On the following day I went down to Three Gables with Taverner.
My position was a curious one. It was, to say the least of it, quite unor-thodox. But the Old Man has never been highly orthodox.
I had a certain standing1. I had worked with the Special Branch at theYard during the early days of the war.
This, of course, was entirely2 different—but my earlier performances hadgiven me, so to speak, a certain official standing.
My father said:
“If we’re ever going to solve this case, we’ve got to get some inside dope.
We’ve got to know all about the people in that house. We’ve got to knowthem from the inside—not the outside. You’re the man who can get thatfor us.”
I didn’t like that. I threw my cigarette end into the grate as I said:
“I’m a police spy? Is that it? I’m to get the inside dope from Sophiawhom I love and who both loves and trusts me, or so I believe.”
The Old Man became quite irritable3. He said sharply:
“For heaven’s sake don’t take the commonplace view. To begin with, youdon’t believe, do you, that your young woman murdered her grand-father?”
“Of course not. The idea’s absolutely absurd.”
“Very well—we don’t think so either. She’s been away for some years,she has always been on perfectly4 amicable5 terms with him. She has a verygenerous income and he would have been, I should say, delighted to hearof her engagement to you and would probably have made a handsomemarriage settlement on her. We don’t suspect her. Why should we? Butyou can make quite sure of one thing. If this thing isn’t cleared up, thatgirl won’t marry you. From what you’ve told me I’m fairly sure of that.
And mark this, it’s the kind of crime that may never be cleared up. We maybe reasonably sure that the wife and her young man were in cahoots overit—but proving it will be another matter. There’s not even a case to put upto the DPP so far. And unless we get definite evidence against her, there’llalways be a nasty doubt. You see that, don’t you?”
Yes, I saw that.
The Old Man then said quietly:
“Why not put it to her?”
“You mean—ask Sophia if I—” I stopped.
The Old Man was nodding his head vigorously.
“Yes, yes. I’m not asking you to worm your way in without telling thegirl what you’re up to. See what she has to say about it.”
And so it came about that the following day I drove down with Chief-In-spector Taverner and Detective-Sergeant Lamb to Swinly Dean.
A little way beyond the golf course, we turned in at a gateway6 where Iimagined that before the war there had been an imposing7 pair of gates.
Patriotism8 or ruthless requisitioning had swept these away. We drove upa long curving drive flanked with rhododendrons and came out on a grav-elled sweep in front of the house.
It was incredible! I wondered why it had been called Three Gables. El-even Gables would have been more apposite! The curious thing was that ithad a strange air of being distorted—and I thought I knew why. It was thetype, really, of a cottage, it was a cottage swollen9 out of all proportion. Itwas like looking at a country cottage through a gigantic magnifying-glass.
The slant- wise beams, the half- timbering, the gables — it was a littlecrooked house that had grown like a mushroom in the night!
Yet I got the idea. It was a Greek restaurateur’s idea of something Eng-lish. It was meant to be an Englishman’s home—built the size of a castle! Iwondered what the first Mrs. Leonides had thought of it. She had not, Ifancied, been consulted or shown the plans. It was, most probably, herexotic husband’s little surprise. I wondered if she had shuddered10 orsmiled.
Apparently11 she had lived there quite happily.
“Bit overwhelming, isn’t it?” said Inspector12 Taverner. “Of course, the oldgentleman built on to it a good deal—making it into three separate houses,so to speak, with kitchens and everything. It’s all tip-top inside, fitted uplike a luxury hotel.”
Sophia came out of the front door. She was hatless and wore a greenshirt and a tweed skirt.
She stopped dead when she saw me.
“You?” she exclaimed.
I said:
“Sophia, I’ve got to talk to you. Where can we go?”
For a moment I thought she was going to demur13, then she turned andsaid: “This way.”
We walked down across the lawn. There was a fine view across SwinlyDean’s No. 1 course—away to a clump14 of pine trees on a hill, and beyondit, to the dimness of hazy15 countryside.
Sophia led me to a rock-garden, now somewhat neglected, where therewas a rustic16 wooden seat of great discomfort17, and we sat down.
“Well?” she said.
Her voice was not encouraging.
I said my piece—all of it.
She listened very attentively18. Her face gave little indication of what shewas thinking, but when I came at last to a full stop, she sighed. It was adeep sigh.
“Your father,” she said, “is a very clever man.”
“The Old Man has his points. I think it’s a rotten idea myself—but—”
She interrupted me.
“Oh no,” she said. “It isn’t a rotten idea at all. It’s the only thing thatmight be any good. Your father, Charles, knows exactly what’s been goingon in my mind. He knows better than you do.”
With a sudden almost despairing vehemence19, she drove one clenchedhand into the palm of the other.
“I’ve got to have the truth. I’ve got to know.”
“Because of us? But, dearest—”
“Not only because of us, Charles. I’ve got to know for my own peace ofmind. You see, Charles, I didn’t tell you last night—but the truth is—I’mafraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes—afraid—afraid—afraid. The police think, your father thinks, youthink, everybody thinks—that it was Brenda.”
“The probabilities—”
“Oh yes, it’s quite probable. It’s possible. But when I say, ‘Brenda prob-ably did it,’ I’m quite conscious that it’s only wishful thinking. Because,you see, I don’t really think so.”
“You don’t think so?” I said slowly.
“I don’t know. You’ve heard about it all from the outside as I wanted youto. Now I’ll show it you from the inside. I simply don’t feel that Brenda isthat kind of a person—she’s not the sort of person, I feel, who would everdo anything that might involve her in any danger. She’s far too careful ofherself.”
“How about this young man? Laurence Brown.”
“Laurence is a complete rabbit. He wouldn’t have the guts20.”
“I wonder.”
“Yes, we don’t really know, do we? I mean, people are capable of sur-prising one frightfully. One gets an idea of them into one’s head, andsometimes it’s absolutely wrong. Not always—but sometimes. But all thesame, Brenda”—she shook her head—“she’s always acted so completely incharacter. She’s what I call the harem type. Likes sitting about and eatingsweets and having nice clothes and jewellery and reading cheap novelsand going to the cinema. And it’s a queer thing to say, when one remem-bers that he was eighty-seven, but I really think she was rather thrilled bygrandfather. He had a power, you know. I should imagine he could makea woman feel—oh—rather like a queen—the sultan’s favourite! I think—I’ve always thought—that he made Brenda feel as though she were an ex-citing, romantic person. He’s been clever with women all his life—and thatkind of thing is a sort of art—you don’t lose the knack21 of it, however oldyou are.”
I left the problem of Brenda for the moment and harked back to aphrase of Sophia’s which had disturbed me.
“Why did you say,” I asked, “that you were afraid?”
Sophia shivered a little and pressed her hands together.
“Because it’s true,” she said in a low voice. “It’s very important, Charles,that I should make you understand this. You see, we’re a very queer fam-ily … There’s a lot of ruthlessness in us—and—different kinds of ruthless-ness. That’s what’s so disturbing. The different kinds.”
She must have seen incomprehension in my face. She went on, speakingenergetically.
“I’ll try and make what I mean clear. Grandfather, for instance. Oncewhen he was telling us about his boyhood in Smyrna, he mentioned, quitecasually, that he had stabbed two men. It was some kind of a brawl—therehad been some unforgivable insult—I don’t know—but it was just a thingthat had happened quite naturally. He’d really practically forgotten aboutit. But it was, somehow, such a queer thing to hear about, quite casually,in England.” I nodded.
“That’s one kind of ruthlessness,” went on Sophia, “and then there wasmy grandmother. I only just remember her, but I’ve heard a good dealabout her. I think she might have had the ruthlessness that comes fromhaving no imagination whatever. All those fox-hunting forebears—andthe old Generals, the shoot-’em-down type. Full of rectitude and arrog-ance, and not a bit afraid of taking responsibility in matters of life anddeath.”
“Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?”
“Yes, I dare say—but I’m always rather afraid of that type. It’s full ofrectitude but it is ruthless. And then there’s my own mother—she’s an act-ress—she’s a darling, but she’s got absolutely no sense of proportion. She’sone of those unconscious egoists who can only see things in relation tohow it affects them. That’s rather frightening, sometimes, you know. Andthere’s Clemency22, Uncle Roger’s wife. She’s a scientist—she’s doing somekind of very important research — she’s ruthless too, in a kind of cold-blooded impersonal23 way. Uncle Roger’s the exact opposite—he’s the kind-est and most lovable person in the world, but he’s got a really terrific tem-per. Things make his blood boil and then he hardly knows what he’s do-ing. And there’s father—”
She made a long pause.
“Father,” she said slowly, “is almost too well controlled. You never knowwhat he’s thinking. He never shows any emotion at all. It’s probably akind of unconscious self-defence against mother’s absolute orgies of emo-tion, but sometimes—it worries me a little.”
“My dear child,” I said, “you’re working yourself up unnecessarily. Whatit comes to in the end is that everybody, perhaps, is capable of murder.”
“I suppose that’s true. Even me.”
“Not you!”
“Oh yes, Charles, you can’t make me an exception. I suppose I couldmurder someone …” She was silent a moment or two, then added, “But ifso, it would have to be for something really worth while!”
I laughed then. I couldn’t help it. And Sophia smiled.
“Perhaps I’m a fool,” she said, “but we’ve got to find out the truth aboutgrandfather’s death. We’ve got to. If only it was Brenda….”
I felt suddenly rather sorry for Brenda Leonides.
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1
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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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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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5
amicable
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| adj.和平的，友好的；友善的 | |
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6
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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9
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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12
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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21
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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22
clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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23
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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