IF or about ten seconds Inspector1 Neele stared at Miss Marple with the utmost bewilderment. His first idea was that theold lady had gone off her head.
“Blackbirds?” he repeated.
Miss Marple nodded her head vigorously.
“Yes,” she said, and forwith recited:
“ ‘Sing a song of sixpence, a pocketful of rye,Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing.
Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king?
“ ‘The king was in his counting house, counting out his money,The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey,The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,When there came a little dickey bird and nipped off her nose.’ ”
“Good Lord,” Inspector Neele said.
“I mean, it does fit,” said Miss Marple. “It was rye in his pocket, wasn’t it? One newspaper said so. The others justsaid cereal, which might mean anything. Farmer’s Glory or Cornflakes—or even maize—but it was rye?”
Inspector Neele nodded.
“There you are,” said Miss Marple, triumphantly2. “Rex Fortescue. Rex means King. In his Counting House. AndMrs. Fortescue the Queen in the parlour, eating bread and honey. And so, of course, the murderer had to put thatclothes-peg on poor Gladys’s nose.”
Inspector Neele said:
“You mean the whole setup is crazy?”
“Well, one mustn’t jump to conclusions—but it is certainly very odd. But you really must make inquiries3 aboutblackbirds. Because there must be blackbirds!”
It was at this point that Sergeant4 Hay came into the room saying urgently, “Sir.”
He broke off at sight of Miss Marple. Inspector Neele, recovering himself, said:
“Thank you, Miss Marple. I’ll look into the matter. Since you are interested in the girl, perhaps you would care tolook over the things from her room. Sergeant Hay will show you them presently.”
Miss Marple, accepting her dismissal, twittered her way out.
“Blackbirds!” murmured Inspector Neele to himself.
Sergeant Hay stared.
“Yes, Hay, what is it?”
“Sir,” said Sergeant Hay, urgently again. “Look at this.”
He produced an article wrapped in a somewhat grubby handkerchief.
“Found it in the shrubbery,” said Sergeant Hay. “Could have been chucked there from one of the back windows.”
He tipped the object down on the desk in front of the inspector, who leaned forward and inspected it with risingexcitement. The exhibit was a nearly full pot of marmalade.
The inspector stared at it without speech. His face assumed a peculiarly wooden and stupid appearance. In actualfact this meant that Inspector Neele’s mind was racing5 once more round an imaginary track. A moving picture wasenacting itself before the eyes of his mind. He saw a new pot of marmalade, he saw hands carefully removing itscover, he saw a small quantity of marmalade removed, mixed with a preparation of taxine and replaced in the pot, thetop smoothed over and the lid carefully replaced. He broke off at this point to ask Sergeant Hay:
“They don’t take marmalade out of the pot and put it into fancy pots?”
“No, sir. Got into the way of serving it in its own pot during the war when things were scarce, and it’s gone on likethat ever since.”
Neele murmured:
“That made it easier, of course.”
“What’s more,” said Sergeant Hay, “Mr. Fortescue was the only one that took marmalade for breakfast (and Mr.
Percival when he was at home). The others had jam or honey.”
Neele nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “That made it very simple, didn’t it?”
After a slight gap the moving picture went on in his mind. It was the breakfast table now. Rex Fortescue stretchingout his hand for the marmalade pot, taking out a spoonful of marmalade and spreading it on his toast and butter.
Easier, far easier that way than the risk and difficulty of insinuating6 it into his coffee cup. A foolproof method ofadministering the poison! And afterwards? Another gap and a picture that was not quite so clear. The replacing of thatpot of marmalade by another with exactly the same amount taken from it. And then an open window. A hand and anarm flinging out that pot into the shrubbery. Whose hand and arm?
Inspector Neele said in a businesslike voice:
“Well, we’ll have of course to get this analysed. See if there are any traces of taxine. We can’t jump toconclusions.”
“No, sir. There may be fingerprints7 too.”
“Probably not the ones we want,” said Inspector Neele gloomily. “There’ll be Gladys’s, of course, and Crump’sand Fortescue’s own. Then probably Mrs. Crump’s, the grocer’s assistant and a few others! If anyone put taxine inhere they’d take care not to go playing about with their own fingers all over the pot. Anyway, as I say, we mustn’tjump to conclusions. How do they order marmalade and where is it kept?”
The industrious8 Sergeant Hay had his answer pat for all these questions.
“Marmalade and jams comes in in batches9 of six at a time. A new pot would be taken into the pantry when the oldone was getting low.”
“That means,” said Neele, “that it could have been tampered10 with several days before it was actually brought ontothe breakfast table. And anyone who was in the house or had access to the house could have tampered with it.”
The term “access to the house” puzzled Sergeant Hay slightly. He did not see in what way his superior’s mind wasworking.
But Neele was postulating11 what seemed to him a logical assumption.
If the marmalade had been tampered with beforehand—then surely that ruled out those persons who were actuallyat the breakfast table on the fatal morning.
Which opened up some interesting new possibilities.
He planned in his mind interviews with various people—this time with rather a different angle of approach.
He’d keep an open mind. . . .
He’d even consider seriously that old Miss Whatshername’s suggestions about the nursery rhyme. Because therewas no doubt that that nursery rhyme fitted in a rather startling way. It fitted with a point that had worried him fromthe beginning. The pocketful of rye.
“Blackbirds?” murmured Inspector Neele to himself.
Sergeant Hay stared.
“It’s not blackberry jelly, sir,” he said. “It’s marmalade.”
II
Inspector Neele went in search of Mary Dove.
He found her in one of the bedrooms on the first floor superintending Ellen, who was denuding12 the bed of whatseemed to be clean sheets. A little pile of clean towels lay on a chair.
Inspector Neele looked puzzled.
“Somebody coming to stay?” he asked.
Mary Dove smiled at him. In contrast to Ellen, who looked grim and truculent13, Mary was her usual imperturbableself.
“Actually,” she said, “the opposite is the case.”
Neele looked inquiringly at her.
“This is the guest room we had prepared for Mr. Gerald Wright.”
“Gerald Wright? Who is he?”
“He’s a friend of Miss Elaine Fortescue’s.” Mary’s voice was carefully devoid14 of inflection.
“He was coming here—when?”
“I believe he arrived at the Golf Hotel the day after Mr. Fortescue’s death.”
“The day after.”
“So Miss Fortescue said.” Mary’s voice was still impersonal15: “She told me she wanted him to come and stay in thehouse—so I had a room prepared. Now—after these other two—tragedies—it seems more suitable that he shouldremain at the hotel.”
“The Golf Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“Quite,” said Inspector Neele.
Ellen gathered up the sheets and towels and went out of the room.
Mary Dove looked inquiringly at Neele.
“You wanted to see me about something?”
Neele said pleasantly:
“It’s becoming important to get exact times very clearly stated. Members of the family all seem a little vague abouttime — perhaps understandably. You, on the other hand, Miss Dove, I have found extremely accurate in yourstatements as to times.”
“Again understandably!”
“Yes—perhaps—I must certainly congratulate you on the way you have kept this house going in spite of the—well, panic—these last deaths must have caused.” He paused and then asked curiously16: “How did you do it?”
He had realized, astutely17, that the one chink in the armour18 of Mary Dove’s inscrutability was her pleasure in herown efficiency. She unbent slightly now as she answered.
“The Crumps wanted to leave at once, of course.”
“We couldn’t have allowed that.”
“I know. But I also told them that Mr. Percival Fortescue would be more likely to be—well—generous—to thosewho had spared him inconvenience.”
“And Ellen?”
“Ellen does not wish to leave.”
“Ellen does not wish to leave,” Neele repeated. “She has good nerves.”
“She enjoys disasters,” said Mary Dove. “Like Mrs. Percival, she finds in disaster a kind of pleasurable drama.”
“Interesting. Do you think Mrs. Percival has—enjoyed the tragedies?”
“No—of course not. That is going too far. I would merely say that it has enabled her to—well—stand up to them—”
“And how have you yourself been affected19, Miss Dove?”
Mary Dove shrugged20 her shoulders.
“It has not been a pleasant experience,” she said dryly.
Inspector Neele felt again a longing21 to break down this cool young woman’s defences—to find out what was reallygoing on behind the careful and efficient understatement of her whole attitude.
He merely said brusquely:
“Now—to recapitulate22 times and places: the last time you saw Gladys Martin was in the hall before tea, and thatwas at twenty minutes to five?”
“Yes—I told her to bring in tea.”
“You yourself were coming from where?”
“From upstairs—I thought I had heard the telephone a few minutes before.”
“Gladys, presumably, had answered the telephone?”
“Yes. It was a wrong number. Someone who wanted the Baydon Heath Laundry.”
“And that was the last time you saw her?”
“She brought the tea tray into the library about ten minutes or so later.”
“After that Miss Elaine Fortescue came in?”
“Yes, about three or four minutes later. Then I went up to tell Mrs. Percival tea was ready.”
“Did you usually do that?”
“Oh no—people came in to tea when they pleased—but Mrs. Fortescue asked where everybody was. I thought Iheard Mrs. Percival coming—but that was a mistake—”
Neele interrupted. Here was something new.
“You mean you heard someone upstairs moving about?”
“Yes—at the head of the stairs, I thought. But no one came down so I went up. Mrs. Percival was in her bedroom.
She had just come in. She had been out for a walk—”
“Out for a walk—I see. The time being then—”
“Oh—nearly five o’clock, I think—”
“And Mr. Lancelot Fortescue arrived—when?”
“A few minutes after I came downstairs again—I thought he had arrived earlier—but—”
Inspector Neele interrupted:
“Why did you think he had arrived earlier?”
“Because I thought I had caught sight of him through the landing window.”
“In the garden, you mean?”
“Yes—I caught a glimpse of someone through the yew23 hedge—and I thought it would probably be him.”
“This was when you were coming down after telling Mrs. Percival Fortescue tea was ready?”
Mary corrected him.
“No—not then—it was earlier—when I came down the first time.”
Inspector Neele stared.
“Are you sure about that, Miss Dove?”
“Yes, I’m perfectly24 sure. That’s why I was surprised to see him—when he actually did ring the bell.”
Inspector Neele shook his head. He kept his inner excitement out of his voice as he said:
“It couldn’t have been Lancelot Fortescue you saw in the garden. His train—which was due at 4:28, was nineminutes late. He arrived at Baydon Heath Station at 4:37. He had to wait a few minutes for a taxi—that train is alwaysvery full. It was actually nearly a quarter to five (five minutes after you had seen the man in the garden) when he leftthe station and it is a ten-minute drive. He paid off the taxi at the gate here at about five minutes to five at the earliest.
No—it wasn’t Lancelot Fortescue you saw.”
“I’m sure I did see someone.”
“Yes, you saw someone. It was getting dark. You couldn’t have seen the man clearly?”
“Oh no—I couldn’t see his face or anything like that—just his build—tall and slender. We were expecting LancelotFortescue—so I jumped to the conclusion that that’s who it was.”
“He was going—which way?”
“Along behind the yew hedge towards the east side of the house.”
“There is a side door there. Is it kept locked?”
“Not until the house is locked up for the night.”
“Anyone could have come in by that side door without being observed by any of the household.”
Mary Dove considered.
“I think so. Yes.” She added quickly: “You mean—the person I heard later upstairs could have come in that way?
Could have been hiding—upstairs?”
“Something of the kind.”
“But who—?”
“That remains25 to be seen. Thank you, Miss Dove.”
As she turned to go away Inspector Neele said in a casual voice: “By the way, you can’t tell me anything aboutblackbirds, I suppose?”
For the first time, so it seemed, Mary Dove was taken aback. She turned back sharply.
“I—what did you say?”
“I was just asking you about blackbirds.”
“Do you mean—”
“Blackbirds,” said Inspector Neele.
He had on his most stupid expression.
“You mean that silly business last summer? But surely that can’t . . .” She broke off.
Inspector Neele said pleasantly:
“There’s been a bit of talk about it, but I was sure I’d get a clear account from you.”
Mary Dove was her calm, practical self again.
“It must, I think, have been some silly, spiteful joke,” she said. “Four dead blackbirds were on Mr. Fortescue’sdesk in his study here. It was summer and the windows were open, and we rather thought it must have been thegardener’s boy, though he insisted he’d never done anything of the kind. But they were actually blackbirds thegardener had shot which had been hanging up by the fruit bushes.”
“And somebody had cut them down and put them on Mr. Fortescue’s desk?”
“Yes.”
“Any sort of reason behind it—any association with blackbirds?”
Mary shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
“How did Mr. Fortescue take it? Was he annoyed?”
“Naturally he was annoyed.”
“But not upset in any way?”
“I really can’t remember.”
“I see,” said Inspector Neele.
He said no more. Mary Dove once more turned away, but this time, he thought, she went rather unwillingly26 asthough she would have liked to know more of what was in his mind. Ungratefully, all that Inspector Neele felt wasannoyance with Miss Marple. She had suggested to him that there would be blackbirds and, sure enough, there theblackbirds were! Not four and twenty of them, that was true. What might be called a token consignment27.
That had been as long ago as last summer and where it fitted in Inspector Neele could not imagine. He was notgoing to let this blackbird bogey28 divert him from the logical and sober investigation29 of murder by a sane30 murderer fora sane reason, but he would be forced from now on to keep the crazier possibilities of the case in mind.
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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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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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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batches
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| 一批( batch的名词复数 )； 一炉； （食物、药物等的）一批生产的量； 成批作业 | |
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tampered
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| v.窜改( tamper的过去式 )；篡改；（用不正当手段）影响；瞎摆弄 | |
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postulating
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| v.假定，假设( postulate的现在分词 ) | |
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denuding
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| v.使赤裸( denude的现在分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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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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astutely
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| adv.敏锐地；精明地；敏捷地；伶俐地 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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longing
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recapitulate
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yew
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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bogey
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| n.令人谈之变色之物；妖怪，幽灵 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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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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