On the following afternoon Dr. Pauncefoot Jones uttered a disgusted ex-clamation as the sound of a car came faintly to his ears. Presently he loc-ated it, winding1 across the desert towards the Tell.
“Visitors,” he said with venom2. “At the worst possible moment, too. Iwant to superintend the cellulosing of that painted rosette on the north-east corner. Sure to be some idiots come out from Baghdad with a lot ofsocial chatter3 and expecting to get shown all over the excavations4.”
“This is where Victoria comes in useful,” said Richard. “You hear, Vic-toria? It’s up to you to do a personally conducted tour.”
“I shall probably say all the wrong things,” said Victoria. “I’m really veryinexperienced, you know.”
“I think you’re doing very well indeed,” said Richard pleasantly. “Thoseremarks you made this morning about plano convex bricks might havecome straight out of Delongaz’s book.”
Victoria changed colour slightly, and resolved to paraphrase5 her erudi-tion more carefully. Sometimes the quizzical glance through the thicklenses made her uncomfortable.
“I’ll do my best,” she said meekly6.
“We push all the odd jobs on to you,” said Richard.
Victoria smiled.
Indeed her activities during the last five days surprised her not a little.
She had developed plates with water filtered through cotton wool and bythe light of a primitive7 dark lantern containing a candle which alwayswent out at the most crucial moment. The darkroom table was a packingcase and to work she had to crouch8 or kneel—the darkroom itself being asRichard remarked, a modern model of the famous medieval Little East.
There would be more amenities9 in the season to come, Dr. PauncefootJones assured her—but at the moment every penny was needed to payworkmen and get results.
The baskets of broken potsherds had at first excited her astonished deri-sion (though this she had been careful not to display). All these broken bitsof coarse stuff—what was the good of them?
Then as she found joins, stuck them and propped10 them up in boxes ofsand, she began to take an interest. She learned to recognize shapes andtypes. And she came finally to try and reconstruct in her own mind justhow and for what these vessels11 had been used some three thousand oddyears ago. In the small area where some poor quality private houses hadbeen dug, she pictured the houses as they had orginally stood and thepeople who had lived in them with their wants and possessions and occu-pations, their hopes and their fears. Since Victoria had a lively imagina-tion, a picture rose up easily enough in her mind. On a day when a smallclay pot was found encased in a wall with a half-dozen gold earrings12 in it,she was enthralled13. Probably the dowry of a daughter, Richard had saidsmiling.
Dishes filled with grain, gold earrings saved up for a dowry, boneneedles, querns and mortars14, little figurines and amulets15. All the everydaylife and fears and hopes of a community of unimportant simple people.
“That’s what I find so fascinating,” said Victoria to Richard. “You see, Ialways used to think that archaeology16 was just Royal graves and palaces.
“Kings of Babylon,” she added, with a strange little smile. “But what Ilike so much about all this is that it’s the ordinary everyday people —people like me. My St. Anthony who finds things for me when I lose them—and a lucky china pig I’ve got—and an awfully17 nice mixing bowl, blueinside and white out, that I used to make cakes in. It got broken and thenew one I bought wasn’t a bit the same. I can understand why thesepeople mended up their favourite bowls or dishes so carefully with bitu-men. Life’s all the same really, isn’t it—then or now?”
She was thinking of these things as she watched the visitors ascendingthe side of the Tell. Richard went to greet them, Victoria following behindhim.
They were two Frenchmen, interested in archaeology, who were makinga tour through Syria and Iraq. After civil greetings, Victoria took themround the excavations, reciting parrot wise what was going on, but beingunable to resist, being Victoria, adding sundry18 embellishments of her own,just, as she put it to herself, to make it more exciting.
She noticed that the second man was a very bad colour, and that hedragged himself along without much interest. Presently he said, if Ma-demoiselle would excuse him, he would retire to the house. He had notfelt well since early that morning—and the sun was making him worse.
He departed in the direction of the Expedition House, and the other, insuitably lowered tones explained that, unfortunately, it was his estomac.
The Baghdad tummy they called it, did they not? He should not really havecome out today.
The tour was completed, the Frenchman remained talking to Victoria, fi-nally Fidos was called and Dr. Pauncefoot Jones, with a determined20 air ofhospitality suggested the guests should have tea before departing.
To this, however, the Frenchman demurred21. They must not delay theirdeparture until it was dark or they would never find the way. RichardBaker said immediately that this was quite right. The sick friend was re-trieved from the house and the car rushed off at top speed.
“I suppose that’s just the beginning,” grunted23 Dr. Pauncefoot Jones. “Weshall have visitors every day now.”
He took a large flap of Arab bread and covered it thickly with apricotjam.
Richard went to his room after tea. He had letters to answer, and othersto write in preparation for going into Baghdad on the following day.
Suddenly he frowned. Not a man of particular neatness to the outwardview, he yet had a way of arranging his clothes and his papers that nevervaried. Now he saw at once that every drawer had been disturbed. It wasnot the servants, of that he was sure. It must be, then, that sick visitor whohad made a pretext24 to go down to the house, had coolly ransacked25 throughhis belongings26. Nothing was missing, he assured himself of that. Hismoney was untouched. What, then, had they been looking for? His facegrew grave as he considered the implications.
He went to the Antika Room and looked into the drawer which held theseals and seal impressions. He gave a grim smile — nothing had beentouched or removed. He went into the living room. Dr. Pauncefoot Joneswas out in the courtyard with the foreman. Only Victoria was there,curled up with a book.
Richard said, without preamble27, “Somebody’s been searching my room.”
Victoria looked up, astonished.
“But why? And who?”
“It wasn’t you?”
“Me?” Victoria was indignant. “Of course not? Why should I want to pryamong your things?”
He gave her a hard stare. Then he said:
“It must have been that damned stranger—the one who shammed28 sickand came down to the house.”
“Did he steal something?”
“No,” said Richard. “Nothing was taken.”
“But why on earth should anyone—”
Richard cut in to say:
“I thought you might know that.”
“Me?”
“Well, by your own account, rather odd things have happened to you.”
“Oh that—yes.” Victoria looked rather startled. She said slowly: “But Idon’t see why they should search your room. You’ve got nothing to do with—”
“With what?”
Victoria did not answer for a moment or two. She seemed lost inthought.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “What did you say? I wasn’t listening.”
Richard did not repeat his question. Instead he asked:
“What are you reading?”
“You don’t have much choice of light fiction here. Tale of Two Cities,Pride and Prejudice and The Mill on the Floss. I’m reading the Tale of TwoCities.”
“Never read it before?”
“Never. I always thought Dickens would be stuffy29.”
“What an idea!”
“I’m finding it most exciting.”
“Where have you got to?” He looked over her shoulder and read out:
“And the knitting women count One.”
“I think she’s awfully frightening,” said Victoria.
“Madame Defarge? Yes, a good character. Though whether you couldkeep a register of names in knitting has always seemed to me ratherdoubtful. But then, of course, I’m not a knitter.”
“Oh I think you could,” said Victoria, considering the point. “Plain andpurl—and fancy stitches—and the wrong stitch at intervals30 and droppedstiches. Yes—it could be done—camouflaged, of course, so that it lookedlike someone who was rather bad at knitting and made mistakes….”
Suddenly, with a vividness like a flash of lightning, two things came to-gether in her mind and affected32 her with the force of an explosion. Aname—a visual memory. The man with the ragged19 hand-knitted red scarfclasped in his hands—the scarf she had hurriedly picked up later andflung into a drawer. And together with that name. Defarge—not Lefarge—Defarge, Madame Defarge.
She was recalled to herself by Richard saying to her courteously33:
“Is anything the matter?”
“No—no, that is, I just thought of something.”
“I see.” Richard raised his eyebrows34 in his most supercilious35 way.
Tomorrow, thought Victoria, they would all go in to Baghdad. Tomorrowher respite36 would be over. For over a week she had had safety, peace, timeto pull herself together. And she had enjoyed that time—enjoyed it enorm-ously. Perhaps I’m a coward, thought Victoria, perhaps that’s it. She hadtalked gaily37 about adventure, but she hadn’t liked it very much when itreally came. She hated that struggle against chloroform and the slow suf-focation, and she had been frightened, horribly frightened, in that upperroom when the ragged Arab had said “Bukra.”
And now she’d got to go back to it all. Because she was employed by Mr.
Dakin and paid by Mr. Dakin and she had to earn her pay and show abrave front! She might even have to go back to the Olive Branch. Sheshivered a little when she remembered Dr. Rathbone and that searchingdark glance of his. He’d warned her….
But perhaps she wouldn’t have to go back. Perhaps Mr. Dakin would sayit was better not—now that they knew about her. But she would have togo back to her lodgings38 and get her things because thrust carelessly intoher suitcase was the red knitted scarf…She had bundled everything intosuitcases when she left for Basrah. Once she had put that scarf into Mr.
Dakin’s hands, perhaps her task would be done. He would say to her per-haps, like on the pictures: “Oh! Good show, Victoria.”
She looked up to find Richard Baker22 watching her.
“By the way,” he said, “will you be able to get hold of your passport to-morrow?”
“My passport?”
Victoria considered the position. It was characteristic of her that she hadnot as yet defined her plan of action as regards the Expedition. Since thereal Veronica (or Venetia) would shortly be arriving from England, a re-treat in good order was necessary. But whether she would merely fadeaway, or confess her deception39 with suitable penitence40, or indeed whatshe intended to do, had not yet presented itself as a problem to be solved.
Victoria was always prone41 to adopt the Micawber-like attitude that Some-thing would Turn Up.
“Well,” she said temporizing42, “I’m not sure.”
“It’s needed, you see, for the police of this district,” explained Richard.
“They enter its number and your name and age and special distinguishingmarks, etc., all the whole caboodle. As we haven’t got the passport, I thinkwe ought at any rate to send your name and description to them. By theway, what is your last name? I’ve always called you ‘Victoria.’”
Victoria rallied gallantly43.
“Come now,” she said. “You know my last name as well as Ido.”
“That’s not quite true,” said Richard. His smile curved upwards44 with ahint of cruelty. “I do know your last name. It’s you, I think who don’t knowit.”
Through the glasses the eyes watched her.
“Of course I know my own name,” snapped Victoria.
“Then I’ll challenge you to tell it to me—now.”
His voice was suddenly hard and curt45.
“It’s no good lying,” he said. “The game’s up. You’ve been very cleverabout it. You’ve read up your subject, you’ve brought out very telling bitsof knowledge—but it’s the kind of imposture46 you can’t keep up all thetime. I’ve laid traps for you and you’ve fallen into them. I’ve quoted bits ofsheer rubbish to you and you’ve accepted them.” He paused. “You’re notVenetia Savile. Who are you?”
“I told you who I was the first time I met you,” said Victoria. “I’m Vic-toria Jones.”
“Dr. Pauncefoot Jones’ niece?”
“I’m not his niece—but my name is Jones.”
“You told me a lot of other things.”
“Yes, I did. And they were all true! But I could see you didn’t believe me.
And that made me mad, because though I do tell lies sometimes—in factquite often—what I’d just told you wasn’t a lie. And so, just to make myselfmore convincing, I said my name was Pauncefoot Jones—I’ve said that be-fore out here, and it’s always gone down frightfully well. How could I tellyou were actually coming to this place?”
“It must have been a slight shock to you,” said Richard grimly. “You car-ried it off very well—cool as a cucumber.”
“Not inside,” said Victoria. “I was absolutely shaking. But I felt that if Iwaited to explain until I got here—well at any rate I should be safe.”
“Safe?” he considered the word. “Look here, Victoria, was that incrediblerigmarole you told me about being chloroformed really true?”
“Of course it was true! Don’t you see, if I wanted to make up a story Icould make up a much better one than that, and tell it better!”
“Knowing you a little more closely now, I can see the force of that! Butyou must admit that, on first hearing, the story was wildly improbable.”
“But you are willing to think it’s possible now. Why?”
Richard said slowly.
“Because if, as you say, you were mixed up in Carmichael’s death—well,then it might be true.”
“That’s what it all began with,” said Victoria.
“You’d better tell me about it.”
Victoria stared at him very hard.
“I’m wondering,” she said, “if I can trust you.”
“The boot is on the other leg! Do you realize that I’ve had grave suspi-cions that you’d planted yourself here under a false name in order to getinformation out of me? And perhaps that is what you are doing.”
“Meaning that you know something about Carmichael that They wouldlike to know?”
“Who exactly are They?”
“I shall have to tell you all about it,” said Victoria. “There isn’t any otherway—and if you are one of Them you know it already, so it doesn’t mat-ter.”
She told him of the night of Carmichael’s death, of her interview withMr. Dakin, of her journey to Basrah, her employment in the Olive Branch,of Catherine’s hostility47, of Dr. Rathbone and his warning and of the finaldenouement, including this time the enigma48 of the dyed hair. The onlythings she left out were the red scarf and Madame Defarge.
“Dr. Rathbone?” Richard seized on that point. “You think he’s mixed upin this? Behind it? But my dear girl, he’s a very important man. He’sknown all over the world. Subscriptions49 pour in from all over the globefor his schemes.”
“Wouldn’t he have to be all those things?” asked Victoria.
“I’ve always regarded him as a pompous50 ass,” said Richard meditatively51.
“And that’s a very good camouflage31, too.”
“Yes—yes, I suppose it is. Who was Lefarge that you asked me about?”
“Just another name,” said Victoria. “There’s Anna Scheele, too,” she said.
“Anna Scheele? No, I’ve never heard of her.”
“She’s important,” said Victoria. “But I don’t know exactly how or why.
It’s all so mixed-up.”
“Just tell me again,” said Richard. “Who’s the man who started you ontoall this?”
“Edwar—oh, you mean Mr. Dakin. He’s in Oil, I think.”
“Is he a tired, stooping, rather vacant-looking chap?”
“Yes—but he’s not really. Vacant, I mean.”
“Doesn’t he drink?”
“People say so, but I don’t think he does.”
Richard sat back and looked at her.
“Phillips Oppenheim, William Le Queux and several distinguished52 imit-ators since? Is this real? Are you real? And are you the persecuted53 heroine,or the wicked adventuress?”
Victoria said in a practical manner:
“The real point is, what are we going to say to Dr. Pauncefoot Jonesabout me?”
“Nothing,” said Richard. “It won’t be necessary.”
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1
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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excavations
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| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
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paraphrase
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| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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crouch
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amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vessels
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earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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enthralled
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mortars
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| n.迫击炮( mortar的名词复数 )；砂浆；房产；研钵 | |
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amulets
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archaeology
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awfully
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sundry
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ragged
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determined
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demurred
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baker
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grunted
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pretext
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ransacked
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belongings
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preamble
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shammed
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stuffy
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intervals
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camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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affected
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courteously
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eyebrows
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supercilious
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respite
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gaily
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lodgings
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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prone
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temporizing
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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meditatively
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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