I had only met Mrs. Franklin once before. She was a woman about thirty—of what I shoulddescribe as the madonna type. Big brown eyes, hair parted in the centre, and a long gentle face.
She was very slender and her skin had a transparent1 fragility.
She was lying on a day bed, propped2 up with pillows, and wearing a very dainty negligee ofwhite and pale blue.
Franklin and Boyd Carrington were there drinking coffee. Mrs. Franklin welcomed me with anoutstretched hand and a smile.
“How glad I am you’ve come, Captain Hastings. It will be so nice for Judith. The child hasreally been working far too hard.”
“She looks very well on it,” I said as I took the fragile little hand in mine.
Barbara Franklin sighed. “Yes, she’s lucky. How I envy her. I don’t believe really that sheknows what ill health is. What do you think, Nurse? Oh! Let me introduce you. This is NurseCraven who’s so terribly, terribly good to me. I don’t know what I should do without her. Shetreats me just like a baby.”
Nurse Craven was a tall, good-looking young woman with a fine colour and a handsome head ofauburn hair. I noticed her hands which were long and white—very different from the hands of somany hospital nurses. She was in some respects a taciturn girl, and sometimes did not answer. Shedid not now, merely inclined her head.
“But really,” went on Mrs. Franklin, “John has been working that wretched girl of yours toohard. He’s such a slave driver. You are a slave driver, aren’t you, John?”
Her husband was standing3 looking out of the window. He was whistling to himself and jinglingsome loose change in his pocket. He started slightly at his wife’s question.
“What’s that, Barbara?”
“I was saying that you overwork poor Judith Hastings shamefully4. Now Captain Hastings ishere, he and I are going to put our heads together and we’re not going to allow it.”
Persiflage5 was not Dr. Franklin’s strong point. He looked vaguely6 worried and turned to Judithenquiringly. He mumbled7: “You must let me know if I overdo8 it.”
Judith said: “They’re just trying to be funny. Talking of work, I wanted to ask you about thatstain for the second slide—you know, the one that—”
He turned to her eagerly and broke in. “Yes, yes. I say, if you don’t mind, let’s go down to thelab. I’d like to be quite sure—”
Still talking, they went out of the room together.
Barbara Franklin lay back on her pillows. She sighed. Nurse Craven said suddenly and ratherdisagreeably: “It’s Miss Hastings who’s the slave driver, I think!”
Again Mrs. Franklin sighed. She murmured: “I feel so inadequate9. I ought, I know, to take moreinterest in John’s work, but I just can’t do it. I daresay it’s something wrong in me, but—”
She was interrupted by a snort from Boyd Carrington who was standing by the fireplace.
“Nonsense, Babs,” he said. “You’re all right. Don’t worry yourself.”
“Oh but, Bill, dear, I do worry. I get so discouraged about myself. It’s all—I can’t help feeling it—it’s all so nasty. The guinea pigs and the rats and everything. Ugh!” She shuddered10. “I know it’sstupid, but I’m such a fool. It makes me feel quite sick. I just want to think of all the lovely happythings—birds and flowers and children playing. You know, Bill.”
He came over and took the hand she held out to him so pleadingly. His face as he looked downat her was changed, as gentle as any woman’s. It was, somehow, impressive—for Boyd Carringtonwas so essentially11 a manly12 man.
“You’ve not changed much since you were seventeen, Babs,” he said. “Do you remember thatgarden house of yours and the bird bath and the coconuts13?”
He turned his head to me. “Barbara and I are old playmates,” he said.
“Old playmates!” she protested.
“Oh, I’m not denying that you’re over fifteen years younger than I am. But I played with you asa tiny tot when I was a young man. Gave you pick-a-backs, my dear. And then later I came hometo find you a beautiful young lady—just on the point of making your début in the world—and I didmy share by taking you out on the golf links and teaching you to play golf. Do you remember?”
“Oh, Bill, do you think I’d forget?”
“My people used to live in this part of the world,” she explained to me. “And Bill used to comeand stay with his old uncle, Sir Everard, at Knatton.”
“And what a mausoleum it was—and is,” said Boyd Carrington. “Sometimes I despair ofgetting the place liveable.”
“Oh, Bill, it could be made marvellous—quite marvellous!”
“Yes, Babs, but the trouble is I’ve got no ideas. Baths and some really comfortable chairs—that’s all I can think of. It needs a woman.”
“I’ve told you I’ll come and help. I mean it. Really.”
Sir William looked doubtfully towards Nurse Craven.
“If you’re strong enough, I could drive you over. What do you think, Nurse?”
“Oh yes, Sir William. I really think it would do Mrs. Franklin good—if she’s careful not toovertire herself, of course.”
“That’s a date, then,” said Boyd Carrington. “And now you have a good night’s sleep. Get intogood fettle for tomorrow.”
We both wished Mrs. Franklin good night and went out together. As we went down the stairs,Boyd Carrington said gruffly: “You’ve no idea what a lovely creature she was at seventeen. I washome from Burma—my wife died out there, you know. Don’t mind telling you I completely lostmy heart to her. She married Franklin three or four years afterwards. Don’t think it’s been a happymarriage. It’s my idea that that’s what lies at the bottom of her ill health. Fellow doesn’tunderstand her or appreciate her. And she’s the sensitive kind. I’ve an idea that this delicacy14 ofhers is partly nervous. Take her out of herself, amuse her, interest her, and she looks a differentcreature! But that damned sawbones only takes an interest in test tubes and West African nativesand cultures.” He snorted angrily.
I thought that there was, perhaps, something in what he said. Yet it surprised me that BoydCarrington should be attracted by Mrs. Franklin who, when all was said and done, was a sicklycreature, though pretty in a frail15, chocolate-box way. But Boyd Carrington himself was so full ofvitality and life that I should have thought he would merely have been impatient with the neurotictype of invalid16. However, Barbara Franklin must have been quite lovely as a girl, and with manymen, especially those of the idealistic type such as I judged Boyd Carrington to be, earlyimpressions die hard.
Downstairs, Mrs. Luttrell pounced17 upon us and suggested bridge. I excused myself on the pleaof wanting to join Poirot.
I found my friend in bed. Curtiss was moving around the room tidying up, but he presently wentout, shutting the door behind him.
“Confound you, Poirot,” I said. “You and your infernal habit of keeping things up your sleeve.
I’ve spent the whole evening trying to spot X.”
“That must have made you somewhat distrait,” observed my friend. “Did nobody comment onyour abstraction and ask you what was the matter?”
I reddened slightly, remembering Judith’s questions. Poirot, I think, observed my discomfiture18. Inoticed a small malicious19 smile on his lips. He merely said, however: “And what conclusion haveyou come to on that point?”
“Would you tell me if I was right?”
“Certainly not.”
I watched his face closely.
“I had considered Norton—”
Poirot’s face did not change.
“Not,” I said, “that I’ve anything to go upon. He just struck me as perhaps less unlikely thananyone else. And then he’s—well—inconspicuous. I should imagine the kind of murderer we’reafter would have to be inconspicuous.”
“That is true. But there are more ways than you think of being inconspicuous.”
“What do you mean?”
“Supposing, to take a hypothetical case, that if a sinister20 stranger arrives there some weeksbefore the murder, for no apparent reason, he will be noticeable. It would be better, would it not, ifthe stranger were to be a negligible personality, engaged in some harmless sport like fishing.”
“Or watching birds,” I agreed. “Yes, but that’s just what I was saying.”
“On the other hand,” said Poirot, “it might be better still if the murderer were already aprominent personality—that is to say, he might be the butcher. That would have the furtheradvantage that no one notices bloodstains on a butcher!”
“You’re just being ridiculous. Everybody would know if the butcher had quarrelled with thebaker.”
“Not if the butcher had become a butcher simply in order to have a chance of murdering thebaker. One must always look one step behind, my friend.”
I looked at him closely, trying to decide if a hint lay concealed21 in those words. If they meantanything definite, they would seem to point to Colonel Luttrell. Had he deliberately22 opened a guesthouse in order to have an opportunity of murdering one of the guests?
Poirot very gently shook his head. He said: “It is not from my face that you will get theanswer.”
“You really are a maddening fellow, Poirot,” I said with a sigh. “Anyway, Norton isn’t my onlysuspect. What about this fellow Allerton?”
Poirot, his face still impassive, enquired23: “You do not like him?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Ah. What you call the nasty bit of goods. That is right, is it not?”
“Definitely. Don’t you think so?”
“Certainly. He is a man,” said Poirot slowly, “very attractive to women.”
I made an exclamation24 of contempt. “How women can be so foolish. What do they see in afellow like that?”
“Who can say? But it is always so. The mauvais sujet—always women are attracted to him.”
“But why?”
Poirot shrugged25 his shoulders. “They see something, perhaps, that we do not.”
“But what?”
“Danger, possibly .?.?. Everyone, my friend, demands a spice of danger in their lives. Some getit vicariously—as in bullfights. Some read about it. Some find it at the cinema. But I am sure ofthis—too much safety is abhorrent26 to the nature of a human being. Men find danger in many ways—women are reduced to finding their danger mostly in affairs of sex. That is why, perhaps, theywelcome the hint of the tiger—the sheathed27 claws, the treacherous28 spring. The excellent fellowwho will make a good and kind husband—they pass him by.”
I considered this gloomily in silence for some minutes. Then I reverted29 to the previous theme.
“You know, Poirot,” I said. “It will be easy enough really for me to find out who X is. I’ve onlygot to poke30 about and find who was acquainted with all the people. I mean the people of your fivecases.”
I brought this out triumphantly31, but Poirot merely gave me a look of scorn.
“I have not demanded your presence here, Hastings, in order to watch you clumsily andlaboriously following the way I have already trodden. And let me tell you it is not quite so simpleas you think. Four of those cases took place in this county. The people assembled under this roofare not a collection of strangers who have arrived here independently. This is not a hotel in theusual sense of the word. The Luttrells come from this part of the world; they were badly off andbought this place and started it as a venture. The people who come here are their friends, or friendsrecommended by their friends. Sir William persuaded the Franklins to come. They in turnsuggested it to Norton, and, I believe, to Miss Cole—and so on. Which is to say that there is a veryfair chance of a certain person who is known to one of these people being known to all of thesepeople. It is also open to X to lie wherever the facts are best known. Take the case of the labourerRiggs. The village where that tragedy occurred is not far from the house of Boyd Carrington’suncle. Mrs. Franklin’s people, also, lived near. The inn in the village is much frequented bytourists. Some of Mrs. Franklin’s family friends used to put up there. Franklin himself has stayedthere. Norton and Miss Cole may have stayed there and probably have.
“No, no, my friend. I beg that you will not make these clumsy attempts to unravel32 a secret that Irefuse to reveal to you.”
“It’s so damned silly. As though I should be likely to give it away. I tell you, Poirot, I’m tired ofthese jokes about my speaking countenance33. It’s not funny.”
Poirot said quietly: “Are you so sure that is the only reason? Do you not realize, my friend, thatsuch knowledge may be dangerous? Do you not see that I concern myself with your safety?”
I stared at him openmouthed. Up till that minute I had not appreciated that aspect of the matter.
But it was, of course, true enough. If a clever and resourceful murderer who had already got awaywith five crimes—unsuspected as he thought—once awoke to the fact that someone was on histrail, then indeed there was danger for those on his track.
I said sharply: “But then you—you yourself are in danger, Poirot?”
Poirot, as far as he was able to in his crippled state, made a gesture of supreme34 disdain35.
“I am accustomed to that; I can protect myself. And see, have I not here my faithful dog toprotect me also? My excellent and loyal Hastings!”
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收听单词发音
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1
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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persiflage
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| n.戏弄；挖苦 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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10
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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13
coconuts
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| n.椰子( coconut的名词复数 )；椰肉，椰果 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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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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abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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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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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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