F ather drew a deep breath.
“No,” he said. “No, I suppose nobody would ask you. It’s as simple as that.”
He relapsed into silence again.
“You think something has happened to him, don’t you?” asked Miss Marple.
“It’s over a week now,” said Father. “He didn’t have a stroke and fall down in the street. He’s not in a hospital as aresult of an accident. So where is he? His disappearance1 has been reported in the Press, but nobody’s come forwardwith any information yet.”
“They may not have seen it. I didn’t.”
“It looks—it really looks—” Father was following out his own line of thought—“as though he meant to disappear.
Leaving this place like that in the middle of the night. You’re quite sure about it, aren’t you?” he demanded sharply.
“You didn’t dream it?”
“I am absolutely sure,” said Miss Marple with finality.
Father heaved himself to his feet.
“I’d better go and see that chambermaid,” he said.
Father found Rose Sheldon on duty and ran an approving eye over her pleasant person.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “I know you’ve seen our sergeant2 already. But it’s about that missinggentleman, Canon Pennyfather.”
“Oh yes, sir, a very nice gentleman. He often stays here.”
“Absentminded,” said Father.
Rose Sheldon permitted a discreet3 smile to appear on her respectful mask of a face.
“Now let me see.” Father pretended to consult some notes. “The last time you saw Canon Pennyfather—was—”
“On the Thursday morning, sir. Thursday the 19th. He told me that he would not be back that night and possiblynot the next either. He was going, I think, to Geneva. Somewhere in Switzerland, anyway. He gave me two shirts hewanted washed and I said they would be ready for him on the morning of the following day.”
“And that’s the last you saw of him, eh?”
“Yes, sir. You see, I’m not on duty in the afternoons. I come back again at 6 o’clock. By then he must have left, orat any rate he was downstairs. Not in his room. He had left two suitcases behind.”
“That’s right,” said Father. The contents of the suitcases had been examined, but had given no useful lead. He wenton: “Did you call him the next morning?”
“Call him? No, sir, he was away.”
“What did you do ordinarily—take him early tea? Breakfast?”
“Early tea, sir. He breakfasted downstairs always.”
“So you didn’t go into his room at all the next day?”
“Oh yes, sir.” Rose sounded shocked. “I went into his room as usual. I took his shirts in for one thing. And ofcourse I dusted the room. We dust all the rooms every day.”
“Had the bed been slept in?”
She stared at him. “The bed, sir? Oh no.”
“Was it rumpled—creased in any way?”
She shook her head.
“What about the bathroom?”
“There was a damp hand towel, sir, that had been used. I presume that would be the evening before. He may havewashed his hands last thing before going off.”
“And there was nothing to show that he had come back into the room—perhaps quite late—after midnight?”
She stared at him with an air of bewilderment. Father opened his mouth, then shut it again. Either she knew nothingabout the Canon’s return or she was a highly accomplished4 actress.
“What about his clothes—suits. Were they packed up in his suitcases?”
“No, sir, they were hanging up in the cupboards. He was keeping his room on, you see, sir.”
“Who did pack them up?”
“Miss Gorringe gave orders, sir. When the room was wanted for the new lady coming in.”
A straightforward5 coherent account. But if that old lady was correct in stating that she saw Canon Pennyfatherleaving his room at 3 a.m. on Friday morning, then he must have come back to that room sometime. Nobody had seenhim enter the hotel. Had he, for some reason, deliberately6 avoided being seen? He had left no traces in the room. Hehadn’t even lain down on the bed. Had Miss Marple dreamed the whole thing? At her age it was possible enough. Anidea struck him.
“What about the airport bag?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“A small bag, dark blue—a BEA or BOAC bag—you must have seen it?”
“Oh that—yes, sir. But of course he’d take that with him abroad.”
“But he didn’t go abroad. He never went to Switzerland after all. So he must have left it behind. Or else he cameback and left it here with his other luggage.”
“Yes—yes—I think—I’m not quite sure—I believe he did.”
Quite unsolicited, the thought raced into Father’s mind: They didn’t brief you on that, did they?
Rose Sheldon had been calm and competent up till now. But that question had rattled7 her. She hadn’t known theright answer to it. But she ought to have known.
The Canon had taken his bag to the airport, had been turned away from the airport. If he had come back toBertram’s, the bag would have been with him. But Miss Marple had made no mention of it when she had described theCanon leaving his room and going down the stairs.
Presumably it was left in the bedroom, but it had not been put in the baggage room with the suitcases. Why not?
Because the Canon was supposed to have gone to Switzerland?
He thanked Rose genially8 and went downstairs again.
Canon Pennyfather! Something of an enigma9, Canon Pennyfather. Talked a lot about going to Switzerland,muddled up things so that he didn’t go to Switzerland, came back to his hotel so secretly that nobody saw him, left itagain in the early hours of the morning. (To go where? To do what?)Could absentmindedness account for all this?
If not, then what was Canon Pennyfather up to? And more important, where was he?
From the staircase, Father cast a jaundiced eye over the occupants of the lounge, and wondered whether anyonewas what they seemed to be. He had got to that stage! Elderly people, middle-aged10 people (nobody very young) niceold-fashioned people, nearly all well-to-do, all highly respectable. Service people, lawyers, clergymen; Americanhusband and wife near the door, a French family near the fireplace. Nobody flashy, nobody out of place; most of themenjoying an old-fashioned English afternoon tea. Could there really be anything seriously wrong with a place thatserved old-fashioned afternoon teas?
The Frenchman made a remark to his wife that fitted in appositively enough.
“Le Five-o’-clock,” he was saying. “C’est bien Anglais ?a, n’est ce pas?” He looked round him with approval.
“Le Five-o’-clock,” thought Davy as he passed through the swing doors to the street. “That chap doesn’t know that‘le Five-o’-clock’ is as dead as the Dodo!”
Outside, various vast American wardrobe cases and suitcases were being loaded on to a taxi. It seemed that Mr.
and Mrs. Elmer Cabot were on their way to the Hotel Vend11?me, Paris.
Beside him on the kerb, Mrs. Elmer Cabot was expressing her views to her husband.
“The Pendleburys were quite right about this place, Elmer. It just is old England. So beautifully Edwardian. I justfeel Edward the Seventh could walk right in any moment and sit down there for his afternoon tea. I mean to comeback here next year—I really do.”
“If we’ve got a million dollars or so to spare,” said her husband dryly.
“Now, Elmer, it wasn’t as bad as all that.”
The baggage was loaded, the tall commissionaire helped them in, murmuring “Thank you, sir” as Mr. Cabot madethe expected gesture. The taxi drove off. The commissionaire transferred his attention to Father.
“Taxi, sir?”
Father looked up at him.
Over six feet. Good-looking chap. A bit run to seed. Ex-Army. Lot of medals—genuine, probably. A bit shifty?
Drinks too much.
Aloud he said: “Ex-Army man?”
“Yes, sir. Irish Guards.”
“Military Medal, I see. Where did you get that?”
“Burma.”
“What’s your name?”
“Michael Gorman. Sergeant.”
“Good job here?”
“It’s a peaceful spot.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer the Hilton?”
“I would not. I like it here. Nice people come here, and quite a lot of racing12 gentlemen—for Ascot and Newbury.
I’ve had good tips from them now and again.”
“Ah, so you’re an Irishman and gambler, is that it?”
“Och! Now, what would life be without a gamble?”
“Peaceful and dull,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “like mine.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Can you guess what my profession is?” asked Father.
The Irishman grinned.
“No offence to you, sir, but if I may guess I’d say you were a cop.”
“Right first time,” said Chief-Inspector Davy. “You remember Canon Pennyfather?”
“Canon Pennyfather now, I don’t seem to mind the name—”
“Elderly clergyman.”
Michael Gorman laughed.
“Ah now, clergyman are as thick as peas in a pod in there.”
“This one disappeared from here.”
“Oh, that one!” The commissionaire seemed slightly taken aback.
“Did you know him?”
“I wouldn’t remember him if it hadn’t been for people asking me questions about him. All I know is, I put him intoa taxi and he went to the Athenaeum Club. That’s the last I saw of him. Somebody told me he’d gone to Switzerland,but I hear he never got there. Lost himself, it seems.”
“You didn’t see him later that day?”
“Later—No, indeed.”
“What time do you go off duty?”
“Eleven-thirty.”
Chief-Inspector Davy nodded, refused a taxi and moved slowly away along Pond Street. A car roared past himclose to the kerb, and pulled up outside Bertram’s Hotel, with a scream of brakes. Chief-Inspector Davy turned hishead soberly and noted13 the number plate. FAN 2266. There was something reminiscent about that number, though hecouldn’t for the moment place it.
Slowly he retraced14 his steps. He had barely reached the entrance before the driver of the car, who had gone throughthe doors a moment or two before, came out again. He and the car matched each other. It was a racing model, whitewith long gleaming lines. The young man had the same eager greyhound look with a handsome face and a body withnot a superfluous15 inch of flesh on it.
The commissionaire held the car door open, the young man jumped in, tossed a coin to the commissionaire anddrove off with a burst of powerful engine.
“You know who he is?” said Michael Gorman to Father.
“A dangerous driver, anyway.”
“Ladislaus Malinowski. Won the Grand Prix two years ago—world champion he was. Had a bad smash last year.
They say he’s all right again now.”
“Don’t tell me he’s staying at Bertram’s. Highly unsuitable.”
Michael Gorman grinned.
“He’s not staying here, no. But a friend of his is—” He winked16.
A porter in a striped apron17 came out with more American luxury travel equipment.
Father stood absentmindedly watching them being ensconced in a Daimler Hire Car whilst he tried to rememberwhat he knew about Ladislaus Malinowski. A reckless fellow—said to be tied up with some well-known woman—what was her name now? Still staring at a smart wardrobe case, he was just turning away when he changed his mindand reentered the hotel again.
He went to the desk and asked Miss Gorringe for the hotel register. Miss Gorringe was busy with departingAmericans, and pushed the book along the counter towards him. He turned the pages.
Lady Selina Hazy18, Little Cottage, Merryfield, Hants.
Mr. and Mrs. Hennessey King, Elderberries, Essex.
Sir John Woodstock, 5 Beaumont Crescent, Cheltenham.
Lady Sedgwick, Hurstings House, Northumberland.
Mr. and Mrs. Elmer Cabot, Connecticut.
General Radley, 14, The Green, Chichester.
Mr. and Mrs. Woolmer Pickington, Marble Head, Connecticut.
La Comtesse de Beauville, Les Sapins, St. Germain en Laye.
Miss Jane Marple, St. Mary Mead19, Much Benham.
Colonel Luscombe, Little Green, Suffolk.
Mrs. Carpenter, The Hon. Elvira Blake.
Canon Pennyfather, The Close, Chadminster.
Mrs. Holding, Mr. Holding, Miss Audrey Holding, The Manor20 House, Carmanton.
Mr. and Mrs. Ryesville, Valley Forge, Pennsylvania.
The Duke of Barnstable, Doone Castle, N. Devon….
A cross section of the kind of people who stayed at Bertram’s Hotel. They formed, he thought, a kind of pattern….
As he shut the book, a name on an earlier page caught his eye. Sir William Ludgrove.
Mr. Justice Ludgrove who had been recognized by a probation21 officer near the scene of a bank robbery. Mr. JusticeLudgrove—Canon Pennyfather—both patrons of Bertram’s Hotel….
“I hope you enjoyed your tea, sir?” It was Henry, standing22 at his elbow. He spoke23 courteously24, and with the slightanxiety of the perfect host.
“The best tea I’ve had for years,” said Chief-Inspector Davy.
He remembered he hadn’t paid for it. He attempted to do so; but Henry raised a deprecating hand.
“Oh no, sir. I was given to understand that your tea was on the house. Mr. Humfries’ orders.”
Henry moved away. Father was left uncertain whether he ought to have offered Henry a tip or not. It was galling25 tothink that Henry knew the answer to that social problem much better than he did!
As he moved away along the street, he stopped suddenly. He took out his notebook and put down a name and anaddress—no time to lose. He went into a telephone box. He was going to stick out his neck. Come hell or high water,he was going all out on a hunch26.
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1
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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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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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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vend
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| v.公开表明观点，出售，贩卖 | |
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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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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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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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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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galling
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| adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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