T HE A LBUM
S tanding by the Vicarage gate, well wrapped up, Miss Marple took the note from Bunch’s hand.
“Tell Miss Blacklock,” said Bunch, “that Julian is terribly sorry he can’t come up himself. He’s got a parishionerdying out at Locke Hamlet. He’ll come up after lunch if Miss Blacklock would like to see him. The note’s about thearrangements for the funeral. He suggests Wednesday if the inquest’s on Tuesday. Poor old Bunny. It’s so typical ofher, somehow, to get hold of poisoned aspirin1 meant for someone else. Goodbye, darling. I hope the walk won’t be toomuch for you. But I’ve simply got to get that child to hospital at once.”
Miss Marple said the walk wouldn’t be too much for her, and Bunch rushed off.
Whilst waiting for Miss Blacklock, Miss Marple looked round the drawing room, and wondered just exactly whatDora Bunner had meant that morning in the Bluebird by saying that she believed Patrick had “tampered with thelamp” to “make the lights go out.” What lamp? And how had he “tampered” with it?
She must, Miss Marple decided2, have meant the small lamp that stood on the table by the archway. She had saidsomething about a shepherdess or a shepherd—and this was actually a delicate piece of Dresden china, a shepherd in ablue coat and pink breeches holding what had originally been a candlestick and had now been adapted to electricity.
The shade was of plain vellum and a little too big so that it almost masked the figure. What else was it that DoraBunner had said? “I remember distinctly that it was the shepherdess. And the next day—” Certainly it was a shepherdnow.
Miss Marple remembered that when she and Bunch had come to tea, Dora Bunner had said something about thelamp being one of a pair. Of course—a shepherd and a shepherdess. And it had been the shepherdess on the day of thehold-up—and the next morning it had been the other lamp—the lamp that was here now, the shepherd. The lamps hadbeen changed over during the night. And Dora Bunner had had reason to believe (or had believed without reason) thatit was Patrick who had changed them.
Why? Because, if the original lamp were examined, it would show just how Patrick had managed to “make thelights go out.” How had he managed? Miss Marple looked earnestly at the lamp in front of her. The flex3 ran along thetable over the edge and was plugged into the wall. There was a small pear-shaped switch halfway4 along the flex. Noneof it suggested anything to Miss Marple because she knew very little about electricity.
Where was the shepherdess lamp? she wondered. In the “spare room’ or thrown away, or—where was it DoraBunner had come upon Patrick Simmons with a feather and an oily cup? In the shrubbery? Miss Marple made up hermind to put all these points to Inspector5 Craddock.
At the very beginning Miss Blacklock had leaped to the conclusion that her nephew Patrick had been behind theinsertion of that advertisement. That kind of instinctive6 belief was often justified7, or so Miss Marple believed.
Because, if you knew people fairly well, you knew the kind of things they thought of….
Patrick Simmons….
A handsome young man. An engaging young man. A young man whom women liked, both young women and oldwomen. The kind of man, perhaps, that Randall Goedler’s sister had married. Could Patrick Simmons be “Pip’? Buthe’d been in the Navy during the war. The police could soon check up on that.
Only—sometimes—the most amazing impersonations did happen.
You could get away with a great deal if you had enough audacity….
The door opened and Miss Blacklock came in. She looked, Miss Marple thought, many years older. All the life andenergy had gone out of her.
“I’m very sorry, disturbing you like this,” said Miss Marple. “But the Vicar had a dying parishioner and Bunch hadto rush a sick child to hospital. The Vicar wrote you a note.”
She held it out and Miss Blacklock took it and opened it.
“Do sit down, Miss Marple,” she said. “It’s very kind of you to have brought this.”
She read the note through.
“The Vicar’s a very understanding man,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t offer one fatuous8 consolation9 … Tell himthat these arrangements will do very well. Her—her favourite hymn10 was Lead Kindly11 Light.”
Her voice broke suddenly.
Miss Marple said gently:
“I am only a stranger, but I am so very very sorry.”
And suddenly, uncontrollably, Letitia Blacklock wept. It was a piteous overmastering grief, with a kind ofhopelessness about it. Miss Marple sat quite still.
Miss Blacklock sat up at last. Her face was swollen12 and blotched with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It—it just came over me. What I’ve lost. She—she was the only link with the past, you see.
The only one who—who remembered. Now that she’s gone I’m quite alone.”
“I know what you mean,” said Miss Marple. “One is alone when the last one who remembers is gone. I havenephews and nieces and kind friends—but there’s no one who knew me as a young girl—no one who belongs to theold days. I’ve been alone for quite a long time now.”
Both women sat silent for some moments.
“You understand very well,” said Letitia Blacklock. She rose and went over to her desk. “I must write a few wordsto the Vicar.” She held the pen rather awkwardly and wrote slowly.
“Arthritic,” she explained. “Sometimes I can hardly write at all.”
She sealed up the envelope and addressed it.
“If you wouldn’t mind taking it, it would be very kind.”
Hearing a man’s voice in the hall she said quickly:
“That’s Inspector Craddock.”
She went to the mirror over the fireplace and applied13 a small powder puff14 to her face.
Craddock came in with a grim, angry face.
He looked at Miss Marple with disapprobation.
“Oh,” he said. “So you’re here.”
Miss Blacklock turned from the mantelpiece.
“Miss Marple kindly came up with a note from the Vicar.”
Miss Marple said in a flurried manner:
“I am going at once—at once. Please don’t let me hamper15 you in any way.”
“Were you at the tea party here yesterday afternoon?”
Miss Marple said, nervously16:
“No—no, I wasn’t. Bunch drove me over to call on some friends.”
“Then there’s nothing you can tell me.” Craddock held the door open in a pointed17 manner, and Miss Marplescuttled out in a somewhat abashed18 fashion.
“Nosey Parkers, these old women,” said Craddock.
“I think you’re being unfair to her,” said Miss Blacklock. “She really did come with a note from the Vicar.”
“I bet she did.”
“I don’t think it was idle curiosity.”
“Well, perhaps you’re right, Miss Blacklock, but my own diagnosis19 would be a severe attack of NoseyParkeritis….”
“She’s a very harmless old creature,” said Miss Blacklock.
“Dangerous as a rattlesnake if you only knew,” the Inspector thought grimly. But he had no intention of takinganyone into his confidence unnecessarily. Now that he knew definitely there was a killer20 at large, he felt that the lesssaid the better. He didn’t want the next person bumped off to be Jane Marple.
Somewhere—a killer … Where?
“I won’t waste time offering sympathy, Miss Blacklock,” he said. “As a matter of fact I feel pretty bad about MissBunner’s death. We ought to have been able to prevent it.”
“I don’t see what you could have done.”
“No—well, it wouldn’t have been easy. But now we’ve got to work fast. Who’s doing this, Miss Blacklock? Who’shad two shots at killing21 you, and will probably, if we don’t work fast enough, soon have another?”
Letitia Blacklock shivered. “I don’t know, Inspector—I don’t know at all!”
“I’ve checked up with Mrs. Goedler. She’s given me all the help she can. It wasn’t very much. There are just a fewpeople who would definitely profit by your death. First Pip and Emma. Patrick and Julia Simmons are the right age,but their background seems clear enough. Anyway, we can’t concentrate on these two alone. Tell me, Miss Blacklock,would you recognize Sonia Goedler if you saw her?”
“Recognize Sonia? Why, of course—” She stopped suddenly. “No,” she said slowly, “I don’t know that I would.
It’s a long time. Thirty years … She’d be an elderly woman now.”
“What was she like when you remember her?”
“Sonia?” Miss Blacklock considered for some moments. “She was rather small, dark….”
“Any special peculiarities22? Mannerisms?”
“No—no, I don’t think so. She was gay—very gay.”
“She mayn’t be so gay now,” said the Inspector. “Have you got a photograph of her?”
“Of Sonia? Let me see—not a proper photograph. I’ve got some old snapshots—in an album somewhere—at least Ithink there’s one of her.”
“Ah. Can I have a look at it?”
“Yes, of course. Now where did I put that album?”
“Tell me, Miss Blacklock, do you consider it remotely possible that Mrs. Swettenham might be Sonia Goedler?”
“Mrs. Swettenham?” Miss Blacklock looked at him in lively atonishment. “But her husband was in theGovernment Service—in India first, I think, and then in Hong Kong.”
“What you mean is, that that’s the story she’s told you. You don’t, as we say in the Courts, know it of your ownknowledge, do you?”
“No,” said Miss Blacklock slowly. “When you put it like that, I don’t … But Mrs. Swettenham? Oh, it’s absurd!”
“Did Sonia Goedler ever do any acting23? Amateur theatricals24?”
“Oh, yes. She was good.”
“There you are! Another thing, Mrs. Swettenham wears a wig25. At least,” the Inspector corrected himself, “Mrs.
Harmon says she does.”
“Yes—yes, I suppose it might be a wig. All those little grey curls. But I still think it’s absurd. She’s really very niceand exceedingly funny sometimes.”
“Then there’s Miss Hinchcliffe and Miss Murgatroyd. Could either of them be Sonia Goedler?”
“Miss Hinchcliffe is too tall. She’s as tall as a man.”
“Miss Murgatroyd then?”
“Oh, but—oh no, I’m sure Miss Murgatroyd couldn’t be Sonia.”
“You don’t see very well, do you, Miss Blacklock?”
“I’m shortsighted; is that what you mean?”
“Yes. What I’d like to see is a snapshot of this Sonia Goedler, even if it’s a long time ago and not a good likeness26.
We’re trained, you know, to pick out resemblances, in a way no amateur can ever do.”
“I’ll try and find it for you.”
“Now?”
“What, at once?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“Very well. Now, let me see. I saw that album when we were tidying a lot of books out of the cupboard. Julia washelping me. She laughed, I remember, at the clothes we used to wear in those days … The books we put in the shelf inthe drawing room. Where did we put the albums and the big bound volumes of the Art Journal? What a wretchedmemory I have! Perhaps Julia will remember. She’s at home today.”
“I’ll find her.”
The Inspector departed on his quest. He did not find Julia in any of the downstairs rooms. Mitzi, asked where MissSimmons was, said crossly that it was not her affair.
“Me! I stay in my kitchen and concern myself with the lunch. And nothing do I eat that I have not cooked myself.
Nothing, do you hear?”
The Inspector called up the stairs “Miss Simmons,” and getting no response, went up.
He met Julia face to face just as he turned the corner of the landing. She had just emerged from a door that showedbehind it a small twisty staircase.
“I was up in the attic,” she explained. “What is it?”
Inspector Craddock explained.
“Those old photograph albums? Yes, I remember them quite well. We put them in the big cupboard in the study, Ithink. I’ll find them for you.”
She led the way downstairs and pushed open the study door. Near the window there was a large cupboard. Juliapulled it open and disclosed a heterogenous mass of objects.
“Junk,” said Julia. “All junk. But elderly people simply will not throw things away.”
The Inspector knelt down and took a couple of old-fashioned albums from the bottom shelf.
“Are these they?”
“Yes.”
Miss Blacklock came in and joined them.
“Oh, so that’s where we put them. I couldn’t remember.”
Craddock had the books on the table and was turning the pages.
Women in large cartwheel hats, women with dresses tapering27 down to their feet so that they could hardly walk. Thephotos had captions28 neatly29 printed underneath30 them, but the ink was old and faded.
“It would be in this one,” said Miss Blacklock. “On about the second or third page. The other book is after Soniahad married and gone away.” She turned a page. “It ought to be here.” She stopped.
There were several empty spaces on the page. Craddock bent31 down and deciphered the faded writing. “Sonia …Self … R.G.” A little further along, “Sonia and Belle32 on beach.” And again on the opposite page, “Picnic at Skeyne.”
He turned over another page, “Charlotte, Self, Sonia, R.G.”
Craddock stood up. His lips were grim.
“Somebody has removed these photographs—not long ago, I should say.”
“There weren’t any blank spaces when we looked at them the other day. Were there, Julia?”
“I didn’t look very closely—only at some of the dresses. But no … you’re right, Aunt Letty, there weren’t anyblank spaces.”
Craddock looked grimmer still.
“Somebody,” he said, “has removed every photo of Sonia Goedler from this album.”
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1
aspirin
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| n.阿司匹林 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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flex
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| n.皮线，花线；vt.弯曲或伸展 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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diagnosis
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| n.诊断，诊断结果，调查分析，判断 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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captions
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| n.标题，说明文字，字幕( caption的名词复数 )v.给（图片、照片等）加说明文字( caption的第三人称单数 ) | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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