II went and found Megan before leaving the house. She was in the garden and seemed almost back to her usual self.
She greeted me quite cheerfully.
I suggested that she should come back to us again for a while, but after a momentary1 hesitation2 she shook her head.
“It’s nice of you—but I think I’ll stay here. After all, it is—well, I suppose, it’s my home. And I dare say I can helpwith the boys a bit.”
“Well,” I said, “it’s as you like.”
“Then I think I’ll stay. I could— I could—”
“Yes?” I prompted.
“If—if anything awful happened, I could ring you up, couldn’t I, and you’d come.”
I was touched. “Of course. But what awful thing do you think might happen?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She looked vague. “Things seem rather like that just now, don’t they?”
“For God’s sake,” I said. “Don’t go nosing out anymore bodies! It’s not good for you.”
She gave me a brief flash of a smile.
“No, it isn’t. It made me feel awfully3 sick.”
I didn’t much like leaving her there, but after all, as she had said, it was her home. And I fancied that now ElsieHolland would feel more responsible for her.
Nash and I went up together to Little Furze. Whilst I gave Joanna an account of the morning’s doings, Nash tackledPartridge. He rejoined us looking discouraged.
“Not much help there. According to this woman, the girl only said she was worried about something and didn’tknow what to do and that she’d like Miss Partridge’s advice.”
“Did Partridge mention the fact to anyone?” asked Joanna.
Nash nodded, looking grim.
“Yes, she told Mrs. Emory—your daily woman—on the lines, as far as I can gather, that there were some youngwomen who were willing to take advice from their elders and didn’t think they could settle everything for themselvesoffhand! Agnes mightn’t be very bright, but she was a nice respectful girl and knew her manners.”
“Partridge preening4 herself, in fact,” murmured Joanna. “And Mrs. Emory could have passed it round the town?”
“That’s right, Miss Burton.”
“There’s one thing rather surprises me,” I said. “Why were my sister and I included among the recipients5 of theanonymous letters? We were strangers down here—nobody could have had a grudge7 against us.”
“You’re failing to allow for the mentality8 of a Poison Pen—all is grist that comes to their mill. Their grudge, youmight say, is against humanity.”
“I suppose,” said Joanna thoughtfully, “that that is what Mrs. Dane Calthrop meant.”
Nash looked at her inquiringly, but she did not enlighten him. The superintendent9 said:
“I don’t know if you happened to look closely at the envelope of the letter you got, Miss Burton. If so, you mayhave noticed that it was actually addressed to Miss Barton, and the a altered to a u afterwards.”
That remark, properly interpreted, ought to have given us a clue to the whole business. As it was, none of us sawany significance in it.
Nash went off, and I was left with Joanna. She actually said: “You don’t think that letter can really have beenmeant for Miss Emily, do you?”
“It would hardly have begun ‘You painted trollop,’” I pointed10 out, and Joanna agreed.
Then she suggested that I should go down to the town. “You ought to hear what everyone is saying. It will be thetopic this morning!”
I suggested that she should come too, but rather to my surprise Joanna refused. She said she was going to messabout in the garden.
I paused in the doorway11 and said, lowering my voice:
“I suppose Partridge is all right?”
“Partridge!”
The amazement12 in Joanna’s voice made me feel ashamed of my idea. I said apologetically: “I just wondered. She’srather ‘queer’ in some ways—a grim spinster—the sort of person who might have religious mania13.”
“This isn’t religious mania—or so you told me Graves said.”
“Well, sex mania. They’re very closely tied up together, I understand. She’s repressed and respectable, and hasbeen shut up here with a lot of elderly women for years.”
“What put the idea into your head?”
I said slowly:
“Well, we’ve only her word for it, haven’t we, as to what the girl Agnes said to her? Suppose Agnes askedPartridge to tell her why Partridge came and left a note that day—and Partridge said she’d call round that afternoonand explain.”
“And then camouflaged14 it by coming to us and asking if the girl could come here?”
“Yes.”
“But Partridge never went out that afternoon.”
“We don’t know that. We were out ourselves, remember.”
“Yes, that’s true. It’s possible, I suppose.” Joanna turned it over in her mind. “But I don’t think so, all the same. Idon’t think Partridge has the mentality to cover her tracks over the letters. To wipe off fingerprints15, and all that. It isn’tonly cunning you want—it’s knowledge. I don’t think she’s got that. I suppose—” Joanna hesitated, then said slowly,“they are sure it is a woman, aren’t they?”
“You don’t think it’s a man?” I exclaimed incredulously.
“Not—not an ordinary man—but a certain kind of man. I’m thinking, really, of Mr. Pye.”
“So Pye is your selection?”
“Don’t you feel yourself that he’s a possibility? He’s the sort of person who might be lonely—and unhappy—andspiteful. Everyone, you see, rather laughs at him. Can’t you see him secretly hating all the normal happy people, andtaking a queer perverse16 artistic17 pleasure in what he was doing?”
“Graves said a middle-aged18 spinster.”
“Mr. Pye,” said Joanna, “is a middle-aged spinster.”
“A misfit,” I said slowly.
“Very much so. He’s rich, but money doesn’t help. And I do feel he might be unbalanced. He is, really, rather afrightening little man.”
“He got a letter himself, remember.”
“We don’t know that,” Joanna pointed out. “We only thought so. And anyway, he might have been putting on anact.”
“For our benefit?”
“Yes. He’s clever enough to think of that—and not to overdo19 it.”
“He must be a first-class actor.”
“But of course, Jerry, whoever is doing this must be a first-class actor. That’s partly where the pleasure comes in.”
“For God’s sake, Joanna, don’t speak so understandingly! You make me feel that you—that you understand thementality.”
“I think I do. I can—just—get into the mood. If I weren’t Joanna Burton, if I weren’t young and reasonablyattractive and able to have a good time, if I were—how shall I put it?—behind bars, watching other people enjoy life,would a black evil tide rise in me, making me want to hurt, to torture—even to destroy?”
“Joanna!” I took her by the shoulders and shook her. She gave a little sigh and shiver, and smiled at me.
“I frightened you, didn’t I, Jerry? But I have a feeling that that’s the right way to solve this problem. You’ve got tobe the person, knowing how they feel and what makes them act, and then—and then perhaps you’ll know what they’regoing to do next.”
“Oh, hell!” I said. “And I came down here to be a vegetable and get interested in all the dear little local scandals.
Dear little local scandals! Libel, vilification21, obscene language and murder!”
II
Joanna was quite right. The High Street was full of interested groups. I was determined22 to get everyone’s reactions inturn.
I met Griffith first. He looked terribly ill and tired. So much so that I wondered. Murder is not, certainly, all in theday’s work to a doctor, but his profession does equip him to face most things including suffering, the ugly side ofhuman nature, and the fact of death.
“You look all in,” I said.
“Do I?” He was vague. “Oh! I’ve had some worrying cases lately.”
“Including our lunatic at large?”
“That, certainly.” He looked away from me across the street. I saw a fine nerve twitching23 in his eyelid24.
“You’ve no suspicions as to—who?”
“No. No. I wish to God I had.”
He asked abruptly25 after Joanna, and said, hesitatingly, that he had some photographs she’d wanted to see.
I offered to take them to her.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I shall be passing that way actually later in the morning.”
I began to be afraid that Griffith had got it badly. Curse Joanna! Griffith was too good a man to be dangled26 as ascalp.
I let him go, for I saw his sister coming and I wanted, for once, to talk to her.
Aimée Griffith began, as it were, in the middle of a conversation.
“Absolutely shocking!” she boomed. “I hear you were there—quite early?”
There was a question in the words, and her eyes glinted as she stressed the word “early.” I wasn’t going to tell herthat Megan had rung me up. I said instead:
“You see, I was a bit uneasy last night. The girl was due to tea at our house and didn’t turn up.”
“And so you feared the worst? Damned smart of you!”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m quite the human bloodhound.”
“It’s the first murder we’ve ever had in Lymstock. Excitement is terrific. Hope the police can handle it all right.”
“I shouldn’t worry,” I said. “They’re an efficient body of men.”
“Can’t even remember what the girl looked like, although I suppose she’s opened the door to me dozens of times.
Quiet, insignificant27 little thing. Knocked on the head and then stabbed through the back of the neck, so Owen tells me.
Looks like a boyfriend to me. What do you think?”
“That’s your solution?”
“Seems the most likely one. Had a quarrel, I expect. They’re very inbred round here—bad heredity, a lot of them.”
She paused, and then went on, “I hear Megan Hunter found the body? Must have given her a bit of a shock.”
I said shortly:
“It did.”
“Not too good for her, I should imagine. In my opinion she’s not too strong in the head—and a thing like this mightsend her completely off her onion.”
I took a sudden resolution. I had to know something.
“Tell me, Miss Griffith, was it you who persuaded Megan to return home yesterday?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say exactly persuaded.”
I stuck to my guns.
“But you did say something to her?”
Aimée Griffith planted her feet firmly and stared me in the eyes. She was, just slightly, on the defensive28. She said:
“It’s no good that young woman shirking her responsibilities. She’s young and she doesn’t know how tongues wag,so I felt it my duty to give her a hint.”
“Tongues—?” I broke off because I was too angry to go on.
Aimée Griffith continued with that maddeningly complacent29 confidence in herself which was her chiefcharacteristic:
“Oh, I dare say you don’t hear all the gossip that goes round. I do! I know what people are saying. Mind you, Idon’t for a minute think there’s anything in it—not for a minute! But you know what people are—if they can saysomething ill-natured, they do! And it’s rather hard lines on the girl when she’s got her living to earn.”
“Her living to earn?” I said, puzzled.
Aimée went on:
“It’s a difficult position for her, naturally. And I think she did the right thing. I mean, she couldn’t go off at amoment’s notice and leave the children with no one to look after them. She’s been splendid—absolutely splendid. Isay so to everybody! But there it is, it’s an invidious position, and people will talk.”
“Who are you talking about?” I asked.
“Elsie Holland, of course,” said Aimée Griffith impatiently. “In my opinion, she’s a thoroughly30 nice girl, and hasonly been doing her duty.”
“And what are people saying?”
Aimée Griffith laughed. It was, I thought, rather an unpleasant laugh.
“They’re saying that she’s already considering the possibility of becoming Mrs. Symmington No. 2—that she’s allout to console the widower31 and make herself indispensable.”
“But, good God,” I said, shocked, “Mrs. Symmington’s only been dead a week!”
Aimée Griffith shrugged32 her shoulders.
“Of course. It’s absurd! But you know what people are! The Holland girl is young and she’s good-looking—that’senough. And mind you, being a nursery governess isn’t much of a prospect33 for a girl. I wouldn’t blame her if shewanted a settled home and a husband and was playing her cards accordingly.
“Of course,” she went on, “poor Dick Symmington hasn’t the least idea of all this! He’s still completely knockedout by Mona Symmington’s death. But you know what men are! If the girl is always there, making him comfortable,looking after him, being obviously devoted34 to the children—well, he gets to be dependent on her.”
I said quietly:
“So you do think that Elsie Holland is a designing hussy?”
Aimée Griffith flushed.
“Not at all. I’m sorry for the girl—with people saying nasty things! That’s why I more or less told Megan that sheought to go home. It looks better than having Dick Symmington and the girl alone in the house.”
I began to understand things.
Aimée Griffith gave her jolly laugh.
“You’re shocked, Mr. Burton, at hearing what our gossiping little town thinks. I can tell you this—they alwaysthink the worst!”
She laughed and nodded and strode away.
III
I came upon Mr. Pye by the church. He was talking to Emily Barton, who looked pink and excited.
Mr. Pye greeted me with every evidence of delight.
“Ah, Burton, good morning, good morning! How is your charming sister?”
I told him that Joanna was well.
“But not joining our village parliament? We’re all agog35 over the news. Murder! Real Sunday newspaper murder inour midst! Not the most interesting of crimes, I fear. Somewhat sordid36. The brutal37 murder of a little serving maid. Nofiner points about the crime, but still undeniably, news.”
Miss Barton said tremulously:
“It is shocking—quite shocking.”
Mr. Pye turned to her.
“But you enjoy it, dear lady, you enjoy it. Confess it now. You disapprove38, you deplore39, but there is the thrill. Iinsist, there is the thrill!”
“Such a nice girl,” said Emily Barton. “She came to me from St. Clotilde’s Home. Quite a raw girl. But mostteachable. She turned into such a nice little maid. Partridge was very pleased with her.”
I said quickly:
“She was coming to tea with Partridge yesterday afternoon.” I turned to Pye. “I expect Aimée Griffith told you.”
My tone was quite casual. Pye responded apparently40 quite unsuspiciously: “She did mention it, yes. She said, Iremember, that it was something quite new for servants to ring up on their employers’ telephones.”
“Partridge would never dream of doing such a thing,” said Miss Emily, “and I am really surprised at Agnes doingso.”
“You are behind the times, dear lady,” said Mr. Pye. “My two terrors use the telephone constantly and smoked allover the house until I objected. But one daren’t say too much. Prescott is a divine cook, though temperamental, andMrs. Prescott is an admirable house-parlourmaid.”
“Yes, indeed, we all think you’re very lucky.”
I intervened, since I did not want the conversation to become purely41 domestic.
“The news of the murder has got round very quickly,” I said.
“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Pye. “The butcher, the baker42, the candlestick maker43. Enter Rumour44, painted full oftongues! Lymstock, alas45! is going to the dogs. Anonymous6 letters, murders, any amount of criminal tendencies.”
Emily Barton said nervously46: “They don’t think—there’s no idea—that—that the two are connected.”
Mr. Pye pounced47 on the idea.
“An interesting speculation48. The girl knew something, therefore she was murdered. Yes, yes, most promising49. Howclever of you to think of it.”
“I— I can’t bear it.”
Emily Barton spoke50 abruptly and turned away, walking very fast.
Pye looked after her. His cherubic face was pursed up quizzically.
He turned back to me and shook his head gently.
“A sensitive soul. A charming creature, don’t you think? Absolutely a period piece. She’s not, you know, of herown generation, she’s of the generation before that. The mother must have been a woman of a very strong character.
She kept the family time ticking at about 1870, I should say. The whole family preserved under a glass case. I do liketo come across that sort of thing.”
I did not want to talk about period pieces.
“What do you really think about all this business?” I asked.
“Meaning by that?”
“Anonymous letters, murder….”
“Our local crime wave? What do you?”
“I asked you first,” I said pleasantly.
Mr. Pye said gently:
“I’m a student, you know, of abnormalities. They interest me. Such apparently unlikely people do the mostfantastic things. Take the case of Lizzie Borden. There’s not really a reasonable explanation of that. In this case, myadvice to the police would be—study character. Leave your fingerprints and your measuring of handwriting and yourmicroscopes. Notice instead what people do with their hands, and their little tricks of manner, and the way they eattheir food, and if they laugh sometimes for no apparent reason.”
I raised my eyebrows51. “Mad?” I said.
“Quite, quite mad,” said Mr. Pye, and added, “but you’d never know it!”
“Who?”
His eyes met mine. He smiled.
“No, no, Burton, that would be slander52. We can’t add slander to all the rest of it.”
He fairly skipped off down the street.
IV
As I stood staring after him the church door opened and the Rev53. Caleb Dane Calthrop came out.
He smiled vaguely54 at me.
“Good—good morning, Mr—er—er—”
I helped him. “Burton.”
“Of course, of course, you mustn’t think I don’t remember you. Your name had just slipped my memory for themoment. A beautiful day.”
“Yes,” I said rather shortly.
He peered at me.
“But something—something—ah, yes, that poor unfortunate child who was in service at the Symmingtons.’ I findit hard to believe, I must confess, that we have a murderer in our midst, Mr—er—Burton.”
“It does seem a bit fantastic,” I said.
“Something else has just reached my ears.” He leaned towards me. “I learn that there have been anonymous lettersgoing about. Have you heard any rumour of such things?”
“I have heard,” I said.
“Cowardly and dastardly things.” He paused and quoted an enormous stream of Latin. “Those words of Horace arevery applicable, don’t you think?” he said.
“Absolutely,” I said.
VThere didn’t seem anyone more I could profitably talk to, so I went home, dropping in for some tobacco and for abottle of sherry, so as to get some of the humbler opinions on the crime.
“A narsty tramp,” seemed to be the verdict.
“Come to the door, they do, and whine55 and ask for money, and then if it’s a girl alone in the house, they turnnarsty. My sister Dora, over to Combeacre, she had a narsty experience one day—Drunk, he was, and selling thoselittle printed poems….”
The story went on, ending with the intrepid56 Dora courageously57 banging the door in the man’s face and takingrefuge and barricading58 herself in some vague retreat, which I gathered from the delicacy59 in mentioning it must be thelavatory. “And there she stayed till her lady came home!”
I reached Little Furze just a few minutes before lunchtime. Joanna was standing20 in the drawing room windowdoing nothing at all and looking as though her thoughts were miles away.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing particular.”
I went out on the veranda60. Two chairs were drawn61 up to an iron table and there were two empty sherry glasses. Onanother chair was an object at which I looked with bewilderment for some time.
“What on earth is this?”
“Oh,” said Joanna, “I think it’s a photograph of a diseased spleen or something. Dr. Griffith seemed to think I’d beinterested to see it.”
I looked at the photograph with some interest. Every man has his own ways of courting the female sex. I shouldnot, myself, choose to do it with photographs of spleens, diseased or otherwise. Still no doubt Joanna had asked for it!
“It looks most unpleasant,” I said.
Joanna said it did, rather.
“How was Griffith?” I asked.
“He looked tired and very unhappy. I think he’s got something on his mind.”
“A spleen that won’t yield to treatment?”
“Don’t be silly. I mean something real.”
“I should say the man’s got you on his mind. I wish you’d lay off him, Joanna.”
“Oh, do shut up. I haven’t done anything.”
“Women always say that.”
Joanna whirled angrily out of the room.
The diseased spleen was beginning to curl up in the sun. I took it by one corner and brought it into the drawingroom. I had no affection for it myself, but I presumed it was one of Griffith’s treasures.
I stooped down and pulled out a heavy book from the bottom shelf of the bookcase in order to press the photographflat again between its leaves. It was a ponderous62 volume of somebody’s sermons.
The book came open in my hand in rather a surprising way. In another minute I saw why. From the middle of it anumber of pages had been neatly63 cut out.
VI
I stood staring at it. I looked at the title page. It had been published in 1840.
There could be no doubt at all. I was looking at the book from the pages of which the anonymous letters had beenput together. Who had cut them out?
Well, to begin with, it could be Emily Barton herself. She was, perhaps, the obvious person to think of. Or it couldhave been Partridge.
But there were other possibilities. The pages could have been cut out by anyone who had been alone in this room,any visitor, for instance, who had sat there waiting for Miss Emily. Or even anyone who called on business.
No, that wasn’t so likely. I had noticed that when, one day, a clerk from the bank had come to see me, Partridgehad shown him into the little study at the back of the house. That was clearly the house routine.
A visitor, then? Someone “of good social position.” Mr. Pye? Aimée Griffith? Mrs. Dane Calthrop?
VII
The gong sounded and I went in to lunch. Afterwards, in the drawing room I showed Joanna my find.
We discussed it from every aspect. Then I took it down to the police station.
They were elated at the find, and I was patted on the back for what was, after all, the sheerest piece of luck.
Graves was not there, but Nash was, and rang up the other man. They would test the book for fingerprints, thoughNash was not hopeful of finding anything. I may say that he did not. There were mine, Partridge’s and nobody else’s,merely showing that Partridge dusted conscientiously64.
Nash walked back with me up the hill. I asked how he was getting on. “We’re narrowing it down, Mr. Burton.
We’ve eliminated the people it couldn’t be.”
“Ah,” I said. “And who remains65?”
“Miss Ginch. She was to meet a client at a house yesterday afternoon by appointment. The house was situated66 notfar along the Combeacre Road, that’s the road that goes past the Symmingtons.’ She would have to pass the houseboth going and coming… the week before, the day the anonymous letter was delivered, and Mrs. Symmingtoncommitted suicide, was her last day at Symmington’s office. Mr. Symmington thought at first she had not left theoffice at all that afternoon. He had Sir Henry Lushington with him all the afternoon and rang several times for MissGinch. I find, however, that she did leave the office between three and four. She went out to get some highdenomination of stamp of which they had run short. The office boy could have gone, but Miss Ginch elected to go,saying she had a headache and would like the air. She was not gone long.”
“But long enough?”
“Yes, long enough to hurry along to the other end of the village, slip the letter in the box and hurry back. I mustsay, however, that I cannot find anybody who saw her near the Symmingtons’ house.”
“Would they notice?”
“They might and they might not.”
“Who else is in your bag?”
Nash looked very straight ahead of him.
“You’ll understand that we can’t exclude anybody—anybody at all.”
“No,” I said. “I see that.”
He said gravely: “Miss Griffith went to Brenton for a meeting of Girl Guides yesterday. She arrived rather late.”
“You don’t think—”
“No, I don’t think. But I don’t know. Miss Griffith seems an eminently67 sane68 healthy-minded woman—but I say, Idon’t know.”
“What about the previous week? Could she have slipped the letter in the box?”
“It’s possible. She was shopping in the town that afternoon.” He paused. “The same applies to Miss Emily Barton.
She was out shopping early yesterday afternoon and she went for a walk to see some friends on the road past theSymmingtons’ house the week before.”
I shook my head unbelievingly. Finding the cut book in Little Furze was bound, I knew, to direct attention to theowner of that house, but when I remembered Miss Emily coming in yesterday so bright and happy and excited….
Damn it all—excited… Yes, excited—pink cheeks—shining eyes—surely not because—not because—I said thickly: “This business is bad for one! One sees things—one imagines things—”
“Yes, it isn’t very pleasant to look upon the fellow creatures one meets as possible criminal lunatics.”
He paused for a moment, then went on:
“And there’s Mr. Pye—”
I said sharply: “So you have considered him?”
Nash smiled.
“Oh, yes, we’ve considered him all right. A very curious character—not, I should say, a very nice character. He’sgot no alibi69. He was in his garden, alone, on both occasions.”
“So you’re not only suspecting women?”
“I don’t think a man wrote the letters—in fact I’m sure of it—and so is Graves—always excepting our Mr. Pye,that is to say, who’s got an abnormally female streak70 in his character. But we’ve checked up on everybody foryesterday afternoon. That’s a murder case, you see. You’re all right,” he grinned, “and so’s your sister, and Mr.
Symmington didn’t leave his office after he got there and Dr. Griffith was on a round in the other direction, and I’vechecked upon his visits.”
He paused, smiled again, and said, “You see, we are thorough.”
I said slowly, “So your case is eliminated down to those four— Miss Ginch, Mr. Pye, Miss Griffith and little MissBarton?”
“Oh, no, no, we’ve got a couple more—besides the vicar’s lady.”
“You’ve thought of her?”
“We’ve thought of everybody, but Mrs. Dane Calthrop is a little too openly mad, if you know what I mean. Still,she could have done it. She was in a wood watching birds yesterday afternoon—and the birds can’t speak for her.”
He turned sharply as Owen Griffith came into the police station.
“Hallo, Nash. I heard you were round asking for me this morning. Anything important?”
“Inquest on Friday, if that suits you, Dr. Griffith.”
“Right. Moresby and I are doing the P.M. tonight.”
Nash said:
“There’s just one other thing, Dr. Griffith. Mrs. Symmington was taking some cachets, powders or something, thatyou prescribed for her—”
He paused. Owen Griffith said interrogatively:
“Yes?”
“Would an overdose of those cachets have been fatal?”
Griffith said dryly:
“Certainly not. Not unless she’d taken about twenty-five of them!”
“But you once warned her about exceeding the dose, so Miss Holland tells me.”
“Oh that, yes. Mrs. Symmington was the sort of woman who would go and overdo anything she was given—fancythat to take twice as much would do her twice as much good, and you don’t want anyone to overdo even phenacetin oraspirin—bad for the heart. And anyway there’s absolutely no doubt about the cause of death. It was cyanide.”
“Oh, I know that—you don’t get my meaning. I only thought that when committing suicide you’d prefer to take anoverdose of a soporific rather than to feed yourself prussic acid.”
“Oh quite. On the other hand, prussic acid is more dramatic and is pretty certain to do the trick. With barbiturates,for instance, you can bring the victim round if only a short time has elapsed.”
“I see, thank you, Dr. Griffith.”
Griffith departed, and I said goodbye to Nash. I went slowly up the hill home. Joanna was out—at least there wasno sign of her, and there was an enigmatical memorandum71 scribbled72 on the telephone block presumably for theguidance of either Partridge or myself.
“If Dr. Griffith rings up, I can’t go on Tuesday, but could manage Wednesday or Thursday.”
I raised my eyebrows and went into the drawing room. I sat down in the most comfortable armchair—(none ofthem were very comfortable, they tended to have straight backs and were reminiscent of the late Mrs. Barton)—stretched out my legs and tried to think the whole thing out.
With sudden annoyance73 I remembered that Owen’s arrival had interrupted my conversation with the inspector74, andthat he had just mentioned two other people as being possibilities.
I wondered who they were.
Partridge, perhaps, for one? After all, the cut book had been found in this house. And Agnes could have beenstruck down quite unsuspecting by her guide and mentor75. No, you couldn’t eliminate Partridge.
But who was the other?
Somebody, perhaps, that I didn’t know? Mrs. Cleat? The original local suspect?
I closed my eyes. I considered four people, strangely unlikely people, in turn. Gentle, frail76 little Emily Barton?
What points were there actually against her? A starved life? Dominated and repressed from early childhood? Toomany sacrifices asked of her? Her curious horror of discussing anything “not quite nice”? Was that actually a sign ofinner preoccupation with just these themes? Was I getting too horribly Freudian? I remembered a doctor once tellingme that the mutterings of gentle maiden77 ladies when going off under an anaesthetic were a revelation. “You wouldn’tthink they knew such words!”
Aimée Griffith?
Surely nothing repressed or “inhibited” about her. Cheery, mannish, successful. A full, busy life. Yet Mrs. DaneCalthrop had said, “Poor thing!”
And there was something—something—some remembrance… Ah! I’d got it. Owen Griffith saying something like,“We had an outbreak of anonymous letters up North where I had a practice.”
Had that been Aimée Griffith’s work too? Surely rather a coincidence. Two outbreaks of the same thing. Stop aminute, they’d tracked down the author of those. Griffith had said so. A schoolgirl.
Cold it was suddenly—must be a draught78, from the window. I turned uncomfortably in my chair. Why did Isuddenly feel so queer and upset?
Go on thinking… Aimée Griffith? Perhaps it was Aimée Griffith, not that other girl? And Aimée had come downhere and started her tricks again. And that was why Owen Griffith was looking so unhappy and hag ridden. Hesuspected. Yes, he suspected….
Mr. Pye? Not, somehow, a very nice little man. I could imagine him staging the whole business…laughing….
That telephone message on the telephone pad in the hall…why did I keep thinking of it? Griffith and Joanna—hewas falling for her… No, that wasn’t why the message worried me. It was something else….
My senses were swimming, sleep was very near. I repeated idiotically to myself, “No smoke without fire. Nosmoke without fire… That’s it…it all links up together….”
And then I was walking down the street with Megan and Elsie Holland passed. She was dressed as a bride, andpeople were murmuring:
“She’s going to marry Dr. Griffith at last. Of course they’ve been engaged secretly for years….”
There we were, in the church, and Dane Calthrop was reading the service in Latin.
And in the middle of it Mrs. Dane Calthrop jumped up and cried energetically:
“It’s got to be stopped, I tell you. It’s got to be stopped!”
For a minute or two I didn’t know whether I was asleep or awake. Then my brain cleared, and I realized I was inthe drawing room of Little Furze and that Mrs. Dane Calthrop had just come through the window and was standing infront of me saying with nervous violence:
“It has got to be stopped, I tell you.”
I jumped up. I said: “I beg your pardon. I’m afraid I was asleep. What did you say?”
Mrs. Dane Calthrop beat one fist fiercely on the palm of her other hand.
“It’s got to be stopped. These letters! Murder! You can’t go on having poor innocent children like Agnes Woddellkilled!”
“You’re quite right,” I said. “But how do you propose to set about it?”
Mrs. Dane Calthrop said:
“We’ve got to do something!”
I smiled, perhaps in rather a superior fashion.
“And what do you suggest that we should do?”
“Get the whole thing cleared up! I said this wasn’t a wicked place. I was wrong. It is.”
I felt annoyed. I said, not too politely:
“Yes, my dear woman, but what are you going to do?”
Mrs. Dane Calthrop said: “Put a stop to it all, of course.”
“The police are doing their best.”
“If Agnes could be killed yesterday, their best isn’t good enough.”
“So you know better than they do?”
“Not at all. I don’t know anything at all. That’s why I’m going to call in an expert.”
I shook my head.
“You can’t do that. Scotland Yard will only take over on a demand from the chief constable79 of the county. Actuallythey have sent Graves.”
“I don’t mean that kind of an expert. I don’t mean someone who knows about anonymous letters or even aboutmurder. I mean someone who knows people. Don’t you see? We want someone who knows a great deal aboutwickedness!”
It was a queer point of view. But it was, somehow, stimulating80.
Before I could say anything more, Mrs. Dane Calthrop nodded her head at me and said in a quick, confident tone:
“I’m going to see about it right away.”
And she went out of the window again.
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1
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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preening
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| v.（鸟）用嘴整理（羽毛）( preen的现在分词 ) | |
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recipients
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| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
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6
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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mentality
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| n.心理，思想，脑力 | |
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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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10
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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14
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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15
fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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16
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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18
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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19
overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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20
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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vilification
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| n.污蔑，中伤，诽谤 | |
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22
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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23
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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24
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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25
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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26
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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27
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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28
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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29
complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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30
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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31
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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32
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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33
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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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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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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36
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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37
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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38
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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39
deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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40
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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41
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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42
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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43
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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44
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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45
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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46
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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47
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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48
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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49
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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50
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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51
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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52
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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53
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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54
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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55
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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56
intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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57
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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58
barricading
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的现在分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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59
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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60
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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61
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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62
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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63
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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65
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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68
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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69
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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70
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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71
memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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72
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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73
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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74
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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75
mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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76
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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77
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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78
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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79
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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80
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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