II was to wonder afterwards that I could have been so blind. The truth hadstuck out so clearly all along. Josephine and only Josephine fitted in withall the necessary qualifications. Her vanity, her persistent1 self-importance,her delight in talking, her reiteration2 on how clever she was, and how stu-pid the police were.
I had never considered her because she was a child. But children havecommitted murders, and this particular murder had been well within achild’s compass. Her grandfather himself had indicated the precisemethod—he had practically handed her a blueprint3. All she had to do wasto avoid leaving fingerprints4 and the slightest knowledge of detection fic-tion would teach her that. And everything else had been a mere5 hotch-potch, culled6 at random7 from stock mystery stories. The notebook—thesleuthing—her pretended suspicions, her insistence8 that she was not goingto tell till she was sure….
And finally the attack on herself. An almost incredible performance con-sidering that she might easily have killed herself. But then, childlike, shehad never considered such a possibility. She was the heroine. The heroineisn’t killed. Yet there had been a clue there—the traces of earth on the seatof the old chair in the washhouse. Josephine was the only person whowould have had to climb up on a chair to balance the block of marble onthe top of the door. Obviously it had missed her more than once (the dintsin the floor) and patiently she had climbed up again and replaced it, hand-ling it with her scarf to avoid fingerprints. And then it had fallen—and shehad had a near escape from death.
It had been the perfect setup—the impression she was aiming for! Shewas in danger, she “knew something,” she had been attacked!
I saw how she had deliberately9 drawn10 my attention to her presence inthe cistern11 room. And she had completed the artistic12 disorder13 of her roombefore going out to the washhouse.
But when she had returned from hospital, when she had found Brendaand Laurence arrested, she must have become dissatisfied. The case wasover—and she—Josephine, was out of the limelight.
So she stole the digitalin from Edith’s room and put it in her own cup ofcocoa and left the cup untouched on the hall table.
Did she know that Nannie would drink it? Possibly. From her words thatmorning, she had resented Nannie’s criticisms of her. Did Nannie, per-haps, wise from a lifetime of experience with children, suspect? I thinkthat Nannie knew, had always known, that Josephine was not normal.
With her precocious14 mental development had gone a retarded15 moralsense. Perhaps, too, the various factors of heredity — what Sophia hadcalled the “ruthlessness of the family”—had met together.
She had had an authoritarian16 ruthlessness of her grandmother’s family,and the ruthless egoism of Magda, seeing only her own point of view. Shehad also presumably suffered, sensitive like Philip, from the stigma17 of be-ing the unattractive—the changeling child—of the family. Finally, in hervery marrow18 had run the essential crooked19 strain of old Leonides. Shehad been Leonides’ grandchild, she had resembled him in brain and cun-ning—but where his love had gone outwards20 to family and friends, hershad turned inward to herself.
I thought that old Leonides had realized what none of the rest of thefamily had realized, that Josephine might be a source of danger to othersand to herself. He had kept her from school life because he was afraid ofwhat she might do. He had shielded her, and guarded her in the home,and I understood now his urgency to Sophia to look after Josephine.
Magda’s sudden decision to send Josephine abroad—had that, too, beendue to a fear for the child? Not, perhaps, a conscious fear, but some vaguematernal instinct.
And Edith de Haviland? Had she first suspected, then feared—and fi-nally known?
I looked down at the letter in my hand.
Dear Charles. This is in confidence for you — and forSophia if you so decide. It is imperative21 that someoneshould know the truth. I found the enclosed in the disuseddog kennel22 outside the back door. She kept it there. It con-firms what I already suspected. The action I am about totake may be right or wrong—I do not know. But my life, inany case, is close to its end, and I do not want the child tosuffer as I believe she would suffer if called to earthly ac-count for what she has done.
There is often one of the litter who is “not quite right.”
If I am wrong, God forgive me—but I did it out of love. God bless you both.
Edith de Haviland.
I hesitated for only a moment, then I handed the letter to Sophia. To-gether we again opened Josephine’s little black book.
Today I killed grandfather.
We turned the pages. It was an amazing production. Interesting, Ishould imagine, to a psychologist. It set out, with such terrible clarity, thefury of thwarted23 egoism. The motive24 for the crime was set down, pitifullychildish and inadequate26.
Grandfather wouldn’t let me do bally dancing so made upmy mind I would kill him. Then we should go to Londonand live and mother wouldn’t mind me doing bally.
I give only a a few entries. They are all significant.
I don’t want to go to Switzerland—I won’t go. If mothermakes me I will kill her too—only I can’t get any poison.
Perhaps I could make it with youberries. They are poison-ous, the book says so.
Eustace has made me very cross today. He says I am only agirl and no use and that it’s silly my detecting. Hewouldn’t think me silly if he knew it was me did themurder.
I like Charles—but he is rather stupid. I have not decidedyet who I shall make have done the crime. Perhaps Brendaand Laurence—Brenda is nasty to me—she says I am notall there but I like Laurence—he told me about CharlotKorday—she killed someone in his bath. She was not veryclever about it.
The last entry was revealing.
I hate Nannie … I hate her … I hate her … She says I amonly a little girl. She says I show off. She’s making mothersend me abroad … I’m going to kill her too—I think AuntEdith’s medicine would do it. If there is another murder,then the police will come back and it will all be excitingagain.
Nannie’s dead. I am glad. I haven’t decided27 yet where I’llhide the bottle with the little pill things. Perhaps in AuntClemency’s room—or else Eustace. When I am dead as anold woman I shall leave this behind me addressed to theChief of Police and they will see what a really great crim-inal I was.
I closed the book. Sophia’s tears were flowing fast.
“Oh, Charles—oh, Charles—it’s so dreadful. She’s such a little monster—and yet—and yet it’s so terribly pathetic.”
I had felt the same.
I had liked Josephine … I still felt a fondness for her … You do not likeanyone less because they have tuberculosis28 or some other fatal disease.
Josephine was, as Sophia had said, a little monster, but she was a patheticlittle monster. She had been born with a kink—the crooked child of thelittle Crooked House.
Sophia asked.
“If—she had lived—what would have happened?”
“I suppose she would have been sent to a reformatory or a specialschool. Later she would have been released—or possibly certified29, I don’tknow.”
Sophia shuddered30.
“It’s better the way it is. But Aunt Edith—I don’t like to think of her tak-ing the blame.”
“She chose to do so. I don’t suppose it will be made public. I imagine thatwhen Brenda and Laurence come to trial, no case will be brought againstthem and they will be discharged.
“And you, Sophia,” I said, this time on a different note and taking bothher hands in mine, “will marry me. I’ve just heard I’m appointed to Persia.
We will go out there together, and you will forget the little Crooked House.
Your mother can put on plays and your father can buy more books andEustace will soon go to a university. Don’t worry about them any more.
Think of me.”
Sophia looked me straight in the eyes.
“Aren’t you afraid, Charles, to marry me?”
“Why should I be? In poor little Josephine all the worst of the familycame together. In you, Sophia, I fully25 believe that all that is bravest andbest in the Leonides family has been handed down to you. Your grand-father thought highly of you and he seems to have been a man who wasusually right. Hold up your head, my darling. The future is ours.”
“I will, Charles. I love you and I’ll marry you and make you happy.” Shelooked down at the notebook. “Poor Josephine.”
“Poor Josephine,” I said.
II
“What’s the truth of it, Charles?” said my father.
I never lie to the Old Man.
“It wasn’t Edith de Haviland, sir,” I said. “It was Josephine.”
My father nodded his head gently.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve thought so for some time. Poor child….”
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1
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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2
reiteration
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| n. 重覆, 反覆, 重说 | |
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3
blueprint
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| n.蓝图，设计图，计划；vt.制成蓝图，计划 | |
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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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5
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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6
culled
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| v.挑选，剔除( cull的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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11
cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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13
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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14
precocious
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| adj.早熟的；较早显出的 | |
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15
retarded
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| a.智力迟钝的，智力发育迟缓的 | |
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authoritarian
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| n./adj.专制(的)，专制主义者，独裁主义者 | |
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17
stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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18
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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19
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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22
kennel
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| n.狗舍，狗窝 | |
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23
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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24
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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25
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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26
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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27
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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28
tuberculosis
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| n.结核病，肺结核 | |
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29
certified
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| a.经证明合格的；具有证明文件的 | |
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30
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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