At the Hotel in Drymouth, Calgary dined early and went up to his room.
He felt profoundly affected1 by what he had passed through at SunnyPoint. He had expected to find his mission painful and it had taken him allhis resolution to go through with it. But the whole thing had been painfuland upsetting in an entirely2 different way from the one he had expected.
He flung himself down on his bed and lit a cigarette as he went over andover it in his mind.
The clearest picture that came to him was of Hester’s face at that partingmoment. Her scornful rejection3 of his plea for justice! What was it that shehad said? “It’s not the guilty who matter, it’s the innocent.” And then:
“Don’t you see what you’ve done to us all?” But what had he done? Hedidn’t understand.
And the others. The woman they called Kirsty (why Kirsty? That was aScottish name. She wasn’t Scottish—Danish, perhaps, or Norwegian?) Whyhad she spoken so sternly—so accusingly?
There had been something odd, too, about Leo Argyle—a withdrawal5, awatchfulness. No suggestion of the “Thank God my son was innocent!”
which surely would have been the natural reaction!
And that girl—the girl who was Leo’s secretary. She had been helpful tohim, kindly6. But she, too, had reacted in an odd way. He remembered theway she had knelt there by Argyle’s chair. As though—as though—shewere sympathizing with him, consoling him. Consoling him for what?
That his son was not guilty of murder? And surely—yes, surely—there wasmore there than a secretary’s feelings—even a secretary of some years’
standing7 … What was it all about? Why did they—The telephone on the table by the bed rang. He picked up the receiver.
“Hallo?”
“Dr. Calgary? There is someone asking for you.”
“For me?”
He was surprised. As far as he was aware, nobody knew that he wasspending the night in Drymouth.
“Who is it?”
There was a pause. Then the clerk said:
“It’s Mr. Argyle.”
“Oh. Tell him—” Arthur Calgary checked himself on the point of sayingthat he would come down. If for some reason Leo Argyle had followedhim to Drymouth and managed to find out where he was staying, thenpresumably the matter would be embarrassing to discuss in the crowdedlounge downstairs.
He said instead:
“Ask him to come up to my room, will you?”
He rose from where he had been lying and paced up and down until theknock came on the door.
He went across and opened it.
“Come in, Mr. Argyle, I—”
He stopped, taken aback. It was not Leo Argyle. It was a young man inhis early twenties, a young man whose dark, handsome face was marredby its expression of bitterness. A reckless, angry, unhappy face.
“Didn’t expect me,” said the young man. “Expected my—father. I’m Mi-chael Argyle.”
“Come in.” Calgary closed the door after his visitor had entered. “Howdid you find out I was here?” he asked as he offered the boy his cigarettecase.
Michael Argyle took one and gave a short unpleasant laugh.
“That one’s easy! Rang up the principal hotels on the chance you mightbe staying the night. Hit it the second try.”
“And why did you want to see me?”
Michael Argyle said slowly:
“Wanted to see what sort of a chap you were …” His eyes ran apprais-ingly over Calgary, noting the slightly stooped shoulders, the greying hair,the thin sensitive face. “So you’re one of the chaps who went on the ‘HayesBentley’ to the Pole. You don’t look very tough.”
Arthur Calgary smiled faintly.
“Appearances are sometimes deceptive,” he said. “I was tough enough.
It’s not entirely muscular force that’s needed. There are other importantqualifications; endurance, patience, technical knowledge.”
“How old are you, forty-five?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“You look more.”
“Yes—yes, I suppose I do.” For a moment a feeling of poignant8 sadnesscame over him as he confronted the virile9 youth of the boy facing him.
He asked rather abruptly10:
“Why did you want to see me?”
The other scowled11.
“It’s natural, isn’t it? When I heard about the news you’d brought. Thenews about my dear brother.”
Calgary did not answer.
Michael Argyle went on:
“It’s come a bit late for him, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Calgary in a low voice. “It is too late for him.”
“What did you bottle it up for? What’s all this about concussion12?”
Patiently Calgary told him. Strangely enough, he felt heartened by theboy’s roughness and rudeness. Here, at any rate, was someone who feltstrongly on his brother’s behalf.
“Gives Jacko an alibi13, that’s the point, is it? How do you know the timeswere as you say they were?”
“I am quite sure about the times.” Calgary spoke4 with firmness.
“You may have made a mistake. You scientific blokes are apt to be ab-sentminded sometimes about little things like times and places.”
Calgary showed slight amusement.
“You have made a picture for yourself of the absentminded professor offiction—wearing odd socks, not quite sure what day it is or where he hap-pens to be? My dear young man, technical work needs great precision; ex-act amounts, times, calculations. I assure you there is no possibility of myhaving made a mistake. I picked up your brother just before seven andput him down in Drymouth at five minutes after the half hour.”
“Your watch could have been wrong. Or you went by the clock in yourcar.”
“My watch and the clock in the car were exactly synchronized14.”
“Jacko could have led you up the garden path some way. He was full oftricks.”
“There were no tricks. Why are you so anxious to prove me wrong?”
With some heat, Calgary went on: “I expected it might be difficult to con-vince the authorities that they had convicted a man unjustly. I did not ex-pect to find his own family so hard to convince!”
“So you’ve found all of us a little difficult to convince?”
“The reaction seemed a little—unusual.”
Micky eyed him keenly.
“They didn’t want to believe you?”
“It—almost seemed like that….”
“Not only seemed like it. It was. Natural enough, too, if you only thinkabout it.”
“But why? Why should it be natural? Your mother is killed. Yourbrother is accused and convicted of the crime. Now it turns out that hewas innocent. You should be pleased—thankful. Your own brother.”
Micky said:
“He wasn’t my brother. And she wasn’t my mother.”
“What?”
“Hasn’t anyone told you? We were all adopted. The lot of us. Mary, myeldest ‘sister,’ in New York. The rest of us during the war. My ‘mother,’ asyou call her, couldn’t have any children of her own. So she got herself anice little family by adoption15. Mary, myself, Tina, Hester, Jacko. Comfort-able, luxurious16 home and plenty of mother love thrown in! I’d say she for-got we weren’t her own children in the end. But she was out of luck whenshe picked Jacko to be one of her darling little boys.”
“I had no idea,” said Calgary.
“So don’t pull out the ‘own mother,’ ‘own brother’ stop on me! Jacko wasa louse!”
“But not a murderer,” said Calgary.
His voice was emphatic17. Micky looked at him and nodded.
“All right. It’s your say so—and you’re sticking to it. Jacko didn’t kill her.
Very well then—who did kill her? You haven’t thought about that one, haveyou? Think about it now. Think about it—and then you’ll begin to seewhat you’re doing to us all….”
He wheeled round and went abruptly out of the room.
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收听单词发音
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1
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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2
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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3
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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4
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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5
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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6
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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7
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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8
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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9
virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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10
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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11
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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13
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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14
synchronized
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| 同步的 | |
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15
adoption
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| n.采用，采纳，通过；收养 | |
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16
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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