II slept badly that night. I think that, even then, there were pieces of the puzzle floating about in my mind. I believethat if I had given my mind to it, I could have solved the whole thing then and there. Otherwise why did thosefragments tag along so persistently1?
How much do we know at anytime? Much more, or so I believe, than we know we know! But we cannot breakthrough to that subterranean3 knowledge. It is there, but we cannot reach it.
I lay on my bed, tossing uneasily, and only vague bits of the puzzle came to torture me.
There was a pattern, if only I could get hold of it. I ought to know who wrote those damned letters. There was atrail somewhere if only I could follow it….
As I dropped off to sleep, words danced irritatingly through my drowsy4 mind.
“No smoke without fire.” No fire without smoke. Smoke… Smoke? Smoke screen… No, that was the war—a warphrase. War. Scrap5 of paper… Only a scrap of paper. Belgium— Germany….
I fell asleep. I dreamt that I was taking Mrs. Dane Calthrop, who had turned into a greyhound, for a walk with acollar and lead.
II
It was the ringing of the telephone that roused me. A persistent2 ringing.
I sat up in bed, glanced at my watch. It was half past seven. I had not yet been called. The telephone was ringing inthe hall downstairs.
I jumped out of bed, pulled on a dressing-gown, and raced down. I beat Partridge coming through the back doorfrom the kitchen by a short head. I picked up the receiver.
“Hallo?”
“Oh—” It was a sob6 of relief. “It’s you!” Megan’s voice. Megan’s voice indescribably forlorn and frightened. “Oh,please do come—do come. Oh, please do! Will you?”
“I’m coming at once,” I said. “Do you hear? At once.”
I took the stairs two at a time and burst in on Joanna.
“Look here, Jo, I’m going off to the Symmingtons.’”
Joanna lifted a curly blonde head from the pillow and rubbed her eyes like a small child.
“Why—what’s happened?”
“I don’t know. It was the child— Megan. She sounded all in.”
“What do you think it is?”
“The girl Agnes, unless I’m very much mistaken.”
As I went out of the door, Joanna called after me:
“Wait. I’ll get up and drive you down.”
“No need. I’ll drive myself.”
“You can’t drive the car.”
“Yes, I can.”
I did, too. It hurt, but not too much. I’d washed, shaved, dressed, got the car out and driven to the Symmingtons’ inhalf an hour. Not bad going.
Megan must have been watching for me. She came out of the house at a run and clutched me. Her poor little facewas white and twitching7.
“Oh, you’ve come—you’ve come!”
“Hold up, funny face,” I said. “Yes, I’ve come. Now what is it?”
She began to shake. I put my arm round her.
“I— I found her.”
“You found Agnes? Where?”
The trembling grew.
“Under the stairs. There’s a cupboard there. It has fishing rods and golf clubs and things. You know.”
I nodded. It was the usual cupboard.
Megan went on.
“She was there—all huddled8 up—and—and cold—horribly cold. She was—she was dead, you know!”
I asked curiously9, “What made you look there?”
“I—I don’t know. You telephoned last night. And we all began wondering where Agnes was. We waited up sometime, but she didn’t come in, and at last we went to bed. I didn’t sleep very well and I got up early. There was onlyRose (the cook, you know) about. She was very cross about Agnes not having come back. She said she’d been beforesomewhere when a girl did a flit like that. I had some milk and bread and butter in the kitchen—and then suddenlyRose came in looking queer and she said that Agnes’s outdoor things were still in her room. Her best ones that shegoes out in. And I began to wonder if—if she’d ever left the house, and I started looking round, and I opened thecupboard under the stairs and—and she was there….”
“Somebody’s rung up the police, I suppose?”
“Yes, they’re here now. My stepfather rang them up straightaway. And then I—I felt I couldn’t bear it, and I rangyou up. You don’t mind?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
I looked at her curiously.
“Did anybody give you some brandy, or some coffee, or some tea after—after you found her?”
Megan shook her head.
I cursed the whole Symmington ménage. That stuffed shirt, Symmington, thought of nothing but the police. NeitherElsie Holland nor the cook seemed to have thought of the effect on the sensitive child who had made that gruesomediscovery.
“Come on, slabface,” I said. “We’ll go to the kitchen.”
We went round the house to the back door and into the kitchen. Rose, a plump pudding-faced woman of forty, wasdrinking strong tea by the kitchen fire. She greeted us with a flow of talk and her hand to her heart.
She’d come all over queer, she told me, awful the palpitations were! Just think of it, it might have been her, itmight have been any of them, murdered in their beds they might have been.
“Dish out a good strong cup of that tea for Miss Megan,” I said. “She’s had a shock, you know. Remember it wasshe who found the body.”
The mere10 mention of a body nearly sent Rose off again, but I quelled11 her with a stern eye and she poured out a cupof inky fluid.
“There you are, young woman,” I said to Megan. “You drink that down. You haven’t got any brandy, I suppose,Rose?”
Rose said rather doubtfully that there was a drop of cooking brandy left over from the Christmas puddings.
“That’ll do,” I said, and put a dollop of it into Megan’s cup. I saw by Rose’s eye that she thought it a good idea.
I told Megan to stay with Rose.
“I can trust you to look after Miss Megan?” I said, and Rose replied in a gratified way, “Oh yes, sir.”
I went through into the house. If I knew Rose and her kind, she would soon find it necessary to keep her strength upwith a little food, and that would be good for Megan too. Confound these people, why couldn’t they look after thechild?
Fuming12 inwardly I ran into Elsie Holland in the hall. She didn’t seem surprised to see me. I suppose that thegruesome excitement of the discovery made one oblivious13 of who was coming and going. The constable14, Bert Rundle,was by the front door.
Elsie Holland gasped15 out:
“Oh, Mr. Burton, isn’t it awful? Whoever can have done such a dreadful thing?”
“It was murder, then?”
“Oh, yes. She was struck on the back of the head. It’s all blood and hair—oh! it’s awful—and bundled into thatcupboard. Who can have done such a wicked thing? And why? Poor Agnes, I’m sure she never did anyone any harm.”
“No,” I said. “Somebody saw to that pretty promptly16.”
She stared at me. Not, I thought, a quick-witted girl. But she had good nerves. Her colour was, as usual, slightlyheightened by excitement, and I even fancied that in a macabre17 kind of way, and in spite of a naturally kind heart, shewas enjoying the drama.
She said apologetically: “I must go up to the boys. Mr. Symmington is so anxious that they shouldn’t get a shock.
He wants me to keep them right away.”
“Megan found the body, I hear,” I said. “I hope somebody is looking after her?”
I will say for Elsie Holland that she looked conscience stricken.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I forgot all about her. I do hope she’s all right. I’ve been so rushed, you know, and the policeand everything—but it was remiss18 of me. Poor girl, she must be feeling bad. I’ll go and look for her at once.”
I relented.
“She’s all right,” I said. “Rose is looking after her. You get along to the kids.”
She thanked me with a flash of white tombstone teeth and hurried upstairs. After all, the boys were her job, and notMegan— Megan was nobody’s job. Elsie was paid to look after Symmington’s blinking brats19. One could hardly blameher for doing so.
As she flashed round the corner of the stairs, I caught my breath. For a minute I caught a glimpse of a WingedVictory, deathless and incredibly beautiful, instead of a conscientious20 nursery governess.
Then a door opened and Superintendent21 Nash stepped out into the hall with Symmington behind him.
“Oh, Mr. Burton,” he said. “I was just going to telephone you. I’m glad you are here.”
He didn’t ask me—then—why I was here.
He turned his head and said to Symmington:
“I’ll use this room if I may.”
It was a small morning room with a window on the front of the house.
“Certainly, certainly.”
Symmington’s poise22 was pretty good, but he looked desperately23 tired. Superintendent Nash said gently:
“I should have some breakfast if I were you, Mr. Symmington. You and Miss Holland and Miss Megan will feelmuch better after coffee and eggs and bacon. Murder is a nasty business on an empty stomach.”
He spoke24 in a comfortable family doctor kind of way.
Symmington gave a faint attempt at a smile and said:
“Thank you, superintendent, I’ll take your advice.”
I followed Nash into the little morning room and he shut the door. He said then:
“You’ve got here very quickly? How did you hear?”
I told him that Megan had rung me up. I felt well-disposed towards Superintendent Nash. He, at any rate, had notforgotten that Megan, too, would be in need of breakfast.
“I hear that you telephoned last night, Mr. Burton, asking about this girl? Why was that?”
I suppose it did seem odd. I told him about Agnes’s telephone call to Partridge and her nonappearance. He said,“Yes, I see….”
He said it slowly and reflectively, rubbing his chin.
Then he sighed:
“Well,” he said. “It’s murder now, right enough. Direct physical action. The question is, what did the girl know?
Did she say anything to this Partridge? Anything definite?”
“I don’t think so. But you can ask her.”
“Yes. I shall come up and see her when I’ve finished here.”
“What happened exactly?” I asked. “Or don’t you know yet?”
“Near enough. It was the maids’ day out—”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, it seems that there used to be two sisters here who liked to go out together, so Mrs. Symmington arranged itthat way. Then when these two came, she kept to the same arrangement. They used to leave cold supper laid out in thedining room, and Miss Holland used to get tea.”
“I see.”
“It’s pretty clear up to a point. The cook, Rose, comes from Nether25 Mickford, and in order to get there on her dayout she has to catch the half past two bus. So Agnes has to finish clearing up lunch always. Rose used to wash up thesupper things in the evenings to even things up.
“That’s what happened yesterday. Rose went off to catch the bus at two twenty-five, Symmington left for his officeat five-and-twenty to three. Elsie Holland and the children went out at a quarter to three. Megan Hunter went out onher bicycle about five minutes later. Agnes would then be alone in the house. As far as I can make out, she normallyleft the house between three o’clock and half past three.”
“The house being then left empty?”
“Oh, they don’t worry about that down here. There’s not much locking up done in these parts. As I say, at tenminutes to three Agnes was alone in the house. That she never left it is clear, for she was in her cap and apron26 stillwhen we found her body.”
“I suppose you can tell roughly the time of death?”
“Doctor Griffith won’t commit himself. Between two o’clock and four thirty, is his official medical verdict.”
“How was she killed?”
“She was first stunned27 by a blow on the back of the head. Afterwards an ordinary kitchen skewer28, sharpened to afine point, was thrust in the base of the skull29, causing instantaneous death.”
I lit a cigarette. It was not a nice picture.
“Pretty cold-blooded,” I said.
“Oh yes, yes, that was indicated.”
I inhaled30 deeply.
“Who did it?” I said. “And why?”
“I don’t suppose,” said Nash slowly, “that we shall ever know exactly why. But we can guess.”
“She knew something?”
“She knew something.”
“She didn’t give anyone here a hint?”
“As far as I can make out, no. She’s been upset, so the cook says, ever since Mrs. Symmington’s death, andaccording to this Rose, she’s been getting more and more worried, and kept saying she didn’t know what she ought todo.”
He gave a short exasperated31 sigh.
“It’s always the way. They won’t come to us. They’ve got that deep-seated prejudice against ‘being mixed up withthe police.’ If she’d come along and told us what was worrying her, she’d be alive today.”
“Didn’t she give the other woman any hint?”
“No, or so Rose says, and I’m inclined to believe her. For if she had, Rose would have blurted32 it out at once with agood many fancy embellishments of her own.”
“It’s maddening,” I said, “not to know.”
“We can still guess, Mr. Burton. To begin with, it can’t be anything very defionite. It’s got to be the sort of thingthat you think over, and as you think it over, your uneasiness grows. You see what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Actually, I think I know what it was.”
I looked at him with respect.
“That’s good work, superintendent.”
“Well, you see, Mr. Burton, I know something that you don’t. On the afternoon that Mrs. Symmington committedsuicide both maids were supposed to be out. It was their day out. But actually Agnes came back to the house.”
“You know that?”
“Yes. Agnes has a boyfriend—young Rendell from the fish shop. Wednesday is early closing and he comes alongto meet Agnes and they go for a walk, or to the pictures if it’s wet. That Wednesday they had a row practically as soonas they met. Our letter writer had been active, suggesting that Agnes had other fish to fry, and young Fred Rendell wasall worked up. They quarrelled violently and Agnes bolted back home and said she wasn’t coming out unless Fred saidhe was sorry.”
“Well?”
“Well, Mr. Burton, the kitchen faces the back of the house but the pantry looks out where we are looking now.
There’s only one entrance gate. You come through it and either up to the front door, or else along the path at the sideof the house to the back door.”
He paused.
“Now I’ll tell you something. That letter that came to Mrs. Symmington that afternoon didn’t come by post. It had aused stamp affixed33 to it, and the postmark faked quite convincingly in lampblack, so that it would seem to have beendelivered by the postman with the afternoon letters. But actually it had not been through the post. You see what thatmeans?”
I said slowly: “It means that it was left by hand, pushed through the letter box some time before the afternoon postwas delivered, so that it should be amongst the other letters.”
“Exactly. The afternoon post comes round about a quarter to four. My theory is this. The girl was in the pantrylooking through the window (it’s masked by shrubs35 but you can see through them quite well) watching out for heryoung man to turn up and apologize.”
I said: “And she saw whoever it was deliver that note?”
“That’s my guess, Mr. Burton. I may be wrong, of course.”
“I don’t think you are… It’s simple—and convincing—and it means that Agnes knew who the anonymous36 letterwriter was.”
“Yes.”
“But then why didn’t she—?”
I paused, frowning.
Nash said quickly:
“As I see it, the girl didn’t realize what she had seen. Not at first. Somebody had left a letter at the house, yes—butthat somebody was nobody she would dream of connecting with the anonymous letters. It was somebody, from thatpoint of view, quite above suspicion.
“But the more she thought about it, the more uneasy she grew. Ought she, perhaps, to tell someone about it? In herperplexity she thinks of Miss Barton’s Partridge who, I gather, is a somewhat dominant37 personality and whosejudgment Agnes would accept unhesitatingly. She decides to ask Partridge what she ought to do.”
“Yes,” I said thoughtfully. “It fits well enough. And somehow or other, Poison Pen found out. How did she findout, superintendent?”
“You’re not used to living in the country, Mr. Burton. It’s a kind of miracle how things get round. First of allthere’s the telephone call. Who overheard it your end?” I reflected.
“I answered the telephone originally. Then I called up the stairs to Partridge.”
“Mentioning the girl’s name?”
“Yes—yes, I did.”
“Anyone overhear you?”
“My sister or Miss Griffith might have done so.”
“Ah, Miss Griffith. What was she doing up there?”
I explained.
“Was she going back to the village?”
“She was going to Mr. Pye first.”
Superintendent Nash sighed.
“That’s two ways it could have gone all over the place.”
I was incredulous.
“Do you mean that either Miss Griffith or Mr. Pye would bother to repeat a meaningless little bit of informationlike that?”
“Anything’s news in a place like this. You’d be surprised. If the dressmaker’s mother has got a bad corn everybodyhears about it! And then there is this end. Miss Holland, Rose—they could have heard what Agnes said. And there’sFred Rendell. It may have gone round through him that Agnes went back to the house that afternoon.”
I gave a slight shiver. I was looking out of the window. In front of me was a neat square of grass and a path and thelow prim38 gate.
Someone had opened the gate, had walked very correctly and quietly up to the house, and had pushed a letterthrough the letter box. I saw, hazily39, in my mind’s eye, that vague woman’s shape. The face was blank—but it must bea face that I knew….
Superintendent Nash was saying:
“All the same, this narrows things down. That’s always the way we get ’em in the end. Steady, patient elimination40.
There aren’t so very many people it could be now.”
“You mean—?”
“It knocks out any women clerks who were at their work all yesterday afternoon. It knocks out the schoolmistress.
She was teaching. And the district nurse. I know where she was yesterday. Not that I ever thought it was any of them,but now we’re sure. You see, Mr. Burton, we’ve got two definite times now on which to concentrate—yesterdayafternoon, and the week before. On the day of Mrs. Symmington’s death from, say, a quarter past three (the earliestpossible time at which Agnes could have been back in the house after her quarrel) and four o’clock when the postmust have come (but I can get that fixed34 more accurately41 with the postman). And yesterday from ten minutes to three(when Miss Megan Hunter left the house) until half past three or more probably a quarter past three as Agnes hadn’tbegun to change.”
“What do you think happened yesterday?”
Nash made a grimace42.
“What do I think? I think a certain lady walked up to the front door and rang the bell, quite calm and smiling, theafternoon caller… Maybe she asked for Miss Holland, or for Miss Megan, or perhaps she had brought a parcel.
Anyway Agnes turns round to get a salver for cards, or to take the parcel in, and our ladylike caller bats her on theback of her unsuspecting head.”
“What with?”
Nash said:
“The ladies round here usually carry large sizes in handbags. No saying what mightn’t be inside it.”
“And then stabs her through the back of the neck and bundles her into the cupboard? Wouldn’t that be a hefty jobfor a woman?”
Superintendent Nash looked at me with rather a queer expression.
“The woman we’re after isn’t normal—not by a long way—and that type of mental instability goes with surprisingstrength. Agnes wasn’t a big girl.”
He paused and then asked: “What made Miss Megan Hunter think of looking in that cupboard?”
“Sheer instinct,” I said.
Then I asked: “Why drag Agnes into the cupboard? What was the point?”
“The longer it was before the body was found, the more difficult it would be to fix the time of death accurately. IfMiss Holland, for instance, fell over the body as soon as she came in, a doctor might be able to fix it within tenminutes or so—which might be awkward for our lady friend.”
I said, frowning:
“But if Agnes were suspicious of this person—”
Nash interrupted me.
“She wasn’t. Not to the pitch of definite suspicion. She just thought it ‘queer.’ She was a slow-witted girl, Iimagine, and she was only vaguely43 suspicious with a feeling that something was wrong. She certainly didn’t suspectthat she was up against a woman who would do murder.”
“Did you suspect that?” I asked.
Nash shook his head. He said, with feeling:
“I ought to have known. That suicide business, you see, frightened Poison Pen. She got the wind up. Fear, Mr.
Burton, is an incalculable thing.”
“Yes, fear. That was the thing we ought to have foreseen. Fear—in a lunatic brain….
“You see,” said Superintendent Nash, and somehow his words made the whole thing seem absolutely horrible.
“We’re up against someone who’s respected and thought highly of—someone, in fact, of good social position!”
III
Presently Nash said that he was going to interview Rose once more. I asked him, rather diffidently, if I might cometoo. Rather to my surprise he assented44 cordially.
“I’m very glad of your cooperation, Mr. Burton, if I may say so.”
“That sounds suspicious,” I said. “In books when a detective welcomes someone’s assistance, that someone isusually the murderer.”
Nash laughed shortly. He said: “You’re hardly the type to write anonymous letters, Mr. Burton.”
He added: “Frankly, you can be useful to us.”
“I’m glad, but I don’t see how.”
“You’re a stranger down here, that’s why. You’ve got no preconceived ideas about the people here. But at the sametime, you’ve got the opportunity of getting to know things in what I may call a social way.”
“The murderer is a person of good social position,” I murmured.
“Exactly.”
“I’m to be the spy within the gates?”
“Have you any objection?”
I thought it over.
“No,” I said, “frankly I haven’t. If there’s a dangerous lunatic about driving inoffensive women to suicide andhitting miserable45 little maidservants on the head, then I’m not averse46 to doing a bit of dirty work to put that lunaticunder restraint.”
“That’s sensible of you, sir. And let me tell you, the person we’re after is dangerous. She’s about as dangerous as arattlesnake and a cobra and a black mamba rolled into one.”
I gave a slight shiver. I said:
“In fact, we’ve got to make haste?”
“That’s right. Don’t think we’re inactive in the force. We’re not. We’re working on several different lines.”
He said it grimly.
I had a vision of a fine far-flung spider’s web….
Nash wanted to hear Rose’s story again, so he explained to me, because she had already told him two differentversions, and the more versions he got from her, the more likely it was that a few grains of truth might beincorporated.
We found Rose washing up breakfast, and she stopped at once and rolled her eyes and clutched her heart andexplained again how she’d been coming over queer all the morning.
Nash was patient with her but firm. He’d been soothing47 the first time, so he told me, and peremptory48 the second,and he now employed a mixture of the two.
Rose enlarged pleasurably on the details of the past week, of how Agnes had gone about in deadly fear, and hadshivered and said, “Don’t ask me,” when Rose had urged her to say what was the matter. “It would be death if she toldme,” that’s what she said, finished Rose, rolling her eyes happily.
Had Agnes given no hint of what was troubling her?
No, except that she went in fear of her life.
Superintendent Nash sighed and abandoned the theme, contenting himself with extracting an exact account ofRose’s own activities the preceding afternoon.
This, put baldly, was that Rose had caught the 2:30 bus and had spent the afternoon and evening with her family,returning by the 8:40 bus from Nether Mickford. The recital49 was complicated by the extraordinary presentiments50 ofevil Rose had had all the afternoon and how her sister had commented on it and how she hadn’t been able to touch amorsel of seed cake.
From the kitchen we went in search of Elsie Holland, who was superintending the children’s lessons. As always,Elsie Holland was competent and obliging. She rose and said:
“Now, Colin, you and Brian will do these three sums and have the answers ready for me when I come back.”
She then led us into the night nursery. “Will this do? I thought it would be better not to talk before the children.”
“Thank you, Miss Holland. Just tell me, once more, are you quite sure that Agnes never mentioned to you beingworried over anything—since Mrs. Symmington’s death, I mean?”
“No, she never said anything. She was a very quiet girl, you know, and didn’t talk much.”
“A change from the other one, then!”
“Yes, Rose talks much too much. I have to tell her not to be impertinent sometimes.”
“Now, will you tell me exactly what happened yesterday afternoon? Everything you can remember.”
“Well, we had lunch as usual. One o’clock, and we hurry just a little. I don’t let the boys dawdle51. Let me see. Mr.
Symmington went back to the office, and I helped Agnes by laying the table for supper—the boys ran out in the gardentill I was ready to take them.”
“Where did you go?”
“Towards Combeacre, by the field path—the boys wanted to fish. I forgot their bait and had to go back for it.”
“What time was that?”
“Let me see, we started about twenty to three—or just after. Megan was coming but changed her mind. She wasgoing out on her bicycle. She’s got quite a craze for bicycling.”
“I mean what time was it when you went back for the bait? Did you go into the house?”
“No. I’d left it in the conservatory52 at the back. I don’t know what time it was then—about ten minutes to three,perhaps.”
“Did you see Megan or Agnes?”
“Megan must have started, I think. No, I didn’t see Agnes. I didn’t see anyone.”
“And after that you went fishing?”
“Yes, we went along by the stream. We didn’t catch anything. We hardly ever do, but the boys enjoy it. Brian gotrather wet. I had to change his things when we got in.”
“You attend to tea on Wednesdays?”
“Yes. It’s all ready in the drawing room for Mr. Symmington. I just make the tea when he comes in. The childrenand I have ours in the schoolroom—and Megan, of course. I have my own tea things and everything in the cupboardup there.”
“What time did you get in?”
“At ten minutes to five. I took the boys up and started to lay tea. Then when Mr. Symmington came in at five Iwent down to make his but he said he would have it with us in the schoolroom. The boys were so pleased. We playedAnimal Grab afterwards. It seems so awful to think of now—with that poor girl in the cupboard all the time.”
“Would anybody go to that cupboard normally?”
“Oh no, it’s only used for keeping junk. The hats and coats hang in the little cloakroom to the right of the frontdoor as you come in. No one might have gone to the other cupboard for months.”
“I see. And you noticed nothing unusual, nothing abnormal at all when you came back?”
The blue eyes opened very wide.
“Oh no, inspector53, nothing at all. Everything was just the same as usual. That’s what was so awful about it.”
“And the week before?”
“You mean the day Mrs. Symmington—”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that was terrible—terrible!”
“Yes, yes, I know. You were out all that afternoon also?”
“Oh yes, I always take the boys out in the afternoon—if it’s fine enough. We do lessons in the morning. We wentup on the moor54, I remember—quite a long way. I was afraid I was late back because as I turned in at the gate I sawMr. Symmington coming from his office at the other end of the road, and I hadn’t even put the kettle on, but it was justten minutes to five.”
“You didn’t go up to Mrs. Symmington?”
“Oh no. I never did. She always rested after lunch. She had attacks of neuralgia—and they used to come on aftermeals. Dr. Griffith had given her some cachets to take. She used to lie down and try to sleep.”
Nash said in a casual voice:
“So no one would take her up the post?”
“The afternoon post? No, I’d look in the letter box and put the letters on the hall table when I came in. But veryoften Mrs. Symmington used to come down and get it herself. She didn’t sleep all the afternoon. She was usually upagain by four.”
“You didn’t think anything was wrong because she wasn’t up that afternoon?”
“Oh, no, I never dreamed of such a thing. Mr. Symmington was hanging up his coat in the hall and I said, ‘Tea’snot quite ready, but the kettle’s nearly boiling,’ and he nodded and called out, ‘Mona, Mona!’—and then as Mrs.
Symmington didn’t answer he went upstairs to her bedroom, and it must have been the most terrible shock to him. Hecalled me and I came, and he said, ‘Keep the children away,’ and then he phoned Dr. Griffith and we forgot all aboutthe kettle and it burnt the bottom out! Oh dear, it was dreadful, and she’d been so happy and cheerful at lunch.”
Nash said abruptly55: “What is your own opinion of that letter she received, Miss Holland?”
Elsie Holland said indignantly:
“Oh, I think it was wicked—wicked!”
“Yes, yes, I don’t mean that. Did you think it was true?”
Elsie Holland said firmly:
“No, indeed I don’t. Mrs. Symmington was very sensitive—very sensitive indeed. She had to take all sorts ofthings for her nerves. And she was very—well, particular.” Elsie flushed. “Anything of that sort—nasty, I mean—would have given her a great shock.”
Nash was silent for a moment, then he asked:
“Have you had any of these letters, Miss Holland?”
“No. No, I haven’t had any.”
“Are you sure? Please”—he lifted a hand—“don’t answer in a hurry. They’re not pleasant things to get, I know.
And sometimes people don’t like to admit they’ve had them. But it’s very important in this case that we should know.
We’re quite aware that the statements in them are just a tissue of lies, so you needn’t feel embarrassed.”
“But I haven’t, superintendent. Really I haven’t. Not anything of the kind.”
She was indignant, almost tearful, and her denials seemed genuine enough.
When she went back to the children, Nash stood looking out of the window.
“Well,” he said, “that’s that! She says she hasn’t received any of these letters. And she sounds as though she’sspeaking the truth.”
“She did certainly. I’m sure she was.”
“H’m,” said Nash. “Then what I want to know is, why the devil hasn’t she?”
He went on rather impatiently, as I stared at him.
“She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?”
“Rather more than pretty.”
“Exactly. As a matter of fact, she’s uncommonly56 good-looking. And she’s young. In fact she’s just the meat ananonymous letter writer would like. Then why has she been left out?”
I shook my head.
“It’s interesting, you know. I must mention it to Graves. He asked if we could tell him definitely of anyone whohadn’t had one.”
“She’s the second person,” I said. “There’s Emily Barton, remember.”
Nash gave a faint chuckle57.
“You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told, Mr. Burton. Miss Barton had one all right—more than one.”
“How do you know?”
“That devoted58 dragon she’s lodging59 with told me—her late parlourmaid or cook. Florence Elford. Very indignantshe was about it. Would like to have the writer’s blood.”
“Why did Miss Emily say she hadn’t had any?”
“Delicacy. Their language isn’t nice. Little Miss Barton has spent her life avoiding the coarse and unrefined.”
“What did the letters say?”
“The usual. Quite ludicrous in her case. And incidentally insinuated60 that she poisoned off her old mother and mostof her sisters!”
I said incredulously:
“Do you mean to say there’s really this dangerous lunatic going about and we can’t spot her right away?”
“We’ll spot her,” said Nash, and his voice was grim. “She’ll write just one letter too many.”
“But, my goodness, man, she won’t go on writing these things—not now.”
He looked at me.
“Oh yes she will. You see, she can’t stop now. It’s a morbid61 craving62. The letters will go on, make no mistake aboutthat.”
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收听单词发音
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1
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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macabre
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| adj.骇人的，可怖的 | |
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remiss
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| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
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brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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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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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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skewer
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| n.（烤肉用的）串肉杆；v.用杆串好 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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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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affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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hazily
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| ad. vaguely, not clear | |
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elimination
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| n.排除，消除，消灭 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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dawdle
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| vi.浪费时间；闲荡 | |
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52
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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56
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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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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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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