IThey had carried Mr Justice Wargrave up to his room and laid him on thebed.
Then they had come down again and had stood in the hall looking ateach other.
Blore said heavily:
‘What do we do now?’
Lombard said briskly:
‘Have something to eat. We’ve got to eat, you know.’
Once again they went into the kitchen. Again they opened a tin oftongue. They ate mechanically, almost without tasting.
Vera said:
‘I shall never eat tongue again.’
They finished the meal. They sat round the kitchen table staring at eachother.
Blore said:
‘Only four of us now…Who’ll be the next?’
Armstrong stared. He said, almost mechanically:
‘We must be very careful—’ and stopped.
Blore nodded.
‘That’s what he said…and now he’s dead!’
Armstrong said:
‘How did it happen, I wonder?’
Lombard swore. He said:
‘A damned clever doublecross! That stuff was planted in MissClaythorne’s room and it worked just as it was intended to. Everyonedashes up there thinking she’s being murdered. And so—in the confusion—someone—caught the old boy off his guard.’
Blore said:
‘Why didn’t anyone hear the shot?’
Lombard shook his head.
‘Miss Claythorne was screaming, the wind was howling, we were run-ning about and calling out. No, it wouldn’t be heard.’ He paused. ‘But thattrick’s not going to work again. He’ll have to try something else next.’
Blore said:
‘He probably will.’
There was an unpleasant tone in his voice. The two men eyed eachother.
Armstrong said:
‘Four of us, and we don’t know which…’
Blore said:
‘I know…’
Vera said:
‘I haven’t the least doubt…’
Armstrong said slowly:
‘I suppose I do know really…’
Philip Lombard said:
‘I think I’ve got a pretty good idea now…’
Again they all looked at each other…
Vera staggered to her feet. She said:
‘I feel awful. I must go to bed…I’m dead beat.’
Lombard said:
‘Might as well. No good sitting watching each other.’
Blore said:
‘I ’ve no objection…’
The doctor murmured:
‘The best thing to do—although I doubt if any of us will sleep.’
They moved to the door. Blore said:
‘I wonder where that revolver is now?…’
II
They went up the stairs.
The next move was a little like a scene in a farce2.
Each one of the four stood with a hand on his or her bedroom doorhandle. Then, as though at a signal, each one stepped into the room andpulled the door shut. There were sounds of bolts and locks, of the movingof furniture.
Four frightened people were barricaded3 in until morning.
III
Philip Lombard drew a breath of relief as he turned from adjusting a chairunder the door handle.
He strolled across to the dressing-table.
By the light of the flickering4 candle he studied his face curiously5.
He said softly to himself:
‘Yes, this business has got you rattled6 all right.’
His sudden wolf-like smile flashed out.
He undressed quickly.
He went over to the bed, placing his wristwatch on the table by the bed.
Then he opened the drawer of the table.
He stood there, staring down at the revolver that was inside it…IV
Vera Claythorne lay in bed.
The candle still burned beside her.
And yet she could not summon the courage to put it out.
She was afraid of the dark…
She told herself again and again: ‘You’re all right until morning. Nothinghappened last night. Nothing will happen tonight. Nothing can happen.
You’re locked and bolted in. No one can come near you…’
And she thought suddenly:
‘Of course! I can stay here! Stay here locked in! Food doesn’t really mat-ter! I can stay here—safely—till help comes! Even if it’s a day—or twodays…’
Stay here. Yes, but could she stay here? Hour after hour—with no one tospeak to, with nothing to do but think…
She’d begin to think of Cornwall—of Hugo—of—of what she’d said toCyril.
Horrid7 whiney little boy, always pestering8 her…‘Miss Claythorne, why can’t I swim out to the rock? I can. I know I can.’
Was it her voice that had answered?
‘Of course, you can, Cyril, really. I know that.’
‘Can I go then, Miss Claythorne?’
‘Well, you see, Cyril, your mother gets so nervous about you. I’ll tell youwhat. Tomorrow you can swim out to the rock. I’ll talk to your mother onthe beach and distract her attention. And then, when she looks for you,there you’ll be standing9 on the rock waving to her! It will be a surprise!’
‘Oh, good egg, Miss Claythorne! That will be a lark10!’
She’d said it now. Tomorrow! Hugo was going to Newquay. When hecame back—it would be all over.
Yes, but supposing it wasn’t? Supposing it went wrong? Cyril might berescued in time. And then—then he’d say, ‘Miss Claythorne said I could.’
Well, what of it? One must take some risk! If the worst happened she’dbrazen it out. ‘How can you tell such a wicked lie, Cyril? Of course, I neversaid any such thing!’ They’d believe her all right. Cyril often told stories. Hewas an untruthful child. Cyril would know, of course. But that didn’t mat-ter…and anyway nothing would go wrong. She’d pretend to swim out afterhim. But she’d arrive too late…Nobody would ever suspect…Had Hugo suspected? Was that why he had looked at her in that queer far-off way?…Had Hugo known?
Was that why he had gone off after the inquest so hurriedly?
He hadn’t answered the one letter she had written to him…Hugo…
Vera turned restlessly in bed. No, no, she mustn’t think of Hugo. It hurttoo much! That was all over, over and done with…Hugo must be forgotten.
Why, this evening, had she suddenly felt that Hugo was in the roomwith her?
She stared up at the ceiling, stared at the big black hook in the middle ofthe room.
She’d never noticed that hook before.
The seaweed had hung from that.
She shivered as she remembered that cold clammy touch on her neck.
She didn’t like that hook on the ceiling. It drew your eyes, fascinatedyou…a big black hook…
VEx-Inspector Blore sat on the side of his bed.
His small eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot, were alert in the solid massof his face. He was like a wild boar waiting to charge.
He felt no inclination11 to sleep.
The menace was coming very near now…Six out of ten!
For all his sagacity, for all his caution and astuteness12, the old judge hadgone the way of the rest.
Blore snorted with a kind of savage13 satisfaction.
What was it the old geezer had said?
‘We must be very careful…’
Self-righteous smug old hypocrite. Sitting up in court feeling like GodAlmighty. He’d got his all right…No more being careful for him.
And now there were four of them. The girl, Lombard, Armstrong andhimself.
Very soon another of them would go…But it wouldn’t be William HenryBlore. He’d see to that all right.
(But the revolver…What about the revolver? That was the disturbingfactor—the revolver!)
Blore sat on his bed, his brow furrowed14, his little eyes creased15 andpuckered while he pondered the problem of the revolver…In the silence he could hear the clocks strike downstairs.
Midnight.
He relaxed a little now—even went so far as to lie down on his bed. Buthe did not undress.
He lay there thinking. Going over the whole business from the begin-ning, methodically, painstakingly16, as he had been wont17 to do in his policeofficer days. It was thoroughness that paid in the end.
The candle was burning down. Looking to see if the matches werewithin easy reach of his hand, he blew it out.
Strangely enough, he found the darkness disquieting18. It was as though athousand age-old fears woke and struggled for supremacy19 in his brain.
Faces floated in the air—the judge’s face crowned with that mockery ofgrey wool—the cold dead face of Mrs Rogers—the convulsed purple face ofAnthony Marston.
Another face—pale, spectacled, with a small straw-coloured moustache.
A face that he had seen sometime or other—but when? Not on the is-land. No, much longer ago than that.
Funny that he couldn’t put a name to it…Silly sort of face really—fellowlooked a bit of a mug.
Of course!
It came to him with a real shock.
Landor!
Odd to think he’d completely forgotten what Landor looked like. Onlyyesterday he’d been trying to recall the fellow’s face, and hadn’t been ableto.
And now here it was, every feature clear and distinct, as though he hadseen it only yesterday.
Landor had had a wife—a thin slip of a woman with a worried face.
There’d been a kid, too, a girl about fourteen. For the first time, hewondered what had become of them.
(The revolver. What had become of the revolver? That was much moreimportant.)
The more he thought about it the more puzzled he was…He didn’t un-derstand this revolver business.
Somebody in the house had got that revolver…Downstairs a clock struck one.
Blore’s thoughts were cut short. He sat up on the bed, suddenly alert.
For he had heard a sound—a very faint sound—somewhere outside hisbedroom door.
There was someone moving about in the darkened house.
The perspiration20 broke out on his forehead. Who was it, moving secretlyand silently along the corridors? Someone who was up to no good, he’dbet that!
Noiselessly, in spite of his heavy build, he dropped off the bed and withtwo strides was standing by the door listening.
But the sound did not come again. Nevertheless Blore was convincedthat he was not mistaken. He had heard a footfall just outside his door.
The hair rose slightly on his scalp. He knew fear again…Someone creeping about stealthily in the night.
He listened—but the sound was not repeated.
And now a new temptation assailed21 him. He wanted, desperately22, to goout and investigate. If he could only see who it was prowling about in thedarkness.
But to open his door would be the action of a fool. Very likely that wasexactly what the other was waiting for. He might even have meant Bloreto hear what he had heard, counting on him coming out to investigate.
Blore stood rigid23 — listening. He could hear sounds everywhere now,cracks, rustles24, mysterious whispers—but his dogged, realistic brain knewthem for what they were—the creations of his own heated imagination.
And then suddenly he heard something that was not imagination. Foot-steps, very soft, very cautious, but plainly audible to a man listening withall his ears as Blore was listening.
They came softly along the corridor (both Lombard’s and Armstrong’srooms were farther from the stairhead than his). They passed his doorwithout hesitating or faltering26.
And as they did so, Blore made up his mind.
He meant to see who it was! The footsteps had definitely passed his doorgoing to the stairs. Where was the man going?
When Blore acted, he acted quickly, surprisingly so for a man wholooked so heavy and slow. He tiptoed back to the bed, slipped matches intohis pocket, detached the plug of the electric lamp by his bed and picked itup, winding27 the flex28 round it. It was a chromium affair with a heavy ebon-ite base—a useful weapon.
He sprinted29 noiselessly across the room, removed the chair from underthe door handle and with precaution unlocked and unbolted the door. Hestepped out into the corridor. There was a faint sound in the hall below.
Blore ran noiselessly in his stockinged feet to the head of the stairs.
At that moment he realized why it was he had heard all these sounds soclearly. The wind had died down completely and the sky must havecleared. There was faint moonlight coming in through the landing windowand it illuminated30 the hall below.
Blore had an instantaneous glimpse of a figure just passing out throughthe front door.
In the act of running down the stairs in pursuit, he paused.
Once again, he had nearly made a fool of himself! This was a trap, per-haps, to lure31 him out of the house!
But what the other man didn’t realize was that he had made a mistake,had delivered himself neatly32 into Blore’s hands.
For, of the three tenanted rooms upstairs, one must now be empty. Allthat had to be done was to ascertain33 which!
Blore went swiftly back along the corridor.
He paused first at Dr Armstrong’s door and tapped. There was no an-swer.
He waited a minute, then went on to Philip Lombard’s room.
Here the answer came at once.
‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Blore. I don’t think Armstrong is in his room. Wait a minute.’
He went on to the door at the end of the corridor. Here he tapped again.
‘Miss Claythorne. Miss Claythorne.’
Vera’s voice, startled, answered him.
‘Who is it? What’s the matter?’
‘It’s all right, Miss Claythorne. Wait a minute. I’ll come back.’
He raced back to Lombard’s room. The door opened as he did so. Lom-bard stood there. He held a candle in his left hand. He had pulled on histrousers over his pyjamas34. His right hand rested in the pocket of his py-jama jacket. He said sharply:
‘What the hell’s all this?’
Blore explained rapidly. Lombard’s eyes lit up.
‘Armstrong—eh? So he’s our pigeon!’ He moved along to Armstrong’sdoor. ‘Sorry, Blore, but I don’t take anything on trust.’
He rapped sharply on the panel.
‘Armstrong—Armstrong.’
There was no answer.
Lombard dropped to his knees and peered through the keyhole. He in-serted his little finger gingerly into the lock.
He said:
‘Key’s not in the door on the inside.’
Blore said:
‘That means he locked it on the outside and took it with him.’
Philip nodded.
‘Ordinary precaution to take. We’ll get him, Blore…This time, we’ll gethim! Half a second.’
He raced along to Vera’s room.
‘Vera.’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re hunting Armstrong. He’s out of his room. Whatever you do, don’topen your door. Understand?’
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘If Armstrong comes along and says that I’ve been killed, or Blore’s beenkilled, pay no attention. See? Only open your door if both Blore and I speakto you. Got that?’
Vera said:
‘Yes. I’m not a complete fool.’
Lombard said:
‘Good.’
He joined Blore. He said:
‘And now—after him! The hunt’s up!’
Blore said:
‘We’d better be careful. He’s got a revolver, remember.’
Philip Lombard racing36 down the stairs chuckled37.
He said:
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ He undid38 the front door, remarking, ‘Latchpushed back—so he could get in again easily.’
He went on:
‘I’ve got that revolver!’ He took it half out of his pocket as he spoke39.
‘Found it put back in my drawer tonight.’
Blore stopped dead on the doorstep. His face changed. Philip Lombardsaw it.
‘Don’t be a damned fool, Blore! I’m not going to shoot you! Go back andbarricade yourself in if you like! I’m off after Armstrong.’
He started off into the moonlight. Blore, after a minute’s hesitation40, fol-lowed him.
He thought to himself:
‘I suppose I’m asking for it. After all—’
After all he had tackled criminals armed with revolvers before now.
Whatever else he lacked, Blore did not lack courage. Show him the dangerand he would tackle it pluckily41. He was not afraid of danger in the open,only of danger undefined and tinged42 with the supernatural.
VI
Vera, left to await results, got up and dressed.
She glanced over once or twice at the door. It was a good solid door. Itwas both bolted and locked and had an oak chair wedged under thehandle.
It could not be broken open by force. Certainly not by Dr Armstrong. Hewas not a physically43 powerful man.
If she were Armstrong intent on murder, it was cunning that she wouldemploy, not force.
She amused herself by reflecting on the means he might employ.
He might, as Philip had suggested, announce that one of the other twomen was dead. Or he might possibly pretend to be mortally wounded him-self, might drag himself groaning44 to her door.
There were other possibilities. He might inform her that the house wason fire. More, he might actually set the house on fire…Yes, that would be apossibility. Lure the other two men out of the house, then, having previ-ously laid a trail of petrol, he might set light to it. And she, like an idiot,would remain barricaded in her room until it was too late.
She crossed over to the window. Not too bad. At a pinch one could es-cape that way. It would mean a drop—but there was a handy flower-bed.
She sat down and picking up her diary began to write in it in a clearflowing hand.
One must pass the time.
Suddenly she stiffened45 to attention. She had heard a sound. It was, shethought, a sound like breaking glass. And it came from somewhere down-stairs.
She listened hard, but the sound was not repeated.
She heard, or thought she heard, stealthy sounds of footsteps, the creakof stairs, the rustle25 of garments—but there was nothing definite and sheconcluded, as Blore had done earlier, that such sounds had their origin inher own imagination.
But presently she heard sounds of a more concrete nature. People mov-ing about downstairs — the murmur1 of voices. Then the very decidedsound of someone mounting the stairs—doors opening and shutting—feetgoing up to the attics46 overhead. More noises from there.
Finally the steps came along the passage. Lombard’s voice said:
‘Vera. You all right?’
‘Yes. What happened?’
Blore’s voice said:
‘Will you let us in?’
Vera went to the door. She removed the chair, unlocked the door andslid back the bolt. She opened the door. The two men were breathing hard,their feet and the bottom of their trousers were soaking wet.
She said again:
‘What’s happened?’
Lombard said:
‘Armstrong’s disappeared…’
VII
Vera cried:
‘What?’
Lombard said:
‘Vanished clean off the island.’
Blore concurred47:
‘Vanished—that’s the word! Like some damned conjuring48 trick.’
Vera said impatiently:
‘Nonsense! He’s hiding somewhere!’
Blore said:
‘No, he isn’t! I tell you, there’s nowhere to hide on this island. It’s as bareas your hand! There’s moonlight outside. As clear as day it is. And he’s notto be found.’
Vera said:
‘He doubled back to the house.’
Blore said:
‘We thought of that. We’ve searched the house, too. You must haveheard us. He’s not here, I tell you. He’s gone—clean vanished, vamoosed…’
Vera said incredulously:
‘I don’t believe it.’
Lombard said:
‘It’s true, my dear.’
He paused and then said:
‘There’s one other little fact. A pane35 in the dining-room window hasbeen smashed—and there are only three little soldier boys on the table.’
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收听单词发音
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1
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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pestering
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的现在分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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12
astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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furrowed
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| v.犁田，开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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rustles
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| n.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的名词复数 )v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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25
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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26
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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flex
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| n.皮线，花线；vt.弯曲或伸展 | |
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29
sprinted
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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31
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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33
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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35
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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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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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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pluckily
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| adv.有勇气地，大胆地 | |
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42
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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concurred
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| 同意（concur的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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48
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
参考例句： |
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