On Friday morning the green Bentley drew up outside the Station Hotel atAmbledever.
Frankie had wired Bobby under the name they had agreed upon —George Parker—that she would be required to give evidence at the inqueston Henry Bassington-ffrench and would call in at Ambledever on the waydown from London.
She had expected a wire in reply appointing some rendezvous1, but noth-ing had come, so she had come to the hotel.
“Mr. Parker, miss?” said the boots. “I don’t think there’s any gentlemanof that name stopping here, but I’ll see.”
He returned a few minutes later.
“Came here Wednesday evening, miss. Left his bag and said he mightn’tbe in till late. His bag’s still here but he hasn’t been back to fetch it.”
Frankie felt suddenly rather sick. She clutched at a table for support.
The man was looking at her sympathetically.
“Feeling bad, miss?” he inquired.
Frankie shook her head.
“It’s all right,” she managed to say. “He didn’t leave any message?”
The man went away again and returned, shaking his head.
“There’s a telegram come for him,” he said. “That’s all.”
He looked at her curiously2.
“Anything I can do, miss?” he asked.
Frankie shook her head.
At the moment she only wanted to get away. She must have time tothink what to do next.
“It’s all right,” she said and, getting into the Bentley, she drove away.
The man nodded his head wisely as he looked after her.
“He’s done a bunk3, he has,” he said to himself. “Disappointed her. Givenher the slip. A fine rakish piece of goods she is. Wonder what he was like?”
He asked the young lady in the reception office, but the young ladycouldn’t remember.
“A couple of nobs,” said the boots wisely. “Going to get married on thequiet—and he’s hooked it.”
Meanwhile, Frankie was driving in the direction of Staverley, her minda maze4 of conflicting emotions.
Why had Bobby not returned to the Station Hotel? There could only betwo reasons: either he was on the trail—and that trail had taken him awaysomewhere, or else — or else something had gone wrong. The Bentleyswerved dangerously. Frankie recovered control just in time.
She was being an idiot — imagining things. Of course, Bobby was allright. He was on the trail—that was all—on the trail.
But why, asked another voice, hadn’t he sent her a word of reassurance5?
That was more difficult to explain, but there were explanations. Difficultcircumstances — no time or opportunity — Bobby would know that she,Frankie, wouldn’t get the wind up about him. Everything was all right—bound to be.
The inquest passed like a dream. Roger was there and Sylvia—lookingquite beautiful in her widow’s weeds. She made an impressive figure anda moving one. Frankie found herself admiring her as though she were ad-miring a performance at a theatre.
The proceedings6 were very tactfully conducted. The Bassington-ffrenches were popular locally and everything was done to spare the feel-ings of the widow and the brother of the dead man.
Frankie and Roger gave their evidence—Dr. Nicholson gave his—thedead man’s farewell letter was produced. The thing seemed over in notime and the verdict given—“Suicide while of Unsound Mind.”
The “sympathetic” verdict, as Mr. Spragge had called it.
The two events connected themselves in Frankie’s mind.
Two suicides while of Unsound Mind. Was there—could there be a con-nection between them?
That this suicide was genuine enough she knew, for she had been on thescene. Bobby’s theory of murder had had to be dismissed as untenable. Dr.
Nicholson’s alibi7 was cast iron—vouched for by the widow herself.
Frankie and Dr. Nicholson remained behind after the other people de-parted, the coroner having shaken hands with Sylvia and uttered a fewwords of sympathy.
“I think there are some letters for you, Frankie, dear,” said Sylvia. “Youwon’t mind if I leave you now and go and lie down. It’s all been so awful.”
She shivered and left the room. Nicholson went with her, murmuringsomething about a sedative8.
Frankie turned to Roger.
“Roger, Bobby’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes!”
“Where and how?”
Frankie explained in a few rapid words.
“And he’s not been seen since?” said Roger.
“No. What do you think?”
“I don’t like the sound of it,” said Roger slowly.
Frankie’s heart sank.
“You don’t think—?”
“Oh! it may be all right, but—sh, here comes Nicholson.”
The doctor entered the room with his noiseless tread. He was rubbinghis hands together and smiling.
“That went off very well,” he said. “Very well, indeed. Dr. Davidson wasmost tactful and considerate. We may consider ourselves very lucky tohave had him as our local coroner.”
“I suppose so,” said Frankie mechanically.
“It makes a lot of difference, Lady Frances. The conduct of an inquest isentirely in the hands of the coroner. He has wide powers. He can makethings easy or difficult as he pleases. In this case everything went off per-fectly.”
“A good stage performance, in fact,” said Frankie in a hard voice.
Nicholson looked at her in surprise.
“I know what Lady Frances is feeling,” said Roger. “I feel the same. Mybrother was murdered, Dr. Nicholson.”
He was standing10 behind the other and did not see, as Frankie did, thestartled expression that sprang into the doctor’s eyes.
“I mean what I say,” said Roger, interrupting Nicholson as he was aboutto reply. “The law may not regard it as such, but murder it was. The crim-inal brutes11 who induced my brother to become a slave to that drugmurdered him just as truly as if they had struck him down.”
He had moved a little and his angry eyes now looked straight into thedoctor’s.
“I mean to get even with them,” he said; and the words sounded like athreat.
Dr. Nicholson’s pale-blue eyes fell before his. He shook his head sadly.
“I cannot say I disagree with you,” he said. “I know more about drug-taking than you do, Mr. Bassington-ffrench. To induce a man to take drugsis indeed a most terrible crime.”
Ideas were whirling through Frankie’s head—one idea in particular.
“It can’t be,” she was saying to herself. “That would be too monstrous12.
And yet—his whole alibi depends on her word. But in that case—”
She roused herself to find Nicholson speaking to her.
“You came down by car, Lady Frances? No accident this time?”
Frankie felt she simply hated that smile.
“No,” she said. “I think it’s a pity to go in too much for accidents—don’tyou?”
She wondered if she had imagined it, or whether his eyelids13 reallyflickered for a moment.
“Perhaps your chauffeur14 drove you this time?”
“My chauffeur,” said Frankie, “has disappeared.”
She looked straight at Nicholson.
“Indeed?”
“He was last seen heading for the Grange,” went on Frankie.
Nicholson raised his eyebrows15.
“Really? Have I—some attraction in the kitchen?” His voice soundedamused. “I can hardly believe it.”
“At any rate that is where he was last seen,” said Frankie.
“You sound quite dramatic,” said Nicholson. “Possibly you are payingtoo much attention to local gossip. Local gossip is very unreliable. I haveheard the wildest stories.” He paused. His voice altered slightly in tone. “Ihave even had a story brought to my ears that my wife and your chauf-feur had been seen talking together down by the river.” Another pause.
“He was, I believe, a very superior young man, Lady Frances.”
“Is that it?” thought Frankie. “Is he going to pretend that his wife hasrun off with my chauffeur? Is that his little game?”
Aloud she said:
“Hawkins is quite above the average chauffeur.”
“So it seems,” said Nicholson.
He turned to Roger.
“I must be going. Believe me, all my sympathies are with you and Mrs.
Bassington-ffrench.”
Roger went out into the hall with him. Frankie followed. On the halltable were a couple of letters addressed to her. One was a bill. The other—Her heart gave a leap.
The other was in Bobby’s handwriting.
Nicholson and Roger were on the doorstep.
She tore it open.
Dear Frankie (wrote Bobby), I’m on the trail at last. Fol-low me as soon as possible to Chipping Somerton. You’dbetter come by train and not by car. The Bentley is too no-ticeable. The trains aren’t too good but you can get thereall right. You’re to come to a house called Tudor Cottage.
I’ll explain to you just exactly how to find it. Don’t ask theway. (Here followed some minute directions.) Have yougot that clear? Don’t tell anyone. (This was heavily un-derlined.) No one at all.
Yours ever,
Bobby.
Frankie crushed the letter excitedly in the palm of her hand.
So it was all right.
Nothing dreadful had overtaken Bobby.
He was on the trail—and by a coincidence on the same trail as herself.
She had been to Somerset House to look up the will of John Savage16. RoseEmily Templeton was given as the wife of Edgar Templeton of Tudor Cot-tage, Chipping Somerton. And that again had fitted in with the open ABCin the St. Leonard’s Gardens house. Chipping Somerton had been one ofthe stations on the open page. The Caymans had gone to Chipping Somer-ton.
Everything was falling into place. They were nearing the end of thechase.
Roger Bassington-ffrench turned and came towards her.
“Anything interesting in your letter?” he inquired casually17. For a mo-ment Frankie hesitated. Surely Bobby had not meant Roger when he ad-jured her to tell nobody?
Then she remembered the heavy underlining—remembered, too, herown recent monstrous idea. If that were true, Roger might betray themboth in all innocence18. She dared not hint to him her own suspicions. .?.?.
So she made up her mind and spoke19.
“No,” she said. “Nothing at all.”
She was to repent20 her decision bitterly before twenty-four hours hadpassed.
More than once in the course of the next few hours did she bitterly re-gret Bobby’s dictum that the car was not to be used. Chipping Somertonwas no very great distance as the crow flies but it involved changing threetimes, with a long dreary21 wait at a country station each time, and to one ofFrankie’s impatient temperament22, this slow method of procedure was ex-tremely hard to endure with fortitude23.
Still, she felt bound to admit that there was something in what Bobbyhad said. The Bentley was a noticeable car.
Her excuses for leaving it at Merroway had been of the flimsiest order,but she had been unable to think of anything brilliant on the spur of themoment.
It was getting dark when Frankie’s train, an extremely deliberate andthoughtful train, drew into the little station of Chipping Somerton. ToFrankie it seemed more like midnight. The train seemed to her to havebeen ambling24 on for hours and hours.
It was just beginning to rain, too, which was additionally trying.
Frankie buttoned up her coat to her neck, took a last look at Bobby’s let-ter by the light of the station lamp, got the directions clearly in her headand set off.
The instructions were quite easy to follow. Frankie saw the lights of thevillage ahead and turned off to the left up a lane which led steeply uphill.
At the top of the lane she took the right-hand fork and presently saw thelittle cluster of houses that formed the village lying below her and a belt ofpine trees ahead. Finally, she came to a neat wooden gate and, striking amatch, saw Tudor Cottage written on it.
There was no one about. Frankie slipped up the latch25 and passed inside.
She could make out the outlines of the house behind a belt of pine trees.
She took up her post within the trees where she could get a clear view ofthe house. Then, heart beating a little faster, she gave the best imitationshe could of the hoot26 of an owl9. A few minutes passed and nothinghappened. She repeated the call.
The door of the cottage opened and she saw a figure in chauffeur’s dresspeer cautiously out. Bobby! He made a beckoning27 gesture then withdrewinside, leaving the door ajar.
Frankie came out from the trees and up to the door. There was no lightin any window. Everything was perfectly28 dark and silent.
Frankie stepped gingerly over the threshold into a dark hall. Shestopped, peering about her.
“Bobby?” she whispered.
It was her nose that gave her warning. Where had she known that smellbefore—that heavy, sweet odour?
Just as her brain gave the answer “Chloroform,” strong arms seized herfrom behind. She opened her mouth to scream and a wet pad was clappedover it. The sweet, cloying29 smell filled her nostrils30.
She fought desperately31, twisting and turning, kicking. But it was of noavail. Despite the fight she put up, she felt herself succumbing32. There wasa drumming in her ears, she felt herself choking. And then she knew nomore. .?.?.
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收听单词发音
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1
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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2
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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3
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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4
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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5
reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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6
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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7
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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8
sedative
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| adj.使安静的，使镇静的；n. 镇静剂，能使安静的东西 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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10
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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11
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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12
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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13
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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14
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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15
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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16
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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17
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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18
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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19
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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20
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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21
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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22
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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23
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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24
ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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25
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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27
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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29
cloying
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| adj.甜得发腻的 | |
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30
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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31
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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32
succumbing
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的现在分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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