One A FELLOW TRAVELLER
One A FELLOW TRAVELLER

England!
England after many years!
How was he going to like it?
Luke Fitzwilliam asked himself that question as he walked down thegangplank to the dock. It was present at the back of his mind all throughthe wait in the Customs’ shed. It came suddenly to the fore when he was fi-nally seated in the boat train.
England on leave was one thing. Plenty of money to blue (to begin withanyway!), old friends to look up, meetings with other fellows home likehimself—a carefree atmosphere of “Well, it won’t be long. Might as wellenjoy myself! Soon be going back.”
But now there was no question of going back. No more of the hot stiflingnights, no more blinding sun and tropical beauty of rich vegetation, nomore lonely evenings reading and re-reading old copies of The Times.
Here he was, honourably retired on a pension, with some small privatemeans of his own, a gentleman of leisure, come home to England. Whatwas he going to do with himself?
England! England on a June day, with a grey sky and a sharp bitingwind. Nothing welcoming about her on a day like this! And the people!
Heavens, the people! Crowds of them, all with grey faces like the sky—anxious worried faces. The houses too, springing up everywhere likemushrooms. Nasty little houses! Revolting little houses! Chicken coops inthe grandiose manner all over the countryside!
With an effort Luke Fitzwilliam averted his eyes from the landscape out-side the railway carriage window and settled down to a perusal of the pa-pers he had just bought. The Times, the Daily Clarion and Punch.
He started with the Daily Clarion. The Clarion was given over entirely toEpsom.
Luke thought: “A pity we didn’t get in yesterday. Haven’t seen the Derbyrun since I was nineteen.”
He had drawn a horse in the Club sweep and he looked now to see whatthe Clarion’s racing correspondent thought of its chance. He found it dis-missed contemptuously in a sentence.
“Of the others, Jujube the II., Mark’s Mile, Santony andJerry Boy are hardly likely to qualify for a place. A likelyoutsider is—”
But Luke paid no attention to the likely outsider. His eye had shifted tothe betting. Jujube the II. was listed at a modest 40 to 1.
He glanced at his watch. A quarter to four. “Well,” he thought. “It’s overnow.” And he wished he’d had a bet on Clarigold who was the second fa-vourite.
Then he opened The Times and became absorbed in more serious mat-ters.
Not for long, however, for a fierce-looking colonel in the corner oppositewas so incensed at what he himself had just read that he had to pass onhis indignation to his fellow passenger. A full half hour passed before thecolonel tired of saying what he thought about “these damned Communistagitators, sir.”
The colonel died down at last and finally dropped off to sleep with hismouth open. Shortly afterwards the train slowed down and finallystopped. Luke looked out of the window. They were in a large empty-look-ing station with many platforms. He caught sight of a bookstall some wayup the platform with a placard: DERBY RESULT. Luke opened the door,jumped out, and ran towards the bookstall. A moment later he was staringwith a broad grin at a few smudged lines in the stop press.
Derby Result
JUJUBE THE II.
MAZEPPA
CLARIGOLD
Luke grinned broadly. A hundred pounds to blue! Good old Jujube theII., so scornfully dismissed by all the tipsters.
He folded the paper, still grinning to himself, and turned back—to faceemptiness. In the excitement of Jujube the II.’s victory, his train hadslipped out of the station unnoticed by him.
“When the devil did that train go out?” he demanded of a gloomy-look-ing porter.
The latter replied:
“What train? There hasn’t been no train since the 3:14.”
“There was a train here just now. I got out of it. The boat express.”
The porter replied austerely:
“The boat express don’t stop anywhere till London.”
“But it did,” Luke assured him. “I got out of it.”
“No stop anywhere till London,” repeated the porter immovably.
“It stopped at this very platform and I got out of it, I tell you.”
Faced by facts, the porter changed his ground.
“You didn’t ought to have done,” he said reproachfully. “It don’t stophere.”
“But it did.”
“That ’twas signal, that was. Signal against it. It didn’t what you’d call‘stop.’”
“I’m not so good at these fine distinctions as you are,” said Luke. “Thepoint is, what do I do next?”
The porter, a man of slow ideas, repeated reproachfully: “You didn’tought to have got out.”
“We’ll admit that,” said Luke. “The wrong is done, past all recall—weepwe never so bitterly we can never bring back the dead past—Quoth theraven ‘Nevermore’—The moving finger writes; and having writ moves on,etc., etc., and so on and so forth. What I’m trying to get at is, what do you,a man experienced in the service of the railway company, advise me to donow?”
“You’re asking what you’d better do?”
“That,” said Luke, “is the idea. There are, I presume, trains that stop,really officially stop, here?”
“Reckon,” said the porter. “You’d best go on by the 4:25.”
“If the 4:25 goes to London,” said Luke, “the 4:25 is the train for me.”
Reassured on that point, Luke strolled up and down the platform. Alarge board informed him that he was at Fenny Clayton Junction forWychwood-under-Ashe, and presently a train consisting of one carriagepushed backwards by an antiquated little engine came slowly puffing inand deposited itself in a modest bay. Six or seven people alighted, andcrossing over a bridge, came to join Luke on his platform. The gloomyporter suddenly awoke to life and began pushing about a large truck ofcrates and baskets, another porter joined him and began to rattle milkcans. Fenny Clayton awoke to life.
At last, with immense importance the London train came in. The third-class carriages were crowded, and of firsts there were only three and eachone contained a traveller or travellers. Luke scrutinized each compart-ment. The first, a smoker, contained a gentleman of military aspectsmoking a cigar. Luke felt he had had enough of Anglo-Indian colonelstoday. He passed on to the next one, which contained a tired-looking gen-teel young woman, possibly a nursery governess, and an active-lookingsmall boy of about three. Luke passed on quickly. The next door was openand the carriage contained one passenger, an elderly lady. She remindedLuke slightly of one of his aunts, his Aunt Mildred, who had courageouslyallowed him to keep a grass snake when he was ten years old. Aunt Mil-dred had been decidedly a good aunt as aunts go. Luke entered the car-riage and sat down.
After some five minutes of intense activity on the part of milk vans, lug-gage trucks and other excitements, the train moved slowly out of the sta-tion. Luke unfolded his paper and turned to such items of news as mightinterest a man who had already read his morning paper.
He did not hope to read it for long. Being a man of many aunts, he wasfairly certain that the nice old lady in the corner did not propose to travelin silence to London.
He was right—a window that needed adjusting, dropped umbrella—andthe way the old lady was telling him what a good train this was.
“Only an hour and ten minutes. That’s very good, you know, very goodindeed. Much better than the morning one. That takes an hour and fortyminutes.”
She went on:
“Of course, nearly everyone goes by the morning one. I mean, when it isthe cheap day it’s silly to go up in the afternoon. I meant to go up thismorning, but Wonky Pooh was missing—that’s my cat, a Persian, such abeauty only he’s had a painful ear lately—and of course I couldn’t leavehome till he was found!”
Luke murmured:
“Of course not,” and let his eyes drop ostentatiously to his paper. But itwas of no avail. The flood went on.
“So I just made the best of a bad job and took the afternoon train in-stead, and of course it’s a blessing in one way because it’s not so crowded—not that that matters when one is travelling first class. Of course, I don’tusually do that. I mean, I should consider it an extravagance, what withtaxes and one’s dividends being less and servants’ wages so much moreand everything—but really I was so upset because you see, I’m going upon very important business, and I wanted to think out exactly what I wasgoing to say — just quietly, you know —” Luke repressed a smile. “Andwhen there are people you know travelling up too—well, one can’t be un-friendly—so I thought just for once, the expense was quite permissible—though I do think nowadays there is so much waste—and nobody saves orthinks of the future. One is sorry the seconds were ever abolished—it didmake just that little difference.
“Of course,” she went on quickly, with a swift glance at Luke’s bronzedface, “I know soldiers on leave have to travel first class. I mean, being of-ficers, it’s expected of them—”
Luke sustained the inquisitive glance of a pair of bright twinkling eyes.
He capitulated at once. It would come to it, he knew, in the end.
“I’m not a soldier,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I just thought—you were so brown—per-haps home from the East on leave.”
“I’m home from the East,” said Luke. “But not on leave.” He stalled offfurther researches with a bald statement. “I’m a policeman.”
“In the police? Now really, that’s very interesting. A dear friend of mine—her boy has just joined the Palestine police.”
“Mayang Straits,” said Luke, taking another shortcut.
“Oh, dear—very interesting. Really, it’s quite a coincidence—I mean,that you should be travelling in this carriage. Because, you see, this busi-ness I’m going up to town about—well, actually it is to Scotland Yard I’mgoing.”
“Really?” said Luke.
He thought to himself, “Will she run down soon like a clock or will thisgo on all the way to London?” But he did not really mind very much, be-cause he had been very fond of his Aunt Mildred, and he rememberedhow she had once stumped up a fiver in the nick of time. Besides, therewas something very cosy and English about old ladies like this old ladyand his Aunt Mildred. There was nothing at all like them in the MayangStraits. They could be classed with plum pudding on Christmas Day andvillage cricket and open fireplaces with wood fires. The sort of things youappreciated a good deal when you hadn’t got them and were on the otherside of the world. (They were also the sort of thing you got very boredwith when you had a good deal of them, but as has been already told, Lukehad only landed in England three or four hours ago.)The old lady was continuing happily:
“Yes, I meant to go up this morning—and then, as I told you, I was soworried about Wonky Pooh. But you don’t think it will be too late, do you?
I mean, there aren’t any special office hours at Scotland Yard.”
“I don’t think they close down at four or anything like that,” said Luke.
“No, of course, they couldn’t, could they? I mean, somebody might wantto report a serious crime at any minute, mightn’t they?”
“Exactly,” said Luke.
For a moment the old lady relapsed into silence. She looked worried.
“I always think it’s better to go right to the fountainhead,” she said atlast. “John Reed is quite a nice fellow—that’s our constable in Wychwood—a very civil-spoken, pleasant man—but I don’t feel, you know—that hewould be quite the person to deal with anything serious. He’s quite used todealing with people who’ve drunk too much, or with exceeding the speedlimit, or lighting-up time—or people who haven’t taken out a dog licence—and perhaps with burglary even. But I don’t think—I’m quite sure—heisn’t the person to deal with murder!”
Luke’s eyebrows rose.
“Murder?”
The old lady nodded vigorously.
“Yes, murder. You’re surprised, I can see. I was myself at first…I reallycouldn’t believe it. I thought I must be imagining things.”
“Are you quite sure you weren’t?” Luke asked gently.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head positively. “I might have been the firsttime, but not the second, or the third or the fourth. After that one knows.”
Luke said:
“Do you mean there have been—er—several murders?”
The quiet gentle voice replied:
“A good many, I’m afraid.”
She went on:
“That’s why I thought it would be best to go straight to Scotland Yardand tell them about it. Don’t you think that’s the best thing to do?”
Luke looked at her thoughtfully, then he said:
“Why, yes—I think you’re quite right.”
He thought to himself:
“They’ll know how to deal with her. Probably get half a dozen old ladiesa week coming in burbling about the amount of murders committed intheir nice quiet country villages! There may be a special department fordealing with the old dears.”
And he saw in imagination a fatherly superintendent, or a good-lookingyoung inspector, tactfully murmuring:
“Thank you, ma’am, very grateful to you, I’m sure. Now just go back andleave it all in our hands and don’t worry anymore about it.”
He smiled a little to himself at the picture. He thought:
“I wonder why they get these fancies? Deadly dull lives, I suppose—anunacknowledged craving for drama. Some old ladies, so I’ve heard, fancyeveryone is poisoning their food.”
He was roused from these meditations by the thin, gentle voice continu-ing:
“You know, I remember reading once—I think it was the Abercrombiecase—of course he’d poisoned quite a lot of people before any suspicionwas aroused—what was I saying? Oh, yes, somebody said that there was alook—a special look that he gave anyone—and then very shortly after-wards that person would be taken ill. I didn’t really believe that when Iread about it—but it’s true!”
“What’s true?”
“The look on a person’s face….”
Luke stared at her. She was trembling a little, and her nice pink cheekshad lost some of their colour.
“I saw it first with Amy Gibbs—and she died. And then it was Carter.
And Tommy Pierce. But now—yesterday—it was Dr. Humbleby—and he’ssuch a good man—a really good man. Carter, of course, drank, and TommyPierce was a dreadfully cheeky impertinent little boy, and bullied the tinyboys, twisting their arms and pinching them. I didn’t feel quite so badlyabout them, but Dr. Humbleby’s different. He must be saved. And the ter-rible thing is that if I went to him and told him about it he wouldn’t be-lieve me! He’d only laugh! And John Reed wouldn’t believe me either. Butat Scotland Yard it will be different. Because, naturally, they’re used tocrime there!”
She glanced out of the window.
“Oh, dear, we shall be in in a minute.” She fussed a little, opening andshutting her bag, collecting her umbrella.
“Thank you—thank you so much.” This to Luke as he picked the um-brella up for the second time. “It’s been such a relief talking to you—mostkind of you, I’m sure—so glad you think I’m doing the right thing.”
Luke said kindly:
“I’m sure they’ll give you good advice at Scotland Yard.”
“I really am most grateful.” She fumbled in her bag. “My card—oh, dear,I only have one—I must keep that—for Scotland Yard—”
“Of course, of course—”
“But my name is Pinkerton.”
“Very suitable name, too, Miss Pinkerton,” said Luke, smiling, addinghastily as she looked a little bewildered, “My name is Luke Fitzwilliam.”
As the train drew in to the platform he added:
“Can I get you a taxi?”
“Oh, no, thank you.” Miss Pinkerton seemed quite shocked at the idea. “Ishall take the tube. That will take me to Trafalgar Square, and I shall walkdown Whitehall.”
“Well, good luck,” said Luke.
Miss Pinkerton shook him warmly by the hand.
“So kind,” she murmured again. “You know, just at first I thought youdidn’t believe me.”
Luke had the grace to blush.
“Well,” he said. “So many murders! Rather hard to do a lot of murdersand get away with it, eh?”
Miss Pinkerton shook her head.
She said earnestly:
“No, no, my dear boy, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s very easy to kill—so long as no one suspects you. And you see, the person in question is justthe last person anyone would suspect!”
“Well, anyway, good luck,” said Luke.
Miss Pinkerton was swallowed up in the crowd. He himself went off insearch of his luggage, thinking as he did so:
“Just a little bit batty? No, I don’t think so. A vivid imagination, that’s all.
Hope they let her down lightly. Rather an old dear.”
Two OBITUARY NOTICE（1）
Two OBITUARY NOTICE

I
Jimmy Lorrimer was one of Luke’s oldest friends. As a matter of course,Luke stayed with Jimmy as soon as he got to London. It was with Jimmythat he sallied forth on the evening of his arrival in search of amusement.
It was Jimmy’s coffee that he drank with an aching head the morningafter, and it was Jimmy’s voice that went unanswered while he read twiceover a small insignificant paragraph in the morning paper.
“Sorry, Jimmy,” he said, coming to himself with a start.
“What were you absorbed in—the political situation?”
Luke grinned.
“No fear. No, it’s rather queer—old pussy I travelled up with in the trainyesterday got run over.”
“Probably trusted to a Belisha Beacon,” said Jimmy. “How do you knowit’s her?”
“Of course, it mayn’t be. But it’s the same name—Pinkerton—she wasknocked down and killed by a car as she was crossing Whitehall. The cardidn’t stop.”
“Nasty business,” said Jimmy.
“Yes, poor old bean. I’m sorry. She reminded me of my Aunt Mildred.”
“Whoever was driving that car will be for it. Bring it in manslaughter aslikely as not. I tell you, I’m scared stiff of driving a car nowadays.”
“What have you got at present in the way of a car?”
“Ford V 8. I tell you, my boy—”
The conversation became severely mechanical.
Jimmy broke it off to ask:
“What the devil are you humming?”
Luke was humming to himself:
“Fiddle de dee, fiddle de dee, the fly has married the bumblebee.”
He apologized.
“Nursery rhyme remembered from my childhood. Can’t think what putit into my head.”
第一章 旅伴
第一章 旅伴
英格兰！终于又见到了阔别已久的英格兰！
他会喜欢这里吗？卢克•菲茨威廉由踏板跨上码头时自问着。在海关等候入境的时候，这个问题还潜藏在他的脑海深处，可是当他最后坐上登船专列时，它又突然冒了出来。
在英格兰的休假于他来说可是件大事，现在他拥有足够的退休金（足够他做任何事！）像他一样的老朋友们届时会登门拜访——尽管他知道，这种无忧无虑的气氛不会持续太久，但是只要尽情享受就够了！因为很快就会回去了。
但是现在，回去的事可不是他要操心的问题。现在，这里不再有热到让人窒息的夜晚，不再有热到令人眩晕的太阳和富饶的热带水果，不再有寂寞到只能反复阅读的《泰晤士报》。
现在的他领着体面的退休金且有着足够积蓄，算得上是个悠闲、衣锦还乡的老绅士。
他将来打算做什么呢？
英格兰！六月这天的英格兰，天空灰蒙黯淡，寒风瑟瑟。没有什么天气比今天看上去更不令人欢迎的了。还有那些人们，那些面带焦虑和脸色灰暗得像那天的天空一样的人们！房子也是如此，到处长满了菌菇。一排排脏兮兮的小房子！令人讨厌的小房子！大大小小的鸡笼占据了整个乡下！
卢克•菲茨威廉努力把视线从车厢窗外的风景收回，随手浏览起刚买的《泰晤士报》
《克里昂日报》和《笨拙》周刊。
他从《克里昂日报》看起，整版全是有关埃普索姆镇 [1] 的消息。
卢克心想：自从我十九岁以后就再也没有看过赛马。我们最大的遗憾就是没有好好在过去抓住机会。
他曾给其中的一匹马下了注，想看看《克里昂日报》的赛马记者如何评论那匹马的获胜机会。结果发现记者对它不屑一顾，报上评论道：“至于其他马匹，如裘裘比二世、马克•迈尔、桑托尼和杰瑞小子，都很难赢得一席之地。此外，还有一匹获胜概率不大的赛马是……”
然而卢克对这匹赛马缺乏兴趣，他把目光转向了赌注赔率，裘裘比二世是四十比一。
他看了看表，差一刻四点。
“嗯，”他想，“比赛该结束了。”要是当初自己把赌注押在获胜希望第二大的克拉里戈尔德身上该有多好啊。接着，他打开《泰晤士报》，专心看起比较重要的新闻。足足过了半个小时，列车放慢了车速，最终停了下来。卢克向窗外看去，偌大的车站，纵然有许多月台却依旧显得空荡荡的。他看到月台附近有个书报摊，上面贴着一张海报：“德比赛马成绩揭晓”。卢克打开车门，向外一跳，便跑向书报摊。过了一会儿，他看着报纸最新消息栏上几行模糊的字笑得合不拢嘴。
德比赛马成绩如下：
裘裘比二世
梅泽帕
克拉里戈尔德
这下可把卢克高兴坏了。赢了一百英镑可以随便花呢！裘裘比二世真是好样的，那些搞赛马的情报贩子压根儿就没有想到它会赢。
他把报纸折好，仍然笑逐颜开，可是等他转过身来一瞧，列车却不见了。就在他为裘裘比二世获胜而欣喜若狂时，列车早已不知不觉地开走了。
“那班该死的列车究竟是什么时候开走的？”他抓住一个愁眉苦脸的搬运工问。
“什么列车？三点十四分之后，这里就没有停过列车。”
“这里刚才还停着一班列车呢，我就是从那上面下来的，是登船专列。”
“登船专列直达伦敦，中途是不会停的。”
“可是它刚刚就停在这里了，”卢克笃定地说，“我就是从车上下来的。”
事实摆在眼前，搬运工便不再坚持己见。“你本不应该下车的，”他语带责备地说，“那班列车通常不在这一站停。”
“但刚刚它确实停了。”
“那是因为信号要求，临时停车，不是你所说的‘停’。你不应该下车。”
“我承认，”卢克说，“生米已经煮成熟饭了。我只想请教一下，以你在铁路公司工作的经验来看，我该怎么办？”
“依我看，”搬运工说，“你最好搭四点二十五分那班列车走。”
“要是四点二十五分的那班车是去伦敦的，”卢克说，“我就搭那班车。”
向搬运工再三确认之后，卢克就在站台附近随意走走。一个大标志牌示意他，目前他正位于通往阿什威奇伍德的芬尼克莱顿枢纽站。不一会儿，一辆单节列车在老式小引擎喷烟的推动下，缓缓地停了下来。开往伦敦的列车终于大驾光临。卢克仔细查看了车上的每个隔间。第一间是吸烟室，里面一位军人模样的绅士正抽着雪茄。他走向第二间，里面是一位面带倦色、颇有教养的年轻小姐，可能是位家庭教师，还有一个三岁左右的活泼男孩。卢克又快步往前走，下一间的门开着，只有一位上了年纪的女士。看到她，卢克不禁想起了他的米尔德丽德姑姑。十岁时，米尔德丽德姑姑曾纵容他养过一条草蛇。她确实是一个好姑姑。于是卢克走进去，坐了下来。
五分钟左右之后，牛奶车、行李车上的喧嚣忙乱渐息，列车缓缓地驶出了车站。卢克打开报纸，看了看那些他感兴趣而早报却没有登载的新闻。他知道自己看不了多久，家里的那些姑姑们早就让他体会到，对面那位和蔼可亲的老太太，绝不会安安静静地一路坐到伦敦。他果然没有猜错——老太太一会儿调整一下窗户，一会儿扶起倒下的雨伞，一会儿又夸一夸这班列车是多么多么的好。“只要一小时十分钟，真是不错。你知道，这实在好极了，比早上那班车好多了，那班车要花上一小时四十分才能到呢，”她又说，“当然，大家几乎都搭早上的那班车。我的意思是，坐早班车能享受特别优惠，何苦破费坐下午这班车呢。我本来也想搭早班车，可是偏偏那时‘老呸’不见了——我是指我的那只波斯猫，出落得可漂亮了，只是它最近老是耳朵疼——我当然得先找到它才能出门。”
卢克低声说：“当然。”又装模作样地看起报纸来。可是这没有用，老太太仍然滔滔不绝地说：“所以我也只能勉为其难，改搭下午这班车。不过话说回来，这样也不错，没那么拥挤，但坐头等车厢自然又另当别论。当然，我通常不会这样，但这次我实在很着急，你知道，我要去办一件很重要的事，而且我还得好好想一想我要说些什么。你知道，就是让我一个人安安静静地想。”卢克强忍着笑意。“所以我想，若是仅此一次的话，这回多花一点钱也还情有可原。当然，”她瞥了卢克那古铜色面孔一眼，迅速地说，“我知道休假的军人一定会坐头等车厢。我是说，对你们军人来说，这是顺理成章的事。”
那双明亮闪烁的眼睛向卢克投来了好奇的目光，卢克只抵挡了片刻便又放弃。他知道，最后还得谈到这件事。
“我不是军人。”他说。
“噢，对不起，我不是说……我只是看你的肤色很深，大概是从东部回来休假的吧？”
“我是从东部回来的，”卢克说，“但不是休假。”为了避免对方进一步询问，他直言不讳：“我是警察。”
“警察？那真是太有意思了。我有个好朋友的儿子刚刚加入巴勒斯坦警队。”
“我在马扬海峡。”卢克直截了当地说。
“噢，天啊，多么有意思呀。真是太巧了，我是说没想到你居然和我坐同一节车厢。因为你知道，我要去城里办的事就是关于——老实说，我正要去苏格兰场。”
“是吗？”卢克说。
老太太又高兴地说：“是啊，我本想今天早上去的，可是后来，正如我刚才所说，我很担心‘老呸’，所以只好改搭下午的列车。你觉得我不会去得太晚，对吧？我是说，苏格兰场没有特别规定的工作时间吧？”
“我想他们不会在四点左右就下班。”卢克说。
“是啊，他们当然不会，对不对？我想任何时候都可能有人要向他们举报大案子，对吧？”
“确实如此。”卢克说。
老太太沉默了一会儿，神情忧虑地说：“我一直觉得这事最好能追根究底，有话直说。
约翰•里德——就是我们阿什威奇伍德的警察，他是个好人，说话彬彬有礼，待人和蔼亲切。可是你知道，我觉得他不适合处理那些真正重大的案件。他能妥当地处理酗酒闹事、驾车超速、不按规定时间开灯、无证养狗、甚至盗窃。可是我觉得，我敢说他破不了谋杀案！”
“谋杀案？”卢克皱了一下眉头说。
老太太用力点了点头。“是啊，谋杀案。看得出来，你也觉得意外吧。起初我和你一样难以置信，还以为是自己在胡思乱想。”
“你敢确定自己没有胡思乱想？”卢克礼貌地问。
“嗯，没有。”她肯定地摇了摇头，“第一次或许是，但是第二次，第三次，第四次就绝对不是了。从那以后，我就肯定了。”
卢克说：“你是说已经发生了——呃——好几起谋杀案？”
她用平静温和的声音答道：“恐怕已经发生很多起了。”她接着说，“所以我觉得最好是直接向苏格兰场报案。你不觉得这个办法最好吗？”
卢克若有所思地看着她，然后说：“嗯，是的，我想你是对的。”
他自忖：“那儿的警察知道如何应付她。也许以后每个星期都会有几个这样的老太太到苏格兰场来絮叨着发生在她们宁静、优美村庄里的谋杀案。苏格兰场或许有专门的部门处理这种情况。”
那个温和柔细的声音把卢克从沉思中唤醒：“你知道，我记得以前在报纸上看到过这种案子，我想是艾伯康比案吧。当然，他是在毒死好多人后，才叫别人起疑心的……刚才我说到哪儿了？噢，对了，有人说有一种眼神，用那种特别的眼神看人一眼，被看的那个人不久后就会生病。本来我并不相信有这种事，但现在发现这是真的。”
“什么是真的？”
“那个人看别人的眼神。”
卢克紧盯着她，她颤抖了一下，漂亮的粉颊也失去了原有的红润。“最初艾米•吉布斯被那种眼神瞧过，不久便死了。接着是卡特，还有汤米•皮尔斯。可是现在，就在昨天，又轮到了亨伯比医生，他是个大好人，一个实实在在的好人。当然，卡特是个酒鬼，汤米•皮尔斯是个莽撞无礼的淘气包，常常欺负别的小男孩，对他们又拧又掐。所以我对他们的死都不怎么难过，可是亨伯比医生就不一样了，他可不能死啊。问题是，即便我去告诉他这件事，他也绝对不会相信我！一定会放声大笑！约翰•里德也不会相信我，可是苏格兰场就不同了，因为这种事他们早就司空见惯了！”她看了看窗外。“噢，马上就要到了。”她有些忙乱地开合着手提包，收起雨伞。“和你聊天我觉得轻松多了，你一定是个好人，很高兴你认为我做得对。”
卢克和善地说：“苏格兰场的人一定会提供有用的意见。”
“真的太感谢你了，”她笨拙地在手提包里摸索了一会儿，“这是我的名片，噢，天啊，我只带了一张，我得把它留给苏格兰场。”
“当然，当然。”
“不过，可以告诉你，我姓平克顿。”
“平克顿小姐，”卢克微笑着说，“我叫卢克•菲茨威廉。”列车驶进站台后，他又开口问：“我帮你叫辆出租车吧？”
“噢，不用了，谢谢。”平克顿小姐似乎对这个想法感到意外。“我搭地铁去就可以了。
坐到特拉法加广场后，沿着怀特霍尔街走就行了。”
“好，祝你好运。”卢克说。
平克顿小姐热情地和他握了握手。“你人真好，”她又喃喃低语，“你知道，开始我还以为你不会相信我呢。”
卢克不禁赧颜道：“是啊，发生了那么多命案！杀了这么多人竟然没有受到法律的制裁，真是不容易，对吧？”
平克顿小姐摇了摇头，认真地说：“不，不对，好孩子，这你就错了。杀人并不难，只要没有人怀疑你就行了。你知道，我说的那个人恰恰就是任何人都不会怀疑的人。”
“好吧，无论如何，祝你好运。”卢克说。
平克顿小姐消失在茫茫人海中。他也转身去找自己的行李，一边走一边想：“这老太太有点古怪。不，我想不是这样，她只是想象力丰富了些罢了。希望他们不要让她太过失望，她实在是一个可爱的老太太呀。”
[1]埃普索姆镇，英格兰东南部的城镇，以其矿泉和每年举行的大赛马闻名于世。
Two OBITUARY NOTICE（2）
II
It was over a week later that Luke, carelessly scanning the front page ofThe Times, gave a sudden startled exclamation.
“Well, I’m damned!”
Jimmy Lorrimer looked up.
“What’s the matter?”
Luke did not answer. He was staring at a name in the printed column.
Jimmy repeated his question.
Luke raised his head and looked at his friend. His expression was so pe-culiar that Jimmy was quite taken aback.
“What’s up, Luke? You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”
For a minute or two the other did not reply. He dropped the paper,strode to the window and back again. Jimmy watched him with increasingsurprise.
Luke dropped into a chair and leaned forward.
“Jimmy, old son, do you remember my mentioning an old lady I trav-elled up to town with—the day I arrived in England?”
“The one you said reminded you of your Aunt Mildred? And then shegot run over by a car?”
“That’s the one. Listen, Jimmy. The old girl came out with a long rigmar-ole of how she was going up to Scotland Yard to tell them about a lot ofmurders. There was a murderer loose in her village — that’s what itamounted to, and he’s been doing some pretty rapid execution.”
“You didn’t tell me she was batty,” said Jimmy.
“I didn’t think she was.”
“Oh, come now, old boy, wholesale murder—”
Luke said impatiently:
“I didn’t think she was off her head. I thought she was just letting herimagination run away with her like old ladies sometimes do.”
“Well, yes, I suppose that might have been it. But she was probably a bittouched as well, I should think.”
“Never mind what you think, Jimmy. At the moment, I’m telling you,see?”
“Oh, quite—quite—get on with it.”
“She was quite circumstantial, mentioned one or two victims by nameand then explained that what had really rattled her was the fact that sheknew who the next victim was going to be.”
“Yes?” said Jimmy encouragingly.
“Sometimes a name sticks in your head for some silly reason or other.
This name stuck in mine because I linked it up with a silly nursery rhymethey used to sing to me when I was a kid. Fiddle de dee, fiddle de dee, the flyhas married the bumblebee.”
“Very intellectual, I’m sure, but what’s the point?”
“The point, my good ass, is that the man’s name was Humbleby—Dr.
Humbleby. My old lady said Dr. Humbleby would be the next, and she wasdistressed because he was ‘such a good man.’ The name stuck in my headbecause of the aforementioned rhyme.”
“Well?” said Jimmy.
“Well, look at this.”
Luke passed over the paper, his finger pressed against an entry in thecolumn of deaths.
HUMBLEBY. — On June 13, suddenly, at his residence,Sandgate, Wychwood- under- Ashe, JOHN EDWARD
HUMBLEBY, MD, beloved husband of JESSIE ROSE HUMBLEBY.
Funeral Friday. No flowers, by request.
“You see, Jimmy? That’s the name and the place and he’s a doctor. Whatdo you make of it?”
Jimmy took a moment or two to answer. His voice was serious when hesaid at last rather uncertainly:
“I suppose it’s just a damned odd coincidence.”
“Is it, Jimmy? Is it? Is that all it is?”
Luke began to walk up and down again.
“What else could it be?” asked Jimmy.
Luke wheeled round suddenly.
“Suppose that every word that dear bleating old sheep said was true!
Suppose that that fantastic story was just the plain literal truth!”
“Oh, come now, old boy! That would be a bit thick! Things like that don’thappen.”
“What about the Abercrombie case? Wasn’t he supposed to have doneaway with a goodish few?”
“More than ever came out,” said Jimmy. “A pal of mine had a cousinwho was the local coroner. I heard a bit through him. They got Abercrom-bie for feeding the local vet with arsenic, then they dug up his wife andshe was full of it, and it’s pretty certain his brother-in-law went the sameway—and that wasn’t all, by a long chalk. This pal of mine told me the un-official view was that Abercrombie had done away with at least fifteenpeople in his time. Fifteen!”
“Exactly. So these things do happen!”
“Yes, but they don’t happen often.”
“How do you know? They may happen a good deal oftener than you sup-pose.”
“There speaks the police wallah! Can’t you forget you’re a policemannow that you’ve retired into private life?”
“Once a policeman, always a policeman, I suppose,” said Luke. “Nowlook here, Jimmy, supposing that before Abercrombie had got so foolhardyas fairly to push his murders under the nose of the police, some dear lo-quacious old spinster had just simply guessed what he was up to and hadtrotted off to tell someone in authority all about it. Do you suppose they’dhave listened to her?”
Jimmy grinned.
“No fear!”
“Exactly. They’d have said she’d got bats in the belfry. Just as you said!
Or they’d have said, ‘Too much imagination. Not enough to do.’ As I said!
And both of us, Jimmy, would have been wrong.”
Lorrimer took a moment or two to consider, then he said:
“What’s the position exactly—as it appears to you?”
Luke said slowly:
“The case stands like this. I was told a story—an improbable, but not animpossible story. One piece of evidence, the death of Dr. Humbleby, sup-ports that story. And there’s one other significant fact. Miss Pinkerton wasgoing to Scotland Yard with this improbable story of hers. But she didn’tget there. She was run over and killed by a car that didn’t stop.”
Jimmy objected.
“You don’t know that she didn’t get there. She might have been killedafter her visit, not before.”
“She might have been, yes—but I don’t think she was.”
“That’s pure supposition. It boils down to this—you believe in this—thismelodrama.”
Luke shook his head sharply.
“No, I don’t say that. All I say is, there’s a case for investigation.”
“In other words, you are going to Scotland Yard.”
“No, it hasn’t come to that yet — not nearly. As you say, this manHumbleby’s death may be merely a coincidence.”
“Then what, may I ask, is the idea?”
“The idea is to go down to this place and look into the matter.”
“So that’s the idea, is it?”
“Don’t you agree that that is the only sensible way to set about it?”
Jimmy stared at him, then he said:
“Are you serious about this business, Luke?”
“Absolutely.”
“Suppose the whole thing’s a mare’s nest?”
“That would be the best thing that could happen.”
“Yes, of course…” Jimmy frowned. “But you don’t think it is, do you?”
“My dear fellow, I’m keeping an open mind.” Jimmy was silent for aminute or two. Then he said:
“Got any plan? I mean, you’ll have to have some reason for suddenly ar-riving in this place.”
“Yes, I suppose I shall.”
“No ‘suppose’ about it. Do you realize what a small English country townis like? Anyone new sticks out a mile!”
“I shall have to adopt a disguise,” said Luke with a sudden grin. “Whatdo you suggest? Artist? Hardly—I can’t draw, let alone paint.”
“You could be a modern artist,” suggested Jimmy. “Then that wouldn’tmatter.”
But Luke was intent on the matter in hand.
“An author? Do authors go to strange country inns to write? They might,I suppose. A fisherman, perhaps — but I’ll have to find out if there’s ahandy river. An invalid ordered country air? I don’t look the part, andanyway everyone goes to a nursing home nowadays. I might be lookingfor a house in the neighbourhood. But that’s not very good. Hang it all,Jimmy, there must be some plausible reason for a hearty stranger to des-cend upon an English village?”
Jimmy said:
“Wait a sec—give me that paper again.”
Taking it, he gave it a cursory glance and announced triumphantly:
“I thought so! Luke, old boy—to put it in a nutshell—I’ll fix you OK.
Everything’s as easy as winking!”
Luke wheeled round.
“What?”
Jimmy was continuing with modest pride:
“I thought something struck a chord! Wychwood-under-Ashe. Of course!
The very place!”
“Have you, by any chance, a pal who knows the coroner there?”
“Not this time. Better than that, my boy. Nature, as you know, has en-dowed me plentifully with aunts and cousins—my father having been oneof a family of thirteen. Now listen to this: I have a cousin in Wychwood-un-der-Ashe.”
“Jimmy, you’re a blinking marvel.”
“It is pretty good, isn’t it?” said Jimmy modestly.
“Tell me about him.”
“It’s a her. Her name’s Bridget Conway. For the last two years she’s beensecretary to Lord Whitfield.”
“The man who owns those nasty little weekly papers?”
“That’s right. Rather a nasty little man too! Pompous! He was born inWychwood-under-Ashe, and being the kind of snob who rams his birthand breeding down your throat and glories in being self-made, he has re-turned to his home village, bought up the only big house in the neighbour-hood (it belonged to Bridget’s family originally, by the way) and is busymaking the place into a ‘model estate.’”
“And your cousin is his secretary?”
“She was,” said Jimmy darkly. “Now she’s gone one better! She’s en-gaged to him!”
“Oh,” said Luke, rather taken aback.
“He’s a catch, of course,” said Jimmy. “Rolling in money. Bridget tookrather a toss over some fellow—it pretty well knocked the romance out ofher. I dare say this will pan out very well. She’ll probably be kind of firmwith him and he’ll eat out of her hand.”
“And where do I come in?”
Jimmy replied promptly.
“You go down there to stay—you’d better be another cousin. Bridget’sgot so many that one more or less won’t matter. I’ll fix that up with her allright. She and I have always been pals. Now for your reason for goingthere—witchcraft, my boy.”
“Witchcraft?”
“Folklore, local superstitions—all that sort of thing. Wychwood-under-Ashe has got rather a reputation that way. One of the last places wherethey had a Witches’ Sabbath—witches were still burnt there in the lastcentury—all sorts of traditions. You’re writing a book, see? Correlating thecustoms of the Mayang Straits and old English folklore—points of resemb-lance, etc. You know the sort of stuff. Go round with a notebook and inter-view the oldest inhabitant about local superstitions and customs. They’requite used to that sort of thing down there, and if you’re staying at AsheManor it vouches for you.”
“What about Lord Whitfield?”
“He’ll be all right. He’s quite uneducated and completely credulous—ac-tually believes things he reads in his own papers. Anyway Bridget will fixhim. Bridget’s all right. I’ll answer for her.”
Luke drew a deep breath.
“Jimmy, old scout, it looks as though the thing is going to be easy. You’rea wonder. If you can really fix up with your cousin—”
“That will be absolutely OK. Leave it to me.”
“I’m no end grateful to you.”
Jimmy said:
“All I ask is, if you’re hunting down a homicidal murderer, let me be inat the death!”
He added sharply:
“What is it?”
Luke said slowly:
“Just something I remembered my old lady saying to me. I’d said to herthat it was a bit thick to do a lot of murders and get away with it, and sheanswered that I was wrong—that it was very easy to kill…” He stopped,and then said slowly, “I wonder if that’s true, Jimmy? I wonder if it is—”
“What?”
“Easy to kill….”
第二章 讣告（1）
第二章 讣告

吉米•洛里默是卢克的老朋友，卢克一到伦敦，便理所当然地住到了吉米家。当天晚上，他们一起外出消遣。第二天早晨，卢克喝着吉米泡好的咖啡，感觉头疼欲裂。吉米叫了他两声都没有回应，因为他正专心地看着晨报上一则不起眼的新闻。
等他猛然意识到吉米在叫他时，才说：“对不起，吉米。”
“看什么那么入迷呢，政治局势？”
卢克咧嘴笑了笑。“当然不是。不过这件事有点奇怪，昨天和我坐同一辆列车来的老太太被车撞死了。”
“可能是太信任贝利沙灯标 [1] 了，”吉米说，“你怎么知道是她？”
“当然，也许不是她。可是她们的姓氏相同——平克顿。她正要穿过白厅街时，被一辆汽车撞死，车子没有停下来。”
“开车的那个人一定会有报应的。可是真要定罪的话，恐怕只能算过失杀人。告诉你，这年头我开车怕得要命。”
“你现在开的是什么车？”
“福特V8。告诉你，老弟——”
接下来的谈话变得非常专业。
第二章 讣告（2）
一个多星期后，卢克正漫不经心地浏览《泰晤士报》上的头版新闻，忽然惊叫了一声：“天哪！”
吉米•洛里默抬头问道：“怎么了？”
卢克抬起头看着他的朋友，脸上露出十分奇异的表情。吉米不禁吓了一跳，忙问：“发生什么事了，卢克？你好像见鬼了似的。”
过了一两分钟，卢克都没有回答。他扔下手中的报纸，在屋里迈着大步踱来踱去。吉米愈发惊讶地看着他。卢克一屁股坐进椅子里，探身向前对他说：“吉米老伙计，你记不记得我说过，我回英格兰那天和一位老太太同车？”
“就是你说让你想起米尔德丽德姑姑的那个老太太？后来被车子撞死的那个？”
“就是她。听我说，吉米，那位老太太跟我说了一大堆话，说她为什么要去苏格兰场报告一连串杀人案。她说她住的村子里有个随心所欲的杀人犯，而且他很快又打算再杀一个人。”
“你没说她很古怪。”吉米说。
“我觉得她不像在说疯话。她说得很详细，提到一两个被害者的名字，又说她最焦虑不安的一件事，就是她知道下一个被害者是谁。”
“是吗？”吉米鼓励他说下去。
“重要的是，那个人的名字叫亨伯比——亨伯比医生。那位老太太说，亨伯比医生将会是下一个被害者，她感到非常难过，因为他实在是‘一个大好人’。”
“嗯？”吉米说。
“你看这个。”卢克把报纸递过去，同时指着讣告栏中一则讣闻：
先夫医学博士约翰•爱德华•亨伯比不幸于六月十二日在阿什威奇伍德邸宅桑盖特溘然长逝。谨定于周五举行葬礼，花篮、花圈恳辞。
未亡人杰西•罗丝•亨伯比顿首
“看到了吧？吉米。姓名和地点都一致，而且他还是个医生。你怎么看呢？”
吉米沉思了一两分钟，然后严肃而迟疑地说：“我想这只是个鬼扯的巧合吧。”
卢克突然转身说：“万一那个可怜的老太太说的全是真的怎么办？万一那个不可思议的故事是个不折不扣的事实怎么办？”
“噢，算了，老伙计。那未免太玄乎了，那种事情不会发生的。”
“你怎么知道？这种事也许远比你想象的多得多。”
“你那套警察的口气又来了！难道你连退休了都忘不了自己是一个警察吗？”
“我觉得，一日为警察，终生不渝。”卢克说，“听我说，吉米，事情是这样的：我听过一个故事，一个不可思议、但又不无可能的事。现在亨伯比医生的死就是证据，可以证实这个故事的真实性。还有一件很重要的事，平克顿小姐要去苏格兰场报告她这个天方夜谭般的故事，可还没有到那儿，就被一辆汽车压死。随后，车主驾车逃之夭夭。”
吉米反驳道：“你怎么知道她还没到苏格兰场？也许她是在回来的路上被压死的，并不是在此之前。”
“有可能，不过我不这么想。”
“那只是你的猜测。归根结底，你相信这出耸人听闻的戏就是了。”
卢克用力摇摇头，“不，我没有这么说，我只是觉得这件事需要好好调查一下。”
“换句话说，你要去苏格兰场？”
“不，目前还远没到那种地步。正如你所说的，这个叫亨伯比的人的死也许只是个巧合。”
“那么请问，你有什么打算？”
“我要亲自去那儿调查看看。”
“你真的打算去？”
“你不觉得从那儿入手是唯一且明智的方法吗？”吉米盯着他，然后说：“你是来真的，卢克？”
“一点不假。”
“万一这一切全都是假的呢？”
“那再好不过了。”
“对，那当然，”吉米皱了皱眉说，“可是你不这么想，对吗？”
“亲爱的老兄，我可没有什么成见。”
吉米沉默了一两分钟，然后说：“你有什么计划？我是说你突然到那个地方去，总得有个理由才行。”
“嗯，我想我会有的。”
“别光是‘想’，你难道不知道咱们英国的乡村小镇是什么样子吗？任何陌生人都太扎眼了！”
“那我只好乔装打扮一番了，”卢克忽然笑道，“有什么建议吗？扮成画家？不太可能，我连素描都不上手，更不用说油画了。”
吉米说：“慢着，把那张报纸再给我看一下。”他接过报纸，草草看了一眼之后，用胜利的口气说，“我刚才怎么没有想到！卢克，老伙计，简单地说，一切包在我身上！这事儿易如反掌！”
卢克转身说：“什么？”
吉米小小得意地接着说：“我恰巧想起来！阿什威奇伍德！一点都没错！就是那个地方！”
“你是不是碰巧有朋友认识当地的验尸官？”
“这回不是，是个更好的消息，老伙计。你知道，上帝赐给我很多姑姑和堂、表兄弟姐妹，因为我父亲就生长在一个有十三个兄弟姐妹的大家庭。现在你可听清楚了：我有个表妹在阿什威奇伍德。”
“吉米，你真是太了不起了！”
“还不错，对吗？”
“快跟我说说他的情况。”
“是‘她’。她名叫布丽吉特•康威。过去两年里，她是惠特菲尔德爵士的秘书。”
“就是那个黄色下流小周刊的老板？”
“对，他本身就是个讨厌鬼，傲慢自大！他出生在阿什威奇伍德，是个势利小人，老是追着旁人说他的出身和教养，对自己的白手起家深感骄傲。发达之后，他回到家乡，买下当地唯一的大宅——那本来是布丽吉特家的，现在忙着把它整修成一个‘模范庄园’。”
“你表妹是他的秘书？”
“过去是！”吉米黯然地说，“现在她又高升了！已经和他订婚了！”
“噢！”卢克感到相当意外。
“当然，他是个不错的结婚对象，”吉米说，“富得流油。布丽吉特以前被一个家伙甩了，所以她对爱情已经不抱什么幻想。我敢说这桩婚事会有好结果的。她应该会把握好对他的态度，松弛有道，而他也会被吃定。”
“那我该扮演什么角色呢？”
吉米立刻答道：“你去那边住下，假装是她另外一个表哥。反正布丽吉特已经有很多表哥，多一个少一个也无所谓。我会先跟她说好，她和我的交情向来不错。至于你去那的理由嘛——为了巫术，老伙计。”
“巫术？”
“民间传说、当地迷信——反正就是那些东西。阿什威奇伍德在这方面相当有名。是最后保留女巫半夜集会的几个地方之一，直到上个世纪末，还有烧死女巫的事和各种各样的传统。你正在写一本书，明白吗？研究马扬海峡和旧英国民俗之间的相互关系和相似点之类的。就是你知道的那些事儿。带上笔记本，拜访一些老人家，向他们请教当地迷信和风俗习惯，他们对这种事已经司空见惯了。要是你住在阿什庄园，就等于有了身份证明。”
“惠特菲尔德爵士会怎么想呢？”
“没问题，他没受过什么教育，很容易蒙过去——实际上他相信从自己小报上看到的一切。总而言之，布丽吉特会打发他的。布丽吉特那儿没问题，我敢打保票。”
卢克深深吸一口气，说道：“吉米老兄，看起来这件事好像没那么难办。你真是神了。
要是你能替我解决好你表妹那边——”
“绝对没问题，交给我好了。”
“感激不尽！”
吉米说：“我只有一个要求，要是你真能把杀人犯捉拿归案的话，一定要把整个故事说给我听。”随即他又尖声问道：“怎么了？”
卢克缓缓地说：“我只是想到那位老太太跟我说过的一句话，我说如果想杀掉好几个人却不受法律制裁，实在太难了。她说我错了，杀人并不困难。”他顿了顿，才缓缓地说；“我在想这是不是真的，吉米？我想知道是不是——”
“什么？”
“杀人不难。”
[1]贝利沙灯标（Belisha Beacon），外形是黑白相间的标杆，顶部有一个黄色的球形灯，1934年被英国交通大臣贝利沙用作人行横道指示灯，以防道路上发生恶性车祸。
Three WITCH WITHOUT BROOMSTICK
Three WITCH WITHOUT BROOMSTICK

I
The sun was shining when Luke came over the hill and down into the littlecountry town of Wychwood- under- Ashe. He had bought a secondhandStandard Swallow, and he stopped for a moment on the brow of the hilland switched off the engine.
The summer day was warm and sunny. Below him was the village, sin-gularly unspoilt by recent developments. It lay innocently and peacefullyin the sunlight — mainly composed of a long straggling street that ranalong under the overhanging brow of Ashe Ridge.
It seemed singularly remote, strangely untouched. Luke thought, “I’mprobably mad. The whole thing’s fantastic.”
Had he really come here solemnly to hunt down a killer—simply on thestrength of some garrulous ramblings on the part of an old lady, and achance obituary notice?
He shook his head.
“Surely these things don’t happen,” he murmured. “Or—do they? Luke,my boy, it’s up to you to find out if you’re the world’s most credulous prizeass, or if your policeman’s nose has led you hot on the scent.”
He switched on the engine, threw in the gear and drove gently down thetwisting road and so entered the main street.
Wychwood, as has been said, consists mainly of its one principal street.
There were shops, small Georgian houses, prim and aristocratic, withwhitened steps and polished knockers, there were picturesque cottageswith flower gardens. There was an inn, the Bells and Motley, standing alittle back from the street. There was a village green and a duck pond, andpresiding over them a dignified Georgian house which Luke thought atfirst must be his destination, Ashe Manor. But on coming nearer he sawthat there was a large painted board announcing that it was the Museumand Library. Farther on there was an anachronism, a large white modernbuilding, austere and irrelevant to the cheerful haphazardness of the restof the place. It was, Luke gathered, a local Institute and Lads’ Club.
It was at this point that he stopped and asked the way to his destination.
He was told that Ashe Manor was about half a mile farther on — hewould see the gates on his right.
Luke continued his course. He found the gates easily—they were of newand elaborate wrought iron. He drove in, caught a gleam of red brickthrough the trees, and turned a corner of the drive to be stupefied by theappalling and incongruous castellated mass that greeted his eyes.
While he was contemplating the nightmare, the sun went in. He becamesuddenly conscious of the overlying menace of Ashe Ridge. There was asudden sharp gust of wind, blowing back the leaves of the trees, and atthat moment a girl came round the corner of the castellated mansion.
Her black hair was blown up off her head by the sudden gust and Lukewas reminded of a picture he had once seen—Nevinson’s “Witch.” Thelong pale delicate face, the black hair flying up to the stars. He could seethis girl on a broomstick flying up to the moon….
She came straight towards him.
“You must be Luke Fitzwilliam. I’m Bridget Conway.”
He took the hand she held out. He could see her now as she was—not ina sudden moment of fantasy. Tall, slender, a long delicate face withslightly hollow cheekbones—ironic black brows—black eyes and hair. Shewas like a delicate etching, he thought—poignant and beautiful.
He had had an acknowledged picture at the back of his mind during hisvoyage home to England—a picture of an English girl flushed and sun-burnt—stroking a horse’s neck, stooping to weed a herbaceous border, sit-ting holding out her hands to the blaze of a wood fire. It had been a warmgracious vision….
Now—he didn’t know if he liked Bridget Conway or not—but he knewthat that secret picture wavered and broke up—became meaningless andfoolish….
He said:
“How d’you do? I must apologize for wishing myself on you like this.
Jimmy would have it that you wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, we don’t. We’re delighted.” She smiled, a sudden curving smile thatbrought the corners of her long mouth halfway up her cheeks. “Jimmyand I always stand in together. And if you’re writing a book on folklorethis is a splendid place. All sorts of legends and picturesque spots.”
“Splendid,” said Luke.
They went together towards the house. Luke stole another glance at it.
He discerned now traces of a sober Queen Anne dwelling overlaid andsmothered by the florid magnificence. He remembered that Jimmy hadmentioned the house as having originally belonged to Bridget’s family.
That, he thought grimly, was in its unadorned days. Stealing a glance atthe line of her profile, at the long beautiful hands, he wondered.
She was about twenty-eight or -nine, he supposed. And she had brains.
And she was one of those people about whom you knew absolutely noth-ing unless they chose that you should….
Inside, the house was comfortable and in good taste—the good taste of afirst-class decorator. Bridget Conway led the way to a room with book-shelves and comfortable chairs where a tea table stood near the windowwith two people sitting by it.
She said:
“Gordon, this is Luke, a sort of cousin of a cousin of mine.”
Lord Whitfield was a small man with a semi-bald head. His face wasround and ingenuous, with a pouting mouth and boiled gooseberry eyes.
He was dressed in careless-looking country clothes. They were unkind tohis figure, which ran mostly to stomach.
He greeted Luke with affability.
“Glad to see you—very glad. Just come back from the East, I hear? Inter-esting place. Writing a book, so Bridget tells me. They say too many booksare written nowadays. I say no—always room for a good one.”
Bridget said, “My aunt, Mrs. Anstruther,” and Luke shook hands with amiddle-aged woman with a rather foolish mouth.
Mrs. Anstruther, as Luke soon learned, was devoted body and soul togardening. She never talked of anything else, and her mind was constantlyoccupied by considerations of whether some rare plant was likely to dowell in the place she intended to put it.
After acknowledging the introduction, she said now:
“You know, Gordon, the ideal spot for a rockery would be just beyondthe rose garden, and then you could have the most marvellous watergarden where the stream comes through that dip.”
Lord Whitfield stretched himself back in his chair.
“You fix all that with Bridget,” he said easily. “Rock plants are nigglylittle things, I think—but that doesn’t matter.”
Bridget said:
“Rock plants aren’t sufficiently in the grand manner for you, Gordon.”
She poured out some tea for Luke and Lord Whitfield said placidly:
“That’s right. They’re not what I call good value for money. Little bits offlowers you can hardly see…I like a nice show in a conservatory, or somegood beds of scarlet geraniums.”
Mrs. Anstruther, who possessed par excellence the gift of continuing withher own subject undisturbed by that of anyone else, said:
“I believe those new rock roses would do perfectly in this climate,” andproceeded to immerse herself in catalogues.
Throwing his squat little figure back in his chair, Lord Whitfield sippedhis tea and studied Luke appraisingly.
“So you write books,” he murmured.
Feeling slightly nervous, Luke was about to enter on explanations whenhe perceived that Lord Whitfield was not really seeking for information.
“I’ve often thought,” said his lordship complacently, “that I’d like towrite a book myself.”
“Yes?” said Luke.
“I could, mark you,” said Lord Whitfield. “And a very interesting book itwould be. I’ve come across a lot of interesting people. Trouble is, I haven’tgot the time. I’m a very busy man.”
“Of course. You must be.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I’ve got on my shoulders,” said Lord Whit-field. “I take a personal interest in each one of my publications. I considerthat I’m responsible for moulding the public mind. Next week millions ofpeople will be thinking and feeling just exactly what I’ve intended to makethem feel and think. That’s a very solemn thought. That means responsib-ility. Well, I don’t mind responsibility. I’m not afraid of it. I can do with re-sponsibility.”
Lord Whitfield swelled out his chest, attempted to draw in his stomach,and glared amiably at Luke.
Bridget Conway said lightly:
“You’re a great man, Gordon. Have some more tea.”
Lord Whitfield replied simply:
“I am a great man. No, I won’t have anymore tea.”
Then, descending from his own Olympian heights to the level of moreordinary mortals, he inquired kindly of his guest:
“Know anybody round this part of the world?”
Luke shook his head. Then, on an impulse, and feeling that the soonerhe began to get down to his job the better, he added:
“At least, there’s a man here that I promised to look up — friend offriends of mine. Man called Humbleby. He’s a doctor.”
“Oh!” Lord Whitfield struggled upright in his chair. “Dr. Humbleby?
Pity.”
“What’s a pity?”
“Died about a week ago,” said Lord Whitfield.
“Oh, dear,” said Luke. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t think you’d have cared for him,” said Lord Whitfield. “Opinion-ated, pestilential, muddleheaded old fool.”
“Which means,” put in Bridget, “that he disagreed with Gordon.”
“Question of our water supply,” said Lord Whitfield. “I may tell you, Mr.
Fitzwilliam, that I’m a public- spirited man. I’ve got the welfare of thistown at heart. I was born here. Yes, born in this very town—”
With chagrin Luke perceived that they had left the topic of Dr.
Humbleby and had reverted to the topic of Lord Whitfield.
“I’m not ashamed of it and I don’t care who knows it,” went on that gen-tleman. “I had none of your natural advantages. My father kept a boot-shop—yes, a plain boot-shop. And I served in that shop when I was ayoung lad. I raised myself by my own efforts, Fitzwilliam—I determined toget out of the rut—and I got out of the rut! Perseverance, hard work andthe help of God — that’s what did it! That’s what made me what I amtoday.”
Exhaustive details of Lord Whitfield’s career were produced for Luke’sbenefit and the former wound up triumphantly:
“And here I am and the whole world’s welcome to know how I’ve gothere! I’m not ashamed of my beginnings—no, sir—I’ve come back herewhere I was born. Do you know what stands where my father’s shop usedto be? A fine building built and endowed by me—Institute, Boys’ Clubs,everything tip-top and up to date. Employed the best architect in the coun-try! I must say he’s made a bare plain job of it—looks like a workhouse ora prison to me—but they say it’s all right, so I suppose it must be.”
“Cheer up,” said Bridget. “You had your own way over this house!”
Lord Whitfield chuckled appreciatively.
“Yes, they tried to put it over on me here! Carry out the original spirit ofthe building. No, I said, I’m going to live in the place, and I want somethingto show for my money! When one architect wouldn’t do what I wanted Isacked him and got another. The fellow I got in the end understood myideas pretty well.”
“He pandered to your worst flights of imagination,” said Bridget.
“She’d have liked the place left as it was,” said Lord Whitfield. He pattedher arm. “No use living in the past, my dear. Those old Georges didn’tknow much. I didn’t want a plain redbrick house. I always had a fancy fora castle—and now I’ve got one!” He added, “I know my taste isn’t veryclassy, so I gave a good firm carte blanche to do the inside, and I must saythey haven’t done too badly—though some of it is a bit drab.”
“Well,” said Luke, a little at a loss for words, “it’s a great thing to knowwhat you want.”
“And I usually get it too,” said the other, chuckling.
“You nearly didn’t get your way about the water scheme,” Bridget re-minded him.
“Oh, that!” said Lord Whitfield. “Humbleby was a fool. These elderlymen are inclined to be pigheaded. They won’t listen to reason.”
“Dr. Humbleby was rather an outspoken man, wasn’t he?” Luke ven-tured. “He made a good many enemies that way, I should imagine.”
“N-no, I don’t know that I should say that,” demurred Lord Whitfield,rubbing his nose. “Eh, Bridget?”
“He was very popular with everyone, I always thought,” said Bridget. “Ionly saw him when he came about my ankle that time, but I thought hewas a dear.”
“Yes, he was popular enough on the whole,” admitted Lord Whitfield.
“Though I know one or two people who had it in for him. Pigheadednessagain.”
“One or two of the people living here?”
Lord Whitfield nodded.
“Lots of little feuds and cliques in a place like this,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Luke. He hesitated, uncertain of his next step.
“What sort of people live here mostly?” he queried.
It was rather a weak question, but he got an instant response.
“Relicts, mostly,” said Bridget. “Clergymen’s daughters and sisters andwives. Doctors’ dittoes. About six women to every man.”
“But there are some men?” hazarded Luke.
“Oh, yes, there’s Mr. Abbot, the solicitor, and young Dr. Thomas, Dr.
Humbleby’s partner, and Mr. Wake, the rector, and—who else is there,Gordon? Oh! Mr. Ellsworthy, who keeps the antique shop and who is too,too terribly sweet! And Major Horton and his bulldogs.”
“There’s somebody else I believe my friends mentioned as living downhere,” said Luke. “They said she was a nice old pussy but talked a lot.”
Bridget laughed. “That applies to half the village!”
“What was the name now? I’ve got it. Pinkerton.”
Lord Whitfield said with a hoarse chuckle:
“Really, you’ve no luck! She’s dead too. Got run over the other day inLondon. Killed outright.”
“You seem to have a lot of deaths here,” said Luke lightly.
Lord Whitfield bridled immediately.
“Not at all. One of the healthiest places in England. Can’t count acci-dents. They may happen to anyone.”
But Bridget Conway said thoughtfully:
“As a matter of fact, Gordon, there have been a lot of deaths in the lastyear. They’re always having funerals.”
“Nonsense, my dear.”
Luke said:
“Was Dr. Humbleby’s death an accident too?”
Lord Whitfield shook his head.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Humbleby died of acute septic?mia. Just like a doc-tor. Scratched his finger with a rusty nail or something—paid no attentionto it, and it turned septic. He was dead in three days.”
“Doctors are rather like that,” said Bridget. “And of course, they’re veryliable to infection, I suppose, if they don’t take care. It was sad, though. Hiswife was brokenhearted.”
“No good rebelling against the will of providence,” said Lord Whitfieldeasily.
II
“But was it the will of providence?” Luke asked himself later as hechanged into his dinner jacket. Septic?mia? Perhaps. A very suddendeath, though.
And there echoed through his head Bridget Conway’s lightly spokenwords:
“There have been a lot of deaths in the last year.”
Four LUKE MAKES A BEGINNING
Four LUKE MAKES A BEGINNING

Luke had thought out his plan of campaign with some care, and preparedto put it into action without more ado when he came down to breakfastthe following morning.
The gardening aunt was not in evidence, but Lord Whitfield was eatingkidneys and drinking coffee, and Bridget Conway had finished her mealand was standing at the window, looking out.
After good mornings had been exchanged and Luke had sat down with aplentifully heaped plate of eggs and bacon, he began:
“I must get to work,” he said. “Difficult thing is to induce people to talk.
You know what I mean—not people like you and—er—Bridget.” (He re-membered just in time not to say Miss Conway.) “You’d tell me anythingyou knew—but the trouble is you wouldn’t know the things I want to know—that is the local superstitions. You’d hardly believe the amount of super-stition that still lingers in out-of-the-way parts of the world. Why, there’s avillage in Devonshire. The rector had to remove some old granite menhirsthat stood by the church because the people persisted in marching roundthem in some old ritual every time there was a death. Extraordinary howold heathen rites persists.”
“Dare say you’re right,” said Lord Whitfield. “Education, that’s whatpeople need. Did I tell you that I’d endowed a very fine library here? Usedto be the old manor house—was going for a song—now it’s one of thefinest libraries—”
Luke firmly quelled the tendency of the conversation to turn in the dir-ection of Lord Whitfield’s doings.
“Splendid,” he said heartily. “Good work. You’ve evidently realized thebackground of old- world ignorance there is here. Of course, from mypoint of view, that’s just what I want. Old customs—old wives’ tales—hintsof the old rituals such as—”
Here followed almost verbatim a page of a work that Luke had read upfor the occasion.
“Deaths are the most hopeful line,” he ended. “Burial rites and customsalways survive longer than any others. Besides, for some reason or other,village people always like talking about deaths.”
“They enjoy funerals,” agreed Bridget from the window.
“I thought I’d make that my starting-point,” went on Luke. “If I can get alist of recent demises in the parish, track down the relatives and get intoconversation, I’ve no doubt I shall soon get a hint of what I’m after. Whomhad I better get the data from—the parson?”
“Mr. Wake would probably be very interested,” said Bridget. “He’s quitean old dear and a bit of an antiquary. He could give you a lot of stuff, I ex-pect.”
Luke had a momentary qualm during which he hoped that the clergy-man might not be so efficient an antiquary as to expose his own preten-sions.
Aloud he said heartily:
“Good. You’ve no idea, I suppose, of likely people who’ve died during thelast year.”
Bridget murmured:
“Let me see. Carter, of course. He was the landlord of the Seven Stars,that nasty little pub down by the river.”
“A drunken ruffian,” said Lord Whitfield. “One of these socialistic, abus-ive brutes, a good riddance.”
“And Mrs. Rose, the laundress,” went on Bridget. “And little TommyPierce—he was a nasty little boy if you like. Oh, of course, and that girlAmy what’s-her-name.”
Her voice changed slightly as she uttered the last name.
“Amy?” said Luke.
“Amy Gibbs. She was housemaid here and then she went to Miss Waynf-lete. There was an inquest on her.”
“Why?”
“Fool of a girl mixed up some bottles in the dark,” said Lord Whitfield.
“She took what she thought was cough mixture and it was hat paint,” ex-plained Bridget.
Luke raised his eyebrows.
“Somewhat of a tragedy.”
Bridget said:
“There was some idea of her having done it on purpose. Some row witha young man.”
She spoke slowly—almost reluctantly.
There was a pause. Luke felt instinctively the presence of some un-spoken feeling weighing down the atmosphere.
He thought:
“Amy Gibbs? Yes, that was one of the names old Miss Pinkerton men-tioned.”
She had also mentioned a small boy—Tommy someone—of whom shehad evidently held a low opinion (this, it seemed, was shared by Bridget!)And yes—he was almost sure—the name Carter had been spoken too.
Rising, he said lightly:
“Talking like this makes me feel rather ghoulish—as though I dabbledonly in graveyards. Marriage customs are interesting too — but rathermore difficult to introduce into conversation unconcernedly.”
“I should imagine that was likely,” said Bridget with a faint twitch of thelips.
“Ill-wishing or overlooking, there’s another interesting subject,” went onLuke with a would-be show of enthusiasm. “You often get that in theseold-world places. Know of any gossip of that kind here?”
Lord Whitfield slowly shook his head. Bridget Conway said:
“We shouldn’t be likely to hear of things like that—”
Luke took it up almost before she finished speaking.
“No doubt about it, I’ve got to move in lower social spheres to get what Iwant. I’ll be off to the vicarage first and see what I can get there. After thatperhaps a visit to the—Seven Stars, did you say? And what about the smallboy of unpleasant habits? Did he leave any sorrowing relatives?”
“Mrs. Pierce keeps a tobacco and paper shop in High Street.”
“That,” said Luke, “is nothing less than providential. Well, I’ll be on myway.”
With a swift graceful movement Bridget moved from the window.
“I think,” she said, “I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
He said it as heartily as possible, but he wondered if she had noticedthat, just for a moment, he had been taken aback.
It would have been easier for him to handle an elderly antiquarian cler-gyman without an alert discerning intelligence by his side.
“Oh well,” he thought to himself. “It’s up to me to do my stuff convin-cingly.”
Bridget said:
“Will you just wait, Luke, while I change my shoes?”
Luke—the Christian name uttered so easily gave him a queer warm feel-ing. And yet what else could she have called him? Since she had agreed toJimmy’s scheme of cousinship she could hardly call him Mr. Fitzwilliam.
He thought suddenly and uneasily, “What does she think of it all? In God’sname what does she think?”
Queer that that had not worried him beforehand. Jimmy’s cousin hadjust been a convenient abstraction—a lay figure. He had hardly visualizedher, just accepted his friend’s dictum that “Bridget would be all right.”
He had thought of her—if he had thought of her at all—as a little blondesecretary person—astute enough to have captured a rich man’s fancy.
Instead she had force, brains, a cool clear intelligence and he had noidea what she was thinking of him. He thought: She’s not an easy person todeceive.
“I’m ready now.”
She had joined him so silently that he had not heard her approach. Shewore no hat, and there was no net on her hair. As they stepped out fromthe house the wind, sweeping round the corner of the castellated mon-strosity, caught her long black hair and whipped it into a sudden frenzyround her face.
She said smiling:
“You need me to show you the way.”
“It’s very kind of you,” he answered punctiliously.
And wondered if he had imagined a sudden swiftly passing ironic smile.
Looking back at the battlements behind him, he said irritably:
“What an abomination! Couldn’t anyone stop him?”
Bridget answered: “An Englishman’s house is his castle—literally so inGordon’s case! He adores it.”
Conscious that the remark was in bad taste, yet unable to control histongue, he said:
“It’s your old home, isn’t it? Do you ‘adore’ to see it the way it is now?”
She looked at him then—a steady slightly amused look it was.
“I hate to destroy the dramatic picture you are building up,” she mur-mured. “But actually I left here when I was two and a half, so you see theold home motive doesn’t apply. I can’t even remember this place.”
“You’re right,” said Luke. “Forgive the lapse into film language.”
She laughed.
“Truth,” she said, “is seldom romantic.”
And there was a sudden bitter scorn in her voice that startled him. Heflushed a deep red under his tan, then realized suddenly that the bitter-ness had not been aimed at him. It was her own scorn and her own bitter-ness. Luke was wisely silent. But he wondered a good deal about BridgetConway….
Five minutes brought them to the church and to the vicarage that ad-joined it. They found the vicar in his study.
Alfred Wake was a small stooping old man with very mild blue eyes,and an absentminded but courteous air. He seemed pleased but a littlesurprised by the visit.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam is staying with us at Ashe Manor,” said Bridget, “and hewants to consult you about a book he is writing.”
Mr. Wake turned his mild inquiring eyes towards the younger man, andLuke plunged into explanations.
He was nervous—doubly so. Nervous in the first place because this manhad no doubt a far deeper knowledge of folklore and superstitious ritesand customs than one could acquire by merely hurriedly cramming froma haphazard collection of books. Secondly he was nervous because BridgetConway was standing by listening.
Luke was relieved to find that Mr. Wake’s special interest was Romanremains. He confessed gently that he knew very little of medieval folkloreand witchcraft. He mentioned the existence of certain items in the historyof Wychwood, offered to take Luke to the particular ledge of hill where itwas said the Witches’ Sabbaths had been held, but expressed himself re-gretful that he could add no special information of his own.
Inwardly much relieved, Luke expressed himself as somewhat disap-pointed, and then plunged into inquiries as to deathbed superstitions.
Mr. Wake shook his head gently.
“I am afraid I should be the last person to know about those. My parish-ioners would be careful to keep anything unorthodox from my ears.”
“That’s so, of course.”
“But I’ve no doubt, all the same, there is a lot of superstition still rife.
These village communities are very backward.”
Luke plunged boldly.
“I’ve been asking Miss Conway for a list of all the recent deaths shecould remember. I thought I might get at something that way. I supposeyou could supply me with a list, so that I could pick out the likelies.”
“Yes—yes—that could be managed. Giles, our sexton, a good fellow butsadly deaf, could help you there. Let me see now. There have been a goodmany—a good many—a treacherous spring and a hard winter behind it—and then a good many accidents—quite a cycle of bad luck there seems tohave been.”
“Sometimes,” said Luke, “a cycle of bad luck is attributed to the presenceof a particular person.”
“Yes, yes. The old story of Jonah. But I do not think there have been anystrangers here—nobody, that is to say, outstanding in any way, and I’vecertainly never heard any rumour of such feeling—but then again, as Isaid, perhaps I shouldn’t. Now let me see—quite recently we have had Dr.
Humbleby and poor Lavinia Pinkerton—a fine man, Dr. Humbleby—”
Bridget put in:
“Mr. Fitzwilliam knows friends of his.”
“Do you indeed? Very sad. His loss will be much felt. A man with manyfriends.”
“But surely a man with some enemies too,” said Luke. “I’m only going bywhat I’ve heard my friends say,” he went on hastily.
Mr. Wake sighed.
“A man who spoke his mind—and a man who wasn’t always very tact-ful, shall we say—” he shook his head. “It does get people’s backs up. Buthe was greatly beloved among the poorer classes.”
Luke said carelessly:
“You know I always feel that one of the most unpalatable facts to befaced in life, is the fact that every death that occurs means a gain tosomeone—I don’t mean only financially.”
The vicar nodded thoughtfully.
“I see your meaning, yes. We read in an obituary notice that a man is re-gretted by everybody, but that can only be true very rarely I fear. In Dr.
Humbleby’s case, there is no denying that his partner, Dr. Thomas, willfind his position very much improved by Dr. Humbleby’s death.”
“How is that?”
“Thomas, I believe, is a very capable fellow—certainly Humbleby al-ways said so, but he didn’t get on here very well. He was, I think, over-shadowed by Humbleby who was a man of very definite magnetism.
Thomas appeared rather colourless in contrast. He didn’t impress his pa-tients at all. I think he worried over it, too, and that made him worse—more nervous and tongue-tied. As a matter of fact I’ve noticed an astonish-ing difference already. More aplomb—more personality. I think he feels anew confidence in himself. He and Humbleby didn’t always agree, I be-lieve. Thomas was all for newer methods of treatment and Humbleby pre-ferred to stick to the old ways. There were clashes between them morethan once—over that as well as over a matter nearer home—but there, Imustn’t gossip—”
Bridget said softly and clearly:
“But I think Mr. Fitzwilliam would like you to gossip!”
Luke shot her a quick disturbed look.
Mr. Wake shook his head doubtfully, and then went on, smiling a littlein deprecation.
“I am afraid one learns to take too much interest in one’s neighbours’ af-fairs. Rose Humbleby is a very pretty girl. One doesn’t wonder that Geof-frey Thomas lost his heart. And of course Humbleby’s point of view wasquite understandable too—the girl is young and buried away here shehadn’t much chance of seeing other men.”
“He objected?” said Luke.
“Very definitely. Said they were far too young. And of course youngpeople resent being told that! There was a very definite coldness betweenthe two men. But I must say that I’m sure Dr. Thomas was deeply dis-tressed at his partner’s unexpected death.”
“Septic?mia, Lord Whitfield told me.”
“Yes—just a little scratch that got infected. Doctors run grave risks in thecourse of their profession, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“They do indeed,” said Luke.
Mr. Wake gave a sudden start.
“But I have wandered a long way from what we were talking about,” hesaid. “A gossiping old man, I am afraid. We were speaking of the survivalof pagan death customs and of recent deaths. There was Lavinia Pinkerton—one of our more kindly Church helpers. Then there was that poor girl,Amy Gibbs—you might discover something in your line there, Mr. Fitzwil-liam—there was just a suspicion, you know, that it might have been sui-cide—and there are certain rather eerie rites in connection with that typeof death. There is an aunt—not, I fear, a very estimable woman, and notvery much attached to her niece—but a great talker.”
“Valuable,” said Luke.
“Then there was Tommy Pierce—he was in the choir at one time—abeautiful treble—quite angelic—but not a very angelic boy otherwise, I amafraid. We had to get rid of him in the end, he made the other boys behaveso badly. Poor lad, I’m afraid he was not very much liked anywhere. Hewas dismissed from the post office where we got him a job as telegraphboy. He was in Mr. Abbot’s office for a while, but there again he was dis-missed very soon—interfered with some confidential papers, I believe.
Then, of course, he was at Ashe Manor for a time, wasn’t he, Miss Conway,as garden boy, and Lord Whitfield had to discharge him for gross imper-tinence. I was so sorry for his mother—a very decent hardworking soul.
Miss Waynflete very kindly got him some odd window cleaning work.
Lord Whitfield objected at first, then suddenly he gave in—actually it wassad that he did so.”
“Why?”
“Because the boy was killed that way. He was cleaning the top windowsof the library (the old Hall, you know) and tried some silly fooling—dan-cing on the window ledge or something of that sort—lost his balance, orelse became dizzy, and fell. A nasty business! He never recovered con-sciousness and died a few hours after they got him to hospital.”
“Did anyone see him fall?” asked Luke with interest.
“No. He was on the garden side—not the front of the house. They estim-ate he lay there for about half an hour before anyone found him.”
“Who did find him?”
“Miss Pinkerton. You remember, the lady I mentioned just now who wasunfortunately killed in a street accident the other day. Poor soul, she wasterribly upset. A nasty experience! She had obtained permission to take acutting of some plants and found the boy there lying where he had fallen.”
“It must have been a very unpleasant shock,” said Luke thoughtfully.
“A greater shock,” he thought to himself, “than you know.”
“A young life cut short is a very sad thing,” said the old man, shaking hishead. “Tommy’s faults may have been mainly due to high spirits.”
“He was a disgusting bully,” said Bridget. “You know he was, Mr. Wake.
Always tormenting cats and stray puppies and pinching other little boys.”
“I know—I know.” Mr. Wake shook his head sadly. “But you know, mydear Miss Conway, sometimes cruelty is not so much innate as due to thefact that imagination is slow in ripening. That is why if you conceive of agrown man with the mentality of a child you realize that the cunning andbrutality of a lunatic may be quite unrealized by the man himself. A lackof growth somewhere, that, I am convinced, is at the root of much of thecruelty and stupid brutality in the world today. One must put away child-ish things—”
He shook his head and spread out his hands.
Bridget said in a voice suddenly hoarse:
“Yes, you’re right. I know what you mean. A man who is a child is themost frightening thing in the world….”
Luke looked at her with some curiosity. He was convinced that she wasthinking of some particular person, and although Lord Whitfield was insome respects exceedingly childish, he did not believe she was thinking ofhim. Lord Whitfield was slightly ridiculous, but he was certainly notfrightening.
Luke Fitzwilliam wondered very much whom the person Bridget wasthinking of might be.
第三章 没有扫帚的巫婆
第三章 没有扫帚的巫婆

时值六月，明艳的阳光普照着大地，卢克驱车翻过山坡，来到了小小的阿什威奇伍德。此时的乡村小镇静谧无邪地沐浴在阳光下，唯一的主要街道沿着阿什山脉的边缘蜿蜒伸展。看起来仿佛远离尘嚣，不受庸扰。卢克想：也许我疯了，这整件事都只是我的幻想。
他驾车缓缓地沿着弯曲的道路驶入那条大街。如前所述，威奇伍德只有一条主要街道，街上有些商店和乔治亚式 [1] 的小房舍，整齐而有贵族气派，门前是洁白的阶梯，门上的门环亮闪闪的；此外还有几处带花园的别致农舍。离大街稍远处，有一家叫“贝尔斯—莫特利”的小旅馆。村中有一片青草地和一个养鸭池，卢克起初以为上面那幢高雅的乔治亚式建筑就是他的目的地“阿什庄园”。但是走近一看门上的漆字招牌，才知道是“博物馆和图书馆”。再过去一些，有一幢巨大的白色现代建筑，和村中其他地方那种愉悦随和的气氛格格不入。卢克猜想那大概是当地的学校兼青年俱乐部。就在这时，他停车问了问路。
路人告诉他，阿什庄园大概还有半英里远，到时能看见大门在他的右手边。卢克继续向前行驶，很轻松地便找到了庄园大门，是一扇崭新精致的铁门。他驶进门内，瞥见树丛后的红砖房子。等他转到正面时，不禁被映入眼帘的那一座惊人而不谐调的城堡形建筑怔住了。
正当他仔细思忖着可怕的命案的时候，太阳躲进了云里。他突然意识到阿什山脉的影响力。一阵狂风迎面袭来，吹得树叶哗哗作响。这时，一位女子从城堡形房子的转角走过来，大风把她的黑发吹起，卢克忽然想起他看过的一幅画——尼文森 [2] 的《女巫》。那张苍白、姣好的长脸，那头直冲星空的黑发，卢克几乎可以想象出她骑着扫帚飞向月亮的情景。
她径直走向他，说：“想必你就是卢克•菲茨威廉，我是布丽吉特•康威。”
他握了握她伸过来的手，现在他可以看清她的真面目，而不是胡思乱想。高挑、苗条，精致的长脸蛋，略微凹下的面颊，带有讽刺意味的黑眉、黑眼和黑头发，他觉得她就像一幅精美的版画，深沉而美丽。
他说：“你好！很抱歉这样打扰你，不过吉米说你不会介意。”
“对，我们觉得很高兴。”她笑了笑，两边嘴角高高翘起弯成弧形，“吉米和我向来交情不错。如果你想写有关民俗的书，这个地方再好不过了。不仅有各种传说，也有不少如画的风景。”
“太好了。”卢克说。
他们一起走向屋子，卢克又悄悄打量了一下这座庄园。他现在才看出，那原本是一幢朴素的安妮女王式建筑 [3] ，目前已经经过多次华丽的粉饰。他想起吉米说过，这幢房子原本是布丽吉特家的财产，那一定是加上这些粉饰之前。进屋之后，布丽吉特•康威带他走进一间有书架和舒适椅子的房间。窗口有张茶几，旁边坐了两个人。
她说：“戈登，这是卢克，我的远房表哥。”
惠特菲尔德爵士身材矮小，头顶半秃，圆脸上露出坦诚的表情，嘴唇突出，眼睛像煮熟的醋栗似的。他穿着一套不甚考究的乡村衣服，与他那大腹便便的身材很不相称。他亲切地对卢克打招呼道：“很高兴认识你，太高兴了。听说你刚从东部回来，那地方很有意思。布丽吉特告诉我，你打算写一本书。有人说这年头出的书实在太多了，不过，好书总会受人欢迎的。”
布丽吉特说：“这是我姑姑，安斯特拉瑟太太。”卢克和那个不善言辞的中年女人握了握手。
卢克很快就知道，安斯特拉瑟太太全心全意地扑在园艺上面。寒暄过后，她就说：“我相信这些石生玫瑰在这种气候里会长得很好。”然后又埋头看着手上的花卉目录。
惠特菲尔德爵士把矮胖的身躯靠在椅背上，一边小口抿茶，一边用欣赏的眼光打量着卢克。
“原来你是个作家。”他喃喃地道。
卢克觉得有点紧张，正想加以解释，却发现惠特菲尔德爵士并非真想知道什么。爵士志得意满地说：“我也一直想亲自写一本书，可就是没有时间，我太忙了。”
“当然，您一定很忙。”
“你不会相信我担负着多大的责任，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“我对我的每一本刊物都很关心，我觉得自己对端正人心有着很大的责任。只要过一个礼拜，就有好几百万人会完全依照我的意思去思想和感觉。这可是很严肃的事，这就是责任。老实说，我不在乎责任，也不怕负责任，我总是负责任地做事。”
说完，爵士挺了挺胸，试图缩回肚子，然后和蔼地看看卢克。布丽吉特•康威轻轻地说：“你真了不起，戈登。再喝杯茶吧。”
惠特菲尔德爵士简单地答道：“我是个了不起的人。算了，我不喝了。”然后又从他高高在上的宝座俯瞰下面的凡尘，亲切地问客人道，“你在这附近有熟人吗？”
卢克摇了摇头，忽然想到自己越早开始工作越好，又说：“不过我答应替别人去看一个人——朋友的朋友，他姓亨伯比，是个医生。”
“噢！”惠特菲尔德爵士努力坐直身子，说，“亨伯比医生？真可惜！”
“可惜什么？”
“一个星期前死了。”
“噢，天哪，”卢克说，“真遗憾。”
“我想你一定不会喜欢他，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“顽固、讨厌、又昏庸的老蠢蛋。”
“换句话说，”布丽吉特插嘴道，“他和戈登意见相左。”
“是为了水源的问题，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“不妨告诉你，菲茨威廉先生，我是个热心公益的人，对本地的公共福利非常关心。我出生在这里，不错，就是这个小镇。”
接着，他又向卢克详细说明他的事业。最后好不容易才用胜利的口吻说：“你知道我父亲从前店面的原址现在建了什么吗？我把它捐了出来，建了一座很棒的建筑——学校兼青年俱乐部。这是一座一流的、最新式的建筑，请的是全国最好的建筑师！我只能说他干得马马虎虎，我觉得它看起来就像贫济院或者监狱，可是别人都说不错，所以我想一定错不了。”
“振作点儿，”布丽吉特说，“这幢房子已经按照你的意思整修过了。”
惠特菲尔德爵士高兴地笑着说：“对呀，他们连这个地方都想要我听他们的，要是建筑师不照我的意思做，我就换掉他，另找一个。最后终于找到一个完全明白我想法的家伙。”
“他帮你把那些胡思乱想发挥得淋漓尽致。”布丽吉特说。
“她本想让这个地方保持原来的样子。”惠特菲尔德爵士说着拍了拍她的手臂，“光是生活在回忆中是没用的，亲爱的。我一直盼望有一座城堡，现在终于有了！”
“嗯，”卢克觉得有些词穷，“能了解你的想法真是不错。”
对方笑着说：“我通常想要什么，就有什么。”
“可是供水计划就几乎没按照你的意思。”布丽吉特提醒他。
“噢，那个！”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“亨伯比是个傻瓜。那些老头都顽固得很，不肯听别人讲道理。”
“亨伯比医生是个很坦率的人，不是吗？”卢克试探地说，“所以我猜他因此树敌不少。”
“不——不，我不知道该说什么，”惠特菲尔德爵士揉了揉鼻子，喃喃说，“呃，布丽吉特？”
“我一直觉得他很受欢迎，”布丽吉特说，“我只有那次脚踝受伤时见过他，不过我觉得他很和蔼可亲。”
“对呀，大体上说来，他还蛮受人欢迎的。”惠特菲尔德爵士承认道，“不过我知道有一两个人总是和他过不去。像这种地方，往往有很多争执和派系。”
“对，我想是的。”卢克说，同时犹豫了一下，拿不准下一步该怎么走，“这地方大部分住了些什么样的人？”
这个问题没有多大分量，可是他马上得到了答案。“大部分都是些未亡人，”布丽吉特说，“牧师的女儿、姊妹，或者妻子，还有些医生家的女眷。男女比例大约是一比六。”
“不过还是有一些男人吧？”卢克冒险地问。
“噢，对，有艾伯特先生，是个律师；年轻的托马斯医生；亨伯比医生的合伙人；维克牧师还有什么人，戈登？噢，对了，埃尔斯沃思先生，是古董店老板，另外还有霍顿少校跟他那些牛头犬。”
“我记得我朋友还提到过其他人，”卢克说，“听说是位亲切的老太太，就是太健谈了。
对了，我想起来了，平克顿。”
惠特菲尔德爵士咯咯笑了起来，嗓音中透着些嘶哑：“说真的，你太不走运了！她也死啦！那天在伦敦被车子撞倒，当场就死了。”
“这里好像死了不少人嘛。”卢克漫不经心地说。
惠特菲尔德爵士立刻生气地说：“才不是呢，这是全英国最健康的地方。意外死亡当然不算，任何人都可能发生意外！”
但布丽吉特•康威却若有所思地说：“事实上，戈登，过去这一年里真的死了不少人，老是在举行葬礼。”
“亲爱的，别胡说。”
卢克问：“亨伯比医生的死也是个意外吗？”
惠特菲尔德爵士摇了摇头，说：“噢，不是，他是得了败血症死的。当医生的经常碰到这种事，手指被生锈的钉子或者别的什么划破，没有留意，结果被细菌感染，三天后就死了。”
“医生大都这样，”布丽吉特说，“所以我想他们大概一不小心就很容易感染。真叫人难过，他的太太伤心透了。”
“违抗天意是没用的。”惠特菲尔德爵士轻松地说。
可这真是天意吗？卢克回房间换衣服的时候自问道。败血症？也许是真的，可是确实死得太突然了，而且他脑子里一直反复想着布丽吉特•康威的那句话：“过去这一年里真的死了不少人。”
[1]乔治亚式建筑，是指1720年至1840年之间，在大多数英语系国家出现的建筑风格。
[2]克里斯托夫•尼文森（Christopher Nevinson’s，1889-1946），英国画家，因一战题材的油画而闻名。
[3]安妮女王式建筑，对当时流传的所有建筑样式的装饰元素进行自由组合成为英国维多利亚时期建筑风格的代表，除大气恢宏的建筑立面外，常伴有精致塔楼、封闭式花园露台等，既形成了上层名流的私密空间，又增强了建筑的美学效果。
第四章 开始调查
第四章 开始调查

第二天，卢克在下楼准备吃早餐的时候，心中已经大致拟好了工作计划，并准备付诸行动。园丁阿姨不在，惠特菲尔德爵士正享用腰子和咖啡。布丽吉特吃完了早餐，站在窗边向外看着。与布丽吉特彼此道完“早安”后，卢克坐在他那盘丰盛的鸡蛋与培根前。
“我该开始工作了，”他说，“设法让人开口实在太难了。你知道我的意思，别人不像你——嗯——布丽吉特。”幸好他及时醒悟，没有喊出“康威小姐”。“你知道什么都会告诉我，但可惜你不知道我想知道的事——我指的是本地迷信。你几乎很难相信，在很多偏僻的地方还有许许多多的迷信。例如德文郡有个村落里的牧师，就不得不移开教堂边一些古老的巨型花岗岩纪念碑，因为当地居民每次举行葬礼就要绕着纪念碑行进。那些异教徒的古老仪式居然会留传下来，真是不可思议。”
“你是对的，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“人们需要受到教育。我和你提到过我在这里建了一个非常棒的图书馆了吗？在老庄园的基础上建的，实在是太美了，现在是这里最好的图书馆之一……”
卢克坚定地结束了对话，说起惠特菲尔德爵士的所作所为。
“棒极了，”他由衷地说，“做得太好了，你意识到老旧观点是不好的，落后于这个社会了。当然，这只是我的观点。比如古老的习俗，荒诞的迷信，还有过时的仪式。”
接下来，他又谈了很多来此之前特地研读过的一本书的内容，最后下结论道：“死亡是人们最常谈论的话题，葬礼和有关死亡的习俗，往往比任何其他习俗都留传得久远。而且不知道为什么，乡下人总是热衷于谈论死亡。”
“因为他们喜欢葬礼。”布丽吉特在窗边赞同道。
“我想我会从这一点着手，”卢克接着说，“要是我能知道这个教区里最近的死者名单，查出他们的亲戚是谁，跟他们谈谈，相信一定能找出一点头绪。我该向谁打听死者的信息呢？牧师吗？”
“维克先生也许会很感兴趣。”布丽吉特说，“他是个老好人，也很喜欢研究古文物。我想他能给你提供不少资料。”
有一小会儿卢克觉得很不安，希望那位牧师不要太厉害，对古物的了解太内行，免得他露出马脚。他大声地说：“好的，我想你大概不大记得过去这一年里死了些什么人吧？”
布丽吉特喃喃道：“我想想看。当然，有卡特，河边那家肮脏的七星酒店的店主。”
“嗜酒如命的无赖！”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“一个社会主义者，满嘴脏话的混蛋！死得好！”
布丽吉特又说：“还有替人洗衣服的罗丝太太、小汤米•皮尔斯——可以说，他是个很惹人讨厌的小男孩。对了，当然还有那个叫艾米——艾米什么来着？”说到最后这个名字时，她的声音有点不大一样。
“艾米？”卢克说。
“艾米•吉布斯，以前在这儿当女佣，后来又换到韦恩弗利特小姐家。警方还给她验过尸。”
“为什么？”
“那个笨丫头在黑夜里弄错了药瓶。”惠特菲尔德爵士说。
“她以为拿的是咳嗽药，其实是帽漆。”布丽吉特解释道。
卢克扬了扬眉，吃惊地说：“这真是个悲剧。”
布丽吉特说：“有人认为她是故意的，可能是跟男朋友吵架怄气。”她说得很慢，几乎不大情愿。大家一时无话。卢克的直觉告诉自己，某种不可名状的情感正压抑着现场气氛。
他想着，艾米•吉布斯？对，平克顿小姐也提过这个名字。她还提过一个小男孩叫汤米什么的——她显然很不喜欢他。这样看来，布丽吉特似乎也有同感。对了，卢克几乎可以肯定，平克顿小姐也提到过卡特。
他站起来故作轻松地说：“说到这些，真叫人不寒而栗，仿佛闯进墓地似的。结婚的风俗也很有意思，不过现在说这个有点跑题了。”
“我该想到那种可能。”布丽吉特的嘴角微微抽动了一下。
“对别人要么诅咒生怨，要么漠不关心，又是另外一个有趣的话题。”卢克装出一副热心的模样，接着问，“在一些古老的乡镇常常可以听到。你们知不知道这里有没有那种事？”
惠特菲尔德爵士慢慢地摇了摇头。
布丽吉特•康威说：“我们不大可能听到那种事。”
卢克几乎还没等她说完就迫不及待地接下去：“当然，我本该向社会地位比较低的人打听。我想先到牧师那儿，看看能有什么收获。然后可能要走去——你是不是说叫七星酒店？还有那个惹人讨厌的小男孩呢？他有没有会为他的死而悲伤的亲人？”
“皮尔斯太太在大街上开一家卖报纸和香烟的小店。”
“真是太走运了，”卢克说，“好的，我要走了。”
布丽吉特迅速且优雅地从窗边走过来，说：“要是你不介意的话，我想跟你一起去。”
“当然不介意，”他尽力做出热情的样子。不过不知道她是否留意到，刚才有那么一会儿，他被这个提议吓了一跳。如果身边没有一个警觉聪慧的人，他会比较好打发那个上了年纪而且喜爱古文物的牧师。“算了，”他心想，“反正怎么做得让人相信，全靠我自己。”
布丽吉特说：“可不可以等一下？卢克，我换双鞋就来。”
她还能怎么称呼他呢？既然她已经答应吉米，假装把他当成表哥，难道还能叫他菲茨威廉先生吗？他忽然不安地想道：“她对这一切有什么想法？她到底怎么想的呢？”他原以为她应该是个娇小的金发秘书，聪明伶俐得足以抓住一个有钱人的心。但是事实上她很有魄力，有头脑，冷静而又聪明，他一点也不知道她心里对他的看法。他想：“她可不是个容易上当的人。”
“我准备好了。”她的动作很轻盈，所以他没有听到她走近的脚步声。她既没有戴帽子，也没戴发网。走到门外时，一阵强风从怪异城堡的转角处袭来，吹散了她的乌黑长发——零乱地缠绕在她脸上。
他回头看看城垛，生气地说：“真是令人讨厌！难道没有人能阻止他这样做吗？”
布丽吉特答道：“英国人一向把房子当作自己的城堡——事实上，戈登就是这么想的！
他对这幢房子喜欢得不得了！”
卢克意识到自己的话并不得体，可是又忍不住问：“这是你过去的家，不是吗？你‘喜欢’它现在的样子吗？”
她用平静而略带兴趣的眼光看着他，喃喃说：“我不想破坏你脑子里戏剧性的画面，可是事实上我两岁半就离开这里，所以你所想的‘为了旧家’的动机，并不适合放在我身上。
我甚至一点儿也不记得这个地方。”
“你说得对，”卢克说，“请原谅我一时失言。”
她笑道：“事实往往并不那么有情调。”她声音中突然流露出的嘲讽，不禁让他大吃一惊。他黝黑的脸庞侵上了一抹深红，却又突然意识到，她嘲讽的对象并不是他，而是她自己。于是他识趣地保持沉默，心里却又对布丽吉特•康威产生了很大的疑惑。
五分钟后，他们走过教堂，来到了紧挨着的牧师住所。牧师正在书房里。阿尔弗雷德•维克是个矮小的老人，佝偻着身子，湛蓝的眼睛里透着温和，虽然有点心不在焉，但很有礼貌。他对两位客人的来访似乎很高兴，但又带着点惊讶。
“菲茨威廉先生现在和我们一起住在阿什庄园，”布丽吉特说，“他想请教你一些有关他要写的书的事。”
维克先生把温和、探询的眼光转向了这个年轻人，卢克急忙解释起来。他很紧张，可以说是紧张得要命，原因有两个：第一，在民俗和迷信仪式以及风俗方面，这个人显然比任何囫囵吞枣地翻阅过几本书的人要内行得多；其次，布丽吉特•康威又站在一旁听着。
幸好维克先生特别感兴趣的是古罗马遗迹，卢克不禁松了一口气，他谦逊地承认自己对中世纪的民俗和巫术知之甚少。在提到有关威奇伍德历史的某些遗迹后，他主动提出要带卢克到传说中女巫子夜集会的山丘去看看。但令他感到遗憾的是，他本身没办法提供更多这方面的资料。
卢克心里如释重负，表面上却显得有点失望，接着他把话题转到有关死者临终前的迷信上。
维克先生轻轻摇摇头：“这方面我恐怕比任何人懂得都少。教区里的居民都守口如瓶，尽量不让我听到任何异端邪说。”
“对，那是自然的。”
“不过我相信这里还是有很多迷信，这些乡下人还是很落后。”
卢克大胆地说：“我向康威小姐打听过她记得最近死了哪些人，我想或许能从这里得到一些信息。不知道你能不能帮我列一个名单，这样我就可以选出我可能感兴趣的人？”
“好的，好的，这事我可以安排。我们这儿的教堂执事贾尔斯是个好人，可惜耳朵聋了，他可以帮你查查看。容我想想，真的死了好多好多人，熬过一个难熬的冬天和诡谲的春天之后，又是一桩桩意外，好像倒霉的事在循环往复地发生。”
“有时候，”卢克说，“一连串倒霉事往往和某个人的出现有关。”
“对、对，就像《圣经》中约拿 [1] 的故事，可是我想这里并没有出现过任何陌生人——我是说没有那种特别引人注意的陌生人，而且我也没听说有人有这种感觉。不过就像我刚刚提到的，也许我不应该听到。好了，我想想看，最近去世的有亨伯比医生和可怜的拉维妮亚•平克顿。亨伯比医生可是个好人啊。”
布丽吉特插嘴道：“菲茨威廉先生认识他的一些朋友。”
“真的？太令人惋惜了。一定有很多人为他的死感到难过，他的朋友很多。”
“可是他一定也有些仇人。”卢克又匆忙补充道，“我只是听朋友这么说。”
维克先生叹了口气。“他说话一向直言不讳，也不懂得圆滑处事。”他摇了摇头，“这样当然会得罪人，不过他的确受到很多穷人的真心爱戴。”
卢克漫不经心地说：“你知道，我总觉得生活中经常会碰到一些特别令人不快的事，比如一个人死了，某一个人就会因此得益，我指的不仅仅是金钱方面。”
牧师若有所思地点点头，说道：“我明白你的意思。对，讣闻上说人人都为死者难过惋惜，事实上恐怕不见得如此。就拿亨伯比医生的死来说，他的合伙人托马斯医生的地位当然会改善不少。”
“怎么会呢？”
“我相信托马斯是个很能干的人，当然亨伯比医生也一直这么说，可是他在这里发展得并不太顺利。我想主要是亨伯比是个非常有吸引力的人，从而埋没了托马斯。比较起来，托马斯就逊色多了，病人对他根本没什么印象。我想他也担心过这一点，这样一来反而更糟，他变得更加紧张、口笨。其实我早就注意到他们之间的一个巨大差异，你越是泰然自若，沉着应对，就越具有人格力量。我想，托马斯自己已经重拾信心了吧。他和亨伯比向来意见不合。他完全采用新的医疗方式，亨伯比却只用些老法子。他们为此和其他大事争执过几次。不过关于这些事，我不应该多嘴。”
布丽吉特温和地说：“可是我相信菲茨威廉先生一定想多听听你的意见。”
卢克不安地迅速看了她一眼。
维克先生犹豫地摇了摇头，然后又微笑着用不赞成的口气说：“我觉得大家实在是太爱管别人家的闲事了。罗丝•亨伯比是个很漂亮的女孩，难怪托马斯医生会一见倾心。亨伯比的看法也完全可以理解，那女孩太年轻，而且一直住在这个小地方，没什么机会碰见别的男人。”
“他反对？”卢克问。
“强烈反对，说他们都太年轻了。年轻人当然不爱听这一套，所以两个男人彼此都冷若冰霜。可是我得说，托马斯医生确实对他合伙人的意外死亡感到难过。”
“惠特菲尔德爵士告诉我是败血症。”
“对，只是一点点划伤引起的感染。做医生的往往要冒很大的风险，菲茨威廉先生。”
“的确是这样。”卢克说。
维克先生忽然说：“但我实在扯得太远了，恐怕我会变成一个长舌老头。我们刚才是谈现存的异教徒殡葬习俗和最近本地有哪些人去世，对吧？有拉维妮亚•平克顿——她最热心赞助教会了，还有那个可怜的女孩艾米•吉布斯，也许你可以从这里发现一点感兴趣的东西，菲茨威廉先生。你知道，有人怀疑她可能是自杀，在这方面有些很可怕的仪式。她有个姑姑——我想恐怕为人不怎么和善可亲，也不大喜欢她侄女，不过很爱说话。”
“这听起来很有价值。”卢克说。
“还有汤米•皮尔斯，他曾经参加过唱诗班，有着天使般甜美的高音。不过其他方面就不大可爱了。所以我们最后只好请他离开，免得其他男孩被他带坏。可怜的孩子，恐怕大家都不太喜欢他。我们本来替他在邮局找了份送电报的工作，可他后来被开除了。他也在艾伯特先生那里做过一阵子事，但不久又被开除了，我猜是弄丢了什么机密文件。后来他又在阿什庄园待过一段时间，是吧？康威小姐，在花园里帮忙，但是他实在太没礼貌，惠特菲尔德爵士只好解雇他。我真替他母亲难过，她是个非常有修养，而且勤劳的女人。韦恩弗利特小姐好心地替他找了些擦窗户的临时工作，惠特菲尔德爵士起初是反对的，但最后还是让步了。其实，要是当初他不答应就好了。”
“为什么？”
“那孩子就是因此而死的。他在擦图书馆——你知道，就是擦那幢旧的大房子顶层窗户的时候，不知道他犯了什么傻，竟然在窗槛上面跳舞什么的，一不小心失去平衡，要不然就是头昏，掉了下来。真让人看了难过！摔下来之后就一直没有清醒，送到医院几小时就死了。”
“有没有人看到他掉下去。”卢克饶有兴趣地问。
“没有，他在擦花园那边的窗户，不是在房子的正面。有人估计，他跌下来大概半小时之后才被人发现。”
“是谁发现的？”
“平克顿小姐，你还记得吗，就是我刚刚提到前些日子过马路不幸被汽车撞死的那位女士。真可怜！她觉得非常不安！碰到这种事实在叫人不舒服！那天她获准到花园里修剪植物，结果发现那孩子昏倒在掉下来的地方。”
“这真是个极其不愉快的惊吓。”卢克若有所思地说。同时，他在心里想：比你想象中的还要震惊。
“他是个讨厌的小恶棍。”布丽吉特说，“你知道，维克先生，他老是虐待小猫、小狗，还抢其他小男孩的东西。”
“我知道，我知道。”维克先生难过地摇摇头，“可是你知道，亲爱的康威小姐，有时候残酷的个性与其说是天生的，还不如说是心智不成熟造成的。你要是用一个小孩的眼光去看大人，就会发现人往往看不到自己的残忍或者疯狂。我相信现在世界上大多数残忍、愚蠢的行为，都是由于某些地方不够成熟造成的。人必须抛开孩子气的东西。”他摇了摇头，摊开双手。
布丽吉特忽然用嘶哑的声音说：“是的，你说得对，我懂你的意思。一个像小孩子一样幼稚的大人，确实是世界上最可怕的事。”
卢克•菲茨威廉感到困惑，他想知道布丽吉特指的是谁。
[1]“约拿”被用来指代“带来厄运的人”。约拿是一个虔诚的犹太先知，一直渴望能够得到神的差遣。神终于给了他一个光荣的任务，去宣布赦免一座本来要被罪行毁灭的城市——尼尼微城。约拿却抗拒这个任务，因为尼尼微城是毁灭他家族和民族的死敌。他逃跑后，被上帝惩戒、唤醒。他几经犹疑，终于悔改，完成了使命——宣布尼尼微城的人获得赦免。但是尼尼微人虽一时悔改，本性难移，最终还是被上帝毁灭。
Five VISIT TO MISS WAYNFLETE
Five VISIT TO MISS WAYNFLETE

Mr. Wake murmured a few more names to himself.
“Let me see now—poor Mrs. Rose, and old Bell and that child of theElkins and Harry Carter—they’re not all my people, you understand. Mrs.
Rose and Carter were dissenters. And that cold spell in March took offpoor old Ben Stanbury at last—ninety-two he was.”
“Amy Gibbs died in April,” said Bridget.
“Yes, poor girl—a sad mistake to happen.”
Luke looked up to find Bridget watching him. She lowered her eyesquickly. He thought, with some annoyance:
“There’s something here that I haven’t got on to. Something to do withthis girl Amy Gibbs.”
When they had taken leave of the vicar and were outside again, he said:
“Just who and what was Amy Gibbs?”
Bridget took a minute or two to answer. Then she said—and Luke no-ticed the slight constraint in her voice:
“Amy was one of the most inefficient housemaids I have ever known.”
“That’s why she got the sack?”
“No. She stayed out after hours playing about with some young man.
Gordon has very moral and old-fashioned views. Sin in his view does nottake place until after eleven o’clock, but then it is rampant. So he gave thegirl notice and she was impertinent about it!”
Luke asked: “A good-looking girl?”
“Very good-looking.”
“She’s the one who swallowed hat paint in mistake for cough mixture?”
“Yes.”
“Rather a stupid thing to do?” Luke hazarded.
“Very stupid.”
“Was she stupid?”
“No, she was quite a sharp girl.”
Luke stole a look at her. He was puzzled. Her replies were given in aneven tone, without emphasis or even much interest. But behind what shesaid, there was, he felt convinced, something not put into words.
At that moment Bridget stopped to speak to a tall man who swept off hishat and greeted her with breezy heartiness.
Bridget, after a word or two, introduced Luke.
“This is my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam, who is staying at the Manor. He’sdown here to write a book. This is Mr. Abbot.”
Luke looked at Mr. Abbot with some interest. This was the solicitor whohad employed Tommy Pierce.
Luke had a somewhat illogical prejudice against lawyers in general—based on the grounds that so many politicians were recruited from theirranks. Also their cautious habit of not committing themselves annoyedhim. Mr. Abbot, however, was not at all the conventional type of lawyer,he was neither thin, spare, nor tight- lipped. He was a big florid man,dressed in tweeds with a hearty manner and a jovial effusiveness. Therewere little creases at the corners of his eyes, and the eyes themselves weremore shrewd than one appreciated in a first casual glance.
“Writing a book, eh? Novel?”
“Folklore,” said Bridget.
“You’ve come to the right place for that,” said the lawyer. “Wonderfullyinteresting part of the world here.”
“So I’ve been led to understand,” said Luke. “I dare say you could helpme a bit. You must come across curious old deeds—or know of some inter-esting surviving customs.”
“Well, I don’t know about that—maybe—maybe—”
“Much belief in ghosts round here?” asked Luke.
“As to that I couldn’t say—I really couldn’t say.”
“No haunted house?”
“No—I don’t know of anything of that kind.”
“There’s the child superstition, of course,” said Luke. “Death of a boychild—a violent death that is—the boy always walks. Not a girl child—in-teresting that.”
“Very,” said Mr. Abbot. “I never heard that before.”
Since Luke had just invented it, that was hardly surprising.
“Seems there’s a boy here—Tommy something—was in your office atone time. I’ve reason to believe they think that he’s walking.”
Mr. Abbot’s red face turned slightly purple.
“Tommy Pierce? A good for nothing, prying, meddlesome jackanapes.”
“Spirits always seem to be mischievous. Good law-abiding citizens sel-dom trouble this world after they’ve left it.”
“Who’s seen him—what’s this story?”
“These things are difficult to pin down,” said Luke. “People won’t comeout into the open with a statement. It’s just in the air, so to speak.”
“Yes—yes, I suppose so.”
Luke changed the subject adroitly.
“The real person to get hold of is the local doctor. They hear a lot in thepoorer cases they attend. All sorts of superstitions and charms—probablylove philtres and all the rest of it.”
“You must get on to Thomas. Good fellow, Thomas, thoroughly up-to-date man. Not like poor old Humbleby.”
“Bit of a reactionary, wasn’t he?”
“Absolutely pigheaded—a diehard of the worst description.”
“You had a real row over the water scheme, didn’t you?” asked Bridget.
Again a rich ruddy glow suffused Abbot’s face.
“Humbleby stood dead in the way of progress,” he said sharply. “Heheld out against the scheme! He was pretty rude, too, in what he said.
Didn’t mince his words. Some of the things he said to me were positivelyactionable.”
Bridget murmured: “But lawyers never go to law, do they? They knowbetter.”
Abbot laughed immoderately. His anger subsided as quickly as it hadarisen.
“Pretty good, Miss Bridget! And you’re not far wrong. We who are in itknow too much about law, ha, ha. Well, I must be getting along. Give me acall if you think I can help you in any way, Mr.—er—”
“Fitzwilliam,” said Luke. “Thanks, I will.”
As they walked on Bridget said:
“Your methods, I note, are to make statements and see what they pro-voke.”
“My methods,” said Luke, “are not strictly truthful, if that is what youmean?”
“I’ve noticed that.”
A little uneasy, he hesitated what to say next. But before he could speak,she said:
“If you want to hear more about Amy Gibbs, I can take you to someonewho could help you.”
“Who is that?”
“A Miss Waynflete. Amy went there after she left the Manor. She wasthere when she died.”
“Oh, I see—” he was a little taken aback. “Well—thank you very much.”
“She lives just here.”
They were crossing the village green. Inclining her head in the directionof the big Georgian house that Luke had noticed the day before, Bridgetsaid: “That’s Wych Hall. It’s a library now.”
Adjoining the Hall was a little house that looked rather like a doll’shouse in proportion. Its steps were dazzlingly white, its knocker shoneand its window curtains showed white and prim.
Bridget pushed open the gate and advanced to the steps.
As she did so the front door opened and an elderly woman came out.
She was, Luke thought, completely the country spinster. Her thin formwas neatly dressed in a tweed coat and skirt and she wore a grey silkblouse with a cairn- gorm brooch. Her hat, a conscientious felt, satsquarely upon her well-shaped head. Her face was pleasant and her eyes,through their pince-nez, decidedly intelligent. She reminded Luke of thosenimble black goats that one sees in Greece. Her eyes held just that qualityof mild inquiring surprise.
“Good morning, Miss Waynflete,” said Bridget. “This is Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
Luke bowed. “He’s writing a book—about deaths and village customs andgeneral gruesomeness.”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Waynflete. “How very interesting.”
And she beamed encouragingly upon him.
He was reminded of Miss Pinkerton.
“I thought,” said Bridget—and again he noted that curious flat tone inher voice—“that you might tell him something about Amy.”
“Oh,” said Miss Waynflete. “About Amy? Yes. About Amy Gibbs.”
He was conscious of a new factor in her expression. She seemed to bethoughtfully summing him up.
Then, as though coming to a decision, she drew back into the hall.
“Do come in,” she said. “I can go out later. No, no,” in answer to a protestfrom Luke. “I had really nothing urgent to do. Just a little unimportant do-mestic shopping.”
The small drawing room was exquisitely neat and smelled faintly ofburnt lavender. There were some Dresden china shepherds and shepherd-esses on the mantelpiece, simpering sweetly. There were framed water-colours, two samplers, and three needlework pictures on the wall. Therewere some photographs of what were obviously nephews and nieces andsome good furniture—a Chippendale desk, some little satinwood tables—and a hideous and rather uncomfortable Victorian sofa.
Miss Waynflete offered her guests chairs and then said apologetically:
“I’m afraid I don’t smoke myself, so I have no cigarettes, but do pleasesmoke if you like.”
Luke refused but Bridget promptly lighted a cigarette.
Sitting bolt upright in a chair with carved arms, Miss Waynflete studiedher guest for a moment or two and then dropping her eyes as though satis-fied, she said:
“You want to know about that poor girl Amy? The whole thing was verysad and caused me a great deal of distress. Such a tragic mistake.”
“Wasn’t there some question of—suicide?” asked Luke.
Miss Waynflete shook her head.
“No, no, that I cannot believe for a moment. Amy was not at all thattype.”
“What type was she?” asked Luke bluntly. “I’d like to hear your accountof her.”
Miss Waynflete said:
“Well, of course, she wasn’t at all a good servant. But nowadays, really,one is thankful to get anybody. She was very slipshod over her work andalways wanting to go out—well, of course she was young and girls are likethat nowadays. They don’t seem to realize that their time is their em-ployer’s.”
Luke looked properly sympathetic and Miss Waynflete proceeded to de-velop her theme.
“She wasn’t the sort of girl I care for — rather a bold type though ofcourse I wouldn’t like to say much now that she’s dead. One feels unchris-tian—though really I don’t think that that is a logical reason for suppress-ing the truth.”
Luke nodded. He realized that Miss Waynflete differed from MissPinkerton in having a more logical mind and better processes of thought.
“She was fond of admiration,” went on Miss Waynflete, “and was in-clined to think a lot of herself. Mr. Ellsworthy—he keeps the new antiqueshop but he is actually a gentleman—he dabbles a little in water-coloursand he had done one or two sketches of the girl’s head—and I think, youknow, that rather gave her ideas. She was inclined to quarrel with theyoung man she was engaged to—Jim Harvey. He’s a mechanic at the gar-age and very fond of her.”
Miss Waynflete paused and then went on.
“I shall never forget that dreadful night. Amy had been out of sorts—anasty cough and one thing and another (those silly cheap silk stockingsthey will wear and shoes with paper soles practically — of course theycatch chills) and she’d been to the doctor that afternoon.”
Luke asked quickly:
“Dr. Humbleby or Dr. Thomas?”
“Dr. Thomas. And he gave her the bottle of cough mixture that shebrought back with her. Something quite harmless, a stock mixture, I be-lieve. She went to bed early and it must have been about one in the morn-ing when the noise began—an awful kind of choking scream. I got up andwent to her door but it was locked on the inside. I called to her butcouldn’t get any answer. Cook was with me and we were both terribly up-set. And then we went to the front door and luckily there was Reed (ourconstable) just passing on his beat, and we called to him. He went roundthe back of the house and managed to climb up on the outhouse roof, andas her window was open he got in quite easily that way and unlocked thedoor. Poor girl, it was terrible. They couldn’t do anything for her, and shedied in Hospital a few hours later.”
“And it was—what—hat paint?”
“Yes. Oxalic acid poisoning is what they called it. The bottle was aboutthe same size as the cough linctus one. The latter was on her washstandand the hat paint was by her bed. She must have picked up the wrongbottle and put it by her in the dark ready to take if she felt badly. That wasthe theory at the inquest.”
Miss Waynflete stopped. Her intelligent goat’s eyes looked at him, andhe was aware that some particular significance lay behind them. He hadthe feeling that she was leaving some part of the story untold — and astronger feeling that, for some reason, she wanted him to be aware of thefact.
There was a silence—a long and rather difficult silence. Luke felt like anactor who does not know his cue. He said rather weakly:
“And you don’t think it was suicide?”
Miss Waynflete said promptly:
“Certainly not. If the girl had decided to make away with herself, shewould have bought something probably. This was an old bottle of stuffthat she must have had for years. And anyway, as I’ve told you, she wasn’tthat kind of girl.”
“So you think—what?” said Luke bluntly.
Miss Waynflete said:
“I think it was very unfortunate.”
She closed her lips and looked at him earnestly.
Just when Luke was feeling that he must try desperately to say some-thing anticipated, a diversion occurred. There was a scratching at the doorand a plaintive mew.
Miss Waynflete sprang up and went to open the door, whereupon amagnificent orange Persian walked in. He paused, looked disapprovinglyat the visitor, and sprang upon the arm of Miss Waynflete’s chair.
Miss Waynflete addressed him in a cooing voice.
“Why Wonky Pooh—where’s my Wonky Pooh been all the morning?”
The name struck a chord of memory. Where had he heard somethingabout a Persian cat called Wonky Pooh? He said:
“That’s a very handsome cat. Have you had him long?”
Miss Waynflete shook her head.
“Oh, no, he belonged to an old friend of mine, Miss Pinkerton. She wasrun over by one of these horrid motorcars and of course I couldn’t havelet Wonky Pooh go to strangers. Lavinia would have been most upset. Shesimply worshipped him—and he is very beautiful isn’t he?”
Luke admired the cat gravely.
Miss Waynflete said: “Be careful of his ears. They’ve been rather painfullately.”
Luke stroked the animal warily.
Bridget rose to her feet.
She said, “We must be going.”
Miss Waynflete shook hands with Luke.
“Perhaps,” she said, “I shall see you again before long.”
Luke said cheerfully: “I hope so, I’m sure.”
He thought she looked puzzled and a little disappointed. Her gaze shif-ted to Bridget—a rapid look with a hint of interrogation in it. Luke felt thatthere was some understanding between the two women from which hewas excluded. It annoyed him, but he promised himself to get to the bot-tom of it before long.
Miss Waynflete came out with them. Luke stood a minute on the top ofthe steps looking with approval on the untouched primness of the villagegreen and the duck pond.
“Marvellously unspoilt, this place,” he said.
Miss Waynflete’s face lit up.
“Yes, indeed,” she said eagerly. “Really it is still just as I remember it as achild. We lived in the Hall, you know. But when it came to my brother hedid not care to live in it—indeed could not afford to do so, and it was putup for sale. A builder had made an offer and was, I believe, going to ‘deve-lop the land,’ I think that was the phrase. Fortunately, Lord Whitfieldstepped in and acquired the property and saved it. He turned the houseinto a library and museum—really it is practically untouched. I act as lib-rarian twice a week there—unpaid, of course—and I can’t tell you what apleasure it is to be in the old place and know that it will not be vandalised.
And really it is a perfect setting—you must visit our little museum one day,Mr. Fitzwilliam. There are some quite interesting local exhibits.”
“I certainly shall make a point of doing so, Miss Waynflete.”
“Lord Whitfield has been a great benefactor to Wychwood,” said MissWaynflete. “It grieves me that there are people who are sadly ungrateful.”
Her lips pressed themselves together. Luke discreetly asked no ques-tions. He said good-bye again.
When they were outside the gate Bridget said:
“Do you want to pursue further researches or shall we go home by wayof the river? It’s a pleasant walk.”
Luke answered promptly. He had no mind for further investigationswith Bridget Conway standing by listening. He said:
“Go round by the river, by all means.”
They walked along the High Street. One of the last houses had a signdecorated in old gold lettering with the word Antiques on it. Luke pausedand peered through one of the windows into the cool depths.
“Rather a nice slipware dish there,” he remarked. “Do for an aunt ofmine. Wonder how much they want for it?”
“Shall we go in and see?”
“Do you mind? I like pottering about antique shops. Sometimes onepicks up a good bargain.”
“I doubt if you will here,” said Bridget dryly. “Ellsworthy knows thevalue of his stuff pretty accurately, I should say.”
The door was open. In the hall were chairs and settees and dresserswith china and pewter on them. Two rooms full of goods opened at eitherside.
Luke went into the room on the left and picked up the slipware dish. Atthe same moment a dim figure came forward from the back of the roomwhere he had been sitting at a Queen Anne walnut desk.
“Ah, dear Miss Conway, what a pleasure to see you.”
“Good morning, Mr. Ellsworthy.”
Mr. Ellsworthy was a very exquisite young man dressed in a colourscheme of russet brown. He had a long pale face with a womanish mouth,long black artistic hair and a mincing walk.
Luke was introduced and Mr. Ellsworthy immediately transferred hisattention to him.
“Genuine old English slipware. Delicious, isn’t it? I love my bits andpieces, you know, hate to sell them. It’s always been my dream to live inthe country and have a little shop. Marvellous place, Wychwood—it hasatmosphere, if you know what I mean.”
“The artistic temperament,” murmured Bridget.
Ellsworthy turned on her with a flash of long white hands.
“Not that terrible phrase, Miss Conway. No—no, I implore you. Don’t tellme I’m all arty and crafty—I couldn’t bear it. Really, really, you know, Idon’t stock handwoven tweeds and beaten pewter. I’m a tradesman, that’sall, just a tradesman.”
“But you’re really an artist, aren’t you?” said Luke. “I mean, you do wa-ter-colours, don’t you?”
“Now who told you that?” cried Mr. Ellsworthy, clasping his hands to-gether. “You know this place is really too marvellous—one simply can’tkeep a secret! That’s what I like about it—it’s so different from that inhu-man you-mind-your-own-business-and-I-will-mind-mine of a city! Gossipand malice and scandal—all so delicious if one takes them in the rightspirit!”
Luke contented himself with answering Mr. Ellsworthy’s question andpaying no attention to the latter part of his remarks.
“Miss Waynflete told us that you had made several sketches of a girl—Amy Gibbs.”
“Oh, Amy,” said Mr. Ellsworthy. He took a step backwards and set a beermug rocking. He steadied it carefully. He said: “Did I? Oh, yes, I suppose Idid.”
His poise seemed somewhat shaken.
“She was a pretty girl,” said Bridget.
Mr. Ellsworthy had recovered his aplomb.
“Oh, do you think so?” he asked. “Very commonplace, I always thought.
If you’re interested in slipware,” he went on to Luke, “I’ve got a couple ofslipware birds—delicious things.”
Luke displayed a faint interest in the birds and then asked the price ofthe dish.
Ellsworthy named a figure.
“Thanks,” said Luke, “but I don’t think I’ll deprive you of it after all.”
“I’m always relieved, you know,” said Ellsworthy, “when I don’t make asale. Foolish of me, isn’t it? Look here, I’ll let you have it for a guinea less.
You care for the stuff. I can see that—it makes all the difference. And afterall, this is a shop!”
“No, thanks,” said Luke.
Mr. Ellsworthy accompanied them out to the door, waving his hands—very unpleasant hands, Luke thought they were—the flesh seemed not somuch white as faintly greenish.
“Nasty bit of goods, Mr. Ellsworthy,” he remarked when he and Bridgetwere out of earshot.
“A nasty mind and nasty habits I should say,” said Bridget.
“Why does he really come to a place like this?”
“I believe he dabbles in black magic. Not quite black Masses but thatsort of thing. The reputation of this place helps.”
Luke said rather awkwardly: “Good lord—I suppose he’s the kind ofchap I really need. I ought to have talked to him on the subject.”
“Do you think so?” said Bridget. “He knows a lot about it.”
Luke said rather uneasily:
“I’ll look him up some other day.”
Bridget did not answer. They were out of the town now. She turnedaside to follow a footpath and presently they came to the river.
There they passed a small man with a stiff moustache and protuberanteyes. He had three bulldogs with him to whom he was shouting hoarselyin turn. “Nero, come here, sir. Nelly, leave it. drop it, I tell you. Augustus—AUGUSTUS, I say—”
He broke off to raise his hat to Bridget, stared at Luke with what wasevidently a devouring curiosity and passed on resuming his hoarse expos-tulations.
“Major Horton and his bulldogs?” quoted Luke.
“Quite right.”
“Haven’t we seen practically everyone of note in Wychwood this morn-ing?”
“Practically.”
“I feel rather obtrusive,” said Luke. “I suppose a stranger in an Englishvillage is bound to stick out a mile,” he added ruefully, rememberingJimmy Lorrimer’s remarks.
“Major Horton never disguises his curiosity very well,” said Bridget. “Hedid stare, rather.”
“He’s the sort of man you could tell was a Major anywhere,” said Lukerather viciously.
Bridget said abruptly: “Shall we sit on the bank a bit? We’ve got lots oftime.”
They sat on a fallen tree that made a convenient seat. Bridget went on:
“Yes, Major Horton is very military — has an orderly room manner.
You’d hardly believe he was the most henpecked man in existence a yearago!”
“What, that fellow?”
“Yes. He had the most disagreeable woman for a wife that I’ve everknown. She had the money too, and never scrupled to underline the factin public.”
“Poor brute—Horton, I mean.”
“He behaved very nicely to her—always the officer and gentleman. Per-sonally, I wonder he didn’t take a hatchet to her.”
“She wasn’t popular, I gather.”
“Everybody disliked her. She snubbed Gordon and patronized me andmade herself generally unpleasant wherever she went.”
“But I gather a merciful providence removed her?”
“Yes, about a year ago. Acute gastritis. She gave her husband, Dr.
Thomas and two nurses absolute Hell—but she died all right. The bulldogsbrightened up at once.”
“Intelligent brutes!”
There was a silence. Bridget was idly picking at the long grass. Lukefrowned at the opposite bank unseeingly. Once again the dreamlike qual-ity of his mission obsessed him. How much was fact—how much imagina-tion? Wasn’t it bad for one to go about studying every fresh person youmet as a potential murderer? Something degrading about that point ofview.
“Damn it all,” thought Luke, “I’ve been a policeman too long!”
He was brought out of his abstraction with a shock. Bridget’s cold clearvoice was speaking.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam,” she said, “just exactly why have you come downhere?”
第五章 拜访韦恩弗特利小姐
第五章 拜访韦恩弗特利小姐
维克先生又自言自语地念了几个名字。
“让我想想看。可怜的罗丝太太、老贝尔、埃尔金家的孩子、哈利•卡特，你知道，他们不是我的教民，像罗丝太太和卡特是不信国教的。对了，还有可怜的老本——斯坦伯里在三月春寒来袭的时候也去世了，他已经九十二岁了。”
“艾米•吉布斯是四月死的。”布丽吉特说。
“对，可怜的女孩，那真是个可悲的错误。”
卢克抬起头，发现布丽吉特正注视着他，但她很快便垂下了眼帘。他有些不快地想：“一定还有什么事瞒着我，和那个叫艾米•吉布斯的女孩有关。”
和牧师告别出门之后，他说：“告诉我，艾米•吉布斯到底是谁？做什么的？”
布丽吉特沉默了一两分钟才回答，卢克发现她的声音有点不自然，“艾米是我所见过的最差劲的女佣。”
“所以她才被辞退？”
“那倒不是，是因为她和男朋友出去玩到彻夜不归。戈登很古板、很守旧，他认为晚上十一点之前不回家就是罪过。他警告过她，但她置若罔闻！”
卢克说：“她就是那个错把帽漆当成咳嗽药水喝下去的女孩？”
“对。”
“这样做实在有点蠢。”卢克冒昧地说。
“蠢透了。”
“她很笨吗？”
“不，是个相当精明的女孩。”
卢克悄悄看了她一眼，觉得困惑不解。她的口气平静得不带任何感情、也没有一点儿兴趣，但他坚信，她话里有话。
这时，布丽吉特停下了脚步，和一个摘下帽子热心和她打招呼的高个子男人说话。布丽吉特和对方寒暄过后，介绍卢克道：“这是我表哥菲茨威廉，现在住在阿什庄园。他想写一本书，到这儿来找题材。这是艾伯特先生。”
卢克饶有兴趣地打量着艾伯特先生，那位曾经雇用过汤米•皮尔斯的律师。艾伯特先生和一般律师不太一样，他既不瘦也不严肃。他身材高大，气色很好，穿着花呢套装，待人真诚有礼，热情愉悦。他眼角已经有些细小的皱纹，眼神也比乍看之下要来得精明。
“在写书，对吗？是小说？”
“民间传说。”布丽吉特说。
“那你可是来对地方了，”律师说，“这里真是包罗万象，无奇不有。”
“别人也这么说，”卢克说，“我相信你一定能帮我一点忙。你一定碰到过奇怪的举动或者有趣的习俗吧。”
“噢，我不大清楚，也许——也许有吧。”
“没听说过鬼屋？”
“不，没听说过。”
“我听过一个有关小孩的迷信。”卢克说，“据说一个男孩子要是死于非命，通常会变成僵尸。女孩子却不会，很有意思。”
“太有意思了，”艾伯特先生说，“我以前从来没听说过。”
那是理所当然的，因为这根本就是卢克杜撰的故事。
“好像有一个男孩——叫汤米什么的——曾经在你的事务工作过，我有理由相信大家一定认为他变成了僵尸。”
艾伯特先生的脸色显得有点发紫。
“汤米•皮尔斯？一个没用的废物，又好管闲事的顽皮鬼。谁看过他变成僵尸了？怎么说的？”
“这种事很难查证，”卢克说，“谁也不会光明正大地说，可以说，这就是个谣言。”
“对、对，我猜是吧。”
卢克又巧妙地换了话题：“唯一能听到人家谈论的人就是当地的医生。他们替病人看病的时候，可以听到不少消息——各种迷信、符咒、可能还有春药什么的。”
“你应该去找托马斯，他是个好人，完全跟得上时代，不像可怜的老亨伯比。”
“他有点保守，不是吗？”
“顽固透了！可以说是最顽固的死硬派。”
“你们曾经为了用水计划吵过架，不是吗？”布丽吉特说。
艾伯特先生的脸又涨得通红。“亨伯比对一切进步的事都冥顽不灵，”他尖声说：“他坚决反对那个计划！说话粗鲁，无所顾忌。他说的有些话都可以拿去起诉他！”
布丽吉特喃喃道：“可是律师绝对不会打官司，对不对？他们还有更好的办法。”
艾伯特开怀大笑，他的怒气来得快，去得也快。“不错，布丽吉特小姐！你说得太对了，我们搞法律的对法律实在太清楚了，哈哈！对了，我该走了。要是有什么事需要我帮忙，尽管打电话给我。那个菲……菲茨……”
“菲茨威廉，”卢克说，“谢谢，一定！”
他们一边走着，布丽吉特一边说：“要是你还想知道更多有关艾米•吉布斯的事，我可以带你去找一个人，她或许能帮你。”
“谁？”
“韦恩弗利特小姐。艾米离开阿什庄园之后，曾经到她那儿做过事。艾米死的时候还是在她那儿做事。”
“噢，我懂了。”他有点意外，“非常谢谢你。”
“她就住在这里。”
他们正穿过村中草坪，布丽吉特将头倾向卢克前一日曾经注意过的乔治亚式大房子，说：“那是威奇大屋，现在已经变成图书馆了。”
图书馆旁边那间小屋子和图书馆一比，就像洋娃娃住的屋子一样。它的阶梯白得耀眼，门环闪闪发亮，窗帘是拘谨的白色。
布丽吉特推开大门，走上阶梯，这时，前门开了，一个老太太走了出来。卢克觉得她就像典型的乡下老小姐，瘦弱的身躯上整齐地穿着苏格兰呢外套和裙子，另外还穿了一件灰色丝质上衣，别着一枚烟晶胸针。那顶精致的毛呢帽，端端正正地戴在她优雅的头上。
她神情愉快，夹鼻眼镜后面露出一双精明的眼睛。
“早，韦恩弗利特小姐。”布丽吉特说，“这是菲茨威廉先生。”
卢克俯身行礼。“他在写一本有关死亡、乡下风俗，和一些常见的可怕习俗的书。”
“噢！”韦恩弗利特小姐说，“真是太有趣了。”她鼓励地对他笑了笑。
他不禁又想起平克顿小姐。
“我想，”布丽吉特说——他又注意到她用那种平淡得出奇的口气说话——“你也许可以告诉他一些关于艾米的事。”
“噢，”韦恩弗利特小姐说，“艾米？对了，是艾米•吉布斯。”他发现她的表情里透着新的东西，似乎想要好好打量他。接着，她似乎下定了决心，带头走进大厅，说：“进来吧，我可以晚一点再出去。”卢克表示歉意。她又说：“没什么，没什么，其实没什么要紧的事，只是上街买点小东西。”
窄小的起居室非常整洁，带有熏衣草的香味。韦恩弗利特小姐请客人坐下之后，用抱歉的口气说：“我不抽烟，所以家里也没准备，不过要是你想抽的话，请别客气。”
卢克婉拒了，布丽吉特却迅速点了一支烟。
韦恩弗利特小姐在一张有雕花扶手的椅子上挺直身子坐下，打量了客人一会儿，随后满意地垂下眼睛，说：“你想知道关于艾米那个可怜女孩的事吗？那件事实在非常可悲，我难过得不得了。真是令人悲哀的错误。”
“难道没有人怀疑她是——自杀？”卢克问。
韦恩弗利特小姐摇摇头：“没有，没有，我根本就不相信，艾米不是那种人。”
“那她是个什么样的人呢？”卢克率直地问，“我想听听你对她的看法。”
韦恩弗利特小姐说：“噢，当然，她一点都不能算是个好用人，可是这年头，能找到用人就该谢天谢地了。她对工作很懒散，老想溜出去玩。不过她还年轻，现在的女孩子还不全都是那样嘛！她似乎不知道她的时间是属于雇主的。”
卢克做出同情的表情，韦恩弗利特小姐继续说：“她很喜欢别人夸奖她，总是认为自己很了不起。埃尔斯沃思先生——那家新开的古董店的老板，不过他真是个绅士，偶尔也画些水彩画，他替那个女孩画过一两幅画，我想就因为这样，她想入非非，得意忘形了。她常和她的未婚夫吉姆•哈尔韦吵架。他在汽车修理厂当技工，非常喜欢她。”韦恩弗利特小姐稍作停顿，接着说，“我永远忘不了那个可怕的晚上，艾米感到不大舒服，咳嗽得厉害——谁叫她要穿那些可笑又便宜的长筒丝袜，当然会感冒啦。那天下午她去看过医生了。”
卢克马上问：“是亨伯比医生还是托马斯医生？”
“托马斯医生。他给她开了一瓶咳嗽药带回家，我想那就是些完全没有副作用的药剂。
她回来之后，很早就上床睡觉了。大概半夜一点左右，忽然传来一阵可怕的、像要窒息似的尖叫。我上楼看她，可是门从里面反锁着。我喊她，但没有任何回应。当时厨师也和我在一起，我们两人都非常着急，又走到大门，刚好瑞德警官出来巡逻，我们立刻叫住他。
他绕到房子后面，设法爬上阳台，好在她窗户没关，他便轻而易举地进去了。可怜的女孩，真是太可怕了！医生他们也束手无策，过了几小时，她在医院里死了。”
“是因为——什么？帽漆？”
“对，也就是草酸毒，瓶子和咳嗽药水的瓶子差不多大。咳嗽药水在盥洗台上，那瓶帽漆在她床边。她一定是半夜拿错瓶子，警方验尸的时候就是这么说。”
韦恩弗利特小姐停了下来，用山羊般睿智的眼睛盯着他。他知道她的话里一定别有含意。他觉得她有意隐瞒了一部分故事，但出于某种原因，她却希望他体会得出。
大家沉默着——相当长而难堪的沉默。卢克觉得自己像个想不起台词的演员。最后他只好勉强地说：“你觉得她不是自杀？”
韦恩弗利特小姐马上说：“当然不是。要是她存心想死的话，也许会专门去买点什么来自杀。可那是个旧瓶子，她已经放了好几年了。而且我说过，无论如何，她不是那种会自杀的女孩。”
“那么你——怎么想呢？”卢克率直地问。
韦恩弗利特小姐说：“我觉得这件事太不幸了。”然后闭上嘴，认真地看着他。
卢克正想努力说些顺耳的话时，大家突然分心了。门上响起一阵搔抓声和哀怨的猫叫声。韦恩弗利特小姐跳起来打开门，一只橘色的大波斯猫走了进来。它停下脚步，用不友好的眼光打量着客人，然后纵身跳上韦恩弗利特小姐椅子的扶手。韦恩弗利特小姐用尖锐的声音说：“噢！‘老呸’！我的宝贝‘老呸’，今天一早都到哪儿去了？”
“老呸”这个名字似乎很耳熟，卢克到底在什么地方听过一只叫“老呸”的波斯猫呢？他说：“好漂亮的猫！你养了很久了吗？”
韦恩弗利特小姐摇摇头：“没多久，本来是我的老朋友平克顿小姐养的。她被可怕的汽车撞死了，我当然不能让‘老呸’被陌生人收养，不然拉维妮亚地下有知一定会不安。她实在太宠爱它了，的确很好看，不是吗？”
卢克大大地夸奖了那只猫一番。韦恩弗利特小姐说：“小心它的耳朵，最近一直在痛。”
卢克小心翼翼地摸摸猫，布丽吉特站起来，说：“我们该走了。”
韦恩弗利特小姐和卢克握握手，说：“也许不久后会再看到你。”
卢克愉快地说：“但愿如此，我想一定会的。”他觉得她有些困惑，也有点失望。她又看看布丽吉特——目光匆匆一扫带着疑问。卢克觉得这两个女人之间有着某种默契，而他却被蒙在鼓里。他很生气，发誓一定会很快就弄个水落石出。
韦恩弗利特小姐送他们出门，卢克在阶梯顶端站了一会儿，用欣赏的眼光看了一会儿村中那块大草坪和鸭池。
“这地方未曾受到骚扰，还真是个奇迹呀。”他说。
韦恩弗利特小姐高兴地说：“是啊！一点都没错！和我小时候记得的一模一样。我们本来住在威奇大屋，可是到了家兄当家的时候，他不喜欢住在那儿。老实说，是住不起了，于是就卖掉了。一位建筑商买下来，打算‘开发土地’——我想他是这么说的。幸好惠特菲尔德爵士及时买下来，救了那幢房子。他把它改成图书馆和博物馆，不过一砖一瓦都没动。我每两周去整理一次图书，当然没有薪水，实在很难形容那种重回旧家园，而且知道它不会被卖掉的愉快心情。那里的布置真是太好了，菲茨威廉先生，改天你一定要到我们的小博物馆看看。有些本地特产非常有意思。”
“我一定抽空去，韦恩弗利特小姐。”
“惠特菲尔德爵士对威奇伍德的贡献非常大，”韦恩弗利特小姐说，“可是有些人偏偏不懂得感恩，真是可悲。”
她紧抿着嘴，卢克谨慎地不再发问，再次向女主人道别。
走到外面之后，布丽吉特说：“你还想再搜集其他资料吗？或者想回家了？我们沿河边散步回去好不好？那边景色很美。”
卢克立刻答道，他不想再进一步调查了，并且说：“我们就沿河边回去好了。”
他们先走过大街，最后那间屋子上挂着一块旧的金字招牌“古董”。卢克停下脚步，从窗口打量冷冷清清的屋里。“那边那个陶盘子蛮不错的，”他说，“可以送一个给我姑姑。不知道多少钱？”
“要不要进去看看？”
“你不介意吗？我很喜欢逛古董店，有时候只要花一点钱就可以买到好东西。”
“我看在这里不太可能，”布丽吉特冷淡地说，“我敢说，埃尔斯沃思对他店里东西的价值清楚得很。”
店门开着，里面有些长椅子和橱柜，摆着瓷器和铜器。两边各有一个摆满货品的陈列室，卢克走进左边那间，拿起陶盘。这时，屋子后面那个原先坐在桌子后的人站了起来。“噢，亲爱的康威小姐，真高兴看到你。”
“早安，埃尔斯沃思先生。”
埃尔斯沃思先生是个瘦高的年轻人，穿着红褐色的套装。他的脸长而白，头发则又长又黑。布丽吉特介绍过卢克之后，他的注意力立刻转到卢克身上。“这是真正的英国古陶器，很可爱吧，对不对？这里有不少好东西，可是我并不愿意出售。我一直梦想住到乡下，开个小店，威奇伍德真是个好地方，有那种吸引人的气氛——希望你了解我的意思。”
“艺术家的脾气。”布丽吉特喃喃地道。
埃尔斯沃思用白皙修长的手对她挥挥，说：“别用那种可怕的字眼，康威小姐，我是个商人，真的，只是个商人。”
“可是你真的是艺术家，不是吗？”卢克说，“我是说你会画水彩画。韦恩弗利特小姐说你曾经替一个女孩画过像，是叫艾米•吉布斯吧？”
“噢，艾米啊，”埃尔斯沃思先生说。他退后一步，不小心碰到一个啤酒杯，他小心翼翼地把杯子扶正，说：“是吗？嗯，对了，我想我的确画过。”他似乎有点站不稳脚步。
“她很漂亮。”布丽吉特说。
埃尔斯沃思先生又恢复了泰然自若的神色。“噢，你觉得她漂亮？我一直认为她很平凡……要是你对陶器有兴趣，”他转而对卢克说，“我还有一对陶制小鸟。”
卢克表示对鸟没兴趣，又问了陶碟的价钱，埃尔斯沃思先生说出一个数目。“谢谢你，”卢克说，“不过我实在不想夺人所好。”
“你知道，每次东西没卖出去，我就觉得很安慰。”埃尔斯沃思说，“挺傻的是吧？听我说，我愿意减低一基尼，我看得出来，你很喜欢这东西，这样一来就不一样了。无论如何，这到底是卖东西的地方。”
“不用了，谢谢你。”卢克说。
埃尔斯沃思先生送他们到门口。走远一些之后，卢克说：
“埃尔斯沃思先生真是个怪人。”
“我知道他会一点法术，不是妖术，不过反正差不多。”
布丽吉特说：“再加上这地方的名声，就更像真有那么回事了。”
卢克有点笨拙地说：“我的天，我想他正是我最需要的人，我应该在那方面跟他多谈谈。”
“是吗？”布丽吉特说，“他对那些事很内行。”
卢克面带不安地说：“我改天再去拜访他。”
布丽吉特没有回答。他们现在已经走到村外了，她转进一条羊肠小道。不一会儿，他们就到了河边。他在河边遇到一个金鱼眼男人，身材矮小，留着硬须。他身边有三只牛头犬，他正大声粗鲁地叫唤着那三只狗：“尼禄，过来，先生！奈丽，丢掉！丢掉！我叫你丢掉！奥古斯都——奥古斯都，我叫你——”看到布丽吉特后他脱帽行礼，然后用像要把人吃掉似的好奇眼光看卢克，最后又继续向那些狗吼叫着离开了。
“是霍顿少校和他的牛头犬？”卢克问。
“对极了。”
“今天早上我们可以说见过威奇伍德所有的重要人物了吧？”
“不错。”
“我好像冒失了点，”卢克说，“我想任何陌生人到了英国乡下，都一定会被人拒之于千里之外。”他想起吉米•洛里默的话。
“霍顿少校从来不掩饰他的好奇心，”布丽吉特说，“有时候他实在盯得人受不了。”
“那种人一看就知道当过某个地方的少校。”卢克有点不乐意地说。
布丽吉特突然说：“要不要在河边坐一下？时间还早得很。”
他们坐在一棵倾倒的树干上。布丽吉特又说：“不错，霍顿少校的军人味道很重，你一定不相信，一年以前，他还是世界上最怕太太的人！”
“什么？你说他？”
“是啊，他娶了一个世界上最不理想的太太。她很有钱，在别人面前也从来不掩饰这一点。”
“可怜的家伙，我是说霍顿少校。”
“他对她表现得很好，永远是个军人和绅士。其实我心里倒怀疑他有没有跟她吵过架。”
“我想她一定不受欢迎。”
“大家都不喜欢她。她责骂戈登，但支持我，不过一般说来，她到任何地方都不讨人喜欢。”
“我想一定是慈悲为怀的上天除掉她了？”
“对，差不多有一年了。急性胃炎，她把自己的丈夫、托马斯医生和两个护士都折磨透了，不过最后总算死了。牛头犬马上高兴得不得了。”
“畜生也通人性。”
两人沉默着，布丽吉特心不在焉地拨着长草，卢克也视而不见地朝着河对岸皱眉，此行似梦似真的目的困扰着他。到底有多少是事实，多少是想象呢？把每一个陌生人都当成可能的杀人犯，是不是冒失了点？这种想法实在不太高明。卢克想：“去他的！我当了太久警察了！”
布丽吉特冰冷清晰的声音吓了他一跳，把他拉回现实中。她说：“菲茨威廉先生，你到这里来究竟有什么目的？”
Six HAT PAINT
Six HAT PAINT

Luke had been just in the act of applying a match to a cigarette. The unex-pectedness of her remark momentarily paralysed his hand. He remainedquite motionless for a second or two, the match burned down andscorched his fingers.
“Damn,” said Luke as he dropped the match and shook his hand vigor-ously. “I beg your pardon. You gave me rather a nasty jolt.” He smiled rue-fully.
“Did I?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “Oh, well, I suppose anyone of real intelligence wasbound to see through me! That story of my writing a book on folkloredidn’t take you in for a moment, I suppose?”
“Not after I’d once seen you.”
“You believed it up to then?”
“Yes.”
“All the same it wasn’t really a good story,” said Luke critically. “I mean,any man might want to write a book, but the bit about coming down hereand passing myself off as a cousin—I suppose that made you smell a rat?”
Bridget shook her head.
“No. I had an explanation for that—I thought I had, I mean. I presumedyou were pretty hard up—a lot of my and Jimmy’s friends are that—and Ithought he suggested the cousin stunt so that—well, so that it would saveyour pride.”
“But when I arrived,” said Luke, “my appearance immediately suggestedsuch opulence that that explanation was out of the question?”
Her mouth curved in its slow smile.
“Oh, no,” she said. “It wasn’t that. It was simply that you were the wrongkind of person.”
“Not sufficient brains to write a book? Don’t spare my feelings. I’drather know.”
“You might write a book—but not that kind of book—old superstitions—delving into the past—not that sort of thing! You’re not the kind of man towhom the past means much—perhaps not even the future—only just thepresent.”
“H’m — I see.” He made a wry face. “Damn it all, you’ve made menervous ever since I got here! You look so confoundedly intelligent.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bridget drily. “What did you expect?”
“Well, I really hadn’t thought about it.”
But she went on calmly:
“A fluffy little person—with just enough brains to realize her opportun-ities and marry her boss?”
Luke made a confused noise. She turned a cool amused glance on him.
“I quite understand. It’s all right. I’m not annoyed.”
Luke chose effrontery.
“Well, perhaps, it was something faintly approaching that. But I didn’tthink much about it.”
She said slowly:
“No, you wouldn’t. You don’t cross your fences till you get to them.”
But Luke was despondent.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt I did my stuff pretty rottenly! Has Lord Whitfield seenthrough me too?”
“Oh, no. If you said you’d come down here to study the habits of waterbeetles and write a monograph about them, it would have been OK withGordon. He’s got a beautiful believing mind.”
“All the same I wasn’t a bit convincing! I got rattled somehow.”
“I cramped your style,” said Bridget. “I saw that. It rather amused me,I’m afraid.”
“Oh, it would! Women with any brains are usually cold- bloodedlycruel.”
Bridget murmured:
“One has to take one’s pleasures as one can in this life!” She paused aminute, then said: “Why are you down here, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
They had returned full circle to the original question. Luke had beenaware that it must be so. In the last few seconds he had been trying tomake up his mind. He looked up now and met her eyes—shrewd inquiringeyes that met his with a calm, steady gaze. There was a gravity in themwhich he had not quite expected to find there.
“It would be better, I think,” he said meditatively, “not to tell you any-more lies.”
“Much better.”
“But the truth’s awkward… Look here, have you yourself formed anyopinion—I mean has anything occurred to you about my being here?”
She nodded slowly and thoughtfully.
“What was your idea? Will you tell me? I fancy it may help somehow.”
Bridget said quietly:
“I had an idea that you came down here in connection with the death ofthat girl, Amy Gibbs.”
“That’s it, then! That’s what I saw—what I felt—whenever her namecropped up! I knew there was something. So you thought I came downabout that?”
“Didn’t you?”
“In a way—yes.”
He was silent—frowning. The girl beside him sat equally silent, not mov-ing. She said nothing to disturb his train of thought.
He made up his mind.
“I’ve come down here on a wild goose chase—on a fantastical and prob-ably quite absurd and melodramatic supposition. Amy Gibbs is part ofthat whole business. I’m interested to find out exactly how she died.”
“Yes, I thought so.”
“But dash it all—why did you think so? What is there about her deaththat—well—aroused your interest?”
Bridget said:
“I’ve thought — all along — that there was something wrong about it.
That’s why I took you to see Miss Waynflete.”
“Why?”
“Because she thinks so too.”
“Oh.” Luke thought back rapidly. He understood now the underlyingsuggestions of that intelligent spinster’s manner. “She thinks as you do—that there’s something—odd about it?”
Bridget nodded.
“Why exactly?”
“Hat paint, to begin with.”
“What do you mean, hat paint?”
“Well, about twenty years ago, people did paint hats—one season youhad a pink straw, next season a bottle of hat paint and it became dark blue—then perhaps another bottle and a black hat! But nowadays—hats arecheap—tawdry stuff to be thrown away when out of fashion.”
“Even girls of the class of Amy Gibbs?”
“I’d be more likely to paint a hat than she would! Thrift’s gone out. Andthere’s another thing. It was red hat paint.”
“Well?”
“And Amy Gibbs had red hair—carrots!”
“You mean it doesn’t go together?”
Bridget nodded.
“You wouldn’t wear a scarlet hat with carroty hair. It’s the sort of thinga man wouldn’t realize, but—”
Luke interrupted her with heavy significance.
“No—a man wouldn’t realize that. It fits in—it all fits in.”
Bridget said:
“Jimmy has got some odd friends at Scotland Yard. You’re not—”
Luke said quickly:
“I’m not an official detective—and I’m not a well-known private invest-igator with rooms in Baker Street, etc. I’m exactly what Jimmy told you Iwas—a retired policeman from the East. I’m horning in on this businessbecause of an odd thing that happened in the train to London.”
He gave a brief synopsis of his conversation with Miss Pinkerton and thesubsequent events which had brought about his presence in Wychwood.
“So you see,” he ended. “It’s fantastic! I’m looking for a certain man—asecret killer—a man here in Wychwood—probably well-known and re-spected. If Miss Pinkerton’s right and you’re right and Miss What’s-’er-name is right—that man killed Amy Gibbs.”
Bridget said: “I see.”
“It could have been done from outside, I suppose?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Bridget slowly. “Reed, the constable, climbed up toher window by means of an outhouse. The window was open. It was a bitof a scramble, but a reasonably active man would find no real difficulty.”
“And having done that, he did what?”
“Substituted a bottle of hat paint for the cough linctus.”
“Hoping she’d do exactly what she did do—wake up, drink it off, andthat everyone would say she’d made a mistake or committed suicide?”
“Yes.”
“There was no suspicion of what they call in books, ‘foul play’ at the in-quest?”
“No.”
“Men again, I suppose—the hat paint point wasn’t raised?”
“No.”
“But it occurred to you?”
“Yes.”
“And to Miss Waynflete? Have you discussed it together?”
Bridget smiled faintly:
“Oh, no—not in the sense you mean. I mean we haven’t said anythingright out. I don’t really know how far the old pussy has gone in her ownmind. I’d say she’d been just worried to start with—and gradually gettingmore so. She’s quite intelligent, you know, went to Girton or wanted to,and was advanced when she was young. She’s not got quite the woollymind of most of the people down here.”
“Miss Pinkerton had rather a woolly mind I should imagine,” said Luke.
“That’s why I never dreamed there was anything in her story to beginwith.”
“She was pretty shrewd, I always thought,” said Bridget. “Most of theserambling old dears are as sharp as nails in some ways. You said she men-tioned other names?”
Luke nodded.
“Yes. A small boy—that was Tommy Pierce—I remembered the name assoon as I heard it. And I’m pretty sure that the man Carter came in too.”
“Carter, Tommy Pierce, Amy Gibbs, Dr. Humbleby,” said Bridgetthoughtfully. “As you say, it’s almost too fantastic to be true! Who on earthwould want to kill all those people? They were all so different!”
Luke said:
“Any idea as to why anyone should want to do away with Amy Gibbs?”
Bridget shook her head.
“I can’t imagine.”
“What about the man Carter? How did he die, by the way?”
“Fell into the river and was drowned. He was on his way home, it was amisty night and he was quite drunk. There’s a footbridge with a rail ononly one side. It was taken for granted that he missed his footing.”
“But someone could quite easily have given him a shove?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And somebody else could quite easily have given nasty little Tommy apush when he was window cleaning?”
“Again yes.”
“So it boils down to the fact that it’s really quite easy to remove threehuman beings without anyone suspecting.”
“Miss Pinkerton suspected,” Bridget pointed out.
“So she did, bless her. She wasn’t troubled with ideas of being too melo-dramatic, or of imagining things.”
“She often told me the world was a very wicked place.”
“And you smiled tolerantly, I suppose?”
“In a superior manner!”
“Anybody who can believe six impossible things before breakfast winshands down at this game.”
Bridget nodded.
Luke said:
“I suppose it’s no good my asking you if you’ve a hunch of any kind?
There’s no particular individual in Wychwood who gives you a creepyfeeling down the spine, or who has strange pale eyes—or a queer mani-acal giggle.”
“Everybody I’ve met in Wychwood appears to me to be eminently sane,respectable, and completely ordinary.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” said Luke.
Bridget said:
“You think this man is definitely mad?”
“Oh, I should say so. A lunatic all right, but a cunning one. The last per-son you’d ever suggest—probably a pillar of society like a Bank Manager.”
“Mr. Jones? I certainly can’t imagine him committing wholesalemurders.”
“Then he’s probably the man we want.”
“It may be anyone,” said Bridget. “The butcher, the baker, the grocer, afarm labourer, a road mender, or the man who delivers the milk.”
“It may be—yes—but I think the field is a little more restricted thanthat.”
“Why?”
“My Miss Pinkerton spoke of the look in his eyes when he was measur-ing up his next victim. From the way she spoke I got the impression—it’sonly an impression, mark you—that the man she was speaking of was atleast her social equal. Of course, I may be wrong.”
“You’re probably quite right! Those nuances of conversation can’t be putdown in black and white, but they’re the sort of things one doesn’t reallymake mistakes about.”
“You know,” said Luke, “it’s a great relief to have you knowing all aboutit.”
“It will probably cramp your style less, I agree. And I can probably helpyou.”
“Your help will be invaluable. You really mean to see it through?”
“Of course.”
Luke said with a sudden slight embarrassment:
“What about Lord Whitfield? Do you think—?”
“Naturally we don’t tell Gordon anything about it!” said Bridget.
“You mean he wouldn’t believe it?”
“Oh, he’d believe it! Gordon could believe anything! He’d probably besimply thrilled and insist on having half a dozen of his bright young mendown to beat up the neighbourhood! He’d simply adore it!”
“That does rather rule it out,” agreed Luke.
“Yes, we can’t allow him to have his simple pleasures, I’m afraid.”
Luke looked at her. He seemed about to say something then changed hismind. He looked instead at his watch.
“Yes,” said Bridget, “we ought to be getting home.”
She got up. There was a sudden constraint between them as thoughLuke’s unspoken words hovered uncomfortably in the air.
They walked home in silence.
第九章 皮尔斯女士如是说
第九章 皮尔斯女士如是说
卢克在大街上那家小店买了一罐香烟和一份每周给惠特菲尔德爵士赚进大把钞票的《欢乐周刊》。谈到足球比赛，卢克叹了口气，说他刚刚失掉赚进一百二十镑的大好机会。皮尔斯太太立刻表示很同情，并且说她丈夫也一样。就这样，双方建立起了友谊，卢克不费什么力气就把话题越扯越远。
“我们的皮尔斯先生对足球兴趣很浓，”皮尔斯太太说，“每次一打开报纸，一定先看足球新闻。我刚才不是说了嘛，他失望过很多次，可是话又说回来，总不可能每个人都赢啊，而且我说呀，人是斗不过运气的。”
卢克全心全意地表示同意她的看法，又巧妙地谈到人往往祸不单行。
“是啊，先生，我早就知道了，”皮尔斯太太叹口气，“一个女人有丈夫，还有八个孩子——六个活着，死了两个——就更知道世界上麻烦事可太多了。”
“我想是吧，嗯，那当然。”卢克说，“你说你有两个孩子死了？”
“有一个才死了不到一个月。”皮尔斯太太忧郁中有一丝不易察觉的愉悦。
“天哪，真可怜。”
“不但可怜，先生，简直是晴天霹雳——对，就是晴天霹雳。我全身都在发抖，真的，他们告诉我这个消息的时候，我全身都一直发抖。从来没想到汤米会发生这种事！因为像他那么调皮捣蛋的男孩，好像从来就不可能会离开我们。还有我的小爱玛•珍，好可爱，好甜蜜，人家都说：‘她太好了，养不大的。’结果果然是真的，先生。上天真的把她带走了。”
卢克对此表示了同情，又设法把话题从可爱的爱玛•珍转回比较不可爱的汤米身上：“你的男孩刚死不久？是意外？”
“是意外，没错，先生。擦图书馆楼上窗户的时候，一定是一时没踩稳，一脚从最高的窗台上掉了下来。”
皮尔斯太太花了点时间，详细说明那宗意外事故的经过。
“不是有人说看到他在窗台上跳舞吗？”卢克说。
皮尔斯太太说，男孩子就是男孩子，不过那显然给了少校一个好借口，反正他一向就爱挑剔人。
“霍顿少校？”
“是的，先生，就是养了几只牛头犬的那位。意外事件发生之后，他偶然提到曾经看见汤米做事常常顾前不顾后，所以要是突然受惊，免不了很容易就从窗口掉下去。先生，汤米的毛病就是精力太旺盛。从很多方面来说，他对我都是一项很痛苦的考验，可他只是精力充沛——没别的，就像其他小男孩一样。他对人根本没什么害处。”
“是、是，我相信没错，可是你知道，皮尔斯太太，有些人——尤其是严肃的中年人——往往忘了自己也曾经年轻过。”
皮尔斯太太叹口气：“你说的一点都没错，先生，我只希望有些先生能牢牢记住，我那儿子只是太活泼了一点，他们之前是怎么对待他的！”
“他曾经对他的主人搞恶作剧，不是吗？”卢克纵容地笑着说。
皮尔斯太太马上说：“他只是开开玩笑，没别的意思。先生，汤米一向很会模仿人，常常让我们捧腹大笑……有时候他会学古董店的埃尔斯沃思，或者教会委员霍布斯先生，有一次他还模仿庄园的爵士，结果爵士就把他解雇了，那当然是应该的，爵士后来也没记恨，还另外替他找了份工作。”
“可是别人度量就没这么大了，对不对？”卢克问。
“是啊，我也不用说是哪些人了，你一定猜不出来的，就拿艾伯特先生来说，他一直都对人那么和气，老爱和人开玩笑什么的。”
“汤米也惹恼了他？”
皮尔斯太太说：“我相信我那孩子一点恶意都没有。而且话说回来，文件要是真的那么秘密，不能给人看的话，就不应该放在桌上。”
“是啊，”卢克说，“律师办公室里的机密文件应该锁到保险柜才对。”
“对极了，先生，我也是这么说，皮尔斯先生也跟我想法一样。而且汤米其实也没看到多少。”
“他到底看到了什么？别人的遗嘱？”卢克问。他想过，直接问文件内容也许使皮尔斯太太迟疑，可是只要他先提出自己的猜想，马上就能得到对方的反应——他猜想得没错。
“噢，不是，先生，不是那种东西，根本没什么大不了，只是一封私人的信——是一位小姐写的……可是汤米连写信人的名字都没看清楚。我说啊，根本就是大惊小怪，小题大做。”
“艾伯特先生一定很容易生气。”卢克说。
“看起来好像是的。先生，我说过，跟艾伯特先生说话实在很愉快，他老爱跟人家开玩笑什么的，可是我也听说他那个人很难打交道。他跟亨伯比医生是死对头，是可怜的医生死之前没多久的事。对艾伯特先生来说可不大愉快，人总不愿意在别人死后说其很多坏话，因为死人是不会反驳的。”
卢克郑重其事地摇摇头，喃喃说：“太对了——太对了。”又说，“真是的，他跟亨伯比医生吵过架，医生就死了。对你儿子不好，结果你儿子也死了。我想这么一来艾伯特先生以后一定会不敢再乱开口了。”
“哈利•卡特也一样——就是七星酒店的老板，”皮尔斯太太说，“卡特掉进水里淹死的前一个礼拜，他们刚刚大吵过一顿，不过那当然不能怪艾伯特先生，都是卡特自己不好。他喝得醉醺醺，然后到艾伯特先生家去，用脏话骂个不停。可怜的卡特太太，她不知道受了多少气，至少对她来说，卡特死了还比活着好。”
“他留下一个女儿，对吧？”
“噢，”皮尔斯太太说，“我这个人从来不喜欢说人家闲话。”这句话有点出乎卢克的意料，可是似乎还有商量的余地，于是卢克竖起耳朵，静静等着。“我想这件事没什么大不了。露西•卡特算得上是个年轻漂亮的女人，要不是他们身份悬殊，我想也没人会注意什么。可是既然有人说闲话了，就没办法否认，尤其卡特又到律师家大吼大叫。”
卢克大略猜出她话中的意思，说道：“看起来艾伯特先生好像很懂得怜香惜玉。”
“绅士通常都会，”皮尔斯太太说，“其实他们也没什么意思，只是随便交谈一两句话，可是上流人士就是上流人士，免不了会引人注意，尤其是我们这种宁静的小地方。”
“这里很可爱，”卢克说，“一点都没有受到世俗的破坏和骚扰。”
“艺术家是会那样说，可是我自己老觉得这地方有点赶不上时代，譬如说，这里没什么了不起的大厦。可是人家亚许维尔那边就有好多可爱的新房子，有的还有绿屋顶和彩色玻璃窗。”
卢克有点毛骨悚然地说：“你们这里也有一幢新房子。”
“噢，对呀，大家都说那幢楼盖得很好，”皮尔斯太太非常热心地说，“当然，爵士对本地的贡献实在太大了。他完全是一片好心，我们都知道。”
“可是你们觉得他的努力不见得完全成功？”卢克问。
“噢，当然啦，先生，他并不是真的贵族出身——不像韦恩弗利特小姐或者康威小姐。
你知道，爵士的父亲从前就在走过去几家那儿开鞋店。我母亲还记得戈登•瑞格在鞋店里工作的情形——记得一清二楚。当然啦，他现在当了爵士，又那么有钱，情形当然不一样了，对不对？先生。”
“那当然。”卢克说。
“你不会怪我提到这件事吧，先生。”皮尔斯太太说。
“当然啦，我知道你现在住在庄园，正在写一本书，可是你是康威小姐的堂兄，那就完全不一样了。我们都很高兴她又要回庄园当女主人了。”
“是啊，”卢克说，“我相信你们一定很高兴。”说完，他付了香烟和报纸钱，同时在心里想：个人因素，我可不能把这件事加上个人因素。去他的，我是到这里来追查凶手的，那个黑头发的女巫婆嫁不嫁谁，又有什么关系？她跟这件事根本不相关。
他沿着大街缓缓向前走，好不容易才把布丽吉特的影子从脑海里赶走。他自言自语道：“好了，现在该想想艾伯特和对他不利的证据了。我已经找出他和三个死者之间的关系了。他跟医生吵过架，跟卡特吵过架，也跟汤米•皮尔斯吵过，结果这三个人都死了。那个女孩艾米•吉布斯呢，那个淘气的男孩看到什么私人信件？他知不知道是谁写的呢？也许知道，可是没告诉他母亲。万一他知道，而且艾伯特觉得应该让他闭上嘴？嗯，有可能。也只能这么猜了——有可能！可是还不够让人满意。”
卢克加快了脚步，突然有点愤怒地看看四周，如此想着——这个该死的村子让我越来越紧张。看起来那么安详、恬静、无邪，可是却发生了一连串可怕疯狂的杀人案。或者说，疯的是我，疯的是拉维妮亚•平克顿？无论如何，这些事也许完全是巧合——对，包括亨伯比医生的死和其他人的死都只是巧合。他回头望望大街，忽然有一种很不真实的感觉。他告诉自己，世界上不会真的有这种事，又抬头看看阿什山脊长而弯曲的弧线，那种不真实感又立刻消失了。阿什山脊是真实存在的，它知道这里发生过什么事——巫术、狠毒的行为、被人遗忘的吸血和邪恶仪式。
他再度举步向前。山脊那边走过来两个人影，他马上认出是布丽吉特和埃尔斯沃思。
年轻人用他奇怪而不讨人喜欢的手在比着手势，头正俯向布丽吉特那边，看来像是从梦境中走出来的两个人，就连他们从一处草丛踏进另一处草丛，也像悄然无声似的。她那种奇怪的魔力又缠绕着卢克，他对自己说：“被巫婆迷住了——我真是被巫婆迷住了。”
他一动不动地站着，全身仿佛有一种奇怪的麻痹感，他后悔地自语道：“谁才能解开符咒呢？谁也没办法。”
第六章 帽漆
第六章 帽漆
卢克本来正要点燃一支烟，她这突然而来的一句话，倒使他愣住了。他呆了一两秒钟，火柴烧到了手指，“真该死！”卢克丢开火柴，用力甩甩手指说，“对不起，你吓了我一跳。”
“是吗？”
“是的！”他叹口气，说，“我想任何聪明人一定一眼就能看透我，你大概从来就没相信我那个想写一本书的故事？”
“第一眼看到你，我就知道不是真的。”
“是的。”
“尽管那不一定是个好故事。”卢克用批判的语气说，“我的意思是说，男人都会想写一本书的。我来到这儿，冒充成远房亲戚混进来，我想是这一点让你对我产生了怀疑吧？”
布丽吉特摇了摇头。
“不，我有个——我自己的解释，我自己的理解。我猜测你曾经济拮据——我和吉米有很多朋友也是如此——我想，是他建议你扮作远房亲戚的，那样就可以让你不失尊严。”
“但是当我到这儿的时候，”卢克说，“我一现身立刻就体现出了自己的富有，这可与你的解释并不相符。”
她的嘴角上扬，慢慢露出微笑。
“不是的。”她说，“并不是那样。那只能说明你不像那种人。”
“你是说我不像有写作头脑的人？不用骗我，我宁可知道真相。”
“不，你也许会写作，可是写的不会是那种书——古老的迷信、研究古迹等等。绝对不会！对你这种人来说，过去的事情根本算不了什么，甚至连将来也不放在你眼里，只有现在才是最重要的！”
“噢，我懂了。”他做了个鬼脸，又说，“去他的！我到这里之后，你就一直让我觉得很紧张！你看起来那么聪明，叫人手足无措。”
“真抱歉！”布丽吉特淡淡地说，“不然你希望我是什么模样呢？”
“我也不知道，从来没想过。”
她平静地接着说：“一个迷迷糊糊的小女孩，只知道抓住嫁给有钱人的机会？”卢克发出狼狈的叹息。她用冷静、打趣的眼光看看他，说：“我懂，没关系，我不会生气。”
卢克厚着脸皮说：“好吧，也许差不多，不过我没有多想。”
但是卢克很沮丧。
“显然我的表现很糟糕。惠特菲尔德也已经看穿我了吧？”
“并没有。如果你说自己来这儿是要研究龙虱的生活习性，并以此写一篇专著的话，戈登就会相信了。他很容易相信别人的。”
“没用的，我一样会演砸。我总是紧张，不知所措。”
“我看到了你演技的拙劣，”布丽吉特说，“我看到了。说真的，那让我觉得好笑。”
“噢，是的。有头脑的女士总是这么冷血、残酷。”
她缓缓地说：“那当然要等火烧眉毛了才会着急。”停了一两分钟，她又说，“你为什么来这里？菲茨威廉先生。”
话题又回到原先的问题上了，卢克早就想到一定会这样。刚才，他终于下定了决心。
他抬起头，迎向她睿智探询而且正在冷静安定地看着他的眼神。她眼里有一种出乎意料的庄重神色，于是他缓缓地道：“我想，我最好别再向你撒任何谎了。”
“不错。”
“可问题是事实有点可笑。告诉我，你是不是已经有什么想法？我是说你有没有猜想过我来这里的目的？”她若有所思地缓缓点点头，卢克又说，“怎么样？能不能告诉我？也许会对我有点帮助。”
布丽吉特平静地说：“我觉得你来这里一定和艾米•吉布斯的死有关。”
“那就算是吧！我觉得每次提到她名字，就有一种奇怪的气氛，所以我知道这件事背后一定有什么秘密。你觉得我是为这件事来的？”
“难道不是吗？”
“从某方面来说，你的想法并没错。”
他皱眉沉默着，身旁那个女孩也同样沉默地坐着一动不动，她什么也没说，免得打断他的思绪。
他终于下了决心。
“我到这里，是想追查一件事——一个很不可思议，而且也许很荒唐可笑的假设。艾米•吉布斯也跟这件事有关，我想查出她到底是怎么死的。”
“嗯，我也这么想。”
“可是你为什么也这么想呢？她的死到底有什么奇怪，居然会引起你的兴趣呢？”
布丽吉特说：“我一直觉得她死得不大对劲，所以才带你去见韦恩弗利特小姐。”
“为什么？”
“因为她的看法和我一样。”
“嗯！”卢克迅速地回想一下，现在他终于明白那个聪明的老处女为什么会是那样的态度，“她和你一样觉得艾米死得有点奇怪？”布丽吉特点点头，卢克又说：“到底为什么呢？”
“首先是帽漆的问题。”
“你指的是什么？”
“二十年前，的确有人用帽漆——这个季节用粉红色的帽子，下个季节，只要一瓶帽漆就可以改变为深蓝色，再下一个季节，也许换一种帽漆，又可以变成黑色，可是现在时代不同了，帽子便宜得很，等到不流行的时候，丢掉就是了。”
“连艾米•吉布斯那种身份的女孩子也一样？”
“我还比她更可能用帽漆呢，节俭早就被人忘得干干净净。还有一点，那瓶帽漆是红色的。”
“嗯？”
“艾米•吉布斯本身就是红头发。”
“所以不相配？”
布丽吉特点点头。“男人多半不了解这一点，可是——”
卢克意味深长地打断她的话：“对，男人不懂得这些，不错，一切都很符合，一切都完全符合。”
她接着说：“吉米在苏格兰场有些奇怪的朋友，你不会是？”
卢克迅速说：“我不是警探，也不是在贝克街有好几间办公室的著名私家侦探。我只是吉米告诉你的从东部退休的警员。我插手管这件事，是因为我搭火车到伦敦去的时候，发生了一件奇怪的事。”于是他简单扼要地说出和平克顿小姐谈话的内容，以及此后所发生的事。“你看！”他最后说，“这件事实在有点不可思议！我到威奇伍德，是为了找一个人，一个秘密凶手——他也许是个大家都认识而且尊重的人。要是平克顿小姐想的没有错，还有你和那位啊，姓什么的小姐也没错，那么就是这个人杀了艾米•吉布斯。”
布丽吉特说：“我懂了。”
“我想，也有可能是从外面下手的吧？”
“嗯，我也这么想，”布丽吉特缓缓地说，“瑞德巡官就是从别的建筑物爬上她窗子的。
窗子开着，是要费点功夫才能爬上去，可是任何普通男人想爬上去都不难。”
“爬上去之后呢？”
“把咳嗽药水换成帽漆。”
“希望她半夜醒来的时候喝下去，大家就一定会说她拿错了，或者是存心自杀？”
“对。”
“警方不怀疑是有人故布疑阵吗？”
“没有。”
“我想又是因为男人的缘故吧。没有人想到帽漆有问题？”“没有。”
“可是你想到了？”
“对。”
“韦恩弗利特小姐也想到了？你们有没有讨论过？”
布丽吉特淡淡一笑，说：“没有，至少没有像你所说的那样讨论过。我是说，我们彼此都没说出口。我不知道那个老小姐心里到底怎么猜测。也许她最初只是有一点怀疑，越想越觉得不对。你知道，她蛮有头脑的，不像这里大部分人那么迷迷糊糊。”
“我想平克顿小姐就相当糊涂，”卢克说，“所以我刚开始一点也没有把她的话当真。”
“我一直觉得她挺精明，”布丽吉特说，“这些爱议论东家长，西家短的老小姐们，从某一方面来说都精明得很。你说她还提到过别人？”
卢克点点头：“对，一个小男孩，就是汤米•皮尔斯，我一听到这个名字就想起来了。
另外我敢肯定，她也提到过卡特。”
“卡特、汤米•皮尔斯、艾米•吉布斯、亨伯比医生，”
布丽吉特轻轻地道：“正如你所说的，这件事实在有点不可思议。谁会想除掉这些人呢？他们每个人都不一样。”
卢克问：“你有没有想过谁会杀艾米•吉布斯？”
布丽吉特摇摇头，说：“想不出来。”
“卡特呢？对了，他是怎么死的？”
“掉进河里淹死的。有一天晚上他走在回家的路上，雾很大，他又喝得醉醺醺的，河上那座小桥只有一边有栏杆，大家都说他一定是酒醉失足淹死的。”
“但是别人也可能轻而易举地把他推下河？”
“不错。”
“汤米•皮尔斯擦窗户的时候，也可能是有人随手一推，把他推到楼下跌死的？”
“也没错。”
“换句话说，有人可以轻轻松松地除掉三个人，却不会引起别人疑心？”
“平克顿小姐就起了疑心。”布丽吉特说。
卢克说：“就算我问你心里有没有可疑的人也没用吧？威奇伍德没有让你觉得阴森、恐怖的人？或者长着奇怪的白眼珠，或者笑声很怪异、可怕的？”
布丽吉特说：“你觉得那人一定是个疯子？”
“嗯，我想是的。那人是很疯狂，可是也很狡猾。平克顿小姐曾经提到，这个人看着下一个动手的目标时，眼睛里有一种很奇怪的神情。从她说话的口气，我觉得——别忘了，只是我的感觉——她所说的那个男人的地位至少和她差不多，不过我当然也可能猜得不对。”
“也许你说得一点也没错，有时候我们从别人言谈或者表情中，往往可以得到一种很微妙的印象，没办法用言词表示出来，可是那种感觉通常都不会错。”
“你知道，”卢克说，“告诉你这一切之后，我真是安心多了。”
“我相信这样你的阻碍就少了些，而且我也许可以帮点忙。”
“有你帮忙真是太好了。你真的想追根究底？”
“当然。”
卢克忽然有点尴尬地说：“惠特菲尔德爵士怎么办呢？你看要不要——”
“当然，我们根本不用告诉戈登。”布丽吉特说。
“你是说他不会相信？”
“不，他会相信，戈登什么事都相信！如果我们告诉他，他也许会吓得心惊胆跳，坚持找几个年轻力壮的手下整天保护他。”
“那就只好算了。”卢克同意道。
“不错，我们不能让他得到他单纯的乐趣了。”
卢克看看她，仿佛想说什么，最后又改变了主意，只看看手表。“对，”布丽吉特说，“我们该回去了。”
她站起来，气氛突然变得有点紧张，仿佛卢克没说出的话正不安地绕在空中。
两人一起默默地走回家。
Seven POSSIBILITIES
Seven POSSIBILITIES

Luke sat in his bedroom. At lunch time he had sustained an interrogationby Mrs. Anstruther as to what flowers he had had in his garden in theMayang Straits. He had then been told what flowers would have done wellthere. He had also listened to further “Talks to Young Men on the Subjectof Myself” by Lord Whitfield. Now he was mercifully alone.
He took a sheet of paper and wrote down a series of names. It ran as fol-lows:
Dr. Thomas.
Mr. Abbot.
Major Horton.
Mr. Ellsworthy.
Mr. Wake.
Mr. Jones.
Amy’s young man.
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, etc.
He then took another sheet of paper and headed it VICTIMS. Under thisheading, he wrote:
Amy Gibbs: Poisoned.
Tommy Pierce: Pushed out of window.
Harry Carter: Shoved off footbridge (drunk? drugged?).
Dr. Humbleby: Blood Poisoning.
Miss Pinkerton: Run down by car.
He added:
Mrs. Rose?
Old Ben?
And after a pause:
Mrs. Horton?
He considered his lists, smoked awhile, then took up his pencil oncemore.
Dr. Thomas: Possible case against him.
Definite motive in the case of Dr. Humbleby. Manner oflatter’s death suitable — namely, scientific poisoning bygerms. Amy Gibbs visited him on afternoon of the day shedied. (Anything between them? Blackmail?)
Tommy Pierce? No connection known. (Did Tommy knowof connection between him and Amy Gibbs?)
Harry Carter? No connection known.
Was Dr. Thomas absent from Wychwood on the day MissPinkerton went to London?
Luke sighed and started a fresh heading:
Mr. Abbot: Possible case against him.
(Feel a lawyer is definitely a suspicious person. Possiblyprejudice.) His personality, florid, genial, etc., would bedefinitely suspicious in a book—always suspect bluff gen-ial men. Objection: this is not a book, but real life.
Motive for murder of Dr. Humbleby. Definite antagonismexisted between them. H. defied Abbot. Sufficient motivefor a deranged brain. Antagonism could have been easilynoted by Miss Pinkerton.
Tommy Pierce? Latter snooped among Abbot’s papers. Didhe find out something he shouldn’t have known?
Harry Carter? No definite connection.
Amy Gibbs? No connection known. Hat paint quite suit-able to Abbot’s mentality—an old-fashioned mind. WasAbbot away from the village the day Miss Pinkerton waskilled?
Major Horton: Possible case against him.
No connection known with Amy Gibbs, Tommy Pierce orCarter.
What about Mrs. Horton? Death sounds as though itmight be arsenical poisoning. If so other murders might beresult of that—blackmail? NB—Thomas was doctor in at-tendance. (Suspicious for Thomas again.)
Mr. Ellsworthy: Possible case against him.
Nasty bit of goods—dabbles in black magic. Might be tem-perament of a bloodlust killer. Connection with AmyGibbs. Any connection with Tommy Pierce? Carter? Noth-ing known. Humbleby? Might have tumbled to Ells-worthy’s mental condition.
Miss Pinkerton? Was Ellsworthy away from Wychwoodwhen Miss Pinkerton was killed?
Mr. Wake: Possible case against him.
Very unlikely. Possible religious mania? A mission to kill?
Saintly old clergymen likely starters in books, but (as be-fore) this is real life.
Note. Carter, Tommy, Amy all definitely unpleasant char-acters. Better removed by divine decree?
Mr. Jones.
Data—none.
Amy’s young man.
Probably every reason to kill Amy—but seems unlikely ongeneral grounds.
The etceteras?
Don’t fancy them.
He read through what he had written.
Then he shook his head.
He murmured softly:
“—which is absurd! How nicely Euclid put things.”
He tore up the lists and burnt them.
He said to himself:
“This job isn’t going to be exactly easy.”
第七章 嫌疑人
第七章 嫌疑人
卢克坐在自己房里。午餐桌上，安斯特拉瑟太太曾经问起他在马扬海峡的花园有些什么花，又告诉他在那种地方种什么最适合。惠特菲尔德爵士又发表了一番有关“向年轻人表白”的谈话。现在他总算可以独自一个人静静地想一想了。
他拿出一张纸，写下几个名字：
托马斯医生
艾伯特先生
霍顿少校
埃尔斯沃思先生
维克先生
艾米的男朋友
肉贩、面包师傅、蜡烛师傅等等。
然后又拿出一张纸，先写上“被害者”，再在这个标题上面写道：
艾米•吉布斯被毒死
汤米•皮尔斯被人从窗口推出去
哈利•卡特被人从小桥上推进河里（是醉酒？中毒？）亨伯比医生血液中毒平克顿小姐被车撞死
又写道：
罗丝太太？
老本？
顿一顿，又加上：
霍顿太太？
他看着这张名单，边抽烟边沉思了一会儿，再度拿起铅笔写道：
托马斯医生和对他不利的证据：
亨伯比医生之死显然有很明显的动机，后者死的情况非常吻合——也就是说，用科学方法以细菌毒死。艾米•吉布斯死亡当天下午也去看过他，他们之间可能发生过什么？敲诈？
汤米•皮尔斯呢？目前还不知道有什么关联？是不是汤米知道他和艾米•吉布斯之间的秘密？
哈利•卡特？没有什么线索。
平克顿小姐到伦敦去的那天，托马斯医生是否不在威奇伍德？
卢克叹口气，换了一个新的标题：
艾伯特先生和可能对他不利的证据：
显然非常可疑，也许成见很深。他为人亲切和蔼，是侦探小说中最有可能的疑犯。问题是：这是真实人生，不是小说。
谋杀亨伯比医生的动机：
他们之间存有明显的敌意，亨伯比医生藐视艾伯特先生，对头脑不正常的人，这已经足以构成杀机。平克顿小姐一定不难看出他们之间的敌意。
汤米•皮尔斯？他曾经乱翻过艾伯特先生的文件，是不是发现了什么他不该知道的事？
哈利•卡特？没有什么线索。
艾米•吉布斯？也没有什么线索，不过使用帽漆倒蛮合乎艾伯特的个性——守旧的头脑。
平克顿小姐遇害那天，艾伯特是否不在村子里？
霍顿少校：
不知道他和艾米•吉布斯、汤米•皮尔斯、哈利•卡特等人有什么关系。
霍顿太太？她似乎是被砒霜毒死的，果真如此，其他人的死可能也和这个有关——是敲诈？托马斯医生是她的主治医生，所以托马斯又有了嫌疑。
埃尔斯沃思先生：
涉及巫术，可能是个吸血的杀人凶手。跟艾米•吉布斯有关系。跟汤米•皮尔斯和哈利•卡特有关系吗？目前还不知道。亨伯比医生呢？也许看出埃尔斯沃思精神不正常。
平克顿小姐呢？平克顿小姐遇害当天，埃尔斯沃思是否不在威奇伍德？
维克先生：
看来似乎很不可能。也许是宗教狂热使然？觉得自己是上帝派来的杀手？小说里也有过那样神圣的老牧师——可是这是现实，不是小说。
注意：卡特、汤米、艾米都是绝对不讨人喜欢的人，也许归因于天谴最好？
艾米的男朋友：
也许很想除掉艾米，可是大体而言，不像杀了这么多人的凶手。
其他人：
想都不用想。
他又重新看一遍这张单子，然后摇摇头，喃喃低语道：“太荒唐了！”
他把单子撕碎烧掉，自言自语说：“这件工作实在不简单。”
Eight DR. THOMAS
Eight DR. THOMAS

Dr. Thomas leant back in his chair, and passed a long delicate hand overhis thick fair hair. He was a young man whose appearance was deceptive.
Though he was over thirty, a casual glance would have put him down inthe early twenties if not in his teens. His shock of rather unruly fair hair,his slightly startled expression and his pink and white complexion gavehim an irresistibly schoolboyish appearance. Immature as he might look,though, the diagnosis he had just pronounced on Luke’s rheumatic kneeagreed almost precisely with that delivered by an eminent Harley Streetspecialist only a week earlier.
“Thanks,” said Luke. “Well, I’m relieved you think that electrical treat-ment will do the trick. I don’t want to turn a cripple at my age.”
Dr. Thomas smiled boyishly.
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any danger of that, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“Well, you’ve relieved my mind,” said Luke. “I was thinking of going tosome specialist chap—but I’m sure there’s no need now.”
Dr. Thomas smiled again.
“Go if it makes your mind easier. After all, it’s always a good thing tohave an expert’s opinion.”
“No, no, I’ve got full confidence in you.”
“Frankly, there is no complexity about the matter. If you take my advice,I am quite sure you will have no further trouble.”
“You’ve relieved my mind no end, doctor. Fancied I might be gettingarthritis and would soon be all tied up in knots and unable to move.”
Dr. Thomas shook his head with a slightly indulgent smile.
Luke said quickly:
“Men get the wind up pretty badly in these ways. I expect you find that?
I often think a doctor must feel himself a ‘medicine man’—a kind of magi-cian to most of his patients.”
“The element of faith enters in very largely.”
“I know. ‘The doctor says so’ is a remark always uttered with somethinglike reverence.”
Dr. Thomas raised his shoulders.
“If one’s patients only knew!” he murmured humorously.
Then he said:
“You’re writing a book on magic, aren’t you, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
“Now how did you know that?” exclaimed Luke, perhaps with some-what overdone surprise.
Dr. Thomas looked amused.
“Oh, my dear sir, news gets about very rapidly in a place like this. Wehave so little to talk about.”
“It probably gets exaggerated too. You’ll be hearing I’m raising the localspirits and emulating the Witch of Endor.”
“Rather odd you should say that.”
“Why?”
“Well, the rumour has been going round that you had raised the ghost ofTommy Pierce.”
“Pierce? Pierce? Is that the small boy who fell out of a window?”
“Yes.”
“Now I wonder how—of course—I made some remark to the solicitor—what’s his name, Abbot.”
“Yes, the story originated with Abbot.”
“Don’t say I’ve converted a hard-boiled solicitor to a belief in ghosts?”
“You believe in ghosts yourself, then?”
“Your tone suggests that you do not, doctor. No, I wouldn’t say I actually‘believe in ghosts’—to put it crudely. But I have known curious phenom-ena in the case of sudden or violent death. But I’m more interested in thevarious superstitions pertaining to violent deaths—that a murdered man,for instance, can’t rest in his grave. And the interesting belief that theblood of a murdered man flows if his murderer touches him. I wonderhow that arose.”
“Very curious,” said Thomas. “But I don’t suppose many people remem-ber that nowadays.”
“More than you would think. Of course, I don’t suppose you have manymurders down here—so it’s hard to judge.”
Luke had smiled as he spoke, his eyes resting with seeming carelessnesson the other’s face. But Dr. Thomas seemed quite unperturbed and smiledin return.
“No, I don’t think we’ve had a murder for—oh, very many years—cer-tainly not in my time.”
“No, this is a peaceful spot. Not conducive to foul play. Unless somebodypushed little Tommy What’s-his-name out of the window.”
Luke laughed. Again Dr. Thomas’s smile came in answer — a naturalsmile full of boyish amusement.
“A lot of people would have been willing to wring that child’s neck,” hesaid. “But I don’t think they actually got to the point of throwing him outof windows.”
“He seems to have been a thoroughly nasty child—the removal of himmight have been conceived as a public duty.”
“It’s a pity one can’t apply that theory fairly often.”
“I’ve always thought a few wholesale murders would be beneficial to thecommunity,” said Luke. “A club bore, for instance, should be finished offwith a poisoned liqueur brandy. Then there are the women who gush atyou and tear all their dearest friends to pieces with their tongues. Backbit-ing spinsters. Inveterate diehards who oppose progress. If they were pain-lessly removed, what a difference it would make to social life!”
Dr. Thomas’s smile lengthened to a grin.
“In fact, you advocate crime on a grand scale?”
“Judicious elimination,” said Luke. “Don’t you agree that it would be be-neficial?”
“Oh, undoubtedly.”
“Ah, but you’re not being serious,” said Luke. “Now I am. I haven’t therespect for human life that the normal Englishman has. Any man who is astumbling block on the way of progress ought to be eliminated—that’show I see it!”
Running his hand through his short fair hair, Dr. Thomas said:
“Yes, but who is to be the judge of a man’s fitness or unfitness?”
“That’s the difficulty, of course,” Luke admitted.
“The Catholics would consider a Communist agitator unfit to live—theCommunist agitator would sentence the priest to death as a purveyor ofsuperstition, the doctor would eliminate the unhealthy man, the pacifistwould condemn the soldier, and so on.”
“You’d have to have a scientific man as judge,” said Luke. “Someonewith an unbiased but highly specialized mind — a doctor, for instance.
Come to that, I think you’d be a pretty good judge yourself, doctor.”
“Of unfitness to live?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Thomas shook his head.
“My job is to make the unfit fit. Most of the time it’s an uphill job, I’ll ad-mit.”
“Now just for the sake of argument,” said Luke. “Take a man like the lateHarry Carter—”
Dr. Thomas said sharply:
“Carter? You mean the landlord of the Seven Stars?”
“Yes, that’s the man. I never knew him myself, but my cousin, Miss Con-way, was talking about him. He seems to have been a really thoroughgo-ing scoundrel.”
“Well,” said the other, “he drank, of course. Ill-treated his wife, bulliedhis daughter. He was quarrelsome and abusive and had had a row withmost people in the place.”
“In fact, the world is a better place without him?”
“One might be inclined to say so, I agree.”
“In fact, if somebody had given him a push and sent him into the riverinstead of his kindly electing to fall in of his own accord, that personwould have been acting in the public interest?”
Dr. Thomas said drily:
“These methods that you advocate—did you put them into practice inthe—Mayang Straits, I think you said?”
Luke laughed.
“Oh, no, with me it’s theory—not practice.”
“No, I do not think you are the stuff of which murderers are made.”
Luke asked:
“Why not? I’ve been frank enough in my views.”
“Exactly. Too frank.”
“You mean that if I were really the kind of man who takes the law intohis own hands I shouldn’t go about airing my views?”
“That was my meaning.”
“But it might be a kind of gospel with me. I might be a fanatic on thesubject!”
“Even so, your sense of self-protection would be active.”
“In fact, when looking for a murderer, look out for a nice gentlewouldn’t-hurt-a-fly type of man.”
“Slightly exaggerated perhaps,” said Dr. Thomas, “but not far from thetruth.”
Luke said abruptly:
“Tell me—it interests me—have you ever come across a man whom youbelieved might be a murderer?”
Dr. Thomas said sharply:
“Really—what an extraordinary question!”
“Is it? After all, a doctor must come across so many queer characters. Hewould be better able to detect—for instance—the signs of homicidal mania—in an early stage—before it’s noticeable.”
Thomas said rather irritably:
“You have the general layman’s idea of a homicidal maniac—a man whoruns amok with a knife, a man more or less foaming at the mouth. Let metell you a homicidal lunatic may be the most difficult thing on this earth tospot. To all seeming he may be exactly like everyone else—a man, per-haps, who is easily frightened—who may tell you, perhaps, that he has en-emies. No more than that. A quiet, inoffensive fellow.”
“Is that really so?”
“Of course it’s so. A homicidal lunatic often kills (as he thinks) in self-de-fence. But of course a lot of killers are ordinary sane fellows like you andme.”
“Doctor, you alarm me! Fancy if you should discover later that I havefive or six nice quiet little killings to my credit.”
Dr. Thomas smiled.
“I don’t think it’s very likely, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“Don’t you? I’ll return the compliment. I don’t believe you’ve got five orsix murders to your credit either.”
Dr. Thomas said cheerfully:
“You’re not counting my professional failures.”
Both men laughed.
Luke got up and said good-bye.
“I’m afraid I’ve taken up a lot of your time,” he said apologetically.
“Oh, I’m not busy. Wychwood is a pretty healthy place. It’s a pleasure tohave a talk with someone from the outside world.”
“I was wondering—” said Luke and stopped.
“Yes?”
“Miss Conway told me when she sent me to you what a very—well—what a first-class man you were. I wondered if you didn’t feel rather bur-ied down here? Not much opportunity for talent.”
“Oh, general practice is a good beginning. It’s valuable experience.”
“But you won’t be content to stay in a rut all your life? Your late partner,Dr. Humbleby, was an unambitious fellow, so I’ve heard—quite contentwith his practice here. He’d been here for a good many years, I believe?”
“Practically a lifetime.”
“He was sound but old-fashioned, so I hear.”
Dr. Thomas said:
“At times he was difficult…Very suspicious of modern innovations, but agood example of the old school of physicians.”
“Left a very pretty daughter, I’m told,” said Luke in jocular fashion.
He had the pleasure of seeing Dr. Thomas’s pale pink countenance go adeep scarlet.
“Oh—er—yes,” he said.
Luke gazed at him kindly. He was pleased at the prospect of erasing Dr.
Thomas from his list of suspected persons.
The latter recovered his normal hue and said abruptly:
“Talking about crime just now, I can lend you rather a good book as youare interested in the subject! Translation from the German. Kreuzhammeron Inferiority and Crime.”
“Thank you,” said Luke.
Dr. Thomas ran his finger along a shelf and drew out the book in ques-tion.
“Here you are. Some of the theories are rather startling—and of coursethey are only theories, but they are interesting. The early life of Menzheld,for instance, the Frankfurt butcher, as they called him, and the chapter onAnna Helm, the little nursemaid killer, are really extremely interesting.”
“She killed about a dozen of her charges before the authorities tumbledto it, I believe,” said Luke.
Dr. Thomas nodded.
“Yes. She had a most sympathetic personality—devoted to children—and apparently quite genuinely heartbroken at each death. The psycho-logy is amazing.”
“Amazing how these people get away with it,” said Luke.
He was on the doorstep now. Dr. Thomas had come out with him.
“Not amazing really,” said Dr. Thomas. “It’s quite easy, you know.”
“What is?”
“To get away with it.” He was smiling again—a charming, boyish smile.
“If you’re careful. One just has to be careful—that’s all! But a clever man isextremely careful not to make a slip. That’s all there is to it.”
He smiled and went into the house.
Luke stood staring up the steps.
There had been something condescending in the doctor’s smile.
Throughout their conversation Luke had been conscious of himself as aman of full maturity and of Dr. Thomas as a youthful and ingenuousyoung man.
Just for a moment he felt the r?les reversed. The doctor’s smile had beenthat of a grown-up amused by the cleverness of a child.
第八章 托马斯医生
第八章 托马斯医生
托马斯医生往后靠在椅背上，用修长优雅的手摸摸浓密黑亮的头发。他很年轻，尽管已经年过三十，可一眼看上去不是十几岁，就是二十几岁出头。头发直立看起来的样子显得桀骜不驯，他略带吃惊的表情，以及粉红、白色相间的肤色让他看起来像个令人无法抗拒的男孩。外表看来虽然很不成熟，但是他对卢克患风湿的膝部的诊断，几乎和一星期以前哈利街那位专家的诊断完全一样。
“多谢你了，”卢克说，“既然你觉得电疗有效，我就安心多了，我还不希望这种年纪就变成跛子。”
托马斯医生孩子气地一笑，说：“我想不会有什么危险，菲茨威廉先生。”
“啊，你让我安心多了，”卢克说，“我本来想去找一位专家，可是现在我相信用不着了。”
托马斯医生又微笑道：“要是你觉得那样比较放心，还是去看看为好。无论如何，听听专家的意见总不会有错。”
卢克迅速说：“人在这些方面往往很容易害怕，你一定了解这一点吧？我常常想，医生应该会觉得自己像个术士，对病人来说，他就像魔术师一样。”
“信心往往占了很重的分量。”
“我知道，‘医生说’好像已经成了代表权威的话。”
托马斯医生耸耸肩，幽默地说：“要是病人都明白这一点就好了。”又说，“你正在写一本有关巫术的书，对吗，菲茨威廉先生？”
“咦！你怎么知道？”卢克装腔作势地惊呼。
托马斯医生似乎觉得很好玩：“噢，亲爱的先生，像这种地方，消息传播得非常快，因为实在没什么好聊的话题。”
“不过也许会被人过分夸大，改天你说不定又听说谁在召唤鬼魂，并且和恩多的女巫在比赛法力呢。”
“奇怪，你怎么会这么说？”
“为什么奇怪？”
“因为有人谣传说你已经召唤过汤米•皮尔斯的鬼魂了。”
“皮尔斯？皮尔斯？就是那个从窗口掉下去的小男孩？”
“是的。”
“这怎么会呢？对了，我跟那位律师提过，他叫什么——是艾伯特吧？”
“对，故事就是从他那里传出来的。”
“难道说我已经使一位头脑冷静的律师相信世界上有鬼魂存在了吗？”
“这么说，你本身相信有鬼魂了？”
“听你的口气，你好像不相信，是吗？医生，不、不能说我真的‘相信有鬼魂’，不过我确实知道有些人离奇死亡或者暴毙。可是我最有兴趣的还是跟暴毙有关的各种迷信——例如被谋杀的人不会在坟墓里安息，还有凶手如果去摸被害的死者，死者的血就会流个不停。不知道这些传说是怎么来的？”
“很奇妙，”托马斯医生说，“不过我相信现在已经没什么人记得这些了。”
“当然比你想象中要多，不过我想这里也没有什么人被人谋杀，所以很难判断。”
卢克说话的时候带着微笑，眼睛仿佛很随意地看着对方的脸，但是托马斯医生似乎仍旧非常镇定，也对他报以微笑。
“是的，我想我们这儿已经——嗯，很多很多年——没有凶杀案了。起码我这辈子都没听说过。”
“是啊，这地方非常安详平静，不会有什么暴行，除非——有人把那个叫汤米什么的小男孩从窗口推下去。”卢克微笑着说。
托马斯医生又带着他那充满孩子气欢乐的自然微笑说：
“很多人都恨不得扭断那孩子的脖子，不过我想还不至于真的有人会把他从窗口推下去。”
“他好像非常顽皮，也许有人觉得除掉他是义不容辞、替大家服务的事。”
“可惜这种理论只能偶尔引用一下。”
“我一直觉得，连续除掉好多人会对地方上有益，”卢克说，“我不像一般英国人那么尊重人命，我觉得任何阻碍进步的人都应该被除掉。”
托马斯医生用手伸进美丽的短发中摸摸头，说：“不错，可是谁又有资格做裁判呢？”
“学科学的人就有资格，”卢克说，“那个人必须心胸正直，头脑灵活，具备专业知识——譬如说医生之类。说到这一点，我倒觉得你本身就是很好的裁判。”
“判决哪些人不该活下去？”
“是的。”
托马斯医生摇摇头，说：“我的工作是使不适合活下去的人变得适合活下去。我承认，在大部分情形下，这是件很辛苦的工作。”
“可是我们还是不妨来讨论一下，”卢克说，“就拿已故的哈利•卡特来说……”
托马斯医生尖声道：“卡特？你是说‘七星’的老板？”
“对，就是他。我不认识他，可是我表妹康威小姐提过他的事。他好像是个十足的大恶棍。”
“噢，”对方说，“不错，他嗜酒如命，虐待太太，欺负女儿，爱跟人吵架，又爱乱骂人，跟这里大部分人都吵过架。”
“换句话说，世界上没有他这个人会更好？”
“我想可以这么说。”
“事实上，要是有人从背后把他推进河里，那个人可以说是为了大家着想才下手的了？”
托马斯医生冷淡地说：“你所说的这些手段是不是你曾经在——是马扬海峡吧？用过呢？”
卢克笑道：“嗯，不，这只是我的构想，不是真有这种事。”
“嗯，我也觉得你不像天生的杀人凶手。”
“告诉我——我很想知道——你有没有碰到过你觉得像杀人凶手的人？”
托马斯医生尖声道：“奇怪！你居然会问这种问题！”
“是吗？我想医生一定见识过各种奇怪的人物，譬如说，他一定会比别人提早发现杀人狂的早期症状。”
托马斯有点生气地说：“这完全是外行人对杀人狂的看法，以为他一定会拿着刀到处乱跑，嘴边不时吐些白沫。我不妨告诉你，杀人狂也许是世界上最难看出的病症。从外表上看，他也许和平常人完全一样，也许是个很容易受惊的人，也许他会告诉你他有些敌人。
可是除此之外什么迹象都没有，一点儿也不讨人厌。”
“真的？”
“当然是真的。有些杀人狂，常常认为自己是为了自卫才杀人。不过当然啦，有很多杀人凶手就像你我一样正常。”
“医生，你这话可让我觉得坐立不安了！想想看，改天你也许会发觉我曾经一声不响地杀过五六个人呢。”
托马斯医生微笑道：“我觉得不大可能，菲茨威廉先生。”
“是吗？彼此彼此，我也不相信你杀过五六个人。”
托马斯医生愉快地说：“你没把我职业上的失败例子算在内。”
两人都笑了起来，卢克站起来道别，用抱歉的口气说：
“对不起，打扰了你好久。”
“噢，没关系，我不忙，威奇伍德是个很健康的地方。真高兴能跟外地来的客人聊聊。”
“不知道……”卢克没往下说。
“什么事？”
“‘康威小姐要我来找你看病时，曾经告诉过我，你实在非常……嗯，医术实在很高明。我在想，你留在这种小地方会不会觉得太埋没自己的才干了？”
“噢，能从小地方着手也是一个好的开始，能得到很宝贵的经验。”
“但是你不可能一辈子就这样待在乡下不求发展。听说你的已故对手亨伯比医生就没什么野心，一直安安分分，很满足地在这里行医。我想他在这里一定住了很多年了吧。”
“事实上他一辈子都住在这里。”
“听说他很正派，就是太顽固了点。”
托马斯医生说：“有时候他的确很难相处，对新设备很不信任，不过对老派的内科医生来说，他倒堪称楷模。”
“听说他留下一个漂亮的女儿。”卢克用戏谑的口气说。
他饶有兴致地看着托马斯医生白皙的面孔涨得通红。医生支支吾吾地说：“嗯——嗯——是吧！”
卢克用亲切的眼光看看他，很希望能把他从自己的嫌疑人名单上除掉，一会儿，后者恢复了正常，忽然说：“谈到犯罪，如果你对这方面有兴趣，我可以借你一本书，是从德文翻译过来的，克鲁哈玛写的《自卑感与犯罪》。”
“谢谢你。”卢克说。
托马斯医生伸手从书架上找出那本书，说：“就是这一本，其中有些很惊人的理论。虽然只是理论，倒也挺有意思的。例如‘法兰克福屠夫’孟兹海的早年生活，喜欢杀人的小保姆安娜•海伦等，都非常有意思。”
“好像她杀了十多个托她照顾的小孩之后，别人才发现事情的真相。”卢克说。
托马斯医生点点头：“对，她的性格很惹人同情——她非常爱孩子，每个孩子死的时候，她真的都悲痛欲绝。这种心理实在很叫人惊讶。”
“这些人居然能逍遥法外那么久，真奇怪。”
这时他已经走到门口阶梯上了，托马斯医生送他出门，说：“也没什么好奇怪的，其实你知道，容易得很。”
“什么东西容易得很？”
“逍遥法外啊，”他又露出孩子气的迷人微笑，“只要小心点儿就可以了，聪明人一定会非常小心，不留下任何痕迹。这就够了。”他又笑笑，然后走进屋里。
卢克站在门口看着阶梯发呆。医生的微笑中有一种谦卑的意味，他们谈话当中，卢克一直觉得自己像个成熟懂事的大人，而托马斯医生却仿佛是个天真无邪的少年。但是此刻，他却有一种完全相反的感觉，医生的微笑就像一个大人对聪明淘气的孩子的那种纵容的微笑。
Nine MRS. PIERCE TALKS
Nine MRS. PIERCE TALKS

In the little shop in the High Street Luke had bought a tin of cigarettes andtoday’s copy of Good Cheer, the enterprising little weekly which providedLord Whitfield with a good portion of his substantial income. Turning tothe football competition, Luke, with a groan, gave forth the informationthat he had just failed to win a hundred and twenty pounds. Mrs. Piercewas roused at once to sympathy and explained similar disappointmentson the part of her husband. Friendly relations thus established, Lukefound no difficulty in prolonging the conversation.
“A great interest in football Mr. Pierce takes,” said Mr. Pierce’s spouse.
“Turns to it first of all in the news, he does. And as I say, many a disap-pointment he’s had, but there, everybody can’t win, that’s what I say, andwhat I say is you can’t go against luck.”
Luke concurred heartily in these sentiments, and proceeded to advanceby an easy transition to a further profound statement that troubles nevercome singly.
“Ah, no, indeed, sir, that I do know.” Mrs. Pierce sighed. “And when awoman has a husband and eight children—six living and buried two, thatis—well, she knows what trouble is, as you may say.”
“I suppose she does—oh, undoubtedly,” said Luke. “You’ve—er—buriedtwo, you say?”
“One no longer than a month ago,” said Mrs. Pierce with a kind of mel-ancholy enjoyment.
“Dear me, very sad.”
“It wasn’t only sad, sir. It was a shock—that’s what it was, a shock! Icame all over queer, I did, when they broke it to me. Never having expec-ted anything of that kind to happen to Tommy, as you might say, for whena boy’s a trouble to you it doesn’t come natural to think of him being took.
Now my Emma Jane, a sweet little mite she was. ‘You’ll never rear her.’
That’s what they said. ‘She’s too good to live.’ And it was true, sir. The Lordknows His own.”
Luke acknowledged the sentiment and strove to return from the subjectof the saintly Emma Jane to that of the less saintly Tommy.
“Your boy died quite recently?” he said. “An accident?”
“An accident it was, sir. Cleaning the windows of the old Hall, which isnow the library, and he must have lost his balance and fell—from the topwindows, that was.”
Mrs. Pierce expatiated at some length on all the details of the accident.
“Wasn’t there some story,” said Luke carelessly, “of his having beenseen dancing on the windowsill?”
Mrs. Pierce said that boys would be boys—but no doubt it did give themajor a turn, him being a fussy gentleman.
“Major Horton?”
“Yes, sir, the gentleman with the bulldogs. After the accident happenedhe chanced to mention having seen our Tommy acting very rash-like—andof course it does show that if something sudden had startled him he wouldhave fallen easy enough. High spirits, sir, that was Tommy’s trouble. Asore trial he’s been to me in many ways,” she finished, “but there it was,just high spirits—nothing but high spirits—such as any lad might have.
There wasn’t no real harm in him, as you might say.”
“No, no—I’m sure there wasn’t, but sometimes, you know, Mrs. Pierce,people—sober middle-aged people—find it hard to remember they’ve everbeen young themselves.”
Mrs. Pierce sighed.
“Very true those words are, sir. I can’t help but hoping that some gentle-men I could name but won’t will have taken it to heart the way they werehard upon the lad—just on account of his high spirits.”
“Played a few tricks upon his employers, did he?” asked Luke with anindulgent smile.
Mrs. Pierce responded immediately.
“It was just his fun, sir, that was all. Tommy was always good at imita-tions. Make us hold our sides with laughing the way he’d mince about pre-tending to be that Mr. Ellsworthy at the curio shop—or old Mr. Hobbs, thechurchwarden—and he was imitating his lordship up at the manor andthe two under-gardeners laughing, when up came his lordship quiet-likeand gave Tommy the sack on the spot—and naturally that was only to beexpected, and quite right, and his lordship didn’t bear malice afterwards,and helped Tommy to get another job.”
“But other people weren’t so magnanimous, eh?” said Luke.
“That they were not, sir. Naming no names. And you’d never think itwith Mr. Abbot, so pleasant in his manner and always a kind word or ajoke.”
“Tommy got into trouble with him?”
Mrs. Pierce said:
“It’s not, I’m sure, that the boy meant any harm…And after all, if papersare private and not meant to be looked at, they shouldn’t be laid out on atable—that’s what I say.”
“Oh, quite,” said Luke. “Private papers in a lawyer’s office ought to bekept in the safe.”
“That’s right, sir. That’s what I think, and Mr. Pierce he agrees with me.
It’s not even as though Tommy had read much of it.”
“What was it—a will?” asked Luke.
He judged (probably rightly) that a question as to what the document inquestion had been might make Mrs. Pierce halt. But this direct questionbrought an instant response.
“Oh, no, sir, nothing of that kind. Nothing really important. Just aprivate letter it was—from a lady—and Tommy didn’t even see who thelady was. All such a fuss about nothing—that’s what I say.”
“Mr. Abbot must be the sort of man who takes offence very easily,” saidLuke.
“Well, it does seem so, doesn’t it, sir? Although, as I say, he’s always sucha pleasant gentleman to speak to—always a joke or a cheery word. But it’strue that I have heard he was a difficult man to get up against, and himand Dr. Humbleby was daggers drawn, as the saying is, just before thepoor gentleman died. And not a pleasant thought for Mr. Abbot after-wards. For once there’s a death one doesn’t like to think there’s beenharsh words spoken and no chance of taking them back.”
Luke shook his head solemnly and murmured:
“Very true—very true.”
He went on:
“A bit of a coincidence—that. Hard words with Dr. Humbleby and Dr.
Humbleby died—harsh treatment of your Tommy—and the boy dies! Ishould think that a double experience like that would tend to make Mr.
Abbot careful of his tongue in future.”
“Harry Carter, too, down at the Seven Stars,” said Mrs. Pierce. “Verysharp words passed between them only a week before Carter went anddrowned himself—but one can’t blame Mr. Abbot for that. The abuse wasall on Carter’s side—went up to Mr. Abbot’s house, he did, being in liquorat the time, and shouting out the foulest language at the top of his voice.
Poor Mrs. Carter, she had a deal to put up with, and it must be ownedCarter’s death was a merciful release as far as she was concerned.”
“He left a daughter, too, didn’t he?”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Pierce. “I’m never one to gossip.”
This was unexpected but promising. Luke pricked up his ears andwaited.
“I don’t say there was anything in it but talk. Lucy Carter’s a fine-lookingyoung woman in her way, and if it hadn’t been for the difference in sta-tion I dare say no notice would have been taken. But talk there has beenand you can’t deny it—especially after Carter went right up to his house,shouting and swearing.”
Luke gathered the implications of this somewhat confused speech.
“Mr. Abbot looks as though he’d appreciate a good-looking girl,” he said.
“It’s often the way with gentlemen,” said Mrs. Pierce. “They don’t meananything by it—just a word or two in passing, but the gentry’s the gentryand it gets noticed in consequence. It’s only to be expected in a quiet placelike this.”
“It’s a very charming place,” said Luke. “So unspoilt.”
“That’s what artists always say, but I think we’re a bit behind the timesmyself. Why, there’s been no building here to speak of. Over at Ashevale,for instance, they’ve got a lovely lot of new houses, some of them withgreen roofs and stained glass in the windows.”
Luke shuddered slightly.
“You’ve got a grand new institute here,” he said.
“They say it’s a very fine building,” said Mrs. Pierce, without great en-thusiasm. “Of course, his lordship’s done a lot for the place. He meanswell, we all know that.”
“But you don’t think his efforts are quite successful?” said Luke,amused.
“Well, of course, sir, he isn’t really gentry—not like Miss Waynflete, forinstance, and Miss Conway. Why, Lord Whitfield’s father kept a boot-shoponly a few doors from here. My mother remembers Gordon Ragg servingin the shop—remembers it as well as anything. Of course he’s his lordshipnow and he’s a rich man—but it’s never the same, is it, sir?”
“Evidently not,” said Luke.
“You’ll excuse me mentioning it, sir,” said Mrs. Pierce. “And of course Iknow you’re staying at the manor and writing a book. But you’re a cousinof Miss Bridget’s, I know, and that’s quite a different thing. Very pleasedwe shall be to have her back as mistress of Ashe Manor.”
“Rather,” said Luke. “I’m sure you will.”
He paid for his cigarettes and paper with sudden abruptness.
He thought to himself:
“The personal element. One must keep that out of it! Hell, I’m here totrack down a criminal. What does it matter who that black-haired witchmarries or doesn’t marry? She doesn’t come into this….”
He walked slowly along the street. With an effort he thrust Bridget intothe back of his mind.
“Now then,” he said to himself. “Abbot. The case against Abbot. I’velinked him up with three of the victims. He had a row with Humbleby, arow with Carter and a row with Tommy Pierce—and all three died. Whatabout the girl Amy Gibbs? What was the private letter that infernal boysaw? Did he know who it was from? Or didn’t he? He mayn’t have said soto his mother. But suppose he did. Suppose Abbot thought it necessary toshut his mouth. It could be! That’s all one can say about it. It could be! Notgood enough!”
Luke quickened his pace, looking about him with sudden exasperation.
“This damned village—it’s getting on my nerves. So smiling and peaceful— so innocent — and all the time this crazy streak of murder runningthrough it. Or am I the crazy one? Was Lavinia Pinkerton crazy? After all,the whole thing could be coincidence—yes, Humbleby’s death and all….”
He glanced back down the length of the High Street—and he was as-sailed by a strong feeling of unreality.
He said to himself:
“These things don’t happen….”
Then he lifted his eyes to the long frowning line of Ashe Ridge—and atonce the unreality passed. Ashe Ridge was real—it knew strange things—witchcraft and cruelty and forgotten bloodlusts and evil rites….
He started. Two figures were walking along the side of the ridge. He re-cognized them easily—Bridget and Ellsworthy. The young man was gestic-ulating with those curious, unpleasant hands of his. His head was bent toBridget’s. They looked like two figures out of a dream. One felt that theirfeet made no sound as they sprang catlike from turf to turf. He saw herblack hair stream out behind her blown by the wind. Again that queer ma-gic of hers held him.
“Bewitched, that’s what I am, bewitched,” he said to himself.
He stood quite still—a queer numbed feeling spreading over him.
He thought to himself ruefully:
“Who’s to break the spell? There’s no one.”
Ten ROSE HUMBLEBY
Ten ROSE HUMBLEBY

A soft sound behind him made him turn sharply. A girl was standingthere, a remarkably pretty girl with brown hair curling round her earsand rather timid-looking dark-blue eyes. She flushed a little with embar-rassment before she spoke.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yes. I—”
“I’m Rose Humbleby. Bridget told me that—that you knew some peoplewho knew my father.”
Luke had the grace to flush slightly under his tan.
“It was a long time ago,” he said rather lamely. “They—er—knew him asa young man—before he married.”
“Oh, I see.”
Rose Humbleby looked a little crestfallen. But she went on:
“You’re writing a book, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m making notes for one, that is. About local superstitions. All thatsort of thing.”
“I see. It sounds frightfully interesting.”
“It will probably be as dull as ditch water,” Luke assured her.
“Oh, no, I’m sure it won’t.”
Luke smiled at her.
He thought:
“Our Dr. Thomas is in luck!”
“There are people,” he said, “who can make the most exciting subjectunbearably boring. I’m afraid I’m one of them.”
“Oh, but why should you be?”
“I don’t know. But the conviction is growing upon me.”
Rose Humbleby said:
“You might be one of the people who make dull subjects sound fright-fully exciting!”
“Now that is a nice thought,” said Luke. “Thank you for it.”
Rose Humbleby smiled back. Then she said:
“Do you believe in—in superstitions and all that?”
“That’s a difficult question. It doesn’t follow, you know. One can be in-terested in things one doesn’t believe in.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” the girl sounded doubtful.
“Are you superstitious?”
“N-no—I don’t think so. But I do think things come in—in waves.”
“Waves?”
“Waves of bad luck and good luck. I mean—I feel as though lately allWychwood was under a spell of—of misfortune. Father dying—and MissPinkerton being run over, and that little boy who fell out of the window. I—I began to feel as though I hated this place—as though I must get away!”
Her breath came rather faster. Luke looked at her thoughtfully.
“So you feel like that?”
“Oh! I know it’s silly. I suppose really it was poor daddy dying so unex-pectedly — it was so horribly sudden.” She shivered. “And then MissPinkerton. She said—”
The girl paused.
“What did she say? She was a delightful old lady, I thought—very like arather special aunt of mine.”
“Oh, did you know her?” Rose’s face lit up. “I was very fond of her andshe was devoted to daddy. But I’ve sometimes wondered if she was whatthe Scotch call ‘fey.’”
“Why?”
“Because—it’s so odd—she seemed quite afraid that something was go-ing to happen to daddy. She almost warned me. Especially about accidents.
And then that day—just before she went up to town—she was so odd inher manner—absolutely in a dither. I really do think, Mr. Fitzwilliam, thatshe was one of those people who have second sight. I think she knew thatsomething was going to happen to her. And she must have known thatsomething was going to happen to daddy too. It’s—it’s rather frightening,that sort of thing!”
She moved a step nearer to him.
“There are times when one can foresee the future,” said Luke. “It isn’talways supernatural, though.”
“No, I suppose it’s quite natural really—just a faculty that most peoplelack. All the same it—worries me—”
“You mustn’t worry,” said Luke gently. “Remember, it’s all behind younow. It’s no good going back over the past. It’s the future one has to livefor.”
“I know. But there’s more, you see…” Rose hesitated. “There was some-thing—to do with your cousin.”
“My cousin? Bridget?”
“Yes. Miss Pinkerton was worried about her in some way. She was al-ways asking me questions…I think she was afraid for her—too.”
Luke turned sharply, scanning the hillside. He had an unreasoningsense of fear. Bridget — alone with the man whose hands had that un-healthy hue of greenish decomposing flesh! Fancy—all fancy! Ellsworthywas only a harmless dilettante who played at shopkeeping.
As though reading his thoughts, Rose said:
“Do you like Mr. Ellsworthy?”
“Emphatically no.”
“Geoffrey—Dr. Thomas, you know, doesn’t like him either.”
“And you?”
“Oh, no—I think he’s dreadful.” She drew a little nearer. “There’s a lot oftalk about him. I was told that he had some queer ceremony in theWitches’ Meadow—a lot of his friends came down from London—fright-fully queer-looking people. And Tommy Pierce was a kind of acolyte.”
“Tommy Pierce?” said Luke sharply.
“Yes. He had a surplice and a red cassock.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, some time ago—I think it was in March.”
“Tommy Pierce seems to have been mixed-up in everything that evertook place in this village.”
Rose said:
“He was frightfully inquisitive. He always had to know what was goingon.”
“He probably knew a bit too much in the end,” said Luke grimly.
Rose accepted the words at their face value.
“He was rather an odious little boy. He liked cutting up wasps and heteased dogs.”
“The kind of boy whose decease is hardly to be regretted!”
“No, I suppose not. It was terrible for his mother, though.”
“I gather she has five blessings left to console her. She’s got a goodtongue, that woman.”
“She does talk a lot, doesn’t she?”
“After buying a few cigarettes from her, I feel I know the full history ofeveryone in the place!”
Rose said ruefully:
“That’s the worst of a place like this. Everybody knows everything abouteverybody else.”
“Oh, no,” said Luke.
She looked at him inquiringly.
Luke said with significance:
“No one human being knows the full truth about another human being.”
Rose’s face grew grave. She gave a slight involuntary shiver.
“No,” she said slowly. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Not even one’s nearest and dearest,” said Luke.
“Not even—” she stopped. “Oh, I suppose you’re right—but I wish youwouldn’t say frightening things like that, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“Does it frighten you?”
Slowly she nodded her head.
Then she turned abruptly.
“I must be going now. If—if you have nothing better to do—I mean ifyou could—do come and see us. Mother would—would like to see you be-cause of your knowing friends of daddy’s long ago.”
She walked slowly away down the road. Her head was bent a little asthough some weight of care of perplexity bowed it down.
Luke stood looking after her. A sudden wave of solicitude swept overhim. He felt a longing to shield and protect this girl.
From what? Asking himself the question, he shook his head with a mo-mentary impatience at himself. It was true that Rose Humbleby had re-cently lost her father, but she had a mother, and she was engaged to bemarried to a decidedly attractive young man who was fully adequate toanything in the protection line. Then why should he, Luke Fitzwilliam, beassailed by this protection complex?
Good old sentimentality to the fore again, thought Luke. The protectivemale! Flourishing in the Victorian era, going strong in the Edwardian, andstill showing signs of life despite what our friend Lord Whitfield wouldcall the rush and strain of modern life!
“All the same,” he said to himself as he strolled on towards the loomingmass of Ashe Ridge, “I like that girl. She’s much too good for Thomas—acool, superior devil like that.”
A memory of the doctor’s last smile on the doorstep recurred to him. De-cidedly smug it had been! Complacent!
The sound of footsteps a little way ahead roused Luke from his slightlyirritable meditations. He looked up to see young Mr. Ellsworthy comingdown the path from the hillside. His eyes were on the ground and he wassmiling to himself. His expression struck Luke disagreeably. Ellsworthywas not so much walking as prancing—like a man who keeps time to somedevilish little jig running in his brain. His smile was a strange secret con-tortion of the lips—it had a gleeful slyness that was definitely unpleasant.
Luke had stopped, and Ellsworthy was nearly abreast of him when he atlast looked up. His eyes, malicious and dancing, met the other man’s forjust a minute before recognition came. Then, or so it seemed to Luke, acomplete change came over the man. Where a minute before there hadbeen the suggestion of a dancing satyr, there was now a somewhat effem-inate and priggish young man.
“Oh, Mr. Fitzwilliam, good morning.”
“Good morning,” said Luke. “Have you been admiring the beauties ofNature?”
Mr. Ellsworthy’s long, pale hands flew up in a reproving gesture.
“Oh, no, no—oh, dear me, no. I abhor Nature. Such a coarse, unimagin-ative wench. I have always held that one cannot enjoy life until one hasput Nature in her place.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“There are ways!” said Mr. Ellsworthy. “In a place like this, a deliciousprovincial spot, there are some most delectable amusements if one has thego?t—the flair. I enjoy life, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“So do I,” said Luke.
“Mens sana in corpore sano,” said Mr. Ellsworthy. His tone was delicatelyironic. “I’m sure that’s so true of you.”
“There are worse things,” said Luke.
“My dear fellow! Sanity is the one unbelievable bore. One must be mad—deliciously mad—perverted—slightly twisted—then one sees life from anew and entrancing angle.”
“The leper’s squint,” suggested Luke.
“Ah, very good—very good—quite witty! But there’s something in it, youknow. An interesting angle of vision. But I mustn’t detain you. You’re hav-ing exercise—one must have exercise—the public school spirit!”
“As you say,” said Luke, and with a curt nod walked on.
He thought:
“I’m getting too darned imaginative. The fellow’s just an ass, that’s all.”
But some indefinable uneasiness drove his feet on faster. That queer,sly, triumphant smile that Ellsworthy had had on his face—was that justimagination on his, Luke’s part? And his subsequent impression that ithad been wiped off as though by a sponge the moment the other mancaught sight of Luke coming towards him—what of that?
And with quickening uneasiness he thought:
“Bridget? Is she all right? They came up here together and he came backalone.”
He hurried on. The sun had come out while he was talking to RoseHumbleby. Now it had gone in again. The sky was dull and menacing, andwind came in sudden erratic little puffs. It was as though he had steppedout of normal everyday life into that queer half-world of enchantment, theconsciousness of which had enveloped him ever since he came to Wych-wood.
He turned a corner and came out on the flat ledge of green grass thathad been pointed out to him from below and which went, he knew, by thename of the Witches’ Meadow. It was here, so tradition had it, that thewitches had held revelry on Walpurgis Night and Hallowe’en.
And then a quick wave of relief swept over him. Bridget was here. Shesat with her back against a rock on the hillside. She was sitting bent over,her head in her hands.
He walked quickly over to her. Lovely springing turf strangely greenand fresh.
He said:
“Bridget?”
Slowly she raised her face from her hands. Her face troubled him. Shelooked as though she were returning from some far-off world, as thoughshe had difficulty in adjusting herself to the world of now and here.
Luke said—rather inadequately:
“I say—you’re—you’re all right, aren’t you?”
It was a minute or two before she answered—as though she still had notquite come back from that far-off world that had held her. Luke felt thathis words had to travel a long way before they reached her.
Then she said:
“Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?”
And now her voice was sharp and almost hostile.
Luke grinned.
“I’m hanged if I know. I got the wind up about you suddenly.”
“Why?”
“Mainly, I think, because of the melodramatic atmosphere in which I’mliving at present. It makes me see things out of all proportion. If I losesight of you for an hour or two I naturally assume that the next thing willbe to find your gory corpse in a ditch. It would be in a play or a book.”
“Heroines are never killed,” said Bridget.
“No, but—”
Luke stopped—just in time.
“What were you going to say?”
“Nothing.”
Thank goodness he had just stopped himself in time. One couldn’t verywell say to an attractive young woman, “But you’re not the heroine.”
Bridget went on:
“They are abducted, imprisoned, left to die of sewer gas or be drownedin cellars—they are always in danger, but they don’t ever die.”
“Nor even fade away,” said Luke.
He went on:
“So this is the Witches’ Meadow?”
“Yes.”
He looked down at her.
“You only need a broomstick,” he said kindly.
“Thank you. Mr. Ellsworthy said much the same.”
“I met him just now,” said Luke.
“Did you talk to him at all?”
“Yes. I think he tried to annoy me.”
“Did he succeed?”
“His methods were rather childish.” He paused and then went on ab-ruptly. “He’s an odd sort of fellow. One minute you think he’s just a mess—and then suddenly one wonders if there isn’t a bit more to it than that.”
Bridget looked up at him.
“You’ve felt that too?”
“You agree then?”
“Yes.”
Luke waited.
Bridget said:
“There’s something—odd about him. I’ve been wondering you know…Ilay awake last night racking my brains. About the whole business. Itseemed to me that if there was a—a killer about, I ought to know who itwas! I mean, living down here and all that. I thought and I thought and itcame to this—if there is a killer, he must definitely be mad.”
Thinking of what Dr. Thomas had said, Luke asked:
“You don’t think that a murderer can be as sane as you or I?”
“Not this kind of a murderer. As I see it, this murderer must be crazy.
And that, you see, brought me straight to Ellsworthy. Of all the peopledown here, he’s the only one who is definitely queer. He is queer, youcan’t get away from it!”
Luke said doubtfully:
“There are a good many of his sort, dilettanti, poseurs—usually quiteharmless.”
“Yes. But I think there might be a little more than that. He’s got suchnasty hands.”
“You noticed that? Funny, I did too!”
“They’re not just white—they’re green.”
“They do give one that effect. All the same, you can’t convict a man ofbeing a murderer because of the colour of his flesh tints.”
“Oh, quite. What we want is evidence.”
“Evidence!” growled Luke. “Just the one thing that’s absolutely lacking.
The man’s been too careful. A careful murderer! A careful lunatic!”
“I’ve been trying to help,” said Bridget.
“With Ellsworthy, you mean?”
“Yes. I thought I could probably tackle him better than you could. I’vemade a beginning.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, it seems that he has a kind of little coterie — a band of nastyfriends. They come down here from time to time and celebrate.”
“Do you mean what are called nameless orgies?”
“I don’t know about nameless but certainly orgies. Actually it all soundsvery silly and childish.”
“I suppose they worship the devil and do obscene dances.”
“Something of the kind. Apparently they get a kick out of it.”
“I can contribute something to this,” said Luke. “Tommy Pierce took partin one of their ceremonies. He was an acolyte. He had a red cassock.”
“So he knew about it?”
“Yes. And that might explain his death.”
“You mean he talked about it?”
“Yes—or he may have tried a spot of quiet blackmail.”
Bridget said thoughtfully:
“I know it’s all fantastic—but it doesn’t seem quite so fantastic when ap-plied to Ellsworthy as it does to anyone else.”
“No, I agree — the thing becomes just conceivable instead of beingludicrously unreal.”
“We’ve got a connection with two of the victims,” said Bridget. “TommyPierce and Amy Gibbs.”
“Where do the publican and Humbleby come in?”
“At the moment they don’t.”
“Not the publican. But I can imagine a motive for Humbleby’s removal.
He was a doctor and he may have tumbled to Ellsworthy’s abnormalstate.”
“Yes, that’s possible.”
Then Bridget laughed.
“I did my stuff pretty well this morning. My psychic possibilities aregrand, it seems, and when I told how one of my great-great-grandmothershad a near escape of being burnt for witchcraft my stock went soaring up.
I rather think that I shall be invited to take part in the orgies at the nextmeeting of the Satanic Games whenever that may be.”
Luke said:
“Bridget, for God’s sake, be careful.”
She looked at him, surprised. He got up.
“I met Humbleby’s daughter just now. We were talking about MissPinkerton. And the Humbleby girl said that Miss Pinkerton had been wor-ried about you.”
Bridget, in the act of rising, stopped as though frozen into immobility.
“What’s that? Miss Pinkerton—worried—about me?”
“That’s what Rose Humbleby said.”
“Rose Humbleby said that?”
“Yes.”
“What more did she say?”
“Nothing more.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
There was a pause, then Bridget said, “I see.”
“Miss Pinkerton was worried about Humbleby and he died. Now I hearshe was worried about you—”
Bridget laughed. She stood up and shook her head so that her long blackhair flew out round her head.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “The devil looks after his own.”
第十章 罗丝·亨伯比
第十章 罗丝•亨伯比
就在这时，他背后发出一个轻微的声音，他立刻转过身。是个女孩，一个非常漂亮的女孩，棕色的卷发盘绕在耳边，深蓝色的眼睛里有一种羞怯畏惧的眼神。她有点尴尬地红着脸，说：“你是菲茨威廉先生吧，对不对？”
“是的，我——”
“我是罗丝•亨伯比，布丽吉特告诉我——你认识一些我父亲的朋友。”
卢克不好意思地微红着脸，有点笨拙地说：“他们——噢——是——是他年轻时候的朋友，那时候他还没结婚。”
“噢，我懂了，”罗丝•亨伯比似乎有点失望，不过她又说，“听说你正在写一本书，是吗？”
“是的，我是说我正在收集资料，是有关乡下迷信之类的书。”
“我懂了，听起来好像很有意思。”
卢克对她微微一笑，心里想：“咱们的托马斯医生可真幸运。”
“有些人就有本事把最有趣的题材变得叫人受不了，我想我就是那种人。”卢克说。
罗丝•亨伯比先是莞尔一笑，然后说：“你真的相信——相信迷信哪些吗？”
“这个问题很难回答，因为不一定有因果关系，你知道，人也可能对不相信的事产生兴趣。”
“嗯，我想是吧。”女孩用不十分肯定的声音说。
“你迷信吗？”
“噢——不，我想我不算迷信，不过我相信事情往往会接二连三地发生。”
“接二连三？”
“对，比如说会噩运连连或者好运不断。我是说，我觉得威奇伍德在最近的一段时间里，好像总受到诅咒。我父亲死了，平克顿小姐被车子撞死，还有那个小男孩从窗口掉下去，我——我开始觉得有点讨厌这里，我好像应该离开似的。”
她的呼吸变得有点急促，卢克若有所思地看着她，问：“你是这样觉得的？”
“噢，我知道我的想法很傻，也许是因为可怜的父亲死得太意外——太突然了。”她颤抖了一下，“接下来是平克顿小姐，她说……”她顿住了。
“她怎么说？她是位可爱的老小姐，我想——很像我的一个姑姑。”
“噢，你认识她？”罗丝的脸上闪亮着喜悦的光芒，“我很喜欢她，她对我父亲也很关心，不过我有时候忍不住怀疑她是不是苏格兰人所谓的先知。”
“为什么？”
“因为，实在很奇怪。她好像很担心父亲会出事，甚至可以说警告过我。后来有一天，就是她进城去的前一天，她的态度很奇怪，兴奋得不得了。老实说，菲茨威廉先生，我真的觉得她是那种有预知力的人。我想她大概知道自己会出事，也知道父亲会发生意外。实在——实在有点可怕！”她向他靠近一步。
“有时候人就是能知道未来的事，”卢克说，“却不一定跟超自然有关。”
“对，我想这是很自然的事，真的——只是大部分人都没有这种能力，不过我还是很担心。”
“不用担心，”卢克温和地说，“别忘了，现在一切都已经过去了，老是回忆往事是没用的。我们必须面对现实，迎接未来。”
“我知道，可是问题还不只是这样，”罗丝•亨伯比迟疑着说，“还有一件事牵涉到你表妹。”
“我表妹？布丽吉特？”
“是的，平克顿小姐也一样替她担心，她老是向我问东问西，所以我想她也很担心你表妹。”
卢克倏地转身看看山边，他有种莫名其妙的恐惧。幻想，那应该全都是幻想吧！埃尔斯沃思只是对人毫无伤害的业余艺术收藏家，在这里开了家小店。罗丝仿佛知道他的想法，问道：“你喜欢埃尔斯沃思先生吗？”
“一点儿都不喜欢。”
“杰夫里——你知道，就是托马斯医生——也不喜欢他。”
“那你呢？”
“噢，我也不喜欢，我觉得他很可怕，”她又向他靠近了些，“有很多关于他的谣言，听说他会在女巫草坪举行奇奇怪怪的仪式，他很多朋友都从伦敦赶来参加——那些人看起来都神经兮兮的，汤米•皮尔斯也是他的助手。”
“汤米•皮尔斯？”卢克尖声问。
“嗯，他参加了入教仪式，还有一件红色法衣。”
“是什么时候的事？”
“有一段时间了，大概是三月吧。”
“这里什么事好像都有汤米•皮尔斯的份？”
罗丝说：“他很爱追根究底，什么事都想知道。”
“也许他最后知道的实在太多了。”卢克绷着脸说。
罗丝只听出字面上的意思，她说：“那个小男孩实在有点讨厌，不是恶作剧就是欺负猫狗。”
“就算他死了也没人难过？”
“嗯，我想是的，不过他母亲当然非常伤心。”
“我想她还有六个宝贝可以安慰她，那个女人的舌头可真长。”
“她是话多了一点，不是吗？”
“我只向她买了一罐香烟，就好像知道村子里所有人的故事了。”
罗丝难过地说：“这种小地方就是这么可恶，每个人对别人的事都知道得一清二楚。”
“噢，那倒不见得。”卢克说。
她用疑问的眼光看着他。卢克意味深长地说：“没有人能完全了解另外一个人的一切，就连最亲近的人也一样。”
“就连……”她顿了顿，又说，“嗯，我想你说得对，可是我希望你以后不要再说这么可怕的话了，菲茨威廉先生。”
“吓着你了？”
她缓缓点点头，然后忽然转身，“我该走了，要是……要是你没有其他重要的事——我是说如果可能的话，希望你务必来看看我们。家母一定……一定很高兴看到你，因为你认识我父亲那么久以前的朋友。”她缓缓走开，微低着头，仿佛负担着什么忧虑或困扰似的。
卢克看着她远去，心头忽然涌起了一阵孤独感，他想保护那个女孩。为什么呢？这么一自问，卢克不禁感到一阵不耐烦，不错，罗丝•亨伯比的父亲才去世不久，可是她还有母亲，也和一个绝对能在任何方面保护她的英俊年轻人订了婚。那么，他菲茨威廉又为什么会有想要保护她的感觉呢？
“不管怎么样，”他穿过阿什山脊的阴影下时，心里想道。
“我喜欢那个女孩子，像托马斯那种冷酷高傲的魔鬼，实在不配娶她。”医生送他到门口时的那种微笑又浮现在他眼前，假道学！装模作样！自以为了不起！
前面不远处传来脚步声，把卢克从愤怒的沉思中惊醒过来。他抬起头，看见埃尔斯沃思先生从山径走过来，两眼看着地面，高兴地独自微笑着。卢克看到他的表情就很不喜欢，埃尔斯沃思不像是在走路，而像是在往前跳——就像照着脑子里奇怪诡异的舞蹈节拍前进一样。他的微笑就像心里有什么奇怪的秘密，使他乐得忍不住笑歪了嘴似的，让人看了很不舒服。卢克停下脚步，这时，埃尔斯沃思也几乎走到他面前，最后，他终于抬起头来。他眼神里有一种恶毒的意味，但是他马上就认出来了，接着——至少在卢克看来是这样——他完全变了另一种模样。一分钟之前，他还像个森林中手舞足蹈的半人半兽，可是此刻却变成一个一本正经的年轻人，“噢，菲茨威廉先生，早安。”
“早安，”卢克说，“你在欣赏自然美景吗？”
埃尔斯沃思先生用修长白皙的手做了个责备的手势说：“噢，不是，不是，我讨厌自然，可是却很热爱生命，菲茨威廉先生。”
“我也是。”卢克说。
“‘智者都热爱生命’。”埃尔斯沃思先生用略带反讽的口吻说，“我相信这对你一点都没错。”
“还有更糟糕的事呢。”卢克说。
“亲爱的先生！健全的头脑是很不可靠又惹人厌的东西。一个人一定要有点疯狂，有点怪癖，才能从一种新的、叫人着迷的角度来看人生。”
“就像麻风病人用斜眼看人一样。”
“好极了，好极了，真是聪明！不过你知道，这确实值得研究，是一种很有趣的欣赏角度。我想我不应该再耽误你的时间了，你是在做运动吧。每个人都需要运动——公立学校的精神！”
“你说得对。”卢克说完，向他礼貌地点点头就走开了。
他想：“我实在太爱胡思乱想了，他只是个笨蛋，没别的。”可是内心却有一种难以捉摸的忧虑，促使他加快了脚步。埃尔斯沃思脸上那种诡异、胜利的微笑——难道只是他卢克的想象？他认出卢克之前那种奇怪的眼神——那又怎么解释呢？他心中的不安越来越浓，他想：“布丽吉特呢？她是不是平安无事？他们一起上来，可是只有他一个人回来，发生了什么事吗？”
他快步往前走。他和罗丝•亨伯比谈话的时候，太阳曾经出来露脸，现在却又躲到云层后面去了。天空阴沉沉的，山边不时吹来阵阵冷风，他就像从平静的日常生活突然踏进一个妖术的世界中。自从他到威奇伍德之后，就一直被这种感觉围绕着。他转了个弯，来到曾经从低处看到过的那块绿草地，他知道，这就是所谓的“女巫草坪”。传说中，每当五月一日前夕的巫婆狂欢夜和万圣节，女巫都会到这里举行盛宴。接着，他忽然放下了心中的重担——布丽吉特在这里，她正靠在山边一块岩石上坐着，俯身把头埋在手中。卢克迅速走到她身边，喊道：“布丽吉特？”
卢克有点不知所措地问：“你——你没事吧？对不对？”
她沉默了一两分钟——仿佛仍然没有从那个遥远的世界回到现实中一样。卢克觉得自己所说的话似乎绕了一大圈才传到她耳边。最后她终于开口道。“当然没事，我为什么会出事？”她的声音很尖，甚至带着些敌意。
卢克微笑道：“我知道才有鬼呢，我忽然替你担心起来。”
“为什么？”
“我想主要是因为目前我所住的地方那种闹剧似的气氛，使我看一切东西和平常的心情都不同。要是有一两个小时看不到你，我当然会设想也许会在水沟里发现你血淋淋的尸体——我是说，如果这是小说的话。”
“女主角从来不会被人杀死。”布丽吉特说。
“对，可是……”卢克及时住口。
“什么？”
“没什么。”
感谢老天让他及时住口，因为他总不能对一位年轻漂亮的小姐说，“可你不是女主角啊。”
布丽吉特说：“女主角有时候会被人诱拐，关进牢里，或者囚禁在地下室，可是尽管碰到很多危险，最后都不会死。”
“甚至也不会变老，”卢克说，“这就是女巫草坪吧？”
“对。”
他低头看看她，亲切地说：“你只需要找把扫帚就够了。”
“对了，埃尔斯沃思也这么说。”
“我刚刚看到他。”
“有没有跟他说话？”
“有，我觉得他有意惹我生气。”
“成功了吗？”
“他的手段太幼稚了！”他顿了顿，又突然说，“他很奇怪，有时候你会觉得他一切都糊里糊涂，乱糟糟的，可是过一下又会怀疑自己到底有没有看走眼。”
布丽吉特抬头看看他，说：“你也有这种感觉？”
“这么说你也这么觉得？”
“对，”布丽吉特说，“他有一点怪怪的，我昨天晚上躺在床上想了好久，一直在想这件事。我觉得要是……要是村子里有一个杀人凶手，一定是个疯子。”
卢克想起托马斯医生的话，便问：“你不觉得杀人犯也可能像你我一样正常吗？”
“不会是那种凶手，我觉得这个凶手一定神经有问题，所以我就想起埃尔斯沃思。住在这里的人就数他最奇怪。真的，他很奇怪，你就是摆脱不了这种看法！”
卢克怀疑地说：“可是有很多像他那样的人，对人也没什么伤害。”
“对，可是我想事情不只是那样，他的手很可怕。”
“你也发现了？真好玩，我也是。”
“他的手不但白，还有些发青。”
“的确，不过你总不能因为一个人的肤色奇怪，就认为他是杀人凶手啊。”
“嗯，不错，我们还需要证据。”
“证据，”卢克喃喃道，“我们最缺乏的就是证据，那个人太谨慎了，是个很细心的凶手！也是很细心的疯子！”
“我一直很想尽点力。”布丽吉特说。
“你是说埃尔斯沃思那方面？”
“对，我想我比你能从他嘴里套出话，而且已经有了一个好的开始。”
“说给我听听。”
“嗯，他好像有些狐群狗党，常常到这里来庆祝。”
“你是说无名的秘密仪式？”
“我不知道是不是无名，可是的确是秘密仪式。事实上，听起来实在很可笑，很幼稚。”
“他们大概供奉魔鬼，跳些淫舞吧？”
“差不多，而且显然他们能从中得到乐趣。”
“这方面我也有点资料，”卢克说，“汤米•皮尔斯也参加过他们的仪式，他是助手，有一件红法衣。”
“所以也知道他们的事？”
“对，说不定这就是他的死因。”
“他也到处跟人说？”
“对——也可能他想私下敲诈他们？”
布丽吉特沉吟道：“我知道这有点不可思议，可是如果发生在埃尔斯沃思身上，就没什么好奇怪的了。”
“嗯，我同意，如果对象是他，就真的有可能。”
“我们已经知道他和两名死者的关系，”布丽吉特说，“汤米•皮尔斯和艾米•吉布斯。”
“酒店主人和亨伯比医生呢？”
“目前还不知道。”
“酒店主人是不知道，不过我可以想象出他要除掉亨伯比医生的动机，也许他身为医生，看出埃尔斯沃思的精神不正常。”
“对，有可能。”
然后布丽吉特笑笑，说：“我今天早上工作进行得不错，我的内心很坚强，我说我的高曾祖母差点因为会巫术被烧死的时候，他都快高兴死了，我想下次他们有什么狂欢宴的时候，说不定会请我参加呢。”
卢克说：“布丽吉特，看在老天的份儿上，小心一点。”
她惊讶地看看他。
他站起来，说：“我刚才碰见亨伯比医生的女儿，谈起平克顿小姐，她说平克顿小姐很担心你。”
布丽吉特正要站起来，一听这话忽然僵住了：“什么？平克顿小姐担心——我？”
“是罗丝•亨伯比说的。”
“她真的这么说？”
“不错。”
“她还说什么？”
“没什么。”
“真的？”
“真的。”
布丽吉特沉默了一会儿，然后说：“我懂了。”
“平克顿小姐担心亨伯比医生，结果他死了。现在我又听说她担心你——”
布丽吉特笑笑，站起来摇摇头，长发又飞扬缠绕在她脸上，她说：“别担心，魔鬼会照顾自己的同类的。”
Eleven DOMESTIC LIFE OF MAJOR HORTON
Eleven DOMESTIC LIFE OF MAJOR HORTON

Luke leaned back in his chair on the other side of the bank manager’stable.
“Well, that seems very satisfactory,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve been takingup a lot of your time.”
Mr. Jones waved a deprecating hand. His small, dark, plump face wore ahappy expression.
“No, indeed, Mr. Fitzwilliam. This is a quiet spot, you know. We are al-ways glad to see a stranger.”
“It’s a fascinating part of the world,” said Luke. “Full of superstitions.”
Mr. Jones sighed and said it took a long time for education to eradicatesuperstition. Luke remarked that he thought education was too highlyrated nowadays and Mr. Jones was slightly shocked by the statement.
“Lord Whitfield,” he said, “has been a handsome benefactor here. Herealizes the disadvantages under which he himself suffered as a boy andis determined that the youth of today shall be better equipped.”
“Early disadvantages haven’t prevented him from making a large for-tune,” said Luke.
“No, he must have had ability—great ability.”
“Or luck,” said Luke.
Mr. Jones looked rather shocked.
“Luck is the one thing that counts,” said Luke. “Take a murderer, for ex-ample. Why does the successful murderer get away with it? Is it ability?
Or is it sheer luck?”
Mr. Jones admitted that it was probably luck.
Luke continued:
“Take a fellow like this man Carter, the landlord of one of your pubs.
The fellow was probably drunk six nights out of seven—yet one night hegoes and pitches himself off the footbridge into the river. Luck again.”
“Good luck for some people,” said the bank manager.
“You mean?”
“For his wife and daughter.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
A clerk knocked and entered bearing papers. Luke gave two specimensignatures and was given a cheque-book. He rose.
“Well, I’m glad that’s all fixed up. Had a bit of luck over the Derby thisyear. Did you?”
Mr. Jones said smilingly that he was not a betting man. He added thatMrs. Jones had very strong views on the subject of horse racing.
“Then I suppose you didn’t go to the Derby?”
“No indeed.”
“Anybody go to it from here?”
“Major Horton did. He’s quite a keen racing man. And Mr. Abbot usuallytakes the day off. He didn’t back the winner, though.”
“I don’t suppose many people did,” said Luke, and departed after the ex-change of farewells.
He lit a cigarette as he emerged from the bank. Apart from the theory ofthe “least likely person,” he saw no reason for retaining Mr. Jones on hislist of suspects. The bank manager had shown no interesting reactions toLuke’s test questions. It seemed quite impossible to visualize him as amurderer. Moreover, he had not been absent on Derby Day. Incidentally,Luke’s visit had not been wasted, he had received two small items of in-formation. Both Major Horton and Mr. Abbot, the solicitor, had been awayfrom Wychwood on Derby Day. Either of them, therefore, could have beenin London at the time when Miss Pinkerton was run down by a car.
Although Luke did not now suspect Dr. Thomas he felt he would bemore satisfied if he knew for a fact that the latter had been at Wychwoodengaged in his professional duties on that particular day. He made a men-tal note to verify that point.
Then there was Ellsworthy. Had Ellsworthy been in Wychwood onDerby Day? If he had, the presumption that he was the killer was corres-pondingly weakened. Although, Luke noted, it was possible that MissPinkerton’s death had been neither more nor less than the accident that itwas supposed to be.
But he rejected that theory. Her death was too opportune.
Luke got into his own car, which was standing by the kerb, and drove init to Pipwell’s Garage, situated at the far end of the High Street.
There were various small matters in the car’s running that he wanted todiscuss. A good-looking young mechanic with a freckled face listened in-telligently. The two men lifted the bonnet and became absorbed in a tech-nical discussion.
A voice called:
“Jim, come here a minute.”
The freckled-faced mechanic obeyed.
Jim Harvey. That was right. Jim Harvey, Amy Gibbs’s young man. He re-turned presently, apologizing, and conversation became technical oncemore. Luke agreed to leave the car there.
As he was about to leave he inquired casually:
“Do any good on the Derby this year?”
“No, sir. Backed Clarigold.”
“Can’t be many people who backed Jujube the II.?”
“No, indeed, sir. I don’t believe any of the papers even tipped it as anoutside chance.”
Luke shook his head.
“Racing’s an uncertain game. Ever seen the Derby run?”
“No, sir, wish I had. Asked for a day off this year. There was a cheapticket up to town and down to Epsom, but the boss wouldn’t hear of it. Wewere shorthanded, as a matter of fact, and had a lot of work in that day.”
Luke nodded and took his departure.
Jim Harvey was crossed off his list. That pleasant-faced boy was not asecret killer, and it was not he who had run down Lavinia Pinkerton.
He strolled home by way of the riverbank. Here, as once before, he en-countered Major Horton and his dogs. The major was still in the same con-dition of apoplectic shouting. “Augustus—Nelly— NELLY, I say. Nero—Nero— NERO. ”
Again the protuberant eyes stared at Luke. But this time there was moreto follow. Major Horton said:
“Excuse me. Mr. Fitzwilliam, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Horton here—Major Horton. Believe I’m going to meet you tomorrowup at the Manor. Tennis party. Miss Conway very kindly asked me. Cousinof yours, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. Soon spot a new face down here, you know.”
Here a diversion occurred, the three bulldogs advancing upon a nondes-cript white mongrel.
“Augustus—Nero. Come here, sir—come here, I say.”
When Augustus and Nero had finally reluctantly obeyed the command,Major Horton returned to the conversation. Luke was patting Nelly, whowas gazing up at him sentimentally.
“Nice bitch, that, isn’t she?” said the major. “I like bulldogs. I’ve alwayshad ’em. Prefer ’em to any other breed. My place is just near here, come inand have a drink.”
Luke accepted and the two men walked together while Major Hortonheld forth on the subject of dogs and the inferiority of all other breeds tothat which he himself preferred.
Luke heard of the prizes Nelly had won, of the infamous conduct of ajudge in awarding Augustus merely a Highly Commended, and of the tri-umphs of Nero in the show ring.
By then they had turned in at the major’s gate. He opened the frontdoor, which was not locked, and the two men passed into the house. Lead-ing the way into a small slightly doggy-smelling room lined with book-shelves, Major Horton busied himself with the drinks. Luke looked roundhim. There were photographs of dogs, copies of the Field and Country Lifeand a couple of well-worn armchairs. Silver cups were arranged roundthe bookcases. There was one oil painting over the mantelpiece.
“My wife,” said the major, looking up from the siphon and noting thedirection of Luke’s glance. “Remarkable woman. A lot of character in herface, don’t you think?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Luke, looking at the late Mrs. Horton.
She was represented in a pink satin dress and was holding a bunch oflilies of the valley. Her brown hair was parted in the middle and her lipswere pressed grimly together. Her eyes, of a cold grey, looked out ill-temperedly at the beholder.
“A remarkable woman,” said the major, handing a glass to Luke. “Shedied over a year ago. I haven’t been the same man since.”
“No?” said Luke, a little at a loss to know what to say.
“Sit down,” said the major, waving a hand towards one of the leatherchairs.
He himself took the other one and sipping his whisky and soda, he wenton:
“No, I haven’t been the same man since.”
“You must miss her,” said Luke awkwardly.
Major Horton shook his head darkly.
“Fellow needs a wife to keep him up to scratch,” he said. “Otherwise hegets slack—yes, slack. He lets himself go.”
“But surely—”
“My boy, I know what I’m talking about. Mind you, I’m not saying mar-riage doesn’t come hard on a fellow at first. It does. Fellow says to himself,damn it all, he says, I can’t call my soul my own! But he gets broken in. It’sall discipline.”
Luke thought that Major Horton’s married life must have been more likea military campaign than an idyll of domestic bliss.
“Women,” soliloquized the major, “are a rum lot. It seems sometimesthat there’s no pleasing them. But by Jove, they keep a man up to themark.”
Luke preserved a respectful silence.
“You married?” inquired the major.
“No.”
“Ah, well, you’ll come to it. And mind you, my boy, there’s nothing likeit.”
“It’s always cheering,” said Luke, “to hear someone speak well of themarriage state. Especially in these days of easy divorce.”
“Pah!” said the major. “Young people make me sick. No stamina—no en-durance. They can’t stand anything. No fortitude!”
Luke itched to ask why such exceptional fortitude should be needed, buthe controlled himself.
“Mind you,” said the major, “Lydia was a woman in a thousand—in athousand! Everyone here respected and looked up to her.”
“Yes?”
“She wouldn’t stand any nonsense. She’d got a way of fixing a personwith her eye—and the person wilted—just wilted. Some of these half-baked girls who call themselves servants nowadays. They think you’ll putup with any insolence. Lydia soon showed them! Do you know we had fif-teen cooks and house-parlourmaids in one year. Fifteen!”
Luke felt that this was hardly a tribute to Mrs. Horton’s domestic man-agement, but since it seemed to strike his host differently he merely mur-mured some vague remark.
“Turned ’em out neck and crop, she did, if they didn’t suit.”
“Was it always that way about?” asked Luke.
“Well, of course a lot of them walked out on us. A good riddance—that’swhat Lydia used to say!”
“A fine spirit,” said Luke, “but wasn’t it sometimes rather awkward?”
“Oh! I didn’t mind turning to and putting my hand to things,” said Hor-ton. “I’m a pretty fair cook and I can lay a fire with anyone. I’ve nevercared for washing up but of course it’s got to be done—you can’t get awayfrom that.”
Luke agreed that you couldn’t. He asked whether Mrs. Horton had beengood at domestic work.
“I’m not the sort of fellow to let his wife wait on him,” said Major Hor-ton. “And anyway Lydia was far too delicate to do any housework.”
“She wasn’t strong then?”
Major Horton shook his head.
“She had wonderful spirit. She wouldn’t give in. But what that womansuffered! And no sympathy from the doctors either. Doctors are callousbrutes. They only understand downright physical pain. Anything out ofthe ordinary is beyond most of them. Humbleby, for instance, everyoneseemed to think he was a good doctor.”
“You don’t agree.”
“The man was an absolute ignoramus. Knew nothing of modern discov-eries. Doubt if he’d ever heard of a neurosis! He understood measles andmumps and broken bones all right, I suppose. But nothing else. Had a rowwith him in the end. He didn’t understand Lydia’s case at all. I gave it himstraight from the shoulder and he didn’t like it. Got huffed and backedright out. Said I could send for any other doctor I chose. After that, we hadThomas.”
“You liked him better?”
“Altogether a much cleverer man. If anyone could have pulled herthrough her last illness Thomas would have done it. As a matter of fact shewas getting better, but she had a sudden relapse.”
“Was it painful?”
“H’m, yes. Gastritis. Acute pain—sickness—all the rest of it. How thatpoor woman suffered! She was a martyr if there ever was one. And acouple of hospital nurses in the house who were about as sympathetic as abrace of grandfather clocks! ‘The patient this’ and ‘the patient that.’” Themajor shook his head and drained his glass. “Can’t stand hospital nurses!
So smug. Lydia insisted they were poisoning her. That wasn’t true, ofcourse—a regular sick fancy—lots of people have it, so Thomas said—butthere was this much truth behind it—those women disliked her. That’s theworst of women—always down on their own sex.”
“I suppose,” said Luke, feeling that he was putting it awkwardly but notseeing how to put it better, “that Mrs. Horton had a lot of devoted friendsin Wychwood?”
“People were very kind,” said the major somewhat grudgingly. “Whit-field sent down grapes and peaches from his hothouse. And the old tab-bies used to come and sit with her. Honoria Waynflete and Lavinia Pinker-ton.”
“Miss Pinkerton came often, did she?”
“Yes. Regular old maid—but a kind creature! Very worried about Lydiashe was. Used to inquire into the diet and the medicines. All kindly meant,you know, but what I call a lot of fuss.”
Luke nodded comprehendingly.
“Can’t stand fuss,” said the major. “Too many women in this place. Diffi-cult to get a decent game of golf.”
“What about the young fellow at the antique shop?” said Luke.
The major snorted:
“He doesn’t play golf. Much too much of a Miss Nancy.”
“Has he been in Wychwood long?”
“About two years. Nasty sort of fellow. Hate those long-haired purringchaps. Funnily enough Lydia liked him. You can’t trust women’s judge-ment about men. They cotton to some amazing bounders. She even insis-ted on taking some patent quack nostrum of his. Stuff in a purple glass jarwith signs of the Zodiac all over it! Supposed to be certain herbs picked atthe full of the moon. Lot of tomfoolery, but women swallow that stuff—swallow it literally too—ha, ha!”
Luke said, feeling that he was changing the subject rather abruptly, butcorrectly judging that Major Horton would not be aware of the fact:
“What sort of fellow is Abbot, the local solicitor? Pretty sound on thelaw? I’ve got to have some legal advice about something and I thought Imight go to him.”
“They say he’s pretty shrewd,” acknowledged Major Horton. “I don’tknow. Matter of fact I’ve had a row with him. Not seen him since he cameout here to make Lydia’s will for her just before she died. In my opinionthat man’s a cad. But of course,” he added, “that doesn’t affect his abilityas a lawyer.”
“No, of course not,” said Luke. “He seems a quarrelsome sort of man,though. Seems to have fallen out with a good many people from what Ihear.”
“Trouble with him is that he’s so confoundedly touchy,” said Major Hor-ton. “Seems to think he’s God Almighty and that anyone who disagreeswith him is committing lèse-majesté. Heard of his row with Humbleby?”
“They had a row, did they?”
“First-class row. Mind you, that doesn’t surprise me. Humbleby was anopinionated ass! Still, there it is.”
“His death was very sad.”
“Humbleby’s? Yes, I suppose it was. Lack of ordinary care. Blood poison-ing’s a damned dangerous thing. Always put iodine on a cut—I do! Simpleprecaution. Humbleby, who’s a doctor, doesn’t do anything of the sort. Itjust shows.”
Luke was not quite sure what it showed, but he let that pass. Glancing athis watch he got up.
Major Horton said:
“Getting on for lunchtime? So it is. Well, glad to have had a chat withyou. Does me good to see a man who’s been about the world a bit. Wemust have a yarn some other time. Where was your show? MayangStraits? Never been there. Hear you’re writing a book. Superstitions andall that.”
“Yes—I—”
But Major Horton swept on.
“I can tell you several very interesting things. When I was in India, myboy—”
Luke escaped some ten minutes later after enduring the usual historiesof fakirs, rope and mango tricks, dear to the retired Anglo-Indian.
As he stepped out into the open air, and heard the major’s voice bellow-ing to Nero behind him, he marvelled at the miracle of married life. MajorHorton seemed genuinely to regret a wife who, by all accounts, not exclud-ing his own, must have been nearly allied to a man-eating tiger.
Or was it—Luke asked himself the question suddenly—was it an exceed-ingly clever bluff?
第十一章 霍顿少校的家庭生活
第十一章 霍顿少校的家庭生活

卢克背靠在银行经理桌子对面的那张椅子上，说道：“好了，这样我很满意，恐怕浪费了你不少宝贵时间吧？”
琼斯先生不赞成地摇摇手，那张黝黑的小圆脸上露出愉快的表情。“根本没有，真的，菲茨威廉先生。你知道，这是个宁静的地方，任何时候，我们都很高兴认识外来的客人。”
“这地方很吸引人，”卢克说，“什么有趣的迷信都有。”
琼斯先生叹口气说：“教育只能潜移默化，需要很长的时间才能破除迷信。”卢克说他觉得现代人把教育的功能看得太大，琼斯先生对他的话很意外。
他说：“就拿惠特菲尔德爵士来说，他对本地的贡献非常大，他自己年轻时候感受到许多不便，所以一心想使现在的年轻人能生活在比较好的环境里。”
“不过他早年所处的环境虽然不好，却没有妨碍他成为大富豪。”卢克说。
“对，那一定是因为他有超人的才能。”
“或者运气。”卢克说。
琼斯先生非常惊讶。卢克说：“运气的确很重要，就拿杀人凶手来说，为什么有些凶手能成功地逍遥法外？是他的才能出众，或者只是运气好？”琼斯先生承认这可能只是运气好。
卢克又说：“再拿贵地那位酒店老板卡特来说，他一星期可能有六个晚上都喝得醉醺醺的，可是偏偏有一天晚上失足，从小桥上掉进河里淹死，这又是运气的关系。”
“对有些人来说，这倒是幸运的事。”银行经理说。
“你是指……”
“他太太和女儿。”
“噢，对，对，那当然。”
一名职员敲门进来，送来一沓文件。卢克签了名，接过支票，站起来说：“真高兴一切都解决了。你在今年德比赛马中运气不错吧？”
琼斯先生笑着说自己不是个嗜赌的人，又说他太太很反对赛马。
“这么说你没去德比？”
“是没去。”
“这里有人去吗？”
“霍顿少校去了，他对赛马很有兴趣，艾伯特先生那天也多半休息，不过他并不支持获胜的马。”
“我想很多人都一样。”卢克说完向对方道别，然后就离开了。
走出银行大门后，他点了一支烟。
除了嫌疑极其微小之外，卢克觉得也没有其他理由再打扰琼斯先生，这位银行经理对卢克试探性的问题毫无兴趣，要把他想象成杀人凶手实在很不容易。此外，德比赛马那天他也没离开村子。不过无论如何，卢克此行总算没有空手而回，他知道了两点——霍顿少校和律师艾伯特先生在德比赛马那天都不在威奇伍德，也就是说，平克顿小姐遇害那天，他们两人都有可能去过伦敦。
虽然卢克目前并不怀疑托马斯医生，可是如果他能肯定赛马那天其确实在威奇伍德行医，那就更放心了。他暂时在脑子里记住这一点，接着他又想到埃尔斯沃思，德比赛马那天他在不在威奇伍德呢？如果在，他行凶的可能性就小多了。卢克也想到，平克顿小姐的死可能完全是意外。只是他马上又排斥了这种想法，她死得太凑巧了。
卢克上了自己停在街边的车子，开到派普威尔修车厂，就在大街那边的尽头。他想询问几件有关开车方面的小事，一个面貌英俊、长着雀斑的年轻技工专心地听完之后，掀起车盖，两人又讨论起技术方面的问题。
有人在喊：“吉姆，过来一下。”那名雀斑技工依言走过去。吉姆•哈尔韦，对，艾米•吉布斯的男朋友就叫吉姆•哈尔韦。一会儿，他就道着歉回来，再度和卢克讨论起技术问题。
卢克同意把车留下，临走前，他似乎漫不经心地问了一句：“今年德比赛马有什么收获吗？”
“没有，先生，我在克拉里戈尔德上下赌注。”
“没有多少人支持裘裘比二世吧？”
“是呀，说真的，先生，我想连报上都不认为它有入围的机会。”
卢克摇摇头，说：“赛马是很难掌握的比赛。看过德比赛马吗？”
“没有，先生，我实在很想去。今年我本来要求老板放我一天假，可以买便宜火车票到埃普索姆镇去，可是老板不肯。老实说，我们人手真的不够，那天工作又多。”
卢克点点头就离开了，并且把吉姆•哈尔韦从他的嫌疑犯名单上除掉。这个春风满面的男孩不会是秘密凶手，拉维妮亚•平克顿也不是他辗死的。
他沿着河边回去。他曾经在这里遇见过霍顿少校和他的狗。这一次又碰见少校轮流大声喊着那些狗，“奥古斯都……奈丽！奈丽，听到没有！尼禄，尼禄，尼禄！”那对金鱼眼再度瞪着卢克，不过这次霍顿少校又加上一句话：“对不起，你是菲茨威廉先生吧，对不对？”
“是的。”
“我是霍顿——霍顿少校，我想明天早上我们还会在庄园见面，我们约好了打网球，是康威小姐好心请我去的。她是你表妹吧？”
“是的。”
“我想也是。你知道，这地方一有生面孔，马上就会被人认出来。”这时两只牛头犬碰到一只白色杂种狗，“奥古斯都！尼禄！过来，先生！过来，我叫你们过来！”
等奥古斯都和尼禄好不容易不情愿地听从他的命令，霍顿少校又回到原先的话题。卢克正在轻轻抚弄奈丽，后者也正多情地看着他。“真是好狗，不是吗？”少校说，“我喜欢牛头犬，始终养着一些，我喜欢它们胜过任何其他品种。我就住在附近，一起坐坐喝点饮料吧。”
卢克接受了他的邀请，两人边走边谈，霍顿少校话题始终不离狗，而且谈到任何其他狗都不如他养的牛头犬。他向卢克介绍有关奈丽、奥古斯都和尼禄的光荣历史。
这时，他们到了少校的家门口，少校顺手推开没上锁的大门，两人一起走进屋里。霍顿少校带他走进一间带有狗味儿的小房间，墙边排着一列书架，少校忙着喝酒，卢克打量了一下四周。有一些狗的照片，几本《乡野生活》，两张陈旧的摇椅。书架边有些银杯，壁炉上有一幅油画。“我太太，”少校抬起头，发现卢克正在看那幅画，就解释道，“她是个很特别的女人，长得很有特点，你说对不对？”
“是啊，一点都不错。”卢克看着已故的霍顿太太遗像说。画中的她穿着一件粉红色的缎子衣服，手里拿着一束铃兰，棕发中分，嘴唇严肃地紧闭着，冷冷的灰眼似乎不高兴地看着面前的人。
“很特别的女人，”霍顿少校递给卢克一个杯子，说：“死了一年了，她死了以后，我就完全变了。”
“是吗？”卢克不知该如何接下去好。
“坐。”少校朝一张皮椅指了指，自己在另外一张椅子上坐下。他喝了一口威士忌苏打，又说，“不错，我完全变了一个人。”
“你一定很想念她吧？”卢克笨拙地说。
霍顿少校黯然摇摇头，说：“每个人都需要太太在背后鞭策自己，不然就会懈怠下来，放纵自己乱来。”
“可是——”
“孩子，我知道自己在说什么。记住，我的意思并不是说婚姻之路会一帆风顺，它一定是艰难、崎岖不平的。说起婚姻，人们都会来一句‘该死的’，还会说迷失了自我，心已经碎了。通常都是这样的。”
卢克想，霍顿少校的婚姻生活一定像在打一场军事战争，而不是幸福甜蜜的家庭生活。少校自言自语地说：“女人，是一种奇怪的东西，有时候好像怎么样都不能使她们满意，可是我的天，女人确实能使男人努力向上。”卢克尊敬地沉默着。“你结婚了吗？”少校问。
“没有。”
“嗯，好，你总会了解的。记住，孩子，没有任何事能比婚姻更重要。”
“听别人说结婚好，实在很让人高兴，尤其是现在那么多人都不把离婚当回事。”
“呸！”少校说，“年轻人实在很过分，一点耐性都没有，什么事都不能忍受！什么苦都不能吃！”卢克实在很想请教他，何以必须吃苦，可是他还是尽力克制着自己。
少校又说：“记住，莉蒂亚是千中选一的女人！一千个人里面才有一个她那种人。这里每个人都应该尊敬她。”
“嗯？”
“她不愿意忍受任何荒唐的事，只要她用眼睛一看人家，那个人就会颓丧下去——颓丧得不得了。现在那些自称为仆人的黄毛丫头，以为主人应该忍受任何侮辱，莉蒂亚马上就会给她们颜色看！你知不知道，我们一年里换了十五个厨子和女佣，十五个！”卢克觉得这实在不能算是对霍顿太太治家方面的恭维，可是既然主人认为这一点与众不同，足以傲人，他只好含糊地喃喃应了一声。少校又说，“要是哪个人不适合，她马上就换掉！”
“一直都这样吗？”卢克问。
“噢，当然，很多人都离开了。走了最好！莉蒂亚一直这样说！”
“精神可嘉，”卢克说，“可是那不会有点不方便吗？”
“噢，我不在乎亲自动手，”霍顿说，“我烧菜的本事不错，也很会生火，我不喜欢洗碗，可是碗总得要洗哪，那是没办法的事。”
卢克表示同意他的看法，并且问起霍顿太太在打理家务方面是否能干，“我可不是要太太伺候的男人，”霍顿少校说，“而且莉蒂亚实在太娇弱了，不适合做家务。”
“这么说她身体不太好喽？”
霍顿少校摇摇头：“她精神很好，不肯服输，可是她实在吃了很大的苦！居然连医生都不同情她！医生都是冷血动物，只懂肉体上的痛苦，其他不平常的事都不知道。就拿亨伯比来说，大家好像都以为他是个好医生。”
“你不同意？”
“他根本就无知透了！对任何现代新发现都不懂！我看他恐怕连什么叫神经病都不懂！
我想他大概知道麻疹、跌断腿这些毛病，可是别的就一点都不懂了！我最后跟他吵了一架，把什么都开门见山地说出来，他当然不高兴，马上就火冒三丈，说我早就应该请我喜欢的医生来看。后来我们就换了托马斯。”
“你比较喜欢他？”
“他比那家伙聪明多了，在她生病的末期，他的确给她带来一些起色，老实说，她本来已经好多了，可是有一天又旧病复发。”
“很痛苦吧？”
“嗯，很痛，急性胃炎什么的。那个可怜的女人真是吃了不少苦！她真是个勇士！医院来的那两位护士对她同情得不得了，‘病人这个’‘病人那个’的。”少校摇摇头，一口喝干杯中的酒，“真受不了那些护士！自以为多了不起似的！莉蒂亚坚持说她们想毒死她，当然不是真的——托马斯说很多病人都有这种病态的幻想。不过有一点倒没错——那两个女人不喜欢她。女人最糟糕的就是这一点——看不起的同性。”
“我想，霍顿太太在威奇伍德一定有不少好朋友吧？”卢克知道自己的问话并不高明，可是实在想不出更恰当的话。
“大家都对我们不错，”少校有点勉强地说，“惠特菲尔德送了些他家种的葡萄和桃子，两位老处女也会来陪她，我是说奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特和拉维妮亚•平克顿。”
“平克顿小姐常常来吗？”
“嗯，她是个很普通的老小姐，不过对人很好！她一直很担心莉蒂亚，常常问起她吃些什么东西和什么药，的确是一片好意。不过你知道，我觉得实在是小题大做。”卢克表示了解地点点头。“我最受不了别人大惊小怪了，这里女人真够多的，连好好打场高尔夫球都没办法。”
“古董店那个年轻人怎么样？”卢克问。
少校不屑地说：“他不打高尔夫。”
“他来威奇伍德很久了吗？”
“大概有两年了，没什么出息的小人。这些长头发、呜呜叫的家伙真讨人厌。奇怪的是，莉蒂亚居然喜欢他！女人对男人的看法最不可靠了，她甚至坚持要用他的偏方！我想一定是月圆之时采回来的草药。实在愚蠢透了，可是她偏偏敢吃——哈哈！”
“艾伯特是个什么样的人？我是指这里的律师。他很精通法律吧？我有点法律方面的疑问，也许会去请教他。”卢克知道话题改变得有点突然，可是他判断得没错——霍顿少校不会意识到这种改变。
“听说他很精明，”霍顿少校坦白地说，“不知道是不是真的。老实说，我跟他吵过一架。自从莉蒂亚临死前，他来这儿替她立下遗嘱之后，我就一直没见过他。照我看来，他是个卑鄙小人。不过当然啦，”他又说，“那对他的工作能力并没有影响。”
“对、对，当然，”卢克说，“不过他看起来似乎很爱吵架，听说他跟很多人吵过架。”
“他的毛病就是太爱生气，”霍顿少校说，“好像以为自己是万能的上帝，任何人不同意他的看法就像犯了天条一样。”
“有没有听过他跟亨伯比吵架的事？”
“他们吵过一架，对不对？”
“吵得天翻地覆。记着，我可没觉得意外，亨伯比是头顽固的驴子。”
“他死得很可怜。”
“亨伯比？噢，大概是吧，太疏忽了，血液中毒是最危险的事，我要是有什么伤口，一定马上搽碘酒。很简单的事嘛！亨伯比自己就是医生，连这点小事都不肯动手！从这一点就可以看出来了！”卢克不十分了解他指的是什么，不过他没有追问下去，只是看看表，站起来。
霍顿少校说：“赶回去吃午饭？一定是。好吧，很高兴能跟你聊天。你以前在什么地方工作？马扬海峡？我从来没去过。听说你正在写一本书，有关迷信什么的。”
“是的，我——”
可是霍顿少校马上抢着说：“我可以告诉你一些有趣的事，我住在印度的时候，我麾下那些男孩——”
忍耐了十分钟很平凡的有关印度事迹的故事之后，卢克终于得以脱身。刚走出门外，又听到少校在后面大声叫唤着尼禄。卢克对婚姻生活的魔力实在很惊讶，霍顿少校似乎真的很惋惜失去妻子——一个无论从哪一方面来看都跟吃人的老虎差不多的妻子。但是卢克又忽然问自己，也许他只是在极度巧妙地虚张声势呢？
Twelve PASSAGE OF ARMS
Twelve PASSAGE OF ARMS

The afternoon of the tennis party was fortunately fine. Lord Whitfield wasin his most genial mood, acting the part of the host with a good deal of en-joyment. He referred frequently to his humble origin. The players wereeight in all. Lord Whitfield, Bridget, Luke, Rose Humbleby, Mr. Abbot, Dr.
Thomas, Major Horton and Hetty Jones, a giggling young woman who wasthe daughter of the bank manager.
In the second set of the afternoon, Luke found himself partnering Brid-get against Lord Whitfield and Rose Humbleby. Rose was a good playerwith a strong forehand drive and played in county matches. She atonedfor Lord Whitfield’s failures, and Bridget and Luke, who were neither ofthem particularly strong, made quite an even match of it. They were threegames all, and then Luke found a streak of erratic brilliance and he andBridget forged ahead to five-three.
It was then he observed that Lord Whitfield was losing his temper. Heargued over a line ball, declared a serve to be a fault in spite of Rose’s dis-claimer, and displayed all the attributes of a peevish child. It was set point,but Bridget sent an easy shot into the net and immediately after served adouble fault. Deuce. The next ball was returned down the middle line andas he prepared to take it he and his partner collided. Then Bridget servedanother double fault and the game was lost.
Bridget apologized. “Sorry, I’ve gone to pieces.”
It seemed true enough. Bridget’s shots were wild and she seemed to beunable to do anything right. The set ended with Lord Whitfield and hispartner victorious at the score of eight-six.
There was a momentary discussion as to the composition of the next set.
In the end Rose played again with Mr. Abbot as her partner against Dr.
Thomas and Miss Jones.
Lord Whitfield sat down, wiping his forehead and smiling complacently,his good humour quite restored. He began to talk to Major Horton on thesubject of a series of articles on Fitness for Britain which one of his paperswas starring.
Luke said to Bridget:
“Show me the kitchen garden.”
“Why the kitchen garden?”
“I have a feeling for cabbages.”
“Won’t green peas do?”
“Green peas would be admirable.”
They walked away from the tennis court and came to the walled kitchengarden. It was empty of gardeners this Saturday afternoon and lookedlazy and peaceful in the sunshine.
“Here are your peas,” said Bridget.
Luke paid no attention to the object of the visit. He said:
“Why the hell did you give them the set?”
Bridget’s eyebrows went up a fraction.
“I’m sorry. I went to bits. My tennis is erratic.”
“Not so erratic as that! Those double faults of yours wouldn’t deceive achild! And those wild shots—each of them half a mile out!”
Bridget said calmly:
“That’s because I’m such a rotten tennis player. If I were a bit better Icould perhaps have made it a bit more plausible! But as it is if I try tomake a ball go just out, it’s always on the line and all the good work still todo.”
“Oh, you admit it then?”
“Obvious, my dear Watson.”
“And the reason?”
“Equally obvious, I should have thought. Gordon doesn’t like losing.”
“And what about me? Supposing I like to win?”
“I’m afraid, my dear Luke, that that isn’t equally important.”
“Would you like to make your meaning just a little clearer still?”
“Certainly, if you like. One mustn’t quarrel with one’s bread and butter.
Gordon is my bread and butter. You are not.”
Luke drew a deep breath. Then he exploded.
“What the hell do you mean by marrying that absurd little man? Whyare you doing it?”
“Because as his secretary I get six pounds a week, and as his wife I shallget a hundred thousand settled on me, a jewel case full of pearls and dia-monds, a handsome allowance, and various perquisites of the marriedstate!”
“But for somewhat different duties!”
Bridget said coldly:
“Must we have this melodramatic attitude towards every single thing inlife? If you are contemplating a pretty picture of Gordon as an uxorioushusband, you can wash it right out! Gordon, as you should have realized,is a small boy who has not quite grown up. What he needs is a mother, nota wife. Unfortunately his mother died when he was four years old. Whathe wants is someone at hand to whom he can brag, someone who will re-assure him about himself and who is prepared to listen indefinitely toLord Whitfield on the subject of Himself!”
“You’ve got a bitter tongue, haven’t you?”
Bridget retorted sharply:
“I don’t tell myself fairy stories if that’s what you mean! I’m a young wo-man with a certain amount of intelligence, very moderate looks, and nomoney. I intend to earn an honest living. My job as Gordon’s wife will bepractically indistinguishable from my job as Gordon’s secretary. After ayear I doubt if he’ll remember to kiss me good night. The only difference isin the salary.”
They looked at each other. Both of them were pale with anger. Bridgetsaid jeeringly:
“Go on. You’re rather old-fashioned, aren’t you, Mr. Fitzwilliam? Hadn’tyou better trot out the old clichés—say that I’m selling myself for money—that’s always a good one, I think!”
Luke said: “You’re a cold-blooded little devil!”
“That’s better than being a hot-blooded little fool!”
“Is it?”
“Yes. I know.”
Luke sneered. “What do you know?”
“I know what it is to care about a man! Did you ever meet JohnnieCornish? I was engaged to him for three years. He was adorable—I caredlike hell about him—cared so much that it hurt! Well, he threw me overand married a nice plump widow with a North-Country accent and threechins and an income of thirty thousand a year! That sort of thing rathercures one of romance, don’t you think?”
Luke turned away with a sudden groan. He said:
“It might.”
“It did….”
There was a pause. The silence lay heavy between them. Bridget brokeit at last. She said, but with a slight uncertainty in her tone:
“I hope you realize that you had no earthly right to speak to me as youdid. You’re staying in Gordon’s house and it’s damned bad taste!”
Luke recovered his composure.
“Isn’t that rather a cliché too?” he inquired politely.
Bridget flushed. “It’s true, anyway!”
“It isn’t. I had every right.”
“Nonsense!”
Luke looked at her. His face had a queer pallor, like a man who is suffer-ing physical pain. He said:
“I have a right. I’ve the right of caring for you—what did you say justnow?—of caring so much that it hurts!”
She drew back a step. She said: “You—”
“Yes, funny, isn’t it? The sort of thing that ought to give you a heartylaugh! I came down here to do a job of work and you came round thecorner of that house and—how can I say it—put a spell on me! That’s whatit feels like. You mentioned fairy stories just now. I’m caught up in a fairystory! You’ve bewitched me. I’ve a feeling that if you pointed your fingerat me and said: ‘Turn into a frog,’ I’d go hopping away with my eyes pop-ping out of my head.”
He took a step nearer to her.
“I love you like hell, Bridget Conway. And, loving you like hell, you can’texpect me to enjoy seeing you get married to a potbellied pompous littlepeer who loses his temper when he doesn’t win at tennis.”
“What do you suggest I should do?”
“I suggest that you should marry me instead! But doubtless that sugges-tion will give rise to a lot of merry laughter.”
“The laughter is positively uproarious.”
“Exactly. Well, now we know where we are. Shall we return to the ten-nis court? Perhaps this time you will find me a partner who can play towin!”
“Really,” said Bridget sweetly, “I believe you mind losing just as much asGordon does!”
Luke caught her suddenly by the shoulders.
“You’ve got a devilish tongue, haven’t you, Bridget?”
“I’m afraid you don’t like me very much, Luke, however great your pas-sion for me!”
“I don’t think I like you at all.”
Bridget said, watching him:
“You meant to get married and settle down when you came home, didn’tyou?”
“Yes.”
“But not to someone like me?”
“I never thought of anyone in the least like you.”
“No—you wouldn’t—I know your type. I know it exactly.”
“You are so clever, dear Bridget.”
“A really nice girl—thoroughly English—fond of the country and goodwith dogs…You probably visualized her in a tweed skirt stirring a log firewith the tip of her shoe.”
“The picture sounds most attractive.”
“I’m sure it does. Shall we return to the tennis court? You can play withRose Humbleby. She’s so good that you’re practically certain to win.”
“Being old-fashioned I must allow you to have the last word.”
Again there was a pause. Then Luke took his hands slowly from hershoulders. They both stood uncertain as though something still unsaidlingered between them.
Then Bridget turned abruptly and led the way back. The next set wasjust ending. Rose protested against playing again.
“I’ve played two sets running.”
Bridget, however, insisted.
“I’m feeling tired. I don’t want to play. You and Mr. Fitzwilliam take onMiss Jones and Major Horton.”
But Rose continued to protest and in the end a men’s four was arranged.
Afterwards came tea.
Lord Whitfield conversed with Dr. Thomas, describing at length andwith great self-importance a visit he had recently paid to the WellermanKreitz Research Laboratories.
“I wanted to understand the trend of the latest scientific discoveries formyself,” he explained earnestly. “I’m responsible for what my papersprint. I feel that very keenly. This is a scientific age. Science must be madeeasily assimilable by the masses.”
“A little science might possibly be a dangerous thing,” said Dr. Thomaswith a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Science in the home, that’s what we have to aim at,” said Lord Whit-field. “Science minded—”
“Test tube conscious,” said Bridget gravely.
“I was impressed,” said Lord Whitfield. “Wellerman took me round him-self, of course. I begged him to leave me to an underling, but he insisted.”
“Naturally,” said Luke.
Lord Whitfield looked gratified.
“And he explained everything most clearly—the culture—the serum—the whole principle of the thing. He agreed to contribute the first article inthe series himself.”
Mrs. Anstruther murmured:
“They use guinea-pigs, I believe—so cruel—though of course not so badas dogs—or even cats.”
“Fellows who use dogs ought to be shot,” said Major Horton, hoarsely.
“I really believe, Horton,” said Mr. Abbot, “that you value canine lifeabove human life.”
“Every time!” said the major. “Dogs can’t turn round on you like humanbeings can. Never get a nasty word from a dog.”
“Only a nasty tooth stuck into your leg,” said Mr. Abbot. “Eh, Horton?”
“Dogs are a good judge of character,” said Major Horton.
“One of your brutes nearly pinned me by the leg last week. What do yousay to that, Horton?”
“Same as I said just now!”
Bridget interposed tactfully:
“What about some more tennis?”
A couple more sets were played. Then, as Rose Humbleby said good-bye,Luke appeared beside her.
“I’ll see you home,” he said. “And carry the tennis bat. You haven’t got acar, have you?”
“No, but it’s no distance.”
“I’d like a walk.”
He said no more, merely taking her racquet and shoes from her. Theywalked down the drive without speaking. Then Rose mentioned one ortwo trivial matters. Luke answered rather shortly but the girl did not seemto notice.
As they turned into the gate of her house, Luke’s face cleared.
“I’m feeling better now,” he said.
“Were you feeling badly before?”
“Nice of you to pretend you didn’t notice it. You’ve exorcised the brute’ssulky temper, though. Funny, I feel as though I’d come out of a dark cloudinto the sun.”
“So you have. There was a cloud over the sun when we left the Manorand now it’s passed over.”
“So it’s literally as well as figuratively. Well, well—the world’s a goodplace after all.”
“Of course it is.”
“Miss Humbleby, may I be impertinent?”
“I’m sure you couldn’t be.”
“Oh, don’t be too sure of that. I wanted to say that I think Dr. Thomas isa very lucky man.”
Rose blushed and smiled.
She said: “So you’ve heard?”
“Was it supposed to be a secret? I’m so sorry.”
“Oh! Nothing is a secret in this place,” said Rose ruefully.
“So it is true—you and he are engaged?”
Rose nodded.
“Only—just now—we’re not announcing it officially. You see, daddy wasagainst it and it seems—well—unkind to—to blazon it abroad the momenthe’s dead.”
“Your father disapproved?”
“Well, not disapproved exactly. Oh, I suppose it did amount to that,really.”
Luke said gently:
“He thought you were too young?”
“That’s what he said.”
Luke said acutely: “But you think there was something more than that?”
Rose bent her head slowly and reluctantly.
“Yes—I’m afraid what it really amounted to was that daddy didn’t—well,didn’t really like Geoffrey.”
“They were antagonistic to each other?”
“It seemed like that sometimes…Of course, daddy was rather a preju-diced old dear.”
“And I suppose he was very fond of you and didn’t like the thought oflosing you?”
Rose assented but still with a shade of reservation in her manner.
“It went deeper than that?” asked Luke. “He definitely didn’t wantThomas as a husband for you?”
“No. You see—daddy and Geoffrey are so very unlike—and in someways they clashed. Geoffrey was really very patient and good about it—but knowing daddy didn’t like him made him even more reserved and shyin his manner, so that daddy really never got to know him any better.”
“Prejudices are very hard to combat,” said Luke.
“It was so completely unreasonable!”
“Your father didn’t advance any reasons?”
“Oh, no. He couldn’t! Naturally, I mean, there wasn’t anything he couldsay against Geoffrey except that he didn’t like him.”
“I do not like thee, Dr. Fell, the reason why I cannot tell.”
“Exactly.”
“No tangible thing to get hold of? I mean, your Geoffrey doesn’t drink orback horses?”
“Oh, no. I don’t believe Geoffrey even knows what won the Derby.”
“That’s funny,” said Luke. “You know, I could swear I saw your Dr.
Thomas at Epsom on Derby Day.”
For a moment he was anxious lest he might already have mentionedthat he only arrived in England on that day. But Rose responded at oncequite unsuspiciously.
“You thought you saw Geoffrey at the Derby? Oh, no. He couldn’t getaway, for one thing. He was over at Ashewold nearly all that day at a diffi-cult confinement case.”
“What a memory you’ve got!”
Rose laughed.
“I remember that, because he told me they called the baby Jujube as anickname!”
Luke nodded abstractedly.
“Anyway,” said Rose, “Geoffrey never goes to race meetings. He’d bebored to death.”
She added, in a different tone:
“Won’t you—come in? I think mother would like to see you.”
“If you’re sure of that?”
Rose led the way into a room where twilight hung rather sadly. A wo-man was sitting in an armchair in a curiously huddled up position.
“Mother, this is Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
Mrs. Humbleby gave a start and shook hands. Rose went quietly out ofthe room.
“I’m glad to see you, Mr. Fitzwilliam. Some friends of yours knew myhusband many years ago, so Rose tells me.”
“Yes, Mrs. Humbleby.” He rather hated repeating the lie to the widowedwoman, but there was no way out of it.
Mrs. Humbleby said:
“I wish you could have met him. He was a fine man and a great doctor.
He cured many people who had been given up as hopeless just by thestrength of his personality.”
Luke said gently:
“I’ve heard a lot about him since I’ve been here. I know how muchpeople thought of him.”
He could not see Mrs. Humbleby’s face very distinctly. Her voice wasrather monotonous, but its very lack of feeling seemed to emphasize thefact that actually feeling was in her, strenuously held back.
She said rather unexpectedly:
“The world is a very wicked place, Mr. Fitzwilliam. Do you know that?”
Luke was a little surprised.
“Yes, perhaps that may be.”
She insisted:
“No, but do you know it? It’s important that. There’s a lot of wickednessabout…One must be prepared—to fight it! John was. He knew. He was onthe side of the right!”
Luke said gently:
“I’m sure he was.”
“He knew the wickedness there was in this place,” said Mrs. Humbleby.
“He knew—”
She burst suddenly into tears.
Luke murmured:
“I’m so sorry—” and stopped.
She controlled herself as suddenly as she had lost control.
“You must forgive me,” she said. She held out her hand and he took it.
“Do come and see us while you are here,” she said. “It would be so goodfor Rose. She likes you so much.”
“I like her. I think your daughter is the nicest girl I’ve met for a longtime, Mrs. Humbleby.”
“She’s very good to me.”
“Dr. Thomas is a very lucky man.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Humbleby dropped his hand. Her voice had gone flat again.
“I don’t know—it’s all so difficult.”
Luke left her standing in the half gloom, her fingers nervously twistingand untwisting themselves.
As he walked home his mind went over various aspects of the conversa-tion.
Dr. Thomas had been absent from Wychwood for a good part of DerbyDay. He had been absent in a car. Wychwood was thirty-five miles fromLondon. Supposedly he had been attending a confinement case. Was theremore than his word? The point, he supposed, could be verified. His mindwent on to Mrs. Humbleby.
What had she meant by her insistence on that phrase, “There’s a lot ofwickedness about…?”
Was she just nervous and overwrought by the shock of her husband’sdeath? Or was there something more to it than that?
Did she perhaps know something? Something that Dr. Humbleby hadknown before he died?
“I’ve got to go on with this,” said Luke to himself. “I’ve got to go on.”
Resolutely he averted his mind from the passage of arms that had takenplace between him and Bridget.
第十二章 交锋
第十二章 交锋
幸好下午那场网球之约还不错，惠特菲尔德爵士兴致勃勃，非常愉快地担任男主人的角色。他不时提到他贫困的出身。打球的人一共有八位——惠特菲尔德爵士、布丽吉特、卢克、罗丝•亨伯比、艾伯特先生、托马斯医生、霍顿少校和海蒂•琼斯——银行经理的女儿，始终咯咯笑个不停。
下午第二场比赛中，卢克和布丽吉特一组，惠特菲尔德爵士和罗丝•亨伯比一组。罗丝打得相当好，曾经参加过全郡的比赛，弥补了惠特菲尔德爵士很多缺点。布丽吉特和卢克打得都不特别好，所以双方的实力差不多相等。
三局过后，卢克越打越好，他们这组以五比三领先爵士他们。就在这时，卢克发现惠特菲尔德爵士开始变得不高兴，一会儿挑剔这个不好，一会儿嫌那个不对，虽然罗丝不承认他的话，但他始终像个淘气不听话的小孩一样。可是接下来卢克发现布丽吉特故意犯了两次不该有的失误，结果反而让爵士他们赢了。布丽吉特用道歉的口气对他说：“对不起，我快累坏了。”
看来的确没错，布丽吉特好像一切都不对劲，爵士那一组最后以八比六获胜。接下来，大家又讨论下一场比赛的人选，决定由罗丝和艾伯特先生一组，托马斯医生和琼斯小姐一组。
惠特菲尔德爵士坐下来擦擦前额，满足地笑笑，又恢复了愉快幽默的心情，并且和霍顿少校大谈特谈他报上正在连载的一系列有关“英国家居”的文章。
卢克对布丽吉特说：“带我去看看菜园好吗？”
“看菜园做什么？”
“我喜欢卷心菜。”
“青豆呢？”
“也不错。”
他们离开网球场，走向菜园。星期六下午，园丁不在，在温暖的阳光下，菜园看来慵懒而安详。“豆子在这儿。”布丽吉特说。
卢克没理她的话，单刀直入地说：“你为什么要故意失误？”
布丽吉特扬扬眉头，说：“对不起，我太累了，网球也打得反复无常？”
“像你那种故意失误，连小孩都骗不了，还有故意把球打得那么远，实在太过分了！”
布丽吉特平静地说：“那是因为我网球打得太差劲，要是我的技术好一点，也许会让你满意些。可惜我现在还控制不了球，还需要好好学习。”
“噢，你承认？”
“那当然，亲爱的卢克。”
“理由呢？”
“也很明显，因为戈登不喜欢输球。”
“那我呢？要是我也喜欢赢呢？”
“亲爱的卢克，那恐怕比不上戈登的想法重要。”
“能不能再说清楚一点？”
“要是你喜欢听，当然可以。人总不能跟自己的饭票作对，戈登是我的饭票，你却不是。”
卢克深深吸一口气，最后还是忍不住生气地说：“你跟那个可笑的小老头结婚到底是什么意思？为什么要嫁给他？”
“因为我当他秘书的时候，每周只有六镑薪水，可是做他太太却能得到一万镑，一整盒珍珠、钻石，充分的零用钱，和各种荣誉的头衔。”
“可是要尽的责任也不同啊！”
布丽吉特冷淡地说：“难道你非要对一切事情都抱着看闹剧一样的心情吗？要是你一心把戈登幻想成像情人一样疼爱太太的丈夫，我劝你趁早打消这种想法。你现在大概也发现，戈登其实是个长不大的孩子。他需要的是母亲，而不是妻子。不幸的是，他母亲在他四岁的时候就去世了，所以他要另外找一个能让他吹牛，让他得到自信，和随时愿意听他谈论自己的人。”
“你可真是牙尖嘴利！”
布丽吉特不客气地反击道：“我不会用童话来骗自己，希望你听清楚了！我是个稍微有点头脑，长相很普通，又没什么钱的女孩。我希望安安心心地过日子，做戈登妻子和做他的秘书，事实上没什么不同。一年以后，我想他连临睡前都记不得吻妻子了。唯一的不同，就是——薪水。”他们彼此看看对方，两人都气得脸色发白。布丽吉特揶揄地说：“继续往下说啊，你很古板，菲茨威廉先生。你不是可以用那句最恰当的陈腔滥调来骂我，说我是为了钱而出卖自己吗？我想这句话再适当也没有了！”
卢克说：“你是个冷血的小魔鬼！”
“总比热血的小傻瓜好！”
“是吗？”
“我知道一定是。”
卢克嘲弄地说：“你还知道什么？”
“我知道怎么照顾男人！你见过约翰尼•科尼什吗？我跟他订婚三年，他很可爱，我爱他爱得发狂！可是他后来居然抛弃我，娶了一个有北方乡下口音，有三个下巴，但是一年却有三万镑收入的胖寡妇！碰到这种事，任何人都不会再有罗曼蒂克的幻想，你说呢？”卢克忽然呻吟了一声，转过身去，说：“也许吧。”
“本来就是。”
两个人都沉默了好一会儿，最后布丽吉特用一种不肯定的声音说：“我希望你了解，你没有任何权利这样对我说话。你现在住在戈登的家里，这样做太差劲了。”
卢克也恢复了镇定，礼貌地说：“你这不也是陈词滥调吗？”
布丽吉特红着脸说：“无论如何，这总是事实。”
“不，我有我的权利。”
“胡说！”
卢克看看她，她脸色苍白得奇怪，像身上有什么地方疼痛不已似的。他说：“我有权利，我有权喜欢你——你刚才是怎么说的？对，我爱你爱得发狂！”
她猛然后退一步，说：“你——”
“不错，很好笑，是不是？你应该笑得合不拢嘴才对！我是到这里来调查一件事的。那天，你从屋子转角走过来——怎么说呢？就像对我施了一道符咒！你刚才提到童话故事，我就像一脚踏进童话里一样！你把我迷住了，我觉得只要你用手指一指我，说声‘变成青蛙’，我的眼睛就会凸出来，在地上跳来跳去的。”他向她靠近一步，“我爱你爱得发疯，布丽吉特•康威，所以你不可能要我喜滋滋地看着你嫁给一个大腹便便、连输一场球都要生气的傲慢贵族！”
“那你觉得我应该怎么办？”
“我觉得你应该嫁给我。不过当然啦，你听完之后顶多是大笑一场就算了！”
“的确非常可笑。”
“一点儿都不错，好了，我们已经把话说清楚了，要不要回网球场去？这回，你大概会替我找个能赢的球伴吧。”
“说真的，”布丽吉特甜甜地说，“我相信你完全跟戈登一样输不起。”
卢克猛然抓住她的肩膀，说：“你那张嘴真是够利的，布丽吉特。”
“不管你有多迷恋我，你都不太喜欢我的个性，对吗？卢克。”
“的确不喜欢。”
布丽吉特看着他说：“你回家之后，打算结婚安顿下来。对不对？”
“对。”
“对象不会是像我这种人？”
“我从来都没考虑过你这种类型。”
“对。当然啦。我了解你们这种人，了解得一清二楚。”
“你实在太聪明了，亲爱的布丽吉特。”
“你会娶个典型的英国好女孩，喜欢乡下，也很会养狗。你心目中的她也许正穿着苏格兰呢裙。用鞋尖拨弄火炉里的一根木柴。”
“听起来好像很吸引人。”
“本来就是。该回网球场了吧？你可以和罗丝•亨伯比同组。她打得那么好，你们一定会赢。”
“我是老派的人，随你安排。”
又是一阵沉默之后。卢克缓缓从她肩上收回自己的手，两人都迟疑地站着，仿佛还有什么话难以启齿似的。
接着，布丽吉特突然转身，带头往回走。下一场比赛刚刚结束，罗丝反对再打下去：“我已经打了两场了。”
可是布丽吉特也坚持道：“我累了，不想打了，你可以跟菲茨威廉先生一组。琼斯小姐和霍顿少校一组，再比一场。”
但是罗丝还是不愿意，结果由四个男子比赛了一场。赛完之后，一起喝了下午茶。
惠特菲尔德爵士向托马斯医生滔滔不绝地谈起他最近到威勒曼研究实验室的行程。“我想亲自了解最新科学发现。”他热心地解释道，“我总得对自己报上的言论负责。这一点非常重要，这是个科学时代。一定要让一般大众多多接触和吸收科学。”
“对科学一知半解也许相当危险。”托马斯医生轻轻一耸肩说。
“我们的目的就是把科学带进家里，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“人人具有科学头脑——”
“知道什么是试管。”布丽吉特低声说。
惠特菲尔德爵士说：“威勒曼亲自带我到处参观。我说只要派个职员就行了，他偏偏坚持不肯。这让我对他很有好感。”
“那当然。”卢克说。
惠特菲尔德爵士看来很高兴。“他把一切都解释得非常详细——细菌培养、血清、工作的整个原理等等。还答应亲自替我们写一篇文章。”
安斯特拉瑟太太喃喃道：“我想他们一定是用天竺鼠做实验。真残忍——不过总比用狗，甚至用猫好一点。”
“用狗做实验的人都该死。”霍顿少校粗鲁地说。
“霍顿，我真的觉得你把狗的命看得比人命还可贵。”艾伯特先生说。
“当然！”少校说，“狗不像人那样会背叛你，也不会用脏话骂人。”
“顶多只会用脏牙齿咬人家的腿。”艾伯特先生说，“对吗，霍顿？”
“狗最会区分好人和坏人。”霍顿少校说。
“上礼拜，你家的一条狗差点在我腿上咬一口。你怎么说，霍顿？”
“回答还是一样。”
布丽吉特及时打岔道：“再打打网球怎么样？”
于是又安排了两场比赛。最后当罗丝•亨伯比向大家道别时，卢克站到她身边说：“我送你回去，顺便替你拿网球拍。你没车吧，对不对？”
“没有，可是路很近。一会儿就走到了。”
“我想散散步。”卢克没再说什么，只是接过她手中的球拍和球鞋。两人一起默默沿着街镇向前走。后来罗丝随口提了一两件小事，卢克也慢声应着。可是她似乎没有注意到，走到她家大门时，卢克的表情才开朗起来。
“我现在心情好一点儿了。”
“你刚才心情不好？”
“谢谢你假装没发现。不过你已经除掉了我心头的阴影，真奇怪。我觉得就像从乌云密布的地方走到一个阳光普照的地方。”
“本来就是啊。我们离开庄园的时候，有一块乌云遮住了太阳，现在已经散开了。”
“好了，好了，这世界看起来还算不错。”
“当然不错。”
“亨伯比小姐。我可以鲁莽地说一句话吗？”
“我相信你一定不会太鲁莽。”
“嗯？别太肯定，我觉得托马斯医生实在非常幸运。”罗丝羞红了脸笑笑。卢克又说：“你真的和他订婚了？”
罗丝点点头。“不过我们还没正式宣布，因为你知道，我父亲是反对这件事的。如果他刚死就宣布我们订婚，好像……好像有点太残忍了。”
“你父亲不赞成？”
罗丝不情愿地低下头说：“是的，我想他不大喜欢杰夫里。”
“他们彼此很敌视？”
“有时候好像是，当然啦。我父亲是个有点顽固的老小孩。”
“我想他一定很喜欢你，不愿意失去你吧？”罗丝表示没错。但是她似乎欲言又止。
“不只是这样？”卢克追问，“他根本就不希望你嫁给托马斯？”
“是的。你知道，他和杰夫里在某些方面实在很不一样，所以免不了发生冲突。杰夫里很有耐性，可是他知道我父亲不喜欢他，所以态度就更保守、更害羞，这么一来，我父亲就更没办法了解他了。”
“偏见是很难改变的。”卢克说。
“可是实在太不合理了！”
“你父亲没有提出理由？”
“没有，根本就找不出理由嘛！我是说，他根本找不出反对杰夫里和我交往的理由，只能说不喜欢他。”
“‘我不喜欢你，杰夫里医生。理由嘛，连我也说不出。’”
“一点儿都没错。”
“他抓不到什么缺点？我是说，你的杰夫里既不喝酒也不赌马？”
“不。我想杰夫里甚至连马赛是哪一匹马获胜都不知道。”
“那就奇怪了，”卢克说，“我知道，我敢发誓我德比赛马那天在埃普索姆镇看到过他。”
有一会儿他真担心，不知道自己有没有向她提过。他是德比赛马那天才回到英格兰的。不过罗丝一点也没起疑心，马上答道：“你说在德比看见杰夫里了？噢，不可能，他走不开，那天他几乎一整天都在威奇伍德替一名难产妇女接生。”
“你的记忆力真好！”
罗丝笑着说：“他告诉我。那家人替婴儿取了一个小名叫裘裘比，所以我特别记得。”
卢克心不在焉地点点头。
罗丝又说：“不管怎么样。杰夫里从来不去看赛马，他会烦死。”顿一顿，她又换了个声调说，“不进来坐坐吗？我妈一定很高兴见你。”
“真的吗？那我就不客气了。”
进门之后，罗丝带他走进一间只剩一点夕阳余晖的房间。一个女人姿势奇怪地缩成团坐在摇椅上。
“妈，这位是菲茨威廉先生。”
亨伯比太太伸手和他握了握。罗丝一声不响地走了出去。
“很高兴看见你，菲茨威廉先生。罗丝说你有些朋友多年以前认识我丈夫？”
“是的，亨伯比太太。”他并不想向一个寡妇再说一次谎，可是实在没别的办法。
亨伯比太太说：“要是你见过他就好了。他是个好人，也是个了不起的医生。光是靠他的人格力量，就救活了很多别人认为没希望的病人。”
卢克温和地说：“我来了以后，听过很多关于他的事。我知道大家都很想念他。”
他无法完全看清亨伯比太太的脸。她的声音很单调，可是越是这样，越显得她仿佛极力想隐藏什么。她忽然出人意料地说：“这是个邪恶的世界，菲茨威廉先生。你明白吗？”
卢克有点惊讶地说：“是的，也许是吧。”
她坚持问道：“可是你到底知不知道呢？这一点非常重要。邪恶无处不在。人一定要有心理准备——才能对抗邪恶！约翰就是这样，他知道这一点，总是站在正义那一边。”
卢克温和地说：“我相信一定是。”
“他知道这地方有些邪恶的事物。”亨伯比太太说，“他真的知道……”她突然哭了起来。
卢克喃喃道：“对不起——”
她忽然又恢复了自制。“请原谅我。”她伸出手，他握了握。“有空一定要来看我们。”她说，“罗丝很喜欢你。”
“我也喜欢她。我觉得令爱是我见过的最好的女孩，亨伯比太太。”
“她对我很好。”
“托马斯医生真幸运。”
“嗯。”亨伯比太太松开他的手，声音又变得平板起来。
“我也说不好，人生真是充满艰辛。”
她紧张地扭动着身躯站在昏暗的夕阳余晖下，目送卢克离去。
回家途中，卢克不停地回想着和她谈话的内容。托马斯医生德比赛马时大半天都不在威奇伍德，他是开车走的。威奇伍德离伦敦三十五英里。他说是去接生，这是真话吗？他有没有隐瞒什么？卢克想。这一点应该可以证明。他又想到亨伯比太太，她一再重复的那句话——“邪恶无处不在”是什么意思呢？只是因为她丈夫的死使她紧张过度吗？或者真的有什么事不对？或许。她也知道些什么？知道亨伯比医生生前知道的事？“我一定要往下查，”卢克自语道，“一定要继续查下去。”
他下定决心把脑筋从他和布丽吉特之间的事上收回来。
Thirteen MISS WAYNFLETE TALKS
Thirteen MISS WAYNFLETE TALKS

On the following morning Luke came to a decision. He had, he felt, pro-ceeded as far as he could with indirect inquiries. It was inevitable thatsooner or later he would be forced into the open. He felt that the time hadcome to drop the book-writing camouflage and reveal that he had come toWychwood with a definite aim in view.
In pursuance of this plan of campaign he decided to call upon HonoriaWaynflete. Not only had he been favourably impressed by that middle-aged spinster’s air of discretion and a certain shrewdness of outlook—buthe fancied that she might have information that would help him. He be-lieved that she had told him what she knew. He wanted to induce her totell him what she might have guessed. He had a shrewd idea that MissWaynflete’s guesses might be fairly near the truth.
He called immediately after church.
Miss Waynflete received him in a matter-of-fact manner, showing nosurprise at his call. As she sat down near him, her prim hands folded andher intelligent eyes—so like an amiable goat’s—fixed on his face, he foundlittle difficulty in coming to the object of his visit.
He said: “I dare say you have guessed, Miss Waynflete, that the reason ofmy coming here is not merely to write a book on local customs?”
Miss Waynflete inclined her head and continued to listen.
Luke was not minded as yet to go into the full story. Miss Waynfletemight be discreet—she certainly gave him the impression of being so—butwhere an elderly spinster was concerned Luke felt he could hardly rely onher resisting the temptation to confide an exciting story to one or two trus-ted cronies. He thereupon proposed to adopt a middle course.
“I am down here to inquire into the circumstances of the death of thatpoor girl, Amy Gibbs.”
Miss Waynflete said:
“You mean you have been sent down by the police?”
“Oh, no—I’m not a plainclothes dick.” He added with a slightly humor-ous inflection, “I’m afraid I’m that well-known character in fiction, theprivate investigator.”
“I see. Then it was Bridget Conway who brought you down here?”
Luke hesitated a moment. Then he decided to let it go at that. Withoutgoing into the whole Pinkerton story, it was difficult to account for hispresence. Miss Waynflete was continuing, a note of gentle admiration inher voice.
“Bridget is so practical—so efficient! I’m afraid, if it had been left to me, Ishould have distrusted my own judgement—I mean, that if you are not ab-solutely sure of a thing, it is so difficult to commit yourself to a definitecourse of action.”
“But you are sure, aren’t you?”
Miss Waynflete said gravely:
“No, indeed, Mr. Fitzwilliam. It is not a thing one can be sure about! Imean, it might all be imagination. Living alone, with no one to consult orto talk to, one might easily become melodramatic and imagine thingswhich had no foundation in fact.”
Luke assented readily to this statement, recognizing its inherent truth,but he added gently:
“But you are sure in your own mind?”
Even here Miss Waynflete showed a little reluctance.
“We are not talking at cross-purposes, I hope?” she demurred.
Luke smiled.
“You would like me to put it in plain words? Very well. You do think thatAmy Gibbs was murdered?”
Honoria Waynflete flinched a little at the crudity of the language. Shesaid:
“I don’t feel at all happy about her death. Not at all happy. The wholething is profoundly unsatisfactory in my opinion.”
Luke said patiently:
“But you don’t think her death was a natural one?”
“No.”
“You don’t believe it was an accident?”
“It seems to me most improbable. There are so many—”
Luke cut her short.
“You don’t think it was suicide?”
“Emphatically not.”
“Then,” said Luke gently, “you do think that it was murder?”
Miss Waynflete hesitated, gulped, and bravely took the plunge.
“Yes,” she said. “I do!”
“Good. Now we can get on with things.”
“But I have really no evidence on which to base that belief,” Miss Waynf-lete explained anxiously. “It is entirely an idea!”
“Quite so. This is a private conversation. We are merely speaking aboutwhat we think and suspect. We suspect Amy Gibbs was murdered. Who dowe think murdered her?”
Miss Waynflete shook her head. She was looking very troubled.
Luke said, watching her:
“Who had reason to murder her?”
Miss Waynflete said slowly:
“She had had a quarrel, I believe, with her young man at the garage, JimHarvey—a most steady, superior young man. I know one reads in the pa-pers of young men attacking their sweethearts and dreadful things likethat, but I really can’t believe that Jim would do such a thing.”
Luke nodded.
Miss Waynflete went on.
“Besides, I can’t believe that he would do it that way. Climb up to herwindow and substitute a bottle of poison for the other one with the coughmixture. I mean, that doesn’t seem—”
Luke came to the rescue as she hesitated.
“It’s not the act of an angry lover? I agree. In my opinion we can washJim Harvey right out. Amy was killed (we’re agreeing she was killed) bysomeone who wanted to get her out of the way and who planned thecrime carefully so that it should appear to be an accident. Now have youany idea—any hunch—shall we put it like that?—who that person couldbe?”
Miss Waynflete said:
“No—really—no, I haven’t the least idea!”
“Sure?”
“N-no—no, indeed.”
Luke looked at her thoughtfully. The denial, he felt, had not rung quitetrue. He went on:
“You know of no motive?”
“No motive whatever.”
That was more emphatic.
“Had she been in many places in Wychwood?”
“She was with the Hortons for a year before going to Lord Whitfield.”
Luke summed up rapidly.
“It’s like this, then. Somebody wanted that girl out of the way. From thegiven facts we assume that—first—it was a man and a man of moderatelyold-fashioned outlook (as shown by the hat paint touch), and secondly thatit must have been a reasonably athletic man since it is clear he must haveclimbed up over the outhouse to the girl’s window. You agree on thosepoints?”
“Absolutely,” said Miss Waynflete.
“Do you mind if I go round and have a try myself?”
“Not at all. I think it is a very good idea.”
She led him out by a side door and round to the backyard. Luke man-aged to reach the outhouse roof without much trouble. From there hecould easily raise the sash of the girl’s window and with a slight efforthoist himself into the room. A few minutes later he rejoined Miss Waynf-lete on the path below, wiping his hands on his handkerchief.
“Actually it’s easier than it looks,” he said. “You want a certain amountof muscle, that’s all. There were no signs on the sill or outside?”
Miss Waynflete shook her head.
“I don’t think so. Of course the constable climbed up this way.”
“So that if there were any traces they would be taken to be his. How thepolice force assists the criminal! Well, that’s that!”
Miss Waynflete led the way back to the house.
“Was Amy Gibbs a heavy sleeper?” he asked.
Miss Waynflete replied acidly:
“It was extremely difficult to get her up in the morning. Sometimes Iwould knock again and again, and call out to her before she answered. Butthen, you know, Mr. Fitzwilliam, there’s a saying there are none so deaf asthose who will not hear!”
“That’s true,” acknowledged Luke. “Well, now, Miss Waynflete, we cometo the question of motive. Starting with the most obvious one, do you thinkthere was anything between that fellow Ellsworthy and the girl?” He ad-ded hastily, “This is just your opinion I’m asking. Only that.”
“If it’s a matter of opinion, I would say yes.”
Luke nodded.
“In your opinion, would the girl Amy have stuck at a spot of blackmail?”
“Again as a matter of opinion, I should say that that was quite possible.”
“Do you happen to know if she had much money in her possession at thetime of her death?”
Miss Waynflete reflected.
“I do not think so. If she had had any unusual amount I think I shouldhave heard about it.”
“And she hadn’t launched into any unusual extravagance before shedied?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That rather militates against the blackmail theory. The victim usuallypays once before he decides to proceed to extremes. There’s another the-ory. The girl might know something.”
“What kind of thing?”
“She might have knowledge that was dangerous to someone here inWychwood. We’ll take a strictly hypothetical case. She’d been in service ina good many houses here. Supposing she came to know of something thatwould damage say, someone like Mr. Abbot, professionally.”
“Mr. Abbot?”
Luke said quickly:
“Or possibly some negligence or unprofessional conduct on the part ofDr. Thomas.”
Miss Waynflete began, “But surely—” and then stopped.
Luke went on:
“Amy Gibbs was housemaid, you said, in the Hortons’ house at the timewhen Mrs. Horton died.”
There was a moment’s pause, then Miss Waynflete said:
“Will you tell me, Mr. Fitzwilliam, why you bring the Hortons into this?
Mrs. Horton died over a year ago.”
“Yes, and the girl Amy was there at the time.”
“I see. What have the Hortons to do with it?”
“I don’t know. I—just wondered. Mrs. Horton died of acute gastritis,didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Was her death at all unexpected?”
Miss Waynflete said slowly:
“It was to me. You see, she had been getting much better—seemed wellon the road to recovery—and then she had a sudden relapse and died.”
“Was Dr. Thomas surprised?”
“I don’t know. I believe he was.”
“And the nurses, what did they say?”
“In my experience,” said Miss Waynflete, “hospital nurses are never sur-prised at any case taking a turn for the worse! It is recovery that surprisesthem.”
“But her death surprised you?” Luke persisted.
“Yes. I had been with her only the day before, and she had seemed verymuch better, talked and seemed quite cheerful.”
“What did she think about her own illness?”
“She complained that the nurses were poisoning her. She had had onenurse sent away, but she said these two were just as bad!”
“I suppose you didn’t pay much attention to that?”
“Well, no, I thought it was all part of the illness. And she was a very sus-picious woman and—it may be unkind to say so—but she liked to makeherself important. No doctor ever understood her case—and it was neveranything simple — it must either be some very obscure disease or elsesomebody was ‘trying to get her out of the way.’”
Luke tried to make his voice casual.
“She didn’t suspect her husband of trying to do her in?”
“Oh, no, that idea never occurred to her!”
Miss Waynflete paused a minute, then she asked quietly:
“Is that what you think?”
Luke said slowly:
“Husbands have done that before and got away with it. Mrs. Hortonfrom all accounts was a woman any man might have longed to be rid of!
And I understand that he came into a good deal of money on her death.”
“Yes, he did.”
“What do you think, Miss Waynflete?”
“You want my opinion?”
“Yes, just your opinion.”
Miss Waynflete said quietly and deliberately:
“In my opinion, Major Horton was quite devoted to his wife and wouldnever have dreamed of doing such a thing.”
Luke looked at her and received the mild amber glance in reply. It didnot waver.
“Well,” he said, “I expect you’re right. You’d probably know if it was theother way round.”
Miss Waynflete permitted herself a smile.
“We women are good observers, you think?”
“Absolutely first class. Would Miss Pinkerton have agreed with you, doyou think?”
“I don’t think I ever heard Lavinia express an opinion.”
“What did she think about Amy Gibbs?”
Miss Waynflete frowned a little as though thinking.
“It’s difficult to say. Lavinia had a very curious idea.”
“What idea?”
“She thought that there was something odd going on here in Wych-wood.”
“She thought, for instance, that somebody pushed Tommy Pierce out ofthat window?”
Miss Waynflete stared at him in astonishment.
“How did you know that, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
“She told me so. Not in these words, but she gave me the general idea.”
Miss Waynflete leant forward, pink with excitement.
“When was this, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
Luke said quietly, “The day she was killed. We travelled together to Lon-don.”
“What did she tell you exactly?”
“She told me that there had been too many deaths in Wychwood. Shementioned Amy Gibbs, and Tommy Pierce and that man Carter. She alsosaid that Dr. Humbleby would be the next to go.”
Miss Waynflete nodded slowly.
“Did she tell you who was responsible?”
“A man with a certain look in his eyes,” said Luke grimly. “A look youcouldn’t mistake, according to her. She’d seen that look in his eye when hewas talking to Humbleby. That’s why she said Humbleby would be thenext to go.”
“And he was,” whispered Miss Waynflete. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”
She leaned back. Her eyes had a stricken look in them.
“Who was the man?” said Luke. “Come now, Miss Waynflete, you know,you must know!”
“I don’t. She didn’t tell me.”
“But you can guess,” said Luke keenly. “You’ve a very shrewd idea ofwho was in her mind.”
Reluctantly Miss Waynflete bowed her head.
“Then tell me.”
But Miss Waynflete shook her head energetically.
“No, indeed. You’re asking me to do something that is highly improper!
You’re asking me to guess at what may—only may, mind you—have beenin the mind of a friend who is now dead. I couldn’t make an accusation ofthat kind!”
“It wouldn’t be an accusation—only an opinion.”
But Miss Waynflete was unexpectedly firm.
“I’ve nothing to go on—nothing whatever,” she said. “Lavinia never ac-tually said anything to me. I may think she had a certain idea—but you seeI might be entirely wrong. And then I should have misled you and perhapsserious consequences might ensue. It would be very wicked and unfair ofme to mention a name. And I may be quite, quite wrong! In fact, I prob-ably am wrong!”
And Miss Waynflete set her lips firmly and glared at Luke with a grimdetermination.
Luke knew how to accept defeat when he met it.
He realized that Miss Waynflete’s sense of rectitude and something elsemore nebulous that he could not quite place were both against him.
He accepted defeat with a good grace and rose to say good-bye. He hadevery intention of returning to the charge later, but he allowed no hint ofthat to escape into his manner.
“You must do as you think right, of course,” he said. “Thank you for thehelp you have given me.”
Miss Waynflete seemed to become a little less sure of herself as she ac-companied him to the door.
“I hope you don’t think,” she began, then changed the form of the sen-tence. “If there is anything else I can do to help you, please, please let meknow.”
“I will. You won’t repeat this conversation, will you?”
“Of course not. I shan’t say a word to anybody.”
Luke hoped that that was true.
“Give my love to Bridget,” said Miss Waynflete. “She’s such a handsomegirl, isn’t she? And clever too. I—I hope she will be happy.”
And as Luke looked a question, she added:
“Married to Lord Whitfield, I mean. Such a great difference in age.”
“Yes, there is.”
Miss Waynflete sighed.
“You know that I was engaged to him once,” she said unexpectedly.
Luke stared in astonishment. She was nodding her head and smilingrather sadly.
“A long time ago. He was such a promising boy. I had helped him, youknow, to educate himself. And I was so proud of his—his spirit and theway he was determined to succeed.”
She sighed again.
“My people, of course, were scandalized. Class distinctions in those dayswere very strong.” She added after a minute or two, “I’ve always followedhis career with great interest. My people, I think, were wrong.”
Then, with a smile, she nodded a farewell and went back into the house.
Luke tried to collect his thoughts. He had placed Miss Waynflete as def-initely “old.” He realized now that she was probably still under sixty. LordWhitfield must be well over fifty. She might, perhaps, be a year or twoolder than he, no more.
And he was going to marry Bridget. Bridget, who was twenty-eight. Brid-get, who was young and alive….
“Oh, damn,” said Luke. “Don’t let me go on thinking of it. The job. Get onwith the job.”
第十三章 韦恩弗特利小姐如是说
第十三章 韦恩弗特利小姐如是说
次日早上，卢克作了一个决定。他觉得到目前为止，一切能用直接询问得到的答案都已经有了。他迟早都得公开自己真正的目的。他觉得现在正是去掉假装写书的身份，说明他此行是有特别用意的时候。为了拟定作战计划，他决定先去拜访奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特。
他相信她已经把自己所知道的完全告诉他了，不过他还想诱导她说出心里的猜测。他相信韦恩弗利特小姐的猜测可能很接近事实。
韦恩弗利特小姐对他的拜访并不意外。她在他身边坐下之后，拘谨地交叠着手，充满智慧的眼睛——真像柔和的山羊眼睛——望着他的脸。卢克觉得自己来访的目的有点难以启齿。他说：“韦恩弗利特小姐，我想你一定早就猜到，我到威奇伍德来的目的不只是写一本有关风俗和迷信的书吧？”
韦恩弗利特略斜着头，仍旧倾听着。
卢克还没法把全部都说出来。韦恩弗利特小姐是个谨慎的人——她给卢克的印象就是如此，卢克觉得他很难抵挡住这位老小姐的“诱惑”，很难不向她倾诉。于是，他选择了折中的办法，那就是只说一部分。
“我到这里，是为了调查有关那个可怜的女孩艾米•吉布斯死的事。”
韦恩弗利特小姐说：“你是说你是警方派来的？”
“噢，不是，我不是便衣警探，”他说，又幽默地补充道，“也不是侦探小说里著名的私家侦探。”
“我懂了，这么说是布丽吉特•康威请你来的？”
卢克迟疑了一会儿，决定不多解释这一点。如果不把平克顿小姐的故事和盘托出，实在很难解释他此行的原因。
韦恩弗利特小姐用温和可亲的声音说：“布丽吉特真是务实又能干！如果是我，一定不相信自己的判断。我是说如果不是绝对有把握，很难决定该怎么做。”
“可是你有把握，对吗？”
韦恩弗利特小姐严肃地说：“不，说真的，菲茨威廉先生，这种事谁也不敢说有把握。
我的意思是说，这可能完全是想象。我自己一个人住，没有人可以商谈，有时候也许会胡思乱想，想出一些毫无事实依据的事。”
卢克表示她说得很对，可是又温和地加了一句：“不过你心里很肯定吧？”
就连这一点，韦恩弗利特小姐也不十分情愿承认，她抗议道：“我想，我们并不是在玩机智问答游戏吧？”
卢克微笑着说：“你一定要我把话说清楚？好，你是不是认为艾米•吉布斯是被人谋杀的？”
这句血淋淋的话使奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特颤抖了一下，她说：“她的死让我觉得很不舒服，太不舒服了。简直如鲠在喉。”
卢克耐心地说：“你觉得她不是自然死亡？”
“嗯。”
“你不相信是意外？”
“我觉得太不可能了，有很多——”
卢克打断她的话：“你不相信她是自杀？”
“一点也不相信。”
“这么说，”卢克温和地说，“你确实认为她是被谋杀的了？”
韦恩弗利特小姐迟疑了一下，最后才勇敢地说：“对，我是这么想的。”
“很好，那我们就可以往下讨论了。”
“可是我真的没有什么证据，”韦恩弗利特小姐不安地解释道，“完全是凭空想象。”
“不错，这只是你我之间的私人谈话。我们只不过谈谈我们所猜想和怀疑的事。我们怀疑艾米•吉布斯是被人害死的，那凶手是谁呢？”
韦恩弗利特小姐摇摇头，看起来很困惑。卢克看着她说：“谁有杀她的动机呢？”
韦恩弗利特小姐缓缓地说：“我知道她跟她男朋友——就是在修车厂做事的吉姆•哈尔韦，是个最可靠、最优秀的青年——吵过架。报上常常有年轻人杀害自己女朋友那种可怕的事，可是我实在不相信吉姆会做这种事。”
卢克点点头。
韦恩弗利特小姐又说：“而且，我也不相信他会那样下手——爬上她窗口，用一瓶毒药换掉那瓶咳嗽药。我是说，这看起来实在……”她迟疑着。
卢克及时替她接下去，说：“实在不像情人生气时会做的事，对不对？我同意你的看法。我觉得我马上就可以把吉姆•哈尔韦从嫌犯名单上除去。杀死艾米的人——我们都同意她是被杀死的——是嫌她碍事，而且仔细计划过这件谋杀案，想让别人以为是意外。好了，你有没想过，这个人可能是谁？”
韦恩弗利特小姐说：“不，说真的，我一点都不知道谁有可能！”
“是吗？”
“是……是真的。”
卢克沉吟地看着她，觉得她说的并非实话，又问：“你也不知道谁有杀她的动机？”
“一点也不知道。”答案比刚才肯定。
“她在威奇伍德很多人家做过事吗？”
“她到惠特菲尔德爵士家之前，曾经在霍顿家做过一年。”
卢克立刻归纳出一个结论：“这么说，事情是这样的，有人想除掉那个女孩，从已知的事实，我们先假定那个人是个男的，外表很保守、很平凡——这是从他使用帽漆这一点看出来的；其次，那个人的身手一定还算灵活，因为他一定是从其他建筑物爬上那个女孩的窗口。你同意这些假设吗？”
“完全同意。”韦恩弗利特小姐说。
“我想自己过去试试，你不介意吧？”
“当然不，我觉得你的想法很好。”
她带他从边门出去，绕到后院。卢克没费多大工夫就爬上了对面那幢屋子的屋顶，然后轻松地拉开女孩的窗户，不一会儿，就爬进她房里了。几分钟后，他又回到下面走道和韦恩弗利特小姐见面。他一边用手帕擦手，一边说：“实际上比看起来容易，窗台上没有留下什么线索吗？”
韦恩弗利特小姐摇摇头：“我想没有。当然，巡官也是这样爬上去的。”
“所以即使有，也会被当作他留下的？警察可帮了罪犯不少忙！哎，也只有这样了。”
韦恩弗利特小姐又带路回到屋里。
“艾米•吉布斯喜欢睡觉吗？”
韦恩弗利特小姐不高兴地说：“早上要叫她起来可真难，有时候我敲了半天门，又叫了好久，她才会醒。不过你也知道，有句俗话说假装耳聋的人什么声音都听不到。”
“不错。”卢克承认，“好了。韦恩弗利特小姐，刚才我们谈到动机问题。先从最明显的说起，照你看，埃尔斯沃思那家伙和这个女孩之间，会不会有什么秘密？”他又迅速加了一句，“我只是请问你的看法，没别的。”
“如果光谈看法，我想答案是肯定的。”
卢克点点头，又说：“照你看，艾米那个女孩会不会跟勒索有关？”
“我再强调一遍，如果你只是问我的看法，我的确觉得很有可能。”
“你知不知道她死前是否有很多钱？”
韦恩弗利特小姐想了想，说。“我想没有。如果她有什么特别额外的钱，我应该会听到一点消息。”
“她死以前也没有忽然挥金如土？”
“我想没有。”
“这么说，敲诈的可能性就小多了。被敲诈的人通常会先付一次钱，然后才采取极端的手段。还有一种可能，那女孩也许知道了一个秘密。”
“哪种秘密？”
“对威奇伍德某个人不利的事。我们不妨假定一下，她在很多人家里做过女佣，也许她知道一件——譬如说，对先生事业上不利的事。”
“艾伯特先生？”
卢克迅速说：“或者是托马斯医生某一件不道德的行为。”
韦恩弗利特小姐说，“可是——”然后就停住了。
卢克又说：“你说过，霍顿太太死的时候，艾米正在霍顿家做女佣？”
韦恩弗利特小姐迟疑了一下，然后说：“能不能告诉我，菲茨威廉先生，为什么会扯上霍顿夫妇？霍顿太太一年前就去世了。”
“对，艾米当时就在他们家工作。”
“我懂了，霍顿夫妇和这件事有什么关系呢？”
“我也不知道，只是在猜想。霍顿太太是得了急性胃炎去世的，对吗？”
“对。”
“她是不是死得很突然？”
韦恩弗利特小姐缓缓地说：“我觉得很突然。你知道，她本来已经好多了——好像都快复原了——却又突然发作，很快就死了。”
“托马斯医生是不是很惊讶？”
“我不知道，我相信是的。”
“护士呢？她们怎么说？”
“照我以往的经验，”韦恩弗利特小姐说，“护士从来不会对病情突然变坏觉得意外，能迅速恢复才会使她们意外。”
“可是你觉得她死得意外？”卢克又问。
“对，我前一天还跟她在一起，当时她看起来好多了，有说有笑非常高兴。”
“她对自己的病觉得怎么样？”
“她抱怨护士想毒死她，已经赶走过一个了，可是她说另外两个也一样坏。”
“我想你大概没把她的话放在心上。”
“噢，对，我想完全是生病的关系。她是个很多疑的女人，而且——这么说实在有点不好，可是她真的喜欢让自己显得很重要。医生都不了解她的病。事实上她的病也并不简单，要不是她的病太难医，就是有人想除掉她。”
卢克尽量用自然的声音说：“她没怀疑是她丈夫想除掉她？”
“噢，没有，她从没这样想过！”韦恩弗利特小姐顿一顿。
又平静地问：“你这么想？”
卢克缓缓地说：“以前的确有过这种例子。从我所听到的各种消息，可以看出霍顿太太是个任何男人都想摆脱的女人。而且据我所知，她死了之后，他可以继承一大笔遗产。”
“是的。”
“你有什么感想？韦恩弗利特小姐。”
“你要听我的意见？”
“对，只是参考一下。”
韦恩弗利特小姐平静从容地说：“我觉得，霍顿少校对他太太很忠心，绝对不会做这种事。”
卢克看看她，迎向她那温和的琥珀色眼睛。她眼里没有丝毫踌躇。
“好吧，”他说，“你说得大概没错。如果事实不是这样，你大概会感觉到。”
韦恩弗利特小姐微微一笑，说：“你觉得我们女人很善于观察？”
“绝对是一流的观察家。你想平克顿小姐会不会同意你的看法呢？”
“我好像从来没听拉维妮亚对这件事表示过意见。”
“她对艾米•吉布斯的死有什么看法？”
韦恩弗利特小姐皱皱眉，仿佛在思考着，最后说：“很难说，拉维妮亚有个奇怪的想法。”
“什么想法？”
“她觉得威奇伍德有一件怪事。”
“譬如说，有人从窗口把汤米•皮尔斯推下来？”
韦恩弗利特小姐惊讶地凝视着他，问：“你怎么知道？菲茨威廉先生。”
“是她告诉我的。虽然没说得这么清楚，可是却给了我这个概念。”
韦恩弗利特小姐微红着脸，兴奋地说：“是什么时候的事？菲茨威廉先生。”
卢克平静地说：“她被撞死那天，我们一起搭火车到伦敦。”
“她到底怎么说？”
“她说近来威奇伍德死了很多人，她提到艾米•吉布斯、汤米•皮尔斯，还有卡特，又说亨伯比医生会是下一个死者。”
韦恩弗利特小姐缓缓地点点头：“她有没有说是谁干的？”
“一个有某种眼神的男人，”卢克严肃地说，“照她的说法，不可能会认错那种眼神。那个男人跟亨伯比说话的时候，她发现他又带着那种眼神，所以她肯定亨伯比会是下一个受害者。”
“结果的确没错，”韦恩弗利特小姐喃喃道，“噢，天哪！天哪！”她靠在椅背上，眼里有一种惊恐的神色。
“那个男人是谁？”卢克说，“告诉我，韦恩弗利特小姐，你知道——你一定知道。”
“我不知道，她没告诉我。”
“可是你可以猜到，”卢克严厉地说，“你明明知道她心里想的是谁。”韦恩弗利特小姐不情愿地点点头。“那就快告诉我。”
但是韦恩弗利特小姐却用力摇头说：“不、不行，你这个问题实在太强人所难了！你要我猜一个已经死的朋友心里可能想什么，我没办法这样指控别人！”
“这不是指控，只是意见。”
但是韦恩弗利特小姐却非常坚决，她说：“我没什么可说的——拉维妮亚从来没跟我说过任何事。我也许可以猜猜。可是你知道，我也许会完全猜错。那不就是带你走错了方向，甚至可能造成很严重的结果。要我就这样说出一个人的名字实在很草率，而且我说过。我也许会错得非常、非常离谱。老实说，我现在也许就错了！”她紧抿着嘴，坚决而严肃地看着卢克。
卢克知道遇到挫折的时候该如何去面对它。他知道韦恩弗利特小姐的正义感和另外一种更难定义的感觉都对他不利。他优雅地接受失败，起身道别，准备以后再重提这件事，不过他现在并没表示出来。“当然，你应该照你觉得对的做，”他说，“谢谢你帮了这么多忙。”
韦恩弗利特小姐陪他走到门口时，似乎又没那么坚决了，她开口道：“希望你不要以为——”但是她很快又改变了话题，“要是还有什么要我帮忙的事，请你一定、一定要告诉我。”
“我会的。请不要把我们谈话的事告诉别人，好吗？”
“那当然，我一个字都不会告诉别人，”卢克希望她说的是真话。“替我向布丽吉特问好。她真是个漂亮女孩，不是吗？也很聪明。我——我希望她过得快乐。”卢克露出疑惑的表情。她又解释道：“我是说她嫁给惠特菲尔德爵士的事，他们年龄实在相差太远了。”
“噢，是啊。”
韦恩弗利特小姐叹口气，出人意料地说：“你知道，我曾经跟他订过婚。”
卢克惊讶地看着她。她点点头，有点悲伤地笑了笑，说：“很久以前的事了。那时候他是个很有朝气、很有希望的男孩子。你知道，很爱学习。他那种——那种精神和决心成功的态度，真让我觉得骄傲。”她又叹口气，“当然，我们家的人都有偏见。那时候阶级观念非常强。”过了一两分钟，她又说，“我一直很热心推展他的事业，我觉得我家人的想法不对。”然后她微微一笑，向他点头道别之后，就回到屋里去了。
卢克试着整理自己的思绪，他本来以为韦恩弗利特小姐已经很“老”了，现在才知道她可能还不到六十岁。惠特菲尔德爵士一定有五十多岁了，她也许顶多比他大一两岁，可是他现在却要跟布丽吉特结婚了。布丽吉特才二十二岁，年轻又有活力，卢克想，“呸！去他的！别想这件事了。工作！好好往下干！”
Fourteen MEDITATIONS OF LUKE
Fourteen MEDITATIONS OF LUKE

Mrs. Church, Amy Gibbs’s aunt, was definitely an unpleasant woman. Hersharp nose, shifty eyes, and her voluble tongue all alike filled Luke withnausea.
He adopted a curt manner with her and found it unexpectedly success-ful.
“What you’ve got to do,” he told her, “is to answer my questions to thebest of your ability. If you hold back anything or tamper with the truth theconsequences may be extremely serious to you.”
“Yes, sir. I see. I’m sure I’m only too willing to tell you anything I can.
I’ve never been mixed up with the police—”
“And you don’t want to be,” finished Luke. “Well, if you do as I’ve toldyou there won’t be any question of that. I want to know all about your lateniece—who her friends were—what money she had—anything she saidthat might be out of the way. We’ll start with her friends. Who werethey?”
Mrs. Church leered at him slyly out of the corner of an unpleasant eye.
“You’ll be meaning gentlemen, sir?”
“Had she any girl friends?”
“Well—hardly—not to speak of, sir. Of course there was girls she’d beenin service with—but Amy didn’t keep up with them much. You see—”
“She preferred the sterner sex. Go on. Tell me about that.”
“It was Jim Harvey down at the garage she was actually going with, sir.
And a nice steady young fellow he was. ‘You couldn’t do better,’ I’ve saidto her many a time—”
Luke cut in:
“And the others?”
Again he got the sly look.
“I expect you’re thinking of the gentleman who keeps the curiosityshop? I didn’t like it myself, and I tell you that straight, sir! I’ve alwaysbeen respectable and I don’t hold with carrying on! But with what girlsare nowadays it’s no use speaking to them. They go their own way. And of-ten they live to regret it.”
“Did Amy live to regret it?” asked Luke bluntly.
“No, sir—that I do not think.”
“She went to consult Dr. Thomas on the day of her death. That wasn’tthe reason?”
“No, sir, I’m nearly sure it wasn’t. Oh! I’d take my oath on it! Amy hadbeen feeling ill and out of sorts, but it was just a bad cough and cold shehad. It wasn’t anything of the kind you suggest, I’m sure it wasn’t, sir.”
“I’ll take your word for that. How far had matters gone between her andEllsworthy?”
Mrs. Church leered.
“I couldn’t exactly say, sir. Amy wasn’t one for confiding in me.”
Luke said curtly:
“But they’d gone pretty far?”
Mrs. Church said smoothly:
“The gentleman hasn’t got at all a good reputation here, sir. All sorts ofgoings on. And friends down from town and many very queer happen-ings. Up in the Witches’ Meadow in the middle of the night.”
“Did Amy go?”
“She did go once, sir, I believe. Stayed out all night and his lordshipfound out about it (she was at the Manor then) and spoke to her prettysharp, and she sauced him back and he gave her notice for it, which wasonly to be expected.”
“Did she ever talk to you much about what went on in the places shewas in?”
Mrs. Church shook her head.
“Not very much, sir. More interested in her own doings, she was.”
“She was with Major and Mrs. Horton for a while, wasn’t she?”
“Nearly a year, sir.”
“Why did she leave?”
“Just to better herself. There was a place going at the Manor, and ofcourse the wages was better there.”
Luke nodded.
“She was with the Hortons at the time of Mrs. Horton’s death?” heasked.
“Yes, sir. She grumbled a lot about that—with two hospital nurses in thehouse, and all the extra work nurses make, and the trays and one thingand another.”
“She wasn’t with Mr. Abbot, the lawyer, at all?”
“No, sir. Mr. Abbot has a man and wife do for him. Amy did go to seehim once at his office, but I don’t know why.”
Luke stored away that small fact as possibly relevant. Since Mrs.
Church, however, clearly knew nothing more about it, he did not pursuethe subject.
“Any other gentlemen in the town who were friends of hers?”
“Nothing that I’d care to repeat.”
“Come now, Mrs. Church. I want the truth, remember.”
“It wasn’t a gentleman, sir, very far from it. Demeaning herself, that’swhat it was, and so I told her.”
“Do you mind speaking more plainly, Mrs. Church?”
“You’ll have heard of the Seven Stars, sir? Not a good-class house, andthe landlord, Harry Carter, a low-class fellow and half-seas over most ofthe time.”
“Amy was a friend of his?”
“She went a walk with him once or twice. I don’t believe there was morein it than that. I don’t indeed, sir.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully and changed the subject.
“Did you know a small boy, Tommy Pierce?”
“What? Mrs. Pierce’s son? Of course I did. Always up to mischief.”
“He ever see much of Amy?”
“Oh, no, sir. Amy would soon send him off with a flea in his ear if hetried any of his tricks on her.”
“Was she happy in her place with Miss Waynflete?”
“She found it a bit dull, sir, and the pay wasn’t high. But of course aftershe’d been dismissed the way she was from Ashe Manor, it wasn’t so easyto get another good place.”
“She could have gone away, I suppose?”
“To London, you mean?”
“Or some other part of the country?”
Mrs. Church shook her head. She said slowly:
“Amy didn’t want to leave Wychwood—not as things were.”
“How do you mean, as things were?”
“What with Jim and the gentleman at the curio shop.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully. Mrs. Church went on:
“Miss Waynflete is a very nice lady, but very particular about brass andsilver and everything being dusted and the mattresses turned. Amywouldn’t have put up with the fussing if she hadn’t been enjoying herselfin other ways.”
“I can imagine that,” said Luke drily.
He turned things over in his mind. He could see no further questions toask. He was fairly certain that he had extracted all that Mrs. Church knew.
He decided on one last tentative attack.
“I dare say you can guess the reason of all these questions. The circum-stances of Amy’s death were rather mysterious. We’re not entirely satis-fied as to its being an accident. If not, you realize what it must have been.”
Mrs. Church said with a certain ghoulish relish:
“Foul play!”
“Quite so. Now supposing your niece did meet with foul play, who doyou think is likely to be responsible for her death?”
Mrs. Church wiped her hands on her apron.
“There’d be a reward, as likely as not, for setting the police on the righttrack,” she inquired meaningly.
“There might be,” said Luke.
“I wouldn’t like to say anything definite.” Mrs. Church passed a hungrytongue over her thin lips. “But the gentleman at the curio shop is a queerone. You’ll remember the Castor case, sir—and how they found little bitsof the poor girl pinned up all over Castor’s seaside bungalow and howthey found five or six other poor girls he’d served the same way. Maybethis Mr. Ellsworthy is one of that kind?”
“That’s your suggestion, is it?”
“Well, it might be that way, sir, mightn’t it?”
Luke admitted that it might. Then he said:
“Was Ellsworthy away from here on the afternoon of Derby Day? That’sa very important point.”
Mrs. Church stared.
“Derby Day?”
“Yes—a fortnight ago last Wednesday.”
She shook her head.
“Really, I couldn’t say as to that. He usually was away on Wednesdays—went up to town as often as not. It’s early closing Wednesday, you see.”
“Oh,” said Luke. “Early closing.”
He took his leave of Mrs. Church, disregarding her insinuations that hertime had been valuable and that she was therefore entitled to monetarycompensation. He found himself disliking Mrs. Church intensely. Never-theless the conversation he had had with her, though not strikingly illu-minative in any way, had provided several suggestive small points.
He went over things carefully in his mind.
Yes, it still boiled down to those four people. Thomas, Abbot, Horton andEllsworthy. The attitude of Miss Waynflete seemed to him to prove that.
Her distress and reluctance to mention a name. Surely that meant, thatmust mean, that the person in question was someone of standing in Wych-wood, someone whom a chance insinuation might definitely injure. It tal-lied, too, with Miss Pinkerton’s determination to take her suspicions toheadquarters. The local police would ridicule her theory.
It was not a case of the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker. It wasnot a case of a mere garage mechanic. The person in question was oneagainst whom an accusation of murder was a fantastic and, moreover, aserious matter.
There were four possible candidates. It was up to him to go carefullyonce more into the case against each one and make up his own mind.
First to examine the reluctance of Miss Waynflete. She was a conscien-tious and scrupulous person. She believed that she knew the man whomMiss Pinkerton had suspected, but it was, she pointed out, only a belief onher part. It was possible that she was mistaken.
Who was the person in Miss Waynflete’s mind?
Miss Waynflete was distressed lest an accusation by her might injure aninnocent man. Therefore the object of her suspicions must be a man ofhigh standing, generally liked and respected by the community.
Therefore, Luke argued, that automatically barred out Ellsworthy. Hewas practically a stranger to Wychwood, his local reputation was bad, notgood. Luke did not believe that, if Ellsworthy was the person in MissWaynflete’s mind, she would have had any objection to mentioning him.
Therefore as far as Miss Waynflete was concerned, wash out Ellsworthy.
Now as to the others. Luke believed that he could also eliminate MajorHorton. Miss Waynflete had rebutted with some warmth the suggestionthat Horton might have poisoned his wife. If she had suspected him oflater crimes, she would hardly have been so positive about his innocenceof the death of Mrs. Horton.
That left Dr. Thomas and Mr. Abbot. Both of them fulfilled the necessaryrequirements. They were men of high professional standing against whomno word of scandal had ever been uttered. They were, on the whole, bothpopular and well liked, and were known as men of integrity and rectitude.
Luke proceeded to another aspect of the matter. Could he, himself, elim-inate Ellsworthy and Horton? Immediately he shook his head. It was notso simple. Miss Pinkerton had known—really known—who the man was.
That was proved, in the first case by her own death, and in the secondcase, by the death of Dr. Humbleby. But Miss Pinkerton had never actuallymentioned a name to Honoria Waynflete. Therefore, though Miss Waynf-lete thought she knew, she might quite easily be wrong. We often knowwhat other people are thinking—but sometimes we find out that we didnot know after all—and have, in fact, made an egregious mistake!
Therefore the four candidates were still in the field. Miss Pinkerton wasdead and could give no further assistance. It was up to Luke to do what hehad done before, on the day after he came to Wychwood, weigh up theevidence and consider the probabilities.
He began with Ellsworthy. On the face of it Ellsworthy was the likelieststarter. He was abnormal and had possibly a perverted personality. Hemight quite easily be a “lust killer.”
“Let’s take it this way,” said Luke to himself. “Suspect everyone in turn.
Ellsworthy, for instance. Let’s say he’s the killer! For the moment, let’stake it quite definitely that I know that. Now we’ll take the possible vic-tims in chronological order. First, Mrs. Horton. Difficult to see whatmotive Ellsworthy could have had for doing away with Mrs. Horton. Butthere was a means. Horton spoke of some quack nostrum that she got fromhim and took. Some poison like arsenic could have been given that way.
The question is—Why?
“Now the others. Amy Gibbs. Why did Ellsworthy kill Amy Gibbs? Theobvious reason — she was being a nuisance! Threatened an action forbreach of promise, perhaps? Or had she assisted at a midnight orgy? Didshe threaten to talk? Lord Whitfield has a good deal of influence in Wych-wood and Lord Whitfield, according to Bridget, is a very moral man. Hemight have taken up the matter against Ellsworthy if the latter had beenup to anything particularly obscene. So—exit Amy. Not, I think, a sadisticmurder. The method employed is against that.
“Who’s next—Carter? Why Carter? Unlikely he would know about mid-night orgies (or did Amy tell him?). Was the pretty daughter mixed up init? Did Ellsworthy start making love to her? (Must have a look at LucyCarter.) Perhaps he was just abusive to Ellsworthy, and Ellsworthy in hiscatlike feline way, resented it. If he’d already committed one or twomurders he would be getting sufficiently callous to contemplate a killingfor a very slight reason.
“Now Tommy Pierce. Why did Ellsworthy kill Tommy Pierce? Easy.
Tommy had assisted at a midnight ritual of some kind. Tommy threatenedto talk about it. Perhaps Tommy was talking about it. Shut Tommy’smouth.
“Dr. Humbleby. Why did Ellsworthy kill Dr. Humbleby? That’s the easi-est of the lot! Humbleby was a doctor and he’d noticed that Ellsworthy’smental balance was none too good. Probably was getting ready to dosomething about it. So Humbleby was doomed. There’s a stumbling blockthere in the method. How did Ellsworthy ensure that Humbleby shoulddie of blood poisoning? Or did Humbleby die of something else? Was thepoisoned finger a coincidence?
“Last of all, Miss Pinkerton. Wednesday’s early closing. Ellsworthymight have gone up to town that day. Has he a car, I wonder? Never seenhim in one, but that proves nothing. He knew she’d suspected him and hewas going to take no chances of Scotland Yard believing her story. Perhapsthey already knew something about him then?
“That’s the case against Ellsworthy! Now what is there for him? Well, forone thing, he’s certainly not the man Miss Waynflete thought Miss Pinker-ton meant. For another, he doesn’t fit—quite—with my own vague impres-sion. When she was talking I got a picture of a man—and it wasn’t a manlike Ellsworthy. The impression she gave me was of a very normal man—outwardly, that is—the kind of man nobody would suspect. Ellsworthy isthe kind of man you would suspect. No, I got more the impression of a manlike—Dr. Thomas.
“Thomas, now. What about Thomas? I wiped him clean off the list afterI’d had a chat with him. Nice unassuming fellow. But the whole point ofthis murderer—unless I’ve got the whole thing wrong—is that he would bea nice unassuming fellow. The last person you’d think ever would be amurderer! Which, of course, is exactly what one feels about Thomas.
“Now then, let’s go through it all again. Why did Dr. Thomas kill AmyGibbs? Really, it seems most unlikely that he did! But she did go to see himthat day, and he did give her that bottle of cough mixture. Suppose thatwas really oxalic acid. That would be very simple and clever! Who wascalled in, I wonder, when she was found poisoned — Humbleby orThomas? If it was Thomas he might just come along with an old bottle ofhat paint in his pocket, put it down unobtrusively on the table—and takeoff both bottles to be analysed as bold as brass! Something like that. Itcould be done if you were cool enough!
“Tommy Pierce? Again I can’t see a likely motive. That’s the difficultywith our Dr. Thomas—motive. There’s not even a crazy motive! Same withCarter. Why should Dr. Thomas want to dispose of Carter? One can onlyassume that Amy, Tommy and the publican all knew something about Dr.
Thomas that it was unhealthy to know. Ah! Supposing now that that some-thing was the death of Mrs. Horton. Dr. Thomas attended her. And she diedof a rather unexpected relapse. He could have managed that easilyenough. And Amy Gibbs, remember, was in the house at the time. Shemight have seen or heard something. That would account for her. TommyPierce, we have it on good authority, was a particularly inquisitive smallboy. He may have got wise to something. Can’t get Carter in. Amy Gibbstold him something. He may have repeated it in his cups, and Thomas mayhave decided to silence him too. All this, of course, is pure conjecture. Butwhat else can one do?
“Now Humbleby. Ah! At last we come to a perfectly plausible murder.
Adequate motive and ideal means! If Dr. Thomas couldn’t give his partnerblood poisoning, no one could! He could reinfect the wound every time hedressed it! I wish the earlier killings were a little more plausible.
“Miss Pinkerton? She’s more difficult, but there is one definite fact. Dr.
Thomas was not in Wychwood for at least a good part of the day. He gaveout that he was attending a confinement. That may be. But the fact re-mains that he was away from Wychwood in a car.
“Is there anything else? Yes, just one thing. The look he gave me when Iwent away from the house the other day. Superior, condescending, thesmile of a man who’d just led me up the garden path and knew it.”
Luke sighed, shook his head and went on with his reasoning.
“Abbot? He’s the right kind of man too. Normal, well-to-do, respected,last sort of man, etc., etc. He’s conceited, too, and confident. Murderersusually are! They’ve got overweening conceit! Always think they’ll getaway with it. Amy Gibbs paid him a visit once. Why? What did she want tosee him for? To get legal advice? Why? Or was it a personal matter?
There’s that mention of “a letter from a lady” that Tommy saw. Was thatletter from Amy Gibbs? Or was it a letter written by Mrs. Horton—a letter,perhaps, that Amy Gibbs had got hold of? What other lady could there bewriting to Mr. Abbot on a matter so private that he loses control when theoffice boy inadvertently sees it? What else can we think of re Amy Gibbs?
The hat paint? Yes, right kind of old-fashioned touch—men like Abbot areusually well behind the times where women are concerned. The old-worldstyle of philanderer! Tommy Pierce? Obvious—on account of the letter(really, it must have been a very damning letter!). Carter? Well, there wastrouble about Carter’s daughter. Abbot wasn’t going to have a scandal—alow-down ruffianly half-wit like Carter dare to threaten him! He who hadgot away with two clever killings! Away with Mr. Carter! Dark night and awell-directed push. Really, this killing business is almost too easy.
“Have I got the Abbot mentality? I think so. Nasty look in an old lady’seye. She’s thinking things about him… Then, row with Humbleby. OldHumbleby daring to set himself against Abbot, the clever solicitor andmurderer. The old fool—he little knows what’s in store for him! He’s for it!
Daring to browbeat me!
“And then—what? Turning to catch Lavinia Pinkerton’s eyes. And hisown eyes falter—show a consciousness of guilt. He who was boasting ofbeing unsuspected has definitely aroused suspicion. Miss Pinkerton knowshis secret…She knows what he has done…Yes, but she can’t have proof. Butsuppose she goes about looking for it…Suppose she talks…Suppose…He’squite a shrewd judge of character. He guesses what she will finally do. Ifshe goes with this tale of hers to Scotland Yard they may believe her—theymay start making inquiries. Something pretty desperate has got to bedone. Has Abbot got a car or did he hire one in London? Anyway, he wasaway from here on Derby Day….”
Again Luke paused. He was so entering into the spirit of the thing thathe found it hard to make a transition from one suspect to another. He hadto wait a minute before he could force himself into the mood where hecould visualize Major Horton as a successful murderer.
“Horton murdered his wife. Let’s start with that! He had ample provoca-tion and he gained considerably by her death. In order to carry it off suc-cessfully he had to make a good show of devotion. He’s had to keep thatup. Sometimes, shall we say, he overdoes it a bit?
“Very good, one murder successfully accomplished. Who’s the next?
Amy Gibbs. Yes, perfectly credible. Amy was in the house. She may haveseen something—the major administering a soothing cup of beef tea orgruel? She mayn’t have realized the point of what she saw till some timelater. The hat paint trick is the sort of thing that would occur to the majorquite naturally—a very masculine man with little knowledge of women’sfripperies.
“Amy Gibbs all serene and accounted for.
“The drunken Carter? Same suggestion as before. Amy told him some-thing. Another straightforward murder.
“Now Tommy Pierce. We’ve got to fall back on his inquisitive nature. Isuppose the letter in Abbot’s office couldn’t have been a complaint fromMrs. Horton that her husband was trying to poison her? That’s a wild sug-gestion, but it might be so. Anyway, the major becomes alive to the factthat Tommy is a menace, so Tommy joins Amy and Carter. All quite simpleand straightforward and according to Cocker. Easy to kill? My God, yes.
“But now we come to something rather more difficult. Humbleby!
Motive? Very obscure. Humbleby was attending Mrs. Horton originally.
Did he get puzzled by the illness, and did Horton influence his wife tochange to the younger, more unsuspicious doctor? But if so, what madeHumbleby a danger so long after? Difficult, that…The manner of his death,too. A poisoned finger. Doesn’t connect up with the major.
“Miss Pinkerton? That’s perfectly possible. He has a car. I saw it. And hewas away from Wychwood that day, supposedly gone to the Derby. Itmight be — yes. Is Horton a cold- blooded killer? Is he? Is he? I wish Iknew….”
Luke stared ahead of him. His brow was puckered with thought.
“It’s one of them…I don’t think it’s Ellsworthy—but it might be! He’s themost obvious one! Thomas is wildly unlikely—if it weren’t for the mannerof Humbleby’s death. That blood poisoning definitely points to a medicalmurderer! It could be Abbot—there’s not as much evidence against him asagainst the others—but I can see him in the part, somehow…Yes—he fits asthe others don’t. And it could be Horton! Bullied by his wife for years, feel-ing his insignificance—yes, it could be! But Miss Waynflete doesn’t think itis, and she’s no fool—and she knows the place and the people in it….
“Which does she suspect, Abbot or Thomas? It must be one of thesetwo…If I tackled her outright—‘Which of them is it?’—I’d get it out of herthen, perhaps.
“But even then she might be wrong. There’s no way of proving her right—like Miss Pinkerton proved herself. More evidence—that’s what I want.
If there were to be one more case—just one more—then I’d know—”
He stopped himself with a start.
“My God,” he said under his breath. “What I’m asking for is anothermurder….”
第十五章 司机的不当之举
第十五章 司机的不当之举
卢克在七星酒店里喝酒的时候觉得有点尴尬。他一进酒店，店里喝酒的农民那七八双眼睛就紧紧盯住他的一举一动，谈话也立刻中断了。卢克随便对收成、天气、足球赛等普通话题发表了一些看法，可是一点反应都没得到。柜台后面那个黑发红颊的漂亮女孩想必就是露西•卡特，他只好鼓起勇气向她开口，她愉快地听完他的话，然后适时地笑了笑说：“你继续闹吧！我相信你绝对不会当真！再说就要露出马脚了！”不过看得出她的笑容很僵硬。卢克觉得再留下去也不会有什么收获，就把啤酒喝完离开了。他沿着小路走到河边的小桥，正当他站着沉思时，背后响起一个颤抖的声音：“就是这里，先生，老哈利就是从这里摔下去的。”卢克回头一看，是刚才也在酒店里喝酒的一个家伙。刚才他对卢克一句话也没说，现在却显然有意要说个痛快。那个老工人说：“一脚没踩稳，他就是没踩稳，一头栽进河中的烂泥里，拔不出来了。”
“奇怪，他怎么会在这儿掉下去。”卢克说。
“他当时喝醉了，在这儿醉倒了。”这个乡里人任性地说。“是的，但他之前一定醉倒于此很多次了。”卢克说道。
“几乎每一晚，”他回答道，“老哈利总是喝多。”
“也许是别人把他推下去的。”卢克故意用自然的口吻说。
“也许，”那人说，“不过我想不出谁会做这种事。”
“也许他有几个仇人。他每次喝醉酒就会乱骂人，不是吗？”
“他总是口无遮拦地乱讲话，让人难以忍受，可是谁也不会朝喝醉酒的人推上一把。”
卢克没有反驳，对方显然认为对喝醉酒的人趁火打劫是很不道德的事。卢克只说：“噢，真可怜。”
“他老婆可不这么想，”老人说，“她和露西没什么好伤心的。”
“也许还有别人也恨不得除掉他。”
老人对这没什么概念。他说：“也许吧，可是他对人实在没什么害处。”说完，他就走了。
卢克朝图书馆和博物馆那个方向漫步。他从标明“博物馆”的那道门走到图书馆后面，一个橱窗一个橱窗观赏着那些不很有趣的陈列品——包括一些罗马陶器和硬币，一些南海珍品，一个马来头饰。他一边参观，一边自言自语：“霍顿少校捐赠的，各种印度神像，以及一些看来很凶恶的佛像、一盒看来很可疑的埃及珠子。”
卢克又走进大厅，里面没人，他快步走上楼梯，楼上有一个放杂志和报纸的房间，另外一间摆满了非虚构作品。卢克又上了一层楼，上面有些摆满废弃物的房间——被飞蛾咬过的鸟类标本、破旧的杂志，还有一个房间的架子上全是过时的小说和儿童书籍。
卢克走到窗边，汤米•皮尔斯一定在这上面坐过，正当他一边吹口哨，一边擦窗户的时候，忽然听到有人进来，汤米立刻做出努力工作的模样，探出上身用力擦窗户，这时候，那个人一边说话一边走过来，突然之间伸手把他推下去。
卢克转身走下楼梯，在大厅里站了一两分钟，谁也不知道他进来，谁也没看到他上楼。卢克想：“谁都做得到，真是太简单了。”这时，他听到图书馆那边有脚步声传来，既然他没做任何坏事，不怕被人看见，当然可以站着不动。可是如果他不希望别人看到他，只要向后退到博物馆房间里就行了。
韦恩弗利特小姐从图书馆走过来，腋下夹着一小摞书。她拉好了手套，看来愉快而忙碌。看到卢克，她立刻露出高兴的表情，喊道：“噢！菲茨威廉先生，参观博物馆吗？恐怕实在没什么东西好看的。惠特菲尔德爵士最近正打算替我们弄些真正有意思的东西来。”
“真的？”
“是啊，你知道，一些时髦的东西，就像伦敦科学博物馆那些东西一样。他说过要弄个模型飞机、火车和一些化学药剂。”
“那也许会比较有趣些。”
“是啊，我觉得博物馆不应该只有过去的旧东西，你说对不对？”
“也许是吧。”
“还要展览一些有关食品方面的东西——卡路里、维生素什么的。惠特菲尔德爵士对‘伟大的健身运动’非常热心。”
“那天晚上他也谈到过。”
“现在很流行这一套，对不对？惠特菲尔德爵士说他去过威勒曼实验室，看到他们培养的很多细菌什么的，我真是吓得发抖。他还告诉我什么蚊子、昏睡病、肝吸虫，对这些我实在是一窍不通。”
“惠特菲尔德爵士也许也不大懂，”卢克愉快地说，“我敢打赌他一定全都弄混了。你的脑筋比他清楚多了，韦恩弗利特小姐。”
韦恩弗利特小姐镇静地说：“你太客气了，菲茨威廉先生，可是女人的思想恐怕永远没有男人那么透彻。”
卢克极力压制住想批评惠特菲尔德爵士思想的心理，说道：
“我刚才的确参观过博物馆，不过后来又去看过顶楼的窗户。”
“你是说汤米……”韦恩弗利特小姐颤抖了一下，“真是太可怕了。”
“对，想起来实在不太愉快。我跟丘奇太太——艾米的姑姑——谈过一小时，她不是个好女人。”
“一点也不能算是。”
“我必须装得很强硬，”卢克说，“她大概以为我是警长之类的。”
他发现韦恩弗利特小姐表情突然一变，说：“噢，菲茨威廉先生，你觉得这样做聪明吗？”
卢克说：“我不知道，可这是没办法的事。写书的那套说法已经快撑不下去了，光是那样说，实在问不出多少事。我势必要问更直截了当的问题。”
韦恩弗利特小姐摇摇头，脸上露出很为难的表情。她说：
“你知道，这种地方风声传得快得很！”
“你是说我上街的时候每个人都会指指点点地说——侦探来了！我觉得现在已经无所谓了，其实那样我反而可以打听到更多事。”
“我不是指这个，”韦恩弗利特小姐有点上气不接下气地说，“我是说他会知道你已经在追查他。”
卢克缓缓地说：“我想他一定会知道。”
韦恩弗利特小姐说：“可是你难道不知道这样太可怕、太危险了吗？”
“你是说——凶手会对我下手？”
“对。”
“真好笑！”卢克说，“我从来没想过这一点！不过我相信你说得没错。嘿，那不是正好吗？”
韦恩弗利特小姐着急地说：“我想你还不了解他有……有多聪明！又有多小心！还有，别忘了，他已经有丰富的经验——或许比我们所知道的更多！”
“对，”卢克沉吟道，“也许真是这样。”
韦恩弗利特小姐大声说：“噢，我不喜欢这样！真的，我觉得太可怕了！”
卢克温和地说：“别担心，我自己会多注意的。告诉你，我已经把可疑人物的范围缩得很小了，也大概知道凶手是谁了。”她猛然抬起头，卢克向她靠近一步，用接近耳语的声音对她说，“韦恩弗利特小姐，如果我问你，托马斯医生和艾伯特先生两个人之中，谁最可能是凶手？你怎么回答？”
“噢！”韦恩弗利特小姐用手捂住胸口，后退了一步，但是她的眼神却使卢克困惑不解，她说：“我没办法回答。”
她突然转过身，发出一个奇怪的声音，一半是叹息、一半是低泣。卢克终于放弃了，问她：“你要回家？”
“不是，我要拿书给亨伯比太太，跟你回庄园同路，我们也许可以一起走一段路。”
“那太好了。”卢克说。
他们走下阶梯，转向左边，沿着村中草坪走去。卢克回头看看他们刚离开那幢房子的庄严线条，对韦恩弗利特小姐说：“令尊在世的时候。这幢房子一定很可爱。”
韦恩弗利特小姐叹口气，说：“对，当时我们都很快乐，我真高兴屋子没被拆掉。好多老房子都重建过了。”
“我知道，真叫人难过。”
“而且那些新房子盖得也不好。”
“我想恐怕经不起时间的考验。”
“不过当然啦，”韦恩弗利特小姐说，“新房子很方便，有那么多省力的设备，也不必清洗那么大的地面。”
卢克同意她的看法。
走到亨伯比医生家大门时，韦恩弗利特小姐迟疑了一下，说：“今晚夜色真好，如果你不介意的话，我想再往前走一会儿。我很喜欢这种气氛。”
卢克虽然有点意外，还是礼貌地表示很荣幸能与她同行。其实他觉得今晚实在算不上是个美丽的夜晚，冷风不停地吹着，树叶也抖个不停，他想：“说不定马上就会有暴风雨袭来。”但是韦恩弗利特小姐却用一只手抓着帽檐，假装很愉快地走在他身边，一面和他谈天，一面用小快步前进。
从亨伯比医生家到阿什庄园最近的路不是从大道走，而是穿过一条有点偏僻的小径，直达庄园后门。这道门不是华丽的大铁门，而是两根很好看的大柱，上面有两大棵淡红色的石制凤梨。卢克不懂为什么要做成凤梨，不过他猜想惠特菲尔德爵士或许觉得凤梨与众不同，代表格调很高吧。
他们走近那道门时，门内传来愤怒的声音，一会儿，他们看到惠特菲尔德爵士正在骂一个身穿司机制服的年轻人。
“你被开除了！”惠特菲尔德爵士大声说，“听到没有？你被开除了！”
“主人，要是你能不追究，我保证就只有这一次。”
“不行！怎么能就这样算了！把我的车子开出去！我的车子！还有，你居然喝了酒，对，不用否认，你明明喝了酒！我早就说过我的土地上有三件事绝对不行——一个是喝酒，一个是不道德，最后一点是没有礼貌！”
那个年轻人虽然没有大醉，可是酒精已经使他管不住自己的舌头了。他马上改变了态度：“这个不行，那个不行，你这个老废物！你的土地！你以为我们不知道你老爸以前是开鞋店的？真是笑破人肚皮了！看你那副模样，像公鸡走路一样！我倒想知道，你到底是什么人？告诉你，你一点也不比我高贵，听到了吗？”
惠特菲尔德气得满脸通红，大声吼道：“居然敢这么跟我说话！你好大胆！”
年轻人又威胁似地向他靠近一步，说。“要不是看你这么可怜兮兮，像头大肚子的小猪一样，我一定会揍你一拳——对，一定会揍你一拳！”
惠特菲尔德爵士急忙退后一步，一不小心，坐倒在地上，卢克赶上前，对司机大声说：“快滚开！”
这时司机已经恢复了神智，露出畏惧的表情说：“对不起，先生，我不知道自己到底是怎么搞的，真的，我保证。”
“我相信只是多喝了两杯酒。”卢克说，一边把惠特菲尔德爵士扶起来。
“对不起，主人。”那人支吾道。
“你一定会后悔的，里弗斯。”惠特菲尔德爵士气得连声音都颤抖起来。
那人犹豫了一下，然后步履蹒跚地缓缓走开。
惠特菲尔德爵士破口大骂道：“太没礼貌了！太过分了！居然敢这样对我！用那种口气对我说话！那家伙一定会遭报应的！目无尊长！也不想想自己是什么身份！想想看我给了他们多大的恩惠——工资高，舒适的一切，退休的时候还有养老金，可是他们居然这么忘恩负义——真是太可耻了！”
他激动得呛住了，后来看到默默站在一旁的韦恩弗利特小姐这才又开口道：“是你呀！
奥诺丽亚，真遗憾让你看到这么没面子的事。那人说的话——”
“他恐怕连自己是谁都忘了，惠特菲尔德爵士。”韦恩弗利特小姐拘谨地说。
“他喝醉了，他一定是喝醉了！”
“只有一点点清醒。”卢克说。
“你们知道他做了什么事吗？”惠特菲尔德爵士看看这个，又看看那个，“把我的车开出去！我的车！以为我不会那么快回来。布丽吉特开两人车送我到莱恩去，结果这小子居然开我的车带了个女孩——我想是露西•卡特——出去！”
韦恩弗利特小姐温和地说：“真是太不应该了。”
惠特菲尔德爵士似乎觉得有点安慰，说道：“是啊，太过分了，对不对？”
“不过我相信他一定会后悔的。”
“我会让他受到惩罚的。”
“你已经开除他了。”韦恩弗利特小姐指出。
惠特菲尔德爵士摇摇头，说：“那小子一定不会有好下场。”他转身朝着屋子，又说，“到屋里喝杯雪利酒，奥诺丽亚。”
“谢谢你，惠特菲尔德爵士，我要把这些书拿给亨伯比太太……晚安，菲茨威廉先生，你现在没事了。”她对他点点头，微笑一下，快步走开了。她的态度就像保姆把孩子送回家似的，卢克想到一件事，忽然不禁倒吸一口气。韦恩弗利特小姐是不是为了保护他才陪他回来呢？这种想法似乎有点可笑，可是——惠特菲尔德爵士的声音打断他的沉思：“奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特是个很能干的女人。”
“我想确实如此。”
惠特菲尔德爵士向屋子走去，他走得有点不自然，手伸到背后不安地搓着，最后他突然开口：“我曾经和奥诺丽亚订过婚，很多年前的事了。她长得很好看，没现在那么……现在想起来好像有点滑稽。她的家人在这里很有地位。”
“嗯？”
惠特菲尔德爵士低声道：“老韦恩弗利特上校是这地方的首脑，别人看到他都要举手敬礼，他是老派人物，骄傲得不得了，”他又咳了一声，“奥诺丽亚宣布要嫁给我的时候，他想挽回已经来不及了！她说自己是激进派，非常热心，一心想消除阶级观念。她是个做事很认真的女孩。”
“结果她的家人破坏了你们的婚约？”
惠特菲尔德爵士揉揉鼻子，说道：“不，也不完全是。老实说，我们是为了一件事吵得很不愉快，她有只讨厌的鸟——那种叫个不停的金丝雀，我最讨厌那种鸟了——结果发生了一件很不好的事——鸟的脖子被扭断了。算了，现在谈那些也没用，忘了吧！”他摇摇头，仿佛想甩掉什么不愉快的回忆，接着他又有点急切地说，“我想她始终没有原谅我。
唉，这也是难怪。”
“我想她已经原谅你了。”卢克说。
惠特菲尔德爵士高兴地说：“真的吗？我太高兴了。你知道，我很尊敬奥诺丽亚。她是个能干的女人，也是个淑女。就算在这种年头，这仍然是很可贵的事。她把图书馆管理得很好。”他抬起头，换了种声音说，“嗬！布丽吉特来了。”
第十四章 卢克的分析
第十四章 卢克的分析
艾米•吉布斯的姑姑丘奇太太长得实在很不讨人喜欢。她那尖尖的鼻子、狡猾的眼神，还有那张絮絮叨叨的嘴，都使卢克觉得不舒服极了。他故意表现得不大和气，没想到却很成功。他告诉她：“你必须尽量回答我的问题，要是故意隐瞒事实，结果也许会对你很不利。”
“是的，先生，我懂了。我真的很愿意把我所知道的完全告诉你。我从来没跟警察打过交道——”
“你也不希望，对不对？”卢克打断她的话，“好，只要你照我说的话做，就不会有任何麻烦。我想知道关于你死去的侄女的一切——她有些什么朋友，有多少钱，说过什么不寻常的话等等。好了，我们先从她的朋友说起，她有哪些朋友？”
丘奇太太偷偷用她狡猾的眼睛瞄了他一眼，然后说：“你是说男朋友吧，先生？”
“她有女朋友吗？”
“噢，可以说——根本没有，先生。当然，她也有一些女同事，可是艾米不大跟她们来往。你知道——她真正的男朋友是修车厂的吉姆•哈尔韦。先生，他是个可靠的好男孩，我跟她说过好多次，‘你找不到更好的男朋友了。’”
卢克插嘴道：“其他人呢？”
她又用狡猾的眼神看看他，“我想你一定是指古董店那个老板吧？我不喜欢他们俩交往，也不怕老实告诉你，先生。我一直是个老派的人，无法忍受轻率的行为！可是这年头的女孩子啊，跟她们说也没用，老是自作主张，总有一天她们会后悔的。”
“艾米有没有后悔？”卢克率直地问。
“没有，先生，我想她根本没后悔。”
“她死的那天，曾经去托马斯医生那里看病，这不会是她的死因吧？”
“不，先生，我差不多可以肯定不是。噢，我敢打赌不是！艾米一直觉得不舒服，其实只是重感冒，不是你所说的那种事，我敢保证不是，先生。”
“我相信你的话。她和埃尔斯沃思之间的关系怎么样？”
丘奇太太瞄了他一眼，说：“我不敢肯定，先生，艾米不大信任我。”
卢克简短地说：“可是他们的关系已经很深了，是不是？”
丘奇太太平静地说：“那位先生在这里的名声很不好，先生，什么谣言都有，他常常有朋友从城里来，半夜里一群人一起在那个女巫草坪搞些古怪的名堂。”
“艾米去过吗？”
“去过一次吧，先生，整夜都待在那边，爵士发现之后——她当时在庄园做事——狠狠说了她一顿，她也不客气地回嘴，结果他就把她开除了，这当然是免不了的。”
“她有没有跟你谈过她做事的人家的事？”
丘奇太太摇摇头：“不多。先生，她最关心的还是自己的事。”
“她也在霍顿家做过一段时间女佣，对吧？”
“将近一年，先生。”
“为什么离开呢？”
“只是为了换个好环境。庄园在招女佣，而且当然啦，那边薪水也比较高。”
卢克点点头，又问：“霍顿太太死的时候。她正在霍顿家做事，对吗？”
“是的，先生，她发过好多次牢骚——因为霍顿家请了两个护士照顾霍顿太太，所以她要多洗碟子什么的。”
“她没在艾伯特律师那儿做过事？”
“没有，先生，艾伯特先生已经有一对夫妇帮忙做家务事了。艾米去他办公室找过他一次，不过我不知道为了什么事。”
卢克记下这一点可能有关的事，不过丘奇太太似乎对这件事就只知道这么多，再问她也问不出什么了。“村子里还有其他绅士和她来往吗？”
“没什么值得我提的人了。”
“得了吧，丘奇太太，别忘了，我要知道所有事实。”
“那算不上是什么绅士，先生，差太远了。事实上她那样做只会降低自己的身份，我也是这么告诉她。”
“能不能再说明白一点？丘奇太太。”
“你大概听过‘七星’吧？先生，那不是个好地方，酒店主人哈利•卡特也是个扶不上墙的家伙，大部分时间都泡在酒里。”
“艾米跟他有来往？”
“跟他散过一两次步，我想没什么别的了，真的，先生。”
卢克沉吟着点点头，又换了一个话题，“你认不认识一个叫汤米•皮尔斯的小男孩？”
“什么？皮尔斯太太的儿子？当然认识，老是调皮捣蛋。”
“他有没有常常去找艾米？”
“没有，先生，要是他想对她恶作剧，艾米一定马上打他一耳光，把他赶走。”
“她在韦恩弗利特小姐那里做事的时候快乐吗？”
“她觉得有点枯燥，先生，薪水也不高。不过当然啦，她被阿什庄园那样解雇之后，想换个好工作可不容易。”
“她也可以走远些吧？”
“你是说到伦敦去？”
“或者其他城市。”
丘奇太太摇摇头，缓缓地说：“在那种情形下，艾米不想离开威奇伍德。”
“你说在那种情形下，是指什么？”
“吉姆•哈尔韦和古董店那位绅士。”卢克若有所思地点头。
丘奇太太又说：“韦恩弗利特小姐人很好，可是对擦拭银器和铜器非常在意，要不是在其他方面还能得到一点满足，艾米绝对受不了这种小题大做。”
“我可以想象得到。”卢克淡淡地说。他在心里盘算了一下，似乎已经没有其他问题好问了，也相信已经把丘奇太太所知道的事都挖掘出来了。不过他又做了最后一次试探：“我相信你一定知道我问这些问题的用意。艾米死得相当可疑，我们不相信是意外——我这么说，你应该知道是什么了吧！”
丘奇太太用一种可怕的声音说：“谋杀！”
“不错。好了，假定你侄女确实是碰上了谋杀，你觉得谁最有可能是凶手？”
丘奇太太在围裙上擦擦手，说道：“如果警方因此破案，应该会有一笔奖金吧？”
“也许会有。”卢克说。
“我不想说得太肯定，”丘奇太太用饥渴的舌头舔舔嘴唇，“古董店那位先生实在很奇怪。你还记得凯斯特案子里的那个可怜女孩吧，后来又有五六个可怜女孩碰到同样命运，也许这位埃尔斯沃思先生也是那种人吧？”
“你觉得是这样？”
“事实可能就是这样，先生，不是吗？”
卢克承认有这种可能，接着又说：“德比赛马那天下午，埃尔斯沃思先生是不是不在村子里？这一点非常重要。”
丘奇太太瞪大了眼睛说：“德比赛马那天？”
“对，就是上上星期三。”
她摇摇头说：“这很难说，他星期三通常不在，多半是进城去。他星期三大多很早就关门了。”
“噢！”卢克说，“我知道了。”
他离开了丘奇太太，没理会她在背后抱怨她的时间很宝贵，应该得到金钱补偿之类的。他很不喜欢丘奇太太，不过刚才跟她谈的一席话虽然不是特别有用，却也有几点值得参考的地方。
卢克仔细在脑子里回想了一遍整个事情，不错，结论还是那四个人——托马斯、艾伯特、霍顿和埃尔斯沃思。他觉得韦恩弗利特小姐的态度证实了他的想法没错。她一直不愿意指出是什么人，那一定是表示她所猜的那个人在威奇伍德相当有地位，只要稍加暗示，就会伤害那个人。这和平克顿小姐决心向苏格兰场告发一节，也正好不谋而合。村子里的巡警必然不相信她的话，因为这不是一个屠夫、面包师、制蜡烛师傅，或者小小的汽车机修工的案子。她所指控的那个人有一定的身份，要对那个人提出控诉，是一件很不可思议、很严重的事。现在卢克所知道的嫌犯可能有四个人，接下来，他一定要更谨慎地采取行动。
先说韦恩弗利特小姐一再不愿指明嫌疑人这一点。她是个诚实谨慎的人，知道平克顿小姐怀疑的对象是谁，可是正如她所说的，那只是她个人的猜想。她猜得很可能不对。那么，韦恩弗利特小姐脑子里想的到底是谁呢？她担心自己一旦说出来，就会伤害那个人，所以，她怀疑的人一定很有地位，受到大家的敬爱。卢克想，这样一来埃尔斯沃思的可能性就小了。他在威奇伍德可以算是外人，名声也很不好。卢克相信，如果韦恩弗利特小姐脑子里的人是埃尔斯沃思，她一定不介意说出他的名字。也就是说，如果从韦恩弗利特小姐那方面着眼，根本用不着考虑埃尔斯沃思的感受。
好，现在再看其他人。卢克相信霍顿少校其实也可以从嫌疑人名单上删掉。因为韦恩弗利特小姐用有点亲切的口吻反驳霍顿有毒死妻子的可能性。要是她觉得他后来杀过其他人，一定不敢那么肯定他没杀霍顿太太。
这么一来，就只剩下托马斯医生和艾伯特先生了。这两个人的条件都符合，职业高尚，没传出过任何丑闻。大致说来，他们都很受人喜爱，在一般人眼里诚实而正直。
卢克又想到另外一件事。他真的能删掉埃尔斯沃思和霍顿吗？不，他立刻摇摇头，没这么简单。平克顿小姐“知道”那个人是谁，由她和亨伯比医生的死就可以证明。不过她从来没向奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特说过是什么人。所以就算韦恩弗利特小姐以为自己知道，她也可能想错了。我们常以为知道别人在想些什么，可是有时候不但不对，而且还错得很离谱。
因此，这四个人还是都有嫌疑。平克顿小姐已经死了，一点忙都帮不上。卢克只能完全靠自己的力量去衡量一切证据的分量，考虑各种可能性。
他先从埃尔斯沃思想起。从表面上看来，埃尔斯沃思有可能是凶手。
“这样好了，”卢克自语道，“轮流把每个人当作嫌犯。先假装确实知道埃尔斯沃思是凶手，再依照时间先后来看所有可能是被害者的人。首先是霍顿太太，很难找出埃尔斯沃思想除掉她的理由。不过我知道他可能用的手段，霍顿说她服用过他的偏方，也许他就是趁那时候加了些砒霜之类的毒药进去。问题是，他为什么要杀她？
“再看看其他被害者，艾米•吉布斯，埃尔斯沃思为什么要杀她呢？理由很明显，她很惹人讨厌。也许他抛弃了她，她威胁说要采取行动？或许她协助过他的午夜秘密仪式，并且威胁要说出去？惠特菲尔德爵士在威奇伍德很有影响力——布丽吉特说的——而且很注重道德。要是埃尔斯沃思有什么特别引人诟病的行径，他也许会出面反对。于是他就想要除掉艾米。我想这不是个有虐待倾向的凶手干的，从凶手所用的手段可以证明。
“下一个是谁？卡特？为什么要杀卡特？卡特不可能知道跟他们秘密仪式有关的事——不过也许艾米告诉过他？卡特的美丽女儿是不是也牵涉在里面？埃尔斯沃思有没有向她求爱？我该去看看露西•卡特。也许卡特骂过埃尔斯沃思，埃尔斯沃思很生气。要是他已经杀过一两个人，一定不在乎为了一点小事再杀一个人。
“再看看汤米•皮尔斯。埃尔斯沃思为什么要杀汤米•皮尔斯？很简单，汤米帮他举办过秘密仪式，威胁说要告诉别人。也许汤米已经说出口了，好，杀了他，让他永远闭上嘴。
“亨伯比医生呢？埃尔斯沃思为什么要杀亨伯比医生？这个答案最简单了。亨伯比是个医生，他发现埃尔斯沃思的精神不正常，或许准备采取什么行动，所以亨伯比也死定了。
不过所用的手段有一个很大的疑问。埃尔斯沃思怎么能肯定亨伯比一定会死于血液中毒？
或许，亨伯比另有死因？而他手指受伤只是巧合？
“最后还有平克顿小姐，埃尔斯沃思的店星期三一向很早打烊，那天他也许进过城。不知道他有没有车？我从来没看见过，不过这并不能证明什么。他知道她对他起了疑心，不愿意冒险让她到苏格兰场去，否则万一他们相信她的故事呢？或许他们当时已经知道他所做的某些事了？
“这些是对埃尔斯沃思不利的证据，那么，对他有利的证据有哪些呢？首先，他一定不是韦恩弗利特小姐认为平克顿小姐所指的人。其次，他也很不符合我模糊的印象。平克顿小姐谈到那个人的时候，给我一种印象——不是像埃尔斯沃思那种人。我觉得她指的是一个非常正常的人——从外表上看来，谁也不会怀疑那种人。可是埃尔斯沃思却很容易让人起疑心。不对，我觉得她所说的人应该更类似——托马斯医生。
“好，现在看看托马斯。托马斯这个人怎么样？我跟他谈过之后，就把他从名单上除掉了。他是个谦虚的绅士，可是问题就在于这个杀人凶手也很可能是个不摆架子的好人——除非我猜错了。这个凶手是别人认为最不可能的人，而托马斯就给人这种感觉。
“好吧，还是再从头看起。托马斯为什么要杀艾米•吉布斯呢？看起来实在很不可能，不过她死的那天去找他看过病，他也确实给了她一瓶咳嗽药，如果那真是草酸，这一招实在既简单又聪明。别人发现她中毒的时候，是请哪一位医生来呢？亨伯比还是托马斯？如果是托马斯，他只要在口袋里放瓶帽漆，趁人不注意的时候放在桌上，再把两瓶都拿去化验，真是简单透了。大概就是这么回事。只要够冷静，这是轻而易举的事。
“汤米•皮尔斯呢？也看不出可能的杀人动机，托马斯医生的问题就是很难找出他的动机，他连疯狂的理由都没有，卡特也一样。托马斯医生为什么想除掉卡特？我只能假定艾米、汤米和卡特都知道托马斯医生一件见不得人的事。噢，对了，假定那件事是跟霍顿太太的死有关好了。托马斯医生不是替她看过病吗？结果她的病突然恶化，而且死了。他很轻易就解决了这件事。别忘了，艾米•吉布斯当时在霍顿家做事，她也许看到或听到了什么，所以就注定该死。根据可靠的消息，汤米•皮尔斯是个非常爱打听别人事情的小男孩，也许他打听到了什么。那卡特呢？说不定艾米•吉布斯告诉过他，他又在酒店里说给别人听，所以托马斯决定也叫他闭嘴。当然，这些都只是凭空猜测，可是除此之外又能怎么办呢？
“现在看看亨伯比，啊！总算找到一件似乎很完美的杀人案了。动机和手段都太适当了。如果托马斯医生不能使他的对手中毒，就没有别人办得到了。他每次替他敷伤口的时候，都可以使亨伯比重新感染，但愿前面几个案子也完美一点就好了。
“平克顿小姐呢？她的问题就比较难解释了。不过有一件事一定没错。托马斯医生在德比赛马那天至少有大半天不在威奇伍德，他说是去接生，也许没错，不过他开车离开威奇伍德也确实没错。还有什么？对了，那天我离开他诊所的时候，他看我的眼神好像很高傲，纡尊降贵似的。他的微笑就像清楚地知道已把我引进歧途，在一旁冷笑的样子。”
卢克叹口气，摇摇头，继续往下想：“艾伯特呢？他也很有可能。外表正常、家境富裕、受人尊敬，一个最不可能是凶手的人，而且他也很有自信，凶手通常都是这样过于自信，以为自己一定能逃脱法网。艾米•吉布斯去找过他一次，为什么？她找他有什么事？有法律方面的问题请教他？为什么？或者只是私事？汤米说曾经看到一位小姐的来信，是不是艾米•吉布斯写的呢？或者是霍顿太太写的，却被艾米•吉布斯拿到了？还有什么人可能写过这么隐秘的信给他，结果不小心被办公室小男孩看到的时候，会惹他生那么大的气呢？
还有什么对艾米•吉布斯的死不利的证据？帽漆？像艾伯特这种人对女人方面往往观念很守旧。他是那种老式的情人。汤米•皮尔斯呢？很显然——为了那封信，那一定是一封关系重大的信。卡特呢？嗯，他跟卡特的女儿有麻烦，但是艾伯特可不想惹出丑闻——像卡特这种卑鄙下贱的小人，想必敢威胁他。他！他已经成功而聪明地杀过两个人！卡特，去他的吧！趁一个月黑风高的夜晚，一把将他推进河里！嗯，这样杀人实在太简单了！
“我对艾伯特的精神状态了解吗？我想是吧，一位老小姐看到的卑鄙眼神，她就是在想跟他有关的事。还有，他跟亨伯比吵过架。老亨伯比居然敢跟他——聪明的律师兼杀人凶手——对抗。‘老蠢蛋！一点不知道什么命运在等着他！他完了！竟然敢恫吓我！’
“后来呢？转身看到拉维妮亚•平克顿的眼睛，于是他畏缩了，露出知罪的眼神。他一向自诩不受人怀疑，这时候却很明显地引起别人的疑心。平克顿小姐知道他的秘密，知道他做了什么事。对，可是她没有证据。假定她到处搜查证据，或者到处跟人谈，或者——他对人的判断非常精确，猜出她下一步一定会做什么。万一她真的把这个故事亲自告诉苏格兰场，他们也许会相信，并且开始调查。对，他一定要尽快采取行动。艾伯特有车吗？
或者他在伦敦租了一辆？总之，他那天也不在威奇伍德就是了。”
卢克又停顿下来，他想得太投入了，一下子很难由一种假设转变到另一种假设。总要等上一两分钟，才能把另外一个人当作真凶。这一次，他想的是霍顿少校。
“先假设霍顿杀了他太太，他受过她太多的气，而且她一死他就可以得到大笔遗产。为了装得逼真，他必须假装对她忠心耿耿。为了一直保持这种态度，他有时候——不妨说——演得太过分了吧？
“很好，他成功地杀了一个人。下一个是谁？艾米•吉布斯。对，可能性很大。艾米当时在他家做女佣，也许她看到什么秘密——譬如少校给他太太喝下什么有毒的东西，她本来不了解那一幕有什么意义，直到霍顿太太死了她才明白。帽漆这种把戏对霍顿少校来说是非常自然的事——他是个很男性化的人，对女人的服饰很不了解。这样一来，艾米•吉布斯的死就没什么问题了。
“卡特呢？还是一样——艾米告诉了他什么秘密，于是少校又干脆弄死了他。
“现在看看汤米•皮尔斯。他还是不能忘了他喜欢到处打探别人隐私的个性，也许他在艾伯特办公室看到的那封信是霍顿太太写的，抱怨说她丈夫想毒死她？这只是想象，不过也真的有可能。总之，少校发现汤米威胁到他的安全，于是汤米也到地下去陪伴艾米和卡特了。这些都很简单、很直接，说起来也很合理。杀人不难？老天，一点都没错！
“可是接下来就有一个比较困难的问题。亨伯比？他有什么动机要杀亨伯比呢？很难说，霍顿太太本来是请亨伯比看病的，是不是亨伯比觉得她病得很奇怪，于是霍顿又说服他太太换了年轻而且不那么多疑的托马斯医生？如果果真如此，为什么那么久之后他又觉得亨伯比的存在使他不安心呢？真难说，亨伯比死的方式也很难解释。手指中毒好像和少校扯不上什么关系。
“平克顿小姐呢？嘿，非常可能。霍顿有车，我看过，那天别人都以为他去德比，也许是真的，对。霍顿是不是冷血的凶手？是不是？是不是？如果我知道就好了。”
卢克看着前方，紧皱着眉沉思：“凶手就是这些人当中的一个，我觉得不是埃尔斯沃思，但是也有可能，他看起来像凶手。托马斯好像非常不可能——可是如果光从亨伯比死的方式来看，又不能这么说。血中毒绝对是个懂医药的凶手干的。凶手也可能是艾伯特，对他不利的证据没有别人那么多，可还是有一点可能。对，有些别人条件不合的地方他反而很吻合。还有，也很可能是霍顿，他多年来一直受太太欺压，觉得自己很渺小——对，有可能。可是韦恩弗利特小姐觉得他不是凶手，她不是傻瓜——也知道凶手杀人的手法。
“她到底怀疑谁呢？艾伯特？还是托马斯？一定是这两个人之一。要是我直接问她——到底是这两个人里的哪一个？也许她就会告诉我。可是话说回来，就连她的想法也可能不对。总不能要她像平克顿小姐一样证明她猜得没错啊！证据！我要的就是证据——更多证据。要是再发生一件命案——只要再发生一件——我就一定会知道谁是凶手了。”
他突然停下来，喘息着想道：“我难道希望再死一个人吗？”
Fifteen IMPROPER CONDUCT OF A CHAUFFEUR
Fifteen IMPROPER CONDUCT OF A CHAUFFEUR

In the bar of the Seven Stars Luke drank his pint and felt somewhat em-barrassed. The stare of half a dozen bucolic pairs of eyes followed his leastmovement, and conversation had come to a standstill upon his entrance.
Luke essayed a few comments of general interest such as the crops, thestate of the weather, and football coupons, but to none did he get any re-sponse.
He was reduced to gallantry. The fine-looking girl behind the counterwith her black hair and red cheeks he rightly judged to be Miss LucyCarter.
His advances were received in a pleasant spirit. Miss Carter duly giggledand said, “Go on with you! I’m sure you don’t think nothing of the kind!
That’s telling!”— and other such rejoinders. But the performance wasclearly mechanical.
Luke, seeing no advantage to be gained by remaining, finished his beerand departed. He walked along the path to where the river was spannedby a footbridge. He was standing looking at this when a quavering voicebehind him said:
“That’s it, mister, that’s where old Harry went over.”
Luke turned to see one of his late fellow drinkers, one who had beenparticularly unresponsive to the topic of crops, weather and coupons. Hewas now clearly about to enjoy himself as a guide to the macabre.
“Went over into the mud he did,” said the ancient labourer. “Right intothe mud and stuck in it head downwards.”
“Odd he should have fallen off here,” said Luke.
“He were drunk, he were,” said the rustic indulgently.
“Yes, but he must have come this way drunk many times before.”
“Most every night,” said the other. “Always in liquor, Harry were.”
“Perhaps someone pushed him over,” said Luke, making the suggestionin a casual fashion.
“They might of,” the rustic agreed. “But I don’t know who’d go for to dothat,” he added.
“He might have made a few enemies. He was fairly abusive when hewas drunk, wasn’t he?”
“His language was a treat to hear! Didn’t mince his words, Harry didn’t.
But no one would go for to push a man what’s drunk.”
Luke did not combat this statement. It was evidently regarded as wildlyunsporting for advantage to be taken of a man’s state of intoxication. Therustic had sounded quite shocked at the idea.
“Well,” he said vaguely, “it was a sad business.”
“None so sad for his missus,” said the old man. “Reckon her and Lucyhaven’t no call to be sad about it.”
“There may be other people who are glad to have him out of the way.”
The old man was vague about that.
“Maybe,” he said. “But he didn’t mean no harm, Harry didn’t.”
On this epitaph for the late Mr. Carter, they parted.
Luke bent his steps towards the old Hall. The library transacted its busi-ness in the two front rooms. Luke passed on to the back through a doorwhich was labelled Museum. There he moved from case to case, studyingthe not very inspiring exhibits. Some Roman pottery and coins. SomeSouth Sea curiosities, a Malay headdress. Various Indian gods “presentedby Major Horton,” together with a large and malevolent-looking Buddha,and a case of doubtful-looking Egyptian beads.
Luke wandered out again into the hall. There was no one about. Hewent quietly up the stairs. There was a room with magazines and papersthere, and a room filled with nonfiction books.
Luke went a storey higher. Here were rooms filled with what he desig-nated to himself as junk. Stuffed birds removed from the museum owingto the moth having attacked them, stacks of torn magazines and a roomwhose shelves were covered with out-of-date works of fiction and chil-dren’s books.
Luke approached the window. Here it must have been that TommyPrice had sat, possibly whistling and occasionally rubbing a pane of glassvigorously when he heard anyone coming.
Somebody had come in. Tommy had shown his zeal—sitting half out ofthe window and polishing with zest. And then that somebody had come upto him, and while talking, had given a sudden sharp push.
Luke turned away. He walked down the stairs and stood a minute ortwo in the hall. Nobody had noticed him come in. Nobody had seen him goupstairs.
“Anyone might have done it!” said Luke. “Easiest thing in the world.”
He heard footsteps coming from the direction of the library proper.
Since he was an innocent man with no objection to being seen, he couldremain where he was. If he had not wanted to be seen, how easy just tostep back inside the door of the museum room!
Miss Waynflete came out from the library, a little pile of books underher arm. She was pulling on her gloves. She looked very happy and busy.
When she saw him her face lit up and she exclaimed:
“Oh, Mr. Fitzwilliam, have you been looking at the museum? I’m afraidthere isn’t very much there, really. Lord Whitfield is talking of getting ussome really interesting exhibits.”
“Really?”
“Yes, something modern, you know, and up-to-date. Like they have atthe Science Museum in London. He suggests a model aeroplane and a loco-motive and some chemical things too.”
“That would, perhaps, brighten things up.”
“Yes, I don’t think a museum should deal solely with the past, do you?”
“Perhaps not.”
“Then some food exhibits, too—calories and vitamins—all that sort ofthing. Lord Whitfield is so keen on the Greater Fitness Campaign.”
“So he was saying the other night.”
“It’s the thing at present, isn’t it? Lord Whitfield was telling me how he’dbeen to the Wellerman Institute—and seen such a lot of germs and cul-tures and bacteria—it quite made me shiver. And he told me all aboutmosquitoes and sleeping sickness and something about a liver fluke thatI’m afraid was a little too difficult for me.”
“It was probably too difficult for Lord Whitfield,” said Luke cheerfully.
“I’ll bet he got it all wrong! You’ve got a much clearer brain than he has,Miss Waynflete.”
Miss Waynflete said sedately:
“That’s very nice of you, Mr. Fitzwilliam, but I’m afraid women arenever quite such deep thinkers as men.”
Luke repressed a desire to criticize adversely Lord Whitfield’s processesof thought. Instead he said:
“I did look into the museum but afterwards I went up to have a look atthe top windows.”
“You mean where Tommy—” Miss Waynflete shivered. “It’s really veryhorrible.”
“Yes, it’s not a nice thought. I’ve spent about an hour with Mrs. Church—Amy’s aunt—not a nice woman!”
“Not at all.”
“I had to take rather a strong line with her,” said Luke. “I fancy shethinks I’m a kind of super policeman.”
He stopped as he noted a sudden change of expression on Miss Waynf-lete’s face.
“Oh, Mr. Fitzwilliam, do you think that was wise?”
Luke said:
“I don’t really know. I think it was inevitable. The book story was wear-ing thin—I can’t get much further on that. I had to ask the kind of ques-tions that were directly to the point.”
Miss Waynflete shook her head—the troubled expression still on herface.
“In a place like this, you see—everything gets round so fast.”
“You mean that everybody will say ‘there goes the tec’ as I walk downthe street? I don’t think that really matters now. In fact, I may get morethat way.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that.” Miss Waynflete sounded a little breathless.
“What I meant was—that he’ll know. He’ll realize that you’re on his track.”
Luke said slowly:
“I suppose he will.”
Miss Waynflete said:
“But don’t you see—that’s horribly dangerous. Horribly!”
“You mean—” Luke grasped her point at last, “you mean that the killerwill have a crack at me?”
“Yes.”
“Funny,” said Luke. “I never thought of that! I believe you’re right,though. Well, that might be the best thing that could happen.”
Miss Waynflete said earnestly:
“I don’t think you realize that he’s—he’s a very clever man. He’s cau-tious, too! And remember, he’s got a great deal of experience—perhapsmore than we know.”
“Yes,” said Luke thoughtfully. “That’s probably true.”
Miss Waynflete exclaimed:
“Oh, I don’t like it! Really, I feel quite alarmed!”
Luke said gently:
“You needn’t worry. I shall be very much on my guard I can assure you.
You see I’ve narrowed the possibilities down pretty closely. I’ve an idea atany rate who the killer might be….”
She looked up sharply.
Luke came a step nearer. He lowered his voice to a whisper:
“Miss Waynflete, if I were to ask you which of two men you consideredthe most likely—Dr. Thomas or Mr. Abbot—what would you say?”
“Oh—” said Miss Waynflete. Her hand flew to her breast. She steppedback. Her eyes met Luke’s in an expression that puzzled him. Theyshowed impatience and something closely allied to it that he could notquite place.
She said:
“I can’t say anything—”
She turned away abruptly with a curious sound—half a sigh, half a sob.
Luke resigned himself.
“Are you going home?” he asked.
“No, I was going to take these books to Mrs. Humbleby. That lies on yourway back to the Manor. We might go part of the way together.”
“That will be very nice,” said Luke.
They went down the steps, turned to the left skirting the village green.
Luke looked back at the stately lines of the house they had left.
“It must have been a lovely house in your father’s day,” he said.
Miss Waynflete sighed.
“Yes, we were all very happy there. I am so thankful it hasn’t beenpulled down. So many of the old houses are going.”
“I know. It’s sad.”
“And really the new ones aren’t nearly as well built.”
“I doubt if they will stand the test of time as well.”
“But of course,” said Miss Waynflete, “the new ones are convenient—solabour-saving, and not such big draughty passages to scrub.”
Luke assented.
When they arrived at the gate of Dr. Humbleby’s house, Miss Waynfletehesitated and said:
“Such a beautiful evening. I think, if you don’t mind, I will come a littlefarther. I am enjoying the air.”
Somewhat surprised, Luke expressed pleasure politely. It was hardlywhat he would have described as a beautiful evening. There was a strongwind blowing, turning back the leaves viciously on the trees. A storm, hethought, might come at any minute.
Miss Waynflete, however, clutching her hat with one hand, walked byhis side with every appearance of enjoyment, talking as she went in littlegasps.
It was a somewhat lonely lane they were taking, since from Dr.
Humbleby’s house the shortest way to Ashe Manor was not by the mainroad, but by a side lane which led to one of the back gates of the ManorHouse. This gate was not of the same ornate ironwork but had two hand-some gate pillars surmounted by two vast pink pineapples. Why pine-apples, Luke had been unable to discover! But he gathered that to LordWhitfield pineapples spelt distinction and good taste.
As they approached the gate the sound of voices raised in anger came tothem. A moment later they came in sight of Lord Whitfield confronting ayoung man in chauffeur’s uniform.
“You’re fired,” Lord Whitfield was shouting. “D’you hear? You’re fired.”
“If you’d overlook it, m’lord—just this once.”
“No, I won’t overlook it! Taking my car out. My car—and what’s moreyou’ve been drinking — yes, you have, don’t deny it! I’ve made it clearthere are three things I won’t have on my estate—one’s drunkenness, an-other’s immorality and the other’s impertinence.”
Though the man was not actually drunk, he had had enough to loosenhis tongue. His manner changed.
“You won’t have this and you won’t have that, you old bastard! Your es-tate! Think we don’t all know your father kept a boot-shop down here?
Makes us laugh ourselves sick, it does, seeing you strutting about as cockof the walk! Who are you, I’d like to know? You’re no better than I am—that’s what you are.”
Lord Whitfield turned purple.
“How dare you speak to me like that? How dare you?”
The young man took a threatening step forward.
“If you wasn’t such a miserable potbellied little swine I’d give you a sockon the jaw—yes, I would.”
Lord Whitfield hastily retreated a step, tripped over a root and wentdown in a sitting position.
Luke had come up.
“Get out of here,” he said roughly to the chauffeur.
The latter regained sanity. He looked frightened.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me, I’m sure.”
“A couple of glasses too much, I should say,” said Luke.
He assisted Lord Whitfield to his feet.
“I—I beg your pardon, m’lord,” stammered the man.
“You’ll be sorry for this, Rivers,” said Lord Whitfield.
His voice trembled with intense feeling.
The man hesitated a minute, then shambled away slowly.
Lord Whitfield exploded:
“Colossal impertinence! To me. Speaking to me like that. Something veryserious will happen to that man! No respect—no proper sense of his sta-tion in life. When I think of what I do for these people—good wages—every comfort—a pension when they retire. The ingratitude—the base in-gratitude….”
He choked with excitement, then perceived Miss Waynflete who wasstanding silently by.
“Is that you, Honoria? I’m deeply distressed you should have witnessedsuch a disgraceful scene. That man’s language—”
“I’m afraid he wasn’t quite himself, Lord Whitfield,” said Miss Waynfleteprimly.
“He was drunk, that’s what he was, drunk!”
“Just a bit lit up,” said Luke.
“Do you know what he did?” Lord Whitfield looked from one to theother of them. “Took out my car—my car! Thought I shouldn’t be back sosoon. Bridget drove me over to Lyne in the two-seater. And this fellow hadthe impertinence to take a girl—Lucy Carter, I believe—out in my car!”
Miss Waynflete said gently:
“A most improper thing to do.”
Lord Whitfield seemed a little comforted.
“Yes, wasn’t it?”
“But I’m sure he’ll regret it.”
“I shall see that he does!”
“You’ve dismissed him,” Miss Waynflete pointed out.
Lord Whitfield shook his head.
“He’ll come to a bad end, that fellow.”
He threw back his shoulders.
“Come up to the house, Honoria, and have a glass of sherry.”
“Thank you, Lord Whitfield, but I must go to Mrs. Humbleby with thesebooks. Good night, Mr. Fitzwilliam. You’ll be quite all right now.”
She gave him a smiling nod and walked briskly away. It was so muchthe attitude of a nurse who delivers a child at a party that Luke caught hisbreath as a sudden idea struck him. Was it possible that Miss Waynfletehad accompanied him solely in order to protect him? The idea seemedludicrous, but—
Lord Whitfield’s voice interrupted his meditations.
“Very capable woman, Honoria Waynflete.”
“Very, I should think.”
Lord Whitfield began to walk towards the house. He moved ratherstiffly and his hand went to his posterior and rubbed it gingerly.
Suddenly he chuckled.
“I was engaged to Honoria once—years ago. She was a nice-looking girl—not so skinny as she is today. Seems funny to think of now. Her peoplewere the nobs of this place.”
“Yes?”
Lord Whitfield ruminated:
“Old Colonel Waynflete bossed the show. One had to come out andtouch one’s cap pretty sharp. One of the old school he was, and proud asLucifer.”
He chuckled again.
“The fat was in the fire all right when Honoria announced she was goingto marry me! Called herself a Radical, she did. Very earnest. Was all forabolishing class distinctions. She was a serious kind of girl.”
“So her family broke up the romance?”
Lord Whitfield rubbed his nose.
“Well—not exactly. Matter of fact we had a bit of a row over something.
Blinking bird she had—one of those beastly twittering canaries—alwayshated them—bad business—wrung its neck. Well—no good dwelling on allthat now. Let’s forget it.”
He shook his shoulders like a man who throws off an unpleasantmemory.
Then he said, rather jerkily:
“Don’t think she’s ever forgiven me. Well, perhaps it’s only natural….”
“I think she’s forgiven you all right,” said Luke.
Lord Whitfield brightened up.
“Do you? Glad of that. You know I respect Honoria. Capable woman anda lady! That still counts even in these days. She runs that library businessvery well.”
He looked up and his voice changed.
“Hallo,” he said. “Here comes Bridget.”
Sixteen THE PINEAPPLE
Sixteen THE PINEAPPLE

Luke felt a tightening of his muscles as Bridget approached.
He had had no word alone with her since the day of the tennis party. Bymutual consent they had avoided each other. He stole a glance at her now.
She looked provokingly calm, cool and indifferent.
She said lightly:
“I was beginning to wonder what on earth had become of you, Gordon?”
Lord Whitfield grunted:
“Had a bit of a dust up! That fellow Rivers had the impertinence to takethe Rolls out this afternoon.”
“Lèse-majesté,” said Bridget.
“It’s no good making a joke out of it, Bridget. The thing’s serious. He tooka girl out.”
“I don’t suppose it would have given him any pleasure to go solemnlyfor a drive by himself!”
Lord Whitfield drew himself up.
“On my estate I’ll have decent moral behaviour.”
“It isn’t actually immoral to take a girl joyriding.”
“It is when it’s my car.”
“That, of course, is worse than immorality! It practically amounts toblasphemy. But you can’t cut out the sex stuff altogether, Gordon. Themoon is at the full and it’s actually Midsummer Eve.”
“Is it, by Jove?” said Luke.
Bridget threw him a glance.
“That seems to interest you?”
“It does.”
Bridget turned back to Lord Whitfield.
“Three extraordinary people have arrived at the Bells and Motley. Itemone, a man with shorts, spectacles and a lovely plum-coloured silk shirt!
Item two, a female with no eyebrows, dressed in a peplum, a pound of as-sorted sham Egyptian beads and sandals. Item three, a fat man in a laven-der suit and co-respondent shoes. I suspect them of being friends of ourMr. Ellsworthy! Says the gossip writer: ‘Someone has whispered that therewill be gay doings in the Witches’ Meadow tonight.’”
Lord Whitfield turned purple and said:
“I won’t have it!”
“You can’t help it, darling. The Witches’ Meadow is public property.”
“I won’t have this irreligious mumbo jumbo going on down here! I’ll ex-pose it in Scandals.” He paused, then said, “Remind me to make a noteabout that and get Siddely on to it. I must go up to town tomorrow.”
“Lord Whitfield’s campaign against witchcraft,” said Bridget flippantly.
“Medieval superstitions still rife in quiet country village.”
Lord Whitfield stared at her with a puzzled frown, then he turned andwent into the house.
Luke said pleasantly:
“You must do your stuff better than that, Bridget!”
“What do you mean?”
“It would be a pity if you lost your job! That hundred thousand isn’tyours yet. Nor are the diamonds and pearls. I should wait until after themarriage ceremony to exercise your sarcastic gifts if I were you.”
Her glance met his coolly.
“You are so thoughtful, dear Luke. It’s kind of you to take my future somuch to heart!”
“Kindness and consideration have always been my strong points.”
“I hadn’t noticed it.”
“No? You surprise me.”
Bridget twitched the leaf off a creeper. She said:
“What have you been doing today?”
“The usual spot of sleuthing.”
“Any results?”
“Yes and no, as the politicians say. By the way, have you got any tools inthe house?”
“I expect so. What kind of tools?”
“Oh, any handy little gadgets. Perhaps I could inspect some.”
Ten minutes later Luke had made a selection from a cupboard shelf.
“That little lot will do nicely,” he said, slapping the pocket in which hehad stowed them away.
“Are you thinking of doing a spot of forcing and entering?”
“Maybe.”
“You’re very uncommunicative on the subject.”
“Well, after all, the situation bristles with difficulties. I’m in the hell of aposition. After our little knock up on Saturday I suppose I ought to clearout of here.”
“To behave as a perfect gentleman, you should.”
“But since I’m convinced that I am pretty hot on the trail of a homicidalmaniac, I’m more or less forced to remain. If you could think of any con-vincing reason for me to leave here and take up my quarters at the Bellsand Motley, for goodness’ sake trot it out.”
Bridget shook her head.
“That’s not feasible—you being a cousin and all that. Besides, the inn isfull of Mr. Ellsworthy’s friends. They only run to three guest rooms.”
“So I am forced to remain, painful as it must be for you.”
Bridget smiled sweetly at him.
“Not at all. I can always do with a few scalps to dangle.”
“That,” said Luke appreciatively, “was a particularly dirty crack. What Iadmire about you, Bridget, is that you have practically no instincts of kind-ness. Well, well. The rejected lover will now go and change for dinner.”
The evening passed uneventfully. Luke won Lord Whitfield’s approvaleven more deeply than before by the apparent absorbed interest withwhich he listened to the other’s nightly discourse.
When they came into the drawing room Bridget said:
“You men have been a long time.”
Luke replied:
“Lord Whitfield was being so interesting that the time passed like aflash. He was telling me how he founded his first newspaper.”
Mrs. Anstruther said:
“These new little fruiting trees in pots are perfectly marvellous, I be-lieve. You ought to try them along the terrace, Gordon.”
The conversation then proceeded on normal lines.
Luke retired early.
He did not, however, go to bed. He had other plans.
It was just striking twelve when he descended the stairs noiselessly intennis shoes, passed through the library and let himself out by a window.
The wind was still blowing in violent gusts interspersed with brief lulls.
Clouds scudded across the sky, obliterating the moon so that darkness al-ternated with bright moonlight.
Luke made his way by a circuitous route to Mr. Ellsworthy’s establish-ment. He saw his way clear to doing a little investigation. He was fairlycertain that Ellsworthy and his friends would be out together on this par-ticular date. Midsummer Eve, Luke thought, was sure to be marked bysome ceremony or other. Whilst this was in progress, it would be a goodopportunity to search Mr. Ellsworthy’s house.
He climbed a couple of walls, got round to the back of the house, tookthe assorted tools from his pocket and selected a likely implement. Hefound a scullery window amenable to his efforts. A few minutes later hehad slipped back the catch, raised the sash and hoisted himself over.
He had a torch in his pocket. He used it sparingly—a brief flash to showhim his way and to avoid running into things.
In a quarter of an hour he had satisfied himself that the house wasempty. The owner was out and abroad on his own affairs.
Luke smiled with satisfaction and settled down to his task.
He made a minute and thorough search of every available nook andcorner. In a locked drawer, below two or three innocuous water-coloursketches, he came upon some artistic efforts which caused him to lift hiseyebrows and whistle. Mr. Ellsworthy’s correspondence was unilluminat-ing, but some of his books—those tucked away at the back of a cupboard—repaid attention.
Besides these, Luke accumulated three meagre but suggestive scraps ofinformation. The first was a pencil scrawl in a little notebook. “Settle withTommy Pierce”—the date being a couple of days before the boy’s death.
The second was a crayon sketch of Amy Gibbs with a furious red crossright across the face. The third was a bottle of cough mixture. None ofthese things were in any way conclusive, but taken together they might beconsidered as encouraging.
Luke was just restoring some final order, replacing things in their place,when he suddenly stiffened and switched off his torch.
He had heard the key inserted in the lock of a side door.
He stepped across to the door of the room he was in, and applied an eyeto a crack. He hoped Ellsworthy, if it was he, would go straight upstairs.
The side door opened and Ellsworthy stepped in, switching on a halllight as he did so.
As he passed along the hall, Luke saw his face and caught his breath.
It was unrecognizable. There was foam on the lips, the eyes were alightwith a strange mad exultation as he pranced along the hall in little dan-cing steps.
But what caused Luke to catch his breath was the sight of Ellsworthy’shands. They were stained a deep brownish red — the colour of driedblood….
He disappeared up the stairs. A moment later the light in the hall wasextinguished.
Luke waited a little longer, then very cautiously he crept out of the hall,made his way to the scullery and left by the window. He looked up at thehouse, but it was dark and silent.
He drew a deep breath.
“My God,” he said, “the fellow’s mad all right! I wonder what he’s up to?
I’ll swear that was blood on his hands!”
He made a detour round the village and returned to Ashe Manor by aroundabout route. It was as he was turning into the side lane that a sud-den rustle of leaves made him swing round.
“Who’s there?”
A tall figure wrapped in a dark cloak came out from the shadow of atree. It looked so eerie that Luke felt his heart miss a beat. Then he recog-nized the long pale face under the hood.
“Bridget? How you startled me!”
She said sharply:
“Where have you been? I saw you go out.”
“And you followed me?”
“No. You’d gone too far. I’ve been waiting till you came back.”
“That was a damned silly thing to do,” Luke grumbled.
She repeated her question impatiently.
“Where have you been?”
Luke said gaily:
“Raiding our Mr. Ellsworthy!”
Bridget caught her breath.
“Did you—find anything?”
“I don’t know. I know a bit more about the swine—his pornographicaltastes and all that, and there are three things that might be suggestive.”
She listened attentively as he recounted the result of his search.
“It’s very slight evidence, though,” he ended. “But, Bridget, just as I wasleaving Ellsworthy came back. And I tell you this—the man’s as mad as ahatter!”
“You really think so?”
“I saw his face—it was—unspeakable! God knows what he’d been up to!
He was in a delirium of mad excitement. And his hands were stained. I’llswear with blood.”
Bridget shivered.
“Horrible…” she murmured.
Luke said irritably:
“You shouldn’t have come out by yourself, Bridget. It was absolute mad-ness. Somebody might have knocked you on the head.”
She laughed shakily.
“The same applies to you, my dear.”
“I can look after myself.”
“I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, too. Hard-boiled, I should thinkyou’d call me.”
A sharp gust of wind came. Luke said suddenly:
“Take off that hood thing.”
“Why?”
With an unexpected movement he snatched at her cloak and whipped itaway. The wind caught her hair and blew it out straight up from her head.
She stared at him, her breath coming fast.
Luke said:
“You certainly are incomplete without a broomstick, Bridget. That’s howI saw you first.” He stared a minute longer and said, “You’re a cruel devil.”
With a sharp impatient sigh he tossed the cloak back to her.
“There—put it on. Let’s get home.”
“Wait….”
“Why?”
She came up to him. She spoke in a low, rather breathless voice.
“Because I’ve got something to say to you—that’s partly why I waited foryou here—outside the Manor. I want to say it to you now—before we goinside—into Gordon’s property….”
“Well?”
She gave a short, rather bitter laugh.
“Oh, it’s quite simple. You win, Luke. That’s all!”
He said sharply:
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ve given up the idea of being Lady Whitfield.”
He took a step nearer.
“Is that true?” he demanded.
“Yes, Luke.”
“You’ll marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Why, I wonder?”
“I don’t know. You say such beastly things to me—and I seem to likeit….”
He took her in his arms and kissed her. He said:
“It’s a mad world!”
“Are you happy, Luke?”
“Not particularly.”
“Do you think you’ll ever be happy with me?”
“I don’t know. I’ll risk it.”
“Yes—that’s what I feel….”
He slipped his arm through hers.
“We’re rather queer about all this, my sweet. Come along. Perhaps weshall be more normal in the morning.”
“Yes—it’s rather frightening the way things happen to one…” She lookeddown and tugged him to a standstill. “Luke—Luke—what’s that…?”
The moon had come out from the clouds. Luke looked down to whereBridget’s shoe trembled by a huddled mass.
With a startled exclamation he dragged his arm free and knelt down. Helooked from the shapeless heap to the gatepost above. The pineapple wasgone.
He stood up at last. Bridget was standing, her hands pressed together onher mouth.
He said:
“It’s the chauffeur—Rivers. He’s dead….”
“That beastly stone thing—it’s been loose for some time—I suppose itblew down on him?”
Luke shook his head.
“The wind wouldn’t do a thing like that. Oh! that’s what it’s meant tolook like—that’s what it’s meant to be—another accident! But it’s a fake.
It’s the killer again….”
“No—no, Luke—”
“I tell you it is. Do you know what I felt on the back of his head—in withthe stickiness and mess—grains of sand. There’s no sand about here. I tellyou, Bridget, somebody stood here and slugged him as he came throughthe gate back to his cottage. Then laid him down and rolled that pineapplething down on top of him.”
Bridget said faintly:
“Luke—there’s blood—on your hands….”
Luke said grimly:
“There was blood on someone else’s hands. Do you know what I wasthinking this afternoon—that if there were to be one more crime we’dsurely know. And we do know! Ellsworthy! He was out tonight and hecame in with blood on his hands capering and prancing and mad—drunkwith the homicidal maniac’s expression….”
Looking down, Bridget shivered and said in a low voice: “Poor Rivers….”
Luke said pityingly:
“Yes, poor fellow. It’s damnable bad luck. But this will be the last, Brid-get! Now we know, we’ll get him!”
He saw her sway and in two steps he had caught her in his arms.
She said in a small childlike voice:
“Luke, I’m frightened….”
He said, “It’s all over, darling. It’s all over….”
She murmured:
“Be kind to me—please. I’ve been hurt so much.”
He said: “We’ve hurt each other. We won’t do that anymore.”
第十六章 菠萝
第十六章 菠萝
布丽吉特走近时，卢克觉得自己全身都紧张起来了。自从那天打网球之后，他就没跟她单独说过话，两个人仿佛有默契，彼此躲避着对方。此刻，他悄悄看了她一眼，她看来很平静、冷淡，轻松地说：“我正在想你怎么了呢？戈登。”
惠特菲尔德爵士喃喃抱怨道：“刚吵了一顿架！里弗斯那小子今天下午居然把我的车子开了出去。”
“大逆不道。”布丽吉特用法语说。
“开玩笑也没用，布丽吉特，事情很严重，他开车带一个女孩出去。”
“我想他如果自己一个人去兜风也没什么意思。”
惠特菲尔德爵士挺直身子说：“在我的土地上就要遵守道德。”
“开车带女孩子兜风也不算不道德啊。”
“可是开我的车子就不一样。”
“那当然比不道德还严重！根本就是冒犯了你！可是你也没办法让男女青年彼此不相来往，戈登。现在正是月圆的时候，而且正是仲夏夜。”
“老天，真的吗？”卢克说。
布丽吉特看了他一眼，说道：“你好像对这一点很有兴趣？”
“不错。”
布丽吉特又转身对惠特菲尔德爵士说：“有三个特别人物到了贝尔斯旅馆。第一位是个穿短裤、戴眼镜，穿件可爱的李子色丝衬衫的男士！第二位是女士，没有眉毛，穿荷叶边上衣，戴着一大串埃及项链，穿着拖鞋。第三位是位胖男士，穿着淡紫色套装和同色鞋子。我猜他们可能是咱们那位埃尔斯沃思先生的朋友。爱说闲话的人告诉我：‘有人说，今天晚上女巫草坪有狂欢派对呢。’”
惠特菲尔德爵士气得满脸通红地说：“我不准！”
“你不准也没用，亲爱的，女巫草坪是公有财产。”
“我不许他们在村子里胡来！我要在报上攻击，说这是‘丑闻’。”他顿了顿，又说，“记得要在我的笔记本上写下来，请席德利写篇文章。我明天一定要进城去。”
“‘惠特菲尔德爵士与巫术之战’，”布丽吉特尖刻地说，“安静的乡下还保留很多中世纪的迷信。”
惠特菲尔德爵士困惑地皱眉看看她，然后转身走进屋里。卢克幸灾乐祸地说：“你应该更卖力地工作，布丽吉特。”
“你是指什么？”
“要是丢掉这份工作就太可惜了。这个丈夫还不是你的，那些钻石和珠宝也一样。如果我是你，就该等到结婚典礼举行之后再卖弄伶牙俐齿。”
她冷冷地看他一眼，说：“亲爱的卢克，你真是太体贴了。谢谢你这么为我的将来操心。”
“我一向非常体贴。”
“我倒没发现。”
“是吗？那可真让我意外。”
布丽吉特扯下一片树叶，说：“你今天做了些什么？”“还是照样四处打听。”
“有什么结果吗？”
“可以说有，也可以说没有。对了，家里有没有工具？”
“大概有，哪种工具？”
“噢，随便什么小工具，”十分钟后，卢克从一个小橱柜里挑出他要的东西，“这些够用了。”他拍拍放进口袋里的东西说。
“你想偷偷溜进别人家？”
“也许。”
“这么做未免太过分了吧？”
“噢，我的处境本来就困难重重，我们星期六吵过架之后，我想我应该搬出去了吧。”
“要是你想表现得完全像个绅士，的确应该搬出去。”
“可是既然我相信自己就快找出那个杀人凶手，也只好勉强留下来了。要是你能想出什么好理由，让我搬进贝尔斯旅馆，谢天谢地，那就请快点说吧。”
布丽吉特摇摇头，说道：“不行——一方面你是我表哥什么的，一方面旅馆也住满了埃尔斯沃思先生的朋友——旅馆只有三间客房。”
“那我只好留下了，不过你一定觉得很痛苦。”
布丽吉特对他甜甜一笑，说：“一点也不会，我随时都能剥下几张人头皮来炫耀。”
卢克感激地说：“那真是天大的谎话。布丽吉特，我最欣赏你的地方，就是你一点也不仁慈。算了，算了，失恋的人要进去换衣服，准备吃晚餐了。”
晚上平静地度过。卢克对惠特菲尔德爵士的长篇大论表示非常有兴趣，专心地聆听着，所以爵士对他更加赏识。进入起居室之后，布丽吉特说：“你们男人在一起可真会消磨时间。”
卢克答道：“惠特菲尔德爵士说得太有意思了，所以时间一眨眼就过去了。他跟我讲他成立第一家报社的经过。”
安斯特拉瑟太太说：“盆子里这些小果树真是太奇妙了，你应该试着在阳台上也种一排，戈登。”话题又回到平常的事了。
卢克很早就回房了，不过他并没上床睡觉，他还有其他打算。钟刚敲十二响的时候，他穿上网球鞋静悄悄地下了楼梯，穿过书房，从窗户爬出去。强风仍然吹个不停，偶尔也会静止一下。天空中乌云密布，时常遮住月亮，所以一会儿到处黑黝黝的，一会儿又洒满明亮的月光。卢克绕道来到埃尔斯沃思先生家，他相信这个特别的夜晚埃尔斯沃思先生和他那些朋友一定会出门办他们的事，卢克想，仲夏夜他们一定有什么仪式要举行，他可以趁这个机会好好搜查一下埃尔斯沃思先生的屋子。
他翻过两道墙，来到屋子背面，拿出口袋里那些工具，挑了个合用的。几分钟后，他就扭开窗子，爬了进去。他口袋里还有一支手电筒，他小心翼翼地用着——只露出一点足够照路的灯光，免得碰到东西。
十五分钟之后，他满意地证实屋里确实没人，主人出门办自己的事去了。卢克高兴地笑笑，着手进行自己的工作。他仔细地搜查了每个角落，一个上锁的抽屉里，除了两三幅无关紧要的水彩画之外，他发现了一些让他扬起眉头吹声口哨的东西。埃尔斯沃思先生的来往信件看不出什么秘密，可是有些书——塞在一个橱柜背后的书——却很值得注意。除此之外，卢克又得到三件微小却有价值的情报。第一件是小笔记本上用铅笔写的：“解决汤米•皮尔斯事”——日期就是那孩子死的前几天。第二件是艾米•吉布斯的素描，但却在她脸上愤怒地用红笔画了个大十字。第三件是瓶咳嗽药水。这三件东西虽然看起来都没什么，但是如果仔细联想起来，却不由得让人觉得兴奋。
卢克刚把东西放回原位，忽然听到边门有钥匙插进锁孔的声音，他立刻停下手中的动作，关掉手电筒，走到门后，悄悄注视着，希望埃尔斯沃思——如果来人是他的话——会直接上楼。
边门开了，埃尔斯沃思走进来，打开大厅灯。他走过大厅时，卢克看着他的脸，不禁倒吸一口气。他几乎有点认不出那张脸，眼睛里充满了奇异狂喜的光芒，但是卢克吃惊的是他的手——上面沾满了深褐红色的东西，像是快干的血液。埃尔斯沃思果然直接上了楼，不一会儿，大厅的灯也熄掉了。
卢克又等了一会儿，才小心翼翼地走到大厅，仍旧从窗口爬出去。出去之后，他又抬头看看，但是屋子里漆黑而安静，他深深吸一口气，心想：“那家伙真是疯了！不知道他刚才到底去做什么了？我敢打赌，他手上一定是血！”
他绕了点路回阿什庄园，正要转进小巷子时，树荫下忽然走出一个穿黑斗篷的影子。
看起来怪异极了，卢克觉得自己仿佛连心跳都停了。一会儿，他才看清头巾下那张苍白的长脸。“布丽吉特？你真是吓坏我了！”
她严厉地说：“你到什么地方去了？我看到你出门。”
“所以就跟在我后面？”
“没有，你走得太远了，我只好在这里等你回来。”
“太傻了。”卢克喃喃道。
布丽吉特又不耐烦地重问一次：“你到什么地方去了？”
卢克愉快地说：“查查咱们的埃尔斯沃思先生家有什么秘密。”
布丽吉特吓了一跳，“你——有没有发现什么？”
“很难说，不过我对那家伙的胃口更了解了些，还发现三件也许有用的情报。”她专心聆听他搜查的结果，最后他说：
“这都是很小的证据。不过布丽吉特，我正要走的时候埃尔斯沃思回来了，我告诉你——这家伙真的是疯了！”
“你真的觉得这样？”
“我看到他的脸，真是——太难形容了！天知道他刚才搞了什么鬼！兴奋得像什么似的，而且手上还——我敢发誓——沾满了血。”
布丽吉特颤抖着喃喃地说：“太可怕了。”
卢克生气地说：“你不该自己一个人出来，布丽吉特，太不小心了，说不定有人会把你打昏。”
她颤抖地笑了笑说：“你也一样啊。”
“我会照顾我自己。”
“我也很会照顾自己，你说过，我很坚强，很冷酷无情。”
一阵冷风吹来，卢克忽然说：“把那个鬼斗篷拿掉。”
“什么？”
他出其不意地扯掉她的斗篷，一把甩开。冷风把她的长发直往上吹。她看着他，呼吸变得急促起来。卢克说：“你真的只要再配上一把扫帚就够了，布丽吉特。我第一次看到你就有这种感觉。”他又凝视了她一会儿才说，“你是个残忍的魔鬼。”然后不耐烦地叹口气，把斗篷扔还给她，“喏，穿上，我们回家了。”
“等一下。”
“为什么？”
她走近他，用低沉而略带急促的声音对他说：“因为我有话要告诉你，这也是我要在庄园外面等你的原因之一……我要在走进戈登的房子之前告诉你一件事。”
“嗯？”
她发出一声短促而痛苦的笑声，说：“很简单，你赢了，卢克，就只有这件事。”
他尖声说：“你是什么意思？”
“我是说我已经放弃做惠特菲尔德爵士夫人的念头了。”
他向她走近一步，问道：“是真的？”
“是真的，卢克。”
“你愿意嫁给我？”
“不错。”
“我不懂，为什么？”
“我也不知道，你对我说话那么不客气，可是我却好像喜欢你说的话。”
他把她拉进怀中，深深吻着她说：“这是个疯狂的世界。”
“你快乐吗？卢克。”
“没有特别快乐。”
“你想你和我在一起会快乐吗？”
“我不知道，但是我愿意试试看。”
“嘿，我也是这么想。”
他挽起她的手臂，说：“我们这样实在有点奇怪，亲爱的，回去吧，也许明天早上我们会变得正常一点。”
“对，事情降临在人身上的方式往往有点可怕。”她往下一看，忽然把他推直，说：“卢克——卢克，那是什么？”
月亮刚从乌云里出来，卢克低头看着布丽吉特用脚颤抖指着的那团东西。他惊叫一声，把手臂从布丽吉特臂弯里抽回来，跪在地上。他看看那团东西，再看看上面的门柱，柱子上的凤梨不见了。卢克终于站起来，布丽吉特站在一边，用双手捂着嘴。
他说：“是那个司机里弗斯——已经死了。”
“那个该死的石头玩意儿——已经松了一段时间了，大概是风吹下来打到他。”
卢克摇摇头，说：“风不可能那样。噢！对了，一定是有人希望别人以为这样，希望别人以为又是——一次意外！可这是骗人的，又是那个凶手！”
“不！不！天哪！卢克！”
“你知道我在他头后面摸到什么吗——沙粒。这附近并没有沙子。布丽吉特，你知道吗——有人站在这里，等他从大门回他住的地方时，用力敲昏他，然后把他平放在地上，再把那颗石头做的凤梨从他头上滚过去。”
布丽吉特无力地说：“血，卢克，你手上有血！”
卢克严肃地说：“另外一个人的手上也有血。你知道我今天下午在想什么吗？只要再发生一件命案，我们就一定会知道凶手是谁。现在我们果然知道了！是埃尔斯沃思！他今天晚上出去过，回家的时候满手都是血，还高兴得像跳起来一样——那个杀人狂一定又在得意自己又创造了一件杰作。”
布丽吉特低头看看，颤抖地低声说：“可怜的里弗斯。”
卢克也同情地说：“对，可怜的家伙，他运气太坏了。不过这一定是最后一次了，布丽吉特！我们既然知道凶手是谁，就要抓住他！”
他发现她摇摇欲坠，跑过去搂住她。她用孩子似的声音小声说：“卢克，我好怕。”
卢克说：“过去了，亲爱的，一切都过去了。”
她喃喃道：“请一定要对我好，卢克，我受了太多伤害。”
他说：“我们彼此都伤害过对方，以后再也不会了。”
Seventeen LORD WHITFIELD TALKS
Seventeen LORD WHITFIELD TALKS

Dr. Thomas stared across his consulting room desk at Luke.
“Remarkable,” he said. “Remarkable! You are really serious, Mr. Fitzwil-liam?”
“Absolutely. I am convinced that Ellsworthy is a dangerous maniac.”
“I have not paid special attention to the man. I should say, though, thathe is possibly an abnormal type.”
“I’d go a good deal further than that,” said Luke grimly.
“You seriously believe that this man Rivers was murdered?”
“I do. You noticed the grains of sand in the wound?”
Dr. Thomas nodded.
“I looked out for them after your statement. I am bound to say that youwere correct.”
“That makes it clear, does it not, that the accident was faked and that theman was killed by a blow from a sandbag—or at any rate was stunned byone.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
Dr. Thomas leaned back and joined his fingertips together.
“Supposing that this man Rivers had been lying out in a sand-pit duringthe day—there are several about in this part of the world. That might ac-count for grains of sand in the hair.”
“Man, I tell you he was murdered!”
“You may tell me so,” said Dr. Thomas drily, “but that doesn’t make it afact.”
Luke controlled his exasperation.
“I suppose you don’t believe a word of what I’m telling you.”
Dr. Thomas smiled, a kindly superior smile.
“You must admit, Mr. Fitzwilliam, that it’s rather a wild story. You assertthat this man Ellsworthy has killed a servant girl, a small boy, a drunkenpublican, my own partner and finally this man Rivers.”
“You don’t believe it?”
Dr. Thomas shrugged his shoulders.
“I have some knowledge of Humbleby’s case. It seems to me quite out ofthe question that Ellsworthy could have caused his death, and I really can-not see that you have any evidence at all that he did so.”
“I don’t know how he managed it,” confessed Luke, “but it all hangs to-gether with Miss Pinkerton’s story.”
“There again you assert that Ellsworthy followed her up to London andran her down in a car. Again you haven’t a shadow of proof thathappened! It’s all—well—romancing!”
Luke said sharply:
“Now that I know where I am it will be my business to get proofs. I’m go-ing up to London tomorrow to see an old pal of mine. I saw in the papertwo days ago that he’d been made Assistant Commissioner of Police. Heknows me and he’ll listen to what I have to say. One thing I’m sure of, he’llorder a thorough investigation of the whole business.”
Dr. Thomas stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Well—no doubt that should be very satisfactory. If it turns out thatyou’re mistaken—”
Luke interrupted him.
“You definitely don’t believe a word of all this?”
“In wholesale murder?” Dr. Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Quite frankly,Mr. Fitzwilliam, I don’t. The thing is too fantastic.”
“Fantastic, perhaps. But it hangs together. You’ve got to admit it hangstogether. Once you accept Miss Pinkerton’s story as true.”
Dr. Thomas was shaking his head. A slight smile came to his lips. “If youknew some of these old maids as well as I do,” he murmured.
Luke rose, trying to control his annoyance.
“At any rate, you’re well named,” he said. “A doubting Thomas, if thereever was one!”
Thomas replied good-humouredly:
“Give me a few proofs, my dear fellow. That’s all I ask. Not just a longmelodramatic rigmarole based on what an old lady fancied she saw.”
“What old ladies fancy they see is very often right. My Aunt Mildred waspositively uncanny! Have you got any aunts yourself, Thomas?”
“Well—er—no.”
“A mistake!” said Luke. “Every man should have aunts. They illustratethe triumph of guesswork over logic. It is reserved for aunts to know thatMr. A. is a rogue because he looks like a dishonest butler they once had.
Other people say reasonably enough that a respectable man like Mr. A.
couldn’t be a crook. The old ladies are right every time.”
Dr. Thomas smiled his superior smile again.
Luke said, his exasperation mounting once more:
“Don’t you realize that I’m a policeman myself? I’m not the completeamateur.”
Dr. Thomas smiled and murmured:
“In the Mayang Straits!”
“Crime is crime even in the Mayang Straits.”
“Of course—of course.”
Luke left Dr. Thomas’s surgery in a state of suppressed irritation.
He joined Bridget, who said:
“Well, how did you get on?”
“He didn’t believe me,” said Luke. “Which, when you come to think of it,is hardly surprising. It’s a wild story with no proofs. Dr. Thomas is em-phatically not the sort of man who believes six impossible things beforebreakfast!”
“Will anybody believe you?”
“Probably not, but when I get hold of old Billy Bones tomorrow, thewheels will start turning. They’ll check up on our long-haired friend, Ells-worthy, and in the end they’re bound to get somewhere.”
Bridget said thoughtfully:
“We’re coming out into the open very much, aren’t we?”
“We’ve got to. We can’t—we simply can’t afford anymore murders.”
Bridget shivered.
“For God’s sake be careful, Luke.”
“I’m being careful all right. Don’t walk near gates with pineapples onthem, avoid the lonely wood at nightfall, watch out for your food anddrink. I know all the ropes.”
“It’s horrible feeling you’re a marked man.”
“So long as you’re not a marked woman, my sweet.”
“Perhaps I am.”
“I don’t think so. But I don’t intend to take risks! I’m watching over youlike an old-fashioned guardian angel.”
“Is it any good saying anything to the police here?”
Luke considered.
“No, I don’t think it is—better go straight to Scotland Yard.”
Bridget murmured:
“That’s what Miss Pinkerton thought.”
“Yes, but I shall be watching out for trouble.”
Bridget said:
“I know what I’m going to do tomorrow. I shall march Gordon down tothat brute’s shop and make him buy things.”
“Thereby ensuring that our Mr. Ellsworthy is not lying in ambush forme on the steps of Whitehall?”
“That’s the idea.”
Luke said with some slight embarrassment: “About Whitfield—”
Bridget said quickly:
“Let’s leave it till you come back tomorrow. Then we’ll have it out.”
“Will he be very cut up, do you think?”
“Well—” Bridget considered the question. “He’ll be annoyed.”
“Annoyed? Ye gods! Isn’t that putting it a bit mildly?”
“No. Because you see Gordon doesn’t like being annoyed! It upsets him!”
Luke said soberly, “I feel rather uncomfortable about it all.”
That feeling was uppermost in his mind when he prepared that eveningto listen for the twentieth time to Lord Whitfield on the subject of LordWhitfield. It was, he admitted, a cad’s trick to stay in a man’s house andsteal his fiancée. He still felt, however, that a potbellied, pompous, strut-ting little nincompoop like Lord Whitfield ought never to have aspired toBridget at all!
But his conscience so far chastened him that he listened with an extradose of fervent attention and in consequence made a thoroughly favour-able impression on his host.
Lord Whitfield was in high good humour this evening. The death of hiserstwhile chauffeur seemed to have exhilarated rather than depressedhim.
“Told you that fellow would come to a bad end,” he crowed, holding upa glass of port to the light and squinting through it. “Didn’t I tell you soyesterday evening?”
“You did, indeed, sir.”
“And you see I was right! It’s amazing how often I’m right!”
“That must be splendid for you,” said Luke.
“I’ve had a wonderful life — yes, a wonderful life! My path’s beensmoothed clear before me. I’ve always had great faith and trust in Provid-ence. That’s the secret, Fitzwilliam, that’s the secret.”
“Yes?”
“I’m a religious man. I believe in good and evil and eternal justice. Thereis such a thing as divine justice, Fitzwilliam, not a doubt of it!”
“I believe in justice, too,” said Luke.
Lord Whitfield, as usual, was not interested in the beliefs of otherpeople.
“Do right by your Creator and your Creator will do right by you! I’ve al-ways been an upright man. I’ve subscribed to charity, and I’ve made mymoney honestly. I’m not beholden to any man! I stand alone. You remem-ber in the Bible how the patriarchs became prosperous, herds and flockswere added to them, and their enemies were smitten down!”
Luke stifled a yawn and said:
“Quite—quite.”
“It’s remarkable — absolutely remarkable,” said Lord Whitfield. “Theway that a righteous man’s enemies are struck down! Look at yesterday.
That fellow abuses me—even goes so far as to try to raise his hand againstme. And what happens? Where is he today?”
He paused rhetorically and then answered himself in an impressivevoice:
“Dead! Struck down by divine wrath!”
Opening his eyes a little, Luke said:
“Rather an excessive punishment, perhaps, for a few hasty wordsuttered after a glass too much.”
Lord Whitfield shook his head.
“It’s always like that! Retribution comes swiftly and terribly. And there’sgood authentic authority for it. Remember the children that mockedElisha—how the bears came out and devoured them. That’s the way thingshappen, Fitzwilliam.”
“I always thought that was rather unnecessarily vindictive.”
“No, no. You’re looking at it the wrong way. Elisha was a great and holyman. No one could be suffered to mock at him and live! I understand thatbecause of my own case!”
Luke looked puzzled.
Lord Whitfield lowered his voice.
“I could hardly believe it at first. But it happened every time! My enemiesand detractors were cast down and exterminated.”
“Exterminated?”
Lord Whitfield nodded gently and sipped his port.
“Time after time. One case quite like Elisha—a little boy. I came uponhim in the gardens here—he was employed by me then. Do you knowwhat he was doing? He was giving an imitation of Me—of ME! Mockingme! Strutting up and down with an audience to watch him. Making fun ofme on my own ground! D’you know what happened to him? Not ten dayslater he fell out of an upper window and was killed!
“Then there was that ruffian Carter — a drunkard and a man of eviltongue. He came here and abused me. What happened to him? A weeklater he was dead—drowned in the mud. There had been a servant girl,too. She lifted her voice and called me names. Her punishment soon came.
She drank poison by mistake! I could tell you heaps more. Humblebydared to oppose me over the Water scheme. He died of blood poisoning.
Oh, it’s been going on for years—Mrs. Horton, for instance, was abomin-ably rude to me and it wasn’t long before she passed away.”
He paused and leaning forward passed the port decanter round to Luke.
“Yes,” he said. “They all died. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Luke stared at him. A monstrous, an incredible suspicion leapt into hismind! With new eyes, he stared at the small fat man who sat at the head ofthe table, who was gently nodding his head and whose light protuberanteyes met Luke’s with a smiling insouciance.
A rush of disconnected memories flashed rapidly through Luke’s brain.
Major Horton saying “Lord Whitfield was very kind. Sent down grapesand peaches from his hothouse.” It was Lord Whitfield who so graciouslyallowed Tommy Pierce to be employed on window cleaning at the library.
Lord Whitfield holding forth on his visit to the Wellerman Kreutz Institutewith its serums and germ cultures just a short time before Dr. Humbleby’sdeath. Everything pointing plainly in one direction and he, fool that hehad been, never even suspecting….
Lord Whitfield was still smiling. A quiet happy smile. He nodded hishead gently at Luke.
“They all die,” said Lord Whitfield.
第十七章 惠特菲尔德爵士如是说
第十七章 惠特菲尔德爵士如是说
托马斯医生坐在诊室桌子后面看着卢克，说，“了不起，真了不起！你这话当真？菲茨威廉先生。”
“一点儿也不假，我肯定埃尔斯沃思是个危险的疯子。”
“我没有特别注意过那个人，不过我相信他可能有点不正常。”
“我还有一个更好的想法。”卢克严肃地说。
“你真的觉得里弗斯是被人杀死的？”
“不错，你有没有注意伤口有沙粒？”
托马斯医生点点头，说道：“你告诉我之后，我又查看了一次，你的看法的确没错。”
“那不就证明这个人确实是被人用沙袋击昏之类的吗？”
“未必。”
“你指的是什么？”
托马斯医生靠在椅背上，交叠着双臂，说：“如果里弗斯白天曾经在沙滩上躺过——附近有几个沙滩——头发里也可能有沙粒。”
“老弟，我告诉你，他是被人谋杀的。”
“就算你这么告诉我，”托马斯医生冷淡地说，“也未必就是事实。”
卢克忍住怒气，说：“我说的话你大概一句也不相信吧。”
托马斯医生笑笑——亲切而高傲的笑，说道：“你必须承认，菲茨威廉先生，你的故事实在有点不可思议。你假定埃尔斯沃思这个人杀了一名女仆、一个小男孩、一个喝醉酒的酒店老板、我的对手，最后又杀了里弗斯。”
“你不相信？”
托马斯医生耸耸肩，说道：“我对亨伯比的案子稍有认识，我觉得埃尔斯沃思不可能害死他，我真不知道你有什么证据可以证明他是凶手。”
“我不知道他是怎么下手的，”卢克承认，“可是一切都跟平克顿小姐的故事完全吻合。”
“对了，你还假定埃尔斯沃思跟踪她到伦敦，然后用车子压死她，这根本也没有任何证据！你说的全都是——胡思乱想！”
卢克严肃地说：“现在我既然知道事情的真相，就一定要找出证据来。明天我要到伦敦去看一个老朋友，前几天报上说他被任命为副警长。他了解我，一定相信我的话。我敢肯定，他一定会下令彻底调查这件事。”
托马斯医生若有所思地抚着脸颊说：“噢，想必你一定会很满意。可是万一结果证明你错了——”
卢克打断他的话，说：“你就连一点也不相信？”
“相信有人杀了这么多人？”托马斯医生扬扬眉，“老实说，菲茨威廉先生，我的确不相信，这件事太不可思议了。”
“也许是很不可思议，可是前后却很一致，只要你相信平克顿小姐的故事，就会发现其他事都很吻合她的话。”
托马斯医生摇摇头，唇边浮起一丝笑意，喃喃地说：“要是你跟我一样了解那些老小姐——”
卢克极力抑制着自己的怒气，说：“无论如何，你还算有名，如果世界上有个‘多疑的托马斯’，你真是当之无愧。”
托马斯和善地答道：“亲爱的朋友，我只要求你给我一点证据，不要光听信一个老小姐自以为是的可笑故事。”
“可是老小姐认为自己看到的事常常是对的。我的米尔德丽德姑姑就非常了不起，你有姑姑吗？托马斯。”
“嗯——呃——没有。”
“真是太遗憾了！”卢克说，“每个人都应该有姑姑，才能了解臆测更胜过逻辑。老姑姑往往会知道某先生是个骗子，因为他像她家从前那个狡猾的管家。别人都说像某先生那么可敬的人不会是骗子，结果老姑姑的猜测才是对的。”
托马斯医生又露出那种自命不凡的微笑。
卢克的火气忍不住又冒上来：“你难道不知道我也当过警察吗？我可不外行。”
托马斯医生笑笑，喃喃地说：“在马扬海峡当过警察。”
“犯罪就是犯罪，不论在什么地方都一样。”
卢克勉强压制着怒火离开托马斯医生的诊所。跟布丽吉特碰面之后，她问：“怎么样？
进行得顺利吗？”
“他不相信我的话，”卢克说，“不过也难怪，这件事太不可思议，又毫无证据，像托马斯医生这种人当然不会轻易相信。”
“别人会相信吗？”
“也许不会，不过等我明天找到比利•博恩斯，事情就会有转机了，他们会调查咱们那位长头发的朋友——埃尔斯沃思，最后一定会有所收获。”
布丽吉特沉吟道：“事情已经很公开了，对不对？”
“迟早都免不了。我们不能——不能再让凶手杀任何人了。”
布丽吉特颤抖着说：“你一定要小心，卢克。”
“我一直都很小心。不能走近有石头凤梨柱子的大门，黄昏时候不要走近偏僻的树丛，吃喝都要小心……这些手段我都知道。”
“想到你受到凶手注意真是可怕。”
“只要凶手不注意你就好了，亲爱的。”
“也许不会。”
“大概不会，不过我不想冒险，我要像古老的守护天使一样牢牢盯着你。”
“向本地警方报案有用吗？”
卢克想了想，说：“不，我看没用，最好直接找苏格兰场。”
布丽吉特喃喃地道：“平克顿小姐就这么想。”
“对，可是我会小心的。”
布丽吉特说：“我明天有一件事要做——叫戈登陪我一起到那个禽兽的店里买东西。”
“好确定咱们的埃尔斯沃思先生没在后面跟踪我？”
“对，就是这个意思。”
卢克有点尴尬地说：“惠特菲尔德怎么办？”
布丽吉特迅速说：“等你明天回来之后，我们再宣布这件事。”“你想他会不会很生气？”
“这——”布丽吉特考虑了一下，答道，“他会很不高兴。”
“不高兴？老天！说得太轻松了吧？”
“不，你知道的，戈登不喜欢别人惹他不高兴，这件事会使他很不安。”
卢克严肃地说：“这样我觉得很不自在。”
这天晚上当他准备听惠特菲尔德爵士第二十次谈自己的事时，这种感觉更是强烈。他承认，住在别人家，却偷了别人的未婚妻，实在是可耻的行为。不过他还是觉得像惠特菲尔德爵士这样一个大腹便便、傲慢、神气十足的小傻子，实在不该奢望娶到布丽吉特。可是由于良心的谴责，他反而更加热心倾听，主人对他真是满意极了。这天晚上，惠特菲尔德爵士心情特别好，他那个旧司机的死不但没使他难过，反倒使得他更开心。“早就告诉过你们，那家伙不会有好结果。”他得意扬扬地举起酒杯，眯眼透过杯子望着对面。
“我昨天晚上不是告诉过你们吗？”
“你的确说过，先生。”
“你看，我果然说对了，我常常都会说对，真是奇妙！”
“真了不起。”卢克说。
“我的生活非常奇妙——对，非常奇妙！我一直非常相信‘天道’，上天替我把一切障碍都除掉了，这就是我的秘密，菲茨威廉——这就是我的秘密。”
“怎么说呢？”
“我是个有信仰的男人，我相信善有善报，恶有恶报。世界上确实有天理存在，菲茨威廉，你一定要相信！”
“我也相信。”菲茨威廉说。
惠特菲尔德爵士还是像以往一样，对别人的信念不感兴趣，他说：“依照你的‘创造者’的意思去做，它也会回报你。我一向很正直，也乐善好施，我的钱都是光明正大地赚来的。我没有受过任何人的恩惠，完全是自己一个人努力！你记得《圣经》里以色列的祖先怎么发达起来的吧，上天给了他们好多牛、羊，也替他们把敌人除掉。”
卢克伸个懒腰，说：“对极了，对极了。”
“真是神奇——真是太神奇了！”惠特菲尔德爵士说。
“我是说，一个正直的人的敌人被打倒的方式真是太神奇了！看看昨天，那家伙对我破口大骂，甚至想伸手打我，结果怎么样呢？他今天到什么地方去了呢？”他得意地顿了顿，又用强调的声音回答自己道。“死了！被神圣的花冠打死了！”
卢克睁开一点眼睛，说：“只多喝了一杯酒就这么惩罚他，实在太严厉了点。”
惠特菲尔德爵士摇摇头，说：“这是一定的，报应来得既快又可怕，有一个高高在上的主管理这种事。你记得那些嘲笑先知以利沙的小孩吗？结果都被熊吃掉了。就是这么回事，菲茨威廉。”
“我总觉得那样报复太过分了。”
“不、不，你的观念不对，以利沙是个了不起的圣人，任何嘲笑他的人都不应该活下去，我就是因为自己的情形才知道的。”卢克露出困惑的表情，惠特菲尔德爵士放低了声音，说：“本来我几乎也不敢相信，可是每次都碰到这种情形，我的敌人一个个都被打倒、消灭了。”
“消灭？”
惠特菲尔德爵士轻轻点点头，又喝了一口葡萄酒：“每一次都这样。有一次，情形跟以利沙很像——也是个小男孩，他在我这里工作，我在花园里碰到他，你知道他在干什么？
模仿我！他居然敢模仿我！讥笑我！神气十足地抬头挺胸大步走！还有一群人在旁边看。
他居然敢在我自己的土地上嘲笑我！结果你知道他怎么样了吗？不到十天，他就从楼上窗户跌下来摔死了！
“后来是那酒店主人卡特——醉鬼一个，又爱乱骂人，居然到这里来骂我！结果呢？一个礼拜之后就在小河里淹死了。再说那个女仆，她指着我鼻子骂我，结果很快就遭到报应——不小心喝到了毒药。这种情形真是太多了，亨伯比胆敢反对我的用水计划，后来也血中毒死了。噢，这种情形有好多年了。再拿霍顿太太来说，她对我太没礼貌，没多久也死了。”
他停一停，把葡萄酒罐递给卢克，说道：“怎么样，这些对我不好的人都死了，很奇妙，不是吗？”
卢克凝视着他，心头忽然起了一种恐怖而难以相信的疑云。他用一种崭新的眼光打量坐在桌子主位的那个矮胖的男人——他正对卢克轻轻点头，那对金鱼眼还带着无忧无虑的笑意看着卢克。
卢克脑中迅速闪过许多片断的回忆，霍顿少校说：“惠特菲尔德爵士非常亲切，派人送了些他家的葡萄和桃子来。”惠特菲尔德爵士也特地安排汤米•皮尔斯到图书馆做擦窗户的工作，亨伯比医生去世前不久，惠特菲尔德爵士到威勒曼实验室参观过那些细菌培养工作……一切都指出一件很明显的事，而他这个傻瓜却始终没有起疑心。
惠特菲尔德还在微笑——安详而愉快的笑，并且对卢克轻轻点头，说：“他们全都死了。”
Eighteen CONFERENCE IN LONDON
Eighteen CONFERENCE IN LONDON

Sir William Ossington, known to the cronies of earlier days as Billy Bones,stared incredulously at his friend.
“Didn’t you have enough crime out in Mayang?” he asked plaintively.
“Have you got to come home and do our work for us here?”
“Crime in Mayang isn’t on a wholesale basis,” said Luke. “What I’m upagainst now is a man who’s done a round half-dozen murders at least—and got away with it without a breath of suspicion!”
Sir William sighed.
“It does happen. What’s his speciality—wives?”
“No, he’s not that kind. He doesn’t actually think he’s God yet—but hesoon will.”
“Mad?”
“Oh, unquestionably, I should say.”
“Ah! but he probably isn’t legally mad. There’s a difference, you know.”
“I should say he knows the nature and consequence of his acts,” saidLuke.
“Exactly,” said Billy Bones.
“Well, don’t let’s quibble about legal technicalities. We’re not nearly atthat stage yet. Perhaps we never shall be. What I want from you, old boy,is a few facts. There was a street accident took place on Derby Daybetween five and six o’clock in the afternoon. Old lady run over in White-hall and the car didn’t stop. Her name was Lavinia Pinkerton. I want youto dig up all facts you can about that.”
Sir William sighed. “I can soon get hold of that for you. Twenty minutesought to do it.”
He was as good as his word. In less than that time Luke was talking tothe police officer in charge of the matter.
“Yes, sir, I remember the details. I’ve got most of them written downhere.” He indicated the sheet that Luke was studying. “An inquest washeld — Mr. Satcherverell was the Coroner. Censure of the driver of thecar.”
“Did you ever get him?”
“No, sir.”
“What make of car was it?”
“It seems pretty certain it was a Rolls—big car driven by a chauffeur. Allwitnesses unanimous on that point. Most people know a Rolls by sight.”
“You didn’t get the number?”
“No, unfortunately, nobody thought to look at it. There was a note of anumber FZX 4498—but it was the wrong number, a woman spotted it andmentioned it to another woman who gave it to me. I don’t know whetherthe second woman got it wrong but anyway it was no good.”
Luke asked sharply: “How did you know it was no good?”
The young officer smiled.
“FZX 4498 is the number of Lord Whitfield’s car. That car was standingoutside Boomington House at the time in question and the chauffeur washaving tea. He had a perfect alibi—no question of his being concerned andthe car never left the building till 6:30 when his lordship came out.”
“I see,” said Luke.
“It’s always the way, sir,” the man sighed, “half the witnesses have dis-appeared before a constable can get there and take down particulars.”
Sir William nodded.
“We assumed it was probably a number not unlike that FZX 4498—anumber beginning probably with two fours. We did our best, but couldnot trace any car. We investigated several likely numbers but they couldall give satisfactory accounts of themselves.”
Sir William looked at Luke questioningly.
Luke shook his head. Sir William said:
“Thanks, Bonner, that will do.”
When the man had gone out, Billy Bones looked inquiringly at hisfriend.
“What’s it all about, Fitz?”
Luke sighed. “It all tallies. Lavinia Pinkerton was coming up to blow thegaff—to tell the clever people at Scotland Yard all about the wicked mur-derer. I don’t know whether you’d have listened to her—probably not—”
“We might,” said Sir William. “Things do come through to us that way.
Just hearsay and gossip—we don’t neglect that sort of thing, I assure you.”
“That’s what the murderer thought. He wasn’t going to risk it. He elimin-ated Lavinia Pinkerton and although one woman was sharp enough tospot his number no one believed her.”
Billy Bones sprang upright in his chair.
“You don’t mean—”
“Yes, I do. I’ll bet you anything you like it was Whitfield who ran herdown. I don’t know how he managed it. The chauffeur was away at tea.
Somehow or other, I suppose, he sneaked away putting on a chauffeur’scoat and cap. But he did it, Billy!”
“Impossible!”
“Not at all. Lord Whitfield has committed at least seven murders to mycertain knowledge and probably a lot more.”
“Impossible,” said Sir William again.
“My dear fellow, he practically boasted to me of it last night!”
“He’s mad, then?”
“He’s mad, all right, but he’s a cunning devil. You’ll have to go warily.
Don’t let him know we suspect him.”
Billy Bones murmured: “Incredible….”
Luke said: “But true!”
He laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Look here, Billy, old son, we must get right down to this. Here are thefacts.”
The two men talked long and earnestly.
On the following day Luke returned to Wychwood. He drove down earlyin the morning. He could have returned the night before but he felt amarked distaste for sleeping under Lord Whitfield’s roof or accepting hishospitality under the circumstances.
On his way through Wychwood, he drew up his car at Miss Waynflete’shouse. The maid who opened the door stared at him in astonishment butshowed him into the little dining room where Miss Waynflete was sittingat breakfast.
She rose to receive him in some surprise.
He did not waste time. “I must apologize for breaking in on you at thishour.”
He looked round. The maid had left the room, shutting the door. “I’m go-ing to ask you a question, Miss Waynflete. It’s rather a personal one, but Ithink you will forgive me for asking it.”
“Please ask me anything you like. I am quite sure your reason for doingso will be a good one.”
“Thank you.”
He paused.
“I want to know exactly why you broke off your engagement to LordWhitfield all those years ago.”
She had not expected that. The colour rose in her cheeks and one handwent to her breast.
“Has he told you anything?”
Luke replied: “He told me there was something about a bird—a birdwhose neck was wrung….”
“He said that?” Her voice was wondering. “He admitted it? That’s ex-traordinary!”
“Will you tell me, please.”
“Yes, I will tell you. But I beg that you will never speak of the matter tohim—to Gordon. It is all past—all over and finished with—I don’t want it—raked up.”
She looked at him appealingly.
Luke nodded.
“It is only for my personal satisfaction,” he said. “I shall not repeat whatyou tell me.”
“Thank you.” She had recovered her composure. Her voice was quitesteady as she went on. “It was like this. I had a little canary—I was veryfond of it—and—perhaps—rather silly about it—girls were, then. Theywere rather—well—coy about their pets. It must have been irritating to aman—I do realize that.”
“Yes,” said Luke as she paused.
“Gordon was jealous of the bird. He said one day quite ill-temperedly, ‘Ibelieve you prefer that bird to me.’ And I, in the rather silly way girls wenton in those days, laughed and held it up on my finger saying somethinglike: ‘Of course I love you, dicky bird, better than a great silly boy! Ofcourse I do!’ Then—oh, it was frightening—Gordon snatched the bird fromme and wrung its neck. It was such a shock—I shall never forget it!”
Her face had gone very pale.
“And so you broke off the engagement?” said Luke.
“Yes. I couldn’t feel the same afterwards. You see, Mr. Fitzwilliam—” shehesitated. “It wasn’t just the action—that might have been done in a fit ofjealousy and temper—it was the awful feeling I had that he’d enjoyed doingit—it was that that frightened me!”
“Even long ago,” murmured Luke. “Even in these days….”
She laid a hand on his arm.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam—”
He met the frightened appeal in her eyes with a grave steady look.
“It is Lord Whitfield who committed all these murders!” he said. “You’veknown that all along, haven’t you?”
She shook her head with vigour.
“Not known it! If I had known it, then — then of course I would havespoken out—no, it was just a fear.”
“And yet you never gave me a hint?”
She clasped her hands in a sudden anguish.
“How could I? How could I? I was fond of him once….”
“Yes,” said Luke gently. “I see.”
She turned away, fumbled in her bag, and a small lace-edged handker-chief was pressed for a moment to her eyes. Then she turned back again,dry-eyed, dignified and composed.
“I am so glad,” she said, “that Bridget has broken off her engagement.
She is going to marry you instead, is she not?”
“Yes.”
“That will be much more suitable,” said Miss Waynflete rather primly.
Luke was unable to help smiling a little.
But Miss Waynflete’s face grew grave and anxious. She leaned forwardand once more laid a hand on his arm.
“But be very careful,” she said. “Both of you must be very careful.”
“You mean—with Lord Whitfield?”
“Yes. It would be better not to tell him.”
Luke frowned. “I don’t think either of us would like the idea of that.”
“Oh! what does that matter? You don’t seem to realize that he’s mad—mad. He won’t stand it—not for a moment! If anything happens to her—”
“Nothing shall happen to her!”
“Yes, I know—but do realize that you’re not a match for him! He’s sodreadfully cunning! Take her away at once—it’s the only hope. Make hergo abroad! You’d better both go abroad!”
Luke said slowly:
“It might be as well if she went. I shall stay.”
“I was afraid you would say that. But at any rate get her away. At once,mind!”
Luke nodded slowly.
“I think,” he said, “that you’re right.”
“I know I’m right! Get her away—before it’s too late.”
第十八章 伦敦拜访
第十八章 伦敦拜访
威廉•欧辛顿爵士早年被密友称为“比利•博恩斯”。此刻他不敢相信地看着他的朋友，悲哀地问：“马扬海峡的罪案还不够多吗？你非得回来插手管我们的事？”
“马扬海峡还没有人连续杀过这么多人，”卢克说，“我现在追查的凶手至少杀了半打人——而且逍遥法外，一点都没受人怀疑。”
威廉爵士叹口气，说道：“真有这种事？他专门杀什么人——阔太太？”
“不，不是。目前他还没有真的认为自己就是上帝，可是也快了。”
“疯了？”
“我想毫无疑问。”
“噢，可是在法律上说他也许不算疯。你知道这两者之间还是有差别。”
“我相信他了解自己行为的性质和结果。”卢克说。
“一点没错。”比利•博恩斯说。
“好了，现在先别拿法律来推托，还没到那个阶段，也许永远也不会。老哥，我只要求你找出几件事实。德比赛马那天下午五点到六点之间发生了一件车祸，有位老太太在白厅街被车子压死，车子却没有停下来，这位老太太叫拉维妮亚•平克顿。我要你尽可能找出一切有关的事。”
威廉爵士又叹口气，说道：“我马上就可以替你找出来，二十分钟应该够了。”
的确，不到二十分钟，卢克就和主办那个案子的警官当面交谈了。那人指指卢克手上的纸，说：“是的，先生，详细情形我都记得，完全写在这上面了。”又说，“验过尸了，萨切维诺先生是验尸官，他认为是司机的错。”
“有没有抓到？”
“没有，先生。”
“是什么牌子的车？”
“好像应该是辆劳斯莱斯——一个司机开的大车。证人全部同意看到的是劳斯莱斯车。”
“不知道车号？”
“没有，很不幸，没人想到要记车号。有人报告说是FZX4498，可是一定是弄错了。有个女人看到这个号码，告诉另外一个女人，那个女人再告诉的我。不知道是不是第二个女人听错了，反正没用就是了。”
卢克严厉地说：“你怎么知道没用。”
年轻警官微笑道：“FZX4498是惠特菲尔德爵士的车号，发生车祸的时候，爵士的车子停在伯明顿屋外面，司机正在喝茶点，他有充分的不在场证明，所以不可能是凶手，一直到六点三十分爵士出来的时候，车子都没有离开那幢大厦。”
“我懂了。”卢克说。
“每次都是这样，先生。”那人叹息着说，“警察赶到现场办案之前，一大半目击者都不见了。”威廉爵士点点头，“我们猜想肇事车子的车号也许和FZX4498很相像——譬如前两个字母也是4，曾经尽了一切力量，调查所有车号类似FZX4498的车子，可是车主都有充分的不在场证明。”
威廉爵士用疑问的眼神看了看卢克，卢克摇摇头。威廉爵士说：“谢了，邦纳，没别的事了。”
那名警官离开之后，威廉爵士问他朋友：“到底怎么回事？老弟。”
卢克无可奈何地说：“一切都完全符合，拉维妮亚•平克顿准备向苏格兰场报告这个邪恶的杀人凶手的一切，我不知道你们到底会不会听她的——也许不会。”
“也许会，”威廉爵士说，“我们有时候的确是从一些闲话中得到消息。我可以保证，我们绝对不会轻视那种事。”
“凶手也这么想，所以不愿意冒险。他撞死了拉维妮亚•平克顿，结果虽然有机警的女人记下他的车号，却没有人相信她。”
威廉爵士从椅子跳起来，“你不会是说——”
“不，我就是这个意思。我敢跟你打任何赌，压死她的人就是惠特菲尔德。我不知道他是怎么办到的，司机出去吃茶点了，他或许悄悄把车子开走，穿上司机制服，戴上司机帽子什么的，反正是他干的没错，比利。”
“不可能！”
“未必，就我所知，惠特菲尔德爵士至少干了七件谋杀案，也许还不止这个数目。”
“不可能。”威廉爵士说。
“亲爱的老哥，他昨天晚上还对我吹嘘呢！”
“这么说，他疯了？”
“他是疯了，可是他也是个狡猾的魔鬼。你一定要小心，不能让他知道我们对他起了疑心。”
威廉爵士喃喃地道：“真叫人不敢相信！”
卢克说：“可是的确是真的！”他把一只手放在他朋友肩上，“听我说，比利老哥，我们一定要马上办这个案子，我把所有事实一一告诉你。”
于是两个人热烈地长谈起来。
次日早上，卢克又回到威奇伍德。他一早就开车上路了。本来昨天晚上应该可以启程的，可是他觉得在目前的情形下，无论睡在惠特菲尔德爵士屋檐下，或者接受他的款待，都令他觉得厌恶不已。回程途中，他先在韦恩弗利特小姐那儿停好车。女佣打开门，惊讶地看着他，不过还是把他引进韦恩弗利特小姐正在用早餐的小餐厅。她有点讶异地起身迎接卢克。
卢克没有浪费时间，开门见山地说：“真抱歉这时候来打扰你。”他看看四周，女佣已经关上门离开了，“我要请问你一件事！韦恩弗利特小姐。这是私人的问题，可是我相信你会原谅我问这件事。”
“有什么事尽管问，我相信你一定有很正当的理由才会问。”
“谢谢你。”卢克稍微顿了顿，继续说，“我想知道多年前你和惠特菲尔德爵士的婚事为什么取消了？”
她没想到他会问起这件事，脸上不禁涌起红晕，并且用一只手抚着心房，说：“他跟你说了什么？”
卢克答道：“他提到有关一只鸟的事——说有一只鸟的脖子被扭断了。”
“他说了？”她犹豫地说，“他承认了，真奇怪！”
“请你告诉我到底是怎么回事，好吗？”
“好，我告诉你，可是希望你永远别跟他——戈登——提起。事情已经过去了，我不想再翻旧账。”她用祈求的眼光看着他。
卢克点点头，说：“我只想满足我个人的好奇心，绝对不会说出去。”
“谢谢你。”她又恢复了镇定，用平稳的声音说，“事情是这样的，我有一只金丝雀，我非常喜欢它，也许还有点傻兮兮的——不过女孩子都一样，对自己的宠物有点羞答答的。
男人一定觉得很生气——我很了解这一点。”
她停下来，卢克说：“是的。”
戈登很忌妒那只鸟，有一天他很不高兴地说：“我相信你喜欢那只鸟胜过我。我就像那个年纪所有的傻女孩一样，把金丝雀放在手指上说：‘我爱你当然胜过一个大傻瓜，亲爱的鸟儿，这是当然的事！’接着——噢，太可怕了——戈登一把抢走我手里的鸟，扭断了它的脖子。那一幕真是太可怕了，我永远也忘不了！”她的脸色变得非常苍白。
“所以你们的婚事就吹了？”卢克说。
“对，从那以后，我再也没办法像以前一样爱他。你知道，菲茨威廉先生，”她迟疑了一下，“不只是他的举动——那也许是一时愤怒和忌妒——而是我觉得他很喜欢那样做，所以心里才害怕极了！”
“即使是很久以前，”卢克喃喃地道，“即使是在那个年头！”
她把一只手放在他手臂上，说：“菲茨威廉先生——”
他用严肃、稳定的眼光迎向她畏惧的眼神，说道：“那些谋杀案都是惠特菲尔德爵士干的，你早就知道，对不对？”
她用力摇摇头，“不能说知道！要是我知道……当然会说出来。我……我只是恐惧和担心。”
“可是你却从来没有暗示过我？”
她忽然痛苦地合掌说：“我怎么能，我怎么能？毕竟我曾经喜欢过他。”
卢克轻轻说：“是的，我知道。”
她忽然转身过去，在手提袋摸索了一下，然后用一条有花边的小手帕压压眼角，接着她又转过身来，眼泪已经干了，她用高贵镇定的声音说：“我很高兴布丽吉特取消了和他的婚事。她要嫁给你吧，对不对？”
“是的。”
“那就合适多了。”韦恩弗利特小姐一本正经地说，卢克忍不住微笑一下，但是韦恩弗利特小姐的面容又变得严肃忧虑起来。她俯身向前，又把一只手放在卢克手臂上，说：“一定要小心，你们两个都要小心。”
“你是指——对惠特菲尔德爵士？”
“对，最好别把你们的事告诉他。”
卢克皱皱眉说：“我想我们两个都不愿意这样。”
“噢，那有什么关系？你好像不知道他已经疯了——失去了理智。他绝对不愿意忍受——片刻也不行！万一她发生什么意外——”
“她不会发生任何意外！”
“对，我知道，可是你要知道，你不是他的对手！他太狡猾、太可怕了！马上带她离开，只有这样才有希望。叫她到国外去，最好你们两个都出国！”
卢克缓缓地说：“她也许出国为好，我要留下。”
“我就怕你会这么说。好吧，无论如何，快叫她离开。记住！马上离开！”
卢克缓缓地点点头，说：“我想你说得没错。”
“我知道自己没错。快叫她走——否则就太迟了。”
Nineteen BROKEN ENGAGEMENT
Nineteen BROKEN ENGAGEMENT

Bridget heard Luke drive up. She came out on the steps to meet him.
She said without preamble:
“I’ve told him.”
“What?” Luke was taken aback.
His dismay was so patent that Bridget noticed it.
“Luke—what is it? You seem quite upset.”
He said slowly:
“I thought we agreed to wait until I came back.”
“I know, but I thought it was better to get it over. He was making plans—for our marriage—our honeymoon—all that! I simply had to tell him!”
She added—a touch of reproach in her voice:
“It was the only decent thing to do.”
He acknowledged it.
“From your point of view, yes. Oh, yes, I see that.”
“From every point of view I should have thought!”
Luke said slowly:
“There are times when one can’t afford—decency!”
“Luke, what do you mean?”
He made an impatient gesture.
“I can’t tell you now and here. How did Whitfield take it?”
Bridget said slowly:
“Extraordinarily well. Really extraordinarily well. I felt ashamed. I be-lieve, Luke, that I’ve underestimated Gordon — just because he’s ratherpompous and occasionally futile. I believe really he’s rather — well — agreat little man!”
Luke nodded.
“Yes, possibly he is a great man—in ways we haven’t suspected. Lookhere, Bridget, you must get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Naturally, I shall pack up my things and leave today. You might driveme up to town. I suppose we can’t both go and stay at the Bells and Motley—that is, if the Ellsworthy contingent have left?”
Luke shook his head.
“No, you’d better go back to London. I’ll explain presently. In the mean-time I suppose I’d better see Whitfield.”
“I suppose it’s the thing to do—it’s all rather beastly, isn’t it? I feel such arotten little gold digger.”
Luke smiled at her.
“It was a fair enough bargain. You’d have played straight with him. Any-way, it’s no use lamenting over things that are past and done with! I’ll goin and see Whitfield now.”
He found Lord Whitfield striding up and down the drawing room. Hewas outwardly calm, there was even a slight smile on his lips. But Lukenoticed that a pulse in his temple was beating furiously.
He wheeled round as Luke entered.
“Oh! there you are, Fitzwilliam.”
Luke said:
“It’s no good my saying I’m sorry for what I’ve done—that would be hy-pocritical! I admit that from your point of view I’ve behaved badly andI’ve very little to say in defence. These things happen.”
Lord Whitfield resumed his pacing.
“Quite—quite!” He waved a hand.
Luke went on:
“Bridget and I have treated you shamefully. But there it is! We care foreach other—and there’s nothing to be done about it—except tell you thetruth and clear out.”
Lord Whitfield stopped. He looked at Luke with pale protuberant eyes.
“No,” he said, “there’s nothing you can do about it!”
There was a very curious tone in his voice. He stood looking at Luke,gently shaking his head as though in commiseration.
Luke said sharply: “What do you mean?”
“There’s nothing you can do!” said Lord Whitfield. “It’s too late!”
Luke took a step nearer him.
“Tell me what you mean.”
Lord Whitfield said unexpectedly:
“Ask Honoria Waynflete. She’ll understand. She knows what happens.
She spoke to me about it once!”
“What does she understand?”
Lord Whitfield said:
“Evil doesn’t go unpunished. There must be justice! I’m sorry because I’mfond of Bridget. In a way I’m sorry for you both!”
Luke said:
“Are you threatening us?”
Lord Whitfield seemed genuinely shocked.
“No, no, my dear fellow. I’ve no feeling in the matter! When I did Bridgetthe honour to choose her as my wife, she accepted certain responsibilities.
Now, she repudiates them—but there’s no going back in this life. If youbreak laws you pay the penalty….”
Luke clenched both hands. He said:
“You mean that something is going to happen to Bridget? Now under-stand me, Whitfield, nothing is going to happen to Bridget—nor to me! Ifyou attempt anything of that kind it’s the finish. You’d better be careful! Iknow a good deal about you!”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” said Lord Whitfield. “I’m only the instru-ment of a higher Power. What that Power decrees happens!”
“I see you believe that,” said Luke.
“Because it’s the truth! Anyone who goes against me pays the penalty.
You and Bridget will be no exception.”
Luke said:
“That’s where you’re wrong. However long a run of luck may be, itbreaks in the end. Yours is very near breaking now.”
Lord Whitfield said gently:
“My dear young man, you don’t know who it is you’re talking to. Noth-ing can touch Me!”
“Can’t it? We’ll see. You’d better watch your step, Whitfield.”
A little ripple of movement passed over the other. His voice hadchanged when he spoke.
“I’ve been very patient,” said Lord Whitfield. “Don’t strain my patiencetoo far. Get out of here.”
“I’m going,” said Luke. “As quick as I can. Remember that I’ve warnedyou.”
He turned on his heel and went quickly out of the room. He ran up-stairs. He found Bridget in her room superintending the packing of herclothes by a housemaid.
“Ready soon?”
“In ten minutes.”
Her eyes asked a question which the presence of the maid preventedher from putting into words.
Luke gave a short nod.
He went to his own room and flung his things hurriedly into his suit-case.
He returned ten minutes later to find Bridget ready for departure.
“Shall we go now?”
“I’m ready.”
As they descended the staircase they met the butler ascending.
“Miss Waynflete has called to see you, miss.”
“Miss Waynflete? Where is she?”
“In the drawing room with his lordship.”
Bridget went straight to the drawing room, Luke close behind her.
Lord Whitfield was standing by the window talking to Miss Waynflete.
He had a knife in his hand—a long slender blade.
“Perfect workmanship,” he was saying. “One of my young men broughtit back to me from Morocco where he’d been special correspondent. It’sMoorish, of course, a Riff knife.” He drew a finger lovingly along the blade.
“What an edge!”
Miss Waynflete said sharply:
“Put it away, Gordon, for goodness’ sake!”
He smiled and laid it down among a collection of other weapons on atable.
“I like the feel of it,” he said softly.
Miss Waynflete had lost some of her usual poise. She looked white andnervous.
“Ah, there you are, Bridget, my dear,” she said.
Lord Whitfield chuckled.
“Yes, there’s Bridget. Make the most of her, Honoria. She won’t be withus long.”
Miss Waynflete said, sharply:
“What d’you mean?”
“Mean? I mean she’s going to London. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s all Imeant.”
He looked round at them all.
“I’ve got a bit of news for you, Honoria,” he said. “Bridget isn’t going tomarry me after all. She prefers Fitzwilliam here. A queer thing, life. Well,I’ll leave you to have your talk.”
He went out of the room, his hands jingling the coins in his pockets.
“Oh, dear—” said Miss Waynflete. “Oh, dear—”
The deep distress in her voice was so noticeable that Bridget lookedslightly surprised. She said uncomfortably:
“I’m sorry. I really am frightfully sorry.”
Miss Waynflete said:
“He’s angry—he’s frightfully angry—oh, dear, this is terrible. What arewe going to do?”
Bridget stared.
“Do? What do you mean?”
Miss Waynflete said, including them both in her reproachful glance:
“You should never have told him!”
Bridget said:
“Nonsense. What else could we do?”
“You shouldn’t have told him now. You should have waited till you’d gotright away.”
Bridget said shortly:
“That’s a matter of opinion. I think myself it’s better to get unpleasantthings over as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, my dear, if it were only a question of that—”
She stopped. Then her eyes asked a question of Luke.
Luke shook his head. His lips formed the words, “Not yet.”
Miss Waynflete murmured, “I see.”
Bridget said with some slight exasperation:
“Did you want to see me about something in particular, Miss Waynf-lete?”
“Well—yes. As a matter of fact I came to suggest that you should comeand pay me a little visit. I thought—er—you might find it uncomfortable toremain on here and that you might want a few days to—er—well, matureyour plans.”
“Thank you, Miss Waynflete, that was very kind of you.”
“You see, you’d be quite safe with me and—”
Bridget interrupted:
“Safe?”
Miss Waynflete, a little flustered, said hurriedly:
“Comfortable—that’s what I meant—quite comfortable with me. I mean,not nearly so luxurious as here, naturally—but the hot water is hot and mylittle maid Emily really cooks quite nicely.”
“Oh, I’m sure everything would be lovely, Miss Waynflete,” said Bridgetmechanically.
“But, of course, if you are going up to town, that is much better….”
Bridget said slowly:
“It’s a little awkward. My aunt went off early to a flower show today. Ihaven’t had a chance yet to tell her what has happened. I shall leave anote for her telling her I’ve gone up to the flat.”
“You’re going to your aunt’s flat in London?”
“Yes. There’s no one there. But I can go out for meals.”
“You’ll be alone in that flat? Oh, dear, I shouldn’t do that. Not stay therealone.”
“Nobody will eat me,” said Bridget impatiently. “Besides, my aunt willcome up tomorrow.”
Miss Waynflete shook her head in a worried manner.
Luke said:
“Better go to a hotel.”
Bridget wheeled round on him.
“Why? What’s the matter with you all? Why are you treating me asthough I was an imbecile child?”
“No, no, dear,” protested Miss Waynflete. “We just want you to be care-ful—that’s all!”
“But why? Why? What’s it all about?”
“Look here, Bridget,” said Luke. “I want to have a talk with you. But Ican’t talk here. Come with me now in the car and we’ll go somewherequiet.”
He looked at Miss Waynflete.
“May we come to your house in about an hour’s time? There are severalthings I want to say to you.”
“Please do. I will wait for you there.”
Luke put his hand on Bridget’s arm. He gave a nod of thanks to MissWaynflete.
He said: “We’ll pick up the luggage later. Come on.”
He led her out of the room and along the hall to the front door. Heopened the door of the car. Bridget got in. Luke started the engine anddrove rapidly down the drive. He gave a sigh of relief as they emergedfrom the iron gates.
“Thank God I’ve got you out of there safely,” he said.
“Have you gone quite mad, Luke? Why all this ‘hush hush—I can’t tellyou what I mean now’—business?”
Luke said grimly:
“Well, there are difficulties, you know, in explaining that a man’s a mur-derer when you’re actually under his roof!”
第十九章 取消婚约
第十九章 取消婚约
布丽吉特听到卢克开车回来的声音，于是走到阶梯上迎接他，并且直截了当地说：“我告诉他了。”
“什么？”卢克吃了一惊。
布丽吉特马上就发现他的恐慌，问道：“卢克，怎么了？你好像觉得很不安。”
他缓缓地说：“我以为我们说好等我回来再告诉他。”
“我知道，可是我觉得早说出来早了事。他已经在计划——婚事、蜜月什么的，所以我不得不告诉他！”又用略带责备的口气说，“只有这样才算有风度。”
他承认道：“从你的观点来看，的确是的。噢，对，我懂你的意思。”
“我觉得从任何人的观点来看都应该这样！”
卢克缓缓地说：“有时候我们实在顾不得风度。”
“卢克，你是什么意思？”
他做了不耐烦的手势，说：“我不能现在在这里告诉你。惠特菲尔德有什么反应？”
布丽吉特慢吞吞地说：“他表现得太好了，真的，实在太好了。让我觉得好惭愧。卢克，我想我过去只因为他很傲慢，有时候又没什么可取的地方，就低估了他。其实他——可以说是个小巨人。”
卢克点点头，说：“对，也许，他是很了不起——在某些我们还没怀疑到的方面。听我的话，布丽吉特，你一定要尽快离开这儿。”
“当然，我今天就收拾行李离开，你开车送我进城，我们可以一起住到贝尔斯旅馆——如果埃尔斯沃思那些同党已经离开的话。”
卢克摇摇头，说：“不，你最好回伦敦去，我会马上跟你解释。现在我最好去见见惠特菲尔德。”
“我也这么想，实在有点残忍，不是吗？我觉得自己就像个卑鄙的小淘金者。”
卢克对她微微一笑，说：“这是公平交易，你已经对他实话实说了。无论如何，生米已经煮成熟饭了，再难过也没用。我现在就去见惠特菲尔德。”
惠特菲尔德爵士正在起居室阔步来回走着，外表看来，他非常平静，嘴角甚至还带着浅浅的笑意。但是卢克发现他的太阳穴脉搏正愤怒地跳动着，卢克一进来，他立刻转过身，说：“噢，你来了，菲茨威廉。”
卢克说：“我想即使我说抱歉也没用，那太虚伪了。我承认从你的立场来看，我的行为很恶劣，我也没什么好说的。这世上本来就难免会有这种事。”
惠特菲尔德爵士又开始踱方步，同时摇摇右手，说：“不错——不错！”
卢克又说：“布丽吉特和我都觉得很对不起你，可是事情就是这样，我们彼此相爱，没什么别的办法，只好把事实告诉你。”
惠特菲尔德爵士停下脚步，瞪了卢克一眼，说：“不错，你们是没什么办法。”他的声音非常奇特，他静静站着凝视卢克，轻轻摇摇头，仿佛很怜悯他似的。
卢克尖声问：“你是什么意思？”
“你们没什么办法，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“已经太迟了。”
卢克向他走近一步，又问：“告诉我，你到底是什么意思？”
惠特菲尔德爵士忽然意外地说：“去问奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特好了，她一定了解，她知道发生了哪些事，有一次还跟我谈过。”
“她知道什么？”卢克说。
惠特菲尔德爵士说：“恶有恶报，公理一定要存在。我觉得很难过，因为我喜欢布丽吉特。从某一方面来说，我替你们两人难过。”
卢克说：“你是在威胁我们？”
惠特菲尔德爵士似乎真的吓了一跳，说：“不、不，亲爱的老弟，这件事跟我的感觉无关。布丽吉特幸运地被我选为妻子的时候，曾经答应承担一些责任。现在她却反悔了，人生是无法走回头路的。一个人违背了约定，就必定会遭到报应。”
卢克握紧双拳，说：“你是说布丽吉特会发生不幸？你给我听清楚了，惠特菲尔德，布丽吉特不会发生任何意外，我也一样！要是你打那种主意，还是趁早放弃的好。你给我小心点儿！我对你的底细清楚得很！”
“这跟我没关系，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“我只是上天的工具，上天命令什么事发生，什么事就会发生。”
“我知道你相信那个。”卢克说。
“事实本来就是这样！任何跟我作对的人都会受惩罚，你和布丽吉特也不会例外。”
卢克说：“这一点你就错了，不管一个人幸运了多久。最后总会碰上霉运，你现在就差不多了。”
惠特菲尔德爵士温和地说：“亲爱的年轻人，你大概不知道自己在跟什么人说话！任何事都伤害不了我！”
“是吗？咱们走着瞧吧。你最好小心自己的举动，惠特菲尔德。”
惠特菲尔德爵士一挥手，声音也变了：“我已经很忍耐了，别逼得我失去耐心，你给我滚出去！”
“我马上走，”卢克说，“我真恨不得飞出去，别忘了，我已经警告过你了。”
他转身快步走出房间，然后上楼在布丽吉特房里找到她，她正在指挥女佣收拾她的衣服。卢克问：“快好了吗？”
“再十分钟就好了。”
因为女佣在，她不方便说出口，就用询问的眼光看看卢克。卢克轻轻点点头，然后回自己房间急忙把衣服扔进手提箱。十分钟后，他又到布丽吉特房间时，她已经收拾好准备走了。他说：“可以走了吗？”
“我都准备好了。”
他们下楼的时候，管家正要上楼，他对布丽吉特说：“韦恩弗利特小姐来看你，小姐。”
“韦恩弗利特小姐？在哪里？”
“和爵士一起在起居室。”
布丽吉特直接来到起居室，卢克紧跟其后。惠特菲尔德爵士站在窗边和韦恩弗利特小姐谈话。他手上拿着一把刀——一把细长的刀。“手工真是精巧，”他说，“是我一个手下从摩洛哥带回来给我的，他在那边当过特约记者。很具摩洛哥特色，是里夫人 [1] 做的。”他喜爱地用手指摸摸刀身，又说，“真利！”
韦恩弗利特小姐尖声说：“放下，戈登，看在老天的分上，快放下！”
他微微一笑，把刀子和桌上其他物品放在一起，轻柔地说：“我喜欢抚摸它的那种感觉。”
韦恩弗利特小姐失去了平常的镇定，显得紧张而苍白，她说：“噢，你在这儿，亲爱的布丽吉特。”
惠特菲尔德爵士笑嘻嘻地说：“不错，布丽吉特在这儿。好好看看她吧，奥诺丽亚，她没有多少时间和我们在一起了。”
韦恩弗利特小姐尖声问：“你是什么意思？”
“意思？我的意思是说她就要到伦敦去了，不是吗？我就只有这个意思。”
他看看他们，然后说：“我有个消息要告诉你，奥诺丽亚•布丽吉特不准备嫁给我了，她比较喜欢这个菲茨威廉！生活真是个奇怪的东西。好了，你们自己聊聊吧。”他走出房间时，手指捏弄着口袋里的钱币叮当作响。
“噢，天哪！”韦恩弗利特小姐说，“噢，天哪！”
她的声音中露出极度的失望，布丽吉特不禁有点诧异地抬头看她。她不安地说：“真抱歉！我实在很抱歉！他生气了——气得不得了！噢，天哪，太可怕了！我们该怎么办呢？”
布丽吉特说：“怎么办？你是说什么？”
韦恩弗利特小姐用谴责的眼光看着他们两人，说：“你们实在不应该告诉他的！”
布丽吉特说：“笑话！不然叫我们怎么办？”
“起码现在不能告诉他，应该等你们走了以后再说。”
布丽吉特说：“每个人的看法不一样，我觉得不愉快的事越早解决越好。”
“噢，亲爱的，如果只是那个问题——”她停下来，用眼睛询问卢克。
卢克摇摇头，很小声地说：“还没有。”
韦恩弗利特小姐喃喃地道：“我懂了。”
布丽吉特有点不高兴地说：“你有什么特别的事要找我，韦恩弗利特小姐？”
“噢，有，老实说，我是来请你到我家玩玩，因为我想——呃——你住在这里也许不大自在，而且你也许需要几天时间——呃——考虑你们的计划。”
“谢谢你，韦恩弗利特小姐，你考虑得真周到。”
“你知道，你跟我在一起会很安全——”
布丽吉特打断她的话，说：“安全？”
韦恩弗利特小姐有点脸红，马上改口道：“噢，我的意思是说——舒服，你跟我在一起会很舒服。当然，我那里没这么豪华，可是有热水，我那个小用人艾米丽也烧得一手好菜。”
“噢，我相信你那里一切都很好，韦恩弗利特小姐。”布丽吉特客套地敷衍道。
“不过你要是能进城，那当然更好。”
布丽吉特缓缓地说：“不大方便，我姑姑今天一早就去看花展了，我还没机会向她解释。不过我会留个字条告诉她。”
“你要一个人住？”
“对，没人在，不过我可以出去吃饭。”
“你一个人住在那里？噢，老天，要是我就不会那么做。千万不要一个人留在那儿。”
“没有人会把我吃掉，”布丽吉特不耐烦地说，“而且我姑姑明天就回来了。”
韦恩弗利特小姐担心地摇摇头。
卢克说：“还是住旅馆比较好。”
布丽吉特倏地转身看着他，“为什么？你们到底是怎么回事？好像把我当成低能儿一样。”
“不、不，亲爱的。”韦恩弗利特小姐辩解道，“我们只是希望你小心一点儿，没别的意思。”
“可是为什么？到底发生了什么事？”
“听我说，布丽吉特。”卢克说，“我会告诉你，可是不能在这里说，跟我上车，我们到安静一点儿的地方去。”他看看韦恩弗利特小姐，“我们可以过一小时左右到府上去吗？我有几件事想告诉你。”
“没问题，我在家等你们。”
卢克挽住布丽吉特的手臂，向韦恩弗利特小姐点头致谢，又对布丽吉特说：“行李晚点再拿，走吧。”他带她走出房间，穿过大厅，来到前门，替布丽吉特打开车门，布丽吉特上车之后。卢克发动引擎，迅速往前驶去。离开爵士家的大铁门之后，卢克轻松地叹口气，说：“感谢上帝，我总算安全地把你从那个地方带出来了！”
“你疯了吗？卢克，干吗那么神秘兮兮的，说什么‘现在不能告诉你’？”
卢克严肃地说：“唉，你知道，在一个人家里的时候，实在很难指明他是个杀人凶手。”
[1]里夫人是柏柏尔人的一个族群，居住在摩洛哥北部里夫山区。
Twenty WE’RE IN IT—TOGETHER
Twenty WE’RE IN IT—TOGETHER

Bridget sat for a minute motionless beside him. She said:
“Gordon?”
Luke nodded.
“Gordon? Gordon—a murderer? Gordon the murderer? I never heardanything so ridiculous in all my life!”
“That’s how it strikes you?”
“Yes, indeed. Why, Gordon wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Luke said grimly:
“That may be true. I don’t know. But he certainly killed a canary bird,and I’m pretty certain he’s killed a large number of human beings aswell.”
“My dear Luke, I simply can’t believe it!”
“I know,” said Luke. “It does sound quite incredible. Why, he never evenentered my head as a possible suspect until the night before last.”
Bridget protested:
“But I know all about Gordon! I know what he’s like! He’s really a sweetlittle man—pompous, yes, but rather pathetic really.”
Luke shook his head. “You’ve got to readjust your ideas about him, Brid-get.”
“It’s no good, Luke, I simply can’t believe it! What put such an absurdidea into your head? Why, two days ago you were quite positive it was Ell-sworthy.”
Luke winced slightly.
“I know. I know. You probably think that tomorrow I shall suspectThomas, and the day after I shall be convinced that it’s Horton I’m after!
I’m not really so unbalanced as that. I admit the idea’s completely startlingwhen it first comes to you, but if you look into it a bit closer, you’ll see thatit all fits in remarkably well. No wonder Miss Pinkerton didn’t dare to goto the local authorities. She knew they’d laugh at her! Scotland Yard washer only hope.”
“But what possible motive could Gordon have for all this killing busi-ness? Oh, it’s all so silly!”
“I know. But don’t you realize that Gordon Whitfield has a very exaltedopinion of himself?”
Bridget said: “He pretends to be very wonderful and very important.
That’s just inferiority complex, poor lamb!”
“Possibly that’s at the root of the trouble. I don’t know. But think, Brid-get—just think a minute. Remember all the phrases you’ve used laugh-ingly yourself about him — lèse- majesté, etc. Don’t you realize that theman’s ego is swollen out of all proportion? And it’s allied with religion. Mydear girl, the man’s as mad as a hatter!”
Bridget thought for a minute.
She said at last: “I still can’t believe it. What evidence have you got,Luke?”
“Well, there are his own words. He told me, quite plainly and distinctly,the night before last, that anyone who opposed him in any way alwaysdied.”
“Go on.”
“I can’t quite explain to you what I mean—but it was the way he said it.
Quite calm and complacent and—how shall I put it?—quite used to theidea! He just sat there smiling to himself…It was uncanny and rather hor-rible, Bridget!”
“Go on.”
“Well, then he went on to give me a list of people who’d passed out be-cause they’d incurred his sovereign displeasure! And, listen to this, Brid-get, the people he mentioned were Mrs. Horton, Amy Gibbs, Tommy Pierce,Harry Carter, Humbleby, and that chauffeur fellow, Rivers.”
Bridget was shaken at last. She went very pale.
“He mentioned those actual people?”
“Those actual people! Now do you believe?”
“Oh, God, I suppose I must…What were his reasons?”
“Horribly trivial—that’s what made it so frightening. Mrs. Horton hadsnubbed him, Tommy Pierce had done imitations of him and made thegardeners laugh, Harry Carter had abused him, Amy Gibbs had beengrossly impertinent, Humbleby had dared to oppose him publicly, Riversthreatened him before me and Miss Waynflete—”
Bridget put her hands to her eyes.
“Horrible…Quite horrible…” she murmured.
“I know. Then there’s some other outside evidence. The car that randown Miss Pinkerton in London was a Rolls, and its number was the num-ber of Lord Whitfield’s car.”
“That definitely clinches it,” said Bridget slowly.
“Yes. The police thought the woman who gave them that number musthave made a mistake. Mistake indeed!”
“I can understand that,” said Bridget. “When it comes to a rich, powerfulman like Lord Whitfield, naturally his story is the one to be believed!”
“Yes. One appreciates Miss Pinkerton’s difficulty.”
Bridget said thoughtfully:
“Once or twice she said rather queer things to me. As though she werewarning me against something… I didn’t understand in the least at thetime…I see now!”
“It all fits in,” said Luke. “That’s the way of it. At first one says (as yousaid), “Impossible!” and then once one accepts the idea, everything fits in!
The grapes he sent to Mrs. Horton—and she thought the nurses were pois-oning her! And that visit of his to the Wellerman Kreutz Institute—some-how or other he must have got hold of some culture of germs and infectedHumbleby.”
“I don’t see how he managed that.”
“I don’t either, but the connection is there. One can’t get away from that.”
“No… As you say, if fits. And of course he could do things that otherpeople couldn’t! I mean he would be so completely above suspicion!”
“I think Miss Waynflete suspected. She mentioned that visit to the insti-tute. Brought it into conversation quite casually—but I believe she hopedI’d act upon it.”
“She knew, then, all along?”
“She had a very strong suspicion. I think she was handicapped by hav-ing once been in love with him.”
Bridget nodded.
“Yes, that accounts for several things. Gordon told me they had oncebeen engaged.”
“She wanted, you see, not to believe it was him. But she became moreand more sure that it was. She tried to give me hints, but she couldn’t bearto do anything outright against him! Women are odd creatures! I think, ina way, she still cares about him….”
“Even after he jilted her?”
“She jilted him. It was rather an ugly story. I’ll tell you.”
He recounted the short, ugly episode. Bridget stared at him.
“Gordon did that?”
“Yes. Even in those days, you see, he can’t have been normal!”
Bridget shivered and murmured:
“All those years ago…all those years….”
Luke said:
“He may have got rid of a lot more people than we shall ever knowabout! It’s just the rapid succession of deaths lately that drew attention tohim! As though he’d got reckless with success!”
Bridget nodded. She was silent for a minute or two, thinking, then sheasked abruptly:
“What exactly did Miss Pinkerton say to you—in the train that day? Howdid she begin?”
Luke cast his mind back.
“Told me she was going to Scotland Yard, mentioned the village con-stable, said he was a nice fellow but not up to dealing with murder.”
“That was the first mention of the word?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“Then she said, ‘You’re surprised, I can see. I was myself at first. I reallycouldn’t believe it. I thought I must be imagining things.’”
“And then?”
“I asked her if she was sure she wasn’t—imagining things, I mean—andshe said quite placidly, ‘Oh, no! I might have been the first time, but not thesecond, or the third or the fourth. After that one knows.’”
“Marvellous,” commented Bridget. “Go on.”
“So of course I humoured her—said I was sure she was doing the rightthing. I was an unbelieving Thomas if there ever was one!”
“I know. So easy to be wise after the event! I’d have felt the same, niceand superior to the poor old dame! How did the conversation go on?”
“Let me see—oh! she mentioned the Abercrombie case—you know, theWelsh poisoner. Said she hadn’t really believed that there had been a look—a special look—that he gave his victims. But that she believed it now be-cause she had seen it herself.”
“What words did she use exactly?”
Luke thought, creasing his brow.
“She said, still in that nice ladylike voice, ‘Of course, I didn’t really believethat when I read about it—but it’s true.’ And I said, ‘What’s true?’ And shesaid, ‘The look on a person’s face.’ And by Jove, Bridget, the way she saidthat absolutely got me! Her quiet voice and the look on her face—likesomeone who had really seen something almost too horrible to speakabout!”
“Go on, Luke. Tell me everything.”
“And then she enumerated the victims — Amy Gibbs and Carter andTommy Pierce, and said that Tommy was a horrid boy and Carter drank.
And then she said, ‘But now—yesterday—it was Dr. Humbleby—and he’ssuch a good man — a really good man.’ And she said if she went toHumbleby and told him, he wouldn’t believe her, he’d only laugh!”
Bridget gave a deep sigh.
“I see,” she said. “I see.”
Luke looked at her.
“What is it, Bridget? What are you thinking of?”
“Something Mrs. Humbleby once said. I wondered—no, never mind, goon. What was it she said to you right at the end?”
Luke repeated the words soberly. They had made an impression on himand he was not likely to forget them.
“I’d said it was difficult to get away with a lot of murders, and sheanswered, ‘No, no, my dear boy, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s very easy tokill—so long as no one suspects you. And you see, the person in question is justthe last person anyone would suspect….’”
He was silent. Bridget said with a shiver:
“Easy to kill? Horribly easy—that’s true enough! No wonder those wordsstuck in your mind, Luke. They’ll stick in mine—all my life! A man likeGordon Whitfield—oh! of course it’s easy.”
“It’s not so easy to bring it home to him,” said Luke.
“Don’t you think so? I’ve an idea I can help there.”
“Bridget, I forbid you—”
“You can’t. One can’t just sit back and play safe. I’m in this, Luke. It maybe dangerous—yes, I’ll admit that—but I’ve got to play my part.”
“Bridget—”
“I’m in this, Luke! I shall accept Miss Waynflete’s invitation and staydown here.”
“My darling, I implore you—”
“It’s dangerous for both of us. I know that. But we’re in it, Luke—we’rein it—together!”
第二十章 同心协力
第二十章 同心协力
好一会儿，布丽吉特一动不动地坐在卢克身边，最后才问：“戈登？”
卢克点点头，她又说：“戈登？戈登是杀人凶手？戈登就是那个杀人凶手？我这辈子从来没听过这么可笑的事！”
“你觉得这很可笑？”
“对，一点儿都没错，戈登连一只苍蝇都不愿意伤害。”
卢克严肃地说：“我不知道，他也许真的不愿意伤害苍蝇，可是他的确杀死过一只金丝雀，而且我相信他也杀过很多人。”
“亲爱的卢克，我实在没办法相信。”
“我知道，”卢克说，“听起来实在很难相信，我也一直到昨天晚上才知道他是凶手，以前从来都没怀疑过他。”
布丽吉特辩解道：“可是我了解戈登！我知道他是什么样的人！他实在很可爱——也许有点傲慢，但是也很可怜。”
卢克摇摇头，说：“你必须改变对他的看法，布丽吉特。”
“没有用，卢克，我实在没办法相信！你怎么会有这么可笑的念头？你看，两天以前你还很有把握地说凶手是埃尔斯沃思呢。”
卢克有点退让地说：“我知道，我知道，你也许在想，我明天说不定会怀疑托马斯，后天又肯定是霍顿。不，我还没那么神经兮兮。我承认，刚听到这个消息谁都免不了会吓一跳，可是你只要仔细想一想，就会发现一切都很吻合。怪不得平克顿小姐不敢告诉村子里的警察，因为她知道他们一定会嘲笑她！只有向苏格兰场报告才有希望解决。”
“可是戈登为什么要杀这么多人呢？天啊，真是太可笑了！”
“我知道，可是你难道不知道戈登•惠特菲尔德自视很高吗？”
布丽吉特说：“他喜欢表现得自己很了不起、很重要，其实完全是他的自卑感在作祟，他很可怜！”
“也许一切就是因此引起的，我不知道。可是你想想看，布丽吉特——你只要用一分钟时间想想。记不记得你曾经跟他开过一个玩笑——大逆不道什么的，你难道不知道他把自己看得比谁都了不起吗？这也跟宗教信仰有关，亲爱的姑娘，他已经疯了！”
布丽吉特思考了一会儿，最后说：“我还是没办法相信。你有什么证据，卢克？”
“他前天晚上亲口告诉我，任何跟他作对的人都一定会死。”
“说下去。”
“实在很难形容我当时的感觉，反正他一副镇定又得意的模样，而且，怎么说呢，他好像认为是理所当然一样，坐在那边得意地独自微笑。真是太可怕了，布丽吉特！”
“说下去。”
“后来他又说出好几个死者的名字，说那些人侵犯了高高在上的他，所以才会死。听着，布丽吉特，他所说的那些包括霍顿太太、艾米•吉布斯、汤米•皮尔斯、哈利•卡特、亨伯比，还有那个司机里弗斯。”
布丽吉特终于动摇了，脸色变得非常苍白，说道：“他真的提到这些人？”
“是真的，现在你相信了吧？”
“噢，我想也只好相信了，他为什么要杀那些人呢？”
“只是为了一些芝麻小事，所以才特别叫人胆寒。霍顿太太骂过他；汤米•皮尔斯模仿他的动作，引得园丁捧腹大笑；哈利•卡特也骂过他；艾米•吉布斯对他没礼貌；亨伯比胆敢公开反对他；里弗斯在我和韦恩弗利特小姐面前威胁过他。”
布丽吉特伸手捂住眼睛，喃喃地说：“太可怕了！实在太可怕了！”
“我知道，除此之外还有一些外在的证据。在伦敦碾死平克顿小姐的车子是劳斯莱斯，车号就是惠特菲尔德爵士的车的号码。”
“那就无话可说了。”布丽吉特缓缓地说。
“对，警方本来以为提供车号的女人弄错了，后来证实的确弄错了！”
“我了解，”布丽吉特说，“碰到惠特菲尔德爵士这么有钱有势的人，别人都会相信他的话。”
“对，平克顿小姐的难处可想而知。”
布丽吉特沉吟道：“有一两次平克顿小姐跟我说过一些奇怪的话，好像想警告我什么，当时我一点都不懂，现在才知道她是什么意思！”
“一切都很符合，”卢克说，“事情往往是这样，就像你一样，每个人刚开始都说不可能！可是只要相信有可能，就会发觉所有事都很吻合，他送葡萄给霍顿太太——而她却以为是护士想毒死她！后来他去拜访威勒曼实验室，一定用什么方法弄到一些培养的细菌，使亨伯比感染上病毒。”
“我真不懂他是怎么做得到的。”
“我也不知道，可是事实就是这样。”
“对，他当然有办法做别人做不到的事，我是说，别人根本不会怀疑他。”
“韦恩弗利特小姐就对他起了疑心，她曾经提到他到实验室去拜访的事，她的口气很自然，可是我相信她是希望我采取行动。”
“这么说，她早就知道了？”
“她很怀疑他，不过因为她曾经爱过他，所以很难启齿。”
布丽吉特点点头，说道：“对，这就可以解释好几件事。戈登也告诉我，他们以前订过婚。”
“你知道，她一心希望凶手不是他，可是事实却使她越来越肯定。她想暗示我，可是又不肯做出对他不利的指控。女人是种奇怪的动物。我想从某方面来说，她还是爱着他。”
“即使他甩掉了她？”
“是她甩掉他的。这个故事也真奇怪，我告诉你。”他说出那件暴行。
布丽吉特瞪着他说：“戈登真的那么做了？”
“对，你看，他从前早就不正常了。”
布丽吉特颤抖了一下，喃喃地说：“这么多年了……这么多年了……”
卢克说，“也许他所杀的人远比我们知道的多，只因为最近他连续杀了好几个人，所以才引起别人注意。大概是成功的次数太多，所以他才鲁莽起来。”
布丽吉特点点头，沉思了一两分钟，然后突然说：“那天平克顿小姐在火车上到底说了什么？她是怎么起头的？”
卢克一边回想一边说：“她说她要到苏格兰场去，也提到村里的警官，说他是个好人，可是恐怕处理不了谋杀案。”
“她先提到这些的？”
“对。”
“后来呢？”
“后来她说‘你很意外，我看得出来，我当初也一样。实在不敢相信。我想一定是自己在胡思乱想。’”
“后来呢？”
“我问她是否肯定她没有胡思乱想，她很平静地说：‘噢，不是，第一次也许是，可是第二次、第三次、第四次就不会了。从那以后我就很肯定了。’”
“真了不起，”布丽吉特说，“接下去呢？”
“我就顺着她的口气说我相信她做得没错，又说，如果有个人像托马斯那样多疑，那就是我。”
“我知道，要是换了我，也一定觉得那个可怜的好老太太很值得同情。后来你们又聊了些什么。”
“我想想看，噢，对了，她提到艾伯康比的案子——你知道，就是威尔斯那个下毒者。
她说她本来不大相信他看他的被害者时，眼睛里有一种特别的眼神，但是现在却相信了，因为她也亲眼看到。”
“她是怎么说的？”
卢克皱眉想了一会儿。“她还是用那种优雅的声音说，‘当然啦，我本来并不相信报上的报道，可那确实是真的。’我问她什么是真的，她说：‘一个人的眼神。’噢，老天，布丽吉特，她的声音那么平静，可是脸上的表情——就像看到一样十分可怕的东西，没办法说出来似的！”
“说下去，卢克，把一切都告诉我。”
“接着她就一一说出受害者的名字——艾米•吉布斯、卡特、汤米•皮尔斯，她说汤米是个讨人厌的男孩，卡特嗜酒如命。又说：‘可是现在——就是昨天——换成亨伯比医生了——他是个好人，真的是个好人。’她说如果她直接告诉亨伯比，他一定不相信！一定会捧腹大笑！”
布丽吉特深深叹口气，说：“我懂了……我懂了。”
卢克凝视着她问：“怎么了？布丽吉特，你在想什么？”
“我在想平克顿小姐说过的话，不知道……算了，别管那些，说下去吧。她最后还跟你说了什么？”
那些话给卢克留下深刻的印象，他一直没有忘记，于是他又重复了一遍：“我说，想杀掉好几个人而能逃过法网很不容易，她说：‘不对，不对，亲爱的孩子，你错了。杀人并不难，只要没有人怀疑你就没问题。你知道，我要说的那个人就是任何人都不会怀疑的人。’”
布丽吉特打了个冷战，“杀人不难？的确太容易了——她说得一点都没错！怪不得你印象那么深！卢克，我也会忘不了——一辈子都忘不了！像戈登•惠特菲尔德那种人——噢，当然太容易了！”
“可是要证明这件事却没那么简单。”卢克说。
“是吗？我想我也许帮得上忙。”
“布丽吉特，我不许你——”
“你不能阻止我，我不要只顾自己安全躲在一边。这件事我也有份，卢克，做起来也许有危险。不错，我承认是有危险。可是我一定要尽自己的责任。”
“布丽吉特——”
“我管定了，卢克！我要接受韦恩弗利特小姐的邀请留下来。”
“亲爱的，我求你——”
“我知道这对我们两个人都很危险，可是卢克，我们两人都有份，让我们一起来打败那个魔鬼！”
Twenty-one  “O WHY DO YOU WALK THROUGH THE FIELDS IN GLOVES?”
Twenty-one  “O WHY DO YOU WALK THROUGH THE FIELDS IN GLOVES?”

The calm interior of Miss Waynflete’s house was almost an anti-climaxafter that tense moment in the car.
Miss Waynflete received Bridget’s acceptance of her invitation a littledoubtfully, hastening, however, to reiterate her offer of hospitality by wayof showing that her doubts were due to quite another cause than unwill-ingness to receive the girl.
Luke said:
“I really think it will be the best thing, since you are so kind, MissWaynflete. I am staying at the Bells and Motley. I’d rather have Bridgetunder my eye than up in town. After all, remember what happened therebefore.”
Miss Waynflete said:
“You mean—Lavinia Pinkerton?”
“Yes. You would have said, wouldn’t you, that anyone would be quitesafe in the middle of a crowded city.”
“You mean,” said Miss Waynflete, “that anyone’s safety depends princip-ally on the fact that nobody wishes to kill them?”
“Exactly. We have come to depend upon what has been called the good-will of civilization.”
Miss Waynflete nodded her head thoughtfully.
Bridget said:
“How long have you known that — that Gordon was the killer, MissWaynflete?”
Miss Waynflete sighed.
“That is a difficult question to answer, my dear. I suppose that I havebeen quite sure, in my inmost heart, for sometime…But I did my best notto recognize that belief! You see, I didn’t want to believe it and so I preten-ded to myself that it was a wicked and monstrous idea on my part.”
Luke said bluntly:
“Have you never been afraid—for yourself?”
Miss Waynflete considered.
“You mean that if Gordon had suspected that I knew, he would havefound some means of getting rid of me?”
“Yes.”
Miss Waynflete said gently:
“I have, of course, been alive to that possibility…I tried to be—careful ofmyself. But I do not think that Gordon would have considered me a realmenace.”
“Why?”
Miss Waynflete flushed a little.
“I don’t think that Gordon would ever believe that I would do anythingto—to bring him into danger.”
Luke said abruptly:
“You went as far, didn’t you, as to warn him?”
“Yes. That is, I did hint to him that it was odd that anyone who dis-pleased him should shortly meet with an accident.”
Bridget demanded:
“And what did he say?”
A worried expression passed over Miss Waynflete’s face.
“He didn’t react at all in the way I meant. He seemed—really it’s mostextraordinary!—he seemed pleased…He said, ‘So you’ve noticed that?’ Hequite—quite preened himself, if I may use that expression.”
“He’s mad, of course,” said Luke.
Miss Waynflete agreed eagerly.
“Yes, indeed, there isn’t any other explanation possible. He’s not re-sponsible for his acts.” She laid a hand on Luke’s arm. “They—they won’thang him, will they, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
“No, no. Send him to Broadmoor, I expect.”
Miss Waynflete sighed and leaned back.
“I’m so glad.”
Her eyes rested on Bridget, who was frowning down at the carpet.
Luke said:
“But we’re a long way from all that still. I’ve notified the powers that beand I can say this much, they’re prepared to take the matter seriously. Butyou must realize that we’ve got remarkably little evidence to go upon.”
“We’ll get evidence,” said Bridget.
Miss Waynflete looked up at her. There was some quality in her expres-sion that reminded Luke of someone or something that he had seen notlong ago. He tried to pin down the elusive memory but failed.
Miss Waynflete said doubtfully:
“You are confident, my dear. Well, perhaps you are right.”
Luke said:
“I’ll go along with the car, Bridget, and fetch your things from theManor.”
Bridget said immediately:
“I’ll come too.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Yes, but I’d rather come.”
Luke said irritably:
“Don’t do the mother and child act with me, Bridget! I refuse to be pro-tected by you.”
Miss Waynflete murmured:
“I really think, Bridget, that it will be quite all right—in a car—and indaylight.”
Bridget gave a slightly shamefaced laugh.
“I’m being rather an idiot. This business gets on one’s nerves.”
Luke said:
“Miss Waynflete protected me home the other night. Come now, MissWaynflete, admit it! You did, didn’t you?”
She admitted it, smiling.
“You see, Mr. Fitzwilliam, you were so completely unsuspicious! And ifGordon Whitfield had really grasped the fact that you were down here tolook into this business and for no other reason—well, it wasn’t very safe.
And that’s a very lonely lane—anything might have happened!”
“Well, I’m alive to the danger now all right,” said Luke grimly. “I shan’tbe caught napping, I can assure you.”
Miss Waynflete said anxiously:
“Remember, he is very cunning. And much cleverer than you wouldever imagine! Really, a most ingenious mind.”
“I’m forewarned.”
“Men have courage—one knows that,” said Miss Waynflete, “but theyare more easily deceived than women.”
“That’s true,” said Bridget.
Luke said:
“Seriously, Miss Waynflete, do you really think that I am in any danger?
Do you think, in film parlance, that Lord Whitfield is really out to get me?”
Miss Waynflete hesitated.
“I think,” she said, “that the principal danger is to Bridget. It is her rejec-tion of him that is the supreme insult! I think that after he has dealt withBridget he will turn his attention to you. But I think that undoubtedly hewill try for her first.”
Luke groaned.
“I wish to goodness you’d go abroad—now—at once, Bridget.”
Bridget’s lips set themselves together.
“I’m not going.”
Miss Waynflete sighed.
“You are a brave creature, Bridget. I admire you.”
“You’d do the same in my place.”
“Well, perhaps.”
Bridget said, her voice dropping to a full, rich note:
“Luke and I are in this together.”
She went out with him to the door. Luke said:
“I’ll give you a ring from the Bells and Motley when I’m safely out of thelion’s den.”
“Yes, do.”
“My sweet, don’t let’s get all het up! Even the most accomplished mur-derers have to have a little time to mature their plans! I should say we’requite all right for a day or two. Superintendent Battle is coming downfrom London today. From then on Whitfield will be under observation.”
“In fact, everything is OK, and we can cut out the melodrama.”
Luke said gravely, laying a hand on her shoulder:
“Bridget, my sweet, you will oblige me by not doing anything rash!”
“Same to you, darling Luke.”
He squeezed her shoulder, jumped into the car and drove off.
Bridget returned to the sitting room. Miss Waynflete was fussing a littlein a gentle spinsterish manner.
“My dear, your room’s not quite ready yet. Emily is seeing to it. Do youknow what I’m going to do? I’m going to get you a nice cup of tea! It’s justwhat you need after all these upsetting incidents.”
“It’s frightfully kind of you, Miss Waynflete, but I really don’t want any.”
What Bridget would have liked was a strong cocktail, mainly composedof gin, but she rightly judged that that form of refreshment was not likelyto be forthcoming. She disliked tea intensely. It usually gave her indiges-tion. Miss Waynflete, however, had decided that tea was what her youngguest needed. She bustled out of the room and reappeared about fiveminutes later, her face beaming, carrying a tray on which stood twodainty Dresden cups full of a fragrant, steaming beverage.
“Real Lapsang Souchong,” said Miss Waynflete proudly.
Bridget, who disliked China tea even more than Indian, gave a wansmile.
At that moment Emily, a small clumsy-looking girl with pronounced ad-enoids, appeared in the doorway and said:
“If you please, biss—did you bean the frilled billowcases?”
Miss Waynflete hurriedly left the room, and Bridget took advantage ofthe respite to pour her tea out of the window, narrowly escaping scaldingWonky Pooh, who was on the flower bed below.
Wonky Pooh accepted her apologies, sprang up on the windowsill andproceeded to wind himself in and out over Bridget’s shoulders, purring inan affected manner.
“Handsome!” said Bridget, drawing a hand down his back.
Wonky Pooh arched his tail and purred with redoubled vigour.
“Nice pussy,” said Bridget, tickling his ears.
Miss Waynflete returned at that minute.
“Dear me,” she exclaimed. “Wonky Pooh has quite taken to you, hasn’the? He’s so standoffish as a rule! Mind his ear, my dear, he’s had a bad earlately and it’s still very painful.”
The injunction came too late. Bridget’s hand had tweaked the painfulear. Wonky Pooh spat at her and retired, a mass of orange offended dig-nity.
“Oh, dear, has he scratched you?” cried Miss Waynflete.
“Nothing much,” said Bridget, sucking a diagonal scratch on the back ofher hand.
“Shall I put some iodine on?”
“Oh, no, it’s quite all right. Don’t let’s fuss.”
Miss Waynflete seemed a little disappointed. Feeling that she had beenungracious, Bridget said hastily:
“I wonder how long Luke will be?”
“Now don’t worry, my dear. I’m sure Mr. Fitzwilliam is well able to lookafter himself.”
“Oh, Luke’s tough all right!”
At that moment the telephone rang. Bridget hurried to it. Luke’s voicespoke.
“Hallo? That you, Bridget? I’m at the Bells and Motley. Can you wait foryour traps till after lunch? Because Battle has arrived here—you knowwho I mean—”
“The superintendent man from Scotland Yard?”
“Yes. And he wants to have a talk with me right away.”
“That’s all right by me. Bring my things round after lunch and tell mewhat he says about it all.”
“Right. So long, my sweet.”
“So long.”
Bridget replaced the receiver and retailed the conversation to MissWaynflete. Then she yawned. A feeling of fatigue had succeeded her ex-citement.
Miss Waynflete noticed it.
“You’re tired, my dear! You’d better lie down—no, perhaps that wouldbe a bad thing just before lunch. I was just going to take some old clothesto a woman in a cottage not very far away—quite a pretty walk over thefields. Perhaps you’d care to come with me? We’ll just have time beforelunch.”
Bridget agreed willingly.
They went out the back way. Miss Waynflete wore a straw hat and, toBridget’s amusement, had put on gloves.
“We might be going to Bond Street!” she thought to herself.
Miss Waynflete chatted pleasantly of various small village matters asthey walked. They went across two fields, crossed a rough lane and thentook a path leading through a ragged copse. The day was hot and Bridgetfound the shade of the trees pleasant.
Miss Waynflete suggested that they should sit down and rest a minute.
“It’s really rather oppressively warm today, don’t you think? I fancythere must be thunder about!”
Bridget acquiesced somewhat sleepily. She lay back against the bank—her eyes half-closed—some lines of poetry wandering through her brain.
“O why do you walk through the fields in glovesO fat white woman whom nobody loves?”
But that wasn’t quite right! Miss Waynflete wasn’t fat. She amended thewords to fit the case.
“O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,O lean grey woman whom nobody loves?”
Miss Waynflete broke in upon her thoughts.
“You’re very sleepy, dear, aren’t you?”
The words were said in a gentle everyday tone, but something in themjerked Bridget’s eyes suddenly open.
Miss Waynflete was leaning forward towards her. Her eyes were eager,her tongue passed gently over her lips. She repeated her question:
“You’re very sleepy, aren’t you?”
This time there was no mistaking the definite significance of the tone. Aflash passed through Bridget’s brain—a lightning flash of comprehension,succeeded by one of contempt at her own density!
She had suspected the truth—but it had been no more than a dim suspi-cion. She had meant, working quietly and secretly, to make sure. But notfor one moment had she realized that anything was to be attemptedagainst herself. She had, she thought, concealed her suspicious entirely.
Nor would she have dreamed that anything would be contemplated sosoon. Fool—seven times fool!
And she thought suddenly:
“The tea—there was something in the tea. She doesn’t know I never drankit. Now’s my chance! I must pretend! What stuff was it, I wonder? Poison?
Or just sleeping stuff? She expects me to be sleepy—that’s evident.”
She let her eyelids droop again. In what she hoped was a natural drowsyvoice, she said:
“I do—frightfully…How funny! I don’t know when I’ve felt so sleepy.”
Miss Waynflete nodded softly.
Bridget watched the older woman narrowly through her almost closedeyes.
She thought:
“I’m a match for her anyway! My muscles are pretty tough — she’s askinny frail old pussy. But I’ve got to make her talk—that’s it—make hertalk!”
Miss Waynflete was smiling. It was not a nice smile. It was sly and notvery human.
Bridget thought:
“She’s like a goat. God! how like a goat she is! A goat’s always been anevil symbol! I see why now! I was right—I was right in that fantastic ideaof mine! Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…That was the start of it—it’s all there.”
She murmured, and this time her voice held a definite note of apprehen-sion.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me… I feel so queer — so veryqueer!”
Miss Waynflete gave a swift glance round her. The spot was entirely des-olate. It was too far from the village for a shout to be heard. There were nohouses or cottages near. She began to fumble with the parcel she carried—the parcel that was supposed to contain old clothes. Apparently it did. Thepaper came apart, revealing a soft woolly garment. And still those glovedhands fumbled and fumbled.
“O why do you walk through the fields in gloves?”
“Yes—why? Why gloves?”
Of course! Of course! The whole thing so beautifully planned!
The wrapping fell aside. Carefully, Miss Waynflete extracted the knife,holding it very carefully so as not to obliterate the fingerprints which werealready on it—where the short podgy fingers of Lord Whitfield had held itearlier that day in the drawing room at Ashe Manor.
The Moorish knife with the sharp blade.
Bridget felt slightly sick. She must play for time—yes and she must makethe woman talk—this lean, grey woman whom nobody loved. It ought notto be difficult—not really. Because she must want to talk, oh, so badly—and the only person she could ever talk to was someone like Bridget—someone who was going to be silenced for ever.
Bridget said—in a faint, thick voice:
“What’s—that—knife?”
And then Miss Waynflete laughed.
It was a horrible laugh, soft and musical and ladylike, and quite inhu-man. She said:
“It’s for you, Bridget. For you! I’ve hated you, you know, for a very longtime.”
Bridget said:
“Because I was going to marry Gordon Whitfield?”
Miss Waynflete nodded.
“You’re clever. You’re quite clever! This, you see, will be the crowningproof against him. You’ll be found here, with your throat cut—and—hisknife, and his fingerprints on the knife! Clever the way I asked to see it thismorning!
“And then I slipped it into my bag wrapped in a handkerchief whilst youwere upstairs. So easy! But the whole thing has been easy. I would hardlyhave believed it.”
Bridget said — still in the thick, muffled voice of a person heavilydrugged:
“That’s—because—you’re—so—devilishly—clever….”
Miss Waynflete laughed her ladylike little laugh again. She said with ahorrible kind of pride:
“Yes, I always had brains, even as a girl! But they wouldn’t let me doanything…I had to stay at home—doing nothing. And then Gordon—just acommon boot-maker’s son, but he had ambition, I knew. I knew he wouldrise in the world. And he jilted me—jilted me! All because of that ridicu-lous business with the bird.”
Her hands made a queer gesture as though she were twisting some-thing.
Again a wave of sickness passed over Bridget.
“Gordon Ragg daring to jilt me—Colonel Waynflete’s daughter! I sworeI’d pay him out for that! I used to think about it night after night…Andthen we got poorer and poorer. The house had to be sold. He bought it! Hecame along patronizing me, offering me a job in my own old home. How Ihated him then! But I never showed my feelings. We were taught that asgirls—a most valuable training. That, I always think, is where breedingtells.”
She was silent a minute. Bridget watched her, hardly daring to breathelest she should stem the flow of words.
Miss Waynflete went on softly:
“All the time I was thinking and thinking…First of all I just thought ofkilling him. That’s when I began to read up criminology — quietly, youknow—in the library. And really I found my reading came in most usefulmore than once later. The door of Amy’s room, for instance, turning thekey in the lock from the outside with pincers after I’d changed the bottlesby her bed. How she snored, that girl, quite disgusting, it was!”
She paused.
“Let me see, where was I?”
That gift which Bridget had cultivated, which had charmed Lord Whit-field, the gift of the perfect listener, stood her in good stead now. HonoriaWaynflete might be a homicidal maniac but she was also something muchmore common than that. She was a human being who wanted to talkabout herself. And with that class of human being Bridget was well fittedto cope.
She said, and her voice had exactly the right invitation in it:
“You meant at first to kill him—”
“Yes, but that didn’t satisfy me—much too ordinary—it had to be some-thing better than just killing. And then I got this idea. It just came to me.
He should suffer for committing a lot of crimes of which he was quite in-nocent. He should be a murderer! He should be hanged for my crimes. Orelse they’d say he was mad and he would be shut up all his life…Thatmight be even better.”
She giggled now. A horrible little giggle…Her eyes were light and staringwith queer elongated pupils.
“As I told you, I read a lot of books on crime. I chose my victims care-fully—there was not to be too much suspicion at first. You see,” her voicedeepened, “I enjoyed the killing…That disagreeable woman, Lydia Horton—she’d patronized me—once she referred to me as an old maid. I was gladwhen Gordon quarrelled with her. Two birds with one stone, I thought!
Such fun, sitting by her bedside and slipping the arsenic in her tea, andthen going out and telling the nurse how Mrs. Horton had complained ofthe bitter taste of Lord Whitfield’s grapes! The stupid woman never re-peated that, which was such a pity.
“And then the others! As soon as I heard that Gordon had a grievanceagainst anyone, it was so easy to arrange for an accident! And he was sucha fool—such an incredible fool! I made him believe that there was some-thing very special about him! That anyone who went against him suffered.
He believed it quite easily. Poor dear Gordon, he’d believe anything. Sogullible!”
Bridget thought of herself saying to Luke scornfully:
“Gordon! He could believe anything!”
Easy? How easy! Poor pompous credulous little Gordon.
But she must learn more! Easy? This was easy too! She’d done it as a sec-retary for years. Quietly encouraged her employers to talk about them-selves. And this woman wanted badly to talk, to boast about her own clev-erness.
Bridget murmured:
“But how did you manage it all? I don’t see how you could.”
“Oh, it was quite easy! It just needed organisation! When Amy was dis-charged from the Manor I engaged her at once. I think the hat paint ideawas quite clever—and the door being locked on the inside made me quitesafe. But of course I was always safe because I never had any motive, andyou can’t suspect anyone of murder if there isn’t a motive. Carter wasquite easy too—he was lurching about in the fog and I caught up with himon the footbridge and gave him a quick push. I’m really very strong, youknow.”
She paused and the soft horrible little giggle came again.
“The whole thing was such fun! I shall never forget Tommy’s face when Ipushed him off the windowsill that day. He hadn’t the least idea….”
She leaned towards Bridget confidentially.
“People are really very stupid, you know. I’d never realized that before.”
Bridget said very softly:
“But then—you’re unusually clever.”
“Yes—yes—perhaps you’re right.”
Bridget said:
“Dr. Humbleby—that must have been more difficult?”
“Yes, it was really amazing how that succeeded. It might not haveworked, of course. But Gordon had been talking to everybody of his visitto the Wellerman Kreutz Institute, and I thought if I could manage it sothat people remembered that visit and connected it afterwards. AndWonky Pooh’s ear was really very nasty, a lot of discharge. I managed torun the point of my scissors into the doctor’s hand, and then I was so dis-tressed and insisted on putting on a dressing and bandaging it up. Hedidn’t know the dressing had been infected first from Wonky Pooh’s ear.
Of course, it mightn’t have worked—it was just a long shot. I was delightedwhen it did—especially as Wonky Pooh had been Lavinia’s cat.”
Her face darkened.
“Lavinia Pinkerton! She guessed… It was she who found Tommy thatday. And then when Gordon and old Dr. Humbleby had that row, shecaught me looking at Humbleby. I was off my guard. I was just wonderingexactly how I’d do it…And she knew! I turned round to find her watchingme and—I gave myself away. I saw that she knew. She couldn’t prove any-thing, of course. I knew that. But I was afraid all the same someone mightbelieve her. I was afraid they might believe her at Scotland Yard. I feltsure that was where she was going that day. I was in the same train and Ifollowed her.
“The whole thing was so easy. She was on an island crossing Whitehall. Iwas close behind her. She never saw me. A big car came along and Ishoved with all my might. I’m very strong! She went right down in front ofit. I told the woman next to me I’d seen the number of the car and gaveher the number of Gordon’s Rolls. I hoped she’d repeat it to the police.
“It was lucky the car didn’t stop. Some chauffeur joyriding without hismaster’s knowledge, I suspect. Yes, I was lucky there. I’m always lucky.
That scene the other day with Rivers, and Luke Fitzwilliam as witness. I’vehad such fun leading him along! Odd how difficult it was to make him sus-pect Gordon. But after Rivers’s death he would be sure to do so. He must!
“And now—well, this will just finish the whole thing nicely.”
She got up and came towards Bridget. She said softly:
“Gordon jilted me! He was going to marry you. All my life I’ve been dis-appointed. I’ve had nothing—nothing at all….”
“O lean grey woman whom nobody loves…”
She was bending over her, smiling, with mad light eyes… The knifegleamed….
With all her youth and strength, Bridget sprang. Like a tiger cat, sheflung herself full force on the other woman, knocking her back, seizingher right wrist.
Taken by surprise, Honoria Waynflete fell back before the onslaught.
But then, after a moment’s inertia, she began to fight. In strength therewas no comparison between them. Bridget was young and healthy withmuscles toughened by games. Honoria Waynflete was a slender-built, frailcreature.
But there was one factor on which Bridget had not reckoned. HonoriaWaynflete was mad. Her strength was the strength of the insane. Shefought like a devil and her insane strength was stronger than the sanemuscled strength of Bridget. They swayed to and fro, and still Bridgetstrove to wrest the knife away from her, and still Honoria Waynflete hungon to it.
And then, little by little, the mad woman’s strength began to prevail.
Bridget cried out now:
“Luke…Help…Help…”
But she had no hope of help coming. She and Honoria Waynflete werealone. Alone in a dead world. With a supreme effort she wrenched theother’s wrist back, and at last she heard the knife fall.
The next minute Honoria Waynflete’s two hands had fastened roundher neck in a maniac grasp, squeezing the life out of her. She gave one lastchoked cry….
第二十一章 为何你戴着手套穿过田野
第二十一章 为何你戴着手套穿过田野

韦恩弗利特小姐屋里平静的气氛和刚才车里那种紧张的气氛比较起来，简直有天壤之别。韦恩弗利特小姐对布丽吉特接受她的邀请似乎有点不敢相信，不过她马上显出很好客的态度，表示她的迟疑并非因为不欢迎这个姑娘，而是另有原因。卢克说：“既然你那么客气，我觉得布丽吉特还是暂时留在你这儿最好，韦恩弗利特小姐。我会住进贝尔斯旅馆，让布丽吉特留在我的视线之内，绝不能让她进城去住。那里毕竟也出过事。”
韦恩弗利特小姐说：“你是说拉维妮亚•平克顿的事？”
“对，你一定会说，任何人住在拥挤的城市里都很安全吧，对不对？”
韦恩弗利特小姐说：“你的意思是说，一个人安不安全主要在于有没有人想杀他？”
“不错，我们现在都很依赖所谓文明的善意。”
韦恩弗利特小姐若有所思地点点头。
布丽吉特说：“韦恩弗利特小姐，你知道戈登是杀人凶手有多久了？”
韦恩弗利特小姐叹口气，说：“亲爱的，这个问题很难回答。我想也许我内心深处早就很肯定了，可是我的脑子却一直想否认。你知道，我实在不愿意相信这件事，所以一直欺骗自己说那只是我在胡思乱想。”
卢克坦白地问：“难道你就从来没害怕过吗？”
韦恩弗利特小姐想了想，然后说：“你是指如果戈登怀疑我知道他是凶手，可能会想办法除掉我？”
“是的。”
韦恩弗利特小姐温和地说：“我当然想到过，也尽量小心自己的言行。不过我想戈登不会真的认为我对他是威胁。”
“为什么？”
韦恩弗利特小姐微红着脸说：“我想戈登一定不相信我会做出——对他不利的事。”
卢克忽然说：“你甚至还警告过他，是不是？”
“对，我跟他暗示过，那些惹他不高兴的人马上都会发生意外，真是奇怪。”
布丽吉特问：“他怎么说呢？”
韦恩弗利特小姐脸上露出担忧的表情，说：“他的反应完全出乎我的意料，他好像——好像很高兴似的，真是太奇怪了！他还说，‘原来你也看出来了！’我想，他大概觉得很光荣。”
卢克说：“那当然，他早就疯了。”
韦恩弗利特小姐迫切地表示同意：“是啊，他的确疯了，不可能有别的理由。他大概无法对自己的行为负责任。”她用一只手拉着卢克的手臂，“他们不会吊死他吧，对不对？菲茨威廉先生。”
“不会，不会，我想会送他到布罗德英精神病院去。”
韦恩弗利特小姐叹口气，靠在椅背上，说道：“那我就放心了。”她看看布丽吉特，后者正皱眉望着地毯。
卢克说：“不过现在离那个阶段还早得很，我已经通知过警方，他们一定会慎重处理这件事。不过你要知道，目前我们掌握的证据实在太少了。”
“我们一定会找到证据的。”布丽吉特说。
韦恩弗利特小姐抬头看着她，眼睛里有一种神情，卢克觉得似乎不久前才在什么地方看过，他努力回想，一时却想不出来。
韦恩弗利特小姐用怀疑的口气说：“你好像很有信心，亲爱的，唉，也许你说得对。”
卢克说：“我开车到庄园把你的行李带回来，布丽吉特。”
布丽吉特马上说：“我也去。”
“我希望你留在这儿。”
“可是我想跟你一起去。”
卢克生气地说：“别像妈妈跟着小孩一样跟着我，布丽吉特。我不要你保护我。”
韦恩弗利特小姐喃喃地道：“布丽吉特，我真的觉得大白天在车子里不会有什么危险。”
布丽吉特有点不好意思地说：“我实在有点傻，这种事让人太紧张了。”
卢克说：“有一天晚上，韦恩弗利特小姐护送我回家……韦恩弗利特小姐，承认吧！你当时确实是这个意思，对不对？”
她承认了，并且微笑道：“你知道，菲茨威廉先生，你对他一点都没有疑心，万一戈登•惠特菲尔德知道你来的目的纯粹是调查这件事，那就太不安全了。而且那条小路很幽静，任何事都有可能发生！”
“好了，我现在已经知道了，”卢克严肃地说，“我保证不会被他乘虚而入。”
韦恩弗利特小姐不安地说：“别忘了，他狡猾得很，比你所想象的更狡猾。他的脑筋实在很聪明。”
“我已经有心理准备了。”
“大家都知道男人很勇敢，”韦恩弗利特小姐说，“可是男人往往比女人更容易受骗。”
“一点儿没错。”布丽吉特说。
卢克说：“说真的，韦恩弗利特小姐，你真的觉得我有危险吗？你想惠特菲尔德爵士真的会想办法除掉我吗？”
韦恩弗利特小姐迟疑了一会儿，然后说：“我想最危险的还是布丽吉特，因为她拒绝跟他结婚才是最冒犯他的事。也许他除掉布丽吉特之后，才会把矛头指向你。我想他一定会先对付布丽吉特。”
卢克呻吟了一下：“我真希望你出国去——现在走——马上就走，布丽吉特。”
布丽吉特噘着嘴说：“我不要。”
韦恩弗利特叹了口气，说：“你真勇敢，布丽吉特，我很佩服你。”
“换了你也会一样。”
“也许吧。”
布丽吉特忽然下定决心般地说：“卢克和我会同心协力处理这件事。”
她送他到门口，卢克说：“我安全离开他家之后，会从贝尔斯旅馆打电话给你。”
“好，一定。”
“亲爱的，别太紧张了！就算最老练的凶手也要有点时间拟定计划。我想至少这一两天我们还很安全。贝特督察今天就从伦敦来，他来了以后，惠特菲尔德的一举一动就都在他们掌握之中了。”
“等一切都没问题，我们就可以退出这幕闹剧了！”
卢克用一只手搂住她的肩膀，严肃地说：“布丽吉特，亲爱的，听我的话，别做任何傻事。”
“你也一样，亲爱的卢克。”
他紧搂了一下她的肩膀，跳上车子，开走了。
布丽吉特回到起居室时，韦恩弗利特小姐正像大多数老小姐一样东摸摸，西弄弄。“亲爱的，你的房间还没准备好，艾米丽正在打扫。你知道我打算怎么样吗？给你泡杯好茶。
经过这么多烦心的事，你一定需要喝杯好茶。”
“你真体贴，韦恩弗利特小姐，可我实在不想喝。”
布丽吉特很不喜欢喝茶，因为喝完之后肠胃常会不舒服，但是韦恩弗利特小姐却坚持说她的客人需要喝茶。她匆匆忙忙走出去，大约五分钟后，微笑着端来一个茶盘，上面摆了两个德勒斯登瓷杯装的清香茶水。
“是真正的正山小种。”韦恩弗利特小姐骄傲地说。
布丽吉特只无力地笑笑。
这时那个笨里笨气，患有甲状腺肿的矮小女佣艾米丽走到门口，说。“小姐，请问你有没有看到枕头套？”
韦恩弗利特小姐快步走出去，布丽吉特赶紧把茶往外一倒，差点倒在正在花坛上的“老呸”。
“老呸”接受布丽吉特的道歉之后，跳上窗台，生病似的咪咪叫着。
“真漂亮！”布丽吉特用手摸摸它的背说。“老呸”竖着直尾巴，更用力地叫，布丽吉特抓抓它耳朵，又说，“乖猫咪！”
这时韦恩弗利特小姐回来了，喊道：“老天，‘老呸’一定很喜欢你吧，对不对？小心它的耳朵，亲爱的。它最近耳朵一直痛。”
可是她警告得太迟了，布丽吉特的手已经摸到猫耳朵。“老呸”对她呜呜大叫，猛的挠了一把，之后像尊严受到侵犯似的走开了。“噢，老天，它有没有抓伤你？”韦恩弗利特小姐喊道。
“没什么大不了。”布丽吉特舔舔手背上的那条抓痕说。
“要不要擦碘酒？”
“不用了，没什么，不用小题大做。”
韦恩弗利特似乎有点失望。布丽吉特觉得自己或许有点失礼，又急忙说：“不知道卢克多久会到？”
“别担心，亲爱的，我相信菲茨威廉先生一定会小心照顾自己。”
“嗯，对，卢克很有经验。”
这时电话铃响了，布丽吉特快步过去拿起听筒，是卢克的声音，“喂？布丽吉特吗？我在贝尔斯旅馆，你的行李能不能吃过午饭再送去？因为贝特来了——你知道我说的是谁吧？”
“苏格兰场的督察？”
“对，他想马上跟我谈谈。”
“没关系，你就吃过午饭再拿来好了，顺便把他的看法告诉我。”
“没问题，再见了，亲爱的。”
布丽吉特把听筒收好，又把电话内容说给韦恩弗利特小姐听。然后她打个呵欠，疲倦感已经克服了刚才那阵兴奋。韦恩弗利特小姐发觉了，对她说：“你累了，亲爱的，最好去床上躺躺。不，吃午饭前睡觉也许不大好，我想拿些旧衣服送给附近的一个女人——从稻田那边散步过去，你要不要一起去？刚好可以赶回来吃午饭。”
布丽吉特欣然同意，她们从后门出去。韦恩弗利特小姐戴了顶草帽，有趣的是，她还戴了手套。布丽吉特想：“也许我们会到庞德街去吧。”
韦恩弗利特小姐边走边聊些有趣的乡间逸事。她们穿过两片稻田，一条崎岖的小巷，然后走上一条通往树林的小径。天气很热，布丽吉特觉得走在树荫下很舒服，韦恩弗利特小姐提议不妨坐下来休息一会儿。“今天实在很闷热，你说是不是？我想等一下或许会打雷。”
布丽吉特有点困倦，勉强接受她的建议靠在树干上。她半闭着眼睛，脑中忽然想起一首诗：
噢，你为何戴着手套穿过田野。
噢，没有人爱的白胖女人。
可是这当然和她眼前的景象不合，韦恩弗利特小姐并不胖。布丽吉特把诗改成：
噢，你为何戴着手套穿过田野。
噢，没人爱的灰瘦女人。
韦恩弗利特小姐打断她的思路，说：“你很困了，亲爱的，对吗？”
她的声音很温和、很平常，但却有一种特殊的感觉使布丽吉特倏地张开眼睛。
韦恩弗利特小姐正俯身用热切的眼光看着她，轻轻用舌头舔着嘴唇，又问了一次：“你很困了，对吗？”
布丽吉特相信这回没有弄错她的语气，同时突然体会到一件事，立刻对自己的愚钝感到沮丧。她曾经怀疑过事实的真相，可是也仅仅是怀疑而已。她曾经私下悄悄打算加以证实，只是从来没想到自己会遭到任何暗算，她觉得自己一直把内心的怀疑隐藏得很机密，也从来没想到有人会这么快打定主意。傻瓜！比那些人还傻七倍！那杯茶——对了，茶里一定有什么东西，她不知道我根本没喝，我的机会来了，我一定要假装喝了。那杯茶里有什么东西？毒药？或者只是安眠药？她以为我一定很困——对了，就这么办。她闭上眼睛，假装用很自然、昏昏欲睡的声音说，“我好困好困，真好笑！我怎么会这么想睡！”
韦恩弗利特小姐轻轻点点头，布丽吉特从几乎全闭上的眼缝中看着她，心想：“无论如何，我总不会输给她。我的肌肉蛮结实的，她只不过是个瘦弱的老太婆。不过我必须让她把事情经过说出来，一定要让她说出来。”
韦恩弗利特小姐微笑着——那不是善意的笑容，而是非常阴险狡猾，根本不像是人的笑容，布丽吉特想。“她真像山羊，太像了！山羊一向代表邪恶，我现在才了解是为什么。
我想对了——我的胡思乱想居然对了！女人受到轻慢对待所引起的愤怒力量实在太大了，一切就是因此引起的。”
布丽吉特又故意喃喃地道：“我不知道自己怎么回事，我觉得好奇怪——好奇怪。”
韦恩弗利特小姐迅速看看四周，这地方非常偏僻，离村子也很远，就算再大声叫别人也听不见。附近没有任何房舍。韦恩弗利特小姐开始在她带来的包裹中摸索着——那个包裹本来应该是包旧衣服的，不错，纸裂开了，露出一件柔软的羊毛外套，可是那双戴手套的手仍然在摸索着。噢，你为何戴着手套穿过田野？对了，为什么？她为什么要戴手套？
对了！对了！这件事计划得太美了！
最后，韦恩弗利特小姐终于谨慎地拿出一把刀，她拿得很小心，免得擦拭掉刀上原有的指纹——今天早上，惠特菲尔德爵士曾经在阿什庄园的起居室用他那双小胖手摸过的刀——锋利的摩洛哥刀。
布丽吉特觉得有点恶心。她必须拖延时间，对，而且要让这个女人说出事实——这个没人爱的灰瘦女人。应该不会太难，因为她一定想尽情卖弄她的得意杰作，而她唯一能倾诉的对象就是像布丽吉特这种人——就快永远闭嘴的人。布丽吉特用模糊混浊的声音问：“那是什么刀子？”
韦恩弗利特小姐忍不住笑起来——笑得很可怕、很柔和，富于节奏，一点也不像人的笑声。她说：“是替你准备的刀，布丽吉特，给你的！你知道，我恨你很久了。”
布丽吉特说：“因为我要嫁给戈登•惠特菲尔德？”
韦恩弗利特小姐点点头，“你很聪明，太聪明了！你知道，这东西就是对他最不利的证据，别人会发现你被这把刀——他的刀——杀死在这儿，刀子上还有他的指纹！我今天早上要求看这把刀的方式很聪明吧！后来我趁你们上楼的时候，偷偷用手帕把刀子包起来放进口袋。真是轻而易举！不过做这种事本来就很容易，连我自己都不大相信。”
布丽吉特仍然用那种混浊呢喃的声音说：“那是因为你有鬼心眼。”
韦愚弗利小姐又露出那种淑女似的浅浅笑容，用骄傲得可怕的声音说：“不错，我从小就很有头脑，可是他们什么事都不让我做，要我整天留在家里无所事事。后来戈登出现了，虽然他只不过是个鞋匠的儿子，可是他有野心！我知道，我早就知道他一定会出人头地，但是他居然一脚就蹬开了我！就只为了那只鸟，那件可笑的事！”她做了个奇怪的手势，仿佛在扭曲什么东西似的，布丽吉特心头又起了一种恐怖感。
“戈登居然敢甩了我——韦恩弗利特上校的女儿！我发誓一定要报复他！我常常一连好几夜失眠，脑子里始终在想这件事。后来我们越来越穷，连房子都不得不卖掉，结果却被他买下来了！他还自以为给了我多大的恩惠，替我在我自己的老家弄了份工作。那时候我真是恨透他了！可是我从来都没表现出来，我们从小就受到良好的家教。这就是一个人有没有教养的差别。”
她沉默了一会儿，布丽吉特看着她，几乎连呼吸都不敢出声，免得打断她的话。
韦恩弗利特小姐又继续轻轻地说：“我一直在考虑应该怎么做。最初我只想到杀掉他。
那时候我刚开始一个人在图书馆里静静研究犯罪学。后来我不止一次发现，那些书真是帮了我不少忙。就拿艾米的房门来说，我把她床头的药瓶换好之后，就从外面用钳子把里面的钥匙锁好。她打鼾打得像猪一样！真讨人厌！”她顿了顿，“我想想看，我说到什么地方了？”
布丽吉特培养出来的能耐——最佳听众，也是惠特菲尔德爵士对她着迷的原因——此刻完全发挥了作用。奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特也许是个杀人狂，不过也像一般人一样爱夸耀自己。布丽吉特非常适合跟这种人合作，她仍旧用那种昏沉沉的声音说：“你说你本来想杀掉他。”
“对，可是我觉得那太便宜他了，没办法让我满足，我一定要做得更漂亮。后来我终于想出这个办法。让他为不是自己犯的罪行受到惩罚，我要使他成为杀人凶手！让他为我犯的罪被吊死，或者判处无期徒刑，那样更好。”她得意地咯咯笑着，笑声非常恐怖，眼中发出奇异的光芒。
“我刚才说过，我看了很多犯罪学的书，所以我懂得小心选择替死鬼，起先没什么人怀疑。你知道的，”她压低了声音，“我觉得杀人很有意思。那个讨厌的女人——莉蒂亚•霍顿——以为自己给了我多大恩惠，有一次居然说我是‘老处女’。戈登跟她吵架的时候，我非常高兴，我想：‘太好了，一石二鸟。’真有意思，我坐在她床边把砒霜放进她茶里，再走出去告诉护士，说霍顿太太抱怨惠特菲尔德爵士的葡萄有苦味！可是那个蠢女人没告诉别人，真是太可惜了。
“后来，我一听到戈登和什么人结怨，马上就安排那个人发生意外，真是太简单了！他真是个傻子——傻得叫人不敢相信！我让他以为他有某种特殊的天赋，任何人跟他作对都不会有好下场，他居然马上就相信了。可怜的戈登，他什么事都相信！真是太容易上当了！”
布丽吉特想到自己也曾轻蔑地对卢克说：“戈登！他任何事都相信！”容易吗？真是太容易了！可怜傲慢而又轻信别人的小戈登。
但是布丽吉特还需要知道更多，这也很简单，这些年来当秘书的经验让她学会了这套本事，平静地鼓励老板多谈自己。现在，她眼前这个女人迫不及待地想吹嘘自己有多聪明，于是布丽吉特又喃喃地说：“可是你怎么有办法成功那么多次呢？我真搞不懂。”
“噢，太简单了，只要好好计划一下就够了！艾米被阿什庄园解雇之后，我马上雇用她。我觉得使用帽漆这一招实在很高明，而且她把房门从里面锁上，我就更不用担心了。
不过当然啦，我本来就一直很安全，用不着担心，别人根本想不出我有什么动机。既然没有杀人动机，别人当然不会怀疑我是凶手。卡特也很容易就被解决了，他一个人在雾里踉跄地走着，我在小桥上赶上他，随手一推就把他解决了。你知道，我其实不怎么虚弱。”
她顿了顿，又发出那种可怕的笑声。“这整件事实在太有意思了！我永远忘不了那天把汤米从窗台上推下去的时候，他脸上的那种表情！他一点儿都没想到！”她神秘兮兮地凑到布丽吉特面前说，“要知道，人其实笨得很，不过我以前从来没发现。”
布丽吉特轻声说：“那当然，你实在太聪明了。”
“对、对，也许你说对了。”
布丽吉特说：“亨伯比医生——一定比较困难吧。”
“对，那次能成功真是意外。当然，也可能会失败。那一阵子，戈登得意扬扬的跟每个人谈起他去威勒曼实验室的事，我想只要能设法使别人把他那次行程和以后的事联想在一起就好——‘老呸’的耳朵很脏，经常流脓，我想办法用剪刀戳伤医生的手，装出很难过的样子，坚持要替他包扎伤口，他不知道我用的纱布已经先碰过‘老呸’的耳朵。我只是碰运气，没想到居然成功了。当时我非常高兴——尤其‘老呸’又是拉维妮亚的猫。”
她脸色变得黯淡起来：“拉维妮亚•平克顿！她居然猜到是怎么回事！那天是她发现汤米的尸体。后来戈登跟老亨伯比吵架的时候，她逮到我看亨伯比的眼神。当时我正在想要怎么解决亨伯比，一回头却发现她在看我，我一时疏忽，就露出心里的秘密，我发现她知道是怎么回事，虽然明知她没办法证明什么，我还是很担心，万一有人相信她的话就糟了。我想苏恪兰场可能会相信她的话，也猜出她当天一定是到那里，于是就搭同一班火车跟踪她。
“杀她也非常容易，她站在安全岛上等车子过去的时候，我用力推了她一把，我壮得很！她马上就被一辆车子当场压死。我告诉我身边那个女人，说我看到车号，然后把戈登那辆劳斯莱斯车子的号码告诉她。我希望她会告诉警方。幸运的是，那辆车没有停下来，大概是司机偷开主人车子出来兜风。不错，我很幸运，我的运气一向都很好。那天他和里弗斯争吵的那一幕，卢克•菲茨威廉刚好可以做证人。我一直引他往这个方面想，真有意思！奇怪，要他对戈登起疑心真困难，不过里弗斯一死，他就一定会怀疑戈登了。他一定会！现在——哈，我要漂漂亮亮地了结这件事了。”
她站起来，走向布丽吉特，一边轻柔地说：“戈登甩了我，却想娶你做老婆！我这辈子一直很失望，我什么都没有……什么都没有……”
噢，没有人爱的灰瘦女人——
她微笑着俯身靠近她，眼里闪烁着疯狂的光芒，手里的刀子也在闪闪发光。
布丽吉特用尽全身力气纵身一跃，像只山猫似的扑在那个老女人身上，把她撞倒在地上，抓住她的右腕。
奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特惊讶之余，一时跌坐在地上，可是愣了一下之后，她也马上开始还击。她们两人的体力相当，布丽吉特年轻健康，因为经常运动，她的肌肉锻炼得很结实。奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特身材瘦弱，可是有一点布丽吉特却没想到——奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特疯了，疯子的力量是很大的。她像魔鬼似的打斗，而她那种疯狂的力量胜过布丽吉特。
两人你来我往地扭打着。布丽吉特拼命抢她的刀子，对方也死命抓住不放。可是渐渐的，这个疯女人开始占了上风。布丽吉特不禁大声喊：“卢克！救救我！救救我！”可是没有人能救她，这里只有她和奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特两个人。她用尽全力抓住疯女人的手腕，最后终于听到刀子掉在地上的声音。紧接着，奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特的两只手疯狂地掐住她的脖子，她咳呛着最后呼救了一次。
Twenty-two MRS. HUMBLEBY SPEAKS
Twenty-two MRS. HUMBLEBY SPEAKS

Luke was favourably impressed by the appearance of SuperintendentBattle. He was a solid, comfortable-looking man with a broad red face anda large handsome moustache. He did not exactly express brilliance at afirst glance, but a second glance was apt to make an observant personthoughtful, for Superintendent Battle’s eye was unusually shrewd.
Luke did not make the mistake of underestimating him. He had metmen of Battle’s type before. He knew that they could be trusted, and thatthey invariably got results. He could not have wished for a better man tobe put in charge of the case.
When they were alone together Luke said:
“You’re rather a big noise to be sent down on a case like this?”
Superintendent Battle smiled.
“It may turn out to be a serious business, Mr. Fitzwilliam. When a manlike Lord Whitfield is concerned, we don’t want to have any mistakes.”
“I appreciate that. Are you alone?”
“Oh, no. Got a detective-sergeant with me. He’s at the other pub, theSeven Stars, and his job is to keep an eye on his lordship.”
“I see.”
Battle asked:
“In your opinion, Mr. Fitzwilliam, there’s no doubt whatever? You’repretty sure of your man?”
“On the facts I don’t see that any alternative theory is possible. Do youwant me to give you the facts?”
“I’ve had them, thank you, from Sir William.”
“Well, what do you think? I suppose it seems to you wildly unlikely thata man in Lord Whitfield’s position should be a homicidal criminal?”
“Very few things seem unlikely to me,” said Superintendent Battle.
“Nothing’s impossible in crime. That’s what I’ve always said. If you wereto tell me that a dear old maiden lady, or an archbishop, or a schoolgirl,was a dangerous criminal, I wouldn’t say no. I’d look into the matter.”
“If you’ve heard the main facts of the case from Sir William, I’ll just tellyou what happened this morning,” said Luke.
He ran over briefly the main lines of his scene with Lord Whitfield. Su-perintendent Battle listened with a good deal of interest.
He said:
“You say he was fingering a knife. Did he make a special point of thatknife, Mr. Fitzwilliam? Was he threatening with it?”
“Not openly. He tested the edge in a rather nasty way—a kind of ?s-thetic pleasure about that that I didn’t care about. Miss Waynflete felt thesame, I believe.”
“That’s the lady you spoke about—the one who’s known Lord Whitfieldall her life, and was once engaged to marry him?”
“That’s right.”
Superintendent Battle said:
“I think you can make your mind easy about the young lady, Mr. Fitzwil-liam. I’ll have someone put on to keep a sharp watch on her. With that,and with Jackson tailing his lordship, there ought to be no danger of any-thing happening.”
“You relieve my mind a good deal,” said Luke.
The superintendent nodded sympathetically.
“It’s a nasty position for you, Mr. Fitzwilliam. Worrying about Miss Con-way. Mind you, I don’t expect this will be an easy case. Lord Whitfieldmust be a pretty shrewd man. He will probably lie low for a good longwhile. That is, unless he’s got to the last stage.”
“What do you call the last stage?”
“A kind of swollen egoism where a criminal thinks he simply can’t befound out! He’s too clever and everybody else is too stupid! Then, ofcourse, we get him!”
Luke nodded. He rose.
“Well,” he said, “I wish you luck. Let me help in any way I can.”
“Certainly.”
“There’s nothing that you can suggest?”
Battle turned the question over in his mind.
“I don’t think so. Not at the moment. I just want to get the general hangof things in the place. Perhaps I could have another word with you in theevening?”
“Rather.”
“I shall know better where we are then.”
Luke felt vaguely comforted and soothed. Many people had had thatfeeling after an interview with Superintendent Battle.
He glanced at his watch. Should he go round and see Bridget beforelunch?
Better not, he thought. Miss Waynflete might feel that she had to askhim to stay for the meal, and it might disorganize her housekeeping.
Middle-aged ladies, Luke knew from experience with aunts, were liable tobe fussed over problems of housekeeping. He wondered if Miss Waynfletewas an aunt? Probably.
He had strolled out to the door of the inn. A figure in black hurryingdown the street stopped suddenly when she saw him.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“Mrs. Humbleby.”
He came forward and shook hands.
She said:
“I thought you had left?”
“No—only changed my quarters. I’m staying here now.”
“And Bridget? I heard she had left Ashe Manor?”
“Yes, she has.”
Mrs. Humbleby sighed.
“I am so glad—so very glad she has gone right away from Wychwood.”
“Oh, she’s still here. As a matter of fact, she’s staying with Miss Waynf-lete.”
Mrs. Humbleby moved back a step. Her face, Luke noted with surprise,looked extraordinarily distressed.
“Staying with Honoria Waynflete? Oh, but why?”
“Miss Waynflete very kindly asked her to stay for a few days.”
Mrs. Humbleby gave a little shiver. She came close to Luke and laid ahand on his arm.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam, I know I have no right to say anything—anything atall. I have had a lot of sorrow and grief lately and—perhaps—it makes mefanciful! These feelings of mine may be only sick fancies.”
Luke said gently:
“What feelings?”
“This conviction I have of—of evil!”
She looked timidly at Luke. Seeing that he merely bowed his headgravely and did not appear to question her statement, she went on:
“So much wickedness — that is the thought that is always with me —wickedness here in Wychwood. And that woman is at the bottom of it all. Iam sure of it!”
Luke was mystified.
“What woman?”
Mrs. Humbleby said:
“Honoria Waynflete is, I am sure, a very wicked woman! Oh, I see, youdon’t believe me! No one believed Lavinia Pinkerton either. But we bothfelt it. She, I think, knew more than I did…Remember, Mr. Fitzwilliam, if awoman is not happy she is capable of terrible things.”
Luke said gently:
“That may be—yes.”
Mrs. Humbleby said quickly:
“You don’t believe me? Well, why should you? But I can’t forget the daywhen John came home with his hand bound up from her house, though hepooh-poohed it and said it was only a scratch.”
She turned.
“Good-bye. Please forget what I have just said. I—I don’t feel quite my-self these days.”
Luke watched her go. He wondered why Mrs. Humbleby called HonoriaWaynflete a wicked woman. Had Dr. Humbleby and Honoria Waynfletebeen friends, and was the doctor’s wife jealous?
What had she said? “Nobody believed Lavinia Pinkerton either.” ThenLavinia Pinkerton must have confided some of her suspicions to Mrs.
Humbleby.
With a rush the memory of the railway carriage came back, and theworried face of a nice old lady. He heard again an earnest voice saying,“The look on a person’s face.” And the way her own face had changed asthough she were seeing something very clearly in her mind. Just for a mo-ment, he thought, her face had been quite different, the lips drawn backfrom the teeth and a queer, almost gloating look in her eyes.
He suddenly thought: But I’ve seen someone look just like that—that sameexpression…Quite lately—when? This morning! Of course! Miss Waynflete,when she was looking at Bridget in the drawing room at the Manor.
And quite suddenly another memory assailed him. One of many yearsago. His Aunt Mildred saying, “She looked, you know, my dear, quite half-witted!” and just for a minute her own sane comfortable face had borne animbecile, mindless expression….
Lavinia Pinkerton had been speaking of the look she had seen on aman’s—no, a person’s face. Was it possible that, just for a second, her vividimagination had reproduced the look that she saw—the look of a murdererlooking at his next victim….
Half unaware of what he was doing, Luke quickened his pace towardsMiss Waynflete’s house.
A voice in his brain was saying over and over again:
“Not a man—she never mentioned a man—you assumed it was a manbecause you were thinking of a man—but she never said so…Oh, God, am Iquite mad? It isn’t possible what I’m thinking…surely it isn’t possible—itwouldn’t make sense… But I must get to Bridget. I must know she’s allright…Those eyes—those queer, light amber eyes. Oh, I’m mad! I must bemad! Whitfield’s the criminal! He must be. He practically said so!”
And still, like a nightmare, he saw Miss Pinkerton’s face in its moment-ary impersonation of something horrible and not quite sane.
The stunted little maid opened the door to him. A little startled by hisvehemence, she said:
“The lady’s gone out. Miss Waynflete told me so. I’ll see if Miss Waynf-lete’s in.”
He pushed past her, went into the drawing room. Emily ran upstairs.
She came down breathless.
“The mistress is out too.”
Luke took her by the shoulder.
“Which way? Where did they go?”
She gaped at him.
“They must have gone out by the back. I’d have seen them if they’d goneout frontways because the kitchen looks out there.”
She followed him as he raced out through the door into the tiny gardenand out beyond. There was a man clipping a hedge. Luke went up to himand asked a question, striving to keep his voice normal.
The man said slowly:
“Two ladies? Yes. Some while since. I was having my dinner under thehedge. Reckon they didn’t notice me.”
“Which way did they go?”
He strove desperately to make his voice normal. Yet the other’s eyesopened a little wider as he replied slowly:
“Across them fields…Over that way. I don’t know where after that.”
Luke thanked him and began to run. His strong feeling of urgency wasdeepened. He must catch up with them—he must! He might be quite mad.
In all probability they were just taking an amicable stroll, but somethingin him clamoured for haste. More haste!
He crossed the two fields, stood hesitating in a country lane. Which waynow?
And then he heard the call—faint, far away, but unmistakable….
“Luke, help.” And again, “Luke…”
Unerringly he plunged into the wood and ran in the direction fromwhich the cry had come. There were more sounds now—scuffling—pant-ing—a low gurgling cry.
He came through the trees in time to tear a mad woman’s hands fromher victim’s throat, to hold her, struggling, foaming, cursing, till at last shegave a convulsive shudder and turned rigid in his grasp.
第二十二章 亨伯比太太如是说
第二十二章 亨伯比太太如是说
贝特督察给卢克留下了很深刻的印象。贝特督察看起来很顺眼，宽阔的红脸上有一把漂亮的胡须。乍看之下，他似乎没什么特别之处，可是再看一眼就会发现，他的眼神非常精明锐利。卢克并没有看走眼，他以前也碰到过这种人，知道这种人值得信赖，而且工作一向很有成效。除了这种人，再也找不到更理想的人来办这个案子了。等到只剩下他们两人时，卢克说：“这种案子请你来处理，实在有点大材小用。”
贝特督察微微一笑，说：“这件案子也许很严重，菲茨威廉先生，碰到跟惠特菲尔德这种大人物有关的事，我们不希望犯任何错误。”
“说得对，只有你一个人来吗？”
“噢，不是，还有一位巡官。他在另外一家酒店——‘七星’，他的工作是盯住爵士。”
“我明白了。”
贝特问：“菲茨威廉先生，你觉得这件案已经没什么疑问，可以肯定是他了？”
“由各方面来看，我都觉得不可能是其他人。要不要我把事实一一告诉你？”
“谢谢，不用了，威廉爵士都告诉我了。”
“噢，你的看法怎么样？你大概觉得像惠特菲尔德爵士那种身份的人不可能是杀人犯吧？”
“对我来说，没什么不可能的事。”贝特督察说，“犯罪学上没有不可能的事。我一直这么跟人说。如果你告诉我，一位可亲的老小姐、一个女学生，或者一位大主教是危险的凶犯，我也不会马上驳斥你，我会先调查清楚。”
“既然威廉爵士把以往的事告诉你了，我只要再告诉你今天早上的事就好了。”卢克说。
于是他简单扼要地说出今天早上和惠特菲尔德爵士那一幕，贝特督察兴趣浓厚地听着。
最后贝特督察说：“你说他用手指摸过一把刀，他有没有特别提到什么作用？菲茨威廉先生，他有没有拿刀威胁你们？”
“没有明说。他用有点卑鄙的态度玩弄刀锋——我实在不喜欢他那种如同审美一样的得意样子。我想韦恩弗利特小姐一定也有同感。”
“就是你说的那位从小就认识惠特菲尔德爵士，还跟他订过婚的女士？”
“对。”
贝特督察说：“我想你可以放心那位小姐，菲茨威廉先生，我会派人严密保护她。另外，杰克森也会盯住爵士，应该不会再发生什么意外了。”
“你让我心里轻松多了。”卢克说。
督察同情地点点头：“我知道你的处境很困难，菲茨威廉先生，你一定很担心康威小姐的安全。你知道，我不认为这是个单纯的案子，惠特菲尔德爵士一定很狡猾，他也许会安静一阵子，不到最后阶段，他不会再轻易下手。”
“怎么才算最后阶段呢？”
“有一种罪犯以为自己聪明得很，别人都笨得不得了。如果惠特菲尔德爵士也形成这种心理，我们当然就会抓住他的马脚。”
卢克点点头，站起来说：“好吧，祝你幸运，有什么要我帮忙的事，尽管告诉我。”
“当然。”
“你不打算采取什么行动吗？”
贝特考虑了一下，说：“我想目前还不能。我希望先大概了解一下这里的情形，也许我晚上会再跟你谈谈，行吗？”
“那再好不过了。”
“到时候我会对事情有进一步的了解。”
卢克仿佛觉得安心了些，其实很多人和贝特督察谈话之后，都有这种感觉。卢克看看表，吃午饭前是不是该去看看布丽吉特呢？他想，最好不要。也许韦恩弗利特小姐会觉得不好意思不留他吃饭，那或许会给人家造成很多不便。卢克根据以往和自己姑姑相处的经验知道，中年妇女往往喜欢在家务事上小题大做。他在想，韦恩弗利特小姐不知道有没有当过姑姑？也许当过吧。
卢克徒步走到旅馆门口时，一个黑色身影勿忙从街上走过来拦住他，喊道：“菲茨威廉先生，”
“亨伯比太太。”他上前和她握手。
她说：“我还以为你走了。”
“不，只是换了住的地方，我现在住在这儿。”
“布丽吉特呢？听说她离开阿什庄园了？”
“是的。”
亨伯比太太叹口气：“我真高兴她离开威奇伍德了。”
“噢，不，她还在。事实上，她就住在韦恩弗利特小姐家。”
亨伯比太太后退一步，卢克惊讶地发现，她显得非常吃惊，“跟奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特住在一起？为什么呢？”
“韦恩弗利特小姐盛情邀请，请她玩几天。”
亨伯比太太打个冷战，向卢克走近一步，把手放在他的胳膊上。
“菲茨威廉先生，我知道自己没权利说什么。最近我遭到一连串不幸，所以也许忍不住胡思乱想。”
卢克温和地问：“你想到什么？”
“我觉得——好邪恶！”她看看卢克，发现他只是点点头，没提出任何问题，于是又说，“我一直觉得最近威奇伍德充满了邪恶的事，而且我敢说，一切都是那个女人引起的。”
卢克困惑地说：“哪个女人？”
亨伯比太太说：“我相信奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特是个很邪恶的女人！噢，我知道你不相信我的话，可是别忘了以前也没有人相信拉维妮亚•平克顿的话。可是我和她都有同感，我想她知道的比我更多。你记着，菲茨威廉先生，一个不幸福的女人，能感受到很多可怕的事。”
卢克轻轻地说：“也许是吧。”
亨伯比太太马上说：“你不相信？是啊，你有什么理由相信呢？我永远忘不了约翰手上绑着绷带从她家回来的那天，虽然他说没什么大不了，只是被猫抓伤了，可是我——”她忽然转身，“再见，别把我的话放在心上，我——我最近有点不舒服。”
卢克目送她离开，不知道她为什么说奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特是个邪恶的女人。亨伯比医生和奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特以前是朋友吗？亨伯比太太是不是嫉妒她才这么说？她怎么说的来着——“也没有人相信拉维妮亚•平克顿的话。”这么说，拉维妮亚•平克顿一定跟亨伯比太太谈过她心中的猜疑。卢克忽然想起火车上那位老太太忧虑的面容，他仿佛又听到她用着急的声音说：‘那个人的眼神——’时，脸上的表情也变了，仿佛清楚地看到什么东西一样。卢克觉得，那一刻她的脸完全不同了，嘴唇张开，露出牙齿，眼睛里有一种奇异窃喜的神情。
他忽然想到：“我不是也在另外一张脸上看过这种表情吗？一模一样的表情，就是最近的事，到底是什么时候？今天早上！韦恩弗利特小姐在庄园起居室就是这样看布丽吉特。”他又突然回忆起另一件事，多年以前，他的米尔德丽德姑姑说过：“你知道，亲爱的，她看起来像白痴一样。”那一刻，她原本正常愉快的脸上，也露出痴呆愚蠢的表情。拉维妮亚•平克顿提到一个男人——不，一个人——脸上的表情，那么，当时她会不会无意间模仿她所看到的表情——一个杀人凶手看着下一个被害者的表情呢？
卢克不知不觉加快脚步往韦恩弗利特小姐家的方向走去，脑子里有个声音不断地说：“不是‘男人’——她从来没说是男人。你以为是男人，那是因为你脑子里一直那么想。
可是她的确从来没这么说。噢，天哪，我是不是疯了？不可能，我只是在胡思乱想。不可能有这种事，根本就不合理嘛！可是我一定要看到布丽吉特，一定要知道她平安无事。那对眼睛——那对奇怪的琥珀色眼睛。噢，我疯了，我一定是疯了！凶手是惠特菲尔德，一定是他。他自己亲口承认了的。”尽管这样，他还是忘不了平克顿小姐那一刻模仿出来的可怕、不正常的表情。
矮小的女佣替他开门，对他焦急的神情有点意外。她说：“小姐出去了，是韦恩弗利特小姐告诉我的。我看看韦恩弗利特小姐在不在。”他一把推开她，走进起居室。艾米丽跑上楼，一会儿，上气不接下气地跑下来说：“主人也出去了？”
卢克抓住她肩膀说：“从哪边走的？到什么地方去了？”
她瞪着他，喘息道：“她们一定是从后门出去的，不然我一定会看到。”
卢克跑出门外，穿过小花园，看到有个男人在修剪树篱。
卢克跑上前，努力用自然的声音问了个问题。
那人慢吞吞地说：“两位女士！噢，有，走了一会儿了。那时候我正在树后面吃午饭，她们大概没有看到我。”
“她们从哪边走的？”卢克尽量使声音显得自然，可是对方一边慢吞吞地回答：“从稻田那边去，然后往哪边走就不知道了。”一边睁大了眼睛打量他。
卢克向他道谢之后，立刻拔足飞奔，他越来越觉得危急。
他一定要赶上她们——一定要！他也许真的疯了，也许她们只是随便走走——可是卢克内心却有个声音在催促他，快！快！
他穿过稻田，然后在一条小巷口迟疑着，不知道该往哪边走。就在这时，他听到有人在喊——很微弱，很远，可是绝对错不了——“卢克，救命！”然后又是一声“卢克！”卢克听出叫声发自树林那边，立刻奋不顾身地跑过去。这时又传来更多声音——挣扎、喘息、像要窒息似的咳呛声。卢克及时跑上前，把那个疯女人的手从被害者的喉咙上一把拉开，用力抱住她。她挣扎、口吐白沫、诅咒着，最后终于一阵痉挛，在他有力的手掌下一动不动。
Twenty-three NEW BEGINNING
Twenty-three NEW BEGINNING

“But I don’t understand,” said Lord Whitfield. “I don’t understand.”
He strove to maintain his dignity, but beneath the pompous exterior arather pitiable bewilderment was evident. He could hardly credit the ex-traordinary things that were being told him.
“It’s like this, Lord Whitfield,” said Battle patiently. “To begin with thereis a touch of insanity in the family. We’ve found that out now. Often theway with these old families. I should say she had a predisposition thatway. And then she was an ambitious lady—and she was thwarted. Firsther career and then her love affair.” He coughed. “I understand it was youwho jilted her?”
Lord Whitfield said stiffly:
“I don’t like the term jilt.”
Superintendent Battle amended the phrase.
“It was you who terminated the engagement?”
“Well—yes.”
“Tell us why, Gordon,” said Bridget.
Lord Whitfield got rather red. He said:
“Oh, very well, if I must. Honoria had a canary. She was very fond of it.
It used to take sugar from her lips. One day it pecked her violently instead.
She was angry and picked it up—and—wrung its neck! I—I couldn’t feelthe same after that. I told her I thought we’d both made a mistake.”
Battle nodded. He said:
“That was the beginning of it! As she told Miss Conway, she turned herthoughts and her undoubted mental ability to one aim and purpose.”
Lord Whitfield said incredulously:
“To get me convicted as a murderer? I can’t believe it.”
Bridget said, “It’s true, Gordon. You know, you were surprised yourselfat the extraordinary way that everybody who annoyed you was instantlystruck down.”
“There was a reason for that.”
“Honoria Waynflete was the reason,” said Bridget. “Do get it into yourhead, Gordon, that it wasn’t Providence that pushed Tommy Pierce out ofthe window, and all the rest of them. It was Honoria.”
Lord Whitfield shook his head.
“It all seems to me quite incredible!” he said.
Battle said:
“You say you got a telephone message this morning?”
“Yes—about twelve o’clock. I was asked to go to the Shaw Wood at onceas you, Bridget, had something to say to me. I was not to come by car butto walk.”
Battle nodded.
“Exactly. That would have been the finish. Miss Conway would havebeen found with her throat cut; and beside her your knife with your finger-prints on it! And you yourself would have been seen in the vicinity at thetime! You wouldn’t have had a leg to stand upon. Any jury in the worldwould have convicted you.”
“Me?” said Lord Whitfield, startled and distressed. “Anyone would havebelieved a thing like that of Me?”
Bridget said gently:
“I didn’t, Gordon. I never believed it.”
Lord Whitfield looked at her coldly, then he said stiffly:
“In view of my character and my standing in the county, I do not believethat anyone for one moment would have believed in such a monstrouscharge!”
He went out with dignity and closed the door behind him.
Luke said:
“He’ll never realize that he was really in danger!”
Then he said:
“Go on, Bridget, tell me how you came to suspect the Waynflete wo-man.”
Bridget explained:
“It was when you were telling me that Gordon was the killer. I couldn’tbelieve it! You see, I knew him so well. I’d been his secretary for two years!
I knew him in and out! I knew that he was pompous and petty and com-pletely self-absorbed, but I knew, too, that he was a kindly person and al-most absurdly tenderhearted. It worried him even to kill a wasp. Thatstory about his killing Miss Waynflete’s canary—it was all wrong. He justcouldn’t have done it. He’d told me once that he had jilted her. Now youinsisted that it was the other way about. Well, that might be so! His pridemight not have allowed him to admit that she had thrown him over. Butnot the canary story! That simply wasn’t Gordon! He didn’t even shoot be-cause seeing things killed made him feel sick.
“So I simply knew that that part of the story was untrue. But if so, MissWaynflete must have lied. And it was really, when you came to think of it, avery extraordinary lie! And I wondered suddenly if she’d told anymore lies.
She was a very proud woman—one could see that. To be thrown overmust have hurt her pride horribly. It would probably make her feel veryangry and revengeful against Lord Whitfield — especially, I felt, if heturned up again later all rich and prosperous and successful. I thought,‘Yes, she’d probably enjoy helping to fix a crime upon him.’ And then acurious sort of whirling feeling came in my brain and I thought—but sup-pose everything she says is a lie—and I suddenly saw how easily a womanlike that could make a fool of a man! And I thought, ‘It’s fantastic, but sup-pose it was she who killed all these people and fed Gordon up with theidea that it was a kind of divine retribution!’ It would be quite easy for herto make him believe that. As I told you once, Gordon would believe any-thing! And I thought, ‘Could she have done all those murders?’ And I sawthat she could! She could give a shove to a drunken man—and push a boyout of a window, and Amy Gibbs had died in her house. Mrs. Horton, too—Honoria Waynflete used to go and sit with her when she was ill. Dr.
Humbleby was more difficult. I didn’t know then that Wonky Pooh had anasty septic ear and that she infected the dressing she put on his hand.
Miss Pinkerton’s death was even more difficult, because I couldn’t imagineMiss Waynflete dressed up as a chauffeur driving a Rolls.
“And then, suddenly, I saw that that was the easiest of the lot! It was theold shove from behind—easily done in a crowd. The car didn’t stop andshe saw a fresh opportunity and told another woman she had seen thenumber of the car, and gave the number of Lord Whitfield’s Rolls.
“Of course, all this only came very confusedly through my head. But ifGordon definitely hadn’t done the murders—and I knew—yes, knew thathe hadn’t—well, who had? And the answer seemed quite clear. ‘Someonewho hates Gordon!’ Who hates Gordon? Honoria Waynflete, of course.
“And then I remembered that Miss Pinkerton had definitely spoken of aman as the killer. That knocked out all my beautiful theory, because, un-less Miss Pinkerton was right, she wouldn’t have been killed…So I got you torepeat exactly Miss Pinkerton’s words and I soon discovered that shehadn’t actually said ‘man’ once. Then I felt that I was definitely on theright track! I decided to accept Miss Waynflete’s invitation to stay with herand I resolved to try to ferret out the truth.”
“Without saying a word to me?” said Luke angrily.
“But, my sweet, you were so sure—and I wasn’t sure a bit! It was allvague and doubtful. But I never dreamed that I was in any danger. Ithought I’d have plenty of time….”
She shivered.
“Oh, Luke, it was horrible…Her eyes…And that dreadful, polite, inhu-man laugh….”
Luke said with a slight shiver:
“I shan’t forget how I only got there just in time.”
He turned to Battle. “What’s she like now?”
“Gone right over the edge,” said Battle. “They do, you know. They can’tface the shock of not having been as clever as they thought they were.”
Luke said ruefully:
“Well, I’m not much of a policeman! I never suspected Honoria Waynf-lete once. You’d have done better, Battle.”
“Maybe, sir, maybe not. You’ll remember my saying that nothing’s im-possible in crime. I mentioned a maiden lady, I believe.”
“You also mentioned an archbishop and a schoolgirl! Am I to under-stand that you consider all these people as potential criminals?”
Battle’s smile broadened to a grin.
“Anyone may be a criminal, sir, that’s what I meant.”
“Except Gordon,” said Bridget. “Luke, let’s go and find him.”
They found Lord Whitfield in his study busily making notes.
“Gordon,” said Bridget in a small meek voice. “Please, now that youknow everything, will you forgive us?”
Lord Whitfield looked at her graciously.
“Certainly, my dear, certainly. I realize the truth. I was a busy man. Ineglected you. The truth of the matter is as Kipling so wisely puts it: ‘Hetravels the fastest who travels alone. My path in life is a lonely one.’” Hesquared his shoulders. “I carry a big responsibility. I must carry it alone.
For me there can be no companionship, no easing of the burden—I mustgo through life alone—till I drop by the wayside.”
Bridget said:
“Dear Gordon! You really are sweet!”
Lord Whitfield frowned.
“It is not a question of being sweet. Let us forget all this nonsense. I am abusy man.”
“I know you are.”
“I am arranging for a series of articles to start at once. Crimes commit-ted by Women through the Ages.”
Bridget gazed at him with admiration.
“Gordon, I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
Lord Whitfield puffed out his chest.
“So please leave me now. I must not be disturbed. I have a lot of work toget through.”
Luke and Bridget tiptoed from the room.
“But he really is sweet!” said Bridget.
“Bridget, I believe you were really fond of that man!”
“Do you know, Luke, I believe I was.”
Luke looked out of the window.
“I’ll be glad to get away from Wychwood. I don’t like this place. There’sa lot of wickedness here, as Mrs. Humbleby would say. I don’t like the wayAshe Ridge broods over the village.”
“Talking of Ashe Ridge, what about Ellsworthy?”
Luke laughed a little shamefacedly.
“That blood on his hands?”
“Yes.”
“They’d sacrificed a white cock apparently!”
“How perfectly disgusting!”
“I think something unpleasant is going to happen to our Mr. Ellsworthy.
Battle is planning a little surprise.”
Bridget said:
“And poor Major Horton never even attempted to kill his wife, and Mr.
Abbot, I suppose, just had a compromising letter from a lady, and Dr.
Thomas is just a nice unassuming young doctor.”
“He’s a superior ass!”
“You say that because you’re jealous of his marrying Rose Humbleby.”
“She’s much too good for him.”
“I always have felt you liked that girl better than me!”
“Darling, aren’t you being rather absurd?”
“No, not really.”
She was silent a minute and then said:
“Luke, do you like me now?”
He made a movement towards her but she warded him off.
“I said like, Luke—not love.”
“Oh! I see…Yes, I do…I like you, Bridget, as well as loving you.”
Bridget said:
“I like you, Luke….”
They smiled at each other — a little timidly — like children who havemade friends at a party.
Bridget said:
“Liking is more important than loving. It lasts. I want what is betweenus to last, Luke. I don’t want us just to love each other and marry and gettired of each other and then want to marry someone else.”
“Oh! my dear Love, I know. You want reality. So do I. What’s between uswill last forever because it’s founded on reality.”
“Is that true, Luke?”
“It’s true, my sweet. That’s why, I think, I was afraid of loving you.”
“I was afraid of loving you, too.”
“Are you afraid now?”
“No.”
He said:
“We’ve been close to Death for a long time. Now—that’s over! Now—we’ll begin to Live….”
第二十三章 新的开端
第二十三章 新的开端
“可是我不明白，”惠特菲尔德爵士说，“真的不明白。”
他努力想保持自己的尊严，可是在他傲慢外表之下，却明显地露出令人同情的困惑。
他实在没办法相信刚才听到的这些奇怪的事。
“事情是这样的，惠特菲尔德爵士。”贝特督察耐心地说。
“首先，她的家族本来就有点不正常，那种旧式的家庭经常有这种情形，我想她也有那种倾向。其次，她是个野心勃勃的女人，但却一再受到打击，先是她的事业，接着是她的爱情。”他咳了一声，又说，“据我所知，是你甩掉她的。”
惠特菲尔德爵士顽固地说：“我不喜欢‘甩掉’这个字眼。”
贝特督察改口说：“是你取消婚事的吗？”
“嗯，没错。”
“告诉我们是什么原因，戈登。”布丽吉特说。
惠特菲尔德爵士微红着脸说：“好吧，既然你们一定要我说，我就说吧。奥诺丽亚有只金丝雀，她很喜欢它，常常用嘴喂它吃糖，可是有一天鸟没有吃她的嘴里的糖，反而拼命啄，她气得不得了，一把抓起鸟，然后扭断了它的脖子！我——从此以后，我再也没办法像以前一样爱她，就告诉她，我觉得我们两个人都错了。”
贝特点点头，说：“对，一切就是从那时候开始的，正如她对康威小姐说的，从此以后她就全心全力朝一个目标努力。”
惠特菲尔德爵士不相信地问：“你是说她一心要使我成为杀人犯？我真不相信。”
布丽吉特说：“是真的，戈登，你不是也觉得也很奇怪，为什么惹你生气的人都马上会死吗？”
“那当然是有原因的。”
“原因就是奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特，”布丽吉特说，“戈登，你一定要明白，不是上帝把汤米•皮尔斯从窗口推出去的，其他人也是一样。根本就是奥诺丽亚害死他们的。”
贝特说：“你说今天早上有人打电话留了口信给你？”
“对，大概是十二点左右，要我马上到小树林去，因为布丽吉特有话要告诉我。对方还叫我不要坐车，要走路去。”
贝特点点头：“一点都不错，那样一来你就完了。别人会发现康威小姐被你的刀子割断喉咙，刀上有你的指纹，而且你当时又在附近出现过！你连一点辩白的机会都没有。任何陪审团都会判你有罪！”
“我，”布丽吉特温柔地说，“我不相信，戈登，我一直都不相信。”
惠特菲尔德爵士冷淡地看看她，然后生硬地说：“就拿我的人格和我在村子里的地位来说，我相信任何人都不会相信这种残酷的罪名。”他凛然走出去，顺手把门关上。
卢克说：“他根本不知道自己曾经碰到多大的危险。”又说，“告诉我，布丽吉特，你怎么会怀疑韦恩弗利特那个女人。”
布丽吉特解释道：“你跟我说戈登就是那个杀人凶手，可是我实在没办法相信！你知道，我对他太了解了，我当过他两年的秘书，我知道他相当傲慢，自视很高，可是我也知道他很仁慈，甚至心软得可笑，连杀只黄蜂都会难过。韦恩弗利特小姐说他杀死她的鸟，这根本不可能，他绝对不会做那种事。他跟我提过是他不想跟她结婚，可是你却告诉我刚好相反！好，就算是吧，也许是自尊心使他不愿意承认被她甩掉，可是那只金丝雀的故事绝对不可能！戈登绝对不会做那种事！他连开枪都不愿意，因为看到动物被杀死他会难过得不得了。
“所以我知道那个故事一定不是真的，至少不完全是真的。要是这样，韦恩弗利特小姐一定说了谎。仔细想想，这个谎话真是太特别了。我忍不住怀疑，她也许还说过其他谎。
看得出来，她是个很骄傲的女人，被人甩掉一定严重损害了她的自尊心，她也许会非常生气，很想报复惠特菲尔德爵士——尤其他后来变得有钱又有势。我想，对了，也许她会想到陷害他一个罪名，她心里一定很高兴。接着，我忽然又起了一个奇怪的念头，也许她所说的全部都是谎话呢？我突然看出像她那种女人该多容易愚弄一个男人。也许有点不可思议，可是说不定真的是她杀了这么多人，却让戈登以为是上天在替他复仇。要他相信并不难，我不是告诉过你吗？戈登什么事都相信！我也想到，‘她有可能杀那些人吗？结果发现果然有可能！她能把一个喝醉酒的人一把推下河，能把一个小男孩从窗口推出去，艾米•吉布斯死在她家，霍顿太太生病的时候，她也常常去陪她。亨伯比医生比较难一点，我后来才知道‘老呸’耳朵化脓。至于平克顿小姐的死我就不懂了，因为我实在想象不出韦恩弗利特小姐穿上司机衣服，开着劳斯莱斯的模样。
“可是我突然想通了，这件事其实最容易！只要从平克顿小姐背后推一把——那么多人站在一起，做起来太容易了。那辆车子没停下来，她又发现了一个新机会，赶快告诉旁边的女人说她看到车牌号，并且把惠特菲尔德爵士车子上的号码告诉那个女人。
“当然，我只是模糊地想了很多事。可是如果戈登不是凶手——而且我确实知道他不是——那么会是谁呢？答案马上就出来了——是个痛恨戈登的人！谁会恨戈登呢？当然是奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特。
“接着我想到平克顿小姐曾经肯定地说凶手是男人，那我这一套美丽的理论不是又落空了吗？如果平克顿小姐说得不对，就不可能被人杀死。所以我才要你再正确重复一遍她说的话，结果发现她一次也没用过男人这个词。于是我觉得我想的一定没错，决定接受韦恩弗利特小姐的邀请去住几天，才能查出事情的真相。”
“可是你居然一个字都没告诉我？”卢克生气地问，“亲爱的，你一直那么肯定，而我却一点把握都没有！我只是模糊地怀疑有这种可能。不过我从来没想到自己会碰上危险，以为时间还多的是。”
她打了个冷战后说：“噢，卢克，太可怕了！她的眼睛——还有那种可怕的、阴森森的、一点都不像人声的笑声！”
卢克也轻轻颤抖着说：“我永远忘不了我及时赶到的那一幕！”又转身问贝特：“她现在怎么样了？”
“已经疯了，”贝特说，“你知道，那种人最后都免不了是这种下场，他们没办法忍受自己并没有想象的那么聪明。”
卢克悲伤地说：“唉，我实在算不上好警探！我从来没怀疑过奥诺丽亚•韦恩弗利特。
还是你厉害，贝特。”
“也许是，也许不是。你还记得吧？我说过在犯罪学上没什么不可能的事。我还提到过一位老小姐。”
“还有大主教和女学生！你真的觉得这些人都可能犯罪？”
贝特微笑着说：“我的意思是说任何人都可能犯罪，先生。”
“除了戈登，”布丽吉特说，“卢克，走，我们找他去。”
惠特菲尔德爵士正在书房忙碌地做笔记，布丽吉特温柔地小声说：“戈登，你一切都知道了，能不能原谅我们？”
惠特菲尔德爵士高雅地看着她，说：“当然，亲爱的，当然。我了解事实，我是个忙人，所以忽略了你。事实就像诗人吉卜林的名言：‘走得最快的人最孤独。’我的人生道路是条孤单的旅程。”他挺了挺胸膛，说，“我肩上负担着很大的责任，必须一个人承担起来。对我来说，没有人能陪伴我或者减轻我的负担。我必须独自走完人生的路，一直到我倒在路边为止。”
布丽吉特说：“亲爱的戈登！你真是太可爱了！”
惠特菲尔德爵士皱皱眉，说：“这不是可不可爱的问题，我们别再谈这些无聊的事了，我很忙。”
“我知道。”
“我准备马上开始刊登一系列文章，研究各种时代的女人所犯的罪。”
布丽吉特用钦佩的眼光看着他说：“这个想法真棒。”
惠特菲尔德爵士呼了口气，说：“所以请离开，不要再打扰我。我还有很多工作要做。”
卢克和布丽吉特轻轻走出房间，布丽吉特说：“可是他实在很可爱。”
“布丽吉特，我相信你是真心喜欢他。”
“是的，卢克，我相信是的。”
卢克看看窗外，“我真高兴就要离开威奇伍德了，我不喜欢这里。亨伯比太太说的对，这里有太多邪恶的事了。我也不喜欢阿什山脊的阴影罩着这个村子。”
“说到阿什山脊，埃尔斯沃思怎么样了？”
卢克有点不好意思地说：“你是说他手上的血是怎么来的？”
“嗯。”
“看情形他们又杀了一只白公鸡。”
“真令人作呕！”
“我想咱们那位埃尔斯沃思先生恐怕会碰上一些不愉快的事。贝特正在计划给他一点小意外。”
布丽吉特说：“可怜的霍顿少校从来没想过要杀他太太，艾伯特先生大概也只是接到一位小姐的和谈信，还有托马斯医生只是个缺乏自信的好小伙子。”
“他是个大笨蛋。”
“你这么说是因为嫉妒他要娶罗丝•亨伯比。”
“他不配娶她这么好的女孩。”
“我一直觉得你喜欢她更胜过我。”
“亲爱的，你这话不是太好笑了吗？”
“不，不见得。”她沉默了一会儿，然后说：“卢克，你现在喜欢我了吗？”
他朝她靠紧些，但是她却把他推开，然后说：“我是说喜欢，卢克，不是爱。”
“噢，我懂了。是的，我喜欢你，布丽吉特，也爱你。”
布丽吉特说：“我也喜欢你，卢克。”
他们彼此有点不好意思地笑笑，就像刚在宴会上建立起友谊的孩子一样。
布丽吉特说：“喜欢，比爱更重要，因为它才能持久，我希望我们之间的感情也能持久，卢克。我不希望我们因为爱而结合之后，又彼此厌倦起来。想跟别人结婚。”
“噢，亲爱的爱人，我懂。你要的是真实感，我也一样。我们的感情一定能够持久，因为是建立在真实的东西上。”
“真的？卢克！”
“是真的，亲爱的。我想这正是我担心爱上你的原因。”
“我以前也担心会爱上你。”
“现在还担心吗？”
“不会了。”
卢克说：“有一段时间，我们曾经很接近死神，现在一切都过去了！从现在起，我们要好好活下去！”