I was in a strange mood when I mounted the pulpit that night.
The church was unusually full. I cannot believe that it was the prospect1 of Hawes preaching which had attracted somany. Hawes’s sermons are dull and dogmatic. And if the news had got round that I was preaching instead, that wouldnot have attracted them either. For my sermons are dull and scholarly. Neither, I am afraid, can I attribute it todevotion.
Everybody had come, I concluded, to see who else was there, and possibly exchange a little gossip in the churchporch afterwards.
Haydock was in church, which is unusual, and also Lawrence Redding. And to my surprise, beside Lawrence I sawthe white strained face of Hawes. Anne Protheroe was there, but she usually attends Evensong on Sundays, though Ihad hardly thought she would today. I was far more surprised to see Lettice. Churchgoing was compulsory2 on Sundaymorning—Colonel Protheroe was adamant3 on that point, but I had never seen Lettice at evening service before.
Gladys Cram4 was there, looking rather blatantly5 young and healthy against a background of wizened6 spinsters, andI fancied that a dim figure at the end of the church who had slipped in late, was Mrs. Lestrange.
I need hardly say that Mrs. Price Ridley, Miss Hartnell, Miss Wetherby, and Miss Marple were there in full force.
All the village people were there, with hardly a single exception. I don’t know when we have had such a crowdedcongregation.
Crowds are queer things. There was a magnetic atmosphere that night, and the first person to feel its influence wasmyself.
As a rule, I prepare my sermons beforehand. I am careful and conscientious7 over them, but no one is better awarethan myself of their deficiencies.
Tonight I was of necessity preaching extempore, and as I looked down on the sea of upturned faces, a suddenmadness entered my brain. I ceased to be in any sense a Minister of God. I became an actor. I had an audience beforeme and I wanted to move that audience—and more, I felt the power to move it.
I am not proud of what I did that night. I am an utter disbeliever in the emotional Revivalist spirit. Yet that night Iacted the part of a raving8, ranting9 evangelist.
I gave out my text slowly.
I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance10.
I repeated it twice, and I heard my own voice, a resonant11, ringing voice unlike the voice of the everyday LeonardClement.
I saw Griselda from her front pew look up in surprise and Dennis follow her example.
I held my breath for a moment or two, and then I let myself rip.
The congregation in that church were in a state of pent-up emotion, ripe to be played upon. I played upon them. Iexhorted sinners to repentance. I lashed13 myself into a kind of emotional frenzy14. Again and again I threw out adenouncing hand and reiterated15 the phrase.
“I am speaking to you.…”
And each time, from different parts of the church, a kind of sighing gasp16 went up.
Mass emotion is a strange and terrible thing.
I finished up with those beautiful and poignant17 words—perhaps the most poignant words in the whole Bible:
“This night thy soul shall be required of thee….”
It was a strange, brief possession. When I got back to the Vicarage I was my usual faded, indeterminate self. Ifound Griselda rather pale. She slipped her arm through mine.
“Len,” she said, “you were rather terrible tonight. I—I didn’t like it. I’ve never heard you preach like that before.”
“I don’t suppose you ever will again,” I said, sinking down wearily on the sofa. I was tired.
“What made you do it?”
“A sudden madness came over me.”
“Oh! It—it wasn’t something special?”
“What do you mean—something special?”
“I wondered—that was all. You’re very unexpected, Len. I never feel I really know you.”
We sat down to cold supper, Mary being out.
“There’s a note for you in the hall,” said Griselda. “Get it, will you, Dennis?”
Dennis, who had been very silent, obeyed.
I took it and groaned18. Across the top left-hand corner was written: By hand—Urgent.
“This,” I said, “must be from Miss Marple. There’s no one else left.”
I had been perfectly19 correct in my assumption.
“Dear Mr. Clement12,—I should so much like to have a little chat with you about one or two things that haveoccurred to me. I feel we should all try and help in elucidating20 this sad mystery. I will come over about halfpast nine if I may, and tap on your study window. Perhaps dear Griselda would be so very kind as to runover here and cheer up my nephew. And Mr. Dennis too, of course, if he cares to come. If I do not hear, Iwill expect them and will come over myself at the time I have stated.
Yours very sincerely,
Jane Marple.”
I handed the note to Griselda.
“Oh, we’ll go!” she said cheerfully. “A glass or two of homemade liqueur is just what one needs on Sundayevening. I think it’s Mary’s blancmange that is so frightfully depressing. It’s like something out of a mortuary.”
Dennis seemed less charmed at the prospect.
“It’s all very well for you,” he grumbled21. “You can talk all this highbrow stuff about art and books. I always feel aperfect fool sitting and listening to you.”
“That’s good for you,” said Griselda serenely22. “It puts you in your place. Anyway, I don’t think Mr. RaymondWest is so frightfully clever as he pretends to be.”
“Very few of us are,” I said.
I wondered very much what exactly it was that Miss Marple wished to talk over. Of all the ladies in mycongregation, I considered her by far the shrewdest. Not only does she see and hear practically everything that goeson, but she draws amazingly neat and apposite deductions23 from the facts that come under her notice.
If I were at any time to set out on a career of deceit, it would be of Miss Marple that I should be afraid.
What Griselda called the Nephew Amusing Party started off at a little after nine, and whilst I was waiting for MissMarple to arrive I amused myself by drawing up a kind of schedule of the facts connected with the crime. I arrangedthem so far as possible in chronological24 order. I am not a punctual person, but I am a neat one, and I like things jotteddown in a methodical fashion.
At half past nine punctually, there was a little tap on the window, and I rose and admitted Miss Marple.
She had a very fine Shetland shawl thrown over her head and shoulders and was looking rather old and frail25. Shecame in full of little fluttering remarks.
“So good of you to let me come—and so good of dear Griselda—Raymond admires her so much—the perfectGreuze he always calls her … No, I won’t have a footstool.”
I deposited the Shetland shawl on a chair and returned to take a chair facing my guest. We looked at each other,and a little deprecating smile broke out on her face.
“I feel that you must be wondering why—why I am so interested in all this. You may possibly think it’s veryunwomanly. No—please—I should like to explain if I may.”
She paused a moment, a pink colour suffusing26 her cheeks.
“You see,” she began at last, “living alone, as I do, in a rather out-of-the-way part of the world, one has to have ahobby. There is, of course, woolwork, and Guides, and Welfare, and sketching27, but my hobby is—and always hasbeen—Human Nature. So varied—and so very fascinating. And, of course, in a small village, with nothing to distractone, one has such ample opportunity for becoming what I might call proficient28 in one’s study. One begins to classpeople, quite definitely, just as though they were birds or flowers, group so- and- so, genus this, species that.
Sometimes, of course, one makes mistakes, but less and less as time goes on. And then, too, one tests oneself. Onetakes a little problem — for instance, the gill of picked shrimps29 that amused dear Griselda so much — a quiteunimportant mystery but absolutely incomprehensible unless one solves it right. And then there was that matter of thechanged cough drops, and the butcher’s wife’s umbrella—the last absolutely meaningless unless on the assumptionthat the greengrocer was not behaving at all nicely with the chemist’s wife—which, of course, turned out to be thecase. It is so fascinating, you know, to apply one’s judgment30 and find that one is right.”
“You usually are, I believe,” I said smiling.
“That, I am afraid, is what has made me a little conceited,” confessed Miss Marple. “But I have always wonderedwhether, if some day a really big mystery came along, I should be able to do the same thing. I mean—just solve itcorrectly. Logically, it ought to be exactly the same thing. After all, a tiny working model of a torpedo31 is just the sameas a real torpedo.”
“You mean it’s all a question of relativity,” I said slowly. “It should be—logically, I admit. But I don’t knowwhether it really is.”
“Surely it must be the same,” said Miss Marple. “The—what one used to call the factors at school—are the same.
There’s money, and the mutual32 attraction people of an—er—opposite sex—and there’s queerness of course—so manypeople are a little queer, aren’t they?—in fact, most people are when you know them well. And normal people do suchastonishing things sometimes, and abnormal people are sometimes so very sane33 and ordinary. In fact, the only way isto compare people with other people you have known or come across. You’d be surprised if you knew how very fewdistinct types there are in all.”
“You frighten me,” I said. “I feel I’m being put under the microscope.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of saying any of this to Colonel Melchett—such an autocratic man, isn’t he?—andpoor Inspector34 Slack—well, he’s exactly like the young lady in the boot shop who wants to sell you patent leatherbecause she’s got it in your size, and doesn’t take any notice of the fact that you want brown calf35.”
That, really, is a very good description of Slack.
“But you, Mr. Clement, know, I’m sure, quite as much about the crime as Inspector Slack. I thought, if we couldwork together—”
“I wonder,” I said. “I think each one of us in his secret heart fancies himself as Sherlock Holmes.”
Then I told her of the three summonses I had received that afternoon. I told her of Anne’s discovery of the picturewith the slashed36 face. I also told her of Miss Cram’s attitude at the police station, and I described Haydock’sidentification of the crystal I had picked up.
“Having found that myself,” I finished up, “I should like it to be important. But it’s probably got nothing to do withthe case.”
“I have been reading a lot of American detective stories from the library lately,” said Miss Marple, “hoping to findthem helpful.”
“Was there anything in them about picric acid?”
“I’m afraid not. I do remember reading a story once, though, in which a man was poisoned by picric acid andlanoline being rubbed on him as an ointment37.”
“But as nobody has been poisoned here, that doesn’t seem to enter into the question,” I said.
Then I took up my schedule and handed it to her.
“I’ve tried,” I said, “to recapitulate38 the facts of the case as clearly as possible.”
MY SCHEDULE
Thursday, 21st inst.
12:30 p.m.—Colonel Protheroe alters his appointment from six to six fifteen. Overheard by half village veryprobably.
12:45—Pistol last seen in its proper place. (But this is doubtful, as Mrs. Archer39 had previously40 said she couldnot remember.)
5:30 (approx.)—Colonel and Mrs. Protheroe leave Old Hall for village in car.
5:30 Fake call put through to me from the North Lodge41, Old Hall.
6:15 (or a minute or two earlier)—Colonel Protheroe arrives at Vicarage. Is shown into study by Mary.
6:20—Mrs. Protheroe comes along back lane and across garden to study window. Colonel Protheroe notvisible.
6:29—Call from Lawrence Redding’s cottage put through to Mrs. Price Ridley (according to Exchange).
6:30–6:35—Shot heard. (Accepting telephone call time as correct.) Lawrence Redding, Anne Protheroe andDr. Stone’s evidence seem to point to its being earlier, but Mrs. P.R. probably right.
6:45—Lawrence Redding arrives Vicarage and finds the body.
6:48—I meet Lawrence Redding.
6:49—Body discovered by me.
6:55—Haydock examines body.
NOTE. —The only two people who have no kind of alibi42 for 6:30–6:35 are Miss Cram and Mrs. Lestrange.
Miss Cram says she was at the barrow, but no confirmation43. It seems reasonable, however, to dismiss herfrom case as there seems nothing to connect her with it. Mrs. Lestrange left Dr. Haydock’s house some timeafter six to keep an appointment. Where was the appointment, and with whom? It could hardly have beenwith Colonel Protheroe, as he expected to be engaged with me. It is true that Mrs. Lestrange was near thespot at the time the crime was committed, but it seems doubtful what motive44 she could have had formurdering him. She did not gain by his death, and the Inspector’s theory of blackmail45 I cannot accept. Mrs.
Lestrange is not that kind of woman. Also it seems unlikely that she should have got hold of LawrenceRedding’s pistol.
“Very clear,” said Miss Marple, nodding her head in approval. “Very clear indeed. Gentlemen always make suchexcellent memoranda46.”
“You agree with what I have written?” I asked.
“Oh, yes—you have put it all beautifully.”
I asked her the question then that I had been meaning to put all along.
“Miss Marple,” I said. “Who do you suspect? You once said that there were seven people.”
“Quite that, I should think,” said Miss Marple absently. “I expect every one of us suspects someone different. Infact, one can see they do.”
She didn’t ask me who I suspected.
“The point is,” she said, “that one must provide an explanation for everything. Each thing has got to be explainedaway satisfactorily. If you have a theory that fits every fact—well, then, it must be the right one. But that’s extremelydifficult. If it wasn’t for that note—”
“The note?” I said, surprised.
“Yes, you remember, I told you. That note has worried me all along. It’s wrong, somehow.”
“Surely,” I said, “that is explained now. It was written at six thirty five and another hand—the murderer’s—put themisleading 6:20 at the top. I think that is clearly established.”
“But even then,” said Miss Marple, “it’s all wrong.”
“But why?”
“Listen.” Miss Marple leant forward eagerly. “Mrs. Protheroe passed my garden, as I told you, and she went as faras the study window and she looked in and she didn’t see Colonel Protheroe.”
“Because he was writing at the desk,” I said.
“And that’s what’s all wrong. That was at twenty past six. We agreed that he wouldn’t sit down to say he couldn’twait any longer until after half past six—so, why was he sitting at the writing table then?”
“I never thought of that,” I said slowly.
“Let us, dear Mr. Clement, just go over it again. Mrs. Protheroe comes to the window and she thinks the room isempty—she must have thought so, because otherwise she would never have gone down to the studio to meet Mr.
Redding. It wouldn’t have been safe. The room must have been absolutely silent if she thought it was empty. And thatleaves us three alternatives, doesn’t it?”
“You mean—”
“Well, the first alternative would be that Colonel Protheroe was dead already—but I don’t think that’s the mostlikely one. To begin with he’d only been there about five minutes and she or I would have heard the shot, andsecondly, the same difficulty remains47 about his being at the writing table. The second alternative is, of course, that hewas sitting at the writing table writing a note, but in that case it must have been a different note altogether. It can’thave been to say he couldn’t wait. And the third—”
“Yes?” I said.
“Well, the third is, of course, that Mrs. Protheroe was right, and that the room was actually empty.”
“You mean that, after he had been shown in, he went out again and came back later?”
“Yes.”
“But why should he have done that?”
Miss Marple spread out her hands in a little gesture of bewilderment.
“That would mean looking at the case from an entirely48 different angle,” I said.
“One so often has to do that—about everything. Don’t you think so?”
I did not reply. I was going over carefully in my mind the three alternatives that Miss Marple had suggested.
With a slight sigh the old lady rose to her feet.
“I must be getting back. I am very glad to have had this little chat—though we haven’t got very far, have we?”
“To tell you the truth,” I said, as I fetched her shawl, “the whole thing seems to me a bewildering maze49.”
“Oh! I wouldn’t say that. I think, on the whole, one theory fits nearly everything. That is, if you admit onecoincidence—and I think one coincidence is allowable. More than one, of course, is unlikely.”
“Do you really think that? About the theory, I mean?” I asked, looking at her.
“I admit that there is one flaw in my theory—one fact that I can’t get over. Oh! If only that note had beensomething quite different—”
She sighed and shook her head. She moved towards the window and absentmindedly reached up her hand and feltthe rather depressed-looking plant that stood in a stand.
“You know, dear Mr. Clement, this should be watered oftener. Poor thing, it needs it badly. Your maid shouldwater it every day. I suppose it is she who attends to it?”
“As much,” I said, “as she attends to anything.”
“A little raw at present,” suggested Miss Marple.
“Yes,” I said. “And Griselda steadily50 refuses to attempt to sack her. Her idea is that only a thoroughly51 undesirablemaid will remain with us. However, Mary herself gave us notice the other day.”
“Indeed. I always imagined she was very fond of you both.”
“I haven’t noticed it,” I said. “But, as a matter of fact, it was Lettice Protheroe who upset her. Mary came backfrom the inquest in rather a temperamental state and found Lettice here and—well, they had words.”
“Oh!” said Miss Marple. She was just about to step through the window when she stopped suddenly, and abewildering series of changes passed over her face.
“Oh, dear!” she muttered to herself. “I have been stupid. So that was it. Perfectly possible all the time.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She turned a worried face upon me.
“Nothing. An idea that has just occurred to me. I must go home and think things out thoroughly. Do you know, Ibelieve I have been extremely stupid—almost incredibly so.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I said gallantly52.
I escorted her through the window and across the lawn.
“Can you tell me what it is that has occurred to you so suddenly?” I asked.
“I would rather not—just at present. You see, there is still a possibility that I may be mistaken. But I do not thinkso. Here we are at my garden gate. Thank you so much. Please do not come any further.”
“Is the note still a stumbling block?” I asked, as she passed through the gate and latched53 it behind her.
She looked at me abstractedly.
“The note? Oh! Of course that wasn’t the real note. I never thought it was. Goodnight, Mr. Clement.”
She went rapidly up the path to the house, leaving me staring after her.
I didn’t know what to think.
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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blatantly
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wizened
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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ranting
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| v.夸夸其谈( rant的现在分词 )；大叫大嚷地以…说教；气愤地)大叫大嚷；不停地大声抱怨 | |
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repentance
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resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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frenzy
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reiterated
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gasp
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poignant
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groaned
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perfectly
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elucidating
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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serenely
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deductions
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chronological
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frail
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suffusing
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sketching
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proficient
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shrimps
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judgment
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torpedo
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mutual
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sane
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inspector
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calf
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slashed
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ointment
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recapitulate
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archer
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previously
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lodge
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alibi
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confirmation
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motive
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blackmail
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memoranda
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remains
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entirely
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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50
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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51
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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52
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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53
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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