In a room at the H?tel Mamounia, Marrakesh, the man called Jessop wastalking to Miss Hetherington. A different Miss Hetherington this, from theone that Hilary had known at Casablanca and at Fez. The same appear-ance, the same twin set, the same depressing hairdo. But the manner hadchanged. It was a woman now both brisk, competent, and seeming manyyears younger than her appearance.
The third person in the room was a dark stocky man with intelligenteyes. He was tapping gently on the table with his fingers and humming alittle French song under his breath.
“.?.?. and as far as you know,” Jessop was saying, “those are the onlypeople she talked to at Fez?”
Janet Hetherington nodded.
“There was the Calvin Baker1 woman, who we’d already met at Casab-lanca. I’ll say frankly2 I still can’t make up my mind about her. She wentout of her way to be friendly with Olive Betterton, and with me for thatmatter. But Americans are friendly, they do enter into conversation withpeople in hotels, and they like joining them on trips.”
“Yes,” said Jessop, “it’s all a little too overt3 for what we’re looking for.”
“And besides,” went on Janet Hetherington, “she was on this plane, too.”
“You’re assuming,” said Jessop, “that the crash was planned. He lookedsideways towards the dark, stocky man. “What about it, Leblanc?” Leblancstopped humming his tune4, and stopped his little tattoo5 on the table for amoment or two.
“?a se peut,” he said. “There may have been sabotage6 to the machineand that is why it crashed. We shall never know. The plane crashed andwent up in flames and everyone on board was killed.”
“What do you know of the pilot?”
“Alcadi? Young, reasonably competent. No more. Badly paid.” He addedthe two last words with a slight pause in front of them.
Jessop said:
“Open therefore to other employment, but presumably not a candidatefor suicide?”
“There were seven bodies,” said Leblanc. “Badly charred7, unrecogniz-able, but seven bodies. One cannot get away from that.”
Jessop turned back to Janet Hetherington.
“You were saying?” he said.
“There was a French family at Fez that Mrs. Betterton exchanged a fewwords with. There was a rich Swedish business man with a glamour8 girl.
And the rich oil magnate, Mr. Aristides.”
“Ah,” said Leblanc, “that fabulous9 figure himself. What must it feel like, Ihave often asked myself, to have all the money in the world? For me,” headded frankly, “I would keep racehorses and women, and all the worldhas to offer. But old Aristides shuts himself up in his castle in Spain—liter-ally his castle in Spain, mon cher—and collects, so they say, Chinese potteryof the Sung period. But one must remember,” he added, “that he is at leastseventy. It is possible at that age that Chinese pottery10 is all that interestsone.”
“According to the Chinese themselves,” said Jessop, “the years betweensixty and seventy are the most rich in living and one is then most appreci-ative of the beauty and delight of life.”
“Pas moi!” said Leblanc.
“There were some Germans at Fez, too,” continued Janet Hetherington,“but as far as I know they didn’t exchange any remarks with Olive Better-ton.”
“A waiter or a servant, perhaps,” said Jessop.
“That’s always possible.”
“And she went out into the old town alone, you say?”
“She went with one of the regular guides. Someone may have contactedher on that tour.”
“At any rate she decided11 quite suddenly to go to Marrakesh.”
“Not suddenly,” she corrected him. “She already had her reservations.”
“Ah, I’m wrong,” said Jessop. “What I mean is that Mrs. Calvin Baker de-cided rather suddenly to accompany her.” He got up and paced up anddown. “She flew to Marrakesh,” he said, “and the plane crashed and camedown in flames. It seems ill-omened, does it not, for anyone called OliveBetterton to travel by air. First the crash near Casablanca, and then thisone. Was it an accident or was it contrived12? If there were people whowished to get rid of Olive Betterton, there would be easier ways to do itthan by wrecking13 a plane, I should say.”
“One never knows,” said Leblanc. “Understand me, mon cher. Once youhave got into that state of mind where the taking of human lives no longercounts, then if it is simpler to put a little explosive package under a seat ina plane than to wait about at the corner on a dark night and stick a knifeinto someone, then the package will be left and the fact that six otherpeople will die also is not even considered.”
“Of course,” said Jessop, “I know I’m in a minority of one, but I still thinkthere’s a third solution—that they faked the crash.”
Leblanc looked at him with interest.
“That could be done, yes. The plane could be brought down and it couldbe set on fire. But you cannot get away from the fact, mon cher Jessop, thatthere were people in the plane. The charred bodies were actually there.”
“I know,” said Jessop, “that’s the stumbling block. Oh, I’ve no doubt myideas are fantastic, but it’s such a neat ending to our hunt. Too neat. That’swhat I feel. It says finish to us. We write down R.I.P. in the margin14 of ourreport and it’s ended. There’s no further trail to take up.” He turned againto Leblanc. “You are having a search instituted?”
“For two days now,” said Leblanc. “Good men, too. It’s a particularlylonely spot, of course, where the plane crashed. It was off its course, bythe way.”
“Which is significant,” Jessop put in.
“The nearest villages, the nearest habitations, the nearest traces of a car,all those are being investigated fully15. In this country as well as in yours,we fully realize the importance of the investigation16. In France, too, wehave lost some of our best young scientists. In my opinion, mon cher, it iseasier to control temperamental opera singers than it is to control a scient-ist. They are brilliant, these young men, erratic17, rebellious18, and, finallyand dangerously, they are most completely credulous19. What do they ima-gine goes on là bas? Sweetness and light and desire for truth and the mil-lennium? Alas20, poor children, what disillusionment awaits them.”
“Let’s go over the passenger list once more,” said Jessop.
The Frenchman reached out a hand, picked it out of a wire basket andset it before his colleague. The two men pored over it together.
“Mrs. Calvin Baker, American. Mrs. Betterton, English. Torquil Ericsson,Norwegian—what do you know of him, by the way?”
“Nothing that I can recall,” said Leblanc. “He was young, not more thantwenty-seven or twenty-eight.”
“I know his name,” said Jessop, frowning. “I think—I am almost sure—that he read a paper before the Royal Society.”
“Then there is the religieuse,” Leblanc said, turning back to the list. “Sis-ter Marie something or other. Andrew Peters, also American. Dr. Barron.
That is a celebrated21 name, le docteur Barron. A man of great brilliance22. Anexpert on virus diseases.”
“Biological warfare,” said Jessop. “It fits. It all fits.”
“A man poorly paid and discontented,” said Leblanc.
“How many going to St. Ives?” murmured Jessop.
The Frenchman shot him a quick look and he smiled apologetically.
“Just an old nursery rhyme,” he said. “For St. Ives read question mark.
Journey to nowhere.”
The telephone on the table buzzed and Leblanc picked up the receiver.
“Allo?” he said. “Qu’est-ce qu’ il y a? Ah, yes, send them up.” He turnedhis head towards Jessop. His face was suddenly alive, vigorous. “One ofmy men reporting,” he said. “They have found something. Mon chercollègue, it is possible—I say no more—possible that your optimism is justi-fied.”
A few moments later two men entered the room. The first bore a roughresemblance to Leblanc, the same type, stocky, dark, intelligent. His man-ner was respectful but exhilarated. He wore European clothes badlystained and marked, covered with dust. He had obviously just arrivedfrom a journey. With him was a native wearing the white local dress. Hehad the dignified23 composure of the dweller24 in remote places. His mannerwas courteous25 but not subservient26. He looked with a faint wonder roundthe room whilst the other man explained things in rapid French.
“The reward was offered and circulated,” the man explained, “and thisfellow and his family and a great many of his friends have been searchingdiligently. I let him bring you the find himself as there may be questionsyou want to ask him.”
Leblanc turned to the Berber.
“You have done good work,” he said, speaking now in the man’s ownlanguage. “You have the eyes of the hawk27, my father. Show us then whatyou have discovered.” From a fold in his white robe the man took out asmall object, and stepping forward laid it on the table before the French-man. It was rather a large-sized, pinkish-grey synthetic28 pearl.
“It is like the one shown to me and shown to others,” he said. “It is ofvalue and I have found it.”
Jessop stretched out a hand and took the pearl. From his pocket he drewout another exactly like it and examined both. Then he walked across theroom to the window, and examined them both through a powerful lens.
“Yes,” he said, “the mark is there.” There was jubilation29 now in his voiceand he came back to the table. “Good girl,” he said, “good girl, good girl!
She managed it!”
Leblanc was questioning the Moroccan in a rapid exchange of Arabic.
Finally he turned to Jessop.
“I make my apologies, mon cher collègue,” he said. “This pearl was foundat a distance of nearly half a mile from the flaming plane.”
“Which shows,” said Jessop, “that Olive Betterton was a survivor30, andthat though seven people left Fez in the plane and seven charred bodieswere found, one of those charred bodies was definitely not hers.”
“We extend the search now,” said Leblanc. He spoke31 again to the Berberand the man who had brought him in. “He will be handsomely rewardedas promised,” said Leblanc, “and there will be a hunt now all over thecountryside for these pearls. They have hawk eyes, these people, and theknowledge that these are worth good money in reward will pass roundlike a grapevine. I think—I think, mon cher collègue, that we shall get res-ults! If only they have not tumbled to what she was doing.”
Jessop shook his head.
“It would be such a natural occurrence,” he said. “The sudden breakingof a necklace of costume jewellery such as most women wear, the pickingup apparently32 of what loose pearls she can find and stuffing them into herpocket, then a little hole in the pocket. Besides, why should they suspecther? She is Olive Betterton, anxious to join her husband.”
“We must review this matter in a new light,” said Leblanc. He drew thepassenger list towards him. “Olive Betterton. Dr. Barron,” he said, tickingoff the two names. “Two at least who are going—wherever they are going.
The American woman, Mrs. Calvin Baker. As to her we keep an openmind. Torquil Ericsson you say has read papers before the Royal Society.
The American, Peters, was described on his passport as a research chem-ist. The religieuse—well, it would make a good disguise. In fact, a wholecargo of people cleverly shepherded from different points to travel in thatone plane on that particular day. And then the plane is discovered inflames33 and inside it the requisite34 number of charred bodies. How did theymanage that, I wonder? Enfin, c’est colossal35!”
“Yes,” said Jessop. “It was the final convincing touch. But we know nowthat six or seven people have started off on a fresh journey, and we knowwhere their point of departure is. What do we do next—visit the spot?”
“But precisely,” said Leblanc. “We take up advanced headquarters. If Imistake not, now that we are on the track, other evidence will come tolight.”
“If our calculations are exact,” Jessop said, “there should be results.”
The calculations were many and devious36. The rate of progress of a car,the likely distance where it would refuel, possible villages where travel-lers might have stayed the night. The tracks were many and confusing,disappointments were continual, but every now and then there came apositive result.
“Voilà, mon capitaine! A search of the latrines, as you ordered. In a darkcorner of the latrine a pearl embedded37 in a little piece of chewing gum inthe house of one Abdul Mohammed. He and his sons have been interrog-ated. At first they denied, but at last they have confessed. A carload of sixpeople said to be from the German arch?ological expedition spent a nightat his house. Much money was paid, and they were not to mention this toanyone, the excuse being that there was some illicit38 digging in prospect39.
Children in the village of El Kaif also have brought in two more pearls. Weknow now the direction. There is more, Monsieur le Capitaine. The hand ofFatima has been seen as you foretold40. This type here, he will tell you aboutit.”
“This type” was a particularly wild-looking Berber.
“I was with my flocks,” he said, “at night and I heard a car. It passed meand as it did so I saw the sign. The hand of Fatima was outlined on oneside of it. It gleamed, I tell you, in the darkness.”
“The application of phosphorus on a glove can be very efficacious,” mur-mured Leblanc. “I congratulate you, mon cher, on that idea.”
“It’s effective,” said Jessop, “but it’s dangerous. It’s too easily noticed bythe fugitives41 themselves, I mean.”
Leblanc shrugged42 his shoulders.
“It could not be seen in daylight.”
“No, but if there was a halt and they alighted from the car in the dark-ness—”
“Even then—it is a notable Arab superstition43. It is painted often on cartsand wagons44. It would only be thought that some pious45 Muslim hadpainted it in luminous46 paint on his vehicle.”
“True enough. But we must be on our guard. For if our enemies did no-tice it, it is highly possible that they will lay a false trail marked for us, ofhands of Fatima in phosphorus paint.”
“Ah, as to that I agree with you. One must indeed be on one’s guard. Al-ways, always on one’s guard.”
On the following morning Leblanc had another exhibit of three falsepearls arranged in a triangle, stuck together by a little piece of chewinggum.
“This should mean,” said Jessop, “that the next stage of the journey wasby plane.”
He looked inquiringly at Leblanc.
“You are absolutely right,” said the other. “This was found on a disusedarmy airfield47, in a remote and desolate48 place. There were signs that aplane landed and left there not long ago.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Anunknown plane,” he said; “and once again they took off for a destinationunknown. That brings us once more to a halt and we do not know wherenext to take up the trail—”
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1
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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sabotage
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| n.怠工，破坏活动，破坏；v.从事破坏活动，妨害，破坏 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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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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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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inflames
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的第三人称单数 ) | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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embedded
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| a.扎牢的 | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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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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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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45
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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airfield
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| n.飞机场 | |
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48
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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