“Well, madame,” said Poirot, “and how did you fare with Sir Hugo Foster1?”
“To begin with his name wasn’t Foster—it was Fothergill. Trust Julia to get a name wrong.
She’s always doing it.”
“So elephants are not always reliable in the names they remember?”
“Don’t talk of elephants—I’ve finished with elephants.”
“And your War Horse?”
“Quite an old pet—but useless as a source of information. Obsessed2 by some people calledBarnet who did have a child killed in an accident in Malaya. But nothing to do with theRavenscrofts. I tell you I’ve finished with elephants—”
“Madame, you have been most persevering3, most noble.”
“Celia is coming along in about half an hour’s time. You wanted to meet her, didn’t you? I’vetold her that you are—well, helping4 me in this matter. Or would you rather she came to see you?”
“No,” said Poirot, “I think I should like her to come in the way you have arranged.”
“I don’t suppose she’ll stay very long. If we get rid of her in about an hour, that would be allright, just to think over things a bit, and then Mrs. Burton-Cox is coming.”
“Ah yes. That will be interesting. Yes, that will be very interesting.”
Mrs. Oliver sighed. “Oh dear, it’s a pity, though, isn’t it?” She said again, “We do have toomuch material, don’t we?”
“Yes,” said Poirot. “We do not know what we are looking for. All we know of still is, in allprobability, the double suicide5 of a married couple who lived quiet and happy lives together. Andwhat have we got to show for cause, for reason? We’ve gone forward and back to the right, to theleft, to the west, to the east.”
“Quite right,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Everywhere. We haven’t been to the North Pole yet,” sheadded.
“Nor to the South Pole,” said Poirot.
“So what is there, when it all comes to it?”
“Various things,” said Poirot. “I have made here a list. Do you want to read it?”
Mrs. Oliver came over and sat beside him and looked over his shoulder.
“Wigs6,” she said, pointing to the first item. “Why wigs first?”
“Four wigs,” said Poirot, “seem to be interesting. Interesting and rather difficult to solve.”
“I believe the shop she got her wigs from has gone out of the trade now. People go to quitedifferent places for wigs and they’re not wearing so many as they did just then. People used towear wigs to go abroad. You know, because it saves bother in travelling.”
“Yes, yes,” said Poirot, “we will do what we can with wigs. Anyway, that is one thing thatinterests me. And then there are other stories. Stories of mental disturbance7 in the family. Storiesof a twin sister who was mentally disturbed and spent a good many years of her life in a mentalhome.”
“It doesn’t seem to lead anywhere,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I mean to say, I suppose she could havecome and shot the two of them, but I don’t really see why.”
“No,” said Poirot, “the fingerprints8 on the revolver were definitely only the fingerprints ofGeneral Ravenscroft and his wife, I understand. Then there are stories of a child, a child in Malayawas murdered or attacked, possibly by this twin sister of Lady Ravenscroft. Possibly by somequite different woman—possibly by an amah or a servant. Point two. You know a little more aboutmoney.”
“Where does money come into it?” said Mrs. Oliver, in some surprise.
“It does not come into it,” said Poirot. “That is what is so interesting. Money usually comes in.
Money someone got as a result of that suicide. Money lost as a result of it. Money somewherecausing difficulties, causing trouble, causing covetousness9 and desire. It is difficult, that. Difficultto see. There does not seem to have been any large amount of money anywhere. There are variousstories of love affairs, women who were attractive to the husband, men who were attractive to thewife. An affair on one side or the other could have led to suicide or to murder. It very often does.
Then we come to what at the moment inclines10 me to the most interest. That is why I am so anxiousto meet Mrs. Burton-Cox.”
“Oh. That awful woman. I don’t see why you think she’s important. All she did was to be anosey parker and want me to find out things.”
“Yes, but why did she want you to find out things? It seems to me very odd, that. It seems to methat that is something that one has to find out about. She is the link, you see.”
“The link?”
“Yes. We do not know what the link was, where it was, how it was. All we know is that shewants desperately11 to learn more about this suicide. Being a link, she connects both with yourgodchild, Celia Ravenscroft, and with the son who is not her son.”
“What do you mean—not her son?”
“He is an adopted son,” said Poirot. “A son she adopted because her own son died.”
“How did her own child die? Why? When?”
“All these things I asked myself. She could be a link, a link of emotion, a wish for revengethrough hatred12, through some love affair. At any rate I must see her. I must make up my mindabout her. Yes, I cannot help but think that is very important.”
There was a ring at the bell and Mrs. Oliver went out of the room to answer it.
“This, I think, could be Celia,” she said. “You’re sure it’s all right?”
“By me, yes,” said Poirot. “By her also, I hope.”
Mrs. Oliver came back a few minutes later. Celia Ravenscroft was with her. She had a doubtful,suspicious look.
“I don’t know,” she said, “if I—” She stopped, staring at Hercule Poirot.
“I want to introduce you,” said Mrs. Oliver, “to someone who is helping me, and I hope ishelping you also. That is, helping you in what you want to know and to find out. This is MonsieurHercule Poirot. He has special genius in finding out things.”
“Oh,” said Celia.
She looked very doubtfully at the egg-shaped head, the monstrous13 moustaches and the smallstature.
“I think,” she said, rather doubtfully, “that I have heard of him.”
Hercule Poirot stopped himself with a slight effort from saying firmly “Most people have heardof me.” It was not quite as true as it used to be because many people who had heard of HerculePoirot and known him, were now reposing14 with suitable memorial stones over them, inchurchyards. He said,
“Sit down, mademoiselle. I will tell you this much about myself. That when I start aninvestigation I pursue it to the end. I will bring to light the truth and if it is, shall we say, truly thetruth that you want, then I will deliver that knowledge to you. But it may be that you wantreassuring. That is not the same thing as the truth. I can find various aspects that might reassureyou. Will that be enough? If so, do not ask for more.”
Celia sat down in the chair he had pushed towards her, and looked at him rather earnestly. Thenshe said,
“You don’t think I’d care for the truth, is that it?”
“I think,” said Poirot, “that the truth might be—a shock, a sorrow, and it might be that youwould have said ‘Why did I not leave all this behind? Why did I ask for knowledge? It is painfulknowledge about which I can do nothing helpful or hopeful.’ It is a double suicide by a father anda mother that I—well, we’ll admit it—that I loved. It is not a disadvantage to love a mother andfather.”
“It seems to be considered so nowadays occasionally,” said Mrs. Oliver. “New article of belief,shall we say.”
“That’s the way I’ve been living,” said Celia. “Beginning to wonder, you know. Catching16 on toodd things that people said sometimes. People who looked at me rather pityingly. But more thanthat. With curiosity as well. One begins to find out, you know, things about people, I mean. Peopleyou meet, people you know, people who used to know your family. I don’t want this life. I want.?.?. you think I don’t really want it but I do—I want truth. I’m able to deal with truth. Just tell mesomething.”
It was not a continuation of the conversation. Celia had turned on Poirot with a separatequestion. Something which had replaced what had been in her mind just previously17.
“You saw Desmond, didn’t you?” she said. “He went to see you. He told me he had.”
“Yes. He came to see me. Did you not want him to do so?”
“He didn’t ask me.”
“If he had asked you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know whether I should have forbidden him to do so, told him on noaccount to do such a thing, or whether I should have encouraged it.”
“I would like to ask you one question, mademoiselle. I want to know if there is one clear thingin your mind that matters to you, that could matter to you more than anything else.”
“Well, what is that?”
“As you say, Desmond Burton-Cox came to see me. A very attractive and likeable young man,and very much in earnest over what he came to say. Now that—that is the really important thing.
The important thing is if you and he really wish to marry—because that is serious. That is—though young people do not always think so nowadays—that is a link together for life. Do youwant to enter into that state? It matters. What difference can it make to you or to Desmond whetherthe death of two people was a double suicide or something quite different?”
“You think it is something quite different—or, it was?”
“I do not as yet know,” said Poirot. “I have reason to believe that it might be. There are certainthings that do not accord18 with a double suicide, but as far as I can go on the opinion of the police—and the police are very reliable, Mademoiselle Celia, very reliable—they put together all theevidence and they thought very definitely that it could be nothing else but a double suicide.”
“But they never knew the cause of it? That’s what you mean.”
“Yes,” said Poirot, “that’s what I mean.”
“And don’t you know the cause of it, either? I mean, from looking into things or thinking aboutthem, or whatever you do?”
“No, I am not sure about it,” said Poirot. “I think there might be something very painful to learnand I am asking you whether you will be wise enough to say: ‘The past is the past. Here is a youngman whom I care for and who cares for me. This is the future we are spending together, not thepast.’”
“Did he tell you he was an adopted child?” asked Celia.
“Yes, he did.”
“You see, what business is it really, of hers? Why should she come worrying Mrs. Oliver here,trying to make Mrs. Oliver ask me questions, find out things? She’s not his own mother.”
“Does he care for her?”
“No,” said Celia. “I’d say on the whole he dislikes her. I think he always has.”
“She’s spent money on him, schooling19 and on clothes and on all sorts of different things. Andyou think she cares for him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. She wanted, I suppose, a child to replace her own child. She’dhad a child who died in an accident, that was why she wanted to adopt someone, and her husbandhad died quite recently. All these dates are so difficult.”
“I know, I know. I would like perhaps to know one thing.”
“About her or about him?”
“Is he provided for financially?”
“I don’t know quite what you mean by that. He’ll be able to support me—to support a wife. Igather some money was settled on him when he was adopted. A sufficient sum, that is. I don’tmean a fortune or anything like that.”
“There is nothing that she could—withhold?”
“What, you mean that she’d cut off the money supplies if he married me? I don’t think she’sever threatened to do that, or indeed that she could do it. I think it was all fixed20 up by lawyers orwhoever arranges adoptions22. I mean, they make a lot of fuss23, these adoption21 societies, from all Ihear.”
“I would ask you something else which you might know but nobody else does. Presumably24 Mrs.
Burton-Cox knows it. Do you know who his actual mother was?”
“You think that might have been one of the reasons for her being so nosey and all that?
Something to do with, as you say, what he was really. I don’t know. I suppose he might have beenan illegitimate child. They’re the usual ones that go for adoption, aren’t they? She might haveknown something about his real mother or his real father, or something like that. If so, she didn’ttell him. I gather she just told him the silly things they suggest you should say. That it is just asnice to be adopted because it shows you really were wanted. There’s a lot of silly slop like that.”
“I think some societies suggest that that’s the way you should break the news. Does he or youknow of any blood relations?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he knows, but I don’t think it worries him at all. He’s not that kindof a worrier.”
“Do you know if Mrs. Burton-Cox was a friend of your family, of your mother and father? Didyou ever meet her as far as you can remember, when you were living in your own home in theearly days?”
“I don’t think so. I think Desmond’s mother—I mean, I think Mrs. Burton-Cox went to Malaya.
I think perhaps her husband died out in Malaya, and that Desmond was sent to school in Englandwhile they were out there and that he was boarded with some cousins or people who take inchildren for holidays. And that’s how we came to be friends in those days. I always rememberedhim, you know. I was a great hero-worshipper. He was wonderful at climbing trees and he taughtme things about birds’ nests and birds’ eggs. So it seemed quite natural, when I met him again Imean, met him at the university, and we both talked about where we’d lived and then he asked memy name. He said ‘Only your Christian25 name I know,’ and then we remembered quite a lot ofthings together. It’s what made us, you might say, get acquainted26. I don’t know everything abouthim. I don’t know anything. I want to know. How can you arrange your life and know what you’regoing to do with your life if you don’t know all about the things that affect you, that reallyhappened?”
“So you tell me to carry on with my investigation15?”
“Yes, if it’s going to produce any results, though I don’t think it will be because in a way, well,Desmond and I have tried our hand at finding out a few things. We haven’t been very successful.
It seems to come back to this plain fact which isn’t really the story of a life. It’s the story of adeath, isn’t it? Of two deaths, that’s to say. When it’s a double suicide, one thinks of it as onedeath. Is it in Shakespeare or where does the quotation27 come from—‘And in death they were notdivided.’” She turned to Poirot again. “Yes, go on. Go on finding out. Go on telling Mrs. Oliver ortelling me direct. I’d rather you told me direct.” She turned towards Mrs. Oliver. “I don’t mean tobe horrid28 to you, Godmother. You’ve been a very nice godmother to me always, but—but I’d likeit straight from the horse’s mouth. I’m afraid that’s rather rude, Monsieur Poirot, but I didn’t meanit that way.”
“No,” said Poirot, “I am content to be the horse’s mouth.”
“And you think you will be?”
“I always believe that I can.”
“And it’s always true, is it?”
“It is usually true,” said Poirot. “I do not say more than that.”
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1
foster
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| vt.收养，培养，促进；adj.收养的，收养孩子的 | |
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obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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suicide
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| n.自杀，自毁，自杀性行为 | |
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wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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8
fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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covetousness
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inclines
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| 斜坡( incline的名词复数 )； 斜度 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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accord
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| vt.给予（欢迎、称颂等） vi./n.符合，一致 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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adoptions
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| n.采用，收养( adoption的名词复数 ) | |
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fuss
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| n.过分关心，过分体贴，大惊小怪，小题大作 | |
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presumably
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| adv.据推测，大概，可能 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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acquainted
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| adj.对某事物熟悉的，对 某人认识的 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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