Poirot went on up the hill. Suddenly he no longer felt the pain of his feet. Something had come tohim. The fitting together of the things he had thought and felt, had known they were connected,but had not seen how they were connected. He was conscious now of danger—danger that mightcome to someone any minute now unless steps were taken to prevent it. Serious danger.
Elspeth McKay came out to the door to meet him. “You look fagged out,” she said. “Come andsit down.”
“Your brother is here?”
“No. He’s gone down to the station. Something’s happened, I believe.”
“Something has happened?” He was startled. “So soon? Not possible.”
“Eh?” said Elspeth. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Something has happened to somebody, do you mean?”
“Yes, but I don’t know who exactly. Anyway, Tim Raglan rang up and asked for him to godown there. I’ll get you a cup of tea, shall I?”
“No,” said Poirot, “thank you very much, but I think—I think I will go home.” He could notface the prospect1 of black bitter tea. He thought of a good excuse that would mask any signs ofbad manners. “My feet,” he explained. “My feet. I am not very suitably attired2 as to footwear forthe country. A change of shoes would be desirable.”
Elspeth McKay looked down at them. “No,” she said. “I can see they’re not. Patent leatherdraws the feet. There’s a letter for you, by the way. Foreign stamps on it. Come from abroad—c/oSuperintendent Spence, Pine Crest3. I’ll bring it to you.”
She came back in a minute or two, and handed it to him.
“If you don’t want the envelope, I’d like it for one of my nephews—he collects stamps.”
“Of course.” Poirot opened the letter and handed her the envelope. She thanked him and wentback into the house.
Poirot unfolded the sheet and read.
Mr. Goby’s foreign service was run with the same competence4 that he showed in his Englishone. He spared no expense and got his results quickly.
True, the results did not amount to much—Poirot had not thought that they would.
Olga Seminoff had not returned to her hometown. She had had no family still living. She hadhad a friend, an elderly woman, with whom she had corresponded intermittently5, giving news ofher life in England. She had been on good terms with her employer who had been occasionallyexacting, but had also been generous.
The last letters received from Olga had been dated about a year and a half ago. In them therehad been mention of a young man. There were hints that they were considering marriage, but theyoung man, whose name she did not mention, had, she said, his way to make, so nothing could besettled as yet. In her last letter she spoke6 happily of their prospects7 being good. When no moreletters came, the elderly friend assumed that Olga had married her Englishman and changed heraddress. Such things happened frequently when girls went to England. If they were happilymarried they often never wrote again.
She had not worried.
It fitted, Poirot thought. Lesley had spoken of marriage, but might not have meant it. Mrs.
Llewellyn-Smythe had been spoken of as “generous.” Lesley had been given money by someone,Olga perhaps (money originally given her by her employers), to induce him to do forgery8 on herbehalf.
Elspeth McKay came out on the terrace again. Poirot consulted her as to his surmises9 about apartnership between Olga and Lesley.
She considered a moment. Then the oracle10 spoke.
“Kept very quiet about it, if so. Never any rumours11 about those two. There usually is in a placelike this if there’s anything in it.”
“Young Ferrier was tied up to a married woman. He might have warned the girl not to sayanything about him to her employer.”
“Likely enough. Mrs. Smythe would probably know that Lesley Ferrier was a bad character,and would warn the girl to have nothing to do with him.”
Poirot folded up the letter and put it into his pocket.
“I wish you’d let me get you a pot of tea.”
“No, no—I must go back to my guest house and change my shoes. You do not know when yourbrother will be back?”
“I’ve no idea. They didn’t say what they wanted him for.”
Poirot walked along the road to his guest house. It was only a few hundred yards. As he walkedup to the front door it was opened and his landlady12, a cheerful lady of thirty odd, came out to him.
“There’s a lady here to see you,” she said. “Been waiting some time. I told her I didn’t knowwhere you’d gone exactly or when you’d be back, but she said she’d wait.” She added, “It’s Mrs.
Drake. She’s in a state, I’d say. She’s usually so calm about everything, but really I think she’s hada shock of some kind. She’s in the sitting room. Shall I bring you in some tea and something?”
“No,” said Poirot, “I think it will be better not. I will hear first what she has to say.”
He opened the door and went into the sitting room. Rowena Drake had been standing13 by thewindow. It was not the window overlooking the front path so she had not seen his approach. Sheturned abruptly14 as she heard the sound of the door.
“Monsieur Poirot. At last. It seemed so long.”
“I am sorry, Madame. I have been in the Quarry15 Wood and also talking to my friend, Mrs.
Oliver. And then I have been talking to two boys. To Nicholas and Desmond.”
“Nicholas and Desmond? Yes, I know. I wonder—oh! one thinks all sorts of things.”
“You are upset,” said Poirot gently.
It was not a thing he thought he would ever see. Rowena Drake upset, no longer mistress ofevents, no longer arranging everything, and enforcing her decisions on others.
“You’ve heard, haven’t you?” she asked. “Oh well, perhaps you haven’t.”
“What should I have heard?”
“Something dreadful. He’s—he’s dead. Somebody killed him.”
“Who is dead, Madame?”
“Then you haven’t really heard. And he’s only a child, too, and I thought—oh, what a fool I’vebeen. I should have told you. I should have told you when you asked me. It makes me feel terrible—terribly guilty for thinking I knew best and thinking—but I did mean it for the best, MonsieurPoirot, indeed I did.”
“Sit down, Madame, sit down. Calm yourself and tell me. There is a child dead—anotherchild?”
“Her brother,” said Mrs. Drake. “Leopold.”
“Leopold Reynolds?”
“Yes. They found his body on one of the field paths. He must have been coming back fromschool and gone out of his way to play in the brook16 near here. Somebody held him down in thebrook—held his head under water.”
“The same kind of thing as they did to the child Joyce?”
“Yes, yes. I can see it must be—it must be madness of some kind. And one doesn’t know who,that’s what’s so awful. One hasn’t the least idea. And I thought I knew. I really thought—Isuppose, yes, it was a very wicked thing.”
“You must tell me, Madame.”
“Yes, I want to tell you. I came here to tell you. Because, you see, you came to me after you’dtalked to Elizabeth Whittaker. After she’d told you that something had startled me. That I’d seensomething. Something in the hall of the house, my house. I said that I hadn’t seen anything andthat nothing had startled me because, you see, I thought—” she stopped.
“What did you see?”
“I ought to have told you then. I saw the door of the library open, open rather carefully and—then he came out. At least, he didn’t come right out. He just stood in the doorway17 and then pulledthe door back quickly and went back inside.”
“Who was this?”
“Leopold. Leopold, the child that’s been killed now. And you see, I thought I—oh, what amistake, what an awful mistake. If I’d told you, perhaps—perhaps you’d have got at what wasbehind it.”
“You thought?” Poirot said. “You thought that Leopold had killed his sister. Is that what youthought?”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. Not then, of course, because I didn’t know she was dead. But hehad a queer look on his face. He’s always been a queer child. In a way you’re a little afraid of himbecause you feel he’s not—not quite right. Very clever and a high I.Q., but all the same not allthere.
“And I thought ‘Why is Leopold coming out of there instead of being at the Snapdragon?’ and Ithought ‘What’s he been doing—he looks so queer?’ And then, well then I didn’t think of it againafter that, but I suppose, the way he looked upset me. And that’s why I dropped the vase.
Elizabeth helped me to pick up the glass pieces, and I went back to the Snapdragon and I didn’tthink of it again. Until we found Joyce. And that’s when I thought—”
“You thought that Leopold had done it?”
“Yes. Yes, I did think that. I thought it explained the way he’d looked. I thought I knew. Ialways think—I’ve thought too much all my life that I know things, that I’m right about things.
And I can be very wrong. Because, you see, his being killed must mean something quite different.
He must have gone in there, and he must have found her there—dead—and it gave him a terribleshock and he was frightened. And so he wanted to come out of the room without anyone seeinghim and I suppose he looked up and saw me and he got back into the room and shut the door andwaited until the hall was empty before coming out. But not because he’d killed her. No. Just theshock of finding her dead.”
“And yet you said nothing? You didn’t mention who it was you’d seen, even after the death wasdiscovered?”
“No. I—oh, I couldn’t. He’s—you see, he’s so young—was so young, I suppose I ought to saynow. Ten. Ten—eleven at most and I mean—I felt he couldn’t have known what he was doing, itcouldn’t have been his fault exactly. He must have been morally not responsible. He’s alwaysbeen rather queer, and I thought one could get treatment for him. Not leave it all to the police. Notsend him to approved places. I thought one could get special psychological treatment for him, ifnecessary. I—I meant well. You must believe that, I meant well.”
Such sad words, Poirot thought, some of the saddest words in the world. Mrs. Drake seemed toknow what he was thinking.
“Yes,” she said, “‘I did it for the best.’ ‘I meant well.’ One always thinks one knows what isbest to do for other people, but one doesn’t. Because, you see, the reason he looked so taken abackmust have been that he either saw who the murderer was, or saw something that would give a clueto who the murderer might be. Something that made the murderer feel that he himself wasn’t safe.
And so—and so he’s waited until he got the boy alone and then drowned him in the brook so thathe shouldn’t speak, so that he shouldn’t tell. If I’d only spoken out, if I’d told you, or told thepolice, or told someone, but I thought I knew best.”
“Only today,” said Poirot, after he had sat silent for a moment or two, watching Mrs. Drakewhere she sat controlling her sobs18, “I was told that Leopold had been very flush of money lately.
Somebody must have been paying him to keep silent.”
“But who—who?”
“We shall find out,” said Poirot. “It will not be long now.”
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收听单词发音
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1
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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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
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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8
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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surmises
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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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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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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15
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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16
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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17
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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