I went down to dinner that night feeling that the whole of life had become suddenly unreal.
Once or twice, while dressing1, I had asked myself if possibly Poirot had imagined the wholething. After all, the dear old chap was an old man now and sadly broken in health. He himselfmight declare his brain was as sound as ever—but in point of fact, was it? His whole life had beenspent in tracking down crime. Would it really be surprising if, in the end, he was to fancy crimeswhere no crimes were? His enforced inaction must have fretted2 him sorely. What more likely thanthat he should invent for himself a new manhunt? Wishful thinking — a perfectly3 reasonableneurosis. He had selected a number of publicly reported happenings, and had read into themsomething that was not there — a shadowy figure behind them, a mad mass murderer. In allprobability Mrs. Etherington had really killed her husband, the labourer had shot his wife, a youngwoman had given her old aunt an overdose of morphia, a jealous wife had polished off herhusband as she had threatened to do, and a crazy spinster had really committed the murder forwhich she had subsequently given herself up. In fact these crimes were exactly what they seemed!
Against that view (surely the commonsense4 one) I could only set my own inherent belief inPoirot’s acumen5.
Poirot said that a murder had been arranged. For the second time Styles was to house a crime.
Time would prove or disprove that assertion, but if it were true, it behoved us to forestall6 thathappening.
And Poirot knew the identity of the murderer which I did not.
The more I thought about that, the more annoyed I became! Really, frankly7, it was damnedcheek of Poirot! He wanted my cooperation and yet he refused to take me into his confidence!
Why? There was the reason he gave—surely a most inadequate8 one! I was tired of this sillyjoking about my “speaking countenance9.” I could keep a secret as well as anyone. Poirot hadalways persisted in the humiliating belief that I am a transparent10 character and that anyone canread what is passing in my mind. He tries to soften11 the blow sometimes by attributing it to mybeautiful and honest character which abhors12 all form of deceit!
Of course, I reflected, if the whole thing was a chimera13 of Poirot’s imagination, his reticencewas easily explained.
I had come to no conclusion by the time the gong sounded, and I went down to dinner with anopen mind, but with an alert eye, for the detection of Poirot’s mythical14 X.
For the moment I would accept everything that Poirot had said as gospel truth. There was aperson under this roof who had already killed five times and who was preparing to kill again. Whowas it?
In the drawing room before we went in to dinner I was introduced to Miss Cole and MajorAllerton. The former was a tall, still handsome woman of thirty-three or four. Major Allerton Iinstinctively disliked. He was a good-looking man in the early forties, broad-shouldered, bronzedof face, with an easy way of talking, most of what he said holding a double implication. He hadthe pouches15 under his eyes that come with a dissipated way of life. I suspected him of racketingaround, of gambling16, of drinking hard, and of being first and last a womanizer.
Old Colonel Luttrell, I saw, did not much like him either, and Boyd Carrington was also ratherstiff in his manner towards him. Allerton’s success was with the women of the party. Mrs. Luttrelltwittered to him delightedly, whilst he flattered her lazily and with a hardly concealedimpertinence. I was also annoyed to see that Judith, too, seemed to enjoy his company and wasexerting herself far more than usual to talk to him. Why the worst type of man can always berelied upon to please and interest the nicest of women has long been a problem beyond me. I knewinstinctively that Allerton was a rotter—and nine men out of ten would have agreed with me.
Whereas nine women or possibly the whole ten would have fallen for him immediately.
As we sat down at the dinner table and plates of white gluey liquid were set before us, I let myeyes rove round the table whilst I summed up the possibilities.
If Poirot were right, and retained his clearness of brain unimpaired, one of these people was adangerous murderer—and probably a lunatic as well.
Poirot had not actually said so, but I presumed that X was probably a man. Which of these menwas it likely to be?
Surely not old Colonel Luttrell, with his indecision, and his general air of feebleness. Norton,the man I had met rushing out of the house with field glasses? It seemed unlikely. He appeared tobe a pleasant fellow, rather ineffective and lacking in vitality17. Of course, I told myself, manymurderers have been small insignificant18 men—driven to assert themselves by crime for that veryreason. They resented being passed over and ignored. Norton might be a murderer of this type. Butthere was his fondness for birds. I have always believed that a love of nature was essentially19 ahealthy sign in a man.
Boyd Carrington? Out of the question. A man with a name known all over the world. A finesportsman, an administrator20, a man universally liked and looked up to. Franklin I also dismissed. Iknew how Judith respected and admired him.
Major Allerton now. I dwelt on him appraisingly21. A nasty fellow if I ever saw one! The sort offellow who would skin his grandmother. And all glossed22 over with this superficial charm ofmanner. He was talking now—telling a story of his own discomfiture23 and making everybody laughwith his rueful appreciation24 of a joke at his expense.
If Allerton was X, I decided25, his crimes had been committed for profit in some way.
It was true that Poirot had not definitely said that X was a man. I considered Miss Cole as apossibility. Her movements were restless and jerky—obviously a woman of nerves. Handsome ina hag-ridden kind of way. Still, she looked normal enough. She, Mrs. Luttrell and Judith were theonly women at the dinner table. Mrs. Franklin was having dinner upstairs in her room, and thenurse who attended to her had her meals after us.
After dinner I was standing26 by the drawing room window looking out into the garden andthinking back to the time when I had seen Cynthia Murdoch, a young girl with auburn hair, runacross that lawn. How charming she had looked in her white overall. .?.?.
Lost in thoughts of the past, I started when Judith passed her arm through mine and led me withher out of the window on to the terrace.
She said abruptly27: “What’s the matter?”
I was startled. “The matter? What do you mean?”
“You’ve been so queer all through the evening. Why were you staring at everyone at dinner?”
I was annoyed. I had had no idea I had allowed my thoughts so much sway over me.
“Was I? I suppose I was thinking of the past. Seeing ghosts perhaps.”
“Oh, yes, of course you stayed here, didn’t you, when you were a young man? An old lady wasmurdered here, or something?”
“Poisoned with strychnine.”
“What was she like? Nice or nasty?”
I considered the question.
“She was a very kind woman,” I said slowly. “Generous. Gave a lot to charity.”
“Oh, that kind of generosity28.”
Judith’s voice sounded faintly scornful. Then she asked a curious question: “Were people—happy here?”
No, they had not been happy. That, at least, I knew. I said slowly: “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they felt like prisoners. Mrs. Inglethorp, you see, had all the money—and—doled itout. Her stepchildren could have no life of their own.”
I heard Judith take a sharp breath. The hand on my arm tightened29.
“That’s wicked—wicked. An abuse of power. It shouldn’t be allowed. Old people, sick people,they shouldn’t have the power to hold up the lives of the young and strong. To keep them tieddown, fretting30, wasting their power and energy that could be used — that’s needed. It’s justselfishness.”
“The old,” I said drily, “have not got a monopoly of that quality.”
“Oh, I know, Father, you think the young are selfish. So we are, perhaps, but it’s a cleanselfishness. At least we only want to do what we want ourselves, we don’t want everybody else todo what we want, we don’t want to make slaves of other people.”
“No, you just trample31 them down if they happen to be in your way.”
Judith squeezed my arm. She said: “Don’t be so bitter! I don’t really do much trampling—andyou’ve never tried to dictate32 our lives to any of us. We are grateful for that.”
“I’m afraid,” I said honestly, “that I’d have liked to, though. It was your mother who insistedyou should be allowed to make your own mistakes.”
Judith gave my arm another quick squeeze. She said: “I know. You’d have liked to fuss over uslike a hen! I do hate fuss. I won’t stand it. But you do agree with me, don’t you, about useful livesbeing sacrificed to useless ones?”
“It does sometimes happen,” I admitted. “But there’s no need for drastic measures .?.?. It’s up toanybody just to walk out, you know.”
“Yes, but is it? Is it?”
Her tone was so vehement33 that I looked at her in some astonishment34. It was too dark to see herface clearly. She went on, her voice low and troubled: “There’s so much—it’s difficult—financialconsiderations, a sense of responsibility, reluctance35 to hurt someone you’ve been fond of—allthose things, and some people are so unscrupulous—they know just how to play on all thosefeelings. Some people—some people are like leeches36!”
“My dear Judith,” I exclaimed, taken aback by the positive fury of her tone.
She seemed to realize that she had been overvehement, for she laughed, and withdrew her armfrom mine.
“Was I sounding very intense? It’s a matter I feel rather hotly about. You see, I’ve known a case.?.?. An old brute37. And when someone was brave enough to—to cut the knot and set the people sheloved free, they called her mad. Mad? It was the sanest38 thing anyone could do—and the bravest!”
A horrible qualm passed over me. Where, not long ago, had I heard something like that?
“Judith,” I said sharply. “Of what case are you talking?”
“Oh, nobody you know. Some friends of the Franklins. Old man called Litchfield. He was quiterich and practically starved his wretched daughters—never let them see anyone, or go out. He wasmad really, but not sufficiently39 so in the medical sense.”
“And the eldest40 daughter murdered him,” I said.
“Oh, I expect you read about it? I suppose you would call it murder—but it wasn’t done frompersonal motives41. Margaret Litchfield went straight to the police and gave herself up. I think shewas very brave. I wouldn’t have had the courage.”
“The courage to give yourself up or the courage to commit murder?”
“Both.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” I said severely42, “and I don’t like to hear you talking of murder asjustified in certain cases.” I paused, and added: “What did Dr. Franklin think?”
“Thought it served him right,” said Judith. “You know, Father, some people really ask to bemurdered.”
“I won’t have you talking like this, Judith. Who’s been putting these ideas into your head?”
“Nobody.”
“Well, let me tell you that it’s all pernicious nonsense.”
“I see. We’ll leave it at that.” She paused. “I came really to give you a message from Mrs.
Franklin. She’d like to see you if you don’t mind coming up to her bedroom.”
“I shall be delighted. I’m so sorry she was feeling too ill to come down to dinner.”
“She’s all right,” said Judith unfeelingly. “She just likes making a fuss.”
The young are very unsympathetic.
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收听单词发音
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1
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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2
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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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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commonsense
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| adj.有常识的；明白事理的；注重实际的 | |
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acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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6
forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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8
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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12
abhors
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| v.憎恶( abhor的第三人称单数 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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chimera
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| n.神话怪物；梦幻 | |
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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pouches
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| n.（放在衣袋里或连在腰带上的）小袋( pouch的名词复数 )；（袋鼠等的）育儿袋；邮袋；（某些动物贮存食物的）颊袋 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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administrator
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| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
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appraisingly
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| adv.以品评或评价的眼光 | |
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glossed
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| v.注解( gloss的过去式和过去分词 )；掩饰（错误）；粉饰；把…搪塞过去 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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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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28
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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29
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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36
leeches
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| n.水蛭( leech的名词复数 )；蚂蟥；榨取他人脂膏者；医生 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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sanest
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| adj.心智健全的( sane的最高级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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40
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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41
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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42
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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