Hercule Poirot stood upon the landing for a moment. His head was a little on one side with alistening air. He could hear nothing from downstairs. He crossed to the landing window andlooked out. Mary Restarick was below on the terrace, resuming her gardening work. Poirot noddedhis head in satisfaction. He walked gently along the corridor. One by one in turn he opened thedoors. A bathroom, a linen1 cupboard, a double bedded spare room, an occupied single bedroom, awoman’s room with a double bed (Mary Restarick’s?). The next door was that of an adjoiningroom and was, he guessed, the room belonging to Andrew Restarick. He turned to the other side ofthe landing. The door he opened first was a single bedroom. It was not, he judged, occupied at thetime, but it was a room which possibly was occupied at weekends. There were toilet brushes onthe dressing2 table. He listened carefully, then tiptoed in. He opened the wardrobe. Yes, there weresome clothes hanging up there. Country clothes.
There was a writing table but there was nothing on it. He opened the desk drawers very softly.
There were a few odds3 and ends, a letter or two, but the letters were trivial and dated some timeago. He shut the desk drawers. He walked downstairs, and going out of the house, bade farewell tohis hostess. He refused her offer of tea. He had promised to get back, he said, as he had to catch atrain to town very shortly afterwards.
“Don’t you want a taxi? We could order you one, or I could drive you in the car.”
“No, no, Madame, you are too kind.”
Poirot walked back to the village and turned down the lane by the church. He crossed a littlebridge over a stream. Presently he came to where a large car with a chauffeur4 was waitingdiscreetly under a beech5 tree. The chauffeur opened the door of the car, Poirot got inside, sat downand removed his patent leather shoes, uttering a gasp6 of relief.
“Now we return to London,” he said.
The chauffeur closed the door, returned to his seat and the car purred quietly away. The sight ofa young man standing7 by the roadside furiously thumbing a ride was not an unusual one. Poirot’seyes rested almost indifferently on this member of the fraternity, a brightly dressed young manwith long and exotic hair. There were many such but in the moment of passing him Poirotsuddenly sat upright and addressed the driver.
“If you please, stop. Yes, and if you can reverse a little…There is someone requesting a lift.”
The chauffeur turned an incredulous eye over his shoulder. It was the last remark he would haveexpected. However, Poirot was gently nodding his head, so he obeyed.
The young man called David advanced to the door. “Thought you weren’t going to stop forme,” he said cheerfully. “Much obliged, I’m sure.”
He got in, removed a small pack from his shoulders and let it slide to the floor, smoothed downhis copper8 brown locks. “So you recognised me,” he said.
“You are perhaps somewhat conspicuously9 dressed.”
“Oh, do you think so? Not really. I’m just one of a band of brothers.”
“The school of Vandyke. Very dressy.”
“Oh. I’ve never thought of it like that. Yes, there may be something in what you say.”
“You should wear a cavalier’s hat,” said Poirot, “and a lace collar, if I might advise.”
“Oh, I don’t think we go quite as far as that.” The young man laughed. “How Mrs. Restarickdislikes the mere10 sight of me. Actually I reciprocate11 her dislike. I don’t care much for Restarick,either. There is something singularly unattractive about successful tycoons12, don’t you think?”
“It depends on the point of view. You have been paying attentions to the daughter, Iunderstand.”
“That is such a nice phrase,” said David. “Paying attentions to the daughter. I suppose it mightbe called that. But there’s plenty of fifty-fifty about it, you know. She’s paying attention to me,too.”
“Where is Mademoiselle now?”
David turned his head rather sharply. “And why do you ask that?”
“I should like to meet her.” He shrugged13 his shoulders.
“I don’t believe she’d be your type, you know, anymore than I am. Norma’s in London.”
“But you said to her stepmother—”
“Oh! We don’t tell stepmothers everything.”
“And where is she in London?”
“She works in an interior decorator’s down the King’s Road somewhere in Chelsea. Can’tremember the name of it for the moment. Susan Phelps, I think.”
“But that is not where she lives, I presume. You have her address?”
“Oh yes, a great block of flats. I don’t really understand your interest.”
“One is interested in so many things.”
“What do you mean?”
“What brought you to that house—(what is its name?—Crosshedges) today. Brought yousecretly into the house and up the stairs.”
“I came in the back door, I admit.”
“What were you looking for upstairs?”
“That’s my business. I don’t want to be rude—but aren’t you being rather nosy14?”
“Yes, I am displaying curiosity. I would like to know exactly where this young lady is.”
“I see. Dear Andrew and dear Mary—lord rot ’em—are employing you, is that it? They aretrying to find her?”
“As yet,” said Poirot, “I do not think they know that she is missing.”
“Someone must be employing you.”
“You are exceedingly perceptive,” said Poirot. He leant back.
“I wondered what you were up to,” said David. “That’s why I hailed you. I hoped you’d stopand give me a bit of dope. She’s my girl. You know that, I suppose?”
“I understand that that is supposed to be the idea,” said Poirot cautiously. “If so, you shouldknow where she is. Is that not so, Mr.—I am sorry, I do not think I know your name beyond, thatis, that your Christian15 name is David.”
“Baker16.”
“Perhaps, Mr. Baker, you have had a quarrel.”
“No, we haven’t had a quarrel. Why should you think we had?”
“Miss Norma Restarick left Crosshedges on Sunday evening, or was it Monday morning?”
“It depends. There is an early bus you can take. Gets you to London a little after ten. It wouldmake her a bit late at work, but not too much. Usually she goes back on Sunday night.”
“She left there Sunday night but she has not arrived at Borodene Mansions17.”
“Apparently not. So Claudia says.”
“This Miss Reece-Holland—that is her name, is it not?—was she surprised or worried?”
“Good lord, no, why should she be. They don’t keep tabs on each other all the time, these girls.”
“But you thought she was going back there?”
“She didn’t go back to work either. They’re fed up at the shop, I can tell you.”
“Are you worried, Mr. Baker?”
“No. Naturally—I mean, well, I’m damned if I know. I don’t see any reason I should beworried, only time’s getting on. What is it today—Thursday?”
“She has not quarrelled with you?”
“No. We don’t quarrel.”
“But you are worried about her, Mr. Baker?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“It is no business of mine but there has, I understand, been trouble at home. She does not likeher stepmother.”
“Quite right too. She’s a bitch, that woman. Hard as nails. She doesn’t like Norma either.”
“She has been ill, has she not? She had to go to hospital.”
“Who are you talking about—Norma?”
“No, I am not talking about Miss Restarick. I am talking about Mrs. Restarick.”
“I believe she did go into a nursing home. No reason she should. Strong as a horse, I’d say.”
“And Miss Restarick hates her stepmother.”
“She’s a bit unbalanced sometimes, Norma. You know, goes off the deep end. I tell you, girlsalways hate their stepmothers.”
“Does that always make stepmothers ill? Ill enough to go to hospital?”
“What the hell are you getting at?”
“Gardening perhaps—or the use of weed killer18.”
“What do you mean by talking about weed killer? Are you suggesting that Norma—that she’ddream of—that—”
“People talk,” said Poirot. “Talk goes round the neighbourhood.”
“Do you mean that somebody has said that Norma has tried to poison her stepmother? That’sridiculous. It’s absolutely absurd.”
“It is very unlikely, I agree,” said Poirot. “Actually, people have not been saying that.”
“Oh. Sorry. I misunderstood. But—what did you mean?”
“My dear young man,” said Poirot, “you must realise that there are rumours19 going about, andrumours are almost always about the same person—a husband.”
“What, poor old Andrew? Most unlikely I should say.”
“Yes. Yes, it does not seem to me very likely.”
“Well, what were you there for then? You are a detective, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then?”
“We are talking at cross-purposes,” said Poirot. “I did not go down there to inquire into anydoubtful or possible case of poisoning. You must forgive me if I cannot answer your question. It isall very hush-hush, you understand.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
“I went there,” said Poirot, “to see Sir Roderick Horsefield.”
“What, that old boy? He’s practically gaga, isn’t he?”
“He is a man,” said Poirot, “who is in possession of a great many secrets. I do not mean that hetakes an active part in such things nowadays, but he knows a good deal. He was connected with agreat many things in the past war. He knew several people.”
“That’s all over years ago, though.”
“Yes, yes, his part in things is all over years ago. But do you not realise that there are certainthings that it might be useful to know?”
“What sort of things?”
“Faces,” said Poirot. “A well-known face perhaps, which Sir Roderick might recognise. A faceor a mannerism20, a way of talking, a way of walking, a gesture. People do remember, you know.
Old people. They remember, not things that have happened last week or last month or last year,but they remember something that happened, say, nearly twenty years ago. And they mayremember someone who does not want to be remembered. And they can tell you certain thingsabout a certain man or a certain woman or something they were mixed up in—I am speaking veryvaguely, you understand. I went to him for information.”
“You went to him for information, did you? That old boy? Gaga. And he gave it to you?”
“Let us say that I am quite satisfied.”
David continued to stare at him. “I wonder now,” he said. “Did you go to see the old boy or didyou go to see the little girl, eh? Did you want to know what she was doing in the house? I’vewondered once or twice myself. Do you think she took that post there to get a bit of pastinformation out of the old boy?”
“I do not think,” said Poirot, “that it will serve any useful purpose to discuss these matters. Sheseems a very devoted21 and attentive—what shall I call her—secretary?”
“A mixture of a hospital nurse, a secretary, a companion, an au pair girl, an uncle’s help? Yes,one could find a good many names for her, couldn’t one? He’s besotted about her. You noticedthat?”
“It is not unnatural22 under the circumstances,” said Poirot primly23.
“I can tell you someone who doesn’t like her, and that’s our Mary.”
“And she perhaps does not like Mary Restarick either.”
“So that’s what you think, is it?” said David. “That Sonia doesn’t like Mary Restarick. Perhapsyou go as far as thinking that she may have made a few inquiries24 as to where the weed killer waskept? Bah,” he added, “the whole thing’s ridiculous. All right. Thanks for the lift. I think I’ll getout here.”
“Aha. This is where you want to be? We are still a good seven miles out of London.”
“I’ll get out here. Good-bye, M. Poirot.”
“Good-bye.”
Poirot leant back in his seat as David slammed the door.
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收听单词发音
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1
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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2
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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3
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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4
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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beech
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| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
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6
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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7
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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9
conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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11
reciprocate
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| v.往复运动；互换；回报，酬答 | |
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12
tycoons
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| 大君( tycoon的名词复数 )； 将军； 企业巨头； 大亨 | |
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13
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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14
nosy
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| adj.鼻子大的，好管闲事的，爱追问的；n.大鼻者 | |
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15
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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17
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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18
killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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19
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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20
mannerism
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| n.特殊习惯，怪癖 | |
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21
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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22
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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23
primly
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| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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24
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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