!" "Joanna said so, I expect." "Joanna wasn't there." "But she knew them quite well. And it's very like her to make that kind of suggestion." "You're always down on Joanna, Mother." Poirot hastily changed the subject. He had it in mind to make a really big purchase at one of the Assuan shops. Some very attractive purple and gold material at one of the Indian merchants. There would, of course, be the duty to pay, but- "They tell me that they can - how do you say? - expedite it for me. And that the charges will not be too high. How think you, will it arrive all right?" Mrs Allerton said that many people, so she had heard, had had things sent straight to England from the shops in question and that everything had arrived safely. "Bien. Then I will do that. But the trouble one has, when one is abroad, if a parcel comes out from England! Have you had experience of that? Have you had any parcels arrive since you have been on your travels?" "I don't think we have, have we, Tim? You get books sometimes, but of course there is never any trouble about them." "Ah, no, books are different." Dessert had been served. Now, without any previous warning, Colonel Race stood up and made his speech. He touched on the circumstances of the crime and announced the theft of the pearls. A search of the boat was about to be instituted, and he would be obliged if all the passengers would remain in the saloon until this was completed. Then, after that, if the passengers agreed, as he was sure they would, they themselves would be kind enough to submit to a search. Poirot slipped nimbly along to his side. There was a little buzz and Poirot reached Race's side and murmured something in his ear just as the latter was about to leave the dining-saloon. Race listened, nodded assent, and beckoned a steward. He said a few brief words to him; then, together with Poirot, he passed out onto the deck, closing the door behind him. They stood for a minute or two by the rail. Race lit a cigarette. "Not a bad idea of yours," he said. "We'll soon see if there's anything in it. I'll give 'em three minutes." The door of the dining-saloon opened and the same steward to whom they had spoken came out. He saluted Race and said: "Quite right, sir. There's a lady who says it's urgent she should speak to you at once without any delay." "Ah!" Race's face showed his satisfaction. "Who is it?" "Miss Bowers, sir, the hospital nurse lady." A slight shade of surprise showed on Race's face. He said: "Bring her to the smoking-room. Don't let anyone else leave." "No, sir - the other steward will attend to that." He went back into the dining-room. Poirot and Race went to the smoking-room. "Bowers, eh?" murmured Race. They had hardly got inside the smoking-room before the steward reappeared with Miss Bowers. He ushered her in and left, shutting the door behind him. "Well, Miss Bowers?" Colonel Race looked at her inquiringly. "What's all this?" Miss Bowers looked her usual composed, unhurried self. She displayed no particular emotion. "You'll excuse me, Colonel Race," she said, "but under the circumstances I thought the best thing to do would be to speak to you at once -" she opened her neat black handbag - "and to return you these." She took out a string of pearls and laid them on the table. 第二部 埃及 19 第二部 埃及 19 旅客们疏疏落落地走进餐厅。大家仿佛感到，如果坐下来大吃一顿，未免显 得自己对不幸事件无动于衷。餐厅内充满歉然的气氛。 提姆•艾乐顿比他母亲迟到几分钟。他看来情绪不好。 “真希望从来没有参加这趟糟透了的旅程。”他咆哮道。 艾乐顿太太悲哀地摇着头。 “哦，宝贝，我也这么希望。那可爱的女郎！旅程完全糟蹋了！没法想像有 谁会那般冷酷地杀死她！真可怕！还有那可怜的孩子！” “贾克琳？” “是呀，我真为她心疼。她看来是那么不快活。” “可教训她别随便耍弄玩具手枪！”提姆毫不留情地说，一边涂抹牛油。 “我想她的家教一定很不好。” “哦，看在老天份上，妈，少来你那套母教理论吧！” “你火气很大，提姆。” “不错，我是火气大。谁的火气不大？” “我倒认为应该哀伤，不该发脾气的。” 提姆气愤地说，“你看事情太感性了！你根本不知道——牵连上谋杀案，会 有多麻烦！” 艾乐顿太太显得有点惊讶。 “不过当然……” “实情就是如此。没有什么想当然的。这艘该死的船上每个人都有嫌疑—— 你、我，还有其他人。” 艾乐顿太太抗议道，“理论上是如此，我想——实际上却荒谬极了！” “一牵连谋杀，就没有什么荒谬不荒谬的了。你可以坐在这儿，表现得正 直、善良；但雪莱尔或亚思温的可厌的警探却不会这样估量你。” “或许在这之前，真相已经大白。” “怎会呢？” “白罗先生可能已经破案。” “那老江湖？他不会找到什么的。他只会瞎吹牛。” “嗯，提姆，”艾乐顿太太说，“我敢说你所说的一切都很准确；不过，即 使如此，也必须应付过去。还是下定决心，提起精神来度过这一关吧！” 但她的儿子并不显得轻松。 “还有那串失踪的珍珠项链！” “林娜的珠链？” “是的，似乎被人偷去了。” “我想这是谋杀的动机。”艾乐顿太太说。 “怎会呢？你把两件截然不同的事情混淆起来。” “谁告诉你珠链不见了？” “斐格森。他从机器房的一个酒肉朋友那里听来的；而那朋友刚听女佣说 的。” “那是串精美的珍珠。”艾乐顿太太表示道。 白罗在桌旁坐下，向艾乐顿太太躬身道： “我迟了一点。” “我知道你很忙碌。”艾乐顿太太答道。 “是的，的确分身不下。” 他向侍应生叫了一瓶酒。 “我们三个人的口味各自不同。”艾乐顿太太说，“你总是喝酒，提姆则喝 威士忌苏打，而我每次都试一种汽水。” “奇怪！”白罗说。他看了艾乐顿太太好一会，然后自言自语道，“这一点 倒……” 接着，他不耐烦地耸耸肩，试图驱除那突如其来的思绪，开始轻松地闲聊起 来。 “道尔先生的伤势严重吗？”艾乐顿太太问道。 “是的，十分严重。贝斯勒医生急欲尽速抵达亚思温，替他照Ｘ光，把弹头 取出。希望不致造成终身残疾。” “可怜的希蒙！”艾乐顿太太说，“昨天他还蛮开心的，一副踌躇满志的神 态。现在，不但漂亮的太太给杀死了，自己还弄个动弹不得。我真希望，然而 ……” “夫人，你希望什么？” “我希望他不要太气那可怜的孩子。” “气贾克琳小姐？恰恰相反，他很关心她的处境。” 白罗转向提姆。 “你知道，这是十分微妙的心理现象，贾克琳一路上紧跟着他们，他简直气 愤到极点；但一旦她真的射杀他，造成严重的伤势——甚至可能终身残疾——他 的愤怒倒似乎消逝得无影无踪。这你能理解吗？” “是的，”提姆若有所思地说，“我想我能了解。她尽跟着他们使他觉得自 己像傻瓜。” 白罗点点头。“你这说法很正确。这伤害到他男性的自尊。” “而现在——从某方面来看，她把自己弄得像傻瓜，每个人都瞧不起她，所 以……” “他可以大大方方地原谅她，”艾乐顿太太总结道，“男人都像小孩一样！” “女人总是说些非常不切实的话。”提姆喃喃而言。 白罗微微一笑，然后向提姆说： “告诉我，道尔夫人的表亲——乔安娜•邵斯伍德小姐，像道尔夫人吗？” “白罗先生，你弄错了。乔安娜是我的表亲，林娜的朋友。” “哦，抱歉——我弄混了。这位年轻小姐经常有新闻见报，我对她已留意很 久。” “为什么？”提姆尖声问道。 这时贾克琳•杜贝尔弗进入客厅，经过他们身旁，向自己的餐桌走去。白罗 半站起身，向她鞠躬。她的双颊绯红，双眼发亮，呼吸微促。白罗又坐下来，似 乎已忘记提姆所提的问题。他含糊地喃喃道，“我很怀疑，是不是所有年轻女士 都像道尔夫人一样对贵重的珠宝漫不经心？” “珠链确实被偷了？”艾乐顿太太问道。 “夫人，谁告诉你的？” “斐格森说的。”提姆抢着回答。 白罗沉重地点点头。 “珠链是被偷了。” “我想，”艾乐顿太太紧张地说，“这会引起我们许多不便。提姆说会。” 她儿子看了她一眼，但白罗已转向他。 “啊！你以前有过经验吧？你曾经碰过窃盗案？” “从来没有。”提姆说。 “噢，有的，宝贝，有一回你在玻达宁顿的时候——那个讨厌的女人的钻石 不是被偷了吗？” “妈，你总是把事情搞成一团！那一回是她发现她肥颈上所戴的钻石全是假 的！大概早在几个月以前便被换掉了。事实上，很多人说是她自己干的！” “我记得，是乔安娜说的。” “乔安娜当时不在场。” “不过，乔安娜跟他们很熟。她总爱下这样的断语。” “母亲，你总爱挑乔安娜的毛病。” 白罗赶紧转换话题：他曾经想在亚思温的店里买一批名贵的宝石。一个印度 商人手中有一些紫、黄色的宝石。当然要缴关税，但…… “他们告诉我，他们可以——怎么说呢？——帮我尽速办理，费用不会太 贵。你认为，货可以安全抵达吗？” 艾乐顿太太说：“听过很多人试过从埃及商店直接送东西回英国，没出现过 差错。” “那我就这么办吧！不过，假如在旅途中，有人从英国寄包裹来呢？你试过 吗？在行程中，可曾收过包裹？” “我想不曾。对吧，提姆？你有时收到一些书籍，不过，书当然是没有问题 的。” “对，书本不同。” 甜食过后，没有预先警告，雷斯上校站起来，向大家宣布。 他解释凶案发生的情况，并宣布珍珠项链遭窃了。船上将进行全面搜索。他 希望所有旅客合作，在搜索期间留在餐厅里。然后，倘若大家同意——他相信大 家不会反对——他们将搜身。 白罗悄悄走到雷斯身旁。嗡嗡之声此起彼落，充满怀疑、不满、兴奋…… 雷斯刚准备离开餐厅时，白罗在他耳边说了几句话。 雷斯点点头，挥手叫来一位侍应生。他吩咐那侍应生几句，然后跟白罗一齐 步上甲板，随手关上餐厅的门。 他俩站在栏杆旁。雷斯点起一根香烟。 “你的主意很不错。”他说，“很快便知道有没有结果了。我给他们三分钟 时间。” 餐厅的门开了，刚才的侍应生走了出来。他向雷斯敬礼后说，“先生，你的 估计不差。有位女士说有要紧的事情，要立刻跟你说。” “啊！”雷斯脸上露出满意的神情。“是谁？” “是护士鲍尔斯小姐。” 雷斯显得有点诧异。他说，“带她到吸烟室。不要让任何人离开。” “是，上校。其他同事会照应的。” 侍应生返回餐厅。白罗和雷斯走向吸烟室。 “鲍尔斯小姐，嗯？”雷斯自言自语道。 他们到达吸烟室不久，鲍尔斯小姐就出现了。 “唔，鲍尔斯小姐，”雷斯用询问的神情望着她。“什么事？” 鲍尔斯小姐依然是一副稳重、镇静的模样，完全没半点激动之情。 “原谅我，雷斯上校。”她说，“在这样的情况下，我想最好的办法是立刻 向你说明一切。”——她打开黑色皮包——“同时把这东西送还给你。” 她拿出一串珠链，放在桌上。 Chapter 20 Chapter 20 If Miss Bowers had been the kind of woman who enjoyed creating a sensation, she would have been richly repaid by the result of her action. A look of utter astonishment passed over Colonel Race's face as he picked up the pearls from the table. "This is most extraordinary," he said. "Will you kindly explain, Miss Bowers?" "Of course. That's what I've come to do." Miss Bowers settled herself comfortably in a chair. "Naturally it was a little difficult for me to decide what it was best for me to do. The family would naturally be averse to scandal of any kind, and they trust my discretion, but the circumstances are so very unusual that it really leaves me no choice. Of course, when you didn't find anything in the cabins, your next move would be a search of the passengers, and if the pearls were then found in my possession it would be rather an awkward situation and the truth would come out just the same." "And just what is the truth? Did you take these pearls from Mrs Doyle's cabin?" "Oh, no, Colonel Race, of course not. Miss Van Schuyler did." "Miss Van Schuyler?" "Yes. She can't help it, you know, but she does - er - take things. Especially jewellery. That's really why I'm always with her. It's not her health at all; it's this little idiosyncrasy. I keep on the alert, and fortunately there's never been any trouble since I've been with her. It just means being watchful, you know. And she always hides the things she takes in the same place - rolled up in a pair of stockings - so that makes it very simple. I look each morning. Of course I'm a light sleeper, and I always sleep next door to her, and with the communicating door open if it's in a hotel, so that I usually hear. Then I go after her and persuade her to go back to bed. Of course it's been rather more difficult on a boat. But she doesn't usually do it at night. It's more just picking up things that she sees left about. Of course, pearls have a great attraction for her always." Miss Bowers ceased speaking. Race asked, "How did you discover they had been taken?" "They were in her stockings this morning. I knew whose they were, of course. I've often noticed them. I went along to put them back, hoping that Mrs Doyle wasn't up yet and hadn't discovered her loss. But there was a steward standing there, and he told me about the murder and that no one could go in. So then, you see, I was in a regular quandary. But I still hoped to slip them back in the cabin later, before their absence had been noticed. I can assure you I've passed a very unpleasant morning wondering what was the best thing to do. The Van Schuyler family is so traditional. It would never do if this got into the newspapers. But that won't be necessary, will it?" Miss Bowers really looked worried. "That depends on circumstances," said Colonel Race cautiously. "But we shall do our best for you, of course. What does Miss Van Schuyler say to this?" "Oh, she'll deny it, of course. She always does. Says some wicked person has put it there. She never admits taking anything. That's why if you catch her in time she goes back to bed like a lamb. Says she just went out to look at the moon. Something like that." "Does Miss Robson know about this - er - failing?" "No, she doesn't. Her mother knows, but she's a very simple kind of girl and her mother thought it best she should know nothing about it. I was quite equal to dealing with Miss Van Schuyler," added the competent Miss Bowers. "We have to thank you, Mademoiselle, for coming to us so promptly," said Poirot. Miss Bowers stood up. "I'm sure I hope I've acted for the best." "Be assured that you have." "You see, what with there being a murder as well -" Colonel Race interrupted her. His voice was grave. "Miss Bowers, I am going to ask you a question, and I want to impress upon you that it has got to be answered truthfully. Miss Van Schuyler is unhinged mentally to the extent of being a kleptomaniac. Has she also a tendency to homicidal mania?" Miss Bowers' answer came immediately: "Oh, dear me, no! Nothing of that kind. You can take my word for it absolutely. The old lady wouldn't hurt a fly." The reply came with such positive assurance that there seemed nothing more to be said. Nevertheless Poirot did interpolate one mild inquiry. "Does Miss Van Schuyler suffer at all from deafness?" "As a matter of fact she does, Monsieur Poirot. Not so that you'd notice it any way, not if you were speaking to her, I mean. But quite often she doesn't hear you when you come into a room. Things like that." "Do you think she would have heard anyone moving about in Mrs Doyle's cabin, which is next door to her own?" "Oh, I shouldn't think so - not for a minute. You see, the bunk is the other side of the cabin, not even against the partition wall. No, I don't think she would have heard anything." "Thank you, Miss Bowers." Race said, "Perhaps you will now go back to the dining-saloon and wait with the others?" He opened the door for her and watched her go down the staircase and enter the saloon. Then he shut the door and came back to the table. Poirot had picked up the pearls. "Well," said Race grimly, "that reaction came pretty quickly. That's a very cool-headed and astute young woman - perfectly capable of holding out on us still further if she thinks it suits her book. What about Miss Marie Van Schuyler now? I don't think we can eliminate her from the possible suspects. You know, she might have committed murder to get hold of those jewels. We can't take the nurse's word for it. She's all out to do the best for the family." Poirot nodded in agreement. He was very busy with the pearls, running them through his fingers, holding them up to his eyes. He said: "We may take it, I think, that part of the old lady's story to us was true. She did look out of her cabin and she did see Rosalie Otterbourne. But I don't think she heard anything or anyone in Linnet Doyle's cabin. I think she was just peering out from her cabin preparatory to slipping along and purloining the pearls." "The Otterbourne girl was there, then?" "Yes. Throwing her mother's secret cache of drink overboard." Colonel Race shook his head sympathetically. "So that's it! Tough on a young un." "Yes, her life has not been very gay, cette pauvre petite Rosalie." "Well, I'm glad that's been cleared up. She didn't see or hear anything?" "I asked her that. She responded - after a lapse of quite twenty seconds - that she saw nobody." "Oh?" Race looked alert. "Yes, it is suggestive, that." Race said slowly: "If Linnet Doyle was shot round about ten minutes past one, or indeed any time after the boat had quieted down, it has seemed amazing to me that no one heard the shot. I grant you that a little pistol like that wouldn't make much noise, but all the same the boat would be deadly quiet, and any noise, even a gentle pop, should have been heard. But I begin to understand better now. The cabin on the forward side of hers was unoccupied - since her husband was in Dr Bessner's cabin. The one aft was occupied by the Van Schuyler woman, who was deaf. That leaves only -" He paused and looked expectantly at Poirot, who nodded. "The cabin on the other side. In other words - Pennington. We always seem to come back to Pennington." "We will come back to him presently with the kid gloves removed! Ah, yes, I am promising myself that pleasure." "In the meantime we'd better get on with our search of the boat. The pearls still make a convenient excuse, even though they have been returned - but Miss Bowers is not likely to advertise that fact." "Ah, these pearls!" Poirot held them up against the light once more. He stuck out his tongue and licked them; he even gingerly tried one of them between his teeth. Then, with a sigh, he threw them down on the table. "Here are more complications, my friend," he said. "I am not an expert on precious stones, but I have had a good deal to do with them in my time and I am fairly certain of what I say. These pearls are only a clever imitation." 第二部 埃及 20 第二部 埃及 20 倘若鲍尔斯小姐是个喜欢营造气氛的人的话，她一定很得意自己的举动所带 来的反应。 雷斯上校的脸上流露出难以形容的讶异。他说：“真料想不到。鲍尔斯小 姐，请你解释一下好吗？” “当然可以，我正是为此而来。”鲍尔斯小姐安坐到椅上说，“我决定该如 何处理才最妥善时的确左右为难。梵舒乐家当然不愿意涉及任何丑闻，他们也很 信任我；但目前情况这般不寻常，以致我实在没有选择的余地。当然，你们发觉 有东西不见了，下一步自然是搜查旅客；到时发现珠链在我这里，场面就会颇为 尴尬，而真相仍得显露出来。” “究竟是怎么回事？是你从道尔太太的房里将珠链拿走的？” “噢，不，雷斯上校，当然不是我。是梵舒乐小姐。” “梵舒乐小姐？” “是的，她控制不了自己。你知道，但她确实……嗯……喜欢拿别人的东 西，特别是珠宝。那正是我为什么随时都得跟着她的原因。一点也不是因为她的 健康，而是为了她这怪病。我得经常保持警觉，幸而我跟了她这么久，倒没有发 生过事故。只需要时刻留神就行了。她总是把拿来的东西藏在同一个地方——卷 在丝袜里——事情就简单多了。我每天早上都查看一遍。当然我习惯睡得很浅， 而且总是睡在她的隔壁。倘若是在酒店，我就把相连的门打开；所以我每次都听 到她的走动，可以跟着她，劝她返回床上了。在船上就比较困难了。不过，她很 少在晚上活动的，她通常只是随手拿去没人注意的东西。当然，珍珠对她总是有 很大的吸引力。” 鲍尔斯小姐停顿不语。 雷斯问：“你是怎样发现珠链是她拿去了的呢？” “是今天早上在她的丝袜里发现的。当然，我一眼便看出那是谁的，我经常 留意到那串珠链。我正想在道尔太太未发现珠链失踪之前放回原处。谁知，房外 早已站了一位侍应生，他告诉我有关谋杀的事，并且说谁也不准入内。你可以想 像我当时的窘迫。但我仍然希望有机会将珠链悄悄放回去。我可以告诉你，我整 个早上是怎样惶然度过的。你知道梵舒乐家如此独特，要是报上登了出来，可不 得了。不过，我想不必这样做吧？” 鲍尔斯小姐看来确实很担忧。 “那得视情况而定。”雷斯上校谨慎地说，“不过，我们当然会尽力为你着 想。对干这件事，梵舒乐小姐怎样说呢？” “哦，她当然矢口否认。她总说是坏人放在她那儿的，从不承认自己有拿东 西的怪癖。所以如果你当场逮个正着，她便会乖乖返回床上去，一面说只是出来 看看月光，或是什么的。” “罗柏森小姐晓得这件事吗？” “不，她一点也不晓得。她母亲倒是知道的。她是个纯朴的少女，她母亲认 为最好不要让她知道。我一个人已足以应付梵舒乐小姐了。”鲍尔斯小姐蛮自负 地补充道。 “小姐，多谢你，这么快速便告知我们一切。”白罗说。 鲍尔斯小姐站起来。 “希望我这样处理是最妥善的做法。” “你这样做当然正确。” “你知道，还发生了谋杀案——” 雷斯打断她的话，沉重地说： “鲍尔斯小姐，我想问你一个问题，希望你老实回答我。梵舒乐小姐无疑有 偷窃的怪癖，她是否也是谋杀狂呢？” 鲍尔斯小姐迅即回答：“哦，老天！没有，没有这回事。你可以绝对信任 我，那老女士连一只苍蝇也不会伤害。” 答话这么肯定，以致似乎没有什么可说的了。但白罗还是委婉地提出一个问 题。 “梵舒乐小姐耳朵是否有点聋？” “她耳朵确实有点聋，白罗先生。除非跟她谈话，别人是不会轻易发觉的。 常常有人走进房间，她也察觉不到。” “你认为，倘若有人在她邻室道尔夫人房里走动，她会听到吗？” “噢，我想不会……一点也听不见。你知道，床铺不是紧贴在隔开房间的墙 壁边，而是在房子的另一边。唔，我想她不会听到什么。” “谢谢你，鲍尔斯小姐。” 雷斯说：“你现在先回餐厅，跟其他人一起等候搜查吧。” 他替鲍尔斯小姐打开门，目送她走下楼梯、进入餐厅后，才关上门，走回桌 子旁。白罗手上拿着珍珠项链。 “嗯，”雷斯不快地道，“反应相当灵敏，是个极冷静、精明的女人——若 不是看到形势可能对她不利，她定会拒绝向我们说出实情哩。现在该怎么处理梵 舒乐小姐？我想不能把她从嫌疑名单上除名。要知道，她极有可能在拿走珠链的 过程中杀人。我们不能相信护士的话，她一定会尽力维护梵舒乐家的名誉的。” 白罗赞同地点点头。他正忙着检查那串珠子，目不转睛地逐颗端详。 他说：“我想，那位老处女告诉我们的故事可能有一部分属实：她确曾从房 内探头外望，也的确见到罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩；不过，我想她没有听到林娜•道尔 房内的任何声响。她只是探出头来看清形势，准备下手偷珠链。” “那鄂特伯恩家的女儿确曾在那儿出现了？” “是的，把她母亲的‘私酒’抛进河里去。” 雷斯同情地摇摇头。 “的确不幸！年纪轻轻就遭遇这种事！” “是的，她的生活总是愁云满布！” “嗯，真相大白就好了。她不曾见到或听到什么吗？” “我已经问过她。她回答——隔了差不多二十秒才说——没有看见任何人。” “哦？”雷斯警觉地道。 “嗯，是的，这可能暗示别有隐情。” 雷斯缓缓地说：“林娜•道尔若是在一点十分左右被杀死的，或船沉静下来 的任何时刻，不可能会没有人听见枪响。当然，那枝小型手枪不会发出太大的声 响，但船上一片寂静，就是小小的‘卟’的一声，也应该会被听到的。不过，现 在我倒开始有点明白了。道尔太太房间紧邻的一边是间空房——因为她丈夫在贝 斯勒医生那儿；而另一边则住了耳聋的梵舒乐小姐。因此只剩下……” 他停下，用盼望的神情望着白罗，后者点点头。 “船另一边与她房间相连的房间。换句话说——是潘宁顿的房间。似乎我们 总是离不开潘宁顿先生。” “我们不久便会回头认真地对付他。是的，我担保一定很有趣。目前，我们 还是赶快搜查这船吧！虽然珠链已经找回——相信鲍尔斯小姐不会张扬出去的 ——它仍然是搜查的一个好籍口。” “啊，这些珠子！”白罗就着光线再细看一遍。他伸出舌头，舔了一舔，甚 至用牙咬了咬其中一颗；然后叹口气，把珠链抛回桌上。 “老友，事情更复杂了！”他说，“虽然我不是珠宝专家，但也约略接触 过。我敢肯定，这些珠子只是精巧的仿制品。” Chapter 21 Chapter 21 Colonel Race swore lustily. "This damned case gets more and more involved." He picked up the pearls. "I suppose you've not made a mistake? They look all right to me." "They are a very good imitation - yes." "Now where does that lead us? I suppose Linnet Doyle didn't deliberately have an imitation made and bring it aboard with her for safety. Many women do." "I think, if that were so, her husband would know about it." "She may not have told him." Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. "No, I do not think that is so. I was admiring Madame Doyle's pearls the first evening on the boat - their wonderful sheen and lustre. I am sure that she was wearing the genuine ones then." "That brings us up against two possibilities. First, that Miss Van Schuyler only stole the imitation string after the real ones had been stolen by someone else. Second, that the whole kleptomaniac story is a fabrication. Either Miss Bowers is a thief, and quickly invented the story and allayed suspicion by handing over the false pearls, or else that whole party is in it together. That is to say, they are a gang of clever jewel thieves masquerading as an exclusive American family." "Yes." Poirot murmured "It is difficult to know. But I will now put to you one thing - to make a perfect and exact copy of the pearls, clasp and all, good enough to stand a chance of deceiving Madame Doyle, is a highly skilled technical performance. It could not be done in a hurry. Whoever copied those pearls must have had a good opportunity of studying the original." Race rose to his feet. "Useless to speculate about it any further now. Let's get on with the job. We've got to find the real pearls. And at the same time we'll keep our eyes open." They disposed first of the cabins occupied on the lower deck. That of Signor Richetti contained various archaeological works in different languages, a varied assortment of clothing, hair lotions of a highly scented kind and two personal letters - one from an archaeological expedition in Syria, and one from, apparently, a sister in Rome. His handkerchiefs were all of coloured silk. They passed on to Ferguson's cabin. There was a sprinkling of communistic literature, a good many snapshots, Samuel Butler's Erewhon and a cheap edition of Pepys' Diary. His personal possessions were not many. Most of what outer clothing there was was torn and dirty; the underclothing, on the other hand, was of really good quality. The handkerchiefs were expensive linen ones. "Some interesting discrepancies," murmured Poirot. Race nodded. "Rather odd that there are absolutely no personal papers, letters, etc." "Yes; that gives one to think. An odd young man, Monseiur Ferguson." He looked thoughtfully at a signet ring he held in his hand, before replacing it in the drawer where he had found it. They went along to the cabin occupied by Louise Bourget. The maid had her meals after the other passengers, but Race had sent word that she was to be taken to join the others. A cabin steward met them. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized, "but I've not been able to find the young woman anywhere. I can't think where she can have got to." Race glanced inside the cabin. It was empty. They went up to the promenade deck and started on the starboard side. The first cabin was that occupied by James Fanthorp. Here all was in meticulous order. Mr Fanthorp travelled light, but all that he had was of good quality. "No letters," said Poirot thoughtfully. "He is careful, our Mr Fanthorp, to destroy his correspondence." They passed on to Tim Allerton's cabin, next door. There were evidences here of an Anglo Catholic turn of mind - an exquisite little triptych, and a big rosary of intricately carved wood. Besides personal clothing, there was a half completed manuscript, a good deal annotated and scribbled over, and a good collection of books, most of them recently published. There were also a quantity of letters thrown carelessly into a drawer. Poirot, never in the least scrupulous about reading other people's correspondence, glanced through them. He noted that amongst them there were no letters from Joanna Southwood. He picked up a tube of Seccotine, fingered it absently for a minute or two, then said, "Let us pass on." "No Woolworth handkerchiefs," reported Race, rapidly replacing the contents of a drawer. Mrs Allerton's cabin was the next. It was exquisitely neat, and a faint old-fashioned smell of lavender hung about it. The two men's search was soon over. Race remarked as they left it, "Nice woman, that." The next cabin was that which had been used as a dressing-room by Simon Doyle. His immediate necessities - pyjamas, toilet things, etc., had been moved to Bessner's cabin, but the remainder of his possessions were still there - two good-sized leather suitcases and a kit bag. There were also some clothes in the wardrobe. "We will look carefully here, my friend," said Poirot, "for it is very possible that the thief hid the pearls here." "You think it is likely?" "But yes, indeed. Consider! The thief, whoever he or she may be, must know that sooner or later a search will be made, and therefore a hiding place in his or her own cabin would be injudicious in the extreme. The public rooms present other difficulties. But here is a cabin belonging to a man who cannot possibly visit it himself, so that, if the pearls are found here, it tells us nothing at all." But the most meticulous search failed to reveal any trace of the missing necklace. Poirot murmured "Zut!" to himself and they emerged once more on the deck. Linnet Doyle's cabin had been locked after the body was removed, but Race had the key with him. He unlocked the door and the two men stepped inside. Except for the removal of the girl's body, the cabin was exactly as it had been that morning. "Poirot," said Race, "if there's anything to be found here, for God's sake go ahead and find it. You can if anyone can - I know that." "This time you do not mean the pearls, mon ami?" "No. The murder's the main thing. There may be something I overlooked this morning -" Quietly, deftly, Poirot went about his search. He went down on his knees and scrutinized the floor inch by inch. He examined the bed. He went rapidly through the wardrobe and chest of drawers. He went through the wardrobe trunk and the two costly suitcases. He looked through the expensive gold-fitted dressing-case. Finally he turned his attention to the washstand. There were various creams, powders, face lotions. But the only thing that seemed to interest Poirot were two little bottles labelled Nailex. He picked them up at last and brought them to the dressing-table. One, which bore the inscription Nailex Rose, was empty but for a drop or two of dark red fluid at the bottom. The other, the same size, but labelled Nailex Cardinal, was nearly full. Poirot uncorked first the empty, then the full one, and sniffed them both delicately. An odour of pear drops billowed into the room. With a slight grimace he recorked them. "Get anything?" asked Race. Poirot replied by a French proverb, "On ne prend pas les mouches avec le vinaigre." Then he said with a sigh: "My friend, we have not been fortunate. The murderer has not been obliging. He has not dropped for us the cuff link, the cigarette end, the cigar ash - or, in the case of a woman, the handkerchief, the lipstick or the hair slide." "Only the bottle of nail polish?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "I must ask the maid. There is something - yes - a little curious there." "I wonder where the devil the girl's got to?" said Race. They left the cabin, locking the door behind them, and passed on to that of Miss Van Schuyler. Here again were all the appurtenances of wealth, expensive toilet fittings, good luggage, a certain number of private letters and papers all perfectly in order. The next cabin was the double one occupied by Poirot, and beyond it that of Race. "Hardly likely to hide 'em in either of these," said the Colonel. Poirot demurred. "It might be. Once, on the Orient Express, I investigated a murder. There was a little matter of a scarlet kimono. It had disappeared, and yet it must be on the train. I found it - where do you think? In my own locked suitcase! Ah! it was an impertinence, that!" "Well, let's see if anybody has been impertinent with you or me this time." But the thief of the pearls had not been impertinent with Hercule Poirot or with Colonel Race. Rounding the stern they made a very careful search of Miss Bowers' cabin but could find nothing of a suspicious nature. Her handkerchiefs were of plain linen with an initial. The Otterbournes' cabin came next. Here, again, Poirot made a very meticulous search, but with no result. The next cabin was Bessner's. Simon Doyle lay with an untasted tray of food beside him. "Off my feed," he said apologetically. He was looking feverish and very much worse than earlier in the day. Poirot appreciated Bessner's anxiety to get him as swiftly as possible to hospital and skilled appliances. The little Belgian explained what the two of them were doing, and Simon nodded approval. On learning that the pearls had been restored by Miss Bowers, but proved to be merely imitation, he expressed the most complete astonishment. "You are quite sure, Monsieur Doyle, that your wife did not have an imitation string which she brought abroad with her instead of the real ones?" Simon shook his head decisively. "Oh, no. I'm quite sure of that. Linnet loved those pearls and she wore 'em everywhere. They were insured against every possible risk, so I think that made her a bit careless." "Then we must continue our search." He started opening drawers. Race attacked a suitcase. Simon stared. "Look here, you surely don't suspect old Bessner pinched them?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "It might be so. After all, what do we know of Dr Bessner? Only what he himself gives out." "But he couldn't have hidden them here - I'd seen him." "He could not have hidden anything today without your having seen him. But we do not know when the substitution took place. He may have effected the exchange some days ago." "I never thought of that." But the search was unavailing. The next cabin was Pennington's. The two men spent some time in their search. In particular, Poirot and Race examined carefully a case full of legal and business documents, most of them requiring Linnet's signature. Poirot shook his head gloomily. "These seem all square and aboveboard. You agree?" "Absolutely. Still, the man isn't a born fool. If there had been a compromising document there - a power of attorney or something of that kind - he'd be pretty sure to have destroyed it first thing." "That is so, yes." Poirot lifted a heavy Colt revolver out of the top drawer of the chest of drawers, looked at it and put it back. "So it seems there are still some people who travel with revolvers," he murmured. "Yes, a little suggestive, perhaps. Still, Linnet Doyle wasn't shot with a thing that size." Race paused and then said: "You know, I've thought of a possible answer to your point about the pistol being thrown overboard. Supposing that the actual murderer did leave it in Linnet Doyle's cabin, and that someone else - some second person - took it away and threw it into the river?" "Yes, that is possible. I have thought of it. But it opens up a whole string of questions. Who was that second person? What interest had they in endeavouring to shield Jacqueline de Bellefort by taking away the pistol? What was that second person doing there? The only other person we know of who went into the cabin was Mademoiselle Van Schuyler. Was it conceivably Mademoiselle Van Schuyler who removed it? Why should she wish to shield Jacqueline de Bellefort? And yet - what other reason can there be for the removal of the pistol?" Race suggested, "She may have recognized the stole as hers, got the wind up, and thrown the whole bag of tricks over on that account." "The stole, perhaps, but would she have got rid of the pistol, too? Still, I agree that it is a possible solution. But it is clumsy - bon Dieu, it is clumsy. And you still have not appreciated one point about the stole -" As they emerged from Pennington's cabin Poirot suggested that Race should search the remaining cabins, those occupied by Jacqueline, Cornelia and two empty ones at the end, while he himself had a few words with Simon Doyle. Accordingly he retraced his steps along the deck and re- entered Bessner's cabin. Simon said: "Look here, I've been thinking. I'm perfectly sure that those pearls were all right yesterday." "Why is that, Monsieur Doyle?" "Because, Linnet -" he winced as he uttered his wife's name - "was passing them through her hands just before dinner and talking about them. She knew something about pearls. I feel certain she'd have known if they were a fake." "They were a very good imitation, though. Tell me, was Madame Doyle in the habit of letting those pearls out of her hands? Did she ever lend them to a friend, for instance?" Simon flushed with slight embarrassment. "You see, Monsieur Poirot, it's difficult for me to say... I - I - well, you see, I hadn't known Linnet very long." "Ah, no, it was a quick romance - yours." Simon went on. "And so - really - I shouldn't know a thing like that. But Linnet was awfully generous with her things. I should think she might have done." "She never for instance -" Poirot's voice was very smooth - "she never, for instance, lent them to Mademoiselle de Bellefort?" "What d'you mean?" Simon flushed brick red, tried to sit up and, wincing, fell back. "What are you getting at? That Jackie stole the pearls? She didn't. I'll swear she didn't. Jackie's as straight as a die. The mere idea of her being a thief is ridiculous - absolutely ridiculous." Poirot looked at him with gently twinkling eyes. "Oh, la, la, la!" he said unexpectedly. "That suggestion of mine, it has indeed stirred up the nest of hornets." Simon repeated doggedly, unmoved by Poirot's lighter note, "Jackie's straight!" Poirot remembered a girl's voice by the Nile in Assuan saying, "I love Simon - and he loves me..." He had wondered which of the three statements he had heard that night was the true one. It seemed to him that it had turned out to be Jacqueline who had come closest to the truth. The door opened and Race came in. "Nothing," he said brusquely. "Well, we didn't expect it. I see the stewards coming along with their report as to the searching of the passengers." A steward and stewardess appeared in the doorway. The former spoke first. "Nothing, Sir." "Any of the gentlemen make any fuss?" "Only the Italian gentleman, Sir. He carried on a good deal. Said it was a dishonour - something of that kind. He'd got a gun on him, too." "What kind of a gun?" "Mauser automatic twenty-five, Sir." "Italians are pretty hot-tempered," said Simon. "Richetti got in no end of a stew at Wвdi Halfa just because of a mistake over a telegram. He was darned rude to Linnet over it." Race turned to the stewardess. She was a big handsome looking woman. "Nothing on any of the ladies, Sir. They made a good deal of fuss - except for Mrs Allerton, who was as nice as nice could be. Not a sign of the pearls. By the way, the young lady, Miss Rosalie Otterbourne, had a little pistol in her handbag." "What kind?" "It was a very small one, Sir, with a pearl handle. A kind of toy." Race stared. "Devil take this case," he muttered. "I thought we'd got her cleared of suspicion, and now - Does every girl on this blinking boat carry around pearl-handled toy pistols?" He shot a question at the stewardess. "Did she show any feeling over your finding it?" The woman shook her head. "I don't think she noticed. I had my back turned whilst I was going through the handbag." "Still, she must have known you'd come across it. Oh, well, it beats me. What about the maid?" "We've looked all over the boat, Sir. We can't find her anywhere." "What's this?" asked Simon. "Mrs Doyle's maid - Louise Bourget. She's disappeared." "Disappeared?" Race said thoughtfully: "She might have stolen the pearls. She is the one person who had ample opportunity to get a replica made." "And then, when she found a search was being instituted, she threw herself overboard?" suggested Simon. "Nonsense," replied Race, irritably. "A woman can't throw herself overboard in broad daylight, from a boat like this, without somebody realizing the fact. She's bound to be somewhere on board." He addressed the stewardess once more. "When was she last seen?" "About half an hour before the bell went for lunch, sir." "We'll have a look at her cabin anyway," said Race. "That may tell us something." He led the way to the deck below. Poirot followed him. They unlocked the door of the cabin and passed inside. Louise Bourget, whose trade it was to keep other people's belongings in order, had taken a holiday where her own were concerned. Odds and ends littered the top of the chest of drawers; a suitcase gaped open, with clothes hanging out of the side of it and preventing it shutting; underclothing hung limply over the sides of the chairs. As Poirot, with swift neat fingers, opened the drawers of the dressing-chest, Race examined the suitcase. Louise's shoes were lined along by the bed. One of them, a black patent leather, seemed to be resting at an extraordinary angle, almost unsupported. The appearance of it was so odd that it attracted Race's attention. He closed the suitcase and bent over the line of shoes. Then he uttered a sharp exclamation. Poirot whirled round. "Qu'est ce qu'il y a?" Race said grimly: "She hasn't disappeared. She's here - under the bed..." 第二部 埃及 21 第二部 埃及 21 雷斯上校顿时暴跳如雷。 “这宗该死的案件愈来愈纠缠不清。”他拿起珠链。“我想你不会弄错吧？ 我看是蛮好的。” “是一流的仿制品——错不了。” “现在我们又该住哪个方向去设想？不会为顾及安全，而故意带串仿制品来 旅行吧？不过，很多女人都爱这样做。” “如果是这样，她的丈夫应该知道的。” “或许她没有告诉他。” 白罗不满意地摇摇头。 “不，我想不会的。上船第一天晚上，我就非常欣赏道尔夫人的珠链——那 些珠子是那么光艳夺目。我敢肯定她当时戴的是货真价实的珍珠。” “只有两种可能性：一是梵舒乐小姐偷到的是膺品。真的早已被人换掉；二 是偷窃狂的故事完全是虚构出来的。若非鲍尔斯小姐是个贼，故意编造故事，交 出假珠子以洗脱嫌疑；就是有整个窃盗集团牵涉在内。换句话说，一伙智慧型的 珠宝窃贼乔装作美国有名望的家族。” “有这可能。”白罗喃喃地道，“这很难说。不过我可以指出——要制造一 串精巧得足以瞒过道尔夫人的仿制品，需要极高的技巧，仓促之间是完成不了 的，仿制人一定有足够的时间来研究原来的首饰。” 雷斯站了起来。 “现在，随意猜忖毫无用处。立刻开始行动吧！我们得找到真的珠链，同时 得睁大眼睛提神注意。” 他们先搜查下层甲板的房间。 黎希提先生房里有以各种语言写成的考古书籍、各式各样的服装、浓烈的发 油和两封私函——一封是叙利亚考古队寄来的，另一封好像是住在罗马的他妹妹 的来信。他的手帕全是丝质的。 他俩接着搜查斐格森的房间。 有几本关于社会主义的书籍、许多张快照、撒缪尔•巴特勒的“Erewhon” 及一本廉价的丕普斯日记（Sam uel Pops(一六三三—一七○三)，英国日记作 家——译者注）。斐格森个人的衣物则不多。大部分的外衣都是褴褛而沾有污 渍；内衣反倒是真正的好质料。手帕是昂贵的亚麻布制成的。 “很有意思的矛盾人物。”白罗喃喃地道。 雷斯点点头。“没有一封私人的文件、书信等，真是奇怪。” “不错。我们得留意他——斐格森先生这个奇特的年轻人。” 他若有所思地注视着手上的刻有名字的戒指，然后放回抽屉里。 他们转往露易丝•蒲尔杰的房间。女佣用膳的时间比旅客们要迟些，但雷斯 已吩咐侍应生请她到餐厅，跟其他人在一块。一个侍应生迎面而来。 “对不起，上校。”他抱歉地说，“我找遍船上各处也找不到那位女士。真 不晓得她跑到哪儿去了。” 雷斯眼睛往内一扫，房内的确空无一人。 两人登上上层甲板，先由右舷开始。第一个房间是詹姆斯•芬索普的，房内 一切井井有条。他的行李不多，但都是上等的物品。 “没有信件。”白罗若有所思地说，“我们的芬索普先生很谨慎，把一切联 系都毁掉了。” 隔壁是提姆•艾乐顿的房间。 这里有典型英国国教高派教会信徒的摆设——一幅精美的宗教三连画和一串 精巧的玫瑰念珠。除掉私人衣物外，有一份完成一半的原稿，加上许多注解，并 有潦草涂改的痕迹；还有一批书籍，全是最新出版的。抽屉里塞满信件。尽管白 罗并不想擅自看别人的信件，但还是翻阅了一遍，发觉并无乔安娜寄来的。他拿 起一瓶胶水，漫不经心地摇晃了一两分钟，然后说，“下一间吧！” “没有高级的手帕。”雷斯报告说，一边把衣物放回抽屉去。 下一间是艾乐顿太太的房间，非常雅洁，隐约散发出老式香水的气味。 他们很快就搜查完毕。将踏出房门时，雷斯评论道，“这是个好女人。” 再下一间是希蒙•道尔的更衣室。他的日用品——睡衣、梳洗用具等——早 已搬到贝斯勒医生那儿。剩下的只有两只大皮箱和背囊。衣柜里还有一些衣物。 “老友，这里必须小心搜查。”白罗说，“窃宝贼可能把珍珠藏在这儿。” “有这种可能吗？” “当然。你想想，那贼一定晓得迟早都会来一次搜索，把赃物藏在自己房间 显然愚笨到极点，公共的房间又不方便；但这房间的主人却绝不可能回来，倘若 在这儿发现珠链，根本不会导致什么线索。”可是，尽管他俩极费心地搜查，珠 链还是杳无踪迹。 白罗透了一口大气，再度步出甲板。 尸体搬走后，林娜•道尔的房间一直紧锁着，雷斯有钥匙。他打开房门，两 人踏进房间。 除却尸体搬离外，房内一切都保持原状。 “白罗，”雷斯说，“这儿如果可以找出什么的话，求求你快点找出来。我 知道——你是能人所不能的。” “这回你不是指珠链了？” “不，谋杀案才是主要的。今天早上我可能看走了眼。” 白罗悄悄地、机灵地进行他的搜查。他跪下来，逐寸逐寸地检查地板。他把 床翻了一遍，然后迅速翻查衣柜、抽屉、两个名贵衣箱和镶金的化妆箱。最后他 把注意力集中到盥洗盆上。那儿有各式各样的面霜、香粉和面油，但最吸引白罗 的是贴上“指甲油”标签的两个小瓶子。最后他把这两个小瓶子拿起来放在化妆 台上。其中标有“玫瑰色指甲油”的是个空瓶，只有一两滴暗红色液体留在底 部；另一个标有“鲜红色指甲油”的却是满满的。白罗分别把两个瓶子打开，轻 轻地嗅了嗅里面的气味。 一阵梨花香味散发到房中。白罗扮了个鬼脸，随即重新盖上。 “有什么发现吗？”雷斯问道。 白罗以一句法国谚语回答，“没有油醋可以添加。”然后他叹口气道：“老 友，我们没有交上好运道。那凶手很不合作，没有留下袖扣、烟蒂、烟灰或是手 帕、唇膏、发夹之类。” “只有这瓶指甲油？” 白罗耸耸肩。“我得问问那女佣。这玩意儿是有点古怪。” “我怀疑她跑到什么鬼地方去了？”雷斯说。 他们离开房间，重新把门锁上，然后转往梵舒乐小姐的房间。 这里又是豪华气派：高级盥洗用具、质地良好的衣箱，还有一些私人信件和 文件，全都放得井井有条。 下一间是白罗的双人房，再下一间则是雷斯的。“把赃物藏在这儿的机会很 少吧？”上校问道。 白罗不以为然地说：“倒不一定。有一次我在东方快车上调查谋杀案，一件 红色晨褛失踪了，但显然一定还在快车上。我好不容易才找到——你知道是在哪 儿？就锁在我的衣箱里！啊！真是大不敬！” “嗯，看看这次有没有对你或对我大不敬！” 但那珍珠贼并没有捉弄白罗或上校。 拐弯过船尾，他们小心地搜查了鲍尔斯小姐的房间，但没有发现什么可疑之 处。她的手绢都是麻质，绣有姓名缩写的字母。 下一间是鄂特伯恩母女所住。白罗又谨慎搜索了一遍，但毫无结果。 跟着是贝斯勒医生的房间。希蒙•道尔躺在那儿，身旁的食物盘丝毫未动。 “没有一点食欲。”他歉然地说。 看来他在发高烧，病情比这天一早要严重些。白罗充分理解到贝斯勒医生盼 望尽速把他送进医院治疗的焦急心情。 这矮个的比利时侦探解释了一下两人正在进行的工作，希蒙点头表示赞同。 当听到珠链已由鲍尔斯小姐交回，却只是仿制品的时候，他表示异常惊诧。 “道尔先生，你肯定你太太没有携带仿制的项链出国吗？” 希蒙肯定地摇摇头。 “噢，没有。我可以肯定。林娜非常喜爱那些珠子，为这些珍珠保了各种 险，所以我想她可能会大意一点。” “那我们得继续搜查了。” 白罗开始打开抽屉，雷斯则翻查衣箱。希蒙看着他们。“哎，你们不是怀疑 老贝斯勒偷了吧？” 白罗耸耸肩。 “有此可能。何况我们了解贝斯勒医生哪些方面？全都是他自己说的。” “不过，他要把珠宝藏在这儿，我绝对不会看不见的啊？” “他今天要这么做，当然不可能。但我们不晓得珠链是何时给换掉的，他可 能早几天就下了手。” “我倒从来没有想过。” 但搜索仍然是一无所获。 下一间是潘宁顿的。两人花了一点时间搜索。他们格外小心地翻阅了一整箱 文件和契约，大部分都是需要林娜签名的。 白罗怏怏地摇摇头。“一切看来都秩序井然、光明磊落。你认为呢？” “绝对光明磊落。不过，潘宁顿不是个傻瓜，倘若真有一份委任书之类的文 件，他一定早已销毁了。” “不错。” 白罗从抽屉里拿起一枝笨重的左轮手枪，看了一眼便放回原位。 “嗯，似乎有不少人喜欢携枪出外旅行。”他喃喃地道。 “对，这或许是一丝线索。不过，林娜•道尔并不是被这种口径的枪所杀 的。”雷斯顿了一顿，接着说，“你知道，我刚想到你那关于凶枪为何被丢到船 外的问题的可能答案：假设真凶的确把枪留在行凶现场，但另一个人——某个第 二者——却拿走枪，抛进河里。” “是的，有此可能。我也曾经这样想过。但这设想却引出一连串疑问。那第 二者是谁？他拿走凶枪，保护贾克琳，究竟有何利益？他在现场做什么？我们目 前所知进过林娜房间的只有梵舒乐小姐。枪是否她拿走的呢？她为什么要维护贾 克琳？可是……还有别的原因导致凶枪被移走吗？” 雷斯提议道，“或许梵舒乐小姐认出她的围巾，恐怕被牵连，于是把一干物 品全部抛掉。” “抛掉围巾是有可能，但她必须把枪一并丢掉吗？不过，我同意这是一个可 能的结论。但一切设想都有缺憾——唉，都有缺憾！关于那围巾，你还是没有注 意到一个要点……” 当他们从潘宁顿房间走出时，白罗建议雷斯继续搜查其余的房间：贾克琳和 珂妮亚的，及末尾的两间空房；他则再问希蒙•道尔一些问题。于是他重新踱回 贝斯勒医生的房间。 希蒙说：“嗯，我想了好一会。我确定那串珠链昨天还没有被换掉。” “何以见得呢，道尔先生？” “因为林娜……”说出太太的名字，他的声音显得凄凉。“……晚餐前，还 把玩着，谈着珠链。她对珠宝有点识别能力，如果是膺品，我相信她不会看不出 的。” “不过，那仿制品的工艺甚为精巧。告诉我，道尔夫人有出借首饰的习惯 吗？她可曾把珠链借给任何朋友？” 希蒙尴尬地脸红起来。 “你知道，白罗先生，这个我很难说……我……我……嗯，认识林娜不久。” “啊，是的，你们结婚是闪电式的。” 希蒙继续说，“所以……其实……我是不会熟悉她的习惯的。不过，林娜为 人很慷慨，把首饰借给朋友也不足为奇。” “譬如她从来没有……”白罗的语气非常委婉，“……她从来没有，譬如， 把珠链借给杜贝尔弗小姐？” “你这是什么意思？”希蒙涨红着脸，想要坐起来，但因痛楚难当，只得重 新躺下。“你想到哪里去了？以为是贾姬偷了珠链？她没有，我敢发誓她没有这 样做。贾克琳是百分之百正直的人。认为她会作贼，简直荒谬透顶……荒谬透 顶！” 白罗眼睛闪烁地瞪住他。 “哦！看哪！看哪！”他不期然地说，“我的设想当真惹恼了整巢的黄蜂！” 希蒙没有听出白罗的暗示，仍旧重复道，“她是正直的！” 白罗忆起了尼罗河畔亚思温一地那少女的话：“我爱希蒙——他也爱我……” 那天晚上他很怀疑自己所听到三个人的陈述中哪一个较接近事实，现在看来 贾克琳的话的确没错。 门开了，雷斯踏进。 “没什么事，”他唐突地说，“嗯，只是侍应生前来报告向旅客搜身的结 果。” 一位男侍应生和一位女侍应生分别出现在门边，前者先开口说道，“没有什 么发现，上校。” “有哪一位男士起哄吗？” “只有那位意大利先生，他咆哮了好一阵，说是极度不尊重人格。他身上还 有枪哩！” “什么类型的？” “是点二五自动手枪，上校。” “意大利佬脾气真暴躁。”希蒙说，“在瓦第•哈尔法时，黎希提为了电报 的小小误会，竟然大发脾气，对林娜非常无礼。” 雷斯转向那女侍应生。她是一个高大而脸蛋漂亮的女人。 “女士们的身上没有什么发现，上校。”那女子说，“她们倒大肆喧扰了一 阵。一点珠链的影子都没有。啊，我想起来了，那位年轻小姐，罗莎莉•鄂特伯 恩，手提包里倒有一枝小型手枪哩。” “是什么类型的？” “小巧可爱，柄上镶有珍珠，好像玩具枪。” 雷斯睁大了眼睛。“这个案子真的有鬼。”他喃喃地道，“我还以为可以把 她从嫌疑名单上除去了哩，而今——难道这艘船上的每个女人都随身携带着珍珠 柄的手枪？” 他问那女侍应生道，“她对你的发现有什么反应？” 那女子摇摇头。“我想她没有察觉到什么。我是背着身子检查她的手提包 的。” “不过，她一定晓得你会见到那枝枪的啊？唉，真想不透！还有那女佣呢？” “我们找遍了全船也不见她的踪影，上校。” “什么？”希蒙问道。 “道尔太太的女佣——露易丝•蒲尔杰——失踪了。” “失踪？” 雷斯若有所思地说，“或许她就是偷珠贼。只有她有充分的机会去仿制。” “所以，她一听到要进行搜索，就跳河去了？”希蒙建议道。 “荒谬！”雷斯烦躁地答道，“光天化日之下有人跳水，怎会没人发现？她 一定还在船上。”他又问那女侍应生道，“最后见到她是在什么时候？” “大约是午餐钟响前半个钟头，上校。” “先搜搜她的房间吧！”雷斯说，“总应该有点线索。” 他引路到下层甲板，白罗尾随在后。他俩用钥匙开了门进去。 尽管露易丝的工作是替旅客打扫房间，她自己的房间却凌乱得可以。抽屉的 夹缝里不时露出零星杂物，衣箱敞开着，椅背上挂满内衣裤。 白罗打开抽屉检查，雷斯则翻查衣箱。 露易丝的鞋子搁在床沿下，其中一只似乎放得有点奇怪，仿佛点不着地板似 的。这引起了雷斯的注意。 他关上衣箱，俯身看看那双鞋子，立刻大叫起来。 白罗急忙转身。 “怎么了？” 雷斯哭丧着脸说，“她并没有失踪，就在这儿——床底下……” Chapter 22 Chapter 22 The body of a dead woman, who in life had been Louise Bourget, lay on the floor of her cabin. The two men bent over it. Race straightened himself first. "Been dead close on an hour, I should say. We'll get Bessner on to it. Stabbed to the heart. Death pretty well instantaneous, I should imagine. She doesn't look pretty, does she?" "No." Poirot shook his head with a slight shudder. The dark feline face was convulsed, as though with surprise and fury, the lips drawn back from the teeth. Poirot bent again gently and picked up the right hand. Something just showed within the fingers. He detached it and held it out to Race, a little sliver of flimsy paper coloured a pale mauvish pink. "You see what it is?" "Money," said Race. "The corner of a thousand franc note, I fancy." "Well, it's clear what happened," said Race. "She knew something and she was blackmailing the murderer with her knowledge. We thought she wasn't being quite straight this morning." Poirot cried out: "We have been idiots - fools! We should have known - then. What did she say? 'What could I have seen or heard? I was on the deck below. Naturally, if I had been unable to sleep, if I had mounted the stairs, then perhaps I might have seen this assassin, this monster, enter or leave Madame's cabin, but as it is -' Of course, that is what did happen! She did come up. She did see someone gliding into Linnet Doyle's cabin - or coming out of it. And, because of her greed, her insensate greed, she lies here -" "And we are no nearer to knowing who killed her," finished Race disgustedly. Poirot shook his head. "No, no. We know much more now. We know - we know almost everything. Only what we know seems incredible... Yet it must be so. Only I do not see. Pah! what a fool I was this morning! We felt - both of us felt - that she was keeping something back, and yet we never realized the logical reason, blackmail." "She must have demanded hush money straight away," said Race. "Demanded it with threats. The murderer was forced to accede to that request and paid her in French notes. Anything there?" Poirot shook his head thoughtfully. "I hardly think so. Many people take a reserve of money with them when travelling - sometimes five pound notes, sometimes dollars, but very often French notes as well. Possibly the murderer paid her all he had in a mixture of currencies. Let us continue our reconstruction." "The murderer comes to her cabin, gives her the money, and then -" "And then," said Poirot, "she counts it. Oh, yes, I know that class. She would count the money, and while she counted it she was completely off her guard. The murderer struck. Having done so successfully, he gathered up the money and fled - not noticing that the corner of one of the notes was torn." "We may get him that way," suggested Race doubtfully. "I doubt it," said Poirot. "He will examine those notes, and will probably notice the tear. Of course if he were of a parsimonious disposition he would not be able to bring himself to destroy a mille note - but I fear - I very much fear that his temperament is just the opposite." "How do you make that out?" "Both this crime and the murder of Madame Doyle demanded certain qualities - courage, audacity, bold execution, lightning action; those qualities do not accord with a saving, prudent disposition." Race shook his head sadly. "I'd better get Bessner down," he said. The stout doctor's examination did not take long. Accompanied by a good many Ach's and So's, he went to work. "She has been dead not more than an hour," he announced. "Death it was very quick - at once." "And what weapon do you think was used?" "Ach, it is interesting, that. It was something very sharp, very thin, very delicate. I could show you the kind of thing." Back again in his cabin he opened a case and extracted a long, delicate, surgical knife. "It was something like that, my friend; it was not a common table knife." "I suppose," suggested Race smoothly, "that none of your own knives are - er - missing, Doctor?" Bessner stared at him; then his face grew red with indignation. "What is that you say? Do you think I - I, Carl Bessner - who so well-known is all over Austria - I with my clinics, my highly born patients - I have killed a miserable little femme de chambre?! Ah, but it is ridiculous - absurd, what you say! None of my knives are missing - not one, I tell you. They are all here, correct, in their places. You can see for yourself. And this insult to my profession I will not forget." Dr Bessner closed his case with a snap, flung it down and stamped out onto the deck. "Whew! " said Simon. "You've put the old boy's back up." Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "It is regrettable." "You're on the wrong track. Old Bessner's one of the best, even though he is a kind of Boche." Dr Bessner reappeared suddenly. "Will you be so kind as to leave me now my cabin? I have to do the dressing of my patient's leg." Miss Bowers had entered with him and stood, brisk and professional, waiting for the others to go. Race and Poirot crept out meekly. Race muttered something and went off. Poirot turned to his left. He heard scraps of girlish conversation, a little laugh. Jacqueline and Rosalie were together in the latter's cabin. The door was open and the two girls were standing near it. As his shadow fell on them they looked up. He saw Rosalie Otterbourne smile at him for the first time - a shy welcoming smile - a little uncertain in its lines, as of one who does a new and unfamiliar thing. "You talk the scandal, Mesdemoiselles?" he accused them. "No, indeed," said Rosalie. "As a matter of fact we were just comparing lipsticks." Poirot smiled. "Les chiffons d'aujourd hui," he murmured. But there was something a little mechanical about his smile, and Jacqueline de Bellefort, quicker and more observant than Rosalie, saw it. She dropped the lipstick she was holding and came out upon the deck. "Has something - what has happened now?" "It is as you guess, Mademoiselle; something has happened." "What?" Rosalie came out too. "Another death," said Poirot. Rosalie caught her breath sharply. Poirot was watching her narrowly. He saw alarm and something more - consternation - show for a minute or two in her eyes. "Madame Doyle's maid has been killed," he told them bluntly. "Killed?" cried Jacqueline. "Killed, do you say?" "Yes, that is what I said." Though his answer was nominally to her, it was Rosalie whom he watched. It was Rosalie to whom he spoke as he went on: "You see, this maid she saw something she was not intended to see. And so - she was silenced, in case she should not hold her tongue." "What was it she saw?" Again it was Jacqueline who asked, and again Poirot's answer was to Rosalie. It was an odd little three-cornered scene. "There is, I think, very little doubt what it was she saw," said Poirot. "She saw someone enter and leave Linnet Doyle's cabin on that fatal night." His ears were quick. He heard the sharp intake of breath and saw the eyelids flicker. Rosalie Otterbourne had reacted just as he had intended she should. "Did she say who it was she saw?" Rosalie asked. Gently - regretfully - Poirot shook his head. Footsteps pattered up the deck. It was Cornelia Robson, her eyes wide and startled. "Oh, Jacqueline," she cried, "something awful has happened! Another dreadful thing!" Jacqueline turned to her. The two moved a few steps forward. Almost unconsciously Poirot and Rosalie Otterbourne moved in the other direction. Rosalie said sharply: "Why do you look at me? What have you got in your mind?" "That is two questions you ask me. I will ask you only one in return. Why do you not tell me all the truth, Mademoiselle?" "I don't know what you mean. I told you - everything - this morning." "No, there were things you did not tell me. You did not tell me that you carry about in your handbag a small-calibre pistol with a pearl handle. You did not tell me all that you saw last night." She flushed. Then she said sharply: "It's quite untrue. I haven't got a revolver." "I did not say a revolver. I said a small pistol that you carry about in your handbag." She wheeled round, darted into her cabin and out again and thrust her grey leather handbag into his hands. "You're talking nonsense. Look for yourself if you like." Poirot opened the bag. There was no pistol inside. He handed the bag back to her, meeting her scornful, triumphant glance. "No," he said pleasantly. "It is not there." "You see. You're not always right, Monsieur Poirot. And you're wrong about that other ridiculous thing you said." "No, I do not think so." "You're infuriating!" She stamped an angry foot. "You get an idea into your head, and you go on and on and on about it." "Because I want you to tell me the truth." "What is the truth? You seem to know it better than I do." Poirot said: "You want me to tell what it was you saw? If I am right, will you admit that I am right? I will tell you my little idea. I think that when you came round the stern of the boat you stopped involuntarily because you saw a man come out of a cabin about half way down the deck - Linnet Doyle's cabin, as you realized next day. You saw him come out, close the door behind him, and walk away from you down the deck and - perhaps - enter one of the two end cabins. Now then, am I right, Mademoiselle?" She did not answer. Poirot said: "Perhaps you think it wiser not to speak. Perhaps you are afraid that, if you do, you too will be killed." For a moment he thought she had risen to the easy bait, that the accusation against her courage would succeed where more subtle arguments would have failed. Her lips opened - trembled - then, "I saw no one," said Rosalie Otterbourne. 第二部 埃及 23 第二部 埃及 22 露易丝•蒲尔杰的尸体躺在她房间的地板上。白罗和雷斯俯身看着。 雷斯首先站直了身子。 “死了将近一个钟头了。找贝斯勒来吧。心房被刺穿，立刻致死。模样不大 好看吧？” “嗯。” 白罗摇摇头，不禁打了一个寒颤。 露易丝黝黑、狡猾的脸似乎还在抽搐着，好像极端惊讶和愤怒；牙齿紧咬着 嘴唇。 白罗再度弯身，轻轻提起她的右手，指缝间露出了一点东西。他扯下递给雷 斯：是一小张粉红色的碎纸片。 “你看这会是什么？” “纸币。” “我想，是一千法朗纸币的一角。” “唔，很明显，”雷斯说道，“她知道了一些事情——因此企图勒索那凶 手。今天早上我们就发现她这人不老实。” 白罗叫道，“我们真是白痴——傻瓜！当时我们就应该发觉到。她怎么说 的？‘我会看到或听到什么？我住甲板下层……当然，如果我睡不着，如果我爬 上楼梯，那么或许我会见到那凶手，那狂魔，走进或离开太太的房间。但……’ 很明显，事情的确是这样！她确曾爬上楼梯，见到凶手走进林娜•道尔的房间 ——或是从那儿出来。由于她贪婪成性，结果落得这般下场！” “而我们一点也不知道是谁杀她的！”雷斯厌恶地说。 白罗摇摇头。“不，不。我们现在知道的事情可多着哩！我们知道——几乎 所有事都掌握住了，只是有点不可思议……不过，一定是这样的了。只是我当时 不明白。呸！今天早上我真蠢透了！我们两人都感到她在隐瞒一些事情，却没想 到最合逻辑的理由——勒索……” “她一定直接向凶手勒索金钱，”雷斯说，“威胁他。凶手不得不答应她的 条件，付给她法国纸币。还有呢？” 白罗若有所思地摇摇头。“我不这么认为。许多人旅行时都携带各种货币， 有时是五英镑的钞票，有时是美元，法国纸币也常会带着。凶手可能把手头所有 的全部货币都付给她。让我们来重新组合吧！” “凶手来到这房间，把钱交给她，然后……” “然后，”白罗说，“她就点钱。是的，我最了解她这类人。她一定会先点 钱，于是完全失去警觉；凶手就在这时出其不意地把她干掉。得逞之后，凶手夺 回钞票逃走——匆忙中没有察觉到其中一张钞票的一角给撕去了。” “我们可以凭这点抓他。”雷斯略为迟疑地提议道。 “我很怀疑。”白罗说，“凶手一定会检查那些钞票，发现撕破了的一张。 当然，如果他是个吝啬鬼，他是不会舍得毁掉一千法郎的——但我恐怕他的性格 恰好相反。” “何以见得呢？” “这件凶案和道尔夫人的谋杀案都显得出某种特征——勇敢、大胆、果断的 行动和闪电式的速度。这些性格跟节俭、吝啬是不相符合的。” 雷斯失望地叹息着。“我最好去找贝斯勒下来！”他说。 医生的检查并没有花太多时间。他一边咕噜着，一边埋首工作。 “死亡时间不超过一小时。”他宣布道，“迅即毙命。” “你估计用的是什么凶器？” “唔，这点很有趣。是一种很尖、很薄、很精巧的利器。我可以给你看一样 类似的东西。”他回到自己的房间，打开箱子，取出一把又长又精巧的手术刀 来。 “老友，就像这样子的东西，不是普通单刀。” “我相信，”雷斯婉转地提示，“你这儿的刀子……嗯……没有短少了吧， 医生？” 贝斯勒医生瞪着他，脸色涨得通红。 “你这是什么话？你以为我……我，卡尔•贝斯勒……全奥地利最著名的医 生……拥有几家诊所，病人全是上流社会的人物……会杀死一个可怜的小女佣？ 呵，真是荒谬、无稽！我的手术刀一把也没有遗失……一把也没有，我可以告诉 你，全都在这儿，你可以自己看看。这样侮辱我的职业道德，我永远也不会忘 记。” 贝斯勒医生使劲地关上他的医疗箱，然后大步踏向甲板。 “唷！”希蒙说，“你可惹怒了这老头子了！” 白罗耸耸肩。“真抱歉。” “你全想歪了。贝斯勒是个老好人，尽管他是个德国佬！” 贝斯勒医生突然再度出现。 “请你们立即离开，好吗？我得替病人洗涤伤口。” 鲍尔斯小姐随后进来，机敏地站到一旁，等候两人离开。 雷斯跟白罗乖乖地走了出来。雷斯喃喃地说了点什么便走开了。白罗转向左 方。他断断续续地听到少女谈话的声音，夹杂着笑声。贾克琳跟罗莎莉正一块在 后者的房内。房门敞开着，两个少女站在门边。看到白罗的身影，两人立即抬 头。罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩第一次向他透出笑容——一个羞怯的、友善的微笑。 “小姐们，又在背后议论人？”他故意打趣地说。 “不，”罗莎莉说，“事实上我们只是在比较唇膏。” 白罗微笑地喃喃道，“女人皆如此。” 但他的笑容显得有点机械化，贾克琳•杜贝尔弗立刻察觉到。她抛下手中的 唇膏，走出甲板。 “是发生了什么事情吧？” “唔，你猜对了，小姐。的确发生了事情。” “什么事？”罗莎莉也走了出来。 “又一宗凶杀案。”白罗说。 罗莎莉深深地吸了一口气。白罗留心地观察她。他感到她的目光除了露出警 觉外，还有无比的惊恐。 “被杀的是道尔夫人的女佣。”他直接了当告诉她们。 “被杀？”贾克琳叫道，“你是说，被杀？” “是的，正是这样。”虽然他回答的是贾克琳的问题，但他观察的对象却是 罗莎莉。他接着向罗莎莉解释道，“是这样的，这女佣无意中碰见了一些事情， 所以就被灭口，以免她泄漏秘密。” “她见到了什么？” 发问的又是贾克琳，而白罗又一次向着罗莎莉答话。 “我想，毫无疑问的是，她在案发当晚看见有人进入或离开道尔夫人的房 间。” 白罗的耳朵很灵敏，他听到紧张的呼吸声，看到眼睛的眨动。罗莎莉的反应 一如他所预料。 “她说看到谁了吗？”罗莎莉问道。 悠悠地——失望地——白罗摇摇头。 甲板上传来脚步声，来的是柯妮亚•罗柏森。她的双眼睁得老大。 “噢，贾克琳，”她叫道，“发生了可怕的事！另一桩恐怖的事！” 贾克琳转向她。两人向前移动了几步。几乎是不自觉地，白罗和罗莎莉朝另 一个方向走去。 罗莎莉厉声说，“你为什么望着我？脑袋里又有什么鬼主意？” “你问了我两个问题，我却只要反问你一个问题。你为什么不把全部事实告 诉我呢，小姐？” “我不懂你的意思。今天早上我已经告诉了你——一切。” “不，有些事你没有告诉我。你没有告诉我你手提包里有一把珍珠柄的小型 手枪；你也没有告诉我，你昨晚所看到的一切。” 她红着脸，厉声说道，“那不是事实。我没有左轮手枪。” “我说的不是左轮，而是你手提包里的一把小枪。” 她转过身跑进房间，又跑出来，把她灰色的皮包扔进他手中。 “你简直是在胡说。你自己看个够吧！” 白罗打开手提包，一点枪的影子也没有。 他把手提包送还罗莎莉，眼睛接触到她那蔑视的胜利目光。 “没有。”他自言自语地说，“不在这儿。” “你看，白罗先生，你不是永远都对的。你刚才说的另一件荒谬的事，也是 错的。” “不，我认为没错。” “你真气人！”她愤怒地跺脚。“只因你脑子里有了某个念头，你就不断去 证明它。” “我要你把事实告诉我。” “什么事实？你似乎比我知道得更清楚。” 白罗说：“你要我告诉你，你看到了什么？假若我说对了，你会承认吗？我 会告诉你我的一丝念头。我想，当你拐过船尾的时候，你被迫停下脚来，因为你 看见有人从甲板中央的房间中走出来。而第二天，你发觉这房间正是林娜•道尔 的。你见到那人走出来，关上门，然后朝相反方向走去——或许——走进了末尾 两间房之中的一个。好了，我说得对吗，小姐？” 她并未作答。 白罗说，“或许你认为聪明的办法是不要说出来。或许你恐惧，一说出来， 连自己也会没命。” 他认为，一时间她可能会上钩。在其它较技巧的说词都无法激使她说出实情 之际，这种指责她不够勇敢的方法或许会奏效。 她的嘴唇张开——颤动着——然后——“我没有见到任何人。”罗莎莉•鄂 特伯恩说。 Chapter 23 Chapter 23 Miss Bowers came out of Dr Bessner's cabin, smoothing her cuffs over her wrists. Jacqueline left Cornelia abruptly and accosted the hospital nurse. "How is he?" she demanded. Poirot came up in time to hear the answer. Miss Bowers was looking rather worried. "Things aren't going too badly," she said. Jacqueline cried, "You mean, he's worse?" "Well, I must say I shall be relieved when we get in and can get a proper X-ray done and the whole thing cleaned up under an anaesthetic. When do you think we shall get to Shellвl, Monsieur Poirot?" "Tomorrow morning." Miss Bowers pursed her lips and shook her head. "It's very unfortunate. We are doing all we can, but there's always such a danger of septicaemia." Jacqueline caught Miss Bowers' arm and shook it. "Is he going to die? Is he going to die?" "Dear me, no, Miss de Bellefort. That is, I hope not, I'm sure. The wound in itself isn't dangerous, but there's no doubt it ought to be X-rayed as soon as possible. And then, of course, poor Mr Doyle ought to have been kept absolutely quiet today. He's had far too much worry and excitement. No wonder his temperature is rising. What with the shock of his wife's death, and one thing and another -" Jacqueline relinquished her grasp of the nurse's arm and turned away. She stood leaning over the side, her back to the other two. "What I say is, we've got to hope for the best always," said Miss Bowers. "Of course Mr Doyle has a very strong constitution - one can see that - probably never had a day's illness in his life. So that's in his favour. But there's no denying that this rise in temperature is a nasty sign and -" She shook her head, adjusted her cuffs once more, and moved briskly away. Jacqueline turned and walked gropingly, blinded by tears, toward her cabin. A hand below her elbow steadied and guided her. She looked up through the tears to find Poirot by her side. She leaned on him a little and he guided her through the cabin door. She sank down on the bed and the tears came more freely, punctuated by great shuddering sobs. "He'll die! He'll die! I know he'll die... And I shall have killed him. Yes, I shall have killed him..." Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He shook his head a little, sadly. "Mademoiselle, what is done, is done. One cannot take back the accomplished action. It is too late to regret." She cried out more vehemently: "I shall have killed him! And I love him so... I love him so." Poirot sighed. "Too much..." It had been his thought long ago in the restaurant of M. Blondin. It was his thought again now. He said, hesitating a little: "Do not, at all events, go by what Miss Bowers says. Hospital nurses, me, I find them always gloomy! The night nurse, always, she is astonished to find her patient alive in the evening; the day nurse, always, she is surprised to find him alive in the morning! They know too much, you see, of the possibilities that may arise. When one is motoring one might easily say to oneself, 'If a car came out from that crossroad - or if that lorry backed suddenly - or if the wheel came off the car that is approaching me - or if a dog jumped off the hedge onto my driving arm - eh bien, I should probably be killed!' But one assumes, and usually rightly, that none of these things will happen, and that one will get to one's journey's end. But if, of course, one has been in an accident, or seen one or more accidents, then one is inclined to take the opposite point of view." Jacqueline asked, half smiling through her tears, "Are you trying to console me, Monsieur Poirot?" "The Bon Dieu knows what I am trying to do! You should not have come on this journey." "No - I wish I hadn't. It's been - so awful. But - it will be soon over now." "Mais oui - mais oui." "And Simon will go to the hospital, and they'll give the proper treatment and everything will be all right." "You speak like the child! 'And they lived happily ever afterward.' That is it, is it not?" She flushed suddenly scarlet. "Monsieur Poirot, I never meant - never -" "It is too soon to think of such a thing! That is the proper hypocritical thing to say, is it not? But you are partly a Latin, Mademoiselle Jacqueline. You should be able to admit facts even if they do not sound very decorous. Le roi est mort - vive le roi! The sun has gone and the moon rises. That is so, is it not?" "You don't understand. He's just sorry for me - awfully sorry for me, because he knows how terrible it is for me to know I've hurt him so badly." "Ah, well," said Poirot. "The pure pity, it is a very lofty sentiment." He looked at her half mockingly, half with some other emotion. He murmured softly under his breath words in French: "La vie est vaine. Un peu damour, Un peu de haine, Et puis bonjour La vie est brève Un peu d'espoir, Un peu de rкve, Et puis bonsoir." He went out again onto the deck. Colonel Race was striding along the deck and hailed him at once. "Poirot. Good man! I want you. I've got an idea." Thrusting his arm through Poirot's he walked him up the deck. "Just a chance remark of Doyle's. I hardly noticed it at the time. Something about a telegram." "Tiens - c'est vrai." "Nothing in it, perhaps, but one can't leave any avenue unexplored. Damn it all, man, two murders, and we're still in the dark." Poirot shook his head. "No, not in the dark. In the light." Race looked at him curiously. "You have an idea?" "It is more than an idea now. I am sure." "Since - when?" "Since the death of the maid, Louise Bourget." "Damned if I see it!" "My friend, it is so clear - so clear. Only there are difficulties - embarrassments - impediments! See you, around a person like Linnet Doyle there is so much - so many conflicting hates and jealousies and envies and meannesses. It is like a cloud of flies, buzzing, buzzing..." "But you think you know?" The other looked at him curiously. "You wouldn't say so unless you were sure. Can't say I've any real light, myself. I've suspicions, of course..." Poirot stopped. He laid an impressive hand on Race's arm. "You are a great man, mon Colonel... You do not say 'Tell me. What is it that you think?' You know that if I could speak now I would. But there is much to be cleared away first. But think, think for a moment along the lines that I shall indicate. There are certain points... There is the statement of Mademoiselle de Bellefort that someone overheard our conversation that night in the garden at Assuan. There is the statement of Monsieur Tim Allerton as to what he heard and did on the night of the crime. There are Louise Bourget's significant answers to our questions this morning. There is the fact that Madame Allerton drinks water, that her son drinks whisky and soda and that I drink wine. Add to that the fact of two bottles of nail polish and the proverb I quoted. And finally we come to the crux of the whole business, the fact that the pistol was wrapped up in a cheap handkerchief and a velvet stole and thrown overboard..." Race was silent a minute or two then he shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't see it. Mind, I've got a faint idea what you're driving at, but as far as I can see, it doesn't work." "But yes - but yes. You are seeing only half the truth. And remember this - we must start again from the beginning, since our first conception was entirely wrong." Race made a slight grimace. "I'm used to that. It often seems to me that's all detective work is, wiping out your false starts and beginning again." "Yes, it is very true, that. And it is just what some people will not do. They conceive a certain theory, and everything has to fit into that theory. If one little fact will not fit it, they throw it aside. But it is always the facts that will not fit in that are significant. All along I have realized the significance of that pistol being removed from the scene of the crime. I knew that it meant something, but what that something was I only realized one little half hour ago." "And I still don't see it!" "But you will! Only reflect along the lines I indicated. And now let us clear up this matter of a telegram. That is, if the Herr Doktor will admit us." Dr Bessner was still in a very bad humour. In answer to their knock he disclosed a scowling face. "What is it? Once more you wish to see my patient? But I tell you it is not wise. He has fever. He has had more than enough excitement today." "Just one question," said Race. "Nothing more, I assure you." With an unwilling grunt the doctor moved aside and the two men entered the cabin. Dr Bessner, growling to himself, pushed past them. "I return in three minutes," he said. "And then - positively-you go!" They heard him stumping down the deck. Simon Doyle looked from one to the other of them inquiringly. "Yes," he said, "What is it?" "A very little thing," Race replied. "Just now, when the stewards were reporting to me, they mentioned that Signor Richetti had been particularly troublesome. You said that that didn't surprise you, as you knew he had a bad temper, and that he had been rude to your wife over some matter of a telegram. Now can you tell me about that incident?" "Easily. It was at Wвdi Halfa. We'd just come back from the Second Cataract. Linnet thought she saw a telegram for her sticking up on the board. She'd forgotten, you see, that she wasn't called Ridgeway any longer, and Richetti and Ridgeway do look rather alike when written in an atrocious handwriting. So she tore it open, couldn't make head or tail of it, and was puzzling over it when this fellow Richetti came along, fairly tore it out of her hand and gibbered with rage. She went after him to apologize and he was frightfully rude to her about it." Race drew a deep breath. "And do you know at all, Mr Doyle, what was in that telegram?" "Yes, Linnet read part of it out aloud. It said -" He paused. There was a commotion outside. A high-pitched voice was rapidly approaching. "Where are Monsieur Poirot and Colonel Race? I must see them immediately! It is most important. I have vital information. I - Are they with Mr Doyle?" Bessner had not closed the door. Only the curtain hung across the open doorway. Mrs Otterbourne swept it to one side and entered like a tornado. Her face was suffused with colour, her gait slightly unsteady, her command of words not quite under her control. "Mr Doyle," she said dramatically, "I know who killed your wife!" "What?" Simon stared at her. So did the other two. Mrs Otterbourne swept all three of them with a triumphant glance. She was happy - superbly happy. "Yes," she said. "My theories are completely vindicated. The deep, primeval, primordial urges - it may appear impossible - fantastic - but it is the truth!" Race said sharply, "Do I understand that you have evidence in your possession to show who killed Mrs Doyle?" Mrs Otterbourne sat down in a chair and leaned forward, nodding her head vigorously. "Certainly I have. You will agree, will you not, that whoever killed Louise Bourget also killed Linnet Doyle - that the two crimes were committed by one and the same hand?" "Yes, yes," said Simon impatiently. "Of course. That stands to reason. Go on." "Then my assertion holds. I know who killed Louise Bourget; therefore I know who killed Linnet Doyle." "You mean, you have a theory as to who killed Louise Bourget," suggested Race sceptically. Mrs Otterbourne turned on him like a tiger. "No, I have exact knowledge. I saw the person with my own eyes." Simon, fevered, shouted out: "For God's sake, start at the beginning. You know the person who killed Louise Bourget, you say." Mrs Otterbourne nodded. "I will tell you exactly what occurred." Yes, she was very happy - no doubt of it! This was her moment, her triumph! What of it if her books were failing to sell, if the stupid public that once had bought them and devoured them voraciously now turned to newer favourites? Salome Otterbourne would once again be notorious. Her name would be in all the papers. She would be principal witness for the prosecution at the trial. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth. "It was when I went down to lunch. I hardly felt like eating - all the horror of the recent tragedy - Well, I needn't go into that. Half way down I remember that I had - er - left something in my cabin. I told Rosalie to go on without me. She did." Mrs Otterbourne paused a minute. The curtain across the door moved slightly as though lifted by the wind, but none of the three men noticed it. "I - er -" Mrs Otterbourne paused. Thin ice to skate over here, but it must be done somehow. "I - er - had an arrangement with one of the - er - personnel of the ship. He was to - er - get me something I needed, but I did not wish my daughter to know of it. She is inclined to be tiresome in certain ways -" Not too good, this, but she could think of something that sounded better before it came to telling the story in court. Race's eyebrows lifted as his eyes asked a question of Poirot. Poirot gave an infinitesimal nod. His lips formed the word, "Drink." The curtain across the door moved again. Between it and the door itself something showed with a faint steel blue gleam. Mrs Otterbourne continued: "The arrangement was that I should go round to the stern on the deck below this, and there I should find the man waiting for me. As I went along the deck a cabin door opened and somebody looked out. It was this girl - Louise Bourget, or whatever her name is. She seemed to be expecting someone. When she saw it was me, she looked disappointed and went abruptly inside again. I didn't think anything of it, of course. I went along just as I had said I would and got the - the stuff from the man. I paid him and - er - just had a word with him. Then I started back. Just as I came around the corner I saw someone knock on the maid's door and go into the cabin." Race said, "And that person was -" Bang! The noise of the explosion filled the cabin. There was an acrid sour smell of smoke. Mrs Otterbourne turned slowly sideways, as though in supreme inquiry, then her body slumped forward and she fell to the ground with a crash. From just behind her ear the blood flowed from a round neat hole. There was a moment's stupefied silence. Then both the able-bodied men jumped to their feet. The woman's body hindered their movements a little. Race bent over her while Poirot made a catlike jump for the door and the deck. The deck was empty. On the ground just in front of the sill lay a big Colt revolver. Poirot glanced in both directions. The deck was empty. He then sprinted toward the stern. As he rounded the corner he ran into Tim Allerton, who was coming full tilt from the opposite direction. "What the devil was that?" cried Tim breathlessly. Poirot said sharply, "Did you meet anyone on your way here?" "Meet anyone? No." "Then come with me." He took the young man by the arm and retraced his steps. A little crowd had assembled by now. Rosalie, Jacqueline and Cornelia had rushed out of their cabins. More people were coming along the deck from the saloon - Ferguson, Jim Fanthorp and Mrs Allerton. Race stood by the revolver. Poirot turned his head and said sharply to Tim Allerton, "Got any gloves in your pocket?" Tim fumbled. "Yes, I have." Poirot seized them from him, put them on, and bent to examine the revolver. Race did the same. The others watched breathlessly. Race said: "He didn't go the other way. Fanthorp and Ferguson were sitting on this deck lounge; they'd have seen him." Poirot responded, "And Mr Allerton would have met him if he'd gone aft." Race said, pointing to the revolver: "Rather fancy we've seen this not so very long ago. Must make sure, though." He knocked on the door of Pennington's cabin. There was no answer. The cabin was empty. Race strode to the right hand drawer of the chest and jerked it open. The revolver was gone. "Settles that," said Race. "Now then, where's Pennington himself?" They went out again on deck. Mrs Allerton had joined the group. Poirot moved swiftly over to her. "Madame, take Miss Otterbourne with you and look after her. Her mother has been -" he consulted Race with an eye and Race nodded - "killed." Dr Bessner came bustling along. "Gott im Himmel! What is there now?" They made way for him. Race indicated the cabin. Bessner went inside. "Find Pennington," said Race. "Any fingerprints on that revolver?" "None," said Poirot. They found Pennington on the deck below. He was sitting in the little drawing-room writing letters. He lifted a handsome, cleanshaven face. "Anything new?" he asked. "Didn't you hear a shot?" "Why - now you mention it - I believe I did hear a kind of a bang. But I never dreamed - Who's been shot?" "Mrs Otterbourne." "Mrs Otterbourne?" Pennington sounded quite astounded. "Well, you do surprise me. Mrs Otterbourne." He shook his head. "I can't see that at all." He lowered his voice. "Strikes me, gentlemen, we've got a homicidal maniac aboard. We ought to organize a defence system." "Mr Pennington," said Race, "how long have you been in this room?" "Why, let me see." Mr Pennington gently rubbed his chin. "I should say a matter of twenty minutes or so." "And you haven't left it?" "Why no - certainly not." He looked inquiringly at the two men. "You see, Mr Pennington," said Race, "Mrs Otterbourne was shot with your revolver." 第二部 埃及 23 第二部 埃及 23 鲍尔斯小姐走出贝斯勒医生的房间，她略为整整衣袖。贾克琳猝然离开珂妮 亚，来到这位护士小姐身边。 “他怎样了？”她询问道。 白罗及时听到了答话。鲍尔斯小姐看来相当担忧。“病情没有太恶化。”她 说。 贾克琳叫道：“你的意思是，他的病况更严重了？” “嗯，我该说的是，如果能将他送进医院，照Ｘ光，为他注射麻醉剂，将伤 口清理干净，这样我们就不必担这份心事。白罗先生，你认为我们何时能抵达雪 莱尔呢？” “明天早上。” 鲍尔斯小姐嘬嘬嘴，摇摇头道： “很不幸。我们已经竭尽心力，然而败血症向来都是异常危险的。” 贾克琳抓住鲍尔斯小姐的臂膀，不停摇着。 “他要死了吗？他要死了吗？” “亲爱的，杜贝尔弗小姐，不会的。我确定，我希望不会。伤口本身并不严 重，但无疑是愈早接受Ｘ光照射愈好。当然目前最要紧的，可怜的道尔先生必须 保持绝对的安静。但他太忧心太激动了。他的脾气急躁不安——一方面是他太太 的死带给他极大的震撼，另一方面又担忧这担忧那……” 贾克琳放开护士小姐，转身走开了。她背对另外两个人，身子倚在栏杆上。 “我要说的是，我们必须做最好的打算，”鲍尔斯小姐说，“当然，道尔先 生身体很强健——任何人都看得出来——可能他一辈子都还没生过一次病。但不 可否认的是情绪起伏是不祥的征兆……” 她摇摇头，再度整整衣袖，迅速离去。 贾克琳转过身来，已是泪流满面，她摸索着向她的房间走去。一只手伸进她 臂弯挽扶着她，领着她。她泪水涟涟抬起头，发现是白罗在她身旁。她身子微微 靠向他，他引她走过船舱。 她头埋进被里，泪水更不断汹涌而出，肩头因为啜泣而不断抽搐着。 “他会死的！他会死的！我知道他会死！……我杀了他。是我害了他……” 白罗耸耸肩。他略摇了摇头，悲哀地说： “小姐，做过的事就算做过了。既定的事实无法挽回。后悔已经太迟了。” 她更激动地哭号道，“我杀了他！而我这么爱他……我这么爱他。” 白罗叹口气。“过分爱他了……” 很久以前在Ｍ•布伦定的餐厅里他就有这样的想法，现在他又有同样的想法 了。 他略显迟疑地说：“总而言之，不要把鲍尔斯小姐的话太当真。医院的护士 总是忧虑过度。夜间看护总是奇怪她的病人竟能活过一夜；白天看护则惊讶于她 的病人得以安然度过一天。你知道，她们太清楚病况的各种可能演变。骑摩托车 的人经常这么自忖，‘如果有一辆车从十字路口冲出来，如果这辆卡车突然倒 车，如果车轮脱落了向我冲来，如果一条狗从树篱里奔出，撞上我的驾驶盘，那 我就死定了！’如果一个人想这些事都不会发生，他倒能安安然然地抵达旅程的 终点。但倘使他发生意外，或目睹一两次车祸，那他自然就倾向于采取相反的观 点。” 贾克琳泪水涟涟中勉强笑问道，“白罗先生，你是想安慰我？” “上天知道我正在做什么！你不该参加这次旅行的。” “是的，但愿我没来。真可怕。但事情很快就会过去的。” “不错，是的。” “希蒙会进医院，医生会为他做适当的治疗，然后每件事都会好转。” “你说话口气像小孩子！‘从此以后他们快快乐乐地过着日子。’这就是你 想的，是吧？” 她突然面红耳赤起来。 “白罗先生，我从没有这意思……从未……” “你认为事情会这样结束那太早了。世事变化多端，不是吗？贾克琳小姐， 你有一半拉丁血统，即使不是非常合理的事情你也应该承认……太阳沉落，月亮 就上升了。是不是这样？” “你不了解。他只是不放心我——非常不放心，因为他知道一旦我获悉伤他 伤到如此严重的地步我一定吓死了。” “嗯，”白罗说，“纯粹的同情心，这是非常高尚的感情。” 他既嘲弄又带有几分同情地瞪着她。 他唇下轻柔地哼诵着法文诗句： “人生是虚幻的。 一丝丝爱情， 一丝丝愁恨， 不久就烟消云散。 人生是短暂的。 一点点希望， 一点点破灭， 随即就烟消云散。” 他又走出房间步上甲板。 雷斯上校正沿着甲板漫步，立刻向他招手。 “老友，我想到一个意念。” 他手塞进白罗的臂弯里，拉着他走。 “是道尔偶然吐露的一句话，我当时根本没留意。是有关一封电报的。” “哦？” “或许里面什么也没有。但我们不能放松任何零碎的线索。真倒霉！两宗谋 杀案，而我们仍然没有一点头绪。” 白罗摇摇头。“不，不是茫无头绪，而是很快就会水落石出。” 雷斯好奇地望着他：“你已经想到一个意念？” “不只是意念了。现在我确定原因了。” “什么时候开始的？” “发现露易丝•蒲尔杰的尸体后。” “怎么我竟看不出来？” “朋友，原因那么明显——如此明显。只是有些困难——障碍罢了！看，环 绕着林娜•道尔这样一个人的是……嗯……如此多的矛盾、憎恨、嫉妒、羡慕和 蔑视。就像一群苍蝇在嗡嗡、嗡嗡地叫……” “你认为你已知道谁是凶手？”雷斯仍然充满怀疑。“除非你很肯定，你不 会说出的。我自己也不是一点头绪也没有，我心目中也有一些嫌疑者……” 白罗停下步来，意味深长地将手放在雷斯的臂膀上。 “上校，你是个聪明人……你不会说，‘告诉我，你所想的是什么？’你知 道如果我此刻能说出来，我一定会说。还有许多疑窦有待澄清。不过，你可以暂 时沿着我现在指出的方向去想。在某些点上……杜贝尔弗小姐声称在亚思温花园 那天晚上，有人偷听我们两人的谈话。提姆•艾乐顿先生供述他在案发当晚所听 到和所作的一切。露易丝•蒲尔杰今早对我们的询问所作的不寻常答话。艾乐顿 太太喝汽水，她的儿子喝威士忌苏打，我则喝酒。还有道尔夫人房里的两瓶指甲 油。最后是整件事情的症结：凶枪被裹在廉价手帕和天鹅绒围巾中，然后抛下河 去……” 雷斯沉默了一会，然后摇摇头。 “不，”他说，“我一点也理不出头绪。嗯，我隐约感到你想导致某个结 论，但依我看来，你可能枉费心机。” “不会的——不会的。你只看到一半事实。但记住——我们得从头再开始， 因为我们的第一个概念完全错误。” 雷斯扮了个鬼脸。 “我对此早已习以为常了。似乎所有侦探工作都是这样的，去除错误的开 端，重新再来。” “不错，的确如此。而有些人就是不愿意这样做。他们取得了某种理论，那 么一切都得符合这理论。倘若有一些小事实不吻合，他们就把它丢弃一旁。但往 往就是那些不吻合的事实，意义最重大。我一直认为凶枪被移离命案现场是值得 注意的。我晓得内里一定别有乾坤。但那是什么呢？我在半个钟头以前才弄清 楚。” “但我仍然不明白！” “你会明白的，只要沿着我指示的思路探索一下。现在让我们澄清电报的问 题，假如我们的德国大夫容许的话。” 贝斯勒医生仍然情绪不佳，应门的时候，满面怒容。 “什么事？又想见我的病人？我告诉你，这样做很不理智。他在发高烧。他 今天受的刺激已经够多了。” “只是问一个问题。”雷斯说，“我保证，没有别的事。” 医生极不情愿地咆哮一声，让他们进去了，自己却挤过他俩身旁。 “我三分钟后回来。”他说，“到时……你们一定要走！” 他们听到他大踏步走下甲板。 希蒙•道尔用询问的眼光望着两人。 “嗯，”他说，“什么事？” “一个小问题，”雷斯答道，“刚才侍应生向我报告说，黎希提一副要找麻 烦的样子，你说这毫不奇怪，他的脾气本来就很坏；还说他因为电报的事，对你 太太很没礼貌。你可以告诉我事情的经过吗？” “当然可以。当时是在瓦第•哈尔法。我们刚从瀑布区回来。林娜以为布告 栏上钉着的电报是她的，就把电报撕开了，却弄不清里面究竟在说些什么；正在 疑惑之际，这姓黎希提的家伙走近抢走电报，态度蛮凶狠的；林娜跑去道歉，那 家伙竟然很没礼貌地对待她。” 雷斯深深吸一口气。“道尔先生，你晓得电报的内容吗？” “晓得，林娜曾大声念出来。是这样的……” 他停住了。外面一阵扰攘。一副尖嗓子正迅速移近。 “白罗先生跟雷斯上校哪里去了？我要立刻见他们。十分重要，我有重要的 资料。我——他们在道尔先生那儿吧？” 贝斯勒医生刚才并没有关门，只是拉上了门帘。鄂特伯恩太太一手扯开帘 子，像旋风般卷进来。她的脸色涨红，脚步不很稳定；一时仿佛说不出话来。 “道尔先生，”她戏剧化地说，“我知道是谁杀死你太太的！” “什么？” 希蒙瞪着她，其他两人也是一样。 鄂特伯恩太太用胜利的眼光扫扫他们三人。她很开心——简直开心到极点。 “是的。”她说，“我的理论完全证实了。深切的、最原始的意识驱使—— 好像很不可能——不可想像——但事实却是如此！” 雷斯厉声道，“就我所理解，你是否拥有证据，可以证明谁是杀道尔太太的 凶手？” 鄂特伯恩太太坐到一张椅子上，身子前倾，猛烈地点点头。 “我当然有。你们应该同意，杀露易丝•蒲尔杰的也是杀林娜•道尔的凶 手，是吗？——两件命案是出自同一人之手。” “对，对。”希蒙不耐烦地说，“当然是这样，极合乎逻辑。快说下去吧！” “那么，我的论断没有错。我知道谁杀露易丝•蒲尔杰，因而我也就知道谁 杀林娜•道尔。” “你是说，你有理论支持、推测谁是杀露易丝的凶手？”雷斯怀疑地道。 鄂特伯恩太太像母老虎般转向他。 “不，我有确实的证据。我亲眼看见那凶手。” 发着高烧的希蒙大声叫道，“求求你，从头讲起，你说你晓得是谁杀死露易 丝•蒲尔杰的？” 鄂特伯恩太太点点头。 “我详细告诉你事情的经过吧！” 不错，她满心欢喜——这是毫无疑问的。这是她表现的大好时机，是她胜利 的时刻！哪怕她的书不再畅销！那些愚蠢的读者兴趣转变了又怎样？莎乐美•鄂 特伯恩再度声名远播了！她的名字将会登在所有的报纸上！她将成为法庭审讯时 的主要证人！ 她深深地吸了一口气，开口说道： “当时我正要下去吃午餐。我根本不想吃——惨剧后的余悸——唷，我也不 必细说了。走到一半，我想到……嗯……我把一件东西留在房间。我叫罗莎莉自 己先去。” 鄂特伯恩太太顿了一顿。 门帘摇晃了一下，似乎被风吹起似的；但房内并没有人留意到。 “我……嗯……”鄂特伯恩太太停了下来。这是难以通过的关卡，但无论如 何也得通过了。 “我……嗯……跟船上某位……嗯……人员约好了，他……嗯……替我找到 一些我需要的东西，但我不想让我女儿知道，她总爱多管闲事……” 这样说法不大好，不过到了法庭，她总可以想到一个更完满的故事。 雷斯眉毛一扬，用询问的眼光望着白罗。 白罗微微点点头，用口型轻轻说出，“酒。” 门帘再次动了一下，帘后露出一件微闪着蓝光的东西。 鄂特伯恩太太继续说，“我们约好在下层甲板的船尾会面。当我沿着甲板走 去的时候，其中一间房的门打开了，有人探头出来。就是那名叫露易丝•蒲尔杰 的女子。她好像在等人。当她见到我的时候，显得有点失望，立刻转身返回房 内。当然，我没有留意这些，只是继续前行，去拿约订的东西。我给了钱，然后 转身离开。当我转弯的时候，刚好见到有人在露易丝•蒲尔杰的房门外敲着，接 着就走进去了。” 雷斯说：“那人是……” 砰！ 房间里顿时充满了爆炸声浪，呛人的火药味弥漫了整个空间。鄂特伯恩太太 慢慢侧转身，接着整个身子前倾，砰然一声倒在地上。血从她耳根后的小洞涌出 来。 呆然的沉默持续了半晌，接着两个机警的侦探弹起身来。那妇人的身躯阻碍 了他俩的行动。雷斯俯身看她，白罗则冲出房门到甲板上。 那儿空无一人。地上躺着一枝左轮手枪。 白罗向两边张望，没有一个人影。他跑向船尾，在转弯的地方和正从相反方 向冲过来的提姆撞在一起。 “究竟是怎么回事？”提姆上气不接下气地嚷道。 白罗尖声问道：“你来的时候曾碰到什么人吗？” “碰到什么人？没有啊。” “那么，跟我来。”他挽着提姆的手臂，走回原路。此刻，有一些人逐渐聚 拢过来：罗莎莉、贾克琳和珂妮亚都走出了她们的房间；更多的人沿着甲板前来 ——包括芬索普和艾乐顿太太。 雷斯站在手枪旁。白罗回头向提姆说，“你袋里有手套吗？” 提姆颤抖了一下。 “有的。” 白罗接过手套，戴上，然后俯身检查手枪。雷斯也一同细看，其他人紧张地 观望着。 雷斯说：“他没有朝另一头走。芬索普和艾乐顿太太正坐在甲板舱面上，凶 手应该会被他们见到。” 白罗答道：“如果他朝那方向跑去，艾乐顿先生也会碰到他。” 雷斯指着手枪说：“记得我们不久以前才见过这枝枪。虽然这样，还是先弄 清楚再说。” 他敲敲潘宁顿的房门，没人应声，房内是空的。雷斯大踏步走向左边的抽 屉，拉开一看，里面没有手枪的踪影。 “毫无疑问了。”雷斯说，“唔，潘宁顿本人哪里去了？” 他们再度踏上甲板。艾乐顿太太已加入人群。白罗赶忙走过去。 “太太，带鄂特伯恩小姐离开这儿，好好照顾她。她母亲被……”他望一眼 雷斯，后者点了点头——“杀死了。” 贝斯勒医生匆匆赶来。 “老天！这儿出了什么事？” 他们让开路。雷斯指指房间，贝斯勒医生旋即进入。 “找潘宁顿去。”雷斯说，“枪上有指纹吗？” “没有。”白罗答道。 他俩在下层甲板找到潘宁顿。他正坐在小客厅里写信。 “有什么新消息？”他抬起洁净的面庞问道。 “你没有听见枪声吗？” “什么——你现在说起来——我想我的确听到‘砰’的一声。不过我没想到 ——是谁被击中了？” “是鄂特伯恩太太。” “鄂特伯恩太太？” 潘宁顿的语气显得颇为震惊。“唷，真令人难以置信，是鄂特伯恩太太。” 他摇摇头。“我真摸不着头脑。”他降低声调。“先生们，这令我很吃惊，有个 杀人狂在这船上哩！我们得组织自卫团。” “潘宁顿先生，”雷斯说，“你在这儿待多久了？” “什么？唔，”潘宁顿轻轻摸着下巴。“我想大约是二十分钟吧。” “你没有离开过？” “什么？没有……当然没有。” 他用询问的目光望着两人。 “你知道吗，潘宁顿先生？”雷斯说，“鄂特伯恩太太是被你的左轮手枪所 击毙的。” Chapter 24 Chapter 24 Mr Pennington was shocked. "Why, gentlemen," he said, "this is a very serious matter. Very serious indeed." "Extremely serious for you, Mr Pennington." "For me?" Pennington's eyebrows rose in startled surprise. "But, my dear sir, I was sitting quietly writing in here when that shot was fired." "You have, perhaps, a witness to prove that?" Pennington shook his head. "Why, no - I wouldn't say that. But it's clearly impossible that I should have gone to the deck above, shot this poor woman (and why should I shoot her anyway?) and come down again with no one seeing me. There are always plenty of people on the deck lounge this time of day." "How do you account for your pistol being used?" "Well - I'm afraid I may be to blame there. Quite soon after getting aboard there was a conversation in the saloon one evening, I remember, about firearms, and I mentioned then that I always carried a revolver with me when I travel." "Who was there?" "Well, I can't remember exactly. Most people, I think. Quite a crowd, anyway." He shook his head gently. "Why, yes," he said. "I am certainly to blame there." He went on: "First Linnet, then Linnet's maid, and now Mrs Otterbourne. There seems no reason in it all!" "There was reason," said Race. "There was?" "Yes. Mrs Otterbourne was on the point of telling us that she had seen a certain person go into Louise's cabin. Before she could name that person she was shot dead." Andrew Pennington passed a fine silk handkerchief over his brow. "All this is terrible," he murmured. Poirot said: "Monsieur Pennington, I would like to discuss certain aspects of the case with you. Will you come to my cabin in half an hour's time?" "I should be delighted." Pennington did not sound delighted. He did not look delighted either. Race and Poirot exchanged glances and then abruptly left the room. "Cunning old devil," said Race, "but he's afraid. Eh?" Poirot nodded. "Yes, he is not happy, our Monsieur Pennington." As they reached the promenade deck again, Mrs Allerton came out of her cabin and, seeing Poirot, beckoned him imperiously. "Madame?" "That poor child! Tell me, Monsieur Poirot, is there a double cabin somewhere that I could share with her? She oughtn't to go back to the one she shared with her mother, and mine is only a single one." "That can be arranged, Madame. It is very good of you." "It's mere decency. Besides, I'm very fond of the girl. I've always liked her." "Is she very upset?" "Terribly. She seems to have been absolutely devoted to that odious woman. That is what is so pathetic about it all. Tim says he believes she drank. Is that true?" Poirot nodded. "Oh, well, poor woman, one mustn't judge her, I suppose; but that girl must have had a terrible life." "She did, Madame. She is very proud and she was very loyal." "Yes, I like that - loyalty, I mean. It's out of fashion nowadays. She's an odd character, that girl - proud, reserved, stubborn, and terribly warm-hearted underneath, I fancy." "I see that I have given her into good hands, Madame." "Yes, don't worry. I'll look after her. She's inclined to cling to me in the most pathetic fashion." Mrs Allerton went back into the cabin. Poirot returned to the scene of the tragedy. Cornelia was still standing on the deck, her eyes wide. She said: "I don't understand, Monsieur Poirot. How did the person who shot her get away without our seeing him?" "Yes, how?" echoed Jacqueline. "Ah," said Poirot, "it was not quite such a disappearing trick as you think, Mademoiselle. There were three distinct ways the murderer might have gone." Jacqueline looked puzzled. She said, "Three?" "He might have gone to the right, or he might have gone to the left, but I don't see any other way," puzzled Cornelia. Jacqueline too frowned. Then her brow cleared. She said: "Of course. He could move in two directions on one plane, but he could go at right angles to that plane too. That is, he couldn't go up very well, but he could go down." Poirot smiled. "You have brains, Mademoiselle." Cornelia said, "I know I'm just a plain mutt, but I still don't see." Jacqueline said, "Monsieur Poirot means, darling, that he could swing himself over the rail and down onto the deck below." "My!" gasped Cornelia. "I never thought of that. He'd have to be mighty quick about it, though. I suppose he could just do it?" "He could do it easily enough," said Tim Allerton. "Remember, there's always a minute of shock after a thing like this. One hears a shot and one's too paralysed to move for a second or two." "That was your experience, Monsieur Allerton?" "Yes, it was. I just stood like a dummy for quite five seconds. Then I fairly sprinted round the deck." Race came out of Bessner's cabin and said authoritatively: "Would you mind all clearing off? We want to bring out the body." Everyone moved away obediently. Poirot went with them. Cornelia said to him with sad earnestness: "I'll never forget this trip as long as I live. Three deaths.... It's just like living in a nightmare." Ferguson overheard her. He said aggressively: "That's because you're overcivilized. You should look on death as the Oriental does. It's a mere incident - hardly noticeable." "That's all very well," Cornelia said. "They're not educated, poor creatures." "No, and a good thing too. Education has devitalized the white races. Look at America - goes in for an orgy of culture. Simply disgusting." "I think you're talking nonsense," said Cornelia flushing. "I attend lectures every winter on Greek Art and the Renaissance, and I went to some on Famous Women of History." Mr Ferguson groaned in agony. "Greek Art! Renaissance! Famous Women of History! It makes me quite sick to hear you. It's the future that matters, woman, not the past. Three women are dead on this boat. Well, what of it? They're no loss! Linnet Doyle and her money! The French maid - a domestic parasite. Mrs Otterbourne - a useless fool of a woman. Do you think anyone really cares whether they're dead or not? I don't. I think it's a damned good thing!" "Then you're wrong!" Cornelia blazed out at him. "And it makes me sick to hear you talk and talk, as though nobody mattered but you. I didn't like Mrs Otterbourne much, but her daughter was ever so fond of her, and she's all broken up over her mother's death. I don't know much about the French maid, but I expect somebody was fond of her somewhere; and as for Linnet Doyle - well, apart from everything else, she was just lovely! She was so beautiful when she came into a room that it made a lump come in your throat. I'm homely myself, and that makes me appreciate beauty a lot more. She was as beautiful - just as a woman - as anything in Greek Art. And when anything beautiful's dead, it's a loss to the world. So there!" Mr Ferguson stepped back a space. He caught hold of his hair with both hands and tugged at it vehemently. "I give it up," he said. "You're unbelievable. Just haven't got a bit of natural female spite in you anywhere." He turned to Poirot. "Do you know, sir, that Cornelia's father was practically ruined by Linnet Ridgeway's old man? But does the girl gnash her teeth when she sees the heiress sailing about in pearls and Paris models? No, she just bleats out, 'Isn't she beautiful?' like a blessed Baa Lamb. I don't believe she even felt sore at her." Cornelia flushed. "I did - just for a minute. Poppa kind of died of discouragement, you know, because he hadn't made good." "Felt sore for a minute! I ask you." Cornelia flashed round on him. "Well, didn't you say just now it was the future that mattered, not the past? All that was in the past, wasn't it? It's over." "Got me there," said Ferguson. "Cornelia Robson, you're the only nice woman I've ever come across. Will you marry me?" "Don't be absurd." "It's a genuine proposal - even if it is made in the presence of Old Man Sleuth. Anyway, you're a witness, Monsieur Poirot. I've deliberately offered marriage to this female - against all my principles, because I don't believe in legal contracts between the sexes; but I don't think she'd stand for anything else, so marriage it shall be. Come on, Cornelia, say yes." "I think you're utterly ridiculous," said Cornelia flushing. "Why won't you marry me?" "You're not serious," said Cornelia. "Do you mean not serious in proposing or do you mean not serious in character?" "Both, but I really meant character. You laugh at all sorts of serious things. Education and Culture - and - and Death. You wouldn't be reliable." She broke off, flushed again, and hurried along into her cabin. Ferguson stared after her. "Damn the girl! I believe she really means it. She wants a man to be reliable. Reliable - ye gods!" He paused and then said curiously: "What's the matter with you, Monsieur Poirot? You seem very deep in thought." Poirot roused himself with a start. "I reflect, that is all. I reflect." "Meditation on Death. Death, the Recurring Decimal, by Hercule Poirot. One of his well-known monographs." "Monsieur Ferguson," said Poirot, "you are a very impertinent young man." "You must excuse me. I like attacking established institutions." "And I am an established institution?" "Precisely. What do you think of that girl?" "Of Miss Robson?" "Yes." "I think that she has a great deal of character." "You're right. She's got spirit. She looks meek, but she isn't. She's got guts. She's - oh, damn it, I want that girl. It mightn't be a bad move if I tackled the old lady. If I could once get her thoroughly against me, it might cut some ice with Cornelia." He wheeled and went into the observation saloon. Miss Van Schuyler was seated in her usual corner. She looked even more arrogant than usual. She was knitting. Ferguson strode up to her. Hercule Poirot, entering unobtrusively, took a seat a discreet distance away and appeared to be absorbed in a magazine. "Good-afternoon, Miss Van Schuyler." Miss Van Schuyler raised her eyes for a bare second, dropped them again and murmured frigidly, "Er - good-afternoon." "Look here, Miss Van Schuyler, I want to talk to you about something pretty important. It's just this. I want to marry your cousin." Miss Van Schuyler's ball of wool dropped onto the ground and ran wildly across the saloon. She said, in a venomous tone, "You must be out of your senses, young man." "Not at all. I'm determined to marry her. I've asked her to marry me!" Miss Van Schuyler surveyed him coldly, with the kind of speculative interest she might have accorded to an odd sort of beetle. "Indeed? And I presume she sent you about your business." "She refused me." "Naturally." "Not 'naturally' at all. I'm going to go on asking her till she agrees." "I can assure you, sir, that I shall take steps to see that my young cousin is not subjected to any such persecution," said Miss Van Schuyler in a biting tone. "What have you got against me?" Miss Van Schuyler merely raised her eyebrows and gave a vehement tug to her wool, preparatory to regaining it and closing the interview. "Come now," persisted Mr Ferguson, "what have you got against me?" "I should think that was quite obvious, Mr - er - I don't know your name." "Ferguson." "Mr Ferguson." Miss Van Schuyler uttered the name with definite distaste. "Any such idea is quite out of the question." "You mean," said Ferguson, "that I'm not good enough for her?" "I should think that would have been obvious to you." "In what way am I not good enough?" Miss Van Schuyler again did not answer. "I've got two legs, two arms, good health and quite reasonable brains. What's wrong with that?" "There is such a thing as social position, Mr Ferguson." "Social position is bunk!" The door swung open and Cornelia came in. She stopped dead on seeing her redoubtable Cousin Marie in conversation with her would-be suitor. The outrageous Mr Ferguson turned his head, grinned broadly and called out: "Come along, Cornelia. I'm asking for your hand in marriage in the best conventional manner." "Cornelia," said Miss Van Schuyler, and her voice was truly awful in quality, "have you encouraged this young man?" "I - no, of course not - at least - not exactly - I mean -" "What do you mean?" "She hasn't encouraged me," said Mr Ferguson helpfully. "I've done it all. She hasn't actually pushed me in the face, because she's got too kind a heart. Cornelia, your cousin says I'm not good enough for you. That, of course, is true, but not in the way she means it. My moral nature certainly doesn't equal yours, but her point is that I'm hopelessly below you socially." "That, I think, is equally obvious to Cornelia," said Miss Van Schuyler. "Is it?" Mr Ferguson looked at her searchingly. "Is that why you won't marry me?" "No, it isn't." Cornelia flushed. "If - if I liked you, I'd marry you no matter who you were." "But you don't like me?" "I - I think you're just outrageous. The way you say things. The things you say... I've never met anyone the least like you." Tears threatened to overcome her. She rushed from the room. "On the whole," said Mr Ferguson, "that's not too bad for a start." He leaned back in his chair, gazed at the ceiling, whistled, crossed his disreputable knees and remarked, "I'll be calling you Cousin yet." Miss Van Schuyler trembled with rage. "Leave this room at once, sir, or I'll ring for the steward." "I've paid for my ticket," said Mr Ferguson. "They can't possibly turn me out of the public lounge. But I'll humour you." He sang softly, "Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum." Rising, he sauntered nonchalantly to the door and passed out. Choking with anger Miss Van Schuyler struggled to her feet. Poirot, discreetly emerging from retirement behind his magazine, sprang up and retrieved the ball of wool. "Thank you, Monsieur Poirot. If you would send Miss Bowers to me - I feel quite upset - that insolent young man." "Rather eccentric, I'm afraid," said Poirot. "Most of that family are. Spoilt, of course. Always inclined to tilt at windmills." He added carelessly, "You recognized him, I suppose?" "Recognized him?" "Calls himself Ferguson and won't use his title because of his advanced ideas." "His title?" Miss Van Schuyler's tone was sharp. "Yes, that's young Lord Dawlish. Rolling in money, of course, but he became a communist when he was at Oxford." Miss Van Schuyler, her face a battleground of contradictory emotions, said, "How long have you known this, Monsieur Poirot?" Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "There was a picture in one of these papers - I noticed the resemblance. Then I found a signet ring with a coat of arms on it. Oh, there's no doubt about it, I assure you." He quite enjoyed reading the conflicting expressions that succeeded each other on Miss Van Schuyler's face. Finally, with a gracious inclination of the head, she said, "I am very much obliged to you, Monsieur Poirot." Poirot looked after her and smiled as she went out of the saloon. Then he sat down and his face grew grave once more. He was following out a train of thought in his mind. From time to time he nodded his head. "Mais oui," he said at last. "It all fits in." 第二部 埃及 24 第二部 埃及 24 潘宁顿给震呆了。他几乎不相信自己的耳朵。 “什么？先生们，”他说，“这是件很严重的事，的确非常严重。” “对你来说，应该是特别严重，潘宁顿先生。” “我？”潘宁顿目瞪口呆，两道眉毛耸起。“不过，我的好先生，当枪被发 射的时候，我正坐在这儿写信啊！” “或许——你有证人为你证明吗？” 潘宁顿摇摇头。 “唷，没有——我想没有。但我显然不可能跑上上层甲板，杀死那可怜的女 人——况且我为什么要杀她？——再跑回这里，而一点都不被发现吗？这时候舱 面上总是有很多人的啊！” “你怎样解释手枪给别人拿去用呢？” “嗯，恐怕在这点上，我应该负责。我记得刚上船不久有一天晚上，大伙儿 在厅里谈论有关枪械的事，我曾经提起自己旅行时，总爱携带手枪在身旁。” “当时有哪些人在场？” “唔，我记不清楚了。我想大部分人都在，无论如何是一大群人。” 他缓缓地摇摇头。 “啊，”他说，“我的确应该负责。” 他往下说道：“先是林娜，然后她的女佣，现在是鄂特伯恩太太。似乎一点 理由也没有！” “理由是有的。”雷斯说。 “有理由？” “是的，鄂特伯恩太太刚才正在告诉我们，她看见某人走进露易丝•蒲尔杰 的房间。她来不及说出那人的名字，就给击毙了。” 潘宁顿用丝手帕抹抹额头。 “真是太可怕了！”他喃喃地道。 白罗说：“潘宁顿先生，我希望能跟你研究案情中的几点。你可以在半个钟 头后到我房里来吗？” “我很乐意。” 不过，潘宁顿的语气却并不乐意，他的神情也极不乐意。雷斯跟白罗交换了 一下眼色，然后匆匆离开。 “狡猾的老家伙。”雷斯说，“但他很害怕，嗯？” 白罗点点头道：“是的，他很不开心，我们的潘宁顿先生。” 当他们又回到甲板的散步区，艾乐顿太太从她房里走出，一见白罗，就急切 地朝他招手。 “夫人，什么事？” “那可怜的孩子！白罗先生，告诉我，哪里有双人舱房，我可以跟她作伴？ 她目前的情况不适合回到她和她母亲共睡的房间，而我的房间又这样窄小。” “夫人，这可以安排。你真好。” “这只是我该做的。况且我很疼那女孩。我一向都喜欢她。” “她情绪很坏？” “坏透了。她似乎将心神都完全投注在那怪异的妇女身上了。实在怪可怜 的。提姆告诉我她母亲喝酒，是真的吗？” 白罗点点头。 “嗯，可怜的妇人，我想人们不该因这事而评断她；然而那女孩一定过得很 苦。” “是的，夫人。她很自傲，也很高贵。” “不错，我也喜欢——高贵。现在已经不流行了。那女孩个性很特别——自 傲、冷漠、倔强，然而我猜她内在实在是个有血性的孩子。” “夫人，我看得出我将她交给了一个很适当的保护人。” “不错，你不用操心。我会照顾她。她的处境颇能博取我的同情。” 艾乐顿太太回到房间。白罗则退回惨剧现场。 珂妮亚仍然站在甲板上，双眼睁得大大的。她说：“我真不明白，白罗先 生，开枪的人怎么能够在众目睽睽之下逃得无影无踪？” “对啊，怎么办到的？”贾克琳应和道。 “啊，”白罗说，“可不像你们想的什么隐身术。小姐，凶手可以有三个方 法脱身。” 贾克琳有点困惑。她说：“三个方法？” “他可能往右边或左边跑。此外还会有什么途径呢？”珂妮亚怀疑地说。 贾克琳也皱起眉头，不久又舒展开来。 她说：“当然。在平面上，他只有两个方向可以移动，但他可以朝垂直的方 向跑！就是说，他不能朝上去，但可以往下跑。” 白罗微笑道：“你真有头脑，小姐。” 珂妮亚说：“我晓得自己很蠢，但我还是弄不清楚。” 贾克琳说：“白罗先生的意思是，凶手可以跨过船栏，跳到下面甲板去。” “哎哟！”珂妮亚惊叹道，“我却从来没想过。不过，他一定身手很敏捷。 我想他真办到了，是吧？” “他很容易办到。”提姆说，“这类事件发生之后，总有令人震惊的一刹 那。人们听到枪声，总会麻木片刻，才能有所行动。” “那是你的经验之谈吧，艾乐顿先生？” “不错。我刚才就呆立了好几秒钟，然后才跑过甲板。” 雷斯走出贝斯勒医生的房间，以官方的口吻说：“请让开路，我们要运走尸 体。” 每个人都顺从地移开了。珂妮亚幽幽地向白罗说，“我永远也忘不了这次旅 程。死了三个人……像在做恶梦。” 斐格森恰巧听到她的话。他不赞同地说，“那是因为你生在高度文明的国 家。你该像东方人那样看待死亡。这只是个意外——不值一顾。” “这样最好，”珂妮亚说，“他们是没受过教育的可怜人。” “不，没受教育也是一桩好事。教育削弱了白种人。你看看美国人——喜欢 饮酒纵乐。提到文明只有令我作呕。” “我认为你在胡说，”珂妮亚脸红着说，“每年冬季我都去去听希腊艺术、 文艺复兴时代及历史上的著名女性等课程。” 斐格森先生叫了起来。“希腊艺术！文艺复兴时代！历史上的著名女性！听 你这么说，我真想吐。女人，该把握的是未来，不是过去。这条船上死了三个女 人。嗯，这有什么？她们的生命不如一条虫。林娜，她只是有钱！那法国女佣 ——只会做家务事的寄生虫！鄂特伯恩太太——一个无用的蠢女人。你认为人们 真的关心她们是生是死吗？我就毫不关心。我倒以为她们死了最好！” “那你就错了！”珂妮亚这回真发火了。“整天听你说，仿佛除了你之外没 有人是重要的，真让我厌烦。我也极不喜欢鄂特伯恩太太，但她女儿总是全心全 意在照顾她，她死后她女儿的心都碎了。那法国女佣我了解不深，但我希望有人 会喜欢她的某些方面；至于林娜•道尔——嗯，旁的不说，她长相可爱迷人就尽 够了。她艳光照人，进入任何场合都会使人赞叹得说不出话来。我自己脸孔平 庸，这使我更能欣赏美。她真美——彻底的女性美——不逊于希腊艺术上的美 女。任何美的东西不再存在，对世界都是一项损失。我要说的就是这些！” 斐格森先生倒退几步。他用力扯着头发。 “我投降了，”他说，“你真不可思议。你内在没有一丝女人天生的恶毒 性。” 他转向白罗说：“先生，你知道吗，珂妮亚的父亲曾被林娜•黎吉薇的老爸 伤害过？但这女孩，当她看见那女继承人佩戴珠链，身穿巴黎最流行的时装在海 上航行时，她曾咬牙切齿吗？没有，她只是衷心喊出，‘她不是很美吗？’像只 祝福的小绵羊。我想她从来没有想到要恨她。” 珂妮亚脸色羞红。“我恨过——只是一下子。你知道，爸爸是灰心而死，因 为他没有做好。” “恨过一下子！拜托。” 珂妮亚羞赧地望着他。 “嗯，你刚才不是说，该把握的是未来，不是过去？这些不都是往事？都过 去了。” “靠过来，”裴格森说，“珂妮亚•罗柏森，你是我遇见过的最好的女孩。 你愿嫁给我吗？” “太荒唐了。” “这是真心的求婚——虽然是在老侦探的见证下做的。无论如何，白罗先 生，你是个见证人。我极其诚恳地向这位女性求婚——违背了我的原则，因为我 不信任法律上有关两性的约束；但我不认为她会赞同别的方式，所以只有结婚。 来吧，珂妮亚，答应我。” “我认为你只是在说笑。”珂妮亚又羞红了脸。 “你为什么不愿嫁给我？” “你不认真。”珂妮亚说。 “你意思是我求婚方式不认真，还是我个性不认真。” “两者都是，但我指的主要是个性。你嘲笑一切应当在意的事。教育和文化 ——以及——以及死亡。你不可信赖。” 她停口不语，又羞红了脸，赶紧奔回房里。 斐格森注视着她的背影。“女人真是的！我相信她真的介意。她要一个男人 值得信赖。信赖——老天！”他停下来，然后好奇地问道，“白罗先生，你怎么 啦？你似乎沉入冥想中。” 白罗惊醒过来。 “我只是在回想，在回想。” “冥想死亡。‘死之循环’，赫邱里•白罗著名的论文之一。” “斐格森先生，”白罗说，“你是个很鲁莽的年轻人。” “你必须原谅我。我喜欢攻击既定的陈规。” “我是既定的陈规？” “以前是。你认为那女孩如何？” “你指罗柏森小姐？” “是的。” “我认为她很有个性。” “你对了。她是有脾气的。她看来柔顺，实则不然。她有胆识。她是—— 哦，去他的，我要这个女孩。去跟那位老女士商量也许不算是坏主意。如果我能 使她完全反对我，也许我跟珂妮亚的事会有些结果。” 他飞奔进入了望厅。梵舒乐小姐坐在她惯常所坐的角落里。她看来比以往更 傲慢自大。她正在做针线活。斐格森向她走去。赫邱里•白罗悄然走进来，挑了 一个不太远的位置坐下，装作专心在看一本杂志。 “梵舒乐小姐，午安。” 梵舒乐小姐抬头望了一下，马上又低下，冷漠地答了一句，“唔，午安。” “看这里，梵舒乐小姐，我要跟你谈一件挺要紧的事。很简单。我想娶你的 表妹。” 梵舒乐小姐的线团落在地板上，滚过全厅。 她以恶毒的语气说道：“年轻人，你一定神志不清。” “我很清醒。我决定娶她。我问过她愿不愿意嫁给我！” 梵舒乐小姐冷静地、像研究某种奇特的甲虫类般兴味十足地审视着他。 “真的？我猜她一定打发你走开。” “她拒绝了。” “自然的。” “没什么好‘自然’的。我要继续追求她直到她答应。” “我可以向你保证，先生，我会采取行动让你了解我年轻的表妹是不能遭受 这类骚扰的。”梵舒乐咬着牙说道。 “你反对我哪一点？” 梵舒乐小姐只是扬扬眉，使劲地拉着毛线，想把它拉回来，她没有开口。 “说啊，”斐格森先生再问，“你反对我哪一点？” “我认为原因非常明显——先生，哦，我不知道你的名字。” “斐格森。” “斐格森先生。”梵舒乐小姐叫出他名字时，口气显得很轻蔑。“任何类似 的念头都是不可能实现的。” “你意思是，”斐格森说，“我不够好，配不上她？” “我认为你自个明白。” “我哪方面还不够好？” 梵舒乐小姐又不答复。 “我有两条腿、两只手和健康、理智的头脑。有什么不对劲呢？” “斐格森先生，譬如社会地位就是个问题。” “社会地位是空的！” 门被推开，珂妮亚走了进来。一看到凶恶的玛丽表姊正在跟假意追求她的斐 格森交谈，她吓得呆住了。 准备战斗到底的斐格森先生转过头来，向她咧嘴而笑，大声说道，“来吧， 珂妮亚。我正用最守份礼的方式向你要求缔结金玉盟。” “珂妮亚，”梵舒乐小姐说，口气凶得令人畏惧，“你鼓励过这个年轻人 吗？” “我……没有……当然没有……至少……不确实……我意思是……” “你是什么意思？” “她没有鼓励我，”斐格森先生帮她解围，“我自个向她求婚的。她没有当 面给我难堪，因为她心地太好了。珂妮亚，你表姊说，我不够好配不上你。当然 这是事实，但不是她指的那方面。我的本性当然配不上你，但在她的想法中她是 认为我的社会地位比你低。” “我认为珂妮亚的意思也是如此。”梵舒乐小姐说。 “是这样的吗？”斐格森先生审视着她。“这就是你不愿嫁我的原因？” “不，不是的，”珂妮亚脸色羞红。“如果……如果我喜欢你，我不会在意 你是谁。” “而你不喜欢我？！” “我……我认为你只是在挑毛病。你谈论事物的态度……你所讲的事情…… 我——我从没碰过像你这样的人。我——” 泪水快要从她的眼中夺眶而出。她急忙奔出了望厅。 “大体上，”斐格森先生说，“这开头还是不赖。”他靠回椅背，看着天花 板，吹起口哨，并翘起二郎腿说道，“我迟早要叫你表姊的。” 梵舒乐小组气得发抖。“先生，请你立刻离开这个大厅，否则我要按铃叫侍 应生来。” “我已经付过船票，”斐格森先生说，“他们不可能从公共休息室把我支 开。不过，我会迁就你。”他轻轻唱着，“哟嗬嗬，一瓶酒。”然后站起身，漫 不经心地晃到门口，走了出去。 梵舒乐小姐气得讲不出话，只是拼命跺脚。白罗悄然地从杂志后面冒出头 来，弓身一跃，将线团捡回。 “谢谢你，白罗先生。请你唤鲍尔斯小姐来——我让这无礼的年轻人气死 了。” “相当怪癖，”白罗说，“恐怕这类家庭出来的人大都如此。当然被宠坏 了。总是喜欢攻击想像中的敌人。”然后他又不经意地加了一句，“你认识他 吧，我猜？” “认识他？” “他称自己斐格森而不冠上头衔，因为他思想前进。” “他的头衔？”梵舒乐小姐尖声问道。 “是的，他就是年轻的道黎胥爵士。当然是家财万贯，但当他在牛津大学念 书时就成为一名共产党员。” 脸色忽而喜忽而怒，梵舒乐小姐说：“白罗先生，你知道这件事多久了？” 白罗耸耸肩。 “报上有一张照片——我注意到那照片上的人跟这年轻人脸孔很像。随后我 又发现他所戴刻有姓名缩写的戒指上有一种荣誉纹章。哦，这绝对错不了，我向 你保证。” 他十分高兴地读到梵舒乐小姐脸上另一种表情已经战胜了一种表情，终于， 她头略倾过来说道，“非常感谢你，白罗先生。” 当她走出了望厅时，他望着她的背影，微笑了一下。然后他坐下来，神色又 再度凝重起来。思绪在他脑中像火车一样迅速奔驰，他不时点头。 “不错——是啦，”他终于说道，“一切都讲得通了。” Chapter 25 Chapter 25 Race found him still sitting there. "Well, Poirot, what about it? Pennington's due in ten minutes. I'm leaving this in your hands." Poirot rose quickly to his feet. "First, get hold of young Fanthorp." "Fanthorp?" Race looked surprised. "Yes. Bring him to my cabin." Race nodded and went off. Poirot went along to his cabin. Race arrived with young Fanthorp, a minute or two afterward. Poirot indicated chairs and offered cigarettes. "Now, Monsieur Fanthorp," he said, "to our business! I perceive that you wear the same tie that my friend Hastings wears." Jim Fanthorp looked down at his neckwear with some bewilderment. "It's an O.E. tie," he said. "Exactly. You must understand that, though I am a foreigner, I know something of the English point of view. I know, for instance, that there are 'things which are done' and 'things which are not done.'" Jim Fanthorp grinned. "We don't say that sort of thing much nowadays, Sir." "Perhaps not, but the custom, it still remains. The Old School Tie is the Old School Tie, and there are certain things (I know this from experience) that the Old School Tie does not do! One of those things, Monsieur Fanthorp, is to butt into a private conversation unasked when one does not know the people who are conducting it." Fanthorp stared. Poirot went on: "But the other day, Monsieur Fanthorp, that is exactly what you did do. Certain persons were quietly transacting some private business in the observation saloon. You strolled near them, obviously in order to overhear what it was that was in progress, and presently you actually turned round and congratulated a lady - Madame Simon Doyle - on the soundness of her business methods." Jim Fanthorp's face got very red. Poirot swept on, not waiting for a comment. "Now that, Monsieur Fanthorp, was not at all the behaviour of one who wears a tie similar to that worn by my friend Hastings! Hastings is all delicacy, would die of shame before he did such a thing! Therefore, taking that action of yours in conjunction with the fact that you are a very young man to be able to afford an expensive holiday, that you are a member of a country solicitor's firm, and therefore probably not extravagantly well off, and that you show no signs of recent illness such as might necessitate a prolonged visit abroad, I ask myself - and am now asking you - what is the reason for your presence on this boat?" Jim Fanthorp jerked his head back. "I decline to give you any information whatever, Monsieur Poirot. I really think you must be mad." "I am not mad. I am very, very sane. Where is your firm? In Northampton; that is not very far from Wode Hall. What conversation did you try to overhear? One concerning legal documents. What was the object of your remark - a remark which you uttered with obvious embarrassment and malaise? Your object was to prevent Madame Doyle from signing any document unread." He paused. "On this boat we have had a murder, and following that murder two other murders in rapid succession. If I further give you the information that the weapon which killed Madame Otterbourne was a revolver owned by Monsieur Andrew Pennington, then perhaps you will realize that it is actually your duty to tell us all you can." Jim Fanthorp was silent for some minutes. At last he said: "You have rather an odd way of going about things, Monsieur Poirot, but I appreciate the points you have made. The trouble is that I have no exact information to lay before you." "You mean that it is a case, merely, of suspicion." "Yes." "And therefore you think it injudicious to speak? That may be true, legally speaking. But this is not a court of law. Colonel Race and myself are endeavouring to track down a murderer. Anything that can help us to do so may be valuable." Again Jim Fanthorp reflected. Then he said: "Very well. What is it you want to know?" "Why did you come on this trip?" "My uncle, Mr Carmichael, Mrs Doyle's English solicitor, sent me. He handled a good many of her affairs. In this way, he was often in correspondence with Mr Andrew Pennington, who was Mrs Doyle's American trustee. Several small incidents (I cannot enumerate them all) made my uncle suspicious that all was not quite as it should be." "In plain language," said Race, "your uncle suspected that Pennington was a crook?" Jim Fanthorp nodded, a faint smile on his face. "You put it rather more bluntly than I should, but the main idea is correct. Various excuses made by Pennington, certain plausible explanations of the disposal of funds, aroused my uncle's distrust. "While these suspicions of his were still nebulous, Miss Ridgeway married unexpectedly and went off on her honeymoon to Egypt. Her marriage relieved my uncle's mind, as he knew that on her return to England the estate would have to be formally settled and handed over. "However, in a letter she wrote him from Cairo, she mentioned casually that she had unexpectedly run across Andrew Pennington. My uncle's suspicions became acute. He felt sure that Pennington, perhaps by now in a desperate position, was going to try and obtain signatures from her which would cover his own defalcations. Since my uncle had no definite evidence to lay before her, he was in a most difficult position. The only thing he could think of was to send me out here, travelling by air, with instructions to discover what was in the wind. I was to keep my eyes open and act summarily if necessary - a most unpleasant mission, I can assure you. As a matter of fact, on the occasion you mention I had to behave more or less as a cad! It was awkward, but on the whole I was satisfied with the result." "You mean you put Madame Doyle on her guard?" asked Race. "Not so much that, but I think I put the wind up Pennington. I felt convinced he wouldn't try any more funny business for some time, and then I hoped to have got intimate enough with Mr and Mrs Doyle to convey some kind of a warning. As a matter of fact I hoped to do so through Doyle. Mrs Doyle was so attached to Mr Pennington that it would have been a bit awkward to suggest things to her about him. It would have been easier for me to approach the husband." Race nodded. Poirot asked: "Will you give me a candid opinion on one point, Monsieur Fanthorp? If you were engaged in putting a swindle over, would you choose Madame Doyle or Monsieur Doyle as a victim?" Fanthorp smiled faintly. "Mr Doyle, every time. Linnet Doyle was very shrewd in business matters. Her husband, I should fancy, is one of those trustful fellows who know nothing of business and are always ready to 'sign on the dotted line' as he himself put it." "I agree," said Poirot. He looked at Race. "And there's your motive." Jim Fanthorp said: "But this is all pure conjecture. It isn't evidence." Poirot replied, easily, "Ah, bah! we will get evidence!" "How?" "Possibly from Mr Pennington himself." Fanthorp looked doubtful. "I wonder. I very much wonder." Race glanced at his watch. "He's about due now." Jim Fanthorp was quick to take the hint. He left them. Two minutes later Andrew Pennington made his appearance. His manner was all smiling urbanity. Only the taut line of his jaw and the wariness of his eyes betrayed the fact that a thoroughly experienced fighter was on his guard. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "here I am." He sat down and looked at them inquiringly. "We asked you to come here, Monsieur Pennington," began Poirot, "because it is fairly obvious that you have a very special and immediate interest in the case." Pennington raised his eyebrows slightly. "Is that so?" Poirot said gently: "Surely. You have known Linnet Ridgeway, I understand, since she was quite a child." "Oh! that -" His face altered, became less alert. "I beg pardon, I didn't quite get you. Yes, as I told you this morning, I've known Linnet since she was a cute little thing in pinafores." "You were on terms of close intimacy with her father?" "That's so. Melhuish Ridgeway and I were close - very close." "You were so intimately associated that on his death he appointed you business guardian to his daughter and trustee to the vast fortune she inherited." "Why, roughly, that is so." The wariness was back again. The note was more cautious. "I was not the only trustee, naturally; others were associated with me." "Who have since died?" "Two of them are dead. The other, Mr Stemdale Rockford, is alive." "Your partner?" "Yes." "Mademoiselle Ridgeway, I understand, was not yet of age when she married?" "She would have been twenty-one next July." "And in the normal course of events she would have come into control of her fortune then?" "Yes. "But her marriage precipitated matters?" Pennington's jaw hardened. He shot out his chin at them aggressively. "You'll pardon me, gentlemen, but what exact business is all this of yours?" "If you dislike answering the question -" "There's no dislike about it. I don't mind what you ask me. But I don't see the relevance of all this." "Oh, but surely, Monsieur Pennington -" Poirot leaned forward, his eyes green and catlike - " there is the question of motive. In considering that, financial considerations must always be taken into account." Pennington said sullenly, "By Ridgeway's will, Linnet got control of her dough when she was twenty-one or when she married." "No conditions of any kind?" "No conditions." "And it is a matter, I am credibly assured, of millions." "Millions it is." Poirot said softly, "Your responsibility, Mr Pennington, and that of your partner, has been a very grave one." Pennington replied curtly: "We're used to responsibility. Doesn't worry us any." "I wonder." Something in his tone flicked the other man on the raw. He asked angrily, "What the devil do you mean?" Poirot replied with an air of engaging frankness: "I was wondering, Mr Pennington, whether Linnet Ridgeway's sudden marriage caused any - consternation, in your office?" "Consternation?" "That was the word I used." "What the hell are you driving at?" "Something quite simple. Are Linnet Doyle's affairs in the perfect order they should be?" Pennington rose to his feet. "That's enough. I'm through." He made for the door. "But you will answer my question first?" Pennington snapped, "They're in perfect order." "You were not so alarmed when the news of Linnet Ridgeway's marriage reached you that you rushed over to Europe by the first boat and staged an apparently fortuitous meeting in Egypt." Pennington came back toward them. He had himself under control once more. "What you are saying is absolute balderdash! I didn't even know that Linnet was married till I met her in Cairo. I was utterly astonished. Her letter must have missed me by a day in New York. It was forwarded and I got it about a week later." "You came over by the Carmanic, I think you said." "That's right." "And the letter reached New York after the Carmanic sailed?" "How many times have I got to repeat it?" "It is strange," said Poirot. "What's strange?" "That on your luggage there are no labels of the Carmanic. The only recent labels of transatlantic sailing are the Normandie. The Normandie, I remember, sailed two days after the Carmanic." For a moment the other was at a loss. His eyes wavered. Colonel Race weighed in with telling effect. "Come now, Mr Pennington," he said. "We've several reasons for believing that you came over on the Normandie and not by the Carmanic, as you said. In that case, you received Mrs Doyle's letter before you left New York. It's no good denying it, for it's the easiest thing in the world to check up the steamship companies." Andrew Pennington felt absent-mindedly for a chair and sat down. His face was impassive - a poker face. Behind that mask his agile brain looked ahead to the next move. "I'll have to hand it to you, gentlemen. You've been too smart for me. But I had my reasons for acting as I did." "No doubt." Race's tone was curt. "If I give them to you, it must be understood I do so in confidence." "I think you can trust us to behave fittingly. Naturally I cannot give assurances blindly." "Well -" Pennington sighed. "I'll come clean. There was some monkey business going on in England. It worried me. I couldn't do much about it by letter. The only thing was to come over and see for myself." "What do you mean by monkey business?" "I'd good reason to believe that Linnet was being swindled." "By whom?" "Her British lawyer. Now that's not the kind of accusation you can fling around anyhow. I made up my mind to come over right away and see into matters myself." "That does great credit to your vigilance, I am sure. But why the little deception about not having received the letter?" "Well, I ask you -" Pennington spread out his hands. "You can't butt in on a honeymoon couple without more or less coming down to brass tacks and giving your reasons. I thought it best to make the meeting accidental. Besides, I didn't know anything about the husband. He might have been mixed up in the racket for all I knew." "In fact all your actions were actuated by pure disinterestedness," said Colonel Race drily. "You've said it, Colonel." There was a pause. Race glanced at Poirot. The little man leant forward. "Monsieur Pennington, we do not believe a word of your story -" "The hell you don't! And what the hell do you believe?" "We believe that Linnet Ridgeway's unexpected marriage put you in a financial quandary. That you came over post haste to try and find some way out of the mess you were in - that is to say, some way of gaining time. That, with that end in view, you endeavoured to obtain Madame Doyle's signature to certain documents - and failed. That on the journey up the Nile, when walking along the cliff top at Abu Simbel, you dislodged a boulder which fell and only very narrowly missed its object -" "You're crazy." "We believe that the same kind of circumstances occurred on the return journey. That is to say, an opportunity presented itself of putting Madame Doyle out of the way at a moment when her death would be almost certainly ascribed to the action of another person. We not only believe, but know, that it was your revolver which killed a woman who was about to reveal to us the name of the person who she had reason to believe killed both Linnet Doyle and the, maid Louise -" "Hell!" The forcible ejaculation broke forth and interrupted Poirot's stream of eloquence. "What are you getting at? Are you crazy? What motive had I to kill Linnet? I wouldn't get her money; that goes to her husband. Why don't you pick on him? He's the one to benefit - not me." Race said coldly: "Doyle never left the lounge on the night of the tragedy till he was shot at and wounded in the leg. The impossibility of his walking a step after that is attested to by a doctor and a nurse - both independent and reliable witnesses. Simon Doyle could not have killed his wife. He could not have killed Louise Bourget. He most definitely did not kill Mrs Otterbourne! You know that as well as we do." "I know he didn't kill her." Pennington sounded a little calmer. "All I say is, why pick on me when I don't benefit by her death?" "But, my dear Sir," Poirot's voice came soft as a purring cat, "that is rather a matter of opinion. Madame Doyle was a keen woman of business, fully conversant of her own affairs and very quick to spot any irregularity. As soon as she took up the control of her property, which she would have done on her return to England, her suspicions were bound to be aroused. But now that she is dead and that her husband, as you have just pointed out, inherits, the whole thing is different. Simon Doyle knows nothing whatever of his wife's affairs except that she was a rich woman. He is of a simple, trusting disposition. You will find it easy to place complicated statements before him, to involve the real issue in a net of figures, and to delay settlement with pleas of legal formalities and the recent depression. I think that it makes a very considerable difference to you whether you deal with the husband or the wife." Pennington shrugged his shoulders. "Your ideas are - fantastic." "Time will show." "What did you say?" "I said, 'Time will show!' This is a matter of three deaths - three murders. The law will demand the most searching investigation into the condition of Madame Doyle's estate." He saw the sudden sag in the other's shoulders and knew that he had won. Jim Fanthorp's suspicions were well founded. Poirot went on: "You've played - and lost. Useless to go on bluffing." "You don't understand," Pennington muttered. "It's all square enough really. It's been this damned slump - Wall Street's been crazy. But I'd staged a comeback. With luck everything will be O.K. by the middle of June." With shaking hands he took a cigarette, tried to light it, failed. "I suppose," mused Poirot, "that the boulder was a sudden temptation. You thought nobody saw you." "That was an accident. I swear it was an accident!" The man leant forward, his face working, his eyes terrified. "I stumbled and fell against it. I swear it was an accident." The two men said nothing. Pennington suddenly pulled himself together. He was still a wreck of a man, but his fighting spirit had returned in a certain measure. He moved toward the door. "You can't pin that on me, gentlemen. It was an accident. And it wasn't I who shot her. D'you hear? You can't pin that on me either - and you never will." He went out. 第二部 埃及 25 第二部 埃及 25 雷斯找到白罗时，他还坐在那儿。 “嗯，白罗，怎么了？再过十分钟潘宁顿就要来了。我交由你全权处理了。” 白罗迅速站起身。“先找芬索普来。” “芬索普？”雷斯感到很诧异。 “不错，带他到我房里来。” 雷斯点点头，走开了。白罗返回房间。一两分钟后，雷斯跟芬索普来了。 白罗示意他坐下，并递上香烟。 “芬索普先生，”他说，“谈点正经事：我察觉到你打的领带跟我朋友海斯 亭的一样。” 芬索普低头用迷惑的神情望着自己的领带。 “这是条Ｏ•Ｅ领带。”他说。 “正是。虽然我是个外国人，但我对英国人的某些观念也略有所知。譬如我 知道，某些事该做，某些事不该做。” 芬索普露齿而笑。 “先生，现在我们很少谈这种事了。” “也许你们很少谈，但习俗还是传下来了。老式领带是老式领带。我从经验 中知道，有些事是打老式领带的人不做的。其中一件是，芬索普先生，人家在谈 私事时不得插嘴。” 芬索普眼睛瞪得老大。 白罗继续说，“但那一天，芬索普先生，你却这么做了。有几个人正在了望 厅内办私事，你悄悄走近他们身旁，显然企图偷听他们正在说什么，接着，你甚 至转过身去赞赏一位女士——道尔夫人——处理事情的效率。” 芬索普的脸色变得通红。白罗不容片刻停顿地往下说，“芬索普先生，这一 种行径不似一个打着跟海斯亭一样领带的人所会做的。海斯亭为人得体，他怎么 也不会做出这样失态的事。由这点，我就联想起许多事实：你年纪如此轻，却有 办法度这种费用昂贵的假；你是律师行的一名律师，显然不可能入息太高；而你 又不像大病初愈，需要出国做长期调养。我问我自己——现在可要问问你——你 在这艘船上出现的原因何在？” 芬索普头猛然往后一缩。 “我是不会向你提供任何这方面的资料的，白罗先生。我认为你脑筋一定有 问题。” “我很正常，脑筋很清醒。你的律师行在哪儿？在诺坦普顿夏郡，离伍德• 荷不远。你想偷听的是什么样的谈话？是有关法律文件的。你当时说的是什么样 的话——语调那么不自然？你的目的是阻止道尔夫人在未读过文件之前签字。” 他顿了一顿。 “这船上发生了凶杀案，迅即又发生了两宗谋杀案。如果我再明白指出，杀 死鄂特伯恩夫人的左轮手枪是属于潘宁顿先生的，那么或许你会感到你其实有责 任把一切告诉我们。” 芬索普沉默了几分钟。最后他说： “白罗先生，你说话如此拐弯抹角，但我很理解你所提出的要点。问题是， 我实在无从向你提供确实的资料。” “你意思是，这案子还在悬疑阶段？” “不错。” “因此你认为说出来可能不妥？法律上来说，这可能很对。但这里不是法 庭。雷斯上校和我正全力缉拿凶手。任何可以帮助我们的，我们都会很珍惜。” 芬索普再度考虑了一会，然后说，“好吧！你们想知道什么？” “你为什么踏上这次旅程？” “我叔父——卡密契尔先生，是道尔太太的英国律师。是他派我来的。他替 道尔太太处理好些事务，因此跟她在美国的托管人——潘宁顿先生——经常有信 件来往。有几宗小事件——我记不清是哪些事情——引起我叔父的怀疑，他认为 整个事儿都很不妥。” “说得明白一点，”雷斯道，“你叔父怀疑潘宁顿是个骗子。” 芬索普点点头，脸上隐约露出微笑。 “你比我所说的更不留余地，但主要意思是对的。潘宁顿找了不少借口，或 是故意搪塞一下一些款项的用途。这惹起我叔父的怀疑。” “这些怀疑还未澄清的当儿，黎吉薇小姐突然结了婚，并前往埃及度蜜月。 她的结婚消息使我叔父松了口气，因为他晓得当她返回英国后，一切都会被正式 移交过来。” “可是，她从开罗写给他的一封信中，她无意中提及他们遇见了潘宁顿。这 立刻增加了他的疑心。他猜度潘宁顿或许已身陷窘境，因而会试图套取林娜•道 尔的签字，以填补他的透支。由于叔父并没有明显的证据可以提供给她，所以他 的处境也颇为难。他想到只有派我乘飞机前来这里，见机行事。我的责任是监视 一切动静，甚至在必要时作出适当行动——我可以对你说，这实在是件苦差事。 事实上，正如你刚才指出，我那天就表现得极其失礼！当时的确很尴尬，但整个 来说，结果很令人满意。” “你意思是，你使道尔太太提高了警觉？”雷斯问道。 “不全然如此。不过，我想我把潘宁顿吓退了。我确定他暂时不会再使什么 诡计。这样我就有机会跟道尔夫妇混熟，伺机提醒他们。事实上，我是希望透过 道尔先生完成任务的。道尔太太那样信任潘宁顿，不管向她透露什么都会很尴 尬。接近她丈夫会比较容易一点。” 雷斯点点头。 白罗问道：“芬索普先生，你可以坦白答复下面的问题吗？如果你想要耍些 诈骗伎俩，你会向道尔先生还是道尔夫人下手？” 芬索普微笑着说： “当然是道尔先生。林娜•道尔做事情很细心。她丈夫，可以想像是那种老 实的家伙，对做生意一窍不通；随时准备‘在虚线上签字’，正如他自己所说。” “我同意。”白罗说。他望望雷斯。“这就是动机。” 芬索普说：“但这纯粹是臆测，没有证据。” 白罗从容作答，“啊！我们会找证据！” “怎样找法？” “很可能由潘宁顿先生自己提供。” 芬索普满面狐疑。 “我很怀疑。的确很难想像。” 雷斯看看腕表。“他就快来了。” 芬索普会意，即刻告退。 两分钟后，潘宁顿出现了。他的态度一派温文，只是他那绷紧的嘴角和警惕 的眼神，掩盖不了这身经百战的老手已准备好迎接任何战斗。 “嗯，两位先生，”他说，“我来了。” 他坐下来，用询问的眼光看着他们。 “我们请你来这里，潘宁顿先生，”白罗开言道，“是因为显然你对这宗案 件有着特殊和切身的兴趣。” 潘宁顿的眉毛微微一扬。 “是吗？” 白罗柔声地说：“没错。就我所知，林娜•黎吉薇从小就认识你。” “噢！这——”他的睑色略为松懈了一点。“对不起，我不很明白你的意 思。不错，我今天早上告诉过你，林娜还是个小娃娃的时候，我就认识她。” “你跟她父亲是亲密的朋友？” “不错。我跟梅尔勒•黎吉薇很亲密——很要好。” “你们交情深厚，因此黎吉薇先生临死之际，委托你当他女儿的业务监护人 及财产信托人？” “唔，大致是这样吧！”警惕性再度呈现，语调变得谨慎了。“自然，我不 是惟一的信托人，还有别的人协助我。” “有哪几个还健在呢？” “只有史登达尔•洛克弗德先生健在，另外两人已经去世。” “洛克弗德先生是你的合伙人？” “不错。” “就我所知，黎吉薇小姐结婚的时候还未达法律年龄。” “她要到七月才满廿一岁。” “如无意外，到时她就可以取得财产控制权，是吗？” “是的。” “但她结婚使得节外生枝。” 潘宁顿脸色一沉，用颇为不满的眼光投向二人。 “容我一问，先生们，你们究竟想问些什么？” “如果你不喜欢回答这问题——” “我并不是不喜欢回答。我也不介意你们问些什么，但我只是觉得有点离 题。” “噢，潘宁顿先生，当然罗，”——白罗身子前倾，两眼放出敏锐的目光 ——“这点攸关着杀人动机。在侦查凶杀案时，经济因素也必需列入考虑范围。” 潘宁顿愠怒地说：“依照梅尔勒•黎吉薇的遗嘱，林娜到廿一岁或结婚后， 便可接管遗产。” “没有其他条件？” “没有。” “我敢肯定，这关系几百万元。” “的确是关乎几百万。” 白罗轻声道：“你的责任，潘宁顿先生，和你合伙人的责任显然很沉重。” 潘宁顿敷衍地答道：“我们习惯了承担责任。不必替我们担心。” “我倒很怀疑。” 白罗的语气仿佛触到他的痛处。他气冲冲说：“你这是什么意思？” 白罗以坦白的态度说，“我正在怀疑，潘宁领先生，黎吉薇小姐的闪电结 婚，有没有在你办公室中引起——嗯——恐慌？” “恐慌？” “是的，我用的正是这个字眼。” “你们究竟想达到什么目的？” “很简单。究竟林娜•道尔的业务是否给处理得井井有条呢？” 潘宁顿站起身来。 “好了，我受够了。”他朝门的方向走去。 “但你可否先回答我的问题？” 潘宁顿厉声道：“简直一丝不紊。” “你并没有因为接到林娜•黎吉薇结婚的消息，而感到惶恐？你并不因此而 立刻乘船到欧洲，然后安排一次在埃及的巧遇？” 潘宁顿转过身来，他再度控制自己的情绪。 “你说的全是一派胡言！我未在开罗遇上林娜之前，根本不晓得她已经结了 婚。当时我还感到很诧异。她的信在我离开纽约一日后才抵达，一星期后才转到 我手中。” “你是乘‘卡曼尼克’号来的，我记得是你自己说的。” “正是。” “那封信在‘卡曼尼克’启航后才到达纽约？” “我还要重复几次？” “那就奇怪了。”白罗说。 “有什么值得奇怪的？” “你的行李上并无‘卡曼尼克’号的标签。惟一最近期的标签是属于横渡大 西洋的‘洛曼第’号的。就我记忆所及，‘洛曼第’号迟‘卡曼尼克’号两天启 行。” 对方一时不知所措。他的眼神转动不定。 雷斯上校加入了围攻。 “来吧，潘宁顿先生。”他说，“我们有好几个理由相信你是乘‘洛曼第’ 号而不是‘卡曼尼克’号来的。因此，你早在纽约动身前就收到了道尔太太的 信。再否认也没有什么好处的，向船公司查乘客的名单是最容易不过的了。” 潘宁顿心不在焉地摸索着椅子，坐了下来。他木无表情，但在背后，他那敏 捷的头脑却在计划着下一步。 “我只好认输了，先生们。你们比我想像中聪明。但我是有理由这样做的。” “毫无疑问。”雷斯的语气显得很不客气。 “如果我说出来，你得保证替我守秘密。” “我们会采取适当行动，这点你可以信任。但自然我们不可能替你作盲目的 保证。” “唉——”潘宁顿叹息道，“我是清白的。英国那边的事情有点蹊跷，使我 担忧不已。单靠信件来往弄不清楚，我惟有亲自跑一趟。” “你到底指什么蹊跷？” “我有理由相信林娜正受人欺骗。” “是谁？” “她的英国律师。但这种事是不可随便怀疑人的，于是我决定立刻亲身调查 一下。” “你的高度警惕性是很值得赞赏的。但为什么你要装作没收到道尔太太的信 呢？” “唉，我问你，”潘宁顿摊开两手。“你总不能打扰了别人的蜜月时光，而 一个理由也不给吧？我想最好的方法是安排成一次巧遇，况且我并不认识林娜的 丈夫，他也有可能跟那班骗徒有联系的啊！” “你的一切行动都是纯粹毫无私心的。”雷斯上校冷冷地说。 “正如你所说，上校。” 一段沉默过后，雷斯望一望白罗。这矮个子身体前倾。 “潘宁顿先生，你所编的故事我们一句也不相信。” “呵，你们不信？那你们相信什么鬼东西？” “我们相信林娜•道尔的闪电式结婚使你陷于经济窘况。因此，你即刻赶 来，企图挽救危机——换言之就是争取时间。为此你尝试骗取道尔夫人在某些文 件上签字，却失败了。于里，在登上阿布•席姆贝尔圣殿的悬崖上，你推动一块 石头，险些击中了目标——” “你简直疯了！” “我们相信，回程时，同样的事件又发生了。那就是说，某种机会出现了， 以致道尔夫人可以轻而易举被杀掉，而罪名却可推委到某人身上。我们不只相 信，而且有证据证明，是你的手枪杀死了一个女人，而当时她正要向我们透露谁 是杀死林娜•道尔和她的女佣的凶手——” “浑蛋！”突然的惊喊打断了白罗连珠炮似的说话。“你究竟想到哪里去 了？你疯了吗？我有什么动机要杀林娜？我又得不到她的遗产，她死后所有财产 全归她丈夫所有。你为何不怀疑他？他才是得益者——不是我。” 雷斯冷冷地说：“悲剧发生当晚，希蒙•道尔并没有离开过了望厅，直至他 腿部中枪弹为止。他无法行动已经由一位医生及护士所证明——两者均是独立、 可靠的证人。希蒙•道尔不可能杀死他太太；他也没有可能杀露易丝•蒲尔杰； 他更不可能杀死鄂特伯恩太太。这些你是知道得很清楚的。” “我晓得他不是凶手。”潘宁顿语气显得镇静了点。“我只是说，我既然不 是受益者，为什么要诬告我？” “但是，我的好先生，”白罗柔声道，“这种说法见仁见智。道尔夫人是个 事业心重的女人，熟悉自己的一切业务而且善于发现任何不妥当的地方，当她一 旦全权掌握自己的产业，即当她返回英国后，她一定会产生疑心。但现在她既然 死了，正如你所说，她丈夫将承继一切，那么事情就完全两样了。希蒙•道尔除 了知道太太是个富婆之外，对她的业务一窍不通。他是个头脑简单、容易信任别 人的人。你可以挺容易用复杂的法律条文、烦琐的数字和近期经济衰退等借口， 来吓倒他。我想，对你来说，应付道尔夫人跟应付她的丈夫，一定会有所不同。” 潘宁顿耸耸肩。 “你的想像力真是——出色。” “时间将会证明。” “你刚才说什么？” “我说，‘时间将会征明。’这将是关系三条人命的——三宗谋杀害。法庭 将会要求对道尔夫人的产业进行详细的调查。” 白罗看到对方的肩膀垂了下来，知道自己已经取得胜利。芬索普的怀疑是很 有根据的。 白罗继续道：“你已经玩够了——可惜输了。除非继续吹牛下去。” “你有所不知。”潘宁顿喃喃道，“一切都很顺利，只是这出乎意料的狂泻 ——华尔街简直是疯了般。但我已部署好反击，如果运气够好，到六月中便一切 妥当了。” 他颤抖着手拿起香烟，企图点燃，却点不着。 “我设想，”白罗沉思着说，“那块石头只是一时的诱惑。你以为没人见到 你。” “那是桩意外。我敢发誓那是桩意外！”潘宁顿身子前倾，神情紧张，双眼 露出惊怕的目光。“我不小心被石头绊了一跤。我发誓那是意外……” 另外两人不发一言。 潘宁顿突然振作起来。尽管他已被击败了，却仍存留着一丝战斗的毅力。他 移向门边。 “你们不能把我定罪的，先生们。那只是一次意外。而且击毙她的不是我。 你们听到了吗？你们不能把我定罪——你永远也不能。” 他走了出去。 Chapter 26 Chapter 26 As the door closed behind him, Race gave a deep sigh. "We got more than I thought we should. Admission of fraud. Admission of attempted murder. Further than that it's impossible to go. A man will confess, more or less, to attempted murder, but you won't get him to confess to the real thing." "Sometimes it can be done," said Poirot. His eyes were dreamy - cat-like. Race looked at him curiously. "Got a plan?" Poirot nodded. Then he said ticking off the items on his fingers: "The garden at Assuan. Mr Allerton's statement. The two bottles of nail polish. My bottle of wine. The velvet stole. The stained handkerchief. The pistol that was left on the scene of the crime. The death of Louise. The death of Madame Otterbourne... Yes, it's all there. Pennington didn't do it, Race!" "What?" Race was startled. "Pennington didn't do it. He had the motive, yes. He had the will to do it, yes. He got as far as attempting to do it. Mais c'est tout. For this crime, something was wanted that Pennington hasn't got! This is a crime that needed audacity, swift and faultless execution, courage, indifference to danger, and a resourceful, calculating brain. Pennington hasn't got those attributes. He couldn't do a crime unless he knew it to be safe. This crime wasn't safe! It hung on a razor edge. It needed boldness. Pennington isn't bold. He's only astute." Race looked at him with the respect one able man gives to another. "You've got it all well taped," he said. "I think so, yes. There are one or two things - that telegram, for instance, that Linnet Doyle read. I should like to get that cleared up." "By Jove, we forgot to ask Doyle. He was telling us when poor old Ma Otterbourne came along. We'll ask him again." "Presently. First, I have someone else to whom I wish to speak." "Who's that?" "Tim Allerton." Race raised his eyebrows. "Allerton? Well, we'll get him here." He pressed a bell and sent the steward with a message. Tim Allerton entered with a questioning look. "Steward said you wanted to see me?" "That is right, Monsieur Allerton. Sit down." Tim sat. His face was attentive but very slightly bored. "Anything I can do?" His tone was polite but not enthusiastic. Poirot said: "In a sense, perhaps. What I really require is for you to listen." Tim's eyebrows rose in polite surprise. "Certainly. I'm the world's best listener. Can be relied on to say 'Oo-er!' at the right moments." "That is very satisfactory. 'Oo-er!' will be very expressive. Eh bien, let us commence. When I met you and your mother at Assuan, Monsieur Allerton, I was attracted to your company very strongly. To begin with, I thought your mother was one of the most charming people I had ever met -" The weary face flickered for a moment; a shade of expression came into it. "She is - unique," he said. "But the second thing that interested me was your mention of a certain lady." "Really?" "Yes, a Mademoiselle Joanna Southwood. You see, I had recently been hearing that name." He paused and went on: "For the last three years there have been certain jewel robberies that have been worrying Scotland Yard a good deal. They are what may be described as Society robberies. The method is usually the same - the substitution of an imitation piece of jewellery for an original. My friend, Chief Inspector Japp, came to the conclusion that the robberies were not the work of one person, but of two people working in with each other very cleverly. He was convinced, from the considerable inside knowledge displayed, that the robberies were the work of people in a good social position. And finally his attention became riveted on Mademoiselle Joanna Southwood. "Every one of the victims had been either a friend or acquaintance of hers, and in each case she had either handled or been lent the piece of jewellery in question. Also, her style of living was far in excess of her income. On the other hand it was quite clear that the actual robbery - that is to say the substitution - had not been accomplished by her. In some cases she had even been out of England during the period when the jewellery must have been replaced. "So gradually a little picture grew up in Chief Inspector Japp's mind. Mademoiselle Southwood was at one time associated with a Guild of Modern Jewellery. He suspected that she handled the jewels in question, made accurate drawings of them, got them copied by some humble but dishonest working jeweller and that the third part of the operation was the successful substitution by another person - somebody who could have been proved never to have handled the jewels and never to have had anything to do with copies or imitations of precious stones. Of the identity of this other person Japp was ignorant. "Certain things that fell from you in conversation interested me. A ring that had disappeared when you were in Majorca, the fact that you had been in a house-party where one of these fake substitutions had occurred, your close association with Mademoiselle Southwood. There was also the fact that you obviously resented my presence and tried to get your mother to be less friendly toward me. That might, of course, have been just personal dislike, but I thought not. You were too anxious to try and hide your distaste under a genial manner. "Eh bien, after the murder of Linnet Doyle, it is discovered that her pearls are missing. You comprehend, at once I think of you! But I am not quite satisfied. For if you are working, as I suspect, with Mademoiselle Southwood (who was an intimate friend of Madame Doyle's) then substitution would be the method employed - not bare-faced theft. But then, the pearls quite unexpectedly are returned, and what do I discover? That they are not genuine, but imitation. "I know then who the real thief is. It was the imitation string which was stolen and returned - an imitation which you had previously substituted for the real necklace." He looked at the young man in front of him. Tim was white under his tan. He was not so good a fighter as Pennington; his stamina was bad. He said, with an effort to sustain his mocking manner: "Indeed? And if so, what did I do with them?" "That I know also." The young man's face changed - broke up. Poirot went on slowly: "There is only one place where they can be. I have reflected, and my reason tells me that that is so. Those pearls, Monsieur Allerton, are concealed in a rosary that hangs in your cabin. The beads of it are very elaborately carved. I think you had it made specially. Those beads unscrew, though you would never think so to look at them. Inside each is a pearl, stuck with Seccotine. Most police searchers respect religious symbols, unless there is something obviously queer about them. You counted on that. I endeavoured to find out how Mademoiselle Southwood sent the imitation necklace out to you. She must have done so, since you came here from Majorca on hearing that Madame Doyle would be here for her honeymoon. My theory is that it was sent in a book - a square hole being cut out of the pages in the middle. A book goes with the ends open and is practically never opened in the post." There was a pause - a long pause. Then Tim said quietly: "You win! It's been a good game, but it's over at last. There's nothing for it now, I suppose, but to take my medicine." Poirot nodded gently. "Do you realize that you were seen that night?" "Seen?" Tim started. "Yes, on the night that Linnet Doyle died, someone saw you leave her cabin just after one in the morning." Tim said: "Look here - you aren't thinking... It wasn't I who killed her! I'll swear that! I've been in the most awful stew. To have chosen that night of all others... God, it's been awful!" Poirot said: "Yes, you must have had uneasy moments. But, now that the truth has come out, you may be able to help us. Was Madame Doyle alive or dead when you stole the pearls?" "I don't know," Tim said hoarsely. "Honest to God, Monsieur Poirot, I don't know! I'd found out where she put them at night - on the little table by the bed. I crept in, felt very softly on the table and grabbed 'em, put down the others and crept out again. I assumed, of course, that she was asleep." "Did you hear her breathing? Surely you would have listened for that?" Tim thought earnestly. "It was very still - very still indeed. No, I can't remember actually hearing her breathe." "Was there any smell of smoke lingering in the air, as there would have been if a firearm had been discharged recently?" "I don't think so. I don't remember it." Poirot sighed. "Then we are no further." Tim asked curiously, "Who was it saw me?" "Rosalie Otterbourne. She came round from the other side of the boat and saw you leave Linnet Doyle's cabin and go to your own." "So it was she who told you." Poirot said gently, "Excuse me; she did not tell me." "But then, how do you know?" "Because I am Hercule Poirot! I do not need to be told. When I taxed her with it, do you know what she said? She said, 'I saw nobody.' And she lied." "But why?" Poirot said in a detached voice: "Perhaps because she thought the man she saw was the murderer. It looked like that, you know." "That seems to me all the more reason for telling you." Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "She did not think so, it seems." Tim said, a queer note in his voice: "She's an extraordinary sort of a girl. She must have been through a pretty rough time with that mother of hers." "Yes, life has not been easy for her." "Poor kid," Tim muttered. Then he looked toward Race. "Well, sir, where do we go from here? I admit taking the pearls from Linnet's cabin and you'll find them just where you say they are. I'm guilty all right. But as far as Miss Southwood is concerned, I'm not admitting anything. You've no evidence whatever against her. How I got hold of the fake necklace is my own business." Poirot murmured, "A very correct attitude." Tim said with a flash of humour, "Always the gentleman!" He added: "Perhaps you can imagine how annoying it was to me to find my mother cottoning on to you! I'm not a sufficiently hardened criminal to enjoy sitting cheek by jowl with a successful detective just before bringing off a rather risky coup! Some people might get a kick out of it. I didn't. Frankly, it gave me cold feet." "But it did not deter you from making your attempt?" Tim shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't funk it to that extent. The exchange had to be made sometime and I'd got a unique opportunity on this boat - a cabin only two doors off, and Linnet herself so preoccupied with her own troubles that she wasn't likely to detect the change." "I wonder if that was so -" Tim looked up sharply. "What do you mean?" Poirot pressed the bell. "I am going to ask Miss Otterbourne if she will come here for a minute." Tim frowned but said nothing. A steward came, received the order and went away with the message. Rosalie came after a few minutes. Her eyes, reddened with recent weeping, widened a little at seeing Tim, but her old attitude of suspicion and defiance seemed entirely absent. She sat down and with a new docility looked from Race to Poirot. "We're very sorry to bother you, Miss Otterbourne," said Race gently. He was slightly annoyed with Poirot. "It doesn't matter," the girl said in a low voice. Poirot said: "It is necessary to clear up one or two points. When I asked you whether you saw anyone on the starboard deck at one-ten this morning, your answer was that you saw nobody. Fortunately I have been able to arrive at the truth without your help. Monsieur Allerton has admitted that he was in Linnet Doyle's cabin last night." She flashed a swift glance at Tim. Tim, his face grim and set, gave a curt nod. "The time is correct, Monsieur Allerton?" Allerton replied, "Quite correct." Rosalie was staring at him. Her lips trembled - fell apart. "But you didn't - you didn't -" He said quickly: "No, I didn't kill her. I'm a thief, not a murderer. It's all going to come out, so you might as well know. I was after her pearls." Poirot said, "Mr Allerton's story is that he went to her cabin last night and exchanged a string of fake pearls for the real ones." "Did you?" asked Rosalie. Her eyes, grave, sad, childlike, questioned his. "Yes," said Tim. There was a pause. Colonel Race shifted restlessly. Poirot said in a curious voice: "That, as I say, is Monsieur Allerton's story, partially confirmed by your evidence. That is to say, there is evidence that he did visit Linnet Doyle's cabin last night, but there is no evidence to show why he did so." Tim stared at him. "But you know!" "What do I know?" "Well - you know I've got the pearls." "Mais oui - mais oui! I know you have the pearls, but I do not know when you got them. It may have been before last night... You said just now that Linnet Doyle would not have noticed the substitution. I am not so sure of that. Supposing she did notice it... Supposing, even, she knew who did it... Supposing that last night she threatened to expose the whole business, and that you knew she meant to do so... and supposing that you overheard the scene in the saloon between Jacqueline de Bellefort and Simon Doyle and, as soon as the saloon was empty, you slipped in and secured the pistol, and then, an hour later, when the boat had quieted down, you crept along to Linnet Doyle's cabin and made quite sure that no exposure would come..." "My God!" said Tim. Out of his ashen face, two tortured, agonized eyes gazed dumbly at Hercule Poirot. The latter went on: "But somebody else saw you - the girl Louise. The next day she came to you and blackmailed you. You must pay her handsomely or she would tell what she knew. You realized that to submit to blackmail would be the beginning of the end. You pretended to agree, made an appointment to come to her cabin just before lunch with the money. Then, when she was counting the notes, you stabbed her. "But again luck was against you. Somebody saw you go to her cabin -" he half turned to Rosalie - "your mother. Once again you had to act - dangerously, foolhardily - but it was the only chance. You had heard Pennington talk about his revolver. You rushed into his cabin, got hold of it, listened outside Dr Bessner's cabin door and shot Madame Otterbourne before she could reveal your name." "No!" cried Rosalie. "He didn't! He didn't!" "After that, you did the only thing you could do - rushed round the stern. And when I rushed after you, you had turned and pretended to be coming in the opposite direction. You had handled the revolver in gloves; those gloves were in your pocket when I asked for them..." Tim said, "Before God, I swear it isn't true - not a word of it." But his voice, ill assured and trembling, failed to convince. It was then that Rosalie Otterbourne surprised them. "Of course it isn't true! And Monsieur Poirot knows it isn't! He's saying it for some reason of his own." Poirot looked at her. A faint smile came to his lips. He spread out his hands in token of surrender. "Mademoiselle is too clever... But you agree - it was a good case?" "What the devil -" Tim began with rising anger, but Poirot held up a hand. "There is a very good case against you, Monsieur Allerton. I wanted you to realize that. Now I will tell you something more pleasant. I have not yet examined that rosary in your cabin. It may be that, when I do, I shall find nothing there. And then, since Mademoiselle Otterbourne sticks to it that she saw no one on the deck last night, eh bien, there is no case against you at all. The pearls were taken by a kleptomaniac who has since returned them. They are in a little box on the table by the door, if you would care to examine them with Mademoiselle." Tim got up. He stood for a moment unable to speak. When he did, his words seemed inadequate, but it is possible that they satisfied his listeners. "Thanks!" he said. "You won't have to give me another chance." He held the door open for the girl; she passed out and, picking up the little cardboard box, he followed her. Side by side they went. Tim opened the box, took out the sham string of pearls and hurled it far from him into the Nile. "There!" he said. "That's gone. When I return the box to Poirot the real string will be in it. What a damned fool I've been!" Rosalie said in a low voice, "Why did you come to do it in the first place?" "How did I come to start, do you mean? Oh, I don't know. Boredom - laziness - the fun of the thing. Such a much more attractive way of earning a living than just pegging away at a job. Sounds pretty sordid to you, I expect, but you know there was an attraction about it - mainly the risk, I suppose." "I think I understand." "Yes, but you wouldn't ever do it." Rosalie considered for a moment or two, her grave young head bent. "No," she said simply. "I wouldn't." He said: "Oh, my dear - you're so lovely... so utterly lovely. Why wouldn't you say you'd seen me last night?" "I thought - they might suspect you," Rosalie said. "Did you suspect me?" "No. I couldn't believe that you'd kill anyone." "No. I'm not the strong stuff murderers are made of. I'm only a miserable sneak-thief." She put out a timid hand and touched his arm. "Don't say that..." He caught her hand in his. "Rosalie, would you - you know what I mean? Or would you always despise me and throw it in my teeth?" She smiled faintly. "There are things you could throw in my teeth, too..." "Rosalie - darling." But she held back a minute longer. "This -Joanna?" Tim gave a sudden shout. "Joanna? You're as bad as Mother. I don't care a damn about Joanna. She's got a face like a horse and a predatory eye. A most unattractive female." Presently Rosalie said, "Your mother need never know about you." "I'm not sure," Tim said thoughtfully. "I think I shall tell her. Mother's got plenty of stuffing, you know. She can stand up to things. Yes, I think I shall shatter her maternal illusions about me. She'll be so relieved to know that my relations with Joanna were purely of a business nature that she'll forgive me everything else." They had come to Mrs Allerton's cabin and Tim knocked firmly on the door. It opened and Mrs Allerton stood on the threshold. "Rosalie and I -" began Tim. He paused. "Oh, my dears," said Mrs Allerton. She folded Rosalie in her arms. "My dear, dear child... I always hoped - but Tim was so tiresome - and pretended he didn't like you. But of course I saw through that!" Rosalie said in a broken voice: "You've been so sweet to me - always. I used to wish - to wish -" She broke off and sobbed happily on Mrs Allerton's shoulder. 第二部 埃及 26 第二部 埃及 26 门关上时，雷斯深叹了一口气。 “我们得到的比想像的还要多。承认了欺诈骗财和企图谋杀。再进一步就不 可能了。一个人可以坦承自己有谋杀企图，但要他招认真正谋杀了人就很困难 哪！” “有时候这也可能办到的。”白罗目光隐晦地说。 雷斯好奇地望着他。 “你有计划？” 白罗点点头。然后说，一边用手指数着：“亚思温的花园；提姆•艾乐顿的 证词；两瓶指甲油；我喝的酒；天鹅绒围巾；沾血的手帕；留在凶案现场的左轮 手枪；露易丝•蒲尔杰的死；鄂特伯恩夫人的死。不错，全部线索都在这里！雷 斯，潘宁顿不是凶手！” “什么？”雷斯感到很诧异。 “不是潘宁顿干的。不错，他是有杀人的动机，也有决心这样干；他甚至试 图达到目的。但在这宗案件中，有些东西是必需的，而这却是潘宁顿所缺乏的。 要进行这次谋杀需要胆量、迅速无误的行动、勇气、对危险的漠视和机智多谋的 头脑。潘宁顿并不勇敢，他只是狡猾。” 雷斯用佩服的眼光望着他，说： “你考虑得真够周全。” “唔，不错，只是还有一两件事情要澄清。例如，林娜•道尔读过的电报。” “哎哟，我忘了问希蒙•道尔。他刚要说明，可怜的鄂特伯恩太太死了。我 们得再问他。” “立刻就去，不过，首先我想见一个人。” “谁？” “提姆•艾乐顿。” 雷斯眉毛微扬。 “提姆？好，我们请他来。” 他按电铃，派一个侍应生去传口讯。 提姆一脸狐疑地走进来。 “侍应生说你们想见我？” “是的，艾乐顿先生。请坐。” 提姆坐下。他的神色挺专注，但显得有点厌烦。 “有什么要我帮忙的吗？”他的语气很客气，但并不热烈。 白罗说：“或许有。但我主要想请你听一点东西。” 提姆诧异地扬一扬眉毛。 “当然。我是全世界最忠实的听众，一定会在适当的时候叫‘好！’” “很好。现在就开始吧！当我在亚思温遇见你和你母亲的时候，我就极其乐 意接近你们。首先，我想你母亲是我所碰到的最可爱的妇人——” 提姆疲倦的面容焕发出一丝光芒，显然被触动一件心事。 “她很……独特。”他说。 “但第二件使我感觉兴趣的，却是由你提起的一位女士。” “哦？” “对，就是乔安娜小姐。你知道，我近来经常听到她的名字。” 他顿了一顿，往下说道：“过去三年来，发生了几桩令苏格兰警方颇感头痛 的珠宝劫案。这些劫案可以被称为上流社会的失窃。手法经常不变——就是用赝 品偷换真正的珠宝。我的朋友——贾普督察——认定劫案不是一个人干的，而是 两个紧密合作的人的杰作。他更肯定，从各种迹象显示出来，劫匪是有一定社会 地位的。最后，他的注意力落在乔安娜小姐身上。 “每一个遇劫者，不是她的朋友就是她认识的；而每一次失去的珠宝不是经 过她的手，就是曾经被她借去。还有，她的生活方式远超过她的收入。另一方 面，有明显的证据显示，真正的劫案——即偷换宝石，却不是由她下手的。有好 几宗劫案发生的时候，她甚至不在英国。 “贾普督察的脑海中逐步有了一个完整的构想：乔安娜有一段时期跟某珠宝 公会有联系。她极可能先取得心目中的猎物准确地画下它的式样，然后交由某个 欺诈的珠宝匠进行仿制。下一步行动就是由第三者进行偷换。这人必需有充分的 证据证明从来没接触过那件珠宝，也没有半点伪造宝石的经验。关于这人的身 份，贾普督察就一无所知了。 “在跟你的谈话中，我得到零星资料：当你在马祖卡的时候，有人遗失戒 指；在一次派对中，像上述一样的一宗偷换式的劫案发生了；你跟乔安娜小姐的 密切关系。还有，你很明显地讨厌我在场，并且企图使你母亲也少接近我。当 然，这可能只是出于个人喜恶，但我认为不是这个原因。你以极客气的神情来掩 盖你的憎恶情绪。 “呵，道尔夫人被谋杀之后，她的珠链也同时失踪。你可以理解，我立刻就 想到你！但我并不很满意。因为倘若你正如我所怀疑一样，跟乔安娜是一伙的话 （乔安娜小姐正是道尔夫人的密友），那么，所用的必然是一贯手法——暗中换 取而不是明目张胆去偷。但不久，珠链给送回来了，你认为我发现了什么？那些 珍珠全是伪造的。 “这时我晓得谁是真正的窃贼了。被偷去及送回的其实是一串仿制品——真 正的项链早就给换掉了。” 他望一望眼前的年轻人。提姆肤色黝黑，但此刻却显得很苍白。他并不像潘 宁顿那样善于反扑，他的应变能力很差。他勉强装出嘲笑的态度说，“是吗？那 么，我把那些珍珠藏到哪里去了？” “这我也知道。” 年轻人脸色大变。 白罗慢慢往下说：“它们只有可能被藏在一个地方。我曾经反复思考过，理 智告诉我的确如此。艾乐顿先生，珠子是被藏在你房内那串玫瑰念珠里。念珠上 的珠子雕刻得相当精细，我想是你特别制造的。尽管表面看不出来，每一颗其实 都可以被拧松，里面都有一颗用画胶粘上去的珍珠。除非十分可疑，许多侦察人 员都不敢乱动神圣的饰物，你就抓住这一点。我尝试找出乔安娜小姐是用什么方 法把仿制品送到你手中的。它一定是你从马祖卡来到这儿之后才被送出。我的设 想是：珠串藏在一本空心的书里然后送来。书籍是很少被拆开来检查的。” 一段长长的沉默之后，提姆冷静地说：“你赢了！这是一场有趣的游戏，但 现在已结束了！我想，我已别无他法，只有俯首就擒。” 白罗微微地点点头。 “你晓得吗？你下手时，其实已被人看到了。” “被人看到？”提姆感到震惊。 “不错，道尔夫人被谋杀那晚，有人见到你从她房里走出来，当时是一点钟 过后。” 提姆说：“你得明白——你不是认为……不是我杀的！真倒霉，竟然选这样 的好日子……我的天，真糟透了！” 白罗说：“唔，这一定够你受的了。但，现在已真相大白，你或许可以帮我 们一点忙。当你偷换珠链的时候，道尔夫人是否仍然活着？” “我不知道。”提姆声音嘶哑地说，“我可以对天发誓，我真的不知道！我 早已查知她夜里习惯把珠链放在床头的小桌上。于是悄悄进入她房中，在柜台上 摸索一番，抓到了珠串，便放下假珠链，悄悄走出来。我当然假定她正在熟睡。” “你听到她的呼吸声吗？你必定会留意这个的啊！” 提姆拼命思索。 “当时很静——真是静悄悄的。不，我记不起有否听到她的呼吸声了。” “房内空气中有否弥漫着火药味？” “我想没有，我记不清楚了。” 白罗叹息着。 “这就得不到进一步的线索了。” 提姆好奇地问道：“是谁看见了我？” “是罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩。她恰巧从船的另一边转过来，见到你从林娜•道尔 的房里走出来。” “那么，是她告诉你的了。” 白罗柔声地说：“不，不是她说的。” “那你怎会知道呢？” “因为我是白罗，我不需要别人透露，就可洞悉内情。当我试探她的时候， 你道她怎么说？她说，‘我一个人也没见到。’她是在撒谎。” “为什么？” 白罗用不偏不倚的语气说，“或许因为她以为她见到的是凶手。你明白哪， 看来颇像如此。” “那么她更应该说出来。” 白罗耸耸肩。“她似乎并不如此想。” 提姆用奇怪的语气说，“她倒是个奇特的女子。她为她母亲一定吃过不少苦 头。” “不错，她一生的确极不快活。” “可怜，她！”提姆喃喃地道，然后望望雷斯。 “嗯，上校，你们将怎样处置我？我承认拿走了林娜•道尔的珍珠，你们可 以在刚才所说的地方找到。我当然有罪。但关于乔安娜小姐，我却无可奉告。你 们没有指控她的任何证据。我怎样取得仿制品是我的事。” 白罗喃喃地道：“你说得很对。” 提姆一派幽默地说；“要永远都有绅士风度才成！”他接着补充道，“或许 你可以想像到，我母亲整天缠着你，我是多么困扰！我不是个经验老到的老手， 有镇定力可以在一次大冒险之前，跟一位大侦探肩并肩坐在一起！有些人或许能 处之泰然，但我不能。坦白说，我惊得乱了阵脚。” “但这并没有使你放弃计划？” 提姆耸耸肩。 “我倒未曾打消这个念头。那珠链无论如何得被换取，而在船上是个难得的 机会——只相隔两个房间；而林娜又是那么心神不属；显然不会察觉出来。” “我怀疑——” 提姆警觉地抬起头，“你这话什么意思？” 白罗按动电铃。“请鄂特伯恩小姐来一趟。” 提姆皱皱眉头，但没发一言。侍应生进来带了口讯走了。 过了几分钟，罗莎莉来了。一见到提姆，她那哭红了的双眼微睁开：那一贯 冷漠的表情却已荡然无存。她坐下来，驯服地望了望雷斯和白罗。 “很抱歉打扰你，鄂特伯恩小姐。”雷斯温柔地道。他似乎对白罗有点不 满。 “没关系。”少女低声说。 白罗说：“我们必需澄清一两件事情。今天早上，我问你昨晚一点十分有没 有看到人在船的右舷出现；你回答说没有。幸而无需你的帮忙，我已找出了真 相。艾乐顿先生承认他昨晚到过道尔夫人的房间。” 罗莎莉连忙扫了提姆一眼，只见他脸色凝重地微微点头。 “时间正确吗？艾乐顿先生？” 提姆答道：“十分正确。” 罗莎莉瞪着他，嘴唇颤抖……张大了…… “但你没有……你没有……” 他连忙说：“不，我没有杀她。我是个窃贼，不是个凶手。我的目标是她的 珠链。” 白罗说：“艾乐顿先生的故事是这样：他昨晚摸黑进入道尔夫人的房间，用 仿制品偷换了真的项链。” “是吗？”罗莎莉问道。她的目光充满哀伤和疑惑。 “不错。”提姆道。 大家沉默了好一会，雷斯上校有点不耐烦了。 白罗用古怪的语调说：“正如我所说，这只是艾乐顿先生的故事，部分由你 证明了。那是说，有证据证明他昨晚进入道尔夫人的房间，但没人可证明他在房 内干些什么。” 提姆瞪着他：“但你是知道的！” “我知道什么？” “唷——你知道我拿走了珠链。” “哎哟！我知道珠链在你手上，但我不晓得你是什么时候到手的，那可能是 在昨晚之前……你刚才说林娜•道尔不会察觉到珠子是假的。我却不敢肯定。或 许她发现了……或许她甚至知道是谁干的……或许昨晚她威胁要把整件事揭发， 而你又晓得她将会这样做……或许你偷看到贾克琳•杜贝尔弗跟希蒙•道尔在了 望厅的纠葛，干是当所有人走了之后，你悄悄进去拿走了枪。一个钟头之后，当 船上一切声息都静止下来，你摸黑进入林娜•道尔的房间，以为没有人会发觉就 ……” “我的天！”提姆叫道。苍白的脸上那充满痛苦的眼睛显得更为突出。他茫 然地望着白罗。 白罗继续说：“但第三者看到你——那是露易丝•蒲尔杰。第二天，她跑来 勒索你，要你给她一大笔款项，否则她要揭发你。你知道向她低头只有更为不 利，于是假装答允，应承在午餐前到她房内付款。然后，当她低头数钱时，你就 刺死她。 “但是，你运气欠佳，有人看见你进入露易丝的房间。”——他转向罗莎莉 ——“那是你母亲。你再次要冒险行动——但这是惟一的机会。你曾经听潘宁顿 说过他有一枝左轮手枪。你立刻跑去他房间，拿了枪，躲在贝斯勒医生的房门 外，在鄂特伯恩夫人未说出你的名字之前，射死了她。” “不！”罗莎莉叫道，“不是他！不是他！” “这之后，你作出了惟一可选择的行动——跑到船尾去。而当我追来的时 候，你立刻转身，装作是从另一方向跑来的。你开枪时是带上手套的，因此当我 问你有没有手套的时候，你立刻从袋里拿出来……” 提姆说：“在上帝面前，我可以发誓你这番话没有半句是真的。”但他的声 音颤抖而不稳定，没有一点说服力。 接着，罗莎莉说出了令每人惊讶的话语。 “这当然不是真的！白罗先生晓得那不是真的！他这样说只是为了某种原 因。” 白罗望着她，嘴角露出微笑。他摊开手，表示投降。 “小姐你太聪明了……但你同意——这是个好推断吗？” “真是活见鬼——”提姆待要发作，白罗举手道： “艾乐顿先生，这可以是对你的有力指控。我要你明白这点。现在，让我告 诉你一些值得高兴的事情。我还没有检查你房里的念珠。可能当我拆开那些念 珠，里面什么也没有，而且，由于鄂特伯恩小姐矢口否认昨晚在甲板上曾见到任 何人，实在没有证据可以指控你！珠链是被一个偷窃狂取去的，已经被送回来 了。它们就在门旁桌上的小盒里，你喜欢，可以跟鄂特伯恩小姐拿去研究研究。” 提姆站了起来。他呆立在那儿，不知该说些什么。当他开口时，也只能说出 一句衷心的话。 “谢谢！你不必再给我第二次机会！” 他打开门让罗莎莉走出然后拿起盒子尾随着。 他俩肩并肩走着。提姆打开了盒子，把里面的项链大力扔进尼罗河里。 “看，沉下去了。”他说，“当我把盒子交回白罗的时候，里面将是一条真 珠链。我当了个大傻瓜！” 罗莎莉轻声问道：“你当初怎么干起来的？” “你是指，我为什么会入行？唉，我也不知道。烦闷——懒惰——刺激。或 许以此为生，比庸庸碌碌打一辈子工更具吸引力吧？你听来可能觉得有点卑鄙， 但你应该明白，这种生活方式的确是有吸引力的——大抵是由于它的危险性吧！” “我想我能够理解到。” “是的，但你从来不会这么做。” 罗莎莉思索了一两分钟，她沉重的年轻的头垂了下来。 “是，”她简短地说，“我不会做。” “噢，罗莎莉——你真可爱……太可爱了。你为什么不说出昨晚见到我？” “我以为——他们会怀疑你。”罗莎莉说。 “你怀疑我吗？” “不，我不相信你会杀任何人。” “是的，我不是凶狠杀手的料子。我只能是个卑鄙可怜的小偷。” 她伸出手轻轻地拍拍他的肩膀。 “不要这样说。” 提姆握着她的手。 “罗莎莉，你愿……你了解我的意思？或你将永远轻视我，对我不齿？” 她微微笑道：“有件事你也可以对我不齿……” “罗莎莉，亲爱的……” 但她缩回手。 “你的亲爱的是乔安娜！” 提姆突然大叫起来。 “乔安娜？你和母亲一样糟。乔安娜的死活我才不在意哩。她一副马脸，眼 睛像要把火吞食下去；一个最缺乏性感的女性！” 罗莎莉这才说：“不该让你母亲知道这件事。” “我不确定，”提姆若有所思地说，“我想我该告诉她。你知道，母亲阅历 丰富，她会承受下来的。是的，我该揭开她对我的幻想。她若知道我跟乔安娜只 有生意上的往来她会感到轻松，然后她就会原谅我每件事。” 他们来到艾乐顿太太的房间，提姆坚定地敲敲门。门开了，艾乐顿太太站在 门口。 “罗莎莉和我……”提姆开言道，却又停下来。 “哦，宝贝，”艾乐顿太太说。她握住罗莎莉的手。“亲爱的，亲爱的，我 一直希望……但提姆厌倦得假装他不喜欢你。但当然我早已看出端倪。” 罗莎莉嘶哑地说：“你总是待我这么好。我总希望……总希望……” 她失去自持，悲喜交集地伏在艾乐顿太太的肩上啜泣。 Chapter 27 Chapter 27 As the door closed behind Tim and Rosalie, Poirot looked somewhat apologetically at Colonel Race. The Colonel was looking rather grim. "You will consent to my little arrangement, yes?" Poirot pleaded. "It is irregular - I know it is irregular, yes - but I have a high regard for human happiness." "You've none for mine," said Race. "That jeune fille, I have a tenderness toward her, and she loves that young man. It will be an excellent match; she has the stiffening he needs; the mother likes her; everything is thoroughly suitable." "In fact the marriage has been arranged by heaven and Hercule Poirot. All I have to do is to compound a felony." "But, mon ami, I told you, it was all conjecture on my part." Race grinned suddenly. "It's all right by me," he said. "I'm not a damned policeman, thank God! I daresay the young fool will go straight enough now. The girl's straight all right. No, what I'm complaining of is your treatment of me! I'm a patient man, but there are limits to my patience! Do you know who committed the three murders on this boat or don't you?" "I do." "Then why all this beating about the bush?" "You think that I am just amusing myself with side issues? And it annoys you? But it is not that. Once I went professionally to an archaeological expedition - and I learnt something there. In the course of an excavation, when something comes up out of the ground, everything is cleared away very carefully all around it. You take away the loose earth, and you scrape here and there with a knife until finally your object is there, all alone, ready to be drawn and photographed with no extraneous matter confusing it. That is what I have been seeking to do - clear away the extraneous matter so that we can see the truth - the naked shining truth." "Good," said Race. "Let's have this naked shining truth. It wasn't Pennington. It wasn't young Allerton. I presume it wasn't Fleetwood. Let's hear who it was for a change." "My friend, I am just about to tell you." There was a knock on the door. Race uttered a muffled curse. It was Dr Bessner and Cornelia. The latter was looking upset. "Oh, Colonel Race," she exclaimed, "Miss Bowers has just told me about Cousin Marie. It's been the most dreadful shock. She said she couldn't bear the responsibility all by herself any longer, and that I'd better know, as I was one of the family. I just couldn't believe it at first, but Dr Bessner here has been just wonderful." "No, no," protested the doctor modestly. "He's been so kind, explaining it all, and how people really can't help it. He's had kleptomaniacs in his clinic. And he's explained to me how it's very often due to a deep-seated neurosis." Cornelia repeated the words with awe. "It's planted very deeply in the subconscious; sometimes it's just some little thing that happened when you were a child. And he's cured people by getting them to think back and remember what that little thing was." Cornelia paused, drew a deep breath, and started off again. "But it's worrying me dreadfully in case it all gets out. It would be too, too terrible in New York. Why, all the tabloids would have it. Cousin Marie and Mother and everybody - they'd never hold up their heads again." Race sighed. "That's all right," he said. "This is Hush Hush House." "I beg your pardon, Colonel Race?" "What I was endeavouring to say was that anything short of murder is being hushed up." "Oh!" Cornelia clasped her hands. "I'm so relieved. I've just been worrying and worrying." "You have the heart too tender," said Dr Bessner, and patted her benevolently on the shoulder. He said to the others, "She has a very sensitive and beautiful nature." "Oh, I haven't really. You're too kind." Poirot murmured, "Have you seen any more of Mr Ferguson?" Cornelia blushed. "No - but Cousin Marie's been talking about him." "It seems the young man is highly born," said Dr Bessner. "I must confess he does not look it. His clothes are terrible. Not for a moment does he appear a well-bred man." "And what do you think, Mademoiselle?" "I think he must be just plain crazy," said Cornelia. Poirot turned to the doctor. "How is your patient?" "Ach, he is going on splendidly. I have just reassured the little Frдulein de Bellefort. Would you believe it, I found her in despair. Just because the fellow had a bit of a temperature this afternoon! But what could be more natural? It is amazing that he is not in a high fever now. But no, he is like some of our peasants; he has a magnificent constitution, the constitution of an ox. I have seen them with deep wounds that they hardly notice. It is the same with Mr Doyle. His pulse is steady, his temperature only slightly above normal. I was able to pooh pooh the little lady's fears. All the same, it is ridiculous, nicht wahr? One minute you shoot a man; the next you are in hysterics in case he may not be doing well." Cornelia said, "She loves him terribly, you see." "Ach! But it is not sensible, that. If you loved a man, would you try and shoot him? No, you are sensible." "I don't like things that go off with bangs anyway," said Cornelia. "Naturally you do not. You are very feminine." Race interrupted this scene of heavy approval. "Since Doyle is all right, there's no reason I shouldn't come along and resume our talk of this afternoon. He was just telling me about a telegram." Dr Bessner's bulk moved up and down appreciatively. "Ho, ho, ho, it was very funny that! Doyle, he tells me about it. It was a telegram all about vegetables - potatoes, artichokes, leeks - Ach! pardon?" With a stifled exclamation, Race had sat up in his chair. "My God," he said. "So that's it! Richetti!" He looked round on three uncomprehending faces. "A new code - it was used in the South African rebellion. Potatoes mean machine guns, artichokes are high explosives - and so on. Richetti is no more an archaeologist than I am! He's a very dangerous agitator, a man who's killed more than once, and I'll swear that he's killed once again. Mrs Doyle opened that telegram by mistake, you see. If she were ever to repeat what was in it before me, he knew his goose would be cooked!" He turned to Poirot. "Am I right?" he asked. "Is Richetti the man?" "He is your man," said Poirot. "I always thought there was something wrong about him! He was almost too word perfect in his rфle; he was all archaeologist, not enough human being." He paused and then said: "But it was not Richetti who killed Linnet Doyle. For some time now I have known what I may express as the 'first half' of the murderer. Now I know the 'second half' also. The picture is complete. But you understand that, although I know what must have happened, I have no proof that it happened. Intellectually the case is satisfying. Actually it is profoundly unsatisfactory. There is only one hope - a confession from the murderer." Dr Bessner raised his shoulders sceptically. "Ach! but that - it would be a miracle." "I think not. Not under the circumstances." Cornelia cried out: "But who is it? Aren't you going to tell us?" Poirot's eyes ranged quietly over the three of them. Race, smiling sardonically, Bessner, still looking sceptical, Cornelia, her mouth hanging a little open gazing at him with eager eyes. "Mais oui," he said. "I like an audience, I must confess. I am vain, you see. I am puffed up with conceit. I like to say, 'See how clever is Hercule Poirot!'" Race shifted a little in his chair. "Well," he asked gently, "just how clever is Hercule Poirot?" Shaking his head sadly from side to side Poirot said: "To begin with I was stupid - incredibly stupid. To me the stumbling block was the pistol - Jacqueline de Bellefort's pistol. Why had that pistol not been left on the scene of the crime? The idea of the murderer was quite plainly to incriminate her. Why then did the murderer take it away? I was so stupid that I thought of all sorts of fantastic reasons. The real one was very simple. The murderer took it away because he had to take it away - because he had no choice in the matter." 第二部 埃及 27 第二部 埃及 27 提姆和罗莎莉出去后，白罗颇为抱歉地望着雷斯。上校的脸色十分阴沉。 “你同意我刚才的安排吧？’白罗恳求道，“这很反常——我晓得是很反常 ——不过我很重视人间的欢乐。” “算了吧！”雷斯说。 “我很喜欢那少女，她爱那青年。他俩很般配，她性格倔强，正是他所欠缺 的。” “其实，这段良缘是由上帝及白罗先生共同撮合的。我只是撤消控诉罢了。” 雷斯突然咧嘴笑道，“没问题。”他说，“感谢上帝，我不是个硬心肠的警探！ 我确信那傻瓜以后会改邪归正了。不，我不满意的是你这样对待我！我是个有耐 性的人，但忍耐也有个限度！你究竟晓不晓得谁是杀人凶手？” “晓得。” “既然如此，为什么还要旁敲侧击？” “你以为我只是拿这些枝节问题在自娱吗？不，不是的。我曾经参加一次考 古旅行，学习到许多东西。在发掘过程中，当古物未从地下移往地面之前，它旁 边的一切东西都被清除干净。你得把松土移开，用小刀左右刮净直至只有古物单 独留下，可以被画下或拍摄。现在我尝试干的正是这个——把一切干扰着的多余 枝节除去，直至真相显露为止。” “好，”雷斯说，“让真相显露出来吧！凶手不是潘宁顿，不是艾乐顿•提 姆。我想也不是胡利伍德。换个名字吧！” “老友，我正想告诉你。” 一阵敲门声传来。雷斯暗地诅咒一声。进来的是贝斯勒医生和珂妮亚，后者 略显不安。 “噢，上校，”她惊叫道，“鲍尔斯小姐刚才告诉我有关玛丽表姊的事，真 令我震惊。鲍尔斯小姐说她不再单独承担这个责任了，我身为家族成员，最好知 道。我开始还不敢相信，但贝斯勒医生真是太好心了！” “不，不！”医生谦逊地答道。 “他很有耐心地解释一切，还说这种病人的确身不由己。他的诊所也有不少 偷窃狂的病人，起因常常是由来已久的神经系官能病。” 珂妮亚敬畏地复述这些话。 “它深深根植于潜意识里，有时只是由于孩童时期发生过的某些小事。他治 疗的方式就是让病人回忆往事，记起那些小事是什么。” 珂妮亚停顿下来，深吸一口气，又开始说道： “但我异常担心这种病况会泄漏出去。在纽约这种事一传出去真是可怕，所 有小报都会登载。玛丽表姊、妈和家里每个人，这辈子都休想再抬起头来。” 雷斯叹口气。“放心好了，”他说，“这里是保密局。” “对不起，雷斯上校，我不懂你的意思？” “我要说的是，只要跟谋杀无涉的事都会秘而不宣。” “噢！”珂妮亚双手紧握。“我放下心中的一块石头了。我一直都在担心焦 虑。” “你的心肠太仁慈。”贝斯勒医生慈爱地拍拍她的肩头，然后向其他人说， “她极富感情，品性又很完善。” “噢，我真的没有。您太仁慈了。” 白罗喃喃道：“你有没有再见到斐格森先生？” 珂妮亚脸色羞红。 “没有——但玛丽表姊曾提过他好几次。” “听说这年轻人出身高贵，”贝斯勒医生说，“坦白说他外表看起来不像。 他的衣着太糟了。他不曾表现出教养良好。” “小姐，你认为他怎样？” “我认为他只是有点狂。”珂妮亚说。 白罗转向医生道：“你的病人进展如何？” “啊，进展很好。我刚才已重新向杜贝尔弗小姐保证。你相信吗？她简直沮 丧极了，只因为那小伙子今天下午有点发烧！这原是很自然的。他不发烧才怪 呢！不过，他就像我家乡的农夫，有强壮的体魄。他的脉搏很稳定，体温只比正 常人高一点点。我总算消除了那位小姐的恐惧。不过，这多荒谬啊！一会儿用枪 打伤人，一会儿又担心他好不了。” 珂妮亚说：“你明白吗？她很爱他。” “呵！这很不理智吧！如果你爱一个人，你会想打死他吗？不，你会很理智 的。” “我也不喜欢冲动行事。”珂妮亚说。 “当然你不会。你是非常女性化的。” 雷斯打岔道：“如果道尔先生的病况没问题的话，我想我们可以继续下午的 谈话了。他正要告诉我们电报的内容。” 贝斯勒医生摇动着肥胖的身躯说： “噢，噢，噢，有趣极了！希蒙告诉我那是一封塞满蔬菜名字的电报——马 铃薯、朝鲜蓟、韭菜——噢，你怎么啦？” 雷斯惊叫一声，坐直了身子。 “我的天！”他说，“就是他！黎希提！” 他转向三张迷惑的面孔。 “一种新的暗号——在南非暴乱时用过。马铃薯代表机关枪、朝鲜蓟代表炸 药等等。黎希提并非我们印象中的考古学家！他是个极端危险的滋事分子，杀过 不只一个人。我敢发誓他又下手了。你明白吗？道尔太太错拆了他的电报。他晓 得，如果她在我面前提起这件事，他就完蛋了！” 他转向白罗。“我判断没错吧？”他问道，“凶手就是黎希提？” “他是你要的人。”白罗说，“我总觉得他这人有点不对劲。他口头上名词 太多，就像天生是个考古学家，不是凡人一般。” 他顿了一顿，继续说道：“但杀林娜•道尔的不是黎希提。我原先只晓得谁 是‘半个’凶手，现在连另一半也知道了。真相已经大白。但你可以理解，虽然 我晓得整件事情一定是这样发生的，但手头上没有证据。现在惟一的希望是—— 凶手自动招认。” 贝斯勒医生不以为然地耸耸肩。“啊！除非奇迹出现吧！” “照目前情况看来，我想未必如此。” 珂妮亚叫道：“究竟是谁？你现在就说出来吧！” 白罗扫了三人一眼。雷斯冷冷笑着；贝斯勒医生仍然一副不以为然的神情； 珂妮亚则诚心地盼望着。 “啊！”他说，“我得承认，我喜欢有听众。你知道，我爱虚荣，又自负。 我喜欢人家说，‘白罗，你这人真聪明！’” 雷斯移动了一下身子。 “唔，”他柔声问道，“究竟白罗有多聪明？” 白罗幽幽地摇摇头，“首先，我是个傻瓜——天大的傻瓜。绊脚石就是那枝 凶枪——贾克琳•杜贝尔弗的手枪。为什么凶枪没有留在现场？凶手的意图很明 显就是要把罪名加在她的身上。那么凶手又为什么要把凶枪拿走？我笨拙得假设 了许多不可思议的理由。其实原因很简单。凶手要拿走凶枪因为他必须这样做 ——他别无选择。” Chapter 28 Chapter 28 "You and I, my friend," Poirot leaned toward Race, "started our investigation with a preconceived idea. That idea was that the crime was committed on the spur of the moment, without any preliminary planning. Somebody wished to remove Linnet Doyle and had seized their opportunity to do so at a moment when the crime would almost certainly be attributed to Jacqueline de Bellefort. It therefore followed that the person in question had overheard the scene between Jacqueline and Simon Doyle and had obtained possession of the pistol after the others had left the saloon. "But, my friends, if that preconceived idea was wrong, the whole aspect of the case altered. And it was wrong! This was no spontaneous crime committed on the spur of the moment. It was, on the contrary, very carefully planned and accurately timed, with all the details meticulously worked out beforehand, even to the drugging of Hercule Poirot's bottle of wine on the night in question! "But, yes, that is so! I was put to sleep so that there should be no possibility of my participating in the events of the night. It did just occur to me as a possibility. I drink wine - my two companions at table drink whisky and mineral water respectively. Nothing easier than to slip a dose of harmless narcotic into my bottle of wine - the bottles stand on the tables all day. But I dismissed the thought. It had been a hot day; I had been unusually tired; it was not really extraordinary that I should for once have slept heavily instead of lightly as I usually do. "You see, I was still in the grip of the preconceived idea. If I had been drugged, that would have implied premeditation, it would mean that before seven-thirty, when dinner is served, the crime had already been decided upon; and that (always from the point of view of the preconceived idea) was absurd. "The first blow to the preconceived idea was when the pistol was recovered from the Nile. To begin with, if we were right in our assumptions, the pistol ought never to have been thrown overboard at all... And there was more to follow." Poirot turned to Dr Bessner. "You, Dr Bessner, examined Linnet Doyle's body. You will remember that the wound showed signs of scorching - that is to say, that the pistol had been placed close against the head before being fired." Bessner nodded. "So. That is exact." "But when the pistol was found it was wrapped in a velvet stole, and that velvet showed definite signs that a pistol had been fired through its folds, presumably under the impression that that would deaden the sound of the shot. But if the pistol had been fired through the velvet, there would have been no signs of burning on the victim's skin. Therefore, the shot fired through the stole could not have been the shot that killed Linnet Doyle. Could it have been the other shot - the one fired by Jacqueline de Bellefort at Simon Doyle? Again no, for there had been two witnesses of that shooting, and we knew all about it. It appeared, therefore, as though a third shot had been fired - one we knew nothing about. But only two shots had been fired from the pistol, and there was no hint or suggestion of another shot. "Here we were face to face with a very curious unexplained circumstance. The next interesting point was the fact that in Linnet Doyle's cabin I found two bottles of coloured nail polish. Now ladies very often vary the colour of their nails, but so far Linnet Doyle's nails had always been the shade called Cardinal - a deep dark red. The other bottle was labelled Rose, which is a shade of pale pink, but the few drops remaining in the bottle were not pale pink but a bright red. I was sufficiently curious to take out the stopper and sniff. Instead of the usual strong odour of pear drops, the bottle smelt of vinegar! That is to say, it suggested that the drop or two of fluid in it was red ink. Now there is no reason why Madame Doyle should not have had a bottle of red ink, but it would have been more natural if she had had red ink in a red ink bottle and not in a nail polish bottle. It suggested a link with the faintly stained handkerchief which had been wrapped round the pistol. Red ink washes out quickly but always leaves a pale pink stain. "I should perhaps have arrived at the truth with these slender indications, but an event occurred which rendered all doubt superfluous. Louise Bourget was killed in circumstances which pointed unmistakably to the fact that she had been blackmailing the murderer. Not only was a fragment of a mille franc note still clasped in her hand, but I remembered some very significant words she had used this morning. "Listen carefully, for here is the crux of the whole matter. When I asked her if she had seen anything the previous night she gave this very curious answer: 'Naturally, if I had been unable to sleep, if I had mounted the stairs, then perhaps I might have seen this assassin, this monster enter or leave Madame's cabin. Now what exactly did that tell us?" Bessner, his nose wrinkling with intellectual interest, replied promptly, "It told you that she had mounted the stair." "No, no; you fail to see the point. Why should she have said that, to us?" "To convey a hint." "But why hint to us? If she knows who the murderer is, there are two courses open to her - to tell us the truth, or to hold her tongue and demand money for her silence from the person concerned! But she does neither. She neither says promptly: 'I saw nobody. I was asleep.' Nor does she say, 'Yes, I saw someone, and it was so and so.' Why use that significant indeterminate rigmarole of words? Parbleu, there can be only one reason! She is hinting to the murderer; therefore the murderer must have been present at the time. But, besides myself and Colonel Race, only two people were present - Simon Doyle and Dr Bessner." The doctor sprang up with a roar. "Ach! what is that you say? You accuse me? Again? But it is ridiculous - beneath contempt." Poirot said sharply: "Be quiet. I am telling you what I thought at the time. Let us remain impersonal." "He doesn't mean he thinks it's you now," said Cornelia soothingly. Poirot went on quickly: "So it lay there - between Simon Doyle and Dr Bessner. But what reason has Bessner to kill Linnet Doyle? None, so far as I know. Simon Doyle, then? But that was impossible! There were plenty of witnesses who could swear that Doyle never left the saloon that evening until the quarrel broke out. After that he was wounded and it would then have been physically impossible for him to have done so. Had I good evidence on both those points? Yes, I had the evidence of Mademoiselle Robson, of Jim Fanthorp and of Jacqueline de Bellefort as to the first, and I had the skilled testimony of Dr Bessner and of Mademoiselle Bowers as to the other. No doubt was possible. "So Dr Bessner must be the guilty one. In favour of this theory there was the fact that the maid had been stabbed with a surgical knife. On the other hand Bessner had deliberately called attention to this fact. "And then, my friends, a second perfectly indisputable fact became apparent to me. Louise Bourget's hint could not have been intended for Dr Bessner, because she could perfectly well have spoken to him in private at any time she liked. There was one person, and one person only, who corresponded to her necessity - Simon Doyle! Simon Doyle was wounded, was constantly attended by a doctor, was in that doctor's cabin. It was to him therefore that she risked saying those ambiguous words, in case she might not get another chance. And I remembered how she had gone on, turning to him: 'Monsieur, I implore you - you see how it is? What can I say?' And his answer, 'My good girl, don't be a fool. Nobody thinks you saw or heard anything. You'll be quite all right. I'll look after you. Nobody's accusing you of anything.' That was the assurance she wanted, and she got it!" Bessner uttered a colossal snort. "Ach! it is foolish, that! Do you think a man with a fractured bone and a splint on his leg could go walking about the boat and stabbing people? I tell you, it was impossible for Simon Doyle to leave his cabin." Poirot said gently: "I know. That is quite true. The thing was impossible. It was impossible, but it was also true! There could be only one logical meaning behind Louise Bourget's words. "So I returned to the beginning and reviewed the crime in the light of this new knowledge. Was it possible that in the period preceding the quarrel Simon Doyle had left the saloon and the others had forgotten or not noticed it? I could not see that that was possible. Could the skilled testimony of Dr Bessner and Mademoiselle Bowers be disregarded? Again I felt sure it could not. But, I remembered, there was a gap between the two. Simon Doyle had been alone in the saloon for a period of five minutes, and the skilled testimony of Dr Bessner only applied to the time after that period. For that period we had only the evidence of visual appearance, and, though apparently that was perfectly sound, it was no longer certain. What had actually been seen - leaving assumption out of the question? "Mademoiselle Robson had seen Mademoiselle de Bellefort fire her pistol, had seen Simon Doyle collapse onto a chair, had seen him clasp a handkerchief to his leg and seen that handkerchief gradually soak through red. What had Monsieur Fanthorp heard and seen? He heard a shot, he found Doyle with a red-stained handkerchief clasped to his leg. What had happened then? Doyle had been very insistent that Mademoiselle de Bellefort should be got away, that she should not be left alone. After that, he suggested that Fanthorp should get hold of the doctor. "Accordingly Mademoiselle Robson and Monsieur Fanthorp go out with Mademoiselle de Bellefort and for the next five minutes they are busy, on the port side of the deck. Mademoiselle Bowers', Dr Bessner's and Mademoiselle de Bellefort's cabins are all on the port side. Two minutes are all that Simon Doyle needs. He picks up the pistol from under the sofa, slips out of his shoes, runs like a hare silently along the starboard deck, enters his wife's cabin, creeps up to her as she was asleep, shoots her through the head, puts the bottle that has contained the red ink on her washstand (it mustn't be found on him) runs back, gets hold of Mademoiselle Van Schuyler's velvet stole, which he has quietly stuffed down the side of a chair in readiness, muffles it round the pistol and fires a bullet into his leg. His chair into which he falls (in genuine agony this time) is by a window. He lifts the window and throws the pistol (wrapped up with the telltale handkerchief in the velvet stole) into the Nile." "Impossible!" said Race. "No, my friend, not impossible. Remember the evidence of Tim Allerton. He heard a pop - followed by a splash. And he heard something else - the footsteps of a man running - a man running past his door. But nobody should have been running along the starboard side of the deck. What he heard was the stockinged feet of Simon Doyle running past his cabin." Race said: "I still say it's impossible. No man could work out the whole caboodle like that in a flash - especially a chap like Doyle who is slow in his mental processes." "But very quick and deft in his physical actions!" "That, yes. But he wouldn't be capable of thinking the whole thing out." "But he did not think it out himself, my friend. That is where we were all wrong. It looked like a crime committed on the spur of the moment, but it was not a crime committed on the spur of the moment. As I say it was a very cleverly planned and well thought out piece of work. It could not be chance that Simon Doyle had a bottle of red ink in his pocket. No, it must be design. It was not chance that be had a plain unmarked handkerchief with him. It was not chance that Jacqueline de Bellefort's foot kicked the pistol under the settee, where it would be out of sight and unremembered until later." "Jacqueline?" "Certainly. The two halves of the murderer. What gave Simon his alibi? The shot fired by Jacqueline. What gave Jacqueline her alibi? The insistence of Simon, which resulted in a hospital nurse remaining with her all night. There, between the two of them, you get all the qualities you require - the cool, resourceful, planning brain, Jacqueline de Bellefort's brain, and the man of action to carry it out with incredible swiftness and timing. "Look at it the right way, and it answers every question. Simon Doyle and Jacqueline had been lovers. Realize that they are still lovers, and it is all clear. Simon does away with his rich wife, inherits her money, and in due course will marry his old love. It was all very ingenious. The persecution of Madame Doyle by Jacqueline, all part of the plan. Simon's pretended rage... And yet - there were lapses. He held forth to me once about possessive women - held forth with real bitterness. It ought to have been clear to me that it was his wife he was thinking about - not Jacqueline. Then his manner to his wife in public. An ordinary, inarticulate Englishman, such as Simon Doyle, is very embarrassed at showing any affection. Simon was not a really good actor. He overdid the devoted manner. That conversation I had with Mademoiselle Jacqueline, too, when she pretended that somebody had overheard. I saw no one. And there was no one! But it was to be a useful red herring later. Then one night on this boat I thought I heard Simon and Linnet outside my cabin. He was saying, 'We've got to go through with it now.' It was Doyle all right, but it was to Jacqueline he was speaking. "The final drama was perfectly planned and timed. There was a sleeping draught for me, in case I might put an inconvenient finger in the pie. There was the selection of Mademoiselle Robson as a witness - the working up of the scene, Mademoiselle de Bellefort's exaggerated remorse and hysterics. She made a good deal of noise, in case the shot should be heard. En vérité, it was an extraordinarily clever idea. Jacqueline says she has shot Doyle; Mademoiselle Robson says so; Fanthorp says so - and when Simon's leg is examined he has been shot. It looks unanswerable! For both of them there is a perfect alibi - at the cost, it is true, of a certain amount of pain and risk to Simon Doyle, but it is necessary that his wound should definitely disable him. "And then the plan goes wrong. Louise Bourget has been wakeful. She has come up the stairway and she has seen Simon Doyle run along to his wife's cabin and come back. Easy enough to piece together what has happened the following day. And so she makes her greedy bid for hush money, and in so doing signs her death warrant." "But Mr Doyle couldn't have killed her?" Cornelia objected. "No, the other partner did that murder. As soon as he can, Simon Doyle asks to see Jacqueline. He even asks me to leave them alone together. He tells her then of the new danger. They must act at once. He knows where Bessner's scalpels are kept. After the crime the scalpel is wiped and returned, and then, very late and rather out of breath, Jacqueline de Bellefort hurries in to lunch. "And still all is not well, for Madame Otterbourne has seen Jacqueline go into Louise Bourget's cabin. And she comes hot foot to tell Simon about it. Jacqueline is the murderess. Do you remember how Simon shouted at the poor woman? Nerves, we thought. But the door was open and he was trying to convey the danger to his accomplice. She heard and she acted - acted like lightning. She remembered Pennington had talked about a revolver. She got hold of it, crept up outside the door, listened and, at the critical moment, fired. She boasted once that she was a good shot, and her boast was not an idle one. "I remarked after that third crime that there were three ways the murderer could have gone. I meant that he could have gone aft (in which case Tim Allerton was the criminal) he could have gone over the side (very improbable) or he could have gone into a cabin. Jacqueline's cabin was just two away from Dr Bessner's. She had only to throw down the revolver, bolt into the cabin, ruffle her hair and fling herself down on the bunk. It was risky, but it was the only possible chance." There was a silence, then Race asked, "What happened to the first bullet fired at Doyle by the girl?" "I think it went into the table. There is a recently made hole there. I think Doyle had time to dig it out with a penknife and fling it through the window. He had, of course, a spare cartridge, so that it would appear that only two shots had been fired." Cornelia sighed. "They thought of everything," she said. "It's - horrible!" Poirot was silent. But it was not a modest silence. His eyes seemed to be saying: "You are wrong. They didn't allow for Hercule Poirot." Aloud he said, "And now, Doctor, we will go and have a word with your patient." 第二部 埃及 28 第二部 埃及 28 “你和我，老友，”白罗挨近雷斯。“抱着一个先入为主的概念开始侦查此 案。那个概念就是凶手系出于一时冲动，而非早有预谋。有人想杀死林娜•道 尔，于是抓住可以把罪名推卸到贾克琳•杜贝尔弗身上的机会行事。因而那人一 定是偷看到贾克琳跟希蒙•道尔发生冲突，然后设法取得贾克琳的手枪。 “但是，老友，如果这概念错误的话，整件案子就得改观。对，这概念完全 错误！凶案的发生并非基于一念之间，恰恰相反，整个过程是经过周详的计划和 时间上准确的配合。一切都在事前周密安排，包括当晚在我的酒中下药！ “不错，正是如此！我被弄得沉沉大睡，以致无法参与当晚的事件。这种事 发生在我身上是极有可能的。我晚餐时喝酒，同桌的两人则分别喝威士忌苏打和 汽水。偷偷把安眠药放进我那瓶酒里是最轻易不过的了——酒瓶整天都放在桌 上。但我完全没有留意。当天气温很高，我显得比平常要疲倦；因此我一上床便 呼呼大睡，显然没有什么特别。 “所以，我仍然死抓着原先的想法。假如我是被下药的，这就显示一切都早 有预谋；也就是早在七点半以前，晚餐时分，凶手已决定当晚下手。如果从原先 的概念看来，这当然是说不通的。 “从河里捞出凶抢时，那个判断首次产生动摇。第一，如果我们的假设是正 确的，凶枪根本用不着扔进河里……还有更多的麻烦。” 白罗转向贝斯勒医生。 “医生——是你检查林娜•道尔的尸体的。你该记得，伤口有灼伤的迹象 ——就是说，凶手是在近距离开枪的。” 贝斯勒医生点点头。“是的，正是如此。” “但当凶枪被发现时，是包在绒布里的。布上明显地有被子弹射穿的小洞， 显然是用来减低开枪时的声浪。但假如枪是裹在绒布里发射的，死者的伤口就不 应该有烧灼的现象。因此，用绒布开的那一枪，并不是杀死林娜•道尔的一枪。 会不会是贾克琳•杜贝尔弗向希蒙•道尔开的一枪呢？两者都不是，因为有证人 目击当时的情况。所以，看来是另有一颗子弹被发射了——而这我们毫不知情。 但凶枪只发射过两颗子弹，第三颗却无线索可寻。 “面对着我们的是如此不可解释的怪现象。下一点更有趣的情况是，我在林 娜•道尔房里发现两瓶指甲油。时下的女性经常改变指甲的颜色，但道尔夫人的 指甲一向涂深红色。另外贴有‘玫瑰色指甲油’标签的一瓶，里面剩余的几滴却 不是深红而是暗红。我好奇地嗅了一嗅，发觉那气味不像梨花香味而是一股醋酸 味！就是说，那一两滴极可能是红墨水。当然，道尔夫人带有一瓶红墨水并不出 奇，但为什么不装在墨水瓶里呢？于是我联想到包着凶枪的手帕上的红印。红墨 水很快褪色，但总会留下淡红的痕迹。 “我或许应该抓着这些细微的线索，寻到真相。但一件事又发生了——露易 丝•蒲尔杰被杀——使一切怀疑显得不切实际。由于她手里握着一张纸币的一 角，及早上她向我说过的特别词句，我们判断她必定曾经向那凶手勒索。 “小心听着，这就是整件事情的关键。当我问她昨晚有否听到什么声音，她 作了这样奇怪的答复，‘当然，如果我睡不着，如果我爬上楼梯，那么或许我会 见到那凶手，那狂魔，走进或离开太太的房间……’这究竟表示什么？” 兴致勃勃的医生立刻回答：“这表示她确曾走上楼梯。” “不，不，你抓不到其中奥妙。她为什么要说给我们听？” “她是要传达一个线索。” “为什么要传达给我们？如果她晓得凶手是谁，她只有两条途径可以选择 ——是把真相告诉我们，再则就是三缄其口，直接向凶手勒索！但她却两者都没 用。为什么要用那样模棱两可的话呢？只有一个原因！她是在提醒凶手。因此， 凶手当时一定在场。但除了我和雷斯上校外，只有另外两人——希蒙•道尔和贝 斯勒医生。” 医生又一次暴跳加雷地大叫道： “呵！你说什么？你诬蔑我？又一次？简直是荒谬！” 白罗厉声道：“别吵。我只是在告诉你我当时的想法。先不要意气用事。” “他不是指现在仍然怀疑你。”珂妮亚轻声说。 白罗继续说：“因此必需在这两人之间作一选择。但贝斯勒医生有什么动机 要杀林娜•道尔呢？就我所知，没有。希蒙•道尔呢？但这却不可能！有那么多 证人可以发誓证明，希蒙•道尔在跟贾克琳•杜贝尔弗口角之前，半步也没有离 开过了望厅；口角之后，他被打伤了，更不可能动手。证据充分吗？相当充分。 有罗柏森小姐、吉姆（吉姆（Jim）是詹姆斯（James）的简称。——译者注）• 芬索普先生和杜贝尔弗小姐的证词，还有贝斯勒医生和鲍尔斯小姐等专家的证 明。一点疑问也没有。 “那么，贝斯勒医生一定是凶手了。有利的证据是露易丝•蒲尔杰是被手术 刀所刺死的。但另一方面，贝斯勒医生却特意提出这点。 “接着，我看到了另一个不可置疑的事实。露易丝•蒲尔杰的暗示不是说给 贝斯勒医生听的，因为她大可在任何时间向他私下说个明白。只有一个人，惟一 的一个人是她心目的对象——那就是希蒙•道尔！希蒙•道尔因枪伤躺在医生房 里，医生又寸步不离，于是她惟有冒险说出含糊的暗示，恐怕再没有第二个机 会。我记得她曾经转向主人说，‘先生，我求求你！你看怎么办？我该怎样说？’ 答话是‘我的好露易丝，别像个傻瓜。没有人说你见到或听到什么。你会没事 的。我会照顾你。没人会诬蔑你的。’这就是她想要的保证，而她显然抓到了意 思。” 贝斯勒医生大声反驳道：“呵！太荒谬了！你以为一个碎了骨、断了腿的人 可以随便走动，刺死别人吗？告诉你，希蒙•道尔绝不可能离开房间。” 白罗柔声说：“我知道，这很正确。事情是绝不可能。虽然是不可能，但事 实却是如此！露易丝•蒲尔杰话语背后所隐含的只有一个合逻辑的意义。 “于是我利用手上的新资料，重新研究案情。希蒙•道尔会不会在口角之前 离开过了望厅，而被其他人所忽略了呢？我想不可能。贝斯勒医生和鲍尔斯小姐 的技术性证词可靠吗？我突然悟起，中间是有一个空隙的。希蒙•道尔被独个儿 留在厅里大约有五分钟，而贝斯勒医生的证词是在这之后才生效的。在这段期 间，虽然有证人，而且一切看来极合情理，但已不再是那么肯定了。哪些事情是 人们亲眼目睹的？ “罗柏森小姐见到杜贝尔弗小组开枪，希蒙•道尔倒在椅上，用手帕按着 腿，而手帕逐渐染红了。芬索普先生听到及见到什么？他听到枪声，发现道尔先 生用血红的手帕按着腿。之后，发生了什么事？道尔先生坚持杜贝尔弗小姐应该 被带走，而且不应被独自留下。然后，他建议芬索普先生跑去找医生来。 “于是罗柏森小姐和芬索普先生扶着杜贝尔弗小姐出去了。其后的五分钟， 他俩忙于在船的左舷跑动。鲍尔斯小姐、贝斯勒医生和杜贝尔弗小姐的房间都在 左舷。希蒙•道尔只需要两分钟。他从沙发底下拾起手枪，脱去鞋子，飞快地悄 悄地跑过右舷甲板，走进太太的房间，摸近床边，向她头部开了一枪，把那瓶滴 有红墨水的指甲油放在漱洗台上（他应该扔掉它），跑回了望厅，拿起早已偷来 的梵舒乐小姐的围巾，卷着枪朝自己的腿上开了一枪。他跌坐在靠近窗口的椅上 （这番是真的痛极了），托起窗，将手枪连同围巾和手帕扔进河里。” “不可能！”雷斯说。 “不，老友，不是不可能的。记得提姆的证词吗？他听到‘扑’的一声—— 然后是水溅声。他还听到别的声音——有人跑动的脚步声——有人跑过他的房 间，但无人会跑过右舷甲板的。他听到的正是希蒙•道尔的跑步声。” 雷斯说：“我仍然认为不可能。没人能够想出这样行动紧凑的计划的——特 别是像希蒙•道尔这样一个头脑简单的人。” “但他的身手倒很快速和敏捷。” “不错，但他断不能够计划出整个行动。” “老友，不是他一个人想出来的。这正是我们完全估计错误的地方。这好像 是在一念之间所犯下的罪案，其实一点也不是。它是经过巧妙安排和深思熟虑 的。希蒙•道尔不可能恰巧有瓶红墨水在身边。不，一定是经过设计的。他也不 是恰巧袋里有条单色手帕的；而贾克琳•杜贝尔弗也不是恰巧把枪踢到沙发底 下，使人看不见的。” “贾克琳？” “当然罗。另一半的凶手。希蒙•道尔的不在场证明是什么？贾克琳•杜贝 尔弗开的一枪。贾克琳的不在场证明呢？在希蒙•道尔的坚持下，她整晚由护士 陪伴。在他们两人之中，可以找到行凶的一切必备条件——贾克琳•杜贝尔弗有 冷静、机智和有条理的头脑；希蒙•道尔则有高度敏捷和计算准确的身手。 “从正确的角度来看，每一个问题都可以找到答案。希蒙•道尔跟贾克琳• 杜贝尔弗是爱侣。弄清楚他俩仍然相爱，事情就很清楚了。希蒙干掉富有的太 太，继承巨额遗产，在适当的时候再娶旧爱人。真是天衣无缝！贾克琳对道尔夫 人的恐吓，全是计划的一部分。希蒙的假装愤怒……不过——总是有漏洞的。他 曾经向我讲到具有占有欲的女人——表示出极度的厌恶。我应该想到他是在说自 己的太太——而不是贾克琳。然后是他在公共场合对太太的态度。一个平凡、不 善辞令的英国人——正如希蒙•道尔，是不惯于流露感情的。希蒙不是个好演 员，他对太太的爱慕显然太做作。还有，我跟杜贝尔弗小姐在亚思温谈话，她假 装说有人在偷听。其实一个人也没有！但这在事后就变成混淆视听的要素了。 “最后一幕戏安排得巧妙极了。我被早早送入梦乡，免得妨碍行事。罗柏森 小姐被选中当证人——故意制造事件，贾克琳•杜贝尔弗的过度歇斯底里。她吵 吵嚷嚷，以防枪声被听到。啊，真是聪明透顶的主意！贾克琳说她打中了希蒙， 罗柏森小姐和芬索普先生也这样说——而当希蒙的腿给检查时，的确是被枪伤 了！虽然希蒙得冒痛苦和生命的危险，但他的伤口必需使他完全不能行动。于是 他俩都有了确实的不在场证明。 “但计划不幸出岔了。露易丝•蒲尔杰睡不着，走上甲板，恰巧见到希蒙跑 进太太房间，又出去了。第二天，她恍然大悟，于是在贪婪的驱使下，勒索金 钱，结果得到这样的下场。” “但道尔先生不可能杀死她呀！”珂妮亚反驳道。 “不，是另一个搭档干的。一有机会，希蒙就要求跟贾克琳见面。他甚至请 我离开让他们两人独处一起。他于是告诉她新的情况，她必需立即行动。他晓得 贝斯勒医生的手术刀放在哪儿；行凶之后，刀被抹净，放回原处。贾克琳•杜贝 尔弗很迟才气喘吁吁来到餐厅。 “但事情还未解决。鄂特伯恩太太看见贾克琳走进露易丝•蒲尔杰的房间， 于是急忙走来告诉希蒙，造成贾克琳第二度杀人。你记得希蒙怎样喝斥那老妇人 吗？当时我们还以为他是神经紧张。但门是开着的，他是在把危险讯号传达给伙 伴。她听到了，立刻采取闪电般的行动。她记得潘宁顿有一枝左轮手枪，于是把 枪偷到手，悄悄走近门边，就在危险关头，扳动枪机。她曾经夸口说枪法很准。 看来所言不差。“我在事后指出，凶手可以由三个方向逃走。我是说，他可以沿 着甲板走——那么提姆就是凶手；跳到下层甲板——很不可能办到；或是走进房 间。贾克琳所住离贝斯勒医生只有两个房间。她只需要抛下潘宁顿的枪，捣乱头 发，跳到床上去。虽然冒险，但这是惟一可行的方法。” 沉默了一会之后，雷斯问道：“贾克琳朝希蒙发射的第一颗子弹哪里去了？” “我想它飞进了一张桌子。那儿有一个小洞，我想希蒙有充分时间挖出，抛 进河里。当然，他多预备了一颗子弹，所以看来好像只开过两枪。” 珂妮亚叹息道：“他们什么事都考虑到了。真——可怕！” 白罗不再发一言，但他的眼神好像在说，“你错了。他们逃不过白罗的眼 睛。” 接着他大声道：“医生，我们去跟病人谈一谈吧。” Chapter 29 Chapter 29 It was very much later that evening that Hercule Poirot came and knocked on the door of a cabin. A voice said "Come in" and he entered. Jacqueline de Bellefort was sitting in a chair. In another chair, close against the wall, sat the big stewardess. Jacqueline's eyes surveyed Poirot thoughtfully. She made a gesture toward the stewardess. "Can she go?" Poirot nodded to the woman and she went out. Poirot drew up her chair and sat down near Jacqueline. Neither of them spoke. Poirot's face was unhappy. In the end it was the girl who spoke first. "Well," she said, "it is all over! You were too clever for us, Monsieur Poirot." Poirot sighed. He spread out his hands. He seemed strangely dumb. "All the same," said Jacqueline reflectively, "I can't really see that you had much proof. You were quite right, of course, but if we'd bluffed you out -" "In no other way, Mademoiselle, could the thing have happened." "That's proof enough for a logical mind, but I don't believe it would have convinced a jury. Oh, well - it can't be helped. You sprang it all on Simon, and he went down like a ninepin. He just lost his head utterly, poor lamb, and admitted everything." She shook her head. "He's a bad loser." "But you, Mademoiselle, are a good loser." She laughed suddenly - a queer, gay, defiant little laugh. "Oh, yes, I'm a good loser all right." She looked at him. She said suddenly and impulsively: "Don't mind so much, Monsieur Poirot! About me, I mean. You do mind, don't you?" "Yes, Mademoiselle." "But it wouldn't have occurred to you to let me off?" Hercule Poirot said quietly, "No." She nodded her head in quiet agreement. "No, it's no use being sentimental. I might do it again... I'm not a safe person any longer. I can feel that myself..." She went on broodingly: "It's so dreadfully easy - killing people. And you begin to feel that it doesn't matter! It's dangerous - that." She paused, then said with a little smile: "You did your best for me, you know. That night at Assuan - you told me not to open my heart to evil... Did you realize then what was in my mind?" He shook his head. "I only knew that what I said was true." "It was true. I could have stopped, then, you know. I nearly did... I could have told Simon that I wouldn't go on with it... But then perhaps -" She broke off. She said: "Would you like to hear about it? From the beginning?" "If you care to tell me, Mademoiselle." "I think I want to tell you. It was all very simple really. You see, Simon and I loved each other..." It was a matter-of-fact statement, yet, underneath the lightness of her tone, there were echoes... Poirot said simply, "And for you love would have been enough, but not for him." "You might put it that way, perhaps. But you don't quite understand Simon. You see, he's always wanted money so dreadfully. He likes all the things you get with money - horses and yachts and sport - nice things, all of them, things a man ought to be keen about. And he'd never been able to have any of them. He's awfully simple, Simon is. He wants things just as a child wants them - you know - terribly. "All the same he never tried to marry anybody rich and horrid. He wasn't that sort. And then we met - and - and that sort of settled things. Only we didn't see when we'd be able to marry. He'd had rather a decent job, but he'd lost it. In a way it was his own fault. He tried to do something smart over money, and got found out at once. I don't believe he really meant to be dishonest. He just thought it was the sort of thing people did in the City." A flicker passed over her listener's face, but he guarded his tongue. "There we were, up against it; and then I thought of Linnet and her new country house, and I rushed off to her. You know, Monsieur Poirot, I loved Linnet, really I did. She was my best friend, and I never dreamed that anything would ever come between us. I just thought how lucky it was she was rich. It might make all the difference to me and Simon if she'd give him a job. And she was awfully sweet about it and told me to bring Simon down to see her. It was about then you saw us that night at Chez Ma Tante. We were making whoopee, although we couldn't really afford it." She paused, sighed, then went on: "What I'm going to say now is quite true, Monsieur Poirot. Even though Linnet is dead, it doesn't alter the truth. That's why I'm not really sorry about her, even now. She went all out to get Simon away from me. That's the absolute truth! I don't think she even hesitated for more than about a minute. I was her friend, but she didn't care. She just went bald- headed for Simon... "And Simon didn't care a damn about her! I talked a lot to you about glamour, but of course that wasn't true. He didn't want Linnet. He thought her good-looking but terribly bossy, and he hated bossy women! The whole thing embarrassed him frightfully. But he did like the thought of her money. "Of course I saw that... and at last I suggested to him that it might be a good thing if he - got rid of me and married Linnet. But he scorned the idea. He said, money or no money, it would be hell to be married to her. He said his idea of having money was to have it himself - not to have a rich wife holding the purse strings. 'I'd be a kind of damned Prince Consort,' he said to me. He said, too, that he didn't want anyone but me... "I think I know when the idea came into his head. He said one day, 'If I'd any luck, I'd marry her and she'd die in about a year and leave me all the boodle.' And then a queer startled look came into his eyes. That was when he first thought of it... "He talked about it a good deal, one way and another - about how convenient it would be if Linnet died. I said it was an awful idea, and then he shut up about it. Then, one day, I found him reading up all about arsenic. I taxed him with it then, and he laughed and said: 'Nothing venture, nothing have! It's about the only time in my life I shall be near to touching a fat lot of money.' "After a bit I saw that he'd made up his mind. And I was terrified - simply terrified. Because, you see, I realized that he'd never pull it off. He's so childishly simple. He'd have no kind of subtlety about it - and he's got no imagination. He would probably have just bunged arsenic into her and assumed the doctor would say she'd died of gastritis. He always thought things would go right. "So I had to come into it, too, to look after him." She said it very simply but in complete good faith. Poirot had no doubt whatever that her motive had been exactly what she said it was. She herself had not coveted Linnet Ridgeway's money, but she had loved Simon Doyle, had loved him beyond reason and beyond rectitude and beyond pity. "I thought and I thought - trying to work out a plan. It seemed to me that the basis of the idea ought to be a kind of two-handed alibi. You know - if Simon and I could somehow or other give evidence against each other, but actually that evidence would clear us of everything. It would be easy enough for me to pretend to hate Simon. It was quite a likely thing to happen under the circumstances. Then, if Linnet was killed, I should probably be suspected, so it would be better if I was suspected right away. We worked out details little by little. I wanted it to be so that, if anything went wrong, they'd get me and not Simon. But Simon was worried about me. "The only thing I was glad about was that I hadn't got to do it. I simply couldn't have! Not go along in cold blood and kill her when she was asleep! You see, I hadn't forgiven her - I think I could have killed her face to face, but not the other way... "We worked everything out carefully. Even then, Simon went and wrote a J in blood, which was a silly melodramatic thing to do. It's just the sort of thing he would think of! But it went off all right." Poirot nodded. "Yes. It was not your fault that Louise Bourget could not sleep that night... And afterward, Mademoiselle?" She met his eyes squarely. "Yes," she said, "it's rather horrible, isn't it? I can't believe that I did that! I know now what you meant by opening your heart to evil... You know pretty well how it happened. Louise made it clear to Simon that she knew. Simon got you to bring me to him. As soon as we were alone together he told me what had happened. He told me what I'd got to do. I wasn't even horrified. I was so afraid - so deadly afraid... That's what murder does to you. Simon and I were safe - quite safe - except for this miserable blackmailing French girl. I took her all the money we could get hold of. I pretended to grovel. And then, when she was counting the money, I - did it! It was quite easy. That's what's so horribly, horribly frightening about it... It's so terribly easy... "And even then we weren't safe. Mrs Otterbourne had seen me. She came triumphantly along the deck looking for you and Colonel Race. I'd no time to think. I just acted like a flash. It was almost exciting. I knew it was touch or go that time. That seemed to make it better..." She stopped again. "Do you remember when you came into my cabin afterward? You said you were not sure why you had come. I was so miserable - so terrified. I thought Simon was going to die..." "And I - was hoping it," said Poirot. Jacqueline nodded. "Yes, it would have been better for him that way." "That was not my thought." Jacqueline looked at the sternness of his face. She said gently: "Don't mind so much for me, Monsieur Poirot. After all, I've lived hard always, you know. If we'd won out, I'd have been very happy and enjoyed things and probably should never have regretted anything. As it is - well, one goes through with it." She added: "I suppose the stewardess is in attendance to see I don't hang myself or swallow a miraculous capsule of prussic acid as people always do in books. You needn't be afraid! I shan't do that. It will be easier for Simon if I'm standing by." Poirot got up. Jacqueline rose also. She said with a sudden smile: "Do you remember when I said I must follow my star? You said it might be a false star. And I said, 'That very bad star, that star fall down.'" He went out onto the deck with her laughter ringing in his ears. 第二部 埃及 29 第二部 埃及 29 那天晚上夜很深了，白罗来到一间房门口，举手敲门。里面有人应道，“进 来。”他走了进去。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗坐在椅上。在靠墙的另一张椅上，坐着一位高大的女侍 应。 贾克琳满怀心事地打量他一下。她指指那女侍应。 “她可以出去吗？” 白罗点点头。女侍应离开房间。白罗坐近贾克琳。两人默默无言，白罗一脸 惋惜的神情。最后还是贾克琳先开口。 “嗯，”她说，“一切都完了！我们斗不过你的机智，白罗先生。” 白罗叹息着。他摊开双手。他沉默得异常。 “无论如何，”贾克琳沉思地说，“我总觉得你的证据不充足。当然，你推 断得很正确，但假如我们坚持——” “小姐，整件事情是不可能有第二个结局的。” “用逻辑推理当然可以成立，但我不相信能说服陪审团。不过，唉——没办 法哪。你们很聪明，懂得向单纯的希蒙下手。自然，以你的机智和口才，他不讲 行吗？”她接着摇头叹息道，“那可怜和没用的家伙。” “不过，小姐，你倒是个有风度的失败者。” 她突然笑起来——一种古怪、充满叛逆的笑声。 “噢，不错，我的确很有风度。”她望着白罗。过一会她突然颇有所感地 说，“白罗先生，不必介意！我是说，不必为我担心。你很关心我，对吗？” “是的，小姐。” “但你是断不会放我走的吧？” 白罗冷静地说：“不。” 她同意地点点头。 “是的，何必感情用事。我或许会再来一次……我已不再是个安全人物了。 我感觉到自己……”她滔滔不绝地往下说，“——杀人是那么容易的事。你开始 感到一切都没关系……最重要的是自己！很危险——这。” 她顿了一顿，然后微笑道：“你知道，你已经为我尽了力。在亚思温那晚 ——你劝我不要让邪恶打开我的心房……你知道我当时在想些什么吗？” 白罗摇摇头。 “我只知道自己说的没错。” “是的，你没错。你知道，当时我可以下定决心不再做下去。我几乎这样做 了……我大可告诉希蒙我不干了……但后来也许——” 她突然停住了，问道，“你想听下去吗？从头开始？” “如果你喜欢的话，小姐。” “我想我愿意告诉你。事情其实很简单。希蒙和我彼此相爱……” 白罗率直地说：“对你来说，单是爱便已足够，但希蒙却不这么想。” “或许你可以这样说。但你并不十分了解希蒙。你知道，他一向希望有一大 笔钱。他喜欢一切钱所能买到的东西——马匹、游艇、户外游戏器材——全都是 很美好的东西，一个男人应该感到兴趣的东西。而他从来就没办法得到这些东 西。希蒙这人很单纯，他盼望拥有东西的心情就像小孩子那样热切。 “无论如何，他从来没有想过娶个有钱的丑妇人。他不是那种人。跟着我们 相遇，并且开始相爱，只是我们无法预知何时才能结婚。他本来有份很好的工 作，但他丢了职。可以说这完全是他自己的错。他试图在账目里打主意，结果被 发现了。我不相信他真的企图行骗，他只是以为城里人都这样做罢了。” 白罗脸上闪过一种光芒，但他没有开口。 “就这样，我们身陷困境。当时我想起林娜和她的新村居，于是赶忙去求 她。白罗先生，你知道吗？其实我很喜欢林娜。她是我最要好的朋友，而我从来 没想过我们两人之间会发生什么争执。我只是认为她福星高照，拥有那么多遗 产。倘若她能给希蒙一个职位，对我们一定帮助不少。她很爽快，立刻便叫我带 希蒙去见她。那就是你在‘在姑妈家’餐厅遇到我们的时候。我们正在狂欢，尽 管袋里没有多少钱。” 她顿了一顿，叹一口气，然后继续说道：“白罗先生，我下面所说的都是实 情。虽然林娜已经死了，但也改变不了事实。那就是为什么直到现在我一点也不 替她难过。她用尽一切力量想把希蒙抢走。这是一个可悲的事实！我相信她不曾 犹豫过一两分钟。我是她的朋友，她一点也不在乎，她只是盲目地追求希蒙…… “但希蒙却不屑多看她一眼！我跟你说过林娜极富魅力，但事实并不尽然。 希蒙不喜欢她。他认为她很漂亮，但非常专横，他最讨厌霸道的女人！他感到很 尴尬，但他的确很喜欢她的钱。 “当然，我看出这点……最后我向他提议，他不如丢下我，跟林娜结婚。但 他不屑地拒绝了。他说，不管有钱没钱他要娶的一定是我。他说如果要有钱，就 得自己拥有一切，而不要靠有钱的太太施舍。他还说，只要我一个…… “我想我知道他何时有了这样一个念头。有一天他说‘如果我运气够好，跟 她结了婚，然后一年后她死了，我便可以得到她的一切。’他的目光充满古怪的 神情。这就是他第一次有这样的想法…… “他反复地不断提及——倘若林娜死了该会多好。我说这想法太可怕，他也 就不敢再提了。其后有一天，我发现他在读有关毒药的书，我责备他，他却笑着 说‘不入虎穴，焉得虎子！这是我一生惟一的机会，可以碰到这么多钱。’ “过了不久，我晓得他已下定决心。我很恐惧——只是恐惧。因为我知道他 永远无法脱身。他头脑那么简单！他不够狡猾又缺乏想像力。他很可能胡乱拿砒 霜给林娜吃，然后以为医生会说她是因胃炎而死。他总认为事情极简单。 “因此，我必需替他设法，我要照顾他……” 她是那么坦率，又那么忠贞。白罗一点也不怀疑她所说的动机。她本人并不 贪图林娜•道尔的金钱，但她实在太爱希蒙•道尔，甚至超越了常人的理智。 “我想了又想，试图拟定一项计划。我的基本想法是一个两个人都不在场的 证明。如果希蒙和我有办法互相指证，而这恰好又可以洗脱我们的嫌疑的话。最 容易的就是由我假装憎恨希蒙。那么，假若林娜死了，我的嫌疑必然最大，所 以，最好一开头就让我被人怀疑。我俩逐步拟妥计划。我要安排好，一旦出了纰 漏，罪名会落在我而不是希蒙身上。 “我惟一深感庆幸的是我不必动手去做。我根本做不出来。悄悄地、冷血地 把睡梦里的她杀死！我并没有原谅她——我想我可以面对面打死她，但……” “我们小心地进行一切。后来希蒙下手了，又在墙上写下一个‘J’字。这 其实是个笨拙和太戏剧化的做法。只有希蒙才想得出来。但事情进行得颇为顺 利。” 白罗点点头。 “是的。露易丝•蒲尔杰那晚睡不着，可不是你的错……以后呢，小姐？” 她直瞪着白罗。 “不错，”她说，“很可怕，是吗？我真不相信我会——这样干！我现在明 白你说这句话的意思：‘让邪恶打开心房……’你很清楚事情发生了。当希蒙说 我必需这样干的时候，我甚至不觉得恐怖。我只是很害怕——极度害怕——这就 是杀人的结果。希蒙和我其实很安全，如果不是出了那个贪婪的女佣。我把我们 手头上所有的钱，拿去给她。我装出摇尾乞怜的样子，就在她数钱的时候，我 ——动了手！是那么轻而易举，又是那么令人恐怖……” “但我们还未度过险境。鄂特伯恩太太见到了我。她满心欢喜，跑过甲板去 找你和上校。我没有时间考虑，我惟有闪电般采取行动。简直太刺激了！一触即 发！” 她再度停顿下来。 “你记得后来你到我房里，你说你不知道你为什么要来吗？那时我好可怜 ——心里恐惧极了。我以为希蒙会死……” “而我——我正希望如此。”白罗说。 “是的，这样他或许会好过些。” “我倒不是这样想。” 贾克琳望着他那严肃的脸孔。 她柔声地说：“白罗先生，不必太替我担心。总而言之，我早已过惯苦日 子，这你是知道的。如果我们成功了，我将会很快活地享受一切，而不会有半点 悔意。现在既然如此——嗯，只好接受现实了。” 她加了一句，“我想，那女侍应是要监视我的，防止我上吊或服毒自杀—— 就像书中的主角一样。你不用害怕！我不会这样做。有我在身旁，希蒙会好过 些。” 白罗站起来。贾克琳也站起来，但她突然笑着：“还记得我曾说过我必须追 随我的星宿行事？你说那可能是颗靠不住的星星；我却说，‘那是颗坏星星！那 颗星会掉下来！’” 白罗踏出甲板，耳际依然回响着贾克琳的笑声。 Chapter 30 Chapter 30 It was early dawn when they came into Shellвl. The rocks came down grimly to the water's edge. Poirot murmured, "Quel pays sauvage!" Race stood beside him. "Well," he said, "we've done our job. I've arranged for Richetti to be taken ashore first. Glad we've got him, He's been a slippery customer, I can tell you. Given us the slip dozens of times." He went on: "We must get hold of a stretcher for Doyle. Remarkable how he went to pieces." "Not really," said Poirot. "That boyish type of criminal is usually intensely vain. Once prick the bubble of their self-esteem and it is finished! They go to pieces like children." "Deserves to be hanged," said Race. "He's a cold-blooded scoundrel. I'm sorry for the girl - but there's nothing to be done about it." Poirot shook his head. "People say love justifies everything, but that is not true. Women who care for men as Jacqueline cares for Simon Doyle are very dangerous. It is what I said when I saw her first. 'She cares too much, that little one!' It is true." Cornelia Robson came up beside him. "Oh," she said, "we're nearly in." She paused a minute or two then added, "I've been with her." "With Mademoiselle de Bellefort?" "Yes. I felt it was kind of awful for her boxed up with that stewardess. Cousin Marie's very angry though, I'm afraid." Miss Van Schuyler was progressing slowly down the deck toward them. Her eyes were venomous. "Cornelia," she snapped, "you've behaved outrageously. I shall send you straight home." Cornelia took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Cousin Marie, but I'm not going home. I'm going to get married." "So you've seen sense at last," snapped the old lady. Ferguson came striding round the corner of the deck. He said: "Cornelia, what's this I hear? It's not true!" "It's quite true," said Cornelia. "I'm going to marry Dr Bessner. He asked me last night." "And why are you going to marry him?" asked Ferguson furiously. "Simply because he's rich." "No, I'm not," said Cornelia indignantly. "I like him. He's kind, and he knows a lot. And I've always been interested in sick folks and clinics, and I shall have just a wonderful life with him." "Do you mean to say," asked Mr Ferguson incredulously, "that you'd rather marry that disgusting old man than me?" "Yes, I would. You're not reliable! You wouldn't be at all a comfortable sort of person to live with. And he's not old. He's not fifty yet." "He's got a stomach," said Mr Ferguson venomously. "Well, I've got round shoulders," retorted Cornelia. "What one looks like doesn't matter. He says I really could help him in his work, and be's going to teach me all about neuroses." She moved away. Ferguson said to Poirot, "Do you think she really means that?" "Certainly." "She prefers that pompous old bore to me?" "Undoubtedly." "The girl's mad," declared Ferguson. Poirot's eyes twinkled. "She is a woman of an original mind," he said. "It is probably the first time you have met one." The boat drew in to the landing stage. A cordon had been drawn round the passengers. They had been asked to wait before disembarking. Richetti, dark faced and sullen, was marched ashore by two engineers. Then, after a certain amount of delay, a stretcher was brought. Simon Doyle was carried along the deck to the gangway. He looked a different man - cringing, frightened, all his boyish insouciance vanished. Jacqueline de Bellefort followed. A stewardess walked beside her. She was pale but otherwise looked much as usual. She came up to the stretcher. "Hullo, Simon," she said. He looked up at her quickly. The old boyish look came back to his face for a moment. "I messed it up," he said. "Lost my head and admitted everything! Sorry, Jackie. I've let you down." She smiled at him then. "It's all right, Simon," she said. "A fool's game, and we've lost. That's all." She stood aside. The bearer picked up the handles of the stretcher. Jacqueline bent down and tied the lace of her shoe. Then her hand went to her stocking top and she straightened up with something in her hand. There was a sharp explosive "pop." Simon Doyle gave one convulsed shudder and then lay still. Jacqueline de Bellefort nodded. She stood for a minute, pistol in hand. She gave a fleeting smile at Poirot. Then, as Race jumped forward, she turned the little glittering toy against her heart and pressed the trigger. She sank down in a soft huddled heap. Race shouted, "Where the devil did she get that pistol?" Poirot felt a hand on his arm. Mrs Allerton said softly, "You knew?" He nodded. "She had a pair of these pistols. I realized that when I heard that one had been found in Rosalie Otterbourne's handbag the day of the search. Jacqueline sat at the same table as they did. When she realized that there was going to be a search, she slipped it into the other girl's handbag. Later she went to Rosalie's cabin and got it back, after having distracted her attention with a comparison of lipsticks. As both she and her cabin had been searched yesterday, it wasn't thought necessary to do it again." Mrs Allerton said, "You wanted her to take that way out?" "Yes. But she would not take it alone. That is why Simon Doyle has died an easier death than he deserved." Mrs Allerton shivered. "Love can be a very frightening thing." "That is why most great love stories are tragedies." Mrs Allerton's eyes rested upon Tim and Rosalie, standing side by side in the sunlight, and she said suddenly and passionately, "But thank God, there is happiness in the world." "As you say, Madame, thank God for it." Presently the passengers went ashore. Later the bodies of Louise Bourget and Mrs Otterbourne were carried off the Karnak. Lastly the body of Linnet Doyle was brought ashore, and all over the world wires began to hum, telling the public that Linnet Doyle, who had been Linnet Ridgeway, the famous, the beautiful, the wealthy Linnet Doyle was dead... Sir George Wode read about it in his London club, and Stemdale Rockford in New York, and Joanna Southwood in Switzerland, and it was discussed in the bar of the Three Crowns in Malton-under-Wode. And Mr Burnaby's lean friend said, "Well, it didn't seem fair, her having everything." And Mr Burnaby said acutely, "Well, it doesn't seem to have done her much good, poor lass." But after a while they stopped talking about her and discussed instead who was going to win the Grand National. For, as Mr Ferguson was saying at that minute in Luxor, it is not the past that matters but the future. 第二部 埃及 30 第二部 埃及 30 天蒙蒙亮，船抵达雪莱尔。水面的岩石显得黯淡无光。 白罗喃喃道：“多么可怕的旅程！” 雷斯站在他旁边。“嗯，”他说，“我们总算大功告成。我已安排好，先带 黎希提上岸。抓到他真值得庆贺。这个狡猾的家伙，我们被他骗了不知多少次。” 他继续道，“得找张担架给希蒙•道尔。奇怪他崩溃得这么快。” “毫不出奇，”白罗说，“这种幼稚的凶手通常都异常虚弱。一击溃他们的 自尊心，他们便注定完蛋了！就像小孩子般不堪一击。” “应该判他死刑。”雷斯说，“冷血的凶手。我真替那少女难过——不过也 没有什么办法。” 白罗摇摇头。 “俗话说：爱能升华一切，其实不然……一个女人如果过分爱护一个男人， 就像贾克琳爱希蒙•道尔那样，将是很危险的。我第一次见到她的时候我就说， ‘她爱得太深了。’我没看错。” 珂妮亚•罗柏森走到他们身旁。 “噢，”她说，“快泊好岸了。”她停顿一两分钟，然后补充说，“我去看 过她。’ “杜贝尔弗小姐？” “是的。我觉得，她给女侍应看管着，心里一定很不好受。我怕玛丽表姊会 生气。”梵舒乐小姐正慢慢从甲板那边移近来。她的目光凶厉。 “珂妮亚，”她厉声道，“你的行为太过分了。我要立刻送你回家。” 珂妮亚深吸一口气。“对不起，表姊。我不打算回家了，我要结婚。” “你总算有点理智了。”老女士的声音尖而快。 斐格森踱步来到甲板这个角落。他说：“珂妮亚，我听到的是什么话？那不 是真的！” “是真的，”珂妮亚说。“我准备嫁给贝斯勒医生。他昨晚向我求婚。” “你为什么要嫁他？”斐格森气愤地问道，“只因为他有钱？” “不，不是的。”珂妮亚辩解道，“我喜欢他。他心地善良，又有人生阅 历。我对病人跟诊所一向都极感兴趣，我跟他一定可以生活圆满。” “你的意思是说，”斐格森先生不相信地问道，“你宁愿嫁这个糟老头而不 愿嫁给我？” “是的，我愿嫁给他。你不可信赖！跟你这种人相处一点也不愉快。再说他 年纪也不太大，他还没五十哩。” “他有个大肚子。”斐格森先生恶意地说。 “那我有个圆肩膀，”珂妮亚反嘴道，“一个人外表并不重要。他说在工作 上我确实可以帮助他，他要教我怎样做护理工作。” 她走了开去。斐格森向白罗说：“你认为她这样说是真心的？” “当然。” “他喜欢那好表现的老头子甚于我？” “无疑是这样。” “这女孩子是疯了。” 斐格森宣称道。 白罗眼光闪烁。“这女孩很有独到的见解，”他说，“这可能是你第一次碰 到。” 船驶进了码头。旅客面前围起警戒线，他们必须再等待一段时间才能登岸。 脸色阴沉的黎希提由两位技术师首先给押上了岸。 接着，拖延一阵后，担架给弄来了。希蒙•道尔沿着甲板被抬到通道上。 他完全变了一个人——蜷缩着，怕得要死。昔日的孩子气已消逝得无影无 踪。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗尾随在后，女侍应在旁跟着。她除了脸色苍白外，神情并 无异样。她走到担架旁边。 “你好，希蒙。”她说。 他迅即抬起头来看她，从前的孩子气再度闪过脸庞。 “是我把事情弄糟的。”他说，“我真没用，什么都招了！对不起，贾姬。 我拖累了你。” 她向他微笑着。“不要紧，希蒙。”她说，“傻子的游戏，我们输了就是 吧！” 她站在一旁。杂役走来抬起担架。贾克琳俯身系鞋带，手滑到丝袜的顶上。 当她站直身子时，手上拿着一样东西。一声震响的爆炸声。 希蒙•道尔身子痉挛了一下，接着躺下来动也不动。 贾克琳•杜贝尔弗点点头。她手中握着枪，站立了一会，然后向白罗投以匆 匆的一笑。 接着，就在雷斯冲上前的当儿，她将手枪挪近自己的心房，扳动了枪机。 雷斯大叫道：“她从什么鬼地方得到这枪的？” 一双手搭到白罗的臂膀上。艾乐顿太太轻声道：“你——早就知道？” 他点点头。“她是有一对这样的手枪的。那天当我听到罗莎莉•鄂特伯恩的 手提包被搜出枪枝，我就知道了。贾克琳跟她们同桌进食。搜查的时候，她把枪 悄悄放进罗莎莉的手提包里，其后又借口比较唇膏，到罗莎莉那儿取回来。因为 她和她的房间昨天都被搜查过了，所以没有必要再搜一次。” 艾乐顿太太说：“你要她这样解脱自己？” “是的。但她不会独个儿解决的。那就是为什么希蒙•道尔死得比他所应受 的要来得舒服。” 艾乐顿太太颤抖一下。“爱情可以是很可怕的东西。” “那就是为什么伟大的爱情故事总是悲剧。” 艾乐顿太太的目光停留在提姆和罗莎莉的身上。他俩正肩并肩站在阳光下。 她突然很感慨地说：“感谢上帝，人间总有欢乐。” “太太，如你所说，感谢上帝。” 这当儿，旅客纷纷上岸了。 接着，露易丝和鄂特伯恩太太的尸体给移离“卡拿克”号。 最后上岸的，是林娜•道尔的尸体。全世界的无线电机开始转动，向大众宣 布林娜•道尔——一度显赫、漂亮而富有的林娜•黎吉薇已经死了。 乔治•渥德爵士在他伦敦的俱乐部，史登达尔•洛克弗德在纽约，乔安娜• 邵斯伍德在瑞士分别读到这则新闻。 美尔敦—下渥德的三冠酒吧里大家谈论这件事。 波纳比先生的一位瘦朋友说：“嗯，她样样东西都有，实在不公平。” 波纳比尖声说：“嗯，她太有钱并没有多大好处，可怜的女孩！” 但一会儿之后，他们就不再谈她。他们讨论的是谁是“Grand National”的 赢主（每年在英国利特浦举行的障碍马赛。——译者注）。斐格森先生在虑瑟一 地不是说过吗？应该把握的是未来不是过去。