Dr. Corrigan, whistling “Father O’Flynn,” walked into the D.D.I.’s roomand addressed Divisional Detective-Inspector1 Lejeune in a chatty manner.
“I’ve done your padre for you,” he said.
“And the result?”
“We’ll save the technical terms for the coroner. Well and truly coshed.
First blow probably killed him, but whoever it was made sure. Quite anasty business.”
“Yes,” said Lejeune.
He was a sturdy man, dark haired and grey eyed. He had a misleadinglyquiet manner, but his gestures were sometimes surprisingly graphic2 andbetrayed his French Huguenot ancestry3.
He said thoughtfully:
“Nastier than would be necessary for robbery?”
“Was it robbery?” asked the doctor.
“One supposes so. His pockets were turned out and the lining4 of his cas-sock ripped.”
“They couldn’t have hoped for much,” said Corrigan. “Poor as a rat, mostof these parish priests.”
“They battered5 his head in—to make sure,” mused6 Lejeune. “One wouldlike to know why.”
“Two possible answers,” said Corrigan. “One, it was done by a vicious-minded young thug, who likes violence for violence’s sake — there areplenty of them about these days, more’s the pity.”
“And the other answer?”
The doctor shrugged7 his shoulders.
“Somebody had it in for your Father Gorman. Was that likely?”
Lejeune shook his head.
“Most unlikely. He was a popular man, well loved in the district. No en-emies, as far as one can hear. And robbery’s unlikely. Unless—”
“Unless what?” asked Corrigan. “The police have a clue! Am I right?”
“He did have something on him that wasn’t taken away. It was in hisshoe, as a matter of fact.”
Corrigan whistled.
“Sounds like a spy story.”
Lejeune smiled.
“It’s much simpler than that. He had a hole in his pocket. Sergeant8 Pinetalked to his housekeeper9. She’s a bit of a slattern, it seems. Didn’t keep hisclothes mended in the way she might have done. She admitted that, nowand again, Father Gorman would thrust a paper or a letter down the in-side of his shoe—to prevent it from going down into the lining of his cas-sock.”
“And the killer10 didn’t know that?”
“The killer never thought of that! Assuming, that is, that this piece of pa-per is what he may have been wanting—rather than a miserly amount ofsmall change.”
“What was on the paper?”
Lejeune reached into a drawer and took out a flimsy piece of creasedpaper.
“Just a list of names,” he said.
Corrigan looked at it curiously11.
Ormerod
Sandford
Parkinson
Hesketh-Dubois
Shaw
Harmondsworth
Tuckerton
Corrigan?
Delafontaine?
His eyebrows12 rose.
“I see I’m on the list!”
“Do any of the names mean anything to you?” asked the inspector.
“None of them.”
“And you’ve never met Father Gorman?”
“Never.”
“Then you won’t be able to help us much.”
“Any ideas as to what this list means—if anything?”
Lejeune did not reply directly.
“A boy called at Father Gorman’s about seven o’clock in the evening.
Said a woman was dying and wanted the priest. Father Gorman went withhim.”
“Where to? If you know.”
“We know. It didn’t take long to check up. Twenty-three Benthall Street.
House owned by a woman named Coppins. The sick woman was a Mrs.
Davis. The priest got there at a quarter past seven and was with her forabout half an hour. Mrs. Davis died just before the ambulance arrived totake her to hospital.”
“I see.”
“The next we hear of Father Gorman is at Tony’s Place, a small down-at-heel café. Quite decent, nothing criminal about it, serves refreshment13 ofpoor quality and isn’t much patronised. Father Gorman asked for a cup ofcoffee. Then apparently14 he felt in his pocket, couldn’t find what he wantedand asked the proprietor15, Tony, for a piece of paper. This—” he gesturedwith his finger, “is the piece of paper.”
“And then?”
“When Tony brought the coffee, the priest was writing on the paper.
Shortly afterwards he left, leaving his coffee practically untasted (forwhich I don’t blame him), having completed this list and shoved it into hisshoe.”
“Anybody else in the place?”
“Three boys of the Teddy boy type came in and sat at one table and anelderly man came in and sat at another. The latter went away without or-dering.”
“He followed the priest?”
“Could be. Tony didn’t notice when he went. Didn’t notice what helooked like, either. Described him as an inconspicuous type of man. Re-spectable. The kind of man that looks like everybody else. Medium height,he thinks, dark blue overcoat—or could be brown. Not very dark and notvery fair. No reason he should have had anything to do with it. One justdoesn’t know. He hasn’t come forward to say he saw the priest in Tony’splace—but it’s early days yet. We’re asking for anyone who saw FatherGorman between a quarter to eight and eight fifteen to communicate withus. Only two people so far have responded: a woman and a chemist whohad a shop nearby. I’ll be going to see them presently. His body was foundat eight fifteen by two small boys in West Street—you know it? Practicallyan alleyway, bounded by the railway on one side. The rest—you know.”
Corrigan nodded. He tapped the paper.
“What’s your feeling about this?”
“I think it’s important,” said Lejeune.
“The dying woman told him something and he got these names down onpaper as soon as he could before he forgot them? The only thing is—wouldhe have done that if he’d been told under seal of the confessional?”
“It needn’t have been under a seal of secrecy,” said Lejeune. “Suppose,for instance, these names have a connection of—say, blackmail17—”
“That’s your idea, is it?”
“I haven’t any ideas yet. This is just a working hypothesis. These peoplewere being blackmailed18. The dying woman was either the blackmailer19, orshe knew about the blackmail. I’d say that the general idea was, repent-ance, confession16, and a wish to make reparation as far as possible. FatherGorman assumed the responsibility.”
“And then?”
“Everything else is conjectural,” said Lejeune. “Say it was a payingracket, and someone didn’t want it to stop paying. Someone knew Mrs.
Davis was dying and that she’d sent for the priest. The rest follows.”
“I wonder now,” said Corrigan, studying the paper again. “Why do youthink there’s an interrogation mark after the last two names?”
“It could be that Father Gorman wasn’t sure he’d remembered those twonames correctly.”
“It might have been Mulligan instead of Corrigan,” agreed the doctorwith a grin. “That’s likely enough. But I’d say that with a name like Dela-fontaine, either you’d remember it or you wouldn’t—if you know what Imean. It’s odd that there isn’t a single address—” He read down the listagain.
“Parkinson—lots of Parkinsons. Sandford, not uncommon— Hesketh-Dubois—that’s a bit of a mouthful. Can’t be many of them.”
On a sudden impulse he leaned forward and took the telephone direct-ory from the desk.
“E to L. Let’s see. Hesketh, Mrs. A… John and Co., Plumbers… Sir Isidore.
Ah! here we are! Hesketh- Dubois, Lady, Forty- nine, Ellesmere Square,S.W.1. What say we just ring her up?”
“Saying what?”
“Inspiration will come,” said Doctor Corrigan airily.
“Go ahead,” said Lejeune.
“What?” Corrigan stared at him.
“I said go ahead,” Lejeune spoke20 airily. “Don’t look so taken aback.” Hehimself picked up the receiver. “Give me an outside line.” He looked atCorrigan. “Number?”
“Grosvenor 64578.”
Lejeune repeated it, then handed the receiver over to Corrigan.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said.
Faintly puzzled, Corrigan looked at him as he waited. The ringing tonecontinued for some time before anyone answered. Then, interspersedwith heavy breathing, a woman’s voice said:
“Grosvenor 64578.”
“Is that Lady Hesketh-Dubois’s house?”
“Well—well, yes— I mean—”
Doctor Corrigan ignored these uncertainties21.
“Can I speak to her, please?”
“No, that you can’t do! Lady Hesketh-Dubois died last April.”
“Oh!” Startled, Dr. Corrigan ignored the “Who is it speaking, please?”
and gently replaced the receiver.
He looked coldly at Inspector Lejeune.
“So that’s why you were so ready to let me ring up.”
Lejeune smiled maliciously22.
“We don’t really neglect the obvious,” he pointed23 out.
“Last April,” said Corrigan thoughtfully. “Five months ago. Five monthssince blackmail or whatever it was has failed to worry her. She didn’tcommit suicide, or anything like that?”
“No. She died of a tumour24 on the brain.”
“So now we start again,” said Corrigan, looking down at the list.
Lejeune sighed.
“We don’t really know that list had anything to do with it,” he pointedout. “It may have been just an ordinary coshing on a foggy night—and pre-cious little hope of finding who did it unless we have a piece of luck….”
Dr. Corrigan said:
“Do you mind if I continue to concentrate on this list?”
“Go ahead. I wish you all the luck in the world.”
“Meaning I’m not likely to get anywhere if you haven’t! Don’t be toosure. I shall concentrate on Corrigan. Mr. or Mrs. or Miss Corrigan—with abig interrogation mark.”
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收听单词发音
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1
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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8
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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12
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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13
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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15
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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16
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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blackmailed
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| 胁迫，尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的过去式 ) | |
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blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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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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uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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tumour
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| n.(tumor)(肿)瘤，肿块 | |
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