A CONSULTATION1
“I ’m not going to make a long story of things. I’ll explain quite simply how I came into this matter. I act asconfidential adviser2 from time to time for the Home Office. I am also in touch with certain institutions. There arecertain establishments which, in the event of crime, provide board and lodging3 for certain types of criminal who havebeen found guilty of certain acts. They remain there at what is termed Her Majesty’s pleasure, sometimes for a definitelength of time and in direct association with their age. If they are below a certain age they have to be received in someplace of detention4 specially5 indicated. You understand that, no doubt.”
“Yes, I understand quite well what you mean.”
“Usually I am consulted fairly soon after whatever the—shall we call it—crime has happened, to judge suchmatters as treatment, possibilities in the case, prognosis favourable6 or unfavourable, all the various words. They do notmean much and I will not go into them. But occasionally also I am consulted by a responsible Head of such aninstitution for a particular reason. In this matter I received a communication from a certain Department which waspassed to me through the Home Office. I went to visit the Head of this institution. In fact, the Governor responsible forthe prisoners or patients or whatever you like to call them. He was by way of being a friend of mine. A friend of fairlylong standing7 though not one with whom I was on terms of great intimacy8. I went down to the institution in questionand the Governor laid his troubles before me. They referred to one particular inmate9. He was not satisfied about thisinmate. He had certain doubts. This was the case of a young man or one who had been a young man, in fact little morethan a boy, when he came there. That was now several years ago. As time went on, and after the present Governor hadtaken up his own residence there (he had not been there at the original arrival of this prisoner), he became worried.
Not because he himself was a professional man, but because he was a man of experience of criminal patients andprisoners. To put it quite simply, this had been a boy who from his early youth had been completely unsatisfactory.
You can call it by what term you like. A young delinquent10, a young thug, a bad lot, a person of diminishedresponsibility. There are many terms. Some of them fit, some of them don’t fit, some of them are merely puzzling. Hewas a criminal type. That was certain. He had joined gangs, he had beaten up people, he was a thief, he had stolen, hehad embezzled11, he had taken part in swindles, he had initiated12 certain frauds. In fact, he was a son who would be anyfather’s despair.”
“Oh, I see,” said Miss Marple.
“And what do you see, Miss Marple?”
“Well, what I think I see is that you are talking of Mr. Rafiel’s son.”
“You are quite right. I am talking of Mr. Rafiel’s son. What do you know about him?”
“Nothing,” said Miss Marple. “I only heard— and that was yesterday— that Mr. Rafiel had a delinquent, orunsatisfactory, if we like to put it mildly, son. A son with a criminal record. I know very little about him. Was he Mr.
Rafiel’s only son?”
“Yes, he was Mr. Rafiel’s only son. But Mr. Rafiel also had two daughters. One of them died when she wasfourteen, the elder daughter married quite happily but had no children.”
“Very sad for him.”
“Possibly,” said Professor Wanstead. “One never knows. His wife died young and I think it possible that her deathsaddened him very much, though he was never willing to show it. How much he cared for his son and daughters Idon’t know. He provided for them. He did his best for them. He did his best for his son, but what his feelings were onecannot say. He was not an easy man to read that way. I think his whole life and interest lay in his profession of makingmoney. It was the making of it, like all great financiers, that interested him. Not the actual money which he secured byit. That, as you might say, was sent out like a good servant to earn more money in more interesting and unexpectedways. He enjoyed finance. He loved finance. He thought of very little else.
“I think he did all that was possible for his son. He got him out of scrapes at school, he employed good lawyers toget him released from Court proceedings14 whenever possible, but the final blow came, perhaps presaged15 by some earlyhappenings. The boy was taken to Court on a charge of assault against a young girl. It was said to be assault and rapeand he suffered a term of imprisonment16 for it, with some leniency17 shown because of his youth. But later, a second andreally serious charge was brought against him.”
“He killed a girl,” said Miss Marple. “Is that right? That’s what I heard.”
“He lured18 a girl away from her home. It was some time before her body was found. She had been strangled. Andafterwards her face and head had been disfigured by some heavy stones or rocks, presumably to prevent her identitybeing made known.”
“Not a very nice business,” said Miss Marple, in her most old-ladylike tone.
Professor Wanstead looked at her for a moment or two.
“You describe it that way?”
“It is how it seems to me,” said Miss Marple. “I don’t like that sort of thing. I never have. If you expect me to feelsympathy, regret, urge an unhappy childhood, blame bad environment; if you expect me in fact to weep over him, thisyoung murderer of yours, I do not feel inclined so to do. I do not like evil beings who do evil things.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” said Professor Wanstead. “What I suffer in the course of my profession from peopleweeping and gnashing their teeth, and blaming everything on some happening in the past, you would hardly believe. Ifpeople knew the bad environments that people have had, the unkindness, the difficulties of their lives and the fact thatnevertheless they can come through unscathed, I don’t think they would so often take the opposite point of view. Themisfits are to be pitied, yes, they are to be pitied if I may say so for the genes19 with which they are born and over whichthey have no control themselves. I pity epileptics in the same way. If you know what genes are—”
“I know, more or less,” said Miss Marple. “It’s common knowledge nowadays, though naturally I have no exactchemical or technical knowledge.”
“The Governor, a man of experience, told me exactly why he was so anxious to have my verdict. He had feltincreasingly in his experience of this particular inmate that, in plain words, the boy was not a killer20. He didn’t think hewas the type of a killer, he was like no killer he had ever seen before, he was of the opinion that the boy was the kindof criminal type who would never go straight no matter what treatment was given to him, would never reform himself;and for whom nothing in one sense of the word could be done, but at the same time he felt increasingly certain that theverdict upon him had been a wrong one. He did not believe that the boy had killed a girl, first strangled her and thendisfigured her after rolling her body into a ditch. He just couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He’d looked over thefacts of the case, which seemed to be fully21 proved. This boy had known the girl, he had been seen with her on severaldifferent occasions before the crime. They had presumably slept together and there were other points. His car had beenseen in the neighbourhood. He himself had been recognized and all the rest of it. A perfectly22 fair case. But my friendwas unhappy about it, he said. He was a man who had a very strong feeling for justice. He wanted a different opinion.
He wanted, in fact, not the police side which he knew, he wanted a professional medical view. That was my field, hesaid. My line of country entirely23. He wanted me to see this young man and talk with him, visit him, make aprofessional appraisal24 of him and give him my opinion.”
“Very interesting,” said Miss Marple. “Yes, I call that very interesting. After all, your friend—I mean yourGovernor—was a man of experience, a man who loved justice. He was a man whom you’d be willing to listen to.
Presumably then, you did listen to him.”
“Yes,” said Professor Wanstead, “I was deeply interested. I saw the subject, as I will call him, I approached himfrom several different attitudes. I talked to him, I discussed various changes likely to occur in the law. I told him itmight be possible to bring down a lawyer, a Queen’s Counsel, to see what points there might be in his favour, andother things. I approached him as a friend but also as an enemy so that I could see how he responded to differentapproaches, and I also made a good many physical tests, such as we use very frequently nowadays. I will not go intothose with you because they are wholly technical.”
“Then what did you think in the end?”
“I thought,” said Professor Wanstead, “I thought my friend was likely to be right. I did not think that MichaelRafiel was a murderer.”
“What about the earlier case you mentioned?”
“That told against him, of course. Not in the jury’s mind, because of course they did not hear about that until afterthe judge’s summing up, but certainly in the judge’s mind. It told against him, but I made a few enquiries myselfafterwards. He had assaulted a girl. He had conceivably raped25 her, but he had not attempted to strangle her and in myopinion—I have seen a great many cases which come before the Assizes—it seemed to me highly unlikely that therewas a very definite case of rape13. Girls, you must remember, are far more ready to be raped nowadays than they used tobe. Their mothers insist, very often, that they should call it rape. The girl in question had had several boyfriends whohad gone further than friendship. I did not think it counted very greatly as evidence against him. The actual murdercase — yes, that was undoubtedly26 murder — but I continued to feel by all tests, physical tests, mental tests,psychological tests, none of them accorded with this particular crime.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I communicated with Mr. Rafiel. I told him that I would like an interview with him on a certain matter concerninghis son. I went to him. I told him what I thought, what the Governor thought, that we had no evidence, that there wereno grounds of appeal, at present, but that we both believed that a miscarriage27 of justice had been committed. I said Ithought possibly an enquiry might be held, it might be an expensive business, it might bring out certain facts thatcould be laid before the Home Office, it might be successful, it might not. There might be something there, someevidence if you looked for it. I said it would be expensive to look for it but I presumed that would make no differenceto anyone in his position. I had realized by that time that he was a sick man, a very ill man. He told me so himself. Hetold me that he had been in expectation of an early death, that he’d been warned two years ago that death could not bedelayed for what they first thought was about a year, but later they realized that he would last rather longer because ofhis unusual physical strength. I asked him what he felt about his son.”
“And what did he feel about his son?” said Miss Marple.
“Ah, you want to know that. So did I. He was, I think, extremely honest with me even if—”
“—even if rather ruthless?” said Miss Marple.
“Yes, Miss Marple. You are using the right word. He was a ruthless man, but he was a just man and an honest man.
He said, ‘I’ve known what my son was like for many years. I have not tried to change him because I don’t believe thatanyone could change him. He is made a certain way. He is crooked28. He’s a bad lot. He’ll always be in trouble. He’sdishonest. Nobody, nothing could make him go straight. I am well assured of that. I have in a sense washed my handsof him. Though not legally or outwardly; he has always had money if he required it. Help legal or otherwise if he getsinto trouble. I have done always what I could do. Well, let us say if I had a son who was a spastic who was sick, whowas epileptic, I would do what I could for him. If you have a son who is sick morally, shall we say, and for whomthere is no cure, I have done what I could also. No more and no less. What can I do for him now?’ I told him that itdepended what he wanted to do. ‘There’s no difficulty about that,’ he said. ‘I am handicapped but I can see quiteclearly what I want to do. I want to get him vindicated29. I want to get him released from confinement30. I want to get himfree to continue to lead his own life as best he can lead it. If he must lead it in further dishonesties, then he must lead itthat way. I will leave provision for him, to do for him everything that can be done. I don’t want him suffering,imprisoned, cut off from his life because of a perfectly natural and unfortunate mistake. If somebody else, some otherman killed that girl, I want the fact brought to light and recognized. I want justice for Michael. But I am handicapped.
I am a very ill man. My time is measured now not in years or months but in weeks.’
“Lawyers, I suggested—I know a firm—He cut me short. ‘Your lawyers will be useless. You can employ them butthey will be useless. I must arrange what I can arrange in such a limited time.’ He offered me a large fee to undertakethe search for the truth and to undertake everything possible with no expense spared. ‘I can do next to nothing myself.
Death may come at any moment. I empower you as my chief help, and to assist you at my request I will try to find acertain person.’ He wrote down a name for me. Miss Jane Marple. He said ‘I don’t want to give you her address. Iwant you to meet her in surroundings of my own choosing,’ and he then told me of this tour, this charming, harmless,innocent tour of historic houses, castles and gardens. He would provide me with a reservation on it ahead for a certaindate. ‘Miss Jane Marple,’ he said, ‘will also be on that tour. You will meet her there, you will encounter her casually,and thus it will be seen clearly to be a casual meeting.’
“I was to choose my own time and moment to make myself known to you if I thought that that would be the betterway. You have already asked me if I or my friend, the Governor, had any reason to suspect or know of any otherperson who might have been guilty of the murder. My friend the Governor certainly suggested nothing of the kind,and he had already taken up the matter with the police officer who had been in charge of the case. A most reliabledetective-superintendent with very good experience in these matters.”
“No other man was suggested? No other friend of the girl’s? No other former friend who might have beensupplanted?”
“There was nothing of that kind to find. I asked him to tell me a little about you. He did not however consent to doso. He told me you were elderly. He told me that you were a person who knew about people. He told me one otherthing.” He paused.
“What’s the other thing?” said Miss Marple. “I have some natural curiosity, you know. I really can’t think of anyother advantage I conceivably could have. I am slightly deaf. My eyesight is not quite as good as it used to be. I cannotreally think that I have any advantages beyond the fact that I may, I suppose, seem rather foolish and simple, and amin fact, what used to be called in rather earlier days an ‘old pussy31.’ I am an old pussy. Is that the sort of thing he said?”
“No,” said Professor Wanstead. “What he said was he thought you had a very fine sense of evil.”
“Oh,” said Miss Marple. She was taken aback.
Professor Wanstead was watching her.
“Would you say that was true?” he said.
Miss Marple was quiet for quite a long time. At last she said,“Perhaps it is. Yes, perhaps. I have at several different times in my life been apprehensive32, have recognized thatthere was evil in the neighbourhood, the surroundings, that the environment of someone who was evil was near me,connected with what was happening.”
She looked at him suddenly and smiled.
“It’s rather, you know,” she said, “like being born with a very keen sense of smell. You can smell a leak of gaswhen other people can’t do so. You can distinguish one perfume from another very easily. I had an aunt once,”
continued Miss Marple thoughtfully, “who said she could smell when people told a lie. She said there was quite adistinctive odour came to her. Their noses twitched33, she said, and then the smell came. I don’t know if it was true ornot, but—well, on several occasions she was quite remarkable34. She said to my uncle once, ‘Don’t, Jack35, engage thatyoung man you were talking to this morning. He was telling you lies the whole time he was talking.’ That turned outto be quite true.”
“A sense of evil,” said Professor Wanstead. “Well, if you do sense evil, tell me. I shall be glad to know. I don’tthink I have a particular sense of evil myself. Ill health, yes, but not—not evil up here.” He tapped his forehead.
“I’d better tell you briefly36 how I came into things now,” said Miss Marple. “Mr. Rafiel, as you know, died. Hislawyers asked me to come and see them, apprised37 me of his proposition. I received a letter from him which explainednothing. After that I heard nothing more for some little time. Then I got a letter from the company who run these tourssaying that Mr. Rafiel before his death had made a reservation for me knowing that I should enjoy a trip very much,and wanting to give it me as a surprise present. I was very astonished but took it as an indication of the first step that Iwas to undertake. I was to go on this tour and presumably in the course of the tour some other indication or hint orclue or direction would come to me. I think it did. Yesterday, no, the day before, I was received on my arrival here bythree ladies who live at an old manor38 house here and who very kindly39 extended an invitation to me. They had heardfrom Mr. Rafiel, they said, who had written some time before his death, saying that a very old friend of his would becoming on this tour and would they be kind enough to put her up for two or three days as he thought she was not fit toattempt the particular ascent40 of this rather difficult climb up the headland to where there was a memorial tower whichwas the principal event of yesterday’s tour.”
“And you took that also as an indication of what you were to do?”
“Of course,” said Miss Marple. “There can be no other reason for it. He was not a man to shower benefits fornothing, out of compassion41 for an old lady who wasn’t good at walking up hills. No. He wanted me to go there.”
“And you went there? And what then?”
“Nothing,” said Miss Marple. “Three sisters.”
“Three weird42 sisters?”
“They ought to have been,” said Miss Marple, “but I don’t think they were. They didn’t seem to be anyway. I don’tknow yet. I suppose they may have been—they may be, I mean. They seem ordinary enough. They didn’t belong tothis house. It had belonged to an uncle of theirs and they’d come here to live some years ago. They are in rather poorcircumstances, they are amiable43, not particularly interesting. All slightly different in type. They do not appear to havebeen well acquainted with Mr. Rafiel. Any conversation I have had with them appears to yield nothing.”
“So you learnt nothing during your stay?”
“I learnt the facts of the case you’ve just told me. Not from them. From an elderly servant, who started herreminiscences dating back to the time of the uncle. She knew of Mr. Rafiel only as a name. But she was eloquent44 onthe theme of the murder: it had all started with the visit here of a son of Mr. Rafiel’s who was a bad lot, of how the girlhad fallen in love with him and that he’d strangled the girl, and how sad and tragic45 and terrible it all was. ‘With bellson,’ as you might say,” said Miss Marple, using a phrase of her youth. “Plenty of exaggeration, but it was a nastystory, and she seemed to believe that the police view was that this hadn’t been his only murder—”
“It didn’t seem to you to connect up with the three weird sisters?”
“No, only that they’d been the guardians46 of the girl—and had loved her dearly. No more than that.”
“They might know something—something about another man?”
“Yes—that’s what we want, isn’t it? The other man—a man of brutality47, who wouldn’t hesitate to bash in a girl’shead after he’d killed her. The kind of man who could be driven frantic48 with jealousy49. There are men like that.”
“No other curious things happened at The Old Manor?”
“Not really. One of the sisters, the youngest I think, kept talking about the garden. She sounded as though she wasa very keen gardener, but she couldn’t be because she didn’t know the names of half the things. I laid a trap or two forher, mentioning special rare shrubs50 and saying did she know it? and yes, she said, wasn’t it a wonderful plant? I said itwas not very hardy51 and she agreed. But she didn’t know anything about plants. That reminds me—”
“Reminds you of what?”
“Well, you’ll think I’m just silly about gardens and plants, but I mean one does know things about them. I mean, Iknow a few things about birds and I know some things about gardens.”
“And I gather that it’s not birds but gardens that are troubling you.”
“Yes. Have you noticed two middle-aged52 women on this tour? Miss Barrow and Miss Cooke.”
“Yes. I’ve noticed them. Pair of middle-aged spinsters travelling together.”
“That’s right. Well, I’ve found out something odd about Miss Cooke. That is her name, isn’t it? I mean it’s hername on the tour.”
“Why—has she got another name?”
“I think so. She’s the same person who visited me—I won’t say visited me exactly, but she was outside my gardenfence in St. Mary Mead53, the village where I live. She expressed pleasure at my garden and talked about gardening withme. Told me she was living in the village and working in somebody’s garden, who’d moved into a new house there. Irather think,” said Miss Marple, “yes, I rather think that the whole thing was lies. There again, she knew nothing aboutgardening. She pretended to but it wasn’t true.”
“Why do you think she came there?”
“I’d no idea at the time. She said her name was Bartlett—and the name of the woman she said she was living withbegan with ‘H,’ though I can’t remember it for the moment. Her hair was not only differently done but it was adifferent colour and her clothes were of a different style. I didn’t recognize her at first on this trip. Just wondered whyher face was vaguely54 familiar. And then suddenly it came to me. Because of the dyed hair. I said where I had seen herbefore. She admitted that she’d been there—but pretended that she, too, hadn’t recognized me. All lies.”
“And what’s your opinion about all that?”
“Well, one thing certainly—Miss Cooke (to give her her present name) came to St. Mary Mead just to have a lookat me—so that she’d be quite sure to be able to recognize me when we met again—”
“And why was that felt to be necessary?”
“I don’t know. There are two possibilities. I’m not sure that I like one of them very much.”
“I don’t know,” said Professor Wanstead, “that I like it very much either.”
They were both silent for a minute or two, and then Professor Wanstead said—“I don’t like what happened to Elizabeth Temple. You’ve talked to her during this trip?”
“Yes, I have. When she’s better I’d like to talk to her again—she could tell me—us—things about the girl who wasmurdered. She spoke55 to me of this girl—who had been at her school, who had been going to marry Mr. Rafiel’s son—but didn’t marry him. Instead she died. I asked how or why she died—and she answered with the word ‘Love.’ I tookit as meaning a suicide—but it was murder. Murder through jealousy would fit. Another man. Some other man we’vegot to find. Miss Temple may be able to tell us who he was.”
“No other sinister56 possibilities?”
“I think, really, it is casual information we need. I see no reason to believe that there is any sinister suggestion inany of the coach passengers—or any sinister suggestion about the people living in The Old Manor House. But one ofthose three sisters may have known or remembered something that the girl or Michael once said. Clotilde used to takethe girl abroad. Therefore, she may know of something that occurred on some foreign trip perhaps. Something that thegirl said or mentioned or did on some trip. Some man that the girl met. Something which has nothing to do with TheOld Manor House here. It is difficult because only by talking, by casual information, can you get any clue. The secondsister, Mrs. Glynne, married fairly early, has spent time, I gather, in India and in Africa. She may have heard ofsomething through her husband, or through her husband’s relations, through various things that are unconnected withThe Old Manor House here although she has visited it from time to time. She knew the murdered girl presumably, butI should think she knew her much less well than the other two. But that does not mean that she may not know somesignificant facts about the girl. The third sister is more scatty, more localized, does not seem to have known the girl aswell. But still, she too may have information about possible lovers—or boyfriends—seen the girl with an unknownman. That’s her, by the way, passing the hotel now.”
Miss Marple, however occupied by her tête- à- tête, had not relinquished57 the habits of a lifetime. A publicthoroughfare was always to her an observation post. All the passersby58, either loitering or hurrying, had been noticedautomatically.
“Anthea Bradbury-Scott—the one with the big parcel. She’s going to the post office, I suppose. It’s just round thecorner, isn’t it?”
“Looks a bit daft to me,” said Professor Wanstead, “all that floating hair—grey hair too—a kind of Ophelia offifty.”
“I thought of Ophelia too, when I first saw her. Oh dear, I wish I knew what I ought to do next. Stay here at theGolden Boar for a day or two, or go on with the coach tour. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. If you stickyour fingers in it long enough, you ought to come up with something—even if one does get pricked59 in the process.”
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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adviser
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lodging
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detention
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specially
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favourable
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standing
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intimacy
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inmate
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delinquent
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embezzled
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initiated
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rape
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proceedings
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presaged
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imprisonment
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leniency
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lured
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genes
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killer
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perfectly
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entirely
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appraisal
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raped
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undoubtedly
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miscarriage
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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vindicated
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| v.澄清（某人/某事物）受到的责难或嫌疑( vindicate的过去式和过去分词 )；表明或证明（所争辩的事物）属实、正当、有效等；维护 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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apprised
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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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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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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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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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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passersby
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| n. 过路人(行人,经过者) | |
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pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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