At Hercule Poirot’s elbow was a tisane prepared for him by George. He sipped1 at it and thought.
He thought in a certain way peculiar2 to himself. It was the technique of a man who selectedthoughts as one might select pieces of a jigsaw3 puzzle. In due course they would be reassembledtogether so as to make a clear and coherent picture. At the moment the important thing was theselection, the separation. He sipped his tisane, put down the cup, rested his hands on the arms ofhis chair and let various pieces of his puzzle come one by one into his mind. Once he recognisedthem all, he would select. Pieces of sky, pieces of green bank, perhaps striped pieces like those ofa tiger….
The painfulness of his own feet in patent leather shoes. He started there. Walking along a roadset on this path by his good friend, Mrs. Oliver. A stepmother. He saw himself with his hand on agate4. A woman who turned, a woman bending her head cutting out the weak growth of a rose,turning and looking at him? What was there for him there? Nothing. A golden head, a golden headbright as a cornfield, with twists and loops of hair slightly reminiscent of Mrs. Oliver’s own inshape. He smiled a little. But Mary Restarick’s hair was more tidily arranged than Mrs. Oliver’sever was. A golden frame for her face that seemed just a little too large for her. He rememberedthat old Sir Roderick had said that she had to wear a wig5, because of an illness. Sad for so young awoman. There was, when he came to think of it, something unusually heavy about her head. Fartoo static, too perfectly6 arranged. He considered Mary Restarick’s wig—if it was a wig—for hewas by no means sure that he could depend on Sir Roderick. He examined the possibilities of thewig in case they should be of significance. He reviewed the conversation they had had. Had theysaid anything important? He thought not. He remembered the room into which they had gone. Acharacterless room recently inhabited in someone else’s house. Two pictures on the wall, thepicture of a woman in a dove-grey dress. Thin mouth, lips set closely together. Hair that wasgreyish brown. The first Mrs. Restarick. She looked as though she might have been older than herhusband. His picture was on the opposite wall, facing her. Good portraits, both of them.
Lansberger had been a good portrait painter. His mind dwelt on the portrait of the husband. He hadnot seen it so well that first day, as he had later in Restarick’s office….
Andrew Restarick and Claudia Reece-Holland. Was there any thing there? Was their associationmore than a merely secretarial one? It need not be. Here was a man who had come back to thiscountry after years of absence, who had no near friends or relatives, who was perplexed7 andtroubled over his daughter’s character and conduct. It was probably natural enough that he shouldturn to his recently acquired eminently8 competent secretary and ask her to suggest somewhere forhis daughter to live in London. It would be a favour on her part to provide that accommodationsince she was looking for a Third Girl. Third girl…The phrase that he had acquired from Mrs.
Oliver always seemed to be coming to his mind. As though it had a second significance which forsome reason he could not see.
His manservant, George, entered the room, closing the door discreetly9 behind him.
“A young lady is here, sir. The young lady who came the other day.”
The words came too aptly with what Poirot was thinking. He sat up in a startled fashion.
“The young lady who came at breakfast time?”
“Oh no, sir. I mean the young lady who came with Sir Roderick Horsefield.”
“Ah, indeed.”
Poirot raised his eyebrows10. “Bring her in. Where is she?”
“I showed her into Miss Lemon’s room, sir.”
“Ah. Yes, bring her in.”
Sonia did not wait for George to announce her. She came into the room ahead of him with aquick and rather aggressive step.
“It has been difficult for me to get away, but I have come to tell you that I did not take thosepapers. I did not steal anything. You understand?”
“Has anybody said that you had?” Poirot asked. “Sit down, Mademoiselle.”
“I do not want to sit down. I have very little time. I just came to tell you that it is absolutelyuntrue. I am very honest and I do what I am told.”
“I take your point. I have already taken it. Your statement is that you have not removed anypapers, information, letters, documents of any kind from Sir Roderick Horsefield’s house? That isso, is it not?”
“Yes, and I’ve come to tell you it is so. He believes me. He knows that I would not do such athing.”
“Very well then. That is a statement and I note it.”
“Do you think you are going to find those papers?”
“I have other inquiries11 in hand,” said Poirot. “Sir Roderick’s papers will have to take their turn.”
“He is worried. He is very worried. There is something that I cannot say to him. I will say it toyou. He loses things. Things are not put away where he thinks they are. He puts them in—how doyou say it—in funny places. Oh I know. You suspect me. Everyone suspects me because I amforeign. Because I come from a foreign country and so they think—they think I steal secret paperslike in one of your silly English spy stories. I am not like that. I am an intellectual.”
“Aha,” said Poirot. “It is always nice to know.” He added: “Is there anything else you wish totell me?”
“Why should I?”
“One never knows.”
“What are these other cases you speak of?”
“Ah, I do not want to detain you. It is your day out, perhaps.”
“Yes. I have one day a week when I can do what I like. I can come to London. I can go to theBritish Museum.”
“Ah yes and to the Victoria and Albert also, no doubt.”
“That is so.”
“And to the National Gallery and see the pictures. And on a fine day you can go to KensingtonGardens, or perhaps as far as Kew Gardens.”
She stiffened…She shot him an angry questioning glance.
“Why do you say Kew Gardens?”
“Because there are some very fine plants and shrubs12 and trees there. Ah! you should not missKew Gardens. The admission fee is very small. A penny I think, or twopence. And for that youcan go and see tropical trees, or you can sit on a seat and read a book.” He smiled at herdisarmingly and was interested to notice that her uneasiness was increased. “But I must not detainyou, Mademoiselle. You have perhaps friends to visit at one of the Embassies, maybe.”
“Why do you say that?”
“No particular reason. You are, as you say, a foreigner and it is quite possible you may havefriends connected with your own Embassy here.”
“Someone has told you things. Someone has made accusations13 against me! I tell you he is a sillyold man who mislays things. That is all! And he knows nothing of importance. He has no secretpapers or documents. He never has had.”
“Ah, but you are not quite thinking of what you are saying. Time passes, you know. He wasonce an important man who did know important secrets.”
“You are trying to frighten me.”
“No, no. I am not being so melodramatic as that.”
“Mrs. Restarick. It is Mrs. Restarick who has been telling you things. She does not like me.”
“She has not said so to me.”
“Well, I do not like her. She is the kind of woman I mistrust. I think she has secrets.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, I think she has secrets from her husband. I think she goes up to London or to other placesto meet other men. To meet at any rate one other man.”
“Indeed,” said Poirot, “that is very interesting. You think she goes to meet another man?”
“Yes, I do. She goes up to London very often and I do not think she always tells her husband, orshe says it is shopping or things she has to buy. All those sort of things. He is busy in the officeand he does not think of why his wife comes up. She is more in London than she is in the country.
And yet she pretends to like gardening so much.”
“You have no idea who this man is whom she meets?”
“How should I know? I do not follow her. Mr. Restarick is not a suspicious man. He believeswhat his wife tells him. He thinks perhaps about business all the time. And, too, I think he isworried about his daughter.”
“Yes,” said Poirot, “he is certainly worried about his daughter. How much do you know aboutthe daughter? How well do you know her?”
“I do not know her very well. If you ask what I think—well, I tell you! I think she is mad.”
“You think she is mad? Why?”
“She says odd things sometimes. She sees things that are not there.”
“Sees things that are not there?”
“People that are not there. Sometimes she is very excited and other times she seems as thoughshe is in a dream. You speak to her and she does not hear what you say to her. She does notanswer. I think there are people who she would like to have dead.”
“You mean Mrs. Restarick?”
“And her father. She looks at him as though she hates him.”
“Because they are both trying to prevent her marrying a young man of her choice?”
“Yes. They do not want that to happen. They are quite right, of course, but it makes her angry.
Someday,” added Sonia, nodding her head cheerfully, “I think she will kill herself. I hope she willdo nothing so foolish, but that is the thing one does when one is much in love.” She shrugged14 hershoulders. “Well—I go now.”
“Just tell me one thing. Does Mrs. Restarick wear a wig?”
“A wig? How should I know?” She considered for a moment. “She might, yes,” she admitted.
“It is useful for travelling. Also it is fashionable. I wear a wig myself sometimes. A green one! OrI did.” She added again, “I go now,” and went.
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1
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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3
jigsaw
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| n.缕花锯，竖锯，拼图游戏；vt.用竖锯锯，使互相交错搭接 | |
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agate
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| n.玛瑙 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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6
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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7
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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9
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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10
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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11
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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12
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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13
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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14
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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