It must have been about six o’clock when Colonel Luttrell came along the path. He had a rook riflewith him and was carrying a couple of dead wood pigeons.
He started when I hailed him and seemed surprised to see us.
“Hullo, what are you two doing here? That tumbledown old place isn’t very safe, you know. It’sfalling to pieces. Probably break up about your ears. Afraid you’ll get dirty there, Elizabeth.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Captain Hastings has sacrificed a pocket handkerchief in the good cause ofkeeping my dress clean.”
The Colonel murmured vaguely1: “Oh really? Oh well, that’s all right.”
He stood there pulling at his lip and we got up and joined him.
His mind seemed far away this evening. He roused himself to say: “Been trying to get some ofthese cursed wood pigeons. Do a lot of damage, you know.”
“You’re a very fine shot, I hear,” I told him.
“Eh? Who told you that? Oh, Boyd Carrington. Used to be—used to be. Bit rusty2 nowadays.
Age will tell.”
“Eyesight,” I suggested.
He negatived the suggestion immediately. “Nonsense. Eyesight’s as good as ever it was. That is—have to wear glasses for reading, of course. But far sight’s all right.”
He repeated a minute or two later: “Yes—all right. Not that it matters .?.?.” His voice trailed offinto an absentminded mutter.
Miss Cole said, looking round: “What a beautiful evening it is.”
She was quite right. The sun was drawing to the west and the light was a rich golden, bringingout the deeper shades of green in the trees in a deep glowing effect. It was an evening, still andcalm, and very English, such as one remembers when in far-off tropical countries. I said as much.
Colonel Luttrell agreed eagerly. “Yes, yes, often used to think of evenings like this—out inIndia, you know. Makes you look forward to retiring and settling down, what?”
I nodded. He went on, his voice changing: “Yes, settling down, coming home—nothing’s everquite what you picture it—no—no.”
I thought that that was probably particularly true in his case. He had not pictured himselfrunning a guest house, trying to make it pay, with a nagging3 wife forever snapping at him andcomplaining.
We walked slowly towards the house. Norton and Boyd Carrington were sitting on the verandaand the Colonel and I joined them whilst Miss Cole went on into the house.
We chatted for a few minutes. Colonel Luttrell seemed to have brightened up. He made a jokeor two and seemed far more cheerful and wide awake than usual.
“Been a hot day,” said Norton. “I’m thirsty.”
“Have a drink, you fellows. On the house, what?” The Colonel sounded eager and happy.
We thanked him and accepted. He got up and went in.
The part of the terrace where we were sitting was just outside the dining room window, and thatwindow was open.
We heard the Colonel inside opening a cupboard, then heard the squeak4 of a corkscrew and thesubdued pop as the cork5 of the bottle came out.
And then, sharp and high, came the unofficial voice of Mrs. Colonel Luttrell!
“What are you doing, George?”
The Colonel’s voice was subdued6 to a mutter. We only heard a mumbled7 word here and there—“fellows outside”—“drink”—
The sharp, irritating voice burst out indignantly: “You’ll do no such thing, George. The ideanow. How do you think we’ll ever make this place pay if you go round standing9 everybodydrinks? Drinks here will be paid for. I’ve got a business-head if you haven’t. Why, you’d bebankrupt tomorrow if it wasn’t for me! I’ve got to look after you like a child. Yes, just like a child.
You’ve got no sense at all. Give me that bottle. Give it to me, I say.”
Again there was an agonized10 low protesting mumble8.
Mrs. Luttrell answered snappishly: “I don’t care whether they do or they don’t. The bottle’sgoing back in the cupboard, and I’m going to lock the cupboard too.”
There was the sound of a key being turned in the lock.
“There now. That’s the way of it.”
This time the Colonel’s voice came more clearly: “You’re going too far, Daisy. I won’t have it.”
“You won’t have it? And who are you I’d like to know? Who runs this house? I do. And don’tyou forget it.”
There was a faint swish of draperies and Mrs. Luttrell evidently flounced out of the room.
It was some few moments before the Colonel reappeared. He looked in those few moments tohave grown much older and feebler.
There was not one of us who did not feel deeply sorry for him and who would not willinglyhave murdered Mrs. Luttrell.
“Awfully11 sorry, you chaps,” he said, his voice sounding stiff and unnatural12. “Seem to have runout of whisky.”
He must have realized that we could not have helped overhearing what had passed. If he had notrealized it, our manner would soon have told him. We were all miserably13 uncomfortable, andNorton quite lost his head, hurriedly saying first that he didn’t really want a drink—too neardinner, wasn’t it—and then elaborately changing the subject and making a series of the mostunconnected remarks. It was indeed a bad moment. I myself felt paralysed and Boyd Carrington,who was the only one of us who might conceivably have managed to pass it off, got noopportunity with Norton’s babble14.
Out of the tail of my eye I saw Mrs. Luttrell stalking away down one of the paths equipped withgardening gloves and a dandelion weeder. She was certainly an efficient woman, but I felt bitterlytowards her just then. No human being has a right to humiliate15 another human being.
Norton was still talking feverishly16. He had picked up a wood pigeon, and from first telling ushow he had been laughed at at his prep school for being sick when he saw a rabbit killed, had goneon to the subject of grouse17 moors18, telling a long and rather pointless story of an accident that hadoccurred in Scotland when a beater had been shot. We talked of various shooting accidents we hadknown, and then Boyd Carrington cleared his throat and said:
“Rather an amusing thing happened once with a batman of mine. Irish chap. He had a holidayand went off to Ireland for it. When he came back I asked him if he had had a good holiday.
“?‘Ah shure, your Honour, best holiday I’ve ever had in my life!’
“?‘I’m glad of that,’ I said, rather surprised at his enthusiasm.
“?‘Ah yes, shure, it was a grand holiday! I shot my brother.’
“?‘You shot your brother!’ I exclaimed.
“?‘Ah yes, indade. It’s years now that I’ve been wanting to do it. And there I was on a roof inDublin and who should I see coming down the street but my brother and I there with a rifle in myhand. A lovely shot it was, though I say it myself. Picked him off as clean as a bird. Ah, it was afoine moment, that, and I’ll never forget it!’ ”
Boyd Carrington told a story well, with exaggerated dramatic emphasis, and we all laughed andfelt easier. When he got up and strolled off, saying he must get a bath before dinner, Norton voicedour feeling by saying with enthusiasm: “What a splendid chap he is!”
I agreed and Luttrell said: “Yes, yes, a good fellow.”
“Always been a success everywhere, so I understand,” said Norton. “Everything he’s turned hishand to has succeeded. Clear-headed, knows his own mind—essentially a man of action. The truesuccessful man.”
Luttrell said slowly: “Some men are like that. Everything they turn their hand to succeeds. Theycan’t go wrong. Some people—have all the luck.”
Norton gave a quick shake of the head. “No, no, sir. Not luck.” He quoted with meaning: “Notin our stars, dear Brutus—but in ourselves.”
Luttrell said: “Perhaps you’re right.”
I said quickly: “At any rate he’s lucky to have inherited Knatton. What a place! But he certainlyought to marry. He’ll be lonely there by himself.”
Norton laughed. “Marry and settle down? And suppose his wife bullies19 him—”
It was the purest bad luck. The sort of remark that anyone could make. But it was unfortunate inthe circumstances, and Norton realized it just at the moment that the words came out. He tried tocatch them back, hesitated, stammered20, and stopped awkwardly. It made the whole thing worse.
Both he and I began to speak at once. I made some idiotic21 remark about the evening light.
Norton said something about having some bridge after dinner.
Colonel Luttrell took no notice of either of us. He said in a queer, inexpressive voice: “No,Boyd Carrington won’t get bullied22 by his wife. He’s not the sort of man who lets himself getbullied. He’s all right. He’s a man!”
It was very awkward. Norton began babbling23 about bridge again. In the middle of it a largewood pigeon came flapping over our heads and settled on the branch of a tree not far away.
Colonel Luttrell picked up his gun. “There’s one of the blighters,” he said.
Before he could take aim the bird had flown off again through the trees where it was impossibleto get a shot at it.
At the same moment, however, the Colonel’s attention was diverted by a movement on the farslope.
“Damn, there’s a rabbit nibbling24 the bark of those young fruit trees. Thought I’d wired theplace.”
He raised the rifle and fired, and as I saw—There was a scream in a woman’s voice. It died in a kind of horrible gurgle.
The rifle fell from the Colonel’s hand, his body sagged—he caught his lip.
“My God—it’s Daisy.”
I was already running across the lawn. Norton came behind me. I reached the spot and kneltdown. It was Mrs. Luttrell. She had been kneeling, tying a stake against one of the small fruittrees. The grass was long there so that I realized how it was that the Colonel had not seen herclearly and had only distinguished25 movements in the grass. The light too was confusing. She hadbeen shot through the shoulder and the blood was gushing26 out.
I bent27 to examine the wound and looked up at Norton. He was leaning against a tree and waslooking green and as though he were going to be sick. He said apologetically: “I can’t standblood.”
I said sharply: “Get hold of Franklin at once. Or the nurse.”
He nodded and ran off.
It was Nurse Craven who appeared first upon the scene. She was there in an incredibly shorttime and at once set about in a businesslike way to stop the bleeding. Franklin arrived at a runsoon afterwards. Between them they got her into the house and to bed: Franklin dressed andbandaged the wound and sent for her own doctor and Nurse Craven stayed with her.
I ran across Franklin just as he left the telephone.
“How is she?”
“Oh, she’ll pull through all right. It missed any vital spot, luckily. How did it happen?”
I told him. He said: “I see. Where’s the old boy? He’ll be feeling knocked out, I shouldn’twonder. Probably needs attention more than she does. I shouldn’t say his heart is any too good.”
We found Colonel Luttrell in the smoking room. He was a blue colour round the mouth andlooked completely dazed. He said brokenly: “Daisy? Is she—how is she?”
Franklin said quickly: “She’ll be all right, sir. You needn’t worry.”
“I—thought—rabbit—nibbling the bark—don’t know how I came to make such a mistake.
Light in my eyes.”
“These things happen,” said Franklin drily. “I’ve seen one or two of them in my time. Lookhere, sir, you’d better let me give you a pick-me-up. You’re not feeling too good.”
“I’m all right. Can I—can I go to her?”
“Not just now. Nurse Craven is with her. But you don’t need to worry. She’s all right. Dr.
Oliver will be here presently and he’ll tell you the same.”
I left the two of them together and went out into the evening sunshine. Judith and Allerton werecoming along the path towards me. His head was bent to hers and they were both laughing.
Coming on top of the tragedy that had just happened, it made me feel very angry. I calledsharply to Judith and she looked up, surprised. In a few words I told them what had occurred.
“What an extraordinary thing to happen,” was my daughter’s comment.
She did not seem nearly as perturbed28 as she should have been, I thought.
Allerton’s manner was outrageous29. He seemed to take the whole thing as a good joke.
“Serve the old harridan30 damn well right,” he observed. “Think the old boy did it on purpose?”
“Certainly not,” I said sharply. “It was an accident.”
“Yes, but I know these accidents. Damned convenient sometimes. My word, if the old boy shother deliberately31 I take off my hat to him.”
“It was nothing of the kind,” I said angrily.
“Don’t be too sure. I’ve known two men who shot their wives. Cleaning his revolver one was.
The other fired point-blank at her as a joke, he said. Didn’t know the thing was loaded. Got awaywith it, both of them. Damned good release, I should say myself.”
“Colonel Luttrell,” I said coldly, “isn’t that type of man.”
“Well you couldn’t say it wouldn’t be a blessed release, could you?” demanded Allertonpertinently. “They hadn’t just had a row or anything, had they?”
I turned away angrily, at the same time trying to hide a certain perturbation. Allerton had comea little too near the mark. For the first time a doubt crept into my mind.
It was not bettered by meeting Boyd Carrington. He had been for a stroll down towards the lake,he explained. When I told him the news he said at once: “You don’t think he meant to shoot her,do you, Hastings?”
“My dear man.”
“Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was only, for the moment, one wondered .?.?. She—she gave him a bit of provocation32, you know.”
We were both silent for a moment as we remembered the scene we had so unwillinglyoverheard.
I went upstairs feeling unhappy and worried, and rapped on Poirot’s door.
He had already heard through Curtiss of what had occurred, but he was eager for full details.
Since my arrival at Styles I had got into the way of reporting most of my daily encounters andconversations in full detail. In this way I felt that the dear old fellow felt less cut off. It gave himthe illusion of actually participating in everything that went on. I have always had a good andaccurate memory and found it a simple matter to repeat conversations verbatim.
Poirot listened very attentively33. I was hoping that he would be able definitely to pooh-pooh thedreadful suggestion that had by now taken easy control of my mind, but before he had a chance oftelling me what he thought, there came a light tap on the door.
It was Nurse Craven. She apologized for disturbing us.
“I’m sorry, but I thought Doctor was here. The old lady is conscious now and she’s worryingabout her husband. She’d like to see him. Do you know where he is, Captain Hastings? I don’twant to leave my patient.”
I volunteered to go and look for him. Poirot nodded approval and Nurse Craven thanked mewarmly.
I found Colonel Luttrell in a little morning room that was seldom used. He was standing by thewindow looking out.
He turned sharply as I came in. His eyes asked a question. He looked, I thought, afraid.
“Your wife is conscious, Colonel Luttrell, and is asking for you.”
“Oh.” The colour surged up in his cheeks and I realized then how very white he had beenbefore. He said slowly, fumblingly34, like an old, old man: “She—she—is asking for me? I’ll—I’llcome—at once.”
He was so unsteady as he began shuffling35 towards the door that I came and helped him. Heleaned on me heavily as we went up the stairs. His breathing was coming with difficulty. Theshock, as Franklin had prophesied36, was severe.
We came to the door of the sickroom. I tapped and Nurse Craven’s brisk, efficient voice called:
“Come in.”
Still supporting the old man, I went with him into the room. There was a screen round the bed.
We came round the corner of it.
Mrs. Luttrell was looking very ill—white and frail37, her eyes closed. She opened them as wecame round the corner of the screen.
She said in a small, breathless voice: “George—George. .?.?.”
“Daisy—my dear. .?.?.”
One of her arms was bandaged and supported. The other, the free one, moved unsteadilytowards him. He took a step forward and clasped her frail little hand in his. He said again: “Daisy.?.?.” And then, gruffly .?.?. “Thank God, you’re all right.”
And looking up at him, seeing his eyes slightly misty38 and the deep love and anxiety in them, Ifelt bitterly ashamed of all our ghoulish imaginings.
I crept quietly out of the room. Camouflaged39 accident indeed! There was no disguising thatheartfelt note of thankfulness. I felt immeasurably relieved.
The sound of the gong startled me as I went along the passage. I had completely forgotten thepassage of time. The accident had upset everything. Only the cook had gone on as usual andproduced dinner at the usual time.
Most of us had not changed and Colonel Luttrell did not appear. But Mrs. Franklin, lookingquite attractive in a pale pink evening dress, was downstairs for once and seemed in good healthand spirits. Franklin, I thought, was moody40 and absorbed.
After dinner, to my annoyance41, Allerton and Judith disappeared into the garden together. I sataround a while, listening to Franklin and Norton discussing tropical diseases. Norton was asympathetic and interested listener, even if he knew little of the subject under discussion.
Mrs. Franklin and Boyd Carrington were talking at the other end of the room. He was showingher some patterns of curtains or cretonnes.
Elizabeth Cole had a book and seemed deeply absorbed in it. I fancied that she was slightlyembarrassed and ill at ease with me. Perhaps not unnaturally42 so after the confidences of theafternoon. I was sorry about it, all the same, and hoped she did not regret all she had told me. Ishould have liked to have made it clear to her that I should respect her confidence and not repeat it.
However she gave me no chance.
After a while I went up to Poirot.
I found Colonel Luttrell sitting in the circle of light thrown by the one small electric lamp thatwas turned on.
He was talking and Poirot was listening. I think the Colonel was speaking to himself rather thanto his listener.
“I remember so well—yes, it was at a hunt ball. She wore white stuff, called tulle, I think it was.
Floated all round her. Such a pretty girl—bowled me over then and there. I said to myself: ‘That’sthe girl I’m going to marry.’ And by Jove I brought it off. Awfully pretty way she had with her—saucy43, you know, plenty of backchat. Always gave as good as she got, bless her.”
He chuckled44.
I saw the scene in my mind’s eye. I could imagine Daisy Luttrell with a young saucy face andthat smart tongue—so charming then, so apt to turn shrewish with the years.
But it was as that young girl, his first real love, that Colonel Luttrell was thinking of her tonight.
His Daisy.
And again I felt ashamed of what we had said such a few hours previously45.
Of course, when Colonel Luttrell had at last taken himself off to bed, I blurted46 out the wholething to Poirot.
He listened very quietly. I could make nothing of the expression on his face.
“So that is what you thought, Hastings—that the shot was fired on purpose?”
“Yes. I feel ashamed now—”
Poirot waved aside my present feelings.
“Did the thought occur to you of your own accord, or did someone else suggest it to you?”
“Allerton said something of the kind,” I said resentfully. “He would, of course.”
“Anyone else?”
“Boyd Carrington suggested it.”
“Ah! Boyd Carrington.”
“And after all, he’s a man of the world and has experience of these things.”
“Oh, quite so, quite so. He did not see the thing happen, though?”
“No, he’d gone for a walk. Bit of exercise before changing for dinner.”
“I see.”
I said uneasily: “I don’t think I really believed that theory. It was only—”
Poirot interrupted me. “You need not be so remorseful47 about your suspicions, Hastings. It wasan idea quite likely to occur to anyone given the circumstances. Oh, yes, it was all quite natural.”
There was something in Poirot’s manner I did not quite understand. A reserve. His eyes werewatching me with a curious expression.
I said slowly: “Perhaps. But seeing now how devoted48 he really is to her—”
Poirot nodded. “Exactly. That is often the case, remember. Underneath49 the quarrels, themisunderstandings, the apparent hostility50 of everyday life, a real and true affection can exist.”
I agreed. I remembered the gentle affectionate look in little Mrs. Luttrell’s eyes as she looked upat her husband stooping over her bed. No more vinegar, no impatience51, no ill-temper.
Married life, I mused52, as I went to bed, was a curious thing.
That something in Poirot’s manner still worried me. That curious watchful53 look—as though hewere waiting for me to see—what?
I was just getting into bed when it came to me. Hit me bang between the eyes.
If Mrs. Luttrell had been killed, it would have been a case like those other cases. ColonelLuttrell would, apparently54, have killed his wife. It would have been accounted an accident, yet atthe same time nobody would have been sure that it was an accident, or whether it had been doneon purpose. Insufficient55 evidence to show it as murder, but quite enough evidence for murder to besuspected.
But that meant—that meant—
What did it mean?
It meant—if anything at all was to make sense—that it was not Colonel Luttrell who shot Mrs.
Luttrell, but X.
And that was clearly impossible. I had seen the whole thing. It was Colonel Luttrell who hadfired the shot. No other shot had been fired.
Unless—But surely that would be impossible. No, perhaps not impossible—merely highlyimprobable. But possible, yes .?.?. Supposing that someone else had waited his moment, and at theexact instant when Colonel Luttrell had fired (at a rabbit), this other person had fired at Mrs.
Luttrell. Then only the one shot would have been heard. Or, even with a slight discrepancy56, itwould have been put down as an echo. (Now I come to think of it, there had been an echo, surely.)But no, that was absurd. There were ways of deciding exactly what weapon a bullet had beenfired from. The marks on the bullet must agree with the rifling of the barrel.
But that, I remembered, was only when the police were anxious to establish what weapon hadfired the shot. There would have been no enquiry in this business. For Colonel Luttrell would havebeen quite as certain as everyone else that it was he who had fired the fatal shot. That fact wouldhave been admitted, accepted without question; there would have been no question of tests. Theonly doubt would have been whether the shot was fired accidentally or with criminal intent—aquestion that could never be resolved.
And therefore the case fell into line exactly with those other cases — with the case of thelabourer Riggs who didn’t remember but supposed he must have done it, with Maggie Litchfieldwho went out of her mind and gave herself up—for a crime she had not committed.
Yes, this case fell into line with the rest and I knew now the meaning of Poirot’s manner. Hewas waiting for me to appreciate the fact.
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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squeak
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cork
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subdued
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mumbled
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mumble
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standing
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agonized
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awfully
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unnatural
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miserably
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babble
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humiliate
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feverishly
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grouse
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moors
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bullies
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stammered
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idiotic
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bullied
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babbling
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nibbling
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distinguished
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gushing
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bent
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perturbed
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outrageous
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harridan
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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fumblingly
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| 令人羞辱地 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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camouflaged
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| v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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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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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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50
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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52
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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discrepancy
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| n.不同；不符；差异；矛盾 | |
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