W e puzzled over the business of the clock for some time, but we could make nothing of it. Griselda said I ought tomake another effort to tell Inspector1 Slack about it, but on that point I was feeling what I can only describe as“mulish.”
Inspector Slack had been abominably2 and most unnecessarily rude. I was looking forward to a moment when Icould produce my valuable contribution and effect his discomfiture3. I would then say in a tone of mild reproach:
“If you had only listened to me, Inspector Slack….”
I expected that he would at least speak to me before he left the house, but to our surprise we learned from Marythat he had departed, having locked up the study door and issued orders that no one was to attempt to enter the room.
Griselda suggested going up to Old Hall.
“It will be so awful for Anne Protheroe—with the police and everything,” she said. “Perhaps I might be able to dosomething for her.”
I cordially approved of this plan, and Griselda set off with instructions that she was to telephone to me if shethought that I could be of any use or comfort to either of the ladies.
I now proceeded to ring up the Sunday School teachers, who were coming at 7:45 for their weekly preparationclass. I thought that under the circumstances it would be better to put them off.
Dennis was the next person to arrive on the scene, having just returned from a tennis party. The fact that murderhad taken place at the Vicarage seemed to afford him acute satisfaction.
“Fancy being right on the spot in a murder case,” he exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to be right in the midst of one.
Why have the police locked up the study? Wouldn’t one of the other door keys fit it?”
I refused to allow anything of the sort to be attempted. Dennis gave in with a bad grace. After extracting everypossible detail from me he went out into the garden to look for footprints, remarking cheerfully that it was lucky it wasonly old Protheroe, whom everyone disliked.
His cheerful callousness5 rather grated on me, but I reflected that I was perhaps being hard on the boy. At Dennis’sage a detective story is one of the best things in life, and to find a real detective story, complete with corpse6, waitingon one’s own front doorstep, so to speak, is bound to send a healthy- minded boy into the seventh heaven ofenjoyment. Death means very little to a boy of sixteen.
Griselda came back in about an hour’s time. She had seen Anne Protheroe, having arrived just after the Inspectorhad broken the news to her.
On hearing that Mrs. Protheroe had last seen her husband in the village about a quarter to six, and that she had nolight of any kind to throw upon the matter, he had taken his departure, explaining that he would return on the morrowfor a fuller interview.
“He was quite decent in his way,” said Griselda grudgingly7.
“How did Mrs. Protheroe take it?” I asked.
“Well—she was very quiet—but then she always is.”
“Yes,” I said. “I can’t imagine Anne Protheroe going into hysterics.”
“Of course it was a great shock. You could see that. She thanked me for coming and said she was very grateful butthat there was nothing I could do.”
“What about Lettice?”
“She was out playing tennis somewhere. She hadn’t got home yet.” There was a pause, and then Griselda said:
“You know, Len, she was really very quiet—very queer indeed.”
“The shock,” I suggested.
“Yes—I suppose so. And yet—” Griselda furrowed8 her brows perplexedly. “It wasn’t like that, somehow. Shedidn’t seem so much bowled over as—well—terrified.”
“Terrified?”
“Yes—not showing it, you know. At least not meaning to show it. But a queer, watchful9 look in her eyes. I wonderif she has a sort of idea who did kill him. She asked again and again if anyone were suspected.”
“Did she?” I said thoughtfully.
“Yes. Of course Anne’s got marvellous self-control, but one could see that she was terribly upset. More so than Iwould have thought, for after all it wasn’t as though she were so devoted10 to him. I should have said she rather dislikedhim, if anything.”
“Death alters one’s feelings sometimes,” I said.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Dennis came in and was full of excitement over a footprint he had found in one of the flower beds. He was surethat the police had overlooked it and that it would turn out to be the turning point of the mystery.
I spent a troubled night. Dennis was up and about and out of the house long before breakfast to “study the latestdevelopments,” as he said.
Nevertheless it was not he, but Mary, who brought us the morning’s sensational11 bit of news.
We had just sat down to breakfast when she burst into the room, her cheeks red and her eyes shining, and addressedus with her customary lack of ceremony.
“Would you believe it? The baker’s just told me. They’ve arrested young Mr. Redding.”
“Arrested Lawrence,” cried Griselda incredulously. “Impossible. It must be some stupid mistake.”
“No mistake about it, mum,” said Mary with a kind of gloating exultation12. “Mr. Redding, he went there himselfand gave himself up. Last night, last thing. Went right in, threw down the pistol on the table, and ‘I did it,’ he says.
Just like that.”
She looked at us both, nodded her head vigorously, and withdrew satisfied with the effect she had produced.
Griselda and I stared at each other.
“Oh! It isn’t true,” said Griselda. “It can’t be true.”
She noticed my silence, and said: “Len, you don’t think it’s true?”
I found it hard to answer her. I sat silent, thoughts whirling through my head.
“He must be mad,” said Griselda. “Absolutely mad. Or do you think they were looking at the pistol together and itsuddenly went off?”
“That doesn’t sound at all a likely thing to happen.”
“But it must have been an accident of some kind. Because there’s not a shadow of a motive13. What earthly reasoncould Lawrence have for killing14 Colonel Protheroe?”
I could have answered that question very decidedly, but I wished to spare Anne Protheroe as far as possible. Theremight still be a chance of keeping her name out of it.
“Remember they had had a quarrel,” I said.
“About Lettice and her bathing dress. Yes, but that’s absurd; and even if he and Lettice were engaged secretly—well, that’s not a reason for killing her father.”
“We don’t know what the true facts of the case may be, Griselda.”
“You do believe it, Len! Oh! How can you! I tell you, I’m sure Lawrence never touched a hair of his head.”
“Remember, I met him just outside the gate. He looked like a madman.”
“Yes, but—oh! It’s impossible.”
“There’s the clock, too,” I said. “This explains the clock. Lawrence must have put it back to 6:20 with the idea ofmaking an alibi15 for himself. Look how Inspector Slack fell into the trap.”
“You’re wrong, Len. Lawrence knew about that clock being fast. ‘Keeping the Vicar up to time!’ he used to say.
Lawrence would never have made the mistake of putting it back to 6:22. He’d have put the hands somewhere possible—like a quarter to seven.”
“He mayn’t have known what time Protheroe got here. Or he may have simply forgotten about the clock beingfast.”
Griselda disagreed.
“No, if you were committing a murder, you’d be awfully16 careful about things like that.”
“You don’t know, my dear,” I said mildly. “You’ve never done one.”
Before Griselda could reply, a shadow fell across the breakfast table, and a very gentle voice said:
“I hope I am not intruding17. You must forgive me. But in the sad circumstances—the very sad circumstances….”
It was our neighbour, Miss Marple. Accepting our polite disclaimers, she stepped in through the window, and Idrew up a chair for her. She looked faintly flushed and quite excited.
“Very terrible, is it not? Poor Colonel Protheroe. Not a very pleasant man, perhaps, and not exactly popular, but it’snone the less sad for that. And actually shot in the Vicarage study, I understand?”
I said that that had indeed been the case.
“But the dear Vicar was not here at the time?” Miss Marple questioned of Griselda. I explained where I had been.
“Mr. Dennis is not with you this morning?” said Miss Marple, glancing round.
“Dennis,” said Griselda, “fancies himself as an amateur detective. He is very excited about a footprint he found inone of the flower beds, and I fancy has gone off to tell the police about it.”
“Dear, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Such a to-do, is it not? And Mr. Dennis thinks he knows who committed thecrime. Well, I suppose we all think we know.”
“You mean it is obvious?” said Griselda.
“No, dear, I didn’t mean that at all. I dare say everyone thinks it is somebody different. That is why it is soimportant to have proofs. I, for instance, am quite convinced I know who did it. But I must admit I haven’t one shadowof proof. One must, I know, be very careful of what one says at a time like this—criminal libel, don’t they call it? Ihad made up my mind to be most careful with Inspector Slack. He sent word he would come and see me this morning,but now he has just phoned up to say it won’t be necessary after all.”
“I suppose, since the arrest, it isn’t necessary,” I said.
“The arrest?” Miss Marple leaned forward, her cheeks pink with excitement. “I didn’t know there had been anarrest.”
It is so seldom that Miss Marple is worse informed than we are that I had taken it for granted that she would knowthe latest developments.
“It seems we have been talking at cross purposes,” I said. “Yes, there has been an arrest—Lawrence Redding.”
“Lawrence Redding?” Miss Marple seemed very surprised. “Now I should not have thought—”
Griselda interrupted vehemently18.
“I can’t believe it even now. No, not though he has actually confessed.”
“Confessed?” said Miss Marple. “You say he has confessed? Oh! dear, I see I have been sadly at sea—yes, sadly atsea.”
“I can’t help feeling it must have been some kind of an accident,” said Griselda. “Don’t you think so, Len? I meanhis coming forward to give himself up looks like that.”
Miss Marple leant forward eagerly.
“He gave himself up, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” said Miss Marple, with a deep sigh. “I am so glad—so very glad.”
I looked at her in some surprise.
“It shows a true state of remorse19, I suppose,” I said.
“Remorse?” Miss Marple looked very surprised. “Oh, but surely, dear, dear Vicar, you don’t think that he isguilty?”
It was my turn to stare.
“But since he has confessed—”
“Yes, but that just proves it, doesn’t it? I mean that he had nothing to do with it.”
“No,” I said. “I may be dense20, but I can’t see that it does. If you have not committed a murder, I cannot see theobject of pretending you have.”
“Oh, of course, there’s a reason!” said Miss Marple. “Naturally. There’s always a reason, isn’t there? And youngmen are so hot-headed and often prone21 to believe the worst.”
She turned to Griselda.
“Don’t you agree with me, my dear?”
“I—I don’t know,” said Griselda. “It’s difficult to know what to think. I can’t see any reason for Lawrencebehaving like a perfect idiot.”
“If you had seen his face last night—” I began.
“Tell me,” said Miss Marple.
I described my homecoming while she listened attentively22.
When I had finished she said:
“I know that I am very often rather foolish and don’t take in things as I should, but I really do not see your point.
“It seems to me that if a young man had made up his mind to the great wickedness of taking a fellow creature’slife, he would not appear distraught about it afterwards. It would be a premeditated and cold-blooded action andthough the murderer might be a little flurried and possibly might make some small mistake, I do not think it likely hewould fall into a state of agitation23 such as you describe. It is difficult to put oneself in such a position, but I cannotimagine getting into a state like that myself.”
“We don’t know the circumstances,” I argued. “If there was a quarrel, the shot may have been fired in a suddengust of passion, and Lawrence might afterwards have been appalled24 at what he had done. Indeed, I prefer to think thatthis is what did actually occur.”
“I know, dear Mr. Clement25, that there are many ways we prefer to look at things. But one must actually take factsas they are, must one not? And it does not seem to me that the facts bear the interpretation26 you put upon them. Yourmaid distinctly stated that Mr. Redding was only in the house a couple of minutes, not long enough, surely, for aquarrel such as you describe. And then again, I understand the Colonel was shot through the back of the head while hewas writing a letter—at least that is what my maid told me.”
“Quite true,” said Griselda. “He seems to have been writing a note to say he couldn’t wait any longer. The note wasdated 6:20, and the clock on the table was overturned and had stopped at 6:22, and that’s just what has been puzzlingLen and myself so frightfully.”
She explained our custom of keeping the clock a quarter of an hour fast.
“Very curious,” said Miss Marple. “Very curious indeed. But the note seems to me even more curious still. I mean—”
She stopped and looked round. Lettice Protheroe was standing27 outside the window. She came in, nodding to us andmurmuring “Morning.”
She dropped into a chair and said, with rather more animation28 than usual:
“They’ve arrested Lawrence, I hear.”
“Yes,” said Griselda. “It’s been a great shock to us.”
“I never really thought anyone would murder father,” said Lettice. She was obviously taking a pride in letting nohint of distress29 or emotion escape her. “Lots of people wanted to, I’m sure. There are times when I’d have liked to doit myself.”
“Won’t you have something to eat or drink, Lettice?” asked Griselda.
“No, thank you. I just drifted round to see if you’d got my beret here—a queer little yellow one. I think I left it inthe study the other day.”
“If you did, it’s there still,” said Griselda. “Mary never tidies anything.”
“I’ll go and see,” said Lettice, rising. “Sorry to be such a bother, but I seem to have lost everything else in the hatline.”
“I’m afraid you can’t get it now,” I said. “Inspector Slack has locked the room up.”
“Oh, what a bore! Can’t we get in through the window?”
“I’m afraid not. It is latched30 on the inside. Surely, Lettice, a yellow beret won’t be much good to you at present?”
“You mean mourning and all that? I shan’t bother about mourning. I think it’s an awfully archaic31 idea. It’s anuisance about Lawrence—yes, it’s a nuisance.”
She got up and stood frowning abstractedly.
“I suppose it’s all on account of me and my bathing dress. So silly, the whole thing….”
Griselda opened her mouth to say something, but for some unexplained reason shut it again.
A curious smile came to Lettice’s lips.
“I think,” she said softly, “I’ll go home and tell Anne about Lawrence being arrested.”
She went out of the window again. Griselda turned to Miss Marple. “Why did you step on my foot?”
The old lady was smiling.
“I thought you were going to say something, my dear. And it is often so much better to let things develop on theirown lines. I don’t think, you know, that that child is half so vague as she pretends to be. She’s got a very definite ideain her head and she’s acting4 upon it.”
Mary gave a loud knock on the dining room door and entered hard upon it.
“What is it?” said Griselda. “And Mary, you must remember not to knock on doors. I’ve told you about it before.”
“Thought you might be busy,” said Mary. “Colonel Melchett’s here. Wants to see the master.”
Colonel Melchett is Chief Constable32 of the county. I rose at once.
“I thought you wouldn’t like my leaving him in the hall, so I put him in the drawing room,” went on Mary. “Shall Iclear?”
“Not yet,” said Griselda. “I’ll ring.”
She turned to Miss Marple and I left the room.
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收听单词发音
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1
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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callousness
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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grudgingly
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furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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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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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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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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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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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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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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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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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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latched
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| v.理解( latch的过去式和过去分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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