“And now,” said Taverner, “we’ll go and have a word with Mrs. Philip.
Magda West, her stage name is.”
“Is she any good?” I asked. “I know her name, and I believe I’ve seen herin various shows, but I can’t remember when and where.”
“She’s one of those Near Successes,” said Taverner. “She’s starred onceor twice in the West End, she’s made quite a name for herself in Repertory—she plays a lot for the little highbrow theatres and the Sunday clubs. Thetruth is, I think, she’s been handicapped by not having to earn her living atit. She’s been able to pick and choose, and to go where she likes and occa-sionally to put up the money and finance a show where she’s fancied acertain part—usually the last part in the world to suit her. Result is, she’sreceded a bit into the amateur class rather than the professional. She’sgood, mind you, especially in comedy—but managers don’t like her much— they say she’s too independent, and she’s a troublemaker1 — fomentsrows and enjoys a bit of mischief-making. I don’t know how much of it istrue—but she’s not too popular amongst her fellow artists.”
Sophia came out of the drawing room and said: “My mother is in here,Chief-Inspector2.”
I followed Taverner into the big drawing room. For a moment I hardlyrecognized the woman who sat on the brocaded settee.
The Titian hair was piled high on her head in an Edwardian coiffure,and she was dressed in a well-cut dark-grey coat and skirt with a delic-ately pleated pale mauve shirt fastened at the neck by a small cameobrooch. For the first time I was aware of the charm of her delightfully3 tip-tilted nose. I was faintly reminded of Athene Seyler—and it seemed quiteimpossible to believe that this was the tempestuous4 creature in the peachnégligé.
“Inspector Taverner?” she said. “Do come in and sit down. Will yousmoke? This is a most terrible business. I simply feel at the moment that Ijust can’t take it in.”
Her voice was low and emotionless, the voice of a person determined5 atall costs to display self-control. She went on:
“Please tell me if I can help you in any way.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Leonides. Where were you at the time of the tragedy?”
“I suppose I must have been driving down from London. I’d lunchedthat day at the Ivy6 with a friend. Then we’d gone to a dress show. We hada drink with some other friends at the Berkeley. Then I started home.
When I got here everything was in commotion7. It seemed my father-in-lawhad had a sudden seizure8. He was—dead.” Her voice trembled just a little.
“You were fond of your father-in-law?”
“I was devoted—”
Her voice rose. Sophia adjusted, very slightly, the angle of the Degas pic-ture. Magda’s voice dropped to its former subdued9 tone.
“I was very fond of him,” she said in a quiet voice. “We all were. He was—very good to us.”
“Did you get on well with Mrs. Leonides?”
“We didn’t see very much of Brenda.”
“Why was that?”
“Well, we hadn’t much in common. Poor dear Brenda. Life must havebeen hard for her sometimes.”
Again Sophia fiddled10 with the Degas.
“Indeed? In what way?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Magda shook her head, with a sad little smile.
“Was Mrs. Leonides happy with her husband?”
“Oh, I think so.”
“No quarrels?”
Again the slight smiling shake of the head.
“I really don’t know, Inspector. Their part of the house is quite separ-ate.”
“She and Mr. Laurence Brown were very friendly, were they not?”
Magda Leonides stiffened11. Her eyes opened reproachfully at Taverner.
“I don’t think,” she said with dignity, “that you ought to ask me thingslike that. Brenda was quite friendly to everyone. She is really a very ami-able sort of person.”
“Do you like Mr. Laurence Brown?”
“He’s very quiet. Quite nice, but you hardly know he’s there. I haven’treally seen very much of him.”
“Is his teaching satisfactory?”
“I suppose so. I really wouldn’t know. Philip seems quite satisfied.”
Taverner essayed some shock tactics.
“I’m sorry to ask you this, but in your opinion was there anything in thenature of a love affair between Mr. Brown and Mrs. Brenda Leonides?”
Magda got up. She was very much the grande dame12.
“I have never seen any evidence of anything of that kind,” she said. “Idon’t think really, Inspector, that that is a question you ought to ask me.
She was my father-in-law’s wife.”
I almost applauded.
The Chief-Inspector also rose.
“More a question for the servants?” he suggested.
Magda did not answer.
“Thank you, Mrs. Leonides,” said the Inspector and went out.
“You did that beautifully, darling,” said Sophia to her mother warmly.
Magda twisted up a curl reflectively behind her right ear and looked atherself in the glass.
“Ye-es,” she said, “I think it was the right way to play it.”
Sophia looked at me.
“Oughtn’t you,” she asked, “to go with the Inspector?”
“Look here, Sophia, what am I supposed—”
I stopped. I could not very well ask outright13 in front of Sophia’s motherexactly what my role was supposed to be. Magda Leonides had so farevinced no interest in my presence at all, except as a useful recipient14 of anexit line on daughters. I might be a reporter, her daughter’s fiancé, or anobscure hanger-on of the police force, or even an undertaker—to MagdaLeonides they would one and all come under the general heading of audi-ence.
Looking down at her feet, Mrs. Leonides said with dissatisfaction:
“These shoes are wrong. Frivolous15.”
Obeying Sophia’s imperious wave of the head, I hurried after Taverner.
I caught him up in the outer hall just going through the door to the stair-way.
“Just going up to see the elder brother,” he explained.
I put my problem to him without more ado.
“Look here, Taverner, who am I supposed to be?”
He looked surprised.
“Who are you supposed to be?”
“Yes, what am I doing here in this house? If anyone asks me, what do Isay?”
“Oh I see.” He considered for a moment. Then he smiled. “Has anybodyasked you?”
“Well—no.”
“Then why not leave it at that. Never explain. That’s a very good motto.
Especially in a house upset like this house is. Everyone is far too full oftheir own private worries and fears to be in a questioning mood. They’lltake you for granted so long as you just seem sure of yourself. It’s a greatmistake ever to say anything when you needn’t. H’m, now we go throughthis door and up the stairs. Nothing locked. Of course you realize, I expect,that these questions I’m asking are all a lot of hooey! Doesn’t matter a hootwho was in the house and who wasn’t, or where they all were on that par-ticular day—”
“Then why—”
He went on: “Because it at least gives me a chance to look at them all,and size them up, and hear what they’ve got to say, and to hope that, quiteby chance, somebody might give me a useful pointer.” He was silent a mo-ment and then murmured: “I bet Mrs. Magda Leonides could spill amouthful if she chose.”
“Would it be reliable?” I asked.
“Oh no,” said Taverner, “it wouldn’t be reliable. But it might start a pos-sible line of inquiry17. Everybody in the damned house had means and op-portunity. What I want is a motive18.”
At the top of the stairs, a door barred off the right-hand corridor. Therewas a brass19 knocker on it and Inspector Taverner duly knocked.
It was opened with startling suddenness by a man who must have beenstanding just inside. He was a clumsy giant of a man, with powerfulshoulders, dark rumpled21 hair, and an exceedingly ugly but at the sametime rather pleasant face. His eyes looked at us and then quickly away inthat furtive22, embarrassed manner which shy but honest people often ad-opt.
“Oh, I say,” he said. “Come in. Yes, do. I was going—but it doesn’t matter.
Come into the sitting room. I’ll get Clemency23—oh, you’re there, darling. It’sChief- Inspector Taverner. He — are there any cigarettes? Just wait aminute. If you don’t mind.” He collided with a screen, said “I beg your par-don” to it in a flustered24 manner, and went out of the room.
It was rather like the exit of a bumblebee and left a noticeable silencebehind it.
Mrs. Roger Leonides was standing20 up by the window. I was intrigued25 atonce by her personality and by the atmosphere of the room in which westood.
The walls were painted white — really white, not an ivory or a palecream which is what one usually means when one says “white” in housedecoration. They had no pictures on them except one over the mantel-piece, a geometrical fantasia in triangles of dark grey and battleship blue.
There was hardly any furniture—only mere26 utilitarian27 necessities, threeor four chairs, a glass-topped table, one small bookshelf. There were no or-naments. There was light and space and air. It was as different from thebig brocaded and flowered drawing room on the floor below as chalkfrom cheese. And Mrs. Roger Leonides was as different from Mrs. PhilipLeonides as one woman could be from another. Whilst one felt that MagdaLeonides could be, and often was, at least half a dozen different women,Clemency Leonides, I was sure, could never be anyone but herself. Shewas a woman of very sharp and definite personality.
She was about fifty, I suppose; her hair was grey, cut very short in whatwas almost an Eton crop but which grew so beautifully on her small well-shaped head that it had none of the ugliness I have always associated withthat particular cut. She had an intelligent, sensitive face, with light-greyeyes of a peculiar28 and searching intensity29. She had on a simple dark-redwoollen frock that fitted her slenderness perfectly30.
She was, I felt at once, rather an alarming woman … I think, because Ijudged that the standards by which she lived might not be those of an or-dinary woman. I understood at once why Sophia had used the word ruth-lessness in connection with her. The room was cold and I shivered a little.
Clemency Leonides said in a quiet, well-bred voice:
“Do sit down, Chief-Inspector. Is there any further news?”
“Death was due to eserine, Mrs. Leonides.”
She said thoughtfully:
“So that makes it murder. It couldn’t have been an accident of any kind,could it?”
“No, Mrs. Leonides.”
“Please be very gentle with my husband, Chief-Inspector. This will affecthim very much. He worshipped his father and he feels things very acutely.
He is an emotional person.”
“You were on good terms with your father-in-law, Mrs. Leonides?”
“Yes, on quite good terms.” She added quietly: “I did not like him verymuch.”
“Why was that?”
“I disliked his objectives in life—and his methods of attaining31 them.”
“And Mrs. Brenda Leonides?”
“Brenda? I never saw very much of her.”
“Do you think it possible that there was anything between her and Mr.
Laurence Brown?”
“You mean—some kind of a love affair? I shouldn’t think so. But I reallywouldn’t know anything about it.”
Her voice sounded completely uninterested.
Roger Leonides came back with a rush, and the same bumblebee effect.
“I got held up,” he said. “Telephone. Well, Inspector? Well? Have you gotnews? What caused my father’s death?”
“Death was due to eserine poisoning.”
“It was? My God! Then it was that woman! She couldn’t wait! He tookher more or less out of the gutter32 and this is his reward. She murderedhim in cold blood! God, it makes my blood boil to think of it.”
“Have you any particular reason for thinking that?” Taverner asked.
Roger was pacing up and down, tugging33 at his hair with both hands.
“Reason? Why, who else could it be? I’ve never trusted her—never likedher! We’ve none of us liked her. Philip and I were both appalled34 when Dadcame home one day and told us what he had done! At his age! It was mad-ness—madness. My father was an amazing man, Inspector. In intellect hewas as young and fresh as a man of forty. Everything I have in the world Iowe to him. He did everything for me—never failed me. It was I whofailed him—when I think of it—”
He dropped heavily on to a chair. His wife came quietly to his side.
“Now, Roger, that’s enough. Don’t work yourself up.”
“I know, dearest—I know,” he took her hand. “But how can I keep calm—how can I help feeling—”
“But we must all keep calm, Roger. Chief-Inspector Taverner wants ourhelp.”
“That is right, Mrs. Leonides.”
Roger cried:
“Do you know what I’d like to do? I’d like to strangle that woman withmy own hands. Grudging35 that dear old man a few extra years of life. If Ihad her here—” He sprang up. He was shaking with rage. He held out con-vulsive hands. “Yes, I’d wring36 her neck, wring her neck….”
“Roger!” said Clemency sharply.
He looked at her, abashed37.
“Sorry, dearest.” He turned to us. “I do apologize. My feelings get thebetter of me. I—excuse me—”
He went out of the room again. Clemency Leonides said with a veryfaint smile:
“Really, you know, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Taverner accepted her remark politely.
Then he started on his so-called routine questions.
Clemency Leonides replied concisely38 and accurately39.
Roger Leonides had been in London on the day of his father’s death atBox House, the headquarters of the Associated Catering40. He had returnedearly in the afternoon and had spent some time with his father as was hiscustom. She herself had been, as usual, at the Lambert Institute in GowerStreet where she worked. She had returned to the house just before sixo’clock.
“Did you see your father-in-law?”
“No. The last time I saw him was on the day before. We had coffee withhim after dinner.”
“But you did not see him on the day of his death?”
“No. I actually went over to his part of the house because Roger thoughthe had left his pipe there—a very precious pipe, but as it happened he hadleft it on the hall table there, so I did not need to disturb the old man. Heoften dozed41 off about six.”
“When did you hear of his illness?”
“Brenda came rushing over. That was just a minute or two after halfpast six.”
These questions, as I knew, were unimportant, but I was aware howkeen was Inspector Taverner’s scrutiny42 of the woman who answeredthem. He asked her a few questions about the nature of her work in Lon-don. She said that it had to do with the radiation effects of atomic disinteg-ration.
“You work on the atom bomb, in fact?”
“The work has nothing destructive about it. The Institute is carrying outexperiments on the therapeutic43 effects.”
When Taverner got up, he expressed a wish to look round their part ofthe house. She seemed a little surprised, but showed him its extent readilyenough. The bedroom with its twin beds and white coverlets and its sim-plified toilet appliances reminded me again of a hospital or some monasticcell. The bathroom, too, was severely44 plain with no special luxury fittingand no array of cosmetics45. The kitchen was bare, spotlessly clean, and wellequipped with labour-saving devices of a practical kind. Then we came toa door which Clemency opened, saying: “This is my husband’s specialroom.”
“Come in,” said Roger. “Come in.”
I drew a faint breath of relief. Something in the spotless austerity else-where had been getting me down. This was an intensely personal room.
There was a large roll-top desk untidily covered with papers, old pipes,and tobacco ash. There were big shabby easychairs. Persian rugs coveredthe floor. On the walls were groups, their photography somewhat faded.
School groups, cricket groups, military groups. Water-colour sketches46 ofdeserts and minarets47, and of sailing-boats and sea effects and sunsets. Itwas, somehow, a pleasant room, the room of a lovable, friendly, compan-ionable man.
Roger, clumsily, was pouring out drinks from a tantalus, sweeping48 booksand papers off one of the chairs.
“Place is in a mess. I was turning out. Clearing up old papers. Saywhen.” The inspector declined a drink. I accepted. “You must forgive mejust now,” went on Roger. He brought my drink over to me, turning hishead to speak to Taverner as he did so. “My feelings ran away with me.”
He looked round almost guiltily, but Clemency Leonides had not accom-panied us into the room.
“She’s so wonderful,” he said. “My wife, I mean. All through this, she’sbeen splendid—splendid! I can’t tell you how I admire that woman. Andshe’s had such a hard time—a terrible time. I’d like to tell you about it. Be-fore we were married, I mean. Her first husband was a fine chap—finemind, I mean—but terribly delicate—tubercular as a matter of fact. Hewas doing very valuable research work on crystallography, I believe.
Poorly paid and very exacting49, but he wouldn’t give up. She slaved forhim, practically kept him, knowing all the time that he was dying. Andnever a complaint—never a murmur16 of weariness. She always said shewas happy. Then he died, and she was terribly cut up. At last she agreed tomarry me. I was so glad to be able to give her some rest, some happiness, Iwished she would stop working, but of course she felt it her duty in war-time, and she still seems to feel she should go on. But she’s been a wonder-ful wife—the most wonderful wife a man ever had. Gosh, I’ve been lucky!
I’d do anything for her.”
Taverner made a suitable rejoinder. Then he embarked50 once more onthe familiar routine questions. When had he first heard of his father’s ill-ness?
“Brenda had rushed over to call me. My father was ill—she said he hadhad a seizure of some sort.
“I’d been sitting with the dear old boy only about half an hour earlier.
He’d been perfectly all right then. I rushed over. He was blue in the face,gasping. I dashed down to Philip. He rang up the doctor. I—we couldn’t doanything. Of course I never dreamed for a moment then that there hadbeen any funny business. Funny? Did I say funny? God, what a word touse.”
With a little difficulty, Taverner and I disentangled ourselves from theemotional atmosphere of Roger Leonides’ room and found ourselves out-side the door, once more at the top of the stairs.
“Whew!” said Taverner. “What a contrast from the other brother.” Headded, rather inconsequently: “Curious things, rooms. Tell you quite a lotabout the people who live in them.”
I agreed and he went on:
“Curious the people who marry each other, too, isn’t it?”
I was not quite sure if he was referring to Clemency and Roger, or toPhilip and Magda. His words applied51 equally well to either. Yet it seemedto me that both the marriages might be classed as happy ones. Roger’s andClemency’s certainly was.
“I shouldn’t say he was a poisoner, would you?” asked Taverner. “Notoff-hand, I wouldn’t. Of course you never know. Now she’s more the type.
Remorseless sort of woman. Might be a bit mad.”
Again I agreed. “But I don’t suppose,” I said, “that she’d murder anyonejust because she didn’t approve of their aims and mode of life. Perhaps, ifshe really hated the old man—but are any murders committed just out ofpure hate?”
“Precious few,” said Taverner. “I’ve never come across one myself. No, Ithink we’re a good deal safer to stick to Mrs. Brenda. But God knows ifwe’ll ever get any evidence.”
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troublemaker
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| n.惹是生非者，闹事者，捣乱者 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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tempestuous
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fiddled
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stiffened
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dame
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outright
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recipient
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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motive
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brass
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standing
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rumpled
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furtive
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clemency
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flustered
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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mere
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utilitarian
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peculiar
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intensity
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perfectly
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attaining
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的现在分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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gutter
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tugging
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appalled
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grudging
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wring
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abashed
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concisely
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accurately
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catering
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dozed
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scrutiny
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therapeutic
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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cosmetics
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sketches
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minarets
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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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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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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