IO n entering the library Mr. Wimborne blinked a little as his shrewd old eyes went past Inspector1 Bacon whom he hadalready met, to the fair-haired, good-looking man beyond him.
Inspector Bacon performed introductions.
“This is Detective-Inspector Craddock of New Scotland Yard,” he said.
“New Scotland Yard—hm.” Mr. Wimborne’s eyebrows2 rose.
Dermot Craddock, who had a pleasant manner, went easily into speech.
“We have been called in on the case, Mr. Wimborne,” he said. “As you are representing the Crackenthorpe family,I feel it is only fair that we should give you a little confidential3 information.”
Nobody could make a better show of presenting a very small portion of the truth and implying that it was the wholetruth than Inspector Craddock.
“Inspector Bacon will agree, I am sure,” he added, glancing at his colleague.
Inspector Bacon agreed with all due solemnity and not at all as though the whole matter were prearranged.
“It’s like this,” said Craddock. “We have reason to believe, from information that has come into our possession,that the dead woman is not a native of these parts, that she travelled down here from London and that she had recentlycome from abroad. Probably (though we are not sure of that) from France.”
Mr. Wimborne again raised his eyebrows.
“Indeed,” he said. “Indeed?”
“That being the case,” explained Inspector Bacon, “the Chief Constable4 felt that the Yard was better fitted toinvestigate the matter.”
“I can only hope,” said Mr. Wimborne, “that the case will be solved quickly. As you can no doubt appreciate, thewhole business has been a source of much distress5 to the family. Although not personally concerned in any way, theyare—”
He paused for a bare second, but Inspector Craddock filled the gap quickly.
“It’s not a pleasant thing to find a murdered woman on your property? I couldn’t agree with you more. Now Ishould like to have a brief interview with the various members of the family—”
“I really cannot see—”
“What they can tell me? Probably nothing of interest—but one never knows. I dare say I can get most of theinformation I want from you, sir. Information about this house and the family.”
“And what can that possibly have to do with an unknown young woman coming from abroad and getting herselfkilled here?”
“Well, that’s rather the point,” said Craddock. “Why did she come here? Had she once had some connection withthis house? >Had she been, for instance, a servant here at one time? A lady’s maid, perhaps. Or did she come here tomeet a former occupant of Rutherford Hall?”
Mr. Wimborne said coldly that Rutherford Hall had been occupied by the Crackenthorpes ever since JosiahCrackenthorpe built it in 1884.
“That’s interesting in itself,” said Craddock. “If you’d just give me a brief outline of the family history—”
Mr. Wimborne shrugged6 his shoulders.
“There is very little to tell. Josiah Crackenthorpe was a manufacturer of sweet and savoury biscuits, relishes,pickles, etc. He accumulated a vast fortune. He built this house. Luther Crackenthorpe, his eldest7 son, lives here now.”
“Any other sons?”
“One other son, Henry, who was killed in a motor accident in 1911.”
“And the present Mr. Crackenthorpe has never thought of selling the house?”
“He is unable to do so,” said the lawyer dryly. “By the terms of his father’s will.”
“Perhaps you’ll tell me about the will?”
“Why should I?”
Inspector Craddock smiled.
“Because I can look it up myself if I want to, at Somerset House.”
Against his will, Mr. Wimborne gave a crabbed8 little smile.
“Quite right, Inspector. I was merely protesting that the information you ask for is quite irrelevant9. As to JosiahCrackenthorpe’s will, there is no mystery about it. He left his very considerable fortune in trust, the income from it tobe paid to his son Luther for life, and after Luther’s death the capital to be divided equally between Luther’s children,Edmund, Cedric, Harold, Alfred, Emma and Edith. Edmund was killed in the war, and Edith died four years ago, sothat on Luther Crackenthorpe’s decease the money will be divided between Cedric, Harold, Alfred, Emma and Edith’sson Alexander Eastley.”
“And the house?”
“That will go to Luther Crackenthorpe’s eldest surviving son or his issue.”
“Was Edmund Crackenthorpe married?”
“No.”
“So the property will actually go—?”
“To the next son— Cedric.”
“Mr. Luther Crackenthorpe himself cannot dispose of it?”
“No.”
“And he has no control of the capital.”
“No.”
“Isn’t that rather unusual? I suppose,” said Inspector Craddock shrewdly, “that his father didn’t like him.”
“You suppose correctly,” said Mr. Wimborne. “Old Josiah was disappointed that his eldest son showed no interestin the family business—or indeed in business of any kind. Luther spent his time travelling abroad and collecting objetsd’art. Old Josiah was very unsympathetic to that kind of thing. So he left his money in trust for the next generation.”
“But in the meantime the next generation have no income except what they make or what their father allows them,and their father has a considerable income but no power of disposal of the capital.”
“Exactly. And what all this has to do with the murder of an unknown young woman of foreign origin I cannotimagine!”
“It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with it,” Inspector Craddock agreed promptly10, “I just wanted to ascertainall the facts.”
Mr. Wimborne looked at him sharply, then, seemingly satisfied with the result of his scrutiny11, rose to his feet.
“I am proposing now to return to London,” he said. “Unless there is anything further you wish to know?”
He looked from one man to the other.
“No, thank you, sir.”
The sound of the gong rose fortissimo from the hall outside.
“Dear me,” said Mr. Wimborne. “One of the boys, I think, must have been performing.”
Inspector Craddock raised his voice, to be heard above the clamour, as he said:
“We’ll leave the family to have lunch in peace, but Inspector Bacon and I would like to return after it—say at twofifteen—and have a short interview with every member of the family.”
“You think that is necessary?”
“Well…” Craddock shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just an off chance. Somebody might remember something thatwould give us a clue to the woman’s identity.”
“I doubt it, Inspector. I doubt it very much. But I wish you good luck. As I said just now, the sooner this distastefulbusiness is cleared up, the better for everybody.”
Shaking his head, he went slowly out of the room.
II
Lucy had gone straight to the kitchen on getting back from the inquest, and was busy with preparations for lunch whenBryan Eastley put his head in.
“Can I give you a hand in any way?” he asked. “I’m handy about the house.”
Lucy gave him a quick, slightly preoccupied12 glance. Bryan had arrived at the inquest direct in his small M.G. car,and she had not as yet had much time to size him up.
What she saw was likeable enough. Eastley was an amiable-looking young man of thirty-odd with brown hair,rather plaintive13 blue eyes and an enormous fair moustache.
“The boys aren’t back yet,” he said, coming in and sitting on the end of the kitchen table. “It will take ’em anothertwenty minutes on their bikes.”
Lucy smiled.
“They were certainly determined14 not to miss anything.”
“Can’t blame them. I mean to say—first inquest in their young lives and right in the family so to speak.”
“Do you mind getting off the table, Mr. Eastley? I want to put the baking dish down there.”
Bryan obeyed.
“I say, that fat’s corking15 hot. What are you going to put in it?”
“Yorkshire pudding.”
“Good old Yorkshire. Roast beef of old England, is that the menu for today?”
“Yes.”
“The funeral baked meats, in fact. Smells good.” He sniffed16 appreciatively. “Do you mind my gassing away?”
“If you came in to help I’d rather you helped.” She drew another pan from the oven. “Here—turn all these potatoesover so that they brown on the other side….”
Bryan obeyed with alacrity17.
“Have all these things been fizzling away in here while we’ve been at the inquest? Supposing they’d been all burntup.”
“Most improbable. There’s a regulating number on the oven.”
“Kind of electric brain, eh, what? Is that right?”
Lucy threw a swift look in his direction.
“Quite right. Now put the pan in the oven. Here, take the cloth. On the second shelf— I want the top for theYorkshire pudding.”
Bryan obeyed, but not without uttering a shrill18 yelp19.
“Burnt yourself?”
“Just a bit. It doesn’t matter. What a dangerous game cooking is!”
“I suppose you never do your own cooking?”
“As a matter of fact I do—quite often. But not this sort of thing. I can boil an egg—if I don’t forget to look at theclock. And I can do eggs and bacon. And I can put a steak under the grill20 or open a tin of soup. I’ve got one of thoselittle electric whatnots in my flat.”
“You live in London?”
“If you call it living—yes.”
His tone was despondent21. He watched Lucy shoot in the dish with the Yorkshire pudding mixture.
“This is awfully22 jolly,” he said and sighed.
Her immediate23 preoccupations over, Lucy looked at him with more attention.
“What is—this kitchen?”
“Yes. Reminds me of our kitchen at home—when I was a boy.”
It struck Lucy that there was something strangely forlorn about Bryan Eastley. Looking closely at him, she realizedthat he was older than she had at first thought. He must be close on forty. It seemed difficult to think of him asAlexander’s father. He reminded her of innumerable young pilots she had known during the war when she had been atthe impressionable age of fourteen. She had gone on and grown up into a post-war world—but she felt as thoughBryan had not gone on, but had been passed by in the passage of years. His next words confirmed this. He hadsubsided on to the kitchen table again.
“It’s a difficult sort of world,” he said, “isn’t it? To get your bearings in, I mean. You see, one hasn’t been trainedfor it.”
Lucy recalled what she had heard from Emma.
“You were a fighter pilot, weren’t you?” she said. “You’ve got a D.F.C.”
“That’s the sort of thing that puts you wrong. You’ve got a gong and so people try to make it easy for you. Giveyou a job and all that. Very decent of them. But they’re all admin. jobs, and one simply isn’t any good at that sort ofthing. Sitting at a desk getting tangled24 up in figures. I’ve had ideas of my own, you know, tried out a wheeze25 or two.
But you can’t get the backing. Can’t get the chaps to come in and put down the money. If I had a bit of capital—”
He brooded.
“You didn’t know Edie, did you? My wife. No, of course you didn’t. She was quite different from all this lot.
Younger, for one thing. She was in the W.A.A.F. She always said her old man was crackers26. He is, you know. Meanas hell over money. And it’s not as though he could take it with him. It’s got to be divided up when he dies. Edie’sshare will go to Alexander, of course. He won’t be able to touch the capital until he’s twenty-one, though.”
“I’m sorry, but will you get off the table again? I want to dish up and make gravy27.”
At that moment Alexander and Stoddart-West arrived with rosy28 faces and very much out of breath.
“Hallo, Bryan,” said Alexander kindly29 to his father. “So this is where you’ve got to. I say, what a smashing pieceof beef. Is there Yorkshire pudding?”
“Yes, there is.”
“We have awful Yorkshire pudding at school—all damp and limp.”
“Get out of my way,” said Lucy. “I want to make the gravy.”
“Make lots of gravy. Can we have two sauce-boats full?”
“Yes.”
“Good-oh!” said Stoddart-West, pronouncing the word carefully.
“I don’t like it pale,” said Alexander anxiously.
“It won’t be pale.”
“She’s a smashing cook,” said Alexander to his father.
Lucy had a momentary30 impression that their roles were reversed. Alexander spoke31 like a kindly father to his son.
“Can we help you, Miss Eyelesbarrow?” asked Stoddart-West politely.
“Yes, you can. Alexander, go and sound the gong. James, will you carry this tray into the dining room? And willyou take the joint32 in, Mr. Eastley? I’ll bring the potatoes and the Yorkshire pudding.”
“There’s a Scotland Yard man here,” said Alexander. “Do you think he will have lunch with us?”
“That depends on what your aunt arranged.”
“I don’t suppose Aunt Emma would mind… She’s very hospitable33. But I suppose Uncle Harold wouldn’t like it.
He’s being very sticky over this murder.” Alexander went out through the door with the tray, adding a little additionalinformation over his shoulder. “Mr. Wimborne’s in the library with the Scotland Yard man now. But he isn’t stayingto lunch. He said he had to get back to London. Come on, Stodders. Oh, he’s gone to do the gong.”
At that moment the gong took charge. Stoddart-West was an artist. He gave it everything he had, and all furtherconversation was inhibited34.
Bryan carried in the joint, Lucy followed with vegetables—returning to the kitchen to get the two brimming sauce-boats of gravy.
Mr. Wimborne was standing35 in the hall putting on his gloves as Emma came quickly down the stairs.
“Are you really sure you won’t stop for lunch, Mr. Wimborne? It’s all ready.”
“No, I’ve an important appointment in London. There is a restaurant car on the train.”
“It was very good of you to come down,” said Emma gratefully.
The two police officers emerged from the library.
Mr. Wimborne took Emma’s hand in his.
“There’s nothing to worry about, my dear,” he said. “This is Detective-Inspector Craddock from New ScotlandYard who has come to take charge of the case. He is coming back at two-fifteen to ask you for any facts that mayassist him in his inquiry36. But, as I say, you have nothing to worry about.” He looked towards Craddock. “I may repeatto Miss Crackenthorpe what you have told me?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Inspector Craddock has just told me that this almost certainly was not a local crime. The murdered woman isthought to have come from London and was probably a foreigner.”
Emma Crackenthorpe said sharply:
“A foreigner. Was she French?”
Mr. Wimborne had clearly meant his statement to be consoling. He looked slightly taken aback. DermotCraddock’s glance went quickly from him to Emma’s face.
He wondered why she had leaped to the conclusion that the murdered woman was French, and why that thoughtdisturbed her so much?
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收听单词发音
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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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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eldest
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crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irrelevant
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promptly
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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corking
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| adj.很好的adv.非常地v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的现在分词 ) | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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yelp
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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awfully
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immediate
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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wheeze
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| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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rosy
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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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momentary
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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joint
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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inhibited
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| a.拘谨的，拘束的 | |
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standing
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inquiry
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