It was a wild night. Outside, the wind howled malevolently1, and the rain beat against the windowsin great gusts2.
Poirot and I sat facing the hearth3, our legs stretched out to the cheerful blaze. Between us was asmall table. On my side of it stood some carefully brewed4 hot toddy; on Poirot's was a cup ofthick, rich chocolate which I would not have drunk for a hundred poundsl Poirot sipped5 the thickbrown mess in the pink china cup, and sighed with contentment.
'Quelle belle6 v/e!' he murmured.
'Yes, it's a good old world,' I agreed. 'Here am I with a job, and a good job tool And here are you,famous - '
'Oh, mon ami!' protested Poirot.
'But you are. And rightly sol When I think back on your long line of successes, I am positivelyamazed. I don't believe you know what failure isl'
'He would be a droll7 kind of original who could say thaw8 'No, but seriously, have you ever failed?'
'Innumerable times, my friend. What would you? La bonne chance, it cannot always be on yourside. I have been called in too late. Very often another, working towards the same goal, has arrivedthere first. Twice have I been stricken down with illness just as I was on the point of success. Onemust take the downs with the ups, my friend.'
'I didn't quite mean that,' I said. 'I meant, had you ever been completely down and out over a casethrough your own fault?'
'Ah, I comprehend! You ask if I have ever made the complete prize ass9 of myself, as you say overhere? Once, my friend - ' A slow, reflective smile hovered10 over his face. 'Yes, once I made a foolof myself.'
He sat up suddenly in his chair.
'See here, my friend, you have, I know, kept a record of my little successes. You shall add onemore story to the collection, the story of a failure!' He leaned forward and placed a log on the fire.
Then, after carefully wiping his hands on a little duster that hung on a nail by the fireplace, heleaned back and commenced his story.
That of which I tell you (said M. Poirot) took place in Belgium many years ago. It was at the timeof the terrible struggle in France between church and state. M. Paul Droulard was a French deputyof note. It was an open secret that the portfolio11 of a Minister awaited him. He was among thebitterest of the anti-Catholic party, and it was certain that on his accession to power, he wouldhave to face violent enmity. He was in many ways a peculiar12 man.
Though he neither drank nor smoked, he was nevertheless not so scrupulous13 in other ways. Youcomprehend, Hastings, cYtait des femrnes - toujours des femmesl He had married some yearsearlier a young lady from Brussels who had brought him a substantial dot. Undoubtedly14 the moneywas useful to him in his career, as his family was not rich, though on the other hand he wasentitled to call himself M. le Baron15 if he chose. There were no children of the marriage, and hiswife died after two years - the result of a fall downstairs. Among the property which shebequeathed to him was a house on the Avenue Louise in Brussels.
It was in this house that his sudden death took place, the event coinciding with the resignation ofthe Minister whose portfolio he was to inherit. All the papers printed long notices of his career.
His death, which had taken place quite suddenly in the evening after dinner, was attributed toheart-failure.
At that time, rnon ami, I was, as you know, a member of the Belgian detective force. The death ofM. Paul Droulard was not particularly interesting to me. I am, as you also know, bon catholique,and his demise16 seemed to me fortunate.
It was some three days afterwards, when my vacation had just begun, that I received a visitor atmy own apartments - a lady, heavily veiled, but evidently quite young; and I perceived at once thatshe was a jeune fille tout17 d fait cornme il faut.
'You are Monsieur Hercule Poirot?' she asked in a low sweet voice.
I bowed.
'Of the detective service?'
Again I bowed. 'Be seated, I pray of you, mademoiselle,' I said.
She accepted a chair and drew aside her veil. Her face was charming, though marred19 with tears,and haunted as though with some poignant20 anxiety.
'Monsieur,' she said, 'I understand that you are now taking a vacation. Therefore you will be free totake up a private case.
You understand that I do not wish to call in the police.'
I shook my head. 'I fear what you ask is impossible, mademois-elle.
Even though on vacation, I am still of the police.'
She leaned forward. 'Ecoutez, monsieur. All that I ask of you is to investigate. The result of yourinvestigations you are at perfect liberty to report to the police. If what I believe to be true/s true,we shall need all the machinery23 of the law.'
That placed a somewhat different complexion24 on the matter, and I placed myself at her servicewithout more ado.
A slight colour rose in her cheeks. 'I thank you, monsieur. It is the death of M. Paul Droulard that Iask you to investi-gate.'
'Comment?' I exclaimed, surprised.
'Monsieur, I have nothing to go upon - nothing but my woman's instinct, but I am convinced -convinced, I tell you - that M.
Droulard did not die a natural death!'
'But surely the doctors - '
'Doctors may be mistaken. He was so robust25, so strong. Ah, Monsieur Poirot, I beseech26 of you tohelp me - '
The poor child was almost beside herself. She would have knelt to me. I soothed27 her as best Icould.
'I will help you, mademoiselle. I feel almost sure that your fears are unfounded, but we will see.
First, I will ask you to describe to me the inmates28 of the house.'
'There are the domestics, of course, Jeanette, Flicie, and Denise the cook. She has been there manyyears; the others are simple country girls. Also there is Francois, but he too is an old servant.
Then there is Monsieur Droulard's mother who lived with him, and myself. My name is VirginieMesnard. I am a poor cousin of the late Madame Droulard, M. Paul's wife, and I have been amember of their mnage for over three years. I have now described to you the household. Therewere also two guests staying in the house.' 'And they were?' 'M. de Saint Alard, a neighbour of M.
Droulard's in France.
Also an English friend, Mr John Wilson.' 'Are they still with you?' 'Mr Wilson, yes, but M. deSaint Alard departed yesterday.' 'And what is your plan, Mademoiselle Mesnard?' 'If you willpresent yourself at the house in half an hour's time, I will have arranged some story to account foryour presence. I had better represent you to be connected with journalism29 in some way. I shall sayyou have come from Paris, and that you have brought a card of introduction from M. de SaintAlard. Madame Droulard is very feeble in health, and will' pay little attention to details.' Onmademoiselle's ingenious pretext30 I was admitted to the house, and after a brief interview with thedead deputy's mother, who was a wonderfully imposing31 and aristocratic figure though obviously infailing health, I was made free of the premises32.
I wonder, my friend (continued Poirot), whether you can possibly figure to yourself the difficultiesof my task? Here was a man whose death had taken place three days previously33. If there had beenfoul play, only one possibility was admittable -poironl And I had had no chance of seeing thebody, and there was no possibility of examining, or analysing, any medium in which the poisoncould have been administered. There were no clues, false or otherwise, to consider. Had the manbeen poisoned? Had he died a natural death? I, Hercule Poirot, with nothing to help me, had todecide.
First, I interviewed the domestics, and with their aid, I recapitulated34 the evening. I paid especialnotice to the food at
dinner, and the method of serving it. The soup had been served by M. Droulard himself from atureen. Next a dish of cutlets, then a chicken. Finally a compote of fruits. And all placed on thetable, and served by Monsieur himself. The coffee was brought in a big pot to the dinner-table.
Nothing there, mon ami - impossible to poison one without poisoning alii After dinner MadameDroulard had retired35 to her own apartments and Mademoiselle Virginie had accompanied her. Thethree men had adjourned36 to M. Droulard's study. Her they had chatted amicably37 for some time,when suddenly, without any warning, the deputy had fallen heavily to the ground. M. de SaintAlard had rushed out and told Franvois to fetch a doctor immediately.
He said it was without doubt an apoplexy, explained the man. But when the doctor arrived, thepatient was past help.
Mr John Wilson, to whom I was presented by Mademoiselle Virginie, was what was known inthose days as a regular John Bull Englishman, middle-aged38 and burly. His account, delivered invery British French, was substantially the same.
'Droulard went very red in the face, and down he fell.' There was nothing further to be found outthere. Next I went to the scene of the tragedy, the study, and was left alone there at my ownrequest. So far there was nothing to support MademoiseIle Mesnard's theory. I could not butbelieve that it was a delusion39 on her part. Evidently she had entertained a romantic passion for thedead man which had not permitted her to take a normal view of the case. Nevertheless, I searchedthe study with meticulous40 care. It was just possible that a.hypodermic needle might have beenintroduced into the dead man's chair in such a way as to allow of a fatal injection. The minutepuncture it would cause was likely to remain unnoticed. But I could discover no sign to supportthat theory. I flung myself down in the chair with a gesture of despair.
'Enfin, I abandon it!' I said aloud. 'There is not a clue any-wherel Everything is perfectly41 normal.'
As I said the words, my eyes fell on a large box of chocolates standing42 on a table near by, and myheart gave a leap. It might not
be a clue to M. D6roulard's death, but here at least was something that was not normal. I lifted thelid. The box was full, untouched; not a chocolate was missing - but that only made the peculiaritythat had caught my eye more striking. For, see you, Hastings, while the box itself was pink, the lidwas blue. Now, one often sees a blue ribbon on a pink box, and vice18 versa, but a box of onecolour, and a lid of another - no; decidedly - fa ne se You jamais!
I did not as yet see that this little incident was of any use to me, yet I determined43 to investigate itas being out of the ordinary.
I rang the bell for Franvois, and asked him if his late master had been fond of sweets. A faintmelancholy smile came to his lips.
'Passionately45 fond of them, monsieur. He would always have a box of chocolates in the house. Hedid not drink wine of any kind, you see.' 'Yet this box has not been touched?' I lifted the lid toshow him.
'Pardon, monsieur, but that was a new box purchased on the day of his death, the other beingnearly finished.' 'Then the other box was finished on the day of his death,' I said slowly.
'Yes, monsieur, I found it empty in the morning and threw it away.' 'Did M. D6roulard eat sweetsat all hours of the day?' 'Usually after dinner, monsieur.' I began to see light.
'Franvois,' I said, 'you can be discreet46?' 'If there is need, monsieur.' 'Bon! Know, then, that I am ofthe police. Can you find me that other box?' 'Without doubt, monsieur. It will be in the dustbin.' Hedeparted, and returned in a few minutes with a dust-covered object. It was the duplicate of the boxI held, save for the fact that this time the box was blue and the lid was pink. I thanked Francois,recommended him once more to be discreet, and left the house in the Avenue Louise without moreado.
Nt I called upon the doctor who had attended M. D6roulard.
With him I had a difficult task. He entrenched47 himself prettil, behind a wall of learnedphraseology, but I fancied that he was quite as sure about the case as he would like to be.
'There have been many curious occurrences of the kind,' he observed, when I had managed todisarm him somewhat. ', sudden fit of anger, a violent emotion - after a heavy dinner, c'est entendu- then, with an access of rage, the blood flies to th head, and pstl - there you are!' 'But M. Droulardhad had no violent emotion.' 'No? I made sure that he had been having a stormy altercatio with M.
de Saint Alard.' 'Why should he?' 'C'est dvidentl' The doctor shrugged48 his shoulders. 'Was not M.
de Saint Alard a Catholic of the most fanatical? Their friendship was being ruined by this questionof church and state. Not a day passed without discussions. To M. de Saint Alard, Ddroulardappeared almost as Antichrist.' This was unexpected, and gave me food for thought.
'One more question, Doctor: would it be possible to introduce a fatal dose of poison into achocolate?' 'It would be possible, I suppose,' said the doctor slowly. 'Pure prussic acid would meetthe case if there were no chance of evaporation50, and a tiny globule of anything might beswallowed unnoticed - but it does not seem a very likely supposition. A chocolate full of morphineor strychnine - ' He made a wry51 face. 'You comprehend, M. Poirot - one bite would be enoughlThe unwary one would not stand upon ceremony.' 'Thank you, M. le Docteur.' I withdrew. Next Imade inquiries52 of the chemists, especially those in the neighbourhood of the Avenue Louise. It isgood to be of the police. I got the information I wanted without any trouble. Only in one casecould I hear of any poison having been supplied to the house in question. This was some eye dropsatropine sulphate for Madame Droulard. Atropine is a potent53 poison, and for the moment I waselated, but the symptoms of atropine poisoning are closely allied54 to those of ptomaine, and bear noresemblance to those I was studying. Besides, the prescription55 was an old one. Madame Droulardhad suffered from cataract56 in both eyes for many years.
I was turning away discouraged when the chemist's voice called me back.
'Un moment, M. Poirot. I remember, the girl who brought that prescription, she said somethingabout having to go on to the English chemist. You might try there.' I did. Once more enforcing myofficial status, I got the information I wanted. On the day before M. Droulard's death they hadmade up a prescription for Mr John Wilson. Not that there was any making up about it. They weresimplylittle tablets of trinitrine.
I asked if I might see some. He showed me them, and my heart beat faster - for the tiny tabletswere of chocolate. 'It is a poison?' I asked.
'No, monsieur.' 'Can you describe to me its effect?' 'It lowers the blood-pressure. It is given forsome forms of heart trouble - angina pectoris for instance. It relieves the arterial tem4on. Inarteriosclerosis - ' I interrupted him. 'Ma foil This rigmarole says nothing to me.
Does it cause the face to flush?' 'Certainly it does.' 'And supposing I ate ten - twenty of your littletablets, what then?' 'I should not advise you to attempt it,' he replied drily.
'And yet you say it is not poison?' 'There are many things not called poison which can kill a man,'
he replied as before.
I left the shop elated. At last, things had begun to marchl I now knew that John Wilson held themeans for the crime but what about the motive57? He had come to Belgium on business, and hadasked M. Droulard, whom he knew slightly, to put him up. There was apparently58 no way in whichDroulard's death could benefit him. Moreover, I discovered by inquiries in England that he hadsuffered for some years from that painful form of heart disease known as angina. Therefore he hada genuine right to have those tablets in his possession. Nevertheless, I was convinced thatsomeone had gone to the chocolate box, opening the full one first by mistake, and had abstractedthe contents of the last chocolate, cramming59 in instead as manylittle trinitrin tablets as it wouldhold.
The chocolates were large ones. Between twenty or thirty tablets, I felt sure, could have beeninserted. But who had done this?
There were two guests in the house. John Wilson had the means.
Saint Alard had the motive. Remember, he was a fanatic49, and there is no fanatic like a religiousfanatic. Could he, by any means, have got hold of John Wilson's trinitrine?
Another little idea came to me. Aht You smile at my little ideas[ Why had Wilson run out oftrinitrine? Surely he would bring an adequate supply from England. I called once more at thehouse in the Avenue Louise. Wilson was out, but I saw the girl who did his room, Flicie. Idemanded of her immediately whether i was not true that M. Wilson had lost a bottle from hiswashstand some little time ago. The girl responded eagerly. It was quite true. She, Flicie, had beenblamed for it. The English gentleman had evidently thought that she had broken it, and did not liketo say so.
Whereas she had never even touched it. Without doubt it was Jeannette - always nosing roundwhere she had no business tobe- I calmed the flow of words, and took my leave. I knew now allthat I wanted to know. It remained for me to prove my case. That, I felt, would not be easy. Imight be sure that Saint Alard had removed the bottle of trinitrine from John Wilson's washstand,but to convince others, I would have to produce evidence. And I had none to producei Nevermind. I kneo - that was the great thing. You remember our difficulty in the Styles case, Hastings?
There again, I knew but it took me a long time to find the last link which made my chain ofevidence against the murderer complete.
I asked for an interview with Mademoiselle Mesnard. She came at once. I demanded of her theaddress of M. de Saint Alard. A look of trouble came over her face.
'Why do you want it, monsieur?' 'Mademoiselle, it is necessary.'
She seemed doubtful - troubled.
'He can tell you nothing. He is a man whose thoughts are not in this world. He hardly notices whatgoes on around him.' 'Possibly, mademoiselle. Nevertheless, he was an old friend of M.
D6roulard's. There may be things he can tell me - things of the past - old grudges60 - old love-affairs.' The girl flushed and bit her lip. 'As you please - but - but - I feel sure now that I have beenmistaken. It was good of you to accede61 to my demand, but I was upset - almost distraught at thetime. I see now that there is no mystery to solve. Leave it, I beg of you, monsieur.' I eyed herclosely.
'Mademoiselle,' I said, 'it is sometimes difficult for a dog to find a scent62, but once he has found it,nothing on earth will make him leave it! That is if he is a good dogl And I, mademoiselle, I,Hercule Poirot, am a very good dog.' Without a word she turned away. A few minutes later shereturned with the address written on a sheet of paper. I left the house. Francois was waiting for meoutside. He looked at me anxiously.
'There is no news, monsieur?' 'None as yet, my friend.' 'Ahl Pauvre Monsieur D6roulard!' hesighed. 'I too was of his way of thinking. I do not care for priests. Not that I would say so in thehouse. The women are all devout63 - a good thing perhaps. Madame est trds pieuse - etMademoiselle Virginie aussi.' Mademoiselle Virginie? Was she 'trds pieuse?' Thinking of the tear-stained passionate44 face I had seen that first day, I wondered.
Having obtained the address of M. de Saint Alard, I wasted no time. I arrived in theneighbourhood of his chfiteau in the Ardennes but it was some days before I could find a pretextfor gaining admission to the house. In the end I did - how do you think - as a plumber64, mon ami! Itwas the affair of a moment to arrange a neat little gas leak in his bedroom. I departed for my tools,and took care to return with them at an hour when I knew I should have the field pretty well tomyself. What I was searching for, I hardly knew. The one thing needful, I could not believe therewas any chance of finding. He would never have run the risk of keeping it.
Still when I found a little cupboard above the washstand locked, I could not resist the temptationof seeing what was inside it.
The lock was quite a simple one to pick. The door swung open.
It was full of old bottles. I took them up one by one with a trembling hand. Suddenly, I uttered acry. Figure to yourself, my friend, I held in my hand a little phial with an English chemist's label.
On it were the words: 'Trinitrine Tablets. One to be taken olen required. Mr Jol:n Wilson.'
I controlled my emotion, closed the little cupboard, slipped the bottle into my pocket, andcontinued to repair the gas leak! One must be methodical. Then I left the chateau65, and took trainfor my own country as soon as possible. I arrived in Brussels late that night. I was writing out areport for the prfet in the morning, when a note was brought to me. It was from old MadameDdrou-lard, and it summoned me to the house in the Avenue Louise without delay.
Francois opened the door to me.
'Madame la Baronne is awaiting you.'
He conducted me to her apartments. She sat in state in a large armchair. There was no sign ofMademoiselle Virginie.
'M. Poirot,' said the old lady. 'I have just learned that you are not what you pretend to be. You area police officer.'
'That is so, madame.'
'You came here to inquire into the circumstances of my son's death?'
Again I replied: 'That is so, madame.'
'I should be glad if you would tell me what progress you have made.'
I hesitated.
'First I would like to know how you have learned all this, madame.'
'From one who is no longer of this world.'
Her words, and the brooding way she uttered them, sent a chill to my heart. I was incapable66 ofspeech.
'Wherefore, monsieur, I would beg of you most urgently to tellme exactly what progress you have made in your investigation21.' 'Madame, my investigation isfinished.' 'My son?'
'Was killed deliberately67.' 'You know by whom?' 'Yes, madame.' 'Who, then?'
'M. de Saint Alard.'
The old lady shook her head.
'You are wrong. M. de Saint Alard is incapable of such a crime.' 'The proofs are in my hands.'
'I beg of you once more to tell me all.'
This time I obeyed, going over each step that had led me to the discovery of the truth. She listenedattentively. At the end she nodded her head.
'Yes, yes, it is all as you say, all but one thing. It was not M. de Saint Alard who killed my son. Itwas I, his mother.'
I stared at her. She continued to nod her head gently.
'It is well that I sent for you. It is the providence68 of the good God that Virginie told me before shedeparted for the convent, what she had done. Listen, M. Poirofl My son was an evil man.
He persecuted69 the church. He led a life of mortal sin. He dragged down other souls beside his own.
But there was worse than that.
As I came out of my room in this house one morning, I saw my daughter-in-law standing at thehead of the stairs. She was reading a letter. I saw my son steal up behind her. One swift push, andshe fell, striking her head on the marble steps. When they picked her up she was dead. My son wasa murderer, and only I, his mother, knew it.'
She closed her eyes for a moment. 'You cannot conceive, monsieur, of my agony, my despair.
What was I to do? Denounce him to the police? I could not bring myself to do it. It was my duty,but my flesh was weak. Besides, would they believe me?
My eyesight had been failing for some time - they would say I was mistaken. I kept silence. Butmy conscience gave me no peace.
By keeping silence I too was a murderer. My son inherited his wife's money. He flourished as thegreen bay tree. And now he
was to have a Minister's portfolio. His persecution70 of the church would be redoubled. And therewas Virginie. She, poor child, beautiful, naturally pious71, was fascinated by him. He had a strangeand terrible power over women. I saw it coming. I was powerless to prevent it. He had nointention of marrying her. The time came when she was ready to yield everything to him.
'Then I saw my path clear. He was my son. I had given him life. I was responsible for him. He hadkilled one woman's body, now he would kill another's soull I went to Mr Wilson's room, and tookthe bottle of tablets. He had once said laughingly that there were enough in it to kill a manl I wentinto the study and opened the big box of chocolates that always stood on the table. I opened a newbox by mistake. The other was on the table also. There was just one chocolate left in it. Thatsimplified things, bio one ate chocolates except my son and Virginie. I would keep her with methat night. All went as I had planned - '
She paused, closing her eyes a minute then opened them again.
'M. Poirot, I am in your hands. They tell me I have not many days to live. I am willing to answerfor my action before the good God. Must I answer for it on earth also?'
I hesitated. 'But the empty bottle, madame,' I said to gain time.
'How came that into M. de Saint Alard's possession?'
'When he came to say goodbye to me, monsieur, I slipped it into his pocket. I did not know how toget rid of it. I am so infirm that I cannot move about much without help, and finding it empty inmy rooms might have caused suspicion. You understand, monsieur - ' she drew herself up to herfull height - 'it was with no idea of casting suspicion on M. de Saint Alardl I never dreamed ofsuch a thing. I thought his valet would find an empty bottle and throw it away without question.'
I bowed my head. 'I comprehend, madame,' I said.
'And your decision, monsieur?'
Her voice was firm and unfaltering, her head held as high as ever.
I rose to my feet.
'Madame,' I said, 'I have the honour to wish you good day.
I have made my investigations22 - and failed! The matter is closed.'
He was silent for a moment, then said quietly: 'She died just a week later. Mademoiselle Virginiepassed through her novitiate, and duly took the veil. That, my friend, is the story. I must admit thatI do not make a fine figure in it.' 'But that was hardly a failure,' I expostulated. 'What else couldyou have thought under the circumstances?' 'Ah, sacra, rnon ami,' cried Poirot, becoming suddenlyanimated.
'Is it that you do not see? But I was thirty-six times an idiotl My grey cells, they functioned not atall. The whole time I had the true clue in my hands.' 'What clue?' 'The chocolate boxl Do you notsee? Would anyone in possession of their full eyesight make such a mistake? I knew MadameDroulard had cataract - the atropine drops told me that. There was only one person in thehousehold whose eyesight was such that she could not see which lid to replace. It was thechocolate box that started me on the track, and yet up to the end I failed consistently to perceive itsreal significancel 'Also my psychology72 was at fault. Had M. de Saint Alard been the criminal, hewould never have kept an incriminating bottle.
Finding it was a proof of his innocence73. I had learned already from Mademoiselle Virginie that hewas absent-minded. Altogether it was a miserable74 affair that I have recounted to you there! Only toyou have I told the story. You comprehend, I do not figure well in it! An old lady commits a crimein such a simple and clever fashion that I, Hercule Poirot, am completely deceived. $apristi! Itdoes not bear thinking of! Forget it. Or no - remember it, and if you think at any time that I amgrowing conceited75 - it is not likely, but it might arise.' I concealed76 a smile.
'Eh bien, my friend, you shall say to me, "Chocolate box". Is it agreed?' 'It's a bargainl' 'After all,'
said Poirot reflectively, 'it was an experience! I, who have undoubtedly the finest brain in Europeat present, can afford to be magnanimousl' 'Chocolate box,' I murmured gently.
'Pardon, mon ami?'
I looked at Poirot's innocent face, as he bent77 forward inquiringly, and my heart smote78 me. I hadsuffered often at his hands, but I, too, though not possessing the finest brain in Europe, couldafford to be magnanimous!
'Nothing,' I lied, and lit another pipe, smiling to myself.
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malevolently
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gusts
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hearth
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brewed
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| 调制( brew的过去式和过去分词 )； 酝酿； 沏（茶）； 煮（咖啡） | |
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sipped
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belle
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droll
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thaw
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hovered
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portfolio
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peculiar
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scrupulous
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undoubtedly
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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recapitulated
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| v.总结，扼要重述( recapitulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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meticulous
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| adj.极其仔细的，一丝不苟的 | |
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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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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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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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entrenched
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| adj.确立的，不容易改的(风俗习惯) | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fanatic
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| n.狂热者，入迷者；adj.狂热入迷的 | |
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evaporation
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| n.蒸发，消失 | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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grudges
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| 不满，怨恨，妒忌( grudge的名词复数 ) | |
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accede
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| v.应允，同意 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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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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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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