Mrs. Oliver was seated in a bus. She was slightly out of breath though full of the zest1 of the chase.
What she called in her own mind the Peacock, had led a somewhat brisk pace. Mrs. Oliver was nota rapid walker. Going along the Embankment she followed him at a distance of some twenty yardsor so. At Charing2 Cross he got into the underground. Mrs. Oliver also got into the underground. AtSloane Square he got out, so did Mrs. Oliver. She waited in a bus queue some three or four peoplebehind him. He got on a bus and so did she. He got out at World’s End, so did Mrs. Oliver. Heplunged into a bewildering maze3 of streets between King’s Road and the river. He turned intowhat seemed a builder’s yard. Mrs. Oliver stood in the shadow of a doorway4 and watched. Heturned into an alleyway, Mrs. Oliver gave him a moment or two and then followed—he wasnowhere to be seen. Mrs. Oliver reconnoitred her general surroundings. The whole place appearedsomewhat decrepit5. She wandered farther down the alleyway. Other alleyways led off from it—some of them cul-de-sacs. She had completely lost her sense of direction when she once morecame to the builder’s yard and a voice spoke6 behind her, startling her considerably7. It said,politely, “I hope I didn’t walk too fast for you.”
She turned sharply. Suddenly what had recently been almost fun, a chase undertakenlightheartedly and in the best of spirits, now was that no longer. What she felt now was a suddenunexpected throb8 of fear. Yes, she was afraid. The atmosphere had suddenly become tinged9 withmenace. Yet the voice was pleasant, polite; but behind it she knew there was anger. The suddenkind of anger that recalled to her in a confused fashion all the things one read in newspapers.
Elderly women attacked by gangs of young men. Young men who were ruthless, cruel, who weredriven by hate and the desire to do harm. This was the young man whom she had been following.
He had known she was there, had given her the slip and had then followed her into this alleyway,and he stood there now barring her way out. As is the precarious10 fashion of London, one momentyou are amongst people all round you and the next moment there is nobody in sight. There mustbe people in the next street, someone in the houses near, but nearer than that is a masterful figure,a figure with strong cruel hands. She felt that in this moment he was thinking of using thosehands…The Peacock. A proud peacock. In his velvets, his tight, elegant black trousers, speakingin that quiet ironical11 amused voice that held behind it anger…Mrs. Oliver took three big gasps12.
Then, in a lightning moment of decision she put up a quickly imagined defence. Firmly andimmediately she sat down on a dustbin which was against the wall quite close to her.
“Goodness, how you startled me,” she said. “I’d no idea you were there. I hope you’re notannoyed.”
“So you were following me?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I was. I expect it must have been rather annoying to you. You see I thought itwould be such an excellent opportunity. I’m sure you’re frightfully angry but you needn’t be, youknow. Not really. You see—” Mrs. Oliver settled herself more firmly on the dustbin, “you see Iwrite books. I write detective stories and I’ve really been very worried this morning. In fact I wentinto a café to have a cup of coffee just to try and think things out. I’d just got to the point in mybook where I was following somebody. I mean my hero was following someone and I thought tomyself, ‘Really I know very little about following people.’ I mean, I’m always using the phrase ina book and I’ve read a lot of books where people do follow other people, and I wondered if it wasas easy as it seems to be in some people’s books or if it was as almost entirely14 impossible as itseemed in other people’s books. So I thought ‘Well, really, the only thing was to try it outmyself’—because until you try things out yourself you can’t really tell what it’s like. I mean youdon’t know what you feel like, or whether you get worried at losing a person. As it happened, Ijust looked up and you were sitting at the next table to me in the café and I thought you’d be—Ihope you won’t be annoyed again—but I thought you’d be an especially good person to follow.”
He was still staring at her with those strange, cold blue eyes, yet she felt somehow that thetension had left them.
“Why was I an especially good person to follow?”
“Well, you were so decorative15,” explained Mrs. Oliver. “They are really very attractive clothes—almost Regency, you know, and I thought, well, I might take advantage of your being fairlyeasy to distinguish from other people. So you see, when you went out of the café I went out too.
And it’s not really easy at all.” She looked up at him. “Do you mind telling me if you knew I wasthere all the time?”
“Not at once, no.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Oliver thoughtfully. “But of course I’m not as distinctive16 as you are. I meanyou wouldn’t be able to tell me very easily from a lot of other elderly women. I don’t stand outvery much, do I?”
“Do you write books that are published? Have I ever come across them?”
“Well, I don’t know. You may have. I’ve written forty-three by now. My name’s Oliver.”
“Ariadne Oliver?”
“So you do know my name,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Well, that’s rather gratifying, of course, thoughI daresay you wouldn’t like my books very much. You probably would find them rather old-fashioned—not violent enough.”
“You didn’t know me personally beforehand?”
Mrs. Oliver shook her head. “No, I’m sure I don’t—didn’t, I mean.”
“What about the girl I was with?”
“You mean the one you were having—baked beans, was it—with in the café? No, I don’t thinkso. Of course I only saw the back of her head. She looked to me—well, I mean girls do look ratheralike, don’t they?”
“She knew you,” said the boy suddenly. His tone in a moment had a sudden acid sharpness.
“She mentioned once that she’d met you not long ago. About a week ago, I believe.”
“Where? Was it at a party? I suppose I might have met her. What’s her name? Perhaps I’d knowthat.”
She thought he was in two moods whether to mention the name or not, but he decided17 to and hewatched her face very keenly as he did so.
“Her name’s Norma Restarick.”
“Norma Restarick. Oh, of course, yes, it was at a party in the country. A place called—wait aminute—Long Norton was it?—I don’t remember the name of the house. I went there with somefriends. I don’t think I would have recognised her anyway, though I believe she did say somethingabout my books. I even promised I’d give her one. It’s very odd, isn’t it, that I should make up mymind and actually choose to follow a person who was sitting with somebody I more or less knew.
Very odd. I don’t think I could put anything like that in my book. It would look rather too much ofa coincidence, don’t you think?”
Mrs. Oliver rose from her seat.
“Good gracious, what have I been sitting on? A dustbin! Really! Not a very nice dustbin either.”
She sniffed18. “What is this place I’ve got to?”
David was looking at her. She felt suddenly that she was completely mistaken in everything shehad previously19 thought. “Absurd of me,” thought Mrs. Oliver, “absurd of me. Thinking that hewas dangerous, that he might do something to me.” He was smiling at her with an extraordinarycharm. He moved his head slightly and his chestnut20 ringlets moved on his shoulders. Whatfantastic creatures there were in the way of young men nowadays!
“The least I can do,” he said, “is to show you, I think, where you’ve been brought to, just byfollowing me. Come on, up these stairs.” He indicated a ramshackle outside staircase running upto what seemed to be a loft21.
“Up those stairs?” Mrs. Oliver was not so certain about this. Perhaps he was trying to lure22 herup there with his charm, and he would then knock her on the head. “It’s no good, Ariadne,” saidMrs. Oliver to herself, “you’ve got yourself into this spot, and now you’ve got to go on with it andfind out what you can find out.”
“Do you think they’ll stand my weight?” she said, “they look frightfully rickety.”
“They’re quite all right. I’ll go up first,” he said, “and show you the way.”
Mrs. Oliver mounted the ladderlike stairs behind him. It was no good. She was, deep down, stillfrightened. Frightened, not so much of the Peacock, as frightened of where the Peacock might betaking her. Well, she’d know very soon. He pushed open the door at the top and went into a room.
It was a large, bare room and it was an artist’s studio, an improvised23 kind of one. A few mattresseslay here and there on the floor, there were canvasses24 stacked against the wall, a couple of easels.
There was a pervading25 smell of paint. There were two people in the room. A bearded young manwas standing26 at an easel, painting. He turned his head as they entered.
“Hallo, David,” he said, “bringing us company?”
He was, Mrs. Oliver thought, quite the dirtiest-looking young man she’d ever seen. Oily blackhair hung in a kind of circular bob down the back of his neck and over his eyes in front. His faceapart from the beard was unshaven, and his clothes seemed mainly composed of greasy27 blackleather and high boots. Mrs. Oliver’s glance went beyond him to a girl who was acting28 as a model.
She was on a wooden chair on a dais, half flung across it, her head back and her dark hairdrooping down from it. Mrs. Oliver recognised her at once. It was the second one of the three girlsin Borodene Mansions29. Mrs. Oliver couldn’t remember her last name, but she remembered herfirst one. It was the highly decorative and languid-looking girl called Frances.
“Meet Peter,” said David, indicating the somewhat revolting looking artist. “One of our buddinggeniuses. And Frances who is posing as a desperate girl demanding abortion30.”
“Shut up, you ape,” said Peter.
“I believe I know you, don’t I?” said Mrs. Oliver, cheerfully, without any air of consciouscertainty. “I’m sure I’ve met you somewhere! Somewhere quite lately, too.”
“You’re Mrs. Oliver, aren’t you?” said Frances.
“That’s what she said she was,” said David. “True, too, is it?”
“Now, where did I meet you,” continued Mrs. Oliver. “Some party, was it? No. Let me think. Iknow. It was Borodene Mansions.”
Frances was sitting up now in her chair and speaking in weary but elegant tones. Peter uttered aloud and miserable31 groan32.
“Now you’ve ruined the pose! Do you have to have all this wriggling33 about? Can’t you keepstill?”
“No, I couldn’t any longer. It was an awful pose. I’ve got the most frightful13 crick in myshoulder.”
“I’ve been making experiments in following people,” said Mrs. Oliver. “It’s much more difficultthan I thought. Is this an artist’s studio?” she added, looking round her brightly.
“That’s what they’re like nowadays, a kind of loft—and lucky if you don’t fall through thefloor,” said Peter.
“It’s got all you need,” said David. “It’s got a north light and plenty of room and a pad to sleepon, and a fourth share in the loo downstairs—and what they call cooking facilities. And it’s got abottle or two,” he added. Turning to Mrs. Oliver, but in an entirely different tone, one of utterpoliteness, he said, “And can we offer you a drink?”
“I don’t drink,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“The lady doesn’t drink,” said David. “Who would have thought it!”
“That’s rather rude but you’re quite right,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Most people come up to me andsay, ‘I always thought you drank like a fish.’”
She opened her handbag—and immediately three coils of grey hair fell on the floor. Davidpicked them up and handed them to her.
“Oh! thank you.” Mrs. Oliver took them. “I hadn’t time this morning. I wonder if I’ve got anymore hairpins34.” She delved35 in her bag and started attaching the coils to her head.
Peter roared with laughter—“Bully for you,” he said.
“How extraordinary,” Mrs. Oliver thought to herself, “that I should ever have had this silly ideathat I was in danger. Danger—from these people? No matter what they look like, they’re reallyvery nice and friendly. It’s quite true what people always say to me. I’ve far too muchimagination.”
Presently she said she must be going, and David, with Regency gallantry, helped her down therickety steps, and gave her definite directions as to how to rejoin the King’s Road in the quickestway.
“And then,” he said, “you can get a bus—or a taxi if you want it.”
“A taxi,” said Mrs. Oliver. “My feet are absolutely dead. The sooner I fall into a taxi the better.
Thank you,” she added, “for being so very nice about my following you in what must have seemeda very peculiar36 way. Though after all I don’t suppose private detectives, or private eyes orwhatever they call them, would look anything at all like me.”
“Perhaps not,” said David gravely. “Left here—and then right, and then left again until you seethe37 river and go towards it, and then sharp right and straight on.”
Curiously38 enough, as she walked across the shabby yard the same feeling of unease andsuspense came over her. “I mustn’t let my imagination go again.” She looked back at the steps andthe window of the studio. The figure of David still stood looking after her. “Three perfectly39 niceyoung people,” said Mrs. Oliver to herself. “Perfectly nice and very kind. Left here, and then right.
Just because they look rather peculiar, one goes and has silly ideas about their being dangerous.
Was it right again? or left? Left, I think—Oh goodness, my feet. It’s going to rain, too.” The walkseemed endless and the King’s Road incredibly far away. She could hardly hear the traffic now—And where on earth was the river? She began to suspect that she had followed the directionswrongly.
“Oh! well,” thought Mrs. Oliver, “I’m bound to get somewhere soon—the river, or Putney orWandsworth or somewhere.” She asked her way to the King’s Road from a passing man who saidhe was a foreigner and didn’t speak English.
Mrs. Oliver turned another corner wearily and there ahead of her was the gleam of the water.
She hurried towards it down a narrow passageway, heard a footstep behind her, half turned, whenshe was struck from behind and the world went up in sparks.
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收听单词发音
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1
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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3
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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6
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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7
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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9
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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12
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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13
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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14
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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15
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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16
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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17
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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18
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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canvasses
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| n.检票员，游说者，推销员( canvass的名词复数 )v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的第三人称单数 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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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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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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abortion
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| n.流产，堕胎 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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32
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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33
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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delved
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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37
seethe
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| vi.拥挤，云集；发怒，激动，骚动 | |
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38
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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