It was again dusk when Arthur Calgary came to Sunny Point on an even-ing very like the evening when he had first come there. Viper’s Point, hethought to himself as he rang the bell.
Once again events seemed to repeat themselves. It was Hester whoopened it. There was the same defiance1 in her face, the same air of desper-ate tragedy. Behind her in the hall he saw, as he had seen before, thewatchful, suspicious figure of Kirsten Lindstrom. It was history repeatingitself.
Then the pattern wavered and changed. The suspicion and the despera-tion went out of Hester’s face. It broke up into a lovely, welcoming smile.
“You,” she said. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come!”
He took her hands in his.
“I want to see your father, Hester. Is he upstairs in the library?”
“Yes. Yes, he’s there with Gwenda.”
Kirsten Lindstrom came forward towards them.
“Why do you come here again?” she said accusingly. “Look at thetrouble you brought last time! See what has happened to us all. Hester’slife ruined, Mr. Argyle’s life ruined—and two deaths. Two! Philip Durrantand little Tina. And it is your doing—all your doing!”
“Tina is not dead yet,” said Calgary, “and I have something here to dothat I cannot leave undone3.”
“What have you got to do?” Kirsten still stood barring his way to thestaircase.
“I’ve got to finish what I began,” said Calgary.
Very gently he put a hand on her shoulder and moved her slightly aside.
He walked up the stairs and Hester followed him. He turned back over hisshoulder and said to Kirsten: “Come, too, Miss Lindstrom, I would like youall to be here.”
In the library, Leo Argyle was sitting in a chair by the desk. GwendaVaughan was kneeling in front of the fire, staring into its embers. Theylooked up with some surprise.
“I’m sorry to burst in upon you,” said Calgary, “but as I’ve just been say-ing to these two, I’ve come to finish what I began.” He looked round. “IsMrs. Durrant in the house still? I should like her to be here also.”
“She’s lying down, I think,” said Leo. “She—she’s taken things terriblyhard.”
“I should like her to be here all the same.” He looked at Kirsten. “Per-haps you would go and fetch her.”
“She may not want to come,” said Kirsten sullenly4.
“Tell her,” said Calgary, “that there are things she may want to hearabout her husband’s death.”
“Oh, go on, Kirsty,” said Hester. “Don’t be so suspicious and so protectiveof us all. I don’t know what Dr. Calgary’s going to say, but we ought all tobe here.”
“As you please,” said Kirsten.
She went out of the room.
“Sit down,” said Leo. He indicated a chair on the other side of the fire-place, and Calgary sat there.
“You must forgive me,” said Leo, “if I say at this moment that I wishyou’d never come here in the first place, Dr. Calgary.”
“That’s unfair,” said Hester fiercely. “That’s a terribly unfair thing tosay.”
“I know what you must feel,” said Calgary. “I think in your place Ishould feel much the same. Perhaps I even shared your view for a shortperiod, but on reflection I still cannot see that there was anything else thatI could have done.”
Kirsten re-entered the room. “Mary is coming,” she said.
They sat in silence waiting and presently Mary Durrant entered theroom. Calgary looked at her with interest, since it was the first time he hadseen her. She looked calm and composed, neatly5 dressed, every hair inplace. But her face was masklike in its lack of expression and there was anair about her as of a woman who walks in her sleep.
Leo made an introduction. She bowed her head slightly.
“It is good of you to come, Mrs. Durrant,” said Calgary. “I thought youought to hear what I have to say.”
“As you please,” said Mary. “But nothing that you can say or anyone cansay will bring Philip back again.”
She went a little way away from them and sat down in a chair by thewindow. Calgary looked round him.
“Let me first say this: When I came here the first time, when I told youthat I was able to clear Jacko’s name, your reception of my news puzzledme. I understand it now. But the thing that made the greatest impressionupon me was what this child here”—he looked at Hester—“said to me as Ileft. She said that it was not justice that mattered, it was what happened tothe innocent. There is a phrase in the latest translation of the Book of Jobthat describes it. The calamity6 of the innocent. As a result of my news that iswhat you have all been suffering. The innocent should not suffer, andmust not suffer, and it is to end the suffering of the innocent that I amhere now to say what I have to say.”
He paused for a moment or two but no one spoke7. In his quiet pedanticvoice, Arthur Calgary went on:
“When I came here first, it was not, as I thought, to bring you whatmight be described as tidings of great joy. You had all accepted Jacko’sguilt. You were all, if I may say so, satisfied with it. It was the best solutionthat there could be in the murder of Mrs. Argyle.”
“Isn’t that speaking a little harshly?” asked Leo.
“No,” said Calgary, “it is the truth. Jacko was satisfactory to you all as thecriminal since there could be no real question of an outsider having com-mitted the crime, and because in the case of Jacko you could find the ne-cessary excuses. He was unfortunate, a mental invalid9, not responsible forhis actions, a problem or delinquent10 boy! All the phrases that we can usenowadays so happily to excuse guilt8. You said, Mr. Argyle, that you did notblame him. You said his mother, the victim, would not have blamed him.
Only one person blamed him.” He looked at Kirsten Lindstrom. “Youblamed him. You said fairly and squarely that he was wicked. That is theterm you used. ‘Jacko was wicked,’ you said.”
“Perhaps,” said Kirsten Lindstrom. “Perhaps—yes, perhaps I said that. Itwas true.”
“Yes, it was true. He was wicked. If he had not been wicked none of thiswould have happened. Yet you know quite well,” said Calgary, “that myevidence cleared him of the actual crime.”
Kirsten said:
“One cannot always believe evidence. You had concussion11. I know verywell what concussion does to people. They remember things not clearlybut in a kind of blur12.”
“So that is still your solution?” said Calgary. “You think that Jacko actu-ally committed that crime and that in some way he managed to fake analibi? Is that right?”
“I do not know the details. Yes, something of that sort. I still say he did it.
All the suffering that has gone on here and the deaths—yes, these terribledeaths—they are all his doing. All Jacko’s doing!”
Hester cried:
“But Kirsten, you were always devoted14 to Jacko.”
“Perhaps,” said Kirsten, “yes, perhaps. But I still say he was wicked.”
“There I think you are right,” said Calgary, “but in another way you arewrong. Concussion or no concussion, my memory is perfectly15 clear. On thenight of Mrs. Argyle’s death I gave Jacko a lift at the stated time. There isno possibility—and I repeat those words strongly—there is no possibilitythat Jacko Argyle killed his adopted mother that night. His alibi13 holds.”
Leo moved with a trace of restlessness. Calgary went on:
“You think that I’m repeating the same thing over and over again? Notquite. There are other points to be considered. One of them is the state-ment that I got from Superintendent16 Huish that Jacko was very glib17 andassured when giving his alibi. He had it all pat and ready, the times, theplace, almost as though he knew he might need it. That ties up with the con-versation I had about him with Dr. MacMaster, who has had a very wideexperience of borderline delinquent cases. He said he was not so sur-prised at Jacko having the seeds of murder in his heart, but he was sur-prised that he had actually carried one out. He said the type of murder hewould have expected was one where Jacko egged on someone else to com-mit the crime. So I came to the point where I asked myself this: Did Jackoknow that a crime was to be committed that night? Did he know that hewould need an alibi and did he deliberately18 go about giving himself one?
If so, someone else killed Mrs. Argyle, but—Jacko knew she was going to bekilled and one may fairly say that he was the instigator19 of the crime.”
He said to Kirsten Lindstrom:
“You feel that, don’t you? You still feel it, or you want to feel it? You feel thatit was Jacko who killed her, not you… You feel it was under his orders andunder his influence you did it. Therefore you want all the blame to be his!”
“I?” said Kirsten Lindstrom. “I? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” said Calgary, “that there was only one person in this housewho could in any way fit into the role of Jacko Argyle’s accomplice20. Andthat is you, Miss Lindstrom. Jacko has a record behind him, a record of be-ing able to inspire passion in middle- aged2 women. He employed thatpower deliberately. He had the gift of making himself believed.” He leanedforward. “He made love to you, didn’t he?” he said gently. “He made youbelieve that he cared for you, that he wanted to marry you, that after thiswas over and he’d got more control of his mother’s money, you would bemarried and go away somewhere. That is right, isn’t it?”
Kirsten stared at him. She did not speak. It was as though she wereparalysed.
“It was done cruelly and heartlessly and deliberately,” said Arthur Cal-gary. “He came here that night desperate for some money, with theshadow over him of arrest and a jail sentence. Mrs. Argyle refused to givehim money. When he was refused by her he applied21 to you.”
“Do you think,” said Kirsten Lindstrom, “do you think that I would havetaken Mrs. Argyle’s money to give him instead of giving him my own?”
“No,” said Calgary, “you would have given him your own if you’d hadany. But I don’t think you had … You had a good income from the annuitywhich Mrs. Argyle had bought for you, but I think he’d already milked youdry of that. So he was desperate that evening and when Mrs. Argyle hadgone up to her husband in the library, you went outside the house wherehe was waiting and he told you what you had to do. First you must givehim the money and then, before the theft could be discovered, Mrs. Argylehad to be killed. Because she would not have covered up the theft. He saidit would be easy. You had just to pull out the drawers to make it look asthough a burglar had been there and to hit her on the back of the head. Itwould be painless, he said. She would not feel anything. He himself wouldestablish an alibi, so that you must be careful to do this thing within theright time limits, between seven and seven-thirty.”
“It’s not true,” said Kirsten. She had begun to tremble. “You are mad tosay such things.”
Yet there was no indignation in her voice. Strangely enough it wasmechanical and weary.
“Even if what you say is true,” she said, “do you think I would let him beaccused of the murder?”
“Oh yes,” said Calgary. “After all, he had told you he would have analibi. You expected him, perhaps, to be arrested and then to prove his in-nocence. That was all part of the plan.”
“But when he couldn’t prove his innocence,” said Kirsten. “Would I nothave saved him then?”
“Perhaps,” said Calgary, “perhaps—but for one fact. The fact that on themorning after the murder Jacko’s wife turned up here. You didn’t know hewas married. The girl had to repeat the statement two or three times be-fore you would believe her. At that moment your world crashed aroundyou. You saw Jacko for what he was — heartless, scheming, without aparticle of affection for you. You realized what he had made you do.”
Suddenly Kirsten Lindstrom was speaking. The words came rushing outincoherently.
“I loved him … I loved him with all my heart. I was a fool, a credulousmiddle-aged doting22 fool. He made me think it—he made me believe it. Hesaid he had never cared for girls. He said—I cannot tell you all the thingshe said. I loved him. I tell you I loved him. And then that silly, simperingchild came here, that common little thing. I saw it was all lies, all wicked-ness, wickedness …His wickedness, not mine.”
“The night I came here,” said Calgary, “you were afraid, weren’t you?
You were afraid of what was going to happen. You were afraid for the oth-ers. Hester, whom you loved, Leo, whom you were fond of. You saw, per-haps, a little of what this might do to them. But principally you wereafraid for yourself. And you see where fear has led you … You have twomore deaths on your hands now.”
“You are saying I killed Tina and Philip?”
“Of course you killed them,” said Calgary. “Tina has recovered con-sciousness.”
Kirsten’s shoulders dropped in the sagging23 of despair.
“So she has told you that I stabbed her. I did not think she even knew. Iwas mad, of course. I was mad by then, mad with terror. It was coming soclose—so close.”
“Shall I tell you what Tina said when she regained24 consciousness?” saidCalgary. “She said ‘The cup was empty.’ I knew what that meant. You pre-tended to be taking up a cup of coffee to Philip Durrant, but actually youhad already stabbed him and were coming out of that room when youheard Tina coming. So you turned round and pretended you were takingthe tray in. Later, although she was shocked almost into unconsciousnessby his death, she noticed automatically that the cup that had dropped onthe floor was an empty cup and there was no stain of coffee left by it.”
Hester cried out:
“But Kirsten couldn’t have stabbed her! Tina walked downstairs and outto Micky. She was quite all right.”
“My dear child,” said Calgary, “people who have been stabbed havewalked the length of a street without even knowing what has happened tothem! In the state of shock Tina was in she would hardly have felt any-thing. A pinprick, a slight pain perhaps.” He looked again at Kirsten. “Andlater,” he said, “you slipped that knife into Micky’s pocket. That was themeanest thing of all.”
Kirsten’s hands flew out pleadingly.
“I couldn’t help it—I could not help it … It was coming so near … Theywere all beginning to find out. Philip was finding out and Tina—I thinkTina must have overheard Jacko talking to me outside the kitchen thatevening. They were all beginning to know … I wanted to be safe. I wanted—one can never be safe!” Her hands dropped. “I didn’t want to kill Tina. Asfor Philip—”
Mary Durrant rose. She came across the room slowly but with increas-ing purpose.
“You killed Philip?” she said. “You killed Philip.”
Suddenly, like a tigress she sprang at the other woman. It was Gwenda,quick- witted, who sprang to her feet and caught hold of her. Calgaryjoined her and together they held her back.
“You—you!” cried Mary Durrant.
Kirsten Lindstrom looked at her.
“What business was it of his?” she asked. “Why did he have to snoopround and ask questions? He was never threatened. It was never a matterof life or death for him. It was just — an amusement.” She turned andwalked slowly towards the door. Without looking at them she went out.
“Stop her,” cried Hester. “Oh, we must stop her.”
Leo Argyle said:
“Let her go, Hester.”
“But—she’ll kill herself.”
“I rather doubt it,” said Calgary.
“She has been our faithful friend for so long,” said Leo. “Faithful, de-voted—and now this!”
“Do you think she’ll—give herself up?” said Gwenda.
“It’s far more likely,” said Calgary, “that she’ll go to the nearest stationand take a train for London. But she won’t of course, be able to get awaywith it. She’ll be traced and found.”
“Our dear Kirsten,” said Leo again. His voice shook. “So faithful, so goodto us all.”
Gwenda caught him by the arm and shook it.
“How can you, Leo, how can you? Think what she did to us all—whatshe has made us suffer!”
“I know,” said Leo, “but she suffered herself, you know, as well. I think itis her suffering we have felt in this house.”
“We might have gone on suffering for ever,” said Gwenda, “as far as shewas concerned! If it hadn’t been for Dr. Calgary here.” She turned towardshim gratefully.
“So at last,” said Calgary, “I have done something to help, though ratherlate in the day.”
“Too late,” said Mary, bitterly. “Too late! Oh, why didn’t we know—whydidn’t we guess?” She turned accusingly on Hester. “I thought it was you. Ialways thought it was you.”
“He didn’t,” said Hester. She looked at Calgary.
Mary Durrant said quietly:
“I wish I were dead.”
“My dear child,” said Leo, “how I wish I could help you.”
“Nobody can help me,” said Mary. “It’s all Philip’s own fault, wanting tostay on here, wanting to mess about with this business. Getting himselfkilled.” She looked round at them. “None of you understand.” She wentout of the room.
Calgary and Hester followed her. As they went through the door, Cal-gary, looking back, saw Leo’s arm pass round Gwenda’s shoulders.
“She warned me, you know,” said Hester. Her eyes were wide andscared. “She told me right at the beginning not to trust her, to be as afraidof her as I was of everyone else….”
“Forget it, my dear,” said Calgary. “That is the thing you have to do now.
Forget. All of you are free now. The innocent are no longer in the shadowof guilt.”
“And Tina? Will she get well? She is not going to die?”
“I don’t think she will die,” said Calgary. “She’s in love with Micky, isn’tshe?”
“I suppose she might be,” said Hester, in a surprised voice. “I neverthought about it. They’ve always been brother and sister, of course. Butthey’re not really brother and sister.”
“By the way, Hester, would you have any idea what Tina meant whenshe said ‘The dove on the mast.’?”
“Dove on the mast?” Hester frowned. “Wait a minute. It sounds terriblyfamiliar. The dove on the mast, as we sailed fast. Did mourn and mourn andmourn. Is that it?”
“It might be,” said Calgary.
“It’s a song,” said Hester. “A sort of lullaby song. Kirsten used to sing it tous. I can only remember bits of it. ‘My love he stood at my right hand,’ andsomething something something. ‘Oh, maid most dear, I am not here, I haveno place no part, No dwelling25 more by sea nor shore, But only in thy heart.’”
“I see,” said Calgary. “Yes, yes, I see….”
“Perhaps they’ll get married,” said Hester, “when Tina gets well, andthen she can go out to Kuwait with him. Tina always wanted to be some-where where it’s warm. It’s very warm in the Persian Gulf26, isn’t it?”
“Almost too warm, I should say,” said Calgary.
“Nothing’s too warm for Tina,” Hester assured him.
“And you will be happy now, my dear,” said Calgary, taking Hester’shands in his. He made an effort to smile. “You’ll marry your young doctorand you’ll settle down and you’ll have no more of these wild imaginingsand terrific despairs.”
“Marry Don?” said Hester, in a surprised tone of voice. “Of course I’mnot going to marry Don.”
“But you love him.”
“No, I don’t think I do, really … I just thought I did. But he didn’t believein me. He didn’t know I was innocent. He ought to have known.” Shelooked at Calgary. “You knew! I think I’d like to marry you.”
“But, Hester, I’m years older than you are. You can’t really—”
“That is—if you want me,” said Hester with sudden doubt.
“Oh, I want you!” said Arthur Calgary.
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收听单词发音
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1
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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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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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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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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delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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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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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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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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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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instigator
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| n.煽动者 | |
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accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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doting
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| adj.溺爱的，宠爱的 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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