“Mr. Hawkins?”
“Yes,” said Bobby, his voice slightly muffled2 owing to a large mouthful ofbacon and eggs.
“You’re wanted on the telephone.”
Bobby took a hasty gulp3 of coffee, wiped his mouth and rose. The tele-phone was in a small dark passage. He took up the receiver.
“Hullo,” said Frankie’s voice.
“Hullo, Frankie,” said Bobby incautiously.
“This is Lady Frances Derwent speaking,” said the voice coldly. “Is thatHawkins?”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“I shall want the car at ten o’clock to take me up to London.”
“Very good, your ladyship.”
Bobby replaced the receiver.
“When does one say, ‘my lady,’ and when does one say, ‘your ladyship?’
“ he cogitated4. “I ought to know, but I don’t. It’s the sort of thing that willlead a real chauffeur5 or butler to catch me out.”
At the other end, Frankie hung up the receiver and turned to RogerBassington-ffrench.
“It’s a nuisance,” she observed lightly, “to have to go up to Londontoday. All owing to Father’s fuss.”
“Still,” said Roger, “you’ll be back this evening?”
“Oh, yes!”
“I’d half thought of asking you if you’d give me a lift to town,” said Rogercarelessly.
Frankie paused for an infinitesimal second before her answer—givenwith an apparent readiness.
“Why, of course,” she said.
“But on second thoughts I don’t think I will go up today,” went on Roger.
“Henry’s looking even odder than usual. Somehow I don’t very much likeleaving Sylvia alone with him.”
“I know,” said Frankie.
“Are you driving yourself?” asked Roger casually6 as they moved awayfrom the telephone.
“Yes, but I shall take Hawkins. I’ve got some shopping to do as well andit’s a nuisance if you’re driving yourself — you can’t leave the car any-where.”
“Yes, of course.”
He said no more, but when the car came around, Bobby at the wheelvery stiff and correct of demeanour, he came out on the doorstep to seeher off.
“Goodbye,” said Frankie.
Under the circumstances she did not think of holding out a hand, but Ro-ger took hers and held it a minute.
“You are coming back?” he said with curious insistence7.
Frankie laughed.
“Of course. I only meant good-bye till this evening.”
“Don’t have any more accidents.”
“I’ll let Hawkins drive if you like.”
She sprang in beside Bobby, who touched his cap. The car moved offdown the drive, Roger still standing8 on the step looking after it.
“Bobby,” said Frankie, “do you think it possible that Roger might fall forme?”
“Has he?” inquired Bobby.
“Well, I just wondered.”
“I expect you know the symptoms pretty well,” said Bobby.
But he spoke9 absently. Frankie shot him a quick glance.
“Has anything—happened?” she asked.
“Yes, it has. Frankie, I’ve found the original of the photograph!”
“You mean—the one—the one you talked so much about—the one thatwas in the dead man’s pocket?”
“Yes.”
“Bobby! I’ve got a few things to tell you, but nothing to this. Where didyou find her?”
Bobby jerked his head back over his shoulder.
“In Dr. Nicholson’s nursing home.”
“Tell me.”
Carefully and meticulously10 Bobby described the events of the previousnight. Frankie listened breathlessly.
“Then we are on the right track,” she said. “And Dr. Nicholson is mixedup in all this! I’m afraid of that man.”
“What is he like?”
“Oh! big and forceful — and he watches you. Very intently behindglasses. And you feel he knows all about you.”
“When did you meet him?”
“He came to dinner.”
She described the dinner party and Dr. Nicholson’s insistent11 dwelling12 onthe details of her “accident.”
“I felt he was suspicious,” she ended up.
“It’s certainly queer his going into details like that,” said Bobby. “Whatdo you think is at the bottom of all this business, Frankie?”
“Well, I’m beginning to think that your suggestion of a dope gang, whichI was so haughty13 about at the time, isn’t such a bad guess after all.”
“With Dr. Nicholson at the head of the gang?”
“Yes. This nursing home business would be a very good cloak for thatsort of thing. He’d have a certain supply of drugs on the premises14 quite le-gitimately. While pretending to cure drug cases, he might really be supply-ing them with the stuff.”
“That seems plausible15 enough,” agreed Bobby.
“I haven’t told you yet about Henry Bassington-ffrench.”
Bobby listened attentively16 to her description of her host’s idiosyncra-cies.
“His wife doesn’t suspect?”
“I’m sure she doesn’t.”
“What is she like? Intelligent?”
“I never thought exactly. No, I suppose she isn’t very. And yet in someways she seems quite shrewd. A frank, pleasant woman.”
“And our Bassington-ffrench?”
“There I’m puzzled,” said Frankie slowly. “Do you think, Bobby, that justpossibly we might be all wrong about him?”
“Nonsense,” said Bobby. “We worked it all out and decided17 that he mustbe the villain18 of the piece.”
“Because of the photograph?”
“Because of the photograph. No one else could have changed that photo-graph for the other.”
“I know,” said Frankie. “But that one incident is all that we have againsthim.”
“It’s quite enough.”
“I suppose so. And yet—”
“Well?”
“I don’t know, but I have a queer sort of feeling that he’s innocent—thathe’s not concerned in the matter at all.”
Bobby looked at her coldly.
“Did you say that he had fallen for you or that you had fallen for him?”
he inquired politely.
Frankie flushed.
“Don’t be so absurd, Bobby. I just wondered if there couldn’t be some in-nocent explanation, that’s all.”
“I don’t see that there can be. Especially now that we’ve actually foundthe girl in the neighbourhood. That seems to clinch19 matters. If we onlyhad some inkling as to who the dead man was—”
“Oh, but I have. I told you so in my letter. I’m nearly sure that themurdered man was somebody called Alan Carstairs.”
Once more she plunged20 into narrative21.
“You know,” said Bobby, “we really are getting on. Now we must try,more or less, to reconstruct the crime. Let’s spread out our facts and seewhat sort of a job we can make of it.”
He paused for a moment and the car slackened speed as though in sym-pathy. Then he pressed his foot down once more on the accelerator and atthe same time spoke.
“First, we’ll assume that you are right about Alan Carstairs. He certainlyfulfils the conditions. He’s the right sort of man, he led a wandering life, hehad very few friends and acquaintances in England, and if he disappearedhe wasn’t likely to be missed or sought after.
“So far, good. Alan Carstairs comes down to Staverley with these people—what did you say their name was—?”
“Rivington. There’s a possible channel of inquiry22 there. In fact, I thinkwe ought to follow it up.”
“We will. Very well, Carstairs comes down to Staverley with the Riving-tons. Now, is there anything in that?”
“You mean did he get them to bring him down here deliberately23?”
“That’s what I mean. Or was it just a casual chance? Was he broughtdown here by them and did he then come across the girl by accident justas I did? I presume he knew her before or he wouldn’t have had her pho-tograph on him.”
“The alternative being,” said Frankie thoughtfully, “that he was alreadyon the track of Nicholson and his gang.”
“And used the Rivingtons as a means of getting to this part of the worldnaturally?”
“That’s quite a possible theory,” said Frankie. “He may have been on thetrack of this gang.”
“Or simply on the track of the girl.”
“The girl?”
“Yes. She may have been abducted24. He may have come over to Englandto find her.”
“Well, but if he had tracked her down to Staverley, why should he go offto Wales?”
“Obviously, there’s a lot we don’t know yet,” said Bobby.
“Evans,” said Frankie thoughtfully. “We don’t get any clues as to Evans.
The Evans part of it must have to do with Wales.”
They were both silent for a moment or two. Then Frankie woke up toher surroundings.
“My dear, we’re actually at Putney Hill. It seems like five minutes.
Where are we going and what are we doing?”
“That’s for you to say. I don’t even know why we’ve come up to town.”
“The journey to town was only an excuse for getting a talk with you. Icouldn’t very well risk being seen walking the lanes at Staverley deep inconversation with my chauffeur. I used the pseudo-letter from Father asan excuse for driving up to town and talking to you on the way and eventhat was nearly wrecked25 by Bassington-ffrench coming too.”
“That would have torn it severely26.”
“Not really. We’d have dropped him wherever he liked and then we’dhave gone on to Brook27 Street and talked there. I think we’d better do that,anyway. Your garage place may be watched.”
Bobby agreed and related the episode of the inquiries28 made about himat Marchbolt.
“We’ll go to the Derwents’ town residence,” said Frankie. “There’s noone there but my maid and a couple of caretakers.”
They drove to Brook Street. Frankie rang the bell and was admitted,Bobby remaining outside. Presently Frankie opened the door again andbeckoned him in. They went upstairs to the big drawing room and pulledup some of the blinds and removed the swathing from one of the sofas.
“There’s one other thing I forgot to tell you,” said Frankie. “On the 16th,the day you were poisoned, Bassington-ffrench was at Staverley, but Nich-olson was away—supposedly at a conference in London. And his car is adark-blue Talbot.”
“And he has access to morphia,” said Bobby.
They exchanged significant glances.
“It’s not exactly evidence, I suppose,” said Bobby, “but it fits in nicely.”
Frankie went to a side table and returned with a telephone directory.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m looking up the name Rivington.”
She turned pages rapidly.
“A. Rivington & Sons, Builders. B. A. C. Rivington, Dental Surgeon. D.
Rivington, Shooters Hill, I think not. Miss Florence Rivington. Col. H. Riv-ington, D.S.O.—that’s more like it—Tite Street, Chelsea.”
She continued her search.
“There’s M. R. Rivington, Onslow Square. He’s possible. And there’s aWilliam Rivington at Hampstead. I think Onslow Square and Tite Streetare the most likely ones. The Rivingtons, Bobby, have got to be seenwithout delay.”
“I think you’re right. But what are we going to say? Think up a few goodlies, Frankie. I’m not much good at that sort of thing.”
Frankie reflected for a minute or two.
“I think,” she said, “that’ll you have to go. Do you feel you could be thejunior partner of a solicitors29’ firm?”
That seems a most gentlemanly r?le,” said Bobby. “I was afraid youmight think of something much worse than that. All the same, it’s notquite in character, is it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, solicitors never do make personal visits, do they? Surely they al-ways write letters at six and eightpence a time, or else write and asksomeone to keep an appointment at their office.”
“This particular firm of solicitors is unconventional,” said Frankie.
“Wait a minute.”
She left the room and returned with a card.
“Mr. Frederick Spragge,” she said, handing it to Bobby. “You are a youngmember of the firm of Spragge, Spragge, Jenkinson and Spragge, ofBloomsbury Square.”
“Did you invent that firm, Frankie?”
“Certainly not. They’re Father’s solicitors.”
“And suppose they have me up for impersonation?”
“That’s all right. There isn’t any young Spragge. The only Spragge isabout a hundred, and anyway he eats out of my hand. I’ll fix him if thingsgo wrong. He’s a great snob—he loves lords and dukes, however littlemoney he makes out of them.”
“What about clothes? Shall I ring up Badger30 to bring some along?”
Frankie looked doubtful.
“I don’t want to insult your clothes, Bobby,” she said. “Or throw yourpoverty in your teeth, or anything like that. But will they carry conviction?
I think, myself, that we’d better raid Father’s wardrobe. His clothes won’tfit you too badly.”
A quarter of an hour later, Bobby, attired31 in a morning coat and stripedtrousers of exquisitely32 correct cut and passable fit, stood surveying him-self in Lord Marchington’s pier33 glass.
“Your father does himself well in clothes,” he remarked graciously.
“With the might of Savile Row behind me, I feel a great increase of confid-ence.”
“I suppose you’ll have to stick to your moustache,” said Frankie.
“It’s sticking to me,” said Bobby. “It’s a work of art that couldn’t be re-peated in a hurry.”
“You’d better keep it, then. Though it’s more legal-looking to be clean-shaven.”
“It’s better than a beard,” said Bobby. “Now, then, Frankie, do you thinkyour father could lend me a hat?”
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收听单词发音
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1
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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cogitated
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| v.认真思考，深思熟虑( cogitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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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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meticulously
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| adv.过细地，异常细致地；无微不至；精心 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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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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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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clinch
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| v.敲弯，钉牢；确定；扭住对方 [参]clench | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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abducted
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| 劫持，诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（肢体等）外展 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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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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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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