THE TUESDAY NIGHT CLUB
“ U nsolved mysteries.”
Raymond West blew out a cloud of smoke and repeated the words with a kind of deliberate self-consciouspleasure.
“Unsolved mysteries.”
He looked round him with satisfaction. The room was an old one with broad black beams across the ceiling and itwas furnished with good old furniture that belonged to it. Hence Raymond West’s approving glance. By profession hewas a writer and he liked the atmosphere to be flawless. His Aunt Jane’s house always pleased him as the right settingfor her personality. He looked across the hearth1 to where she sat erect2 in the big grandfather chair. Miss Marple wore ablack brocade dress, very much pinched in round the waist. Mechlin lace was arranged in a cascade3 down the front ofthe bodice. She had on black lace mittens4, and a black lace cap surmounted5 the piled-up masses of her snowy hair. Shewas knitting-something white and soft and fleecy. Her faded blue eyes, benignant and kindly6, surveyed her nephewand her nephew’s guests with gentle pleasure. They rested first on Raymond himself, self-consciously debonair7, thenon Joyce Lemprière, the artist, with her close-cropped black head and queer hazel-green eyes, then on that well-groomed man of the world, Sir Henry Clithering. There were two other people in the room, Dr. Pender, the elderlyclergyman of the parish, and Mr. Petherick, the solicitor9, a dried-up little man with eyeglasses which he looked overand not through. Miss Marple gave a brief moment of attention to all these people and returned to her knitting with agentle smile upon her lips.
Mr. Petherick gave the dry little cough with which he usually prefaced his remarks.
“What is that you say, Raymond? Unsolved mysteries? Ha-and what about them?”
“Nothing about them,” said Joyce Lemprière. “Raymond just likes the sound of the words and of himself sayingthem.”
Raymond West threw her a glance of reproach at which she threw back her head and laughed.
“He is a humbug10, isn’t he, Miss Marple?” she demanded. “You know that, I am sure.”
Miss Marple smiled gently at her but made no reply.
“Life itself is an unsolved mystery,” said the clergyman gravely.
Raymond sat up in his chair and flung away his cigarette with an impulsive11 gesture.
“That’s not what I mean. I was not talking philosophy,” he said. “I was thinking of actual bare prosaic12 facts, thingsthat have happened and that no one has ever explained.”
“I know just the sort of thing you mean, dear,” said Miss Marple. “For instance Mrs. Carruthers had a very strangeexperience yesterday morning. She bought two gills of picked shrimps13 at Elliot’s. She called at two other shops andwhen she got home she found she had not got the shrimps with her. She went back to the two shops she had visited butthese shrimps had completely disappeared. Now that seems to me very remarkable14.”
“A very fishy15 story,” said Sir Henry Clithering gravely.
“There are, of course, all kinds of possible explanations,” said Miss Marple, her cheeks growing slightly pinkerwith excitement. “For instance, somebody else-”
“My dear Aunt,” said Raymond West with some amusement, “I didn’t mean that sort of village incident. I wasthinking of murders and disappearances-the kind of thing that Sir Henry could tell us about by the hour if he liked.”
“But I never talk shop,” said Sir Henry modestly. “No, I never talk shop.”
Sir Henry Clithering had been until lately Commissioner16 of Scotland Yard.
“I suppose there are a lot of murders and things that never are solved by the police,” said Joyce Lemprière.
“That is an admitted fact, I believe,” said Mr. Petherick.
“I wonder,” said Raymond West, “what class of brain really succeeds best in unravelling17 a mystery? One alwaysfeels that the average police detective must be hampered18 by lack of imagination.”
“That is the layman’s point of view,” said Sir Henry dryly.
“You really want a committee,” said Joyce, smiling. “For psychology19 and imagination go to the writer-”
She made an ironical20 bow to Raymond but he remained serious.
“The art of writing gives one an insight into human nature,” he said gravely. “One sees, perhaps, motives21 that theordinary person would pass by.”
“I know, dear,” said Miss Marple, “that your books are very clever. But do you think that people are really sounpleasant as you make them out to be?”
“My dear Aunt,” said Raymond gently, “keep your beliefs. Heaven forbid that I should in any way shatter them.”
“I mean,” said Miss Marple, puckering23 her brow a little as she counted the stitches in her knitting, “that so manypeople seem to me not to be either bad or good, but simply, you know, very silly.”
Mr. Petherick gave his dry little cough again.
“Don’t you think, Raymond,” he said, “that you attach too much weight to imagination? Imagination is a verydangerous thing, as we lawyers know only too well. To be able to sift24 evidence impartially25, to take the facts and lookat them as facts-that seems to me the only logical method of arriving at the truth. I may add that in my experience itis the only one that succeeds.”
“Bah!” cried Joyce, flinging back her black head indignantly. “I bet I could beat you all at this game. I am not onlya woman-and say what you like, women have an intuition that is denied to men-I am an artist as well. I see thingsthat you don’t. And then, too, as an artist I have knocked about among all sorts and conditions of people. I know lifeas darling Miss Marple here cannot possibly know it.”
“I don’t know about that, dear,” said Miss Marple. “Very painful and distressing26 things happen in villagessometimes.”
“May I speak?” said Dr. Pender smiling. “It is the fashion nowadays to decry27 the clergy8, I know, but we hearthings, we know a side of human character which is a sealed book to the outside world.”
“Well,” said Joyce, “it seems to me we are a pretty representative gathering28. How would it be if we formed aClub? What is today? Tuesday? We will call it The Tuesday Night Club. It is to meet every week, and each member inturn has to propound29 a problem. Some mystery of which they have personal knowledge, and to which, of course, theyknow the answer. Let me see, how many are we? One, two, three, four, five. We ought really to be six.”
“You have forgotten me, dear,” said Miss Marple, smiling brightly.
Joyce was slightly taken aback, but she concealed30 the fact quickly.
“That would be lovely, Miss Marple,” she said. “I didn’t think you would care to play.”
“I think it would be very interesting,” said Miss Marple, “especially with so many clever gentlemen present. I amafraid I am not clever myself, but living all these years in St. Mary Mead31 does give one an insight into human nature.”
“I am sure your cooperation will be very valuable,” said Sir Henry, courteously32.
“Who is going to start?” said Joyce.
“I think there is no doubt as to that,” said Dr. Pender, “when we have the great good fortune to have such adistinguished man as Sir Henry staying with us-”
He left his sentence unfinished, making a courtly bow in the direction of Sir Henry.
The latter was silent for a minute or two. At last he sighed and recrossed his legs and began:
“It is a little difficult for me to select just the kind of thing you want, but I think, as it happens, I know of aninstance which fits these conditions very aptly. You may have seen some mention of the case in the papers of a yearago. It was laid aside at the time as an unsolved mystery, but, as it happens, the solution came into my hands not verymany days ago.
“The facts are very simple. Three people sat down to a supper consisting, amongst other things, of tinned lobster33.
Later in the night, all three were taken ill, and a doctor was hastily summoned. Two of the people recovered, the thirdone died.”
“Ah!” said Raymond approvingly.
“As I say, the facts as such were very simple. Death was considered to be due to ptomaine poisoning, a certificatewas given to that effect, and the victim was duly buried. But things did not rest at that.”
Miss Marple nodded her head.
“There was talk, I suppose,” she said, “there usually is.”
“And now I must describe the actors in this little drama. I will call the husband and wife Mr. and Mrs. Jones, andthe wife’s companion Miss Clark. Mr. Jones was a traveller for a firm of manufacturing chemists. He was a good-looking man in a kind of coarse, florid way, aged34 about fifty. His wife was a rather commonplace woman, of aboutforty-five. The companion, Miss Clark, was a woman of sixty, a stout35 cheery woman with a beaming rubicund36 face.
None of them, you might say, very interesting.
“Now the beginning of the troubles arose in a very curious way. Mr. Jones had been staying the previous night at asmall commercial hotel in Birmingham. It happened that the blotting37 paper in the blotting book had been put in freshthat day, and the chambermaid, having apparently38 nothing better to do, amused herself by studying the blotter in themirror just after Mr. Jones had been writing a letter there. A few days later there was a report in the papers of the deathof Mrs. Jones as the result of eating tinned lobster, and the chambermaid then imparted to her fellow servants thewords that she had deciphered on the blotting pad. They were as follows: Entirely39 dependent on my wife . . . when sheis dead I will . . . hundreds and thousands. . . .
“You may remember that there had recently been a case of a wife being poisoned by her husband. It needed verylittle to fire the imagination of these maids. Mr. Jones had planned to do away with his wife and inherit hundreds ofthousands of pounds! As it happened one of the maids had relations living in the small market town where the Jonesesresided. She wrote to them, and they in return wrote to her. Mr. Jones, it seemed, had been very attentive40 to the localdoctor’s daughter, a good-looking young woman of thirty-three. Scandal began to hum. The Home Secretary waspetitioned. Numerous anonymous41 letters poured into Scotland Yard all accusing Mr. Jones of having murdered hiswife. Now I may say that not for one moment did we think there was anything in it except idle village talk and gossip.
Nevertheless, to quiet public opinion an exhumation42 order was granted. It was one of these cases of popularsuperstition based on nothing solid whatever, which proved to be so surprisingly justified43. As a result of the autopsysufficient arsenic45 was found to make it quite clear that the deceased lady had died of arsenical poisoning. It was forScotland Yard working with the local authorities to prove how that arsenic had been administered, and by whom.”
“Ah!” said Joyce. “I like this. This is the real stuff.”
“Suspicion naturally fell on the husband. He benefited by his wife’s death. Not to the extent of the hundreds ofthousands romantically imagined by the hotel chambermaid, but to the very solid amount of ?8000. He had no moneyof his own apart from what he earned, and he was a man of somewhat extravagant46 habits with a partiality for thesociety of women. We investigated as delicately as possible the rumour47 of his attachment48 to the doctor’s daughter; butwhile it seemed clear that there had been a strong friendship between them at one time, there had been a most abruptbreak two months previously49, and they did not appear to have seen each other since. The doctor himself, an elderlyman of a straightforward50 and unsuspicious type, was dumbfounded at the result of the autopsy44. He had been called inabout midnight to find all three people suffering. He had realized immediately the serious condition of Mrs. Jones, andhad sent back to his dispensary for some opium51 pills, to allay52 the pain. In spite of all his efforts, however, shesuccumbed, but not for a moment did he suspect that anything was amiss. He was convinced that her death was due toa form of botulism. Supper that night had consisted of tinned lobster and salad, trifle and bread and cheese.
Unfortunately none of the lobster remained-it had all been eaten and the tin thrown away. He had interrogated53 theyoung maid, Gladys Linch. She was terribly upset, very tearful and agitated54, and he found it hard to get her to keep tothe point, but she declared again and again that the tin had not been distended55 in any way and that the lobster hadappeared to her in a perfectly56 good condition.
“Such were the facts we had to go upon. If Jones had feloniously administered arsenic to his wife, it seemed clearthat it could not have been done in any of the things eaten at supper, as all three persons had partaken of the meal.
Also-another point-Jones himself had returned from Birmingham just as supper was being brought in to table, sothat he would have had no opportunity of doctoring any of the food beforehand.”
“What about the companion?” asked Joyce-“the stout woman with the good-humoured face.”
Sir Henry nodded.
“We did not neglect Miss Clark, I can assure you. But it seemed doubtful what motive22 she could have had for thecrime. Mrs. Jones left her no legacy57 of any kind and the net result of her employer’s death was that she had to seek foranother situation.”
“That seems to leave her out of it,” said Joyce thoughtfully.
“Now one of my inspectors58 soon discovered a significant fact,” went on Sir Henry. “After supper on that eveningMr. Jones had gone down to the kitchen and had demanded a bowl of cornflour for his wife who had complained ofnot feeling well. He had waited in the kitchen until Gladys Linch prepared it, and then carried it up to his wife’s roomhimself. That, I admit, seemed to clinch59 the case.”
The lawyer nodded.
“Motive,” he said, ticking the points off on his fingers. “Opportunity. As a traveller for a firm of druggists, easyaccess to the poison.”
“And a man of weak moral fibre,” said the clergyman.
Raymond West was staring at Sir Henry.
“There is a catch in this somewhere,” he said. “Why did you not arrest him?”
Sir Henry smiled rather wryly60.
“That is the unfortunate part of the case. So far all had gone swimmingly, but now we come to the snags. Joneswas not arrested because on interrogating61 Miss Clark she told us that the whole of the bowl of cornflour was drunk notby Mrs. Jones but by her.
“Yes, it seems that she went to Mrs. Jones’s room as was her custom. Mrs. Jones was sitting up in bed and thebowl of cornflour was beside her.
“‘I am not feeling a bit well, Milly,’ she said. ‘Serves me right, I suppose, for touching62 lobster at night. I askedAlbert to get me a bowl of cornflour, but now that I have got it I don’t seem to fancy it.’
“‘A pity,’ commented Miss Clark-‘it is nicely made too, no lumps. Gladys is really quite a nice cook. Very fewgirls nowadays seem to be able to make a bowl of cornflour nicely. I declare I quite fancy it myself, I am that hungry.’
“‘I should think you were with your foolish ways,’ said Mrs. Jones.
“I must explain,” broke off Sir Henry, “that Miss Clark, alarmed at her increasing stoutness63, was doing a course ofwhat is popularly known as ‘banting.’
“‘It is not good for you, Milly, it really isn’t,’ urged Mrs. Jones. ‘If the Lord made you stout he meant you to bestout. You drink up that bowl of cornflour. It will do you all the good in the world.’
“And straight away Miss Clark set to and did in actual fact finish the bowl. So, you see, that knocked our caseagainst the husband to pieces. Asked for an explanation of the words on the blotting book Jones gave one readilyenough. The letter, he explained, was in answer to one written from his brother in Australia who had applied64 to himfor money. He had written, pointing out that he was entirely dependent on his wife. When his wife was dead he wouldhave control of money and would assist his brother if possible. He regretted his inability to help but pointed65 out thatthere were hundreds and thousands of people in the world in the same unfortunate plight66.”
“And so the case fell to pieces?” said Dr. Pender.
“And so the case fell to pieces,” said Sir Henry gravely. “We could not take the risk of arresting Jones withnothing to go upon.”
There was a silence and then Joyce said, “And that is all, is it?”
“That is the case as it has stood for the last year. The true solution is now in the hands of Scotland Yard, and intwo or three days’ time you will probably read of it in the newspapers.”
“The true solution,” said Joyce thoughtfully. “I wonder. Let’s all think for five minutes and then speak.”
Raymond West nodded and noted67 the time on his watch. When the five minutes were up he looked over at Dr.
Pender.
“Will you speak first?” he said.
The old man shook his head. “I confess,” he said, “that I am utterly68 baffled. I can but think that the husband insome way must be the guilty party, but how he did it I cannot imagine. I can only suggest that he must have given herthe poison in some way that has not yet been discovered, although how in that case it should have come to light afterall this time I cannot imagine.”
“Joyce?”
“The companion!” said Joyce decidedly. “The companion every time! How do we know what motive she mayhave had? Just because she was old and stout and ugly it doesn’t follow that she wasn’t in love with Jones herself. Shemay have hated the wife for some other reason. Think of being a companion-always having to be pleasant and agreeand stifle69 yourself and bottle yourself up. One day she couldn’t bear it any longer and then she killed her. She probablyput the arsenic in the bowl of cornflour and all that story about eating it herself is a lie.”
“Mr. Petherick?”
The lawyer joined the tips of his fingers together professionally. “I should hardly like to say. On the facts I shouldhardly like to say.”
“But you have got to, Mr. Petherick,” said Joyce. “You can’t reserve judgement and say ‘without prejudice,’ andbe legal. You have got to play the game.”
“On the facts,” said Mr. Petherick, “there seems nothing to be said. It is my private opinion, having seen, alas70, toomany cases of this kind, that the husband was guilty. The only explanation that will cover the facts seems to be thatMiss Clark for some reason or other deliberately71 sheltered him. There may have been some financial arrangementmade between them. He might realize that he would be suspected, and she, seeing only a future of poverty before her,may have agreed to tell the story of drinking the cornflour in return for a substantial sum to be paid to her privately72. Ifthat was the case it was of course most irregular. Most irregular indeed.”
“I disagree with you all,” said Raymond. “You have forgotten the one important factor in the case. The doctor’sdaughter. I will give you my reading of the case. The tinned lobster was bad. It accounted for the poisoningsymptoms. The doctor was sent for. He finds Mrs. Jones, who has eaten more lobster than the others, in great pain, andhe sends, as you told us, for some opium pills. He does not go himself, he sends. Who will give the messenger theopium pills? Clearly his daughter. Very likely she dispenses73 his medicines for him. She is in love with Jones and atthis moment all the worst instincts in her nature rise and she realizes that the means to procure74 his freedom are in herhands. The pills she sends contain pure white arsenic. That is my solution.”
“And now, Sir Henry, tell us,” said Joyce eagerly.
“One moment,” said Sir Henry. “Miss Marple has not yet spoken.”
Miss Marple was shaking her head sadly.
“Dear, dear,” she said. “I have dropped another stitch. I have been so interested in the story. A sad case, a very sadcase. It reminds me of old Mr. Hargraves who lived up at the Mount. His wife never had the least suspicion-until hedied, leaving all his money to a woman he had been living with and by whom he had five children. She had at one timebeen their housemaid. Such a nice girl, Mrs. Hargraves always said - thoroughly76 to be relied upon to turn themattresses every day-except Fridays, of course. And there was old Hargraves keeping this woman in a house in theneighbouring town and continuing to be a Churchwarden and to hand round the plate every Sunday.”
“My dear Aunt Jane,” said Raymond with some impatience77. “What has dead and gone Hargraves got to do withthe case?”
“This story made me think of him at once,” said Miss Marple. “The facts are so very alike, aren’t they? I supposethe poor girl has confessed now and that is how you know, Sir Henry.”
“What girl?” said Raymond. “My dear Aunt, what are you talking about?”
“That poor girl, Gladys Linch, of course-the one who was so terribly agitated when the doctor spoke75 to her-andwell she might be, poor thing. I hope that wicked Jones is hanged, I am sure, making that poor girl a murderess. Isuppose they will hang her too, poor thing.”
“I think, Miss Marple, that you are under a slight misapprehension,” began Mr. Petherick.
But Miss Marple shook her head obstinately78 and looked across at Sir Henry.
“I am right, am I not? It seems so clear to me. The hundreds and thousands-and the trifle-I mean, one cannotmiss it.”
“What about the trifle and the hundreds and thousands?” cried Raymond.
His aunt turned to him.
“Cooks nearly always put hundreds and thousands on trifle, dear,” she said. “Those little pink and white sugarthings. Of course when I heard that they had trifle for supper and that the husband had been writing to someone abouthundreds and thousands, I naturally connected the two things together. That is where the arsenic was-in the hundredsand thousands. He left it with the girl and told her to put it on the trifle.”
“But that is impossible,” said Joyce quickly. “They all ate the trifle.”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Marple. “The companion was banting, you remember. You never eat anything like trifle if youare banting; and I expect Jones just scraped the hundreds and thousands off his share and left them at the side of hisplate. It was a clever idea, but a very wicked one.”
The eyes of the others were all fixed79 upon Sir Henry.
“It is a very curious thing,” he said slowly, “but Miss Marple happens to have hit upon the truth. Jones had gotGladys Linch into trouble, as the saying goes. She was nearly desperate. He wanted his wife out of the way andpromised to marry Gladys when his wife was dead. He doctored the hundreds and thousands and gave them to herwith instructions how to use them. Gladys Linch died a week ago. Her child died at birth and Jones had deserted80 herfor another woman. When she was dying she confessed the truth.”
There was a few moments’ silence and then Raymond said:
“Well, Aunt Jane, this is one up to you. I can’t think how on earth you managed to hit upon the truth. I shouldnever have thought of the little maid in the kitchen being connected with the case.”
“No, dear,” said Miss Marple, “but you don’t know as much of life as I do. A man of that Jones’s type-coarseand jovial81. As soon as I heard there was a pretty young girl in the house I felt sure that he would not have left heralone. It is all very distressing and painful, and not a very nice thing to talk about. I can’t tell you the shock it was toMrs. Hargraves, and a nine days’ wonder in the village.”
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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mittens
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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kindly
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debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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humbug
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| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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shrimps
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| n.虾，小虾( shrimp的名词复数 )；矮小的人 | |
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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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fishy
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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unravelling
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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ironical
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motives
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motive
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puckering
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sift
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impartially
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distressing
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decry
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gathering
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propound
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concealed
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mead
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courteously
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lobster
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aged
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rubicund
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blotting
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apparently
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entirely
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attentive
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anonymous
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exhumation
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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autopsy
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| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
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arsenic
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| n.砒霜，砷；adj.砷的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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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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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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clinch
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| v.敲弯，钉牢；确定；扭住对方 [参]clench | |
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wryly
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| adv. 挖苦地，嘲弄地 | |
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interrogating
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| n.询问技术v.询问( interrogate的现在分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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stoutness
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| 坚固，刚毅 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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dispenses
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| v.分配，分与；分配( dispense的第三人称单数 )；施与；配（药） | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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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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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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