IT he next week, I think, was one of the queerest times I have ever passed through. It had an odd dream quality.
Nothing seemed real.
The inquest on Agnes Woddell was held and the curious of Lymstock attended en masse. No new facts came tolight and the only possible verdict was returned, “Murder by person or persons unknown.”
So poor little Agnes Woddell, having had her hour of limelight, was duly buried in the quiet old churchyard andlife in Lymstock went on as before.
No, that last statement is untrue. Not as before….
There was a half-scared, half-avid gleam in almost everybody’s eye. Neighbour looked at neighbour. One thing hadbeen brought out clearly at the inquest—it was most unlikely that any stranger had killed Agnes Woddell. No trampsnor unknown men had been noticed or reported in the district. Somewhere, then, in Lymstock, walking down the HighStreet, shopping, passing the time of day, was a person who had cracked a defenceless girl’s skull1 and driven a sharpskewer home to her brain.
And no one knew who that person was.
As I say, the days went by in a kind of dream. I looked at everyone I met in a new light, the light of a possiblemurderer. It was not an agreeable sensation!
And in the evenings, with the curtain drawn3, Joanna and I sat talking, talking, arguing, going over in turn all thevarious possibilities that still seemed so fantastic and incredible.
Joanna held firm to her theory of Mr. Pye. I, after wavering a little, had gone back to my original suspect, MissGinch. But we went over the possible names again and again.
Mr. Pye?
Miss Ginch?
Mrs. Dane Calthrop?
Aimée Griffith?
Emily Barton?
Partridge?
And all the time, nervously4, apprehensively5, we waited for something to happen.
But nothing did happen. Nobody, so far as we knew, received anymore letters. Nash made periodic appearances inthe town but what he was doing and what traps the police were setting, I had no idea. Graves had gone again.
Emily Barton came to tea. Megan came to lunch. Owen Griffith went about his practice. We went and drank sherrywith Mr. Pye. And we went to tea at the vicarage.
I was glad to find Mrs. Dane Calthrop displayed none of the militant6 ferocity she had shown on the occasion of ourlast meeting. I think she had forgotten all about it.
She seemed now principally concerned with the destruction of white butterflies so as to preserve cauliflower andcabbage plants.
Our afternoon at the vicarage was really one of the most peaceful we had spent. It was an attractive old house andhad a big shabby comfortable drawing room with faded rose cretonne. The Dane Calthrops had a guest staying withthem, an amiable8 elderly lady who was knitting something with white fleecy wool. We had very good hot scones9 fortea, the vicar came in, and beamed placidly10 on us whilst he pursued his gentle erudite conversation. It was verypleasant.
I don’t mean that we got away from the topic of the murder, because we didn’t.
Miss Marple, the guest, was naturally thrilled by the subject. As she said apologetically: “We have so little to talkabout in the country!” She had made-up her mind that the dead girl must have been just like her Edith.
“Such a nice little maid, and so willing, but sometimes just a little slow to take in things.”
Miss Marple also had a cousin whose niece’s sister-in-law had had a great deal of annoyance11 and trouble oversome anonymous12 letters, so the letters, also, were very interesting to the charming old lady.
“But tell me, dear,” she said to Mrs. Dane Calthrop, “what do the village people—I mean the townspeople—say?
What do they think?”
“Mrs. Cleat still, I suppose,” said Joanna.
“Oh no,” said Mrs. Dane Calthrop. “Not now.”
Miss Marple asked who Mrs. Cleat was.
Joanna said she was the village witch.
“That’s right, isn’t it, Mrs. Dane Calthrop?”
The vicar murmured a long Latin quotation13 about, I think, the evil power of witches, to which we all listened inrespectful and uncomprehending silence.
“She’s a very silly woman,” said his wife. “Likes to show off. Goes out to gather herbs and things at the full of themoon and takes care that everybody in the place knows about it.”
“And silly girls go and consult her, I suppose?” said Miss Marple.
I saw the vicar getting ready to unload more Latin on us and I asked hastily: “But why shouldn’t people suspect herof the murder now? They thought the letters were her doing.”
Miss Marple said: “Oh! But the girl was killed with a skewer2, so I hear—(very unpleasant!). Well, naturally, thattakes all suspicion away from this Mrs. Cleat. Because, you see, she could ill-wish her, so that the girl would wasteaway and die from natural causes.”
“Strange how the old beliefs linger,” said the vicar. “In early Christian14 times, local superstitions16 were wiselyincorporated with Christian doctrines17 and their more unpleasant attributes gradually eliminated.”
“It isn’t superstition15 we’ve got to deal with here,” said Mrs. Dane Calthrop, “but facts.”
“And very unpleasant facts,” I said.
“As you say, Mr. Burton,” said Miss Marple. “Now you—excuse me if I am being too personal—are a strangerhere, and have a knowledge of the world and of various aspects of life. It seems to me that you ought to be able to finda solution to this distasteful problem.”
I smiled. “The best solution I have had was a dream. In my dream it all fitted in and panned out beautifully.
Unfortunately when I woke up the whole thing was nonsense!”
“How interesting, though. Do tell me how the nonsense went!”
“Oh, it all started with the silly phrase ‘No smoke without fire.’ People have been saying that ad nauseam. Andthen I got it mixed up with war terms. Smoke screens, scrap18 of paper, telephone messages— No, that was anotherdream.”
“And what was that dream?”
The old lady was so eager about it, that I felt sure she was a secret reader of Napoleon’s Book of Dreams, whichhad been the great standby of my old nurse.
“Oh! only Elsie Holland—the Symmingtons’ nursery governess, you know, was getting married to Dr. Griffith andthe vicar here was reading the service in Latin—(‘Very appropriate, dear,’ murmured Mrs. Dane Calthrop to herspouse) and then Mrs. Dane Calthrop got up and forbade the banns and said it had got to be stopped!
“But that part,” I added with a smile, “was true. I woke up and found you standing19 over me saying it.”
“And I was quite right,” said Mrs. Dane Calthrop—but quite mildly, I was glad to note.
“But where did a telephone message come in?” asked Miss Marple, crinkling her brows.
“I’m afraid I’m being rather stupid. That wasn’t in the dream. It was just before it. I came through the hall andnoticed Joanna had written down a message to be given to someone if they rang up….”
Miss Marple leaned forward. There was a pink spot in each cheek. “Will you think me very inquisitive20 and veryrude if I ask just what that message was?” She cast a glance at Joanna. “I do apologize, my dear.”
Joanna, however, was highly entertained.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she assured the old lady. “I can’t remember anything about it myself, but perhaps Jerry can. Itmust have been something quite trivial.”
Solemnly I repeated the message as best I could remember it, enormously tickled21 at the old lady’s rapt attention.
I was afraid the actual words were going to disappoint her, but perhaps she had some sentimental22 idea of aromance, for she nodded her head and smiled and seemed pleased.
“I see,” she said. “I thought it might be something like that.”
Mrs. Dane Calthrop said sharply: “Like what, Jane?”
“Something quite ordinary,” said Miss Marple.
She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment or two, then she said unexpectedly:
“I can see you are a very clever young man—but not quite enough confidence in yourself. You ought to have!”
Joanna gave a loud hoot23.
“For goodness’ sake don’t encourage him to feel like that. He thinks quite enough of himself as it is.”
“Be quiet, Joanna,” I said. “Miss Marple understands me.”
Miss Marple had resumed her fleecy knitting. “You know,” she observed pensively24. “To commit a successfulmurder must be very much like bringing off a conjuring25 trick.”
“The quickness of the hand deceives the eye?”
“Not only that. You’ve got to make people look at the wrong thing and in the wrong place—Misdirection, they callit, I believe.”
“Well,” I remarked. “So far everybody seems to have looked in the wrong place for our lunatic at large.”
“I should be inclined, myself,” said Miss Marple, “to look for somebody very sane26.”
“Yes,” I said thoughtfully. “That’s what Nash said. I remember he stressed respectability too.”
“Yes,” agreed Miss Marple. “That’s very important.”
Well, we all seemed agreed.
I addressed Mrs. Calthrop. “Nash thinks,” I said, “that there will be more anonymous letters. What do you think?”
She said slowly: “There may be, I suppose.”
“If the police think that, there will have to be, no doubt,” said Miss Marple.
I went on doggedly27 to Mrs. Dane Calthrop.
“Are you still sorry for the writer?”
She flushed. “Why not?”
“I don’t think I agree with you, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Not in this case.”
I said hotly: “They’ve driven one woman to suicide, and caused untold28 misery29 and heartburnings!”
“Have you had one, Miss Burton?” asked Miss Marple of Joanna.
Joanna gurgled, “Oh yes! It said the most frightful30 things.”
“I’m afraid,” said Miss Marple, “that the people who are young and pretty are apt to be singled out by the writer.”
“That’s why I certainly think it’s odd that Elsie Holland hasn’t had any,” I said.
“Let me see,” said Miss Marple. “Is that the Symmingtons’ nursery governess—the one you dreamt about, Mr.
Burton?”
“Yes.”
“She’s probably had one and won’t say so,” said Joanna.
“No,” I said, “I believe her. So does Nash.”
“Dear me,” said Miss Marple. “Now that’s very interesting. That’s the most interesting thing I’ve heard yet.”
II
As we were going home Joanna told me that I ought not to have repeated what Nash said about letters coming.
“Why not?”
“Because Mrs. Dane Calthrop might be It.”
“You don’t really believe that!”
“I’m not sure. She’s a queer woman.”
We began our discussion of probables all over again.
It was two nights later that I was coming back in the car from Exhampton. I had had dinner there and then startedback and it was already dark before I got into Lymstock.
Something was wrong with the car lights, and after slowing up and switching on and off, I finally got out to seewhat I could do. I was some time fiddling31, but I managed to fix them up finally.
The road was quite deserted32. Nobody in Lymstock is about after dark. The first few houses were just ahead,amongst them the ugly gabled building of the Women’s Institute. It loomed33 up in the dim starlight and somethingimpelled me to go and have a look at it. I don’t know whether I had caught a faint glimpse of a stealthy figure flittingthrough the gate—if so, it must have been so indeterminate that it did not register in my conscious mind, but I didsuddenly feel a kind of overweening curiosity about the place.
The gate was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open and walked in. A short path and four steps led up to the door.
I stood there a moment hesitating. What was I really doing there? I didn’t know, and then, suddenly, just near athand, I caught the sound of a rustle34. It sounded like a woman’s dress. I took a sharp turn and went round the corner ofthe building towards where the sound had come from.
I couldn’t see anybody. I went on and again turned a corner. I was at the back of the house now and suddenly Isaw, only two feet away from me, an open window.
I crept up to it and listened. I could hear nothing, but somehow or other I felt convinced that there was someoneinside.
My back wasn’t too good for acrobatics35 as yet, but I managed to hoist36 myself up and drop over the sill inside. Imade rather a noise unfortunately.
I stood just inside the window listening. Then I walked forward, my hands outstretched. I heard then the faintestsound ahead of me to my right.
I had a torch in my pocket and I switched it on.
Immediately a low, sharp voice said: “Put that out.”
I obeyed instantly, for in that brief second I had recognized Superintendent37 Nash.
I felt him take my arm and propel me through a door and into a passage. Here, where there was no window tobetray our presence to anyone outside, he switched on a lamp and looked at me more in sorrow than in anger.
“You would have to butt7 in just that minute, Mr. Burton.”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “But I got a hunch38 that I was on to something.”
“And so you were probably. Did you see anyone?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “I’ve got a vague feeling I saw someone sneak39 in through the front gatebut I didn’t really see anyone. Then I heard a rustle round the side of the house.”
Nash nodded.
“That’s right. Somebody came round the house before you. They hesitated by the window, then went on quickly—heard you, I expect.”
I apologized again. “What’s the big idea?” I asked.
Nash said:
“I’m banking40 on the fact that an anonymous letter writer can’t stop writing letters. She may know it’s dangerous,but she’ll have to do it. It’s like a craving41 for drink or drugs.”
I nodded.
“Now you see, Mr. Burton, I fancy whoever it is will want to keep the letters looking the same as much as possible.
She’s got the cut-out pages of that book, and can go on using letters and words cut out of them. But the envelopespresent a difficulty. She’ll want to type them on the same machine. She can’t risk using another typewriter or her ownhandwriting.”
“Do you really think she’ll go on with the game?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes, I do. And I’ll bet you anything you like she’s full of confidence. They’re always vain as hell, these people!
Well, then, I figured out that whoever it was would come to the Institute after dark so as to get at the typewriter.”
“Miss Ginch,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t know yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you suspect?”
“Yes. But somebody’s very cunning, Mr. Burton. Somebody knows all the tricks of the game.”
I could imagine some of the network that Nash had spread abroad. I had no doubt that every letter written by asuspect and posted or left by hand was immediately inspected. Sooner or later the criminal would slip up, would growcareless.
For the third time I apologized for my zealous42 and unwanted presence.
“Oh well,” said Nash philosophically43. “It can’t be helped. Better luck next time.”
I went out into the night. A dim figure was standing beside my car. To my astonishment44 I recognized Megan.
“Hallo!” she said. “I thought this was your car. What have you been doing?”
“What are you doing is much more to the point?” I said.
“I’m out for a walk. I like walking at night. Nobody stops you and says silly things, and I like the stars, and thingssmell better, and everyday things look all mysterious.”
“All of that I grant you freely,” I said. “But only cats and witches walk in the dark. They’ll wonder about you athome.”
“No, they won’t. They never wonder where I am or what I’m doing.”
“How are you getting on?” I asked.
“All right, I suppose.”
“Miss Holland look after you and all that?”
“Elsie’s all right. She can’t help being a perfect fool.”
“Unkind—but probably true,” I said. “Hop in and I’ll drive you home.”
It was not quite true that Megan was never missed.
Symmington was standing on the doorstep as we drove up.
He peered towards us. “Hallo, is Megan there?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ve brought her home.”
Symmington said sharply:
“You mustn’t go off like this without telling us, Megan. Miss Holland has been quite worried about you.”
Megan muttered something and went past him into the house. Symmington sighed.
“A grown-up girl is a great responsibility with no mother to look after her. She’s too old for school, I suppose.”
He looked towards me rather suspiciously.
“I suppose you took her for a drive?”
I thought it best to leave it like that.
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收听单词发音
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1
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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scones
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| n.烤饼，烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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tickled
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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conjuring
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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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doggedly
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untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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fiddling
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| 微小的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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acrobatics
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| n.杂技 | |
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hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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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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hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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