Calgary came to the end of the nice new road with the nice new houses oneither side of it, each with its eighth of an acre of garden; rock plants,chrysanthemums, roses, salvias, geraniums, each owner displaying his orher individual garden taste.
At the end of the road was a gate with sunny point in Gothic letters on it.
He opened the gate, passed through, and went along a short drive. Thehouse was there ahead of him, a well-built, characterless modern house,gabled and porched. It might have stood on any good-class suburban1 site,or a new development anywhere. It was unworthy, in Calgary’s opinion,of its view. For the view was magnificent. The river here curved sharplyround the point almost turning back on itself. Wooded hills rose opposite;up-stream to the left was a further bend of the river with meadows andorchards in the distance.
Calgary looked for a moment up and down the river. One should havebuilt a castle here, he thought, an impossible, ridiculous, fairy tale castle!
The sort of castle that might be made of gingerbread or of frosted sugar.
Instead there was good taste, restraint, moderation, plenty of money andabsolutely no imagination.
For that, naturally, one did not blame the Argyles. They had only boughtthe house, not built it. Still, they or one of them (Mrs. Argyle?) had chosenit….
He said to himself: “You can’t put it off any longer …” and pressed theelectric bell beside the door.
He stood there, waiting. After a decent interval2 he pressed the bellagain.
He heard no footsteps inside but, without warning, the door swung sud-denly open.
He moved back a step, startled. To his already overstimulated imagina-tion, it seemed as though Tragedy herself stood there barring his way. Itwas a young face; indeed it was in the poignancy4 of its youth that tragedyhad its very essence. The Tragic5 Mask, he thought, should always be amask of youth … Helpless, fore-ordained, with doom6 approaching … fromthe future….
Rallying himself, he thought, rationalizing: “Irish type.” The deep blue ofthe eyes, the dark shadow round them, the upspringing black hair, themournful beauty of the bones of the skull7 and cheekbones—The girl stood there, young, watchful8 and hostile.
She said:
“Yes? What do you want?”
He replied conventionally.
“Is Mr. Argyle in?”
“Yes. But he doesn’t see people. I mean, people he doesn’t know. Hedoesn’t know you, does he?”
“No. He doesn’t know me, but—”
She began to close the door.
“Then you’d better write….”
“I’m sorry, but I particularly want to see him. Are you—Miss Argyle?”
She admitted it grudgingly9.
“I’m Hester Argyle, yes. But my father doesn’t see people—not withoutan appointment. You’d better write.”
“I’ve come a long way …” She was unmoved.
“They all say that. But I thought this kind of thing had stopped at last.”
She went on accusingly, “You’re a reporter, I suppose?”
“No, no, nothing of the sort.”
She eyed him suspiciously as though she did not believe him.
“Well, what do you want then?”
Behind her, some way back in the hall, he saw another face. A flathomely face. Describing it, he would have called it a face like a pancake,the face of a middle- aged3 woman, with frizzy yellowish grey hairplastered on top of her head. She seemed to hover10, waiting, like a watchfuldragon.
“It concerns your brother, Miss Argyle.”
Hester Argyle drew in her breath sharply. She said, without belief, “Mi-chael?”
“No, your brother Jack11.”
She burst out: “I knew it! I knew you’d come about Jacko! Why can’t youleave us in peace? It’s all over and finished with. Why go on about it?”
“You can never really say that anything is finished.”
“But this is finished! Jacko is dead. Why can’t you let him be? All that’sover. If you’re not a journalist, I suppose you’re a doctor, or a psychologist,or something. Please go away. My father can’t be disturbed. He’s busy.”
She began to close the door. In a hurry, Calgary did what he ought tohave done at first, pulled out the letter from his pocket and thrust it to-wards her.
“I have a letter here—from Mr. Marshall.”
She was taken aback. Her fingers closed doubtfully on the envelope. Shesaid uncertainly:
“From Mr. Marshall—in London?”
She was joined now suddenly by the middle-aged13 woman who had beenlurking in the recesses14 of the hall. She peered at Calgary suspiciously andhe was reminded of foreign convents. Of course, this should have been anun’s face! It demanded the crisp white coif or whatever you called it,framed tightly round the face, and the black habit and veil. It was the face,not of a contemplative, but of the lay-sister who peers at you suspiciouslythrough the little opening in the thick door, before grudgingly admittingyou and taking you to the visiting parlour, or to Reverend Mother.
She said: “You come from Mr. Marshall?”
She made it almost an accusation15.
Hester was staring down at the envelope in her hand. Then, without aword, she turned and ran up the stairs.
Calgary remained on the doorstep, sustaining the accusing and suspi-cious glance of the dragon-cumlay-sister.
He cast about for something to say, but he could not think of anything.
Prudently16, therefore, he remained silent.
Presently Hester’s voice, cool and aloof17, floated down to them.
“Father says he’s to come up.”
Somewhat unwillingly18, his watchdog moved aside. Her expression ofsuspicion did not alter. He passed her, laid his hat on a chair, and moun-ted the stairs to where Hester stood waiting for him.
The inside of the house struck him as vaguely19 hygienic. It could almost,he thought, have been an expensive nursing home.
Hester led him along a passage and down three steps. Then she threwopen a door and gestured to him to pass through it. She came in behindhim, closing the door after her.
The room was a library, and Calgary raised his head with a sense ofpleasure. The atmosphere of this room was quite different from the rest ofthe house. This was a room where a man lived, where he both worked andtook his ease. The walls were lined with books, the chairs were large,rather shabby, but easeful. There was a pleasant disorder20 of papers on thedesk, of books lying about on tables. He had a momentary21 glimpse of ayoung woman who was leaving the room by a door at the far end, ratheran attractive young woman. Then his attention was taken by the man whorose and came to greet him, the open letter in his hand.
Calgary’s first impression of Leo Argyle was that he was so attenuated,so transparent22, as hardly to be there at all. A wraith23 of a man! His voicewhen he spoke24 was pleasant, though lacking in resonance25.
“Dr. Calgary?” he said. “Do sit down.”
Calgary sat. He accepted a cigarette. His host sat down opposite him. Allwas done without hurry, as though in a world where time meant verylittle. There was a faint gentle smile on Leo Argyle’s face as he spoke, tap-ping the letter gently with a bloodless finger as he did so.
“Mr. Marshall writes that you have an important communication tomake to us, though he doesn’t specify26 its nature.” His smile deepened as headded: “Lawyers are always so careful not to commit themselves, aren’tthey?”
It occurred to Calgary with a faint shock of surprise, that this man con-fronting him was a happy man. Not buoyantly or zestfully27 happy, as is thenormal way of happiness—but happy in some shadowy but satisfactoryretreat of his own. This was a man on whom the outer world did not im-pinge and who was contented28 that this should be so. He did not know whyhe should be surprised by this—but he was.
Calgary said:
“It is very kind of you to see me.” The words were a mere29 mechanical in-troduction. “I thought it better to come in person than to write.” Hepaused—then said in a sudden rush of agitation30, “It is difficult—very diffi-cult….”
“Do take your time.”
Leo Argyle was still polite and remote.
He leaned forward; in his gentle way he was obviously trying to help.
“Since you bring this letter from Marshall, I presume that your visit hasto do with my unfortunate son Jacko—Jack, I mean—Jacko was our ownname for him.”
All Calgary’s carefully prepared words and phrases had deserted31 him.
He sat here, faced with the appalling32 reality of what he had to tell. Hestammered again.
“It’s so terribly difficult….”
There was a moment’s silence, and then Leo said cautiously:
“If it helps you—we’re quite aware that Jacko was—hardly a normalpersonality. Nothing that you have to tell us will be likely to surprise us.
Terrible as the tragedy was, I have been fully12 convinced all along thatJacko was not really responsible for his actions.”
“Of course he wasn’t.” It was Hester, and Calgary started at the sound ofher voice. He had momentarily forgotten about her. She had sat down onthe arm of a chair just behind his left shoulder. As he turned his head, sheleaned forward eagerly towards him.
“Jacko was always awful,” she said confidentially33. “He was just the sameas a little boy—when he lost his temper, I mean. Just caught up anythinghe could find and—and went for you….”
“Hester—Hester—my dear.” Argyle’s voice was distressed34.
Startled, the girl’s hand flew to her lips. She flushed and spoke with thesudden awkwardness of youth.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—I forgot—I—I oughtn’t to have saida thing like that—not now that he’s—I mean, now that it’s all over and …and….”
“Over and done with,” said Argyle. “All of this is in the past. I try—we alltry—to feel that the boy must be regarded as an invalid36. One of Nature’smisfits. That, I think, expresses it best.” He looked at Calgary. “You agree?”
“No,” said Calgary.
There was a moment’s silence. The sharp negative had taken both hislisteners aback. It had come out with almost explosive force. Trying to mit-igate its effect, he said awkwardly:
“I—I’m sorry. You see, you don’t understand yet.”
“Oh!” Argyle seemed to consider. Then he turned his head towards hisdaughter. “Hester, I think perhaps you’d better leave us—”
“I’m not going away! I’ve got to hear—to know what it’s all about.”
“It may be unpleasant—”
Hester cried out impatiently:
“What does it matter what other awful things Jacko may have done?
That’s all over.”
Calgary spoke quickly.
“Please believe me—there is no question of anything that your brotherhas done—quite the opposite.”
“I don’t see—”
The door at the far end of the room opened and the young womanwhom Calgary had just glimpsed earlier came back into the room. Shewore an outdoor coat now, and carried a small attaché-case.
She spoke to Argyle.
“I’m going now. Is there anything else—”
There was a momentary hesitation37 on Argyle’s part (he would alwayshesitate, Calgary thought) and then he laid a hand on her arm and drewher forward.
“Sit down, Gwenda,” he said. “This is—er—Dr. Calgary. This is MissVaughan, who is who is—” Again he paused as though in doubt. “Who hasbeen my secretary for some years now.” He added: “Dr. Calgary has cometo tell us something—or—ask us something—about Jacko—”
“To tell you something,” Calgary interrupted. “And although you don’trealize it, every moment you are making it more difficult for me.”
They all looked at him in some surprise, but in Gwenda Vaughan’s eyes,he saw a flicker38 of something that looked like comprehension. It was asthough he and she were momentarily in alliance, as though she had said:
“Yes—I know how difficult the Argyles can be.”
She was an attractive young woman, he thought, though not so veryyoung—perhaps thirty-seven or eight. A well-rounded figure, dark hairand eyes, a general air of vitality39 and good health. She gave the impressionof being both competent and intelligent.
Argyle said with a frosty touch in his manner: “I am not at all aware ofmaking things difficult for you, Dr. Calgary. Such was certainly not my in-tention. If you will come to the point—”
“Yes, I know. Forgive me for saying what I did. But it is the persistencewith which you—and your daughter—are continually underlining thatthings are now over—done with—finished. They are not over. Who is it whosaid: ‘Nothing is ever settled until—’”
“‘Until it is settled right,’” Miss Vaughan finished for him. “Kipling.”
She nodded at him encouragingly. He felt grateful to her.
“But I’ll come to the point,” Calgary went on. “When you’ve heard what Ihave to say, you’ll understand my—my reluctance40. More, my distress35. Tobegin with, I must mention a few things about myself. I am a geophysicist,and have recently formed part of an Antarctic expedition. I only returnedto England a few weeks ago.”
“The Hayes Bentley Expedition?” asked Gwenda.
He turned towards her gratefully.
“Yes. It was the Hayes Bentley Expedition. I tell you this to explain mybackground, and also to explain that I have been out of touch for abouttwo years with—with current events.”
She went on helping41 him:
“You mean—with such things as murder trials?”
“Yes, Miss Vaughan, that is exactly what I mean.”
He turned to Argyle.
“Please forgive me if this is painful, but I must just check over with youcertain times and dates. On November 9th, the year before last, at aboutsix o’clock in the evening, your son, Jack Argyle (Jacko to you), called hereand had an interview with his mother, Mrs. Argyle.”
“My wife, yes.”
“He told her that he was in trouble and demanded money. This hadhappened before—”
“Many times,” said Leo with a sigh.
“Mrs. Argyle refused. He became abusive, threatening. Finally he flungaway and left, shouting out that he was coming back and that she had‘jolly well got to stump42 up.’ He said, ‘You don’t want me to go to prison, doyou?’ and she replied, ‘I am beginning to believe that it may be the bestthing for you.’”
Leo Argyle moved uneasily.
“My wife and I had talked it over together. We were—very unhappyabout the boy. Again and again we had come to his rescue, tried to givehim a fresh start. It had seemed to us that perhaps the shock of a prisonsentence—the training—” His voice died away. “But please go on.”
Calgary went on:
“Later that evening, your wife was killed. Attacked with a poker43 andstruck down. Your son’s fingerprints44 were on the poker, and a large sumof money was gone from the bureau drawer where your wife had placedit earlier. The police picked up your son in Drymouth. The money wasfound on him, most of it was in five-pound notes, one of which had aname and address written on it which enabled it to be identified by thebank as one that had been paid out to Mrs. Argyle that morning. He wascharged and stood his trial.” Calgary paused. “The verdict was wilfulmurder.”
It was out—the fateful word. Murder… Not an echoing word; a stifledword, a word that got absorbed into the hangings, the books, the pile car-pet … The word could be stifled—but not the act….
“I have been given to understand by Mr. Marshall, the solicitor45 for thedefence, that your son protested his innocence46 when arrested, in a cheery,not to say cocksure manner. He insisted that he had a perfect alibi47 for thetime of the murder which was placed by the police at between seven andseven-thirty. At that time, Jack Argyle said, he was hitchhiking into Dry-mouth, having been picked up by a car on the main road from Redmyn toDrymouth about a mile from here just before seven. He didn’t know themake of the car (it was dark by then) but it was a black or dark blue sa-loon driven by a middle-aged man. Every effort was made to trace this carand the man who drove it, but no confirmation48 of his statement could beobtained, and the lawyers themselves were quite convinced that it was astory hastily fabricated by the boy and not very cleverly fabricated atthat….
“At the trial the main line of defence was the evidence of psychologistswho sought to prove that Jack Argyle had always been mentally unstable49.
The judge was somewhat scathing50 in his comments on this evidence andsummed up dead against the prisoner. Jack Argyle was sentenced to im-prisonment for life. He died of pneumonia51 in prison six months after hebegan to serve his sentence.”
Calgary stopped. Three pairs of eyes were fastened on him. Interest andclose attention in Gwenda Vaughan’s, suspicion still in Hester’s. LeoArgyle’s seemed blank.
Calgary said, “You will confirm that I have stated the facts correctly?”
“You are perfectly52 correct,” said Leo, “though I do not yet see why it hasbeen necessary to go over painful facts which we are all trying to forget.”
“Forgive me. I had to do so. You do not, I gather, dissent53 from the ver-dict?”
“I admit that the facts were as stated—that is, if you do not go behind thefacts, it was, crudely, murder. But if you do go behind the facts, there ismuch to be said in mitigation. The boy was mentally unstable, though un-fortunately not in the legal sense of the term. The McNaughten rules arenarrow and unsatisfactory. I assure you, Dr. Calgary, that Rachel herself—my late wife, I mean—would have been the first to forgive and excuse thatunfortunate boy for his rash act. She was a most advanced and humanethinker and had a profound knowledge of pyschological factors. She wouldnot have condemned54.”
“She knew just how awful Jacko could be,” said Hester. “He always was—he just didn’t seem able to help it.”
“So you all,” said Calgary slowly, “had no doubts? No doubts of his guilt,I mean.”
Hester stared.
“How could we? Of course he was guilty.”
“Not really guilty,” Leo dissented55. “I don’t like that word.”
“It isn’t a true word, either.” Calgary took a deep breath. “Jack Argylewas—innocent!”
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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poignancy
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| n.辛酸事，尖锐 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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grudgingly
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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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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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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unwillingly
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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momentary
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transparent
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wraith
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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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resonance
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| n.洪亮；共鸣；共振 | |
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specify
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| vt.指定，详细说明 | |
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zestfully
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| adv.有辛辣味的； 有风趣的； 有风味的； 有滋味的 | |
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contented
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mere
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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distress
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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hesitation
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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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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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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scathing
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| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
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pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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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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dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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dissented
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| 不同意，持异议( dissent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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