Driving her large green Bentley, Frankie drew up to the kerb outside alarge old-fashioned house over the doorway1 of which was inscribed2 “St.
Asaph’s.”
Frankie jumped out and, turning, extracted a large bunch of lilies. Thenshe rang the bell. A woman in nurse’s dress answered the door.
“Can I see Mr. Jones?” inquired Frankie.
The nurse’s eyes took in the Bentley, the lilies and Frankie with intenseinterest.
“What name shall I say?”
“Lady Frances Derwent.”
The nurse was thrilled and her patient went up in her estimation.
She guided Frankie upstairs into a room on the first floor.
“You’ve a visitor to see you, Mr. Jones. Now, who do you think it is? Sucha nice surprise for you.”
All this is the “bright” manner usual to nursing homes.
“Gosh!” said Bobby, very much surprised. “If it isn’t Frankie!”
“Hullo, Bobby, I’ve brought the usual flowers. Rather a graveyard3 sug-gestion about them, but the choice was limited.”
“Oh, Lady Frances,” said the nurse, “they’re lovely. I’ll put them into wa-ter.”
She left the room.
Frankie sat down in an obvious visitor’s chair.
“Well, Bobby,” she said. “What’s all this?”
“You may well ask,” said Bobby. “I’m the complete sensation of thisplace. Eight grains of morphia, no less. They’re going to write about me inthe Lancet and the BMJ.”
“What’s the BMJ?” interrupted Frankie.
“The British Medical Journal.”
“All right. Go ahead. Rattle5 off some more initials.”
“Do you know, my girl, that half a grain is a fatal dose? I ought to bedead about sixteen times over. It’s true that recovery has been knownafter sixteen grains—still, eight is pretty good, don’t you think? I’m thehero of this place. They’ve never had a case like me before.”
“How nice for them.”
“Isn’t it? Gives them something to talk about to all the other patients.”
The nurse reentered, bearing lilies in vases.
“It’s true, isn’t it, nurse?” demanded Bobby. “You’ve never had a caselike mine?”
“Oh! you oughtn’t to be here at all,” said the nurse. “In the churchyardyou ought to be. But it’s only the good die young, they say.” She giggled6 ather own wit and went out.
“There you are,” said Bobby. “You’ll see, I shall be famous all over Eng-land.”
He continued to talk. Any signs of inferiority complex that he had dis-played at his last meeting with Frankie had now quite disappeared. Hetook a firm and egotistical pleasure in recounting every detail of his case.
“That’s enough,” said Frankie, quelling7 him. “I don’t really care terriblyfor stomach pumps. To listen to you one would think nobody had everbeen poisoned before.”
“Jolly few have been poisoned with eight grains of morphia and got overit,” Bobby pointed8 out. “Dash it all, you’re not sufficiently9 impressed.”
“Pretty sickening for the people who poisoned you,” said Frankie.
“I know. Waste of perfectly10 good morphia.”
“It was in the beer, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. You see, someone found me sleeping like the dead, tried to wakeme and couldn’t. Then they got alarmed, carried me to a farmhouse11 andsent for a doctor—”
“I know all the next part,” said Frankie hastily.
“At first they had the idea that I’d taken the stuff deliberately12. Thenwhen they heard my story, they went off and looked for the beer bottleand found it where I’d thrown it and had it analysed—the dregs of it werequite enough for that, apparently13.”
“No clue as to how the morphia got in the bottle?”
“None whatever. They’ve interviewed the pub where I bought it andopened other bottles and everything’s been quite all right.”
“Someone must have put the stuff in the beer while you were asleep?”
“That’s it. I remember that the paper across the top wasn’t still stickingproperly.”
Frankie nodded thoughtfully.
“Well,” she said. “It shows that what I said in the train that day wasquite right.”
“What did you say?”
“That that man—Pritchard—had been pushed over the cliff.”
“That wasn’t in the train. You said that at the station,” said Bobby feebly.
“Same thing.”
“But why—”
“Darling—it’s obvious. Why should anyone want to put you out of theway? You’re not the heir to a fortune or anything.”
“I may be. Some great aunt I’ve never heard of in New Zealand or some-where may have left me all her money.”
“Nonsense. Not without knowing you. And if she didn’t know you, whyleave money to a fourth son? Why, in these hard times even a clergymanmightn’t have a fourth son! No, it’s all quite clear. No one benefits by yourdeath, so that’s ruled out. Then there’s revenge. You haven’t seduced14 achemist’s daughter, by any chance?”
“Not that I can remember,” said Bobby with dignity.
“I know. One seduces15 so much that one can’t keep count. But I shouldsay offhand16 that you’ve never seduced anyone at all.”
“You’re making me blush, Frankie. And why must it be a chemist’sdaughter, anyway?”
“Free access to morphia. It’s not so easy to get hold of morphia.”
“Well, I haven’t seduced a chemist’s daughter.”
“And you haven’t got any enemies that you know of?”
Bobby shook his head.
“Well, there you are,” said Frankie triumphantly17. “It must be the manwho was pushed over the cliff. What do the police think?”
“They think it must have been a lunatic.”
“Nonsense. Lunatics don’t wander about with unlimited18 supplies ofmorphia looking for odd bottles of beer to put it into. No, somebodypushed Pritchard over the cliff. A minute or two later you come along andhe thinks you saw him do it and so determines to put you out of the way.”
“I don’t think that will hold water, Frankie.”
“Why not?”
“Well, to begin with, I didn’t see anything.”
“Yes, but he didn’t know that.”
“And if I had seen anything, I should have said so at the inquest.”
“I suppose that’s so,” said Frankie unwillingly20.
She thought for a minute or two.
“Perhaps he thought you’d seen something that you didn’t think wasanything but which really was something. That sounds pure gibberish, butyou get the idea?”
Bobby nodded.
“Yes, I see what you mean, but it doesn’t seem very probable, some-how.”
“I’m sure that cliff business had something to do with this. You were onthe spot—the first person to be there—”
“Thomas was there, too,” Bobby reminded her. “And nobody’s tried topoison him.”
“Perhaps they’re going to,” said Frankie cheerfully. “Or perhaps they’vetried and failed.”
“It all seems very far-fetched.”
“I think it’s logical. If you get two out of the way things happening in astagnant pond like Marchbolt—wait—there’s a third thing.”
“What?”
“That job you were offered. That, of course, is quite a small thing, but itwas odd, you must admit. I’ve never heard of a foreign firm that special-ized in seeking out undistinguished ex–Naval officers.”
“Did you say undistinguished?”
“You hadn’t got into the BMJ, then. But you see my point. You’ve seensomething you weren’t meant to see—or so they (whoever they are) think.
Very well. They first try to get rid of you by offering you a job abroad.
Then, when that fails, they try to put you out of the way altogether.”
“Isn’t that rather drastic? And anyway a great risk to take?”
“Oh! but murderers are always frightfully rash. The more murders theydo, the more murders they want to do.”
“Like The Third Bloodstain,” said Bobby, remembering one of his favour-ite works of fiction.
“Yes, and in real life, too — Smith and his wives and Armstrong andpeople.”
“Well, but, Frankie, what on earth is it I’m supposed to have seen?”
“That, of course, is the difficulty,” admitted Frankie. “I agree that it can’thave been the actual pushing, because you would have told about that. Itmust be something about the man himself. Perhaps he had a birthmark ordouble-jointed fingers or some strange physical peculiarity21.”
“Your mind is running on Dr. Thorndyke, I see. It couldn’t be anythinglike that because whatever I saw the police would see as well.”
“So they would. That was an idiotic22 suggestion. It’s very difficult, isn’tit?”
“It’s a pleasing theory,” said Bobby. “And it makes me feel important,but all the same, I don’t believe it’s much more than a theory.”
“I’m sure I’m right.” Frankie rose. “I must be off now. Shall I come andsee you again tomorrow?”
“Oh! Do. The arch chatter23 of the nurses gets very monotonous24. By theway, you’re back from London very soon?”
“My dear, as soon as I heard about you, I tore back. It’s most exciting tohave a romantically poisoned friend.”
“I don’t know whether morphia is so very romantic,” said Bobby remin-iscently.
“Well, I’ll come tomorrow. Do I kiss you or don’t I?”
“It’s not catching,” said Bobby encouragingly.
“Then I’ll do my duty to the sick thoroughly25.”
She kissed him lightly.
“See you tomorrow.”
The nurse came in with Bobby’s tea as she went out.
“I’ve seen her pictures in the papers often. She’s not so very like them,though. And, of course, I’ve seen her driving about in her car, but I’venever seen her before close to, so to speak. Not a bit haughty26, is she?”
“Oh, no!” said Bobby. “I should never call Frankie haughty.”
“I said to Sister, I said, she’s as natural as anything. Not a bit stuck up. Isaid to Sister, she’s just like you or me, I said.”
Silently dissenting27 violently from this view, Bobby returned no reply.
The nurse, disappointed by his lack of response, left the room.
Bobby was left to his own thoughts.
He finished his tea. Then he went over in his mind the possibilities ofFrankie’s amazing theory, and ended by deciding reluctantly against it. Hethen cast about for other distractions28.
His eye was caught by the vases of lilies. Frightfully sweet of Frankie tobring him all these flowers, and of course they were lovely, but he wishedit had occurred to her to bring him a few detective stories instead. He casthis eye over the table beside him. There was a novel of Ouida’s and a copyof John Halifax, Gentleman and last week’s Marchbolt Weekly Times. Hepicked up John Halifax, Gentleman.
After five minutes he put it down. To a mind nourished on The ThirdBloodstain, The Case of the Murdered Archduke and The Strange Adventureof the Florentine Dagger29, John Halifax, Gentleman, lacked pep.
With a sigh he picked up last week’s Marchbolt Weekly Times.
A moment or two later he was pressing the bell beneath his pillow witha vigour30 which brought a nurse into the room at a run.
“Whatever’s the matter, Mr. Jones? Are you taken bad?”
“Ring up the Castle,” cried Bobby. “Tell Lady Frances she must comeback here at once.”
“Oh, Mr. Jones. You can’t send a message like that.”
“Can’t I?” said Bobby. “If I were allowed to get up from this blasted bedyou’d soon see whether I could or couldn’t. As it is, you’ve got to do it forme.”
“But she’ll hardly be back.”
“You don’t know that Bentley.”
“She won’t have had her tea.”
“Now look here, my dear girl,” said Bobby, “don’t stand there arguingwith me. Ring up as I tell you. Tell her she’s got to come here at once be-cause I’ve got something very important to say to her.”
Overborne, but unwilling19, the nurse went. She took some liberties withBobby’s message.
If it was no inconvenience to Lady Frances, Mr. Jones wondered if shewould mind coming as he had something he would like to say to her, but,of course, Lady Frances was not to put herself out in any way.
Lady Frances replied curtly31 that she would come at once.
“Depend upon it,” said the nurse to her colleagues, “she’s sweet on him!
That’s what it is.”
Frankie arrived all agog32.
“What’s this desperate summons?” she demanded.
Bobby was sitting up in bed, a bright red spot in each cheek. In his handhe waved the copy of the Marchbolt Weekly Times.
“Look at this, Frankie.”
Frankie looked.
“Well,” she demanded.
“This is the picture you meant when you said it was touched up butquite like the Cayman woman.”
Bobby’s finger pointed to a somewhat blurred33 reproduction of a photo-graph. Underneath34 it were the words: “PORTRAIT FOUND ON THE DEADMAN AND BY WHICH HE WAS IDENTIFIED. MRS. AMELIA CAYMAN, THEDEAD MAN’S SISTER.”
“That’s what I said, and it’s true, too. I can’t see anything to rave4 over init.”
“No more than I.”
“But you said—”
“I know I said. But you see, Frankie”—Bobby’s voice became very im-pressive —“this isn’t the photograph that I put back in the dead man’spocket. .?.?.”
They looked at each other.
“Then in that case,” began Frankie slowly.
“Either there must have been two photographs—”
“—Which isn’t likely—”
“Or else—”
They paused.
“That man—what’s his name?” said Frankie.
“Bassington-ffrench!” said Bobby.
“I’m quite sure!”
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收听单词发音
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1
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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5
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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quelling
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的现在分词 ) | |
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8
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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9
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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10
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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11
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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12
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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13
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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14
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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15
seduces
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| 诱奸( seduce的第三人称单数 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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16
offhand
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| adj.临时，无准备的；随便，马虎的 | |
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17
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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19
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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monotonous
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thoroughly
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haughty
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dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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29
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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30
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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31
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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33
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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underneath
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