Chief Inspector1 Neele drew a sheet of paper towards him, jotted2 one or two notes on it; and lookedround at the other five people in the room. His voice was crisp and formal.
“Miss Jacobs?” he said. He looked towards the policeman who stood by the door. “SergeantConolly, I know, has taken her statement. But I’d like to ask her a few questions myself.”
Miss Jacobs was ushered4 into the room a few minutes later. Neele rose courteously5 to greet her.
“I am Chief Inspector Neele,” he said, shaking hands with her. “I am sorry to trouble you for asecond time. But this time it is quite informal. I just want to get a clearer picture of exactly whatyou saw and heard. I’m afraid it may be painful—”
“Painful, no,” said Miss Jacobs, accepting the chair he offered her. “It was a shock, of course.
But no emotions were involved.” She added: “You seem to have tidied up things.”
He presumed she was referring to the removal of the body.
Her eyes, both observant and critical, passed lightly over the assembled people, registering, forPoirot, frank astonishment6 (What on earth is this?), for Mrs. Oliver, mild curiosity; appraisementfor the back of Dr. Stillingfleet’s red head, neighbourly recognition for Claudia to whom shevouchsafed a slight nod, and finally dawning sympathy for Andrew Restarick.
“You must be the girl’s father,” she said to him. “There’s not much point to condolences from atotal stranger. They’re better left unsaid. It’s a sad world we live in nowadays—or so it seems tome. Girls study too hard in my opinion.”
Then she turned her face composedly towards Neele.
“Yes?”
“I would like you, Miss Jacobs, to tell me in your own words exactly what you saw and heard.”
“I expect it will vary from what I said before,” said Miss Jacobs unexpectedly. “Things do, youknow. One tries to make one’s description as accurate as possible, and so one uses more words. Idon’t think one is any more accurate; I think, unconsciously, one adds things that you think youmay have seen or ought to have seen—or heard. But I will do my best.
“It started with screams. I was startled. I thought someone must have been hurt. So I wasalready coming to the door when someone began beating on it, and still screaming. I opened it andsaw it was one of my next-door neighbours—the three girls who live in 67. I’m afraid I don’tknow her name, though I know her by sight.”
“Frances Cary,” said Claudia.
“She was quite incoherent, and stammered7 out something about someone being dead—someoneshe knew—David Someone—I didn’t catch his last name. She was sobbing8 and shaking all over. Ibrought her in, gave her some brandy, and went to see for myself.”
Everyone felt that throughout life that would be what Miss Jacobs would invariably do.
“You know what I found. Need I describe it?”
“Just briefly9, perhaps.”
“A young man, one of these modern young men—gaudy clothes and long hair. He was lying onthe floor and he was clearly dead. His shirt was stiff with blood.”
Stillingfleet stirred. He turned his head and looked keenly at Miss Jacobs.
“Then I became aware that there was a girl in the room. She was holding a kitchen knife. Sheseemed quite calm and self-possessed—really, most peculiar10.”
Stillingfleet said: “Did she say anything?”
“She said she had been into the bathroom to wash the blood off her hands—and then she said,‘But you can’t wash things like that off, can you?’”
“Out, damnéd spot, in fact?”
“I cannot say that she reminded me particularly of Lady Macbeth. She was—how shall I put it?
—perfectly11 composed. She laid the knife down on the table and sat down on a chair.”
“What else did she say?” asked Chief Inspector Neele, his eyes dropping to a scrawled12 note infront of him.
“Something about hate. That it wasn’t safe to hate anybody.”
“She said something about ‘poor David,’ didn’t she? Or so you told Sergeant3 Conolly. And thatshe wanted to be free of him.”
“I’d forgotten that. Yes. She said something about his making her come here—and somethingabout Louise, too.”
“What did she say about Louise?” It was Poirot who asked, leaning forward sharply. MissJacobs looked at him doubtfully.
“Nothing, really, just mentioned the name. ‘Like Louise,’ she said, and then stopped. It was aftershe had said about its not being safe to hate people….”
“And then?”
“Then she told me, quite calmly, I had better ring up the police. Which I did. We just—sat thereuntil they came…I did not think I ought to leave her. We did not say anything. She seemedabsorbed in her thoughts, and I—well, frankly13, I couldn’t think of anything to say.”
“You could see, couldn’t you, that she was mentally unstable14?” said Andrew Restarick. “Youcould see that she didn’t know what she had done or why, poor child?”
He spoke15 pleadingly—hopefully.
“If it is a sign of mental instability to appear perfectly cool and collected after committing amurder, then I will agree with you.”
Miss Jacobs spoke in the voice of one who quite decidedly did not agree.
Stillingfleet said:
“Miss Jacobs, did she at any time admit that she had killed him?”
“Oh yes. I should have mentioned that before—It was the very first thing she did say. As thoughshe was answering some question I had asked her. She said, ‘Yes. I’ve killed him.’ And then wenton about having washed her hands.”
Restarick groaned16 and buried his face in his hands. Claudia put her hand on his arm.
Poirot said:
“Miss Jacobs, you say the girl put down the knife she was carrying on that table. It was quitenear you? You saw it clearly? Did it appear to you that the knife also had been washed?”
Miss Jacobs looked hesitantly at Chief Inspector Neele. It was clear that she felt that Poirotstruck an alien and unofficial note in this presumably official inquiry17.
“Perhaps you would be kind enough to answer that?” said Neele.
“No — I don’t think the knife had been washed or wiped in any way. It was stained anddiscoloured with some thick sticky substance.”
“Ah.” Poirot leaned back in his chair.
“I should have thought you would have known all about the knife yourself,” said Miss Jacobs toNeele accusingly. “Didn’t your police examine it? It seems to me very lax if they didn’t.”
“Oh yes, the police examined it,” said Neele. “But we—er—always like to get corroboration18.”
She darted19 him a shrewd glance.
“What you really mean, I suppose, is that you like to find out how accurate the observation ofyour witnesses is. How much they make up, or how much they actually see, or think they haveseen.”
He smiled slightly as he said:
“I don’t think we need have doubts about you, Miss Jacobs. You will make an excellentwitness.”
“I shan’t enjoy it. But it’s the kind of thing one has to go through with, I suppose.”
“I’m afraid so. Thank you, Miss Jacobs.” He looked round. “No one has any additionalquestions?”
Poirot indicated that he had. Miss Jacobs paused near the doorway20, displeased21.
“Yes?” she said.
“About this mention of someone called Louise. Did you know who it was the girl meant?”
“How should I know?”
“Isn’t it possible that she might have meant Mrs. Louise Charpentier? You knew Mrs.
Charpentier, didn’t you?”
“I did not.”
“You knew that she recently threw herself out of a window in this block of flats?”
“I knew that, of course. I didn’t know her Christian22 name was Louise, and I was not personallyacquainted with her.”
“Nor, perhaps, particularly wished to be?”
“I have not said so, since the woman is dead. But I will admit that that is quite true. She was amost undesirable23 tenant24, and I and other residents have frequently complained to the managementhere.”
“Of what exactly?”
“To speak frankly, the woman drank. Her flat was actually on the top floor above mine andthere were continual disorderly parties, with broken glass, furniture knocked over, singing andshouting, a lot of—er—coming and going.”
“She was, perhaps, a lonely woman,” suggested Poirot.
“That was hardly the impression she conveyed,” said Miss Jacobs acidly. “It was put forward atthe inquest that she was depressed25 over the state of her health. Entirely26 her own imagination. Sheseems to have had nothing the matter with her.”
And having disposed of the late Mrs. Charpentier without sympathy, Miss Jacobs took herdeparture.
Poirot turned his attention to Andrew Restarick. He asked delicately:
“Am I correct in thinking, Mr. Restarick, that you were at one time well acquainted with Mrs.
Charpentier?”
Restarick did not answer for a moment or two. Then he sighed deeply and transferred his gazeto Poirot.
“Yes. At one time, many years ago, I knew her very well indeed…Not, I may say, under thename of Charpentier. She was Louise Birell when I knew her.”
“You were—er—in love with her!”
“Yes, I was in love with her…Head over ears in love with her! I left my wife on her account.
We went to South Africa. After barely a year the whole thing blew up. She returned to England. Inever heard from her again. I never even knew what had become of her.”
“What about your daughter? Did she, also, know Louise Birell?”
“Not to remember her, surely. A child of five years old!”
“But did she know her?” Poirot persisted.
“Yes,” said Restarick slowly. “She knew Louise. That is to say, Louise came to our house. Sheused to play with the child.”
“So it is possible that the girl might remember her, even after a lapse27 of years?”
“I don’t know. I simply don’t know. I don’t know what she looked like; how much Louisemight have changed. I never saw her again, as I told you.”
Poirot said gently, “But you heard from her, didn’t you, Mr. Restarick? I mean, you have heardfrom her since your return to England?”
Again there came that pause, and the deep unhappy sigh:
“Yes—I heard from her…” said Restarick. And then, with sudden curiosity, he asked: “How didyou know that, M. Poirot?”
From his pocket, Poirot drew a neatly28 folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it toRestarick.
The latter looked at it with a faintly puzzled frown.
Dear Andy
I see from the papers you’re home again. We must meet and compare notes asto what we’ve both been doing all these years—It broke off here—and started again.
Andy—Guess who this is from! Louise. Don’t dare to say you’ve forgotten me!—Dear Andy,
As you will see by this letterhead, I’m living in the same block of flats as yoursecretary. What a small world it is! We must meet. Could you come for a drinkMonday or Tuesday next week?
Andy darling, I must see you again…Nobody has ever mattered to me but you—you haven’t really forgotten me, either, have you?
“How did you get this?” asked Restarick of Poirot, tapping it curiously29.
“From a friend of mine via a furniture van,” said Poirot, with a glance at Mrs. Oliver.
Restarick looked at her without favour.
“I couldn’t help it,” said Mrs. Oliver, interpreting his look correctly. “I suppose it was herfurniture being moved out, and the men let go of a desk, and a drawer fell out and scattered30 a lot ofthings, and the wind blew this along the courtyard, so I picked it up and tried to give it back tothem, but they were cross and didn’t want it, so I just put it in my coat pocket without thinking.
And I never even looked at it until this afternoon when I was taking things out of pockets beforesending the coat to the cleaners. So it really wasn’t my fault.”
She paused, slightly out of breath.
“Did she get her letter to you written in the end?” Poirot asked.
“Yes—she did—one of the more formal versions! I didn’t answer it. I thought it would be wisernot to do so.”
“You didn’t want to see her again?”
“She was the last person I wanted to see! She was a particularly difficult woman—always hadbeen. And I’d heard things about her—for one that she had become a heavy drinker. And well—other things.”
“Did you keep her letter to you?”
“No, I tore it up!”
Dr. Stillingfleet asked an abrupt31 question.
“Did your daughter ever speak about her to you?”
Restarick seemed unwilling32 to answer.
Dr. Stillingfleet urged him:
“It might be significant if she did, you know.”
“You doctors! Yes, she did mention her once.”
“What did she say exactly?”
“She said quite suddenly: ‘I saw Louise the other day, Father.’ I was startled. I said: ‘Where didyou see her?’ And she said: ‘In the restaurant of our flats.’ I was a bit embarrassed. I said: ‘I neverdreamed you’d remembered her.’ And she said: ‘I’ve never forgotten. Mother wouldn’t have letme forget, even if I wanted to.’”
“Yes,” said Dr. Stillingfleet. “Yes, that could certainly be significant.”
“And you, Mademoiselle,” said Poirot, turning suddenly to Claudia. “Did Norma ever speak toyou about Louise Carpenter?”
“Yes—it was after the suicide. She said something about her being a wicked woman. She said itin rather a childish way, if you know what I mean.”
“You were here in the flats yourself on the night—or more correctly the early morning whenMrs. Carpenter’s suicide occurred?”
“I was not here that night, no! I was away from home. I remember arriving back here the nextday and hearing about it.”
She half turned to Restarick…“You remember? It was the twenty- third. I had gone toLiverpool.”
“Yes, of course. You were to represent me at the Hever Trust meeting.”
Poirot said:
“But Norma slept here that night?”
“Yes.” Claudia seemed uncomfortable.
“Claudia?” Restarick laid his hand on her arm. “What is it you know about Norma? There’ssomething. Something that you’re holding back.”
“Nothing! What should I know about her?”
“You think she’s off her head, don’t you?” said Dr. Stillingfleet in a conversational33 voice. “Andso does the girl with the black hair. And so do you,” he added, turning suddenly on Restarick. “Allof us behaving nicely and avoiding the subject and thinking the same thing! Except, that is, thechief inspector. He’s not thinking anything. He’s collecting the facts: mad or a murderess. Whatabout you, Madam?”
“Me?” Mrs. Oliver jumped. “I—don’t know.”
“You reserve judgment34? I don’t blame you. It’s difficult. On the whole, most people agree onwhat they think. They use different terms for it—that’s all. Bats in the Belfry. Wanting in the topstorey. Off her onion. Mental. Delusions35. Does anyone think that girl is sane36?”
“Miss Battersby,” said Poirot.
“Who the devil is Miss Battersby?”
“A schoolmistress.”
“If I ever have a daughter I shall send her to that school…Of course I’m in a different category.
I know. I know everything about that girl!”
Norma’s father stared at him.
“Who is this man?” he demanded of Neele. “What can he possibly mean by saying that heknows everything about my daughter?”
“I know about her,” said Stillingfleet, “because she’s been under my professional care for thelast ten days.”
“Dr. Stillingfleet,” said Chief Inspector Neele, “is a highly qualified37 and reputable psychiatrist38.”
“And how did she come into your clutches—without someone getting my consent first?”
“Ask Moustaches,” said Dr. Stillingfleet, nodding towards Poirot.
“You—you…”
Restarick could hardly speak he was so angry.
Poirot spoke placidly39.
“I had your instructions. You wanted care and protection for your daughter when she wasfound. I found her—and I was able to interest Dr. Stillingfleet in her case. She was in danger, Mr.
Restarick, very grave danger.”
“She could hardly be in any more danger than she is now! Arrested on a charge of murder!”
“Technically she is not yet charged,” murmured Neele.
He went on:
“Dr. Stillingfleet, do I understand that you are willing to give your professional opinion as toMiss Restarick’s mental condition, and as to how well she knows the nature and meaning of heracts?”
“We can save the M’Naughten act for court,” said Stillingfleet. “What you want to know nowis, quite simply, if the girl is mad or sane? All right, I’ll tell you. That girl is sane—as sane as anyone of you sitting here in this room!”
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1
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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jotted
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| v.匆忙记下( jot的过去式和过去分词 )；草草记下，匆匆记下 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sobbing
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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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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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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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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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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Christian
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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delusions
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| n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 )；谬见；错觉；妄想 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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placidly
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