Hilary had always imagined that drugs were easy to buy in foreign cities.
Rather to her surprise, she found that this was not so. The chemist shewent to first supplied her with only two doses. For more than that amount,he said, a doctor’s prescription1 would be advisable. She thanked him smil-ingly and nonchalantly and went rather quickly out of the shop, collidingas she did so with a tall, rather solemn-faced young man, who apologizedin English. She heard him asking for toothpaste as she left the shop.
Somehow that amused her. Toothpaste. It seemed so ridiculous, so nor-mal, so everyday. Then a sharp pang2 pierced her, for the toothpaste hehad asked for was the brand that Nigel had always preferred. She crossedthe street and went into a shop opposite. She had been to four chemists’
shops by the time she returned to the hotel. It had amused her a little thatin the third shop the owlish young man had again appeared, once moreasking obstinately3 for his particular brand of toothpaste which evidentlywas not one commonly stocked by French chemists in Casablanca.
Hilary felt almost lighthearted as she changed her frock and made upher face before going down for dinner. She purposely went down as lateas possible since she was anxious not to encounter any of her fellow trav-ellers or the personnel of the aeroplane. That was hardly likely in any case,since the plane had gone on to Dakar, and she thought that she had beenthe only person put off at Casablanca.
The restaurant was almost empty by the time she came into it, thoughshe noticed that the young Englishman with the owl-like face was just fin-ishing his meal at the table by the wall. He was reading a French newspa-per and seemed quite absorbed in it.
Hilary ordered herself a good meal with a half-bottle of wine. She wasfeeling a heady kind of excitement. She thought to herself, “What is thisafter all, but the last adventure?” Then she ordered a bottle of Vichy waterto be sent up to her room and went straight up after leaving the diningroom.
The waiter brought the Vichy, uncapped it, placed it on the table, andwishing her good night, left the room. Hilary drew a sigh of relief. As heclosed the door after him, she went to it and turned the key in the lock.
She took from the drawer of the dressing4 table the four little packets shehad obtained from the chemists’, and unwrapped them. She laid the tab-lets out on the table and poured herself out a glass of Vichy water. Sincethe drug was in tablet form, she had only to swallow the tablets, and washthem down with the Vichy water.
She undressed, wrapped her dressing gown round her and came back tosit by the table. Her heart beat faster. She felt something like fear now, butthe fear was half fascination5 and not the kind of flinching6 that would havetempted her to abandon her plan. She was quite calm and clear aboutthat. This was escape at last—real escape. She looked at the writing table,debating whether she would leave a note. She decided7 against it. She hadno relations, no close or dear friends, there was nobody to whom shewished to say goodbye. As for Nigel, she had no wish to burden him withuseless remorse8 even if a note from her would have achieved that object.
Nigel would read presumably in the paper that a Mrs. Hilary Craven haddied of an overdose of sleeping tablets in Casablanca. It would probablybe quite a small paragraph. He would accept it at its face value. “Poor oldHilary,” he would say, “bad luck”—and it might be that, secretly, he wouldbe rather relieved. Because she guessed that she was, slightly, on Nigel’sconscience, and he was a man who wished to feel comfortable with him-self.
Already Nigel seemed very far away and curiously9 unimportant. Therewas nothing more to be done. She would swallow the pills and lie down onher bed and sleep. From that sleep she would not wake. She had not, orthought she had not, any religious feeling. Brenda’s death had shut downon all that. So there was nothing more to consider. She was once again atraveller as she had been at Heathrow Airport, a traveller waiting to de-part for an unknown destination, unencumbered by baggage, unaffectedby farewells. For the first time in her life she was free, entirely10 free, to actas she wished to act. Already the past was cut away from her. The longaching misery11 that had dragged her down in her waking hours was gone.
Yes. Light, free, unencumbered! Ready to start on her journey.
She stretched out her hand towards the first tablet. As she did so therecame a soft, discreet12 tap on the door. Hilary frowned. She sat there, herhand arrested in mid-air. Who was it—a chambermaid? No, the bed hadalready been turned down. Somebody, perhaps, about papers or passport?
She shrugged13 her shoulders. She would not answer the door. Why shouldshe bother? Presently whoever it was would go away and come back atsome further opportunity.
The knock came again, a little louder this time. But Hilary did not move.
There could be no real urgency, and whoever it was would soon go away.
Her eyes were on the door, and suddenly they widened with astonish-ment. The key was slowly turning backwards14 round the lock. It jerked for-ward and fell on the floor with a metallic15 clang. Then the handle turned,the door opened and a man came in. She recognized him as the solemn,owlish young man who had been buying toothpaste. Hilary stared at him.
She was too startled for the moment to say or do anything. The young manturned round, shut the door, picked the key up from the floor, put it intothe lock and turned it. Then he came across towards her and sat down in achair the other side of the table. He said, and it seemed to her a most in-congruous remark:
“My name’s Jessop.”
The colour rose sharply in Hilary’s face. She leaned forward. She saidwith cold anger:
“What do you think you’re doing here, may I ask?”
He looked at her solemnly—and blinked.
“Funny,” he said. “I came to ask you that.” He gave a quick sideways nodtowards the preparations on the table. Hilary said sharply:
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh yes, you do.”
Hilary paused, struggling for words. There were so many things shewanted to say. To express indignation. To order him out of the room. Butstrangely enough, it was curiosity that won the day. The question rose toher lips so naturally that she was almost unaware16 of asking it.
“That key,” she said, “it turned, of itself, in the lock?”
“Oh, that!” The young man gave a sudden boyish grin that transformedhis face. He put his hand into his pocket and, taking out a metal instru-ment, he handed it to her to examine.
“There you are,” he said, “very handy little tool. Insert it into the lockthe other side, it grips the key and turns it.” He took it back from her andput it in his pocket. “Burglars use them,” he said.
“So you’re a burglar?”
“No, no, Mrs. Craven, do me justice. I did knock, you know. Burglarsdon’t knock. Then, when it seemed you weren’t going to let me in, I usedthis.”
“But why?”
Again her visitor’s eyes strayed to the preparations on the table.
“I shouldn’t do it if I were you,” he said. “It isn’t a bit what you think,you know. You think you just go to sleep and you don’t wake up. But it’snot quite like that. All sorts of unpleasant effects. Convulsions sometimes,gangrene of the skin. If you’re resistant17 to the drug, it takes a long time towork, and someone gets to you in time and then all sorts of unpleasantthings happen. Stomach pump. Castor oil, hot coffee, slapping and push-ing. All very undignified, I assure you.”
Hilary leaned back in her chair, her eyelids18 narrowed. She clenched19 herhands slightly. She forced herself to smile.
“What a ridiculous person you are,” she said. “Do you imagine that I wascommitting suicide, or something like that?”
“Not only imagine it,” said the young man called Jessop, “I’m quite sureof it. I was in that chemist’s, you know, when you came in. Buying tooth-paste, as a matter of fact. Well, they hadn’t got the sort I like, so I went toanother shop. And there you were, asking for sleeping pills again. Well, Ithought that was a bit odd, you know, so I followed you. All those sleepingpills at different places. It could only add up to one thing.”
His tone was friendly, offhand20, but quite assured. Looking at him HilaryCraven abandoned pretence21.
“Then don’t you think it is unwarrantable impertinence on your part totry and stop me?”
He considered the point for a moment or two. Then he shook his head.
“No. It’s one of those things that you can’t not do—if you understand.”
Hilary spoke22 with energy. “You can stop me for the moment. I mean youcan take the pills away—throw them out of the window or something likethat—but you can’t stop me from buying more another day or throwingmyself down from the top floor of the building, or jumping in front of atrain.”
The young man considered this.
“No,” he said. “I agree I can’t stop you doing any of those things. But it’sa question, you know, whether you will do them. Tomorrow, that is.”
“You think I shall feel differently tomorrow?” asked Hilary, faint bitter-ness in her tone.
“People do,” said Jessop, almost apologetically.
“Yes, perhaps,” she considered. “If you’re doing things in a mood of hotdespair. But when it’s cold despair, it’s different. I’ve nothing to live for,you see.”
Jessop put his rather owlish head on one side, and blinked.
“Interesting,” he remarked.
“Not really. Not interesting at all. I’m not a very interesting woman. Myhusband, whom I loved, left me, my only child died very painfully of men-ingitis. I’ve no near friends or relations. I’ve no vocation23, no art or craft orwork that I love doing.”
“Tough,” said Jessop appreciatively. He added, rather hesitantly: “Youdon’t think of it as—wrong?”
Hilary said heatedly: “Why should it be wrong? It’s my life.”
“Oh yes, yes,” Jessop repeated hastily. “I’m not taking a high moral linemyself, but there are people, you know, who think it’s wrong.”
Hilary said:
“I’m not one of them.”
Mr. Jessop said, rather inadequately24:
“Quite.”
He sat there looking at her, blinking his eyes thoughtfully.
Hilary said:
“So perhaps now, Mr.—er—”
“Jessop,” said the young man.
“So perhaps now, Mr. Jessop, you will leave me alone.”
But Jessop shook his head.
“Not just yet,” he said. “I wanted to know, you see, just what was behindit all. I’ve got it clear now, have I? You’re not interested in life, you don’twant to live any longer, you more or less welcome the idea of death?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Jessop, cheerfully. “So now we know where we are. Let’s goon to the next step. Has it got to be sleeping pills?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve already told you that they’re not as romantic as they sound.
Throwing yourself off a building isn’t too nice, either. You don’t always dieat once. And the same applies to falling under a train. What I’m getting atis that there are other ways.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I’m suggesting another method. Rather a sporting method, really.
There’s some excitement in it, too. I’ll be fair with you. There’s just a hun-dred to one chance that you mightn’t die. But I don’t believe under the cir-cumstances, that you’d really object by that time.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you haven’t,” said Jessop. “I’ve not begun to tell you about ityet. I’m afraid I’ll have to make rather a thing about it—tell you a story, Imean. Shall I go ahead?”
“I suppose so.”
Jessop paid no attention to the grudgingness25 of the assent26. He started offin his most owl-like manner.
“You’re the sort of woman who reads the papers and keeps up withthings generally, I expect,” he said. “You’ll have read about the disappear-ance of various scientists from time to time. There was that Italian chapabout a year ago, and about two months ago a young scientist calledThomas Betterton disappeared.”
Hilary nodded. “Yes, I read about that in the papers.”
“Well, there’s been a good deal more than has appeared in the papers.
More people, I mean, have disappeared. They haven’t always been scient-ists. Some of them have been young men who were engaged in importantmedical research. Some of them have been research chemists, some ofthem have been physicists27, there was one barrister. Oh, quite a lot hereand there and everywhere. Well, ours is a so-called free country. You canleave it if you like. But in these peculiar28 circumstances we’ve got to knowwhy these people left it and where they went, and, also important, howthey went. Did they go of their own free will? Were they kidnapped? Werethey blackmailed29 into going? What route did they take—what kind of or-ganization is it that sets this in motion and what is its ultimate aim? Lotsof questions. We want the answer to them. You might be able to help getus that answer.”
Hilary stared at him.
“Me? How? Why?”
“I’m coming down to the particular case of Thomas Betterton. He disap-peared from Paris just over two months ago. He left a wife in England. Shewas distracted—or said she was distracted. She swore that she had no ideawhy he’d gone or where or how. That may be true, or it may not. Somepeople—and I’m one of them—think it wasn’t true.”
Hilary leaned forward in her chair. In spite of herself she was becominginterested. Jessop went on.
“We prepared to keep a nice, unobtrusive eye on Mrs. Betterton. Abouta fortnight ago she came to me and told me she had been ordered by herdoctor to go abroad, take a thorough rest and get some distraction30. Shewas doing no good in England, and people were continually bothering her—newspaper reporters, relations, kind friends.”
Hilary said drily: “I can imagine it.”
“Yes, tough. Quite natural she would want to get away for a bit.”
“Quite natural, I should think.”
“But we’ve got nasty, suspicious minds in our department, you know.
We arranged to keep tabs on Mrs. Betterton. Yesterday she left England asarranged, for Casablanca.”
“Casablanca?”
“Yes—en route to other places in Morocco, of course. All quite open andabove board, plans made, bookings ahead. But it may be that this trip toMorocco is where Mrs. Betterton steps off into the unknown.”
Hilary shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t see where I come into all this.”
Jessop smiled.
“You come into it because you’ve got a very magnificent head of redhair, Mrs. Craven.”
“Hair?”
“Yes. It’s the most noticeable thing about Mrs. Betterton — her hair.
You’ve heard, perhaps, that the plane before yours today crashed on land-ing.”
“I know. I should have been on that plane. I actually had reservationsfor it.”
“Interesting,” said Jessop. “Well, Mrs. Betterton was on that plane. Shewasn’t killed. She was taken out of the wreckage31 still alive, and she is inhospital now. But according to the doctor, she won’t be alive tomorrowmorning.”
A faint glimmer32 of light came to Hilary. She looked at him inquiringly.
“Yes,” said Jessop, “perhaps now you see the form of suicide I’m offeringyou. I’m suggesting that you should become Mrs. Betterton.”
“But surely,” said Hilary, “that would be quite impossible. I mean, they’dknow at once she wasn’t me.”
Jessop put his head on one side.
“That, of course, depends entirely on who you mean by ‘they.’ It’s a veryvague term. Who is or are ‘they?’ Is there such a thing, are there such per-sons as ‘they?’ We don’t know. But I can tell you this. If the most popularexplanation of ‘they’ is accepted, then these people work in very close,self-contained cells. They do that for their own security. If Mrs. Betterton’sjourney had a purpose and is planned, then the people who were incharge of it here will know nothing about the English side of it. At the ap-pointed moment they will contact a certain woman at a certain place, andcarry on from there. Mrs. Betterton’s passport description is 5 ft. 7, redhair, blue- green eyes, mouth medium, no distinguishing marks. Goodenough.”
“But the authorities here. Surely they—”
Jessop smiled. “That part of it will be quite all right. The French havelost a few valuable young scientists and chemists of their own. They’ll co-operate. The facts will be as follows. Mrs. Betterton, suffering from con-cussion, is taken to hospital. Mrs. Craven, another passenger in thecrashed plane, will also be admitted to hospital. Within a day or two Mrs.
Craven will die in hospital, and Mrs. Betterton will be discharged, sufferingslightly from concussion33, but able to proceed on her tour. The crash wasgenuine, the concussion is genuine, and concussion makes a very goodcover for you. It excuses a lot of things like lapses34 of memory, and variousunpredictable behaviour.”
Hilary said:
“It would be madness!”
“Oh, yes,” said Jessop, “it’s madness, all right. It’s a very tough assign-ment and if our suspicions are realized, you’ll probably cop it. You see, I’mbeing quite frank, but according to you, you’re prepared and anxious tocop it. As an alternative to throwing yourself in front of a train or some-thing like that, I should think you’d find it far more amusing.”
Suddenly and unexpectedly Hilary laughed.
“I do believe,” she said, “that you’re quite right.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“In that case,” said Jessop, rising in his seat with sudden energy, “there’sabsolutely no time to be lost.”
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prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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flinching
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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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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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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resistant
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| adj.(to)抵抗的，有抵抗力的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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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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vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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inadequately
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grudgingness
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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physicists
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| 物理学家( physicist的名词复数 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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blackmailed
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| 胁迫，尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的过去式 ) | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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lapses
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| n.失误，过失( lapse的名词复数 )；小毛病；行为失检；偏离正道v.退步( lapse的第三人称单数 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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