IT he fog had come down over London suddenly that evening. Chief-Inspector1 Davy pulled up his coat collar andturned into Pond Street. Walking slowly, like a man who was thinking of something else, he did not look particularlypurposeful but anyone who knew him well would realize that his mind was wholly alert. He was prowling as a catprowls before the moment comes for it to pounce2 on its prey3.
Pond Street was quiet tonight. There were few cars about. The fog had been patchy to begin with, had almostcleared, then had deepened again. The noise of the traffic from Park Lane was muted to the level of a suburban4 sideroad. Most of the buses had given up. Only from time to time individual cars went on their way with determinedoptimism. Chief-Inspector Davy turned up a cul-de-sac, went to the end of it and came back again. He turned again,aimlessly as it seemed, first one way, then the other, but he was not aimless. Actually his cat prowl was taking him in acircle round one particular building. Bertram’s Hotel. He was appraising5 carefully just what lay to the east of it, to thewest of it, to the north of it and to the south of it. He examined the cars that were parked by the pavement, heexamined the cars that were in the cul-de-sac. He examined a mews with special care. One car in particular interestedhim and he stopped. He pursed his lips and said softly, “So you’re here again, you beauty.” He checked the numberand nodded to himself. “FAN 2266 tonight, are you?” He bent6 down and ran his fingers over the number platedelicately, then nodded approval. “Good job they made of it,” he said under his breath.
He went on, came out at the other end of the mews, turned right and right again and came out in Pond Street oncemore, fifty yards from the entrance of Bertram’s Hotel. Once again he paused, admiring the handsome lines of yetanother racing7 car.
“You’re a beauty, too,” said Chief-Inspector Davy. “Your number plate’s the same as the last time I saw you. Irather fancy your number plate always is the same. And that should mean—” he broke off—“or should it?” hemuttered. He looked up towards what could have been the sky. “Fog’s getting thicker,” he said to himself.
Outside the door to Bertram’s, the Irish commissionaire was standing8 swinging his arms backwards9 and forwardswith some violence to keep himself warm. Chief-Inspector Davy said good evening to him.
“Good evening, sir. Nasty night.”
“Yes. I shouldn’t think anyone would want to go out tonight who hadn’t got to.”
The swing doors were pushed open and a middle-aged10 lady came out and paused uncertainly on the step.
“Want a taxi, ma’am?”
“Oh dear. I meant to walk.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you, ma’am. It’s very nasty, this fog. Even in a taxi it won’t be too easy.”
“Do you think you could find me a taxi?” asked the lady doubtfully.
“I’ll do my best. You go inside now and keep warm, and I’ll come in and tell you if I’ve got one.” His voicechanged, modulated11 to a persuasive12 tone. “Unless you have to, ma’am, I wouldn’t go out tonight at all.”
“Oh dear. Perhaps you’re right. But I’m expected at some friends in Chelsea. I don’t know. It might be verydifficult getting back here. What do you think?”
Michael Gorman took charge.
“If I were you, ma’am,” he said firmly, “I’d go in and telephone to your friends. It’s not nice for a lady like you tobe out on a foggy night like this.”
“Well—really—yes, well, perhaps you’re right.”
She went back in again.
“I have to look after them,” said Micky Gorman, turning in an explanatory manner to Father. “That kind would gether bag snatched, she would. Going out this time of night in a fog and wandering about Chelsea or West Kensingtonor wherever she’s trying to go.”
“I suppose you’ve had a good deal of experience of dealing13 with elderly ladies?” said Davy.
“Ah yes, indeed. This place is a home from home to them, bless their ageing hearts. How about you, sir? Were youwanting a taxi?”
“Don’t suppose you could get me one if I did,” said Father. “There don’t seem to be many about in this. And Idon’t blame them.”
“Ah, no, I might lay my hand on one for you. There’s a place round the corner where there’s usually a taxi drivergot his cab parked, having a warm up and a drop of something to keep the cold out.”
“A taxi’s no good to me,” said Father with a sigh.
He jerked his thumb towards Bertram’s Hotel.
“I’ve got to go inside. I’ve got a job to do.”
“Indeed now? Would it be still the missing Canon?”
“Not exactly. He’s been found.”
“Found?” The man stared at him. “Found where?”
“Wandering about with concussion14 after an accident.”
“Ah, that’s just what one might expect of him. Crossed the road without looking, I expect.”
“That seems to be the idea,” said Father.
He nodded, and pushed through the doors into the hotel. There were not very many people in the lounge thisevening. He saw Miss Marple sitting in a chair near the fire and Miss Marple saw him. She made, however, no sign ofrecognition. He went towards the desk. Miss Gorringe, as usual, was behind her books. She was, he thought, faintlydiscomposed to see him. It was a very slight reaction, but he noted15 the fact.
“You remember me, Miss Gorringe,” he said. “I came here the other day.”
“Yes, of course I remember you, Chief-Inspector. Is there anything more you want to know? Do you want to seeMr. Humfries?”
“No thank you. I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’d just like one more look at your register if I may.”
“Of course.” She pushed it along to him.
He opened it and looked slowly down the pages. To Miss Gorringe he gave the appearance of a man looking forone particular entry. In actuality this was not the case. Father had an accomplishment16 which he had learnt early in lifeand had developed into a highly skilled art. He could remember names and addresses with a perfect and photographicmemory. That memory would remain with him for twenty-four or even forty-eight hours. He shook his head as he shutthe book and returned it to her.
“Canon Pennyfather hasn’t been in, I suppose?” he said in a light voice.
“Canon Pennyfather?”
“You know he’s turned up again?”
“No indeed. Nobody has told me. Where?”
“Some place in the country. Car accident it seems. Wasn’t reported to us. Some good Samaritan just picked him upand looked after him.”
“Oh! I am pleased. Yes, I really am very pleased. I was worried about him.”
“So were his friends,” said Father. “Actually I was looking to see if one of them might be staying here now.
Archdeacon—Archdeacon—I can’t remember his name now, but I’d know it if I saw it.”
“Tomlinson?” said Miss Gorringe helpfully. “He is due next week. From Salisbury.”
“No, not Tomlinson. Well, it doesn’t matter.” He turned away.
It was quiet in the lounge tonight.
An ascetic-looking middle-aged man was reading through a badly typed thesis, occasionally writing a comment inthe margin17 in such small crabbed18 handwriting as to be almost illegible19. Every time he did this, he smiled in vinegarysatisfaction.
There were one or two married couples of long-standing who had little need to talk to each other. Occasionally twoor three people were gathered together in the name of the weather conditions, discussing anxiously how they or theirfamilies were going to get where they wanted to be.
“—I rang up and begged Susan not to come by car…it means the M1 and always so dangerous in fog—”
“They say it’s clearer in the Midlands….”
Chief-Inspector Davy noted them as he passed. Without haste, and with no seeming purpose, he arrived at hisobjective.
Miss Marple was sitting near the fire and observing his approach.
“So you’re still here, Miss Marple. I’m glad.”
“I go tomorrow,” said Miss Marple.
That fact had, somehow, been implicit21 in her attitude. She had sat, not relaxed, but upright, as one sits in an airportlounge, or a railway waiting room. Her luggage, he was sure, would be packed, only toilet things and night wear to beadded.
“It is the end of my fortnight’s holiday,” she explained.
“You’ve enjoyed it, I hope?”
Miss Marple did not answer at once.
“In a way—yes….” She stopped.
“And in another way, no?”
“It’s difficult to explain what I mean—”
“Aren’t you, perhaps, a little too near the fire? Rather hot, here. Wouldn’t you like to move—into that cornerperhaps?”
Miss Marple looked at the corner indicated, then she looked at Chief-Inspector Davy.
“I think you are quite right,” she said.
He gave her a hand up, carried her handbag and her book for her and established her in the quiet corner he hadindicated.
“All right?”
“Quite all right.”
“You know why I suggested it?”
“You thought—very kindly—that it was too hot for me by the fire. Besides,” she added, “our conversation cannotbe overheard here.”
“Have you got something you want to tell me, Miss Marple?”
“Now why should you think that?”
“You looked as though you had,” said Davy.
“I’m sorry I showed it so plainly,” said Miss Marple. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Well, what about it?”
“I don’t know if I ought to do so. I would like you to believe, Inspector, that I am not really fond of interfering22. Iam against interference. Though often well-meant, it can cause a great deal of harm.”
“It’s like that, is it? I see. Yes, it’s quite a problem for you.”
“Sometimes one sees people doing things that seem to one unwise—even dangerous. But has one any right tointerfere? Usually not, I think.”
“Is this Canon Pennyfather you’re talking about?”
“Canon Pennyfather?” Miss Marple sounded very surprised. “Oh no. Oh dear me no, nothing whatever to do withhim. It concerns—a girl.”
“A girl, indeed? And you thought I could help?”
“I don’t know,” said Miss Marple. “I simply don’t know. But I’m worried, very worried.”
Father did not press her. He sat there looking large and comfortable and rather stupid. He let her take her time. Shehad been willing to do her best to help him, and he was quite prepared to do anything he could to help her. He was not,perhaps, particularly interested. On the other hand, one never knew.
“One reads in the papers,” said Miss Marple in a low clear voice, “accounts of proceedings23 in court; of youngpeople, children or girls ‘in need of care and protection.’ It’s just a sort of legal phrase, I suppose, but it could meansomething real.”
“This girl you mentioned, you feel she is in need of care and protection?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Alone in the world?”
“Oh no,” said Miss Marple. “Very much not so, if I may put it that way. She is to all outward appearances veryheavily protected and very well cared for.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Father.
“She was staying in this hotel,” said Miss Marple, “with a Mrs. Carpenter, I think. I looked in the register to see thename. The girl’s name is Elvira Blake.”
Father looked up with a quick air of interest.
“She was a lovely girl. Very young, very much, as I say, sheltered and protected. Her guardian24 was a ColonelLuscombe, a very nice man. Quite charming. Elderly of course, and I am afraid terribly innocent.”
“The guardian or the girl?”
“I meant the guardian,” said Miss Marple. “I don’t know about the girl. But I do think she is in danger. I cameacross her quite by chance in Battersea Park. She was sitting at a refreshment25 place there with a young man.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Father. “Undesirable, I suppose. Beatnik—spiv—thug—”
“A very handsome man,” said Miss Marple. “Not so very young. Thirty-odd, the kind of man that I should say isvery attractive to women, but his face is a bad face. Cruel, hawklike26, predatory.”
“He mayn’t be as bad as he looks,” said Father soothingly27.
“If anything he is worse than he looks,” said Miss Marple. “I am convinced of it. He drives a large racing car.”
Father looked up quickly.
“Racing car?”
“Yes. Once or twice I’ve seen it standing near this hotel.”
“You don’t remember the number, do you?”
“Yes, indeed I do. FAN 2266. I had a cousin who stuttered,” Miss Marple explained. “That’s how I remember it.”
Father looked puzzled.
“Do you know who he is?” demanded Miss Marple.
“As a matter of fact I do,” said Father slowly. “Half French, half Polish. Very well-known racing driver, he wasworld champion three years ago. His name is Ladislaus Malinowski. You’re quite right in some of your views abouthim. He has a bad reputation where women are concerned. That is to say, he is not a suitable friend for a young girl.
But it’s not easy to do anything about that sort of thing. I suppose she is meeting him on the sly, is that it?”
“Almost certainly,” said Miss Marple.
“Did you approach her guardian?”
“I don’t know him,” said Miss Marple. “I’ve only just been introduced to him once by a mutual28 friend. I don’t likethe idea of going to him in a tale-bearing way. I wondered if perhaps in some way you could do something about it.”
“I can try,” said Father. “By the way, I thought you might like to know that your friend, Canon Pennyfather, hasturned up all right.”
“Indeed!” Miss Marple looked animated29. “Where?”
“A place called Milton St. John.”
“How very odd. What was he doing there? Did he know?”
“Apparently—” Chief-Inspector Davy stressed the word—“he had had an accident.”
“What kind of an accident?”
“Knocked down by a car—concussed—or else, of course, he might have been conked on the head.”
“Oh! I see.” Miss Marple considered the point. “Doesn’t he know himself?”
“He says—” again the Chief-Inspector stressed the word—“that he does not know anything.”
“Very remarkable30.”
“Isn’t it? The last thing he remembers is driving in a taxi to Kensington Air Station.”
Miss Marple shook her head perplexedly.
“I know it does happen that way in concussion,” she murmured. “Didn’t he say anything—useful?”
“He murmured something about the Walls of Jericho.”
“Joshua?” hazarded Miss Marple, “or Archaeology—excavations?—or I remember, long ago, a play—by Mr.
Sutro, I think.”
“And all this week north of the Thames, Gaumont Cinemas—The Walls of Jericho, featuring Olga Radbourne andBart Levinne,” said Father.
Miss Marple looked at him suspiciously.
“He could have gone to that film in the Cromwell Road. He could have come out about eleven and come back here—though if so, someone ought to have seen him—it would be well before midnight—”
“Took the wrong bus,” Miss Marple suggested. “Something like that—”
“Say he got back here after midnight,” Father said—“he could have walked up to his room without anyone seeinghim—But if so, what happened then—and why did he go out again three hours later?”
Miss Marple groped for a word.
“The only idea that occurs to me is—oh!”
She jumped as a report sounded from the street outside.
“Car backfiring,” said Father soothingly.
“I’m sorry to be so jumpy—I am nervous tonight—that feeling one has—”
“That something’s going to happen? I don’t think you need worry.”
“I have never liked fog.”
“I wanted to tell you,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “that you’ve given me a lot of help. The things you’ve noticedhere—just little things—they’ve added up.”
“So there was something wrong with this place?”
“There was and is everything wrong with it.”
Miss Marple sighed.
“It seemed wonderful at first—unchanged you know—like stepping back into the past—to the part of the past thatone had loved and enjoyed.”
She paused.
“But of course, it wasn’t really like that. I learned (what I suppose I really knew already) that one can never goback, that one should not ever try to go back—that the essence of life is going forward. Life is really a One WayStreet, isn’t it?”
“Something of the sort,” agreed Father.
“I remember,” said Miss Marple, diverging31 from her main topic in a characteristic way, “I remember being in Pariswith my mother and my grandmother, and we went to have tea at the Elysée Hotel. And my grandmother lookedround, and she said suddenly, ‘Clara, I do believe I am the only woman here in a bonnet32!’ And she was, too! When shegot home she packed up all her bonnets33, and her headed mantles34 too—and sent them off—”
“To the Jumble35 Sale?” inquired Father, sympathetically.
“Oh no. Nobody would have wanted them at a jumble sale. She sent them to a theatrical36 Repertory Company. Theyappreciated them very much. But let me see—” Miss Marple recovered her direction. “—Where was I?”
“Summing up this place.”
“Yes. It seemed all right—but it wasn’t. It was mixed-up—real people and people who weren’t real. One couldn’talways tell them apart.”
“What do you mean by not real?”
“There were retired37 military men, but there were also what seemed to be military men but who had never been inthe Army. And clergymen who weren’t clergymen. And admirals and sea captains who’ve never been in the Navy. Myfriend, Selina Hazy—it amused me at first how she was always so anxious to recognize people she knew (quitenatural, of course) and how often she was mistaken and they weren’t the people she thought they were. But ithappened too often. And so—I began to wonder. Even Rose, the chambermaid—so nice—but I began to think thatperhaps she wasn’t real, either.”
“If it interests you to know, she’s an ex-actress. A good one. Gets a better salary here than she ever drew on thestage.”
“But—why?”
“Mainly, as part of the décor. Perhaps there’s more than that to it.”
“I’m glad to be leaving here,” said Miss Marple. She gave a little shiver. “Before anything happens.”
Chief-Inspector Davy looked at her curiously38.
“What do you expect to happen?” he asked.
“Evil of some kind,” said Miss Marple.
“Evil is rather a big word—”
“You think it is too melodramatic? But I have some experience—seem to have been—so often—in contact withmurder.”
“Murder?” Chief-Inspector Davy shook his head. “I’m not suspecting murder. Just a nice cosy39 round-up of someremarkably clever criminals—”
“That’s not the same thing. Murder—the wish to do murder—is something quite different. It—how shall I say?—itdefies God.”
He looked at her and shook his head gently and reassuringly40.
“There won’t be any murders,” he said.
A sharp report, louder than the former one, came from outside. It was followed by a scream and another report.
Chief-Inspector Davy was on his feet, moving with a speed surprising in such a bulky man. In a few seconds hewas through the swing doors and out in the street.
II
The screaming—a woman’s—was piercing the mist with a note of terror. Chief-Inspector Davy raced down PondStreet in the direction of the screams. He could dimly visualize41 a woman’s figure backed against a railing. In a dozenstrides he had reached her. She wore a long pale fur coat, and her shining blonde hair hung down each side of her face.
He thought for a moment that he knew who she was, then he realized that this only a slip of a girl. Sprawled42 on thepavement at her feet was the body of a man in uniform. Chief-Inspector Davy recognized him. It was MichaelGorman.
As Davy came up to the girl, she clutched at him, shivering all over, stammering43 out broken phrases.
“Someone tried to kill me…Someone…they shot at me…If it hadn’t been for him—” She pointed44 down at themotionless figure at her feet. “He pushed me back and got in front of me—and then the second shot came…and hefell…He saved my life. I think he’s hurt—badly hurt….”
Chief-Inspector Davy went down on one knee. His torch came out. The tall Irish commissionaire had fallen like asoldier. The left-hand side of his tunic45 showed a wet patch that was growing wetter as the blood oozed46 out into thecloth. Davy rolled up an eyelid47, touched a wrist. He rose to his feet again.
“He’s had it all right,” he said.
The girl gave a sharp cry. “Do you mean he’s dead? Oh no, no! He can’t be dead.”
“Who was it shot at you?”
“I don’t know…I’d left my car just round the corner and was feeling my way along by the railings—I was going toBertram’s Hotel. And then suddenly there was a shot—and a bullet went past my cheek and then—he—the porterfrom Bertram’s—came running down the street towards me, and shoved me behind him, and then another shotcame…I think—I think whoever it was must have been hiding in that area there.”
Chief-Inspector Davy looked where she pointed. At this end of Bertram’s Hotel there was an old-fashioned areabelow the level of the street, with a gate and some steps down to it. Since it gave only on some storerooms it was notmuch used. But a man could have hidden there easily enough.
“You didn’t see him?”
“Not properly. He rushed past me like a shadow. It was all thick fog.”
Davy nodded.
The girl began to sob20 hysterically48.
“But who could possibly want to kill me? Why should anyone want to kill me? That’s the second time. I don’tunderstand…why….”
One arm round the girl, Chief-Inspector Davy fumbled49 in his pocket with the other hand.
The shrill50 notes of a police whistle penetrated51 the mist.
III
In the lounge of Bertram’s Hotel, Miss Gorringe had looked up sharply from the desk.
One or two of the visitors had looked up also. The older and deafer did not look up.
Henry, about to lower a glass of old brandy to a table, stopped poised52 with it still in his hand.
Miss Marple sat forward, clutching the arms of her chair. A retired admiral said derisively53:
“Accident! Cars collided in the fog, I expect.”
The swing doors from the street were pushed open. Through them came what seemed like an outsize policeman,looking a good deal larger than life.
He was supporting a girl in a pale fur coat. She seemed hardly able to walk. The policeman looked round for helpwith some embarrassment54.
Miss Gorringe came out from behind the desk, prepared to cope. But at that moment the lift came down. A tallfigure emerged, and the girl shook herself free from the policeman’s support, and ran frantically55 across the lounge.
“Mother,” she cried. “Oh Mother, Mother…” and threw herself, sobbing56, into Bess Sedgwick’s arms.
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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prey
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suburban
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appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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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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standing
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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middle-aged
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modulated
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persuasive
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dealing
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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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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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illegible
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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proceedings
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guardian
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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hawklike
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soothingly
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mutual
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animated
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remarkable
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diverging
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bonnet
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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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49
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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