In a flat in London the telephone bell rang. The owner of the flat, Hercule Poirot, stirred in hischair. Disappointment attacked him. He knew before he answered it what it meant. His friendSolly, with whom he had been going to spend the evening, reviving their never- endingcontroversy about the real culprit in the Canning Road Municipal Baths murder, was about to saythat he could not come. Poirot, who had collected certain bits of evidence in favour of his ownsomewhat far-fetched theory, was deeply disappointed. He did not think his friend Solly wouldaccept his suggestions, but he had no doubt that when Solly in his turn produced his own fantasticbeliefs, he himself, Hercule Poirot, would just as easily be able to demolish2 them in the name ofsanity, logic3, order and method. It was annoying, to say the least of it, if Solly did not come thisevening. But it is true that when they had met earlier in the day, Solly had been racked with achesty cough and was in a state of highly infectious catarrh.
“He had a nasty cold,” said Hercule Poirot, “and no doubt, in spite of the remedies that I havehandy here, he would probably have given it to me. It is better that he should not come. Tout4 demême,” he added, with a sigh, “it will mean that now I shall pass a dull evening.”
Many of the evenings were dull now, Hercule Poirot thought. His mind, magnificent as it was(for he had never doubted that fact) required stimulation5 from outside sources. He had never beenof a philosophic6 cast of mind. There were times when he almost regretted that he had not taken tothe study of theology instead of going into the police force in his early days. The number of angelswho could dance on the point of a needle; it would be interesting to feel that that mattered and toargue passionately7 on the point with one’s colleagues.
His manservant, George, entered the room.
“It was Mr. Solomon Levy8, sir.”
“Ah yes,” said Hercule Poirot.
“He very much regrets that he will not be able to join you this evening. He is in bed with aserious bout1 of ’flu.”
“He has not got ’flu,” said Hercule Poirot. “He has only a nasty cold. Everyone always thinksthey have ’flu. It sounds more important. One gets more sympathy. The trouble with a catarrhalcold is that it is hard to glean9 the proper amount of sympathetic consideration from one’s friends.”
“Just as well he isn’t coming here, sir, really,” said George. “Those colds in the head are veryinfectious. Wouldn’t be good for you to go down with one of those.”
“It would be extremely tedious,” Poirot agreed.
The telephone bell rang again.
“And now who has a cold?” he demanded. “I have not asked anyone else.”
George crossed towards the telephone.
“I will take the call here,” said Poirot. “I have no doubt that it is nothing of interest. But at anyrate—” he shrugged10 his shoulders “—it will perhaps pass the time. Who knows?”
George said, “Very good, sir,” and left the room.
Poirot stretched out a hand, raised the receiver, thus stilling the clamour of the bell.
“Hercule Poirot speaks,” he said, with a certain grandeur11 of manner designed to impresswhoever was at the other end of the line.
“That’s wonderful,” said an eager voice. A female voice, slightly impaired12 with breathlessness.
“I thought you’d be sure to be out, that you wouldn’t be there.”
“Why should you think that?” inquired Poirot.
“Because I can’t help feeling that nowadays things always happen to frustrate13 one. You wantsomeone in a terrible hurry, you feel you can’t wait, and you have to wait. I wanted to get hold ofyou urgently—absolutely urgently.”
“And who are you?” asked Hercule Poirot.
The voice, a female one, seemed surprised.
“Don’t you know?” it said incredulously.
“Yes, I know,” said Hercule Poirot. “You are my friend, Ariadne.”
“And I’m in a terrible state,” said Ariadne.
“Yes, yes, I can hear that. Have you also been running? You are very breathless, are you not?”
“I haven’t exactly been running. It’s emotion. Can I come and see you at once?”
Poirot let a few moments elapse before he answered. His friend, Mrs. Oliver, sounded in ahighly excitable condition. Whatever was the matter with her, she would no doubt spend a verylong time pouring out her grievances14, her woes15, her frustrations16 or whatever was ailing17 her. Oncehaving established herself within Poirot’s sanctum, it might be hard to induce her to go homewithout a certain amount of impoliteness. The things that excited Mrs. Oliver were so numerousand frequently so unexpected that one had to be careful how one embarked18 upon a discussion ofthem.
“Something has upset you?”
“Yes. Of course I’m upset. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know—oh, I don’t know anything.
What I feel is that I’ve got to come and tell you—tell you just what’s happened, for you’re theonly person who might know what to do. Who might tell me what I ought to do. So can I come?”
“But certainly, but certainly. I shall be delighted to receive you.”
The receiver was thrown down heavily at the other end and Poirot summoned George, reflecteda few minutes, then ordered lemon barley19 water, bitter lemon and a glass of brandy for himself.
“Mrs. Oliver will be here in about ten minutes,” he said.
George withdrew. He returned with the brandy for Poirot, who accepted it with a nod ofsatisfaction, and George then proceeded to provide the teetotal refreshment20 that was the only thinglikely to appeal to Mrs. Oliver. Poirot took a sip21 of brandy delicately, fortifying22 himself for theordeal which was about to descend23 upon him.
“It’s a pity,” he murmured to himself, “that she is so scatty. And yet, she has originality24 ofmind. It could be that I am going to enjoy what she is coming to tell me. It could be—” hereflected a minute “—that it may take a great deal of the evening and that it will all be excessivelyfoolish. Eh bien, one must take one’s risks in life.”
A bell sounded. A bell on the outside door of the flat this time. It was not a single pressure ofthe button. It lasted for a long time with a kind of steady action that was very effective, the sheermaking of noise.
“Assuredly, she has excited herself,” said Poirot.
He heard George go to the door, open it, and before any decorous announcement could be madethe door of his sitting room opened and Ariadne Oliver charged through it, with George in towbehind her, hanging on to something that looked like a fisherman’s sou’wester and oilskins.
“What on earth are you wearing?” said Hercule Poirot. “Let George take it from you. It’s verywet.”
“Of course it’s wet,” said Mrs. Oliver. “It’s very wet out. I never thought about water before.
It’s a terrible thing to think of.”
Poirot looked at her with interest.
“Will you have some lemon barley water,” he said, “or could I persuade you to a small glass ofeau de vie?”
“I hate water,” said Mrs. Oliver.
Poirot looked surprised.
“I hate it. I’ve never thought about it before. What it can do, and everything.”
“My dear friend,” said Hercule Poirot, as George extricated25 her from the flapping folds ofwatery oilskin. “Come and sit down here. Let George finally relieve you of—what is it you arewearing?”
“I got it in Cornwall,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Oilskins. A real, proper fisherman’s oilskin.”
“Very useful to him, no doubt,” said Poirot, “but not, I think, so suitable for you. Heavy towear. But come—sit down and tell me.”
“I don’t know how,” said Mrs. Oliver, sinking into a chair. “Sometimes, you know, I can’t feelit’s really true. But it happened. It really happened.”
“Tell me,” said Poirot.
“That’s what I’ve come for. But now I’ve got here, it’s so difficult because I don’t know whereto begin.”
“At the beginning?” suggested Poirot, “or is that too conventional a way of acting26?”
“I don’t know when the beginning was. Not really. It could have been a long time ago, youknow.”
“Calm yourself,” said Poirot. “Gather together the various threads of this matter in your mindand tell me. What is it that has so upset you?”
“It would have upset you, too,” said Mrs. Oliver. “At least, I suppose it would.” She lookedrather doubtful. “One doesn’t know, really, what does upset you. You take so many things with alot of calm.”
“It is often the best way,” said Poirot.
“All right,” said Mrs. Oliver. “It began with a party.”
“Ah yes,” said Poirot, relieved to have something as ordinary and sane27 as a party presented tohim. “A party. You went to a party and something happened.”
“Do you know what a Hallowe’en party is?” said Mrs. Oliver.
“I know what Hallowe’en is,” said Poirot. “The 31st of October.” He twinkled slightly as hesaid, “When witches ride on broomsticks.”
“There were broomsticks,” said Mrs. Oliver. “They gave prizes for them.”
“Prizes?”
“Yes, for who brought the best decorated ones.”
Poirot looked at her rather doubtfully. Originally relieved at the mention of a party, he nowagain felt slightly doubtful. Since he knew that Mrs. Oliver did not partake of spirituous liquor, hecould not make one of the assumptions that he might have made in any other case.
“A children’s party,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Or rather, an eleven-plus party.”
“Eleven-plus?”
“Well, that’s what they used to call it, you know, in schools. I mean they see how bright youare, and if you’re bright enough to pass your eleven-plus, you go on to a grammar school orsomething. But if you’re not bright enough, you go to something called a Secondary Modern. Asilly name. It doesn’t seem to mean anything.”
“I do not, I confess, really understand what you are talking about,” said Poirot. They seemed tohave got away from parties and entered into the realms of education.
Mrs. Oliver took a deep breath and began again.
“It started really,” she said, “with the apples.”
“Ah yes,” said Poirot, “it would. It always might with you, mightn’t it?”
He was thinking to himself of a small car on a hill and a large woman getting out of it, and abag of apples breaking, and the apples running and cascading28 down the hill.
“Yes,” he said encouragingly, “apples.”
“Bobbing for apples,” said Mrs. Oliver. “That’s one of the things you do at a Hallowe’enparty.”
“Ah yes, I think I have heard of that, yes.”
“You see, all sorts of things were being done. There was bobbing for apples, and cuttingsixpence off a tumblerful of flour, and looking in a looking glass—”
“To see your true love’s face?” suggested Poirot knowledgeably29.
“Ah,” said Mrs. Oliver, “you’re beginning to understand at last.”
“A lot of old folklore30, in fact,” said Poirot, “and this all took place at your party.”
“Yes, it was all a great success. It finished up with Snapdragon. You know, burning raisins31 in agreat dish. I suppose—” her voice faltered32, “—I suppose that must be the actual time when it wasdone.”
“When what was done?”
“A murder. After the Snapdragon everyone went home,” said Mrs. Oliver. “That, you see, waswhen they couldn’t find her.”
“Find whom?”
“A girl. A girl called Joyce. Everyone called her name and looked around and asked if she’dgone home with anyone else, and her mother got rather annoyed and said that Joyce must have felttired or ill or something and gone off by herself, and that it was very thoughtless of her not toleave word. All the sort of things that mothers say when things like that happen. But anyway, wecouldn’t find Joyce.”
“And had she gone home by herself?”
“No,” said Mrs. Oliver, “she hadn’t gone home…” Her voice faltered. “We found her in the end—in the library. That’s where—where someone did it, you know. Bobbing for apples. The bucketwas there. A big, galvanized bucket. They wouldn’t have the plastic one. Perhaps if they’d had theplastic one it wouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have been heavy enough. It might have tippedover—”
“What happened?” said Poirot. His voice was sharp.
“That’s where she was found,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Someone, you know, someone had shovedher head down into the water with the apples. Shoved her down and held her there so that she wasdead, of course. Drowned. Drowned. Just in a galvanized iron bucket nearly full of water.
Kneeling there, sticking her head down to bob at an apple. I hate apples,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Inever want to see an apple again.”
Poirot looked at her. He stretched out a hand and filled a small glass with cognac.
“Drink this,” he said. “It will do you good.”
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收听单词发音
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1
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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demolish
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| v.拆毁(建筑物等)，推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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5
stimulation
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| n.刺激，激励，鼓舞 | |
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6
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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10
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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11
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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12
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
frustrate
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| v.使失望；使沮丧；使厌烦 | |
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14
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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15
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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16
frustrations
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| 挫折( frustration的名词复数 )； 失败； 挫败； 失意 | |
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17
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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18
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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19
barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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20
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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21
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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22
fortifying
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| 筑防御工事于( fortify的现在分词 )； 筑堡于； 增强； 强化（食品） | |
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23
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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24
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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25
extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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27
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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28
cascading
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| 流注( cascade的现在分词 )； 大量落下； 大量垂悬； 梯流 | |
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29
knowledgeably
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| adj.知识渊博地，有见识地 | |
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30
folklore
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| n.民间信仰，民间传说，民俗 | |
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31
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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32
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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