D ermot Craddock looked down at the last name and address he had written down in his notebook. The telephonenumber had been rung twice for him but there had been no response. He tried it now once more. He shrugged1 hisshoulders, got up and decided3 to go and see for himself.
Margot Bence’s studio was in a cul-de-sac off the Tottenham Court Road. Beyond the name on a plate on the sideof a door, there was little to identify it, and certainly no form of advertising4. Craddock groped his way to the first floor.
There was a large notice here painted in black on a white board. “Margot Bence, Personality Photographer. Pleaseenter.”
Craddock entered. There was a small waiting room but nobody in charge of it. He stood there hesitating, thencleared his throat in a loud and theatrical5 manner. Since that drew no attention he raised his voice.
“Anybody here?”
He heard a flap of slippers6 behind a velvet7 curtain, the curtain was pushed aside and a young man with exuberanthair and a pink and white face, peered round it.
“Terribly sorry, my dear,” he said. “I didn’t hear you. I had an absolutely new idea and I was just trying it out.”
He pushed the velvet curtain farther aside and Craddock followed him into an inner room. This proved to beunexpectedly large. It was clearly the working studio. There were cameras, lights, arc-lights, piles of drapery, screenson wheels.
“Such a mess,” said the young man, who was almost as willowy as Hailey Preston. “But one finds it very hard towork, I think, unless one does get into a mess. Now what were you wanting to see us about?”
“I wanted to see Miss Margot Bence.”
“Ah, Margot. Now what a pity. If you’d been half an hour earlier you’d have found her here. She’s gone off toproduce some photographs of models for Fashion Dream. You should have rung up, you know, to make anappointment. Margot’s terribly busy these days.”
“I did ring up. There was no reply.”
“Of course,” said the young man. “We took the receiver off. I remember now. It disturbed us.” He smoothed downa kind of lilac smock that he was wearing. “Can I do anything for you? Make an appointment? I do a lot of Margot’sbusiness arrangements for her. You wanted to arrange for some photography somewhere? Private or business?”
“From that point of view, neither,” said Dermot Craddock. He handed his card to the young man.
“How perfectly8 rapturous,” said the young man. “CID! I believe, you know, I’ve seen pictures of you. Are you oneof the Big Four or the Big Five, or is it perhaps the Big Six nowadays? There’s so much crime about, they’d have toincrease the numbers, wouldn’t they? Oh dear, is that disrespectful? I’m afraid it is. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful atall. Now, what do you want Margot for—not to arrest her, I hope.”
“I just wanted to ask her one or two questions.”
“She doesn’t do indecent photographs or anything like that,” said the young man anxiously. “I hope nobody’s beentelling you any stories of that kind because it isn’t true. Margot’s very artistic9. She does a lot of stage work and studiowork. But her studies are terribly, terribly pure—almost prudish10, I’d say.”
“I can tell you quite simply why I want to speak to Miss Bence,” said Dermot. “She was recently an eyewitness11 ofa crime that took place near Much Benham, at a village called St. Mary Mead12.”
“Oh, my dear, of course! I know about that. Margot came back and told me all about it. Hemlock13 in the cocktails,wasn’t it? Something of that kind. So bleak14 it sounded! But all mixed-up with the St. John Ambulance which doesn’tseem so bleak, does it? But haven’t you already asked Margot questions about that—or was it somebody else?”
“One always finds there are more questions, as the case goes on,” said Dermot.
“You mean it develops. Yes, I can quite see that. Murder develops. Yes, like a photograph, isn’t it?”
“It’s very much like photography really,” said Dermot. “Quite a good comparison of yours.”
“Well, it’s very nice of you to say so, I’m sure. Now about Margot. Would you like to get hold of her right away?”
“If you can help me to do so, yes.”
“Well, at the moment,” said the young man, consulting his watch, “at the moment she’ll be outside Keats’ house atHampstead Heath. My car’s outside. Shall I run you up there?”
“That would be very kind of you, Mr—”
“Jethroe,” said the young man, “Johnny Jethroe.”
As they went down the stairs Dermot asked:
“Why Keats’ house?”
“Well, you know we don’t pose fashion photographs in the studio anymore. We like them to seem natural, blownabout by the wind. And if possible some rather unlikely background. You know, an Ascot frock against WandsworthPrison, or a frivolous15 suit outside a poet’s house.”
Mr. Jethroe drove rapidly but skilfully16 up Tottenham Court Road, through Camden Town and finally to theneighbourhood of Hampstead Heath. On the pavement near Keats’ house a pretty little scene was being enacted17. Aslim girl, wearing diaphanous18 organdie, was standing19 clutching an immense black hat. On her knees, a little waybehind her, a second girl was holding the first girl’s skirt well pulled back so that it clung around her knees and legs.
In a deep hoarse20 voice a girl with a camera was directing operations.
“For goodness’ sake, Jane, get your behind down. It’s showing behind her right knee. Get down flatter. That’s it.
No, more to the left. That’s right. Now you’re masked by the bush. That’ll do. Hold it. We’ll have one more. Bothhands on the back of the hat this time. Head up. Good—now turn round, Elsie. Bend over. More. Bend! Bend, you’vegot to pick up that cigarette case. That’s right. That’s heaven! Got it! Now move over to the left. Same pose, only justturn your head over your shoulder. So.”
“I can’t see what you want to go taking photographs of my behind for,” said the girl called Elsie rather sulkily.
“It’s a lovely behind, dear. It looks smashing,” said the photographer. “And when you turn your head your chincomes up like the rising moon over a mountain. I don’t think we need bother with anymore.”
“Hi— Margot,” said Mr. Jethroe.
She turned her head. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?”
“I brought someone along to see you. Chief-Inspector21 Craddock, CID.”
The girl’s eyes turned swiftly on to Dermot. He thought they had a wary22, searching look but that, as he well knew,was nothing extraordinary. It was a fairly common reaction to detective-inspectors. She was a thin girl, all elbows andangles, but was an interesting shape for all that. A heavy curtain of black hair fell down either side of her face. Shelooked dirty as well as sallow and not particularly prepossessing, to his eyes. But he acknowledged that there wascharacter there. She raised her eyebrows23 which were slightly raised by art already and remarked:
“And what can I do for you, Detective-Inspector Craddock?”
“How do you do, Miss Bence. I wanted to ask you if you would be so kind as to answer a few questions about thatvery unfortuante business at Gossington Hall, near Much Benham. You went there, if I remember, to take somephotographs.”
The girl nodded. “Of course. I remember quite well.” She shot him a quick searching look. “I didn’t see you there.
Surely it was somebody else. Inspector—Inspector—”
“Inspector Cornish?” said Dermot.
“That’s right.”
“We were called in later.”
“You’re from Scotland Yard?”
“Yes.”
“You butted25 in and took over from the local people. Is that it?”
“Well, it isn’t quite a question of butting26 in, you know. It’s up to the Chief Constable27 of the County to decidewhether he wants to keep it in his own hands or whether he thinks it’ll be better handled by us.”
“What makes him decide?”
“It very often turns on whether the case has a local background or whether it’s a more—universal one. Sometimes,perhaps, an international one.”
“And he decided, did he, that this was an international one?”
“Transatlantic, perhaps, would be a better word.”
“They’ve been hinting that in the papers, haven’t they? Hinting that the killer28, whoever he was, was out to getMarina Gregg and got some wretched local woman by mistake. Is that true or is it a bit of publicity29 for their film?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much doubt about it, Miss Bence.”
“What do you want to ask me? Have I got to come to Scotland Yard?”
He shook his head. “Not unless you like. We’ll go back to your studio if you prefer.”
“All right, let’s do that. My car’s just up the street.”
She walked rapidly along the footpath30. Dermot went with her. Jethroe called after them.
“So long darling, I won’t butt24 in. I’m sure you and the Inspector are going to talk big secrets.” He joined the twomodels on the pavement and began an animated31 discussion with them.
Margot got into the car, unlocked the door on the other side, and Dermot Craddock got in beside her. She saidnothing at all during the drive back to Tottenham Court Road. She turned down the cul-de-sac and at the bottom of itdrove through an open doorway32.
“Got my own parking place here,” she remarked. “It’s a furniture depository place really, but they rent me a bit ofspace. Parking a car is one of the big headaches in London, as you probably know only too well, though I don’tsuppose you deal with traffic, do you?”
“No, that’s not one of my troubles.”
“I should think murder would be infinitely33 preferable,” said Margot Bence.
She led the way back to the studio, motioned him to a chair, offered him a cigarette and sank down on the largepouffe opposite him. From behind the curtain of dark hair she looked at him in a sombre questioning way.
“Shoot, stranger,” she said.
“You were taking photographs on the occasion of this death, I understand.”
“Yes.”
“You’d been engaged professionally?”
“Yes. They wanted someone to do a few specialized34 shots. I do quite a lot of that stuff. I do some work for filmstudios sometimes, but this time I was just taking photographs of the fête, and afterwards a few shots of special peoplebeing greeted by Marina Gregg and Jason Rudd. Local notabilities or other personalities35. That sort of thing.”
“Yes. I understand that. You had your camera on the stairs, I understand?”
“A part of the time, yes. I got a very good angle from there. You get people coming up the stairs below you andyou could swivel round and get Marina shaking hands with them. You could get a lot of different angles withouthaving to move much.”
“I know, of course, that you answered some questions at the time as to whether you’d seen anything unusual,anything that might be helpful. They were general questions.”
“Have you got more specialized ones?”
“A little more specialized, I think. You had a good view of Marina Gregg from where you were standing?”
She nodded. “Excellent.”
“And of Jason Rudd?”
“Occasionally. But he was moving about more. Drinks and things and introducing people to one another. Thelocals to the celebrities36. That kind of thing, I should imagine. I didn’t see this Mrs. Baddeley—”
“Badcock.”
“Sorry, Badcock. I didn’t see her drink the fatal draught37 or anything like that. In fact I don’t think I really knowwhich she was.”
“Do you remember the arrival of the mayor?”
“Oh, yes. I remember the mayor all right. He had on his chain and his robes of office. I got one of him coming upthe stairs—a close-up—rather a cruel profile, and then I got him shaking hands with Marina.”
“Then you can fix that time at least in your mind. Mrs. Badcock and her husband came up the stairs to MarinaGregg immediately in front of him.”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I still don’t remember her.”
“That doesn’t matter so much. I presume that you had a pretty good view of Marina Gregg and that you had youreyes on her and were pointing the camera at her fairly often.”
“Quite right. Most of the time. I’d wait till I got just the right moment.”
“Do you know a man called Ardwyck Fenn by sight?”
“Oh yes. I know him well enough. Television network—films too.”
“Did you take a photograph of him?”
“Yes. I got him coming up with Lola Brewster.”
“That would be just after the mayor?”
She thought a minute then agreed. “Yes, about then.”
“Did you notice that about that time Marina Gregg seemed to feel suddenly ill? Did you notice any unusualexpression on her face?”
Margot Bence leant forward, opened a cigarette box and took out a cigarette. She lit it. Although she had notanswered Dermot did not press her. He waited, wondering what it was she was turning over in her mind. She said atlast, abruptly38:
“Why do you ask me that?”
“Because it’s a question to which I am very anxious to have an answer—a reliable answer.”
“Do you think my answer’s likely to be reliable?”
“Yes I do, as a matter of fact. You must have the habit of watching people’s faces very closely, waiting for certainexpressions, certain propitious39 moments.”
She nodded her head.
“Did you see anything of that kind?”
“Somebody else saw it too, did they?”
“Yes. More than one person, but it’s been described rather differently.”
“How did the other people describe it?”
“One person has told me that she was taken faint.”
Margot Bence shook her head slowly.
“Someone else said that she was startled.” He paused a moment then went on, “And somebody else describes heras having a frozen look on her face.”
“Frozen,” said Margot Bence thoughtfully.
“Do you agree to that last statement?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“It was put rather more fancifully still,” said Dermot. “In the words of the late poet, Tennyson. ‘The mirror crack’dfrom side to side; “The doom40 has come upon me,” cried the Lady of Shalott.’”
“There wasn’t any mirror,” said Margot Bence, “but if there had been it might have cracked.” She got up abruptly.
“Wait,” she said. “I’ll do something better than describe it to you. I’ll show you.”
She pushed aside the curtain at the far end and disappeared for some moments. He could hear her utteringimpatient mutterings under her breath.
“What hell it is,” she said as she emerged again, “one never can find things when one wants them. I’ve got it nowthough.”
She came across to him and put a glossy41 print into his hand. He looked down at it. It was a very good photographof Marina Gregg. Her hand was clasped in the hand of a woman standing in front of her, and therefore with her backto the camera. But Marina Gregg was not looking at the woman. Her eyes stared not quite into the camera but slightlyobliquely to the left. The interesting thing to Dermot Craddock was that the face expressed nothing whatever. Therewas no fear on it, no pain. The woman portrayed42 there was staring at something, something she saw, and the emotionit aroused in her was so great that she was physically43 unable to express it by any kind of facial expression. DermotCraddock had seen such a look once on a man’s face, a man who a second later had been shot dead….
“Satisfied?” asked Margot Bence.
Craddock gave a deep sigh. “Yes, thank you. It’s hard, you know, to make up one’s mind if witnesses areexaggerating, if they are imagining they see things. But that’s not so in this case. There was something to see and shesaw it.” He asked, “Can I keep this picture?”
“Oh, yes you can have the print. I’ve got the negative.”
“You didn’t send it to the Press?”
Margot Bence shook her head.
“I rather wonder why you didn’t. After all, it’s rather a dramatic photograph. Some paper might have paid a goodprice for it.”
“I wouldn’t care to do that,” said Margot Bence. “If you look into somebody’s soul by accident, you feel a bitembarrassed about cashing in.”
“Did you know Marina Gregg at all?”
“No.”
“You come from the States, don’t you?”
“I was born in England. I was trained in America though. I came over here, oh, about three years ago.”
Dermot Craddock nodded. He had known the answers to his questions. They had been waiting for him among theother lists of information on his office table. The girl seemed straightforward44 enough. He asked:
“Where did you train?”
“Reingarden Studios. I was with Andrew Quilp for a time. He taught me a lot.”
“Reingarden Studios and Andrew Quilp.” Dermot Craddock was suddenly alert. The names struck a chord ofremembrance.
“You lived in Seven Springs, didn’t you?”
She looked amused.
“You seem to know a lot about me. Have you been checking up?”
“You’re a very well-known photographer, Miss Bence. There have been articles written about you, you know. Whydid you come to England?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, I like a change. Besides, as I tell you, I was born in England although I went to the States as a child.”
“Quite a young child, I think.”
“Five years old if you’re interested.”
“I am interested. I think, Miss Bence, you could tell me a little more than you have done.”
Her face hardened. She stared at him.
“What do you mean by that?”
Dermot Craddock looked at her and risked it. It wasn’t much to go on. Reingarden Studios and Andrew Quilp andthe name of one town. But he felt rather as if old Miss Marple were at his shoulder egging him on.
“I think you knew Marina Gregg better than you say.”
She laughed. “Prove it. You’re imagining things.”
“Am I? I don’t think I am. And it could be proved, you know, with a little time and care. Come now, Miss Bence,hadn’t you better admit the truth? Admit that Marina Gregg adopted you as a child and that you lived with her for fouryears.”
She drew her breath in sharply with a hiss2.
“You nosy45 bastard46!” she said.
It startled him a little, it was such a contrast to her former manner. She got up, shaking her black head of hair.
“All right, all right, it’s true enough! Yes Marina Gregg took me over to America with her. My mother had eightkids. She lived in a slum somewhere. She was one of hundreds of people, I suppose, who wrote to any film actress thatthey happen to see or hear about, spilling a hard-luck story, begging her to adopt the child a mother couldn’t giveadvantages to. Oh, it’s such a sickening business, all of it.”
“There were three of you,” said Dermot. “Three children adopted at different times from different places.”
“That’s right. Me and Rod and Angus. Angus was older than I was, Rod was practically a baby. We had awonderful life. Oh, a wonderful life! All the advantages!” Her voice rose mockingly. “Clothes and cars and awonderful house to live in and people to look after us, good schooling47 and teaching, and delicious food. Everythingpiled on! And she herself, our ‘Mom.’ ‘Mom’ in inverted48 commas, playing her part, crooning over us, beingphotographed with us! Ah, such a pretty sentimental49 picture.”
“But she really wanted children,” said Dermot Craddock. “That was real enough, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just apublicity stunt50.”
“Oh, perhaps. Yes, I think that was true. She wanted children. But she didn’t want us! Not really. It was just aglorious bit of playacting. ‘My family.’ ‘So lovely to have a family of my own.’ And Izzy let her do it. He ought to haveknown better.”
“Izzy was Isidore Wright?”
“Yes, her third husband or her fourth, I forget which. He was a wonderful man really. He understood her, I think,and he was worried sometimes about us. He was kind to us, but he didn’t pretend to be a father. He didn’t feel like afather. He only cared really about his own writing. I’ve read some of his things since. They’re sordid51 and rather cruel,but they’re powerful. I think people will call him a great writer one day.”
“And this went on until when?”
Margot Bence’s smile curved suddenly. “Until she got sick of that particular bit of playacting. No, that’s not quitetrue… She found she was going to have a child of her own.”
She laughed with sudden bitterness. “Then we’d had it! We weren’t wanted anymore. We’d done very well as littlestopgaps, but she didn’t care a damn about us really, not a damn. Oh, she pensioned us off very prettily52. With a homeand a foster-mother and money for our education and a nice little sum to start us off in the world. Nobody can say thatshe didn’t behave correctly and handsomely. But she’d never wanted us—all she wanted was a child of her own.”
“You can’t blame her for that,” said Dermot gently.
“I don’t blame her for wanting a child of her own, no! But what about us? She took us away from our own parents,from the place where we belonged. My mother sold me for a mess of pottage, if you like, but she didn’t sell me foradvantage to herself. She sold me because she was a damn’ silly woman who thought I’d get ‘advantages’ and‘education’ and have a wonderful life. She thought she was doing the best for me. Best for me? If she only knew.”
“You’re still very bitter, I see.”
“No, I’m not bitter now. I’ve got over that. I’m bitter because I’m remembering, because I’ve gone back to thosedays. We were all pretty bitter.”
“All of you?”
“Well, not Rod. Rod never cared about anything. Besides he was rather small. But Angus felt like I did, only Ithink he was more revengeful. He said that when he was grown-up he would go and kill that baby she was going tohave.”
“You knew about the baby?”
“Oh, of course I knew. And everyone knows what happened. She went crazy with rapture53 about having it and thenwhen it was born it was an idiot! Serve her right. Idiot or no idiot, she didn’t want us back again.”
“You hate her very much.”
“Why shouldn’t I hate her? She did the worst thing to me that anyone can do to anyone else. Let them believe thatthey’re loved and wanted and then show them that it’s all a sham54.”
“What happened to your two—I’ll call them brothers, for the sake of convenience.”
“Oh, we all drifted apart later. Rod’s farming somewhere in the Middle West. He’s got a happy nature, and alwayshad. Angus? I don’t know. I lost sight of him.”
“Did he continue to feel regretful?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Margot. “It’s not the sort of thing you can go on feeling. The last time I saw him, hesaid he was going on the stage. I don’t know whether he did.”
“You’ve remembered, though,” said Dermot.
“Yes. I’ve remembered,” said Margot Bence.
“Was Marina Gregg surprised to see you on that day or did she make the arrangements for your photography onpurpose to please you?”
“She?” The girl smiled scornfully. “She knew nothing about the arrangements. I was curious to see her, so I did abit of lobbying to get the job. As I say I’ve got some influence with studio people. I wanted to see what she looked likenowadays.” She stroked the surface of the table. “She didn’t even recognize me. What do you think of that? I was withher for four years. From five years old to nine and she didn’t recognize me.”
“Children change,” said Dermot Craddock, “they change so much that you’d hardly know them. I have a niece Imet the other day and I assure you I’d have passed her in the street.”
“Are you saying that to make me feel better? I don’t care really. Oh, what the hell, let’s be honest. I do care. I did.
She had a magic, you know. Marina! A wonderful calamitous55 magic that took hold of you. You can hate a person andstill mind.”
“You didn’t tell her who you were?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t tell her. That’s the last thing I’d do.”
“Did you try and poison her, Miss Bence?”
Her mood changed. She got up and laughed.
“What ridiculous questions you do ask! But I suppose you have to. It’s part of your job. No. I can assure you Ididn’t kill her.”
“That isn’t what I asked you, Miss Bence.”
She looked at him, frowning, puzzled.
“Marina Gregg,” he said, “is still alive.”
“For how long?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you think it’s likely, Inspector, that someone will try again, and this time—this time, perhaps—they’llsucceed?”
“Precautions will be taken.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will. The adoring husband will look after her, won’t he, and make sure that no harm comes toher?”
He was listening carefully to the mockery in her voice.
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t ask me that?” she said, harking back suddenly.
“I asked you if you tried to kill her. You replied that you didn’t kill her. That’s true enough, but someone died,someone was killed.”
“You mean I tried to kill Marina and instead I killed Mrs. What’s-her-name. If you’d like me to make it quite clear,I didn’t try to poison Marina and I didn’t poison Mrs. Badcock.”
“But you know perhaps who did?”
“I don’t know anything, Inspector, I assure you.”
“But you have some idea?”
“Oh, one always has ideas.” She smiled at him, a mocking smile. “Among so many people it might be, mightn’t it,the black-haired robot of a secretary, the elegant Hailey Preston, servants, maids, a masseur, the hairdresser, someoneat the studios, so many people—and one of them mightn’t be what he or she pretended to be.”
Then as he took an unconscious step towards her she shook her head vehemently56.
“Relax, Inspector,” she said. “I’m only teasing you. Somebody’s out for Marina’s blood, but who it is I’ve no idea.
Really. I’ve no idea at all.”
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shrugged
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hiss
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decided
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advertising
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theatrical
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slippers
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velvet
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perfectly
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artistic
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prudish
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eyewitness
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mead
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hemlock
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bleak
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frivolous
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skilfully
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enacted
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diaphanous
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standing
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hoarse
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inspector
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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butted
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| 对接的 | |
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butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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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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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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nosy
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| adj.鼻子大的，好管闲事的，爱追问的；n.大鼻者 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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calamitous
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| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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