T he streamlined secretary brought Harold Crackenthorpe his usual afternoon cup of tea.
“Thanks, Miss Ellis, I shall be going home early today.”
“I’m sure you ought really not to have come at all, Mr. Crackenthorpe,” said Miss Ellis. “You look quite pulleddown still.”
“I’m all right,” said Harold Crackenthorpe, but he did feel pulled down. No doubt about it, he’d had a very nastyturn. Ah, well, that was over.
Extraordinary, he thought broodingly, that Alfred should have succumbed1 and the old man should have comethrough. After all, what was he—seventy-three—seventy-four? Been an invalid2 for years. If there was one personyou’d have thought would have been taken off, it would have been the old man. But no. It had to be Alfred. Alfredwho, as far as Harold knew, was a healthy wiry sort of chap. Nothing much the matter with him.
He leaned back in his chair sighing. That girl was right. He didn’t feel up to things yet, but he had wanted to comedown to the office. Wanted to get the hang of how affairs were going. Touch and go. All this—he looked round him—the richly appointed office, the pale gleaming wood, the expensive modern chairs, it all looked prosperous enough, anda good thing too! That’s where Alfred had always gone wrong. If you looked prosperous, people thought you wereprosperous. There were no rumours3 going around as yet about his financial stability. All the same, the crash couldn’tbe delayed very long. Now, if only his father had passed out instead of Alfred, as surely, surely he ought to have done.
Practically seemed to thrive on arsenic4! Yes, if his father had succumbed—well, there wouldn’t have been anything toworry about.
Still, the great thing was not to seem worried. A prosperous appearance. Not like poor old Alfred who alwayslooked seedy and shiftless, who looked in fact exactly what he was. One of those small-time speculators, never goingall out boldly for the big money. In with a shady crowd here, doing a doubtful deal there, never quite renderinghimself liable to prosecution5 but going very near the edge. And where had it got him? Short periods of affluence6 andthen back to seediness and shabbiness, once more. No broad outlook about Alfred. Taken all in all, you couldn’t sayAlfred was much loss. He’d never been particularly fond of Alfred and with Alfred out of the way the money that wascoming to him from that old curmudgeon7, his grandfather, would be sensibly increased, divided not into five sharesbut into four shares. Very much better.
Harold’s face brightened a little. He rose, took his hat and coat and left the office. Better take it easy for a day ortwo. He wasn’t feeling too strong yet. His car was waiting below and very soon he was weaving through Londontraffic to his house.
Darwin, his manservant, opened the door.
“Her ladyship has just arrived, sir,” he said.
For a moment Harold stared at him. Alice! Good heavens, was it today that Alice was coming home? He’dforgotten all about it. Good thing Darwin had warned him. It wouldn’t have looked so good if he’d gone upstairs andlooked too astonished at seeing her. Not that it really mattered, he supposed. Neither Alice nor he had any illusionsabout the feeling they had for each other. Perhaps Alice was fond of him—he didn’t know.
All in all, Alice was a great disappointment to him. He hadn’t been in love with her, of course, but though a plainwoman she was quite a pleasant one. And her family and connections had undoubtedly8 been useful. Not perhaps asuseful as they might have been, because in marrying Alice he had been considering the position of hypotheticalchildren. Nice relations for his boys to have. But there hadn’t been any boys, or girls either, and all that had remainedhad been he and Alice growing older together without much to say to each other and with no particular pleasure ineach other’s company.
She stayed away a good deal with relations and usually went to the Riviera in the winter. It suited her and it didn’tworry him.
He went upstairs now into the drawing room and greeted her punctiliously9.
“So you’re back, my dear. Sorry I couldn’t meet you, but I was held up in the City. I got back as early as I could.
How was San Raphael?”
Alice told him how San Raphael was. She was a thin woman with sandy-coloured hair, a well-arched nose andvague, hazel eyes. She talked in a well-bred, monotonous10 and rather depressing voice. It had been a good journeyback, the Channel a little rough. The Customs, as usual, very trying at Dover.
“You should come by air,” said Harold, as he always did. “So much simpler.”
“I dare say, but I don’t really like air travel. I never have. Makes me nervous.”
“Saves a lot of time,” said Harold.
Lady Alice Crackenthorpe did not answer. It was possible that her problem in life was not to save time but tooccupy it. She inquired politely after her husband’s health.
“Emma’s telegram quite alarmed me,” she said. “You were all taken ill, I understand.”
“Yes, yes,” said Harold.
“I read in the paper the other day,” said Alice, “of forty people in a hotel going down with food poisoning at thesame time. All this refrigeration is dangerous, I think. People keep things too long in them.”
“Possibly,” said Harold. Should he, or should he not mention arsenic? Somehow, looking at Alice, he felt himselfquite unable to do so. In Alice’s world, he felt, there was no place for poisoning by arsenic. It was a thing you readabout in the papers. It didn’t happen to you or your own family. But it had happened in the Crackenthorpe family….
He went up to his room and lay down for an hour or two before dressing11 for dinner. At dinner, tête-à-tête with hiswife, the conversation ran on much the same lines. Desultory12, polite. The mention of acquaintances and friends at SanRaphael.
“There’s a parcel for you on the hall table, a small one,” Alice said.
“Is there? I didn’t notice it.”
“It’s an extraordinary thing but somebody was telling me about a murdered woman having been found in a barn, orsomething like that. She said it was at Rutherford Hall. I suppose it must be some other Rutherford Hall.”
“No,” said Harold, “no, it isn’t. It was in our barn, as a matter of fact.”
“Really, Harold! A murdered woman in the barn at Rutherford Hall—and you never told me anything about it.”
“Well, there hasn’t been much time, really,” said Harold, “and it was all rather unpleasant. Nothing to do with us,of course. The Press milled around a good deal. Of course we had to deal with the police and all that sort of thing.”
“Very unpleasant,” said Alice. “Did they find out who did it?” she added, with rather perfunctory interest.
“Not yet,” said Harold.
“What sort of woman was she?”
“Nobody knows. French, apparently13.”
“Oh, French,” said Alice, and allowing for the difference in class, her tone was not unlike that of Inspector14 Bacon.
“Very annoying for you all,” she agreed.
They went out from the dining room and crossed into the small study where they usually sat when they were alone.
Harold was feeling quite exhausted15 by now. “I’ll go up to bed early,” he thought.
He picked up the small parcel from the hall table, about which his wife had spoken to him. It was a small neatlywaxed parcel, done up with meticulous16 exactness. Harold ripped it open as he came to sit down in his usual chair bythe fire.
Inside was a small tablet box bearing the label, “Two to be taken nightly.” With it was a small piece of paper withthe chemist’s heading in Brackhampton. “Sent by request of Doctor Quimper” was written on it.
Harold Crackenthorpe frowned. He opened the box and looked at the tablets. Yes, they seemed to be the sametablets he had been having. But surely, surely Quimper had said that he needn’t take anymore? “You won’t want them,now.” That’s what Quimper had said.
“What is it, dear?” said Alice. “You look worried.”
“Oh, it’s just—some tablets. I’ve been taking them at night. But I rather thought the doctor said don’t takeanymore.”
His wife said placidly17: “He probably said don’t forget to take them.”
“He may have done, I suppose,” said Harold doubtfully.
He looked across at her. She was watching him. Just for a moment or two he wondered—he didn’t often wonderabout Alice—exactly what she was thinking. That mild gaze of hers told him nothing. Her eyes were like windows inan empty house. What did Alice think about him, feel about him? Had she been in love with him once? He supposedshe had. Or did she marry him because she thought he was doing well in the City, and she was tired of her ownimpecunious existence? Well, on the whole, she’d done quite well out of it. She’d got a car and a house in London, shecould travel abroad when she felt like it and get herself expensive clothes, though goodness knows they never lookedlike anything on Alice. Yes, on the whole she’d done pretty well. He wondered if she thought so. She wasn’t reallyfond of him, of course, but then he wasn’t really fond of her. They had nothing in common, nothing to talk about, nomemories to share. If there had been children—but there hadn’t been any children—odd that there were no children inthe family except young Edie’s boy. Young Edie. She’d been a silly girl, making that foolish, hasty war- timemarriage. Well, he’d given her good advice.
He’d said: “It’s all very well, these dashing young pilots, glamour18, courage, all that, but he’ll be no good in peacetime, you know. Probably be barely able to support you.”
And Edie had said, what did it matter? She loved Bryan and Bryan loved her, and he’d probably be killed quitesoon. Why shouldn’t they have some happiness? What was the good of looking to the future when they might well bebombed any minute. And after all, Edie had said, the future doesn’t really matter because some day there’ll be allgrandfather’s money.
Harold squirmed uneasily in his chair. Really, that will of his grandfather’s had been iniquitous19! Keeping them alldangling on a string. The will hadn’t pleased anybody. It didn’t please the grandchildren and it made their father quitelivid. The old boy was absolutely determined20 not to die. That’s what made him take so much care of himself. But he’dhave to die soon. Surely, surely he’d have to die soon. Otherwise—all Harold’s worries swept over him once moremaking him feel sick and tired and giddy.
Alice was still watching him, he noticed. Those pale, thoughtful eyes, they made him uneasy somehow.
“I think I shall go to bed,” he said. “It’s been my first day out in the City.”
“Yes,” said Alice, “I think that’s a good idea. I’m sure the doctor told you to take things easily at first.”
“Doctors always tell you that,” said Harold.
“And don’t forget to take your tablets, dear,” said Alice. She picked up the box and handed it to him.
He said good night and went upstairs. Yes, he needed the tablets. It would have been a mistake to leave them offtoo soon. He took two of them and swallowed them with a glass of water.

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1
succumbed
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不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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2
invalid
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n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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3
rumours
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n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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4
arsenic
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n.砒霜,砷;adj.砷的 | |
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5
prosecution
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n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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6
affluence
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n.充裕,富足 | |
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7
curmudgeon
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n. 脾气暴躁之人,守财奴,吝啬鬼 | |
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8
undoubtedly
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adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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punctiliously
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10
monotonous
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adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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11
dressing
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n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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12
desultory
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adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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13
apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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14
inspector
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n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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15
exhausted
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adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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16
meticulous
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adj.极其仔细的,一丝不苟的 | |
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17
placidly
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adv.平稳地,平静地 | |
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18
glamour
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n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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19
iniquitous
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adj.不公正的;邪恶的;高得出奇的 | |
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20
determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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