TAPE -MEASURE MURDER
M iss Politt took hold of the knocker and rapped politely on the cottage door. After a discreet1 interval2 she knockedagain. The parcel under her left arm shifted a little as she did so, and she readjusted it. Inside the parcel was Mrs.
Spenlow’s new green winter dress, ready for fitting. From Miss Politt’s left hand dangled4 a bag of black silk,containing a tape measure, a pincushion, and a large, practical pair of scissors.
Miss Politt was tall and gaunt, with a sharp nose, pursed lips, and meagre iron-grey hair. She hesitated beforeusing the knocker for the third time. Glancing down the street, she saw a figure rapidly approaching. Miss Hartnell,jolly, weather-beaten, fifty-five, shouted out in her usual loud bass5 voice, “Good afternoon, Miss Politt!”
The dressmaker answered, “Good afternoon, Miss Hartnell.” Her voice was excessively thin and genteel in itsaccents. She had started life as a lady’s maid. “Excuse me,” she went on, “but do you happen to know if by any chanceMrs. Spenlow isn’t at home?”
“Not the least idea,” said Miss Hartnell.
“It’s rather awkward, you see. I was to fit on Mrs. Spenlow’s new dress this afternoon. Three thirty, she said.”
Miss Hartnell consulted her wrist watch. “It’s a little past the half hour now.”
“Yes. I have knocked three times, but there doesn’t seem to be any answer, so I was wondering if perhaps Mrs.
Spenlow might have gone out and forgotten. She doesn’t forget appointments as a rule, and she wants the dress towear the day after tomorrow.”
Miss Hartnell entered the gate and walked up the path to join Miss Politt outside the door of Laburnum Cottage.
“Why doesn’t Gladys answer the door?” she demanded. “Oh, no, of course, it’s Thursday—Gladys’s day out. Iexpect Mrs. Spenlow has fallen asleep. I don’t expect you’ve made enough noise with this thing.”
Seizing the knocker, she executed a deafening6 rat-a-tat-tat, and in addition thumped7 upon the panels of the door.
She also called out in a stentorian8 voice, “What ho, within there!”
There was no response.
Miss Politt murmured, “Oh, I think Mrs. Spenlow must have forgotten and gone out, I’ll call round some othertime.” She began edging away down the path.
“Nonsense,” said Miss Hartnell firmly. “She can’t have gone out. I’d have met her. I’ll just take a look through thewindows and see if I can find any signs of life.”
She laughed in her usual hearty9 manner, to indicate that it was a joke, and applied10 a perfunctory glance to thenearest windowpane—perfunctory because she knew quite well that the front room was seldom used, Mr. and Mrs.
Spenlow preferring the small back sitting room.
Perfunctory as it was, though, it succeeded in its object. Miss Hartnell, it is true, saw no signs of life. On thecontrary, she saw, through the window, Mrs. Spenlow lying on the hearthrug—dead.
“Of course,” said Miss Hartnell, telling the story afterwards, “I managed to keep my head. That Politt creaturewouldn’t have had the least idea of what to do. ‘Got to keep our heads,’ I said to her. ‘You stay here, and I’ll go forConstable Palk.’ She said something about not wanting to be left, but I paid no attention at all. One has to be firm withthat sort of person. I’ve always found they enjoy making a fuss. So I was just going off when, at that very moment,Mr. Spenlow came round the corner of the house.”
Here Miss Hartnell made a significant pause. It enabled her audience to ask breathlessly, “Tell me, how did helook?”
Miss Hartnell would then go on, “Frankly, I suspected something at once! He was far too calm. He didn’t seemsurprised in the least. And you may say what you like, it isn’t natural for a man to hear that his wife is dead anddisplay no emotion whatever.”
Everybody agreed with this statement.
The police agreed with it, too. So suspicious did they consider Mr. Spenlow’s detachment, that they lost no time inascertaining how that gentleman was situated13 as a result of his wife’s death. When they discovered that Mrs. Spenlowhad been the monied partner, and that her money went to her husband under a will made soon after their marriage,they were more suspicious than ever.
Miss Marple, that sweet-faced—and, some said, vinegar-tongued—elderly spinster who lived in the house next tothe rectory, was interviewed very early—within half an hour of the discovery of the crime. She was approached byPolice Constable12 Palk, importantly thumbing a notebook. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ve a few questions to askyou.”
Miss Marple said, “In connection with the murder of Mrs. Spenlow?”
Palk was startled. “May I ask, madam, how you got to know of it?”
“The fish,” said Miss Marple.
The reply was perfectly14 intelligible15 to Constable Palk. He assumed correctly that the fishmonger’s boy had broughtit, together with Miss Marple’s evening meal.
Miss Marple continued gently. “Lying on the floor in the sitting room, strangled—possibly by a very narrow belt.
But whatever it was, it was taken away.”
Palk’s face was wrathful. “How that young Fred gets to know everything—”
Miss Marple cut him short adroitly16. She said, “There’s a pin in your tunic17.”
Constable Palk looked down, startled. He said, “They do say, ‘See a pin and pick it up, all the day you’ll havegood luck.’”
“I hope that will come true. Now what is it you want me to tell you?”
Constable Palk cleared his throat, looked important, and consulted his notebook. “Statement was made to me byMr. Arthur Spenlow, husband of the deceased. Mr. Spenlow says that at two thirty, as far as he can say, he was rungup by Miss Marple, and asked if he would come over at a quarter past three as she was anxious to consult him aboutsomething. Now, ma’am, is that true?”
“Certainly not,” said Miss Marple.
“You did not ring up Mr. Spenlow at two thirty?”
“Neither at two thirty nor any other time.”
“Ah,” said Constable Palk, and sucked his moustache with a good deal of satisfaction.
“What else did Mr. Spenlow say?”
“Mr. Spenlow’s statement was that he came over here as requested, leaving his own house at ten minutes pastthree; that on arrival here he was informed by the maidservant that Miss Marple was ‘not at ’ome.’”
“That part of it is true,” said Miss Marple. “He did come here, but I was at a meeting at the Women’s Institute.”
“Ah,” said Constable Palk again.
Miss Marple exclaimed, “Do tell me, Constable, do you suspect Mr. Spenlow?”
“It’s not for me to say at this stage, but it looks to me as though somebody, naming no names, has been trying tobe artful.”
Miss Marple said thoughtfully, “Mr. Spenlow?”
She liked Mr. Spenlow. He was a small, spare man, stiff and conventional in speech, the acme18 of respectability. Itseemed odd that he should have come to live in the country, he had so clearly lived in towns all his life. To MissMarple he confided19 the reason. He said, “I have always intended, ever since I was a small boy, to live in the countrysomeday and have a garden of my own. I have always been very much attached to flowers. My wife, you know, kept aflower shop. That’s where I saw her first.”
A dry statement, but it opened up a vista20 of romance. A younger, prettier Mrs. Spenlow, seen against a backgroundof flowers.
Mr. Spenlow, however, really knew nothing about flowers. He had no idea of seeds, of cuttings, of bedding out, ofannuals or perennials21. He had only a vision—a vision of a small cottage garden thickly planted with sweet-smelling,brightly coloured blossoms. He had asked, almost pathetically, for instruction, and had noted22 down Miss Marple’sreplies to questions in a little book.
He was a man of quiet method. It was, perhaps, because of this trait, that the police were interested in him whenhis wife was found murdered. With patience and perseverance23 they learned a good deal about the late Mrs. Spenlow—and soon all St. Mary Mead24 knew it, too.
The late Mrs. Spenlow had begun life as a between-maid in a large house. She had left that position to marry thesecond gardener, and with him had started a flower shop in London. The shop had prospered25. Not so the gardener, whobefore long had sickened and died.
His widow carried on the shop and enlarged it in an ambitious way. She had continued to prosper26. Then she hadsold the business at a handsome price and embarked27 upon matrimony for the second time—with Mr. Spenlow, amiddle-aged11 jeweller who had inherited a small and struggling business. Not long afterwards, they had sold thebusiness and came down to St. Mary Mead.
Mrs. Spenlow was a well-to-do woman. The profits from her florist’s establishment she had invested—“underspirit guidance,” as she explained to all and sundry28. The spirits had advised her with unexpected acumen29.
All her investments had prospered, some in quite a sensational30 fashion. Instead, however, of this increasing herbelief in spiritualism, Mrs. Spenlow basely deserted31 mediums and sittings, and made a brief but wholehearted plungeinto an obscure religion with Indian affinities32 which was based on various forms of deep breathing. When, however,she arrived at St. Mary Mead, she had relapsed into a period of orthodox Church-of-England beliefs. She was a gooddeal at the vicarage, and attended church services with assiduity. She patronized the village shops, took an interest inthe local happenings, and played village bridge.
A humdrum33, everyday life. And—suddenly—murder.
Colonel Melchett, the chief constable, had summoned Inspector34 Slack.
Slack was a positive type of man. When he had made up his mind, he was sure. He was quite sure now. “Husbanddid it, sir,” he said.
“You think so?”
“Quite sure of it. You’ve only got to look at him. Guilty as hell. Never showed a sign of grief or emotion. He cameback to the house knowing she was dead.”
“Wouldn’t he at least have tried to act the part of the distracted husband?”
“Not him, sir. Too pleased with himself. Some gentlemen can’t act. Too stiff.”
“Any other woman in his life?” Colonel Melchett asked.
“Haven’t been able to find any trace of one. Of course, he’s the artful kind. He’d cover his tracks. As I see it, hewas just fed up with his wife. She’d got the money, and I should say was a trying woman to live with—always takingup with some ‘ism’ or other. He cold-bloodedly decided35 to do away with her and live comfortably on his own.”
“Yes, that could be the case, I suppose.”
“Depend upon it, that was it. Made his plans careful. Pretended to get a phone call—”
Melchett interrupted him. “No call been traced?”
“No, sir. That means either that he lied, or that the call was put through from a public telephone booth. The onlytwo public phones in the village are at the station and the post office. Post office it certainly wasn’t. Mrs. Blade seeseveryone who comes in. Station it might be. Train arrives at two twenty-seven and there’s a bit of a bustle36 then. Butthe main thing is he says it was Miss Marple who called him up, and that certainly isn’t true. The call didn’t comefrom her house, and she herself was away at the Institute.”
“You’re not overlooking the possibility that the husband was deliberately37 got out of the way—by someone whowanted to murder Mrs. Spenlow?”
“You’re thinking of young Ted3 Gerard, aren’t you, sir? I’ve been working on him—what we’re up against there islack of motive38. He doesn’t stand to gain anything.”
“He’s an undesirable39 character, though. Quite a pretty little spot of embezzlement40 to his credit.”
“I’m not saying he isn’t a wrong ’un. Still, he did go to his boss and own up to that embezzlement. And hisemployers weren’t wise to it.”
“An Oxford41 Grouper,” said Melchett.
“Yes, sir. Became a convert and went off to do the straight thing and own up to having pinched money. I’m notsaying, mind you, that it mayn’t have been astuteness42. He may have thought he was suspected and decided to gambleon honest repentance43.”
“You have a sceptical mind, Slack,” said Colonel Melchett. “By the way, have you talked to Miss Marple at all?”
“What’s she got to do with it, sir?”
“Oh, nothing. But she hears things, you know. Why don’t you go and have a chat with her? She’s a very sharp oldlady.”
Slack changed the subject. “One thing I’ve been meaning to ask you, sir. That domestic-service job where thedeceased started her career—Sir Robert Abercrombie’s place. That’s where that jewel robbery was—emeralds—wortha packet. Never got them. I’ve been looking it up—must have happened when the Spenlow woman was there, thoughshe’d have been quite a girl at the time. Don’t think she was mixed up in it, do you, sir? Spenlow, you know, was oneof those little tuppenny-ha’penny jewellers—just the chap for a fence.”
Melchett shook his head. “Don’t think there’s anything in that. She didn’t even know Spenlow at the time. Iremember the case. Opinion in police circles was that a son of the house was mixed up in it—Jim Abercrombie—awful young waster. Had a pile of debts, and just after the robbery they were all paid off—some rich woman, so theysaid, but I don’t know—Old Abercrombie hedged a bit about the case—tried to call the police off.”
“It was just an idea, sir,” said Slack.
Miss Marple received Inspector Slack with gratification, especially when she heard that he had been sent by ColonelMelchett.
“Now, really, that is very kind of Colonel Melchett. I didn’t know he remembered me.”
“He remembers you, all right. Told me that what you didn’t know of what goes on in St. Mary Mead isn’t worthknowing.”
“Too kind of him, but really I don’t know anything at all. About this murder, I mean.”
“You know what the talk about it is.”
“Oh, of course—but it wouldn’t do, would it, to repeat just idle talk?”
Slack said, with an attempt at geniality44, “This isn’t an official conversation, you know. It’s in confidence, so tospeak.”
“You mean you really want to know what people are saying? Whether there’s any truth in it or not?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Well, of course, there’s been a great deal of talk and speculation45. And there are really two distinct camps, if youunderstand me. To begin with, there are the people who think that the husband did it. A husband or a wife is, in a way,the natural person to suspect, don’t you think so?”
“Maybe,” said the inspector cautiously.
“Such close quarters, you know. Then, so often, the money angle. I hear that it was Mrs. Spenlow who had themoney, and therefore Mr. Spenlow does benefit by her death. In this wicked world I’m afraid the most uncharitableassumptions are often justified46.”
“He comes into a tidy sum, all right.”
“Just so. It would seem quite plausible47, wouldn’t it, for him to strangle her, leave the house by the back, comeacross the fields to my house, ask for me and pretend he’d had a telephone call from me, then go back and find hiswife murdered in his absence—hoping, of course, that the crime would be put down to some tramp or burglar.”
The inspector nodded. “What with the money angle—and if they’d been on bad terms lately—”
But Miss Marple interrupted him. “Oh, but they hadn’t.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“Everyone would have known if they’d quarrelled! The maid, Gladys Brent—she’d have soon spread it round thevillage.”
The inspector said feebly, “She mightn’t have known—” and received a pitying smile in reply.
Miss Marple went on. “And then there’s the other school of thought. Ted Gerard. A good-looking young man. I’mafraid, you know, that good looks are inclined to influence one more than they should. Our last curate but one—quite amagical effect! All the girls came to church—evening service as well as morning. And many older women becameunusually active in parish work—and the slippers48 and scarfs that were made for him! Quite embarrassing for the pooryoung man.
“But let me see, where was I? Oh, yes, this young man, Ted Gerard. Of course, there has been talk about him. He’scome down to see her so often. Though Mrs. Spenlow told me herself that he was a member of what I think they callthe Oxford Group. A religious movement. They are quite sincere and very earnest, I believe, and Mrs. Spenlow wasimpressed by it all.”
Miss Marple took a breath and went on. “And I’m sure there was no reason to believe that there was anythingmore in it than that, but you know what people are. Quite a lot of people are convinced that Mrs. Spenlow wasinfatuated with the young man, and that she’d lent him quite a lot of money. And it’s perfectly true that he wasactually seen at the station that day. In the train—the two twenty-seven down train. But of course it would be quiteeasy, wouldn’t it, to slip out of the other side of the train and go through the cutting and over the fence and round bythe hedge and never come out of the station entrance at all. So that he need not have been seen going to the cottage.
And, of course, people do think that what Mrs. Spenlow was wearing was rather peculiar49.”
“Peculiar?”
“A kimono. Not a dress.” Miss Marple blushed. “That sort of thing, you know, is, perhaps, rather suggestive tosome people.”
“You think it was suggestive?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so, I think it was perfectly natural.”
“You think it was natural?”
“Under the circumstances, yes.” Miss Marple’s glance was cool and reflective.
Inspector Slack said, “It might give us another motive for the husband. Jealousy50.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Spenlow would never be jealous. He’s not the sort of man who notices things. If his wife had goneaway and left a note on the pincushion, it would be the first he’d know of anything of that kind.”
Inspector Slack was puzzled by the intent way she was looking at him. He had an idea that all her conversationwas intended to hint at something he didn’t understand. She said now, with some emphasis, “Didn’t you find anyclues, Inspector—on the spot?”
“People don’t leave fingerprints51 and cigarette ash nowadays, Miss Marple.”
“But this, I think,” she suggested, “was an old-fashioned crime—”
Slack said sharply, “Now what do you mean by that?”
Miss Marple remarked slowly, “I think, you know, that Constable Palk could help you. He was the first person onthe—on the ‘scene of the crime,’ as they say.”
Mr. Spenlow was sitting in a deck chair. He looked bewildered. He said, in his thin, precise voice, “I may, of course,be imagining what occurred. My hearing is not as good as it was. But I distinctly think I heard a small boy call afterme, ‘Yah, who’s a Crippen?’ It—it conveyed the impression to me that he was of the opinion that I had—had killedmy dear wife.”
Miss Marple, gently snipping52 off a dead rose head, said, “That was the impression he meant to convey, no doubt.”
“But what could possibly have put such an idea into a child’s head?”
Miss Marple coughed. “Listening, no doubt, to the opinions of his elders.”
“You—you really mean that other people think that, also?”
“Quite half the people in St. Mary Mead.”
“But—my dear lady—what can possibly have given rise to such an idea? I was sincerely attached to my wife. Shedid not, alas53, take to living in the country as much as I had hoped she would do, but perfect agreement on everysubject is an impossible idea. I assure you I feel her loss very keenly.”
“Probably. But if you will excuse my saying so, you don’t sound as though you do.”
Mr. Spenlow drew his meagre frame up to its full height. “My dear lady, many years ago I read of a certainChinese philosopher who, when his dearly loved wife was taken from him, continued calmly to beat a gong in thestreet—a customary Chinese pastime, I presume—exactly as usual. The people of the city were much impressed by hisfortitude.”
“But,” said Miss Marple, “the people of St. Mary Mead react rather differently. Chinese philosophy does notappeal to them.”
“But you understand?”
Miss Marple nodded. “My Uncle Henry,” she explained, “was a man of unusual self-control. His motto was‘Never display emotion.’ He, too, was very fond of flowers.”
“I was thinking,” said Mr. Spenlow with something like eagerness, “that I might, perhaps, have a pergola on thewest side of the cottage. Pink roses and, perhaps, wisteria. And there is a white starry54 flower, whose name for themoment escapes me—”
In the tone in which she spoke55 to her grandnephew, aged three, Miss Marple said, “I have a very nice cataloguehere, with pictures. Perhaps you would like to look through it—I have to go up to the village.”
Leaving Mr. Spenlow sitting happily in the garden with his catalogue, Miss Marple went up to her room, hastilyrolled up a dress in a piece of brown paper, and, leaving the house, walked briskly up to the post office. Miss Politt, thedressmaker, lived in the rooms over the post office.
But Miss Marple did not at once go through the door and up the stairs. It was just two thirty, and, a minute late, theMuch Ben-ham bus drew up outside the post office door. It was one of the events of the day in St. Mary Mead. Thepostmistress hurried out with parcels, parcels connected with the shop side of her business, for the post office alsodealt in sweets, cheap books, and children’s toys.
For some four minutes Miss Marple was alone in the post office.
Not till the postmistress returned to her post did Miss Marple go upstairs and explain to Miss Politt that she wantedher old grey crepe altered and made more fashionable if that were possible. Miss Politt promised to see what she coulddo.
The chief constable was rather astonished when Miss Marple’s name was brought to him. She came in with manyapologies. “So sorry—so very sorry to disturb you. You are so busy, I know, but then you have always been so verykind, Colonel Melchett, and I felt I would rather come to you instead of Inspector Slack. For one thing, you know, Ishould hate Constable Palk to get into any trouble. Strictly56 speaking, I suppose he shouldn’t have touched anything atall.”
Colonel Melchett was slightly bewildered. He said, “Palk? That’s the St. Mary Mead constable, isn’t it? What hashe been doing?”
“He picked up a pin, you know. It was in his tunic. And it occurred to me at the time that it was quite probable hehad actually picked it up in Mrs. Spenlow’s house.”
“Quite, quite. But after all, you know, what’s a pin? Matter of fact he did pick the pin up just by Mrs. Spenlow’sbody. Came and told Slack about it yesterday—you put him up to that, I gather? Oughtn’t to have touched anything, ofcourse, but as I said, what’s a pin? It was only a common pin. Sort of thing any woman might use.”
“Oh, no, Colonel Melchett, that’s where you’re wrong. To a man’s eye, perhaps, it looked like an ordinary pin, butit wasn’t. It was a special pin, a very thin pin, the kind you buy by the box, the kind used mostly by dressmakers.”
Melchett stared at her, a faint light of comprehension breaking in on him. Miss Marple nodded her head severaltimes, eagerly.
“Yes, of course. It seems to me so obvious. She was in her kimono because she was going to try on her new dress,and she went into the front room, and Miss Politt just said something about measurements and put the tape measureround her neck—and then all she’d have to do was to cross it and pull—quite easy, so I’ve heard. And then, of course,she’d go outside and pull the door to and stand there knocking as though she’d just arrived. But the pin shows she’dalready been in the house.”
“And it was Miss Politt who telephoned to Spenlow?”
“Yes. From the post office at two thirty—just when the bus comes and the post office would be empty.”
Colonel Melchett said, “But my dear Miss Marple, why? In heaven’s name, why? You can’t have a murderwithout a motive.”
“Well, I think, you know, Colonel Melchett, from all I’ve heard, that the crime dates from a long time back. Itreminds me, you know, of my two cousins, Antony and Gordon. Whatever Antony did always went right for him, andwith poor Gordon it was just the other way about. Race horses went lame57, and stocks went down, and propertydepreciated. As I see it, the two women were in it together.”
“In what?”
“The robbery. Long ago. Very valuable emeralds, so I’ve heard. The lady’s maid and the tweeny. Because onething hasn’t been explained—how, when the tweeny married the gardener, did they have enough money to set up aflower shop?
“The answer is, it was her share of the—the swag, I think is the right expression. Everything she did turned outwell. Money made money. But the other one, the lady’s maid, must have been unlucky. She came down to being just avillage dressmaker. Then they met again. Quite all right at first, I expect, until Mr. Ted Gerard came on the scene.
“Mrs. Spenlow, you see, was already suffering from conscience, and was inclined to be emotionally religious. Thisyoung man no doubt urged her to ‘face up’ and to ‘come clean’ and I dare say she was strung up to do it. But MissPolitt didn’t see it that way. All she saw was that she might go to prison for a robbery she had committed years ago. Soshe made up her mind to put a stop to it all. I’m afraid, you know, that she was always rather a wicked woman. I don’tbelieve she’d have turned a hair if that nice, stupid Mr. Spenlow had been hanged.”
Colonel Melchett said slowly, “We can—er—verify your theory—up to a point. The identity of the Politt womanwith the lady’s maid at the Abercrombies,’ but—”
Miss Marple reassured58 him. “It will be all quite easy. She’s the kind of woman who will break down at once whenshe’s taxed with the truth. And then, you see, I’ve got her tape measure. I—er—abstracted it yesterday when I wastrying on. When she misses it and thinks the police have got it—well, she’s quite an ignorant woman and she’ll thinkit will prove the case against her in some way.”
She smiled at him encouragingly. “You’ll have no trouble, I can assure you.” It was the tone in which his favouriteaunt had once assured him that he could not fail to pass his entrance examination into Sandhurst.
And he had passed.
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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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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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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acme
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| n.顶点，极点 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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perennials
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| n.多年生植物( perennial的名词复数 ) | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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acumen
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| n.敏锐，聪明 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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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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affinities
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| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
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humdrum
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| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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embezzlement
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| n.盗用，贪污 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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snipping
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| n.碎片v.剪( snip的现在分词 ) | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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