IC raddock was escorted by the boys through the back door into the house. This was, it seemed, their common mode ofentrance. The kitchen was bright and cheerful. Lucy, in a large white apron1, was rolling out pastry2. Leaning against thedresser, watching her with a kind of dog-like attention, was Bryan Eastley. With one hand he tugged3 at his large fairmoustache.
“Hallo, Dad,” said Alexander kindly4. “You out here again?”
“I like it out here,” said Bryan, and added: “Miss Eyelesbarrow doesn’t mind.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Lucy. “Good evening, Inspector5 Craddock.”
“Coming to detect in the kitchen?” asked Bryan with interest.
“Not exactly. Mr. Cedric Crackenthorpe is still here, isn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, Cedric’s here. Do you want him?”
“I’d like a word with him—yes, please.”
“I’ll go and see if he’s in,” said Bryan. “He may have gone round to the local.”
He unpropped himself from the dresser.
“Thank you so much,” said Lucy to him. “My hands are all over flour or I’d go.”
“What are you making?” asked Stoddart-West anxiously.
“Peach flan.”
“Good-oh,” said Stoddart-West.
“Is it nearly suppertime?” asked Alexander.
“No.”
“Gosh! I’m terribly hungry.”
“There’s the end of the ginger6 cake in the larder7.”
The boys made a concerted rush and collided in the door.
“They’re just like locusts,” said Lucy.
“My congratulations to you,” said Craddock.
“What on—exactly?”
“Your ingenuity—over this!”
“Over what!”
Craddock indicated the folder8 containing the letter.
“Very nicely done,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
“This, my dear girl—this.” He half-drew it out.
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
Craddock felt suddenly dizzy.
“Didn’t you fake this clue—and put it in the boiler9 room, for the boys to find? Quick—tell me.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” said Lucy. “Do you mean that—?”
Craddock slipped the folder quickly back in his pocket as Bryan returned.
“Cedric’s in the library,” he said. “Go on in.”
He resumed his place on the dresser. Inspector Craddock went to the library.
II
Cedric Crackenthorpe seemed delighted to see the inspector.
“Doing a spot more sleuthing down here?” he asked. “Got any further?”
“I think I can say we are a little further on, Mr. Crackenthorpe.”
“Found out who the corpse10 was?”
“We’ve not got a definite identification, but we have a fairly shrewd idea.”
“Good for you.”
“Arising out of our latest information, we want to get a few statements. I’m starting with you, Mr. Crackenthorpe,as you’re on the spot.”
“I shan’t be much longer. I’m going back to Ibiza in a day or two.”
“Then I seem to be just in time.”
“Go ahead.”
“I should like a detailed11 account, please, of exactly where you were and what you were doing on Friday, 20thDecember.”
Cedric shot a quick glance at him. Then he leaned back, yawned, assumed an air of great nonchalance13, andappeared to be lost in the effort of remembrance.
“Well, as I’ve already told you, I was in Ibiza. Trouble is, one day there is so like another. Painting in the morning,siesta from three p.m. to five. Perhaps a spot of sketching14 if the light’s suitable. Then an apéritif, sometimes with themayor, sometimes with the doctor, at the café in the Piazza15. After that some kind of a scratch meal. Most of theevening in Scotty’s Bar with some of my lower-class friends. Will that do you?”
“I’d rather have the truth, Mr. Crackenthorpe.”
Cedric sat up.
“That’s a most offensive remark, Inspector.”
“Do you think so? You told me, Mr. Crackenthorpe, that you left Ibiza on 21st December and arrived in Englandthat same day?”
“So I did. Em! Hi, Em?”
Emma Crackenthorpe came through the adjoining door from the small morning room. She looked inquiringly fromCedric to the inspector.
“Look here, Em. I arrived here for Christmas on the Saturday before, didn’t I? Came straight from the airport?”
“Yes,” said Emma wonderingly. “You got here about lunchtime.”
“There you are,” said Cedric to the inspector.
“You must think us very foolish, Mr. Crackenthorpe,” said Craddock pleasantly. “We can check on these things,you know. I think, if you’ll show me your passport—”
He paused expectantly.
“Can’t find the damned thing,” said Cedric. “Was looking for it this morning. Wanted to send it to Cook’s.”
“I think you could find it, Mr. Crackenthorpe. But it’s not really necessary. The records show that you actuallyentered this country on the evening of 19th December. Perhaps you will now account to me for your movementsbetween that time until lunchtime on 21st December when you arrived here.”
Cedric looked very cross indeed.
“That’s the hell of life nowadays,” he said angrily. “All this red tape and form-filling. That’s what comes of abureaucratic state. Can’t go where you like and do as you please anymore! Somebody’s always asking questions.
What’s all this fuss about the 20th, anyway? What’s special about the 20th?”
“It happens to be the day we believe the murder was committed. You can refuse to answer, of course, but—”
“Who says I refuse to answer? Give a chap time. And you were vague enough about the date of the murder at theinquest. What’s turned up new since then?”
Craddock did not reply.
Cedric said, with a sidelong glance at Emma:
“Shall we go into the other room?”
Emma said quickly: “I’ll leave you.” At the door, she paused and turned.
“This is serious, you know, Cedric. If the 20th was the day of murder, then you must tell Inspector Craddockexactly what you were doing.”
She went through into the next room and closed the door behind her.
“Good old Em,” said Cedric. “Well, here goes. Yes, I left Ibiza on the 19th all right. Planned to break the journeyin Paris, and spend a couple of days routing up some old friends on the Left Bank. But, as a matter of fact, there was avery attractive woman on the plane… Quite a dish. To put it plainly, she and I got off together. She was on her way tothe States, had to spend a couple of nights in London to see about some business or other. We got to London on the19th. We stayed at the Kingsway Palace in case your spies haven’t found that out yet! Called myself John Brown—never does to use your own name on these occasions.”
“And on the 20th?”
Cedric made a grimace16.
“Morning pretty well occupied by a terrific hangover.”
“And the afternoon. From three o’clock onwards?”
“Let me see. Well, I mooned about, as you might say. Went into the National Galley—that’s respectable enough.
Saw a film. Rowenna of the Range. I’ve always had a passion for Westerns. This was a corker… Then a drink or twoin the bar and a bit of a sleep in my room, and out about ten o’clock with the girl-friend and a round of various hotspots—can’t even remember most of their names— Jumping Frog was one, I think. She knew ’em all. Got pretty wellplastered and to tell the truth, don’t remember much more till I woke up the next morning—with an even worsehangover. Girlfriend hopped17 off to catch her plane and I poured cold water over my head, got a chemist to give me adevils’ brew18, and then started off for this place, pretending I’d just arrived at Heathrow. No need to upset Emma, Ithought. You know what women are—always hurt if you don’t come straight home. I had to borrow money from herto pay the taxi. I was completely cleaned out. No use asking the old man. He’d never cough up. Mean old brute19. Well,Inspector, satisfied?”
“Can any of this be substantiated20, Mr. Crackenthorpe? Say between 3 p.m. and 7 p.m.”
“Most unlikely, I should think,” said Cedric cheerfully. “National Gallery where the attendants look at you withlack-lustre eyes and a crowded picture show. No, not likely.”
Emma reentered. She held a small engagement book in her hand.
“You want to know what everyone was doing on 20th December, is that right, Inspector Craddock?”
“Well—er—yes, Miss Crackenthorpe.”
“I have just been looking in my engagement book. On the 20th I went into Brackhampton to attend a meeting ofthe Church Restoration Fund. That finished about a quarter to one and I lunched with Lady Adington and Miss Bartlettwho were also on the committee, at the Cadena Café. After lunch I did some shopping, stores for Christmas, and alsoChristmas presents. I went to Greenford’s and Lyall and Swift’s, Boots’, and probably several other shops. I had teaabout a quarter to five in the Shamrock Tea Rooms and then went to the station to meet Bryan who was coming bytrain. I got home about six o’clock and found my father in a very bad temper. I had left lunch ready for him, but Mrs.
Hart who was to come in in the afternoon and give him his tea had not arrived. He was so angry that he had shuthimself in his room and would not let me in or speak to me. He does not like my going out in the afternoon, but I makea point of doing so now and then.”
“You’re probably wise. Thank you, Miss Crackenthorpe.”
He could hardly tell her that as she was a woman, height five foot seven, her movements that afternoon were of nogreat importance. Instead he said:
“Your other two brothers came down later, I understand?”
“Alfred came down late on Saturday evening. He tells me he tried to ring me on the telephone that afternoon I wasout—but my father, if he is upset, will never answer the telephone. My brother Harold did not come down untilChristmas Eve.”
“Thank you, Miss Crackenthorpe.”
“I suppose I mustn’t ask”—she hesitated—“what has come up new that prompts these inquiries21?”
Craddock took the folder from his pocket. Using the tips of his fingers, he extracted the envelope.
“Don’t touch it, please, but do you recognize this?”
“But…” Emma stared at him, bewildered. “That’s my handwriting. That’s the letter I wrote to Martine.”
“I thought it might be.”
“But how did you get it? Did she—? Have you found her?”
“It would seem possible that we have—found her. This empty envelope was found here.”
“In the house?”
“In the grounds.”
“Then—she did come here! She… You mean—it was Martine there—in the sarcophagus?”
“It would seem very likely, Miss Crackenthorpe,” said Craddock gently.
It seemed even more likely when he got back to town. A message was awaiting him from Armand Dessin.
“One of the girl-friends has had a postcard from Anna Stravinska.
Apparently22 the cruise story was true! She has reached Jamaica and is having, in your phrase, a wonderfultime!”
Craddock crumpled23 up the message and threw it into the wastepaper basket.
III
“I must say,” said Alexander, sitting up in bed, thoughtfully consuming a chocolate bar, “that this has been the mostsmashing day ever. Actually finding a real clue!”
His voice was awed24.
“In fact the whole holidays have been smashing,” he added happily. “I don’t suppose such a thing will ever happenagain.”
“I hope it won’t happen again to me,” said Lucy who was on her knees packing Alexander’s clothes into a suitcase.
“Do you want all this space fiction with you?”
“Not those two top ones. I’ve read them. The football and my football boots, and the gum-boots can go separately.”
“What difficult things you boys do travel with.”
“It won’t matter. They’re sending the Rolls for us. They’ve got a smashing Rolls. They’ve got one of the newMercedes- Benzes too.”
“They must be rich.”
“Rolling! Jolly nice, too. All the same, I rather wish we weren’t leaving here. Another body might turn up.”
“I sincerely hope not.”
“Well, it often does in books. I mean somebody who’s seen something or heard something gets done in, too. Itmight be you,” he added, unrolling a second chocolate bar.
“Thank you!”
“I don’t want it to be you,” Alexander assured her. “I like you very much and so does Stodders. We think you’reout of this world as a cook. Absolutely lovely grub. You’re very sensible, too.”
This last was clearly an expression of high approval. Lucy took it as such, and said: “Thank you. But I don’t intendto get killed just to please you.”
“Well, you’d better be careful, then,” Alexander told her.
He paused to consume more nourishment25 and then said in a slightly offhand26 voice:
“If Dad turns up from time to time, you’ll look after him, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” said Lucy, a little surprised.
“The trouble with Dad is,” Alexander informed her, “that London life doesn’t suit him. He gets in, you know, withquite the wrong type of women.” He shook his head in a worried manner.
“I’m very fond of him,” he added; “but he needs someone to look after him. He drifts about and gets in with thewrong people. It’s a great pity Mum died when she did. Bryan needs a proper home life.”
He looked solemnly at Lucy and reached out for another chocolate bar.
“Not a fourth one, Alexander,” Lucy pleaded. “You’ll be sick.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I ate six running once and I wasn’t. I’m not the bilious27 type.” He paused and then said:
“Bryan likes you, you know.”
“That’s very nice of him.”
“He’s a bit of an ass12 in some ways,” said Bryan’s son; “but he was a jolly good fighter pilot. He’s awfully28 brave.
And he’s awfully good-natured.”
He paused. Then, averting29 his eyes to the ceiling, he said rather self-consciously:
“I think, really, you know, it would be a good thing if he married again… Somebody decent… I shouldn’t, myself,mind at all having a stepmother…not, I mean, if she was a decent sort….”
With a sense of shock Lucy realized that there was a definite point in Alexander’s conversation.
“All this stepmother bosh,” went on Alexander, still addressing the ceiling, “is really quite out of date. Lots ofchaps Stodders and I know have stepmothers—divorce and all that—and they get on quite well together. Depends onthe stepmother, of course. And of course, it does make a bit of confusion taking you out and on Sports Day, and allthat. I mean if there are two sets of parents. Though again it helps if you want to cash in!” He paused, confronted withthe problems of modern life. “It’s nicest to have your own home and your own parents—but if your mother’s dead—well, you see what I mean? If she’s a decent sort,” said Alexander for the third time.
Lucy felt touched.
“I think you’re very sensible, Alexander,” she said. “We must try and find a nice wife for your father.”
“Yes,” said Alexander noncommittally.
He added in an offhand manner:
“I thought I’d just mention it. Bryan likes you very much. He told me so….”
“Really,” thought Lucy to herself. “There’s too much match-making round here. First Miss Marple and nowAlexander!”
For some reason or other, pigsties30 came into her mind.
She stood up.
“Good night, Alexander. There will be only your washing things and pyjamas31 to put in in the morning. Goodnight.”
“Good night,” said Alexander. He slid down in bed, laid his head on the pillow, closed his eyes, giving a perfectpicture of a sleeping angel; and was immediately asleep.
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1
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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substantiated
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| v.用事实支持（某主张、说法等），证明，证实( substantiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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averting
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| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
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pigsties
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| n.猪圈，脏房间( pigsty的名词复数 ) | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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