Dedication
Dedication
My dear James
You have always been one of the most faithful and kindly of my readers, and
I was therefore seriously perturbed when I received from you a word of criticism.
You complained that my murders were getting too refined—anaemic, in fact.
You yearned for a “good violent murder with lots of blood.” A murder where
there was no doubt about its being murder!
So this is your special story—written for you. I hope it may please.
Your affectionate sister-in-law
Agatha
献词
亲爱的詹姆斯：
你一直是我最忠实、最宽容的读者之一，因此，收到你的批评时我感到极为不安。
你抱怨说我写的谋杀太文雅了——事实上就是缺少血腥。你渴望一起“血淋淋的暴力谋
杀”，一件不容置疑的谋杀案。
这就是特别为你而创作的故事。希望它能让你满意。
爱你的妻妹阿加莎
PART ONE DECEMBER 22ND
PART ONE DECEMBER 22ND
Stephen pulled up the collar of his coat as he walked briskly along the platform. Overhead a dim
fog clouded the station. Large engines hissed superbly, throwing off clouds of steam into the cold
raw air. Everything was dirty and smoke-grimed.
Stephen thought with revulsion:
“What a foul country—what a foul city!”
His first excited reaction to London, its shops, its restaurants, its well-dressed, attractive
women, had faded. He saw it now as a glittering rhinestone set in a dingy setting.
Supposing he were back in South Africa now . . . He felt a quick pang of homesickness.
Sunshine—blue skies—gardens of flowers—cool blue flowers—hedges of plumbago—blue
convolvulus clinging to every little shanty.
And here—dirt, grime, and endless, incessant crowds—moving, hurrying—jostling. Busy
ants running industriously about their anthill.
For a moment he thought, “I wish I hadn’t come. . . .”
Then he remembered his purpose and his lips set back in a grim line. No, by hell, he’d go on
with it! He’d planned this for years. He’d always meant to do—what he was going to do. Yes,
he’d go on with it!
That momentary reluctance, that sudden questioning of himself: “Why? Is it worth it? Why
dwell on the past? Why not wipe out the whole thing?”—all that was only weakness. He was not a
boy—to be turned this way and that by the whim of the moment. He was a man of forty, assured,
purposeful. He would go on with it. He would do what he had come to England to do.
He got on the train and passed along the corridor looking for a place. He had waved aside a
porter and was carrying his own raw-hide suitcase. He looked into carriage after carriage. The
train was full. It was only three days before Christmas. Stephen Farr looked distastefully at the
crowded carriages.
People! Incessant, innumerable people! And all so—so—what was the word—so drab-
looking! So alike, so horribly alike! Those that hadn’t got faces like sheep had faces like rabbits,
he thought. Some of them chattered and fussed. Some, heavily middle-aged men, grunted. More
like pigs, those. Even the girls, slender, egg-faced, scarlet-lipped, were of a depressing uniformity.
He thought with a sudden longing of open veldt, sunbaked and lonely. . . .
And then, suddenly, he caught his breath, looking into a carriage. This girl was different.
Black hair, rich creamy pallor—eyes with the depth and darkness of night in them. The sad proud
eyes of the South . . . It was all wrong that this girl should be sitting in this train among these dull,
drab-looking people—all wrong that she should be going into the dreary midlands of England. She
should have been on a balcony, a rose between her lips, a piece of black lace draping her proud
head, and there should have been dust and heat and the smell of blood—the smell of the bullring
—in the air . . . She should be somewhere splendid, not squeezed into the corner of a third-class
carriage.
He was an observant man. He did not fail to note the shabbiness of her little black coat and
skirt, the cheap quality of her fabric gloves, the flimsy shoes and the defiant note of a flame-red
handbag. Nevertheless splendour was the quality he associated with her. She was splendid, fine,
exotic. . . .
What the hell was she doing in this country of fogs and chills and hurrying industrious ants?
He thought, “I’ve got to know who she is and what she’s doing here . . . I’ve got to know.
. . .”
第一部分 十二月二十二日 1
第一部分 十二月二十二日
1
斯蒂芬竖起外衣的领子，沿着站台轻快地走着。头顶的雾气笼罩着整个车站，巨大的
引擎发出洪亮的嘶嘶声，把大团大团的蒸汽吐进阴冷潮湿的空气中。一切都是脏脏的，蒙
上了污浊的烟尘。
斯蒂芬厌恶地想着：多么肮脏的国度，多么肮脏的城市！
他对伦敦最初的兴奋感——那些商店、饭馆和穿着入时的迷人女郎——已荡然无存，
现在他看到的这座城市，就像一枚闪闪发光的人造宝石，镶嵌在肮脏的底座上。
假如他现在身在南非……想到这里，他突然感到一阵思乡的痛楚。阳光，蓝天，开满
鲜花的花园，清新的蓝色花朵，白花丹篱笆，每家每户的房子上都爬满了蓝紫色的牵牛
花。
而这里——泥土、煤尘，还有无止境的、奔流不息的人群——他们挪动、赶路、推
搡，就像奋力奔向蚁山的蚁群。
一时间他想：我要是没来就好了……接着，他想起了此行的目的，嘴巴马上抿成一条
冷酷的线。不，见鬼！他一定要继续下去！他已经计划了好几年，这是他一直想做的——
将要做的事。对，他一定要继续下去！
那一瞬间的犹疑，突如其来的对自己的质问——为什么要这么做？值得吗？为什么深
陷过去不放？为什么不能忘掉所有的事情——全都是软弱作怪。他不再是一个孩子了——
不能因为一时的念头而做这做那。他是一个四十岁的男人，充满自信，意志坚定。他一定
会继续下去，实现此次英格兰之行的目的。
他登上火车，沿着过道走，寻找一个空位。他挥挥手打发走一个行李搬运工，自己拿
着生牛皮质的行李箱，一个车厢一个车厢地查看。这趟车已经满满当当的了。离圣诞节还
有三天。斯蒂芬•法尔不愉快地看着拥挤的车厢。
人！没完没了、数不清的人！而且都是那么……那么……那个词怎么说的来着？都面
目可憎！那么相似，相似得可怕！这些人看起来可不像绵羊或兔子那样温顺。他们中的一
些喋喋不休、大惊小怪；还有一些体态臃肿的中年男人，哼哼唧唧的，更像是猪；就连那
些身子细长、鹅蛋脸、嘴巴涂抹得鲜红的女孩子，也一模一样得令人沮丧。
他的心中突然升起了一种渴望，渴望南非广袤的草原、炽烈的阳光、荒无人烟的……
然而，刹那间，正向一个车厢望去的他屏住了呼吸。那个姑娘完全不同：乌黑的头
发，细腻的奶油色皮肤，眼睛像午夜一样深邃、一样黑。那种忧郁而高傲的眼神是南方人
所特有的，这样的女郎绝不该出现在这群乏味、可憎的人当中——她就不该来到这沉闷的
英格兰中部地区。她应该倚在一个阳台上，嘴里衔着一朵玫瑰花，高傲的头上披着黑色的
蕾丝头纱，周围的空气中应该弥漫着尘土、热浪还有血的味道——正是那斗牛场的味
道……她应该出现在那些华丽辉煌的地方，而不是挤进三等车厢的一个角落。
斯蒂芬是一个善于观察的人，此时他也没有忽略她那身寒酸的黑色套装、劣质的线织
手套、薄薄的鞋子，以及颇具挑衅意味的火红色手袋。但他依旧认为她光彩照人。她靓
丽、美妙，具有一种异国情调……
她来这个多雾、寒冷，充斥着忙碌的小蚂蚁的国家干什么？
他想：我一定要知道她是谁，来这儿干什么。我一定要……
PART ONE DECEMBER 22ND II
II
Pilar sat squeezed up against the window and thought how very odd the English smelt . . . It was
what had struck her so far most forcibly about England—the difference of smell. There was no
garlic and no dust and very little perfume. In this carriage now there was a smell of cold stuffiness
—the sulphur smell of the trains—the smell of soap and another very unpleasant smell—it came,
she thought, from the fur collar of the stout woman sitting beside her. Pilar sniffed delicately,
imbibing the odour of mothballs reluctantly. It was a funny scent to choose to put on yourself, she
thought.
A whistle blew, a stentorian voice cried out something and the train jerked slowly out of the
station. They had started. She was on her way. . . .
Her heart beat a little faster. Would it be all right? Would she be able to accomplish what she
had set out to do? Surely—surely—she had thought it all out so carefully . . . She was prepared for
every eventuality. Oh, yes, she would succeed—she must succeed. . . .
The curve of Pilar’s red mouth curved upwards. It was suddenly cruel, that mouth. Cruel and
greedy—like the mouth of a child or a kitten—a mouth that knew only its own desires and that
was as yet unaware of pity.
She looked round her with the frank curiosity of a child. All these people, seven of them—
how funny they were, the English! They all seemed so rich, so prosperous—their clothes—their
boots—Oh! undoubtedly England was a very rich country as she had always heard. But they were
not at all gay—no, decidedly not gay.
That was a handsome man standing in the corridor . . . Pilar thought he was very handsome.
She liked his deeply bronzed face and his high-bridged nose and his square shoulders. More
quickly than any English girl, Pilar had seen that the man admired her. She had not looked at him
once directly, but she knew perfectly how often he had looked at her and exactly how he had
looked.
She registered the facts without much interest or emotion. She came from a country where
men looked at women as a matter of course and did not disguise the fact unduly. She wondered if
he was an Englishman and decided that he was not.
“He is too alive, too real, to be English,” Pilar decided. “And yet he is fair. He may be
perhaps Americano.” He was, she thought, rather like the actors she had seen in Wild West films.
An attendant pushed his way along the corridor.
“First lunch, please. First lunch. Take your seats for first lunch.”
The seven occupants of Pilar’s carriage all held tickets for the first lunch. They rose in a body
and the carriage was suddenly deserted and peaceful.
Pilar quickly pulled up the window which had been let down a couple of inches at the top by
a militant-looking, grey-haired lady in the opposite corner. Then she sprawled comfortably back
on her seat and peered out of the window at the northern suburbs of London. She did not turn her
head at the sound of the door sliding back. It was the man from the corridor, and Pilar knew, of
course, that he had entered the carriage on purpose to talk to her.
She continued to look pensively out of the window.
Stephen Farr said:
“Would you like the window down at all?”
Pilar replied demurely:
“On the contrary. I have just shut it.”
She spoke English perfectly, but with a slight accent.
During the pause that ensued, Stephen thought:
“A delicious voice. It has the sun in it . . . It is warm like a summer night. . . .”
Pilar thought:
“I like his voice. It is big and strong. He is attractive—yes, he is attractive.”
Stephen said: “The train is very full.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. The people go away from London, I suppose, because it is so black there.”
Pilar had not been brought up to believe that it was a crime to talk to strange men in trains.
She could take care of herself as well as any girl, but she had no rigid taboos.
If Stephen had been brought up in England he might have felt ill at ease at entering into
conversation with a young girl. But Stephen was a friendly soul who found it perfectly natural to
talk to anyone if he felt like it.
He smiled without any self-consciousness and said:
“London’s rather a terrible place, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. I do not like it at all.”
“No more do I.”
Pilar said: “You are not English, no?”
“I’m British, but I come from South Africa.”
“Oh, I see, that explains it.”
“Have you just come from abroad?”
Pilar nodded. “I come from Spain.”
Stephen was interested.
“From Spain, do you? You’re Spanish, then?”
“I am half-Spanish. My mother was English. That is why I talk English so well.”
“What about this war business?” asked Stephen.
“It is very terrible, yes—very sad. There has been damage done, quite a lot—yes.”
“Which side are you on?”
Pilar’s politics seemed to be rather vague. In the village where she came from, she explained,
nobody had paid very much attention to the war. “It has not been near us, you understand. The
Mayor, he is, of course, an officer of the Government, so he is for the Government, and the priest
is for General Franco—but most of the people are busy with the vines and the land, they have not
time to go into these questions.”
“So there wasn’t any fighting round you?”
Pilar said that there had not been. “But then I drove in a car,” she explained, “all across the
country and there was much destruction. And I saw a bomb drop and it blew up a car—yes, and
another destroyed a house. It was very exciting!”
Stephen Farr smiled a faintly twisted smile.
“So that’s how it seemed to you?”
“It was a nuisance, too,” explained Pilar. “Because I wanted to get on, and the driver of my
car, he was killed.”
Stephen said, watching her:
“That didn’t upset you?”
Pilar’s great dark eyes opened very wide.
“Everyone must die! That is so, is it not? If it comes quickly from the sky—bouff—like that,
it is as well as any other way. One is alive for a time—yes, and then one is dead. That is what
happens in this world.”
Stephen Farr laughed.
“I don’t think you are a pacifist.”
“You do not think I am what?” Pilar seemed puzzled by a word which had not previously
entered her vocabulary.
“Do you forgive your enemies, señorita?”
Pilar shook her head.
“I have no enemies. But if I had—”
“Well?”
He was watching her, fascinated anew by the sweet, cruel upward-curving mouth.
Pilar said gravely:
“If I had an enemy—if anyone hated me and I hated them—then I would cut my enemy’s
throat like this. . . .”
She made a graphic gesture.
It was so swift and so crude that Stephen Farr was momentarily taken aback. He said:
“You are a bloodthirsty young woman!”
Pilar asked in a matter-of-fact tone:
“What would you do to your enemy?”
He started—stared at her, then laughed aloud.
“I wonder—” he said. “I wonder!”
Pilar said disapprovingly:
“But surely—you know.”
He checked his laughter, drew in his breath and said in a low voice:
“Yes. I know. . . .”
Then with a rapid change of manner, he asked:
“What made you come to England?”
Pilar replied with a certain demureness.
“I am going to stay with my relations—with my English relations.”
“I see.”
He leaned back in his seat, studying her—wondering what these English relations of whom
she spoke were like—wondering what they would make of this Spanish stranger . . . trying to
picture her in the midst of some sober British family at Christmastime.
Pilar asked: “Is it nice, South Africa, yes?”
He began to talk to her about South Africa. She listened with the pleased attention of a child
hearing a story. He enjoyed her näive but shrewd questions and amused himself by making a kind
of exaggerated fairy story of it all.
The return of the proper occupants of the carriage put an end to this diversion. He rose,
smiled into her eyes, and made his way out again into the corridor.
As he stood back for a minute in the doorway, to allow an elderly lady to come in, his eyes
fell on the label of Pilar’s obviously foreign straw case. He read the name with interest—Miss
Pilar Estravados—then as his eye caught the address it widened to incredulity and some other
feeling—Gorston Hall, Longdale, Addlesfield.
He half turned, staring at the girl with a new expression—puzzled, resentful, suspicious . . .
He went out into the corridor and stood there smoking a cigarette and frowning to himself. . . .
第一部分 十二月二十二日 2
2
皮拉尔缩着身子紧贴窗户坐着，心想英国人怎么会有股这样的怪味儿呢……这是迄今
为止英格兰给她的最深感触，完全不同的气味。这里没有大蒜的味道，没有泥土的气息，
香水的芬芳微乎其微。此时，这个车厢里是一种窒闷的寒冷气息——火车发出的硫黄味，
一种肥皂的气味和另一种让人非常不舒服的气味。她认为那气味来自于坐在她身边的那个
肥胖女人的毛领子。皮拉尔微微吸了吸鼻子，不情愿地吸进一些樟脑球的难闻气味。她暗
想：为自己选择这样一种香型可真够可笑的。
汽笛长鸣，火车伴随着响亮的声音颤颤巍巍地开出了车站。出发了，她上路了。
她的心跳稍微加快了一些。会顺利吗？她能完成该做的事吗？一定会的，一定，一切
都考虑周全了……她为一切可能做好了准备。哦，是的，她会成功的——她肯定会成功
的……
皮拉尔红唇的弧线微微上扬，使那张嘴突然变得冷酷起来。冷酷而贪婪——就像一个
孩子或者一只猫的嘴——一张只知道自己的欲望而不知怜悯的嘴。
她带着一种孩子才有的毫不掩饰的好奇打量着四周。周围这些人，一共七个，他们是
多么滑稽啊！这些英国人！他们看起来都很有钱，富有、阔气。瞧他们的衣服，他们的靴
子。哦！正如她听说的那样，英国是一个富裕的国家，但也并非样样都好，对，很明显并
非样样都好。
过道里站着一个英俊的男人。皮拉尔认为他长得非常帅。她喜欢他那古铜色的皮肤、
高高的鼻子还有宽阔的双肩。凭借优于任何一个英国女孩的敏锐直觉，皮拉尔马上就看出
这个男人也很欣赏她。虽然她并没有直接看过他一眼，可她很清楚他一直在频频打量着
她。她记住了他的样子。
她不动声色地注意着这个事实，并不太感兴趣。在她的国家，男人看女人是理所当然
的，而且从不会过分掩饰。她怀疑他不是英国人，最后认定他不是。
作为一个英国人来说，他太活泼，太有生气了，皮拉尔这样想。可他又是白种人，很
可能就是个美国人。他就像——就像西部电影里的男演员。
一位列车员走过过道。
“第一顿午餐，第一顿午餐，请大家去用餐。”
皮拉尔这个车厢里的七位乘客都持有第一次午餐的招待券。他们纷纷起身离开，车厢
里一下子变得冷清而安宁。皮拉尔赶忙把窗户拉起来——刚才被坐在对面的、看起来不太
好惹的灰发女士放下来了几英寸——舒舒服服地靠在座位上，看着窗外伦敦北部的郊区景
色。拉门发出声响时她没有回头去看。她知道是过道里的那个男人，显然，他进来是为了
跟她搭话。
她依旧若有所思地望着窗外。
斯蒂芬•法尔说：“你想把窗户全放下来吗？”
皮拉尔故作端庄地答道：“正好相反，我刚刚把它关上。”
她的英语说得很好，只有一点轻微的口音。
在随后片刻的沉默中，斯蒂芬想：多么美妙的嗓音，带着阳光……就像夏夜一样温
暖……
皮拉尔想：我喜欢他的声音，洪亮有力。他很吸引人——是的，他很吸引人。
斯蒂芬说：“这趟火车可真够拥挤的。”
“哦，是的。人们都想离开伦敦。我想是因为那儿太灰暗了。”
皮拉尔所受的教育并不认为在火车上和一个陌生男人说话是一种罪过。她可以像别的
姑娘一样矜持，但没有那么多禁忌。
如果斯蒂芬是在英格兰长大的，那他也许会因为和一个年轻女孩谈话而局促不安。但
斯蒂芬是一个随和的家伙，他觉得自己想跟谁说话就跟谁说话，态度从容自然。
他不自觉地笑着说：“伦敦真是个可怕的地方，不是吗？”
“哦，是的，我一点儿也不喜欢那儿。”
“我也是。”
“你不是英国人吧，对吗？”
“我是英国人，但我从南非来。”
“哦，我明白了，这就对了。”
“你刚从国外来吗？”
皮拉尔点点头。“我从西班牙来。”斯蒂芬很感兴趣。
“你是从西班牙来的，真的吗？那么你是西班牙人？”
“一半是，我妈妈是英国人，所以我英语才说得这么好。”
“那儿的仗打得怎么样了？”斯蒂芬问。
“太可怕了，是的……令人悲痛。到处都被毁了，好多地方——是的。”
“你支持哪一边？”
皮拉尔的政治主张并不明确。她解释说，在她们村子里，没人关心打仗的事。“离我们
不是很近，你明白吧。市长，作为一个政府官员，当然支持政府，教区神父则支持佛朗哥
将军，但大多数百姓都忙着照料他们的葡萄园和土地，没时间去管这些事儿。”
“这么说，你们附近没怎么打？”
皮拉尔说过去是这样的。“可后来我坐上了一辆汽车，”她解释道，“发现国内遍地都是
废墟。我亲眼看见一枚炸弹掉下来，炸了一辆车——是的，还有一枚炸毁了一所房子。那
真是太刺激了！”
斯蒂芬•法尔露出的笑容微微有些扭曲。
“这就是你对战争的感觉吗？”
“确实挺烦人的，”皮拉尔说，“我想再了解一些，可我们的司机被炸死了。”
斯蒂芬看着她，说：“这没让你感到不安吗？”
皮拉尔的黑眼睛睁得非常大。
“每个人都要死的，人生就是这样的，不是吗？被飞快地从天而降的炸弹——嘭地炸飞
——像那样，又和其他的死法有什么不同呢？每个人只能活一阵儿，然后就要死掉。活在
这个世界上就是这么回事。”
斯蒂芬•法尔笑了。
“我认为你不是一个和平主义者。”
“你认为我不是什么？”皮拉尔似乎因为这个不在她词汇表里的词而感到困惑。
“你会原谅你的仇人吗，小姐？”
皮拉尔摇摇头。
“我没有仇人，不过如果我有……”
“怎么样？”
他注视着她，再一次被她那上扬的、可爱却又无情的嘴角迷住了。
皮拉尔严肃地说：“如果我有仇人，如果他恨我而我也恨他，那我就会割断他的喉咙，
像这样……”
她做了一个生动的手势。
斯蒂芬•法尔被她这个敏捷而粗鲁的手势吓得往后缩了缩，说：“你真是一个残忍的姑
娘！”
皮拉尔淡淡地反问了一句：“那你会怎样对待你的仇人呢？”
他先是盯着她，然后大笑起来。
“我不知道，”他说，“我不知道啊！”
皮拉尔不满意地说：“你肯定知道。”
他止住笑，倒吸了一口气，低声答道：“对，我知道……”
然后他迅速地换了一种态度，问：“你到英格兰来干什么？”
皮拉尔非常端庄地答道：“我来这儿跟我的亲戚们住一阵子——我的英国亲戚。”
“我明白了。”
他靠在椅背上，仔细地打量着她——猜想她所说的那些英国亲戚什么样，他们将如何
对待这个西班牙来的陌生人，并试图想象她在严肃的英国家庭里过圣诞节的情景。
皮拉尔问：“南非很不错，是吗？”
他开始给她讲有关南非的事。她就像一个孩子听故事一样，一脸愉悦地听着。他喜欢
她提出的幼稚却机灵的问题，并被自己所编造的夸张童话故事逗乐了。
车厢里原来的乘客都回来了，这项娱乐也只好到此为止。他站起身，微笑着看着她的
眼睛，又走回到过道里。
为了让一位上了年纪的太太进来，他退到门口处站了一会儿，目光落在一个明显是外
国样式的廉价箱子挂着的行李签上。他饶有兴趣地默念着她的名字：皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多
斯小姐。但当他看见上面的地址时，他的眼睛因惊讶而睁大了，心中涌起一些说不清的感
情——那上面写着：戈斯顿霍尔，朗代尔，阿德斯菲尔德。
他半转过身来，以全新的目光盯着那个女孩，脸上带着复杂的表情——迷惑，厌恶，
怀疑……他走到过道上，站在那儿点着一根烟，皱起了眉头。
PART ONE DECEMBER 22ND III
III
In the big blue and gold drawing room at Gorston Hall, Alfred Lee and Lydia, his wife, sat
discussing their plans for Christmas. Alfred was a squarely built man of middle age with a gentle
face and mild brown eyes. His voice when he spoke was quiet and precise with a very clear
enunciation. His head was sunk into his shoulders and he gave a curious impression of inertia.
Lydia, his wife, was an energetic, lean greyhound of a woman. She was amazingly thin, but all her
movements had a swift, startled grace about them.
There was no beauty in her careless, haggard face, but it had distinction. Her voice was
charming.
Alfred said:
“Father insists! There’s nothing else to it.”
Lydia controlled a sudden impatient movement. She said:
“Must you always give in to him?”
“He’s a very old man, my dear—”
“Oh, I know—I know!”
“He expects to have his own way.”
Lydia said dryly:
“Naturally, since he has always had it! But some time or other, Alfred, you will have to make
a stand.”
“What do you mean, Lydia?”
He stared at her, so palpably upset and startled, that for a moment she bit her lip and seemed
doubtful whether to go on.
Alfred Lee repeated:
“What do you mean, Lydia?”
She shrugged her thin, graceful shoulders.
She said, trying to choose her words cautiously:
“Your father is—inclined to be—tyrannical—”
“He’s old.”
“And will grow older. And consequently more tyrannical. Where will it end? Already he
dictates our lives to us completely. We can’t make a plan of our own! If we do, it is always liable
to be upset.”
Alfred said:
“Father expects to come first. He is very good to us, remember.”
“Oh! good to us!”
“Very good to us.”
Alfred spoke with a trace of sternness.
“Lydia said calmly:
“You mean financially?”
“Yes. His own wants are very simple. But he never grudges us money. You can spend what
you like on dress and on this house, and the bills are paid without a murmur. He gave us a new car
only last week.”
“As far as money goes, your father is very generous, I admit,” said Lydia. “But in return he
expects us to behave like slaves.”
“Slaves?”
“That’s the word I used. You are his slave, Alfred. If we have planned to go away and Father
suddenly wishes us not to go, you cancel your arrangements and remain without a murmur! If the
whim takes him to send us away, we go . . . We have no lives of our own—no independence.”
Her husband said distressfully:
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like this, Lydia. It is very ungrateful. My father has done
everything for us. . . .”
She bit off a retort that was on her lips. She shrugged those thin, graceful shoulders once
more.
Alfred said:
“You know, Lydia, the old man is very fond of you—”
His wife said clearly and distinctly:
“I am not at all fond of him.”
“Lydia, it distresses me to hear you say things like that. It is so unkind—”
“Perhaps. But sometimes a compulsion comes over one to speak the truth.”
“If Father guessed—”
“Your father knows perfectly well that I do not like him! It amuses him, I think.”
“Really, Lydia, I am sure you are wrong there. He has often told me how charming your
manner to him is.”
“Naturally I’ve always been polite. I always shall be. I’m just letting you know what my real
feelings are. I dislike your father, Alfred. I think he is a malicious and tyrannical old man. He
bullies you and presumes on your affection for him. You ought to have stood up to him years ago.”
Alfred said sharply:
“That will do, Lydia. Please don’t say any more.”
She sighed.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I was wrong . . . Let’s talk of our Christmas arrangements. Do you think
your brother David will really come?”
“Why not?”
She shook her head doubtfully.
“David is—queer. He’s not been inside the house for years, remember. He was so devoted to
your mother—he’s got some feeling about this place.”
“David always got on Father’s nerves,” said Alfred, “with his music and his dreamy ways.
Father was, perhaps, a bit hard on him sometimes. But I think David and Hilda will come all right.
Christmastime, you know.”
“Peace and goodwill,” said Lydia. Her delicate mouth curved ironically. “I wonder! George
and Magdalene are coming. They said they would probably arrive tomorrow. I’m afraid
Magdalene will be frightfully bored.”
Alfred said with some slight annoyance:
“Why my brother George ever married a girl twenty years younger than himself I can’t think!
George was always a fool!”
“He’s very successful in his career,” said Lydia. “His constituents like him. I believe
Magdalene works quite hard politically for him.”
Alfred said slowly:
“I don’t think I like her very much. She is very good-looking—but I sometimes think she is
like one of those beautiful pears one gets—they have a rosy flush and a rather waxen appearance
—” He shook his head.
“And they’re bad inside?” said Lydia. “How funny you should say that, Alfred!”
“Why funny?”
She answered:
“Because—usually—you are such a gentle soul. You hardly ever say an unkind thing about
anyone. I get annoyed with you sometimes because you’re not sufficiently—oh, what shall I say?
—sufficiently suspicious—not worldly enough!”
Her husband smiled.
“The world, I always think, is as you yourself make it.”
Lydia said sharply:
“No! Evil is not only in one’s mind. Evil exists! You seem to have no consciousness of the
evil in the world. I have. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it—here in this house—” She bit her lip and
turned away.
Alfred said, “Lydia—”
But she raised a quick admonitory hand, her eyes looking past him at something over his
shoulder. Alfred turned.
A dark man with a smooth face was standing there deferentially.
Lydia said sharply:
“What is it, Horbury?”
Horbury’s voice was low, a mere deferential murmur.
“It’s Mr. Lee, madam. He asked me to tell you that there would be two more guests arriving
for Christmas, and would you have rooms prepared for them.”
Lydia said, “Two more guests?”
Horbury said smoothly, “Yes, madam, another gentleman and a young lady.”
Alfred said wonderingly: “A young lady?”
“That’s what Mr. Lee said, sir.”
Lydia said quickly:
“I will go up and see him—”
Horbury made one little step, it was a mere ghost of a movement but it stopped Lydia’s rapid
progress automatically.
“Excuse me, madam, but Mr. Lee is having his afternoon sleep. He asked specifically that he
should not be disturbed.”
“I see,” said Alfred. “Of course we won’t disturb him.”
“Thank you, sir.” Horbury withdrew.
Lydia said vehemently:
“How I dislike that man! He creeps about the house like a cat! One never hears him going or
coming.”
“I don’t like him very much either. But he knows his job. It’s not so easy to get a good male
nurse attendant. And Father likes him, that’s the main thing.”
“Yes, that’s the main thing, as you say. Alfred, what is this about a young lady? What young
lady?”
Her husband shook his head.
“I can’t imagine. I can’t even think of anyone it might be likely to be.”
They stared at each other. Then Lydia said, with a sudden twist of her expressive mouth:
“Do you know what I think, Alfred?”
“What?”
“I think your father has been bored lately. I think he is planning a little Christmas diversion
for himself.”
“By introducing two strangers into a family gathering?”
“Oh! I don’t know what the details are—but I do fancy that your father is preparing to—
amuse himself.”
“I hope he will get some pleasure out of it,” said Alfred gravely. “Poor old chap, tied by the
leg, an invalid—after the adventurous life he has led.”
Lydia said slowly:
“After the—adventurous life he has led.”
The pause she made before the adjective gave it some special though obscure significance.
Alfred seemed to feel it. He flushed and looked unhappy.
She cried out suddenly:
“How he ever had a son like you, I can’t imagine! You two are poles apart. And he fascinates
you—you simply worship him!”
Alfred said with a trace of vexation:
“Aren’t you going a little far, Lydia? It’s natural, I should say, for a son to love his father. It
would be very unnatural not to do so.”
Lydia said:
“In that case, most of the members of this family are—unnatural! Oh, don’t let’s argue! I
apologize. I’ve hurt your feelings, I know. Believe me, Alfred, I really didn’t mean to do that. I
admire you enormously for your—your—fidelity. Loyalty is such a rare virtue in these days. Let
us say, shall we, that I am jealous? Women are supposed to be jealous of their mothers-in-law—
why not, then, of their fathers-in-law?”
He put a gentle arm round her.
“Your tongue runs away with you, Lydia. There’s no reason for you to be jealous.”
She gave him a quick remorseful kiss, a delicate caress on the tip of his ear.
“I know. All the same, Alfred, I don’t believe I should have been in the least jealous of your
mother. I wish I’d known her.”
“She was a poor creature,” he said.
His wife looked at him interestedly.
“So that’s how she struck you . . . as a poor creature . . . That’s interesting.”
He said dreamily:
“I remember her as nearly always ill . . . Often in tears . . .” He shook his head. “She had no
spirit.”
Still staring at him, she murmured very softly:
“How odd. . . .”
But as he turned a questioning glance on her, she shook her head quickly and changed the
subject.
“Since we are not allowed to know who our mysterious guests are I shall go out and finish
my garden.”
“It’s very cold, my dear, a biting wind.”
“I’ll wrap up warmly.”
She left the room. Alfred Lee, left alone, stood for some minutes motionless, frowning a little
to himself, then he walked over to the big window at the end of the room. Outside was a terrace
running the whole length of the house. Here, after a minute or two, he saw Lydia emerge, carrying
a flat basket. She was wearing a big blanket coat. She set down the basket and began to work at a
square stone sink slightly raised above ground level.
Her husband watched for some time. At last he went out of the room, fetched himself a coat
and muffler, and emerged on to the terrace by a side door. As he walked along he passed various
other stone sinks arranged as miniature gardens, all the products of Lydia’s agile fingers.
One represented a desert scene with smooth yellow sand, a little clump of green palm trees in
coloured tin, and a procession of camels with one or two little Arab figures. Some primitive mud
houses had been constructed of plasticine. There was an Italian garden with terraces and formal
beds with flowers in coloured sealing wax. There was an Arctic one, too, with clumps of green
glass for icebergs, and a little cluster of penguins. Next came a Japanese garden with a couple of
beautiful little stunted trees, looking glass arranged for water, and bridges modelled out of
plasticine.
He came at last to stand beside her where she was at work. She had laid down blue paper and
covered it over with glass. Round this were lumps of rock piled up. At the moment she was
pouring out coarse pebbles from a little bag and forming them into a beach. Between the rocks
were some small cactuses.
Lydia was murmuring to herself:
“Yes, that’s exactly right—exactly what I want.”
Alfred said:
“What’s this latest work of art?”
She started, for she had not heard him come up.
“This? Oh, it’s the Dead Sea, Alfred. Do you like it?”
He said, “It’s rather arid, isn’t it? Oughtn’t there to be more vegetation?”
She shook her head.
“It’s my idea of the Dead Sea. It is dead, you see—”
“It’s not so attractive as some of the others.”
“It’s not meant to be specially attractive.”
Footsteps sounded on the terrace. An elderly butler, white-haired and slightly bowed, was
coming towards them.
“Mrs. George Lee on the telephone, madam. She says will it be convenient if she and Mr.
George arrive by the five twenty tomorrow?”
“Yes, tell her that will be quite all right.”
“Thank you, madam.”
The butler hurried away. Lydia looked after him with a softened expression on her face.
“Dear old Tressilian. What a standby he is! I can’t imagine what we should do without him.”
Alfred agreed.
“He’s one of the old school. He’s been with us nearly forty years. He’s devoted to us all.”
Lydia nodded.
“Yes. He’s like the faithful old retainers of fiction. I believe he’d lie himself blue in the face
if it was necessary to protect one of the family!”
Alfred said:
“I believe he would . . . Yes, I believe he would.”
Lydia smoothed over the last bit of her shingle.
“There,” she said. “That’s ready.”
“Ready?” Alfred looked puzzled.
She laughed.
“For Christmas, silly! For this sentimental family Christmas we’re going to have.”
第一部分 十二月二十二日 3
3
在戈斯顿霍尔蓝金色的宽敞客厅里，阿尔弗雷德•李正和妻子莉迪亚坐在那儿讨论圣诞
节的计划。阿尔弗雷德是一个体形壮硕的中年人，有一张和善的脸和一双温柔的棕色眼
睛。他说话时声音很轻，但吐字清楚。脖子总是缩着，给人一种奇怪的迟钝感。莉迪亚，
他的妻子，是一个精力充沛，如灵缇犬一般纤瘦的女人。她瘦得令人难以置信，但动作灵
敏，一举一动间透着一种小心翼翼的优雅。
她那张冷漠且憔悴的脸并不漂亮，但很有特色。她的嗓音非常迷人。
阿尔弗雷德说：“父亲坚持要这样！这是没办法的事。”
莉迪亚压抑住瞬间的焦躁，说道：“必须每次都向他妥协吗？”
“他上年纪了，亲爱的——”
“哦，我知道，我知道！”
“他希望能事事顺心。”
莉迪亚冷淡地说：“当然啦，因为他确实事事顺心！可是，阿尔弗雷德，你偶尔也该拒
绝一下吧？”
“你这是什么意思，莉迪亚？”
他盯着她，明显被她说的话吓到了，显得很不高兴。她咬着嘴唇沉默了一会儿，似乎
在犹豫要不要继续说下去。
阿尔弗雷德•李又重复了一遍：“你这是什么意思，莉迪亚？”
她优雅地冲他耸了耸肩，小心翼翼地选择着恰当的词。
“你父亲……有些……专横。”
“他老了。”
“会越来越老，随之越来越专横。要到什么时候才是个头？他已经完全掌控了我们的生
活，我们根本不能有自己的生活计划！哪怕有，也都会以失望告终。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“父亲希望他能被我们放在首位。他对我们很好，别忘了。”
“哦！对我们很好！”
“非常好。”
阿尔弗雷德的口气已经有点儿冷酷了。
莉迪亚平静地说：“你指经济方面吗？”
“是的。他自己的开销非常少，但在钱的方面，他从不约束我们。你随便在衣服或房子
上花钱，他付账的时候连吭都不吭一声。上个星期，他还给了我们一辆新车。”
“在钱的问题上，你父亲的确非常大方。这点我承认。”莉迪亚说，“但作为回报，他希
望我们像奴隶一样服从他。”
“奴隶？”
“我用的正是这个词。你就是他的奴隶，阿尔弗雷德。如果我们计划出去，而你父亲突
然希望我们不要去，你就会取消所有安排留下来，一声都不吭！如果他又突发奇想，想让
我们离开，我们就得走……我们没有属于自己的生活——自己不能做主。”
她丈夫苦恼地说：“我希望你别这么说，莉迪亚。这样很忘恩负义，我父亲为咱们做了
那么多……”
她把反驳的话咽了回去，再次优雅地耸了耸瘦削的双肩。
阿尔弗雷德说：“你知道，莉迪亚，老头子很喜欢你。”
他妻子则清楚明白地回应道：“我可一点儿都不喜欢他。”
“莉迪亚，你这么说让我很难过。这样太无情了。”
“也许吧。可有些时候，事情会逼得人说实话。”
“要是被父亲知道……”
“你父亲很清楚我不喜欢他！而我认为，他觉得这很有意思。”
“真的吗？莉迪亚，我敢肯定你错了。他经常对我说起你对他有多好。”
“我自然得表现得礼貌周到。今后也会一直这样。我只想让你知道我的真实感受。我不
喜欢你父亲，阿尔弗雷德。我认为他是一个恶毒而专横的老人。他欺负你，滥用你对他的
爱。你早该站起来反抗了。”
阿尔弗雷德厉声道：“够了，莉迪亚。请不要再说下去了。”
她叹了口气。
“对不起。也许我错了……咱们聊聊圣诞节的安排吧。你认为你弟弟戴维真的会来
吗？”
“他为什么不来？”
她不确定地摇摇头。
“戴维他——很古怪。别忘了，他有好多年没进过这个家门了。他那么爱你们的母亲，
这地方对他而言有种特别的感情。”
“戴维总是让父亲很恼火。”阿尔弗雷德说，“他那不切实际的音乐梦。父亲对他可能确
实过于苛刻了，但我想，戴维和希尔达都会回来的。要知道，这可是圣诞节呀。”
“和睦友善。”莉迪亚说，小巧的嘴巴嘲讽地撇了撇，“我倒要看看！乔治和玛格达莱尼
要来，他们说可能明天到。我担心玛格达莱尼会觉得没意思透了。”
阿尔弗雷德有些烦躁地说：“我真想不明白，为什么我那弟弟乔治要娶一个比他小二十
岁的女人！乔治一直是个傻瓜！”
“他的事业非常成功，”莉迪亚说，“他的选民们喜欢他。我相信，在政治领域，玛格达
莱尼非常努力地为他工作着。”
阿尔弗雷德慢悠悠地说：“我想我不太喜欢她。她长得非常漂亮——但有时候我觉得她
就像那些看起来很好看的梨——像打了蜡一般光亮，还带点玫瑰色的红晕。”他摇了摇头。
“但里面却坏了？”莉迪亚说，“你会这么说可太好笑了，阿尔弗雷德！”
“有什么好笑的？”
她回答道：“因为你一向是个老好人。几乎从不说别人的坏话。有时候我甚至生你的
气，因为你实在不够……哦，我该怎么说……不够有疑心，不够世俗！”
她的丈夫笑了。
“我一直觉得，这个世界什么样，是由你的想法决定的。”
莉迪亚尖刻地说：“不！罪恶并非只是人们想出来的。罪恶是真实存在的！你好像对这
世界上的罪恶毫无知觉。但我知道，我能感觉到。一直能感觉到，就在这幢房子里。”她咬
住嘴唇，别过脸去。
阿尔弗雷德说：“莉迪亚——”
但她迅速地抬起手阻止他继续说下去。她的视线越过他的肩膀，看着他身后的某个地
方。阿尔弗雷德也转过头去。
一个肤色黝黑、一脸谄媚的男人，谦恭地站在那儿。
莉迪亚不客气地问：“什么事，霍伯里？”
霍伯里的声音很低沉，但那不过是为了体现恭敬。
“夫人，李先生让我告诉您，会多两位客人来这里过圣诞节，他问您能否为他们准备一
下房间？”
莉迪亚说：“多两个客人？”
霍伯里流利地回答：“是的，夫人。一位先生和一位年轻女士。”
阿尔弗雷德非常惊讶：“一位年轻女士？”
“李先生是这么说的，先生。”
莉迪亚马上说道：“我要上去见他——”
霍伯里往前迈了一小步，虽然只是一个细小的动作，却有效地阻止了莉迪亚迅速的行
动。
“对不起，夫人，李先生正在睡午觉。他特别吩咐过，不希望被打扰。”
“知道了。”阿尔弗雷德说，“我们当然不会去打扰他。”
“非常感谢，先生。”霍伯里退下了。
莉迪亚激动地说：“我太讨厌这个人了！他像只猫似的在房子里走来走去。他什么时候
来、什么时候走你都听不见。”
“我也不太喜欢他，但他忠于职守。好的男陪伴兼护士可不好找。再说父亲喜欢他，这
才是最主要的。”
“对，就像你说的，这才是最主要的。阿尔弗雷德，年轻女士是怎么回事。哪位年轻女
士？”
她丈夫摇摇头。
“我想不出会是谁，连一个可能的人选都想不到。”
两人面面相觑，接着莉迪亚开口了，她那张富于表现力的嘴突然扭曲了一下。
“你知道我在想什么吗，阿尔弗雷德？”
“什么？”
“我认为你父亲最近有些无聊，因此，他想为自己策划一次小小的圣诞节。”
“所以邀请两个陌生人参加家庭聚会？”
“哦，我并不知道得那么清楚，但我认为，你父亲想给自己找点乐子。”
“我希望他能从中得到些乐趣。”阿尔弗雷德严肃地说，“可怜的老家伙，腿脚不利落。
在经历了冒险生活之后，他成了一个残疾人。”
莉迪亚慢吞吞地重复道：“在经历了——冒险生活之后。”
她在这个形容词之前稍微停顿了一下，赋予它一种暧昧不清的特别含义。阿尔弗雷德
好像觉察到了这一点。他涨红了脸，看上去不太开心。
她突然提高了嗓门。
“他怎么会有你这样的儿子呢，我真难以想象！你们两个人截然不同，而他让你着迷
——你简直崇拜着他！”
阿尔弗雷德略微有些恼怒，说道：“你说得太过分了吧，莉迪亚？我认为，儿子爱他的
父亲，这是很正常的事。否则才不正常呢。”
莉迪亚说：“照你这么说，这个家里的大多数成员都不正常！噢，咱们别吵了！我道
歉。我知道我伤害了你的感情。相信我，阿尔弗雷德，我真的不是故意的。我非常钦佩你
的——你的忠诚。现如今，忠心耿耿是一种相当罕见的美德。这么说吧，就算是我嫉妒，
好吗？既然女人注定嫉妒她们的婆婆，那为什么不能嫉妒公公呢？”
他伸出手臂，温柔地抱着她。
“你没管住自己的嘴巴，莉迪亚。你完全没必要嫉妒。”
她飞快地给了他一个悔意之吻，轻轻地吻上他的耳垂。
“我知道。同样的，阿尔弗雷德，对你的母亲我也没有一丝嫉妒之心。我多希望能认识
她呀。”
“她是个可怜的人。”他说。
他妻子很感兴趣看着他。
“她就给你留下这样的印象吗，一个可怜的人？真有意思。”
他陷入回忆中，诉说着。
“我所记得的她，基本上一直病着，经常哭泣，”他摇了摇头，“她没有一丝生气。”
她凝视着他，温柔地低声道：“真怪……”
但当他向她投来不解的一瞥，她又飞快地摇了摇头，把话题岔开了。
“既然我们搞不清神秘的客人是谁，那我还是先出去把花园里的事做完吧。”
“外面很冷，亲爱的，寒风刺骨。”
“我会穿得暖和点。”
她离开了房间。只剩阿尔弗雷德•李一个人，他微微皱着眉头，一动不动地站了一会
儿。然后走到房间里面的大窗户旁边，窗外是围着房子修建的露台。过了一两分钟，莉迪
亚出现了，拿着一个平底篮子，身上裹着一件毛毯一样的外套。她放下篮子，开始在一个
稍稍高出地面的方形石水槽里忙活起来。
阿尔弗雷德看了一会儿，走出房间，拿了外套和围巾，从侧门来到露台上。他顺着露
台走，一路上散布着好几个做成盆景的石水槽，这些全部出自莉迪亚那双灵巧的手。
有一个沙漠风情的主题，铺着细细的黄沙，一小丛绿色的棕榈树种在染了色的铁皮罐
里，还有一个骆驼队、一两个阿拉伯人偶和几幢黏土制成的泥浆房。一个是意大利花园盆
景，有露台和开满鲜花的花床，全是用染了色的封蜡做的。还有一个是北极景观，用绿色
玻璃做成冰山，还有一小群企鹅。接下来是日式庭院，有两棵漂亮的小矮树，镜子代表水
面，还有黏土小桥。
最后他终于走到她身边。她正在工作，蓝色的纸铺在地上，上面压着玻璃，旁边是几
块堆起的石头。此时她正从一个小袋子里往外倒粗糙的鹅卵石，想弄成海滩的样子。石堆
之间有一些小仙人掌。
莉迪亚在自言自语。
“对，就是这样，和我想的完全一样。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“这件最新的作品是什么？”
她没注意到他的到来，因此吃了一惊。
“这个？噢，这是死海。阿尔弗雷德，你喜欢它吗？”
他说：“看起来相当贫瘠，不是吗？不该多来一点绿色植物吗？”
她摇摇头。
“我想象中的死海就是这样的。它‘死’了，你懂吗——”
“不如其他那些好看。”
“它本来就没被设计成好看的。”
附近传来脚步声。上了年纪、一头白发、背有些驼的男管家正向他们走来。
“乔治•李太太打来电话，夫人，她问明天她和乔治先生五点二十到，方便吗？”
“方便。告诉她，完全没问题。”
“谢谢您，夫人。”
男管家匆匆离开了。莉迪亚望着他离去，脸上的表情越来越柔和。
“亲爱的老特雷西利安。他多么值得信赖啊！我无法想象要是没有他，咱们可怎么
办。”
阿尔弗雷德表示同意。
“他是那种老派的家伙，跟着咱们差不多四十年了，他把一生都奉献给了我们。”
莉迪亚点点头。
“是的，他就像小说里那些忠心耿耿的老仆人。我相信，在必要的时候，为了保护这个
家里的人，他会不顾一切的！”
阿尔弗雷德说：“我相信他会……是的，我相信他一定会。”
莉迪亚把最后几块鹅卵石放好。
“好啦，”她说，“全准备好了。”
“准备什么？”阿尔弗雷德有些茫然。
她笑了。
“为圣诞节呀，傻瓜！为即将到来的这个情深意切的圣诞节家庭聚会。”
PART ONE DECEMBER 22ND IV
IV
David was reading the letter. Once he screwed it up into a ball and thrust it away from him. Then,
reaching for it, he smoothed it out and read it again.
Quietly, without saying anything, his wife, Hilda, watched him. She noted the jerking muscle
(or was it a nerve?) in his temple, the slight tremor of the long delicate hands, the nervous
spasmodic movements of his whole body. When he pushed aside the lock of fair hair that always
tended to stray down over his forehead and looked across at her with appealing blue eyes she was
ready.
“Hilda, what shall we do about it?”
Hilda hesitated a minute before speaking. She had heard the appeal in his voice. She knew
how dependent he was upon her—had always been ever since their marriage—knew that she
could probably influence his decision finally and decisively. But for just that reason she was chary
of pronouncing anything too final.
She said, and her voice had the calm, soothing quality that can be heard in the voice of an
experienced nannie in a nursery:
“It depends on how you feel about it, David.”
A broad woman, Hilda, not beautiful, but with a certain magnetic quality. Something about
her like a Dutch picture. Something warming and endearing in the sound of her voice. Something
strong about her—the vital hidden strength that appeals to weakness. An overstout dumpy middle-
aged woman—not clever—not brilliant—but with something about her that you couldn’t pass
over. Force! Hilda Lee had force!
David got up and began pacing up and down. His hair was practically untouched by grey. He
was strangely boyish-looking. His face had the mild quality of a Burne Jones knight. It was,
somehow, not very real. . . .
He said, and his voice was wistful:
“You know how I feel about it, Hilda. You must.”
“I’m not sure.”
“But I’ve told you—I’ve told you again and again! How I hate it all—the house and the
country round and everything! It brings back nothing but misery. I hated every moment that I
spent there! When I think of it—of all that she suffered—my mother . . .”
His wife nodded sympathetically.
“She was so sweet, Hilda, and so patient. Lying there, often in pain, but bearing it—enduring
everything. And when I think of my father”—his face darkened—“bringing all that misery into her
life — humiliating her — boasting of his love affairs — constantly unfaithful to her and never
troubling to conceal it.”
Hilda Lee said:
“She should not have put up with it. She should have left him.”
He said with a touch of reproof:
“She was too good to do that. She thought it was her duty to remain. Besides, it was her home
—where else should she go?”
“She could have made a life of her own.”
David said fretfully:
“Not in those days! You don’t understand. Women didn’t behave like that. They put up with
things. They endured patiently. She had us to consider. Even if she divorced my father, what
would have happened? He would probably have married again. There might have been a second
family. Our interests might have gone to the wall. She had to think of all those considerations.”
Hilda did not answer.
David went on:
“No, she did right. She was a saint! She endured to the end—uncomplainingly.”
Hilda said, “Not quite uncomplainingly or you would not know so much, David!”
He said softly, his face lighting up:
“Yes—she told me things—She knew how I loved her. When she died—”
He stopped. He ran his hands through his hair.
“Hilda, it was awful—horrible! The desolation! She was quite young still, she needn’t have
died. He killed her—my father! He was responsible for her dying. He broke her heart. I decided
then that I’d not go on living under his roof. I broke away—got away from it all.”
Hilda nodded.
“You were very wise,” she said. “It was the right thing to do.”
David said:
“Father wanted me to go into the works. That would have meant living at home. I couldn’t
have stood that. I can’t think how Alfred stands it—how he has stood it all these years.”
“Did he never rebel against it?” asked Hilda with some interest. “I thought you told me
something about his having given up some other career.”
David nodded.
“Alfred was going into the army. Father arranged it all. Alfred, the eldest, was to go into
some cavalry regiment, Harry was to go into the works, so was I. George was to enter politics.”
“And it didn’t work out like that?”
David shook his head.
“Harry broke all that up! He was always frightfully wild. Got into debt—and all sorts of other
troubles. Finally he went off one day with several hundred pounds that didn’t belong to him,
leaving a note behind him saying an office stool didn’t suit him and he was going to see the
world.”
“And you never heard any more of him?”
“Oh, yes, we did!” David laughed. “We heard quite often! He was always cabling for money
from all over the world. He usually got it too!”
“And Alfred?”
“Father made him chuck up the army and come back and go into the works.”
“Did he mind?”
“Very much to begin with. He hated it. But Father could always twist Alfred round his little
finger. He’s absolutely under Father’s thumb still, I believe.”
“And you—escaped!” said Hilda.
“Yes. I went to London and studied painting. Father told me plainly that if I went off on a
fool’s errand like that I’d get a small allowance from him during his lifetime and nothing when he
died. I said I didn’t care. He called me a young fool, and that was that! I’ve never seen him since.”
Hilda said gently:
“And you haven’t regretted it?”
“No, indeed. I realize I shan’t ever get anywhere with my art. I shall never be a great artist—
but we’re happy enough in this cottage—we’ve got everything we want—all the essentials. And if
I die, well, my life’s insured for you.”
He paused and then said:
“And now—this!”
He struck the letter with his open hand.
“I am sorry your father ever wrote that letter, if it upsets you so much,” said Hilda.
David went on as though he had not heard her.
“Asking me to bring my wife for Christmas, expressing a hope that we may be all together
for Christmas; a united family! What can it mean?”
Hilda said:
“Need it mean anything more than it says?”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I mean,” she said, smiling, “that your father is growing old. He’s beginning to feel
sentimental about family ties. That does happen, you know.”
“I suppose it does,” said David slowly.
“He’s an old man and he’s lonely.”
He gave her a quick look.
“You want me to go, don’t you, Hilda?”
She said slowly:
“It seems a pity—not to answer an appeal. I’m old-fashioned, I dare say, but why not have
peace and goodwill at Christmastime?”
“After all I’ve told you?”
“I know, dear, I know. But all that’s in the past. It’s all done and finished with.”
“Not for me.”
“No, because you won’t let it die. You keep the past alive in your own mind.”
“I can’t forget.”
“You won’t forget—that’s what you mean, David.”
His mouth set in a firm line.
“We’re like that, we Lees. We remember things for years—brood about them, keep memory
green.”
Hilda said with a touch of impatience:
“Is that anything to be proud of? I do not think so!”
He looked thoughtfully at her, a touch of reserve in his manner.
He said: “You don’t attach much value to loyalty, then—loyalty to a memory?”
Hilda said:
“I believe the present matters—not the past! The past must go. If we seek to keep the past
alive, we end, I think, by distorting it. We see it in exaggerated terms—a false perspective.”
“I can remember every word and every incident of those days perfectly,” said David
passionately.
“Yes, but you shouldn’t, my dear! It isn’t natural to do so! You’re applying the judgment of a
boy to those days instead of looking back on them with the more temperate outlook of a man.”
“What difference would that make?” demanded David.
Hilda hesitated. She was aware of unwisdom in going on, and yet there were things she badly
wanted to say.
“I think,” she said, “that you’re seeing your father as a bogy! Probably, if you were to see him
now, you would realize that he was only a very ordinary man; a man, perhaps, whose passions ran
away with him, a man whose life was far from blameless, but nevertheless merely a man—not a
kind of inhuman monster!”
“You don’t understand! His treatment of my mother—”
Hilda said gravely:
“There is a certain kind of meekness—of submission—brings out the worst in a man—
whereas that same man, faced by spirit and determination, might be a different creature!”
“So you say it was her fault—”
Hilda interrupted him.
“No, of course I don’t! I’ve no doubt your father treated your mother very badly indeed, but
marriage is an extraordinary thing—and I doubt if any outsider—even a child of the marriage—
has the right to judge. Besides, all this resentment on your part now cannot help your mother. It is
all gone—it is behind you! What is left now is an old man, in feeble health, asking his son to come
home for Christmas.”
“And you want me to go?”
Hilda hesitated, then she suddenly made up her mind. “Yes,” she said. “I do. I want you to go
and lay the bogy once and for all.”
第一部分 十二月二十二日 4
4
戴维正在读信。他刚把它揉成一团扔到一边，现在又捡了回来，重新展平读了起来。
他的妻子希尔达一言不发，静静地注视着他。她注意到他太阳穴部位的肌肉在抽搐
（还是说那是凸起的青筋），细长的双手在微微颤抖，全身都在紧张地痉挛。最终，当他
把总是垂在前额的一缕金发拂开，那双迷人的蓝眼睛望向她时，她已经准备好了。
“希尔达，我们该怎么办？”
希尔达犹豫了一下才开口。她听出了他声音中的迫切，深知他有多依赖自己——打从
结婚起便如此——知道她会直接影响他最后的决定。正因如此她才格外谨慎，不想把事情
说得太死。
她开口了，声音平静，带有能抚慰人心的力量，就像经验丰富的幼儿园阿姨。
“那要看你是怎么想的，戴维。”
希尔达，这个大块头女人，并不美丽，但有一种吸引力。她身上的某些东西就像一幅
荷兰人画的风景画，嗓音温暖，讨人喜欢。她拥有一种坚强——深藏于心的坚韧，能够感
染弱者。一个过分刚烈的矮胖的中年妇女，不机灵，也没什么才气，但有一些你不能忽视
的东西。力量！希尔达•李拥有一种力量！
戴维站起身来在屋子里踱步。他的头发一点儿也没变白，长相难以置信的孩子气，温
和的脸庞就像伯恩-琼斯（注：伯恩-琼斯（Edward Burne-Jones 1833-1898），新拉斐尔前
派（又名牛津会）最重要的画家之一。）笔下的骑士，有些……不真实。
他忧心忡忡地开了口。
“你知道我是怎么想的，希尔达，你一定知道。”
“我不确定。”
“但我告诉过你呀——一次又一次。我讨厌那里的一切。那所房子，乡下，以及相关的
一切。它只会唤起我的痛苦回忆。我讨厌在那儿度过的每一分钟！当我想起它，就会想起
我母亲受过的所有苦难……”
他妻子同情地点点头。
“她非常可爱，希尔达，非常有耐心。躺在那儿，即便痛苦，却忍耐着，承受着一切。
而我的父亲，”他的脸色随之阴沉下来，“给她的一生带来不幸，羞辱她、炫耀他的艳遇。
他时常对她不忠，甚至从不费心遮掩。”
希尔达•李说：“她本不该这样忍气吞声，她应该离开他。”
他带着一丝责备的意味说道：“她太善良了，不可能那么做。她认为留在那里是她的责
任。再说了，那里是她家，她还能去哪儿呢？”
“她可以独立谋生。”
戴维烦躁地说：“在那个时候是不可能的！你不明白。那时的女人是不会那样做的。她
们包容一切，耐心地忍耐。她还得考虑我们。即使她和我父亲离了婚，会发生什么？他很
可能会再婚，建立一个新的家庭，我们就会被扔到一边。所有这些她都必须考虑到。”
希尔达没答话。
戴维继续说了下去。
“不，她做得对。她是个圣人！她一直忍耐到最后——没有一丝抱怨。”
希尔达说：“她要是一点儿都不曾抱怨，你就不会知道这么多了，戴维！”
他的脸色好了些，声音也变得轻柔。
“是的。她告诉我了一些事，她知道我多么爱她。当她去世的时候——”
他顿住了，将双手插进头发里。
“希尔达，那太可怕了堪称恐怖！凄惨悲凉！她那时还很年轻，本不该死的。是他杀死
了她——我父亲！他要对她的死负责。他伤透了她的心。那时我便决定不要再与他同住一
片屋檐下。我逃走了，远离那一切。”
希尔达点了点头。
“你的决定很明智，”她说，“你做了正确的选择。”
戴维说：“父亲想让我加入他的事业，但那就意味着要住在家里，我可忍受不了。我无
法理解阿尔弗雷德是怎么忍受的，他这些年是怎么过来的。”
“他就从没反抗过吗？”希尔达颇感兴趣地问，“我记得你对我说过一些事，关于他如何
放弃了别的职业。”
戴维点点头。
“阿尔弗雷德参了军。全是父亲安排好的。阿尔弗雷德，家里的长子，就要进骑兵团之
类的地方。哈里加入他的事业，还有我。乔治去参政。”
“但事情并没有这么发展？”
戴维摇摇头。
“哈里打乱了一切！他非常放荡不羁。欠债，惹了各种各样的麻烦。最后，某一天，他
拿着不属于他的几百英镑一走了之，留下张字条，说他不适合坐办公室，他要去看看世
界。”
“从此你们就没再听到他的消息了吗？”
“噢，不，我们有。”戴维笑了，“我们经常能听到他的消息！他会从世界各地发来电报
要钱，也总能得到！”
“阿尔弗雷德呢？”
“父亲让他退伍回来加入他的事业。”
“他介意吗？”
“刚开始的时候非常介意，他恨那份工作。但父亲总能把阿尔弗雷德玩弄于股掌之间。
我相信，他现在依旧被父亲攥在手心里。”
“而你——逃脱了！”希尔达说。
“是的，我去了伦敦，学习绘画。父亲明白地告诉我，如果我去干这么一件蠢事，那么
我只能得到很少的生活费，而他死后什么都不会留给我。我说我不在乎。他管我叫小傻
瓜，然后就这样了！从那以后，我再没见过他。”
希尔达温柔地问：“你没后悔过吗？”
“没有，真的没有。我知道我在艺术上不会有多大的成就，我永远不会成为一个伟大的
艺术家，但我们有这幢小别墅就够了。我们拥有想要的一切必需品。而如果我死了，保险
受益人是你。”
他停了一会儿，又说：“可是现在，这个！”
他拍了一下那封信。
“如果这封信真的让你这么难受，我表示遗憾。”希尔达说。
戴维就像没听见她说的话似的，接着说下去。
“叫我带妻子回去过圣诞节。希望我们一家能聚在一起，过一个团圆的圣诞！这是什么
意思？”
希尔达说：“除了字面意思，还会有什么别的意思吗？”
他困惑地看着她。
“我的意思是，”她笑起来，说，“你父亲他年纪大了，开始因家庭这一牵绊而感伤。要
知道，这是合理的。”
“我想是这样的。”戴维慢吞吞地说。
“他老了，而且非常孤单。”
他飞快地看了她一眼。
“你想让我去，对吗，希尔达？”
她慢悠悠地答道：“如果不答应这个请求——好像很可惜。我想我是一个很守旧的人，
那么圣诞节的时候，我们为什么不能友善和睦一点呢？”
“在我告诉你这些事之后你仍这么想？”
“我知道，亲爱的，我知道。但那些事都已经过去了，消逝了，终结了。”
“对我来说还没有。”
“是的，因为你不愿意让这一切过去。你让往事依旧活在记忆中。”
“我不能忘记。”
“你不愿忘记，这才是你的真实想法，戴维。”
他的嘴抿得紧紧的。
“我们都这样，我们李家的人。一件事情能记好多年，不停回忆，好让记忆永远栩栩如
生。”
希尔达有点儿不耐烦地说：“这有什么可骄傲的吗？我可不这么想！”
他若有所思地看着她，似有深意。
他说：“你并不看重这样的专一。钟情于回忆，对吗？”
希尔达说：“我相信现在的事，而不是过去。如果我们一定要让往事保持鲜活，我想，
最终我们会扭曲它。我们会夸大其词，以一种错误的眼光去看待往事。”
“我能清楚地记得那些日子里说过的每一句话和每一个细节。”戴维激动地说。
“是的，可你不该这样！亲爱的！这样不正常！你仍以一个孩子的眼光去看待那些事，
而不是作为一个有气度的、有宽容心的绅士。”
“这又有什么不一样呢？”戴维问道。
希尔达犹豫了。她感觉到此时再说下去是不明智的，可有些话她又非常想说出来。
“我觉得，”她说，“你把你父亲看成一个妖怪了！但如果你现在见到他，很可能会发现
他不过是一个普通人，一个也许已经失去了激情的人。尽管绝非毫无过错，但他也仅仅只
是个人，而不是没有人性的怪物！”
“你不明白！他对待我母亲时——”
希尔达严肃地说：“有时候温柔、顺从，会激发男人身上最坏的东西。然而依旧是这个
男人，会因为勇气和决心，变成完全不同的样子。”
“照你这么说倒是她的错——”
希尔达打断了他的话。
“不，我当然不是这个意思！你父亲的确待你母亲很不好，这一点我从未怀疑过。但婚
姻是一件很特别的事，任何局外人——甚至包括他们的孩子在内，都没有权利评判。况
且，你此时的愤怒怨恨，对你母亲都已于事无补。整件事都过去了，在你身后了！现在只
剩下一个老人，身体衰弱，想让他的儿子回家过圣诞节。”
“你想让我去？”
希尔达迟疑了一下，然后突然下了决心。“是的，”她说，“我想让你去，从此永远摆脱
那个妖怪。”
PART ONE DECEMBER 22ND V
V
George Lee, M.P. for Westeringham, was a somewhat corpulent gentleman of forty-one. His eyes
were pale blue and slightly prominent with a suspicious expression, he had a heavy jowl, and a
slow pedantic utterance.
He said now in a weighty manner:
“I have told you, Magdalene, that I think it my duty to go.”
His wife shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
She was a slender creature, a platinum blonde with plucked eyebrows and a smooth egglike
face. It could, on occasions, look quite blank and devoid of any expression whatever. She was
looking like that now.
“Darling,” she said, “it will be perfectly grim, I am sure of it.”
“Moreover,” said George Lee, and his face lit up as an attractive idea occurred to him, “it will
enable us to save considerably. Christmas is always an expensive time. We can put the servants on
board wages.”
“Oh, well!” said Magdalene. “After all, Christmas is pretty grim anywhere!”
“I suppose,” said George, pursuing his own line of thought, “they will expect to have a
Christmas dinner? A nice piece of beef, perhaps, instead of a turkey.”
“Who?” The servants? Oh, George, don’t fuss so. You’re always worrying about money.”
“Somebody has to worry,” said George.
“Yes, but it’s absurd to pinch and scrape in all these little ways. Why don’t you make your
father give you some more money?”
“He already gives me a very handsome allowance.”
“It’s awful to be completely dependent on your father, as you are! He ought to settle some
money on you outright.”
“That’s not his way of doing things.”
Magdalene looked at him. Her hazel eyes were suddenly sharp and keen. The expressionless
egglike face showed sudden meaning.
“He’s frightfully rich, isn’t he, George? A kind of millionaire, isn’t he?”
“A millionaire twice over, I believe.”
Magdalene gave an envious sigh.
“How did he make it all? South Africa, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, he made a big fortune there in his early days. Mainly diamonds.”
“Thrilling!” said Magdalene.
“Then he came to England and started in business and his fortune has actually doubled or
trebled itself, I believe.”
“What will happen when he dies?” asked Magdalene.
“Father’s never said much on the subject. Of course one can’t exactly ask. I should imagine
that the bulk of his money will go to Alfred and myself. Alfred, of course, will get the larger
share.”
“You’ve got other brothers, haven’t you?”
“Yes, there’s my brother David. I don’t fancy he will get much. He went off to do art or some
tomfoolery of that kind. I believe Father warned him that he would cut him out of his will and
David said he didn’t care.”
“How silly!” said Magdalene with scorn.
“There was my sister Jennifer too. She went off with a foreigner—a Spanish artist—one of
David’s friends. But she died just over a year ago. She left a daughter, I believe. Father might
leave a little money to her, but nothing much. And of course there’s Harry—”
He stopped, slightly embarrassed.
“Harry?” said Magdalene, surprised. “Who is Harry?”
“Ah—er—my brother.”
“I never knew you had another brother.”
“My dear, he wasn’t a great—er—credit—to us. We don’t mention him. His behaviour was
disgraceful. We haven’t heard anything of him for some years now. He’s probably dead.”
Magdalene laughed suddenly.
“What is it? What are you laughing at?”
Magdalene said:
“I was only thinking how funny it was that you—you, George, should have a disreputable
brother! You’re so very respectable.”
“I should hope so,” said George coldly.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Your father isn’t—very respectable, George.”
“Really, Magdalene!”
“Sometimes the things he says make me feel quite uncomfortable.”
George said:
“Really, Magdalene, you surprise me. Does—er—does Lydia feel the same?”
“He doesn’t say the same kind of things to Lydia,” said Magdalene. She added angrily, “No,
he never says them to her. I can’t think why not.”
George glanced at her quickly and then glanced away.
“Oh, well,” he said vaguely. “One must make allowances. At Father’s age—and with his
health being so bad—”
He paused. His wife asked:
“Is he really—pretty ill?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He’s remarkably tough. All the same, since he wants to have his
family round him at Christmas, I think we are quite right to go. It may be his last Christmas.”
She said sharply:
“You say that, George, but really, I suppose, he may live for years?”
Slightly taken aback, her husband stammered:
“Yes—yes, of course he may.”
Magdalene turned away.
“Oh, well,” she said, “I suppose we’re doing the right thing by going.”
“I have no doubt about it.”
“But I hate it! Alfred’s so dull, and Lydia snubs me.”
“Nonsense.”
“She does. And I hate that beastly manservant.”
“Old Tressilian?”
“No, Horbury. Sneaking round like a cat and smirking.”
“Really, Magdalene, I can’t see that Horbury can affect you in any way!”
“He just gets on my nerves, that’s all. But don’t let’s bother. We’ve got to go, I can see that.
Won’t do to offend the old man.”
“No—no, that’s just the point. About the servants’ Christmas dinner—”
“Not now, George, some other time. I’ll just ring up Lydia and tell her that we’ll come by the
five twenty tomorrow.”
Magdalene left the room precipitately. After telephoning she went up to her own room and
sat down in front of the desk. She let down the flap and rummaged in its various pigeonholes.
Cascades of bills came tumbling out. Magdalene sorted through them, trying to arrange them in
some kind of order. Finally, with an impatient sigh, she bundled them up and thrust them back
whence they had come. She passed a hand over her smooth platinum head.
“What on earth am I to do?” she murmured.
第一部分 十二月二十二日 5
5
乔治•李，韦斯特林厄姆的下议院议员，是一位四十一岁、有点发福的绅士。他的眼睛
是淡蓝色的，稍微有些外凸，总是带着怀疑的神情。他下巴强健，说起话来带着学究腔。
他正以郑重其事的态度说：“我告诉过你，玛格达莱尼，我认为我有义务去。”
他的妻子不耐烦地耸耸肩。
她很苗条，拥有一头淡金色的秀发，一张光滑的鸭蛋脸，双眉仔细修成俏丽的样子。
那张脸有时会一片茫然，不带一丝表情。她现在就是这个样子。
“亲爱的，”她说，“那一定很糟糕，我敢肯定。”
“而且，”乔治•李突然想到一个很妙的主意，神采飞扬地说了起来，“这样我们可以省下
很大一笔钱。圣诞节期间的开销总是很大，这样我们就可以只给用人们一笔伙食费。”
“哦，得了吧，”玛格达莱尼说，“圣诞节无论去哪儿过都很糟糕！”
“我想，”乔治继续顺着自己的思路说下去，“他们很想吃一顿圣诞节大餐吧。或许不要
火鸡，来一块上好的牛排？”
“谁？用人们？哦，乔治，别小题大做了，你总在为钱的事操心。”
“总要有人操心吧。”乔治说。
“对，可无论什么事都精打细算未免太荒谬了。你为什么不让你父亲再多给你些钱
呢？”
“他已经给了我一笔可观的生活费了。”
“完全依赖父亲实在太糟糕了，就像你现在这样！他应该一次性给你一笔钱。”
“这不是他的办事方式。”
玛格达莱尼看着他，那双淡褐色的眼睛突然变得敏锐而精明，毫无表情的鸭蛋脸上也
瞬间起了变化。
“他非常有钱，不是吗，乔治？他一定是个百万富翁，是吗？”
“我相信，相当于两个百万富翁。”
玛格达莱尼嫉妒地叹了口气。
“他是怎么赚到那么多钱的？在南非吗？”
“对，他早年在那里赚了一大笔。主要是钻石。”
“太刺激了！”玛格达莱尼说道。
“然后他来到英国，进军商业，财产又翻了两倍甚至三倍，我想是这样的。”
“他死后会怎样呢？”玛格达莱尼问。
“父亲从没提过这件事，而其他人当然不能去问。我猜想大部分钱会归阿尔弗雷德和
我，阿尔弗雷德自然会多一些。”
“你还有别的兄弟吧，是吗？”
“是的，还有个弟弟戴维。但我不认为他会得到多少。他离开家去搞艺术之类的蠢事
了。我记得父亲警告过他，如果他那样做就把他从遗嘱名单中去掉，可戴维说他不在乎。”
“多傻啊！”玛格达莱尼轻蔑地嘲笑道。
“我还有个姐姐，詹妮弗，她跟了一个外国人——一个西班牙艺术家，戴维的朋友。但
她一年前死了，留下了一个女儿。父亲也许会给她点儿钱，但不会有多少的。当然，还有
哈里……”
他停住了，似乎有点儿尴尬。
“哈里？”玛格达莱尼很惊讶，“哈里是谁？”
“哦，呃，我弟弟。”
“我怎么不知道你还有个弟弟。”
“亲爱的，他不是什么……嗯……光彩的事，对我们家而言。我们从不提他。他行为可
鄙。我们已经有好些年没听到他的消息了，他没准儿已经死了。”
玛格达莱尼突然笑了起来。
“怎么了？你笑什么？”
玛格达莱尼说：“我只是觉得很好笑，你，乔治，怎么会有一个声名狼藉的兄弟！你是
如此受人尊敬。”
“我也不希望如此。”乔治冷冷地说。
她眯起眼睛。
“你的父亲，不太正派，乔治。”
“你说什么，玛格达莱尼！”
“有时候他说的一些话让我觉得很不舒服。”
乔治说：“真的吗？玛格达莱尼，你让我很吃惊。嗯，莉迪亚也这么觉得吗？”
“有些话他不会对莉迪亚说的。”玛格达莱尼说完又恼怒地补充道，“不，他从不对莉迪
亚说那样的话，我不明白这是为什么。”
乔治飞快地瞥了她一眼，又迅速地把目光移开。
“哦，”他暧昧不清地说，“有时候你需要体谅一下，在父亲这个年纪，健康状况又这么
差。”
乔治停下来。他妻子问道：“他真的……病得很重吗？”
“哦，其实我并不这么觉得，他还是相当硬朗。还是那句话，既然他希望全家人都陪在
他身边一起过个圣诞节，我认为我们就应该去。这也许是他的最后一个圣诞节了。”
她尖刻地说：“你嘴上这么说，乔治，可我想，实际上他还能再活好几年吧？”
她的丈夫微微吃了一惊，结结巴巴地答道：“是、是的，当然有这个可能。”
玛格达莱尼扭过脸去。
“哦，好吧，”她说，“我希望我们这么做是对的。”
“对此我毫不怀疑。”
“可我讨厌去那儿！阿尔弗雷德沉闷乏味，莉迪亚又总是冷落我。”
“胡说。”
“她就是的！我还讨厌那个野兽一般的男仆。”
“老特雷西利安？”
“不，是霍伯里。像猫一样轻手轻脚地走来走去，还一脸假笑。”
“是吗，玛格达莱尼？我看不出霍伯里会对你有什么影响。”
“他只是让我神经紧张，没别的。不过我们别再浪费时间了。我明白，我们肯定得去。
我们不能惹怒那个老头。”
“对，没错，你说到点子上了。那么，关于用人们的圣诞晚餐——”
“现在我不想讨论这个。乔治，换个时间再说吧。现在，我要打电话给莉迪亚，告诉她
我们会在明天下午五点二十左右到。”
玛格达莱尼匆匆离去。打完电话之后，她上楼回到自己的房间，坐在桌子前，把活动
桌面掀开，在一堆格子里翻着。账单像小瀑布一样涌出，玛格达莱尼整理着，试图将它们
分门别类。最后，伴随着一声不耐烦的叹息，她又把它们卷了起来，扔回到原来的地方。
她抬起一只手，摸了摸自己柔顺的金发。
“我到底该怎么办？”她喃喃自问。
PART ONE DECEMBER 22ND VI
VI
On the first floor of Gorston Hall a long passage led to a big room overlooking the front drive. It
was a room furnished in the more flamboyant of old-fashioned styles. It had heavy brocaded
wallpaper, rich leather armchairs, large vases embossed with dragons, sculptures in bronze . . .
Everything in it was magnificent, costly and solid.
In a big grandfather armchair, the biggest and most imposing of all the chairs, sat the thin,
shrivelled figure of an old man. His long clawlike hands rested on the arms of the chair. A gold-
mounted stick was by his side. He wore an old shabby blue dressing gown. On his feet were carpet
slippers. His hair was white and the skin of his face was yellow.
A shabby, insignificant figure, one might have thought. But the nose, aquiline and proud, and
the eyes, dark and intensely alive, might cause an observer to alter his opinion. Here was fire and
life and vigour.
Old Simeon Lee cackled to himself, a sudden, high cackle of amusement.
He said:
“You gave my message to Mrs. Alfred, hey?”
Horbury was standing beside his chair. He replied in his soft deferential voice:
“Yes, sir.”
“Exactly in the words I told you? Exactly, mind?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t make a mistake, sir.”
“No—you don’t make mistakes. You’d better not make mistakes either—or you’ll regret it!
And what did she say, Horbury? What did Mr. Alfred say?”
Quietly, unemotionally, Horbury repeated what had passed. The old man cackled again and
rubbed his hands together.
“Splendid . . . First rate . . . They’ll have been thinking and wondering—all the afternoon!
Splendid! I’ll have ’em up now. Go and get them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Horbury walked noiselessly across the room and went out.
“And, Horbury—”
The old man looked round, then cursed to himself.
“Fellow moves like a cat. Never know where he is.”
He sat quite still in his chair, his fingers caressing his chin till there was a tap on the door, and
Alfred and Lydia came in.
“Ah, there you are, there you are. Sit here, Lydia, my dear, by me. What a nice colour you’ve
got.”
“I’ve been out in the cold. It makes one’s cheeks burn afterwards.”
Alfred said:
“How are you, Father, did you have a good rest this afternoon?”
“First rate—first rate. Dreamt about the old days! That was before I settled down and became
a pillar of society.”
He cackled with sudden laughter.
His daughter-in-law sat silently smiling with polite attention.
Alfred said:
“What’s this, Father, about two extra being expected for Christmas?”
“Ah, that! Yes, I must tell you about that. It’s going to be a grand Christmas for me this year
—a grand Christmas. Let me see, George is coming and Magdalene—”
Lydia said:
“Yes, they are arriving tomorrow by the five twenty.”
Old Simeon said:
“Poor stick, George! Nothing but a gasbag! Still, he is my son.”
Alfred said:
“His constituents like him.”
Simeon cackled again.
“They probably think he’s honest. Honest! There never was a Lee who was honest yet.”
“Oh, come now, Father.”
“I except you, my boy. I except you.”
“And David?” asked Lydia.
“David now. I’m curious to see the boy after all these years. He was a namby- pamby
youngster. Wonder what his wife is like? At any rate he hasn’t married a girl twenty years younger
than himself, like that fool George!”
“Hilda wrote a very nice letter,” said Lydia. “I’ve just had a wire from her confirming it and
saying they are definitely arriving tomorrow.”
Her father-in-law looked at her, a keen, penetrating glance.
He laughed.
“I never get any change out of Lydia,” he said. “I’ll say this for you, Lydia, you’re a well-
bred woman. Breeding tells. I know that well enough. A funny thing, though, heredity. There’s
only one of you that’s taken after me—only one out of all the litter.”
His eyes danced.
“Now guess who’s coming for Christmas. I’ll give you three guesses and I’ll bet you a fiver
you won’t get the answer.”
He looked from one face to the other. Alfred said frowning:
“Horbury said you expected a young lady.”
“That intrigued you—yes, I dare say it did. Pilar will be arriving any minute now. I gave
orders for the car to go and meet her.”
Alfred said sharply:
“Pilar?”
Simeon said:
“Pilar Estravados. Jennifer’s girl. My granddaughter. I wonder what she’ll be like.”
Alfred cried out:
“Good heavens, Father, you never told me. . . .”
The old man was grinning.
“No, I thought I’d keep it a secret! Got Charlton to write out and fix things.”
Alfred repeated, his tone hurt and reproachful:
“You never told me. . . .”
His father said, still grinning wickedly:
“It would have spoilt the surprise! Wonder what it will be like to have young blood under this
roof again? I never saw Estravados. Wonder which the girl takes after—her mother or her father?”
“Do you really think it’s wise, Father,” began Alfred. “Taking everything into consideration
—”
The old man interrupted him.
“Safety—safety—you play for safety too much, Alfred! Always have! That hasn’t been my
way! Do what you want and be damned to it! That’s what I say! The girl’s my granddaughter—the
only grandchild in the family! I don’t care what her father was or what he did! She’s my flesh and
blood! And she’s coming to live here in my house.”
Lydia said sharply: “She’s coming to live here?”
He darted a quick look at her. “Do you object?”
She shook her head. She said smiling:
“I couldn’t very well object to your asking someone to your own house, could I? No, I was
wondering about—her.”
“About her—what d’you mean?”
“Whether she would be happy here.”
Old Simeon flung up his head.
“She’s not got a penny in the world. She ought to be thankful!”
Lydia shrugged her shoulders.
Simeon turned to Alfred:
“You see? It’s going to be a grand Christmas! All my children round me. All my children!
There, Alfred, there’s your clue. Now guess who the other visitor is.”
Alfred stared at him.
“All my children! Guess, boy! Harry, of course! Your brother Harry!”
Alfred had gone very pale. He stammered:
“Harry—not Harry—”
“Harry himself!”
“But we thought he was dead!”
“Not he!”
“You—you are having him back here? After everything?”
“The prodigal son, eh? You’re right. The fatted calf! We must kill the fatted calf, Alfred. We
must give him a grand welcome.”
Alfred said:
“He treated you—all of us—disgracefully. He—”
“No need to recite his crimes! It’s a long list. But Christmas, you’ll remember, is the season
of forgiveness! We’ll welcome the prodigal home.”
Alfred rose. He murmured:
“This has been—rather a shock. I never dreamt that Harry would ever come inside these
walls again.”
Simeon leaned forward.
“You never liked Harry, did you?” he said softly.
“After the way he behaved to you—”
Simeon cackled. He said:
“Ah, but bygones must be bygones. That’s the spirit for Christmas, isn’t it, Lydia?”
Lydia, too, had gone pale. She said dryly:
“I see that you have thought a good deal about Christmas this year.”
“I want my family round me. Peace and goodwill. I’m an old man. Are you going, my dear?”
Alfred had hurried out. Lydia paused a moment before following him.
Simeon nodded his head after the retreating figure.
“It’s upset him. He and Harry never got on. Harry used to jeer at Alfred. Called him old Slow
and Sure.”
Lydia’s lips parted. She was about to speak, then, as she saw the old man’s eager expression,
she checked herself. Her self-control, she saw, disappointed him. The perception of that fact
enabled her to say:
“The hare and the tortoise. Ah, well, the tortoise wins the race.”
“Not always,” said Simeon. “Not always, my dear Lydia.”
She said, still smiling:
“Excuse me, I must go after Alfred. Sudden excitements always upset him.”
Simeon cackled.
“Yes, Alfred doesn’t like changes. He always was a regular sobersides.”
Lydia said:
“Alfred is very devoted to you.”
“That seems odd to you, doesn’t it?”
“Sometimes,” said Lydia, “it does.”
She left the room. Simeon looked after her.
He chuckled softly and rubbed his palms together. “Lots of fun,” he said. “Lots of fun still.
I’m going to enjoy this Christmas.”
With an effort he pulled himself upright, and with the help of his stick, shuffled across the
room.
He went to a big safe that stood at the corner of the room. He twirled the handle of the
combination. The door came open and, with shaking fingers, he felt inside.
He lifted out a small wash-leather bag, and opening it, let a stream of uncut diamonds pass
through his fingers.
“Well, my beauties, well . . . Still the same—still my old friends. Those were good days—
good days . . . They shan’t carve you and cut you about, my friends. You shan’t hang round the
necks of women or sit on their fingers or hang on their ears. You’re mine! My old friends! We
know a thing or two, you and I. I’m old, they say, and ill, but I’m not done for! Lots of life in the
old dog yet. And there’s still some fun to be got out of life. Still some fun—”
第一部分 十二月二十二日 6
6
在戈斯顿霍尔的二楼，一条长长的走廊，通向一间可以俯瞰门前车道的房间。那个房
间里全是富丽堂皇的旧式家具。那儿有厚重的织锦墙纸，有皮革包裹的昂贵扶手椅，有龙
纹浮雕的大花瓶，还有青铜雕像……每一样东西都豪华、奢侈、结实。
在全屋最宽大威风的老人椅上，坐着一个干瘪瘦小的老人。他那长长的、像爪子一样
的手，放在椅子的扶手上，身边放着一根镶金的手杖。他穿着一件破旧的蓝色晨衣，脚上
是一双绒毡拖鞋。他的头发全白了，脸上的皮肤却黄黄的。
你或许会觉得，这是一个不起眼的寒酸家伙。但他那高傲的鹰钩鼻，灵活有神的黑眼
睛，可能会让旁观者改变看法。你能看到激情、生气和活力。
老西米恩•李像被什么逗乐了一样，突然咯咯咯地放声大笑。
接着他说：“嗨，把我的口信带给阿尔弗雷德夫人了吗？”
霍伯里就站在他的椅子边，温顺谦恭地答道：“是的，先生。”
“就按照我跟你说的那样，一字不差，是吗？”
“是的，先生，我没犯任何错误。”
“对，你不会出错，也最好不要出错——否则你会后悔的！她是怎么说的，霍伯里？阿
尔弗雷德先生又是怎么说的？”
霍伯里平静地，不带感情色彩地复述了事情的经过。老人再次哈哈大笑起来，搓着
手。
“太好了……棒极了……他们会一直猜测、疑惑——整整一下午！太好了！我现在要叫
他们上来，去让他们上来。”
“是的，先生。”
霍伯里无声无息地穿过房间，走出了门。
“还有，霍伯里——”
老人看了看四周，然后暗暗地骂了一句。
“这家伙走起路来像只猫，你从来不知道他在哪儿。”
他一直一动不动地坐在椅子里，用手抚摸着下巴。直到敲门声响起，阿尔弗雷德和莉
迪亚走了进来。
“啊，你们来啦，快来，坐在这儿。莉迪亚，亲爱的，坐在我身边。你的气色真好！”
“我刚才出去了一下，外面很冷，暖和过来后脸颊火辣辣的。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“您怎么样，父亲，下午休息得好吗？”
“棒极了——棒极了，梦见了过去的好日子！那时我还没安定下来，成为社会的中坚阶
层。”
他突然咯咯地笑起来。
他的儿媳默默地坐在那儿，出于礼貌脸上挂着微笑。
阿尔弗雷德说：“怎么回事，父亲，还有两位客人要来过圣诞节？”
“啊，这个！是的，首先你们要知道，对于我来说，这将是一个盛大的圣诞节——盛大
的圣诞节。让我想想，乔治和玛格达莱尼要来——”
莉迪亚说：“对，他们明天五点二十到。”
老西米恩说：“可怜的蠢蛋，乔治！什么都不行，只会说废话。可他是我的儿子。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“选民们喜欢他。”
西米恩又笑了。
“他们也许认为他诚实——诚实！李家还没出过一个诚实的人呢！”
“别这么说，父亲。”
“你排除在外，我的儿子，除了你以外。”
“戴维呢？”莉迪亚问。
“戴维嘛……过了这么多年，我倒是很好奇他什么样了。年轻时他多愁善感得可笑。我
想知道他妻子什么样？不管怎样，他没有娶一个比他小二十岁的女人，像那个傻瓜乔治一
样！”
“希尔达的信写得很好，”莉迪亚说，“我刚刚又收到她的一封电报，说他们明天一定
到。”
她的公公看了看她，那敏锐的一瞥颇有穿透力。
他笑了。
“什么事情都离不开莉迪亚啊。”他说，“我不得不说，莉迪亚，你是一个很有教养的女
人。教养是可以看出来的。我知道得很清楚。不过，遗传真是件有趣的事，这个家里只有
你一个人像我——其他都是垃圾。”
他的目光闪动起来。
“现在来猜猜谁会来过圣诞节。我给你们三次机会，赌五英镑你们猜不出来。”
他轮流看着两个人。阿尔弗雷德皱着眉头说：“霍伯里说您在等一位年轻女士。”
“这一定让你们非常困惑——是的，我敢打赌。皮拉尔随时会到，我叫车去接她了。”
阿尔弗雷德严肃地反问：“皮拉尔？”
西米恩说：“皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯——詹妮弗的女儿，我的外孙女。我想知道她什
么样。”
阿尔弗雷德叫了出来：“老天！父亲，您从没说起过……”
老人正咧着嘴笑。
“是的，我想要保密！我安排查尔顿写信、安排这件事。”
阿尔弗雷德又说了一遍，语气里既有伤心又含着责备的意味。
“您从没对我说起过……”
他的父亲开口了，仍然不怀好意地咧嘴笑着。
“为了勾起你们足够的好奇心！你觉得这个家的新鲜血液会是什么样？我从没见过埃斯
特拉瓦多斯，这个女孩长得会像谁呢，母亲还是父亲？”
“您真的认为这样做明智吗，父亲？”阿尔弗雷德又开口了，“综合各方面考虑——”
老人打断了他的话。
“安全，安全。你考虑得太多了，阿尔弗雷德！你总是这样！这并不是我的作风！想做
什么就他妈的做什么！这才是我！这个女孩是我的外孙女，家里唯一的第三代。我不在乎
她的父亲是谁或他做过什么！她是我的骨肉我的血脉！她要住在这儿，我的家里！”
莉迪亚尖锐地问：“她要住在这里？”
老人飞快地扫了她一眼。“你反对吗？”
她摇摇头，笑着说：“这是您的房子，您想叫什么人住我怎么会反对，我会吗？不，我
只是不知道，她——”
“她——你什么意思？”
“她会乐意住这儿吗？”
老西米恩昂起头。
“她身无分文，应该对此感激不尽！”
莉迪亚耸了耸肩。
西米恩转向阿尔弗雷德。
“明白了吗？这将是一个盛大的圣诞节聚会！所有的孩子都在我身边，所有的孩子！这
就是我给你的线索，阿尔弗雷德，现在来猜猜另一个客人是谁。”
阿尔弗雷德盯着他。
“我所有的孩子啊！猜猜，儿子！当然是哈里！你弟弟哈里！”
阿尔弗雷德的脸一下子白了，他结结巴巴地说：“哈里……不可能是他……”
“正是哈里！”
“可据我们所知，他已经死了！”
“他没有！”
“您，您想让他回到这儿来，在发生了那一切之后？”
“浪子回头，对不对？没错，肥牛犊！我们一定要宰一头肥牛犊，阿尔弗雷德，我们要
隆重地欢迎他回家！”（注：典故出自《圣经•路加福音》，耶稣讲的寓言之一。故事大意
为一个父亲把财产平分给两个儿子，小儿子携财离家，挥霍一空，结果饥肠辘辘，恨不得
拿猪吃的豆荚来充饥。最后他回到家时已经奄奄一息，对自己的放荡行为懊悔不已，而他
的父亲则不计前嫌，仍然热情地迎接了他，还为他宰杀肥牛犊。洁身自好的哥哥对此耿耿
于怀，父亲就向他说明了浪子回头的重要性。）
阿尔弗雷德说：“他那样对您，以及我们大家。那么可耻。他……”
“别再细数他犯下的罪过了！会是一个很长的清单。可这是圣诞节，别忘了，是宽恕的
时候！我们欢迎浪子回家。”
阿尔弗雷德站起身来，嘟囔着。
“这真令人……震惊。我从没想过哈里还会走进这个门。”
西米恩探身向前。
“你一直不喜欢哈里，对吗？”他柔声问道。
“在他那样对您之后——”
西米恩咯咯地笑了。他说：“啊，过去的事就让它过去吧，这正是圣诞节的精神，对不
对，莉迪亚？”
莉迪亚的脸色也变得惨白，她干巴巴地说：“我看出您今年为圣诞节准备了很多。”
“我希望全家人都在身边，和睦友好。我是个老人。你要出去了吗，亲爱的？”
阿尔弗雷德匆忙走了出去，莉迪亚等了等，没有马上跟过去。
西米恩看着他离开的身影，点了点头。
“这件事让他心烦意乱。他和哈里从小就合不来，哈里以前总嘲笑阿尔弗雷德，管他叫
老乌龟。”
莉迪亚张开嘴，想说点什么，但当她看到老人渴望的神情时，又把话吞了回去。她看
得出，她的自我克制让他失望了。察觉到这个事实后，她忍不住说：“龟兔赛跑。嗯，最后
获胜的是乌龟。”
“不总是这样，”西米恩说，“不总是这样，我亲爱的莉迪亚。”
她仍然微笑着，说：“请原谅，我要去看看阿尔弗雷德，突发事件总会让他不适应。”
西米恩咯咯地笑着。
“是的，阿尔弗雷德不喜欢变化，他一直是个喜欢一成不变的老顽固。”
莉迪亚说：“阿尔弗雷德非常爱您。”
“而你觉得这很奇怪，对吗？”
“有时候，”莉迪亚说，“的确是的。”
西米恩目送着她离开了房间。
他搓着两只手，轻声地咯咯笑着。“有意思，”他说，“目前为止都很有意思！我要好好
享受这个圣诞节。”
他努力站起身来，依靠手杖的支撑，拖着脚步穿过房间。
他来到房间角落的一个大保险箱前，转动着密码转盘上的把手。门开了，他颤抖着双
手伸进去摸索。
他拿出一个软皮做成的小袋子，打开，倒出一捧没加工过的钻石。
“啊，美丽的东西，啊……还是老样子——还是我的老朋友。那些好时光——美好的日
子……我不会让他们把你们切割打磨，我的朋友。你们不该挂在那些女人的脖子上，或戴
在她们的手指、耳朵上。你们是我的！我的老朋友！有些事情只有你知我知。他们说我老
了，又有病，可我还没完蛋呢！我这个老家伙还能活很久。而且生活中还会有乐子，有的
是……”
PART TWO DECEMBER 23RD
PART TWO DECEMBER 23RD
Tressilian went to answer the doorbell. It had been an unusually aggressive peal, and now, before
he could make his slow way across the hall, it pealed out again.
Tressilian flushed. An ill-mannered, impatient way of ringing the bell at a gentleman’s house!
If it was a fresh lot of those carol singers he’d give them a piece of his mind.
Through the frosted glass of the upper half of the door he saw a silhouette—a big man in a
slouch hat. He opened the door. As he had thought—a cheap, flashy stranger—nasty pattern of suit
he was wearing—loud! Some impudent begging fellow!
“Blessed if it isn’t Tressilian,” said the stranger. “How are you, Tressilian?”
Tressilian stared—took a deep breath—stared again. That bold arrogant jaw, the high-bridged
nose, the rollicking eye. Yes, they had all been there three years ago. More subdued then. . . .
He said with a gasp:
“Mr. Harry!”
Harry Lee laughed.
“Looks as though I’d given you quite a shock. Why? I’m expected, aren’t I?”
“Yes, indeed, sir. Certainly, sir.”
“Then why the surprise act?” Harry stepped back a foot or two and looked up at the house—a
good solid mass of red brick, unimaginative but solid.
“Just the same ugly old mansion,” he remarked. “Still standing, though, that’s the main thing.
How’s my father, Tressilian?”
“He’s somewhat of an invalid, sir. Keeps his room, and can’t get about much. But he’s
wonderfully well, considering.”
“The old sinner!”
Harry Lee came inside, let Tressilian remove his scarf and take the somewhat theatrical hat.
“How’s my dear brother Alfred, Tressilian?”
“He’s very well, sir.”
Harry grinned.
“Looking forward to seeing me? Eh?”
“I expect so, sir.”
“I don’t! Quite the contrary. I bet it’s given him a nasty jolt, my turning up! Alfred and I
never did get on. Ever read your Bible, Tressilian?”
“Why, yes, sir, sometimes, sir.”
“Remember the tale of the prodigal’s return? The good brother didn’t like it, remember?
Didn’t like it at all! Good old stay-at-home Alfred doesn’t like it either, I bet.”
Tressilian remained silent looking down his nose. His stiffened back expressed protest. Harry
clapped him on the shoulder.
“Lead on, old son,” he said. “The fatted calf awaits me! Lead me right to it.”
Tressilian murmured:
“If you will come this way into the drawing room, sir. I am not quite sure where everyone is
. . . They were unable to send to meet you, sir, not knowing the time of your arrival.”
Harry nodded. He followed Tressilian along the hall, turning his head to look about him as he
went.
“All the old exhibits in their place, I see,” he remarked. “I don’t believe anything has changed
since I went away twenty years ago.”
He followed Tressilian into the drawing room. The old man murmured:
“I will see if I can find Mr. or Mrs. Alfred,” and hurried out.
Harry Lee had marched into the room and had then stopped, staring at the figure who was
seated on one of the windowsills. His eyes roamed incredulously over the black hair and the
creamy exotic pallor.
“Good Lord!” he said. “Are you my father’s seventh and most beautiful wife?”
Pilar slipped down and came towards him.
“I am Pilar Estravados,” she announced. “And you must be my Uncle Harry, my mother’s
brother.”
Harry said, staring:
“So that’s who you are! Jenny’s daughter.”
Pilar said: “Why did you ask me if I was your father’s seventh wife? Has he really had six
wives?”
Harry laughed.
“No, I believe he’s only had one official one. Well—Pil—what’s your name?”
“Pilar, yes.”
“Well, Pilar, it really gives me quite a turn to see something like you blooming in this
mausoleum.”
“This—maus—please?”
“This museum of stuffed dummies! I always thought this house was lousy! Now I see it again
I think it’s lousier than ever!”
Pilar said in a shocked voice:
“Oh, no, it is very handsome here! The furniture is good and the carpets—thick carpets
everywhere—and there are lots of ornaments. Everything is very good quality and very, very
rich!”
“You’re right there,” said Harry, grinning. He looked at her with amusement. “You know, I
can’t help getting a kick out of seeing you in the midst—”
He broke off as Lydia came rapidly into the room.
She came straight to him.
“How d’you do, Harry? I’m Lydia—Alfred’s wife.”
“How de do, Lydia.” He shook hands, examining her intelligent mobile face in a swift glance
and approving mentally of the way she walked—very few women moved well.
Lydia in her turn took quick stock of him.
She thought: “He looks a frightful tough—attractive though. I wouldn’t trust him an inch.
. . .”
She said smiling:
“How does it look after all these years? Quite different, or very much the same?”
“Pretty much the same.” He looked round him. “This room’s been done over.”
“Oh, many times.”
He said:
“I meant by you. You’ve made it—different.”
“Yes, I expect so. . . .”
He grinned at her, a sudden impish grin that reminded her with a start of the old man upstairs.
“It’s got more class about it now! I remember hearing that old Alfred had married a girl
whose people came over with the Conqueror.”
Lydia smiled. She said:
“I believe they did. But they’ve rather run to seed since those days.”
Harry said:
“How’s old Alfred? Just the same blessed old stick-in-the-mud as ever?”
“I’ve no idea whether you will find him changed or not.”
“How are the others? Scattered all over England?”
“No—they’re all here for Christmas, you know.”
Harry’s eyes opened.
“Regular Christmas family reunion? What’s the matter with the old man? He used not to give
a damn for sentiment. Don’t remember his caring much for his family, either. He must have
changed!”
“Perhaps.” Lydia’s voice was dry.
Pilar was staring, her big eyes wide and interested.
Harry said:
“How’s old George? Still the same skinflint? How he used to howl if he had to part with a
halfpenny of his pocket money!”
Lydia said:
“George is in Parliament. He’s member for Westeringham.”
“What? Popeye in Parliament? Lord, that’s good.”
Harry threw back his head and laughed.
It was rich stentorian laughter—it sounded uncontrolled and brutal in the confined space of
the room. Pilar drew in her breath with a gasp. Lydia flinched a little.
Then, at a movement behind him, Harry broke off his laugh and turned sharply. He had not
heard anyone coming in, but Alfred was standing there quietly. He was looking at Harry with an
odd expression on his face.
Harry stood a minute, then a slow smile crept to his lips. He advanced a step.
“Why,” he said, “it’s Alfred!”
Alfred nodded.
“Hallo, Harry,” he said.
They stood staring at each other. Lydia caught her breath. She thought:
“How absurd! Like two dogs—looking at each other. . . .”
Pilar’s gaze widened even further. She thought to herself:
“How silly they look standing there . . . Why do they not embrace? No, of course the English
do not do that. But they might say something. Why do they just look?”
Harry said at last:
“Well, well. Feels funny to be here again!”
“I expect so—yes. A good many years since you—got out.”
Harry threw up his head. He drew his finger along the line of his jaw. It was a gesture that
was habitual with him. It expressed belligerence.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m glad I have come”—he paused to bring out the word with greater
significance—“home. . . .”
第二部分 十二月二十三日 1
第二部分 十二月二十三日
1
门铃很少见地一声接一声地叫着，特雷西利安去开门。当他像往常那样慢悠悠地穿过
大厅的时候，门铃又响了起来。
特雷西利安涨红了脸。怎么会有人如此粗鲁、如此不耐烦地按一户绅士家的门铃！如
果是那些新来的唱诗班的家伙，他可要说说他们。
透过大门上部的毛玻璃，他能看见那人的轮廓——一个戴着宽边软帽的男人。他开了
门，正如他所想的，是一个俗气、贫穷的陌生人。他的衣服上印着令人厌恶的图案——这
个吵闹、无耻的乞丐！
“这不是特雷西利安嘛！”陌生人开口道，“你好吗，特雷西利安？”
特雷西利安直直地凝视着来人，深深地吸了口气，再次努力辨认。那方方正正的骄傲
下巴、高挺的鼻梁、含着笑意的眼睛。是的，三年前他曾见过，只是那时此人要比现在收
敛一些……
他吸了口气，说：“哈里先生！”
哈里•李笑了。
“看起来我让你吃了一惊。为什么？你知道我要来吧，不是吗？”
“是的，没错，先生。当然，先生。”
“那你怎么还这么吃惊？”哈里后退了一两步，打量着房子——这栋巨大的红砖建筑，
没什么创意，但非常坚固。
“这幢老房子还是那么丑陋。”他评论道，“但重要的是，它还没倒。我父亲怎么样，特
雷西利安？”
“基本上残废了，先生。整日待在他的房间里，不怎么到处走动。但就一个病人来说，
他的状况非常好。”
“这个老浑蛋！”
哈里•李走进屋，让特雷西利安帮他解下围巾，摘下那顶夸张的帽子。
“我亲爱的哥哥阿尔弗雷德怎么样，特雷西利安？”
“他很好，先生。”
哈里咧嘴笑了。
“他想见我吗，嗯？”
“我想是的，先生。”
“我可不这么想！恰恰相反。我敢打赌我要回来这件事让他大吃一惊！阿尔弗雷德和我
一向合不来。你还读《圣经》吗，特雷西利安？”
“怎么了？当然，先生，有时候读。”
“记得那个关于浪子回头的寓言吗？那个好哥哥不高兴，记得吗？完全不喜欢！我敢打
赌，待在家里的老阿尔弗雷德也不会高兴的。”
特雷西利安沉默地低下头，僵直的后背表现出他的不满。哈里轻轻地拍了拍他的肩。
“带路吧，老家伙，”他说，“肥牛犊等着我呢！带我到那儿去。”
特雷西利安小声说道：“请您先到客厅去，先生。我不知道大家都在哪儿……他们没能
来迎接您，先生，因为不知道您确切的抵达时间。”
哈里点点头，跟着特雷西利安走过门厅，一边走一边左顾右盼地看。
“我注意到，所有的家具都还摆在老地方。”他发表意见，“我相信自我二十年前离开，
这里没发生过任何变化。”
他随着特雷西利安走进客厅。
老人喃喃道：“我去看看能不能找到阿尔弗雷德先生或夫人。”说完就匆匆出去了。
哈里•李大踏步地走进房间，接着停下脚步，盯着坐在一扇窗边的身影，疑惑的目光在
那头乌黑的秀发和充满异国情调的奶油色肌肤上游走。
“上帝啊！”他说，“你是我父亲最美丽的第七任太太吗？”
皮拉尔从窗边滑下来，走到他面前。
“我是皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯，”她自我介绍道，“而你一定是我的哈里舅舅，我母亲的
兄弟。”
哈里盯着她，说道：“原来你是詹妮弗的女儿！”
皮拉尔说：“你为什么问我是不是你父亲的第七任妻子？他真的有过六个妻子吗？”
哈里笑了。
“不，我相信他只有一个，一个正式的。那个——皮——你叫什么来着？”
“皮拉尔。”
“噢，皮拉尔。在这个阴森的陵墓里看到像你这样的妙龄美女真是让我吓了一大跳。”
“这个——陵——什么？”
“这个陈列填充标本的博物馆！我一直觉得这房子恶心极了！如今回到这里，我觉得它
比以前更恶心了！”
皮拉尔的语气显得很吃惊。
“噢，不，这儿很漂亮！家具都很好，还有地毯——到处都是厚厚的地毯——还有那么
多装饰品。所有东西都那么好，而且非常非常豪华！”
“这点你倒是说对了。”哈里说着，咧开嘴笑了。他饶有兴味地看着她：“你知道吗，我
忍不住幻想你和那群——”
此时，莉迪亚快步走进房间。他赶忙闭上嘴，没再说下去。
她径直向他走去。
“你好，哈里，我是莉迪亚——阿尔弗雷德的妻子。”
“你好，莉迪亚。”他和她握握手，迅速地打量了一下她那张表情丰富的、机灵的脸，
打心眼儿里赞赏她走路的姿态——很少有女人能走得这么好看。
莉迪亚也匆匆地打量着他。
她想：他看上去就像个好斗的恶棍——但也很有魅力。我可半句话也不会相信他……
她笑着说：“过了这么多年，这儿看起来怎么样？是很不一样还是老样子？”
“差不多还是老样子。”他环视四周，“这间重新装修过了。”
“嗯，弄了好多次。”
他说：“我是说被你……你让它——变得不一样了。”
“是的，我希望如此……”
他咧嘴朝她笑着。这个突然浮现的顽皮笑容让她想起楼上的老人，因此吃了一惊。
“现在这儿更有品位了！我记得听说老阿尔弗雷德娶了个姑娘，她的家族是和征服者
（注：指威廉一世，被称为“King William I the Conqueror”。）一起来到英国的。”
莉迪亚笑了，她说：“我想是这样的，但我的家族已经不复从前了。”
哈里说：“老阿尔弗雷德怎么样？还像原来一样，是个老顽固吗？”
“我不知道你会不会觉得他有什么变化。”
“其他人呢？分散在英国各地？”
“不——他们全在这儿，过圣诞节。”
哈里的眼睛瞪大了。
“旧式的圣诞节家庭聚会？这老家伙怎么啦？他一向看不起沟通感情之类的事，我也不
记得他这么关心过他的家庭。他一定是变了。”
“也许吧。”莉迪亚的声音里不带任何感情。
皮拉尔在旁边看着这一切，眼睛睁得大大的，显然是被吸引住了。
哈里说：“老乔治怎么样，还那么抠门儿吗？以前要是让他从口袋里拿出半便士来，他
都会叫个没完！”
莉迪亚说：“乔治现在在议会工作，是韦斯特林厄姆的议员。”
“什么？金鱼眼在议会？天哪，不错啊。”
哈里仰着头大笑起来。
那笑声非常洪亮。在这个空间有限的房间里，那不受控制的笑声听起来有些突兀。皮
拉尔倒吸了一口气，莉迪亚则有些畏缩。
就在这个时候，觉察到身后有动静，哈里止住大笑，猛然转过身去。他没有听到任何
人进来的声音，可阿尔弗雷德已经静静地站在那儿了。他正看着哈里，脸上带着古怪的表
情。
哈里站着愣了一会儿，笑容慢慢地爬上他的嘴唇。他向前走了一步。
“啊，”他说，“阿尔弗雷德啊！”
阿尔弗雷德点点头。
“你好，哈里。”他说。
他们站在原地，盯着对方。莉迪亚屏住了呼吸，心想：多荒唐啊，就像两条狗看着彼
此……
皮拉尔的眼睛睁得更大了。她对自己说：他们傻站在那儿看上去太可笑了……他们为
什么不拥抱呢？噢，当然了，英国人不会那样做的。但他们总可以说点儿什么吧，为什么
只是看着对方呢？
最终哈里先开口了。
“嗯，呃，回到这儿，我感觉很古怪！”
“我想是的。对，已经过去好多年了，自打你……离开。”
哈里抬起头，用手摸着下巴。那是他的一个习惯动作，意味着挑衅。
“是的，”他说，“我很高兴又回到……”他顿了一下，好让这一停顿强化接下来这个词
的意义，“家。”
PART TWO DECEMBER 23RD II
II
“I’ve been, I suppose, a very wicked man,” said Simeon Lee.
He was leaning back in his chair. His chin was raised and with one finger he was stroking his
jaw reflectively. In front of him a big fire glowed and danced. Beside it sat Pilar, a little screen of
papier-mâché held in her hand. With it she shielded her face from the blaze. Occasionally she
fanned herself with it, using her wrist in a supple gesture. Simeon looked at her with satisfaction.
He went on talking, perhaps more to himself than to the girl, and stimulated by the fact of her
presence.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been a wicked man. What do you say to that, Pilar?”
Pilar shrugged her shoulders. She said:
“All men are wicked. The nuns say so. That is why one has to pray for them.”
“Ah, but I’ve been more wicked than most.” Simeon laughed. “I don’t regret it, you know.
No, I don’t regret anything. I’ve enjoyed myself . . . every minute! They say you repent when you
get old. That’s bunkum. I don’t repent. And as I tell you, I’ve done most things . . . all the good
old sins! I’ve cheated and stolen and lied . . . lord, yes! And women—always women! Someone
told me the other day of an Arab chief who had a bodyguard of forty of his sons—all roughly the
same age! Aha! Forty! I don’t know about forty, but I bet I could produce a very fair bodyguard if
I went about looking for the brats! Hey, Pilar, what do you think of that? Shocked?”
Pilar stared.
“No, why should I be shocked? Men always desire women. My father, too. That is why wives
are so often unhappy and why they go to church and pray.”
Old Simeon was frowning.
“I made Adelaide unhappy,” he said. He spoke almost under his breath, to himself. “Lord,
what a woman! Pink and white and pretty as they make ’em when I married her! And afterwards?
Always wailing and weeping. It rouses the devil in a man when his wife is always crying . . .
She’d no guts, that’s what was the matter with Adelaide. If she’d stood up to me! But she never
did—not once. I believed when I married her that I was going to be able to settle down, raise a
family—cut loose from the old life. . . .”
His voice died away. He stared—stared into the glowing heart of the fire.
“Raise a family . . . God, what a family!” He gave a sudden shrill pipe of angry laughter.
“Look at ’em—look at ’em! Not a child among them—to carry on! What’s the matter with them?
Haven’t they got any of my blood in their veins? Not a son among ’em, legitimate or illegitimate.
Alfred, for instance—heavens above, how bored I get with Alfred! Looking at me with his dog’s
eyes. Ready to do anything I ask. Lord, what a fool! His wife, now—Lydia—I like Lydia. She’s
got spirit. She doesn’t like me, though. No, she doesn’t like me. But she has to put up with me for
that nincompoop Alfred’s sake.” He looked over at the girl by the fire. “Pilar—remember—
nothing is so boring as devotion.”
She smiled at him. He went on, warmed by the presence of her youth and strong femininity.
“George? What’s George? A stick! A stuffed codfish! a pompous windbag with no brains and
no guts—and mean about money as well! David? David always was a fool—a fool and a dreamer.
His mother’s boy, that was always David. Only sensible thing he ever did was to marry that solid
comfortable-looking woman.” He brought down his hand with a bang on the edge of his chair.
“Harry’s the best of ’em! Poor old Harry, the wrong ‘un! But at any rate he’s alive!”
Pilar agreed.
“Yes, he is nice. He laughs—laughs out loud—and throws his head back. Oh, yes, I like him
very much.”
The old man looked at her.
“You do, do you, Pilar? Harry always had a way with the girls. Takes after me there.” He
began to laugh, a slow wheezy chuckle. “I’ve had a good life — a very good life. Plenty of
everything.”
Pilar said:
“In Spain we have a proverb. It is like this:
“Take what you like and pay for it, says God.”
Simeon beat an appreciative hand on the arm of his chair.
“That’s good. That’s the stuff. Take what you like . . . I’ve done that—all my life—taken
what I wanted. . . .”
Pilar said, her voice high and clear, and suddenly arresting:
“And you have paid for it?”
Simeon stopped laughing to himself. He sat up and stared at her. He said, “What’s that you
say?”
“I said, have you paid for it, Grandfather?”
Simeon Lee said slowly:
“I—don’t know. . . .”
Then, beating his fist on the arm of the chair, he cried out with sudden anger:
“What makes you say that, girl? What makes you say that?”
Pilar said:
“I—wondered.”
Her hand, holding the screen, was arrested. Her eyes were dark and mysterious. She sat, her
head thrown back, conscious of herself, of her womanhood.
Simeon said:
“You devil’s brat . . .”
She said softly:
“But you like me, Grandfather. You like me to sit here with you.”
Simeon said: “Yes, I like it. It’s a long time since I’ve seen anything so young and beautiful
. . . It does me good, warms my old bones . . . And you’re my own flesh and blood . . . Good for
Jennifer, she turned out to be the best of the bunch after all!”
Pilar sat there smiling.
“Mind you, you don’t fool me,” said Simeon. “I know why you sit here so patiently and listen
to me droning on. It’s money — it’s all money . . . Or do you pretend you love your old
grandfather?”
Pilar said: “No, I do not love you. But I like you. I like you very much. You must believe
that, for it is true. I think you have been wicked, but I like that too. You are more real than the
other people in this house. And you have interesting things to say. You have travelled and you
have led a life of adventure. If I were a man I would be like that, too.”
Simeon nodded.
“Yes, I believe you would . . . We’ve gypsy blood in us, so it’s always been said. It hasn’t
shown much in my children—except Harry—but I think it’s come out in you. I can be patient,
mind you, when it’s necessary. I waited once fifteen years to get even with a man who’d done me
an injury. That’s another characteristic of the Lees—they don’t forget! They’ll avenge a wrong if
they have to wait years to do it. A man swindled me. I waited fifteen years till I saw my chance—
and then I struck. I ruined him. Cleaned him right out!”
He laughed softly.
Pilar said:
“That was in South Africa?”
“Yes. A grand country.”
“You have been back there, yes?”
“I went back last five years after I married. That was the last time.”
“But before that? You were there for many years?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it.”
He began to talk. Pilar, shielding her face, listened.
His voice slowed, wearied. He said:
“Wait, I’ll show you something.”
He pulled himself carefully to his feet. Then, with his stick, he limped slowly across the
room. He opened the big safe. Turning, he beckoned her to him.
“There, look at these. Feel them, let them run through your fingers.”
He looked into her wondering face and laughed.
“Do you know what they are? Diamonds, child, diamonds.”
Pilar’s eyes opened. She said as she bent over:
“But they are little pebbles, that is all.”
Simeon laughed.
“They are uncut diamonds. That is how they are found—like this.”
Pilar asked incredulously:
“And if they were cut they would be real diamonds?”
“Certainly.”
“They would flash and sparkle?”
“Flash and sparkle.”
Pilar said childishly:
“O-o-o, I cannot believe it!”
He was amused.
“It’s quite true.”
“They are valuable?”
“Fairly valuable. Difficult to say before they are cut. Anyway, this little lot is worth several
thousands of pounds.”
Pilar said with a space between each word:
“Several—thousands—of—pounds?”
“Say nine or ten thousands—they’re biggish stones, you see.”
Pilar asked, her eyes opening:
“But why do you not sell them, then?”
“Because I like to have them here.”
“But all that money?”
“I don’t need the money.”
“Oh—I see,” Pilar looked impressed.
She said:
“But why do you not have them cut and made beautiful?”
“Because I prefer them like this.” His face was set in a grim line. He turned away and began
speaking to himself. “They take me back—the touch of them, the feel of them through my fingers
. . . It all comes back to me, the sunshine, and the smell of the veldt, the oxen—old Eb—all the
boys—the evenings. . . .”
There was a soft tap on the door.
Simeon said: “Put ’em back in the safe and bang it to.”
Then he called: “Come in.”
Horbury came in, soft and deferential.
He said: “Tea is ready downstairs.”
第二部分 十二月二十三日 2
2
“我想，我曾经是，一个非常恶毒的人。”西米恩•李说。
他靠在椅背上，一根手指不自觉地敲打着扬起的下巴。在他面前，熊熊火光跳动着、
闪烁着。他旁边坐着皮拉尔，手里拿一小片纸板，用来遮起脸、挡住火光。时不时地，她
会灵活地转动手腕，轻轻地给自己扇扇风。西米恩满意地看着她。
他接着说了下去，更像是自言自语，而不是说给女孩子听。但由于她在场，让他说得
更起劲了。
“是的。”他说，“我曾经是一个恶毒的人。对此你有什么想法吗，皮拉尔？”
皮拉尔耸耸肩。她说：“所有的男人都很坏，修女们都这么说，所以我们才要为他们祈
祷。”
“啊，我要比大多数人更坏。”西米恩笑了，“但我并不感到后悔。不，我一点儿悔意都
没有，因为我很开心——每时每刻！人们常说当你老了就会忏悔，全是胡说八道！我才不
会忏悔呢！就像我跟你说过的，我什么事都干过，最传统意义上的坏事！我欺诈、偷窃、
撒谎……天哪，是的！还有女人，少不了女人！有人曾告诉我，一个阿拉伯酋长，有一个
由儿子们组成的四十人的警卫队——而且差不多都是一样的年纪！啊哈！四十个！我不知
道我有没有四十个，可我敢打赌，如果我有心去找，也会有一支人数相当可观的警卫队！
皮拉尔，你怎么想？吓了一跳吗？”
皮拉尔盯着她。
“不，我为什么要吃惊呢？男人总是渴求女人。我的父亲也一样。正因为这个，妻子们
才会经常不快乐，才常常要去教堂祈祷。”
老西米恩皱起眉头。
“我让阿德莱德很不幸福，”他说，声音近乎耳语，像在喃喃自语一般，“天哪，那是怎
么样的一个女人啊！我把她娶回来的时候，她肤色白里透红，漂亮得像画上的人一样！可
后来呢？整日哭哭啼啼地抹眼泪。妻子没完没了地哭泣，会激起男人体内的邪恶……缺乏
勇气，这正是阿德莱德的问题所在。要是她能站起来反抗我……可她没有，一次也没有。
我坚信在我和她结婚的时候，我是决定安顿下来、供养一个家的——和过去的生活一刀两
断……”
他的声音渐渐消失了，眼睛凝视着炫目的火焰中心。
“养家。天哪，可这是个什么样的家啊！”他发出一阵刺耳的笑声，“看看他们，看看他
们！没有一个孩子能靠得住！他们到底是怎么了？难道他们身上流的不是我的血吗？不管
是婚生的还是私生的，没有一个儿子靠得住！就比如阿尔弗雷德吧，苍天在上，我都快被
他无聊死了！总是像只狗一样看着我，随时准备听从我的旨意。天哪，真是一个傻瓜！他
的妻子，对，莉迪亚，我喜欢莉迪亚。她有点精气神儿，虽然她不喜欢我。是的，她不喜
欢我，但为了那个傻瓜阿尔弗雷德，她不得不忍受我。”他看着火边的女孩儿，“皮拉尔，
记住，没有什么比全心全意地奉献更让人厌烦的了。”
她冲他微笑。他又接着说了下去，她的年轻气息和温柔的女性魅力让他觉得很舒服。
“乔治呢？乔治怎么样？一根木头！一条肚子里塞满了废物的鳕鱼！一个没有脑子、没
有胆量、华而不实的空皮囊，而且只会在钱的问题上斤斤计较！戴维呢？戴维一直是个傻
瓜，傻瓜加空想家。他妈妈一直最疼戴维。他所做过的最明智的事，就是娶了个可靠的、
看起来挺顺眼的女人。”他放下戳下巴的手，砰的一声拍在椅子的边缘，“哈里是他们之中
最优秀的。可怜的老哈里，不务正业！可不管怎么说，他有活力！”
皮拉尔表示赞同。
“是的，他很好，他总是笑，大声地笑，笑得头向后仰。噢，是的，我很喜欢他。”
老人看着她。
“你喜欢他，真的吗，皮拉尔？哈里对女孩子总是有一手，从我这儿遗传来的。”他笑
了起来，一阵带着喘气声的轻笑。“我这辈子过得不错，非常不错，可以说事事如意。”
皮拉尔说：“西班牙有句谚语，翻译过来意思大概是，‘上帝说：你可以随心所欲，但
要付出相应的代价。’”
西米恩赞同地在椅子扶手上拍了一下。
“说得好。事情就是这样的。随心所欲。我就是这么干的，一辈子这样，想怎么样就怎
么样……”
皮拉尔接着说了下去，声音尖细、清晰，而且咄咄逼人。
“那你为此付出代价了吗？”
西米思止住了笑，坐直身子瞪着她：“你说什么？”
“我说，你为此付出代价了吗，外公？”
西米恩慢慢地说：
“我——不知道。”
然后，他一拳砸在椅子扶手上，勃然大怒。
“你为什么这么问，丫头？你为什么这么问？”
皮拉尔说：“我……只是想知道。”
她那只拿着硬纸板的手僵在那儿，漆黑的眼睛深不可测。她坐在那儿，头微微后仰，
清楚地知道如何发挥自己身上的女性魅力。
西米恩说道：“你这个该死的小丫头……”
她温柔地说：“可你喜欢我，外公。你喜欢我坐在这儿陪你。”
西米恩说：“是的，我喜欢。我很久没看到年轻美丽的东西了……这对我有好处，让我
这把老骨头觉得热乎乎的……而且你又是我的骨肉血脉……詹妮弗不错，事实证明她才是
最出色的一个！”
皮拉尔坐在那儿，微笑着。
“不过我要提醒你，你可糊弄不了我，”西米恩说，“我知道你为什么能耐心地坐在这儿
听我絮叨。是为了钱。都是为了钱，否则你还会装作很爱你的老外公吗？”
皮拉尔说：“不，我并不爱你，我只是喜欢你，非常喜欢你。你一定要相信，因为这是
真的。我想你以前确实很坏，可这我也喜欢。你比这所房子里的其他人都真实，而且你说
的事情都很有意思。你到处旅行，生活就像一次探险。如果我是一个男人，我也希望能那
样生活。”
西米恩点点头，
“是的，我相信你会的。以前总听人说，我们家族有吉卜赛人的血统，但在我的孩子们
中并没怎么表现出来，除了哈里。可我认为在你身上显露出来了。不过你要当心，在必要
的时候，我可是很有耐心的。我曾为了报复一个人，等了足足十五年，因为他伤害过我。
这也是我们李家人的一个特点，不会轻易忘记！为了报仇，他们可以等上好多年。一个人
骗了我，我等了十五年，终于等到机会出手了。我毁了他，让他倾家荡产！”
他轻声笑了。
皮拉尔说：“是在南非吗？”
“对，伟大的国家。”
“你后来回去过吗？”
“结婚后，我又回去待了五年，那是我最后一次去那儿了。”
“在此之前呢？你在那儿待过很多年？”
“是的。”
“给我讲讲那儿的事吧。”
他开始讲，皮拉尔继续用纸板遮着脸，听着。
他语速缓慢，语调疲惫。
“等一下，我给你看样东西。”
他小心翼翼地站了起来，拄着手杖，一瘸一拐地慢慢穿过房间。他打开那个大保险
箱，转过身来，招呼皮拉尔过去。
“来，看看这个。感受一下，让它们从你的指间滑过。”
他注视着她那张惊奇的脸，笑了起来。
“知道它们是什么吗？钻石，孩子，是钻石。”
皮拉尔睁大了眼睛，弯下腰去说道：“它们不是小鹅卵石吗，仅此而已？”
西米恩大笑起来。
“它们是未经切割的钻石，保持着开采出来的样子——就是这样。”
皮拉尔怀疑地问：“如果对它们进行切割，就变成真正的钻石了？”
“当然啦！”
“它们会闪闪发光、光彩夺目？”
“闪闪发光，光彩夺目。”
皮拉尔孩子气地说：“噢——噢——噢，我不敢相信！”
西米恩被逗乐了。
“千真万确。”
“它们很值钱吧？”
“非常值钱，未经切割很难说确切值多少钱，但无论如何，这一小捧都要值上几千英镑
呢。”
皮拉尔一字一顿地说：“几——千——英——镑？”
“九千到一万英镑吧——你看，它们都是大颗的钻石。”
皮拉尔的眼睛睁得大大的：“那你为什么不把它们卖了呢？”
“因为我喜欢把它们放在这儿。”
“为什么不放一大笔钱啊？”
“我并不缺钱。”
“噢，我明白了。”皮拉尔看上去被震撼了。
她接着说：“那你为什么不切割它们，让它们更漂亮呢？”
“因为我更喜欢它们现在这样。”他的脸部线条突然变得冷酷。他转向一边，开始自言
自语：“它们会带我回到过去——那种触感，通过手指传达的感受……一切重新回到我眼
前，那阳光、草原的气息、牛群、老埃比——所有的兄弟们，还有那些夜晚……”
这时，响起了轻轻的敲门声。
西米恩说：“把它们放回到保险箱里，关上门。”
然后他叫道：“进来。”
霍伯里走了进来，毕恭毕敬，悄无声息。
“楼下的茶点准备好了。”
PART TWO DECEMBER 23RD III
III
Hilda said: “So there you are, David. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Don’t let’s stay in this
room, it’s so frightfully cold.”
David did not answer for a minute. He was standing looking at a chair, a low chair with faded
satin upholstery. He said abruptly:
“That’s her chair . . . the chair she always sat in . . . just the same—it’s just the same. Only
faded, of course.”
A little frown creased Hilda’s forehead. She said:
“I see. Do let’s come out of here, David. It’s frightfully cold.”
David took no notice. Looking round, he said:
“She sat in here mostly. I remember sitting on that stool there while she read to me. Jack the
Giant Killer—that was it—Jack the Giant Killer. I must have been six years old then.”
Hilda put a firm hand through his arm.
“Come back to the drawing room, dear. There’s no heating in this room.”
He turned obediently, but she felt a little shiver go through him.
“Just the same,” he murmured. “Just the same. As though time had stood still.”
Hilda looked worried. She said in a cheerful determined voice:
“I wonder where the others are? It must be nearly teatime.”
David disengaged his arm and opened another door.
“There used to be a piano in here . . . Oh, yes, here it is! I wonder if it’s in tune.”
He sat down and opened the lid, running his hands lightly over the keys.
“Yes, it’s evidently kept tuned.”
He began to play. His touch was good, the melody flowed out from under his fingers.
Hilda asked: “What is that? I seem to know it, and I can’t quite remember.”
He said: “I haven’t played it for years. She used to play it. One of Mendelssohn’s Songs
Without Words.”
The sweet, over-sweet, melody filled the room. Hilda said:
“Play some Mozart, do.”
David shook his head. He began another Mendelssohn.
Then suddenly he brought his hands down upon the keys in a harsh discord. He got up. He
was trembling all over. Hilda went to him.
She said: “David—David.”
He said: “It’s nothing—it’s nothing. . . .”
第二部分 十二月二十三日 3
3
希尔达说：“原来你在这儿，戴维，我一直在到处找你。别待在这个房间了，这儿实在
太冷了。”
戴维有一会儿没有答话。他正站在那儿看着一张躺椅，缎子坐垫已经褪色了。他突然
开口了：
“这是她的椅子。她以前总是坐在这张椅子上，还是老样子——和原来一样。只是有些
褪色，这也理所当然。”
希尔达的额头出现了一丝皱纹，她说：“我知道。可我们还是从这儿出去吧，戴维，这
儿真是太冷了。”
戴维无动于衷。他环视四周，说：“她大部分时间都坐在这儿，我还记得我坐在那张凳
子上，让她给我读书。《巨人捕手杰克》，是这个——《巨人捕手杰克》，我那时肯定有
六岁了。”
希尔达紧紧地挽起他的手臂。
“回客厅去吧，亲爱的，这间屋里没有暖气。”
他顺从地转过身，但她感觉到他在微微地颤抖。
“还是老样子，”他喃喃道，“还是老样子，就好像时间静止了一样。”
希尔达看上去很担心，她用一种愉快的语调说道：“不知道其他人都上哪儿去了，差不
多快到喝茶的时间了。”
戴维把手臂抽出来，打开了一扇门。
“这儿以前有台钢琴……噢，对，它在那儿！不知道它的音还准不准。”
他坐下来，打开琴盖，手指轻轻地滑过琴键。
“是准的，显然一直有人给它调音。”
他开始弹奏。他弹得很好，旋律从他的指间飘了出来。
希尔达问：“这是什么曲子？我好像知道，但记不清了。”
他说：“我有些年没弹过了。她以前常常弹这支曲子，是门德尔松的一首无词歌。”
这甜蜜的旋律——有点过于甜蜜了——回荡在房间里。希尔达说：“弹点莫扎特吧，好
吗？”
戴维摇摇头，开始弹另一首门德尔松的曲子。
然后他突然乱弹一气，发出一阵不成调的刺耳乐声。他站起身来，全身都在颤抖。希
尔达向他走去。
她说：“戴维，戴维。”
他应道：“没什么，没什么……”
PART TWO DECEMBER 23RD IV
IV
The bell pealed aggressively. Tressilian rose from his seat in the pantry and went slowly out and
along to the door.
The bell pealed again. Tressilian frowned. Through the frosted glass of the door he saw the
silhouette of a man wearing a slouch hat.
Tressilian passed a hand over his forehead. Something worried him. It was as though
everything was happening twice.
Surely this had happened before. Surely—
He drew back the latch and opened the door.
Then the spell broke. The man standing there said:
“Is this where Mr. Simeon Lee lives?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d like to see him, please.”
A faint echo of memory awoke in Tressilian. It was an intonation of voice that he
remembered from the old days when Mr. Lee was first in England.
Tressilian shook his head dubiously.
“Mr. Lee is an invalid, sir. He doesn’t see many people now. If you—”
The stranger interrupted.
He drew out an envelope and handed it to the butler.
“Please give this to Mr. Lee.”
“Yes, sir.”
第二部分 十二月二十三日 4
4
门铃咄咄逼人地响了起来。特雷西利安站起身来，从餐具室慢慢地走向门口。
铃声又响了起来。特雷西利安皱起眉头，透过门上的毛玻璃，看见一个戴着宽边软帽
的男人的侧影。
特雷西利安摸了摸额头，觉得很不安，好像所有事情都会重复两次。
此情此景之前肯定发生过，肯定……
他拉开门闩，打开了门。
铃声这才停住。站在门口的男人开口道：“西米恩•李先生是住在这儿吗？”
“是的，先生。”
“我想见他，谢谢。”
特雷西利安脑中一段模糊的记忆被唤醒了。这声调让他想起很久以前，李先生刚来英
格兰的时候。
特雷西利安迟疑地摇了摇头。
“李先生病得很重，先生。他不怎么见客了。如果你——”
陌生人打断了他的话。
他拿出一个信封，递给管家。
“请把这个交给李先生。”
“好的，先生。”
PART TWO DECEMBER 23RD V
V
Simeon Lee took the envelope. He drew out the single sheet of paper it held. He looked surprised.
His eyebrows rose, but he smiled.
“By all that’s wonderful!” he said.
Then to the butler: “Show Mr. Farr up here, Tressilian.”
“Yes, sir.”
Simeon said: “I was just thinking of old Ebenezer Farr. He was my partner out there in
Kimberley. Now here’s his son come along!”
Tressilian reappeared. He announced: “Mr. Farr.”
Stephen Farr came in with a trace of nervousness. He disguised it by putting on a little extra
swagger. He said—and just for the moment his South African accent was more marked than usual:
“Mr. Lee?”
“I’m glad to see you. So you’re Eb’s boy?”
Stephen Farr grinned rather sheepishly.
He said: “My first visit to the old country. Father always told me to look you up if I did
come.”
“Quite right.” The old man looked round. “This is my granddaughter, Pilar Estravados.”
“How do you do?” said Pilar demurely.
Stephen Farr thought with a touch of admiration:
“Cool little devil. She was surprised to see me, but it only showed for a flash.”
He said, rather heavily: “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Estravados.”
“Thank you,” said Pilar.
Simeon Lee said: “Sit down and tell me all about yourself. Are you in England for long?”
“Oh, I shan’t hurry myself now I’ve really got here!”
He laughed, throwing his head back.
Simeon Lee said: “Quite right. You must stay here with us for a while.”
“Oh, look here, sir. I can’t butt in like that. It’s only two days to Christmas.”
“You must spend Christmas with us—unless you’ve got other plans?”
“Well, no, I haven’t, but I don’t like—”
Simeon said: “That’s settled.” He turned his head. “Pilar?”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“Go and tell Lydia we shall have another guest. Ask her to come up here.”
Pilar left the room. Stephen’s eyes followed her. Simeon noted the fact with amusement.
He said: “You’ve come straight here from South Africa?”
“Pretty well.”
They began to talk of that country.
Lydia entered a few minutes later.
Simeon said: “This is Stephen Farr, son of my old friend and partner, Ebenezer Farr. He’s
going to be with us for Christmas if you can find room for him.”
Lydia smiled.
“Of course.” Her eyes took in the stranger’s appearance. His bronzed face and blue eyes and
the easy backward tilt of his head.
“My daughter-in-law,” said Simeon.
Stephen said: “I feel rather embarrassed—butting in on a family party like this.”
“You’re one of the family, my boy,” said Simeon. “Think of yourself as that.”
“You’re too kind, sir.”
Pilar reentered the room. She sat down quietly by the fire and picked up the hand screen. She
used it as a fan, slowly tilting her wrist to and fro. Her eyes were demure and downcast.
第二部分 十二月二十三日 5
5
西米恩•李拿起信封，抽出一张信纸。他看起来很惊讶，眉毛扬了起来，但很快又笑
了。
“太棒了！”
他又对管家说：“带法尔先生到这儿来，特雷西利安。”
“好的，先生。”
西米恩说：“我刚才还在想那个老埃比尼泽•法尔呢，他是我在金伯利（注：南非中部
的城市。）时的合伙人，而这会儿，他的儿子就来了。”
特雷西利安再次出现时带来了法尔先生。
斯蒂芬•法尔带着一丝紧张的神情进了屋，试图以虚张声势来掩盖紧张，但明显过分
了。他说：“李先生？”就在这一刻，他的南非口音比刚才要明显得多。
“很高兴见到你，你就是埃比的儿子？”
斯蒂芬•法尔羞涩地咧嘴一笑。
“这是我第一次到这个古老的国家，父亲一直嘱咐我，如果来英国一定要拜访您。”
“很好。”老人看看身边，“这是我的外孙女，皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯。”
“你好。”皮拉尔端庄地说。
斯蒂芬•法尔钦佩地想：这个冷静的小魔鬼，她见到我时的惊讶之情只是让她晃了一
下，几乎看不出来。
他很郑重地说：“认识你我很高兴，埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐。”
“谢谢。”皮拉尔说。
西米恩•李说：“坐下来，跟我讲讲你自己。你会在英格兰待很长时间吗？”
“噢，既然到了这儿，我可不打算匆忙地离开！”
说完他仰头笑了起来。
西米恩•李说：“说得对。你一定要和我们一起，在这儿住一阵子。”
“噢，您瞧，先生。我可不能在这儿叨扰太久，还有两天就是圣诞节了。”
“你一定要跟我们一起过圣诞节——除非已经有别的计划了？”
“啊，不，我没有，但我不想……”
西米恩说：“那就这么定了。”他转过头去，“皮拉尔？”
“怎么了，外公。”
“去告诉莉迪亚，我们又多了一位客人。叫她来这儿一趟。”
皮拉尔离开了房间，斯蒂芬目送着她。西米恩欣喜地注意到了这一点。
他说：“你是从南非千里迢迢来这儿的吗？”
“正是。”
他们开始聊起那个国家。
几分钟之后，莉迪亚来了。
西米恩说：“这位是斯蒂芬•法尔，是我的老朋友兼合伙人埃比尼泽•法尔的儿子。他要
在这儿和我们一起过圣诞节，你能为他准备个房间吗？”
莉迪亚笑了。
“当然。”她仔细打量着这个陌生人的长相：古铜色的皮肤、蓝色的眼睛，以及略微后
仰的头。
“这是我的儿媳。”西米恩说。
斯蒂芬说：“真不好意思。这样贸然拜访，打扰您的家庭聚会。”
“你也是这个家的一员，我的孩子，”西米恩说，“你应该这么想。”
“您真是太好了，先生。”
皮拉尔回来了。她安静地坐到火炉前，拿起那片硬纸板，慢慢地摇动手腕，把它当成
扇子扇。她低垂着眼帘，显得娴静端庄。
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH
“Do you really want me to stay on here, Father?” asked Harry. He tilted his head back. “I’m
stirring up rather a hornet’s nest, you know.”
“What do you mean?” asked Simeon sharply.
“Brother Alfred,” said Harry. “Good brother Alfred! He, if I may say so, resents my presence
here.”
“The devil he does!” snapped Simeon. “I’m master in this house.”
“All the same, sir, I expect you’re pretty dependent on Alfred. I don’t want to upset—”
“You’ll do as I tell you,” snapped his father.
Harry yawned.
“Don’t know that I shall be able to stick a stay-at-home life. Pretty stifling to a fellow who’s
knocked about the world.”
His father said: “You’d better marry and settle down.”
Harry said: “Who shall I marry? Pity one can’t marry one’s niece. Young Pilar is devilish
attractive.”
“You’ve noticed that?”
“Talking of settling down, fat George has done well for himself as far as looks go. Who was
she?”
Simeon shrugged his shoulders.
“How should I know? George picked her up at a mannequin parade, I believe. She says her
father was a retired naval officer.”
Harry said:
“Probably a second mate of a coasting steamer. George will have a bit of trouble with her if
he’s not careful.”
“George,” said Simeon Lee, “is a fool.”
Harry said: “What did she marry him for—his money?”
Simeon shrugged his shoulders.
Harry said: “Well, you think that you can square Alfred all right?”
“We’ll soon settle that,” said Simeon grimly.
He touched a bell that stood on a table near him.
Horbury appeared promptly. Simeon said:
“Ask Mr. Alfred to come here.”
Horbury went out and Harry drawled:
“That fellow listens at doors!”
Simeon shrugged his shoulders.
“Probably.”
Alfred hurried in. His face twitched when he saw his brother. Ignoring Harry, he said
pointedly:
“You wanted me, Father?”
“Yes, sit down. I was just thinking we must reorganize things a bit now that we have two
more people living in the house.”
“Two?”
“Pilar will make her home here, naturally. And Harry is home for good.”
Alfred said: “Harry is coming to live here?”
“Why not, old boy?” said Harry.
Alfred turned sharply to him.
“I should think that you yourself would see that!”
“Well, sorry—but I don’t.”
“After everything that has happened? The disgraceful way you behaved. The scandal—”
Harry waved an easy hand.
“All that’s in the past, old boy.”
“You behaved abominably to Father, after all he’s done for you.”
“Look here, Alfred, it strikes me that’s Father’s business, not yours. If he’s willing to forgive
and forget—”
“I’m willing,” said Simeon. “Harry’s my son, after all, you know, Alfred.”
“Yes, but—I resent it—for Father’s sake.”
Simeon said: “Harry’s coming here! I wish it.” He laid a hand gently on the latter’s shoulder.
“I’m very fond of Harry.”
Alfred got up and left the room. His face was white. Harry rose too and went after him,
laughing.
Simeon sat chuckling to himself. Then he started and looked round. “Who the devil’s that?
Oh, it’s you, Horbury. Don’t creep about that way.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Never mind. Listen, I’ve got some orders for you. I want everybody to come up here after
lunch—everybody.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s something else. When they come, you come with them. And when you get halfway
along the passage raise your voice so that I can hear. Any pretext will do. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Horbury went downstairs. He said to Tressilian:
“If you ask me, we are going to have a Merry Christmas.”
Tressilian said sharply: “What d’you mean?”
“You wait and see, Mr. Tressilian. It’s Christmas Eve today, and a nice Christmas spirit
abroad—I don’t think!”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 1
第三部分 十二月二十四日
1
“你真的希望我待在这儿吗，父亲？”哈里问道，头向后仰着，“我觉得我像捅了个马蜂
窝。”
“你这是什么意思？”西米恩严厉地问。
“阿尔弗雷德老哥，”哈里说，“好兄弟阿尔弗雷德！他，讨厌我住在这儿，如果我可以
这么说的话。”
“这个该死的，他敢！”西米恩恶狠狠地说，“我才是这个家的主人。”
“没用的，一家之主先生，我想你依赖着阿尔弗雷德。我不想惹——”
“你照我说的做。”他父亲恶狠狠地说道。
哈里打了个哈欠。
“不知道我能不能适应居家生活，对一个曾浪迹天涯的人来说，这种生活令人窒息。”
他父亲说：“你最好结婚、安定下来。”
哈里说：“我去跟谁结婚？真可惜，我不能跟外甥女结婚。小皮拉尔可真是迷死人
了。”
“你也注意到了？”
“说到安顿，目前为止，胖乔治看起来干得不错。他老婆之前是做什么的？”
西米恩耸耸肩。
“我怎么会知道？我想，乔治是在一次时装表演上遇见她的。她说她父亲是一名退役的
海军军官。”
哈里说：“可能是某条近海汽船上的二副吧。乔治要是不小心点的话，和她在一起会有
很多麻烦。”
西米恩•李说：“乔治，就是个笨蛋。”
哈里说：“她嫁给他是为了什么呢——为了钱？”
西米恩又耸耸肩。
哈里说：“好吧，你觉得你可以摆平阿尔弗雷德？”
“我们很快就可以把这件事了结。”西米思冷酷地说。
他按了一下旁边桌子上的铃。
霍伯里马上就出现了。西米恩说：“叫阿尔弗雷德先生到这儿来。”
霍伯里走了出去，哈里拖着长音说：“这家伙刚才在门外偷听！”
西米恩耸耸肩。
“也许吧。”
阿尔弗雷德急急忙忙地赶来，看见弟弟时脸部抽搐了一下，然后完全不理会哈里，目
标明确地说：“您找我，父亲？”
“对，坐下。我正在想我们需要重新安排一下，因为现在家里又多了两个人。”
“两个人？”
“皮拉尔要在这儿定居，这是理所当然的。另外，哈里最好也住在家里。”
阿尔弗雷德反问：“哈里要住在这儿？”
“为什么不呢，哥哥？”哈里说。
阿尔弗雷德骤然转向哈里。
“我以为你自己知道得很清楚！”
“这样啊，那对不起——我不知道。”
“在发生过那样的事情之后？你那些可耻的行径，那些丑事……”
哈里轻描淡写地摆了摆手。
“那些都是过去的事了，老兄。”
“父亲为你做了那么多，你却那么恶劣地对待他。”
“听着，阿尔弗雷德，我突然想到这其实是父亲的事，与你无关。如果他愿意原谅我并
且忘记——”
“我愿意。”西米恩说，“要知道，再怎么说哈里都是我的儿子，阿尔弗雷德。”
“是的，可是，我不喜欢这样。我是为了父亲您好。”
西米恩说：“哈里要住在这儿！这是我所希望的。”他把一只手温柔地放在哈里的肩
上，“我很喜欢哈里。”
阿尔弗雷德起身离开了房间，脸色惨白。随后哈里也站起来，跟着走了出去，一脸笑
意。
西米恩坐在那儿暗自发笑。他突然一惊，环顾四周：“哪个该死的藏在那儿？噢，是
你，霍伯里，别总这样偷偷摸摸的。”
“对不起，先生。”
“没关系。听着，我有件事要让你办一下。我希望午饭之后，所有人都到我这儿来——
所有人。”
“是，先生。”
“还有，他们上来的时候，你要跟着一起。到走廊中间的时候，你弄出点声音让我能听
见。随便什么动静都行，明白吗？”
“是，先生。”
霍伯里来到楼下，对特雷西利安说：“我们即将过一个快乐的圣诞节了。”
特雷西利安一本正经地问：“你这是什么意思？”
“等着瞧吧，特雷西利安。今天是平安夜，多么美妙的圣诞气氛——才怪！”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH II
II
They came into the room and paused at the doorway.
Simeon was speaking into the telephone. He waved a hand to them.
“Sit down, all of you. I shan’t be a minute.”
He went on speaking into the telephone.
“Is that Charlton, Hodgkins & Bruce? Is that you, Charlton? Simeon Lee speaking. Yes, isn’t
it? . . . Yes . . . No, I wanted you to make a new will for me . . . Yes, it’s some time since I made
the other . . . Circumstances have altered . . . Oh no, no hurry. Don’t want you to spoil your
Christmas. Say Boxing Day or the day after. Come along, and I’ll tell you what I want done. No,
that’s quite all right. I shan’t be dying just yet.”
He replaced the receiver, then looked round at the eight members of his family. He cackled
and said:
“You’re all looking very glum. What is the matter?”
Alfred said: “You sent for us. . . .”
Simeon said quickly: “Oh, sorry—nothing portentous about it. Did you think it was a family
council? No, I’m just rather tired today, that’s all. None of you need come up after dinner. I shall
go to bed. I want to be fresh for Christmas Day.”
He grinned at them. George said earnestly:
“Of course . . . of course. . . .”
Simeon said: “Grand old institution, Christmas. Promotes solidarity of family feeling. What
do you think, Magdalene, my dear?”
Magdalene Lee jumped. Her rather silly little mouth flew open and then shut itself. She said:
“Oh—oh, yes!”
Simeon said: “Let me see, you lived with a retired naval officer”—he paused—“your father.
Don’t suppose you made much of Christmas. It needs a big family for that!”
“Well—well—yes, perhaps it does.”
Simeon’s eyes slid past her.
“Don’t want to talk of anything unpleasant at this time of year, but you know, George, I’m
afraid I’ll have to cut down your allowance a bit. My establishment here is going to cost me a bit
more to run in future.”
George got very red.
“But look here, Father, you can’t do that!”
Simeon said softly: “Oh, can’t I!”
“My expenses are very heavy already. Very heavy. As it is, I don’t know how I make both
ends meet. It needs the most rigorous economy.”
“Let your wife do a bit more of it,” said Simeon. “Women are good at that sort of thing. They
often think of economies where a man would never have dreamt of them. And a clever woman can
make her own clothes. My wife, I remember, was clever with her needle. About all she was clever
with—a good woman, but deadly dull—”
David sprang up. His father said:
“Sit down, boy, you’ll knock something over—”
David said: “My mother—”
Simeon said: “Your mother had the brains of a louse! And it seems to me she’s transmitted
those brains to her children.” He raised himself up suddenly. A red spot appeared on each cheek.
His voice came high and shrill. “You’re not worth a penny piece, any of you! I’m sick of you all!
You’re not men! You’re weaklings—a set of namby-pamby weaklings. Pilar’s worth any two of
you put together! I’ll swear to heaven I’ve got a better son somewhere in the world than any of
you, even if you are born the right side of the blanket!”
“Here, Father, hold hard,” cried Harry.
He had jumped up and stood there, a frown on his usually good-humoured face. Simeon
snapped:
“The same goes for you! What have you ever done? Whined to me for money from all over
the world! I tell you I’m sick of the sight of you all! Get out!”
He leaned back in his chair, panting a little.
Slowly, one by one, his family went out. George was red and indignant. Magdalene looked
frightened. David was pale and quivering. Harry blustered out of the room. Alfred went like a man
in a dream. Lydia followed him with her head held high. Only Hilda paused in the doorway and
came slowly back.
She stood over him, and he started when he opened his eyes and found her standing there.
There was something menacing in the solid way she stood there quite immovably.
He said irritably: “What is it?”
Hilda said: “When your letter came I believed what you said—that you wanted your family
round you for Christmas, I persuaded David to come.”
Simeon said: “Well, what of it?”
Hilda said slowly: “You did want your family round you—but not for the purpose you said!
You wanted them there, didn’t you, in order to set them all by the ears? God help you, it’s your
idea of fun!”
Simeon chuckled. He said: “I always had rather a specialized sense of humour. I don’t expect
anyone else to appreciate the joke. I’m enjoying it!”
She said nothing. A vague feeling of apprehension came over Simeon Lee. He said sharply:
“What are you thinking about?”
Hilda Lee said slowly: “I’m afraid. . . .”
Simeon said: “You’re afraid—of me?”
Hilda said: “Not of you. I’m afraid—for you!”
Like a judge who has delivered sentence, she turned away. She marched, slowly and heavily,
out of the room. . . .
Simeon sat staring at the door.
Then he got to his feet and made his way over to the safe. He murmured: “Let’s have a look
at my beauties.”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 2
2
他们走到房间门口，停下脚步。
西米恩正在讲电话，冲他们摆了摆手。
“你们都进来坐下，我马上就打完了。”
然后他对着听筒接着说了下去。
“是查尔顿、霍奇金斯和布鲁斯事务所吗？是你吗，查尔顿？我是西米恩•李。对，
对……不，我想让你为我立一份新遗嘱……是的，那份旧遗嘱是我好些年前立的了……情
况有变化……哦，不，不着急，我可不想打扰你的圣诞节。圣诞节后的第一个工作日，或
者再之后一天，到我这儿来，我会告诉你我想怎样。不，这样就行了，我不会马上就死
的。”
他挂上电话，看看家里的八位成员，然后笑着说道：“你们看起来都阴沉沉的，出什么
事啦？”
阿尔弗雷德说：“您叫我们来……”
西米恩很快说道：“哦，抱歉，没什么特别的事。你们以为要开家庭会议吗？不，我今
天很累了，仅此而已。晚饭过后你们谁都不用上来了，我要上床休息，我要为圣诞节养精
蓄锐。”
他朝他们咧嘴笑着。
乔治恳切地说：“当然啦，当然……”
西米恩说：“圣诞节是最古老的习俗，它能促进家庭的凝聚力。你怎么想，玛格达莱
尼，亲爱的？”
玛格达莱尼•李跳了起来。她那张有些可笑的小嘴张开又合上了。她说：“噢……噢，
是的！”
西米恩说：“依我看，你一直和一个退役的海军军官住在一起——”他顿了一下，“也就
是你的父亲。只有两个人，是过不好圣诞节的。圣诞节需要一个大家庭。”
“啊……嗯……对，也许是这样的。”
西米思的目光越过了她。
“这个时候我可真不想说什么扫兴的话，但是乔治，我恐怕要减少一些你的生活费了。
日后我这里需要更多的钱来维持开销。”
乔治的脸涨得通红。
“您瞧，父亲，您不能这么做！”
西米恩柔声道：“噢，我不能吗？”
“我的经济负担已经很重了——非常重。如果再减少，我真不知道该怎样才能维持收支
平衡。除非严格地减少开支。”
“让你的妻子多想想办法。”西米恩说，“女人都善于处理这种事。她们总能想到男人做
梦都想不到的省钱办法。而且一个聪明的女人应该会自己做衣服。我的妻子，我记得她的
针线活儿做得很好。她干什么都很在行——一个好女人，就是无聊得要命……”
戴维一下子跳了起来。他父亲说：
“坐下，儿子，你会撞到东西的。”
戴维说：“我母亲——”
西米恩说：“你母亲的脑子小得像虱子，而在我看来，她把这一点遗传给了她的孩子
们。”他突然站起身来，两团红晕爬上脸颊，声音变得尖厉而刺耳，“你们都一文不值！每
一个！我受够你们了！你们不是男人！你们是懦夫——一群多愁善感的懦夫。皮拉尔一个
就能顶你们中的随便两个！我相信这世上的某个地方还有一个我的儿子，比你们任何一个
都强。你们只不过是碰巧生对了地方！”
“好了，父亲，可以了。”哈里嚷道。
他已经跳起来站在那儿，平日里笑眯眯的脸上此时眉头紧锁。西米思狠狠地说：“你也
一样！你都做过什么好事？从世界各地冲我献媚、要钱！我告诉你们，我看见你们就恶
心！全部滚蛋！”
说完他坐下来，靠在椅背上，有些气喘。
家人一个接一个、慢慢地走了出去。乔治满脸通红，愤怒至极；玛格达莱尼看起来被
吓坏了；戴维面色惨白，浑身发抖；哈里咆哮着走出了房间；阿尔弗雷德像在做梦一样；
莉迪亚跟在他后面，头拾得高高的；只有希尔达在门口停了一下，又转身慢慢地走了回
来。
她审视着西米恩。他睁开眼睛时发现她站在那儿，不禁吃了一惊。她站在那儿一动不
动，冷静的样子透出一种威胁的意味。
他暴躁地说：“怎么啦？”
希尔达说：“收到你的信之后，我相信了你在里面写的话。你说圣诞节的时候想让家人
陪在身边。于是我就说服戴维过来了。”
西米恩说：“嗯，然后呢？”
希尔达慢悠悠地说：“你的确想让家人陪在你身边，但目的并不是你原来说的那样！你
想要他们都在这儿，是为了对他们随便发泄，是不是？上帝保佑，你对有趣的理解竟然是
这样的！”
西米恩咯咯笑了，说：“我的幽默感一直很特别。我并不指望谁能欣赏这个玩笑，反正
我很开心！”
她一言不发。西米恩•李感到一种莫名的恐惧，厉声问道：“你在想什么？”
希尔达•李慢慢地说：“我怕……”
西米恩说：“你怕……怕我？”
希尔达说：“不是怕你，是替你害怕！”
她转身离去，就像一个已经完成宣判的法官。她迈着缓慢而沉重的脚步，径直走出了
房间。
西米恩坐在那儿，凝视着房门。
随后他站了起来，向保险箱走去，嘟囔着：“让我来看看我的美人儿们。”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH III
III
The doorbell rang about a quarter to eight.
Tressilian went to answer it. he returned to his pantry to find Horbury there, picking up the
coffee cups off the tray and looking at the mark on them.
“Who was it?” said Horbury.
“Superintendent of Police—Mr. Sugden—mind what you’re doing!”
Horbury had dropped one of the cups with a crash.
“Look at that now,” lamented Tressilian. “Eleven years I’ve had the washing up of those and
never one broken, and now you come along touching things you’ve no business to touch, and look
what happens!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tressilian. I am indeed,” the other apologized. His face was covered with
perspiration. “I don’t know how it happened. Did you say a Superintendent of Police had called?”
“Yes—Mr. Sugden.”
The valet passed a tongue over pale lips.
“What—what did he want?”
“Collecting for the Police Orphanage.”
“Oh!” The valet straightened his shoulders. In a more natural voice he said:
“Did he get anything?”
“I took up the book to old Mr. Lee, and he told me to fetch the superintendent up and to put
the sherry on the table.”
“Nothing but begging, this time of year,” said Horbury. “The old devil’s generous, I will say
that for him, in spite of his other failings.”
Tressilian said with dignity:
“Mr. Lee has always been an open-handed gentleman.”
Horbury nodded.
“It’s the best thing about him! Well, I’ll be off now.”
“Going to the pictures?”
“I expect so. Ta-ta, Mr. Tressilian.”
He went through the door that led to the servants’ hall.
Tressilian looked up at the clock hanging on the wall.
He went into the dining room and laid the rolls in the napkins.
Then, after assuring himself that everything was as it should be, he sounded the gong in the
hall.
As the last note died away the police superintendent came down the stairs. Superintendent
Sugden was a large handsome man. He wore a tightly buttoned blue suit and moved with a sense
of his own importance.
He said affably: “I rather think we shall have a frost tonight. Good thing: the weather’s been
very unseasonable lately.”
Tressilian said, shaking his head:
“The damp affects my rheumatism.”
The superintendent said that the rheumatism was a painful complaint, and Tressilian let him
out by the front door.
The old butler refastened the door and came back slowly into the hall. He passed his hand
over his eyes and sighed. Then he straightened his back as he saw Lydia pass into the drawing
room. George Lee was just coming down the stairs.
Tressilian hovered ready. When the last guest, Magdalene, had entered the drawing room, he
made his own appearance, murmuring:
“Dinner is served.”
In his way Tressilian was a connoisseur of ladies’ dress. He always noted and criticized the
gowns of the ladies as he circled round the table, decanter in hand.
Mrs. Alfred, he noted, had got on her new flowered black and white taffeta. A bold design,
very striking, but she could carry it off, though many ladies couldn’t. The dress Mrs. George had
on was a model, he was pretty sure of that. Must have cost a pretty penny. He wondered how Mr.
George would like paying for it! Mr. George didn’t like spending money—he never had. Mrs.
David now: a nice lady, but didn’t have any idea of how to dress. For her figure, plain black velvet
would have been the best. Figured velvet, and crimson at that, was a bad choice. Miss Pilar, now,
it didn’t matter what she wore, with her figure and her hair she looked well in anything. A flimsy
cheap little white gown it was, though. Still, Mr. Lee would soon see to that! Taken to her
wonderful, he had. Always was the same way when a gentleman was elderly. A young face could
do anything with him!
“Hock or claret?” murmured Tressilian in a deferential whisper in Mrs. George’s ear. Out of
the tail of his eye he noted that Walter, the footman, was handing the vegetables before the gravy
again—after all he had been told!
Tressilian went round with the soufflé. It struck him, now that his interest in the ladies’
toilettes and his misgivings over Walter’s deficiencies were a thing of the past, that everyone was
very silent tonight. At least, not exactly silent: Mr. Harry was talking enough for twenty—no, not
Mr. Harry, the South African gentleman. And the others were talking too, but only, as it were, in
spasms. There was something a little—queer about them.
Mr. Alfred, for instance, he looked downright ill. As though he had had a shock or
something. Quite dazed he looked and just turning over the food on his plate without eating it. The
mistress, she was worried about him. Tressilian could see that. Kept looking down the table
towards him—not noticeably, of course, just quietly. Mr. George was very red in the face—
gobbling his food, he was, without tasting it. He’d get a stroke one day if he wasn’t careful. Mrs.
George wasn’t eating. Slimming, as likely as not. Miss Pilar seemed to be enjoying her food all
right and talking and laughing up at the South African gentleman. Properly taken with her, he was.
Didn’t seem to be anything on their minds!
Mr. David? Tressilian felt worried about Mr. David. Just like his mother, he was, to look at.
And remarkably young-looking still. But nervy; there, he’d knocked over his glass.
Tressilian whisked it away, mopped up the stream deftly. It was all over. Mr. David hardly
seemed to notice what he had done, just sat staring in front of him with a white face.
Thinking of white faces, funny the way Horbury had looked in the pantry just now when he’d
heard a police officer had come to the house . . . almost as though—
Tressilian’s mind stopped with a jerk. Walter had dropped a pear off the dish he was handing.
Footmen were no good nowadays! They might be stable boys, the way they went on!
He went round with the port. Mr. Harry seemed a bit distrait tonight. Kept looking at Mr.
Alfred. Never had been any love lost between those two, not even as boys. Mr. Harry, of course,
had always been his father’s favourite, and that had rankled with Mr. Alfred. Mr. Lee had never
cared for Mr. Alfred much. A pity, when Mr. Alfred always seemed so devoted to his father.
There, Mrs. Alfred was getting up now. She swept round the table. Very nice that design on
the taffeta; that cape suited her. A very graceful lady.
He went out to the pantry, closing the dining room door on the gentlemen with their port.
He took the coffee tray into the drawing room. The four ladies were sitting there rather
uncomfortably, he thought. They were not talking. He handed round the coffee in silence.
He went out again. As he went into his pantry he heard the dining room door open. David
Lee came out and went along the hall to the drawing room.
Tressilian went back into his pantry. He read the riot act to Walter. Walter was nearly, if not
quite, impertinent!
Tressilian, alone in his pantry, sat down rather wearily.
He had a feeling of depression. Christmas Eve, and all this strain and tension . . . He didn’t
like it!
With an effort he roused himself. He went to the drawing room and collected the coffee cups.
The room was empty except for Lydia, who was standing half concealed by the window curtain at
the far end of the room. She was standing there looking out into the night.
From next door the piano sounded.
Mr. David was playing. But why, Tressilian asked himself, did Mr. David play the “Dead
March?” For that’s what it was. Oh, indeed things were very wrong.
He went slowly along the hall and back into his pantry.
It was then he first heard the noise from overhead: a crashing of china, the overthrowing of
furniture, a series of cracks and bumps.
“Good gracious!” thought Tressilian. “Whatever is the master doing? What’s happening up
there?”
And then, clear and high, came a scream—a horrible high wailing scream that died away in a
choke or gurgle.
Tressilian stood there a moment paralysed, then he ran out into the hall and up the broad
staircase. Others were with him. That scream had been heard all over the house.
They raced up the stairs and round the bend, past a recess with statues gleaming white and
eerie, and along the straight passage to Simeon Lee’s door. Mr. Farr was there already and Mrs.
David. She was leaning back against the wall and he was twisting at the door handle.
“The door’s locked,” he was saying. “The door’s locked!”
Harry Lee pushed past and wrested it from him. He, too, turned and twisted at the handle.
“Father,” he shouted. “Father, let us in.”
He held up his hand and in the silence they all listened. There was no answer. No sound from
inside the room.
The front door bell rang, but no one paid any attention to it.
Stephen Farr said:
“We’ve got to break the door down. It’s the only way.”
Harry said: “That’s going to be a tough job. These doors are good solid stuff. Come on,
Alfred.”
They heaved and strained. Finally they went and got an oak bench and used it as a battering
ram. The door gave at last. Its hinges splintered and the door sank shuddering from its frame.
For a minute they stood there huddled together looking in. What they saw was a sight that no
one of them ever forgot. . . .
There had clearly been a terrific struggle. Heavy furniture was overturned. China vases lay
splintered on the floor. In the middle of the hearthrug in front of the blazing fire lay Simeon Lee in
a great pool of blood . . . Blood was splashed all round. The place was like a shambles.
There was a long shuddering sigh, and then two voices spoke in turn. Strangely enough, the
words they uttered were both quotations.
David Lee said:
“The mills of God grind slowly. . . .”
Lydia’s voice came like a fluttering whisper:
“Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him? . . .”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 3
3
差一刻八点的时候门铃响了。
特雷西利安去开门。回到餐具室时，他发现霍伯里在那儿，正挨个拿起托盘上的咖啡
杯，看上边的标记。
“谁啊？”霍伯里说。
“萨格登警司——留神，你在干什么呀？”
霍伯里把一个咖啡杯掉到了地上，发出“哐当”一声。
“这下好了，”特雷西利安惋惜地说，“我负责清洗这些杯子十一年了，从来没打碎过一
个。现在你跑来乱动你根本不该碰的东西，瞧瞧你都干了些什么！”
“对不起，特雷西利安先生，实在抱歉。”霍伯里道着歉，脸上全是汗，“我不知道是怎
么搞的。你刚才是说来了个警司吗？”
“对——萨格登先生。”
贴身男仆那苍白的嘴唇间吐出一句话。
“他——他来干什么？”
“为警方的孤儿院筹款。”
“噢！”男仆松了口气，声音明显自然多了，“他拿到了吗？”
“我把登记簿拿上去给李先生，他让我带警司上去，并拿些雪利酒放到桌子上。”
“每年的这个时候，来要钱的总是特别多。”霍伯里说，“我必须为那老家伙说句话，抛
开他其他的很多毛病，他其实很慷慨。”
特雷西利安威严地说：“李先生向来是一位非常大方的绅士。”
霍伯里点点头。
“他的最佳优点！好了，我要走了。”
“去看电影？”
“我想是的。回头见，特雷西利安先生。”
他从通向仆人房的门出去了。
特雷西利安抬头看了看挂在墙上的钟。
接着他走进饭厅，把热毛巾卷放到餐巾上面。
在确定一切准备就绪之后，他敲响了大厅里通知开饭的锣。
最后的锣声刚刚停歇，那位警司走下楼来。萨格登警司是一个高大英俊的男子。他穿
着一套扣得紧紧的蓝色制服，一副自命不凡的样子。
他友好地说：“我敢说今天晚上会下霜。好事儿，最近的天气一直不太正常。”
特雷西利安摇着头说：“潮湿会勾起我的风湿病。”
警司说风湿是一种很痛苦的疾病，特雷西利安把他送出了前门。
老管家把门关好，慢慢地回到大厅里。他用手揉着眼睛，叹了口气，接着挺直身板。
他看到莉迪亚走进客厅，乔治•李正从楼上下来。
特雷西利安等在一旁，当最后一位客人——玛格达莱尼也走进客厅时，他便站了出
来，低声说：“晚餐准备好了。”
对于女士们的着装，特雷西利安是一个颇有自己看法的鉴赏家。每当他拿着玻璃水
瓶，绕着桌子服侍时，总会特别留意女士们穿的晚礼服，暗自品评一番。
他注意到，阿尔弗雷德夫人穿上了黑白色调、有花朵图案的新塔夫绸礼服。设计大
胆，引人注目，但不是人人都能驾驭得了，在她身上就很好看。乔治夫人穿的裙子曾是一
件样板裙，这一点他非常肯定，因此她一定花了不少钱。他很纳闷乔治先生怎么会愿意付
那么多钱！乔治先生一向不喜欢花钱——从没喜欢过。轮到戴维夫人了，一位很漂亮的女
士，可是不怎么会穿衣服。对于她的身材来说，黑色平绒是最合适的。而花丝绒，又是深
红色，真是糟糕的选择。接下来是皮拉尔小姐，她穿什么都无所谓，凭借身材和一头秀
发，穿什么衣服都好看。哪怕像现在这样只穿一件薄薄的、廉价的白外套，依旧能马上吸
引李先生的注意！他已经被她的美貌迷住了。每一位绅士上了年纪之后都会这样，一张年
轻的面孔就可以完全控制他。
“白葡萄酒还是红葡萄酒？”特雷西利安谦恭地在乔治夫人耳边小声问着，同时眼角的
余光注意到沃尔特，那个男仆，又把蔬菜在肉汁之前端上来了——都已经跟他说过多少回
了！
特雷西利安端着蛋奶酥，绕着桌子走着。此刻他对女士们的礼服的兴趣，以及沃尔特
的过失引发的焦虑都成了过去，他觉得今晚每个人都很安静，但又不是单纯的沉默。哈里
先生已经夸夸其谈了二十分钟——噢，不，不是哈里先生，是那个从南非来的绅士。别的
人也在说话，只是一阵一阵的，总感觉有股怪异的气氛围绕着这群人。
比如说阿尔弗雷德先生，他看上去好像生了重病，要不就是受了打击之类的。他看起
来迷迷糊糊的，只是把盘子里的食物翻来翻去，却一点儿也没吃。女主人呢，她很为阿尔
弗雷德先生担心，特雷西利安看得出来。她一直隔着桌子望着他——不那么明显，当然
啦，只是静悄悄地。乔治先生脸很红，狼吞虎咽地吃着。他一向如此，不在意食物的滋
味。他要是再不小心的话，总有一天会中风的。乔治夫人没吃东西，是在节食减肥吗？很
有可能。皮拉尔小姐好像吃得很开心，她对食物很满意，和那位南非来的绅士有说有笑。
他很可能被她迷住了，他们俩好像什么心事也没有。
戴维先生？特雷西利安很替他担心。从相貌上说，他真的很像他母亲，而且依旧年轻
得出奇。但他极易神情紧张，瞧，他把自己的杯子打翻了。
特雷西利安把杯子拿开，利索地擦干酒渍。一切都收拾好了。戴维先生好像都没注意
到他干了些什么，只是脸色苍白地坐在那儿，瞪着前方。
说到脸色苍白，刚才在餐具室里，霍伯里听到来了个警察时，他那副样子真够可笑
的，就像——
特雷西利安的思绪突然被打断了，沃尔特把正端着的盘子里的一个梨弄掉了。现在的
男仆真是不行！他们再这么下去就只能当马夫了！
他开始端着酒壶绕桌斟酒。哈里先生今晚好像有点儿心不在焉，不停地看向阿尔弗雷
德先生。他们俩之间从来就没有过所谓的兄弟之谊，从小就这样。哈里先生，当然了，一
直是他父亲最喜爱的孩子，而这让阿尔弗雷德先生耿耿于怀。李先生没怎么关心过阿尔弗
雷德先生，真可怜，阿尔弗雷德先生一直全心全意地爱着他的父亲。
阿尔弗雷德夫人站起来，绕着桌边走开了。这件塔夫绸礼服的设计真是美妙，那斗篷
非常适合她。一位非常优雅的夫人。
特雷西利安回到餐具室，关上餐厅的门，让男士们尽情享用餐后酒。
他端着咖啡托盘走进客厅，四位女士坐在这儿，让他感觉很别扭。她们都一言不发。
他静静地上了咖啡。
他又走出了客厅，正准备回餐具室的时候，听见餐厅的门开了。戴维•李从里面走出
来，穿过大厅向客厅走去。
特雷西利安回到餐具室，向沃尔特发出了严重警告。如果再这么莽撞，这家伙就别干
了！
剩特雷西利安独自一人待在餐具室了，他坐下来，疲惫极了。
他觉得情绪低落，在平安夜，却有种紧张不安的气氛……他不喜欢这样！
他努力站起身来，去客厅收拾咖啡杯。房间里空空荡荡，只剩下莉迪亚在房间尽头的
窗边，身子半边躲在窗帘里，站在那儿看着窗外的夜色。
从隔壁房间传来钢琴声。
戴维先生在弹琴。特雷西利安暗想：戴维先生弹的是《葬礼进行曲》吗，为什么弹这
首曲子啊？确实是这支曲子。噢，事情真的越来越不对劲了。
他慢慢地穿过客厅，回到了他的餐具室。
这时，他听到头顶上传来嘈杂声：瓷器被打碎的声音，家具倒地的声音，乒乒乓乓
的。
天啊！主人在干什么？上面到底发生了什么事啊？
就在这时，传来一声尖叫，清晰而尖厉——那是一声令人恐惧的尖锐哭号，最终消失
在既像噎住了，又像咯咯笑的声音中。
特雷西利安被吓坏了，站在原地愣了一会儿。然后他跑到大厅，爬上宽阔的楼梯。其
他人也跑出来了。房子的任何地方都能听见那尖厉的叫声。
他们疯狂地冲上楼梯，经过一个壁龛——里面摆放着几座闪着白光的恐怖雕像——沿
着笔直的走廊来到西米恩•李的房门前。法尔先生和戴维夫人已经在那儿了。她背靠墙站
着，他正在转动门把手。
“门锁着，”他说，“门是锁着的！”
哈里•李挤过来，抓过门把手又拧又推。
“父亲，”他喊道：“父亲，让我们进去。”
他举起手，大家都静静地听着。没有任何回音，门里没有任何声音。
大门的门铃响了，可谁也没心思去应门。
斯蒂芬•法尔说：“我们得把这扇门撞开，这是唯一的办法了。”
哈里说：“会是一项艰巨的任务，这些门都非常坚固。来吧，阿尔弗雷德。”
他们气喘吁吁，神情紧张，最后找来了一条橡木长凳，用它不断撞门。门终于被撞开
了，铰链也断开，从门框脱落。门向内倒了下去。
一时间众人挤作一团，拼命向里张望。他们所看见的景象是在场的每一个人都永生难
忘的……
显然，这里发生过一场激烈的搏斗。笨重的家具都翻倒在地，瓷花瓶摔在地上，碎片
四散。火光摇曳的壁炉前，地毯的正中央，西米恩•李躺在一片血泊之中。血溅得到处都
是，这地方简直就像个屠宰场。
有人发出一声长长的、带着颤音的叹息，接着先后响起两个声音。诡异的是，他们都
引用了一段。
戴维•李说：“天网恢恢……”
莉迪亚颤抖着低语。
“可是谁想到这老头儿会有这么多血……”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH IV
IV
Superintendent Sugden had rung the bell three times. Finally, in desperation, he pounded on the
knocker.
A scared Walter at length opened the door.
“Oo-er,” he said. A look of relief came over his face. “I was just ringing up the police.”
“What for?” said Superintendent Sugden sharply. “What’s going on here?”
Walter whispered:
“It’s old Mr. Lee. He’s been done in. . . .”
The superintendent pushed past him and ran up the stairs. He came into the room without
anyone being aware of his entrance. As he entered he saw Pilar bend forward and pick up
something from the floor. He saw David Lee standing with his hands over his eyes.
He saw the others huddled into a little group. Alfred Lee alone had stepped near his father’s
body. He stood now quite close, looking down. His face was blank.
George Lee was saying importantly:
“Nothing must be touched—remember that—nothing—till the police arrive. That is most
important!”
“Excuse me,” said Sugden.
He pushed his way forward, gently thrusting the ladies aside.
Alfred Lee recognized him.
“Ah,” he said. “It’s you, Superintendent Sugden. You’ve got here very quickly.”
“Yes, Mr. Lee.” Superintendent Sugden did not waste time on explanations. “What’s all
this?”
“My father,” said Alfred Lee, “has been killed—murdered. . . .”
His voice broke.
Magdalene began suddenly to sob hysterically.
Superintendent Sugden held up a large official hand. He said authoritatively:
“Will everybody kindly leave the room except Mr. Lee and—er—Mr. George Lee?. . . .”
They moved slowly towards the door, reluctantly, like sheep. Superintendent Sugden
intercepted Pilar suddenly.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said pleasantly. “Nothing must be touched or disturbed.”
She stared at him. Stephen Farr said impatiently:
“Of course not. She understands that.”
Superintendent Sugden said, still in the same pleasant manner: “You picked up something
from the floor just now?”
Pilar’s eyes opened. She stared and said incredulously: “I did?”
Superintendent Sugden was still pleasant. His voice was just a little firmer.
“Yes, I saw you. . . .”
“Oh!”
“So please give it to me. It’s in your hand now.”
Slowly Pilar unclosed her hand. There lay in it a wisp of rubber and a small object made of
wood. Superintendent Sugden took them, enclosed them in an envelope and put them away in his
breast pocket. He said: “Thank you.”
He turned away. Just for a minute Stephen Farr’s eyes showed a startled respect. It was as
though he had underestimated the large handsome superintendent.
They went slowly out of the room. Behind them they heard the superintendent’s voice saying
officially:
“And now, if you please. . . .”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 4
4
萨格登警司已经按了三遍铃了。最后，他不顾一切地砰砰砰地砸起了门环。
吓坏了的沃尔特终于来开门了。
“呃。”他说，看上去松了一大口气，“我正要给警察局打电话呢。”
“为什么？”萨格登警司急切地问，“发生什么事了？”
沃尔特悄声说：“是老李先生，他被人谋杀了，在……”
警司推开管家，跑上了楼梯。他走进案发的房间，没有人注意到他的到来。当他走进
房间的时候，看见皮拉尔正弯下腰，从地板上捡起什么东西。他还看见戴维•李站在那儿，
双手捂着眼睛。
警司看到别的人全都凑在一起。只有阿尔弗雷德•李一个人，站在他父亲的尸体旁边。
他站得非常近，低头看着，脸上没有表情。
乔治•李郑重地说：“什么也不准动。记住，所有的东西——在警察赶来之前。这是最
重要的！”
“对不起，让一让。”萨格登说。
他向前挤去，轻轻地把女士们推到一边。
阿尔弗雷德•李认出了他。
“啊，”他说，“是你，萨格登警司，你来得真快。”
“是的，李先生。”萨格登警司没有浪费时间去解释，“这是怎么回事？”
“我父亲，”阿尔弗雷德•李说，“被杀了，是谋杀——”
他的话音断了。
玛格达莱尼突然歇斯底里地抽泣起来。
萨格登警司像模像样地举起一只手，宣称：“除了李先生和……呃，乔治•李先生，其
他的人，能否请先离开房间？”
众人缓缓向门口走去，不情不愿地，就像一群羊。萨格登警司突然拦住了皮拉尔。
“对不起，小姐。”他亲切地说，“这里的所有东西都不能动，也不能碰。”
她瞪着他。斯蒂芬•法尔不耐烦地说：“当然了，她知道的。”
萨格登警司的态度依旧亲切：“你刚才从地板上捡起了什么东西？”
皮拉尔睁大了眼睛，瞪着他，难以置信地说：“我捡了什么吗？”
萨格登警司仍然很亲切，只是语调稍稍强硬了一些。
“是的，我看见你……”
“噢！”
“所以，请把它给我，它现在就在你的手里。”
皮拉尔慢慢地摊开手，她的手里有一小捆橡皮筋和一小块木头做的东西。萨格登警司
接过它们，装进一个信封，放进自己的胸前口袋里。
他说了声“谢谢”便转过身去。就在这一刹那，斯蒂芬•法尔的眼神中流露出一丝震惊和
敬意，好像在说他之前小瞧了这位高大英俊的警司。
他们慢慢地走出房间，听见警司在身后公事公办地说着：“那么现在，如果你们愿
意……”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH V
V
“Nothing like a wood fire,” said Colonel Johnson as he threw on an additional log and then drew
his chair nearer to the blaze. “Help yourself,” he added, hospitably calling attention to the tantalus
and siphon that stood near his guest’s elbow.
The guest raised a polite hand in negation. Cautiously he edged his own chair nearer to the
blazing logs, though he was of the opinion that the opportunity for roasting the soles of one’s feet
(like some mediaeval torture) did not offset the cold draught that swirled round the back of the
shoulders.
Colonel Johnson, Chief Constable of Middleshire, might be of the opinion that nothing could
beat a wood fire, but Hercule Poirot was of the opinion that central heating could and did every
time!
“Amazing business that Cartwright case,” remarked the host reminiscently. “Amazing man!
Enormous charm of manner. Why, when he came here with you, he had us all eating out of his
hand.”
He shook his head.
“We’ll never have anything like that case!” he said. “Nicotine poisoning is rare, fortunately.”
“There was a time when you would have considered all poisoning unEnglish,” suggested
Hercule Poirot. “A device of foreigners! Unsportsmanlike!”
“I hardly think we could say that,” said the chief constable. “Plenty of poisoning by arsenic—
probably a good deal more than has ever been suspected.”
“Possibly, yes.”
“Always an awkward business, a poisoning case,” said Johnson. “Conflicting testimony of
the experts—then doctors are usually so extremely cautious in what they say. Always a difficult
case to take to a jury. No, if one must have murder (which heaven forbid!) give me a
straightforward case. Something where there’s no ambiguity about the cause of death.”
Poirot nodded.
“The bullet wound, the cut throat, the crushed-in skull? It is there your preference lies?”
“Oh, don’t call it a preference, my dear fellow. Don’t harbour the idea that I like murder
cases! Hope I never have another. Anyway, we ought to be safe enough during your visit.”
Poirot began modestly:
“My reputation—”
But Johnson had gone on.
“Christmastime,” he said. “Peace, goodwill—and all that kind of thing. Goodwill all round.”
Hercule Poirot leaned back in his chair. He joined his fingertips. He studied his host
thoughtfully.
He murmured: “It is, then, your opinion that Christmastime is an unlikely season for crime?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Johnson was thrown slightly out of his stride. “Well, as I’ve just said—season of
good cheer, and all that!”
Hercule Poirot murmured:
“The British, they are so sentimental!”
Johnson said stoutly: “What if we are? What if we do like the old ways, the old traditional
festivities? What’s the harm?”
“There is no harm. It is all most charming! But let us for a moment examine facts. You have
said that Christmas is a season of good cheer. That means, does it not, a lot of eating and drinking?
It means, in fact, the overeating! And with the overeating there comes the indigestion! And with
the indigestion there comes the irritability!”
“Crimes,” said Colonel Johnson, “are not committed from irritability.”
“I am not so sure! Take another point. There is, at Christmas, a spirit of goodwill. It is, as you
say, ‘the thing to do.’ Old quarrels are patched up, those who have disagreed consent to agree once
more, even if it is only temporarily.”
Johnson nodded.
“Bury the hatchet, that’s right.”
Poirot pursued his theme:
“And families now, families who have been separated throughout the year, assemble once
more together. Now under these conditions, my friend, you must admit that there will occur a
great amount of strain. People who do not feel amiable are putting great pressure on themselves to
appear amiable! There is at Christmastime a great deal of hypocrisy, honourable hypocrisy,
hypocrisy undertaken pour le bon motif, c’est entendu, but nevertheless hypocrisy!”
“Well, I shouldn’t put it quite like that myself,” said Colonel Johnson doubtfully.
Poirot beamed upon him.
“No, no. It is I who am putting it like that, not you. I am pointing out to you that under these
conditions—mental strain, physical malaise—it is highly probable that dislikes that were before
merely mild and disagreements that were trivial might suddenly assume a more serious character.
The result of pretending to be a more amiable, a more forgiving, a more high-minded person than
one really is, has sooner or later the effect of causing one to behave as a more disagreeable, a more
ruthless and an altogether more unpleasant person than is actually the case! If you dam the stream
of natural behaviour, mon ami, sooner or later the dam bursts and a cataclysm occurs!”
Colonel Johnson looked at him doubtfully.
“Never know when you’re serious and when you’re pulling my leg,” he grumbled.
Poirot smiled at him.
“I am not serious! Not in the least am I serious! But all the same, it is true what I say—
artificial conditions bring about their natural reaction.”
Colonel Johnson’s manservant entered the room.
“Superintendent Sugden on the phone, sir.”
“Right. I’ll come.”
With a word of apology the chief constable left the room.
He returned some three minutes later. His face was grave and perturbed.
“Damn it all!” he said. “Case of murder! On Christmas Eve, too!”
Poirot’s eyebrows rose.
“It is that definitely—murder, I mean?”
“Eh? Oh, no other solution possible! Perfectly clear case. Murder—and a brutal murder at
that!”
“Who is the victim?”
“Old Simeon Lee. One of the richest men we’ve got! Made his money in South Africa
originally. Gold—no, diamonds, I believe. He sunk an immense fortune in manufacturing some
particular gadget of mining machinery. His own invention, I believe. Anyway, it’s paid him hand
over fist! They say he’s a millionaire twice over.”
Poirot said: “He was well-liked, yes?”
Johnson said slowly:
“Don’t think anyone liked him. Queer sort of chap. He’s been an invalid for some years now.
I don’t know very much about him myself. But of course he is one of the big figures of the
county.”
“So this case, it will make a big stir?”
“Yes. I must get over to Longdale as fast as I can.”
He hesitated, looking at his guest. Poirot answered the unspoken question:
“You would like that I should accompany you?”
Johnson said awkwardly:
“Seems a shame to ask you. But, well, you know how it is! Superintendent Sugden is a good
man, none better, painstaking, careful, thoroughly sound—but—well, he’s not an imaginative
chap in any way. Should like very much, as you are here, benefit of your advice.”
He halted a little over the end part of his speech, making it somewhat telegraphic in style.
Poirot responded quickly.
“I shall be delighted. You can count on me to assist you in any way I can. We must not hurt
the feelings of the good superintendent. It will be his case—not mine. I am only the unofficial
consultant.”
Colonel Johnson said warmly:
“You’re a good fellow, Poirot.”
With those words of commendation, the two men started out.
第三部分 十二月二十四日 5
5
“没什么比得上用木柴生的火。”约翰逊上校说着又添了一根木柴，把椅子挪得离火苗
更近了。“你请自便。”他又加了一句，殷勤地让他的客人注意到手边的玻璃酒柜和虹吸
壶。
他的客人礼貌地抬起一只手谢绝了。他小心翼翼地侧着椅子，朝燃烧着的木柴挪近了
一些，尽管他认为这样做既有可能烤焦鞋底，又无法缓解盘踞在肩膀和后背的冷气旋涡
（感觉就像某种中世纪的酷刑）。
约翰逊上校，米德什尔郡的警察局局长，可能认为世上没有什么东西能胜过壁炉里的
火，但赫尔克里•波洛却认为，中央供暖设备要胜过它千倍，而且从不会输！
“卡特莱特的那个案子（注：参见阿加莎•克里斯蒂《三幕悲剧》。）真是让人吃
惊。”主人带着怀旧情绪评论道，“不可思议的人！为人处事那么有魅力。怎么搞的，从他
和你一起来的时候起，就让我们对他言听计从。”
他摇摇头。
“我们再也不会碰到那样的案子了！”他说，“用尼古丁投毒还是相当罕见的，谢天谢
地。”
“曾有一段时间，大家认为所有的投毒案都不英国，”赫尔克里•波洛说，“带有异国情
调！不光明正大！”
“我可从没这么想过，”上校说，“有大量的砒霜下毒案——很可能比我们知道的还要多
得多。”
“对，很可能。”
“投毒案总是让人尴尬，”上校接着说，“专家们的证词互相矛盾，医生们则对他们所说
的话过分谨慎。这种案子对陪审团来说也总是很难办。如果一个人非得去杀人的话（当然
这是上帝所不允许的），就给我直截了当地干。给我一件死因清清楚楚的案子。”
波洛点点头。
“枪杀，割喉，砸扁脑袋……你偏爱这些吗？”
“噢，别用偏爱这个词，我亲爱的伙计。这么说好像我很喜欢谋杀案似的！我倒希望再
也不要有了。不管怎么说，在你来访期间，我们应该是足够安全的。”
波洛谦逊地说：“我的名声——”
但约翰逊接着说了下去。
“圣诞节期间，”他说，“和平、友好，都是这一类的事。到处都很友善。”
赫尔克里•波洛靠在椅子背上，两手指尖相对，若有所思地审视着这位主人。
他喃喃道：“的确，照你这么说，圣诞节期间不太可能发生犯罪事件？”
“我正是这个意思。”
“为什么呢？”
“为什么？”约翰逊似乎被问得措手不及，“这个，就像我刚才说的——圣诞节是一个欢
庆的美好日子，就是这样！”
赫尔克里•波洛喃喃道：“英国人啊，真是感情丰富！”
约翰逊坚决地说：“如果我们就是这样又怎么样？如果我们真的喜欢那些旧时光，那些
古老的传统节日，又怎么了？这有什么坏处吗？”
“没什么坏处，它非常迷人！但让我们先来看一些事实。你说圣诞节是一个欢庆的日
子，那是不是意味着大吃大喝？实际上，这就意味着暴饮暴食！暴饮暴食会引起消化不
良！而伴随着消化不良，就是兴奋和易怒！”
“犯罪事件，”约翰逊上校说，“并非源于兴奋和易怒。”
“我可不这么认为！再换一个角度来看，圣诞节洋溢着友善的气氛，确实如此，如你所
说，但它是‘装出来的’。旧日的争吵平息下来，原本意见不合的人同意再一次和解，虽然
只是暂时的。”
约翰逊点点头。
“停战，确实如此。”
波洛继续阐述他的理论。
“而如今的圣诞节，意味着一整年都分散在各地的家庭成员再次团聚在一起。在这种情
况下，我的朋友，你必须承认，会产生一种很大的压力。那些脾气不怎么好的人给自己施
加了很大的压力，让自己表现得和蔼可亲。圣诞节有很多伪善的东西，可敬的伪善，那些
伪善有很好的理由，也是可以理解的（注：波洛说的话中英语法语混杂，法语部分用斜体
表示，全文相同处理。），但无论如何都是一种伪善！”
“好吧，但我是不会这么想的。”约翰逊上校怀疑地说。
波洛看着他微笑。
“不，不。这是我的理论，不是你的。我只是想告诉你，在这种情况下，精神压力加身
体不适，很有可能使原本只是轻微的厌恶和不重要的意见不合突然升级，表现得更为严
重。伪装成一个更为和蔼可亲、更为宽容、品格更为高尚的人，迟早会对人产生影响，结
果就使他变得比正常情况下还要不好相处、还要无情，总之就是让人不愉快！如果你要人
为地建起堤坝抑制本性的流露，我的朋友，那堤坝迟早会崩塌，酿成大洪灾！”
约翰逊上校半信半疑地看着他。
“我总也搞不清你什么时候是认真的，什么时候是在和我开玩笑。”他抱怨道。
波洛朝他笑着。
“我不是认真的！一点儿也不认真！但我说的是实情，无论如何都一样——人为的压制
本性会引发人们的自然反应。”
约翰逊上校的男仆走进房间。
“萨格登警司打来电话，先生。”
“好的，我就来。”
警察局局长道了声歉，而后离开了房间。
过了大约三分钟，他回来了，神情严肃且慌张不安。
“该死的！”他说，“谋杀案！还是在平安夜！”
波洛的眉毛扬了起来。
“准确无疑吗？我是指谋杀。”
“呃？噢，不会有别的可能！清楚明白的案子。是谋杀，而且是相当残忍的谋杀！”
“被害人是谁？”
“老西米恩•李。我们这儿最有钱的人之一！早先在南非赚了一大笔钱，靠黄金，不，
我想是钻石。他投资了一大笔钱开办工厂，制造一种采矿机专用的小零件，我相信那是他
自己的发明。反正他很快就轻松地发了财，他们说他顶两个百万富翁。”
波洛说：“他很受欢迎，是吗？”
约翰逊慢吞吞地说：“我觉得没人会喜欢他。他算是个怪人，已经残废了好多年。我本
人并不太了解他，但他绝对是这个郡里的一位大人物。”
“那么这个案子，将会引起很大轰动了？”
“是的，我必须尽快赶往朗代尔。”
局长犹豫了一下，看着他的客人。波洛回答了他没有说出口的问题。
“你愿意我陪你一起去吗？”
约翰逊尴尬地说：“求助于你好像有些丢人。可是，这个，你也知道是怎么回事！萨格
登警司是个好人，没人比他更好了。他勤勉，细心，可靠。可是，嗯，他在任何方面都没
什么想象力。我非常愿意，你能在那儿，给些建议。”
他在说最后一句话前稍微停顿了一下，而且听起来有点儿像发电报的格式。波洛马上
做出了回应。
“我很乐意前往。我会尽我所能地协助你们，你完全可以相信我。我们不该伤害一位好
警司的感情，那是他的案子，不是我的。我只是一名非官方顾问。”
约翰逊上校热情地说：“你真是一个好人，波洛。”
说完这句赞扬的话，上校就同波洛一起出发了。
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH VI
VI
It was a constable who opened the front door to them and saluted. Behind him, Superintendent
Sugden advanced down the hall and said:
“Glad you’ve got here, sir. Shall we come into this room here on the left—Mr. Lee’s study?
I’d like to run over the main outlines. The whole thing’s a rum business.”
He ushered them into a small room on the left of the hall. There was a telephone there and a
big desk covered with papers. The walls were lined with bookcases.
The chief constable said: “Sugden, this is M. Hercule Poirot. You may have heard of him.
Just happened to be staying with me. Superintendent Sugden.”
Poirot made a little bow and looked the other man over. He saw a tall man with square
shoulders and a military bearing who had an aquiline nose, a pugnacious jaw and a large
flourishing chestnut- coloured moustache. Sugden stared hard at Hercule Poirot after
acknowledging the introduction. Hercule Poirot stared hard at Superintendent Sugden’s
moustache. Its luxuriance seemed to fascinate him.
The superintendent said:
“Of course I have heard of you, Mr. Poirot. You were in this part of the world some years
ago, if I remember rightly. Death of Sir Bartholomew Strange. Poisoning case. Nicotine. Not my
district, but of course I heard all about it.”
Colonel Johnson said impatiently:
“Now, then, Sugden, let’s have the facts. A clear case, you said.”
“Yes, sir, it’s murder right enough—not a doubt of that. Mr. Lee’s throat was cut—jugular
vein severed, I understand from the doctor. But there’s something very odd about the whole
matter.”
“You mean—?”
“I’d like you to hear my story first, sir. These are the circumstances: This afternoon, about
five o’clock, I was rung up by Mr. Lee at Addlesfield police station. He sounded a bit odd over the
phone—asked me to come and see him at eight o’clock this evening—made a special point of the
time. Moreover, he instructed me to say to the butler that I was collecting subscriptions for some
police charity.”
The chief constable looked up sharply.
“Wanted some plausible pretext to get you into the house?”
“That’s right, sir. Well, naturally, Mr. Lee is an important person, and I acceded to his
request. I got here a little before eight o’clock, and represented myself as seeking subscriptions for
the Police Orphanage. The butler went away and returned to tell me that Mr. Lee would see me.
Thereupon he showed me up to Mr. Lee’s room, which is situated on the first floor, immediately
over the dining room.”
Superintendent Sugden paused, drew a breath and then proceeded in a somewhat official
manner with his report.
“Mr. Lee was seated in a chair by the fireplace. He was wearing a dressing gown. When the
butler had left the room and closed the door, Mr. Lee asked me to sit near him. He then said rather
hesitatingly that he wanted to give me particulars of a robbery. I asked him what had been taken.
He replied that he had reason to believe that diamonds (uncut diamonds, I think he said) to the
value of several thousand pounds had been stolen from his safe.”
“Diamonds, eh?” said the chief constable.
“Yes, sir. I asked him various routine questions, but his manner was very uncertain and his
replies were somewhat vague in character. At last he said, ‘You must understand, Superintendent,
that I may be mistaken in this matter.’ I said, ‘I do not quite understand, sir. Either the diamonds
are missing or they are not missing—one or the other.’ He replied, ‘The diamonds are certainly
missing, but it is just possible, Superintendent, that their disappearance may be simply a rather
foolish kind of practical joke.’ Well, that seemed odd to me, but I said nothing. He went on: ‘It is
difficult for me to explain in detail, but what it amounts to is this: So far as I can see, only two
persons can possibly have the stones. One of those persons might have done it as a joke. If the
other person took them, then they have definitely been stolen.’ I said, ‘What exactly do you want
me to do, sir?’ He said quickly, ‘I want you, Superintendent, to return here in about an hour—no,
make it a little more than that—say nine fifteen. At that time I shall be able to tell you definitely
whether I have been robbed or not.’ I was a little mystified, but I agreed and went away.”
Colonel Johnson commented:
“Curious—very curious. What do you say, Poirot?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“May I ask, Superintendent, what conclusions you yourself drew?”
The superintendent stroked his jaw as he replied carefully:
“Well, various ideas occurred to me, but on the whole, I figured it out this way. There was no
question of any practical joke. The diamonds had been stolen all right. But the old gentleman
wasn’t sure who’d done it. It’s my opinion that he was speaking the truth when he said that it
might have been one of two people—and of those two people one was a servant and the other was
a member of the family.”
Poirot nodded appreciatively.
“Très bien. Yes, that explains his attitude very well.”
“Hence his desire that I should return later. In the interval he meant to have an interview with
the person in question. He would tell them that he had already spoken of the matter to the police
but that, if restitution were promptly made, he could hush the matter up.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“And if the suspect didn’t respond?”
“In that case, he meant to place the investigation in our hands.”
Colonel Johnson frowned and twisted his moustache. He demurred.
“Why not take that course before calling you in?”
“No, no, sir.” The superintendent shook his head. “Don’t you see, if he had done that, it
might have been bluff. It wouldn’t have been half so convincing. The person might say to himself,
‘The old man won’t call the police in, no matter what he suspects!’ But if the old gentleman says
to him, ‘I’ve already spoken to the police, the superintendent has only just left.’ Then the thief
asks the butler, say, and the butler confirms that. He says, ‘Yes, the superintendent was here just
before dinner.’ Then the chief is convinced the old gentleman means business and it’s up to him to
cough up the stones.”
“H’m, yes, I see that,” said Colonel Johnson. “Any idea, Sugden, who this ‘member of the
family’ might be?”
“No, sir.”
“No indication whatsoever?”
“None.”
Johnson shook his head. Then he said:
“Well, let’s get on with it.”
Superintendent Sugden resumed his official manner.
“I returned to the house, sir, at nine fifteen precisely. Just as I was about to ring the front door
bell, I heard a scream from inside the house, and then a confused sound of shouts and a general
commotion. I rang several times and also used the knocker. It was three or four minutes before the
door was answered. When the footman at last opened it I could see that something momentous had
occurred. He was shaking all over and looked as though he was about to faint. He gasped out that
Mr. Lee had been murdered. I ran hastily upstairs. I found Mr. Lee’s room in a state of wild
confusion. There had evidently been a severe struggle. Mr. Lee himself was lying in front of the
fire with his throat cut in a pool of blood.”
The chief constable said sharply:
“He couldn’t have done it himself?”
Sugden shook his head.
“Impossible, sir. For one thing, there were the chairs and tables overturned, and the broken
crockery and ornaments, and then there was no sign of the razor or knife with which the crime had
been committed.”
The chief constable said thoughtfully:
“Yes, that seems conclusive. Anyone in the room?”
“Most of the family were there, sir. Just standing round.”
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
“Any ideas, Sugden?”
The superintendent said slowly:
“It’s a bad business, sir. It looks to me as though one of them must have done it. I don’t see
how anyone from outside could have done it and got away in time.”
“What about the window? Closed or open?”
“There are two windows in the room, sir. One was closed and locked. The other was open a
few inches at the bottom—but it was fixed in that position by a burglar screw, and moreover, I’ve
tried it and it’s stuck fast—hasn’t been opened for years, I should say. Also the wall outside is
quite smooth and unbroken—no ivy or creepers. I don’t see how anyone could have left that way.”
“How many doors in the room?”
“Just one. The room is at the end of a passage. That door was locked on the inside. When
they heard the noise of the struggle and the old man’s dying scream, and rushed upstairs, they had
to break down the door to get in.”
Johnson said sharply:
“And who was in the room?”
Superintendent Sugden replied gravely:
“Nobody was in the room, sir, except the old man who had been killed not more than a few
minutes previously.”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 6
6
一位警察来为他们开了门，行了礼。在他身后，萨格登警司从大厅里走过来说：“很高
兴您来了，长官。我们去左边的那个房间好吗，李先生的书房？我想先为你们讲一遍事发
经过，整件事情太奇怪了。”
他领着他们走进大厅左边的一个小房间。那儿有一部电话和一张放满了文件的大桌
子，贴着墙都是一排排书架。
上校说：“萨格登，这位是赫尔克里•波洛先生。你可能听说过他，他正好在我家做
客。这位是萨格登警司。”
波洛微微躬身行礼，然后打量起这个人。站在他面前的是一个高个子男人，肩膀方
正，举止如军人一般，鹰钩鼻，颇具挑衅意味的下巴和茂密的栗色胡子。听到介绍后，萨
格登使劲地盯着波洛看，而波洛则一个劲地注视着萨格登警司的唇髭，它的浓密似乎令波
洛着迷。
警司说：“我当然听说过你，波洛先生。如果我没记错的话，你好几年前也曾来过这
里，巴托洛缪•斯特兰奇先生毒杀案，用的是尼古丁。那起案子不在我所管辖的区域内，但
当然了，事件的始末我都听说了。”
约翰逊上校不耐烦地说：“现在，那么，萨格登，跟我们说说事情的经过。你说这是一
起清楚明白的案子。”
“是的，长官，肯定是谋杀，没有丝毫疑问。李先生的喉咙被割开了，颈静脉断裂，是
医生说的。但这件事里有一个非常奇怪的地方。”
“你的意思是——”
“我希望您能先听我说一遍事情的始末，长官。情况是这样的：今天下午大约五点钟，
我在阿德斯菲尔德警局接到李先生的电话，他的声音在电话中听起来有些古怪。他叫我晚
上八点钟到他家一趟，特意强调了这个时间。另外，他让我跟管家说，我是去为警方的慈
善事业募集捐款的。”
上校猛地抬起头。
“为你去他家找了个说得过去的理由？”
“没错，长官。嗯，当然，李先生是位大人物，我便答应了他的请求。我到的时候差几
分钟八点，我说自己是来为警方的孤儿院募捐的。管家去通报后回来告诉我，李先生愿意
见我。于是他带我去李先生的房间，房间在二楼，就在餐厅的正上方。”
萨格登警司停了一下，深吸一口气，接着以公事公办的口气继续讲述。
“李先生坐在壁炉边的一把椅子上，穿着睡衣。管家关上门离开后，李先生叫我坐到他
身旁，支支吾吾地说他想向我报告一起盗窃案的细节。我问他说什么被盗了，他回答说他
有充分的理由确信，价值几千英镑的钻石（未经加工的钻石，我想他是这么说的），被人
从他的保险箱里偷走了。”
“钻石，嗯？”上校说。
“是的，长官。我询问了他一些例行的问题，但他表现得非常不确定，回答得也很含
糊。最后他说：‘请你明白，警司，关于这件事，我也可能弄错了。’我说：‘我不太明白，
先生。钻石要么不见了，要么就还在——二者必选其一。’他回答说：‘钻石确实不见了，
警司，但它们的失踪也可能只是一个相当愚蠢的恶作剧。’这听起来太奇怪了，但我什么也
没说。他接着说：‘我很难给你详细的解释，但事情就是这样的：在我看来，目前只有两个
人可能拿走了钻石。若是其中一个拿的，那可能只是开个玩笑；但如果是另一个人拿的，
那它们就肯定是被盗了。’我说：‘您到底想让我做些什么呢，先生？’他立刻回答：‘我想让
你，警司，大约一个小时之后再来一趟。不，再晚一点儿，九点五十五分吧，到那时候，
我就能明确地告诉你我的钻石是否被偷了。’我有点儿糊涂，但还是同意了，然后就离开
了。”
约翰逊上校评论道：“奇怪，太奇怪了。你觉得呢，波洛？”
赫尔克里•波洛说：“我可以问问吗，警司，你得出的结论是什么呢？”
警司摸着下巴，小心翼翼地答道：“呃，我有过各种各样的想法，但总的来说，我是这
么推断的：毫无疑问，根本没有什么恶作剧，钻石的确被偷了。但那位老绅士不能确定是
谁偷的。我的看法是，他说的那两个最有可能的人，应该是真的——那两个人一个是用
人，另一个则是家里人。”
波洛赞赏地点点头。
“非常好。对，这就能很好地解释他的态度。”
“因此他希望我晚些时候再来。在中间的这段时间里，他打算把那两个人分别找来面
谈。他会告诉他们，他已经把这件事跟警察讲了，如果能尽快物归原主，他可以让这件事
就这么算了。”
约翰逊上校说：“如果他的猜想没有被证实呢？”
“这样的话，他会让我们来调查这件事。”
约翰逊上校皱起眉头，捋着胡子，提出了异议。
“他为什么不在你来之前就把事情问清楚呢？”
“不，不，长官。”警司摇着头说，“您没看出来吗，如果他那样做，就只是虚张声势，
半点说服力都没有。那人会对自己说：‘那老家伙是不会把警察找来的，就让他怀疑去
吧！’但如果老人说：‘我已经跟警察说了，警察刚刚离开。’接着那个贼去问管家，管家又
证实了这件事。管家说：‘对，警司开饭前刚离开。’这样的话，那个贼就会相信老先生是
认真的，而他自己还是把钻石吐出来为妙。”
“哦，是的，我明白了。”约翰逊上校说，“你有什么想法吗，萨格登，那个‘家里人’，
可能是谁呢？”
“没有，长官。”
“他没给你什么暗示吗？”
“没有。”
约翰逊摇了摇头：“好吧，继续吧。”
萨格登警司继续以公事化的口吻说下去。
“我再次来到这幢房子，长官，正好是九点五十五分。就在我要按门铃的时候，听到房
子里传来一声尖叫，接着是几声叫喊和一阵骚乱。我不停按门铃，还砸了门环，三四分钟
后才有人来开门。当男仆最终把门打开时，我马上就知道这儿发生了一起重大事件。他浑
身都在颤抖，看起来马上就要晕过去了，上气不接下气地说李先生被杀了。我急忙跑上楼
去，发现李先生的房间乱作一团，很明显曾发生过激烈的争斗。李先生躺在壁炉前的血泊
之中，喉咙被割开了。”
上校严厉地说：“不可能是他自己弄成那样的吗？”
萨格登摇摇头。
“不可能，长官。举一个例子来说，房间里的桌子和椅子都翻倒了，瓷器等装饰品全打
碎了，而且现场没有发现可用来当凶器的剃刀或其他刀具。”
上校沉思着说：“好吧，看起来确实是谋杀。房间里还有别人吗？”
“大部分家庭成员都在那儿，长官，只是站在周围。”
约翰逊上校说：“你怎么想的，萨格登？”
警司慢吞吞地说：“一件糟糕的事，长官。我觉得像是屋子里的人干的，我想不出哪个
外人能在干了这事之后及时逃走。”
“窗户是什么样的，关着还是开着？”
“房间里有两扇窗户，长官。一扇是关死了，闩着；另一扇从底下拉起了几英寸——但
用一个防盗螺栓固定住了，动不了。我试过了，它卡得非常紧——我敢说那扇窗有好几年
没开过了。另外，外面的墙面很光滑，没有裂缝——也没有常春藤或其他藤本植物，我认
为没人能从窗户逃走。”
“房间里有几扇门？”
“只有一扇。那个房间在走廊的尽头，门从里面锁住了。他们听到搏斗声及老人的死前
尖叫后，立即冲上楼来，把门砸开才进去的。”
约翰逊厉声问道：“开门后谁在房间里呢？”
萨格登警司严肃地回答：“房间里没有任何人，长官，除了几分钟前被杀的老人。”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH VII
VII
Colonel Johnson stared at Sugden for some minutes before he spluttered:
“Do you mean to tell me, Superintendent, that this is one of those damned cases you get in
detective stories where a man is killed in a locked room by some apparently supernatural agency?”
A very faint smile agitated the superintendent’s moustache as he replied gravely:
“I do not think it’s quite as bad as that, sir.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“Suicide. It must be suicide!”
“Where’s the weapon, if so? No, sir, suicide won’t do.”
“Then how did the murderer escape? By the window?” Sugden shook his head.
“I’ll take my oath he didn’t do that.”
“But the door was locked, you say, on the inside.”
The superintendent nodded. He drew a key from his pocket and laid it on the table.
“No fingerprints,” he announced. “But just look at that key, sir. Take a look at it with that
magnifying glass there.”
Poirot bent forward. He and Johnson examined the key together. The chief constable uttered
an exclamation.
“By Jove, I get you. Those faint scratches on the end of the barrel. You see ’em, Poirot?”
“But yes, I see. That means, does it not, that the key was turned from outside the door—
turned by means of a special implement that went through the keyhole and gripped the barrel—
possibily an ordinary pair of pliers would do it.”
The superintendent nodded.
“It can be done all right.”
Poirot said: “The idea being, then, that the death would be thought to be suicide, since the
door was locked and no one was in the room?”
“That was the idea, M. Poirot, not a doubt of it, I should say.”
Poirot shook his head doubtfully.
“But the disorder in the room! As you say, that by itself wiped out the idea of suicide. Surely
the murderer would first of all have set the room to rights.”
Superintendent Sugden said: “But he hadn’t time, Mr. Poirot. That’s the whole point. He
hadn’t time. Let’s say he counted on catching the old gentleman unawares. Well, that didn’t come
off. There was a struggle—a struggle heard plainly in the room underneath; and, what’s more, the
old gentleman called out for help. Everyone came rushing up. The murderer’s only got time to nip
out of the room and turn the key from the outside.”
“That is true,” Poirot admitted. “Your murderer, he may have made the bungle. But why, oh
why, did he not at least leave the weapon? For naturally, if there is no weapon, it cannot be
suicide! That was an error most grave.”
Superintendent Sugden said stolidly:
“Criminals usually make mistakes. That’s our experience.”
Poirot gave a light sigh. He murmured:
“But all the same, in spite of his mistakes, he has escaped this criminal.”
“I don’t think he has exactly escaped.”
“You mean he is in the house still?”
“I don’t see where else he can be. It was an inside job.”
“But, tout de même,” Poirot pointed out gently, “he has escaped to this extent: You do not
know who he is.”
Superintendent Sugden said gently but firmly:
“I rather fancy that we soon shall. We haven’t done any questioning of the household yet.”
Colonel Johnson cut in:
“Look here, Sugden, one thing strikes me. Whoever turned that key from the outside must
have had some knowledge of the job. That’s to say, he probably has had criminal experience.
These sort of tools aren’t easy to manage.”
“You mean it was a professional job, sir?”
“That’s what I mean.”
“It does seem like it,” the other admitted. “Following that up, it looks as though there were a
professional thief among the servants. That would explain the diamonds being taken and the
murder would follow on logically from that.”
“Well, anything wrong with that theory?”
“It’s what I thought myself to begin with. But it’s difficult. There are eight servants in the
house; six of them are women, and of those six, five have been here for four years and more. Then
there’s the butler and the footman. The butler has been here for close on forty years—bit of a
record that, I should say. The footman’s local, son of the gardener, and brought up here. Don’t see
very well how he can be a professional. The only other person is Mr. Lee’s valet attendant. He’s
comparatively new, but he was out of the house—still is—went out just before eight o’clock.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“Have you got a list of just who exactly was in the house?”
“Yes, sir. I got it from the butler.” He took out his notebook. “Shall I read it to you?”
“Please, Sugden.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lee. Mr. George Lee, M.P., and his wife, Mr. Henry Lee, Mr. and Mrs.
David Lee. Miss”—the superintendent paused a little, taking the words carefully—“Pilar”—he
pronounced it like a piece of architecture—“Estravados. Mr. Stephen Farr. Then for the servants:
Edward Tressilian, butler. Walter Champion, footman. Emily Reeves, cook. Queenie Jones,
kitchenmaid. Gladys Spent, head housemaid. Grace Best, second housemaid. Beatrice Moscombe,
third housemaid. Joan Kench, betweenmaid. Sydney Horbury, valet attendant.”
“That’s the lot, eh?”
“That’s the lot, sir.”
“Any idea where everybody was at the time of the murder?”
“Only roughly. As I told you, I haven’t questioned anybody yet. According to Tressilian, the
gentlemen were in the dining room still. The ladies had gone to the drawing room. Tressilian had
served coffee. According to his statement, he had just got back to his pantry when he heard a noise
upstairs. It was followed by a scream. He ran out into the hall and upstairs in the wake of the
others.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“How many of the family live in the house, and who are just staying here?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lee live here. The others are just visiting.”
Johnson nodded.
“Where are they all?”
“I asked them to stay in the drawing-room until I was ready to take their statements.”
“I see. Well, we’d better go upstairs and take a look at the doings.”
The superintendent led the way up the broad stairs and along the passage.
As he entered the room where the crime had taken place, Johnson drew a deep breath.
“Pretty horrible,” he commented.
He stood for a minute studying the overturned chairs, the smashed china, and the blood-
bespattered débris.
A thin elderly man stood up from where he had been kneeling by the body and gave a nod.
“Evening, Johnson,” he said. “Bit of a shambles, eh?”
“I should say it was. Got anything for us, doctor?”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He grinned.
“I’ll let you have the scientific language at the inquest! Nothing complicated about it. Throat
cut like a pig. He bled to death in less than a minute. No sign of the weapon.”
Poirot went across the room to the windows. As the superintendent had said, one was shut
and bolted. The other was open about four inches at the bottom. A thick patent screw of the kind
known many years ago as an anti-burglar screw secured it in that position.
Sugden said: “According to the butler, that window was never shut wet or fine. There’s a
linoleum mat underneath it in case rain beat in, but it didn’t much, as the overhanging roof
protects it.”
Poirot nodded.
He came back to the body and stared down at the old man.
The lips were drawn back from the bloodless gums in something that looked like a snarl. The
fingers were curved like claws.
Poirot said:
“He does not seem a strong man, no.”
The doctor said:
“He was pretty tough, I believe. He’d survived several pretty bad illnesses that would have
killed most men.”
Poirot said: “I do not mean that. I mean, he was not big, not strong physically.”
“No, he’s frail enough.”
Poirot turned from the dead man. He bent to examine an overturned chair, a big chair of
mahogany. Beside it was a round mahogany table and the fragments of a big china lamp. Two
other smaller chairs lay nearby, also the smashed fragments of a decanter and two glasses, a heavy
glass paperweight was unbroken, some miscellaneous books, a big Japanese vase smashed in
pieces, and a bronze statuette of a naked girl completed the débris.
Poirot bent over all these exhibits, studying them gravely, but without touching them. He
frowned to himself as though perplexed.
The chief constable said:
“Anything strike you, Poirot?”
Hercule Poirot sighed. He murmured:
“Such a frail shrunken old man—and yet—all this.”
Johnson looked puzzled. He turned away and said to the sergeant, who was busy at his work:
“What about prints?”
“Plenty of them, sir, all over the room.”
“What about the safe?”
“No good. Only prints on that are those of the old gentleman himself.”
Johnson turned to the doctor.
“What about bloodstains?” he asked. “Surely whoever killed him must have got blood on
him.”
The doctor said doubtfully:
“Not necessarily. Bleeding was almost entirely from the jugular vein. That wouldn’t spout
like an artery.”
“No, no. Still, there seems a lot of blood about.”
Poirot said:
“Yes, there is a lot of blood—it strikes one, that. A lot of blood.”
Superintendent Sugden said respectfully:
“Do you—er—does that suggest anything to you, Mr. Poirot?”
Poirot looked about him. He shook his head perplexedly.
He said:
“There is something here—some violence . . .” He stopped a minute, then went on: “Yes, that
is it—violence . . . And blood—an insistence on blood . . . There is—how shall I put it?—there is
too much blood. Blood on the chairs, on the tables, on the carpet . . . The blood ritual? Sacrificial
blood? Is that it? Perhaps. Such a frail old man, so thin, so shrivelled, so dried up—and yet—in his
death—so much blood . . .”
His voice died away. Superintendent Sugden, staring at him with round, startled eyes, said in
an awed voice:
“Funny—that’s what she said—the lady. . . .”
Poirot said sharply:
“What lady? What was it she said?”
Sugden answered: “Mrs. Lee—Mrs. Alfred. Stood over there by the door and half whispered
it. It didn’t make sense to me.”
“What did she say?”
“Something about who would have thought the old gentleman had so much blood in him.
. . .”
Poirot said softly:
“‘Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’ The words of
Lady Macbeth. She said that . . . Ah, that is interesting. . . .”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 7
7
约翰逊上校瞪着萨格登足足几分钟，才没好气地说：“你是想告诉我，警司，这是一桩
只有在侦探小说里才会读到的该死案子，一个人死在一间上锁的房间里，显然是被某种超
自然力量杀死的吗？”
一抹无力的笑容出现在警司的唇边，他严肃地回答：
“我不认为事情有那么糟，长官。”
约翰逊上校说：“自杀，肯定是自杀！”
“如果是自杀的话，凶器在哪儿呢？不，长官，自杀是不成立的。”
“那么凶手是怎么逃走的呢？从窗户吗？”
萨格登摇摇头。
“我发誓他不是那样逃走的。”
“但门是锁着的，而且你说，是从里面锁上的。”
警司点点头。他从口袋里拿出一把钥匙，放在桌上。
“没有指纹，”他明确道，“可是看看这把钥匙，长官，用放大镜好好看一下。”
波洛弯下腰去，和约翰逊上校一起察看这把钥匙。上校发出一声惊呼。
“天哪，我看到了，钥匙顶端有些轻微的划痕。你看见了吗，波洛？”
“是的，我看见了。这也就是说，钥匙是从门外转动从而锁上门的——用一种特别的工
具穿过钥匙孔，抓住钥匙——很可能是一把普通的老虎钳，就能办得到。”
警司点了点头。
“可以做得非常好。”
波洛说：“那么，他的想法就是，希望被认定为自杀，因为门是锁着的，房间里又没有
别人。”
“正是这样，波洛先生。我想说，这是毫无疑问的。”
波洛怀疑地摇摇头。
“但房间里一片混乱啊！就像你说的，这样的状态就排除了自杀的可能，凶手应该第一
个就想到把房间布置整齐。”
萨格登警司说：“但他没时间了，波洛先生。这就是问题所在，来不及。他原本指望能
在老人毫无察觉的情况下将其制伏，可是没成功。发生了一场争斗——一场显然会被楼下
的人听到动静的争斗；不仅如此，那位老先生还高声喊了救命，所有人都冲了上来。凶手
只来得及匆忙溜出房间，再从外面把门锁上。”
“没错，”波洛承认，“这个凶手很可能搞出这么一通闹剧。可是为什么？为什么他不留
下凶器呀？因为如果这儿没有凶器，就理所当然的不可能是自杀！这个错误是不可原谅
的。”
萨格登警司坚定地说：“罪犯总会犯错。这是我们的经验。”
波洛轻轻地叹了口气，喃喃道：“虽然他犯了错，可他还是逃脱了。结果一样。”
“我不认为他真的逃脱了。”
“你是说他还在这幢房子里？”
“我看不出他还能去哪儿，这是一起内部人犯的案子。”
“可是都一样，”波洛温和地指出，“从某种意义上来说，他还是逃脱了，因为你不知道
他是谁。”
萨格登警司的语气温和，却很坚定。
“我想我们很快就会知道的。我们还没对这家人进行问讯呢。”
约翰逊上校插了进来。
“瞧，萨格登，我想到一个问题。无论是谁从外边锁上了门，都一定了解不少这方面的
知识。换句话说，他很可能犯过罪，这类工具可不好使用。”
“您的意思是，这是一起惯犯作的案，长官？”
“我正是这个意思。”
“看起来确实很像。”萨格登也表示赞同，“由此推断，看来用人中有一个职业小偷。这
也就解释了钻石被偷，以及随之而来的谋杀案了，顺理成章。”
“但这样的推论有什么不对？”
“我一开始也是这么想的，可要证明有些困难。家里共有八个用人：其中有六个女人，
而这六个人中有五个在这儿干了至少四年，外加管家和男仆。那位管家在这儿快四十年了
——我想说这是项很可观的纪录。男仆是本地人，园丁的儿子，土生土长，我可看不出他
会是职业小偷。最后一个是李先生的贴身男仆，他算是新来的，可他当时不在房子里——
现在也还没回来——他是八点钟之前出去的。”
约翰逊上校问：“有这幢房子里的人的确切名单了吗？”
“是的，长官，我问管家要的。”他拿出笔记本，“念给你们听好吗？”
“请吧，萨格登。”
“阿尔弗雷德•李先生及夫人，国会议员乔治•李及他的妻子，哈里•李先生，戴维•李先生
和夫人，皮……”警司顿了一下，小心地念出那个词儿，“皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐，”被
他读得像一幢建筑物的名字，“斯蒂芬•法尔先生。然后是用人：爱德华•特雷西利安，管
家；沃尔特•钱皮恩，男仆；埃米莉•里夫斯，厨娘；格雷斯•贝斯特，二等女仆；比阿特丽
斯•莫斯库姆，三等女仆；琼•肯奇，打杂女仆；西德尼•霍伯里，贴身男仆。”
“就这么多，嗯？”
“就这么多，长官。”
“知道谋杀发生的时候他们每个人都在哪儿吗？”
“只知道个大概。我说了，我还没问讯过任何人呢。据特雷西利安说，当时先生们都还
在餐厅里，女士们去了客厅。特雷西利安端上了咖啡，据他说，当听到头顶上传来喧闹声
时，他刚刚回到餐具室。接着是一声尖叫，他便跑出来冲进大厅，然后跟其他人一起跑上
了楼。”
约翰逊上校问：“谁住在这幢房子里，谁是刚来的？”
“阿尔弗雷德•李夫妇住在这儿，其他人都是来做客的。”
约翰逊点点头。
“他们现在都在哪儿？”
“我要求他们都待在客厅里，直到我找他们听取情况。”
“我明白了。我想我们最好先上楼去看看现场。”
警司领他们走上宽阔的楼梯，穿过走廊。
刚踏进案发现场，约翰逊就深深地吸了一口气。
“太可怕了！”他评论道。
他站了一会儿，仔细观察翻倒的椅子、打碎的瓷器，以及染上了血迹的各种碎片。
跪在尸体旁的一位瘦瘦的中年男人站起身，冲他们点头致意。
“晚上好，约翰逊，”他说，“一团糟，嗯？”
“确实如此。有什么能告诉我们的吗，医生？”
医生耸耸肩，咧嘴笑了。
“我会用最专业的尸检术语。情况一点不复杂，凶手割开了他的喉咙，像杀猪那样。不
到一分钟他就死了。目前还不能确定凶器。”
波洛穿过房间来到窗户旁。正如警司所说，一扇窗关着且闩上了，另一扇从底部打开
约四英寸，由一根显眼的粗螺钉牢牢地固定在那个位置上，就是那种几年前被称作防盗螺
丝的东西。
萨格登说：“据管家说，无论天晴下雨，那扇窗户都不关。窗户下面铺了一小块油毡，
防止雨打进来，不过也不用担心，因为有伸出来的屋檐遮挡。”
波洛点点头。
他回到尸体旁，低头看着那个老人。
死者龇牙咧嘴，露出已无血色的牙龈，不知为何感觉像在咆哮。手指弯曲，像爪子一
样。
波洛说：“他看起来不像是强壮的人。”
医生说：“我相信他很硬朗，他得过很多大病，那些病曾要了不少人的命，但他顶住
了。”
波洛说：“我不是那个意思。我是说，从体格上看，他不是很魁梧、健壮。”
“对，他很虚弱。”
波洛从死者身边走开，弯下腰去检查翻倒的椅子——一把桃花心木的大椅子。在它旁
边是一张桃花心木圆桌和一些瓷台灯的碎片。还有两把小一点儿的椅子倒在附近，以及一
个玻璃水壶和两个玻璃杯的碎片。一个笨重的玻璃镇纸完好无损，五花八门的书，一个日
本大花瓶被摔得粉碎，一具裸女铜像也残缺不全。
波洛在这堆残骸前弯下腰，神情严肃地检视它们，但没有碰，只是仔细观察着。他困
惑不解地皱起眉头。
上校问：“发现什么了吗，波洛？”
赫尔克里•波洛叹了口气，嘟囔着：“一个脆弱瘦小的老人，以及同样脆弱的东西。”
约翰逊不解地转过头，问正忙着的警员：“指纹方面怎么样？”
“发现了大量的指纹，长官，遍布整个房间。”
“保险箱上呢？”
“没发现什么。只有那位老先生自己的指纹。”
约翰逊转向医生。
“血迹方面如何？”他问，“杀了他的人身上一定会溅有血迹。”
医生表示怀疑。
“不一定，几乎都是静脉里流出来的血，不会像割开动脉时那样喷出来。”
“确实，不一定。可不管怎样，周围有这么多血呢。”
波洛说：“是的，这儿有太多血了，令人印象深刻。很多血。”
萨格登警司带着敬意问：“那么您……呃……它使您想到什么了吗，波洛先生？”
波洛看着他，困窘地摇了摇头。
他说：“这儿有某种东西——暴力……”他停了一会儿，又接着说下去，“对，正是这个
——暴力，还有血——那么明显的血，有点——我该怎么说呢，血有点过多了。椅子上、
桌子上、地毯上……血祭吗？献祭的血？是这样吗？也许吧。如此脆弱的老人，这么瘦，
这么皱巴巴的，这么干瘪，可是死的时候却有这么多血……”
他的声音渐渐消失了。萨格登警司睁圆了眼睛，吃惊地注视着波洛，以一种敬畏的语
气说：“有趣。她也是这么说的，那位女士……”
波洛厉声反问：“哪位女士？她说了什么？”
萨格登回答道：“李夫人，阿尔弗雷德夫人。她当时站在门口，声音很低。我当时没明
白它的含义。”
“她说了什么？”
“好像是‘谁想到这老头儿会有这么多血……’”
波洛轻声道：“‘谁想到这老头儿有这么多血？’麦克白夫人的台词。她竟然说了这么一
句话……啊，这很有意思……”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH VIII
VIII
Alfred Lee and his wife came into the small study where Poirot, Sugden and the chief constable
were standing waiting. Colonel Johnson came forward.
“How do you do, Mr. Lee? We’ve never actually met, but as you know, I’m chief constable
of the county. Johnson’s my name. I can’t tell you how distressed I am by this.”
Alfred, his brown eyes like those of a suffering dog, said hoarsely:
“Thank you. It’s terrible—quite terrible. I—this is my wife.”
Lydia said in her quiet voice:
“It has been a frightful shock to my husband—to all of us—but particularly to him.”
Her hand was on her husband’s shoulder.
Colonel Johnson said:
“Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Lee? Let me introduce M. Hercule Poirot.”
Hercule Poirot bowed. His eyes went interestedly from husband to wife.
Lydia’s hands pressed gently on Alfred’s shoulder.
“Sit down, Alfred.”
Alfred sat. He murmured:
“Hercule Poirot. Now, who—who—?”
He passed his hand in a dazed fashion over his forehead.
Lydia Lee said:
“Colonel Johnson will want to ask you a lot of questions, Alfred.”
The chief constable looked at her with approval. He was thankful that Mrs. Alfred Lee was
turning out to be such a sensible and competent woman.
Alfred said:
“Of course. Of course . . .”
Johnson said to himself;
“Shock seems to have knocked him out completely. Hope he can pull himself together a bit.”
Aloud he said:
“I’ve got a list here of everybody who was in the house tonight. Perhaps you’ll tell me, Mr.
Lee, if it is correct.”
He made a slight gesture to Sugden and the latter pulled out his note-book and once more
recited the list of names.
The businesslike procedure seemed to restore Alfred Lee to something more like his normal
self. He had regained command of himself, his eyes no longer looked dazed and staring. When
Sugden finished, he nodded in agreement.
“That’s quite right,” he said.
“Do you mind telling me a little more about your guests? Mr. and Mrs. George Lee and Mr.
and Mrs. David Lee are, I gather, relatives?”
“They are my two younger brothers and their wives.”
“They are staying here only?”
“Yes, they came to us for Christmas.”
“Mr. Henry Lee is also a brother?”
“Yes.”
“And your two other guests? Miss Estravados and Mr. Farr?”
“Miss Estravados is my niece. Mr. Farr is the son of my father’s onetime partner in South
Africa.”
“Ah, an old friend.”
Lydia intervened.
“No, actually we have never seen him before.”
“I see. But you invited him to stay with you for Christmas?”
Alfred hesitated, then looked towards his wife. She said clearly:
“Mr. Farr turned up quite unexpectedly yesterday. He happened to be in the neighbourhood
and came to call upon my father-in-law. When my father-in-law found he was the son of his old
friend and partner, he insisted on his remaining with us for Christmas.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“I see. That explains the household. As regards the servants, Mrs. Lee, do you consider them
all trustworthy?”
Lydia considered for a moment before replying. Then she said:
“Yes. I am quite sure they are all thoroughly reliable. They have mostly been with us for
many years. Tressilian, the butler, has been here since my husband was a young child. The only
newcomers are the betweenmaid, Joan, and the nurse-valet who attended on my father-in-law.”
“What about them?”
“Joan is rather a silly little thing. That is the worst that can be said of her. I know very little
about Horbury. He has been here just over a year. He was quite competent at his job and my
father-in-law seemed satisfied with him.”
Poirot said acutely:
“But you, madame, were not so satisfied?”
Lydia shrugged her shoulders slightly.
“It was nothing to do with me.”
“But you are the mistress of the house, madame. The servants are your concern?”
“Oh yes, of course. But Horbury was my father-in-law’s personal attendant. He did not come
under my jurisdiction.”
“I see.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“We come now to the events of tonight. I’m afraid this will be painful for you, Mr. Lee, but I
would like your account of what happened.”
Alfred said in a low voice: “Of course.”
Colonel Johnson said, prompting him:
“When, for instance, did you last see your father?”
A slight spasm of pain crossed Alfred’s face as he replied in a low voice:
“It was after tea. I was with him for a short time. Finally I said good night to him and left him
at—let me see—about a quarter to six.”
Poirot observed: “You said good night to him? You did not then expect to see him again that
evening?”
“No. My father’s supper, a light meal, was always brought to him at seven. After that he
sometimes went to bed early or sometimes sat up in his chair, but he did not expect to see any
members of the family again unless he specially sent for them.”
“Did he often send for them?”
“Sometimes. If he felt like it.”
“But it was not the ordinary procedure?”
“No.”
“Go on, please, Mr. Lee.”
Alfred continued:
“We had our dinner at eight o’clock. Dinner was over and my wife and the other ladies had
gone into the drawing room.” His voice faltered. His eyes began to stare again. “We were sitting
there — at the table . . . Suddenly there was the most astounding noise overheard. Chairs
overturning, furniture crashing, breaking glass and china, and then—Oh, God”—he shuddered—“I
can hear it still—my father screamed—a horrible, long-drawn scream—the scream of a man in
mortal agony. . . .”
He raised shaking hands to cover his face. Lydia stretched out her hand and touched his
sleeve. Colonel Johnson said gently: “And then?”
Alfred said in a broken voice:
“I think—just for a moment we were stunned. Then we sprang up and went out of the door
and up the stairs to my father’s room. The door was locked. We couldn’t get in. It had to be
broken open. Then, when we did get in, we saw—”
His voice died away.
Johnson said quickly:
“There’s no need to go into that part of it, Mr. Lee. To go back a little, to the time you were
in the dining room. Who was there with you when you heard the cry?”
“Who was there? Why, we were all—No, let me see. My brother was there—my brother
Harry.”
“Nobody else?”
“No one else.”
“Where were the other gentlemen?”
Alfred sighed and frowned in an effort of remembrance.
“Let me see—it seems so long ago—yes, like years—what did happen? Oh, of course,
George had gone to telephone. Then we began to talk of family matters, and Stephen Farr said
something about seeing we wanted to discuss things, and he took himself off. He did it very nicely
and tactfully.”
“And your brother David?”
Alfred frowned.
“David? Wasn’t he there? No, of course, he wasn’t. I don’t quite know when he slipped
away.”
Poirot said gently:
“So you had the family matters to discuss?”
“Er—yes.”
“That is to say, you had matters to discuss with one member of your family?”
Lydia said:
“What do you mean, M. Poirot?”
He turned quickly to her.
“Madame, your husband says that Mr. Farr left them because he saw they had affairs of the
family to discuss. But it was not a conseil de famille, since M. David was not there and M. George
was not there. It was, then, a discussion between two members of the family only.”
Lydia said:
“My brother-in-law, Harry, had been abroad for a great number of years. It was natural that
he and my husband should have things to talk over.”
“Ah! I see. It was like that.”
She shot him a quick glance, then turned her eyes away.
Johnson said:
“Well, that seems clear enough. Did you notice anyone else as you ran upstairs to your
father’s room?”
“I—really I don’t know. I think so. We all came from different directions. But I’m afraid I
didn’t notice—I was so alarmed. That terrible cry . . .”
Colonel Johnson passed quickly to another subject.
“Thank you, Mr. Lee. Now, there is another point. I understand that your father had some
valuable diamonds in his possession.”
Alfred looked rather surprised.
“Yes,” he said. “That is so.”
“Where did he keep them?”
“In the safe in his room.”
“Can you describe them at all?”
“They were rough diamonds—that is, uncut stones.”
“Why did your father have them there?”
“It was a whim of his. They were stones he had brought with him from South Africa. He
never had them cut. He just liked keeping them in his possession. As I say, it was a whim of his.”
“I see,” said the chief constable.
From his tone it was plain that he did not see. He went on: “Were they of much value?”
“My father estimated their value at about ten thousand pounds.”
“In fact, they were very valuable stones?”
“Yes.”
“It seems a curious idea to keep such stones in a bedroom safe.”
Lydia interposed.
“My father-in-law, Colonel Johnson, was a somewhat curious man. His ideas were not the
conventional ones. It definitely gave him pleasure to handle those stones.”
“They recalled, perhaps, the past to him,” said Poirot.
She gave him a quick appreciative look.
“Yes,” she said. “I think they did.”
“Were they insured?” asked the chief constable.
“I think not.”
Johnson leaned forward. He asked quietly:
“Did you know, Mr. Lee, that those stones had been stolen?”
“What?” Alfred Lee stared at him.
“Your father said nothing to you of their disappearance?”
“Not a word.”
“You did not know that he had sent for Superintendent Sugden here and had reported the loss
to him?”
“I hadn’t the faintest idea of such a thing!”
The chief constable transferred his gaze.
“What about you, Mrs. Lee?”
Lydia shook her head.
“I heard nothing about it.”
“As far as you knew, the stones were still in the safe?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated and then asked:
“Is that why he was killed? For the sake of those stones?”
Colonel Johnson said:
“That is what we are going to find out!”
He went on:
“Have you any idea, Mrs. Lee, who could have engineered such a theft?”
She shook her head.
“No, indeed. I am sure the servants are all honest. In any case, it would be very difficult for
them to get at the safe. My father-in-law was always in his room. He never came downstairs.”
“Who attended to the room?”
“Horbury. He made the bed and dusted. The second housemaid went in to do the grate and
lay the fire every morning, otherwise Horbury did everything.”
Poirot said:
“So Horbury would be the person with the best opportunity?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think that it was he who stole the diamonds, then?”
“It is possible. I suppose . . . He had the best opportunity. Oh! I don’t know what to think.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“Your husband has given us his account of the evening. Will you do the same, Mrs. Lee?
When did you last see your father-in-law?”
“We were all up in his room this afternoon—before tea. That was the last time I saw him.”
“You did not see him later to bid him good night?”
“No.”
Poirot said:
“Do you usually go and say good night to him?”
Lydia said sharply:
“No.”
The chief constable went on:
“Where were you when the crime took place?”
“In the drawing room.”
“You heard the noise of the struggle?”
“I think I heard something heavy fall. Of course my father-in-law’s room is over the dining
room, not the drawing room, so I shouldn’t hear so much.”
“But you heard the cry?”
Lydia shuddered.
“Yes, I heard that . . . It was horrible—like—like a soul in hell. I knew at once something
dreadful had happened. I hurried out and followed my husband and Harry up the stairs.”
“Who else was in the drawing room at the time?”
Lydia frowned.
“Really—I can’t remember. David was next door in the music-room, playing Mendelssohn. I
think Hilda had gone to join him.”
“And the other two ladies?”
Lydia said slowly:
“Magdalene went to telephone. I can’t remember whether she had come back or not. I don’t
know where Pilar was.”
Poirot said gently:
“In fact, you may have been quite alone in the drawing room?”
“Yes—yes—as a matter of fact, I believe I was.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“About these diamonds. We ought, I think, to make quite sure about them. Do you know the
combination of your father’s safe, Mr. Lee? I see it is of a somewhat old-fashioned pattern.”
“You will find it written down in a small notebook he carried in the pocket of his dressing
gown.”
“Good. We will go and look presently. It will be better, perhaps, if we interview the other
members of the house party first. The ladies may want to get to bed.”
Lydia stood up.
“Come, Alfred.” She turned to them. “Shall I send them in to you?”
“One by one, if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Lee.”
“Certainly.”
She moved towards the door. Alfred followed her.
Suddenly, at the last moment, he swung round.
“Of course,” he said. He came quickly back to Poirot. “You are Hercule Poirot! I don’t know
where my wits have been. I should have realized at once.”
He spoke quickly, in a low, excited voice.
“It’s an absolute godsend your being here! You must find out the truth, M. Poirot. Spare no
expense! I will be responsible for any expense. But find out . . . My poor father — killed by
someone—killed with the utmost brutality! You must find out, M. Poirot. My father has got to be
avenged.”
Poirot answered quietly:
“I can assure you, M. Lee, that I am prepared to do my utmost to assist Colonel Johnson and
Superintendent Sugden.”
Alfred Lee said:
“I want you to work for me. My father has got to be avenged.”
He began to tremble violently. Lydia had come back. She went up to him and drew his arm
through hers.
“Come, Alfred,” she said. “We must get the others.”
Her eyes met Poirot’s. They were eyes that kept their own secrets. They did not waver.
Poirot said softly:
“Who would have thought the old man—”
She interrupted him:
“Stop! Don’t say that!”
Poirot murmured:
“You said it, madame.”
She breathed softly:
“I know . . . I remember . . . It was—so horrible.”
Then she went abruptly out of the room, her husband beside her.
第三部分 十二月二十四日 8
8
阿尔弗雷德•李夫妇走进了小书房，波洛、萨格登和上校都在这儿等着他们。约翰逊上
校先走上前。
“你好，李先生。我们没见过面，但如你所知，我是这个郡的警察局局长，我叫约翰
逊。发生这样的事我真是无比悲痛。”
阿尔弗雷德的棕色眼睛流露出深深的痛苦，像只可怜的小狗。他声音嘶哑地说：“谢谢
你，恐怖，这实在太恐怖了。我……这是我的妻子。”
莉迪亚平静地说：“对我丈夫来说，这是个可怕的打击，对我们所有人都是，但对他尤
其严重。”
她将手搭在丈夫的肩上。
约翰逊上校说：“坐下好吗，李夫人？让我给你们介绍一下，这位是赫尔克里•波洛先
生。”
赫尔克里•波洛颔首致意，颇感兴趣地看看丈夫，又看看妻子。
莉迪亚搭在阿尔弗雷德肩膀上的手稍稍用了些力。
“坐下，阿尔弗雷德。”
阿尔弗雷德坐下了，嘴上喃喃道：“赫尔克里•波洛。那么，谁——是谁呢？”
他一脸恍惚地用手摸着额头。
莉迪亚•李说：“约翰逊上校想问你一些问题，阿尔弗雷德。”
上校赞许地看着她，很庆幸阿尔弗雷德•李夫人是这么一个理智而能干的女人。
阿尔弗雷德说：“当然，当然……”
约翰逊在心里对自己说：这个打击好像把他完全搞垮了，希望他能多少控制一下自己
的情绪。
上校大声说道：“我有一份名单，上面列着今晚在这幢房子里的所有人的名字。我希望
你能告诉我，李先生，这份名单是否准确无误。”
说完他稍微示意萨格登，后者拿出他的笔记本，又把那些名字念了一遍。
谈生意一般的程序好像把阿尔弗雷德•李稍微拉回到了正常状态，他重新控制住自己，
不再眼神发直、神情恍惚了。萨格登念完后，他点头表示认同。
“非常正确。”他说。
“可以稍微给我们介绍一下你的客人们吗？我猜，乔治夫妇以及戴维夫妇是你的亲戚
吧？”
“他们是我的弟弟和弟媳。”
“他们只是在这儿逗留一阵子？”
“是的，他们是来过圣诞节的。”
“哈里•李先生也是你弟弟？”
“对。”
“另外两位客人呢，埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐和法尔先生？”
“埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐是我的外甥女。法尔先生是我父亲以前在南非的合伙人的儿
子。”
“啊，一个老朋友。”
莉迪亚插了句嘴。
“不，事实上我们在此之前从未见过他。”
“明白了，可你们邀请他留下和你们一起过圣诞节？”
阿尔弗雷德犹豫了一下，看着他的妻子。她清楚地答道：“法尔先生昨天毫无预兆地突
然出现在这里。他碰巧到附近来，于是顺道来拜访我的公公。当我公公得知他是自己老朋
友兼合伙人的儿子，便坚持要留他在这儿和我们一起过圣诞节。”
约翰逊上校说：“我明白了，这下家里人都清楚了。再来说用人们，李夫人，你认为他
们都可信吗？”
莉迪亚在回答之前先思考了一会儿，然后说：“是的，我很肯定他们全都非常可靠。他
们大都和我们在一起很多年了。特雷西利安，那位管家，我丈夫还是个孩子的时候他就在
这儿了。新人也就只有打杂女仆琼和侍候我公公的贴身男看护。”
“这两个人怎么样？”
“琼就是一个小傻瓜。这是对她最坏的评价了。我还不太了解霍伯里，他刚来这儿一年
多。工作方面他很能干，而且我公公看起来对他很满意。”
波洛尖锐地问：“但你呢，夫人，你不是很满意？”
莉迪亚微微耸了耸肩。
“这跟我没关系。”
“可你是这个家的女主人啊。夫人，用人的事不归你管吗？”
“噢，是我管，当然。但霍伯里是我公公的私人贴身男仆，他不在我的管理权限之
内。”
“我明白了。”
约翰逊上校说：“现在我们来谈谈今晚发生的事。恐怕会让你觉得很痛苦，李先生，但
我想听你说说今晚都发生了些什么。”
阿尔弗雷德低声道：“好的。”
约翰逊上校启发性地问道：“比如，你最后一次见到你的父亲是什么时候？”
阿尔弗雷德的脸轻微地抽搐了一下，低声答道：“是在下午茶之后，我和他待了一小会
儿。最后我对他道了声晚安就离开了，那时是——让我想想——大约差一刻六点。”
波洛指出：“你对他道了晚安？那时你已经料到当天晚上不会再见到他了？”
“是的。我父亲晚饭吃得很少，一般会在七点钟送到他的房间。吃过晚饭他有时很早就
上床了，有时坐在他的椅子上。除非他特地派人叫，否则他不会想见我们中的任何一个。”
“他经常叫人去吗？”
“有时候吧，他想这么做的时候。”
“这并不是日常惯例？”
“不是。”
“请继续说下去，李先生。”
阿尔弗雷德接着说道：“我们八点钟开始吃晚饭。晚饭后，我妻子和其他女士都去客厅
了。”他的声音发颤，眼神又开始发直，“我们都坐在那儿——坐在桌子旁……突然，头顶
上响起了令人震惊的噪声。椅子倒了，家具翻了，玻璃和瓷器破碎的声音，而就在这时
——噢，天哪，”他惊呼一声，“我现在还能听见那个声音。我父亲尖叫起来，一声可怕
的、拖得长长的尖叫。那是一个人遭受致命痛苦时的尖叫声……”
他用颤抖的双手捂住自己的脸。莉迪亚伸出手去碰了碰他的袖子。
约翰逊上校温和地追问：“后来呢？”
阿尔弗雷德岔了声。
“我想，有那么一瞬间，大家都愣住了。接着我们跳了起来，冲出门去，跑上楼梯，朝
我父亲的房间奔去。门锁着，我们进不去，只得把门砸开。后来，我们进去了，看见……”
他的声音消失了。
约翰逊赶忙说：“这一部分就不用讲了，李先生。把时间往回推一点儿，你还在餐厅的
时候，你听到那声尖叫时，谁和你在一起？”
“谁还在那儿？怎么了，我们都在——不，让我想想，我弟弟在那儿——我弟弟哈
里。”
“没有别人了吗？”
“一个都没有了。”
“其他几位先生去哪儿了？”
阿尔弗雷德叹了口气，皱起眉头努力回忆着。
“让我想想，感觉像好久以前发生的事了。嗯，像有好几年了似的，发生了什么来着？
噢，没错，乔治去打电话了。然后我们开始聊家务事，斯蒂芬•法尔说或许我们想一家人讨
论些事情，就主动离开了。他很聪明，做得很得体。”
“你弟弟戴维呢？”
阿尔弗雷德皱起眉头。
“戴维？他不在那儿吗？对，他确实不在那儿。我不太清楚他是什么时候溜出去的。”
波洛温和地说：“那么你们确实有家务事要讨论？”
“呃……对。”
“换句话说，你要跟家里的某一个人讨论些事情？”
莉迪亚说：“你这话什么意思，波洛先生？”
他飞快地转向她。
“夫人，你丈夫说法尔先生主动离开，是因为他看出他们有些家务事要商量。但戴维先
生和乔治先生都不在那儿，这就不是一次家庭会议，而是一场，仅限于两位家庭成员之间
的讨论。”
莉迪亚说：“我的小叔子哈里在国外待了很多年。他和我丈夫有事情要谈是很自然
的。”
“啊！我明白了。确实是这样的。”
她飞快地扫了他一眼，然后移开了视线。
约翰逊说：“那么，现在情况很清楚了。当你往楼上你父亲的房间跑去时，其他人也一
起吗？”
“我——我真的不知道，我想是这样的。我们从不同的地方跑出来，我恐怕没注意那么
多——我当时太惊慌了，那么可怕的叫声……”
约翰逊上校马上换了一个话题。
“谢谢你，李先生。接下来，还有一个问题，我了解到你父亲拥有一些很值钱的钻
石。”
阿尔弗雷德看起来相当惊讶。
“是的，”他说，“是这样的。”
“他把它们保管在哪儿？”
“放在他房间的保险箱里。”
“你能形容一下它们是什么样的吗？”
“它们是原钻——也就是，未经切割打磨的钻石。”
“你父亲为什么要保存着这些钻石呢？”
“那是他的一个怪癖。那些石头是他从南非带回来的，他一直没把它们拿去加工，只是
把它们作为财产保管着，他就喜欢这样。就像我说的，这是他的一个怪癖。”
“我明白了。”上校说。但听他的语气，他可一点也不明白。
上校接着问：“它们很值钱吗？”
“我父亲估计它们能值一万英镑。”
“也就是说那些钻石很值钱？”
“是的。”
“把这么值钱的钻石放在卧室的保险箱里，听起来是个奇怪的主意。”
莉迪亚插进来。
“约翰逊上校，我公公本来就是个有些古怪的人。他的想法总是很不寻常，把玩那些钻
石无疑给了他很大的乐趣。”
“也许，它们能唤起他对往昔岁月的回忆。”波洛说。
她向他投以感激的一瞥。
“对，”她说，“我想是的。”
“它们上保险了吗？”上校问。
“我想没有。”
约翰逊探出身子，平静地说：“你知道吗，李先生，那些钻石被偷了？”
“什么？”阿尔弗雷德•李瞪着他。
“你父亲一点儿也没对你提起钻石不见了的事吗？”
“只字未提。”
“你也不知道他曾叫来萨格登警司，向他报告钻石失窃的事吗？”
“我一点儿也不知道还有这种事！”
上校转而注视着莉迪亚。
“你呢，李夫人？”
莉迪亚摇摇头。
“我也从没听说过。”
“你以为钻石还在保险箱里？”
“是的。”
她迟疑了一下，然后问道：“他就是因为这个被杀的吗？就因为那些钻石？”
约翰逊上校说：“这正是我们要查清楚的！”
他接着说：“你有什么想法吗，李夫人？谁有可能精心策划这么一起盗窃案呢？”
她摇摇头。
“不，我不知道。我非常肯定用人们都是诚实可信的。而且无论如何，他们都很难靠近
那个保险箱。我公公总是待在自己的房间里，他从不到楼下来。”
“谁负责料理那个房间呢？”
“霍伯里。他负责整理床铺和打扫卫生。二等女仆每天早上进去清理壁炉并把火生起
来，其他的事都是霍伯里做。”
波洛说：“所以说霍伯里是最有机会的？”
“对。”
“那么，你认为是他偷了那些钻石吗？”
“有这个可能。我想……他是最有机会的。哦！我不知道该怎么说。”
约翰逊上校说：“你丈夫给我们讲了他今晚的行动，请你也讲讲好吗，李夫人？你最后
一次见到你公公是在什么时候？”
“今天下午，我们都去了他的房间——在下午茶之前。那是我最后一次见到他。”
“之后你再没见过他，向他道晚安了？”
“没再见过。”
波洛说：“你通常会去向他道晚安吗？”
莉迪亚马上回答：“不。”
上校接着说：“案发时你在哪儿？”
“在客厅里。”
“你听见打斗声了吗？”
“我想我听见有很重的东西倒了下来。我公公的房间在餐厅的正上面，而不是客厅，所
以我听得不太清楚。”
“但你听见叫声了？”
莉迪亚颤抖了一下。
“是的，我听见了……那太恐怖了，就像……就像地狱里的游魂发出来的。我立刻就知
道有可怕的事情发生了，我匆忙跑出来，跟在我丈夫和哈里后面上了楼。”
“那时客厅里还有谁？”
莉迪亚皱起眉。
“说真的，我记不起来了。戴维在隔壁的音乐室，弹着门德尔松的曲子。我想希尔达可
能过去找他了。”
“另两位女士呢？”
莉迪亚慢悠悠地说：“玛格达莱尼去打电话了，我不记得她有没有回来了。我不知道那
时皮拉尔在哪儿。”
波洛温和地说：“事实上，可以说当时你独自一人待在客厅里？”
“对，是的，事实上，我相信当时只有我一个人。”
约翰逊上校说：“关于那些钻石，我想，我们应该去确认一下。你知道你父亲保险箱的
密码吗，李先生？它看起来颇为老式。”
“他睡袍的兜里有个小笔记本，密码就写在上面。”
“好的，我们一会儿去看看。但我们最好先和其他家庭成员聊一聊，女士们可能想上床
休息了。”
莉迪亚站了起来。
“走吧，阿尔弗雷德。”她转向他们问，“要我叫他们过来吗？”
“如果你没什么意见的话，一个一个来，李夫人。”
“没问题。”
她向门口走去，阿尔弗雷德跟着她。
突然，就在出门前的最后一刻，他突然转过身来。
“没错，”他说着，迅速回到波洛身边，“你是赫尔克里•波洛！我怎么这么傻，我应该马
上就认出来的。”
他语速很快，声音低沉而兴奋。
“你在这儿绝对是天意啊！请你一定要查出真相，波洛先生，不惜一切代价！多少钱我
都愿意付，只要你能查出来……我可怜的父亲，被人谋杀了，手段那么残忍！你一定要查
出来，波洛先生。我父亲的仇一定要报。”
波洛平静地应道：“我向你保证，李先生，我会尽我最大的努力来协助约翰逊上校和萨
格登警司。”
阿尔弗雷德•李说：“我要你为我工作，我父亲的仇一定要报。”
他开始剧烈地颤抖，莉迪亚也回到屋里。她走到他身边，挽起他的手臂。
“走了，阿尔弗雷德，”她说，“我们得去叫别的人了。”
她的目光与波洛相遇，那双眼睛里藏着她的秘密。眼神没有一丝动摇。
波洛轻声说：“谁想得到那老头——”
她打断了他：“停！不要说了！”
波洛喃喃地说道：“这是你说的，夫人。”
她轻轻地吸了一口气。
“我知道……我记得……但这——太恐怖了。”
然后她拉着丈夫急忙冲出了房间。
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH IX
IX
George Lee was solemn and correct.
“A terrible business,” he said, shaking his head. “A terrible, terrible business. I can only
believe that it must—er—have been the work of a lunatic!”
Colonel Johnson said politely:
“That is your theory?”
“Yes. Yes, indeed. A homicidal maniac. Escaped, perhaps, from some mental home in the
vicinity.”
Superintendent Sugden put in:
“And how do you suggest this—er—lunatic gained admittance to the house, Mr. Lee? And
how did he leave it?”
George shook his head.
“That,” he said firmly, “is for the police to discover.”
Sugden said:
“We made the round of the house at once. All windows were closed and barred. The side
door was locked, so was the front door. Nobody could have left by the kitchen premises without
being seen by the kitchen staff.”
George Lee cried:
“But that’s absurd! You’ll be saying next that my father was never murdered at all!”
“He was murdered all right,” said Superintendent Sugden. “There’s no doubt about that.”
The chief constable cleared his throat and took up the questioning.
“Just where were you, Mr. Lee, at the time of the crime?”
“I was in the dining room. It was just after dinner. No, I was, I think, in this room. I had just
finished telephoning.”
“You had been telephoning?”
“Yes. I had put a call through to the Conservative agent in Westeringham—my constituency.
Some urgent matters.”
“And it was after that that you heard the scream?”
George Lee gave a slight shiver.
“Yes, very unpleasant. It—er—froze my marrow. It died away in a kind of choke or gurgle.”
He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead where the perspiration had broken out.
“Terrible business,” he muttered.
“And then you hurried upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see your brothers, Mr. Alfred and Mr. Harry Lee?”
“No, they must have gone up just ahead of me, I think.”
“When did you last see your father, Mr. Lee?”
“This afternoon. We were all up there.”
“You did not see him after that?”
“No.”
The chief constable paused, then he said:
“Were you aware that your father kept a quantity of valuable uncut diamonds in the safe in
his bedroom?”
George Lee nodded.
“A most unwise procedure,” he said pompously. “I often told him so. He might have been
murdered for them—I mean—that is to say—”
Colonel Johnson cut in: “Are you aware that these stones have disappeared?”
George’s jaw dropped. His protuberant eyes stared.
“Then he was murdered for them?”
The chief constable said slowly:
“He was aware of their loss and reported it to the police some hours before his death.”
George said:
“But, then—I don’t understand—I— . . .”
Hercule Poirot said gently:
“We, too, do not understand. . . .”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 9
9
乔治•李神情肃穆，举止得体。
“这件事太可怕了，”他边说边摇头，“非常、非常可怕。我只能认为，这一定是……
呃……一个疯子干的！”
约翰逊上校礼貌地问：“这是你的看法？”
“是的，没错，就是这样。一个杀人狂。也许，是从附近的某个疯人院里逃出来的。”
萨格登警司加入讨论。
“那么你认为这个……嗯……杀人狂，是怎么进来的呢，李先生？而他又是怎么离开的
呢？”
乔治摇摇头。
“这个，”他坚定地说，“是警方该去调查的问题。”
萨格登说：“我们立即检查了房子周围，所有的窗户都关着而且是闩着的。侧门锁着，
前门也是。没人能从厨房离开而不被厨房里的仆人看见。”
乔治•李叫道：“但这太荒谬了！感觉你接下来就要说我的父亲根本就没被谋杀了！”
“他是被谋杀的，”萨格登警司说，“这一点毫无疑问。”
上校清了清嗓子，把提问的主导权接了过来。
“事情发生的时候，李先生，你在哪儿？”
“我在餐厅里，刚刚吃完饭。不，我想，我就在这个房间里，刚刚打完电话。”
“你那时在打电话？”
“是的，我在和韦斯特林厄姆的保守党代理人——我的支持者——通电话，有一些紧急
事务。”
“而你是在那之后听到尖叫声的？”
乔治•李轻轻地哆嗦了一下。
“是的，让人非常不舒服。它……呃……把我的骨髓都冻住了。最后听起来像是被噎住
了或者在咯咯地笑。”
他掏出一块手绢，擦着已冒出汗珠的额头。
“可怕！”他咕哝着。
“然后你就匆忙上楼了？”
“是的。”
“你看见你的兄弟们了吗？阿尔弗雷德先生和哈里先生？”
“没有，我想他们在我之前就上去了。”
“你最后一次见到你父亲是在什么时候，李先生？”
“今天下午，我们都在他的房间里。”
“后来就没再见过他？”
“没有。”
上校停顿了一会儿，接着说道：“你知道你父亲有一些很值钱的原钻，放在他卧室的保
险箱里吗？”
乔治•李点点头。
“最不明智的做法，”他傲慢地说，“我经常这么跟他说，他会因为这些石头被杀的，我
的意思是，这就像——”
约翰逊上校插嘴问：“那你知道这些钻石不见了吗？”
乔治大张着嘴，外凸的眼睛瞪着局长。
“那么他确实是因为它们而被杀的？”
上校慢慢地说：“就在他死前的几个小时，他发现钻石不见了，并报告给了警方。”
乔治说：“可是，这……我不明白，我……”
赫尔克里•波洛温和地说：“我们，也不明白……”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH X
X
Harry Lee came into the room with a swagger. For a moment Poirot stared at him, frowning. He
had a feeling that somewhere he had seen this man before. He noted the features: the high-bridged
nose, the arrogant poise of the head, the line of the jaw; and he realized that though Harry was a
big man and his father had been a man of merely middle height, yet there had been a good deal of
resemblance between them.
He noted something else, too. For all his swagger, Harry Lee was nervous. He was carrying it
off with a swing, but the anxiety underneath was real enough.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said. “What can I tell you?”
Colonel Johnson said:
“We shall be glad of any light you can throw on the events of this evening.”
Harry Lee shook his head.
“I don’t know anything at all. It’s all pretty horrible and utterly unexpected.”
Poirot said:
“You have recently returned from abroad, I think, Mr. Lee?”
Harry turned to him quickly.
“Yes. Landed in England a week ago.”
Poirot said:
“You had been away a long time?”
Harry Lee lifted up his chin and laughed.
“You might as well hear straight away—someone will soon tell you! I’m the prodigal son,
gentlemen! It’s nearly twenty years since I last set foot in this house.”
“But you returned—now. Will you tell us why?” asked Poirot.
With the same appearance of frankness Harry answered readily enough.
“It’s the good old parable still. I got tired of the husks that the swine do eat—or don’t eat, I
forget which. I thought to myself that the fatted calf would be a welcome exchange. I had a letter
from my father suggesting that I come home. I obeyed the summons and came. That’s all.”
Poirot said:
“You came for a short visit—or a long one?”
Harry said: “I came home—for good!”
“Your father was willing?”
“The old man was delighted.” He laughed again. The corners of his eyes crinkled engagingly.
“Pretty boring for the old man living here with Alfred! Alfred’s a dull stick—very worthy and all
that, but poor company. My father had been a bit of a rip in his time. He was looking forward to
my company.”
“And your brother and his wife, were they pleased that you were to live here?”
Poirot asked the question with a slight lifting of his eyebrows.
“Alfred? Alfred was livid with rage. Don’t know about Lydia. She was probably annoyed on
Alfred’s behalf. But I’ve no doubt she’d be quite pleased in the end. I like Lydia. She’s a
delightful woman. I should have got on with Lydia. But Alfred was quite another pair of shoes.”
He laughed again. “Alfred’s always been as jealous as hell of me. He’s always been the good
dutiful stay-at-home stick-in-the-mud son. And what was he going to get for it in the end?—what
the good boy of the family always gets—a kick in the pants. Take it from me, gentlemen, virtue
doesn’t pay.” He looked from one face to another.
“Hope you’re not shocked by my frankness. But after all, it’s the truth you’re after. You’ll
drag out all the family dirty linen into the light of day in the end. I might as well display mine
straight away. I’m not particularly brokenhearted by my father’s death—after all, I hadn’t seen the
old devil since I was a boy—but nevertheless he was my father and he was murdered. I’m all out
for revenge on the murderer.” He stroked his jawbone, watching them. “We’re rather hot on
revenge in our family. None of the Lees forget easily. I mean to make sure that my father’s
murderer is caught and hanged.”
“I think you can trust us to do our best in that line, Mr. Lee,” said Sugden.
“If you don’t I shall take the law into my own hands,” said Harry Lee.
The chief constable said sharply:
“Have you any ideas on the subject of the murderer’s identity, then, Mr. Lee?”
Harry shook his head.
“No,” he said slowly. “No—I haven’t. You know it’s rather a jolt. Because I’ve been thinking
about it—and I don’t see that it can have been an outside job. . . .”
“Ah,” said Sugden, nodding his head.
“And if so,” said Harry Lee, “then someone here in the house killed him . . . But who the
devil could have done it? Can’t suspect the servants. Tressilian has been here since the year one.
The half-witted footman? Not on your life. Horbury, now, he’s a cool customer, but Tressilian
tells me he was out at the pictures. So what do you come to? Passing over Stephen Farr (and why
the devil should Stephen Farr come all the way from South Africa and murder a total stranger?)
there’s only the family. And for the life of me I can’t see one of us doing it. Alfred? He adored
Father. George? He hasn’t got the guts. David? David’s always been a moon dreamer. He’d faint
if he saw his own finger bleed. The wives? Women don’t go and slit a man’s throat in cold blood.
So who did? Blessed if I know. But it’s damned disturbing.”
Colonel Johnson cleared his throat—an official habit of his—and said:
“When did you last see your father this evening?”
“After tea. He’d just had a row with Alfred—about your humble servant. The old man was no
end bucked with himself. He always liked stirring up trouble. In my opinion, that’s why he kept
my arrival dark from the others. Wanted to see the fur fly when I blew in unexpectedly! That’s
why he talked about altering his will, too.”
Poirot stirred softly. He murmured:
“So your father mentioned his will?”
“Yes—in front of the whole lot of us, watching us like a cat to see how we reacted. Just told
the lawyer chap to come over and see him about it after Christmas.”
Poirot asked:
“What changes did he contemplate making?”
Harry Lee grinned:
“He didn’t tell us that! Trust the old fox! I imagine—or shall we say I hoped—that the
change was to the advantage of your humble servant! I should imagine I’d been cut out of any
former wills. Now, I rather fancy, I was to go back. Nasty blow for the others. Pilar, too—he’d
taken a fancy to her. She was in for something good, I should imagine. You haven’t seen her yet?
My Spanish niece. She’s a beautiful creature, Pilar—with the lovely warmth of the South—and its
cruelty. Wish I wasn’t a mere uncle!”
“You say your father took to her?”
Harry nodded.
“She knew how to get round the old man. Sat up there with him a good deal. I bet she knew
just what she was after! Well, he’s dead now. No wills can be altered in Pilar’s favour—nor mine
either, worse luck.”
He frowned, paused a minute, and then went on with a change of tone.
“But I’m wandering from the point. You wanted to know what was the last time I saw my
father? As I’ve told you, it was after tea—might have been a little past six. The old man was in
good spirits then—a bit tired, perhaps. I went away and left him with Horbury. I never saw him
again.”
“Where were you at the time of his death?”
“In the dining room with brother Alfred. Not a very harmonious after-dinner session. We
were in the middle of a pretty sharp argument when we heard the noise overhead. Sounded as
though ten men were wrestling up there. And then poor old Father screamed. It was like killing a
pig. The sound of it paralysed Alfred. He just sat there with his jaw dropping. I fairly shook him
back to life, and we started off upstairs. The door was locked. Had to break it open. Took some
doing, too. How the devil that door came to be locked, I can’t imagine! There was no one in the
room but Father, and I’m damned if anyone could have got away through the windows.”
Superintendent Sugden said:
“The door was locked from the outside.”
“What?” Harry stared. “But I’ll swear the key was on the inside.”
Poirot murmured:
“So you noticed that?”
Harry Lee said sharply:
“I do notice things. It’s a habit of mine.”
He looked sharply from one face to the other.
“Is there anything more you want to know, gentlemen?”
Johnson shook his head.
“Thank you, Mr. Lee, not for the moment. Perhaps you will ask the next member of the
family to come along?”
“Certainly I will.”
He walked to the door and went out without looking back.
The three men looked at each other.
Colonel Johnson said:
“What about it, Sugden?”
The superintendent shook his head doubtfully. He said:
“He’s afraid of something. I wonder why?. . . .”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 10
10
哈里•李大摇大摆地走进房间。波洛盯着他看了一会儿，皱起眉头。他有一种感觉，觉
得以前在什么地方见过这个人。他注意着哈里的相貌：高高的鼻子，傲慢高昂的头，下巴
的线条；而且他还意识到，哈里是个大块头，他的父亲往高里说也只能算中等身材，即便
如此，他们俩还是有很多相似之处。
波洛还注意到一些别的东西。在那大摇大摆的表面伪装之下，哈里•李其实很紧张。他
试图用轻快的动作掩饰，但内心的焦虑还是显而易见的。
“那么，先生们。”他说，“希望我告诉你们些什么呢？”
约翰逊上校说：“关于今晚的事，你所提供的任何线索都将使我们非常高兴。”
“我真的什么都不知道。整件事太可怕了，而且太突然了。”
波洛说：“你刚从国外回来，李先生？”
哈里马上转向他。
“是的，一周前刚踏上英国的土地。”
波洛说：“你离开了很长时间？”
哈里•李仰起下巴，笑了。“反正你迟早都会听说的，很快就会有人告诉你！先生们，
我是一个浪子！我已经有快二十年没踏进过这个家门了。”
“可你现在回来了，可以告诉我们为什么吗？”波洛问。
哈里一脸坦诚，明显早有准备。
“只是应了那句老话。我厌倦了猪吃的豆荚——还是猪都不吃的来着？我记不清了。我
想换换口味了，肥牛犊应该会很不错。我收到一封父亲的信，建议我回来，我便遵从了他
的召唤，回来了。就是这么回事。”
波洛说：“你回来短期拜访，还是长期居住？”
哈里说：“我回家了，永远的！”
“你父亲愿意吗？”
“老头儿非常高兴。”他又笑了，眼角堆起迷人的皱纹，“一直和阿尔弗雷德住在这儿，
老头儿觉得无聊透顶！阿尔弗雷德就是根蠢木头——令人尊敬，但也就这一个优点，一个
糟透了的伴儿。我父亲年轻时候也有点野，因此他希望我能回来跟他做伴儿。”
“那你哥哥和嫂子呢，他们高兴你住在这儿吗？”
波洛提问的时候，眉毛微微扬起。
“阿尔弗雷德吗？阿尔弗雷德简直暴跳如雷。我不知道莉迪亚怎样，因为阿尔弗雷德，
她可能也有些恼火，但最终她肯定会很高兴的，我保证。我喜欢莉迪亚，她是个可爱的女
人，我会和莉迪亚相处得很好的。但阿尔弗雷德完全是另一种人。”他又大笑起来，“阿尔
弗雷德一直嫉妒我嫉妒得要死。他一直是个足不出户、尽职尽责、没什么野心的好儿子，
可最终他得到了什么呢？家里的好孩子一般都会得到什么呢？屁股挨一脚。记住我的一句
话吧，先生们，美德不会有好报。”他看看这个的脸，又看看那个。
“希望你们没被我的坦率吓着，但不管怎么说，这就是你们想要的事实。你们迟早会把
这个家里的丑事都抖出来，暴露于光天化日之下。因此，我最好把关于我的事都坦白地说
出来！我并不特别为父亲的死而伤心。毕竟，我还是个孩子的时候就离开这个老恶魔了。
但他终究是我的父亲，而他被谋杀了。我会尽我所能地为他报仇。”他抚摸着自己的下巴，
看着其他人，“我们家的人都很热衷于复仇，李家的人都不会轻易忘记，我一定要看着谋杀
我父亲的人被抓起来吊死。”
“我想在这件事上，你完全可以相信我们，我们会竭尽所能，李先生。”萨格登说。
“如果你做不到，我就要亲手将他绳之以法。”哈里•李说。
上校严厉地说：“那么，关于这位凶手的身份，你有什么想法吗，李先生？”
哈里摇摇头。
“没有，”他慢吞吞地说，“不，我没什么想法。你也知道这件事令人震惊，而我一直在
想，我认为，不可能是外人干的……”
“啊。”萨格登点点头。
“那么，”哈里•李说，“就是这幢房子里的某个人杀了他……可会是哪个该死的恶棍呢？
很难想象会是用人们。特雷西利安从这幢房子存在起就在这儿了。那个愚蠢至极的男仆？
他这辈子也不会干出这种事的。霍伯里，啊，他确实是个冷血的家伙，但特雷西利安告诉
我，他那时候出去了。你们得出了什么结论？排除掉斯蒂芬•法尔——要是他，他何苦不远
万里从南非跑来，杀一个素未谋面的陌生人？那就只剩下这个家里的人了。然而据我所
知，这里没一个人能干出这种事。阿尔弗雷德？他非常崇拜父亲。乔治？他没这个胆量。
戴维？戴维一直活在梦里，他看见自己的手指头流血都会晕倒的。太太们？女人是不会那
么冷血地割断一个人的喉咙的。那么会是谁干的呢？上帝保佑要是我知道就好了，这件事
真的太烦人了！”
约翰逊上校清了清嗓子——官气十足的习惯——说：“你今晚最后一次见到你父亲是在
什么时候？”
“下午茶之后。他刚和阿尔弗雷德吵了一架，为了鄙人。这老头就没有安宁的时候，总
喜欢挑起事端。在我看来，他就是想闹事，才一直隐瞒我要回来的消息，就等着看我突然
归来，引得家里鸡飞狗跳！出于同样的期待，他才谈起修改遗嘱的事。”
波洛稍微晃了一下，低声说：“你父亲提起了他的遗嘱？”
“是的，在我们所有人面前，然后像一只猫一样观察着我们的反应。他只是告诉那位律
师，圣诞节之后过来一趟，谈谈这件事。”
波洛问道：“他打算做什么修改呢？”
哈里•李咧嘴笑了：“他没告诉我们！那只老狐狸！我猜想，或者说我希望，这项改动
是考虑到鄙人的利益！我可以想象，先前立的遗嘱里肯定都把我去掉了。现在，我万分希
望他又把我补上了。这对其他人来说却是个不快的打击。还有皮拉尔，他非常喜欢她，我
想她肯定也会得到些好处。你们还没见过她吗，我的西班牙外甥女？是个美人儿，皮拉尔
——带着南部的温柔——以及冷酷。真希望我不是她舅舅！”
“你说你父亲喜欢她？”
哈里点点头。
“她很清楚怎么去哄老头。总是在那儿陪他坐着，我敢打赌她知道自己想要什么！啊，
不过他已经死了，遗嘱不会有所改动了，没有皮拉尔，也没我的份了。真倒霉。”
他皱起眉头，停了一会儿，接着换上另一种腔调。
“我想我跑题了。你们想知道我最后一次见到父亲是什么时候？就像我刚才所说的，是
在下午茶之后，可能是六点刚过。老头那会儿精神很好，可能稍微有点累。我离开后，就
剩霍伯里和他在一块儿。之后就再没见过他了。”
“他死的时候你在哪儿？”
“在餐厅里，和我哥哥阿尔弗雷德一起。那不是一次和睦的饭后会议。听到头顶传来的
动静时，我们正在针锋相对地争吵。那动静听起来就像是有十个男人在上面摔跤。紧接
着，我那可怜的老父亲就尖叫起来，活像杀猪一样，那声音把阿尔弗雷德吓傻了。他坐在
那儿，大张着嘴。我猛地摇晃他，等他清醒，我们才往楼上跑去。门锁着，得破门而入，
为此费了些力气。那该死的门怎么会锁上，我真的想象不出！房间里没有别人，只有我父
亲。如果有人能从窗户跑掉，那才真是活见鬼了！”
萨格登警司说：“门是从外面锁上的。”
“什么？”哈里瞪大了眼睛，“但我发誓，钥匙在屋里。”
波洛小声问：“你注意到了？”
哈里•李严肃地说：“我总是处处留心，这是我的习惯。”
他锐利的目光一一扫过面前的三个人。
“还有什么你们想知道的吗，先生们？”
约翰逊摇摇头。
“谢谢你，李先生，目前没有。请你叫下一位家庭成员来这儿，可以吗？”
“当然，乐意效劳。”
他向门口走去，头也不回地离开了。
剩下的三个人面面相觑。
约翰逊上校说：“怎么样，萨格登？”
警司疑惑地摇摇头，说：“他在害怕什么东西，我想知道到底是什么……”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH XI
XI
Magdalene Lee paused effectively in the doorway. One long slender hand touched the burnished
platinum sheen of her hair. The leaf-green velvet frock she wore clung to the delicate lines of her
figure. She looked very young and a little frightened.
The three men were arrested for a moment looking at her. Johnson’s eyes showed a sudden
surprised admiration. Superintendent Sugden’s showed no animation, merely the impatience of a
man anxious to get on with his job. Hercule Poirot’s eyes were deeply appreciative (as she saw)
but the appreciation was not for her beauty, but for the effective use she made of it. She did not
know that he was thinking to himself:
“Jolie mannequin, la petite. Mais elle a les yeux durs.”
Colonel Johnson was thinking:
“Damned good-looking girl. George Lee will have trouble with her if he doesn’t look out.
Got an eye for a man all right.”
Superintendent Sugden was thinking:
“Empty-headed vain piece of goods. Hope we get through with her quickly.”
“Will you sit down, Mrs. Lee? Let me see, you are—?”
“Mrs. George Lee.”
She accepted the chair with a warm smile of thanks. “After all,” the glance seemed to say,
“although you are a man and a policeman, you are not so dreadful after all.”
The tail end of the smile included Poirot. Foreigners were so susceptible where women were
concerned. About Superintendent Sugden she did not bother.
She murmured, twisting her hands together in a pretty distress:
“It’s all so terrible. I feel so frightened.”
“Come, come, Mrs. Lee,” said Colonel Johnson kindly but briskly. “It’s been a shock, I
know, but it’s all over now. We just want an account from you of what happened this evening.”
She cried out:
“But I don’t know anything about it—I don’t indeed.”
For a moment the chief constable’s eyes narrowed. He said gently: “No, of course not.”
“We only arrived here yesterday. George would make me come here for Christmas! I wish
we hadn’t. I’m sure I shall never feel the same again!”
“Very upsetting—yes.”
“I hardly know George’s family, you see. I’ve only seen Mr. Lee once or twice—at our
wedding and once since. Of course I’ve seen Alfred and Lydia more often, but they’re really all
quite strangers to me.”
Again the wide-eyed frightened-child look. Again Hercule Poirot’s eyes were appreciative—
and again he thought to himself:
“Elle joue très bien la comédie, cette petite. . . .”
“Yes, yes,” said Colonel Johnson. “Now just tell me about the last time you saw your father-
in-law—Mr. Lee—alive.”
“Oh, that! That was this afternoon. It was dreadful!”
Johnson said quickly:
“Dreadful? Why?”
“They were so angry!”
“Who was angry?”
“Oh, all of them . . . I don’t mean George. His father didn’t say anything to him. But all the
others.”
“What happened exactly?”
“Well, when we got there—he asked for all of us—he was speaking into the telephone—to
his lawyers about his will. And then he told Alfred he was looking very glum. I think that was
because of Harry coming home to live. Alfred was very upset about that, I believe. You see, Harry
did something quite dreadful. And then he said something about his wife—she’s dead long ago—
but she had the brains of a louse, he said, and David sprang up and looked as though he’d like to
murder him—Oh!” She stopped suddenly, her eyes alarmed. “I didn’t mean that—I didn’t mean it
at all!”
Colonel Johnson said soothingly:
“Quite—quite, figure of speech, that was all.”
“Hilda, that’s David’s wife, quieted him down and—well, I think that’s all. Mr. Lee said he
didn’t want to see anyone again that evening. So we all went away.”
“And that was the last time you saw him?”
“Yes. Until—until—”
She shivered.
Colonel Johnson said:
“Yes, quite so. Now, where were you at the time of the crime?”
“Oh—let me see, I think I was in the drawing room.”
“Aren’t you sure?”
Magdalene’s eyes flickered a little, the lids drooped over them.
She said:
“Of course! How stupid of me . . . I’d gone to telephone. One gets so mixed up.”
“You were telephoning, you say. In this room?”
“Yes, that’s the only telephone except the one upstairs in my father-in-law’s room.”
Superintendent Sugden said:
“Was anybody else in the room with you?”
Her eyes widened.
“Oh, no, I was quite alone.”
“Had you been here long?”
“Well—a little time. It takes some time to put a call through in the evening.”
“It was a trunk call, then?”
“Yes—to Westeringham.”
“I see.”
“And then?”
“And then there was that awful scream—and everybody running—and the door being locked
and having to break it down. Oh! It was like a nightmare! I shall always remember it!”
“No, no,” Colonel Johnson’s tone was mechanically kind. He went on:
“Did you know that your father-in-law kept a quantity of valuable diamonds in his safe?”
“No, did he?” Her tone was quite frankly thrilled. “Real diamonds?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Diamonds worth about ten thousand pounds.”
“Oh!” It was a soft gasping sound—holding in it the essence of feminine cupidity.
“Well,” said Colonel Johnson, “I think that’s all for the present. We needn’t bother you any
further, Mrs. Lee.”
“Oh, thank you.”
She stood up—smiled from Johnson to Poirot—the smile of a grateful little girl, then she
went out walking with her head held high and her palms a little turned outwards.
Colonel Johnson called:
“Will you ask your brother-in-law, Mr. David Lee, to come here?” Closing the door after her,
he came back to the table.
“Well,” he said, “what do you think? We’re getting at some of it now! You notice one thing:
George Lee was telephoning when he heard the scream! His wife was telephoning when she heard
it! That doesn’t fit—it doesn’t fit at all.”
He added:
“What do you think, Sugden?”
The superintendent said slowly:
“I don’t want to speak offensively of the lady, but I should say that though she’s the kind who
would be first class at getting money out a gentleman, I don’t think she’s the kind who’d cut a
gentleman’s throat. That wouldn’t be her line at all.”
“Ah, but one never knows, mon vieux,” murmured Poirot.
The chief constable turned round on him.
“And you, Poirot, what do you think?”
Hercule Poirot leaned forward. He straightened the blotter in front of him and flicked a
minute speck of dust from a candlestick. He answered:
“I would say that the character of the late Mr. Simeon Lee begins to emerge for us. It is there,
I think, that the whole importance of the case lies . . . in the character of the dead man.”
Superintendent Sugden turned a puzzled face to him.
“I don’t quite get you, Mr. Poirot,” he said. “What exactly has the character of the deceased
got to do with his murder?”
Poirot said dreamily:
“The character of the victim has always something to do with his or her murder. The frank
and unsuspicious mind of Desdemona was the direct cause of her death. A more suspicious
woman would have seen Iago’s machinations and circumvented them much earlier. The
uncleanness of Marat directly invited his end in a bath. From the temper of Mercutio’s mind came
his death at the sword’s point.”
Colonel Johnson pulled his moustache.
“What exactly are you getting at, Poirot?”
“I am telling you that because Simeon Lee was a certain kind of man, he set in motion certain
forces, which forces in the end brought about his death.”
“You don’t think the diamonds had anything to do with it, then?”
Poirot smiled at the honest perplexity in Johnson’s face.
“Mon cher,” he said. “It was because of Simeon Lee’s peculiar character that he kept ten
thousand pounds worth of uncut diamonds in his safe! You have not there the action of every
man.”
“That’s very true, Mr. Poirot,” said Superintendent Sugden, nodding his head with the air of a
man who at last sees what a fellow conversationalist is driving at. “He was a queer one, Mr. Lee
was. He kept those stones there so he could take them out and handle them and get the feeling of
the past back. Depend upon it, that’s why he never had them cut.”
Poirot nodded energetically.
“Precisely—precisely. I see you have great acumen, Superintendent.”
The superintendent looked a little doubtful at the compliment, but Colonel Johnson cut in:
“There’s something else, Poirot. I don’t know whether it has struck you—”
“Mais oui,” said Poirot. “I know what you mean. Mrs. George Lee, she let the cat out of the
bag more than she knew! She gave us a pretty impression of that last family meeting. She indicates
—oh! so naïvely—that Alfred was angry with his father—and that David looked as ‘though he
could murder him.’ Both those statements I think were true. But from them we can draw our own
reconstruction. What did Simeon Lee assemble his family for? Why should they have arrived in
time to hear him telephoning to his lawyer? Parbleu, it was no error, that. He wanted them to hear
it! The poor old one, he sits in his chair and he has lost the diversions of his younger days. So he
invents a new diversion for himself. He amuses himself by playing upon the cupidity and the
greed of human nature—yes, and on its emotions and its passions, too! But from that arises one
further deduction. In his game of rousing the greed and emotion of his children, he would not omit
anyone. He must, logically and necessarily, have had his dig at Mr. George Lee as well as at the
others! His wife is carefully silent about that. At her, too, he may have shot a poisoned arrow or
two. We shall find out, I think, from others, what Simeon Lee had to say to George Lee and
George Lee’s wife—”
He broke off. The door opened and David Lee came in.
第三部分 十二月二十四日 11
11
玛格达莱尼•李故意在门外站了一会儿，一只修长的手抚着一头光滑且闪着白金光泽的
秀发。叶绿色的天鹅绒连衣裙完美地勾勒出她那优美的曲线。她看起来非常年轻，有一点
被吓到了。
三个男人看着她，愣了一会儿。约翰逊的目光里流露出一丝惊讶和赞赏。萨格登警司
则无动于衷，有的只是不耐烦的神情，急着想继续进行他的工作。赫尔克里•波洛的眼神透
着深深的欣赏意味，她看得出来，但他并非欣赏她的美，而是欣赏她知道如何利用她的
美。她不知道波洛正在心中暗想：漂亮的模特儿，小东西。但她有一双冷酷的眼睛。
约翰逊上校想的是：这么漂亮的姑娘，乔治•李不小心点儿的话可麻烦了。他最好对别
的男人留点神。
萨格登警司则在想：徒有其表、头脑空空。希望可以快点完事。
“请坐，李夫人。让我看看，你是——”
“乔治•李夫人。”
她坐了下来，脸上带着亲切而感激的笑，眼神像在说：虽然你是个男人，而且是个警
察，但你并不可怕。
这个笑容成功地把波洛也感染了，在与女人有关的问题上外国人总是很容易被影响。
至于萨格登警司，她根本没费心思。
她绞着双手，忧心忡忡的样子依旧美丽。
她小声说道：“这一切太可怕了。把我吓坏了。”
“好了，好了，李夫人，”约翰逊上校的口气很和蔼，但又带着点尖酸，“我知道，这是
个大的打击，但现在一切都结束了。我们只是想请你讲一下今晚发生的事。”
她叫了起来：“可我什么都不知道呀，真的。”
上校的眼睛眯了起来，温和地说：“对，你当然什么都不知道。”
“我们昨天刚到这儿，乔治让我来这儿过圣诞节！我真希望我们没来。我敢说我永远无
法恢复了！”
“这的确让人非常难过——是的。”
“你看，我对乔治的家庭几乎一无所知。我只见过李先生一两次，一次是在我们的婚礼
上，后来还见过一次。当然，见阿尔弗雷德和莉迪亚的次数要多一些，但他们对我来说依
旧相当于陌生人。”
她把眼睛睁得大大的，又摆出一副受到了惊吓的孩子似的表情。赫尔克里•波洛再一次
用眼神表示对她的欣赏，并再次暗想：太会装腔作势了，这个小东西。
“是的，是的。”约翰逊上校说，“现在，你只需告诉我最后一次见到你公公——李先生
活着，是什么时候？”
“噢，这个啊，是今天下午，糟透了！”
约翰逊马上反问：“糟透了？为什么？”
“他们都很生气！”
“谁生气了？”
“噢，他们全部——除了乔治。他父亲对他没说什么，但其他所有人都有份。”
“到底发生了什么事？”
“那个，我们到那儿的时候——他叫我们所有人都过去——他正在打电话，跟他的律师
谈遗嘱的事。然后他说阿尔弗雷德看上去很阴沉，我想那是因为哈里要搬回家住。我相信
这让阿尔弗雷德非常沮丧。你明白的吧，哈里做过一些非常可怕的事。接着他又说了一些
关于他妻子的话，她已经死了很久了，说她的脑子只有虫子那么大，戴维就跳了起来，看
上去就像要杀了他父亲……噢！”她突然闭上嘴，眼神慌乱，“我不是那个意思，我完全没
有那个意思！”
约翰逊上校安慰道：“是的，的确如此，只是一种说法，仅此而已。”
“希尔达，戴维的妻子，让戴维平静了下来，然后……啊，我想就这些了。李先生说他
晚上不想再见到任何人了，我们就都走了。”
“这就是你最后一次见到他？”
“对，直到……直到……”
她发着抖。
约翰逊上校说：“好的，就这样。那案发的时候你在哪儿呢？”
“噢，让我想想，我想我在客厅里。”
“你肯定吗？”
玛格达莱尼的眼神闪了一下，垂下眼帘。
她说：“对啊！我太笨了，我去打电话了，我全弄混了。”
“你说你在打电话，是在这个房间吗？”
“对，楼上我公公的房间里有一部电话，除此以外，只有这里还有电话。”
萨格登警司问：“当时这个房间里还有别人吗？”
她瞪大了眼睛。
“噢，不，就我一个人。”
“你待在这儿时间长吗？”
“嗯，待了一会儿。晚上想接通电话都要花一些时间。”
“是一通长途电话？”
“对，打到韦斯特林厄姆。”
“明白了。”
“后来呢？”
“后来就是一声可怕的尖叫。所有人都跑了过去，但门锁着，要把它砸开。噢！真像是
一场噩梦！我永远都忘不了！”
“不会的，不会的。”约翰逊上校的语气显得有些生硬，接着说，“你知道你公公的保险
箱里放着一些值钱的钻石吗？”
“不知道，这是真的吗？”她的语气明显有些激动，“是真的钻石吗？”
赫尔克里•波洛说：“价值一万英镑的钻石。”
“噢！”一声轻呼，压抑住女人贪婪的本性。
“好了，”约翰逊上校说，“我想这样就行了。我们不用再麻烦你了，李夫人。”
“哦，谢谢你。”
她站起身来，冲约翰逊和波洛微笑——那是一个满怀感激的小女孩的笑容。然后她走
了出去，头扬得高高的，手心微微向外翻。
约翰逊上校冲她叫道：“能否请你通知你丈夫的弟弟戴维•李先生来这儿？”他在她走后
关上门，回到桌边来。
“好了，”他说，“你们怎么想？我们发现一些问题了！注意一点：乔治•李说他听见尖叫
声时正好在打电话！他妻子也说那时她在打电话！这就对不上了——完全对不上！”
他又加上一句：“你怎么想，萨格登？”
警司慢慢地答道：“我不想对一位女士无礼，但我想说，她显然很擅长从一个男人手中
弄钱。不过，我不认为她会割断一个男人的喉咙，那完全不是她的风格。”
“哦，这种事谁也说不准，我的老朋友。”波洛小声说。
上校转向他。
“那你呢，波洛，你怎么想？”
赫尔克里•波洛探身向前，抚平面前的记事簿，又花了点时间掸掉烛台上的灰尘，这才
答道：“可以说，已故的西米恩•李先生的性格特征已清晰地浮现在我们面前，我想这正是
这件案子的重要线索……就在死者的性格之中。”
萨格登警司困惑不解地看着他。
“我不太明白你的意思，波洛先生。”他说，“死者的性格特征和他被谋杀究竟有什么关
系？”
波洛如做梦一般呢喃道：“被害人的性格特征总会和谋杀有些关系。苔丝狄蒙娜直率、
不猜忌的本性正是她的直接死因，一个稍微有些疑心的女人就会看出伊阿古的阴谋诡计，
并更早地避免悲剧发生（注：出自莎士比亚的悲剧《奥赛罗》。）；马拉的不爱清洁导致
他最终死在浴缸里（注：法国大革命时期的民主派革命家马拉身患严重的皮肤病，时常在
家中的浴缸里办公，遇刺时也是死在浴室中。）；茂丘西奥的暴躁脾气则使他丧命于剑下
（注：出自莎士比亚的悲剧《罗密欧与朱丽叶》。）。”
约翰逊上校捻着他的胡子。
“你究竟想说什么，波洛？”
“我想告诉你们，正是西米思•李这么一个人，引发了一些力量，而这些力量最终要了
他的命。”
“那么，你认为钻石的事和他的死没有半点关系？”
波洛看着一脸困惑的约翰逊，笑了。
“亲爱的，”他说，“正因为西米恩•李拥有与众不同的性格，他才会把价值一万英镑的未
经切割的钻石放在保险箱里！不是每个人都会这么做的。”
“确实没错，波洛先生。”萨格登警司说道，带着最后终于明白和他谈话的人用意何在
的神情点着头，“他是一个怪人，已故的李先生。他把那些石头放在那儿，以便随时拿出来
把玩，找回过去的岁月。他离不开它们，这就是为什么他一直没送去切割打磨。”
波洛用力地点点头。
“没错——非常准确。我看得出来你拥有非凡的才智，警司。”
警司对这句恭维有些将信将疑，这时约翰逊上校插话进来。
“另外，波洛，我不明白你为何那么在意——”
“啊，是的。”波洛说，“我知道你想说什么。乔治•李夫人，她不小心说得太多了！她生
动地为我们描述了最后一次家庭会议。她暗示我们，哦，那么天真无邪，阿尔弗雷德在生
他父亲的气，而戴维看上去‘像要杀了他’。这两件事，我认为都是事实，但我们可以基于
这些事实，重建自己的理论。西米恩•李为什么要把一家人都召集过去？为什么他们到的时
候正好听见他在给律师打电话？显然，这一点不会错，他想让他们听见！那个可怜的老家
伙，坐在椅子里，不能像年轻时那样纵情消遣了。于是他又为自己发明了一种娱乐活动，
他喜欢玩弄人类天性中的贪婪与欲望，是的，以激发他们强烈的感情和冲动为乐！从这一
点出发，我们再深入一些。在这场他设计的、激发孩子们的贪婪与冲动的游戏中，没有人
会被漏掉。这样做才合乎逻辑，这是必然的，因此他一定也挖苦了乔治•李，和对其他人一
样！他的妻子却非常小心地对此闭口不谈。对她，他可能也放了一两支毒箭。我想我们会
查出来的，从其他人那里知道，西米恩•李对乔治•李和他妻子说了些什么——”
他突然停下不说了。门开了，戴维•李走了进来。
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH XII
XII
David Lee had himself well in hand. His demeanour was calm—almost unnaturally so. He came
up to them, drew a chair forward and sat down, looking with grave interrogation at Colonel
Johnson.
The electric light touched the fair peak of hair that grew on his forehead and showed up the
sensitive modelling of the cheek bones. He looked absurdly young to be the son of that shrivelled
old man who lay dead upstairs.
“Yes, gentlemen,” he said, “what can I tell you?”
Colonel Johnson said:
“I understand, Mr. Lee, that there was a kind of family meeting held in your father’s room
this afternoon?”
“There was. But it was quite informal. I mean, it was not a family council or anything of that
kind.”
“What took place there?”
David Lee answered calmly:
“My father was in a difficult mood. He was an old man and an invalid, of course, one had to
make allowances for him. He seemed to have assembled us there in order to—well—vent his spite
upon us.”
“Can you remember what he said?”
David said quietly:
“It was really all rather foolish. He said we were no use—any of us—that there wasn’t a
single man in the family! He said Pilar (that is my Spanish niece) was worth two of any of us. He
said—” David stopped.
Poirot said:
“Please, Mr. Lee, the exact words, if you can.”
David said reluctantly:
“He spoke rather coarsely—said he hoped that somewhere in the world he had better sons—
even if they were born the wrong side of the blanket. . . .”
His sensitive face showed distaste for the words he was repeating. Superintendent Sugden
looked up, suddenly alert. Leaning forward, he said:
“Did your father say anything in particular to your brother, Mr. George Lee?”
“To George? I don’t remember. Oh, yes, I believe he told him he would have to cut down
expenses in future; he’d have to reduce his allowance. George was very upset, got as red as a
turkey cock. He spluttered and said he couldn’t possibly manage with less. My father said quite
coolly that he’d have to. He said he’d better get his wife to help him economize. Rather a nasty
dig, that — George has always been the economical one — saves and stints on every penny.
Magdalene, I fancy, is a bit of a spender—she has extravagant tastes.”
Poirot said:
“So that she, too, was annoyed?”
“Yes. Besides, my father worded something else rather crudely—mentioned her as having
lived with a naval officer. Of course he really meant her father, but it sounded rather dubious.
Magdalene went scarlet. I don’t blame her.”
Poirot said:
“Did your father mention his late wife, your mother?”
The red blood ran in waves up David’s temples. His hands clenched themselves on the table
in front of him, trembling slightly.
He said in a low choked voice:
“Yes, he did. He insulted her.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“What did he say?”
David said abruptly:
“I don’t remember. Just some slighting reference.”
Poirot said softly:
“Your mother has been dead some years?”
David said shortly:
“She died when I was a boy.”
“She was not—perhaps—very happy in her life here?”
David gave a scornful laugh:
“Who could be happy with a man like my father? My mother was a saint. She died a
brokenhearted woman.”
Poirot went on:
“Your father was, perhaps, distressed by her death?”
David said abruptly:
“I don’t know. I left home.”
He paused and then said:
“Perhaps you may not be aware of the fact that when I came on this visit I had not seen my
father for nearly twenty years. So you see I can’t tell you very much about his habits or his
enemies or what went on here.”
Colonel Johnson asked:
“Did you know that your father kept a lot of valuable diamonds in the safe in his bedroom?”
David said indifferently:
“Did he? Seems a foolish sort of thing to do.”
Johnson said:
“Will you describe briefly your own movements last night?”
“Mine? Oh, I went away from the dinner table fairly quickly. It bores me, this sitting round
over port. Besides, I could see that Alfred and Harry were working up for a quarrel. I hate rows. I
slipped away and went to the music room and played the piano.”
Poirot asked:
“The music room, it is next to the drawing room, is it not?”
“Yes. I played there for some time—till—till the thing happened.”
“What did you hear exactly?”
“Oh! A far-off noise of furniture being overturned somewhere upstairs. And then a pretty
ghastly cry.” He clenched his hands again. “Like a soul in hell. God, it was awful!”
Johnson said:
“Were you alone in the music room?”
“Eh? No, my wife, Hilda, was there. She’d come in from the drawing room. We—we went
up with the others.”
He added quickly and nervously:
“You don’t want me, do you, to describe what—what I saw there?”
Colonel Johnson said:
“No, quite unnecessary. Thank you, Mr. Lee, there’s nothing more. You can’t imagine, I
suppose, who would be likely to want to murder your father?”
David Lee said recklessly:
“I should think—quite a lot of people! I don’t know of anyone definite.”
He went out rapidly, shutting the door loudly behind him.
第三部分 十二月二十四日 12
12
戴维•李把自己控制得很好。他的行为举止非常平静——甚至有些不自然。他朝他们走
来，拉过一把椅子坐下，面如死灰，带着一种询问的神情看着约翰逊上校。
室内灯光照亮他前额的一绺头发，勾勒出他颧骨的轮廓。他看上去非常年轻，一点儿
都不像是死在楼上的那个干瘪老人的儿子。
“好了，先生们，”他说，“我能告诉你们些什么？”
约翰逊上校说：“我了解到，李先生，今天下午在你父亲的房间里，有过一场类似家庭
会议的聚会？”
“是的。非常随便的，我的意思是，你不能管它叫家庭会议之类的。”
“那时发生了什么？”
戴维•李平静地回答：“我父亲那时心情不太好，他是个老人，而且生活不能自理，理
所应当的，我们都应该体谅他。他特意把我们都叫去，好像就是为了，嗯，冲我们发泄他
的怒气。”
“你能记起他都说了些什么吗？”
戴维平静地说：“都是些很愚蠢的话。他说我们都很没用。每一个人，家里就没有一个
像样的男人！他说皮拉尔，我的西班牙外甥女，一个就顶我们俩。他还说——”戴维停住
了。
波洛说：“李先生，如果可以的话，最好复述他的原话。”
戴维不情愿地开口：“他的用词相当粗俗。他说他希望这世上的什么地方还有他的孩
子，更好的儿子——即使他们生错了地方……”
他敏感的脸上露出对他所复述的话的厌恶之情。
萨格登警司抬起头来，突然警觉地向前欠身，说：“你父亲有没有特别针对你的哥哥乔
治•李说些什么？”
“对乔治？我不记得了。噢，对，我想父亲告诉他今后必须减少开支，因为要降低给他
的生活费。乔治非常沮丧，脸红得像只煮熟的火鸡。他气急败坏地说钱再少就不可能应付
过来了，我父亲冷酷地说他必须想办法应付，还说最好让他妻子帮忙节省。这真是恶毒的
挖苦，因为乔治一直很节约，精打细算，攒下每一分钱；而玛格达莱尼，我认为，她生活
奢侈——甚至可以说挥金如土。”
波洛说：“这么说，她也被惹恼了？”
“是的。除此之外，我父亲还说了些别的难听的话——提到她曾和一名退役的海军军官
共同生活，当然，他指的是她父亲，但那话听起来带有其他暧昧的意思。玛格达莱尼的脸
涨得通红，情有可原。”
波洛说：“你父亲提到他已故的妻子——你的母亲了吗？”
热血涌上戴维的太阳穴，他握紧双手，放在面前的桌子上，微微颤抖着。
他有些喘不上气，低声道：“是的，他提到了，他侮辱了她。”
约翰逊上校说：“他说了什么？”
戴维的语气生硬。
“我不记得了，都是些微不足道的小事。”
波洛温柔地问：“你母亲已经去世很多年了？”
戴维简短地回答：“她死的时候我还是个孩子。”
“她在这儿，也许，过得不是很幸福？”
戴维轻蔑地笑了一下。
“和我父亲那样的男人生活在一起，谁能幸福？我母亲是一个圣人，却带着一颗破碎的
心离开了人世。”
波洛接着说：“你父亲，或许，也为她的死感到难过？”
戴维支吾道：“不知道。我离开了家。”
他停了一下，接着说：“你们可能还不知道，在我这次回来之前，我已经有快二十年没
见过我父亲了。因此请你们明白，我无法告诉你们他的生活习惯、他有没有敌人，或者这
儿都发生了什么。”
约翰逊上校问道：“你知不知道你父亲有很多值钱的钻石，就放在他卧室的保险箱
里？”
戴维漠不关心地说：“是吗？听起来真够蠢的。”
约翰逊说：“你能简要地叙述一下你昨晚都干了些什么吗？”
“我？噢，我晚饭一结束就从餐桌边走开了。我觉得那样很无聊，一群人围坐在桌边喝
酒。再加上我看得出阿尔弗雷德和哈里已经快吵起来了。我讨厌斗嘴，于是溜了出来，跑
到音乐室去弹钢琴。”
波洛问道：“音乐室就在客厅隔壁，是这样的吗？”
“是的。我弹了好一会儿，直到——直到事情发生。”
“你具体都听见了些什么？”
“噢！一阵从远处传来的声音，像是楼上的什么地方家具翻倒了，接着就是一声非常可
怕的喊叫。”他又攥紧了双手，“就像一个地狱里的灵魂在呼号。上帝啊，太可怕了！”
约翰逊说：“就你一个人在音乐室里吗？”
“嗯？不，我妻子，希尔达也在那儿。她是从客厅过去的，我们……我们和其他人一起
上了楼。”
他又紧张地补充道：“你们不需要我……描述……到那儿以后都看见了什么吧，不用
吧？”
约翰逊上校说：“不，完全不需要。谢谢你，李先生，没别的事了。我想，你并不知道
谁想谋杀你的父亲吧？”
戴维•李毫不顾忌地说：“我认为很多人都有这个想法！只是不能确定具体是谁。”
他匆匆走了出去，重重地关上了门。
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH XIII
XIII
Colonel Johnson had had no time to do more than clear his throat when the door opened again and
Hilda Lee came in.
Hercule Poirot looked at her with interest. He had to admit to himself that the wives these
Lees had married were an interesting study. The swift intelligence and greyhound grace of Lydia,
the meretricious airs and graces of Magdalene, and now, the solid comfortable strength of Hilda.
She was, he saw, younger than her rather dowdy style of hairdressing and unfashionable clothes
made her appear. Her mouse-brown hair was unflecked with grey and her steady hazel eyes set in
the rather podgy face shone out like beacons of kindliness. She was, he thought, a nice woman.
Colonel Johnson was talking in his kindliest tone.
“. . . A great strain on all of you,” he was saying. “I gather from your husband, Mrs. Lee, that
this is the first time you have been to Gorston Hall?”
She bowed her head.
“Were you previously acquainted with your father-in-law, Mr. Lee?”
Hilda replied in her pleasant voice:
“No. We were married soon after David left home. He always wanted to have nothing to do
with his family. Until now we have not seen any of them.”
“How, then, did this visit come about?”
“My father-in-law wrote to David. He stressed his age and his desire that all his children
should be with him this Christmas.”
“And your husband responded to this appeal?”
Hilda said:
“His acceptance was, I am afraid, all my doing—I misunderstood the situation.”
Poirot interposed. He said:
“Will you be so kind as to explain yourself a little more clearly, madame? I think what you
can tell us may be of value.”
She turned to him immediately.
She said:
“At that time I had never seen my father-in-law. I had no idea what his real motive was. I
assumed that he was old and lonely and that he really wanted to be reconciled to all his children.”
“And what was his real motive, in your opinion, madame?”
Hilda hesitated a moment. Then she said slowly:
“I have no doubt—no doubt at all—that what my father-in-law really wanted was not to
promote peace but to stir up strife.”
“In what way?”
Hilda said in a low voice:
“It amused him to—to appeal to the worst instincts in human nature. There was—how can I
put it?—a kind of diabolical impishness about him. He wished to set every member of the family
at loggerheads with one another.”
Johnson said sharply: “And did he succeed?”
“Oh, yes,” said Hilda Lee. “He succeeded.”
Poirot said:
“We have been told, madame, of a scene that took place this afternoon. It was, I think, rather
a violent scene.”
She bowed her head.
“Will you describe it to us—as truthfully as possible, if you please.”
She reflected a minute.
“When we went in my father-in-law was telephoning.”
“To his lawyer, I understand?”
“Yes, he was suggesting that Mr.—was it Charlton?—I don’t quite remember the name—
should come over as he, my father-in-law, wanted to make a new will. His old one, he said, was
quite out of date.”
Poirot said:
“Think carefully, madame; in your opinion did your father-in-law deliberately ensure that
you should all overhear this conversation, or was it just by chance that you overheard it?”
Hilda Lee said:
“I am almost sure that he meant us to overhear.”
“With the object of fomenting doubt and suspicions among you?”
“Yes.”
“So that, really, he may not have meant to alter his will at all?”
She demurred.
“No, I think that part of it was quite genuine. He probably did wish to make a new will—but
he enjoyed underlining the fact.”
“Madame,” said Poirot, “I have no official standing and my questions, you understand, are
not perhaps those that an English officer of the law would ask. But I have a great desire to know
what form you think that new will would have taken. I am asking, you perceive, not for your
knowledge, but simply for your opinion. Les femmes, they are never slow to form an opinion, Dieu
merci.”
Hilda Lee smiled a little.
“I don’t mind saying what I think. My husband’s sister Jennifer married a Spaniard, Juan
Estravados. Her daughter, Pilar, has just arrived here. She is a very lovely girl—and she is, of
course, the only grandchild in the family. Old Mr. Lee was delighted with her. He took a
tremendous fancy to her. In my opinion, he wished to leave her a considerable sum in his new
will. Probably he had only left her a small portion or even nothing at all in an old one.”
“Did you know your sister-in-law at all?”
“No, I never met her. Her Spanish husband died in tragic circumstances, I believe, soon after
the marriage. Jennifer herself died a year ago. Pilar was left an orphan. This is why Mr. Lee sent
for her to come and live with him in England.”
“And the other members of the family, did they welcome her coming?”
Hilda said quietly:
“I think they all liked her. It was very pleasant to have someone young and alive in the
house.”
“And she, did she seem to like being here?”
Hilda said slowly:
“I don’t know. It must seem cold and strange to a girl brought up in the South—in Spain.”
Johnson said:
“Can’t be very pleasant being in Spain just at present. Now, Mrs. Lee, we’d like to hear your
account of the conversation this afternoon.”
Poirot murmured:
“I apologize. I have made the digressions.”
Hilda Lee said:
“After my father-in-law finished telephoning, he looked round at us and laughed, and said we
all looked very glum. Then he said he was tired and should go to bed early. Nobody was to come
up and see him this evening. He said he wanted to be in good form for Christmas Day. Something
like that.”
“Then—” Her brows knit in an effort of remembrance. “I think he said something about its
being necessary to be one of a large family to appreciate Christmas, and then he went on to speak
of money. He said it would cost him more to run this house in future. He told George and
Magdalene they would have to economize. Told her she ought to make her own clothes. Rather an
old-fashioned idea, I’m afraid. I don’t wonder it annoyed her. He said his own wife had been
clever with her needle.”
Poirot said gently:
“Is that all that he said about her?”
Hilda flushed.
“He made a slighting reference to her brains. My husband was very devoted to his mother,
and that upset him very much. And then, suddenly Mr. Lee began shouting at us all. He worked
himself up about it. I can understand, of course, how he felt—”
Poirot said gently, interrupting her:
“How did he feel?”
She turned her tranquil eyes upon him.
“He was disappointed, of course,” she said. “Because there are no grandchildren—no boys, I
mean—no Lees to carry on. I can see that that must have festered for a long time. And suddenly he
couldn’t keep it in any longer and vented his rage against his sons—saying they were a lot of
namby-pamby old women—something like that. I felt sorry for him, then, because I realized how
his pride was hurt by it.”
“And then?”
“And then,” said Hilda slowly, “we all went away.”
“That was the last you saw of him?”
She bowed her head.
“Where were you at the time the crime occurred?”
“I was with my husband in the music room. He was playing to me.”
“And then?”
“We heard tables and chairs overturned upstairs, and china being broken—some terrible
struggle. And then that awful scream as his throat was cut. . . .”
Poirot said:
“Was it such an awful scream? Was it”—he paused—“like a soul in hell?”
Hilda Lee said:
“It was worse than that!”
“What do you mean, madame?”
“It was like someone who had no soul . . . It was inhuman like a beast. . . .”
Poirot said gravely:
“So—you have judged him, madame?”
She raised a hand in sudden distress. Her eyes fell and she stared down at the floor.
第三部分 十二月二十四日 13
13
约翰逊上校刚一清嗓子，门就又开了，希尔达•李走了进来。
赫尔克里•波洛饶有兴趣地看着她，他必须承认，研究李家人娶的妻子是项很有意思的
课题。有聪明机智、如猎犬般优雅的莉迪亚，有俗不可耐、摆着架子的玛格达莱尼，还有
现在这位，让人舒服、有力量感的希尔达。尽管她顶着过时的发型，穿着不流行的衣服，
波洛仍看得出，她比外表看起来的还要年轻。她鼠褐色的头发丝毫没有变灰，淡褐色的眼
睛透着坚定的眼神，镶嵌在胖胖的脸上，闪着和善之光。他想，这真是一个好女人。
约翰逊上校的口气前所未有地和蔼。
“……我知道你们的压力都很大，”他说道，“我们从你丈夫那儿得知，李夫人，这是你
第一次到戈斯顿霍尔来？”
她点头表示同意。
“在此之前，你了解你的公公李先生吗？”
希尔达的嗓音令人愉快。
“没有，我们是在戴维离家后不久结婚的。他一直不想和这个家有任何牵连，在此之
前，我们谁都没见过。”
“那么，这次怎么会来呢？”
“我公公写信给戴维，着重强调他已经一把年纪，希望今年圣诞节所有的孩子都能陪在
他身边。”
“而你丈夫答应了这个请求？”
希尔达说：“他会接受这个请求，恐怕都是由我促成的。我误解了当时的情况。”
波洛插话说：“能否解释得更清楚一点儿，夫人？我认为你告诉我们的事或许会很有价
值。”
她马上转向他，说：“那时我从未见过我公公，不知道他的真实意图是什么。我猜想他
又老又孤独，所以想跟孩子们和好。”
“那么在你看来，他的真实意图又是什么呢，夫人？”
希尔达迟疑了一会儿，接着慢慢地开口。
“毫无疑问，我一点也不怀疑，我公公的真实意图不是想和解，而是挑起争斗。”
“以什么方式呢？”
希尔达低声说：“暴露人性中最恶劣的本能，他以此为乐。他有些……我该怎么说呢，
过头了，顽皮得有些残忍。他希望能让家庭成员们全都彼此不和。”
约翰逊严肃地问：“他成功了吗？”
“噢，是的，”希尔达•李说，“他成功了。”
波洛说：“夫人，我们得知今天下午发生过一件事。我想，当时的场面堪称激烈。”
她点了点头。
“你能为我们描述一下吗，尽可能如实描述，如果你愿意的话。”
她考虑了一会儿。
“我们进去的时候，我公公正在打电话。”
“给他的律师，对吗？”
“对，他叫查尔顿先生，是这个名字吧，我不太记得了，过来一趟，因为他想立一份新
遗嘱。他说那份旧遗嘱过时了。”
波洛说：“仔细想想，夫人。在你看来，你公公是有意让你们都能听到这通电话，还是
说碰巧？”
希尔达•李说：“我几乎可以肯定，他是故意让我们听见的。”
“目的就是挑起你们之间的怀疑和猜忌？”
“是的。”
“那么，实际上，他可能根本不打算改动他的遗嘱？”
对此她并不赞同。
“不，我认为这部分确有其事。他很可能确实想立一份新遗嘱。只是他乐于强调一下这
件事。”
“夫人，”波洛说，“你知道，我不是官方的人，因此我问的问题或许和英国的执法官员
有所不同。我真的很想知道，是什么让你觉得他确实想立一份新遗嘱，我希望你能告诉我
你的直觉，而不是观察与推测，你个人的想法。女人，总会第一时间产生些想法，感谢上
帝。”
希尔达微微一笑。
“我丝毫不介意告诉你我是怎么想的。我丈夫的姐姐詹妮弗，嫁给了一个西班牙人——
胡安•埃斯特拉瓦多斯。他们的女儿，皮拉尔，第一次到这儿来。她是一个非常可爱的女
孩，而且，她是这个家唯一的第三代人。她能来老李先生非常高兴，他对她宠爱到了极
点。在我看来，他想在新遗嘱里给她留一笔数目可观的钱。在那个旧遗嘱里，他可能只给
了她一笔小数目，甚至可能一点儿都没有。”
“你认识你丈夫的姐姐吗？”
“不认识，我从没见过她。我记得她的西班牙丈夫死得很惨，而且就在婚后不久。詹妮
弗一年前也死了，皮拉尔成了个孤儿。正因如此，李先生才让她来英国，和他一起住。”
“家里的其他成员欢迎皮拉尔的到来吗？”
希尔达平静地说：“我想他们都很喜欢她。家里有一个朝气蓬勃的年轻人，是件令人愉
快的事情。”
“她呢，看上去喜欢住在这儿吗？”
希尔达慢悠悠地说：“我不知道，对于一个在南部，我指西班牙，长大的女孩来说，这
里一定是个阴冷古怪的地方。”
约翰逊说：“现在这个情况，即便生活在西班牙也不会太令人愉快。好了，李夫人，我
们想听你复述一下今天下午的那场谈话。”
波洛低声道：“抱歉，我把话题带偏了。”
希尔达•李说：“我公公打完电话之后转过头，看着我们笑，说我们看起来都很阴沉。
接着他说他累了，今天想早点休息，任何人晚上都不要来找他。他说他想为圣诞节保持一
个良好的状态，差不多就是这样。”
“然后……”她的眉头因努力回忆而紧锁，“我想他说了些关于要一个大家庭才能欢度圣
诞之类的话，接着就谈到了钱。他说这个家以后需要更多的开支来维持。他告诉乔治和玛
格达莱尼日后必须节省，说她应该自己做衣服。我认为这真是个老掉牙的观点，因此一点
儿也不奇怪这会惹恼她。他还说他的妻子针线活儿做得很好。”
波洛温和地问：“关于她，他就说了这些吗？”
希尔达脸红了。
“他稍稍提了一下她的头脑。我丈夫深爱着他的母亲，这使他非常难过。就在这时，李
先生突然冲着我们所有人吼了起来，他自顾自地发着火。我能理解，当然，他的感受——”
波洛温和的声音打断了她。
“他有什么感受？”
她将平静的目光投向他。
“他很失望，当然了，”她说，“因为他没有孙子，我的意思是没有男孩，李家后继无人
了。我能看出这一苦恼已经在他心上沉积很久了，突然间，他再也忍耐不住了，因此就把
怒气发泄到了儿子身上，说他们是一群容易感伤的老女人这一类的话。当时我很替他难
过，因为我能体会到，他的自尊心受到了严重的伤害。”
“后来呢？”
“后来，”希尔达慢慢地说，“我们就都走了。”
“那是你最后一次见到他？”
她点点头。
“案发的时候你在哪儿？”
“我和我丈夫在一起，在音乐室里，他在给我弹琴。”
“后来呢？”
“我们听见楼上传来桌椅倒地、瓷器被打破的声音，发生了一场可怕的打斗。接着就响
起他的喉咙被割开时发出的恐怖尖叫……”
波洛说：“那尖叫声确实非常可怕，是不是？”他顿了一下，“像地狱里的灵魂发出
的？”
希尔达•李说：“比那更糟！”
“什么意思，夫人？”
“那像是一个没有灵魂的人发出的……不像是人类的声音，而像野兽……”
波洛严肃地说：“那么，这就是你对他的评价了，夫人？”
她突然悲痛地举起一只手捂住嘴，视线低垂，注视着脚下的地板。
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH XIV
XIV
Pilar came into the room with the wariness of an animal who suspects a trap. Her eyes went
quickly from side to side. She looked not so much afraid as deeply suspicious.
Colonel Johnson rose and put a chair for her. Then he said:
“You understand English, I suppose, Miss Estravados?”
Pilar’s eyes opened wide. She said:
“Of course. My mother was English. I am really very English indeed.”
A faint smile came to Colonel Johnson’s lips, as his eyes took in the black gloss of her hair,
the proud dark eyes, and the curling red lips. Very English! An incongruous term to apply to Pilar
Estravados.
He said:
“Mr. Lee was your grandfather. He sent for you to come from Spain. And you arrived a few
days ago. Is that right?”
Pilar nodded.
“That is right. I had—oh! a lot of adventures getting out of Spain—there was a bomb from
the air and the chauffeur he was killed—where his head had been there was all blood. And I could
not drive a car, so for a long way I had to walk—and I do not like walking. I never walk. My feet
were sore—but sore—”
Colonel Johnson smiled. He said:
“At any rate you arrived here. Had your mother spoken to you of your grandfather much?”
Pilar nodded cheerfully.
“Oh, yes, she said he was an old devil.”
Hercule Poirot smiled. He said:
“And what did you think of him when you arrived, mademoiselle?”
Pilar said:
“Of course he was very, very old. He had to sit in a chair—and his face was all dried up. But
I liked him all the same. I think that when he was a young man, he must have been handsome—
very handsome, like you,” said Pilar to Superintendent Sugden. Her eyes dwelt with näive
pleasure on his handsome face, which had turned brick-red at the compliment.
Colonel Johnson stifled a chuckle. It was one of the few occasions when he had seen the
stolid superintendent taken aback.
“But of course,” Pilar continued regretfully, “he could never have been so big as you.”
Hercule Poirot sighed.
“You like, then, big men, señorita?” he inquired.
Pilar agreed enthusiastically.
“Oh, yes, I like a man to be very big, tall, and the shoulders broad, and very, very strong.”
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
“Did you see much of your grandfather when you arrived here?”
Pilar said:
“Oh, yes. I went to sit with him. He told me things—that he had been a very wicked man, and
all the things he did in South Africa.”
“Did he ever tell you that he had diamonds in the safe in his room?”
“Yes, he showed them to me. But they were not like diamonds—they were just like pebbles
—very ugly—very ugly indeed.”
Superintendent Sugden said shortly:
“So he showed them to you, did he?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t give you any of them?”
Pilar shook her head.
“No, he did not. I thought that perhaps one day he would—if I were very nice to him and
came often to sit with him. Because old gentlemen they like very much young girls.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“Do you know that those diamonds have been stolen?”
Pilar opened her eyes very wide.
“Stolen?”
“Yes, have you any idea who might have taken them?”
Pilar nodded her head.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “It would be Horbury.”
“Horbury? You mean the valet?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he has the face of a thief. His eyes go so, from side to side, he walks softly and
listens at doors. He is like a cat. And all cats are thieves.”
“H’m,” said Colonel Johnson. “We’ll leave it at that. Now I understand that all the family
were up in your grandfather’s room this afternoon, and that some—er—angry words passed.”
Pilar nodded and smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “It was great fun. Grandfather made them oh! so angry!”
“Oh, you enjoyed it, did you?”
“Yes. I like to see people get angry. I like it very much. But here in England they do not get
angry like they do in Spain. In Spain they take out their knives and they curse and shout. In
England they do nothing, just get very red in the face and shut up their mouths tight.”
“Do you remember what was said?”
Pilar seemed rather doubtful.
“I am not sure. Grandfather said they were no good—that they had not got any children. He
said I was better than any of them. He liked me, very much.”
“Did he say anything about money or a will?”
“A will—no, I don’t think so. I don’t remember.”
“What happened?”
“They all went away—except Hilda—the fat one, David’s wife, she stayed behind.”
“Oh, she did, did she?”
“Yes. David looked very funny. He was all shaking and oh! so white. He looked as though he
might be sick.”
“And what then?”
“Then I went and found Stephen. We danced to the gramophone.”
“Stephen Farr?”
“Yes. He is from South Africa—he is the son of Grandfather’s partner. He is very handsome
too. Very brown and big, and he has nice eyes.”
Johnson asked:
“Where were you when the crime occurred?”
“You ask where I was?”
“Yes.”
“I had gone into the drawing room with Lydia. And then I went up to my room and did my
face. I was going to dance again with Stephen. And then, far away, I heard a scream and everyone
was running, so I went too. And they were trying to break down Grandfather’s door. Harry did it
with Stephen, they are both big strong men.”
“Yes?”
“And then—crash—down it went—and we all looked in. Oh, such a sight—everything
smashed and knocked over, and Grandfather lying in a lot of blood, and his throat was cut like
this”—she made a vivid dramatic gesture at her own neck—“right up under his ear.”
She paused, having obviously enjoyed her narrative.
Johnson said:
“The blood didn’t make you feel ill?”
She stared.
“No, why should it? There is usually blood when people are killed. There was, oh! so much
blood everywhere!”
Poirot said: “Did anyone say anything?”
Pilar said:
“David said such a funny thing—what was it? Oh, yes. The mills of God—that is what he
said”—she repeated it with emphasis on each word—“The mills—of—God—What does that
mean? Mills are what make flour, are they not?”
Colonel Johnson said:
“Well, I don’t think there is anything more just now, Miss Estravados.”
Pilar got up obediently. She flashed a quick charming smile at each man in turn.
“I will go now, then.” She went out.
Colonel Johnson said:
“The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. And David Lee said that!”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 14
14
皮拉尔警惕地走进房间，就像一只担心落入陷阱的动物。她的眼睛迅速地转来转去，
看上去倒不怎么害怕，只是疑虑重重。
约翰逊上校站起来给她拿了把椅子，然后说：“我想你听得懂英语吧，埃斯特拉瓦多斯
小姐？”
皮拉尔的眼睛睁得大大的，说：“当然了，我母亲是英国人，实际上我也非常英国
化。”
一丝笑意爬上约翰逊上校的嘴边，他看着她那乌黑发亮的头发、骄傲的黑眼睛，以及
弯弯的红唇。很英国化！这个词放在皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯身上真是太不合适了。
他说：“李先生是你的外公，他让你从西班牙过来，而你几天前刚到，对吗？”
皮拉尔点点头。
“是的。从西班牙出来的这一路，我……噢……经历了好多冒险。有一次天上掉下来一
颗炸弹，司机被炸死了，脑袋都不见了，全是血。而我不会开车，所以不得不走了很长的
一段路。我不喜欢走路，我的脚又酸又痛，痛极了。”
约翰逊上校笑了，他说：“不管怎样，你还是到了。你母亲经常对你说起外公的事
吗？”
皮拉尔快乐地点点头。
“噢，是的，她说他是一个老恶魔。”
赫尔克里•波洛笑了，他说：“你到了这儿之后怎么看，这位小姐？”
皮拉尔说：“他明显已经非常非常老了，只能坐在椅子里，而且他的脸皱成一团。但我
依旧很喜欢他。我想他还年轻的时候一定非常英俊，非常英俊，像你一样。”皮拉尔冲着萨
格登警司说。带着纯粹的愉快的目光停留在他英俊的脸上，而那张脸此时已因为她的夸奖
而变成砖红色了。
约翰逊上校忍住笑，他还很少看到这位缺乏感情的警司如此失态。
“不过当然啦，”皮拉尔惋惜地继续道，“他不可能像你这么魁梧。”
赫尔克里•波洛叹了口气。
“这 么 说 你 喜 欢…… 大 个 子 的 男 人， 是 吗， 小 姐 （注： 此 处 的 小 姐 为 西 班 牙
语。）？”他问道。
皮拉尔热烈地表示赞同。
“噢，是的。我喜欢男人高大、魁梧，还有肩膀要宽，非常非常强壮。”
约翰逊上校严肃地问：“你到这儿以后经常和外公在一起吗？”
皮拉尔说：“噢，是的，我常去陪他坐着。他告诉我一些事——他说他曾是一个非常恶
毒的男人，还跟我讲他在南非干的事。”
“他有没有告诉过你，在他房间的保险箱里有些钻石？”
“是的，他还拿给我看过。可它们不像钻石——更像鹅卵石——很丑，真的很丑。”
萨格登警司简短地追问：“他拿给你看过，是吗？”
“对。”
“他没给你几颗吗？”
皮拉尔摇摇头。
“不，他没有。我想也许有一天他会的，如果我对他好一些，经常去陪他坐着。因为老
先生们都喜欢年轻女孩。”
约翰逊上校说：“你知道那些钻石被偷了吗？”
皮拉尔的眼睛瞪得大大的。
“被偷了？”
“是的，你知道可能会是谁拿的吗？”
皮拉尔点点头。
“噢，是的。”她说，“一定是霍伯里。”
“霍伯里？你是说那个贴身男仆？”
“对。”
“你为什么觉得是他呢？”
“因为他就长着一张贼脸。他的眼睛总是那样，骨碌碌地转来转去。他走路很轻，爱在
门外偷听。他就像一只猫，而所有的猫都是小偷。”
“哦，”约翰逊上校说，“我们先把这件事放到一边。据我了解，今天下午，你们一家人
曾聚在你外公的房间里，然后说了一些——呃——气话。”
皮拉尔笑着点点头。
“是的，”她说，“那真是太好玩了。外祖父把他们——噢！气成那样！”
“呃，你觉得很好玩，是吗？”
“对，我喜欢看人们生气，非常喜欢。可是英国人生起气来和西班牙人不一样。在西班
牙，他们会掏出刀子，又叫又骂。而英国人什么都不会做，只是脸涨得通红，嘴巴闭得紧
紧的。”
“你还记得他们都说了些什么吗？”
皮拉尔看起来有些不能确定。
“我记得不那么清楚了。外公说他们都不怎么样，都没孩子。他还说我比他们中的任何
一个都强。他喜欢我，特别喜欢。”
“他说了什么关于钱或者遗嘱的事吗？”
“遗嘱？不，我不这么认为。我不记得有这回事。”
“然后发生了什么？”
“大家都走了，除了希尔达，那个胖一点的，戴维的妻子，她留下了。”
“噢，是吗，她留下了？”
“是的。戴维的样子看起来很可笑。浑身颤抖，噢！脸色惨白，看上去好像生病了似
的。”
“然来呢？”
“然后我去找斯蒂芬了，我们跟着留声机里的音乐跳舞。”
“斯蒂芬•法尔？”
“对，他从南非来——是外公合伙人的儿子。他也很帅，棕色皮肤，大个子，还有一双
美丽的眼睛。”
约翰逊问道：“案发的时候你在哪儿？”
“你问我在哪儿？”
“对。”
“我先和莉迪亚一起去了客厅，然后回房间化妆去了，因为待会儿我还要和斯蒂芬跳
舞。就在这时，我听见远处传来一声尖叫，每个人都向那儿跑去，于是我也跑了过去。他
们正试着把外公的房门撞开，最后是哈里和斯蒂芬一起弄开的，他们俩都是很强壮的男
人。”
“是吗？”
“突然，轰隆一下，门开了。我们都往里头看。噢，惨不忍睹，所有东西都被碰翻了，
摊了一地，外公躺在一大摊血泊里，喉咙被这样割开了，”她以生动夸张的手势在自己的脖
子上比画了一下，“一直到耳朵根。”
她停下来，显然对自己的叙述很满意。
约翰逊问：“那血没让你觉得不舒服吗？”
她盯着他。
“不，为什么？人被杀的时候总会有很多血啊。那儿……噢！太多的血，到处都是！”
波洛说：“有人说了什么吗？”
皮拉尔说：“戴维说了些特别可笑的话。怎么说的来着？噢，对。上帝的磨，他就是这
么说的，”她又重复了一遍，清楚地说出每一个词，“上帝——的——磨——这是什么意
思？磨是用来做面粉的东西，不是吗？”
约翰逊上校说：“好了，我想目前没什么别的事了，埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐。”
皮拉尔乖乖地站起身来，飞快地冲他们每个人投以迷人的一笑。
“那么，我走了。”她出去了。
约翰逊上校说：“上帝的磨磨得很慢，但磨得很细（注：原文为“The mills of God grind
slowly, but they grind exceeding small”，意思为“天网恢恢、疏而不漏”，为了与上文皮拉尔
说的话接上，此处为直译。）。戴维•李竟然说了这么一句！”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH XV
XV
As the door opened once more, Colonel Johnson looked up. For a moment he took the entering
figure to be that of Harry Lee, but as Stephen Farr advanced into the room he saw his error.
“Sit down, Mr. Farr,” he said.
Stephen sat. His eyes, cool, intelligent eyes, went from one to the other of the three men. He
said:
“I’m afraid I shan’t be much use to you. But please ask me anything that you think may help.
Perhaps I’d better explain, to start with, who I am. My father, Ebenezer Farr, was Simeon Lee’s
partner in South Africa in the old days. I’m talking of over forty years ago.”
He paused.
“My dad talked to me a lot about Simeon Lee—what a personality he was. He and Dad
cleaned up a good bit together. Simeon Lee went home with a fortune and my father didn’t do
badly either. My father always told me that when I came to this country I was to look up Mr. Lee.
I said once that it was a long time ago and that he’d probably not know who I was, but Dad scoffed
at the idea. He said, ‘When two men have been through what Simeon and I went through, they
don’t forget.’ Well, my father died a couple of years ago. This year I came over to England for the
first time, and I thought I’d act on Dad’s advice and look up Mr. Lee.”
With a slight smile he went on:
“I was just a little nervous when I came along here, but I needn’t have been. Mr. Lee gave me
a warm welcome and absolutely insisted that I should stay with the family over Christmas. I was
afraid I was butting in, but he wouldn’t hear of a refusal.”
He added rather shyly:
“They were all very nice to me—Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lee couldn’t have been nicer. I’m
terribly sorry for them that all this should come upon them.”
“How long have you been here, Mr. Farr?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Did you see Mr. Lee today at all?”
“Yes, I had a chat with him this morning. He was in good spirits then and anxious to hear
about a lot of people and places.”
“That was the last time you saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he mention to you that he kept a quantity of uncut diamonds in his safe?”
“No.”
He added before the other could speak:
“Do you mean that this business was murder and robbery?”
“We’re not sure yet,” said Johnson. “Now to come to the events of this evening, will you tell
me, in your own words, what you were doing?”
“Certainly. After the ladies left the dining room I stayed and had a glass of port. Then I
realized that the Lees had family business they wanted to discuss and that my being there was
hampering them so I excused myself and left them.”
“And what did you do then?”
Stephen Farr leaned back in his chair. His forefinger caressed his jaw. He said rather
woodenly:
“I—er—went along to a big room with a parquet floor—a kind of ballroom, I fancy. There’s
a gramophone there and dance records. I put some records on.”
Poirot said:
“It was possible, perhaps, that someone might join you there?”
A very faint smile curved Stephen Farr’s lips. He answered:
“It was possible, yes. One always hopes.”
And he grinned outright.
Poirot said:
“Señorita Estravados is very beautiful.”
Stephen answered:
“She’s easily the best thing to look at that I’ve seen since I came to England.”
“Did Miss Estravados join you?” asked Colonel Johnson.
Stephen shook his head.
“I was still there when I heard the rumpus. I came out into the hall and ran hell for leather to
see what was the matter. I helped Harry Lee to break the door down.”
“And that’s all you have to tell us?”
“Absolutely all, I’m afraid.”
Hercule Poirot leaned forward. He said softly:
“But I think, Monsieur Farr, that you could tell us a good deal if you liked.”
Farr said sharply:
“What d’you mean?”
“You can tell us something that is very important in this case—the character of Mr. Lee. You
say that your father talked much of him to you. What manner of a man was it that he described to
you?”
Stephen Farr said slowly:
“I think I see what you’re driving at. What was Simeon Lee like in his young days? Well—
you want me to be frank, I suppose?”
“If you please.”
“Well, to begin with, I don’t think that Simeon Lee was a highly moral member of society. I
don’t mean that he was exactly a crook, but he sailed pretty near the wind. His morals were
nothing to boast about anyway. He had charm, though, a good deal of it. And he was fantastically
generous. No one with a hard-luck story ever appealed to him in vain. He drank a bit, but not
overmuch, was attractive to women, and had a sense of humour. All the same, he had a queer
revengeful streak in him. Talk of the elephant never forgets and you talk of Simeon Lee. My father
told me of several cases where Lee waited years to get even with someone who’d done him a nasty
turn.”
Superintendent Sugden said:
“Two might play at that game. You’ve no knowledge, I suppose, Mr. Farr, of anyone who
Simeon Lee had done a bad turn to out there? Nothing out of the past that could explain the crime
committed here this evening?”
Stephen Farr shook his head.
“He had enemies, of course, must have had, being the man he was. But I know of no specific
case. Besides,” his eyes narrowed, “I understand (as a matter of fact, I’ve been questioning
Tressilian) there have been no strangers in or near the house this evening.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“With the exception of yourself, M. Farr.”
Stephen Farr swung round upon him.
“Oh, so that’s it? Suspicious stranger within the gates! Well, you won’t find anything of that
kind. No back history of Simeon Lee doing Ebenezer Farr down, and Eb’s son coming over to
revenge his dad! No,” he shook his head. “Simeon and Ebenezer had nothing against each other. I
came here, as I’ve told you, out of sheer curiosity. And moreover, I should imagine a gramophone
is as good an alibi as anything else. I never stopped putting on records—somebody must have
heard them. One record wouldn’t give me time to race away upstairs—these passages are a mile
long, anyway—slit an old man’s throat, wash off the blood, and get back again before the others
came rushing up. The idea’s farcical!”
Colonel Johnson said:
“We’re not making any insinuations against you, Mr. Farr.”
Stephen Farr said:
“I didn’t care much for the tone of Mr. Hercule Poirot’s voice.”
“That,” said Hercule Poirot, “is unfortunate!”
He smiled benignly at the other.
Stephen Farr looked angrily at him.
Colonel Johnson interposed quickly:
“Thank you, Mr. Farr. That will be all for the present. You will, of course, not leave this
house.”
Stephen Farr nodded. He got up and left the room, walking with a freely swinging stride.
As the door closed behind him, Johnson said:
“There goes X, the unknown quantity. His story seems straightforward enough. All the same,
he’s the dark horse. He might have pinched those diamonds—might have come here with a bogus
story just to gain admittance. You’d better get his fingerprints, Sugden, and see if he’s known.”
“I’ve already got them,” said the superintendent with a dry smile.
“Good man. You don’t overlook much. I suppose you’re on to all the obvious lines?”
Superintendent Sugden checked off on his fingers.
“Check up on those telephone calls—times, etc. Check up on Horbury. What time he left,
who saw him go. Check up all entrances and exits. Check up on staff generally. Check up financial
position of members of family. Get on to the lawyers and check up on will. Search house for the
weapon and for bloodstains on clothing—also possibly diamonds hidden somewhere.”
“That covers everything, I think,” said Colonel Johnson approvingly. “Can you suggest
anything, M. Poirot?”
Poirot shook his head. He said:
“I find the superintendent admirably thorough.”
Sugden said gloomily:
“It won’t be any joke looking through this house for the missing diamonds. Never saw so
many ornaments and knickknacks in my life.”
“The hiding places are certainly abundant,” Poirot agreed.
“And there’s really nothing you would suggest, Poirot?”
The chief constable looked a little disappointed—rather like a man whose dog has refused to
do its trick.
Poirot said:
“You will permit that I take a line of my own?”
“Certainly—certainly,” said Johnson at the same moment as Superintendent Sugden said
rather suspiciously:
“What line?”
“I would like,” said Hercule Poirot, “to converse — very often — very frequently — with
members of the family.”
“You mean you’d like to have another shot at questioning them?” asked the colonel, a little
puzzled.
“No, no, not to question—to converse!”
“Why?” asked Sugden.
Hercule Poirot waved an emphatic hand.
“In conversation, points arise! If a human being converses much, it is impossible for him to
avoid the truth!”
Sugden said:
“Then you think someone is lying?”
Poirot sighed.
“Mon cher, everyone lies—in parts like the egg of the English curate. It is profitable to
separate the harmless lies from the vital ones.”
Colonel Johnson said sharply:
“All the same, it’s incredible, you know. Here’s a particularly crude and brutal murder—and
whom have we as suspects? Alfred Lee and his wife—both charming, well-bred, quiet people.
George Lee, who’s a Member of Parliament and the essence of respectability. His wife? She’s just
an ordinary modern lovely. David Lee seems a gentle creature and we’ve got his brother Harry’s
word for it that he can’t stand the sight of blood. His wife seems a nice sensible woman—quite
commonplace. Remains the Spanish niece and the man from South Africa. Spanish beauties have
hot tempers, but I don’t see that attractive creature slitting the old man’s neck in cold blood,
especially as from what has come out she had every reason to keep him alive—at any rate until he
had signed a new will. Stephen Farr’s a possibility—that is to say, he may be a professional crook
and have come here after the diamonds. The old man discovered the loss and Farr slit his throat to
keep him quiet. That could have been so—that gramophone alibi isn’t too good.”
Poirot shook his head.
“My dear friend,” he said. “Compare the physique of M. Stephen Farr and old Simeon Lee. If
Farr decided to kill the old man he could have done it in a minute—Simeon Lee couldn’t possibly
have put up that fight against him. Can one believe that that frail old man and that magnificent
specimen of humanity struggled for some minutes overturning chairs and breaking china? To
imagine such a thing is fantastic!”
Colonel Johnson’s eyes narrowed.
“You mean,” he said, “that it was a weak man who killed Simeon Lee?”
“Or a woman!” said the superintendent.
第三部分 十二月二十四日 15
15
门又开了，约翰逊上校抬起头来，一时间他以为进来的是哈里•李，直到来者走进房
间，他才发现了自己的错误。是斯蒂芬•法尔。
“请坐，法尔先生。”他说。
斯蒂芬坐下了，冷静机敏的目光从三人身上一一扫过。他说：“恐怕我帮不了你们什
么。不过，请你们随便向我发问，一切你们觉得可能有用的事。也许我最好先解释一下我
是谁。我父亲，埃比尼泽•法尔，是西米恩•李以前在南非的合伙人。我说的是四十年前的事
了。”
他顿了一下。
“我父亲跟我讲了很多西米恩•李的事，他是个怎样的人。他和我父亲一起发了笔大
财，西米恩•李带着一笔钱回了家，而我父亲干得也不错。我父亲总对我说，来这个国家一
定要来拜访李先生。有一次我说，事情过去这么久了，他很可能不知道我是谁。可父亲对
此一笑置之。他说：‘所有经历过我和西米恩所共同经历过的事的男人，都不会把对方忘掉
的。’哦，我父亲几年前去世了。今年是我第一次来英格兰，我想最好听从父亲的建议，来
拜访一下李先生。”
他淡淡地一笑，接着说下去。
“到这儿的时候我稍微有点儿紧张，但事实上我根本没必要紧张。李先生热情地接待了
我，坚持让我留下来，和他的家人一起过圣诞节。我怕会打扰他们，可他根本不许我推
辞。”
他又非常不好意思地补充道：“他们都对我非常好——阿尔弗雷德•李先生和夫人，对
我好得不能再好了。发生了这样的事，我感到非常难过。”
“你到这儿多长时间了，法尔先生？”
“我昨天到的。”
“你今天见过李先生吗？”
“是的，今天早上我和他聊了一会儿。他那会儿精神很好，非常渴望听到关于人和其他
地方的事。”
“那是你最后一次见到他？”
“是的。”
“他有没有跟你提过，他的保险箱里放着些未经切割的钻石？”
“没有。”
赶在他人开口之前，他又加了一句：“你的意思是说，这是起盗窃杀人吗？”
“这个我们还不确定。”约翰逊说，“说到今晚发生的事情，能告诉我们你当时在干什么
吗？”
“当然可以。女士们离开餐厅之后，我待在那儿又喝了杯葡萄酒。接着我意识到李家的
人有家事要谈，而我在那儿妨碍了他们，便找了个借口离开了。”
“你去干什么了？”
斯蒂芬•法尔靠在他的椅背上，食指抚摸着下巴，回答的声音很呆板。
“我——呃——去了一个铺着镶花木地板的大房间，应该是舞厅之类的地方。那儿有一
台留声机，还有舞曲唱片，我放上了一些唱片。”
波洛说：“也许，很可能，有什么人也到那儿去和你共舞？”
斯蒂芬•法尔的唇边露出一丝淡淡的笑容。他答道：“确实很可能，是的。人总会心怀
期待。”
说完他直率地咧开嘴笑了。
波洛说：“埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐非常漂亮。”
斯蒂芬应道：“她是我来英格兰后见过的最漂亮的姑娘。”
“埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐来了吗？”
斯蒂芬摇摇头。
“我在那儿听到了喧闹声，于是来到大厅，飞快地跑上楼，想看看发生了什么事。是我
帮哈里•李砸开了门。”
“这就是你所能告诉我们的一切了？”
“恐怕就只有这些了。”
赫尔克里•波洛向前探出身子，柔声道：“但我认为，法尔先生，你应该还能告诉我们
很多事情，如果你愿意的话。”
法尔厉声问道：“你这是什么意思？”
“你还能告诉我们一些在此案中非常重要的事情——李先生是个怎样的人。你说你父亲
经常对你说起他，那你父亲是怎么描述他的呢？”
斯蒂芬•法尔回答得很慢。
“我想我明白你在暗示什么。西米思•李年轻的时候是什么样的？嗯，我想你希望我实
话实说吧？”
“如果你愿意的话。”
“好吧，首先，我不认为西米恩•李是一个道德高尚的公民。倒不是说他是个坏蛋，只
是他总游走在法律边缘。关于他的品行，我说不出什么好话，尽管他很有魅力，可以说非
常迷人，而且他难以置信地慷慨。走了背运的人去求助于他，没有一个人空手而归的。他
喝一点儿酒，但不过量，对女人们很有吸引力，也很有幽默感。另一方面，他记仇的能力
也强得可怕。俗话说大象是仇不忘，你也可以这么说西米恩•李。我父亲给我讲过好几件
事，关于他如何等上好几年，终于报复了曾经坑过他的人，就此扯平。”
萨格登警司说：“这种事两方都不清白。法尔先生，我想你并不知道具体有谁在那儿被
西米恩•李狠狠地坑过一把吧？过去的事情中，有可以解释今晚发生的这起案子的吗？”
斯蒂芬•法尔摇摇头。
“他有仇人，这是当然的，像他那样的男人，一定有过。但我并不知道什么具体的人或
事。除此之外，”他眯起眼睛，“我了解到——事实上，我去问了特雷西利安——今晚没有
任何陌生人靠近过这幢房子。”
赫尔克里•波洛说：“除了你之外，法尔先生。”
斯蒂芬•法尔突然转向他。
“噢？原来是这样的啊？怀疑家里面的陌生人！不过你们找不出那类事情的。没有西米
恩•李搞垮了埃比尼泽•法尔，埃比的儿子便来为父亲报仇这样的事！不，”他摇摇头，“西米
恩和埃比尼泽从没针锋相对过。我到这儿来的原因，就是刚才告诉过你们的，纯粹是出于
好奇。此外，我想留声机是个很好的不在场证明，和其他证据一样好用。我一刻不停地换
唱片——肯定有人听到声音了。一张唱片的时间绝对不够我冲上楼去的——走廊连起来无
论如何也有一英里长——更何况还要割断老人的喉咙，洗去血迹，在其他人跑上去之前回
来。这想法太可笑了！”
约翰逊上校说：“我们并没有暗示说是你干的，法尔先生。”
斯蒂芬•法尔说：“我非常不喜欢赫尔克里•波洛先生说话的口气。”
“这……”赫尔克里•波洛说，“可太不幸了！”
波洛亲切地冲他微笑着。
斯蒂芬•法尔则怒气冲冲地看着他。
约翰逊上校马上打圆场。
“谢谢你，法尔先生，目前这样就行了。不过你暂时还不能离开这幢房子。”
斯蒂芬•法尔点点头，起身离开了房间，无所顾忌、大摇大摆地迈着步子。
等门在他身后关上，约翰逊说：“来了个未知数X。他说的故事听起来挺坦诚的，但他
仍然是匹黑马。他可能就是来偷那些钻石的——然后编了个故事好让自己混进来。你最好
弄到他的指纹，萨格登，看看他有没有案底。”
“我已经弄到了。”警司干巴巴地笑着说。
“好样的，不会放掉任何事。我想你已经查过所有明显的线索了？”
萨格登警司掰着指头核对。
“核查电话——来电时间等情况；调查霍伯里，他是什么时候走的，谁看见他走了；检
查所有出入口；简要地调查所有工作人员；调查每位家庭成员的财务状况；联系律师，调
查遗嘱的事；搜查整幢房子，寻找武器和染血的衣服——还有钻石可能藏在哪儿。”
“我想已经面面俱到了。”约翰逊上校赞许地说，“你还有什么建议吗，波洛先生？”
波洛摇摇头，说：“我觉得警司调查得非常彻底。”
萨格登沮丧地说：“在这幢房子里寻找钻石，可不是件轻松的事。我这辈子还没见过这
么多装饰品和小摆设。”
“肯定有很多可以藏东西的地方。”波洛表示同意。
“你真的没有什么建议吗，波洛？”
上校看上去有点儿失望——就像发现自己的狗拒绝玩游戏了一样。
波洛说：“你允许我用自己的方式吗？”
“当然，当然。”
同时，萨格登警司不明所以地问：“什么方式？”
“我想，”波洛说，“和这个家的成员们——经常地、频繁地——谈话。”
“你是说想再对他们进行一次问讯？”约翰逊上校问，有些迷惑。
“不不，不是问讯——是谈话！”
“为什么？”萨格登问。
赫尔克里•波洛有力地摆了摆手。
“关键点都藏在语言中！如果一个人一直在讲话，他便会不可避免地说出真相！”
萨格登说：“你认为有人在说谎？”
波洛叹了口气。
“亲爱的，每个人都说了谎——但就像那个英国助理牧师的鸡蛋一样，有好有坏（注：
出自一八九五年英国的幽默周刊杂志《笨拙》（Punch）上记载的一则故事：一个胆小的助
理牧师与主教共同进餐时分到一只坏了的蛋，他却说这个蛋还有一部分是好的。）。我们
要把无害的谎话和关键的谎言区分开。”
约翰逊上校严肃地说：“但这件事依旧令人难以置信。这儿有一个异常冷酷残忍的杀人
凶手，而我们都有哪些嫌疑人呢？阿尔弗雷德•李和他的妻子——都是知书达理、安静祥和
的好人。乔治•李是国会议员，有脸有面的大人物。他的妻子？不过是一个普通的摩登女
郎。戴维•李看起来是个柔弱的家伙，他弟弟哈里证实他见了血就受不了。他妻子看起来是
一个通晓事理的好女人——但平凡无奇，然后就剩那个西班牙外孙女和从南非来的男人
了。西班牙美人脾气很暴躁，可我不认为那个迷人的女郎会冷血地割断老头的脖子，尤其
是事实表明她最有理由让他活着，至少要等他立完新遗嘱。斯蒂芬•法尔有可能。换句话
说，他可能是一个职业骗子，为了钻石来到这儿，但被老人发现了，于是法尔割断了他的
喉咙好让他永远沉默。很可能是这样的，用留声机作不在场证明，不够充分。”
波洛摇摇头。
“我亲爱的朋友，”他说，“比较一下斯蒂芬•法尔先生和老西米恩•李的体格吧！如果法
尔决定杀了那个老头，用不了一分钟就能解决。西米思•李不可能站起来反抗他。有人会相
信那个脆弱的老人，和那个魁梧的小伙子搏斗了好几分钟，还弄翻了椅子、打碎了瓷器
吗？想想都觉得太荒唐了！”
约翰逊上校的眼睛眯了起来。
“你的意思是，”他说，“杀死西米恩•李的，是一个更加瘦弱的男人？”
“或者一个女人！”警司说。
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH XVI
XVI
Colonel Johnson looked at his watch.
“Nothing much more that I can do here. You’ve got things well in hand, Sugden. Oh, just one
thing. We ought to see the butler fellow. I know you’ve questioned him, but we know a bit more
about things now. It’s important to get confirmation of just where everybody says he was at the
time of the murder.”
Tressilian came in slowly. The chief constable told him to sit down.
“Thank you, sir. I will, if you don’t mind. I’ve been feeling very queer—very queer indeed.
My legs, sir, and my head.”
Poirot said gently: “You have had the shock, yes.”
The butler shuddered. “Such — such a violent thing to happen. In this house! Where
everything has always gone on so quietly.”
Poirot said:
“It was a well-ordered house, yes? But not a happy one?”
“I wouldn’t like to say that, sir.”
“In the old days when all the family was at home, it was happy then?”
Tressilian said slowly:
“It wasn’t perhaps what one would call very harmonious, sir.”
“The late Mrs. Lee was somewhat of an invalid, was she not?”
“Yes, sir, very poorly she was.”
“Were her children fond of her?”
“Mr. David, he was devoted to her. More like a daughter than a son. And after she died he
broke away, couldn’t face living here any longer.”
Poirot said: “And Mr. Harry? What was he like?”
“Always rather a wild young gentleman, sir, but good-hearted. Oh, dear, gave me quite a
turn, it did, when the bell rang—and then again, so impatient like, and I opened the door and there
was a strange man, and then Mr. Harry’s voice said, ‘Hallo, Tressilian. Still here, eh?’ Just the
same as ever.”
Poirot said sympathetically:
“It must have been the strange feeling, yes, indeed.”
Tressilian said, a little pink flush showing in his cheek:
“It seems sometimes, sir, as though the past isn’t the past! I believe there’s been a play on in
London about something like that. There’s something in it, sir—there really is. There’s a feeling
comes over you—as though you’d done everything before. It just seems to me as though the bell
rings and I go to answer it and there’s Mr. Harry—even if it should be Mr. Farr or some other
person—I’m just saying to myself—but I’ve done this before. . . .”
Poirot said:
“That is very interesting—very interesting.”
Tressilian looked at him gratefully.
Johnson, somewhat impatient, cleared his throat and took charge of the conversation.
“Just want to get various times checked correctly,” he said. “Now, when the noise upstairs
started, I understand that only Mr. Alfred Lee and Mr. Harry Lee were in the dining room. Is that
so?”
“I really couldn’t tell you, sir. All the gentlemen were there when I served coffee to them—
but that would be about a quarter of an hour earlier.”
“Mr. George Lee was telephoning. Can you confirm that?”
“I think somebody did telephone, sir. The bell rings in my pantry, and when anybody takes
off the receiver to call a number, there’s just a faint noise on the bell. I do remember hearing that,
but I didn’t pay attention to it.”
“You don’t know exactly when it was?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. It was after I had taken coffee to the gentlemen, that is all I can say.”
“Do you know where any of the ladies were at the time I mentioned?”
“Mrs. Alfred was in the drawing room, sir, when I went for the coffee tray. That was just a
minute or two before I heard the cry upstairs.”
Poirot asked:
“What was she doing?”
“She was standing by the far window, sir. She was holding the curtain a little back and
looking out.”
“And none of the other ladies were in the room?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know where they were?”
“I couldn’t say at all, sir.”
“You don’t know where anyone else was?”
“Mr. David, I think, was playing in the music room next door to the drawing room.”
“You heard him playing?”
“Yes, sir.” Again the old man shivered. “It was like a sign, sir, so I felt afterwards. It was the
‘Dead March’ he was playing. Even at the time, I remember, it gave me the creeps.”
“It is curious, yes,” said Poirot.
“Now, about this fellow, Horbury, the valet,” said the chief constable. “Are you definitely
prepared to swear that he was out of the house by eight o’clock?”
“Oh yes, sir. It was just after Mr. Sugden here arrived. I remember particular because he
broke a coffee cup.”
Poirot said:
“Horbury broke a coffee cup?”
“Yes, sir—one of the old Worcester ones. Eleven years I’ve washed them up and never one
broken till this evening.”
Poirot said:
“What was Horbury doing with the coffee cups?”
“Well, of course, sir, he’d no business to have been handling them at all. He was just holding
one up, admiring it like, and I happened to mention that Mr. Sugden had called, and he dropped
it.”
Poirot said:
“Did you say ‘Mr. Sugden’ or did you mention the word police?”
Tressilian looked a little startled.
“Now I come to think of it, sir, I mentioned that the police superintendent had called.”
“And Horbury dropped the coffee cup,” said Poirot.
“Seems suggestive, that,” said the chief constable. “Did Horbury ask any questions about the
superintendent’s visit?”
“Yes, sir, asked what he wanted here. I said he’d come collecting for the Police Orphanage
and had gone up to Mr. Lee.”
“Did Horbury seemed relieved when you said that?”
“Do you know, sir, now you mention it, he certainly did. His manner changed at once. Said
Mr. Lee was a good old chap and free with his money—rather disrepectfully he spoke—and then
he went off.”
“Which way?”
“Out through the door to the servants’ hall.”
Sugden interposed:
“All that’s O.K., sir. He passed through the kitchen, where the cook and the kitchenmaid saw
him, and out through the back door.”
“Now listen, Tressilian, and think carefully. Is there any means by which Horbury could
return to the house without anyone seeing him?”
The old man shook his head.
“I don’t see how he could have done so, sir. All the doors are locked on the inside.”
“Supposing he had had a key?”
“The doors are bolted as well.”
“How does he get in when he comes?”
“He has a key of the back door, sir. All the servants come in that way.”
“He could have returned that way, then?”
“Not without passing through the kitchen, sir. And the kitchen would be occupied till well
after half past nine or a quarter to ten.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“That seems conclusive. Thank you, Tressilian.”
The old man got up and with a bow left the room. He returned, however, a minute or two
later.
“Horbury has just returned, sir. Would you like to see him now?”
“Yes, please, send him in at once.”
第三部分 十二月二十四日 16
16
约翰逊上校看看表。
“我想我们没什么可以做的事，你把事情都安排得井井有条，萨格登。噢，还有一件
事，我们应该见一下那个管家，我知道你已经问过他了，但我们现在知道了些新情况，确
定每个人案发的时候在哪儿，是很重要的。”
特雷西利安慢慢地走了进来。上校叫他坐下。
“谢谢你，先生，我确实需要坐下，如果你们不介意的话。我一直觉得很难受——实在
是非常难受。我的腿，还有我的头。”
波洛温和地说：“是的，你受惊了。”
管家颤抖了一下。“发生了多么可怕的事情啊！在这幢房子里！这里一直安安静静
的。”
波洛说：“这确实是一幢井然有序的房子，但不快乐，对吗？”
“我不想这么说，先生。”
“很久以前，一家人都还在这儿的时候，那时候大家都快乐吗？”
特雷西利安慢吞吞地说：“那时候或许不能被称为非常和睦，先生。”
“已故的李夫人身患重病，是吗？”
“是的，先生，她非常不幸。”
“孩子们喜欢她吗？”
“戴维先生，他非常爱她。他更像个女儿而不是儿子，她去世后他就离开了家，他在这
儿住不下去了。”
波洛说：“哈里先生呢？他怎么样？”
“他一直是个狂放的年轻人，先生，但心地善良。哦，天哪，那时真的吓了我一跳，门
铃响了——接着又响了一次，显得那么不耐烦。我打开门，门外站着一个陌生人，接着哈
里先生的声音响了起来：‘嗨，特雷西利安，你还在这儿啊？’和从前一模一样。”
波洛同情地说：“那感觉一定很奇怪，肯定的。”
特雷西利安的脸上浮现出一抹红晕，他说：“有时候，先生，感觉就好像旧时光并没有
远去！我记得在伦敦上演的一出戏讲的大概就是这种事。这一定有些什么道理，先生。一
定存在些原因。你总有一种感觉，好像一切都曾发生过。就像门铃响了我去开门，门外站
着哈里先生，或者法尔先生之类的其他什么人。而我对自己说，这事我以前做过……”
波洛说：“这很有意思，非常有意思。”
特雷西利安感激地看着他。
约翰逊有些不耐烦，清了清嗓子，掌握了谈话的主动权。
“我们只是想再确认一下几处时间问题。”他说，“目前我们了解到，楼上首次有动静的
时候，只有阿尔弗雷德•李先生和哈里•李先生在餐厅里。是这样的吗？”
“这个我真的不知道，先生。我端去咖啡的时候，所有的先生都在那儿。但那是在事情
发生的一刻钟以前。”
“乔治先生在打电话，这一点你能证明吗？”
“我想的确有人在打电话，先生。我那餐具室里的电话铃响了，如果有人拿起听筒拨
号，我那里就会有些微弱的响声。我的确听见了那样的声音，可我当时并没特别注意。”
“你不知道那时的确切时间？”
“我说不上来，先生。我只能告诉你，是在我给先生们上过咖啡之后。”
“你知道在这段时间里，女士们都在哪儿吗？”
“我去收咖啡盘的时候，阿尔弗雷德夫人在客厅里，先生。一两分钟之后，楼上就传来
了响动。”
波洛问：“她在做什么？”
“她站在最里面的那扇窗户边，先生。她把窗帘拉开了一点儿，正向外望着。”
“其他女士都不在房间里吗？”
“是的，先生。”
“你知道她们在哪儿吗？”
“我完全不知道，先生。”
“你还知道谁在哪儿吗？”
“戴维先生，我想，他在客厅隔壁的音乐室里弹琴。”
“你听见他弹琴了？”
“是的，先生。”老人又抖了一下，“事情发生后，我才觉得那就像一种预兆，先生。他
弹的是《葬礼进行曲》。我记得当时我就起了一身鸡皮疙瘩。”
“这很奇怪，嗯。”波洛说。
“关于那个家伙，霍伯里，贴身男仆，”上校说，“你能发誓他在八点钟之前就出去了
吗？”
“噢，是的，先生。恰好在萨格登先生到这儿以后。我会记得这件事是因为他打破了一
个咖啡杯。”
波洛说：“霍伯里打破了一个咖啡杯？”
“是的，先生——一个伍斯特牌的老瓷器。我洗了它们十一年，从没打碎过一个，直到
今晚……”
波洛说：“霍伯里为什么要动咖啡杯？”
“是的，先生，他根本就不该碰它们。当时他正拿着一个欣赏，我说萨格登先生来了，
他就把杯子掉在地上了。”
波洛说：“你说的是‘萨格登先生’，还是提到了警察这个词？”
特雷西利安看起来微微有些吃惊。
“你这么一说我想起来了，我说的是警司来了。”
“而霍伯里就把咖啡杯掉在地上了。”
“这么说感觉颇有暗示性。”上校说，“霍伯里问没问什么与警司来访有关的问题？”
“是的，先生，他问警司来这儿干什么，我说他是来劝说李先生为警方的孤儿院募捐
的。”
“听到你这么说，霍伯里有没有松了一口气？”
“你知道吗，先生，现在你这么一说，我才想起来的确是这样的。他的态度马上就变
了，说李先生是一个老好人，在钱方面很大方。说话的口气很不尊重，然后他就走了。”
“从哪儿走的？”
“从通往下人房的门出去了。”
萨格登插话说：“确实如此，长官。他穿过厨房时厨子和厨娘都看见了，然后他从后门
出去了。”
“现在好好听着，特雷西利安，你仔细想想，霍伯里有没有什么办法溜回来而不被任何
人发现？”
老人摇了摇头。
“我想不出他能怎么办到，先生。所有门都从里面锁上了。”
“假设他有钥匙呢？”
“门闩还闩着。”
“那他回来时会怎么进屋呢？”
“他有后门的钥匙，先生，用人们都从那个门进来。”
“那他确实可能神不知鬼不觉地回来了啊？”
“他不可能不穿过厨房，先生。厨房直到九点半或九点三刻都有人在。”
约翰逊上校说：“看起来这一点是确定无疑的了。谢谢你，特雷西利安。”
老人站起身来，鞠了一躬离开了房间。但一两分钟之后他又回来了。
“霍伯里刚回来，先生。你们现在要见他吗？”
“是的，请叫他马上过来。”
PART THREE DECEMBER 24TH XVII
XVII
Sydney Horbury did not present a very prepossessing appearance. He came into the room and
stood rubbing his hands together and darting quick looks from one person to another. His manner
was unctuous.
Johnson said:
“You’re Sydney Horbury?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Valet attendant to the late Mr. Lee?”
“Yes, sir. It’s terrible, isn’t it? You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard
from Gladys. Poor old gentleman—”
Johnson cut him short.
“Just answer my questions, please.”
“Yes, sir, certainly, sir.”
“What time did you go out tonight, and where have you been?”
“I left the house just before eight, sir. I went to the Superb, sir, just five minutes’ walk away.
Love in Old Seville was the picture, sir.”
“Anyone who saw you there?”
“The young lady in the box office, sir, she knows me. And the commissionaire at the door, he
knows me too. And—er—as a matter of fact, I was with a young lady, sir. I met her there by
appointment.”
“Oh, you did, did you? What’s her name?”
“Doris Buckle, sir. She works in the Combined Dairies, sir, 23, Markham Road.”
“Good. We’ll look into that. Did you come straight home?”
“I saw my young lady home first, sir. Then I came straight back. You’ll find it’s quite all
right, sir. I didn’t have anything to do with this. I was—”
Colonel Johnson said curtly:
“Nobody’s accusing you of having anything to do with it.”
“No, sir, of course not, sir. But it’s not very pleasant when a murder happens in a house.”
“Nobody said it was. Now, then, how long had you been in Mr. Lee’s service?”
“Just over a year, sir.”
“Did you like your place here?”
“Yes, sir. I was quite satisfied. The pay was good. Mr. Lee was rather difficult sometimes, but
of course I’m used to attending on invalids.”
“You’ve had previous experience?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I was with Major West and with the Honourable Jasper Finch—”
“You can give all those particulars to Sugden later. What I want to know is this: At what time
did you last see Mr. Lee this evening?”
“It was about half past seven, sir. Mr. Lee had a light supper brought to him every evening at
seven o’clock. I then prepared him for bed. After that he would sit in front of the fire in his
dressing gown till he felt like going to bed.”
“What time was that usually?”
“It varied, sir. Sometimes he would go to bed as early as eight o’clock—that’s if he felt tired.
Sometimes he would sit up till eleven or after.”
“What did he do when he did want to go to bed?”
“Usually he rang for me, sir.”
“And you assisted him to bed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But this was your evening out. Did you always have Fridays?”
“Yes, sir. Friday was my regular day.”
“What happened then when Mr. Lee wanted to go to bed?”
“He would ring his bell and either Tressilian or Walter would see to him.”
“He was not helpless? He could move about?”
“Yes, sir, but not very easily. Rheumatoid arthritis was what he suffered from, sir. He was
worse some days than others.”
“Did he never go into another room in the daytime?”
“No, sir. He preferred to be in just the one room. Mr. Lee wasn’t luxurious in his tastes. It
was a big room with plenty of air and light in it.”
“Mr. Lee had his supper at seven, you say?”
“Yes, sir. I took the tray away and put out the sherry and two glasses on the bureau.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Mr. Lee’s orders.”
“Was that usual?”
“Sometimes. It was the rule that none of the family came to see Mr. Lee in the evening unless
he invited them. Some evenings he liked to be alone. Other evenings he’d send down and ask Mr.
Alfred, or Mrs. Alfred, or both of them, to come up after dinner.”
“But, as far as you know, he had not done so on this occasion? That is, he had not sent a
message to any member of the family requesting their presence?”
“He hadn’t sent any message by me, sir.”
“So that he wasn’t expecting any of the family?”
“He might have asked one of them personally, sir.”
“Of course.”
Horbury continued:
“I saw that everything was in order, wished Mr. Lee good night and left the room.”
Poirot asked:
“Did you make up the fire before you left the room?”
The valet hesitated.
“It wasn’t necessary, sir. It was well built up.”
“Could Mr. Lee have done that himself?”
“Oh no, sir. I expect Mr. Harry Lee had done it.”
“Mr. Harry Lee was with him when you came in before supper?”
“Yes, sir. He went away when I came.”
“What was the relationship between the two as far as you could judge?”
“Mr. Harry Lee seemed in very good spirits, sir. Throwing back his head and laughing a good
deal.”
“And Mr. Lee?”
“He was quiet and rather thoughtful.”
“I see. Now, there’s something more I want to know, Horbury: What can you tell us about the
diamonds Mr. Lee kept in his safe?”
“Diamonds, sir? I never saw any diamonds.”
“Mr. Lee kept a quantity of uncut stones there. You must have seen him handling them.”
“Those funny little pebbles, sir? Yes, I did see him with them once or twice. But I didn’t
know they were diamonds. He was showing them to the foreign young lady only yesterday—or
was it the day before?”
Colonel Johnson said abruptly:
“These stones have been stolen.”
Horbury cried out:
“I hope you don’t think, sir, that I had anything to do with it!”
“I’m not making any accusations,” said Johnson. “Now then, is there anything you can tell us
that has any bearing on this matter?”
“The diamonds, sir? Or the murder?”
“Both.”
“Horbury considered. He passed his tongue over his pale lips. At last he looked up with eyes
that were a shade furtive.
“I don’t think there’s anything, sir.”
Poirot said softly:
“Nothing you’ve overheard, say, in the course of your duties, which might be helpful?”
The valet’s eyelids flickered a little.
“No, sir, I don’t think so, sir. There was a little awkwardness between Mr. Lee and—and
some members of his family.”
“Which members?”
“I gathered there was a little trouble over Mr. Harry Lee’s return. Mr. Alfred Lee resented it.
I understand he and his father had a few words about it—but that was all there was to it. Mr. Lee
didn’t accuse him for a minute of having taken any diamonds. And I’m sure Mr. Alfred wouldn’t
do such a thing.”
Poirot said quickly:
“His interview with Mr. Alfred was after he had discovered the loss of the diamonds, was it
not, though?”
“Yes, sir.”
Poirot leaned forward.
“I thought, Horbury,” he said softly, “that you did not know of the theft of the diamonds until
we informed you of it just now. How, then, do you know that Mr. Lee had discovered his loss
before he had this conversation with his son?”
Horbury turned brick red.
“No use lying. Out with it,” said Sugden. “When did you know?”
Horbury said sullenly:
“I heard him telephoning to someone about it.”
“You weren’t in the room?”
“No, outside the door. Couldn’t hear much—only a word or two.”
“What did you hear exactly?” asked Poirot sweetly.
“I heard the words robbery and diamonds, and I heard him say, ‘I don’t know who to
suspect’—and I heard him say something about this evening at eight o’clock.”
Superintendent Sugden nodded.
“That was to me he was speaking, my lad. About five ten, was it?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“And when you went into his room afterwards, did he look upset?”
“Just a bit, sir. Seemed absentminded and worried.”
“So much so that you got the wind up—eh?”
“Look here, Mr. Sugden, I won’t have you saying things like that. Never touched any
diamonds, I didn’t, and you can’t prove I did. I’m not a thief.”
Superintendent Sugden, unimpressed, said:
“That remains to be seen.” He glanced questioningly at the chief constable, received a nod,
and went on: “That’ll do for you, my lad. Shan’t want you again tonight.”
Horbury went out gratefully in haste.
Sugden said appreciatively:
“Pretty bit of work, M. Poirot. You trapped him as neatly as I’ve ever seen it done. He may
be a thief or he may not, but he’s certainly a first-class liar!”
“An unprepossessing person,” said Poirot.
“Nasty bit of goods,” agreed Johnson. “Question is, what do we think of his evidence?”
Sugden summarized the position neatly.
“Seems to me there are three possibilities: (1) Horbury’s a thief and a murderer. (2)
Horbury’s a thief, but not a murderer. (3) Horbury’s an innocent man. Certain amount of evidence
for (1). He overheard telephone call and knew the theft had been discovered. Gathered from old
man’s manner that he was suspected. Made his plans accordingly. Went out ostentatiously at eight
o’clock and cooked up an alibi. Easy enough to slip out of a cinema and return there unnoticed.
He’d have to be pretty sure of the girl, though, that she wouldn’t give him away. I’ll see what I can
get out of her tomorrow.”
“How, then, did he manage to reenter the house?” asked Poirot.
“That’s more difficult,” Sugden admitted. “But there might be ways. Say one of the women
servants unlocked a side door for him.”
Poirot raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“He places, then, his life at the mercy of two women? With one woman it would be taking a
big risk; with two—eh bien, I find the risk fantastic!”
Sugden said:
“Some criminals think they can get away with anything!”
He went on:
“Let’s take (2). Horbury pinched those diamonds. He took ’em out of the house tonight and
has possibly passed them on to some accomplice. That’s quite easy going and highly probable.
Now we’ve got to admit that somebody else chose this night to murder Mr. Lee. That somebody
being quite unaware of the diamond complication. It’s possible, of course, but it’s a bit of a
coincidence.
“Possibility (3)—Horbury’s innocent. Somebody else both took the diamonds and murdered
the old gentleman. There it is; it’s up to us to get at the truth.”
Colonel Johnson yawned. He looked again at his watch and got up.
“Well,” he said, “I think we’ll call it a night, eh? Better just have a look in the safe before we
go. Odd thing if those wretched diamonds were there all the time.”
But the diamonds were not in the safe. They found the combination where Alfred Lee had
told them, in the small notebook taken from the dressing gown pocket of the dead man. In the safe
they found an empty chamois-leather bag. Among the papers the safe contained only one was of
interest.
It was a will dated some fifteen years previously. After various legacies and bequests, the
provisions were simple enough. Half Simeon Lee’s fortune went to Alfred Lee. The other half was
to be divided in equal shares between his remaining children: Harry, George, David and Jennifer.
第三部分 十二月二十四日 17
17
西德尼•霍伯里的样子很不讨人喜欢。他走进房间，站在那儿搓着手，急切地看看这个
又看看那个，油腔滑调的。
约翰逊说：“你就是西德尼•霍伯里？”
“是的，先生。”
“李先生的男看护？”
“是的，先生。这件事太可怕了，不是吗？我从格拉迪斯那儿听说的时候，吓得差点儿
晕过去。可怜的老先生——”
约翰逊打断了他的话。
“只要回答我的问题就行了。”
“好，先生，当然。”
“你今天晚上几点出去的，去了哪儿？”
“我是快八点时离开的，先生。去了豪华影院，先生，走路只要五分钟。看的电影是
《塞维利亚老教堂之恋》，先生。”
“有人看见你在电影院吗？”
“售票处的女士，先生，她认识我。还有看门的，他也认识我。还有——呃——事实
上，我是和一位年轻的女士一起去的，先生。我和她约好了在那儿见面。”
“噢，这样啊，是吗？她叫什么？”
“多丽丝•巴克尔，先生。她在联合乳品厂工作，先生，马卡姆路，二十三号。”
“好的，我们会去核实的。看完电影你直接回家了吗？”
“我先把我的女伴送回了家，先生，然后就直接回来了。你会发现我说的都是实话，先
生。我和这事一点关系也没有，我——”
约翰逊上校不客气地说：“没人说你和这事有关。”
“是的，先生。当然没有，先生。可家里发生了谋杀案，总不是件愉快的事。”
“没人说这是件好事。那么，你为李先生服务多长时间了？”
“刚满一年，先生。”
“你喜欢在这儿的工作吗？”
“是的，先生，我非常满意。薪水很不错。李先生有时候确实很难伺候，不过我在照料
残疾人方面很有经验。”
“你有过这方面的经验？”
“噢，是的，先生。我在韦斯特少校和尊贵的贾斯珀•芬奇那儿——”
“具体的待会儿告诉萨格登。我想知道的是，你今晚最后一次见到李先生是在什么时
候？”
“大约是在七点半，先生。李先生晚上吃得很少，每晚七点晚餐会送到他的房里，然后
我就去为他铺床。晚餐后他会穿着睡衣坐在壁炉旁，直到他觉得想去睡了。”
“通常他几点想去睡？”
“每天都不一样，先生。有时候他八点就睡了，这表示他觉得很累；有时候他会一直坐
到十一点或更晚才睡。”
“当他想上床睡觉时，他会怎么做？”
“通常他会按铃叫我，先生。”
“然后你就去帮他上床？”
“是的，先生。”
“但今晚你休息。你总是星期五休息吗？”
“是的，先生，星期五是我固定的休息日。”
“你休息的时候，李先生想睡觉怎么办呢？”
“他还是会按铃，然后特雷西利安或沃尔特就会上去。”
“他不是完全不能行动吧？他可以走动吗？”
“能走，先生，只是比较困难。他得的是风湿性关节炎，情况时好时坏的。”
“白天他从不到别的房间去吗？”
“是的，先生。他就喜欢待在那个房间里，李先生并不追求奢侈的享受。况且那个房间
非常大，通风良好，光线充足。”
“你说李先生七点钟吃晚饭？”
“是的，先生。然后我把托盘收走，拿出雪利酒和两个玻璃杯，放在写字台上。”
“为什么这么做？”
“李先生吩咐的。”
“这是他的习惯吗？”
“有时候这样。家里有条规矩，除非李先生邀请，否则晚上的时候谁都不能上楼去找
他。有时候他喜欢晚上一个人待着。想找人陪着时他会派人到楼下去叫阿尔弗雷德先生或
夫人，或者两个人都叫上，让他们吃完晚饭上去。”
“可是，就你所知，今晚他并没有这么做？也就是说，他没捎口信给任何一位家庭成
员，叫他们上来？”
“至少他没派我捎这样的口信，先生。”
“那么，他等的就不是家里人？”
“他也可能亲自跟他们说，先生。”
“当然啦。”
霍伯里接着说：“我看一切都弄好了，就对李先生道了晚安，离开了房间。”
波洛问道：“你离开房间前给壁炉添柴了吗？”
贴身男仆犹豫了一下。
“没这个必要，先生，火烧得很好。”
“李先生自己能添柴吗？”
“噢，不，先生。我想可能是哈里•李先生添的。”
“你在晚饭前进去的时候，哈里•李先生正和他在一起？”
“是的，先生。我一进来他就走了。”
“在你看来，他们两个的关系怎么样？”
“哈里•李先生看起来情绪不错，先生。他把头向后仰着，大声笑了半天。”
“李先生呢？”
“他很安静，一脸沉思的样子。”
“明白了。另外，还有一些事我们想知道。霍伯里，关于李先生放在保险箱里的钻石，
你能告诉我们些什么？”
“钻石，先生？我从没见过什么钻石。”
“李先生在房间里放了不少未经切割的钻石，你一定见过他拿着它们玩吧。”
“那些可笑的小鹅卵石，先生？是的，我见他拿出来过一两次，但我不知道那些是钻
石。他昨天还给那位外国女士看呢，还是前天来着？”
约翰逊上校突然说道：“那些钻石被偷了。”
霍伯里叫了起来：“先生，我希望你不是认为这件事和我有什么关系吧？”
“我没有提出任何指控。”约翰逊说，“现在，你能不能告诉我们一些和这件事有关的线
索？”
“先生，您是指钻石，还是谋杀？”
“都可以。”
霍伯里思考着，用舌头舔着发白的嘴唇。最后他抬起头来，眼睛里有一抹鬼鬼祟祟的
阴影。
“我认为没什么可说的，先生。”
波洛轻声道：“你没有无意中听到什么，比如在你当班的时候，有可能对我们有帮助的
事吗？”
男仆的眼睛眨了一下。
“没有，先生，我不这么想。李先生和……某些家庭成员，相处得有些尴尬。”
“哪些家庭成员呢？”
“我感觉，哈里•李先生的归来带来了些麻烦。阿尔弗雷德•李先生反对这件事，我知道
他和他父亲谈起过，但谈话内容仅限于此。李先生没有指责他偷了钻石什么的，而我敢肯
定，阿尔弗雷德先生不会做出这样的事。”
波洛飞快地说：“他和阿尔弗雷德的那次会面，发生在他发现钻石丢失之后，对吗？”
“是的，先生。”
波洛向前探出身子。
“我想，霍伯里，”他柔声道，“你并不知道钻石失窃了，直到刚才我们告诉你这件事。
那么，你怎么会知道李先生先发现钻石失踪，然后才和儿子有了一次谈话呢？”
霍伯里的脸变成了砖红色。
“撒谎是没有用的，说出来吧，”萨格登说，“你是什么时候知道的？”
霍伯里不乐意地说：“我听见他给什么人打电话时提到了这件事。”
“你当时并不在房间里？”
“对，我在门外。听得不太清——只听见了一两个词。”
“你到底听见了什么？”波洛和气地问。
“我听见了‘盗窃’和‘钻石’，我还听见他说，‘我不知道该怀疑谁’，又听见他说今晚八点
什么的。”
萨格登警司点点头。
“他是在跟我讲话，小子。那时大约是五点十分，对不对？”
“对，先生。”
“接着你走进他的房间时，他看起来很不高兴吗？”
“只有一点儿，先生，看起来好像心不在焉而且忧心忡忡。”
“但已足以让你害怕了，对吗？”
“够了，萨格登先生，我不喜欢您这么说话。我从没碰过什么钻石，我没有，而且您无
法证明这件事是我干的，我不是个贼。”
萨格登警司不为所动。
“这还不能断言。”他瞥了一眼上校，后者点点头。萨格登警司接着说：“行了，小子，
今晚没你什么事了。”
霍伯里草草地道谢，就匆忙出去了。
萨格登赞赏道：“干得漂亮，波洛先生。你这一招是我所见过的最干脆利落的。不管他
是不是贼，都是个一流的说谎大王。”
“一个不讨人喜欢的人。”波洛说。
“一个下流小人。”约翰逊表示同意，“现在的问题是，我们怎么看待他的证词？”
萨格登已将情况总结得有条有理。
“在我看来，目前有三种可能：第一，霍伯里既是窃贼又是凶手；第二，霍伯里是贼，
但不是凶手；第三，霍伯里是无辜的。如果是第一种情况，事情的经过就是：他偷听了电
话，得知偷窃钻石的事已被发现，从老人的态度推测，他被怀疑了。于是他制定了计划，
八点钟时大摇大摆地出去，以伪造一个不在场证明。从电影院里溜出来，再神不知鬼不觉
地回去，是非常简单的。只不过他要确保那个年轻姑娘不会出卖他。明天我会去看看能从
她那儿问出点儿什么。”
“可他要怎么回到这幢房子里来呢？”波洛问道。
“那确实有点儿困难。”萨格登承认，“但总会有办法的。比如一个女仆给他开了侧
门。”
波洛嘲讽地挑了挑眉毛。
“也就是说，他要把性命放在两个女人的手中？靠一个女人就要冒很大的风险了，而两
个——好吧，我难以想象这风险有多大！”
萨格登说：“有些罪犯觉得他们能在任何情况下逃脱罪责！”
他接着说道：“我们再来看看第二种可能。霍伯里偷了那些钻石，今晚就把它们带了出
去，可能已经转交给某位同伙。这很容易做到，而且可能性很高。而另有其人，选择今晚
来谋杀李先生。这个人完全不知道钻石这回事。当然，这确实有可能，只是有点儿过于凑
巧了。
“第三种可能——霍伯里是无辜的。别的什么人拿走了钻石并且谋杀了老先生。事情就
是这样了，轮到我们去找出真凶。”
约翰逊上校打了个哈欠，看了看表，站起身来。
“好吧，”他说，“我想我们要忙活上一夜了吧？走之前最好再去看一眼保险箱，要是那
些令人头疼的钻石还在那儿，那可就怪了。”
钻石的确不在保险箱里。他们在阿尔弗雷德•李说的地方找到了密码——放在死者睡衣
兜里的小笔记本上。他们在保险箱里发现了一个空麂皮袋子，以及一堆文件。其中只有一
份引起了他们的兴趣。
那是一份十五年前签署的遗嘱。在各项复杂的遗产及物品清单之后，分配条款意外地
简单。西米恩•李将一半遗产留给阿尔弗雷德•李，剩下的一半等分成四份，分给另外几个孩
子：哈里、乔治、戴维和詹妮弗。
PART FOUR DECEMBER 25TH
PART FOUR DECEMBER 25TH

In the bright sun of Christmas noon, Poirot walked in the gardens of Gorston Hall. The Hall itself
was a large solidly built house with no special architectural pretensions.
Here, on the south side, was a broad terrace flanked with a hedge of clipped yew. Little plants
grew in the interstices of the stone flags and at intervals along the terrace there were stone sinks
arranged as miniature gardens.
Poirot surveyed them with benign approval. He murmured to himself:
“C’est bien imaginé, ça!”
In the distance he caught sight of two figures going towards an ornamental sheet of water
some three hundred yards away. Pilar was easily recognizable as one of the figures, and he thought
at first the other was Stephen Farr, then he saw that the man with Pilar was Harry Lee. Harry
seemed very attentive to his attractive niece. At intervals he flung his head back and laughed, then
bent once more attentively towards her.
“Assuredly, there is one who does not mourn,” Poirot murmured to himself.
A soft sound behind him made him turn. Magdalene Lee was standing there. She, too, was
looking at the retreating figures of the man and girl. She turned her head and smiled enchantingly
at Poirot. She said:
“It’s such a glorious sunny day! One can hardly believe in all the horrors of last night, can
one, M. Poirot?”
“It is difficult, truly, madame.”
Magdalene sighed.
“I’ve never been mixed up in tragedy before. I’ve—I’ve really only just grown up. I stayed a
child too long, I think—That’s not a good thing to do.”
Again she sighed. She said:
“Pilar, now, seems so extraordinarily self-possessed—I suppose it’s the Spanish blood. It’s
all very odd, isn’t it?”
“What is odd, madame?”
“The way she turned up here, out of the blue!”
Poirot said:
“I have learned that Mr. Lee had been searching for her for some time. He had been in
correspondence with the Consulate in Madrid and with the vice-consul at Aliquara, where her
mother died.”
“He was very secretive about it all,” said Magdalene. “Alfred knew nothing about it. No more
did Lydia.”
“Ah!” said Poirot.
Magdalene came a little nearer to him. He could smell the delicate perfume she used.
“You know, M. Poirot, there’s some story connected with Jennifer’s husband, Estravados. He
died quite soon after the marriage, and there’s some mystery about it. Alfred and Lydia know. I
believe it was something—rather disgraceful. . . .”
“That,” said Poirot, “is indeed sad.”
Magdalene said:
“My husband feels—and I agree with him—that the family ought to have been told more
about the girl’s antecedents. After all, if her father was a criminal—”
She paused, but Hercule Poirot said nothing. He seemed to be admiring such beauties of
nature as could be seen in the winter season in the grounds of Gorston Hall.
Magdalene said:
“I can’t help feeling that the manner of my father-in-law’s death was somehow significant. It
—it was so very unEnglish.”
Hercule Poirot turned slowly. His grave eyes met hers in innocent inquiry.
“Ah,” he said. “The Spanish touch, you think?”
“Well, they are cruel, aren’t they?” Magdalene spoke with an effect of childish appeal. “All
those bullfights and things!”
Hercule Poirot said pleasantly:
“You are saying that in your opinion Señorita Estravados cut her grandfather’s throat?”
“Oh no, M. Poirot!” Magdalene was vehement. She was shocked. “I never said anything of
the kind! Indeed I didn’t!”
“Well,” said Poirot. “Perhaps you did not.”
“But I do think that she is — well, a suspicious person. The furtive way she picked up
something from the floor of that room last night, for instance.”
A different note crept into Hercule Poirot’s voice. He said sharply:
“She picked up something from the floor last night?”
Magdalene nodded. Her childish mouth curved spitefully.
“Yes, as soon as we got into the room. She gave a quick glance round to see if anyone was
looking, and then pounced on it. But the superintendent man saw her, I’m glad to say, and made
her give it up.”
“What was it that she picked up, do you know, madame?”
“No. I wasn’t near enough to see.” Magdalene’s voice held regret. “It was something quite
small.”
Poirot frowned to himself.
“It is interesting, that,” he murmured to himself.
Magdalene said quickly:
“Yes, I thought you ought to know about it. After all, we don’t know anything about Pilar’s
upbringing and what her life has been like. Alfred is always so suspicious and dear Lydia is so
casual.” Then she murmured: “Perhaps I’d better go and see if I can help Lydia in any way. There
may be letters to write.”
She left him with a smile of satisfied malice on her lips.
Poirot remained lost in thought on the terrace.
第四部分 十二月二十五日 1
第四部分 十二月二十五日
1
在圣诞节当日中午灿烂的阳光下，波洛走进戈斯顿霍尔的花园。主体建筑本身就是一
幢坚固的大房子，外观上没什么特别浮夸的装饰。
而现在这边，南面，有一道宽阔的阳台，环绕着修剪整齐的紫杉做树篱。石板路的缝
隙间种着些小型植物，沿着阳台分布着几处石槽，被布置成微缩庭院。
波洛低头研究着那些微型园林，低声赞赏道：“多么出色的设想啊！”
他看见远处有两个身影，正朝约三百码远的一处装饰性池塘走去。其中一个是皮拉
尔，她的身影很容易认。而起初波洛以为另一个是斯蒂芬•法尔，接着才认出和皮拉尔走在
一起的男人是哈里•李。哈里好像对他这个迷人的外甥女很殷勤，走在路上的他不时仰起头
大笑，接着又低下头，更殷勤地靠近她。
“显然，这儿有一个人没在哀悼。”波洛自言自语道。
一声轻微的响动让波洛转过身来。玛格达莱尼•李站在那儿，也看着渐渐远去的那一男
一女。她扭过头来，冲波洛露出迷人的微笑。
她说：“真是阳光灿烂的好天气啊！让人几乎不敢相信昨晚发生了那么可怕的事，是不
是，波洛先生？”
“确实很难相信，没错，夫人。”
玛格达莱尼叹了口气。
“我以前从未经历过这类悲惨的事。现在我——我才算真正地长大了。我一直是个孩
子，太久太久了，我想，这不是一件好事。”
她又叹了口气，接着说道：“皮拉尔，她看上去镇静得出奇，我想这是因为她有西班牙
血统。这一切都太奇怪了，不是吗？”
“哪儿奇怪，夫人？”
“她的到来。毫无征兆，突然出现在这儿！”
波洛说：“我听说李先生已经找她找了相当一段时间了，他曾与驻马德里的领事，以及
她母亲去世的地方——阿利夸拉的副领事通过信。”
“他一直对这事保密，”玛格达莱尼说，“阿尔弗雷德什么都不知道，莉迪亚也是。”
“啊！”波洛说。
玛格达莱尼靠近了他一点儿，他可以闻到她身上美妙的香水味。
“你知道吗，波洛先生，有关詹妮弗的丈夫埃斯特拉瓦多斯，有很多故事。婚后不久他
就死了，而且死得有些蹊跷。阿尔弗雷德和莉迪亚知道怎么回事。我想肯定是一些——不
光彩的事……”
“这……”波洛说，“真是悲惨啊。”
玛格达莱尼说：“我丈夫认为——而我也同意他的意见——家里人有权知道这个女孩儿
的身世。如果她的父亲是一个罪犯——”
她停下来，但赫尔克里•波洛什么都没说。他似乎正欣赏着眼前的自然美景——在戈斯
顿霍尔庭院中看到的冬日景色。
玛格达莱尼说：“我总觉得我公公死的方式暗示着什么。这、这太……不英国式了。”
赫尔克里•波洛慢慢地转过脸来，神色凝重地看着她，目光中带着询问。
“嗯，”他说，“你认为这更……西班牙式？”
“这个……太残忍了，不是吗？”玛格达莱尼带着孩子气的语调说，“就像斗牛之类
的！”
赫尔克里•波洛轻松地说：“你的意思是，在你看来，是埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐割断了她
外公的喉咙？”
“噢，不，波洛先生！”玛格达莱尼的反应很激烈，像是被吓了一跳，“我可从没说过类
似的话！真的没有！”
“好吧，”波洛说，“也许你没有。”
“但我的确认为，她……嗯，很可疑。比如说，昨晚她从那个房间的地板上捡起什么东
西时那鬼鬼祟祟的样子。”
赫尔克里•波洛的语气突然不一样了，他严厉地问：“昨晚她从地上捡起了什么东西？”
玛格达莱尼点点头，她那孩子气的嘴巴不怀好意地撇了撇。
“是的，就在我们刚进屋的时候。她迅速地瞟了一眼四周，看有没有人在看她，接着一
把捡了起来。不过还是被警司看见了，为此我很高兴，并叫她交了出来。”
“你知道她捡起了什么吗，夫人？”
“不知道，我离得太远了，看不见。”玛格达莱尼的声音里带着遗憾，“是个很小的东
西。”
波洛皱起眉。
“这很有意思。”他喃喃道。
玛格达莱尼急切地说：“是的，我想你应该知道这件事。说到底，我们都对皮拉尔的成
长经历和生活背景一无所知。阿尔弗雷德总是顾虑重重，而亲爱的莉迪亚又太大而化
之。”接着她嘟囔道，“我最好去看看能不能帮莉迪亚做些什么，可能有些信件要写。”
她从他身边走开，嘴角上挂着一抹阴谋得逞的笑容。
波洛站在阳台上，深陷沉思。
PART FOUR DECEMBER 25TH II
II
To him there came Superintendent Sugden. The police superintendent looked gloomy. He said:
“Good morning, Mr. Poirot. Doesn’t seem quite the right thing to say Merry Christmas, does
it?”
“Mon cher collègue, I certainly do not observe any traces of merriment on your countenance.
If you had said Merry Christmas I should not have replied ‘Many of them!’ ”
“I don’t want another one like this one, and that’s a fact,” said Sugden.
“You have made the progress, yes?”
“I’ve checked up on a good many points. Horbury’s alibi is holding water all right. The
commissionaire at the cinema saw him go in with the girl, and saw him come out with her at the
end of the performance, and seems pretty positive he didn’t leave, and couldn’t have left and
returned during the performance. The girl swears quite definitely he was with her in the cinema all
the time.”
Poirot’s eyebrows rose.
“I hardly see, then, what more there is to say.”
The cynical Sugden said:
“Well, one never knows with girls! Lie themselves black in the face for the sake of a man.”
“That does credit to their hearts,” said Hercule Poirot.
Sugden growled.
“That’s a foreign way of looking at it. It’s defeating the ends of justice.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Justice is a very strange thing. Have you ever reflected on it?”
Sugden stared at him. He said:
“You’re a queer one, Mr. Poirot.”
“Not at all. I follow a logical train of thought. But we will not enter into a dispute on the
question. It is your belief, then, that this demoiselle from the milk shop is not speaking the truth?”
Sugden shook his head.
“No,” he said, “it’s not like that at all. As a matter of fact, I think she is telling the truth. She’s
a simple kind of girl, and I think if she was telling me a pack of lies I’d spot it.”
Poirot said:
“You have the experience, yes?”
“That’s just it, Mr. Poirot. One does know, more or less, after a lifetime of taking down
statements, when a person’s lying and when they’re not. No, I think the girl’s evidence is genuine,
and if so, Horbury couldn’t have murdered old Mr. Lee, and that brings us right back to the people
in the house.”
He drew a deep breath.
“One of ’em did it, Mr. Poirot. One of ’em did it. But which?”
“You have no new data?”
“Yes, I’ve had a certain amount of luck over the telephone calls. Mr. George Lee put through
a call to Westeringham at two minutes to nine. That call lasted under six minutes.”
“Aha!”
“As you say! Moreover, no other call was put through—to Westeringham or anywhere else.”
“Very interesting,” said Poirot, with approval. “M. George Lee says he has just finished
telephoning when he hears the noise overhead—but actually he had finished telephoning nearly
ten minutes before that. Where was he in those ten minutes? Mrs. George Lee says that she was
telephoning—but actually she never put through a call at all. Where was she?”
Sugden said:
“I saw you talking to her, M. Poirot?”
His voice held a question, but Poirot replied:
“You are in error!”
“Eh?”
“I was not talking to her—she was talking to me!”
“Oh—” Sugden seemed to be about to brush the distinction aside impatiently; then, as its
significance sank in, he said:
“She was talking to you, you say?”
“Most definitely. She came out here for that purpose.”
“What did she have to say?”
“She wished to stress certain points: the unEnglish character of the crime—the possibly
undesirable antecedents of Miss Estravados on the paternal side—the fact that Miss Estravados
had furtively picked up something from the floor last night.”
“She told you that, did she?” said Sugden with interest.
“Yes. What was it that the señorita picked up?”
Sugden sighed.
“I could give you three hundred guesses! I’ll show it to you. It’s the sort of thing that solves
the whole mystery in detective stories! If you can make anything out of it, I’ll retire from the
police force!”
“Show it me.”
Sugden took an envelope from his pocket and tilted its contents on to the palm of his hand. A
faint grin showed on his face.
“There you are. What do you make of it?”
On the superintendent’s broad palm lay a little triangular piece of pink rubber and a small
wooden peg.
His grin broadened as Poirot picked up the articles and frowned over them.
“Make anything of them, Mr. Poirot?”
“This little piece of stuff might have been cut from a sponge bag?”
“It was. It comes from a sponge bag in Mr. Lee’s room. Somebody with sharp scissors just
cut a small triangular piece out of it. Mr. Lee may have done it himself, for all I know. But it beats
me why he should do it. Horbury can’t throw any light on the matter. As for the peg, it’s about the
size of a cribbage peg, but they’re usually made of ivory. This is just rough wood—whittled out of
a bit of deal, I should say.”
“Most remarkable,” murmured Poirot.
“Keep ’em if you like,” said Sugden kindly. “I don’t want them.”
“Mon ami, I would not deprive you of them!”
“They don’t mean anything at all to you?”
“I must confess—nothing whatever!”
“Splendid!” said Sugden with heavy sarcasm, returning them to his pocket. “We are getting
on!”
Poirot said:
“Mrs. George Lee, she recounts that the young lady stooped and picked these bagatelles up in
a furtive manner. Should you say that that was true?”
Sugden considered the point.
“N-o,” he said hesitatingly. “I shouldn’t quite go as far as that. She didn’t look guilty—
nothing of that kind—but she did set about it rather—well, quickly and quietly—if you know what
I mean. And she didn’t know I’d seen her do it! That I’m sure of. She jumped when I rounded on
her.”
Poirot said thoughtfully:
“Then there was a reason? But what conceivable reason could there have been? That little
piece of rubber is quite fresh. It has not been used for anything. It can have no meaning
whatsoever; and yet—”
Sugden said impatiently:
“Well, you can worry about it if you like, Mr. Poirot. I’ve got other things to think about.”
Poirot asked:
“The case stands—where, in your opinion?”
Sugden took out his notebook.
“Let’s get down to facts. To begin with, there are the people who couldn’t have done it. Let’s
get them out of the way first—”
“They are—?”
“Alfred and Harry Lee. They’ve got a definite alibi. Also Mrs. Alfred Lee, since Tressilian
saw her in the drawing room only about a minute before the row started upstairs. Those three are
clear. Now for the others. Here’s a list. I’ve put it this way for clearness.”
He handed the book to Poirot.
     At the time of the crime
     George Lee ?
     Mrs. George Lee ?
     David Lee playing piano in music room (confirmed by his
wife)
     Mrs. David Lee in music room (confirmed by husband)
     Miss Estravados   in her bedroom (no confirmation)
     Stephen Farr in ballroom playing gramophone (confirmed by
three of staff who could hear the music in
servants’ hall).
Poirot said, handing back the list:
“And therefore?”
“And therefore,” said Sugden, “George Lee could have killed the old man. Mrs. George Lee
could have killed him. Pilar Estravados could have killed him; and either Mr. or Mrs. David Lee
could have killed him, but not both.”
“You do not, then, accept that alibi?”
Superintendent Sugden shook his head emphatically.
“Not on your life! Husband and wife—devoted to each other! They may be in it together, or
if one of them did it, the other is ready to swear to an alibi. I look at it this way: Someone was in
the music room playing the piano. It may have been David Lee. It probably was, since he was an
acknowledged musician, but there’s nothing to say his wife was there too except her word and his.
In the same way, it may have been Hilda who was playing that piano while David Lee crept
upstairs and killed his father! No, it’s an absolutely different case from the two brothers in the
dining room. Alfred Lee and Harry Lee don’t love each other. Neither of them would perjure
himself for the other’s sake.”
“What about Stephen Farr?”
“He’s a possible suspect because that gramophone alibi is a bit thin. On the other hand, it’s
the sort of alibi that’s really sounder than a good cast-iron dyed-in-the-wool alibi which, ten to
one, has been faked up beforehand!”
Poirot bowed his head thoughtfully.
“I know what you mean. It is the alibi of a man who did not know that he would be called
upon to provide such a thing.”
“Exactly! And anyway, somehow, I don’t believe a stranger was mixed up in this thing.”
Poirot said quickly:
“I agree with you. It is here a family affair. It is a poison that works in the blood—it is
intimate—it is deep-seated. There is here, I think, hate and knowledge. . . .”
He waved his hands.
“I do not know—it is difficult!”
Superintendent Sugden had waited respectfully, but without being much impressed. He said:
“Quite so, Mr. Poirot. But we’ll get at it, never fear, with elimination and logic. We’ve got
the possibilities now—the people with opportunity. George Lee, Magdalene Lee, David Lee, Hilda
Lee, Pilar Estravados, and I’ll add, Stephen Farr. Now we come to motive. Who had a motive for
putting old Mr. Lee out of the way? There again we can wash out certain people. Miss Estravados,
for one. I gather that as the will stands now, she doesn’t get anything at all. If Simeon Lee had
died before her mother, her mother’s share would have come down to her (unless her mother
willed it otherwise), but as Jennifer Estravados predeceased Simeon Lee, that particular legacy
reverts to the other members of the family. So it was definitely to Miss Estravados’ interests to
keep the old man alive. He’d taken a fancy to her; it’s pretty certain he’d have left her a good slice
of money when he made a new will. She had everything to lose and nothing to gain by his murder.
You agree to that?”
“Perfectly.”
“There remains, of course, the possibility that she cut his throat in the heat of a quarrel, but
that seems extremely unlikely to me. To begin with, they were on the best of terms, and she hadn’t
been here long enough to bear him a grudge about anything. It therefore seems highly unlikely that
Miss Estravados has anything to do with the crime—except that you might argue that to cut a
man’s throat is an unEnglish sort of thing to do, as your friend Mrs. George put it?”
“Do not call her my friend,” said Poirot hastily. “Or I shall speak of your friend Miss
Estravados, who finds you such a handsome man!”
He had the pleasure of seeing the superintendent’s official poise upset again. The police
officer turned crimson. Poirot looked at him with malicious amusement.
He said, and there was a wistful note in his voice:
“It is true that your moustache is superb . . . Tell me, do you use for it a special pomade?”
“Pomade? Good lord, no!”
“What do you use?”
“Use? Nothing at all. It—it just grows.”
Poirot sighed.
“You are favoured by nature.” He caressed his own luxuriant black moustache, then sighed.
“However expensive the preparation,” he murmured, “to restore the natural colour does somewhat
impoverish the quality of the hair.”
Superintendent Sugden, uninterested in hairdressing problems, was continuing in a stolid
manner:
“Considering the motive for the crime, I should say that we can probably wash out Mr.
Stephen Farr. It’s just possible that there was some hanky-panky between his father and Mr. Lee
and the former suffered, but I doubt it. Farr’s manner was too easy and assured when he mentioned
that subject. He was quite confident—and I don’t think he was acting. No, I don’t think we’ll find
anything there.”
“I do not think you will,” said Poirot.
“And there’s one other person with a motive for keeping old Mr. Lee alive—his son Harry.
It’s true that he benefits under the will, but I don’t believe he was aware of the fact. Certainly
couldn’t have been sure of it! The general impression seemed to be that Harry had been definitely
cut out of his share of the inheritance at the time he cut loose. But now he was on the point of
coming back into favour! It was all to his advantage that his father should make a new will. He
wouldn’t be such a fool as to kill him now. Actually, as we know, he couldn’t have done it. You
see, we’re getting on; we’re clearing quite a lot of people out of the way.”
“How true. Very soon there will be nobody left!”
Sugden grinned.
“We’re not going as fast as that! We’ve got George Lee and his wife, and David Lee and
Mrs. David. They all benefit by the death, and George Lee, from all I can make out, is grasping
about money. Moreover, his father was threatening to cut down supplies. So we’ve got George
Lee with motive and opportunity!”
“Continue,” said Poirot.
“And we’ve got Mrs. George! As fond of money as a cat is fond of cream; and I’d be
prepared to bet she’s heavily in debt at the minute! She was jealous of the Spanish girl. She was
quick to spot that the other was gaining an ascendancy over the old man. She’d heard him say that
he was sending for the lawyer. So she struck quickly. You could make out a case.”
“Possibly.”
“Then there’s David Lee and his wife. They inherit under the present will, but I don’t believe,
somehow, that the money motive would be particularly strong in their case.”
“No?”
“No. David Lee seems to be a bit of a dreamer—not a mercenary type. But he’s—well, he’s
odd. As I see it, there are three possible motives for this murder: There’s the diamond
complication, there’s the will, and there’s—well—just plain hate.”
“Ah, you see that, do you?”
Sugden said:
“Naturally. It’s been present in my mind all along. If David Lee killed his father, I don’t think
it was for money. And if he was the criminal it might explain the—well, the bloodletting!”
Poirot looked at him appreciatively.
“Yes, I wondered when you would take that into consideration. So much blood—that is what
Mrs. Alfred said. It takes one back to ancient rituals—to blood sacrifice, to the anointing with the
blood of the sacrifice. . . .”
Sugden said, frowning:
“You mean whoever did it was mad?”
“Mon cher—there are all sorts of deep instincts in man of which he himself is unaware. The
craving for blood—the demand for sacrifice!”
Sugden said doubtfully:
“David Lee looks a quiet, harmless fellow.”
Poirot said:
“You do not understand the psychology. David Lee is a man who lives in the past—a man in
whom the memory of his mother is still very much alive. He kept away from his father for many
years because he could not forgive his father’s treatment of his mother. He came here, let us
suppose, to forgive. But he may not have been able to forgive . . . We do know one thing—that
when David Lee stood by his father’s dead body, some part of him was appeased and satisfied.
‘The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.’ Retribution! Payment! The wrong
wiped out by expiation!”
Sugden gave a sudden shudder. He said:
“Don’t talk like that, Mr. Poirot. You give me quite a turn. It may be that it’s as you say. If
so, Mrs. David knows—and means to shield him all she knows how. I can imagine her doing that.
On the other hand, I can’t imagine her being a murderess. She’s such a comfortable commonplace
sort of woman.”
Poirot looked at him curiously.
“So she strikes you like that?” he murmured.
“Well, yes—a homely body, if you know what I mean!”
“Oh, I know what you mean perfectly!”
Sugden looked at him.
“Come, now, Mr. Poirot, you’ve got ideas about the case. Let’s have them.”
Poirot said slowly: “I have ideas, yes, but they are rather nebulous. Let me first hear your
summing-up of the case.”
“Well, it’s as I said—three possible motives: hate, gain, and this diamond complication. Take
the facts chronologically.
“3:30. Family gathering. Telephone conversation to lawyer overheard by all the family. Then
the old man lets loose on his family, tells them where they all get off. They slink out like a lot of
scared rabbits.”
“Hilda Lee remained behind,” said Poirot.
“So she did. But not for long. Then about six Alfred has an interview with his father—
unpleasant interview. Harry is to be reinstated. Alfred isn’t pleased. Alfred, of course, ought to be
our principal suspect. He had by far the strongest motive. However, to get on, Harry comes along
next. Is in boisterous spirits. Has got the old man just where he wants him. But before those two
interviews Simeon Lee has discovered the loss of the diamonds and has telephoned to me. He
doesn’t mention his loss to either of his two sons. Why? In my opinion because he was quite sure
neither of them had anything to do with it. Neither of them were under suspicion. I believe, as I’ve
said all along, that the old man suspected Horbury and one other person. And I’m pretty sure of
what he meant to do. Remember, he said definitely he didn’t want anyone to come and sit with
him that evening. Why? Because he was preparing the way for two things: First, my visit; and
second, the visit of that other suspected person. He did ask someone to come and see him
immediately after dinner. Now who was that person likely to be? Might have been George Lee.
Much more likely to have been his wife. And there’s another person who comes back into the
picture here—Pilar Estravados. He’s shown her the diamonds. He’d told her their value. How do
we know that girl isn’t a thief? Remember these mysterious hints about the disgraceful behaviour
of her father. Perhaps he was a professional thief and finally went to prison for it.”
Poirot said slowly:
“And so, as you say, Pilar Estravados comes back into the picture. . . .”
“Yes—as a thief. No other way. She may have lost her head when she was found out. She
may have flown at her grandfather and attacked him.”
Poirot said slowly:
“It is possible—yes. . . .”
Superintendent Sugden looked at him keenly.
“But that’s not your idea? Come, Mr. Poirot, what is your idea?”
Poirot said:
“I go back always to the same thing: the character of the dead man. What manner of a man
was Simeon Lee?”
“There isn’t much mystery about that,” said Sugden, staring.
“Tell me, then. That is to say, tell me from the local point of view what was known of the
man.”
Superintendent Sugden drew a doubtful finger along his jawbone. He looked perplexed. He
said:
“I’m not a local man myself. I come from Reeveshire, over the border—next county. But of
course old Mr. Lee was a well-known figure in these parts. I know all about him by hearsay.”
“Yes? And that hearsay was—what?”
Sugden said:
“Well, he was a sharp customer; there weren’t many who could get the better of him. But he
was generous with his money. Openhanded as they make ’em. Beats me how Mr. George Lee can
be the exact opposite, and be his father’s son.”
“Ah! But there are two distinct strains in the family. Alfred, George, and David resemble—
superficially at least—their mother’s side of the family. I have been looking at some portraits in
the gallery this morning.”
“He was hot-tempered,” continued Superintendent Sugden, “and of course he had a bad
reputation with women—that was in his younger days. He’s been an invalid for many years now.
But even there he always behaved generously. If there was trouble, he always paid up handsomely
and got the girl married off as often as not. He may have been a bad lot, but he wasn’t mean. He
treated his wife badly, ran after other women, and neglected her. She died of a broken heart, so
they say. It’s a convenient term, but I believe she was really very unhappy, poor lady. She was
always sickly and never went about much. There’s no doubt that Mr. Lee was an odd character.
Had a revengeful streak in him, too. If anyone did him a nasty turn he always paid it back, so they
say, and didn’t mind how long he had to wait to do it.”
“The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small,” murmured Poirot.
Superintendent Sugden said heavily:
“Mills of the devil, more likely! Nothing saintly about Simeon Lee. The kind of man you
might say had sold his soul to the devil and enjoyed the bargain! And he was proud, too, proud as
Lucifer.”
“Proud as Lucifer!” said Poirot. “It is suggestive, what you say there.”
Superintendent Sugden said, looking puzzled:
“You don’t mean that he was murdered because he was proud?”
“I mean,” said Poirot, “that there is such a thing as inheritance. Simeon Lee transmitted that
pride to his sons—”
He broke off. Hilda Lee had come out of the house and was standing looking along the
terrace.
第四部分 十二月二十五日 2
2
萨格登警司向他走来，看上去闷闷不乐的。他说：“早上好，波洛先生。说‘圣诞节快
乐’好像不太合适，是不是？”
“我亲爱的同事，在你脸上，我确实看不到一丝快乐的迹象。即使你已经说了‘圣诞节
快乐’，我也不想说‘年年如此”。’
“确实，我可不希望再过一个这样的圣诞节。”萨格登说。
“有些进展了吗？”
“我去核查了很多问题。霍伯里的不在场证明无懈可击，电影院门口的守门人说他看见
霍伯里和那个姑娘一起进场，电影散场的时候也看到他和她一起走出来，而且基本确定他
没有离开过，更不可能在放映中途离开又回来。那个姑娘，则笃定地发誓说他一直和她待
在电影院里。”
波洛扬起双眉。
“这么一来，我看不出还有什么好说的了。”
萨格登冷嘲热讽道：“哦，你永远搞不懂一个女人的心思！她们能面不改色地为一个男
人撒谎。”
“这可以证明她们的心意。”赫尔克里•波洛说。
萨格登愤愤不平。
“你是外国人才会这么看，这么做违背了公平与正义。”
赫尔克里•波洛说：“正义本来就是一样奇怪的东西。你就从来没怀疑过它吗？”
萨格登注视着他，说：“你真是一个怪人，波洛先生。”
“完全不是，我遵从逻辑思维。可我们不要再为这个问题争论了。那么，你认为，这位
牛奶店少女没说真话？”
萨格登摇摇头。
“不，”他说，“看起来不像是这样的。事实上，我认为她说的都是真话。她是个单纯的
姑娘，如果她编了一套谎话，我会发觉的。”
波洛说：“你是有这方面经验的，是吗？”
“事情很简单，波洛先生，如果一个人一辈子都在记录证词，那他就能多多少少看出人
们是否在撒谎。不，我认为那个姑娘说的是真的，而这样一来，霍伯里就不可能杀了李先
生，我们的调查就又要回到这家人中了。”
他深深地吸了口气。
“是他们中的一个干的，波洛先生，他们中的一个。可会是谁呢？”
“你没什么新消息吗？”
“有，在电话问题上我运气不错。乔治•李往韦斯特林厄姆打的那通电话是九点差两
分，电话打了六分钟。”
“啊哈！”
“啊哈！此外，再没有人用过电话了——无论是往韦斯特林厄姆还是其他地方。”
“确实很有意思，”波洛赞许地说，“乔治•李先生说，他刚打完电话，就听到头顶上传来
骚动——但实际上，那时候已经距他挂断电话过去十分钟了。在那十分钟里，他在哪儿
呢？乔治•李夫人说她那时正在打电话，但实际上她根本就没打过电话，她又在哪儿呢？”
萨格登说：“我刚才看见你在和她说话，波洛先生。”
他的语气里带着疑问，但波洛答道：“你错了！”
“呃？”
“我没和她说话，是她在和我说话！”
“噢——”萨格登好像想把这一细微差别置之不理，但很快他似有所悟，“你是说，她在
和你说话？”
“是这样，她特意出来找我说话。”
“她想说什么？”
“她想强调这么几点：这起案子非常不英国；埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐可能继承了些不好的
血统，主要指她父亲那边；昨晚埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐鬼鬼祟祟地从地板上捡起了什么东
西。”
“她跟你说了，对吗？”萨格登感兴趣地说。
“是的，那位小姐到底捡起了什么？”
萨格登叹了口气。
“我可以给你三百次机会让你猜！我会给你看的，是那种在侦探小说中可以解开整个谜
团的东西！如果你能从中看出什么，我就从警察局退休！”
“给我看看。”
萨格登警司从口袋里拿出一个信封，把里面的东西倒在手心里。一丝淡淡的笑容爬上
他的脸颊。
“给你，你看出了什么？”
在警司宽阔的手掌里，有一小片三角形的粉色橡胶和一小块木栓。
波洛拿起那些东西，皱着眉头看时，警司的嘴咧得更开了。
“你看出什么了吗，波洛先生？”
“这一小块东西可能是从装盥洗用具的防水袋上剪下来的。”
“是的，它来自于李先生房间里的一个橡胶盥洗用品袋。有人拿了一把锋利的剪刀，从
上面剪下三角形的一小块。也可能是李先生自己干的，而难住我的是他为什么要这么做。
关于此事，霍伯里提供不了任何帮助。而那个小木栓，大小和玩克里比奇（注：克里比奇
（Cribbage）是一种纸牌游戏，传统玩法里会用一个木板计分，木板上有很多凹槽，由文
中提到的木钉（Cribbage Peg）塞入凹槽计分。）时用的木钉差不多，但玩牌时用的大多是
象牙做的。这个只是一块粗糙的木头——稍微削了削，我不得不这么说。”
“值得研究一下。”波洛咕哝道。
“你想要就留着吧，”萨格登大方地说，“我用不着它们。”
“我的朋友，我不能从你这儿拿走它们。”
“你也没看出什么吗？”
“我必须承认，什么都没有。”
“这可太妙了！”萨格登大声嘲讽着，又把它们放回到口袋里，“我们继续吧！”
波洛说：“乔治•李夫人详细描述了那位年轻女士如何弯下腰、捡起这些不重要的小东
西，一脸鬼鬼祟祟的样子。这是真的吗？”
萨格登思考着这个问题。
“呃，不，”他回答得有些迟疑，“在我看来没那么夸张。她看起来并不心虚，完全不是
那样的，但她下手时的确相当……迅猛又安静，希望你明白我的意思。而且她不知道我看
见她拿了！这一点我能肯定。我责问她的时候她吓得跳了起来。”
波洛沉思着说：“这么说肯定是有原因的了？可是能有什么原因呢？那一小块橡胶相当
新，还没被用过，它又能拿来做什么呢？另一方面——”
萨格登不耐烦地说：“这个，如果你愿意的话，可以继续为这个操心，波洛先生，我还
有别的事情要考虑。”
波洛问道：“在你看来，目前我们该怎么处理这件案子？”
萨格登拿出他的笔记本。
“让我们回到事实上吧。首先找出不可能做这件事的人，先把他们排除在外。”
“他们是？”
“阿尔弗雷德和哈里•李。他们的不在场证明是确定的。还有阿尔弗雷德•李夫人，就在
楼上开始骚动的前一两分钟，特雷西利安看见她在客厅里。这三个人没有问题。接下来看
看别人，这里有一份我写的名单，为了看起来一目了然。”
他把笔记本递给波洛。
案发时
乔治•李 ？
乔治•李夫人 ？
戴维•李 在音乐室弹琴（已由他的妻子证实）
戴维•李夫人 在音乐室（已由她的丈夫证实）
埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐 在她的卧室（没人证实）
斯蒂芬•法尔 在舞厅听留声机（已由三位用人证实，他们在下人房里听见了音乐声）
波洛把名单还回去，说：“所以呢？”
“所以，”萨格登说，“乔治•李可能杀了那个老头，也可能是乔治•李夫人杀的，也可能
是皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯杀的。戴维•李先生或夫人也有可能杀了他，但不可能共同犯
案。”
“这么说，你不接受他们的不在场证明？”
萨格登警司断然摇头。
“决不接受！丈夫和妻子——两个愿为对方奉献的人！他们有可能都牵涉其中，也有可
能一个人作案，另一个准备好提供不在场证明。关于这一点我是这么看的：有人在音乐室
里弹琴，那个人可能是戴维•李，而且很有可能就是他，因为他是一位公认的音乐家。但他
妻子在不在那儿就不知道了，眼下只有他和他妻子作证。同样地，也有可能是希尔达在弹
琴，而戴维•李偷偷地爬上楼杀了他父亲！不，这和同在餐厅里、互相作证的两兄弟完全不
一样。阿尔弗雷德•李和哈里•李彼此之间没有好感，两人都不会为了另一个做伪证。”
“斯蒂芬•法尔呢？”
“他是一个怀疑对象，因为他的留声机证据有些薄弱。但从另一个角度说，这种不在场
证明其实要比那种‘绝对不在现场的铁证’要更可靠，那种证据十有八九是事前伪造好的。”
波洛若有所思地点点头。
“我懂你的意思。这种证据更像是事先不知道会被叫去提供不在场证明的人能提供的证
据。”
“没错！而且无论如何，不管怎么说，我都不太相信一个陌生人会卷进这件事里来。”
波洛马上说：“我同意你的看法，这是一件家务事。这种危险与生俱来——是私人的，
根深蒂固的。我想，这里面有仇恨，也有理解……”他摆摆手，“我不知道——这太难了！”
萨格登警司恭敬地等他说完，但这番话似乎并未打动他。
他说：“是这样的，波洛先生。但我们会发现真相的，不用怕，我们有排除法和逻辑思
维。现在我们已经找到了可能性——有犯罪机会的人：乔治•李，玛格达莱尼•李，戴维•
李，希尔达•李，皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯，请允许我加上斯蒂芬•法尔。接下来我们看看动
机，谁有动机干掉老李先生呢？我们可以再次运用排除法，除掉一些人：埃斯特拉瓦多斯
小姐就是一个。我想，在如今生效的这份遗嘱中，她什么也得不到。如果西米恩•李比她母
亲先死，那她母亲那份就会传给她——不管她母亲愿不愿意——但由于詹妮弗•埃斯特拉瓦
多斯在西米恩•李之前去世，那份遗产就要由其他家庭成员分割了。因此，对埃斯特拉瓦多
斯小姐而言，绝对是老人活着对她更有利。他非常喜欢她，几乎可以很肯定，他会在新遗
嘱里给她留一大笔钱。谋杀对她有百害而无一利，你同意吗？”
“完全同意。”
“当然，还存在一种可能，在激烈的争吵中，她割断了他的喉咙。但在我看来，这不太
可能。首先，他们目前的感情非常好，她到这儿的时间不长，还可以忍受他，不至于心生
厌恶。因此，看起来埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐和本案没什么关系——除非你硬要说割断一个男
人的喉咙不像是英国人会用的手段，正如你的朋友乔治夫人所说的那样。”
“可别说她是我的朋友，”波洛急忙说，“不然我可要说埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐是你的朋友
了，她说你是一个英俊的男人！”
波洛高兴地看着警司摆出的职业姿态再次瓦解。警司的脸涨得通红，波洛带着一种恶
作剧似的笑容看着他。
波洛开口了，语气里带着一丝渴望。
“说起来，你的胡子，确实特别棒……告诉我，你是不是用了什么特殊的润发油？”
“润发油？天哪，没有！”
“那你用什么？”
“用什么？什么都不用，这是——天然的。”
波洛叹了口气。
“你真是得到了上天的宠爱。”他抚摸着自己那浓密的黑胡子，又叹了口气，“保养起来
太昂贵了，”他嘟囔着，“维持色素的试剂又会使毛发干枯、失去天然的光泽。”
萨格登警司对美发的问题一点儿也不感兴趣，他木讷地接着说下去。
“在动机问题上，我想我们或许可以排除斯蒂芬•法尔先生。问题只可能出在他父亲和
李先生之间，或许存在些欺骗，他父亲是受害者，可我很难相信。说到这个问题时，法尔
的态度非常轻松、确定，他相当自信——而且我认为那不是装出来的。我认为在他身上找
不出什么线索来。”
“我也不认为能找到。”波洛说。
“还有一个人，更希望老李先生活着——他的儿子哈里。他确实也能从这份遗嘱中受
益，但我不认为他知道这件事，更不可能确定！大家普遍认为，自哈里与家断绝了关系，
他就肯定被剥夺继承权了。而现在，他回来了，正准备重新得宠呢！父亲要立一份新遗
嘱，对他来说只有好处。他不会傻到这时候杀死他。事实上，如我们所知，他也做不到。
看看我们的进展，我们已经排除掉很多人了。”
“太对了，很快就会一个也不剩了。”
萨格登咧嘴笑了。
“不会发展得那么快！现在还剩下乔治•李和他的妻子，以及戴维•李夫妇。他们都能从
李先生的死中获益，而且就我所了解到的，乔治•李很贪钱。特别是他父亲威胁说要削减给
他的生活费。所以，我们发现乔治•李既有动机又有机会！”
“接着说。”波洛说。
“还有乔治•李夫人！她爱钱就像猫爱奶酪，而且我敢打赌，她肯定负债累累！她嫉妒
那个西班牙女孩，很快看出那个女孩正在赢得老人的偏爱。她听到他要请律师来，便迅速
出击了。这么说是说得通的。”
“有这个可能。”
“再看戴维•李和他妻子。当前这份遗嘱里有他们，但我认为，对他们来说，钱不是主
要动机。”
“不是吗？”
“不是。戴维•李看上去有些像梦想家，并不唯利是图。但他——他很……古怪。在我
看来，可能有三种动机导致这起谋杀案：钻石纠纷，遗嘱，还有，呃，只是单纯的仇恨。”
“啊，你也看出这一点，是吗？”
萨格登说：“当然啦，我打从一开始就有这个想法了。如果是戴维•李杀死了他的父
亲，我认为不是为了钱。而且，如果他是凶手，或许就可以解释……呃，为什么会有那么
多血了！”
波洛赞许地看着他。
“是的，我一直在等你把这一点考虑在内。太多血了——阿尔弗雷德夫人是这么说的。
它让人想起古代的仪式，血祭，用鲜血涂满献祭者全身……”
萨格登皱起眉头说：“你觉得凶手是个疯子？”
“我的朋友，一个人身上，藏着各种各样的本性，有很多他自己都没意识到。比如对鲜
血的渴望，对献祭的渴求！”
萨格登怀疑地说：“但戴维•李看上去是一个安静无害的家伙。”
波洛说：“你不懂心理学。戴维•李是一个生活在过去的人——对母亲的记忆在他的心
中仍然栩栩如生。他离开父亲生活了这么多年，是因为他还不能宽恕父亲曾那样对待他的
母亲。这次他回来，让我们假设他想借此表示原谅，但也许，他发现自己无法原谅……有
一点我们是知道的——当戴维•李站在他父亲的尸体旁时，他心里的某个部分是愉悦的、满
足的。‘天网恢恢，疏而不漏。’惩罚！报应！之前所有的罪恶都一笔勾销了。”
萨格登突然哆嗦了一下，说：“别这么说，波洛先生，你吓了我一跳。也许事情就像你
所说的那样。那么，戴维夫人是知道的，并且，这意味着她在尽其所能地掩护他。我能想
象她会这么做，但我无法想象她是一个杀人犯，她是个令人愉快的普通女人。”
波洛好奇地看着他。
“她给你这种印象？”他小声问。
“嗯，是的——一个贤妻良母。如果你明白我什么意思！”
“噢，我完全明白你的意思！”
萨格登看看他。
“现在，来吧，波洛先生，你对这起案子也已经有了些想法，说说看吧。”
波洛慢悠悠地说：“我确实有了一些想法，但还相当模糊。还是让我先听听你对这起案
子的总结吧。”
“哦，我说过的，三种动机：仇恨，利益，还有钻石纠纷。我们先按时间顺序罗列一下
事实：
“三点三十分，家庭聚会。所有家庭成员都听到他与律师在电话中的谈话。接着老人冲
家人们发泄了一通，并让他们全都滚蛋，他们便像一群受惊的兔子一样溜了出去。”
“希尔达•李留下了。”波洛说。
“她确实留下了，但没待多久。接着大约六点钟，阿尔弗雷德与他父亲见了一次面——
一次不愉快的会面。哈里重新得宠，这让阿尔弗雷德很不高兴。阿尔弗雷德自然成为我们
的主要怀疑对象，目前他拥有最强烈的动机。他们正聊着，哈里来了，为了赢得老头的欢
心，他总是兴致勃勃，老头让他干吗他就干吗。但在这两次会面之前，西米恩•李已经发现
钻石失窃了，并给我打了电话。可他没跟任何一个儿子提钻石丢失的事，为什么呢？在我
看来，这是因为他很肯定，他们两个都和这事没关系，都不在嫌疑人之列。就像我一直说
的，老头怀疑霍伯里和另一个人，而且我很清楚他打算干什么。还记得吗？他很明确地说
当天晚上不希望任何人上来看他，为什么？因为他要为两件事做准备：第一，我的来访；
第二，另一个嫌疑人的来访。他叫某人晚饭后马上来见他。那个人可能是谁呢？可能是乔
治•李，更有可能是他的妻子。还有一个人，此时再次走进我们的画面——皮拉尔•埃斯特拉
瓦多斯。他给她看过那些钻石，告诉过她它们的价值。我们怎么知道那个女孩不是贼呢？
别忘了有关她父亲行为不检点的暗示。也许他是一个职业窃贼，最后因此进了监狱。”
波洛慢慢地说：“好，就像你说的，皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯又回到了我们的调查
中……”
“对，作为一个贼，而不是别的。她可能一时失去了理智，意识到时她已经扑向外公，
袭击了他。”
波洛慢吞吞地说：“这有可能——是的……”
萨格登警司热切地看向他。
“但你并不这么看？好了，波洛先生，你到底是怎么想的？”
波洛说：“我总会回到一件事上：死者是个怎样的人。西米恩•李是一个怎样的人？”
“这没什么神秘的啊。”萨格登盯着他说。
“那你告诉我，以一个当地人的眼光来看，他是个怎样的人？”
萨格登警司不确定地摸着下巴，看起来有些不知所措。他说：“我并不是个本地人，我
来自里夫斯什尔，在国境线那边——邻郡。但在这一带，李先生都算是个知名人物，我对
他的了解大都来自于传闻。”
“是吗？是怎样的传闻呢？”
萨格登说：“嗯，他是个很厉害的家伙，很少有人比得过他。但在钱方面，他很慷慨，
天生大方。我很惊讶作为这个人的儿子，乔治•李怎么会与父亲完全相反！”
“啊！这个家里明显存在两种血统：阿尔弗雷德、乔治和戴维，他们三个，至少从表面
上看，很像母亲那边的人。今天早上我看了看画廊里的画像。”
“他脾气暴躁，”萨格登警司接着说，“而且当然了，他在女人方面名声很坏——在他年
轻的时候，他已经病了很多年了。即使在异性交往方面，他也一向表现得很慷慨。一旦惹
出什么麻烦，他总会付一大笔钱，让那个女孩尽早出嫁。他或许劣迹斑斑，但从不吝啬。
他对妻子很不好，总追求别的女人，忽略她的存在。人们都说她是伤心而死的。这么说很
不负责，但我相信她确实非常不幸，可怜的夫人。她一直身体不好，因此不怎么外出。毫
无疑问，李先生是一个怪人，同时生性记仇。人们都说，每一个伤害过他的人，他都会还
以颜色，他从不在意要为此等待多长时间。”
“天网恢恢，疏而不漏。”波洛喃喃道。
萨格登警司重重地说：“不如说是魔鬼之网！西米恩•李身上没有一丝高尚可言。你可
以说他是那种把自己的灵魂卖给魔鬼，还高兴地数钱的人！他还很骄傲，像堕落天使路西
法一样骄傲。”
“像堕落天使路西法一样骄傲！”波洛说，“这句话很有暗示性。”
萨格登警司不解地说：“你该不会想说，他是因为骄傲而被谋杀的吧？”
“我想说的是，”波洛说，“遗传。西米恩•李把他的骄傲传给了儿子们——”
他突然停了下来。希尔达•李从房子里走出来，正向阳台这边张望着。
PART FOUR DECEMBER 25TH III
III
“I wanted to find you, M. Poirot.”
Superintendent Sugden had excused himself and gone back into the house. Looking after
him, Hilda said:
“I didn’t know he was with you. I thought he was with Pilar. He seems a nice man, quite
considerate.”
Her voice was pleasant, a low, soothing cadence to it.
Poirot asked:
“You wanted to see me, you say?”
She inclined her head.
“Yes. I think you can help me.”
“I shall be delighted to do so, madame.”
She said:
“You are a very intelligent man, M. Poirot. I saw that last night. There are things which you
will, I think, find out quite easily. I want you to understand my husband.”
“Yes, madame?”
“I shouldn’t talk like this to Superintendent Sugden. He wouldn’t understand. But you will.”
Poirot bowed. “You honour me, madame.”
Hilda went calmly on:
“My husband, for many years, ever since I married him, has been what I can only describe as
a mental cripple.”
“Ah!”
“When one suffers some great hurt physically, it causes shock and pain, but slowly it mends,
the flesh heals, the bone knits. There may be, perhaps, a little weakness, a slight scar, but nothing
more. My husband, M. Poirot, suffered a great hurt mentally at his most susceptible age. He
adored his mother and he saw her die. He believed that his father was morally responsible for that
death. From that shock he has never quite recovered. His resentment against his father never died
down. It was I who persuaded David to come here this Christmas, to be reconciled to his father. I
wanted it—for his sake—I wanted that mental wound to heal. I realize now that coming here was a
mistake. Simeon Lee amused himself by probing into that old wound. It was—a very dangerous
thing to do. . . .”
Poirot said: “Are you telling me, madame, that your husband killed his father?”
“I am telling you, M. Poirot, that he easily might have done so . . . And I will also tell you this
—that he did not! When Simeon Lee was killed, his son was playing the ‘Dead March.’ The wish
to kill was in his heart. It passed out through his fingers and died in waves of sound—that is the
truth.”
Poirot was silent for a minute or two, then he said:
“And you, madame, what is your verdict on that past drama?”
“You mean the death of Simeon Lee’s wife?”
“Yes.”
Hilda said slowly:
“I know enough of life to know that you can never judge any case on its outside merits. To all
seeming, Simeon Lee was entirely to blame and his wife was abominably treated. At the same
time, I honestly believe that there is a kind of meekness, a predisposition to martyrdom which does
arouse the worst instincts in men of a certain type. Simeon Lee would have admired, I think, spirit
and force of character. He was merely irritated by patience and tears.”
Poirot nodded. He said:
“Your husband said last night: ‘My mother never complained.’ Is that true?”
Hilda Lee said impatiently:
“Of course it isn’t! She complained the whole time to David! She laid the whole burden of
her unhappiness on his shoulders. He was too young—far too young to bear all she gave him to
bear!”
Poirot looked thoughtfully at her. She flushed under his gaze and bit her lip.
He said:
“I see.”
She said sharply:
“What do you see?”
He answered:
“I see that you have had to be a mother to your husband when you would have preferred to be
a wife.”
She turned away.
At that moment David Lee came out of the house and along the terrace towards them. He
said, and his voice had a clear joyful note in it:
“Hilda, isn’t it a glorious day? Almost like spring instead of winter.”
He came nearer. His head was thrown back, a lock of fair hair fell across his forehead, his
blue eyes shone. He looked amazingly young and boyish. There was about him a youthful
eagerness, a carefree radiance. Hercule Poirot caught his breath. . . .
David said: “Let’s go down to the lake, Hilda.”
She smiled, put her arm through his, and they moved off together.
As Poirot watched them go, he saw her turn and give him a rapid glance. He caught a
momentary glimpse of swift anxiety—or was it, he wondered, fear?
Slowly Hercule Poirot walked to the other end of the terrace. He murmured to himself:
“As I have always said, me, I am the father confessor! And since women come to confession
more frequently than men, it is women who have come to me this morning. Will there, I wonder,
be another very shortly?”
As he turned at the end of the terrace and paced back again, he knew that his question was
answered. Lydia Lee was coming towards him.
第四部分 十二月二十五日 3
3
“我在找你，波洛先生。”
萨格登警司找了个借口告辞回房子里去了。希尔达目送着他离去，说：“我不知道他和
你在一起，我以为他和皮拉尔在一起呢。他看起来是个好人，考虑问题十分周密。”
她的声音很悦耳，低低的，带着一种安抚人心的力量。
波洛问道：“你说你想见我？”
她点点头。
“是的，我认为你可以帮助我。”
“我会很高兴这样做的，夫人。”
她说：“你是一个很聪明的人，波洛先生，我昨晚就看出来了。我想，有些事情你很容
易就能发现，我希望你能理解我丈夫。”
“什么呢，夫人？”
“我不会对萨格登警司说这些话的，他不会明白，但你可以。”
波洛微微欠身表示感谢。“你过奖了，夫人。”
希尔达继续平静地说：“我丈夫一直是一个……从我嫁给他时起，就是一个我只能形容
为精神残废的人。”
“啊！”
“当一个人的肉体受到一些极大的伤害，他会深受打击、感到痛苦，但会慢慢地康复，
肌肉重生、骨头弥合。也许恢复得不那么好，或者留下一道轻微的疤痕，但不会有更严重
的事了。而我丈夫，波洛先生，在他最敏感的年纪受到了精神上的极大伤害。他崇拜他的
母亲，又亲眼看着她死去，他相信他的父亲在道义上对她的死负有责任。他再也没能从那
次打击中恢复，对父亲的愤恨从未平息。是我说服戴维来这儿过圣诞节的，来和他父亲和
解。我想这样做——全是为了他——能让那个精神伤口愈合。现在我意识到来这儿是个错
误。西米恩•李以刺探他的旧伤为乐，那是一件非常危险的事……”
波洛说：“你是想告诉我，夫人，你丈夫杀了他父亲吗？”
“我想告诉你的是，波洛先生，他差一点就那么做了……另外我还要告诉你——他没有
那么做！当西米恩•李被杀的时候，他的儿子在弹《葬礼进行曲》，杀人的欲望埋藏在他的
心中，从他的指间流出，消失在音乐旋律中——这是事实。”
波洛沉默了一两分钟，接着他说：“那么，夫人，你对那场过去的闹剧有什么看法？”
“你是指西米恩•李妻子的死？”
“是的。”
希尔达慢条斯理地说：“我想我对生活已足够了解，知道永远不能凭一件事表面的是非
曲直来下结论。看起来，西米恩•李就该被谴责，他妻子的确受到了不公正的对待。而同
时，我又真心觉得那种顺从，心甘情愿做出牺牲的软弱性格，会激起某些男人身上最坏的
本性。我认为，西米恩•李可能更欣赏有勇气、有力量的女人。他只会被隐忍和眼泪激
怒。”
波洛点点头。他说：“你丈夫昨晚说：‘我母亲从未抱怨过。’这是真的吗？”
希尔达•李不耐烦地说：“当然不是！她一直在向戴维抱怨！她把她所有的不幸重担都
转嫁到了他的肩上。他那时太年轻——过于年轻，还承受不起那些她让他承担的东西！”
波洛若有所思地看着她。她在他的注视下红了脸，咬着嘴唇。
波洛说：“我明白了。”
她尖锐地反问：“你明白什么了？”
他答道：“你一直在扮演你丈夫母亲的角色，而你更想成为一个妻子。”
她别过脸去。
就在这时，戴维•李从房子里走了出来，沿着阳台向他们走来。他开口时语气中的快乐
是显而易见的。
“希尔达，天气太棒了，不是吗？就像春天而不是冬天。”
他走近了些，头向后仰着，一缕金发垂在前额上，蓝眼睛闪着光。他看上去不可思议
地年轻、孩子气。他身上有一种充满青春气息的热切，一种无忧无虑的光彩。赫尔克里•波
洛屏住了呼吸。
戴维说：“我们到湖边去吧，希尔达。”
她笑了，伸手挽着他，一起走了。
波洛看着他们离开，发现她回过头来飞快地瞟了他一眼。他看出那匆忙的一瞥中闪过
一丝焦虑——还是，恐惧？
赫尔克里•波洛慢慢地朝阳台的另一端走去，喃喃自语道：“就像我一直说的，我是一
位听取忏悔的神父！而因为女人比男人更经常忏悔，所以今天早上都是女人来找我。我怀
疑是不是很快又会有一个？”
他在阳台的尽头转身，接着往回走时，知道他的疑问有了答案。莉迪亚•李正朝他走
来。
PART FOUR DECEMBER 25TH IV
IV
Lydia said:
“Good morning, M. Poirot. Tressilian told me I should find you out here with Harry; but I am
glad to find you alone. My husband has been speaking about you. I know he is very anxious to talk
to you.”
“Ah! Yes? Shall I go and see him now?”
“Not just yet. He got hardly any sleep last night. In the end I gave him a strong sleeping
draught. He is still asleep, and I don’t want to disturb him.”
“I quite understand. That was very wise. I could see last night that the shock had been very
great.”
She said seriously:
“You see, M. Poirot, he really cared—much more than the others.”
“I understand.”
She asked:
“Have you—has the superintendent—any idea of who can have done this awful thing?”
Poirot said deliberately:
“We have certain ideas, madame, as to who did not do it.”
Lydia said, almost impatiently:
“It’s like a nightmare—so fantastic—I can’t believe it’s real!”
She added:
“What about Horbury? Was he really at the cinema, as he said?”
“Yes, madame, his story has been checked. He was speaking the truth.”
Lydia stopped and plucked at a bit of yew. Her face went a little paler. She said:
“But that’s awful! It only leaves—the family!”
“Exactly.”
“M. Poirot, I can’t believe it!”
“Madame, you can and you do believe it!”
She seemed about to protest. Then suddenly she smiled ruefully.
She said:
“What a hypocrite one is!”
He nodded.
“If you were to be frank with me, madame,” he said, “you would admit that to you it seems
quite natural that one of his family should murder your father-in-law.”
Lydia said sharply:
“That’s really a fantastic thing to say, M. Poirot!”
“Yes, it is. But your father-in-law was a fantastic person!”
Lydia said:
“Poor old man. I can feel sorry for him now. When he was alive, he just annoyed me
unspeakably!”
Poirot said:
“So I should imagine!”
He bent over one of the stone sinks.
“They are very ingenious, these. Very pleasing.”
“I’m glad you like them. It’s one of my hobbies. Do you like this Arctic one with the
penguins and the ice?”
“Charming. And this—what is this?”
“Oh, that’s the Dead Sea—or going to be. It isn’t finished yet. You mustn’t look at it. Now
this one is supposed to be Piana in Corsica. The rocks there, you know, are quite pink and too
lovely where they go down into the blue sea. This desert scene is rather fun, don’t you think?”
She led him along. When they had reached the farther end she glanced at her wristwatch.
“I must go and see if Alfred is awake.”
When she had gone Poirot went slowly back again to the garden representing the Dead Sea.
He looked at it with a good deal of interest. Then he scooped up a few of the pebbles and let them
run through his fingers.
Suddenly his face changed. He held up the pebbles close to his face.
“Sapristi!” he said. “This is a surprise! Now what exactly does this mean?”
第四部分 十二月二十五日 4
4
莉迪亚说：“早上好，波洛先生。特雷西利安告诉我可以在外面找到你，他说你和哈里
在一起。我很高兴看见你一个人在这儿。我丈夫一直说起你，我知道他很渴望和你谈谈。”
“啊，是吗？要我现在去见他吗？”
“先别去。他昨晚怎么都睡不着，最后我给了他一片强力安眠药。他现在还睡着呢，我
不想叫醒他。”
“我很理解，这么做很明智。我能看出昨晚的那个打击对他来说有多么大。”
她很认真地说：“你看，波洛先生，他真的很把这件事放在心上——远甚于其他人。”
“我明白。”
她问道：“你，或者萨格登警司，有怀疑对象了吗？知道是谁做了这么可怕的事吗？”
波洛谨慎地说：“我们确实有了一些想法，夫人，关于谁不可能做这件事。”
莉迪亚有些焦躁地说：“这就像一场噩梦，太不可思议了。我无法相信这是真的！”
她又加上一句：“霍伯里怎么样？昨晚他真的如他所说，在电影院吗？”
“是的，夫人，他的说法已经核实了，他说的是真话。”
莉迪亚停了下来，抓住一点紫杉的叶子。她的脸色有些发白。
她说：“可这太可怕了！这样就只剩下家里的人了！”
“完全正确。”
“波洛先生，我无法相信！”
“夫人，你可以相信，而且你已经相信了！”
她似乎想提出抗议，但接着，她露出悲伤的笑容。
她说：“好一个伪君子！”
波洛点点头。
他说：“如果你对我坦诚，夫人，你就会承认，对你来说，这个家里的某个人谋杀了你
公公，是件非常自然的事。”
莉迪亚严厉地说：“说这种话也太怪了，波洛先生！”
“是的，确实如此。但你公公就是一个怪人啊！”
莉迪亚说：“可怜的老人，现在我都为他感到难过了。他还活着的时候，只会惹我生出
难以形容的怒气！”
波洛说：“我可以想象！”
他弯下腰，看着石槽里的微缩花园。
“做得真的太精致了，非常可爱。”
“我很高兴你喜欢它们，这是我的一项爱好。你喜欢有企鹅和冰山的北极主题吗？”
“很迷人。不过这个——这是什么？”
“哦，那是死海——或者该说将会是，它还没完工呢，不用去看它。而这一个，是科西
嘉的皮亚纳，那儿的岩石是粉色的，一直延伸到蔚蓝的海面上，非常可爱。还有这个沙漠
景观，很有意思，你不觉得吗？”
她领着他一路走着，走到头时她看了一眼手表。
“我得去看看阿尔弗雷德醒没醒。”
她走了之后，波洛慢慢地走回到死海主题的微缩景观前。他兴致勃勃地看着它，然后
抠出几块鹅卵石，拿在手里玩。
突然间他脸色一变，把鹅卵石拿起来凑到脸前。
“见鬼！”他说，“真是个意外！这到底是怎么回事？”
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH

The chief constable and Superintendent Sugden stared at Poirot incredulously. The latter returned
a stream of small pebbles carefully into a small cardboard box and pushed it across to the chief
constable.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “It is the diamonds all right.”
“And you found them where, did you say? In the garden?”
“In one of the small gardens constructed by Madame Alfred Lee.”
“Mrs. Alfred?” Sugden shook his head. “Doesn’t seem likely.”
Poirot said:
“You mean, I suppose, that you do not consider it likely that Mrs. Alfred cut her father-in-
law’s throat?”
Sugden said quickly:
“We know she didn’t do that. I meant it seemed unlikely that she pinched these diamonds.”
Poirot said:
“One would not easily believe her a thief—no.”
Sugden said:
“Anybody could have hidden them there.”
“That is true. It was convenient that in that particular garden—the Dead Sea as it represents—
there happened to be pebbles very similar in shape and appearance.”
Sugden said:
“You mean she fixed it like that beforehand? Ready?”
Colonel Johnson said warmly:
“I don’t believe it for a moment. Not for a moment. Why should she take the diamonds in the
first place?”
“Well, as to that—” Sugden said slowly.
Poirot nipped in quickly:
“There is a possible answer to that. She took the diamonds to suggest a motive for the
murder. That is to say she knew that murder was going to be done though she herself took no
active part in it.”
Johnson frowned.
“That won’t hold water for a minute. You’re making her out to be an accomplice—but whose
accomplice would she be likely to be? Only her husband’s. But as we know that he, too, had
nothing to do with the murder, the whole theory falls to the ground.”
Sugden stroked his jaw reflectively.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s so. No, if Mrs. Lee took the diamonds—and it’s a big if—it was just
plain robbery, and it’s true she might have prepared that garden specially as a hiding place for
them till the hue and cry had died down. Another possibility is that of coincidence. That garden,
with its similarity of pebbles, struck the thief, whoever he or she was, as an ideal hiding place.”
Poirot said:
“That is quite possible. I am always prepared to admit one coincidence.”
Superintendent Sugden shook his head dubiously.
Poirot said:
“What is your opinion, Superintendent?”
The superintendent said cautiously:
“Mrs. Lee’s a very nice lady. Doesn’t seem likely that she’d be mixed up in any business that
was fishy. But, of course, one never knows.”
Colonel Johnson said testily:
“In any case, whatever the truth is about the diamonds, her being mixed up in the murder is
out of the question. The butler saw her in the drawing room at the actual time of the crime. You
remember that, Poirot?”
Poirot said:
“I had not forgotten that.”
The chief constable turned to his subordinate.
“We’d better get on. What have you to report? Anything fresh?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve got hold of some new information. To start with—Horbury. There’s a reason
why he might be scared of the police.”
“Robbery? Eh?”
“No, sir. Extorting money under threats. Modified blackmail. The case couldn’t be proved so
he got off, but I rather fancy he’s got away with a thing or two in that line. Having a guilty
conscience, he probably thought we were on to something of that kind when Tressilian mentioned
a police officer last night and it made him get the wind up.”
The chief constable said:
“H’m! So much for Horbury. What else?”
The superintendent coughed.
“Er—Mrs. George Lee, sir. We’ve got a line on her before her marriage. Was living with a
Commander Jones. Passed as his daughter—but she wasn’t his daughter . . . I think from what
we’ve been told, that old Mr. Lee summed her up pretty correctly—he was smart where women
were concerned, knew a bad lot when he saw one—and was just amusing himself by taking a shot
in the dark. And he got her on the raw!”
Colonel Johnson said thoughtfully:
“That gives her another possible motive—apart from the money angle. She may have thought
he knew something definite and was going to give her away to her husband. That telephone story
of hers is pretty fishy. She didn’t telephone.”
Sugden suggested:
“Why not have them in together, sir, and get at that telephone business straight? See what we
get.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“Good idea.”
He rang the bell. Tressilian answered it.
“Ask Mr. and Mrs. George Lee to come here.”
“Very good, sir.”
As the old man turned away, Poirot said:
“The date on that wall calendar, has it remained like it is since the murder?”
Tressilian turned back.
“Which calendar, sir?”
“The one on the wall over there.”
The three men were sitting once more in Alfred Lee’s small sitting room. The calendar in
question was a large one with tear-off leaves, a bold date on each leaf.
Tressilian peered across the room, then shuffled slowly across till he was a foot or two away.
He said:
“Excuse me, sir, it has been torn off. It’s the twenty-sixth today.”
“Ah, pardon. Who would have been the person to tear it off?”
“Mr. Lee does, sir, every morning. Mr. Alfred, he’s a very methodical gentleman.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Tressilian went out. Sugden said, puzzled:
“Is there anything fishy about that calendar, Mr. Poirot? Have I missed something there?”
With a shrug of his shoulders Poirot said:
“The calendar is of no importance. It was just a little experiment I was making.”
Colonel Johnson said:
“Inquest tomorrow. There’ll be an adjournment, of course.”
Sugden said:
“Yes, sir, I’ve seen the Coroner and it’s all arranged for.”
第五部分 十二月二十六日 1
第五部分 十二月二十六日 1

约翰逊上校和萨格登警司都不可思议地盯着波洛。后者把一捧小鹅卵石小心地放回到
一个小纸盒里，推到上校面前。
“噢，是的。”他说，“这的确就是那些钻石。”
“你说你是在哪儿找到它们的来着？在花园里？”
“在阿尔弗雷德•李夫人制作的一个微型花园里。”
“阿尔弗雷德夫人？”萨格登摇摇头，“看起来不像啊。”
波洛说：“我想你的意思是，不像是阿尔弗雷德夫人割断了她公公的喉咙？”
萨格登马上说：“我们已经知道那不是她干的。我是说，不像是她偷了钻石。”
波洛说：“要相信她是一个贼确实不是件容易事，不像。”
萨格登说：“任何人都有可能把它们藏在那儿。”
“这倒是真的。很容易藏在那个特别的花园中。死海主题——那里的鹅卵石，形状和外
观都和这些钻石很相似。”
萨格登说：“你的意思是，她事先就把那个弄好了？做好了准备？”
约翰逊上校由衷地说：“我一点儿也不相信。一点儿也不。首先，她究竟为什么要拿那
些钻石呢？”
“啊，说到这一点——”萨格登慢吞吞地说。
波洛赶紧插话说：“有关这个问题，答案可能是这样的，她拿走钻石是为了让人误以为
这是谋杀案的动机。也就是说，虽然她没有参与其中，可她是知道会发生这次谋杀的。”
约翰逊皱皱眉。
“这个想法根本站不住脚。你这么说就是认定她与人同谋——可她能是谁的同谋呢？只
可能是她丈夫。但我们已经知道，他和谋杀没有任何关系，这样一来，这一推测就落空
了。”
萨格登下意识地摩挲着下巴。
“对，”他说，“是这样的。如果是李夫人偷了钻石的话——这个‘如果’非同小可——那
就只是一次单纯的盗窃，而她可能真的为此特意准备了一个花园，作为藏匿之处，等风声
渐渐过去。还有一种可能，就是纯属巧合。那个有着相似鹅卵石的花园吸引了偷钻石的
贼，无论他是谁。这个人认为那儿是个理想的藏匿之处。”
波洛说：“这很有可能。我随时准备接受一个巧合。”
萨格登警司怀疑地摇摇头。
波洛说：“你怎么看，萨格登警司？”
萨格登警司谨慎地说：“李夫人是一个好人，看起来不像会卷进任何肮脏的勾当中。不
过，这种事没人说得准。”
约翰逊上校恼火地说：“不管钻石失窃案到底是怎么回事，她都不可能和谋杀案有任何
牵连。管家看见她案发当时在客厅里，还记得吗，波洛？”
波洛说：“我没忘记这一点。”
上校转向他的下属。
“我们最好继续，你有什么要汇报的？有什么新情况吗？”
“是的，长官，我获得了一些新情报。先从霍伯里说起吧，他那么害怕警察是有原因
的。”
“偷东西，呃？”
“不，长官。是威胁以敲诈钱财，变相勒索。那起案子最终没有证据，于是他逃脱了惩
罚，不过我认为他肯定犯过些事，因此心里有鬼。昨晚特雷西利安说警察来了的时候，他
以为是来调查那件事的，所以才那么紧张兮兮。”
上校说：“有关霍伯里的事够多了！还有别的吗？”
警司咳嗽了一下。
“呃……乔治•李夫人，我们查到了她的一些情况。结婚前她与一位姓琼斯的指挥官一
起生活，她是他的养女——并非亲生女儿。据我们了解到的，我认为已故的李先生对她身
世的猜测很可能是对的——不得不说他真的很懂女人，看一眼就能明白很多事，并且很喜
欢大胆猜测。而这一次，他完全命中！”
约翰逊上校若有所思地说：“于是我们又有了一个可能的动机——金钱方面的。她或许
认为老李先生知道些什么，并担心他透露给她的丈夫。她那个打电话的说法太可疑了，她
根本没有打电话。”
萨格登提出一个建议。
“我们为什么不把他们叫来，直接把电话这个疑点说出来，看看能得到什么？”
约翰逊上校说：“好主意。”
他按了一下铃，特雷西利安应声出现。
“叫乔治夫妇过来一下。”
“好的，先生。”
老人刚转过身，波洛问道：“墙上的日历还停留在谋杀发生的那一天吗？”
特雷西利安又转了回来。
“哪个日历，先生？”
“那边墙上的那个。”
三个男人此时正坐在阿尔弗雷德•李那间小小的客厅里。波洛提到的那个日历就挂在墙
上，是那种每页都醒目地印着日期、过一天撕一页的。
特雷西利安的视线穿过房间，接着拖着双腿缓慢地走了过去，慢得好像他缺了一两条
腿似的。
他说：“抱歉，先生，它已经被撕了，现在是二十六号。”
“哦，请问，谁有可能来撕这个日历？”
“李先生，先生，他每天都会来撕日历。阿尔弗雷德先生做事非常有条理。”
“知道了，谢谢你。”
特雷西利安走出了房间，萨格登不解地问：“那个日历有什么值得怀疑的地方吗？我是
不是漏掉了什么？”
波洛耸了耸肩，回答道：“那个日历完全不重要，只是我的一项小实验。”
约翰逊上校说：“明天验尸，咱们的调查要理所当然地往后延了。”
萨格登说：“是的，长官，我已经见过验尸官了，一切准备就绪。”
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH II
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH II

George Lee came into the room, accompanied by his wife.
Colonel Johnson said:
“Good morning. Sit down, will you? There are a few questions I want to ask both of you.
Something I’m not quite clear about.”
“I shall be glad to give you any assistance I can,” said George, somewhat pompously.
Magdalene said faintly:
“Of course!”
The chief constable gave a slight nod to Sugden. The latter said:
“About those telephone calls on the night of the crime. You put through a call to
Westeringham, I think you said, Mr. Lee?”
George said coldly:
“Yes, I did. To my agent in the constituency. I can refer you to him and—”
Superintendent Sugden held up his hand to stem the flow.
“Quite so—quite so, Mr. Lee. We’re not disputing that point. Your call went through at 8:59
exactly.”
“Well—I—er—couldn’t say as to the exact time.”
“Ah,” said Sugden. “But we can! We always check up on these things very carefully. Very
carefully indeed. The call was put through at 8:59 and it was terminated at 9:4. Your father, Mr.
Lee, was killed about 9:15. I must ask you once more for an account of your movements.”
“I’ve told you—I was telephoning!”
“No, Mr. Lee, you weren’t.”
“Nonsense — you must have made a mistake! Well, I may, perhaps, have just finished
telephoning—I think I debated making another call—was just considering whether it was—er—
worth—the expense—when I heard the noise upstairs.”
“You would hardly debate whether or not to make a telephone call for ten minutes.”
George went purple. He began to splutter.
“What do you mean? What the devil do you mean? Damned impudence! Are you doubting
my word? Doubting the word of a man of my position? I—er—why should I have to account for
every minute of my time?”
Superintendent Sugden said with a stolidness that Poirot admired:
“It’s usual.”
George turned angrily on the chief constable.
“Colonel Johnson. Do you countenance this—this unprecedented attitude?”
The chief constable said crisply: “In a murder case, Mr. Lee, then questions must be asked—
and answered.”
“I have answered them! I had finished telephoning and was—er—debating a further call.”
“You were in this room when the alarm was raised upstairs?”
“I was—yes, I was.”
Johnson turned to Magdalene.
“I think, Mrs. Lee,” he said, “that you stated that you were telephoning when the alarm broke
out, and that at the time you were alone in this room?”
Magdalene was flustered. She caught her breath, looked sideways at George—at Sugden,
then appealingly at Colonel Johnson. She said:
“Oh, really—I don’t know—I don’t remember what I said . . . I was so upset. . . .”
Sugden said:
“We’ve got it all written down, you know.”
She turned her batteries on him—wide appealing eyes—quivering mouth. But she met in
return the rigid aloofness of a man of stern respectability who didn’t approve of her type.
She said uncertainly:
“I—I—of course I telephoned. I can’t be quite sure just when—”
She stopped.
George said:
“What’s all this? Where did you telephone from? Not in here.”
Superintendent Sugden said:
“I suggest, Mrs. Lee, that you didn’t telephone at all. In that case, where were you and what
were you doing?”
Magdalene glanced distractedly about her and burst into tears. She sobbed:
“George, don’t let them bully me! You know that if anyone frightens me and thunders
questions at me, I can’t remember anything at all! I—I don’t know what I was saying that night—
it was all so horrible—and I was so upset—and they’re being so beastly to me. . . .”
She jumped up and ran sobbing out of the room.
Springing up, George Lee blustered:
“What d’you mean? I won’t have my wife bullied and frightened out of her life! She’s very
sensitive. It’s disgraceful! I shall have a question asked in the House about the disgraceful bullying
methods of the police. It’s absolutely disgraceful!”
He strode out of the room and banged the door.
Superintendent Sugden threw his head back and laughed.
He said:
“We’ve got them going properly! Now we’ll see!”
Johnson said frowning:
“Extraordinary business! Looks fishy. We must get a further statement out of her.”
Sugden said easily:
“Oh! She’ll be back in a minute or two. When she’s decided what to say. Eh, Mr. Poirot?”
Poirot, who had been sitting in a dream, gave a start.
“Pardon!”
“I said she’ll be back.”
“Probably—yes, possibly—oh, yes!”
Sugden said, staring at him:
“What’s the matter, Mr. Poirot? Seen a ghost?”
Poirot said slowly:
“You know—I am not sure that I have not done just exactly that.”
Colonel Johnson said impatiently:
“Well, Sugden, anything else?”
Sugden said:
“I’ve been trying to check up on the order in which everyone arrived on the scene of the
murder. It’s quite clear what must have happened. After the murder when the victim’s dying cry
had given the alarm, the murderer slipped out, locked the door with pliers, or something of that
kind, and a moment or two later became one of the people hurrying to the scene of the crime.
Unfortunately it’s not easy to check exactly whom everyone has seen because people’s memories
aren’t very accurate on a point like that. Tressilian says he saw Harry and Alfred Lee cross the hall
from the dining room and race upstairs. That lets them out, but we don’t suspect them anyway. As
far as I can make out, Miss Estravados got there late—one of the last. The general idea seems to
be that Farr, Mrs. George, and Mrs. David were the first. Each of those three says one of the others
was just ahead of them. That’s what’s so difficult, you can’t distinguish between a deliberate lie
and a genuine haziness of recollection. Everybody ran there—that’s agreed, but in what order they
ran isn’t so easy to get at.”
Poirot said slowly:
“You think that important?”
Sugden said:
“It’s the time element. The time, remember, was incredibly short.”
Poirot said:
“I agree with you that the time element is very important in this case.”
Sugden went on:
“What makes it more difficult is that there are two staircases. There’s the main one in the hall
here about equidistant from the dining room and the drawing room doors. Then there’s one the
other end of the house. Stephen Farr came up by the latter. Miss Estravados came along the upper
landing from that end of the house (her room is right the other end). The others say they went up
by this one.”
Poirot said:
“It is a confusion, yes.”
The door opened and Magdalene came quickly in. She was breathing fast and had a bright
spot of colour in each cheek. She came up to the table and said quietly:
“My husband thinks I’m lying down. I slipped out of my room quietly. Colonel Johnson,” she
appealed to him with wide, distressed eyes, “if I tell you the truth you will keep quiet about it,
won’t you? I mean you don’t have to make everything public?”
Colonel Johnson said:
“You mean, I take it, Mrs. Lee, something that has no connection with the crime?”
“Yes, no connection at all. Just something in my—my private life.”
The chief constable said:
“You’d better make a clean breast of it, Mrs. Lee, and leave us to judge.”
Magdalene said, her eyes swimming:
“Yes, I will trust you. I know I can. You look so kind. You see, it’s like this. There’s
somebody—” She stopped.
“Yes, Mrs. Lee?”
“I wanted to telephone to somebody last night—a man—a friend of mine, and I didn’t want
George to know about it. I know it was very wrong of me—but well, it was like that. So I went to
telephone after dinner when I thought George would be safely in the dining room. But when I got
here I heard him telephoning, so I waited.”
“Where did you wait, madame?” asked Poirot.
“There’s a place for coats and things behind the stairs. It’s dark there. I slipped back there,
where I could see George come out from this room. But he didn’t come out, and then all the noise
happened and Mr. Lee screamed, and I ran upstairs.”
“So your husband did not leave this room until the moment of the murder?”
“No.”
The chief constable said:
“And you yourself from nine o’clock to nine fifteen were waiting in the recess behind the
stairs?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t say so, you see! They’d want to know what I was doing there. It’s been
very, very awkward for me, you do see that, don’t you?”
Johnson said dryly:
“It was certainly awkward.”
She smiled at him sweetly.
“I’m so relieved to have told you the truth. And you won’t tell my husband, will you? No,
I’m sure you won’t! I can trust you, all of you.”
She included them all in her final pleading look, then she slipped quickly out of the room.
Colonel Johnson drew a deep breath.
“Well,” he said. “It might be like that! It’s a perfectly plausible story. On the other hand—”
“It might not,” finished Sugden. “That’s just it. We don’t know.”
第五部分 十二月二十六日 2
第五部分 十二月二十六日
2
乔治•李走进房间，他妻子在他身边。
约翰逊上校说：“早上好。请坐，好吗？有几个问题我想问问你们两位，一些我们还不
太明白的事情。”
“我很高兴，会尽我所能地帮助你们。”乔治的态度有些傲慢。
玛格达莱尼则淡淡地说：“当然！”
上校朝萨格登微微点了点头，后者说：“是关于案发那天晚上几通电话的事。我记得你
说你往韦斯特林厄姆打了个电话，李先生？”
乔治•李冷冷地说：“是的，打给我的选区代表，我可以告诉你他的——”
萨格登警司举起一只手，止住了他即将要说的话。
“是这样的，是这样的，李先生，我们不想在这一点上与你争论。那通电话是八点五十
九分接通的。”
“这个……我……呃，确切的时间我可说不上来。”
“啊，”萨格登说，“但我们可以！这种事我们总是查得很仔细，的确非常仔细。那通电
话是八点五十九分接通的，九点零四分结束。而你父亲，李先生，是大约九点十五分被杀
的，我必须再次请你解释一下案发当时在做什么。”
“我告诉过你了，我当时正在打电话！”
“不，李先生，你没有。”
“岂有此理，你肯定弄错了！嗯，我也许，可能，刚刚挂上电话，正在纠结要不要再打
一个。我正在考虑它是否……呃，值得，是否值得我花电话费。这时，就听见楼上传来吵
闹声。”
“你不可能花上十分钟纠结要不要打一通电话吧。”
乔治气得脸色发紫，气急败坏起来。
“你什么意思？你这到底是什么意思？简直太无礼了！你是在怀疑我说的话吗？怀疑一
个我这种地位的人所说的话？我，我为什么要解释清楚每一分钟的行动？”
萨格登警司不动声色的态度让波洛肃然起敬。
“这是例行公事。”
乔治愤怒地看向上校。
“约翰逊上校，你能容忍吗——这种闻所未闻的态度！”
上校回答得很干脆。
“涉及一起谋杀案，李先生，有些问题必须要问，也必须回答。”
“我已经回答了！我刚打完一通电话，正在……呃……考虑要不要再打一个电话。”
“楼上传来尖叫声时你就在这间屋子里，对吗？”
“是的，对，我就在这间屋子里。”
约翰逊转向玛格达莱尼。
“我记得，李夫人，”他说，“你声称尖叫声响起的时候你正在打电话，而且你是一个人
在这间屋子里？”
玛格达莱尼慌了神，屏住呼吸看看旁边的乔治，又看向萨格登，接着恳求地看着约翰
逊上校。
她说：“噢，是吗？我不知道……我不记得我都说了些什么……我脑子一团糟……”
萨格登说：“你说的我们都记下来了。”
她将攻势转向他。恳求的大眼睛，颤抖的嘴唇。但她所面对的男人有着坚定的职业操
守，不吃她这套，只回敬给她冷漠和严厉。
她含含糊糊地说：“我……我……我当然打了电话，我只是不能肯定是什么时候——”
她停住了。
乔治说：“这都是怎么回事？你在哪儿打的电话？不是在这儿？”
萨格登警司说：“我认为，李夫人，你根本没打电话。那么，那时候你在哪儿，在做什
么？”
玛格达莱尼心烦意乱地看看周围，突然大哭起来。她抽泣着说：“乔治，别让他们欺负
我！你知道如果有人吓唬我、大声地质问我，我就什么也想不起来了！我，我不记得那天
晚上我都说了些什么，一切都那么可怕。而我乱成一团，他们对我又那么凶狠……”
她跳了起来，抽泣着跑出了房间。
乔治•李跟着弹起身，咆哮道：“你们这是干什么！我不允许我的妻子受到威胁和恐
吓！她非常敏感。你们太可耻了！我要向国会提出质疑，质疑警方的可耻行为。这么做实
在太可耻了！”
他大步走出房间，砰的一声关上了门。
萨格登警司仰头大笑。
他说：“我们逮了个正着！现在我们就等着瞧吧！”
约翰逊上校皱起眉头。
“太离奇了！肯定有问题。我们必须从她那儿得到进一步的证词。”
萨格登轻松地说：“噢！一两分钟后她就会回来的，等她决定好该怎么说。你认为呢，
波洛先生？”
波洛仿佛一直坐在那儿做梦，此时如梦初醒。
“请再说一遍！”
“我说她会回来的。”
“也许吧，嗯，很可能……噢，是的！”
萨格登注视着他，问：“怎么了，波洛先生？看见幽灵了？”
波洛慢悠悠地说：“哦，我正是不能肯定这一点。”
约翰逊上校不耐烦地说：“好了，萨格登，还有别的吗？”
萨格登说：“我试图把这些人到达谋杀现场的顺序查清楚——一部分事实已经很清楚
了。谋杀发生后，受害者发出的垂死尖叫如同警报，接着凶手溜出房间，用钳子或其他这
类东西锁上门，片刻之后便有人匆忙赶到案发现场。遗憾的是，要确定到底谁在现场并不
太容易，因为在那种环境下，人们的记忆总是很不准确。特雷西利安说他看见哈里和阿尔
弗雷德•李从餐厅出来，穿过大厅冲上楼去。这就把他们排除在外了，不过我们也从没怀疑
过他们。就我现在所了解到的，埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐比较晚到——差不多是最后一个。大
体上说，法尔、乔治夫人和戴维夫人似乎是第一批到的。他们三个都说另一个比自己早到
一点儿。难就难在这儿了，你无法分辨谁在蓄意撒谎，谁是真的记不清了。所有的人都跑
过去了，这一点没有问题，可要查清楚他们到达的顺序就有点儿难了。”
波洛慢吞吞地问：“你认为这很重要吗？”
萨格登说：“这是时间要素。别忘了，事发时间非常短。”
波洛说：“我同意，在这个案子里，时间是一个很重要的因素。”
萨格登接着说：“更麻烦的是，这幢房子里有两段楼梯。主楼梯在大厅里，到餐厅和客
厅之间的距离相等。另一段楼梯在房子的一侧，斯蒂芬•法尔是从那段楼梯上去的。埃斯特
拉瓦多斯小姐不用上楼梯，直接顺着楼上的走廊跑了过去，她的房间就在二楼的另一侧。
其他人都说自己是从主楼梯上去的。”
波洛说：“真够混乱的。”
此时门开了，玛格达莱尼急急忙忙地走了进来。她呼吸紧促，两边脸颊上各有一团红
晕。她走到桌前，小声说道：“我丈夫以为我躺着呢，我是从房间里偷偷溜出来的。约翰逊
上校，”她那双大眼睛痛苦地望着上校，“如果我告诉你事情的真相你会替我保密的，对不
对？我的意思是，没必要把一切都公开，对吧？”
约翰逊上校说：“你的意思是……李夫人，我想是一些和这起案子毫无关系的事情？”
“是的，完全没有关系，只是一些我的……我的私事。”
上校说：“你最好全部坦白地说出来，李夫人，然后由我们来判断。”
玛格达莱尼的眼神游移不定，她开口了。
“是的，我信任你，我知道我可以的，你看起来那么善良。是这样的，有一个人
——”她停住了。
“然后呢，李夫人？”
“昨晚我想给一个人打电话，一个男人——我的一个朋友，而我不想让乔治知道这件
事。我知道这么做不对，可是，事情就是这样的。所以晚饭后，我想乔治在餐厅里，很安
全，我就跑去打电话了。可当我到了那儿，我听见他在打电话，于是我只好等着。”
“你在哪儿等着，夫人？”波洛问。
“楼梯后面有一个放衣服和杂物的地方。那儿很黑，我悄悄地退到那里，在那儿可以看
到乔治从房间里出来。可他一直没出来，而就在这个时候，楼上闹腾起来，接着是李先生
的尖叫，我就跑上了楼。”
“那么，直到案发，你丈夫一直没离开过这个房间？”
“是的。”
上校说：“而你，从九点到九点一刻，一直躲在楼梯后面的凹室？”
“是的，但我不能这么说，你应该明白吧！大家会想知道我在那儿做什么，这对我来说
将会非常非常尴尬，你明白了吧，对吗？”
约翰逊上校干巴巴地说：“自然会很尴尬。”
她冲他甜甜地一笑。
“告诉你们真相就轻松多了。你们不会告诉我丈夫的，对吗？不，我敢肯定你们不会
的！我可以信任你们，你们所有人。”
她向在场所有人投以最后的恳求目光，然后就匆匆地溜出了房间。
约翰逊上校深深地吸了口气。
“哦，”他说，“很可能就是这样的！听起来非常可信的一个故事。但相反——”
“也可能并非如此。”萨格登接着把话说完，“就是这样的，我们不知道她说的是真还是
假。”
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH III
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH III

Lydia Lee stood by the far window of the drawing room looking out. Her figure was half hidden
by the heavy window curtains. A sound in the room made her turn with a start to see Hercule
Poirot standing by the door.
She said:
“You startled me, M. Poirot.”
“I apologize, madame. I walk softly.”
She said:
“I thought it was Horbury.”
Hercule Poirot nodded.
“It is true, he steps softly, that one—like a cat—or a thief.”
He paused a minute, watching her.
Her face showed nothing, but she made a slight grimace of distate as she said:
“I have never cared for that man. I shall be glad to get rid of him.”
“I think you will be wise to do so, madame.”
She looked at him quickly. She said:
“What do you mean? Do you know anything against him?”
Poirot said:
“He is a man who collects secrets—and uses them to his advantage.”
She said sharply:
“Do you think he knows anything—about the murder?”
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. He said:
“He has quiet feet and long ears. He may have overheard something that he is keeping to
himself.”
Lydia said clearly:
“Do you mean that he may try to blackmail one of us?”
“It is within the bounds of possibility. But that is not what I came here to say.”
“What did you come to say?”
Poirot said slowly:
“I have been talking with M. Alfred Lee. He has made me a proposition, and I wished to
discuss it with you before accepting or declining it. But I was so struck by the picture you made—
the charming pattern of your jumper against the deep red of the curtains, that I paused to admire.”
Lydia said sharply:
“Really, M. Poirot, must we waste time in compliments?”
“I beg your pardon, madame. So few English ladies understand la toilette. The dress you
were wearing the first night I saw you, its bold but simple pattern, it had grace—distinction.”
Lydia said impatiently:
“What was it you wanted to see me about?”
Poirot became grave.
“Just this, madame. Your husband, he wishes me to take up the investigation very seriously.
He demands that I stay here, in the house, and do my utmost to get to the bottom of the matter.”
Lydia said sharply:
“Well?”
Poirot said slowly:
“I should not wish to accept an invitation that was not endorsed by the lady of the house.”
She said coldly:
“Naturally I endorse my husband’s invitation.”
“Yes, madame, but I need more than that. Do you really want me to come here?”
“Why not?”
“Let us be more frank. What I ask you is this: do you want the truth to come out, or not?”
“Naturally.”
Poirot sighed.
“Must you return me these conventional replies?”
Lydia said:
“I am a conventional woman.”
Then she bit her lip, hesitated, and said:
“Perhaps it is better to speak frankly. Of course I understand you! The position is not a
pleasant one. My father-in-law has been brutally murdered, and unless a case can be made out
against the most likely suspect—Horbury—for robbery and murder—and it seems that it cannot—
then it comes to this—one of his own family killed him. To bring that person to justice will mean
bringing shame and disgrace on us all . . . If I am to speak honestly I must say that I do not want
this to happen.”
Poirot said:
“You are content for the murderer to escape unpunished?”
“There are probably several undiscovered murderers at large in the world.”
“That, I grant you.”
“Does one more matter, then?”
Poirot said:
“And what about the other members of the family? The innocent?”
She stared.
“What about them?”
“Do you realize that if it turns out as you hope, no one will ever know. The shadow will
remain on all alike. . . .”
She said uncertainly:
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
Poirot said:
“No one will ever know who the guilty person is. . . .”
He added softly:
“Unless you already know, madame?”
She cried out:
“You have no business to say that! It’s not true! Oh! If only it could be a stranger—not a
member of the family.”
Poirot said:
“It might be both.”
She stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“It might be a member of the family—and, at the same time, a stranger . . . You do not see
what I mean? Eh bien, it is an idea that has occurred to the mind of Hercule Poirot.”
He looked at her.
“Well, madame, what am I to say to Mr. Lee?”
Lydia raised her hands and let them fall in a sudden helpless gesture.
She said:
“Of course—you must accept.”
第五部分 十二月二十六日 3
第五部分 十二月二十六日
3
莉迪亚站在客厅尽头的窗边，向外望着。她的身影半掩在厚重的窗帘后面。这时房间
里起了一阵响动，让她吃惊地转过身来。赫尔克里•波洛站在门边。
她说：“你吓了我一跳，波洛先生。”
“对不起，夫人，我走路很轻。”
她说：“我还以为是霍伯里呢。”
赫尔克里•波洛点点头。
“是的，他的步子很轻，那个家伙就像一只猫，或者说一个贼。”
他停顿了片刻，看着她。
但从她脸上什么也看不出来，不过当她开口说话时微微做了个厌恶的鬼脸。
“我一直不喜欢那个人，要是能摆脱掉他我会很高兴。”
“我认为你这么做很明智，夫人。”
她飞快地看了他一眼，说：“什么意思？你知道什么对他不利的事吗？”
波洛说：“他搜集秘密，然后用这些秘密来为自己牟利。”
她厉声道：“你认为他知道什么关于谋杀的事吗？”
波洛耸耸肩，说：“他的步子很轻、耳朵很尖，可能听见了什么但没说出来。”
莉迪亚的问题问得很明白。
“你是说他也许会试图勒索我们中的某个人？”
“这是很有可能的。但我过来不是为了说这个的。”
“那你要说什么？”
波洛慢悠悠地说：“我和阿尔弗雷德•李先生谈过了，他向我提出了一个建议，我想先
和你商量一下，再决定是接受还是拒绝。但刚才我被你所构成的画面打动了——你外套上
的迷人图案和深红色的窗帘交相辉映——于是我停下脚步，欣赏了一会儿。”
莉迪亚不客气地说：“波洛先生，我们有必要把时间浪费在恭维上吗？”
“请你原谅，夫人，几乎没几个英国女士懂得打扮。第一天晚上见你时你穿的那条裙
子，设计很大胆，但图案很简单，显得非常优雅，引人注目。”
莉迪亚不耐烦地说：“你来找我是为了什么呢？”
波洛严肃起来。
“是这样的，夫人。你丈夫希望我非常认真地进行调查，他要求我待在这儿，住在这幢
房子里，尽我所能，把事情查个水落石出。”
莉迪亚严肃地问：“然后呢？”
波洛慢吞吞地说：“要是女主人不认可，这样的邀请我可不想接受。”
她冷冷地说：“我当然认可我丈夫的邀请。”
“好的，夫人，但我对你的要求还不止这些。你真的想让我来这儿吗？”
“我为什么不想呢？”
“那我直说了吧，我问你的是：你真的希望真相大白吗，还是不希望？”
“当然希望。”
波洛叹了口气。
“你一定要用这种传统的回答来答复我吗？”
莉迪亚说：“我就是一个很传统的女人。”
接着她咬着嘴唇，迟疑了一会儿，说道：“或许我还是直说吧。我当然明白你的意思！
现在情况不太妙，我公公被残忍地杀害了，而除非证实这案子是那个最有嫌疑的人——霍
伯里干的，盗窃谋杀，但看起来不太可能。否则结果就会是——家里的某个人杀了他。把
那个人送交法院审判，就意味把家丑拿出去，让我们所有的人受辱……如果要我说实话，
那我确实不想让这种事发生。”
波洛说：“你更希望让凶手逍遥法外？”
“世界这么大，我想应该有很多没被发现的凶手。”
“这一点我赞成。”
“那么，再多一个又有什么关系吗？”
波洛说：“那其他的家庭成员怎么办，那些无辜者？”
她盯着他。
“他们怎么了？”
“你意识到了吗，如果事情的结果如你所愿，永远没人知道真相，这件事的阴影就会一
直笼罩着所有人。”
她不确定地说：“这一点我倒是没想过。”
波洛说：“永远没人会知道谁是那个罪人……”
他又轻轻地加上了一句：“还是说你已经知道了，夫人？”
她叫了出来：“你没有权利说这种话！不是这样的！噢！如果他是个陌生人，而不是家
里人就好了。”
波洛说：“也许二者都是。”
她盯着他看。
“你什么意思？”
“也许既是家里的一员，同时又是个陌生人……你真的不明白我什么意思吗？哦，这只
是赫尔克里•波洛的脑子里突然冒出来的主意。”
他看着她。
“那么，夫人，我该怎么对李先生说？”
莉迪亚举起双手，然后突然垂了下来，表示她的无奈。
她说：“当然——你务必接受我们的邀请。”
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH IV
PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH IV

Pilar stood in the centre of the music room. She stood very straight, her eyes darting from side to
side like an animal who fears an attack.
She said:
“I want to get away from here!”
Stephen Farr said gently:
“You’re not the only one who feels like that. But they won’t let us go, my dear.”
“You mean—the police?”
“Yes.”
Pilar said very seriously:
“It is not nice to be mixed up with the police. It is a thing that should not happen to
respectable people.”
Stephen said with a faint smile:
“Meaning yourself?”
Pilar said:
“No, I mean Alfred and Lydia and David and George and Hilda and—yes—Magdalene too.”
Stephen lit a cigarette. He puffed at it for a moment or two before saying:
“Why the exception?”
“What is that, please?”
Stephen said:
“Why leave out brother Harry?”
Pilar laughed, her teeth showing white and even.
“Oh, Harry is different! I think he knows very well what it is to be mixed up with the police.”
“Perhaps you are right. He certainly is a little too picturesque to blend well into the domestic
picture.”
He went on:
“Do you like your English relations, Pilar?”
Pilar said doubtfully:
“They are kind—they are all very kind. But they do not laugh much, they are not gay.”
“My dear girl, there’s just been a murder in the house!”
“Y-es,” said Pilar doubtfully.
“A murder,” said Stephen instructively, “is not such an everyday occurrence as your
nonchalance seems to imply. In England they take their murders seriously whatever they may do
in Spain.”
Pilar said:
“You are laughing at me. . . .”
Stephen said:
“You’re wrong. I’m not in a laughing mood.”
Pilar looked at him and said:
“Because you, too, wish to get away from here?”
“Yes.”
“And the big, handsome policeman will not let you go?”
“I haven’t asked him. But if I did, I’ve no doubt he’d say no. I’ve got to watch my step, Pilar,
and be very very careful.”
“That is tiresome,” said Pilar, nodding her head.
“It’s just a little bit more than tiresome, my dear. Then there’s that lunatic foreigner prowling
about. I don’t suppose he’s any good but he makes me feel jumpy.”
Pilar was frowning. She said:
“My grandfather was very, very rich, was he not?”
“I should imagine so.”
“Where does his money go to now? To Alfred and the others?”
“Depends on his will.”
Pilar said thoughtfully: “He might have left me some money, but I am afraid that perhaps he
did not.”
Stephen said kindly:
“You’ll be all right. After all, you’re one of the family. You belong here. They’ll have to look
after you.”
Pilar said with a sigh: “I—belong here. It is very funny, that. And yet it is not funny at all.”
“I can see that you mightn’t find it very humorous.”
Pilar sighed again. She said:
“Do you think if we put on the gramophone, we could dance?”
Stephen said dubiously:
“It wouldn’t look any too good. This is a house of mourning, you callous Spanish baggage.”
Pilar said, her big eyes opening very wide:
“But I do not feel sad at all. Because I did not really know my grandfather, and though I liked
to talk to him, I do not want to cry and be unhappy because he is dead. It is very silly to pretend.”
Stephen said: “You’re adorable!”
Pilar said coaxingly:
“We could put some stockings and some gloves in the gramophone, and then it would not
make much noise, and no one would hear.”
“Come along then, temptress.”
She laughed happily and ran out of the room, going along towards the ballroom at the far end
of the house.
Then, as she reached the side passage which led to the garden door, she stopped dead.
Stephen caught up with her and stopped also.
Hercule Poirot had unhooked a portrait from the wall and was studying it by the light from
the terrace. He looked up and saw them.
“Aha!” he said. “You arrive at an opportune moment.”
Pilar said: “What are you doing?”
She came and stood beside him.
Poirot said gravely:
“I am studying something very important, the face of Simeon Lee when he was a young
man.”
“Oh, is that my grandfather?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
She stared at the painted face. She said slowly:
“How different—how very different . . . He was so old, so shrivelled up. Here he is like
Harry, like Harry might have been ten years ago.”
Hercule Poirot nodded.
“Yes, mademoiselle. Harry Lee is very much the son of his father. Now here—” He led her a
little way along the gallery. “Here is madame, your grandmother—a long gentle face, very blonde
hair, mild blue eyes.”
Pilar said:
“Like David.”
Stephen said:
“Just a look of Alfred too.”
Poirot said:
“The heredity, it is very interesting. Mr. Lee and his wife were diametrically opposite types.
On the whole, the children of the marriage took after the mother. See here, mademoiselle.”
He pointed to a picture of a girl of nineteen or so, with hair like spun gold and wide, laughing
blue eyes. The colouring was that of Simeon Lee’s wife, but there was a spirit, a vivacity that
those mild blue eyes and placid features had never known.
“Oh!” said Pilar.
The colour came up in her face.
Her hand went to her neck. She drew out a locket on a long gold chain. She pressed the catch
and it flew open. The same laughing face looked up at Poirot.
“My mother,” said Pilar.
Poirot nodded. On the opposite side of the locket was the portrait of a man. He was young
and handsome, with black hair and dark blue eyes.
Poirot said: “Your father?”
Pilar said:
“Yes, my father. He is very beautiful, is he not?”
“Yes, indeed. Few Spaniards have blue eyes, have they, señorita?”
“Sometimes, in the North. Besides, my father’s mother was Irish.”
Poirot said thoughtfully:
“So you have Spanish blood, and Irish and English, and a touch of gipsy too. Do you know
what I think, mademoiselle? With that inheritance, you should make a bad enemy.”
Stephen said, laughing:
“Remember what you said in the train, Pilar? That your way of dealing with your enemies
would be to cut their throats. Oh!”
He stopped—suddenly realizing the import of his words.
Hercule Poirot was quick to lead the conversation away. He said:
“Ah, yes, there was something, señorita, I had to ask you. Your passport. It is needed by my
friend the superintendent. There are, you know, police regulations—very stupid, very tiresome,
but necessary—for a foreigner in this country. And of course, by law, you are a foreigner.”
Pilar’s eyebrows rose.
“My passport? Yes, I will get it. It is in my room.”
Poirot said apologetically as he walked by her side:
“I am most sorry to trouble you. I am indeed.”
They had reached the end of the long gallery. Here was a flight of stairs. Pilar ran up and
Poirot followed. Stephen came too. Pilar’s bedroom was just at the head of the stairs.
She said as she reached the door: “I will get it for you.”
She went in. Poirot and Stephen Farr remained waiting outside.
Stephen said remorsefully:
“Damn” silly of me to say a thing like that. I don’t think she noticed, though, do you?”
Poirot did not answer. He held his head a little on one side as though listening.
He said:
“The English are extraordinarily fond of fresh air. Miss Estravados must have inherited that
characteristic.”
Stephen said staring:
“Why?”
Poirot said softly:
“Because though it is today extremely cold—the black frost you call it (not like yesterday so
mild and sunny) Miss Estravados has just flung up her lower window sash. Amazing to love so
much the fresh air.”
Suddenly there was an exclamation in Spanish from inside the room and Pilar reappeared
laughingly dismayed.
“Ah!” she cried. “But I am stupid—and clumsy. My little case it was on the windowsill, and I
was sorting through it so quickly and very stupidly I knock my passport out of the window. It is
down on the flowerbed below. I will get it.”
“I’ll get it,” said Stephen, but Pilar had flown past him and cried back over her shoulder:
“No, it was my stupidity. You go to the drawing room with M. Poirot and I will bring it to
you there.”
Stephen Farr seemed inclined to go after her, but Poirot’s hand fell gently on his arm and
Poirot’s voice said:
“Let us go this way.”
They went along the first floor corridor towards the other end of the house until they got to
the head of the main staircase. Here Poirot said:
“Let us not go down for a minute. If you will come with me to the room of the crime there is
something I want to ask you.”
They went along the corridor which led to Simeon Lee’s room. On their left they passed an
alcove which contained two marble statues, stalwart nymphs clasping their draperies in an agony
of Victorian propriety.
Stephen Farr glanced at them and murmured:
“Pretty frightful by daylight. I thought there were three of them when I came along the other
night, but thank goodness there are only two!”
“They are not what is admired nowadays,” admitted Poirot. “But no doubt they cost much
money in their time. They look better by night, I think.”
“Yes, one sees only a white glimmering figure.”
Poirot murmured:
“All cats are grey in the dark!”
They found Superintendent Sugden in the room. He was kneeling by the safe and examining
it with a magnifying glass. He looked up as they entered.
“This was opened with the key all right,” he said. “By someone who knew the combination.
No sign of anything else.”
Poirot went up to him, drew him aside, and whispered something. The superintendent nodded
and left the room.
Poirot turned to Stephen Farr, who was standing staring at the armchair in which Simeon Lee
always sat. His brows were drawn together and the veins showed in his forehead. Poirot looked at
him for a minute or two in silence, then he said:
“You have the memories—yes?”
Stephen said slowly:
“Two days ago he sat there alive—and now . . .”
Then, shaking off his absorption, he said: “Yes, M. Poirot, you brought me here to ask me
something?”
“Ah, yes. You were, I think, the first person to arrive on the scene that night?”
“Was I? I don’t remember. No, I think one of the ladies was here before me.”
“Which lady?”
“One of the wives—George’s wife or David’s—I know they were both here pretty soon.”
“You did not hear the scream, I think you said?”
“I don’t think I did. I can’t quite remember. Somebody did cry out but that may have been
someone downstairs.”
Poirot said:
“You did not hear a noise like this?”
He threw his head back and suddenly gave vent to a piercing yell.
It was so unexpected that Stephen started backwards and nearly fell over. He said angrily:
“For the Lord’s sake, do you want to scare the whole house? No, I didn’t hear anything in the
least like that! You’ll have the whole place by the ears again! They’ll think another murder has
happened!”
Poirot looked crestfallen. He murmured:
“True . . . it was foolish . . . We must go at once.”
He hurried out of the room. Lydia and Alfred were at the foot of the stairs peering up—
George came out of the library to join them, and Pilar came running, a passport held in her hand.
Poirot cried:
“It is nothing—nothing. Do not be alarmed. A little experiment that I make. That was all.”
Alfred looked annoyed and George indignant. Poirot left Stephen to explain and he hurriedly
slipped away along the passage to the other end of the house.
At the end of the passage Superintendent Sugden came quietly out of Pilar’s door and met
Poirot.
“Eh bien?” asked Poirot.
The superintendent shook his head.
“Not a sound.”
His eyes met Poirot’s appreciatively and he nodded.
第五部分 十二月二十六日 4
第五部分 十二月二十六日
4
皮拉尔站在音乐室中央。她站得笔直，眼睛不停地转来转去，像一只害怕受到袭击的
小动物。
她说：“我想离开这儿！”
斯蒂芬•法尔温柔地说：“你不是唯一有这种想法的人，可他们不会让我们走的，亲爱
的。”
“你是说——警察？”
“是的。”
皮拉尔一本正经地说：“跟警察搅和在一起可不是件好事，这种事情不应该发生在有身
份的人身上。”
斯蒂芬露出一丝笑意。
“你是指你自己吗？”
皮拉尔说：“不，我是指阿尔弗雷德和莉迪亚，还有戴维、乔治、希尔达，以及，哦好
吧，还有玛格达莱尼。”
斯蒂芬点燃一支烟，抽了一两口才开口说话。
“怎么还有一个例外呢？”
“什么，嗯？”
斯蒂芬说：“为什么把哈里排除在外？”
皮拉尔笑了，露出整齐雪白的牙齿。
“噢，哈里不一样！我想他很清楚和警察搅和在一起是怎么回事。”
“也许你是对的。他在这个家里显得非常特别，不太协调。”
他接着问道：“你喜欢你的英国亲戚吗，皮拉尔？”
皮拉尔犹豫不决地说：“他们很好，所有人都很好，可他们不怎么笑，他们不快乐。”
“我亲爱的女孩儿，这儿刚发生了一起谋杀案！”
“是……啊。”皮拉尔不确定地应道。
“一起谋杀案，”斯蒂芬教导一般地说道，“这可不是你能无动于衷的日常事件。不管西
班牙人怎么做，在英国，他们把谋杀案看得很重。”
皮拉尔说：“你是在笑话我……”
斯蒂芬说：“不，我根本没有笑的心情。”
皮拉尔看着他说：“因为你也想离开这儿？”
“是的。”
“而那个高大英俊的警察不让你走？”
“我没问过他，但如果我问了，我敢肯定他会说不行。我必须行事谨慎，皮拉尔，要非
常非常小心。”
“这真烦人。”皮拉尔说着，点了点头。
“可能比烦人还要更糟一点儿，我亲爱的。还有一个神经病似的外国人在到处搜查，我
不认为他能怎么样，但他总让我觉得心绪不宁。”皮拉尔皱了皱眉。
她说：“我外公非常、非常有钱，是不是？”
“我想是这样的。”
“那现在他的钱归谁了呢，归阿尔弗雷德和其他人吗？”
“那得看他的遗嘱。”
皮拉尔若有所思地说：“他也许给我留了一些钱，也许没有。”
斯蒂芬关切地说：“没事的。不管怎么说，你是这个家里的一员，你属于这儿，他们得
照顾你。”
皮拉尔叹了口气，说道：“我——属于这儿。说起来真可笑，可实际上一点儿也不好
笑。”
“我看得出来，你应该不觉得在这儿会有意思。”
皮拉尔又叹了口气。她说：“放张唱片，咱们跳支舞，怎么样？”
斯蒂芬有些犹豫地说：“看起来不太好吧。整个家都在沉痛地服丧，你这个冷酷无情的
西班牙人！”
皮拉尔的大眼睛睁得更大了。
她说：“可我一点都不觉得难过呀！我几乎不认识我的外公，虽说我喜欢跟他聊天，可
我不想因为他的死而哭哭啼啼或者不开心，这么装就太傻了。”
斯蒂芬说：“你真让我佩服！”
皮拉尔继续哄着他说：“我们可以往留声机上套些袜子和手套，那么声音就不会太大，
没人能听见了。”
“那么来吧，你这个小妖精。”
她开心地笑着跑出房间，向房子那一头的舞厅走去。
当她走过通向花园门的走廊里时，突然死死地站住了。斯蒂芬追上她，也站住了。
赫尔克里•波洛正从墙上摘下一幅画像，借着从阳台透来的光仔细研究着。他抬起头
来，看到了他们。
“啊哈！”他说，“你们来得正好。”
皮拉尔说：“你在干什么呢？”
她走过来站在他身边。
波洛郑重地说：“我正在研究一些非常重要的东西，西米恩•李年轻时候的长相。”
“噢，这是我外公吗？”
“是的，小姐。”
她注视着画中的那张脸，慢吞吞地说：“多么不一样——太不一样了……他明明那么
老，皱皱巴巴的。可这会儿的他看起来像哈里，像哈里再年轻十岁的样子。”
赫尔克里•波洛点点头。
“是的，小姐，哈里•李长得最像他父亲。再看这儿——”他领着她沿着画廊走了一小
段，“这位是李夫人，你的外婆。温柔的长脸，金色的头发，柔和的蓝眼睛。”
皮拉尔说：“像戴维。”
斯蒂芬说：“和阿尔弗雷德也很像。”
波洛说：“遗传是一件很有意思的事。李先生和他妻子是完全相反的两种类型的人。而
总的说来，他们的孩子大部分随母亲。再看这儿，小姐。”
他指着一个大约十九岁的女孩的画像，她有着金丝般的头发和大大的、笑盈盈的蓝眼
睛。她的相貌就是西米恩•李夫人的翻版，但她身上有一种精神，一种活力，是那双柔和的
蓝眼睛和温和的容貌所没有的。
“噢！”皮拉尔说。
她的脸色有些改变。
她把手伸向脖子，取出一个挂在长金链子上的盒式吊坠。她按了一下搭扣，盒子打开
了。一张一模一样的笑脸看着波洛。
“我母亲。”皮拉尔说。
波洛点点头。小盒子的另一面是一个男人的肖像，年轻而英俊，有着黑色的头发和深
蓝色的眼睛。
波洛说：“你的父亲吗？”
皮拉尔说：“对，我父亲。他长得很好看，是不是？”
“对，的确。西班牙人很少有蓝眼睛的，不是吗，小姐？”
“北部有一些。此外，我祖母是爱尔兰人。”
波洛若有所思地说：“那么你有西班牙、爱尔兰和英格兰的血统，还有一点儿吉卜赛人
的。你知道我怎么想的吗，小姐？拥有这样的遗传，你会结下很多仇人。”
斯蒂芬大笑着说：“还记得你在火车上说的话吗，皮拉尔？你说你对付仇人的办法就是
割断他们的喉咙。噢！”
他停住了，突然间意识到自己说出口的话的意义。
赫尔克里•波洛赶忙把话题岔开：“啊，对了，有件事，小姐。你的护照，我的警司需
要你的护照。你知道，这是警方的规定，很愚蠢，很烦人，但必须遵守，作为一个身处异
乡的外国人。从法律上说，你是个外国人，这点毫无疑问。”
皮拉尔扬起了眉毛。
“我的护照？好的，我去拿。在我的房间里。”
波洛走在她的身旁，抱歉地说：“不好意思麻烦你，真的很抱歉。”
他们走到长长的画廊尽头，那儿有一段楼梯，皮拉尔跑了上去，波洛跟在后面。斯蒂
芬也来了，上完楼梯就是皮拉尔的房间。
走到房门口，她说：“我去给你拿来。”
她进去了。波洛和斯蒂芬在外面等着。
斯蒂芬懊恼地说：“我竟然说那种话，真是傻到家了。不过我认为她不会放在心上，你
觉得呢？”
波洛没有回答，微微地歪着头，好像在倾听什么。
他说：“英国人狂热地喜欢新鲜空气，埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐一定也继承了这种性格。”
斯蒂芬看着他说：“为什么？”
波洛轻声说：“因为虽然今天非常冷——你们管这种天气叫黑霜天（不像昨天那么暖
和、晴朗），埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐还是把下面那扇窗户推了上去。这么喜欢新鲜空气，真
叫人惊讶。”
突然从房间里传来一声西班牙语的惊叫，接着皮拉尔重新出现在门口，脸上带着不安
和可笑混杂的表情。
“啊！”她叫道，“我太蠢了——又笨手笨脚的。我的小箱子放在窗台上，我翻找得太猛
了，一不留神把护照碰到窗户外边去了。它掉到下面的花床边了，我下去捡。”
“我去捡。”斯蒂芬说，
但皮拉尔已经飞快地跃过了他，回过头喊道：“不，都是我的愚蠢害的。你和波洛先生
去客厅吧，我会把它拿到那儿去的。”
斯蒂芬•法尔好像还想去追她，但波洛轻轻地拉住了他的胳膊，说：“我们走这边吧。”
他们沿着二楼的走廊向房子另一头走去，走到主楼梯顶时，波洛说：“咱们待会儿再下
去。我想请你和我一起到案发的房间去，我有点事想问你。”
他们继续沿着走廊走，往西米恩•李的房间去。路上经过一座位于左首边的壁龛，里面
摆着两尊大理石雕像，健壮的仙女们穿着紧紧裹住身体的衣服——典型的维多利亚风格。
斯蒂芬•法尔瞥了一眼，嘀咕道：“白天看上去还挺吓人的！那天晚上从这儿走过的时
候我还以为有三个呢，谢天谢地，其实只有两个！”
“如今已没人喜欢这种东西了。”波洛承认道，“但当时肯定很值钱。我想晚上看起来应
该好看一些。”
“是的，只能看到一个微微发白光的轮廓。”
波洛喃喃道：“黑暗中所有猫都是灰色的！”
他们发现萨格登警司在房间里。他正跪在保险箱旁，用放大镜检查着。听到他们进去
的声响，他抬起头来。
“的确是用钥匙开的，”他说，“打开它的人知道密码，除此之外就没有其他痕迹了。”
波洛朝他走过去，把他拉到一边，对他耳语了一番。警司点点头，离开了房间。
波洛转向斯蒂芬•法尔，后者正站在那儿注视着西米恩•李常坐的扶手椅。他的眉头拧成
一团，额上青筋暴露。波洛沉默地看了他一会儿，然后说：“你想起了什么，是吗？”
斯蒂芬缓慢地说：“两天前他还活着，坐在那儿——而现在……”
接着，他回过神来，说：“好了，波洛先生，你带我到这儿来是要问我什么事？”
“嗯，是的，我想你是那天晚上最早到达现场的人。”
“是吗？我不记得了。不，我记得有一位女士比我先到。”
“哪位女士？”
“一位太太——乔治夫人或者戴维夫人——她们都很快就到这儿了。”
“我记得你说你没听见那声尖叫？”
“我想我没听见。我记不太清了。的确有人叫了一声，但感觉像是楼下的某个人。”
波洛说：“你没听见像这么刺耳的声音？”
他突然仰面朝天，发出一声尖锐刺耳的号叫。
事情发生得太突然，以至于斯蒂芬吓得慌忙后退，差点儿摔倒。他气冲冲地说：“看在
上帝的分上，你是想要吓死房子里的所有人吗？不，我没听见这样的声音！你会把整幢房
子里的人再折腾起来一次！他们会以为又发生了一起谋杀案！”
波洛看起来垂头丧气的。他嘟囔着：“确实……这样太傻了……我们必须马上离开。”
他匆匆走出房间。莉迪亚和阿尔弗雷德站在楼梯下方向上张望着——乔治从书房里出
来，也抬头张望着。皮拉尔跑了过来，手里拿着她的护照。
波洛叫道：“没什么——没什么，别紧张，我只是做了一个小实验，就是这么回事。”
阿尔弗雷德看起来很恼火，乔治则很气愤。波洛留下斯蒂芬去解释，自己快步沿着走
廊溜到了房子的另一头。
在走廊的尽头，萨格登警司悄悄地从皮拉尔的房间里走出来，和波洛会合。
“怎么样？”波洛问道。
警司摇摇头。
“一点儿声音也没有。”
他赞赏地看着波洛，点了点头。

PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH V
 PART FIVE DECEMBER 26TH V

Alfred Lee said: “Then you accept, M. Poirot?”
His hand, as it went to his mouth, shook slightly. His mild brown eyes were alight with a new
and feverish expression. He stammered slightly in his speech. Lydia, standing silently by, looked
at him with some anxiety.
Alfred said:
“You don’t know—you c-c-can’t imagine—what it m-m-means to me . . . My father’s
murderer must be f-f-found.”
Poirot said:
“Since you have assured me that you have reflected long and carefully—yes, I accept. But
you comprehend, Mr. Lee, there can be no drawing back. I am not the dog one sets on to hunt and
then recalls because you do not like the game he puts up!”
“Of course . . . of course . . . Everything is ready. Your bedroom is prepared. Stay as long as
you like—”
Poirot said gravely: “It will not be long.”
“Eh? What’s that?”
“I said it will not be long. There is in this crime such a restricted circle that it cannot possibly
take long to arrive at the truth. Already, I think, the end draws near.”
Alfred stared at him, “Impossible!” he said.
“Not at all. The facts all point more or less clearly in one direction. There is just some
irrelevant matter to be cleared out of the way. When this is done the truth will appear.”
Alfred said incredulously:
“You mean you know?”
Poirot smiled. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I know.”
Alfred said:
“My father—my father—” He turned away.
Poirot said briskly:
“There are, M. Lee, two requests that I have to make.”
Alfred said in a muffled voice:
“Anything—anything.”
“Then, in the first place, I would like the portrait of M. Lee as a young man placed in the
bedroom you are good enough to allot to me.”
Alfred and Lydia stared at him.
The former said: “My father’s portrait—but why?”
Poirot said with a wave of the hand:
“It will—how shall I say—inspire me.”
Lydia said sharply:
“Do you propose, M. Poirot, to solve a crime by clairvoyance?”
“Let us say, madame, that I intend to use not only the eyes of the body, but the eyes of the
mind.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
Poirot continued:
“Next, M. Lee, I should like to know of the true circumstances attending the death of your
sister’s husband, Juan Estravados.”
Lydia said: “Is that necessary?”
“I want all the facts, madame.”
Alfred said:
“Juan Estravados, as the result of a quarrel about a woman, killed another man in a café.”
“How did he kill him?”
Alfred looked appealingly at Lydia. She said evenly:
“He stabbed him. Juan Estravados was not condemned to death, as there had been
provocation. He was sentenced to a term of imprisonment and died in prison.”
“Does his daughter know about her father?”
“I think not.”
Alfred said:
“No, Jennifer never told her.”
“Thank you.”
Lydia said:
“You don’t think that Pilar—Oh, it’s absurd!”
Poirot said:
“Now, M. Lee, will you give me some facts about your brother, M. Harry Lee?”
“What do you want to know?”
“I understand that he was considered somewhat of a disgrace to the family. Why?”
Lydia said:
“It is so long ago. . . .”
Alfred said, the colour coming up in his face:
“If you want to know, M. Poirot, he stole a large sum of money by forging my father’s name
to a cheque. Naturally my father didn’t prosecute. Harry’s always been crooked. He’s been in
trouble all over the world. Always cabling for money to get out of a scrape. He’s been in and out
of gaol here, there and everywhere.”
Lydia said:
“You don’t really know all this, Alfred.”
Alfred said angrily, his hands shaking:
“Harry’s no good—no good whatever! He never has been!”
Poirot said:
“There is, I see, no love lost between you?”
Alfred said:
“He victimized my father—victimized him shamefully!”
Lydia sighed—a quick, impatient sigh. Poirot heard it and gave her a sharp glance.
She said:
“If only those diamonds could be found. I’m sure the solution lies there.”
Poirot said:
“They have been found, madame.”
“What?”
Poirot said gently:
“They were found in your little garden of the Dead Sea. . . .”
Lydia cried:
“In my garden? How—how extraordinary!”
Poirot said softly:
“Is it not, madame?”
第五部分 十二月二十六日 5
 
第五部分 十二月二十六日
5
阿尔弗雷德•李说：“那么你接受邀请了，波洛先生？”
他的手捂着嘴，微微颤抖着。柔和的棕色眼睛里闪过一道刚刚出现的狂热光芒。他说
话有点儿结结巴巴的。莉迪亚静静地站在身旁，有点焦急地看着他。
阿尔弗雷德说：“你不知道——你不、不、不能想象，这对我来说——意、意味着什
么……谋杀我父亲的凶手，一定要找、找到。”
波洛说：“既然你向我保证你已经仔细地考虑了很久，那么好的，我接受。但你要知
道，这件事做了就不能反悔了。我不是一条狗，你叫它出去追捕猎物，又因为不喜欢这把
戏了就把它叫回来。”
“当然啦……当然啦……一切都准备好了，你的卧室都已经布置好了。只要你愿意，想
待多久都可以——”
波洛郑重地说：“不会太久的。”
“呃？什么意思？”
“我说我不会待太久的。这件案子发生在一个有限的圈子里，因此要找出真相不会需要
太长的时间，我想，结果已经离我们很近了。”
阿尔弗雷德盯着他，说：“难以置信！”
“确实如此，所有的事实都清楚地指向一个方向，只需要再排除掉一些无关紧要的杂
事，真相就会大白。”
阿尔弗雷德不相信地说：“你是说你已经知道了？”
波洛微笑着说：“嗯，对。我知道了。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“我父亲——我父亲——”他扭过脸去。
波洛简短地打断了他：“李先生，我想提两个要求。”
阿尔弗雷德压抑住激动的心情，说：“什么都可以——什么都可以。”
“那么，第一件事是，希望把那张李先生年轻时的画像放在你好意为我安排的卧室
里。”
阿尔弗雷德和莉迪亚一同盯着他看。
阿尔弗雷德说：“我父亲的画像，为什么呢？”
波洛摆了摆手，说：“它会……我该怎么说呢……启发我。”
莉迪亚尖刻地问：“波洛先生，你是打算用透视的能力来解决这个案子吗？”
“这么说吧，夫人，我不仅要用身体上的眼睛，还要用上头脑的眼睛来看。”
她耸耸肩。
波洛继续说道：“第二件事是，李先生，我想知道关于你的妹夫，胡安•埃斯特拉瓦多
斯，死亡一事的真实情况。”
莉迪亚说：“有这个必要吗？”
“我需要了解所有的情况，夫人。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“胡安•埃斯特拉瓦多斯在咖啡馆里与一个男人起了口角，因为一个女
人，然后他就把那个男人杀了。”
“他是怎么杀死对方的？”
阿尔弗雷德哀求地看着莉迪亚。她平静地说：“他用刀捅死了那个人。但胡安•埃斯特
拉瓦多斯并没被判死刑，因为是那个人先挑衅的。他被判了刑，死在了监狱里。”
“他女儿知道这些事吗？”
“我想她不知道。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“她不知道，詹妮弗从没告诉过她。”
“谢谢你。”
莉迪亚说：“你不会认为是皮拉尔——噢！这太荒谬了！”
波洛说：“接下来，李先生，你能否告诉我一些有关你弟弟——哈里•李先生的情况？”
“你想知道什么？”
“我听说他因为某件事而被认为是家族的耻辱，为什么？”
莉迪亚说：“那是很久以前的事……”
阿尔弗雷德的脸都涨红了。
“既然你想知道，波洛先生，他伪造我父亲的签名签了一张支票，盗领了一大笔钱。当
然，我父亲没有告发他。哈里一直不太正派，在世界各地都惹过麻烦，总是拍电报来要钱
以摆脱困境。他甚至经常进出各地的监狱。”
莉迪亚说：“很多事不一定是真的，阿尔弗雷德。”
阿尔弗雷德已怒气冲冲，双手颤抖。
“反正哈里身上就是没什么好的地方，一点儿也没有！他从来就不是好人！”
波洛说：“这么看来，你们之间不存在任何兄弟之情？”
阿尔弗雷德说：“他欺骗了我的父亲，可耻地欺骗了我的父亲！”
莉迪亚不耐烦地微微叹了口气。波洛听见了，犀利地看了她一眼。
她说：“我想如果能找到钻石，这个案子肯定就能破了。”
波洛说：“钻石已经找到了，夫人。”
“什么？”
波洛温和地说：“我们在你的小花园里找到的，那个死海的……”
莉迪亚叫了出来：“在我的花园里？太……太惊人了！”
波洛柔声道：“谁说不是呢，夫人。”
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH
 
Alfred Lee said with a sigh:
“That was better than I feared!”
They had just returned from the inquest.
Mr. Charlton, an old-fashioned type of solicitor with a cautious blue eye, had been present
and had returned with them. He said:
“Ah—I told you the proceedings would be purely formal—purely formal—there was bound
to be an adjournment—to enable the police to gather up additional evidence.”
George Lee said vexedly:
“It is all most unpleasant—really most unpleasant—a terrible position in which to be placed!
I myself am quite convinced that this crime was done by a maniac who somehow or other gained
admittance to the house. That man Sugden is as obstinate as a mule. Colonel Johnson should enlist
the aid of Scotland Yard. These local police are no good. Thickheaded. What about this man
Horbury, for instance? I hear his past is definitely unsatisfactory but the police do nothing
whatever about it.”
Mr. Charlton said:
“Ah—I believe the man Horbury has a satisfactory alibi covering the period of time in
question. The police have accepted it.”
“Why should they?” George fumed. “If I were they, I should accept such an alibi with reserve
—with great reserve. Naturally, a criminal always provides himself with an alibi! It is the duty of
the police to break down the alibi—that is, if they know their job.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Charlton. “I don’t think it’s quite our business to teach the police their
jobs, eh? Pretty competent body of men on the whole.”
George shook his head darkly.
“Scotland Yard should be called in. I’m not at all satisfied with Superintendent Sugden—he
may be painstaking—but he is certainly far from brilliant.”
Mr. Charlton said:
“I don’t agree with you, you know. Sugden’s a good man. Doesn’t throw his weight about,
but he gets there.”
Lydia said:
“I’m sure the police are doing their best. Mr. Charlton, will you have a glass of sherry?”
Mr. Charlton thanked her politely, but declined. Then, clearing his throat, he proceeded to the
reading of the will, all members of the family being assembled.
He read it with a certain relish, lingering over its more obscure phraseology, and savouring its
legal technicalities.
He came to the end, took off his glasses, wiped them, and looked round on the assembled
company inquiringly.
Harry Lee said:
“All this legal stuff's a bit hard to follow. Give us the bare bones of it, will you?”
“Really,” said Mr. Charlton. “It’s a perfectly simple will.”
Harry said:
“My God, what’s a difficult will like then?”
Mr. Charlton rebuked him with a cold glance. He said:
“The main provisions of the will are quite simple. Half Mr. Lee’s property goes to his son,
Mr. Alfred Lee, the remainder is divided between his other children.”
Harry laughed unpleasantly. He said:
“As usual, Alfred’s struck lucky! Half my father’s fortune! Lucky dog, aren’t you, Alfred?”
Alfred flushed. Lydia said sharply:
“Alfred was a loyal and devoted son to his father. He’s managed the works for years and has
had all the responsibility.”
Harry said: “Oh, yes, Alfred was always the good boy.”
Alfred said sharply:
“You may consider yourself lucky, I think, Harry, that my father left you anything at all!”
Harry laughed, throwing his head back. He said:
“You’d have liked it better if he’d cut me right out, wouldn’t you? You’ve always disliked
me.”
Mr. Charlton coughed. He was used — only too well used — to the painful scenes that
succeeded the reading of a will. He was anxious to get away before the usual family quarrel got
too well under way.
He murmured:
“I think—er—that that is all that I need—er—”
Harry said sharply: “What about Pilar?”
Mr. Charlton coughed again, this time apologetically.
“Er—Miss Estravados is not mentioned in the will.”
Harry said: Doesn’t she get her mother’s share?”
Mr. Charlton explained.
“Señora Estravados, if she had lived, would of course have received an equal share with the
rest of you, but as she is dead, the portion that would have been hers goes back into the estate to be
shared out between you.”
Pilar said slowly in her rich Southern voice:
“Then—I have—nothing?”
Lydia said quickly:
“My dear, the family will see to that, of course.”
George Lee said:
“You will be able to make your home here with Alfred—eh, Alfred? We—er—you are our
niece—it is our duty to look after you.”
Hilda said: “We shall always be glad to have Pilar with us.”
Harry said:
“She ought to have her proper share. She ought to have Jennifer’s whack.”
Mr. Charlton murmured:
“Must really—er—be going. Goodbye, Mrs. Lee—anything I can do—er—consult me at any
time. . . .”
He escaped quickly. His experience enabled him to predict that all the ingredients for a
family row were present.
As the door shut behind him Lydia said in her clear voice:
“I agree with Harry. I think Pilar is entitled to a definite share. This will was made many
years before Jennifer’s death.”
“Nonsense,” said George. “Very slipshod and illegal way of thinking, Lydia. The law’s the
law. We must abide by it.”
Magdalene said:
“It’s hard luck, of course, and we’re all very sorry for Pilar, but George is right. As he says,
the law is the law.”
Lydia got up. She took Pilar by the hand.
“My dear,” she said. “This must be very unpleasant for you. Will you please leave us while
we discuss the question?”
She led the girl to the door.
“Don’t worry, Pilar, dear,” she said. “Leave it to me.”
Pilar went slowly out of the room. Lydia shut the door behind her and turned back.
There was a moment’s pause while everyone drew breath and in another moment the battle
was in full swing.
Harry said:
“You’ve always been a damned skinflint, George.”
George retorted:
“At any rate, I’ve not been a sponge and a rotter!”
“You’ve been just as much of a sponge as I have! You’ve battened on Father all these years.”
“You seem to forget that I hold a responsible and arduous position which—”
Harry said:
“Responsible and arduous my foot! You’re only an inflated gasbag!”
Magdalene screamed: “How dare you?”
Hilda’s calm voice, slightly raised, said:
“Couldn’t we just discuss this quietly?”
Lydia threw her a grateful glance.
David said with sudden violence:
“Must we have all this disgraceful fuss over money!”
Magdalene said venomously to him:
“It’s all very well to be so high-minded. You’re not going to refuse your legacy, are you? You
want money just as much as the rest of us do! All this unworldliness is just a pose!”
David said in a strangled voice:
“You think I ought to refuse it? I wonder—”
Hilda said sharply:
“Of course you oughtn’t. Must we all behave like children? Alfred, you’re the head of the
family—”
Alfred seemed to wake out of a dream. He said:
“I beg your pardon. All of you shouting at once. It—it confuses me.”
Lydia said:
“As Hilda has just pointed out, why must we behave like greedy children? Let us discuss this
thing quietly and sanely and”—she added this quickly—“one thing at a time. Alfred shall speak
first because he is the eldest. What do you think, Alfred, we should do about Pilar?”
He said slowly:
“She must make her home here, certainly. And we should make her an allowance. I do not
see she has any legal claim to the money which would have gone to her mother. She’s not a Lee,
remember. She’s a Spanish subject.”
“No legal claim, no,” said Lydia. “But I think she has a moral claim. As I see it, your father,
although his daughter had married a Spaniard against his wishes, recognized her to have an equal
claim upon him. George, Harry, David, and Jennifer were to share equally. Jennifer only died last
year. I am sure that when he sent for Mr. Charlton, he meant to make ample provision for Pilar in
a new will. He would have allotted her at least her mother’s share. It is possible that he might have
done much more than that. She was the only grandchild, remember. I think the least we can do is
to endeavour to remedy any injustice that your father himself was preparing to remedy.”
Alfred said warmly:
“Well put, Lydia! I was wrong. I agree with you that Pilar must be given Jennifer’s share of
my father’s fortune.”
Lydia said: “Your turn, Harry.”
Harry said:
“As you know, I agree. I think Lydia has put the case very well, and I’d like to say I admire
her for it.”
Lydia said:
“George?”
George was red in the face. He spluttered:
“Certainly not! Whole thing’s preposterous! Give her a home and a decent dress allowance.
Quite enough for her!”
“Then you refuse to cooperate?” asked Alfred.
“Yes, I do.”
“And he’s quite right,” said Magdalene. “It’s disgraceful to suggest he should do anything of
the kind! Considering that George is the only member of the family who has done anything in the
world, I think it’s a shame his father left him so little!”
Lydia said: “David?”
David said vaguely:
“Oh, I think you’re right. It’s a pity there’s got to be so much ugliness and disputing about it
all.”
Hilda said:
“You’re quite right, Lydia. It’s only justice!”
Harry looked round. He said:
“Well, that’s clear. Of the family, Alfred, myself and David are in favour of the motion.
George is against it. The ayes have it.”
George said sharply:
“There is no question of ayes and noes. My share of my father’s estate is mine absolutely. I
shall not part with a penny of it.”
“No, indeed,” said Magdalene.
Lydia said sharply:
“If you like to stand out, that is your business. The rest of us will make up your share of the
total.”
She looked round for assent and the others nodded.
Harry said: “Alfred’s got the lion’s share. He ought to stand most of the racket.”
Alfred said: “I see that your original disinterested suggestion will soon break down.”
Hilda said firmly:
“Don’t let’s start again! Lydia shall tell Pilar what we’ve decided. We can settle details later.”
She added in the hope of making a diversion, “I wonder where Mr. Farr is, and M. Poirot?”
Alfred said:
“We dropped Poirot in the village on our way to the inquest. He said he had an important
purchase to make.”
Harry said: “Why didn’t he go to the inquest? Surely he ought to have done!”
Lydia said:
“Perhaps he knew it was not going to be important. Who’s that out there in the garden?
Superintendent Sugden, or Mr. Farr?”
The efforts of the two women were successful. The family conclave broke up.
Lydia said to Hilda privately:
“Thank you, Hilda. It was nice of you to back me up. You know, you really have been a
comfort in all this.”
Hilda said thoughtfully: “Queer how money upsets people.”
The others had all left the room. The two women were alone.
Lydia said:
“Yes—even Harry—although it was his suggestion! And my poor Alfred—he is so British—
he doesn’t really like Lee money going to a Spanish subject.”
Hilda said, smiling:
“Do you think we women are more unworldly?”
Lydia said with a shrug of her graceful shoulders:
“Well, you know, it isn’t really our money—not our own! That may make a difference.”
Hilda said thoughtfully:
“She is a strange child—Pilar, I mean. I wonder what will become of her?”
Lydia sighed.
“I’m glad that she will be independent. To live here, to be given a home and a dress
allowance, would not, I think, be very satisfactory to her. She’s too proud and, I think, too—too
alien.”
She added musingly:
“I once brought some beautiful blue lapis home from Egypt. Out there, against the sun and
the sand, it was a glorious colour—a brilliant warm blue. But when I got it home, the blue of it
hardly showed any more. It was just a dull, darkish string of beads.”
Hilda said:
“Yes, I see. . . .”
Lydia said gently:
“I am so glad to come to know you and David at last. I’m glad you both came here.”
Hilda sighed:
“How often I’ve wished in the last few days that we hadn’t!”
“I know. You must have done . . . But you know, Hilda, the shock hasn’t affected David
nearly as badly as it might have done. I mean, he is so sensitive that it might have upset him
completely. Actually, since the murder, he’s seemed ever so much better—”
Hilda looked slightly disturbed. She said:
“So you’ve noticed that? It’s rather dreadful in a way . . . But oh! Lydia, it’s undoubtedly
so!”
She was silent a minute recollecting words that her husband had spoken only the night
before. He had said to her, eagerly, his fair hair tossed back from his forehead:
“Hilda, you remember in Tosca—when Scarpia is dead and Tosca lights the candles at his
head and feet? Do you remember what she says: “Now I can forgive him . . .” That is what I feel—
about Father. I see now that all these years I couldn’t forgive him, and yet I really wanted to . . .
But no—now there’s no rancour any more. It’s all wiped away. And I feel—oh, I feel as though a
great load had been lifted from my back.”
She had said, striving to fight back a sudden fear:
“Because he’s dead?”
He had answered quickly, stammering in his eagerness:
“No, no, you don’t understand. Not because he is dead, but because my childish stupid hate
of him is dead. . . .”
Hilda thought of those words now.
She would have liked to repeat them to the woman at her side, but she felt instinctively that it
was wiser not.
She followed Lydia out of the drawing room into the hall.
Magdalene was there, standing by the hall table with a little parcel in her hand. She jumped
when she saw them. She said:
“Oh, this must be M Poirot’s important purchase. I saw him put it down here just now. I
wonder what it is.”
She looked from one to the other of them, giggling a little, but her eyes were sharp and
anxious, belying the affected gaiety of her words.
Lydia’s eyebrows rose. She said:
“I must go and wash before lunch.”
Magdalene said, still with that affectation of childishness, but unable to keep the desperate
note out of her voice:
“I must just peep!”
She unrolled the piece of paper and gave a sharp exclamation. She stared at the thing in her
hand.
Lydia stopped and Hilda too. Both women stared.
Magdalene said in a puzzled voice:
“It’s a false moustache. But—but—why?”
Hilda said doubtfully:
“Disguise? But—”
Lydia finished the sentence for her.
“But M. Poirot has a very fine moustache of his own!”
Magdalene was wrapping the parcel up again. She said:
“I don’t understand. It’s—it’s mad. Why does M. Poirot buy a false moustache?”
第六部分 十二月二十七日 1
第六部分 十二月二十七日
1
阿尔弗雷德叹了口气，说：“比我担心的要好多了！”
他们刚从调查死因的问讯中回来。
有着一双机灵的蓝眼睛的老派律师查尔顿先生出席了问讯并和他们一起回来。他
说：“哦，我告诉过你，那些程序纯粹是种形式——纯粹是种形式，一定会延期裁决的，以
便让警方再收集一些附加证据。”
乔治•李恼火地说：“一切都太不愉快了。实在令人厌恶。我们的处境很可怕！就我个
人来说，还是确信这起案子是一个疯子干的，谁知道他是怎么进来的。那个叫萨格登的家
伙像头骡子一样犟，约翰逊上校应该让苏格兰场的人来协助办案，这种地方警察不怎么
样，愚蠢无知。就拿霍伯里这个人来说吧，我听说他过去的经历非常有问题，可警方完全
不予理睬。”
查尔顿先生说：“啊，我相信那个叫霍伯里的人，拥有一个令人满意的案发时不在现场
的证据，警方接受了。”
“他们为什么接受呢？”乔治愤怒地说，“如果我是他们，我会有保留地接受这样一个证
据——有很大的保留。这是显而易见的，一名罪犯总会为自己准备一个不在场证明！而作
为警察，就有责任戳穿他——如果他们知道该干些什么的话。”
“好了，好了，”查尔顿说，“我认为还轮不到我们去教警方该怎么做事，对吗？总的说
来，他们完全能胜任此职。”
乔治悲观地摇摇头。
“应该叫苏格兰场的人来。我对萨格登警司一点儿也不满意。他或许够辛勤，可离聪明
还差得远。”
查尔顿先生说：“我可不同意你的看法。萨格登是个好人。他不会滥用权势，但总能达
到目的。”
莉迪亚说：“我相信警方已经竭尽全力了。查尔顿先生，想来杯雪利酒吗？”
查尔顿先生客气地谢绝了。接着，他清了清嗓子，准备开始宣读遗嘱，此时所有的家
庭成员都被召集过来了。
他饶有兴味地读着，细细品鉴其晦涩的用词，着重于每一处法律术语。
读完，他摘下眼镜，擦了擦，好奇地看看围在身边的家庭成员们。
哈里•李说：“这些法律上的东西都不太好懂，给我们讲一下基本事项吧，行吗？”
“是吗，”查尔顿先生说，“这是份非常简单的遗嘱啊。”
哈里说：“我的天，那复杂的得什么样啊？”
查尔顿先生冷冷地瞥了他一眼，算是对他无声的责备。
他说：“这份遗嘱的主要条款非常简单。李先生的一半财产归他的儿子阿尔弗雷德•李
先生，剩下的由其他子女平分。”
哈里勉强地笑了。他说：“和以往一样，阿尔弗雷德又中了头彩！父亲的一半财产！幸
运极了，不是吗，阿尔弗雷德？”
阿尔弗雷德脸红了。莉迪亚厉声道：“阿尔弗雷德对父亲忠诚，一直甘于奉献。多年
来，他一直管理家族业务，承担着所有的责任。”
哈里说：“噢，是的，阿尔弗雷德一直是个好孩子。”
阿尔弗雷德严厉地说：“你才该觉得自己幸运吧，哈里，父亲居然还给你留了点东
西！”
哈里仰头大笑，说：“要是他把我从遗嘱里去掉，你会更开心的，是不是？你一向讨厌
我。”
查尔顿先生咳了一下。他已经习惯了，简直太习惯了，这种宣读完遗嘱之后的不和谐
场面。因此，他急着想在情况升级为家庭争吵之前离开。
他嘟囔着：“我想——呃——需要我做的已经……”
哈里不客气地问：“皮拉尔呢？”
查尔顿先生又咳了一下，这次是带着歉意的。
“呃——遗嘱里没有提及埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐。”
哈里说：“她不能得到她母亲的那一份吗？”
查尔顿先生解释道：“埃斯特拉瓦多斯夫人如果还活着，自然会和你们一样得到一份。
但她已经去世了，她那一份就要返还到财产总额中，再由你们平分。”
皮拉尔带着浓重的南欧口音，慢吞吞地说：“那么——我——什么都没有？”
莉迪亚飞快地说：“亲爱的，家里人会留意这一点的，当然。”
乔治•李说：“你可以把这里当成你的家——阿尔弗雷德，对吗？我们是……呃……你
是我们的外甥女，照顾你是我们的责任。”
希尔达说：“我们随时欢迎皮拉尔来和我们住在一起。”
哈里说：“她应该有一份的，詹妮弗的那份应该归她。”
查尔顿先生低声道：“我真的必须……呃……走了。再见，李夫人。有什么需要我的，
呃，随时向我咨询……”
他迅速逃走了。他的经验已使他预见到，可能构成一次家庭争吵的所有要素全部齐备
了。
当门在律师身后关上的时候，莉迪亚明明白白地说：“我同意哈里的意见，我认为皮拉
尔有权得到一份遗产，那份遗嘱是多年以前立的，那时詹妮弗还没死。”
“胡说，”乔治说，“这种想法草率且不合法，莉迪亚。法律就是法律，我们必须遵
守。”
玛格达莱尼说：“皮拉尔运气不好，确实如此，我们都很为她难过，但乔治是对的，就
像他说的，法律就是法律。”
莉迪亚站了起来，她拉起皮拉尔的手。
“亲爱的，”她说，“这对你来说一定是件很不愉快的事，你愿意离开一会儿吗，让我们
讨论一下这个问题？”
她把女孩领到门边。
“别担心，皮拉尔，亲爱的，”她说，“把这件事交给我吧。”
皮拉尔慢慢地走出房间。莉迪亚等她出去后关上房门，走了回来。
一段短暂的停歇，每个人都屏住了呼吸。片刻之后，这场大战轰轰烈烈地开始了。
哈里说：“你一直是个该死的吝啬鬼，乔治。”
乔治反驳道：“不管怎样，我至少不是寄生虫和无赖！”
“你和我一样都是寄生虫，这些年来你一直在靠父亲养活。”
“你好像忘了我处在一个重要且艰巨的职位——”
哈里说：“去你的重要且艰巨！你就是个夸夸其谈的垃圾！”
玛格达莱尼尖叫起来：“你怎么敢这么说。”
希尔达的声音依旧平静，只是稍稍高了点儿。
她说：“我们能不能心平气和地讨论这个问题？”
莉迪亚向她投以感激的一瞥。
戴维突然粗暴地说：“我们非得为了钱吵成这样吗？”
玛格达莱尼恶毒地对他说：“风格高尚当然好啊，但你也不会拒绝你的那份遗产，会
吗？你和这儿的所有人一样，都想要钱！那些清高的姿态都只是装出来的！”
戴维像被人掐住了喉咙，说道：“你认为我应该拒绝吗？我想——”
希尔达厉声道：“你当然不该拒绝！我们都要像孩子一样吗？阿尔弗雷德，你是一家之
主——”
阿尔弗雷德好像刚从梦中醒来。
他说：“不好意思，怎么了？所有的人一块儿嚷嚷，把我给搞糊涂了。”
莉迪亚说：“就像希尔达刚刚指出的，我们为什么都像贪婪的小孩一样？让我们平静且
理智地讨论这件事，而且，”她飞快地加了一句，“一件一件来。阿尔弗雷德你先说，因为
你年纪最大。你怎么想的，阿尔弗雷德，我们该怎么对皮拉尔？”
他慢吞吞地说：“她当然要住在这儿，这是肯定的。而且我们要给她一笔生活费。我不
认为在法律上她有权获得本该属于她母亲的那一份遗产，别忘了，她并不是李家的人，只
是个西班牙小妞。”
“在法律上，她确实没有权利，”莉迪亚说，“但我认为在道义上，她有。我是这么看
的，虽然女儿詹妮弗违背你父亲的意愿嫁给了一个西班牙人，但她依旧承认她，并认为她
和其他子女享有同等的权利。乔治、哈里、戴维和詹妮弗，四人平均分配。詹妮弗去年刚
死。我敢肯定你父亲请查尔顿先生来，就是想在新遗嘱里给皮拉尔留一份。至少会把她母
亲的那份给她，但我觉得更有可能的是给她更多。要知道，她是家里唯一的第三代。我
想，至少我们可以做到帮你父亲完成他未能完成的事，努力弥补这一不公。”
阿尔弗雷德由衷地说：“说得好，莉迪亚！我错了，我同意你说的，皮拉尔应该得到父
亲财产里詹妮弗的那份。”
莉迪亚说：“该你了，哈里。”
哈里说：“你们都知道，我很同意。我想莉迪亚把这个问题阐释得非常好了，而且我想
说，我对她感到钦佩。”
莉迪亚说：“乔治呢？”
乔治的脸涨得通红，他气急败坏地说：“当然不！整件事都很荒谬！给她一个家和一笔
买裙子的零花钱，这就足够了！”
“这么说，你拒绝合作？”阿尔弗雷德问。
“是的，我拒绝。”
“他做得很对。”玛格达莱尼说，“建议他做这种事简直可耻！乔治是这个家里唯一有所
作为的人，考虑到这一点，我为他父亲只给他留了这么点钱感到耻辱！”
莉迪亚说：“戴维？”
戴维有些迷茫地说：“噢，我想你说得对。为此事这么难看地争执不休真让人难堪。”
希尔达说：“你说得很对，莉迪亚，这么做只是为了公道！”
哈里环顾众人，说：“好了，这下很清楚了，我们几个兄弟里，阿尔弗雷德、我自己和
戴维都赞成这项提议。乔治反对。赞成多数通过。”
乔治尖刻地说：“这不是赞成还是反对的问题。父亲留给我的那财产就是我的，我一个
子儿也不会拿出来。”
“对，不会拿出来。”玛格达莱尼说。
莉迪亚严厉地说：“如果你不愿意配合，那随你的便。我们剩下的人会补足你那份
的。”
她环视四周以征求认可，其他人都点了头。
哈里说：“阿尔弗雷德得了最大的一份，他应该出大部分。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“我看你们一开始装出来的大公无私很快就要撑不住了。”
希尔达坚定地说：“别吵了！莉迪亚去告诉皮拉尔我们的决定，具体细节稍后再确
定。”她又加了一句，希望能借此转移话题，“我想知道法尔先生在哪儿，还有波洛先生。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“波洛在去法医问讯的路上下了车，去村子里了，他说他要买一样很重
要的东西。”
哈里说：“他为什么没去参加问讯？他应该去的！”
莉迪亚说：“也许他知道不会发生什么重要的事。花园里的那个人是谁？萨格登警司还
是法尔先生？”
两个女人的努力总算成功了，家庭秘密会议就此结束。
终于到了独处时，莉迪亚对希尔达说：“谢谢你，希尔达，有你的支持真是太好了。要
知道，发生了这么多事，有你在给了我很大的安慰。”
希尔达若有所思地说：“真奇怪，钱总会让人难过。”
此时所有人都离开了房间，只剩两个女人留在这儿。
莉迪亚说：“是的……就连哈里……明明是他先建议的！而我可怜的阿尔弗雷德。他太
英国人了，不希望李家的钱落到一个西班牙人手里。”
希尔达微笑着说：“你认为我们女人更不看重钱一些吗？”
莉迪亚回答之前先耸了一下她那优雅的双肩。
“噢，要知道，那并不是我们的钱，不是我们自己的。这是有区别的。”
希尔达沉思着说：“她是一个奇怪的孩子，我是说皮拉尔。不知道她会如何决定？”
莉迪亚叹了口气。
“我很希望她能独立。我认为让她住在这儿，给她一个家和一笔买衣服的钱，这些，不
会让她满意的。她太骄傲了，而且，我想她，太——太像外国人了。”
她想了想，又补充道：“我曾经从埃及带回来一些美丽的蓝石头。在埃及，映着阳光和
沙漠，它们会发出灿烂夺目的色彩，一种明亮而温暖的蓝色。但当我把它们拿回家，蓝色
就几乎看不出来了，只是一串暗淡无光的珠子。”
希尔达说：“是的，我明白了……”
莉迪亚温柔地说：“我很高兴终于认识了你和戴维，很高兴你们俩都来了。”
希尔达叹了口气：“在过去的几天里，我多少次希望我们没来这儿呀！”
“我知道，你确实会这样想……但你要知道，希尔达，这件突发事故不会对戴维产生那
么坏的影响。我是说，他是个敏感的人，或许会非常难受。但实际上，谋杀案发生之后，
他看起来比之前要好了一些……”
希尔达看上去有些不安，她说：“这么说你也注意到了？在某种程度上说，这很可
怕……可是，噢！莉迪亚，确实是这样的！”
她沉默了一会儿，回想着丈夫前一天晚上说过的话。他对着她热切地诉说着，前额的
金发甩了上去。
“希尔达，你还记得《托斯卡》（注：《托斯卡》（Tosca）是意大利歌剧作曲家普契
尼根据法国剧作家萨尔杜的作品改编的一出三幕歌剧。故事梗概为歌剧女演员托斯卡为救
被判死刑的爱人，答应委身于警察局长斯卡皮亚，却在斯卡皮亚拥抱她时，用匕首将其刺
死，文中所说的便为这一部分。然而斯卡皮亚骗了托斯卡，爱人被处以死刑，刺杀警察局
长的事亦被发现，陷入绝境的托斯卡高喊着“斯卡皮亚，我们上帝面前再见”跳下高楼自
尽。）中，斯卡皮亚死去的时候，托斯卡点燃蜡烛照亮他全身的那一幕吗？你记得她说了
什么吗？她说：‘现在我可以原谅他了……’这就是我的感觉——对我的父亲。这些年来我
一直无法原谅他，虽然我真的很想原谅他，可就是做不到……而现在，所有的仇恨全部一
笔勾销。我觉得……噢，我觉得好像背上的重担被拿掉了。”
希尔达努力压抑突然产生的恐惧，问：“因为他死了？”
他马上做出了回答，由于急切而说得结结巴巴。
“不，不，你还没明白。不是因为他死了，而是因为我对他的那种幼稚而愚蠢的仇恨死
了……”
希尔达现在想到了这些话。
她想把这些话向身边的这个女人复述一遍，但又本能地觉得不说更明智。
她跟着莉迪亚走出客厅，来到门厅里。
玛格达莱尼在那儿，站在边桌旁，手里拿着个小包裹。她看见她们时吓得跳了起来，
说：“噢，这一定是波洛先生买来的重要东西，我看见他刚放在这儿的。真想知道是什
么。”
她依次看着两个人，咯咯地笑着，但她的眼神锐利而焦虑，证明刚才那愉悦的语气都
是装出来的。
莉迪亚扬起眉毛，说：“我必须在午饭前梳洗一下。”
玛格达莱尼依旧装得很孩子气，但已无法掩饰语气中绝望的意味。
“我一定要偷看一下！”
她打开包装纸，发出一声惊呼，瞪着手里的东西。
莉迪亚停住了脚步，希尔达也站住了，两个女人都看着那东西。
玛格达莱尼迷惑不解地说：“是一副假胡子。可是——可是——为什么呢？”
希尔达不确定地说：“化妆？可是——”
莉迪亚替她说完了这句话：“可是波洛先生有一副非常好看的胡子呀！”
玛格达莱尼又把包裹包了起来，说：“我不明白，这——这简直疯了。波洛先生为什么
要买一副假胡子？”
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH II
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH II

When Pilar left the drawing room she walked slowly along the hall. Stephen Farr was coming in
through the garden door. He said:
“Well? Is the family conclave over? Has the will been read?”
Pilar said, her breath coming fast:
“I have got nothing—nothing at all! It was a will made many years ago. My grandfather left
money to my mother, but because she is dead it does not go to me but goes back to them.”
Stephen said:
“That seems rather hard lines.”
Pilar said:
“If that old man had lived, he would have made another will. He would have left money to
me—a lot of money! Perhaps in time he would have left me all the money!”
Stephen said, smiling:
“That wouldn’t have been very fair either, would it?”
“Why not? He would have liked me best, that is all.”
Stephen said:
“What a greedy child you are. A real little golddigger.”
Pilar said soberly:
“The world is very cruel to women. They must do what they can for themselves—while they
are young. When they are old and ugly no one will help them.”
Stephen said slowly:
“That’s more true than I like to think. But it isn’t quite true. Alfred Lee, for instance, was
genuinely fond of his father in spite of the old man being thoroughly trying and exacting.”
Pilar’s chin went up.
“Alfred,” she said, “is rather a fool.”
Stephen laughed.
Then he said:
“Well, don’t worry, lovely Pilar. The Lees are bound to look after you, you know.”
Pilar said disconsolately:
“It will not be very amusing, that.”
Stephen said slowly:
“No, I’m afraid it won’t. I can’t see you living here, Pilar. Would you like to come to South
Africa?”
Pilar nodded.
Stephen said:
“There’s sun there, and space. There’s hard work too. Are you good at work, Pilar?”
Pilar said doubtfully:
“I do not know.”
He said:
“You’d rather sit on a balcony and eat sweets all day long? And grow enormously fat and
have three double chins?”
Pilar laughed and Stephen said:
“That’s better. I’ve made you laugh.”
Pilar said:
“I thought I should laugh this Christmas! In books I have read that an English Christmas is
very gay, that one eats burning raisins and there is a plum pudding all in flames, and something
that is called a Yule log.”
Stephen said:
“Ah, but you must have a Christmas uncomplicated by murder. Come in here a minute. Lydia
took me in here yesterday. It’s her storeroom.”
He led her into a small room little bigger than a cupboard.
“Look, Pilar, boxes and boxes of crackers, and preserved fruits and oranges and dates and
nuts. And here—”
“Oh!” Pilar clasped her hands. “They are pretty, these gold and silver balls.”
“Those were to hang on a tree, with presents for the servants. And here are little snowmen all
glittering with frost to put on the dinner table. And here are balloons of every colour all ready to
blow up!”
“Oh!” Pilar’s eyes shone. “Oh! can we blow one up? Lydia would not mind. I do love
balloons.”
Stephen said: “Baby! Here, which will you have?”
Pilar said: “I will have a red one.”
They selected their balloons and blew, their cheeks distended. Pilar stopped blowing to laugh,
and her balloon went down again.
She said:
“You look so funny—blowing—with your cheeks puffed out.”
Her laugh rang out. Then she fell to, blowing industriously. They tied up their balloons
carefully and began to play with them, patting them upwards, sending them to and fro.
Pilar said:
“Out in the hall there would be more room.”
They were sending the balloons to each other, and laughing, when Poirot came along the hall.
He regarded them indulgently.
“So you play les jeux d’enfants? It is pretty, that!”
Pilar said breathlessly:
“Mine is the red one. It is bigger than his. Much bigger. If we took it outside it would go right
up in the sky.”
“Let’s send them up and wish,” said Stephen.
“Oh, yes, that is a good idea.”
Pilar ran to the garden door, Stephen followed. Poirot came behind, still looking indulgent.
“I will wish for a great deal of money,” announced Pilar.
She stood on tiptoe, holding the string of the balloon. It tugged gently as a puff of wind came.
Pilar let go and it floated along, taken by the breeze.
Stephen laughed.
“You mustn’t tell your wish.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t come true. Now, I’m going to wish.”
He released his balloon. But he was not so lucky. It floated sideways, caught on a holly bush
and expired with a bang.
Pilar ran to it.
She announced tragically:
“It is gone. . . .”
Then, as she stirred the little limp wisp of rubber with her toe, she said:
“So that was what I picked up in Grandfather’s room. He, too, had had a balloon, only his
was a pink one.”
Poirot gave a sharp exclamation. Pilar turned inquiringly.
Poirot said:
“It is nothing. I stabbed—no stubbed—the toe.”
He wheeled round and looked at the house.
He said:
“So many windows! A house, mademoiselle, has its eyes — and its ears. It is indeed
regrettable that the English are so fond of open windows.”
Lydia came out on the terrace. She said:
“Lunch is just ready. Pilar, my dear, everything has been settled quite satisfactorily. Alfred
will explain the exact details to you after lunch. Shall we come in?”
They went into the house. Poirot came last. He was looking grave.
第六部分 十二月二十七日 2
第六部分 十二月二十七日
2
皮拉尔离开客厅之后，慢慢地在门厅里走着。斯蒂芬•法尔从花园门走进来，说：“怎
么？家庭秘会结束了？遗嘱宣读了吗？”
皮拉尔呼吸急促地说：“我什么也没得到，什么都没有！遗嘱是好多年前立的。我外公
留了一份给我母亲，可因为她死了，钱不能归我而要还给他们。”
斯蒂芬说：“看起来你真够倒霉的。”
皮拉尔说：“如果那老头还活着，就会另立一份遗嘱。他会留些钱给我，很多的钱！也
许到那时他会把所有的钱都留给我！”
斯蒂芬笑着说：“这样也不怎么公平啊，是不是？”
“为什么不？他会最喜欢我的，这就够了。”
斯蒂芬说：“你真是个贪婪的孩子！一位掘金女郎！”
皮拉尔冷酷地说：“这个世界对女人很残酷，她们必须为自己着想——趁还年轻的时
候。等变得又老又丑，就没人会帮她们了。”
斯蒂芬慢吞吞地说：“虽然我不这么认为，可你说得对，只是不完全对。比如说阿尔弗
雷德•李，他真心地喜欢他父亲，尽管那老头极其挑剔、难以伺候。”
皮拉尔抬起下巴。
“阿尔弗雷德，”她说，“就是个傻瓜。”
斯蒂芬笑了。
接着他说：“好了，别担心，可爱的皮拉尔。你要知道，李家的人有责任照顾你。”
皮拉尔闷闷不乐地说：“可这并不是什么好事。”
斯蒂芬慢悠悠地说：“是的，恐怕不会快乐的。我觉得你不适合住在这儿，皮拉尔。你
愿意去南非吗？”
皮拉尔点点头。
斯蒂芬说：“那里有阳光和大片的土地，不过也需要艰辛的劳作。你会干活吗，皮拉
尔？”
皮拉尔迟疑地说：“我不知道。”
他说：“你更愿意整天坐在阳台上吃糖果，然后越长越胖，长出三层下巴？”
皮拉尔笑了。
斯蒂芬说：“这样就好多了，我让你笑了。”
皮拉尔说：“我本以为这个圣诞节我会一直笑的！我在书上读到，英国人的圣诞节都非
常快乐，吃烤葡萄干和提子布丁，还有一种叫圣诞柴（注：简单来说就是从附近的森林中
找来优质的木柴，隆重地安放到壁炉中，一大家人在炉火前欢度圣诞节的到来，以燃烧大
柴木向雷神表达敬意。圣诞柴拿来时，大家要欢唱圣诞歌曲，未燃尽的碎片要小心收集起
来，用来做明年的引燃物。）的东西。”
斯蒂芬说：“唉，那得是个没发生谋杀案的圣诞节呀。快到这儿来，莉迪亚昨天带我来
过这儿，这是她的储藏室。”
他领她走进一间比碗柜大不了多少的小房间。
“瞧，皮拉尔，这么多盒饼干，还有蜜饯、橘子、椰枣和干果，还有这儿——”
“噢！”皮拉尔拍了一下手，“太美啦，这些小金球和小银球。”
“那些是挂在树上的，和给用人们的礼物在一起。这儿还有裹着白霜、闪着光的小雪
人，是放在餐桌上的。还有各种颜色的气球，就等着吹起来了。”
“噢！”皮拉尔的眼睛闪着光，“噢！我们可以吹起来一个吗？莉迪亚不会介意的。我真
的很喜欢气球。”
斯蒂芬说：“宝贝啊！好吧，你想要哪个？”
皮拉尔说：“我想要个红的。”
他们各自选好自己想要的气球开始吹，腮帮子一鼓一鼓的。皮拉尔吹到一半笑了起
来，她的气球马上又瘪了下去。
她说：“你看起来太可笑了，吹得腮帮子都鼓出来了。”
笑过之后，她继续努力吹气球。他们把吹好的气球仔细地系起口来，开始玩，把它们
轻拍上天，让它们飞来飞去。
皮拉尔说：“我们到外面的门厅里去吧，那儿更宽敞。”
他们笑着互相把气球传来传去，这时波洛恰好走进门厅，他带着一脸怜爱的表情看着
他们。
“你们在玩游戏吗？这个气球真漂亮！”
皮拉尔上气不接下气地说：“那个红的是我的，比他的要大，大好多好多。如果我们到
外面去，它们就会一直飞上天。”
“那我们去把它们送上天吧，然后许愿。”斯蒂芬说。
“噢，好啊，这是个好主意。”
皮拉尔向通往花园的门跑去，斯蒂芬紧随其后。波洛跟在后面，仍是一脸疼爱的样
子。
“我希望拥有一大笔钱。”皮拉尔说道。
她踮起脚，拿着气球的线。一阵风吹过，气球轻轻地摇摆着。皮拉尔松开了手，气球
飘了起来，被风带走了。
斯蒂芬笑了。
“你不该把愿望说出来。”
“不能吗？为什么？”
“因为这样你的愿望就不会实现了。现在，我要许愿了。”
他松开了他的气球，可他不那么幸运，气球飘到了一边，挂在冬青树丛上，砰的一声
爆了。
皮拉尔向它跑去，故作沉痛地宣布：“它去了……”
接着，她用脚尖碰着地上那片薄而柔软的橡胶，说：“这么说，我在外公的房间里捡到
是这个呀。他也有一个，气球，只不过他的是粉色的。”
波洛高声惊呼。皮拉尔不明所以地转过身来。
波洛说：“没什么。我刺到——不，是扎到了——我的脚趾。”
他转过身子，看着这幢房子。
他说：“这么多窗户！一幢房子，小姐，也有它的眼睛——和耳朵。英国人太喜欢开窗
户了，这真是件可悲的事。”
莉迪亚从阳台上走过来。她说：“午餐准备好了。皮拉尔，亲爱的，一切都圆满解决
了。午饭后阿尔弗雷德会向你说明具体细节的。我们进去好吗？”
他们走进房子。波洛最后一个进去，面色凝重。
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH III
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH III

Lunch was over.
As they came out of the dining room, Alfred said to Pilar:
“Will you come into my room? There is something I want to talk over with you.”
He led her across the hall and into his study, shutting the door after him. The others went on
into the drawing room. Only Hercule Poirot remained in the hall looking thoughtfully at the closed
study door.
He was aware suddenly of the old butler hovering uneasily near him.
Poirot said: “Yes, Tressilian, what is it?”
The old man seemed troubled. He said:
“I wanted to speak to Mr. Lee. But I don’t like to disturb him now.”
Poirot said: “Something has occurred?”
Tressilian said slowly:
“It’s such a queer thing. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Tell me,” said Hercule Poirot.
Tressilian hesitated. Then he said:
“Well, it’s this, sir. You may have noticed that each side of the front door there was a cannon
ball. Big heavy stone things. Well, sir, one of them’s gone.”
Hercule Poirot’s eyebrows rose. He said; “Since when?”
“They were both there this morning, sir. I’ll take my oath on that.”
“Let me see.”
Together they went outside the front door. Poirot bent and examined the remaining cannon
ball. When he straightened himself, his face was very grave.
Tressilian quavered:
“Who’d want to steal a thing like that, sir? It doesn’t make sense.”
Poirot said: “I do not like it. I do not like it at all. . . .”
Tressilian was watching him anxiously. He said slowly:
“What’s come to the house, sir? Ever since the master was murdered it doesn’t seem like the
same place. I feel the whole time as though I was going about in a dream. I mix things up, and I
sometimes feel I can’t trust my own eyes.”
Hercule Poirot shook his head. He said:
“You are wrong. Your own eyes are just what you must trust.”
Tressilian said, shaking his head:
“My sight’s bad—I can’t see like I used to do. I get things mixed up—and people. I’m getting
too old for my work.”
Hercule Poirot clapped him on the shoulder and said:
“Courage.”
“Thank you, sir. You mean it kindly, I know. But there it is, I am too old. I’m always going
back to the old days and the old faces. Miss Jenny and Master David and Master Alfred. I’m
always seeing them as young gentlemen and ladies. Ever since that night when Mr. Harry came
home—”
Poirot nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “that is what I thought. You said just now ‘Ever since the master was
murdered’—but it began before that. It is ever since Mr. Harry came home, is it not, that things
have altered and seemed unreal?”
The butler said:
“You’re quite right, sir. It was then. Mr. Harry always brought trouble into the house, even in
the old days.”
His eyes wandered back to the empty stone base.
“Who can have taken it, sir?” he whispered. “And why? It’s—it’s like a madhouse.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“It is not madness I am afraid of. It is sanity! Somebody, Tressilian, is in great danger.”
He turned and reentered the house.
At that moment Pilar came out from the study. A red spot shone on either cheek. She held her
head high and her eyes glittered.
As Poirot came up to her, she suddenly stamped her foot and said: “I will not take it.”
Poirot raised his eyebrows. He said:
“What is it that you will not take, mademoiselle?”
Pilar said:
“Alfred has just told me that I am to have my mother’s share of the money my grandfather
left.”
“Well?”
“I could not get it by law, he said. But he and Lydia and the others consider it should be
mine. They say it is a matter of justice. And so they will hand it over to me.”
Poirot said again:
“Well?”
Pilar stamped once more with her foot.
“Do you not understand? They are giving it to me—giving it to me.”
“Need that hurt your pride? Since what they say is true—that it should in justice be yours?”
Pilar said:
“You do not understand. . . .”
Poirot said:
“On the contrary—I understand very well.”
“Oh! . . .” She turned away pettishly.
There was a ring at the bell. Poirot glanced over his shoulder. He saw the silhouette of
Superintendent Sugden outside the door. He said hurriedly to Pilar:
“Where are you going?”
She said sulkily:
“To the drawing room. To the others.”
Poirot said quickly:
“Good. Stay with them there. Do not wander about the house alone, especially after dark. Be
on your guard. You are in great danger, mademoiselle. You will never be in greater danger than
you are today.”
He turned away from her and went to meet Sugden.
The latter waited till Tressilian had gone back into his pantry.
Then he shoved a cable form under Poirot’s nose.
“Now we’ve got it!” he said. “Read that. It’s from the South African Police.”
The cable said:
“Ebenezer Farr’s only son died two years ago.”
Sugden said:
“So now we know! Funny—I was on a different tack altogether. . . .”
第六部分 十二月二十七日 3

第六部分 十二月二十七日
3
午饭吃完了。
大家从餐厅里出来的时候，阿尔弗雷德对皮拉尔说：“来我的房间好吗？有一些事情我
想跟你谈谈。”
他领她穿过门厅走进他的书房，进屋后便关上了门。其他人都去客厅了，只有赫尔克
里•波洛留在门厅，若有所思地看着紧闭的书房门。
突然，他意识到那位老管家正在他身旁不安地徘徊着。
波洛说：“怎么了，特雷西利安，有什么事吗？”
老人一副不知如何是好的样子。他说：“我有事要和李先生说，可我不想现在去打扰
他。”
波洛说：“发生了什么事？”
特雷西利安慢吞吞地说：“一件很奇怪的事情——莫名其妙。”
“告诉我。”赫尔克里•波洛说。
特雷西利安犹豫了一下，然后他说：“好吧，是这样的，先生，你或许也注意到了，大
门的两边各放了一个门档，石头做的，很重。哦，先生，其中的一个不见了。”
赫尔克里•波洛的眉毛都竖了起来。他问：“什么时候不见的？”
“今天早上还都在那儿呢，先生。我敢发誓。”
“我去看看。”
他们一起来到大门外。波洛弯下腰，检查着剩下的那个门档。当他再次直起身来时，
神情变得非常严肃。
特雷西利安声音颤抖地说：“谁会想偷那么一样东西呢，先生？想不明白呀。”
波洛说：“我不喜欢这样，我一点儿也不喜欢这样……”
特雷西利安不安地看着他，慢吞吞地说：“这个家到底出了什么事，先生？自打主人被
谋杀之后，这地方好像和原来不一样了，我一直觉得像在做梦一样。事情混在一起，有时
候我都不敢相信自己的眼睛。”
赫尔克里•波洛摇摇头。
他说：“你错了，你一定要相信自己的眼睛。”
特雷西利安摇着头说：“我的视力很差，不像以前看得那么清楚了。我总把东西弄混，
还有人。我年纪太大了，不适合做这份工作了。”
赫尔克里•波洛拍拍他的肩膀说：“别泄气。”
“谢谢你，先生。我知道，你这么说是出于好意，可事实就是这么回事，我太老了。我
总会回想过去的日子和过去的面孔。比如詹妮小姐、戴维小主人和阿尔弗雷德小主人，他
们在我心中一直是年轻的绅士和女士。直到那天晚上，哈里先生回来——”
波洛点点头。
“是的，”他说，“这也正是我所想的。你刚才说‘自打主人被谋杀之后’——其实变化在
那之前就出现了。是从哈里先生回到家来开始的，是不是？一切都变得不一样了，显得很
不真实。”
管家说：“你说得对，先生，就是从那时候开始的。哈里先生总是给家里带来麻烦，过
去也是。”
他的目光又落到门边空空的石基座上。
“谁会把它拿走呢，先生？”他悄声说，“而且为什么呢？这儿，这儿简直像疯人院。”
赫尔克里•波洛说：“我所害怕的不是疯狂，而是理智！特雷西利安，有个人，现在十
分危险。”
说完他转过身，又回到房子里。
就在这时，皮拉尔从书房里出来了。她双颊绯红，高高地扬着头，眼睛闪着光。
当波洛向她走去时，她突然跺了一下脚，说道：“我不会接受的。”
波洛扬起眉毛，问：“你不会接受什么，小姐？”
皮拉尔说：“阿尔弗雷德刚刚告诉我，我将会得到外公留给我母亲的那一份财产。”
“怎么了？”
“他说，从法律上讲，我并没有权利得到它。但他和莉迪亚，还有别的人认为，它应该
是我的。他们说这叫公道，所以他们决定把这笔钱给我。”
波洛又问了一次：“怎么了？”
皮拉尔又跺了一下脚。
“你还不明白吗？他们要把这笔钱给我，把它给我。”
“这伤了你的自尊？哪怕他们说得是对的——这份遗产本来就该归你？”
皮拉尔说：“你还真是不明白……”
波洛说：“正好相反——我非常非常明白。”
“哦……”她气呼呼地转过脸去。
这时门铃响了。波洛回头看了一眼，看到了萨格登警司的身影。他急忙问皮拉尔：“你
要去哪儿？”
她闷闷不乐地说：“去客厅，找其他人去。”
波洛迅速说道：“很好，去和他们待在一块，别一个人在屋子里乱逛，特别是天黑以
后。你自己要当心，你现在很危险，小姐。今天恐怕是你这辈子最危险的日子。”
他转身离开了她，去迎接萨格登。
后者一直等着特雷西利安回到餐具室，才拿出一份电报给波洛。
“我们找到他了！”他说，“看看这个，南非警方发来的。”
电报上写着：“埃比尼泽唯一的儿子已于两年前去世。”
萨格登说：“这么一来可清楚是怎么回事了！可笑——我完全弄错了方向……”
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH IV
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH IV

Pilar marched into the drawing room, her head held high.
She went straight up to Lydia, who was sitting in the window with some knitting.
Pilar said:
“Lydia, I have come to tell you that I will not take that money. I am going away—at once.
. . .”
Lydia looked astonished. She laid down her knitting. She said:
“My dear child, Alfred must have explained very badly! It is not in the least a matter of
charity, if that is what you feel. Really, it is not a question of kindness or generosity on our part. It
is a plain matter of right and wrong. In the ordinary course of events your mother would have
inherited this money, and you would have come into it from her. It is your right—your blood right.
It is a matter, not of charity, but of justice!”
Pilar said fiercely:
“And that is why I cannot do it—not when you speak like that—not when you are like that! I
enjoyed coming here. It was fun! It was an adventure, but now you have spoilt it all! I am going
away now, at once—you will never be bothered by me again. . . .”
Tears choked her voice. She turned and ran blindly out of the room.
Lydia stared. She said helplessly:
“I’d no idea she would take it like that!”
Hilda said:
“The child seems quite upset.”
George cleared his throat and said portentously:
“Er—as I pointed out this morning—the principle involved is wrong. Pilar has the wit to see
that for herself. She refuses to accept charity—”
Lydia said sharply:
“It is not charity. It is her right!”
George said:
“She does not seem to think so!”
Superintendent Sugden and Hercule Poirot came in. The former looked round and asked:
“Where’s Mr. Farr? I want a word with him.”
Before anyone had time to answer, Hercule Poirot said sharply:
“Where is the Señorita Estravados?”
George Lee said with a trace of malicious satisfaction:
“Going to clear out, so she says. Apparently she has had enough of her English relations.”
Poirot wheeled round.
He said to Sugden:
“Come!”
As the two men emerged into the hall, there was the sound of a heavy crash and a faraway
shriek.
Poirot cried:
“Quick . . . Come. . . .”
They raced along the hall and up the far staircase. The door of Pilar’s room was open and a
man stood in the doorway. He turned his head as they ran up. It was Stephen Farr.
He said:
“She’s alive. . . .”
Pilar stood crouched against the wall of her room. She was staring at the floor where a big
stone cannon ball was lying.
She said breathlessly:
“It was on top of my door, balanced there. It would have crashed down on my head when I
came in, but my skirt caught on a nail and jerked me back just as I was coming in.”
Poirot knelt down and examined the nail. On it was a thread of purple tweed. He looked up
and nodded gravely.
“That nail, mademoiselle,” he said, “saved your life.”
The superintendent said, bewildered:
“Look here, what’s the meaning of all this?”
Pilar said:
“Someone tried to kill me!”
She nodded her head several times.
Superintendent Sugden glanced up at the door.
“Booby trap,” he said. “An old-fashioned booby trap—and its purpose was murder! That’s
the second murder planned in this house. But this time it didn’t come off!”
Stephen Farr said huskily:
“Thank God you’re safe.”
Pilar flung out her hands in a wide, appealing gesture.
“Madre de Dios,” she cried. “Why should anyone wish to kill me? What have I done?”
Hercule Poirot said slowly:
“You should rather ask, mademoiselle, what do I know?”
She stared.
“Know? I do not know anything.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“That is where you are wrong. Tell me, Mademoiselle Pilar, where were you at the time of
the murder? You were not in this room.”
“I was. I have told you so!”
Superintendent Sugden said with deceptive mildness:
“Yes, but you weren’t speaking the truth when you said that, you know. You told us you
heard your grandfather scream—you couldn’t have heard that if you were in here—Mr. Poirot and
I tested that yesterday.”
“Oh!” Pilar caught her breath.
Poirot said:
“You were somewhere very much nearer his room. I will tell you where I think you were,
mademoiselle. You were in the recess with the statues quite close to your grandfather’s door.”
Pilar said, startled:
“Oh . . . How did you know?”
Poirot said with a faint smile:
“Mr. Farr saw you there.”
Stephen said sharply:
“I did not. That’s an absolute lie!”
Poirot said:
“I ask your pardon, Mr. Farr, but you did see her. Remember your impression that there were
three statues in that recess, not two. Only one person wore a white dress that night, Mademoiselle
Estravados. She was the third white figure you saw. That is so, is it not, mademoiselle?”
Pilar said, after a moment’s hesitation: “Yes, it is true.”
Poirot said gently: “Now tell us, mademoiselle, the whole truth. Why were you there?”
Pilar said:
“I left the drawing room after dinner and I thought I would go and see my grandfather. I
thought he would be pleased. But when I turned into the passage I saw someone else was there at
his door. I did not want to be seen because I knew my grandfather had said he did not want to see
anyone that night. I slipped into the recess in case the person at the door turned round.”
“Then, all at once, I heard the most horrible sounds, tables—chairs”—she waved her hands
—“everything falling and crashing. I did not move. I do not know why. I was frightened. And then
there was a terrible scream”—she crossed herself—“and my heart it stopped beating, and I said,
‘Someone is dead. . . .’ ”
“And then?”
“And then people began coming running along the passage and I came out at the end and
joined them.”
Superintendent Sugden said sharply:
“You said nothing of all this when we first questioned you. Why not?”
Pilar shook her head. She said, with an air of wisdom:
“It is not good to tell too much to the police. I thought, you see, that if I said I was near there
you might think that I had killed him. So I said I was in my room.”
Sugden said sharply:
“If you tell deliberate lies all that it ends in is that you’re bound to come under suspicion.”
Stephen Farr said: “Pilar?”
“Yes?”
“Who did you see standing at the door when you turned into the passage? Tell us.”
Sugden said: “Yes, tell us.”
For a moment the girl hesitated. Her eyes opened, then narrowed. She said slowly:
“I don’t know who it was. It was too dimly lit to see. But it was a woman. . . .”
第六部分 十二月二十七日 4
第六部分 十二月二十七日
4
皮拉尔走进客厅，头扬得高高的。
她径直朝莉迪亚走去，后者正坐在窗边织东西。
皮拉尔说：“莉迪亚，我是来告诉你我不会要那笔钱的。而且我要走了——马上……”
莉迪亚似乎吃了一惊，放下了手中的针线活儿。
她说：“我亲爱的孩子，阿尔弗雷德一定解释得非常糟糕！这么做绝不是同情你，如果
你是这么想的话。真的，在我们看来这绝不是仁慈或慷慨的问题，只是简单的对与错。正
常情况下，你母亲会继承到这笔钱，而你再从她那儿继承，这是你的权利——血缘关系上
的权利。道理就是这样的，和同情施舍无关，是公道的问题。”
皮拉尔激动地说：“而这正是我不能接受的原因——因为你是这么说、这么想的！我很
高兴来到这儿。很有意思！这是一次冒险，可现在你把它都毁了！我现在就要离开，马
上，我再也不会麻烦你了……”
她哽咽着说不下去了，转过身，一口气跑出了房间。
莉迪亚瞪大了眼睛，无助地说：“我完全没想到她会是这个反应！”
希尔达说：“那孩子看起来真的很难过。”
乔治清了清嗓子，高高在上地说：“呃……我早上就说了，这么做的基本原则就是错
的。皮拉尔很聪明，看出了这一点，所以她拒绝接受施舍。”
莉迪亚厉声道：“这不是施舍，这是她应有的权利！”
乔治说：“她好像并不这么想！”
这时萨格登警司和波洛一起走了进来。前者环顾一圈后问：“法尔先生在哪儿？我有话
要跟他说。”
众人还没来得及回答，又听到赫尔克里•波洛严厉地问：“埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐呢？”
乔治•李有些幸灾乐祸地说：“她要离开这儿了，她是这么说的。看起来，她和这些英
国亲戚们待够了。”
波洛猛地转过身，对萨格登说：“快来！”
两个男人刚冲进大厅，就听见重物坠地的声音和从远处传来的一声尖叫。
波洛叫道：“快……来……”
两人穿过门厅跑到房间尽头，顺着楼梯上到二楼。皮拉尔的房间房门大开，一个男人
站在门口。男人转过头看着跑上来的两个人，这人正是斯蒂芬•法尔。
他说：“她没事……”
皮拉尔紧贴着墙，身子蜷成一团，瞪着地板上的那块大石头。
她吓得连气都喘不过来了。
她说：“它就架在我的门上，保持着平衡。本来会在我进门的时候砸在我的头上，可我
跑进门的时候裙子挂在了一颗钉子上，把我往回拽了一下。”
波洛跪下来检查那颗钉子，钉子上缠着一根紫色的花呢线。他抬起头来，严肃地点了
点头。
“小姐，这颗钉子救了你的命。”他说道。
萨格登警司迷茫地问：“这都是……怎么回事？”
皮拉尔说：“有人想杀我！”
她不停地点着头。
萨格登警司抬头看了看门。
“恶作剧。”他说，“一个老掉牙的恶作剧——目的却是谋杀！这是在这幢房子里实施的
第二起谋杀了，可这次没能成功！”
斯蒂芬•法尔嗓音嘶哑地说：“感谢上帝你没事。”
皮拉尔张开双手，做出一个恳求的手势。
“我的上帝，”她叫道，“为什么会有人想杀我？我做了些什么呀？”
赫尔克里•波洛慢悠悠地说：“小姐，你应该这么问：我知道些什么呀？”
她瞪大了眼睛。
“知道？我什么都不知道。”
赫尔克里•波洛说：“这就是你的不对了。告诉我，皮拉尔小姐，案发的时候你在哪
儿，你不在这个房间里。”
“我在，我告诉过你了！”
萨格登警司假装温和地说：“是的，但你当时没说真话。你告诉我们说你听见外公的尖
叫声，但如果你在这个房间里，就绝不可能听见。波洛先生和我昨天实验过了。”
“噢！”皮拉尔屏住了呼吸。
波洛说：“你所在的那个地方离他房间非常近。我来告诉你我认为你在哪儿吧，小姐，
你在摆着雕像的壁龛里，那儿离你外公的房间非常近。”
皮拉尔吃了一惊，说：“噢……你怎么知道的？”
波洛淡淡地一笑，说：“法尔先生看见你在那儿了。”
斯蒂芬马上厉声反驳：“我没有。这绝对是个谎言！”
波洛说：“请你原谅，法尔先生，但你的确看见她了。还记得吗？你说你记得那处壁龛
里有三尊雕像，而不是两尊。而那天晚上只有一个人穿着白衣服，那就是埃斯特拉瓦多斯
小姐。她就是那第三尊雕像，是这样的吧。不是吗，小姐？”
皮拉尔迟疑了片刻，然后说：“是的，确实如此。”
波洛温和地说：“现在，小姐，该告诉我们事实了。你为什么会在那儿？”
皮拉尔说：“晚饭后我离开了客厅，打算去找外公，我想这会让他高兴。可当我从过道
那儿转过来的时候，却看见有个人站在他的门边。我不想被那人看见，因为外公说过那天
晚上他不想再见任何人。于是我躲进了那处壁龛，以防站在门口的那个人转过身来看见
我。
“接着，突然间，我听到了可怕的声音，桌子——椅子……”她摆摆手，“所有的东西都
倒了，撞在一起。我没有动，我也不知道为什么，我当时被吓坏了。而就在这时，响起了
可怕的尖叫声……”她在胸前画了个十字，“我的心脏几乎停止了跳动，我对自己说，有人
死了……”
“然后呢？”
“然后大家纷纷从过道那边跑了过来，最后，我出来了，加入了他们的行列。”
萨格登警司严厉地说：“我们第一次问你的时候，这些事你一句也没提，这是为什
么？”
皮拉尔摇了摇头，自作聪明地说：“没必要对警察说太多。你瞧，如果我说我当时离那
儿很近，也许你就会认为是我杀了他。所以我说我在自己的房间里。”
萨格登依旧严厉，他说：“如果你故意说谎，结果只会导致你受到怀疑。”
斯蒂芬•法尔说：“皮拉尔？”
“什么？”
“当你拐进这条过道时，你看见谁站在门边，告诉我们。”
萨格登说：“对，告诉我们。”
女孩儿突然有些迟疑。她的眼睛瞪大了，又眯了起来，她语速缓慢地说：“我不知道那
个人是谁。光线太暗了，看不清楚。但那是，一个女人……”
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH V
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH V

Superintendent Sugden looked round at the circle of faces. He said, with something as near
irritation as he had yet shown:
“This is very irregular, Mr. Poirot.”
Poirot said:
“It is a little idea of mine. I wish to share with everyone the knowledge that I have acquired. I
shall then invite their cooperation, and so we shall get at the truth.”
Sugden murmured under his breath: “Monkey tricks.”
He leaned back in his chair. Poirot said:
“To begin with, you have, I think, an explanation to ask of Mr. Farr.”
Sugden’s mouth tightened.
“I should have chosen a less public moment,” he said. “However, I’ve no objection.” He
handed the cable to Stephen Farr. “Now, Mr. Farr, as you call yourself, perhaps you can explain
this?”
Stephen Farr took it. Raising his eyebrows, he read it slowly out loud. Then, with a bow, he
handed it back to the superintendent.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s pretty damning, isn’t it?”
Sugden said:
“Is that all you’ve got to say about it? You quite understand there is no obligation on you to
make a statement—”
Stephen Farr interrupted. He said:
“You needn’t caution me, Superintendent. I can see it trembling on your tongue! Yes, I’ll
give you an explanation. It’s not a very good one, but it’s the truth.”
He paused. Then he began:
“I’m not Ebenezer Farr’s son. But I knew both father and son quite well. Now try and put
yourself in my place. (My name is Stephen Grant, by the way.) I arrived in this country for the first
time in my life. I was disappointed. Everything and everybody seemed drab and lifeless. Then I
was travelling by train and I saw a girl. I’ve got to say it straight out: I fell for that girl! She was
the loveliest and most unlikely creature in the world! I talked to her for a while in the train and I
made up my mind then and there not to lose sight of her. As I was leaving the compartment I
caught sight of the label on her suitcase. Her name meant nothing to me, but the address to which
she was travelling did. I’d heard of Gorston Hall, and I knew all about its owner. He was Ebenezer
Farr’s one-time partner and old Eb often talked about him and said what a personality he was.
“Well, the idea came to me to go to Gorston Hall and pretend I was Eb’s son. He had died, as
this cable says, two years ago, but I remembered old Eb saying that he had not heard from Simeon
Lee now for many years, and I judged that Lee would not know of the death of Eb’s son. Anyway,
I felt it was worth trying.”
Sugden said: “You didn’t try it on at once, though. You stayed in the King’s Arms at
Addlesfield for two days.”
Stephen said:
“I was thinking it over—whether to try it or not. At last I made up my mind I would. It
appealed to me as a bit of an adventure. Well, it worked like a charm! The old man greeted me in
the friendliest manner and at once asked me to come and stay in the house. I accepted. There you
are, Superintendent, there’s my explanation. If you don’t fancy it, cast your mind back to your
courting days and see if you don’t remember some bit of foolishness you indulged in then. As for
my real name, as I say, it’s Stephen Grant. You can cable to South Africa and check up on me, but
I’ll tell you this: you’ll find I’m a perfectly respectable citizen. I’m not a crook or a jewel thief.”
Poirot said softly: “I never believed you were.”
Superintendent Sugden stroked his jaw cautiously. He said:
“I’ll have to check up on that story. What I’d like to know is this: Why didn’t you come clean
after the murder instead of telling us a pack of lies?”
Stephen said disarmingly:
“Because I was a fool! I thought I could get away with it! I thought it would look fishy if I
admitted to being here under a false name. If I hadn’t been a complete idiot I would have realized
you were bound to cable to Jo’burg.”
Sugden said:
“Well, Mr. Farr—er—Grant—I’m not saying I disbelieve your story. It will be proved or
disproved soon enough.”
He looked across inquiringly at Poirot. The latter said:
“I think Miss Estravados has something to say.”
Pilar had gone very white. She said, in a breathless voice:
“It is true. I would never have told you, but for Lydia and the money. To come here and
pretend and cheat and act—that was fun, but when Lydia said the money was mine and that it was
only justice, that was different; it was not fun any longer.”
Alfred Lee said with a puzzled face:
“I do not understand, my dear, what you are talking about.”
Pilar said:
“You think I am your niece, Pilar Estravados? But that is not so! Pilar was killed when I was
travelling with her in a car in Spain. A bomb came and it hit the car and she was killed, but I was
not touched. I did not know her very well, but she had told me all about herself and how her
grandfather had sent for her to go to England and that he was very rich. And I had no money at all
and I did not know where to go or what to do. And I thought suddenly: ‘Why should not I take
Pilar’s passport and go to England and become very rich?’ ” Her face lit up with its sudden wide
smile. “Oh, it was fun wondering if I could get away with it! Our faces on the photograph were not
unlike. But when they wanted my passport here I opened the window and threw it out and ran
down to get it, and then I rubbed some earth just over the face a little because at a barrier
travelling they do not look very closely, but here they might—”
Alfred Lee said angrily:
“Do you mean to say that you represented yourself to my father as his granddaughter, and
played on his affection for you?”
Pilar nodded. She said complacently:
“Yes, I saw at once I could make him like me very much.”
George Lee broke out:
“Preposterous!” he spluttered. “Criminal! Attempting to get money by false pretences.”
Harry Lee said:
“She didn’t get any from you, old boy! Pilar, I’m on your side! I’ve got a profound
admiration for your daring. And, thank goodness, I’m not your uncle any more! That gives me a
much freer hand.”
Pilar said to Poirot: “You knew? When did you know?”
Poirot smiled:
“Mademoiselle, if you have studied the laws of Mendel you would know that two blue-eyed
people are not likely to have a brown-eyed child. Your mother was, I was sure, a most chaste and
respectable lady. It followed, then, that you were not Pilar Estravados at all. When you did your
trick with the passport, I was quite sure of it. It was ingenious, but not, you understand, quite
ingenious enough.”
Superintendent Sugden said unpleasantly:
“The whole thing’s not quite ingenious enough.”
Pilar stared at him. She said:
“I don’t understand. . . .”
Sugden said: “You’ve told us a story—but I think there’s a good deal more you haven’t told.”
Stephen said: “You leave her alone!”
Superintendent Sugden took no notice. He went on:
“You’ve told us that you went up to your grandfather’s room after dinner. You said it was an
impulse on your part. I’m going to suggest something else. It was you who stole those diamonds.
You’d handled them. On occasion, perhaps, you’d put them away in the safe and the old man
hadn’t watched you do it! When he found the stones were missing, he saw at once that only two
people could have taken them. One was Horbury, who might have got to know the combination
and have crept in and stolen them during the night. The other person was you.
“Well, Mr. Lee at once took measures. He rang me up and had me come to see him. Then he
sent word to you to come and see him immediately after dinner. You did so and he accused you of
the theft. You denied it; he pressed the charge. I don’t know what happened next—perhaps he
tumbled to the fact that you weren’t his granddaughter, but a very clever little professional thief.
Anyway, the game was up, exposure loomed over you, and you slashed at him with a knife. There
was a struggle and he screamed. You were properly up against it then. You hurried out of the
room, turned the key from the outside and then, knowing you could not get away, before the
others came, you slipped into the recess by the statues.”
Pilar cried shrilly:
“It is not true! It is not true! I did not steal the diamonds! I did not kill him. I swear it by the
Blessed Virgin.”
Sugden said sharply:
“Then who did? You say you saw a figure standing outside Mr. Lee’s door. According to
your story, that person must have been the murderer. No one else passed the recess! But we’ve
only your word for it that there was a figure there at all. In other words, you made that up to
exculpate yourself!”
George Lee said sharply:
“Of course she’s guilty! It’s all clear enough! I always said an outsider killed my father!
Preposterous nonsense to pretend one of his family would do a thing like that! It—it wouldn’t be
natural!”
Poirot stirred in his seat. He said:
“I disagree with you. Taking into consideration the character of Simeon Lee, it would be a
very natural thing to happen.”
“Eh?” George’s jaw dropped. He stared at Poirot.
Poirot went on:
“And, in my opinion, that very thing did happen. Simeon Lee was killed by his own flesh and
blood, for what seemed to the murderer a very good and sufficient reason.”
George cried: “One of us? I deny—”
Poirot’s voice broke in hard as steel.
“There is a case against every person here. We will, Mr. George Lee, begin with the case
against you. You had no love for your father! You kept on good terms with him for the sake of
money. On the day of his death he threatened to cut down your allowance. You knew that on his
death you would probably inherit a very substantial sum. There is the motive. After dinner you
went, as you say, to telephone. You did telephone—but the call lasted only five minutes. After that
you could easily have gone to your father’s room, chatted with him, and then attacked him and
killed him. You left the room and turned the key from outside, for you hoped the affair would be
put down to a burglar. You omitted, in your panic, to make sure that the window was fully open so
as to support the burglar theory. That was stupid; but you are, if you will pardon my saying so,
rather a stupid man!
“However,” said Poirot, after a brief pause during which George tried to speak and failed,
“many stupid men have been criminals!”
He turned his eyes on Magdalene.
“Madame, too, she also had a motive. She is, I think, in debt, and the tone of certain of your
father’s remarks may—have caused her uneasiness. She, too, has no alibi. She went to telephone,
but she did not telephone, and we have only her word for what she did do. . . .
“Then,” he paused, “there is Mr. David Lee. We have heard, not once but many times, of the
revengeful tempers and long memories that went with the Lee blood. Mr. David Lee did not forget
or forgive the way his father had treated his mother. A final jibe directed at the dead lady may
have been the last straw. David Lee is said to have been playing the piano at the time of the
murder. By a coincidence he was playing the ‘Dead March.’ But suppose somebody else was
playing that ‘Dead March,’ somebody who knew what he was going to do, and who approved his
action?”
Hilda Lee said quietly:
“That is an infamous suggestion.”
Poirot turned to her. “I will offer you another, madame. It was your hand that did the deed. It
was you who crept upstairs to execute judgment on a man you considered beyond human
forgiveness. You are of those, madame, who can be terrible in anger. . . .”
Hilda said: “I did not kill him.”
Superintendent Sugden said brusquely:
“Mr. Poirot’s quite right. There is a possible case against everyone except Mr. Alfred Lee,
Mr. Harry Lee, and Mrs. Alfred Lee.”
Poirot said gently:
“I should not even except those three. . . .”
The superintendent protested: “Oh, come now, Mr. Poirot!”
Lydia Lee said:
“And what is the case against me, M. Poirot?”
She smiled a little as she spoke, her brows raised ironically.
Poirot bowed. He said:
“Your motive, madame, I pass over. It is sufficiently obvious. As to the rest, you were
wearing last night a flowered taffeta dress of a very distinctive pattern with a cape. I will remind
you of the fact that Tressilian, the butler, is shortsighted. Objects at a distance are dim and vague
to him. I will also point out that your drawing room is big and lighted by heavily shaded lamps.
On that night, a minute or two before the cries were heard, Tressilian came into the drawing room
to take away the coffee-cups. He saw you, as he thought, in a familiar attitude by the far window
half concealed by the heavy curtains.”
Lydia Lee said: “He did see me.”
Poirot went on:
“I suggest that it is possible that what Tressilian saw was the cape of your dress, arranged to
show by the window curtain, as though you yourself were standing there.”
Lydia said: “I was standing there. . . .”
Alfred said: “How dare you suggest—?”
Harry interrupted him.
“Let him go on, Alfred. It’s our turn next. How do you suggest that dear Alfred killed his
beloved father since we were both together in the dining room at the time?”
Poirot beamed at him.
“That,” he said, “is very simple. An alibi gains in force accordingly as it is unwillingly given.
You and your brother are on bad terms. It is well known. You jibe at him in public. He has not a
good word to say for you! But, supposing that were all part of a very clever plot. Supposing that
Alfred Lee is tired of dancing attendance upon an exacting taskmaster. Supposing that you and he
have got together some time ago. Your plan is laid. You come home. Alfred appears to resent your
presence. He shows jealousy and dislike of you. You show contempt for him. And then comes the
night of the murder you have so cleverly planned together. One of you remains in the dining room,
talking and perhaps quarrelling aloud as though two people were there. The other goes upstairs
and commits the crime. . . .”
Alfred sprang to his feet.
“You devil!” he said. His voice was inarticulate.
Sugden was staring at Poirot. He said:
“Do you really mean—?”
Poirot said, with a sudden ring of authority in his voice:
“I have had to show you the possibilities! These are the things that might have happened!
Which of them actually did happen we can only tell by passing from the outside appearance to the
inside reality. . . .”
He paused and then said slowly:
“We must come back, as I said before, to the character of Simeon Lee himself. . . .”
第六部分 十二月二十七日 5
第六部分 十二月二十七日
5
萨格登警司打量着围成一圈的这些人，流露出一种前所未有的近乎恼怒的神情。
他说：“这么做很不符合常规，波洛先生。”
波洛说：“这是我的一个小想法。我想把我的发现告诉大家，然后请大家协作，这样一
来，我们就会找出事情的真相了。”
萨格登用低得几乎听不见的声音嘟囔道：“耍猴戏。”他靠在椅背上。
波洛说：“首先，我想请法尔先生做出一个解释。”
萨格登抿紧嘴唇，说：“我本该私下里跟你谈这件事的，不过我也不反对这样。”他把
电报递给斯蒂芬•法尔，“现在，法尔先生——照你对自己的称呼来，也许你可以解释一下
这个？”
斯蒂芬•法尔接过电报，扬了扬眉毛，慢慢地大声读了出来。读完他点了一下头，把电
报还给警司。
“哦，”他说，“这可真糟糕，不是吗？”
萨格登说：“这就是你想说的吗？你该明白，其实你没有义务解释———”
斯蒂芬•法尔打断了他。他说：“你不用警告我了，警司，看得出来那些话就在你的嘴
边转悠。是的，我会解释的，虽然不算非常好，但它是真的。”
他停了一下，开始了讲述。
“我不是埃比尼泽•法尔的儿子，但我跟他们父子两人都很熟。现在你们试着站在我的
立场上想一想。顺便说一句，我的名字是斯蒂芬•格兰特，我此生第一次来到这个国家。我
很失望，这儿的每样东西、每个人看起来都是那么单调乏味、毫无生气。接着我在火车上
碰到了一个女孩，我必须坦白：我被这个女孩迷住了！她是这世上最可爱的人，简直不像
这世上该有的！我和她在火车上聊了一会儿，当场便下定决心绝不能和她失去联系。当我
离开车厢时，恰好瞥到了她旅行箱上的标签。吸引我的不是她的名字，而是她此次旅行的
目的地。我听说过戈斯顿府，而且对这儿的主人很了解。他曾和埃比尼泽•法尔合伙了一段
时间，老埃比经常谈起他，说他是个什么样的人。
“于是，我想到一个主意，到戈斯顿霍尔去，假装成埃比的儿子。他已经死了，正如电
报里说的，死于两年前。但我记得老埃比说他已经很多年没有西米恩•李的消息了，所以我
猜测这个姓李的并不知道埃比儿子的死讯。不管怎样，我认为这值得一试。”
萨格登说：“但你没有马上过来试，而是在阿德斯菲尔德的国王纹章旅馆待了两天。”
斯蒂芬说：“我得仔细想想啊——考虑清楚是否要试。最后我决定来，就像一次小小的
冒险，吸引着我。哦，事情顺利得超乎想象！老人以最友善的态度问候了我，并马上邀请
我在他家住下。我接受了。这就是我的解释，警司。如果你还是无法想象，试着回想一下
你年轻的时候，是否也曾因坠入情网而纵容自己做一些傻事。我的真名是斯蒂芬•格兰特，
你可以往南非拍份电报去调查我。但我要告诉你，你会发现我是一个非常正派的公民，绝
不是一个骗子，或是一个偷珠宝的贼。”
波洛轻声说：“我从不认为你是。”
萨格登警司谨慎地摸着自己的下巴，说：“我会去调查一下的。我更想知道的是：谋杀
案发生之后，你为什么不直接说出真相，而是编了一套谎话告诉我们呢？”
斯蒂芬直白地说：“因为我是一个傻瓜！我以为你们发现不了的！我认为如果我承认假
冒了身份到这儿来，看起来会很可疑。如果我不是一个彻底的白痴，就应该想得到你们一
定会往约翰内斯堡拍份电报的。”
萨格登说：“好吧，法尔……呃……格兰特先生，我没说我不相信你的故事，我们很快
就能证实它是否属实。”
说完他向波洛投去探寻的眼光，后者说：“我想埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐有话要说。”
皮拉尔的脸色变得非常苍白，她上气不接下气地说：“真的。我本以为永远不会告诉你
们的，可为了莉迪亚和那些钱，我得说出来。来到这儿，假扮、欺骗和表演——这很有意
思，但当莉迪亚说那钱是我的，这么做才公平时，事情就不一样了，已经不再好玩了。”
阿尔弗雷德•李一脸迷惑不解。
“我没听明白，亲爱的，你在说些什么？”
皮拉尔说：“你们以为我是你们的外甥女皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯？但其实不是这样
的！皮拉尔死了，我和她一起在西班牙旅行的时候死的！当时飞来一颗炸弹，汽车着了
火，她当场就死了，而我毫发无损。我和她并不太熟，但她告诉了我所有有关她自己的
事，包括她有个外公，如何让她去英国，以及他如何有钱什么的。而我身无分文，不知道
该上哪儿去、该做什么。我突然想：我为什么不拿着皮拉尔的护照到英国去，变成一个非
常有钱的人啊？”她突然露出笑容，显得光彩照人，“噢，不知能不能顺利蒙混过关的想法
非常有意思！我们的照片并不像。刚才他们要看我护照的时候，我打开窗户把它扔了下
去，然后跑下去捡，捡的时候故意涂了一点儿灰在照片上。邻国间的旅行，海关的人不会
看得很仔细，而在这儿他们也许——”
阿尔弗雷德怒气冲冲地打断了皮拉尔的话：“你是说，你假扮成我父亲的外孙女，玩弄
了他对你的宠爱？”
皮拉尔点点头，得意地说：“对，我一眼就看出我可以让他很喜欢我。”
乔治•李勃然大怒。
“荒谬！”他咆哮道，“罪犯！企图借欺诈来骗钱！”
哈里•李说：“她没从你那儿拿到一个子儿，老兄！皮拉尔，我站在你这一边，我非常
钦佩你。而且，感谢上天，我不再是你的舅舅了！这样我就不用顾忌什么了。”
皮拉尔问波洛：“你知道了？你是什么时候知道的？”
波洛笑了：“小姐，如果你研究过孟德尔的遗传定律就会知道，两个蓝眼睛的人是生不
出一个棕色眼睛的孩子的。我敢肯定，你的母亲是一位正派可敬的女士。那么，结果必然
就是，你根本就不是皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯。当你在护照这件事上捣鬼的时候，我就十分
肯定了。那个想法挺机灵的，但还不够机灵，你明白吗？”
萨格登警司不高兴地说：“整件事都不够机灵。”
皮拉尔瞪着他，说：“我不明白……”
萨格登说：“你告诉了我们一些事——但我认为，还有更多的事你没说。”
斯蒂芬说：“你放过她吧！”
萨格登警司毫不理会。他接着说：“你说晚饭后你又上楼准备到外公的房间去，并说那
是出于一时的心血来潮。依我看，可能还有别的原因。是你偷了那些钻石，你拿了它们，
趁老头不注意的时候，从保险箱里偷走了它们！老头发现钻石失踪了之后，马上就想到有
两个人最有可能。一个是霍伯里，他也许知道密码，并趁夜溜进来偷走了钻石。另一个就
是你。
“接着，李先生马上采取了行动，他给我打了通电话，叫我过来见他。接着他带话给
你，让你晚饭后立即上楼来。你来了，他当面指责你拿了钻石，你否认，可他仍不肯放过
你。我不知道接下来到底发生了什么。也许他看出你并不是他的外孙女，而是一个非常聪
明的职业小偷。不管怎样，游戏结束了，罪行曝光的危险逼近你，你就用刀割开了他的喉
咙。当时发生了一些争斗，他尖叫出声，你必须马上摆脱困境。你匆匆溜出房间，但知道
无法在其他人到来之前跑掉，于是，你躲进了放着雕像的壁龛。”
皮拉尔尖声喊道：“这不是真的！这不是真的！我没有偷钻石！我没有杀他！我向圣母
马利亚发誓。”
萨格登严厉地问：“那会是谁干的呢？你说你看见一个人影站在李先生的门外。照你的
说法，那个人就应该是凶手。当时没别的人经过壁龛了！但另一方面，只有你说那儿有一
个人，换句话说，你编造出这么一个人，为了替自己开脱！”
乔治•李紧接着厉声道：“当然是她！一切都很清楚了！我一直在说是一个外人杀了父
亲！怀疑这件事是自己家里的人干的，这纯粹是胡说八道——这是不合常理的！”
波洛在椅子里动了动，说：“我不能同意你的说法。考虑到西米恩•李的性格，发生这
样的事是很正常的。”
“什么？”乔治的嘴张得大大的，盯着波洛。
波洛接着说：“而且，在我看来，事情的确是这样的。西米恩•李被他的亲生骨肉杀
了，出于一个很充分、很合理的理由。”
乔治叫道：“我们中的一个？我否认——”
波洛的声音如铁棍般插了进来。
“这是一桩每个人都有嫌疑的案子。乔治•李先生，我们先从你开始说吧。你一点儿都
不爱你的父亲！你和他保持良好关系只是为了钱。在他死的那天，他曾威胁说要削减你的
生活费，而你知道他死后你可能会继承到一笔数目可观的财产，这就是动机。照你说的，
晚饭后你去打电话了。你的确打了通电话，但通话时间只有几分钟，那之后你完全可以去
父亲的房间，和他聊了聊，然后和他打了起来并杀死了他。之后你离开房间，把门从外面
锁上，因为你希望警方认定这是入室抢劫。但你在慌乱中疏忽了一点，你忘了把窗户打
开，来支持抢劫的说法。这很蠢，不过请你原谅，我认为你本来就是一个很愚蠢的人！然
而……”
波洛稍微停顿了一下，这期间乔治企图开口反驳但没有成功。
波洛接着说道：“有很多愚蠢的人成了罪犯！”
说完波洛将目光转向玛格达莱尼。
“您的夫人，她也有动机。我认为，她欠着债，而你父亲的口气，以及说的一些话也许
引发了她的不安。她也没有不在场证明。她说当时她去打电话了，可她没有。而且，这些
只是她自己的说法，没人可以证明……
“然后，”他停了一下，“还有戴维•李先生。我们不止一次，而是多次听人说李家人的血
液里流淌着无法忘怀的复仇天性。戴维•李先生没有忘记父亲是如何对待母亲的，也无法原
谅父亲。父亲对死去的夫人的嘲笑也许是压坏他的最后一根稻草。谋杀案发生的时候，戴
维•李说他在弹钢琴，而他弹的曲子恰巧是《葬礼进行曲》。但如果假设是别的什么人在弹
《葬礼进行曲》呢？某个知道他要去干什么，并愿意为他作证的人。”
希尔达•李平静地说：“这种假设很无耻。”
波洛转向她：“我可以再说一种可能，夫人。是你亲手做了那件事，是你偷偷溜上楼
去，对一个你认为已超出人类宽恕限度的人执行了裁决。而夫人你，发起怒来一定很可
怕……”
希尔达说：“我没杀他。”
萨格登警司突然插话：“波洛先生说得很对。这起案子每个人都有嫌疑，除了阿尔弗雷
德•李先生、哈里•李先生和阿尔弗雷德•李夫人。”
波洛温和地说：“我可没说与这三个人无关……”
警司抗议说：“噢，得了吧，波洛先生！”
莉迪亚•李问：“那我有什么嫌疑呢，波洛先生？”
她说话的时候微微地笑着，眉毛嘲讽地挑起。
波洛低头致意，说：“夫人，你的动机我就不说了，因为太明显了。来说说其他的部
分，那天晚上你穿着一件花朵图案的塔夫绸礼服，配一件图案非常特别的斗篷。我先提醒
你一个事实，特雷西利安，那位管家，他是个近视眼，远处的物体在他看来是暗淡模糊
的。我还要指出，你家的客厅非常大，而且全是罩着大灯罩的灯。那天晚上，就在尖叫声
响起的一两分钟之前，特雷西利安走进客厅来收咖啡杯。他看见了你，他是这么觉得的。
你以惯常的姿势站在远处的窗边，身子半边被厚重的窗帘遮着。”
莉迪亚说：“他的确看见了我。”
波洛继续道：“我想说的可能是，特雷西利安看见的，其实只是你那件斗篷。它被安置
在窗帘边，看起来就像你站在那儿……”
莉迪亚说：“我确实站在那儿……”
阿尔弗雷德说：“你怎么敢这么说——”
哈里打断了他。
“让他说下去，阿尔弗雷德，下面就该轮到我们了。我倒要听听他怎么描述亲爱的阿尔
弗雷德杀死了他深爱的父亲，而且我们当时一起待在餐厅里？”
波洛冲他笑了一下。
他说：“这个，非常简单。仇人不情不愿地提供的不在场证明，反而可信得多。你们两
兄弟关系很不好，这是众所周知的。你公开鄙视他，他对你也没有一句好话！可是，如果
这些都是一个非常机智的计划的一部分呢？假设阿尔弗雷德•李厌倦了不停向严苛的霸主献
媚，假设你们之前早就见过面呢？你们的计划是这样的，你回到家来，阿尔弗雷德装作不
满你的归来，露骨地表现出对你的嫉妒和不满；你则不断地鄙视他。接着就到了谋杀的那
天晚上，你们早就把一切都设计好了。你们中的一个留在餐厅里，自说自话，也许还假装
大声地争吵，就像有两个人在那儿似的。另一个人则上楼去作案……”
阿尔弗雷德腾地一下跳了起来。
“你这个魔鬼！”声音已含混不清。
萨格登盯着波洛，问：“你说的这些都是真的吗……”
波洛再次开口时，语气中带着一种威信。
“我已经说明了所有的可能性！这些情况都有可能发生！至于实际上发生了什么，我们
必须通过表现看到其内在的真实……”
他顿了一下，然后慢条斯理地说：“正如我之前所说的，我们必须回到西米恩•李本人
的性格特征上来……”
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH VI
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH VI

There was a momentary pause. Strangely enough, all indignation and all rancour had died down.
Hercule Poirot held his audience under the spell of his personality. They watched him, fascinated,
as he began slowly to speak.
“It is all there, you see. The dead man is the focus and centre of the mystery! We must probe
deep into the heart and mind of Simeon Lee and see what we find there. For a man does not live
and die to himself alone. That which he has, he hands on—to those who come after him. . . .
“What had Simeon Lee to bequeath to his sons and daughter? Pride, to begin with—a pride
which, in the old man, was frustrated in his disappointment over his children. Then there was the
quality of patience. We have been told that Simeon Lee waited patiently for years in order to
revenge himself upon someone who had done him an injury. We see that that aspect of his
temperament was inherited by the son who resembled him least in face. David Lee also could
remember and continue to harbour resentment through long years. In face, Harry Lee was the only
one of his children who closely resembled him. That resemblance is quite striking when we
examine the portrait of Simeon Lee as a young man. There is the same high-bridged aquiline nose,
the long sharp line of the jaw, the backward poise of the head. I think, too, that Harry inherited
many of his father’s mannerisms — that habit, for instance, of throwing back his head and
laughing, and another habit of drawing his finger along the line of his jaw.
“Bearing all these things in mind, and being convinced that the murder was committed by a
person closely connected with the dead man, I studied the family from the psychological
standpoint. That is, I tried to decide which of them were psychologically possible criminals. And,
in my judgment, only two persons qualified in that respect. They were Alfred Lee and Hilda Lee,
David’s wife. David himself I rejected as a possible murderer. I do not think a person of his
delicate susceptibilities could have faced the actual bloodshed of a cut throat. George Lee and his
wife I likewise rejected. Whatever their desires, I did not think they had the temperament to take a
risk. They were both essentially cautious. Mrs. Alfred Lee I felt sure was quite incapable of an act
of violence. She has too much irony in her nature. About Harry Lee I hesitated. He had a certain
coarse truculence of aspect, but I was nearly sure that Harry Lee, in spite of his bluff and his
bluster, was essentially a weakling. That, I now know, was also his father’s opinion. Harry, he
said, was worth no more than the rest. That left me with two people I have already mentioned.
Alfred Lee was a person capable of a great deal of selfless devotion. He was a man who had
controlled and subordinated himself to the will of another for many years. It was always possible
under these conditions for something to snap. Moreover, he might quite possibly have harboured a
secret grudge against his father which might gradually have grown in force through never being
expressed in any way. It is the quietest and meekest people who are often capable of the most
sudden and unexpected violence for the reason that when their control does snap, it does so
entirely! The other person I considered was capable of the crime was Hilda Lee. She is the kind of
individual who is capable, on occasions, of taking the law into her own hands—though never
through selfish motives. Such people judge and also execute. Many Old Testament characters are
of this type. Jael and Judith, for example.
“And now having got so far I examined the circumstances of the crime itself. And the first
thing that arises—that strikes one in the face, as it were—is the extraordinary conditions under
which that crime took place! Take your minds back to that room where Simeon Lee lay dead. If
you remember, there was both a heavy table and a heavy chair overturned, a lamp, crockery,
glasses, etc. But the chair and the table were especially surprising. They were of solid mahogany.
It was hard to see how any struggle between that frail old man and his opponent could result in so
much solid furniture being overturned and knocked down. The whole thing seemed unreal. And
yet surely no one in their senses would stage such an effect if it had not really occurred—unless
possibly Simeon Lee had been killed by a powerful man and the idea was to suggest that the
assailant was a woman or somebody of weak physique.
“But such an idea was unconvincing in the extreme, since the noise of the furniture would
give the alarm and the murderer would thereby have very little time to make his exit. It would
surely be to anyone’s advantage to cut Simeon Lee’s throat as quietly as possible.
“Another extraordinary point was the turning of the key in the lock from the outside. Again,
there seemed no reason for such a proceeding. It could not suggest suicide, since nothing in the
death itself accorded with suicide. It was not to suggest escape through the windows—for those
windows were so arranged that escape that way was impossible! Moreover, once again, it involved
time. Time which must be precious to the murderer!
“There was one other incomprehensible thing—a piece of rubber cut from Simeon Lee’s
spongebag and a small wooden peg shown to me by Superintendent Sugden. These had been
picked up from the floor by one of the persons who first entered the room. There again—these
things did not make sense! They meant exactly nothing at all! Yet they had been there.
“The crime, you perceive, is becoming increasingly incomprehensible. It has no order, no
method—enfin, it is not reasonable.
“And now we come to a further difficulty. Superintendent Sugden was sent for by the dead
man; a robbery was reported to him, and he was asked to return an hour and a half later. Why? If it
is because Simeon Lee suspected his granddaughter or some other member of the family, why
does he not ask Superintendent Sugden to wait downstairs while he has his interview straight away
with the suspected party? With the superintendent actually in the house, his lever over the guilty
person would have been much stronger.
“So now we arrive at the point where not only the behaviour of the murderer is extraordinary,
but the behaviour of Simeon Lee also is extraordinary!
“And I say to myself: ‘This thing is all wrong!’ Why? Because we are looking at it from the
wrong angle. We are looking at it from the angle that the murderer wants us to look at it. . . .
“We have three things that do not make sense: the struggle, the turned key, and the snip of
rubber. But there must be some way of looking at those three things which would make sense!
And I empty my mind blank and forget the circumstances of the crime and take these things on
their own merits. I say—a struggle. What does that suggest? Violence—breakage—noise . . . The
key? Why does one turn a key? So that no one shall enter? But the key did not prevent that, since
the door was broken down almost immediately. To keep someone in? To keep someone out? A
snip of rubber? I say to myself: ‘A little piece of a spongebag is a little piece of a spongebag, and
that is all!’
“So you would say there is nothing there — and yet that is not strictly true, for three
impressions remain: noise—seclusion—blankness. . . .
“Do they fit with either of my two possibles? No, they do not. To both Alfred Lee and Hilda
Lee a quiet murder would have been infinitely preferable, to have wasted time in locking the door
from the outside is absurd, and the little piece of spongebag means yet once more—nothing at all!
“And yet I have very strongly the feeling that there is nothing absurd about this crime—that it
is on the contrary, very well planned and admirably executed. That is has, in fact, succeeded!
Therefore that everything that has happened was meant . . .
“And then, going over it again, I got my first glimmer of light. . . .
“Blood — so much blood — blood everywhere . . . An insistence on blood — fresh, wet,
gleaming blood . . . So much blood—too much blood . . .
“And a second thought comes with that. This is a crime of blood—it is in the blood. It is
Simeon Lee’s own blood that rises up against him. . . .”
Hercule Poirot leaned forward.
“The two most valuable clues in this case were uttered quite unconsciously by two different
people. The first was when Mrs. Alfred Lee quoted a line from Macbeth: ‘Who would have
thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’ The other was a phrase uttered by
Tressilian, the butler. He described how he felt dazed and things seemed to be happening that had
happened before. It was a very simple occurrence that gave him that strange feeling. He heard a
ring at the bell and went to open the door to Harry Lee, and the next day he did the same thing to
Stephen Farr.
“Now why did he have that feeling? Look at Harry Lee and Stephen Farr and you will see
why. They are astoundingly alike! That was why opening the door to Stephen Farr was just like
opening the door to Harry Lee. It might almost have been the same man standing there. And then,
only today, Tressilian mentioned that he was always getting muddled between people. No wonder!
Stephen Farr has a high-bridged nose, a habit of throwing his head back when he laughs, and a
trick of stroking his jaw with his forefinger. Look long and earnestly at the portrait of Simeon Lee
as a young man and you see not only Harry Lee, but Stephen Farr. . . .”
Stephen moved. His chair creaked. Poirot said:
“Remember that outburst of Simeon Lee, his tirade against his family. He said, you
remember it, that he would swear he had better sons born the wrong side of the blanket. We are
back again at the character of Simeon Lee. Simeon Lee, who was successful with women and who
broke his wife’s heart! Simeon Lee, who boasted to Pilar that he might have a bodyguard of sons
almost the same age! So I came to this conclusion: Simeon Lee had not only his legitimate family
in the house, but an unacknowledged and unrecognized son of his own blood.”
Stephen got to his feet. Poirot said:
“That was your real reason, wasn’t it? Not that pretty romance of the girl you met in the train!
You were coming here before you met her. Coming to see what kind of a man your father was.
. . .”
Stephen had gone dead white. He said, and his voice was broken and husky:
“Yes, I’ve always wondered . . . Mother spoke about him sometimes. It grew into a kind of
obsession with me—to see what he was like! I made a bit of money and I came to England. I
wasn’t going to let him know who I was. I pretended to be old Eb’s son. I came here for one
reason only—to see the man who was my father. . . .”
Superintendent Sugden said in almost a whisper:
“Lord, I’ve been blind . . . I can see it now. Twice I’ve taken you for Mr. Harry Lee and then
seen my mistake, and yet I never guessed!”
He turned on Pilar.
“That was it, wasn’t it? It was Stephen Farr you saw standing outside that door? You
hesitated, I remember, and looked at him before you said it was a woman. It was Farr you saw,
and you weren’t going to give him away.”
There was a gentle rustle. Hilda Lee’s deep voice spoke:
“No,” she said. “You’re wrong. It was I whom Pilar saw. . . .”
Poirot said:
“You, madame? Yes, I thought so. . . .”
Hilda said quietly:
“Self-preservation is a curious thing. I wouldn’t believe I could be such a coward. To keep
silence just because I was afraid!”
Poirot said:
“You will tell us now?”
She nodded.
“I was with David in the music room. He was playing. He was in a very queer mood. I was a
little frightened and I felt my responsibility very keenly because it was I who had insisted on
coming here. David began to play the ‘Dead March,’ and suddenly I made up my mind. However
odd it might seem, I determined that we would both leave at once—that night. I went quietly out
of the music room and upstairs. I meant to go to old Mr. Lee and tell him quite plainly why we
were going. I went along the corridor to his room and knocked on the door. There was no answer.
I knocked again a little louder. There was still no answer. Then I tried the door handle. The door
was locked. And then, as I stood hesitating, I heard a sound inside the room—”
She stopped.
“You won’t believe me, but it’s true! Someone was in there—assaulting Mr. Lee. I heard
tables and chairs overturned and the crash of glass and china, and then I heard that one last
horrible cry that died away to nothing—and then silence.
“I stood there paralysed! I couldn’t move! And then Mr. Farr came running along and
Magdalene and all the others and Mr. Farr and Harry began to batter on the door. It went down
and we saw the room, and there was no one in it—except Mr. Lee lying dead in all that blood.”
Her quiet voice rose higher. She cried:
“There was no one else there—no one, you understand! And no one had come out of the
room. . . .”
第六部分 十二月二十七日 6
第六部分 十二月二十七日
6
随后是片刻的沉默。很奇怪，此时所有的愤怒和怨恨都平息了下来。赫尔克里•波洛凭
借他的人格魅力控制了在场的听众。当他再次开口，慢吞吞地说话时，其他人都陶醉地看
着他。
“我们要明白，一切的根源都在这儿，死者才是这起神秘事件的焦点和中心！我们必须
深入探究西米恩•李的心灵和思想，看看我们能找到些什么。对一个有家有室的人来说，他
身上的东西必然传给了后代……
“那么西米恩•李留遗传给儿子和女儿了些什么呢？首先，是骄傲。但老人的这种骄傲
因为对孩子们的失望而有所挫伤。接下来是耐心的品质。我们已经从多处了解到，西米恩•
李可以为了报复一个坑过他的人而耐心地等待好几年。我们看到，继承他这一点的，正是
从外表上看最不像他的那个儿子。戴维•李可以把一件事或一份怨恨藏在心里很多年。从长
相上看，哈里•李是最像父亲的，特别是当我们仔细观察西米恩•李年轻时候的画像时，二者
的相像就更加显著了！他们都有着高挺的鹰钩鼻，轮廓分明的长下巴，喜欢摆出头向后仰
的姿势。我想，哈里也从父亲那儿继承了举止上的特殊习惯——比如说喜欢仰头大笑，还
有用手指抚摸下巴。
“我将这些因素综合在一起，确信犯下这起谋杀案的凶手与死者关系密切，于是便开始
从心理学角度研究整个家庭。换句话说，我试图找出他们中的哪一个从心理学角度上有可
能犯罪。而据我的判断，只有两个人符合这方面的要求。他们是阿尔弗雷德•李和希尔达•李
——戴维的妻子。而戴维本人，我不认为他会是一个凶手，我不认为像他那么脆弱敏感的
人能做出割喉这么血腥的事。乔治•李和他的妻子同样被我排除在外，不管他们多想这么
做，我认为他们都不会去冒这个险。他们在本质上都是十分小心的人。阿尔弗雷德•李夫
人，我很肯定她无法做出任何暴力行为，她的个性太坚定了。对哈里•李，我有点犹豫。他
确实有些粗俗野蛮，可我几乎可以肯定，与他所表现出的虚张声势和怒气冲冲相反，哈里•
李本质上是个很懦弱的人，而现在我知道，这也是他父亲对他的看法。他曾说哈里并不比
其他人更有价值。这样就只剩下刚才我所提到的那两个人了！阿尔弗雷德•李是一个可以无
私地做出巨大奉献的人，多年来他一直遵照另一个人的意愿活着，无条件地服从他，任凭
他支配。在这种情况下，这一关系很可能会突然崩塌。此外，他很可能对父亲心怀怨恨，
这种怨恨越积越深，只是从未以任何方式表现出来。最安静、最顺从的人，一旦自制力出
现裂缝，便会彻底垮掉，从而做出最突然、最意外的暴力行为！另一个我认为能胜任这次
犯罪的人是希尔达•李。她是那种必要时会用自己的手来执行法律裁决的人——虽然不会出
于自私的动机。这种人会自己做出裁决，还会去执行。《旧约•圣经》里的很多人物都是这
种类型的，比如说，雅亿（注：Jael，希伯来人，作为外邦妇女，杀死了攻打以色列的统帅
西西拉。）和朱迪斯（注：Judith，一名以色列寡妇，在亚述军队攻入她所在的国家时，她
带着女仆主动色诱敌军统帅，最终趁统帅熟睡时将其杀死。）。
“进行到这里，我开始回想案子本身的情况。第一个生出的疑点——可谓马上浮现出来
的，是情况非同一般的案发现场！你们都回忆一下西米恩•李陈尸的那个房间。如果你们还
能记得的话，那儿有一张沉重的桌子和一把沉重的椅子，都翻倒了，还有一盏灯、瓷器、
玻璃杯等。桌子和椅子尤其令人惊讶，它们都是实心桃花心木的，很难想象那个虚弱的老
人与袭击者之间究竟发生了怎样的搏斗，居然能把如此坚固沉重的家具碰翻、撞倒，整件
事看起来很不真实。然而，任何一个心智健全的人都不会故意制造出这样的场面——除非
西米恩•李是被一个强壮的男人杀死了，这么做是为了让人以为攻击者是个女人，或一个瘦
弱的男人。
“但这么想也完全没有说服力。因为家具倒地发出的声响会让其他人警觉，使得杀人凶
手几乎来不及离开现场。尽可能无声无息地割开西米恩•李的喉咙，对任何人来说都是最有
利的。
“另一个非同寻常之处是，从门外转动钥匙，让门反锁。这么做同样没有道理。这么做
也不可能让人以为是自杀，这起案件中没有一丁点因素能扯到自杀上。也不可能让人以为
凶手是从窗户逃跑的——因为窗户都关着，根本不可能从那儿出去！还有，再次涉及时间
问题。时间，对杀人凶手来说必定是非常宝贵的。
“还有一件让人无法理解的事情——从西米恩•李的防水盥洗袋上剪下来了一块小橡
胶，还有一小块木头桩子，是萨格登警司拿给我看的。这些东西是第一批进入房间中的某
个人从地板上捡起来的——而这些东西，也没有任何意义！它们可以说什么都不是！但它
们就在那儿。
“我们发觉，这起案子变得越来越难以理解。它没有条理、没有秩序——总而言之，它
不合乎情理。
“而我们还有一个更大的难题：死者叫来了萨格登警司，向他报告了一起盗窃案，并要
求他一个半小时以后再过来一趟。为什么呢？如果西米恩•李在怀疑他的外孙女或别的家庭
成员，在他和那个被怀疑的人面对面把这件事说出来的时候，为什么不让萨格登警司在楼
下等着呢？有警司在家里，还可以给嫌疑人施加更大的压力。
“到这里我们发现，不仅凶手的行为非同寻常，西米恩•李本人的行为也非同寻常！
“于是我对自己说：‘这件事全错了！’为什么？因为我们在从一个错误的角度看它，从
一个杀人凶手所希望的角度……
“我们有三件事解释不清：搏斗、转动钥匙，以及一小片剪下来的橡胶。但肯定有一种
方式能解释这三件事情！于是我清空大脑，让其成为一片空白，忘掉案情，从这些东西的
本身来考虑。我想——搏斗，那代表着什么？暴力——毁坏——嘈杂的声音……那么钥匙
呢？为什么要转动钥匙？防止有人进去？可并没阻止得了谁，因为门几乎马上就被砸开
了。不让某人出来？不让某人进去？一小片剪下来的橡皮呢？我对自己说：‘防水盥洗袋就
是防水盥洗袋，没别的了！’
“你们肯定会说还是毫无进展——但并非如此，我留下了三个印象：嘈杂——隔离——
无意义……
“这和我之前认为有可能的两个人之中的任何一个相吻合吗？不，不吻合。对阿尔弗雷
德和希尔达两人来说，当然绝对地倾向于悄无声息地谋杀，而把时间浪费在从外面锁门上
简直荒谬，至于那一小片橡胶，依旧——毫无意义！
“但我有一种强烈的感觉，这起案子一点也不荒谬——正相反，它计划周密，实施得精
准。而事实上，它成功了！因此，发生的每一件事都是有意义的……
“接着，在我又把整件事重新思考了一遍时，看到了第一道启示之光……
“血——那么多的血——到处都是血……对血的强调——新鲜的、湿润的、鲜艳夺目的
血……那么多的血——太多血……
“而第二个想法也随之而来！这是一起血案——凶手就在有血缘关系的这群人当中。正
是西米恩•李自己的血脉背叛了他……”
赫尔克里•波洛俯身向前。
“在这起案子中，两条最有价值的线索却是分别由两个人在无意中说出来的。第一个是
阿尔弗雷德•李夫人引用了《麦克白》里的一句台词：‘可是谁想得到这老头儿会有这么多
血？’另一个来自特雷西利安，那个老管家说的一句话。他说自己近来迷迷糊糊的，总觉得
有些事之前也发生过。是一件微不足道的小事让他产生了这种奇怪的感觉。他听见门铃响
了，就去给哈里•李开了门。而第二天他又做了同样的事情，这次门外站着斯蒂芬•法尔。
“他为什么会有这种感觉呢？看看哈里•李和斯蒂芬•法尔，你们就会明白为什么了。他
们的长相惊人地相像！这就是为什么给斯蒂芬•法尔开门，感觉就像是给哈里•李开门一样。
看起来差不多是同一个人站在门外。而接下来，就在今天，特雷西利安提到他总是把人弄
混。这不奇怪！斯蒂芬•法尔也有高高的鼻子，笑的时候习惯头往后仰，还有那个用食指抚
摸下巴的小动作。如果你久久地审视西米恩•李年轻时的画像，就会发现不仅有哈里•李的影
子，还有斯蒂芬•法尔……”
斯蒂芬动了动，弄得椅子吱嘎作响。
波洛说：“还记得西米恩•李那次大发作，对家里人发表的那通激烈的演说吗？你们肯
定记得，他说，他敢说还有更好的亲生儿子，只是生错了地方。我们再回到西米恩•李的性
格特征上来。西米恩•李在女人的事情上很有一手，并让妻子为此心碎！西米恩•李曾向皮拉
尔吹嘘，他很可能有一个由几乎同样年纪的儿子组成的护卫队！所以，我得出了一个结
论：西米恩•李不仅有这幢房子里的、合法婚姻内所生的儿子，还有他所不知道的、且未被
承认的亲生儿子。”
斯蒂芬站了起来。
波洛说：“这才是你来这儿的真正原因，不是吗？并不是你在火车上遇见了一个女孩这
种美丽的罗曼史！在遇见她之前你就决定到这儿来了，你想来看看父亲是个什么样的
人……”
斯蒂芬的脸色变得惨白。他开口了，声音沙哑。
“是的，我一直想弄清楚……母亲有时会说起他。这个念头已渐渐占据了我的心，想去
看看他是个什么样的人！我攒了一点儿钱，来到了英格兰。我不打算让他知道我是谁，便
假装是老埃比尼泽的儿子。我到这儿来只有一个原因，来看看我父亲到底是什么样子……”
萨格登警司悄声说：“天哪，我一直瞎了眼……现在我明白了，我两次把你误认为成哈
里•李先生，却从没往这方面想过！”
警司又转向皮拉尔，问：“实情是这样的，对吗？你看见站在门外的那个人，其实是斯
蒂芬•法尔。我记得你在说是个女人之前犹豫了一下，还看了看他。你当时看见的是法尔，
只是不愿意把他说出来。”
这时响起一阵轻柔的沙沙声，接着希尔达•李低沉的声音响了起来。
“不，”她说，“你错了，皮拉尔看见的是我……”
波洛说：“你，夫人？不过我也是这么想的……”
希尔达平静地说：“自我保护真是一件奇怪的事。我都不愿相信我会是这样一个胆小
鬼，只是因为害怕就保持沉默！”
波洛说：“现在你愿意告诉我们吗？”
她点点头。
“我原本和戴维一起待在音乐室里。他在弹琴，情绪异常。我有点儿害怕，而且我强烈
地意识到这一切全怪我，因为是我坚持要回来的。戴维开始弹《葬礼进行曲》，突然间，
我就下了决心，不管这看起来有多怪，我已决定我们两个人必须马上离开——就在当天晚
上。于是我悄悄地走出音乐室，走上楼去，我想去见李先生，坦率地告诉他我们为什么要
走。我经过走廊，来到他的房门前。我敲了敲门，没有回答，我又使劲儿敲了敲，还是没
有回答。我试着转了一下门把手，门锁着。就在这时，我正站在门外犹豫的时候，我听见
屋里传来一个声音……”
她顿了一下。
“你们不会相信的，但那是真的！有人在屋里——正在攻击李先生。我听见桌椅翻倒，
玻璃和瓷器打碎的声音，我听件最后那声可怕的尖叫渐渐消失——然后就是一片寂静。
“我傻傻地僵立在那儿！我动不了了！而这时法尔先生从走廊那边跑过来，玛格达莱尼
和其他人也都来了，然后法尔先生和哈里开始撞门。门被撞倒了，我们看见了房间里面的
情形，而里面一个人都没有——除了倒在血泊里、已经死了的李先生。”
她平静的声音提高了一点儿，叫道：“屋里没有别的人了——一个也没有，你们明白
吗？可是没人从房间里出来过……”
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH VII
PART SIX DECEMBER 27TH VII

Superintendent Sugden drew a deep breath. He said:
“Either I’m going mad or everybody else is! What you’ve said, Mrs. Lee, is just plumb
impossible. It’s crazy!”
Hilda Lee cried:
“I tell you I heard them fighting in there, and I heard the old man scream when his throat was
cut—and no one came out and no one was in the room!”
Hercule Poirot said:
“And all this time you have said nothing.”
Hilda Lee’s face was white, but she said steadily:
“No, because if I told you what had happened, there’s only one thing you could say or think
—that it was I who killed him. . . .”
Poirot shook his head.
“No,” he said. “You did not kill him. His son killed him.”
Stephen Farr said:
“I swear before God I never touched him!”
“Not you,” said Poirot. “He had other sons!”
Harry said:
“What the hell—”
George stared. David drew his hand across his eyes. Alfred blinked twice.
Poirot said:
“The very first night I was here—the night of the murder—I saw a ghost. It was the ghost of
the dead man. When I first saw Harry Lee I was puzzled. I felt I had seen him before. Then I noted
his features carefully and I realized how like his father he was, and I told myself that that was what
caused the feeling of familiarity.
“But yesterday a man sitting opposite me threw back his head and laughed—and I knew who
it was Harry Lee reminded me of. And I traced again, in another face, the features of the dead
man.
“No wonder poor old Tressilian felt confused when he had answered the door not to two, but
to three men who resembled each other closely. No wonder he confessed to getting muddled about
people when there were three men in the house who, at a little distance, could pass for each other!
The same build, the same gestures (one in particular, a trick of stroking the jaw), the same habit of
laughing with the head thrown back, the same distinctive high-bridged nose. Yet the similarity was
not always easy to see—for the third man had a moustache.”
He leaned forward.
“One forgets sometimes that police officers are men, that they have wives and children,
mothers”—he paused—“and fathers . . . Remember Simeon Lee’s local reputation: a man who
broke his wife’s heart because of his affairs with women. A son born the wrong side of the blanket
may inherit many things. He may inherit his father’s features and even his gestures. He may
inherit his pride and his patience and his revengeful spirit!”
His voice rose.
“All your life, Sugden, you’ve resented the wrong your father did you. I think you
determined long ago to kill him. You come from the next county, not very far away. Doubtless
your mother, with the money Simeon Lee so generously gave her, was able to find a husband who
would stand father to her child. Easy for you to enter the Middleshire Police Force and wait your
opportunity. A police superintendent has a grand opportunity of committing a murder and getting
away with it.”
Sugden’s face had gone white as paper.
He said:
“You’re mad! I was outside the house when he was killed.”
Poirot shook his head.
“No, you killed him before you left the house the first time. No one saw him alive after you
left. It was all so easy for you. Simeon Lee expected you, yes, but he never sent for you. It was you
who rang him up and spoke vaguely about an attempt at robbery. You said you would call upon
him just before eight that night and would pretend to be collecting for a police charity. Simeon Lee
had no suspicions. He did not know you were his son. You came and told him a tale of substituted
diamonds. He opened the safe to show you that the real diamonds were safe in his possession. You
apologized, came back to the hearth with him and, catching him unawares, you cut his throat,
holding your hand over his mouth so that he shouldn’t cry out. Child’s play to a man of your
powerful physique.
“Then you set the scene. You took the diamonds. You piled up tables and chairs, lamps and
glasses, and twined a very thin rope or cord which you had brought in coiled round your body, in
and out between them. You had with you a bottle of some freshly killed animal’s blood to which
you had added a quantity of sodium citrate. You sprinkled this about freely and added more
sodium citrate to the pool of blood which flowed from Simeon Lee’s wound. You made up up the
fire so that the body should keep its warmth. Then you passed the two ends of the cord out through
the narrow slit at the bottom of the window and let them hang down the wall. You left the room
and turned the key from the outside. That was vital, since no one must, by any chance, enter that
room.
“Then you went out and hid the diamonds in the stone sink garden. If, sooner or later, they
were discovered there, they would only focus suspicion more strongly where you wanted it: on the
members of Simeon Lee’s legitimate family. A little before nine fifteen you returned and, going up
to the wall underneath the window, you pulled on the cord. That dislodged the carefully piled-up
structure you had arranged. Furniture and china fell with a crash. You pulled on one end of the
cord and rewound it round your body under your coat and waistcoat.
“You had one further device!”
He turned to the others.
“Do you remember, all of you, how each of you described the dying scream of Mr. Lee in a
different way? You, Mr. Lee, described it as the cry of a man in mortal agony. Your wife and
David Lee both used the expression: a soul in hell. Mrs. David Lee, on the contrary, said it was the
cry of someone who had no soul. She said it was inhuman, like a beast. It was Harry Lee who
came nearest to the truth. He said it sounded like killing a pig.
“Do you know those long pink bladders that are sold at fairs with faces painted on them
called ‘Dying Pigs?’ As the air rushes out they give forth an inhuman wail. That, Sugden, was
your final touch. You arranged one of those in the room. The mouth of it was stopped up with a
peg, but that peg was connected to the cord. When you pulled on the cord the peg came out and
the pig began to deflate. On top of the falling furniture came the scream of the ‘Dying Pig.’ ”
He turned once more to the others.
“You see now what it was that Pilar Estravados picked up? The superintendent had hoped to
get there in time to retrieve that little wisp of rubber before anyone noticed it. However, he took it
from Pilar quickly enough in his most official manner. But remember he never mentioned that
incident to anyone. In itself, that was a singularly suspicious fact. I heard of it from Magdalene
Lee and tackled him about it. He was prepared for that eventuality. He had snipped a piece from
Mr. Lee’s rubber spongebag and produced that, together with a wooden peg. Superficially it
answered to the same description—a fragment of rubber and a piece of wood. It meant, as I
realized at the time, absolutely nothing! But, fool that I was, I did not at once say; ‘This means
nothing, so it cannot have been there, and Superintendent Sugden is lying . . .’ No, I foolishly
went on trying to find an explanation for it. It was not until Mademoiselle Estravados was playing
with a balloon that burst, and she cried out that it must have been a burst balloon she picked up in
Simeon Lee’s room, that I saw the truth.
“You see now how everything fits in? The improbable struggle, which is necessary to
establish a false time of death; the locked door—so that nobody shall find the body too soon; the
dying man’s scream. The crime is now logical and reasonable.
“But from the moment that Pilar Estravados cried aloud her discovery about the balloon, she
was a source of danger to the murderer. And if that remark had been heard by him from the house
(which it well might, for her voice was high and clear and the windows were open), she herself
was in considerable danger. Already she had given the murderer one very nasty moment. She had
said, speaking of old Mr. Lee, ‘He must have been very good-looking when he was young.’ And
had added, speaking directly to Sugden: ‘Like you.’ She meant that literally, and Sugden knew it.
No wonder Sugden went purple in the face and nearly choked. It was so unexpected and so deadly
dangerous. He hoped, after that, to fix the guilt on her, but it proved unexpectedly difficult, since,
as the old man’s portionless granddaughter, she had obviously no motive for the crime. Later,
when he overheard from the house her clear, high voice calling out its remark about the balloon,
he decided on desperate measures. He set that booby trap when we were at lunch. Luckily, almost
by a miracle, it failed. . . .”
There was dead silence. Then Sugden said quietly:
“When were you sure?”
Poirot said:
“I was not quite sure till I brought home a false moustache and tried it on Simeon Lee’s
picture. Then—the face that looked at me was yours.”
Sugden said:
“God rot his soul in hell! I’m glad I did it!”

第六部分十二月二十七日 7
第六部分十二月二十七日
7
萨格登警司深吸了一口气。他说：“要么是我快疯了，要么就是大家都快疯了！你说的
那些，李夫人，根本不可能。太疯狂了！”
希尔达•李叫道：“我真的听见他们在屋里搏斗，我还听见老人的喉咙被割开时的那声
尖叫。但是没人出来，也没人在房间里！”
赫尔克里•波洛说：“可过了这么久了，你什么都没说。”
希尔达•李的脸白了，但她依旧镇定地说：“是的，因为如果我告诉你们发生了什么，
你们只会想到一件事，是我杀了他……”
波洛摇摇头。
“不，”他说，“你没杀他，是他的儿子杀了他。”
斯蒂芬•法尔说：“我在上帝面前发誓我从没碰过他！”
“不是你，”波洛说，“他还有别的儿子！”
哈里说：“这到底——”
乔治瞪大了眼睛；戴维用手蒙住眼睛；阿尔弗雷德眨了两下眼。
波洛说：“我到这儿的第一个晚上，也就是发生谋杀的那天晚上，看见了一个幽灵，是
死者的幽灵。当我第一眼看见哈里•李的时候，我愣住了，我觉得以前见过他。后来我仔细
观察他的相貌，才意识到他是多么像他父亲，而我告诉自己这就是产生那种相似感觉的原
因。
“昨天，另一个男人坐在我对面仰着头笑了起来。这时我才意识到哈里•李让我想起了
谁。我又因此追溯到另一张脸，死者的相貌。
“难怪可怜的老特雷西利安会被搞糊涂，在他接连给三个而不是两个长得非常相像的男
人开门的时候。难怪他会承认总是把人搞混，当这幢房子里的三个男人稍微离远一点看就
像同一个人！一样的体型，一样的姿势，尤其是那个摸下巴的小动作，一样的仰头大笑的
习惯，一样引人注目的高挺鼻子。可这相似之处也不是那么容易看出来——因为第三个人
有胡子。”
他向前探出身子。
“人们有时会忘记警察也是男人，他们有妻子、孩子、母亲，”他停顿了一下，“和父
亲……还记得西米恩•李在本地的名声吗？因为与女人们的私情而使妻子心碎。私生子也会
继承他的很多东西。他会继承他父亲的相貌，甚至习惯动作，他会继承他的骄傲、耐心和
复仇精神！”
他的声音提高了。
“你这一生，萨格登，一直因父亲犯下的错而心怀怨恨。我认为你很久以前就决定杀他
了。你是从邻郡来的，离得并不远。可以想象，有西米恩•李给的钱，你母亲很容易就为你
找了个父亲。进米德什尔警察局对你来说会更容易复仇。作为警察，有非常多的机会犯
罪，并能逃脱罪行。”
萨格登的脸变得像纸一样惨白。
他说：“你疯了！他被杀的时候我在房子外面。”
波洛摇摇头。
“不，你在第一次离开之前就杀了他。在你离开之后没人见过他活着。这对你来说很容
易。西米恩•李确实在等你来，但他并没叫你来，是你给他打了通电话，含糊不清地提到一
起盗窃未遂案，并说你会在那天晚上八点之前去拜访他，而且会假装成是来为警方募集捐
款的。西米恩•李丝毫没有怀疑，他不知道你是他儿子。你来了，编造了一个假钻石的事。
于是他打开保险箱，让你看真钻石还安全地躺在里面。你道了歉，和他一起回到壁炉边，
趁他不备突然抓住了他。你用手捂住他的嘴，割断了他的喉咙，这样他就叫不出声来了。
强壮如你，做这些就像小孩玩游戏一般简单。
“接下来你开始布置现场。你拿走钻石，把桌椅、灯和玻璃杯堆了起来，用你随身带来
的一根很细的绳子或线，从它们之间穿来穿去地绕起来。你带了一瓶新鲜的动物血，在里
面加了些柠檬酸钠，随意地把血洒得到处都是，又在从西米恩•李的伤口里流出来的一摊血
里加了些柠檬酸钠。你还把火生旺，使尸体保持温暖。接着你把线的两头从窗户下边的狭
窄缝隙中伸出去，让它们垂到墙外。你离开了房间，从外面把门锁上。这一点很重要，因
为不管发生什么，不能有任何人进到那个房间里去。
“接着你走出去，把钻石藏在花园里的石槽里。它们早晚都会被发现，但那样只会使怀
疑的焦点进一步集中到你所希望的地方：西米恩•李合法家庭的孩子们身上。差不多九点一
刻时你又来了，走到窗户下方的墙边拉动了那两根线。这就触动了你精心堆起的那堆东
西，家具和瓷器哗啦一声全部倒了下来。你拉着线的一头把线全部拽了出来，重新绕在自
己的身上，藏在外套和马甲下面。
“接下来，你还有更深远的计划！”
波洛转向其他人。
“你们还记得每个人是怎么描述那声垂死的尖叫声的吗？你，李先生，说像是一个在致
命的痛苦降临在即将死去的人身上才有的惨叫。你妻子和戴维•李用了同一种形容：像是地
狱里的灵魂。而戴维•李夫人正好相反，说它像是一个没有灵魂的人发出的叫声，她说那不
像人类发出的，像一头野兽。哈里•李说的最接近真相，他说听起来像杀猪一样。
“你们知道集市上卖的那种长长的、上面画着人脸的粉色气球叫什么吗？叫‘垂死的
猪’。当里面的空气喷出来时，它们会发出野兽似的哭号。这个，萨格登，就是你最后的一
招。你把一个气球放在房间里，口用一个小木桩堵住，但这个小木桩也拴在细绳上。你拉
动细绳，木桩跑了出来，那头‘猪’便开始放气。气球就连在家具堆的最上面，家具倒塌，
便响起‘垂死的猪’的尖叫。”
他再次转向其他人。
“现在你们知道皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯在现场捡起来的是什么了吧？警司原本希望能
在有人注意到它们之前及时把那一小束橡胶回收。不过他还是借调查的名义尽快地把它从
皮拉尔那儿要了过来。可要知道，他没对任何人提起这件事。这本身就很奇怪了，而且很
可疑。我是从玛格达莱尼那儿听说这件事的，问到他的时候，他早已对这种情况做好了准
备。他事先从李先生的防水盥洗袋上剪下一小片，和一小块木楔子一起拿了出来。表面上
看它们很符合描述——一小块橡胶和一小块木头。但就像我那时所想到的，它们什么都不
是！可我太傻了，没有马上想到既然它们什么都不是，就不可能出现在那儿，因此萨格登
警司在撒谎……不，我愚蠢地继续为它们寻找一个解释。直到埃斯特拉瓦多斯小姐在玩气
球的时候气球爆了，而她叫了起来，说她在西米恩•李的房间里捡到的一定是个爆了的气
球，这时候我才发现了真相。
“你们明白这一切是怎么回事了吧？不真实的搏斗，是为了制造错误的死亡时间；上锁
的门，是为了防止有人太早发现尸体；还有死者的尖叫。现在这起案子很有逻辑且合情合
理了。
“但皮拉尔•埃斯特拉瓦多斯大声喊出了她关于气球的发现，这时，她就对凶手构成了
威胁。而如果她喊出的话被房子里的他听见了——这是很有可能的，因为她的声音又尖又
清晰，而且当时窗户都开着——她本人就处于极度的危险之中了。她已经让凶手尴尬一次
了。在说到老李先生的时候，她曾说：‘他年轻的时候一定很好看。’然后又加了一句，她
对着萨格登说：‘像你一样。’她说这话没什么深意，萨格登知道，这也难怪他一下子脸都
紫了，几乎说不出话来。意外来得太突然，且非常危险。自那之后，他一直想把罪名强加
给她，可事实证明这比他料想的要困难得多。因为，作为没能得到遗产的外孙女，她显然
没有犯罪动机。后来，当他在房子里无意中听见她那尖利清晰的关于气球的发现时，绝望
的他决定铤而走险。我们吃午饭的时候他设下了那个陷阱，但很幸运，简直可以说是奇
迹，计划失败了……”
一片死一样的寂静之后，萨格登平静地问：“你是什么时候确定的？”
波洛说：“我一直不太有把握，直到我买回一副假胡子，我把它放在西米恩•李的画像
上试了一下，这时——我发现看着我的那张脸是你。”
萨格登说：“上帝让他的灵魂在地狱里腐烂吧！我很高兴我做了这件事！”
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH
Lydia Lee said:
“Pilar, I think you had better stay with us until we can arrange something definite for you.”
Pilar said meekly:
“You are very good, Lydia. You are nice. You forgive people quite easily without making a
fuss about it.”
Lydia said, smiling:
“I still call you Pilar, though I suppose your name is something else.”
“Yes, I am really Conchita Lopez.”
“Conchita is a pretty name too.”
“You are really almost too nice, Lydia. But you don’t need to be bothered by me. I am going
to marry Stephen, and we are going to South Africa.”
Lydia said, smiling:
“Well, that rounds off things very nicely.”
Pilar said timidly:
“Since you have been so kind, do you think, Lydia, that one day we might come back and
stay with you—perhaps for Christmas—and then we could have the crackers and the burning
raisins and those shiny things on a tree and the little snowmen?”
“Certainly, you shall come and have a real English Christmas.”
“That will be lovely. You see, Lydia, I feel that this year it was not a nice Christmas at all.”
Lydia caught her breath. She said:
“No, it was not a nice Christmas. . . .”
第七部分 十二月二十八日 1

第七部分 十二月二十八日
1
莉迪亚•李说：“皮拉尔，我认为你最好还是先和我们待在一起，让我们把你以后的生
活安排好。”
皮拉尔谦恭地说：“你太好了，莉迪亚，你是个好人，这么容易就原谅了别人，而不会
为此小题大做。”
莉迪亚笑着说：“我还是叫你皮拉尔，虽然我想你并不叫这个名字。”
“是的，其实我叫贡奇塔•洛佩兹。”
“贡奇塔也是个好名字。”
“你真的是太好了，莉迪亚。但你不用为我操心了，我就要嫁给斯蒂芬了，我们要到南
非去。”
莉迪亚笑着说：“啊，这个结局非常完美。”
皮拉尔怯生生地问：“既然你一直这么好，莉迪亚，你觉得，我们能不能回来和你一起
——也许过个圣诞节，到时候我们就可以吃饼干、烤葡萄干，在树上挂满那些闪光的东西
和小雪人了？”
“当然，你可以来过一个真正的英式圣诞节。”
“那就太好了！你瞧，莉迪亚，我觉得今年的圣诞节一点儿都不美妙。”
莉迪亚屏住呼吸，说：“是啊，这不是一个美妙的圣诞节……”
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH II
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH II
Harry said:
“Well, goodbye, Alfred. Don’t suppose you’ll be troubled by seeing much of me. I’m off to
Hawaii. Always meant to live there if I had a bit of money.”
Alfred said:
“Goodbye, Harry. I expect you’ll enjoy yourself. I hope so.”
Harry said rather awkwardly:
“Sorry I riled you so much, old man. Rotten sense of humour I’ve got. Can’t help trying to
pull a fellow’s leg.”
Alfred said with an effort:
“Suppose I must learn to take a joke.”
Harry said with relief:
“Well—so-long.”
第七部分 十二月二十八日 2
第七部分 十二月二十八日
2
哈里说：“再见了，阿尔弗雷德。你不用再为见到我而苦恼了，我要到夏威夷去生活
了，我一直幻想某天有了点儿钱，我就去那儿住下。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“再见了，哈里。希望你能过得开心，我希望这样。”
哈里颇为尴尬地说：“对不起，我总是惹你生气，老兄。我的幽默感真是令人生厌，总
忍不住想拿人开玩笑。”
阿尔弗雷德勉强地说：“我想我该学着经得起玩笑。”
哈里松了一口气，说：“好啦，再——见。”
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH III
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH III
Alfred said:
“David, Lydia and I have decided to sell up this place. I thought perhaps you’d like some of
the things that were our mother’s—her chair and that footstool. You were always her favourite.”
David hesitated a minute. Then he said slowly:
“Thanks for the thought, Alfred, but do you know, I don’t think I will. I don’t want anything
out of the house. I feel it’s better to break with the past altogether.”
Alfred said:
“Yes, I understand. Maybe you’re right.”
第七部分 十二月二十八日 3
第七部分 十二月二十八日
3
阿尔弗雷德说：“戴维，莉迪亚和我决定卖掉这个地方。我想也许你会想要一些母亲的
东西——她的椅子和那个脚凳。你一直是她最喜欢的孩子。”
戴维迟疑了一会儿，接着慢吞吞地说：“谢谢你能想到这些，阿尔弗雷德。可你知道
吗，我不认为自己需要它们，我不想从这幢房子里拿走任何东西，我觉得我最好一次性和
过去一刀两断。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“是的，我明白。也许你是对的。”
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH IV
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH IV
George said:
“Well, goodbye, Alfred. Goodbye, Lydia. What a terrible time we have been through. There’s
the trial coming on, too. I suppose the whole disgraceful story is bound to come out—Sugden
being—er—my father’s son. One couldn’t arrange for it to be put to him, I suppose, that it would
be better if he pleaded advanced Communist views and dislike of my father as a capitalist—
something of that kind?”
Lydia said:
“My dear George, do you really imagine that a man like Sugden would tell lies to soothe our
feelings?”
George said:
“Er—perhaps not. No, I see your point. All the same, the man must be mad. Well, good-bye
again.”
Magdalene said:
“Good-bye. Next year do let’s all go to the Riviera or somewhere for Christmas and be really
gay.”
George said:
“Depends on the Exchange.”
Magdalene said:
“Darling, don’t be mean.”
第七部分 十二月二十八日 4
第七部分 十二月二十八日
4
乔治说：“好了，再见，阿尔弗雷德。再见，莉迪亚。这一阵子我们是怎么熬过来的
啊！快要开庭审判了，我想整件不光彩的事情都要传出来了。萨格登是……呃……是父亲
的儿子。不知能不能安排个人去给他提个建议，如果他能声称杀人的动机是出于激进的共
产主义观点，因此憎恨作为资本家的父亲，诸如此类的借口，这样会好一点。”
莉迪亚说：“我亲爱的乔治，你真的认为像萨格登那样的人，会为了让我们感觉好一点
儿而说谎吗？”
乔治说：“呃……大概不会吧。好吧，我明白你的意思了。总之，那家伙肯定是疯了。
就这样，再见了。”
玛格达莱尼说：“再见。明年我们去里维埃拉或是别的什么地方过圣诞节吧，好好地开
心一下。”
乔治说：“那要看花多少钱。”
玛格达莱尼说：“亲爱的，别这么抠门儿了。”
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH V
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH V
Alfred came out on the terrace. Lydia was bending over a stone sink. She straightened up when
she saw him.
He said with a sigh:
“Well—they’ve all gone.”
Lydia said:
“Yes—what a blessing.”
“It is, rather.”
Alfred said:
“You’ll be glad to leave here.”
She asked:
“Will you mind very much?”
“No, I shall be glad. There are so many interesting things we can do together. To live on here
would be to be constantly reminded of that nightmare. Thank God it’s all over!”
Lydia said:
“Thanks to Hercule Poirot.”
“Yes. You know, it was really amazing the way everything fell into place when he explained
it.”
“I know. Like when you finish a jigsaw puzzle and all the queer-shaped bits you swear won’t
fit in anywhere find their places quite naturally.”
Alfred said:
“There’s one little thing that never fitted in. What was George doing after he telephoned?
Why wouldn’t he say?”
“Don’t you know? I knew all the time. He was having a look through your papers on your
desk.”
“Oh! No, Lydia, no one would do a thing like that!”
“George would. He’s frightfully curious about money matters. But of course he couldn’t say
so. He’d have had to be actually in the dock before he’d have owned up to that.”
Alfred said:
“Are you making another garden?”
“Yes.”
“What is it this time?”
“I think,” said Lydia, “it’s an attempt at the Garden of Eden. A new version—without any
serpent—and Adam and Eve are definitely middle-aged.”
Alfred said gently:
“Dear Lydia, how patient you have been all these years. You have been very good to me.”
Lydia said:
“But, you see, Alfred, I love you. . . .”
第七部分 十二月二十八日 5
第七部分 十二月二十八日
5
阿尔弗雷德走到露天平台上。莉迪亚正弯腰鼓捣一个石槽。她看见了他，直起身来。
他叹了口气，说：“啊，他们都走了。”
莉迪亚说：“是啊，上帝保佑。”
“确实如此。”阿尔弗雷德说，“离开这儿你一定很高兴吧。”
她问道：“你介意吗？”
“不，我也很高兴，有那么多有趣的事情我们可以一起去做，继续住在这儿只会让人不
时想起那场噩梦。感谢上帝，一切都结束了！”
莉迪亚说：“感谢赫尔克里•波洛。”
“是啊，当他进行说明的时候，一切都很自然地对上了，这真是令人惊奇。”
“是的，就像在拼一个复杂的拼图，那些你曾发誓放在哪儿都不会合适的奇形怪状的小
块，都很自然地找到了自己的位置。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“有一件小事我还是没对上，乔治打完电话之后干什么去了？他为什么
不愿意说呢？”
“你不知道吗？我一直知道。他正在偷看你写字台上的文件。”
“噢！不，莉迪亚，不会有人做这种事的！”
“乔治会，他对有关钱的事都好奇极了。但他当然不会说的，如果他承认，就要受到法
庭的审问了。”
阿尔弗雷德说：“你在做新的小园林吗？”
“是的。”
“这一次是什么？”
“我想，”莉迪亚说，“我尝试做一个伊甸园，新的版本——没有蛊惑人的毒蛇——而且
亚当和夏娃都是中年人了。”
阿尔弗雷德温柔地说：“亲爱的莉迪亚，这些年来你一直多么耐心呀！你对我太好
了。”
莉迪亚说：“你看，阿尔弗雷德，我爱你呀……”
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH VI
PART SEVEN DECEMBER 28TH VI
Colonel Johnson said:
“God bless my soul!” Then he said:
“Upon my word!” And finally, once more: “God bless my soul!
He leaned back in his chair and stared at Poirot. He said plaintively:
“My best man! What’s the police coming to?”
Poirot said:
“Even policemen have private lives! Sugden was a very proud man.”
Colonel Johnson shook his head.
To relieve his feelings he kicked at the logs in the grate. He said jerkily:
“I always say—nothing like a wood fire.”
Hercule Poirot, conscious of the draughts round his neck, thought to himself:
“Pour moi, every time the central heating. . . .”
第七部分 十二月二十八日 6
第七部分 十二月二十八日
6
约翰逊上校说：“上帝保佑我的灵魂！”接着又说，“真的！”
过了一会儿他又说了一遍：“上帝保佑我的灵魂！”
他靠在椅子上，盯着波洛，伤心地说：“我的好朋友！现在的警察都成什么了？”
波洛说：“警察也有自己的私生活！萨格登是一个非常骄傲的人。”
约翰逊上校摇摇头。
为了发泄情绪，他踢了踢壁炉里的木柴。
他突然说：“我总是说——没什么比得上烧得旺旺的壁炉。”
赫尔克里•波洛察觉到脖子后面的冷风，暗想：对我来说，还是中央取暖设施最好……