“Well,” said Mrs. Oliver as she returned into the room after seeing Celia to the door. “What doyou think of her?”
“She is a personality,” said Poirot, “an interesting girl. Definitely, if I may put it so, she issomebody, not anybody.”
“Yes, that’s true enough,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“I would like you to tell me something.”
“About her? I don’t really know her very well. One doesn’t really, with godchildren. I mean,you only see them, as it were, at stated intervals1 rather far apart.”
“I didn’t mean her. Tell me about her mother.”
“Oh. I see.”
“You knew her mother?”
“Yes. We were in a sort of pensionnat in Paris together. People used to send girls to Paris thento be finished,” said Mrs. Oliver. “That sounds more like an introduction to a cemetery2 than anintroduction into Society. What do you want to know about her?”
“You remember her? You remember what she was like?”
“Yes. As I tell you, one doesn’t entirely3 forget things or people because they’re in the past.”
“What impression did she make on you?”
“She was beautiful,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I do remember that. Not when she was about thirteen orfourteen. She had a lot of puppy fat then. I think we all did,” she added, thoughtfully.
“Was she a personality?”
“It’s difficult to remember because, you see, she wasn’t my only friend or my greatest friend. Imean, there were several of us together—a little pack, as you might say. People with tastes moreor less the same. We were keen on tennis and we were keen on being taken to the opera and wewere bored to death being taken to the picture galleries. I really can only give you a general idea.
“Molly Preston-Grey. That was her name.”
“You both had boyfriends?”
“We had one or two passions, I think. Not for pop singers, of course. They hadn’t happened yet.
Actors usually. There was one rather famous variety actor. A girl—one of the girls—had himpinned up over her bed and Mademoiselle Girand, the French mistress, on no account allowed thatactor to be pinned up there. ‘Ce n’est pas convenable,’ she said. The girl didn’t tell her that he washer father! We laughed,” added Mrs. Oliver. “Yes, we laughed a good deal.”
“Well, tell me more about Molly or Margaret Preston-Grey. Does this girl remind you of her?”
“No, I don’t think she does. No. They are not alike. I think Molly was more—was moreemotional than this girl.”
“There was a twin sister, I understand. Was she at the same pensionnat?”
“No, she wasn’t. She might have been since they were the same age, but no, I think she was insome entirely different place in England. I’m not sure. I have a feeling that the twin sister Dolly,whom I had met once or twice very occasionally and who of course at that time looked exactlylike Molly—I mean they hadn’t started trying to look different, have different hairdos and all that,as twins do usually when they grow up. I think Molly was devoted4 to her sister Dolly, but shedidn’t talk about her very much. I have a feeling—nowadays, I mean, I didn’t have it then—thatthere might have been something a bit wrong perhaps with the sister even then. Once or twice, Iremember, there were mentions of her having been ill or gone away for a course of treatmentsomewhere. Something like that. I remember once wondering whether she was a cripple. She wastaken once by an aunt on a sea voyage to do her health good.” She shook her head. “I can’t reallyremember, though. I just had a feeling that Molly was devoted to her and would have liked to haveprotected her in some way. Does that seem nonsense to you?”
“Not at all,” said Hercule Poirot.
“There were other times, I think, when she didn’t want to talk about her. She talked about hermother and her father. She was fond of them, I think, in the ordinary sort of way. Her mother cameonce to Paris and took her out, I remember. Nice woman. Not very exciting or good-looking oranything. Nice, quiet, kindly5.”
“I see. So you have nothing to help us there? No boyfriends?”
“We didn’t have so many boyfriends then,” said Mrs. Oliver. “It’s not like nowadays when it’sa matter of course. Later, when we were both back again at home we more or less drifted apart. Ithink Molly went abroad somewhere with her parents. I don’t think it was India—I don’t think so.
Somewhere else I think it was. Egypt perhaps. I think now they were in the Diplomatic Service.
They were in Sweden at one time, and after that somewhere like Bermuda or the West Indies. Ithink he was a Governor or something there. But those sort of things one doesn’t really remember.
Molly was very keen on the music master, which was very satisfying to us both and I should thinkmuch less troublesome than boyfriends seem to be nowadays. I mean, you adored—longed for theday when they came again to teach you. They were, I have no doubt, quite indifferent to you. Butone dreamt about them at night and I remember having a splendid kind of daydream6 in which Inursed my beloved Monsieur Adolphe when he had cholera7 and I gave him, I think, bloodtransfusions to save his life. How very silly one is. And think of all the other things you think ofdoing! There was one time when I was quite determined8 to be a nun9 and later on I thought I’d be ahospital nurse. Well, I suppose we shall have Mrs. Burton-Cox in a moment. I wonder how shewill react to you?”
Poirot gazed at his watch.
“We shall be able to see that fairly soon.”
“Have we anything else we ought to talk about first?”
“I think there are a few things we might compare notes on. As I say, there are one or two thingsthat I think could do with investigation10. An elephant investigation for you, shall we say? And anunderstudy for an elephant for me.”
“What an extraordinary thing to say,” said Mrs. Oliver. “I told you I was done with elephants.”
“Ah,” said Poirot, “but elephants perhaps have not done with you.”
The front doorbell sounded once again. Poirot and Mrs. Oliver looked at each other.
“Well,” said Mrs. Oliver, “here we go.”
She left the room once more. Poirot heard sounds of greeting going on outside and in a momentor two Mrs. Oliver returned, ushering11 the somewhat massive figure of Mrs. Burton-Cox.
“What a delightful12 flat you have,” said Mrs. Burton-Cox. “So charming of you to have sparedtime—your very valuable time, I’m sure—you asked me to come and see you.” Her eyes shotsideways to Hercule Poirot. A faint expression of surprise passed over her face. For a moment hereyes went from him to the baby grand piano that stood in one window. It occurred to Mrs. Oliverthat Mrs. Burton-Cox was thinking that Hercule Poirot was a piano tuner. She hastened to dispelthis illusion.
“I want to introduce you,” she said, “to M. Hercule Poirot.”
Poirot came forward and bent13 over her hand.
“I think he is the only person who might be able to help you in some way. You know. What youwere asking me about the other day concerning my godchild, Celia Ravenscroft.”
“Oh yes, how kind of you to remember. I do so hope you can give me a little more knowledgeof what really happened.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t been very successful,” said Mrs. Oliver, “and that is really why I asked M.
Poirot to meet you. He is a wonderful person, you know, for information on things generally.
Really on top of his profession. I cannot tell you how many friends of mine he has assisted andhow many, well, I can really call them mysteries, he has elucidated14. And this was such a tragicthing to have happened.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Burton- Cox. Her eyes were still somewhat doubtful. Mrs. Oliverindicated chairs and remarked,
“Now what will you have? A glass of sherry? It’s too late for tea, of course. Or would youprefer a cocktail15 of some kind?”
“Oh, a glass of sherry. You are very kind.”
“Monsieur Poirot?”
“I, too,” said Poirot.
Mrs. Oliver could not help being thankful that he had not asked for Sirop de Cassis or one of hisfavourite fruit drinks. She got out glasses and a decanter.
“I have already indicated to Monsieur Poirot the outlines of the enquiry you want to make.”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Burton-Cox.
She seemed rather doubtful and not so sure of herself as it would seem she was in the naturalhabit of being.
“These young people,” she said to Poirot, “so difficult nowadays. These young people. My son,such a dear boy, we have great hopes of his doing well in the future. And then there is this girl, avery charming girl, who, as probably Mrs. Oliver told you, is her goddaughter, and—well, ofcourse one never knows. I mean these friendships spring up and very often they don’t last. Theyare what we used to call calf-love, you know, years ago, and it is very important to know a little atleast about the—antecedents of people. You know, what their families are like. Oh, of course Iknow Celia’s a very well-born girl and all that, but there was this tragedy. Mutual16 suicide, Ibelieve, but nobody has been really able to enlighten me at all on what led to it or what led up to it,shall we say. I have no actual friends who were friends in common with the Ravenscrofts and so itis very difficult for me to have ideas. I know Celia is a charming girl and all that, but one wouldlike to know, to know more.”
“I understand from my friend, Mrs. Oliver, that you wanted to know something specifically.
You wanted to know, in fact—”
“What you said you wanted to know,” said Mrs. Oliver, chipping in with some firmness, “waswhether Celia’s father shot her mother and then himself or whether Celia’s mother shot her fatherand then herself.”
“I feel it makes a difference,” said Mrs. Burton- Cox. “Yes, definitely I feel it makes adifference.”
“A very interesting point of view,” said Poirot.
His tone was not very encouraging.
“Oh, the emotional background, shall I say, the emotional events that led up to all this. In amarriage, you must admit, one has to think of the children. The children, I mean, that are to come.
I mean heredity. I think now we realize that heredity does more than environment. It leads tocertain formation of character and certain very grave risks that one might not want to take.”
“True,” said Poirot. “The people who undertake the risks are the ones that have to make thedecision. Your son and this young lady, it will be their choice.”
“Oh, I know, I know. Not mine. Parents are never allowed to choose, are they, or even to giveany advice. But I would like to know something about it, yes, I would like to know very much. Ifyou feel that you could undertake any—investigation I suppose is the word you would use. Butperhaps—perhaps I am being a very foolish mother. You know. Overanxious about my dear son.
Mothers are like that.”
She gave a little whinney of laughter, putting her head slightly on one side.
“Perhaps,” she said, as she tipped up the sherry glass, “perhaps you will think about it and I alsowill let you know. Perhaps the exact points and things that I am worried about.”
She looked at her watch.
“Oh dear. Oh dear, I’m late for another appointment. I shall have to go. I am so sorry, dear Mrs.
Oliver, to have to run away so soon, but you know what it is. I had great difficulties finding a taxithis afternoon. One after another just turned his head aside and drove straight past me. All very,very difficult, isn’t it? I think Mrs. Oliver has your address, has she not?”
“I will give you my address,” said Poirot. He removed a card from his pocket and handed it toher.
“Oh yes, yes. I see. Monsieur Hercule Poirot. You are French, is that right?”
“I am Belgian,” said Poirot.
“Oh yes, yes. Belgique. Yes, yes, I quite understand. I am so pleased to have met you and I feelso hopeful. Oh dear, I must go very, very fast.”
Shaking Mrs. Oliver warmly by the hand, then extending the same hand to Poirot, she left theroom and the door sounded in the hall.
“Well, what do you think of that?” said Mrs. Oliver.
“What do you?” said Poirot.
“She ran away,” said Mrs. Oliver. “She ran away. You frightened her in some way.”
“Yes,” said Poirot, “I think you’ve judged quite right.”
“She wanted me to get things out of Celia, she wanted me to get some knowledge out of Celia,some expression, some sort of secret she suspected was there, but she doesn’t want a real properinvestigation, does she?”
“I think not,” said Poirot. “That is interesting. Very interesting. She is well-to-do, you think?”
“I should say so. Her clothes are expensive, she lives at an expensive address, she is—it’sdifficult to make out. She’s a pushing woman and a bossy17 woman. She sits on a lot of committees.
There’s nothing, I mean, suspicious about her. I’ve asked a few people. Nobody likes her verymuch. But she’s a sort of public-spirited woman who takes part in politics, all those sort ofthings.”
“Then what is wrong with her?” said Poirot.
“You think there is something wrong with her? Or do you just not like her, like I do?”
“I think there is something there that she does not want to come to light,” said Poirot.
“Oh. And are you going to find out what it is?”
“Naturally, if I can,” said Poirot. “It may not be easy. She is in retreat. She was in retreat whenshe left us here. She was afraid of what questions I was going to ask her. Yes. It is interesting.” Hesighed. “One will have to go back, you know, even farther than one thought.”
“What, back into the past again?”
“Yes. Somewhere in the past, in more cases than one, there is something that one will have toknow before we can come back again to what happened—what is it now?—fifteen years ago,twenty years ago, at a house called Overcliffe. Yes. One will have to go back again.”
“Well, that’s that,” said Mrs. Oliver. “And now, what is there to do? What is this list of yours?”
“I have heard a certain amount of information through police records on what was found in thehouse. You will remember that among the things there were four wigs18.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Oliver, “you said that four wigs were too many.”
“It seemed to be a little excessive,” said Poirot. “I have also got certain useful addresses. Theaddress of a doctor that might be helpful.”
“The doctor? You mean, the family doctor?”
“No, not the family doctor. The doctor who gave evidence at an inquest on a child who metwith an accident. Either pushed by an older child or possibly by someone else.”
“You mean by the mother?”
“Possibly the mother, possibly by someone else who was in the house at the time. I know thepart of England where that happened, and Superintendent19 Garroway has been able to trace him,through sources known to him and also through journalistic friends of mine, who were interestedin this particular case.”
“And you’re going to see—he must be a very old man by now.”
“It is not him I shall go to see, it is his son. His son is also qualified20 as a specialist in variousforms of mental disorders21. I have an introduction to him and he might be able to tell me somethinginteresting. There have also been enquiries into a case of money.”
“What do you mean by money?”
“Well, there are certain things we have to find out. That is one of the things in anything whichmight be a crime. Money. Who has money to lose by some happening, who has money to gain bysomething happening. That, one has to find out.”
“Well, they must have found out in the case of the Ravenscrofts.”
“Yes, that was all quite natural, it seems. They had both made normal wills, leaving in eachcase, the money to the other partner. The wife left her money to the husband and the husband lefthis money to his wife. Neither of them benefited by what happened because they both died. So thatthe people who did profit, were the daughter, Celia, and a younger child, Edward, who I gather isnow at a university abroad.”
“Well, that won’t help. Neither of the children were there or could have had anything to do withit.”
“Oh no, that is quite true. One must go further—further back, further forward, further sidewaysto find out if there is some financial motive22 somewhere that is—well, shall we say, significant.”
“Well, don’t ask me to do that sort of thing,” said Mrs. Oliver, “I’ve no real qualifications forthat. I mean, that’s come up, I suppose, fairly reasonable in the—well, in the elephants that I’vetalked to.”
“No. I think the best thing for you to do would be to, shall we say, take on the subject of thewigs.”
“Wigs?”
“There had been a note made in the careful police report at the time of the suppliers of the wigs,who were a very expensive firm of hairdressers and wig-makers in London, in Bond Street. Later,that particular shop closed and the business was transferred somewhere else. Two of the originalpartners continued to run it and I understand it has now been given up, but I have here an addressof one of the principal fitters and hairdressers, and I thought perhaps that it would come moreeasily if enquiries were made by a woman.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Oliver, “me?”
“Yes, you.”
“All right. What do you want me to do?”
“Pay a visit to Cheltenham to an address I shall give you and there you will find a MadameRosentelle. A woman no longer young but who was a very fashionable maker23 of ladies’ hairadornments of all kinds, and who was married, I understand, to another in the same profession, ahairdresser who specialized24 in surmounting25 the problems of gentlemen’s baldness. Toupees26 andother things.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Oliver, “the jobs you do give me to do. Do you think they’ll rememberanything about it?”
“Elephants remember,” said Hercule Poirot.
“Oh, and who are you going to ask questions of? This doctor you talked about?”
“For one, yes.”
“And what do you think he’ll remember?”
“Not very much,” said Poirot, “but it seems to me possible that he might have heard about acertain accident. It must have been an interesting case, you know. There must be records of thecase history.”
“You mean of the twin sister?”
“Yes. There were two accidents as far as I can hear connected with her. One when she was ayoung mother living in the country, at Hatters Green I think the address was, and again later whenshe was in Malaya. Each time an accident which resulted in the death of a child. I might learnsomething about—”
“You mean that as they were twin sisters, that Molly—my Molly I mean—might also have hadmental disability of some kind? I don’t believe it for a minute. She wasn’t like that. She wasaffectionate, loving, very good-looking, emotional and—oh, she was a terribly nice person.”
“Yes. Yes, so it would seem. And a very happy person on the whole, would you say?”
“Yes. She was a happy person. A very happy person. Oh, I know I never saw anything of herlater in life, of course; she was living abroad. But it always seemed to me on the very rareoccasions when I got a letter or went to see her that she was a happy person.”
“And the twin sister you did not really know?”
“No. Well, I think she was .?.?. well, quite frankly27 she was in an institution of some kind, I think,on the rare occasions that I saw Molly. She wasn’t at Molly’s wedding, not as a bridesmaid even.”
“That is odd in itself.”
“I still don’t see what you’re going to find out from that.”
“Just information,” said Poirot.
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收听单词发音
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1
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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2
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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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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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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daydream
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| v.做白日梦，幻想 | |
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cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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ushering
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的现在分词 ) | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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elucidated
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| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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16
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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bossy
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| adj.爱发号施令的，作威作福的 | |
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18
wigs
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| n.假发，法官帽( wig的名词复数 ) | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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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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disorders
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| n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 )；凌乱；骚乱；（身心、机能）失调 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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toupees
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| n.男用假发，遮秃假发( toupee的名词复数 ) | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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