Mark Easterbrook’s Narrative1
“Look here, Lejeune, there are lots of things I want to know.”
The formalities over, I had got Lejeune to myself. We were sitting to-gether with two large tankards of beer opposite us.
“Yes, Mr. Easterbrook? I gather it was a surprise to you.”
“It certainly was. My mind was set on Venables. You never gave me theleast hint.”
“I couldn’t afford to give hints, Mr. Easterbrook. You have to play thesethings close to your chest. They’re tricky2. The truth is we hadn’t a lot to goon. That’s why we had to stage the show in the way we did with Venables’scooperation. We had to lead Osborne right up the garden path and thenturn on him suddenly and hope to break him down. And it worked.”
“Is he mad?” I asked.
“I’d say he’s gone over the edge now. He wasn’t to begin with, of course,but it does something to you, you know. Killing3 people. It makes you feelpowerful and larger than life. It makes you feel you’re God Almighty4. Butyou’re not. You’re only a nasty bit of goods that’s been found out. Andwhen that fact’s presented to you suddenly your ego5 just can’t stand it.
You scream and you rant6 and you boast of what you’ve done and howclever you are. Well, you saw him.”
I nodded. “So Venables was in on the performance you put up,” I said.
“Did he like the idea of cooperating?”
“It amused him, I think,” said Lejeune. “Besides, he was impertinentenough to say that one good turn deserves another.”
“And what did he mean by that cryptic7 remark?”
“Well, I shouldn’t be telling you this,” said Lejeune, “this is off the re-cord. There was a big outbreak of bank robberies about eight years ago.
The same technique every time. And they got away with it! The raids werecleverly planned by someone who took no part in the actual operation.
That man got away with a lot of money. We may have had our suspicionswho it was, but we couldn’t prove it. He was too clever for us. Especiallyon the financial angle. And he’s had the sense never to try and repeat hissuccess. I’m not saying more. He was a clever crook8 but he wasn’t a mur-derer. No lives were lost.”
My mind went back to Zachariah Osborne. “Did you always suspect Os-borne?” I asked. “Right from the beginning?”
“Well, he would draw attention to himself,” said Lejeune. “As I told him,if he’d only sat back and done nothing, we’d never have dreamed that therespectable pharmacist, Mr. Zachariah Osborne, had anything to do withthe business. But it’s a funny thing, that’s just what murderers can’t do.
There they are, sitting pretty, safe as houses. But they can’t let well alone.
I’m sure I don’t know why.”
“The desire for death,” I suggested. “A variant9 of Thyrza Grey’s theme.”
“The sooner you forget all about Miss Thyrza Grey and the things shetold you, the better,” said Lejeune severely10. “No,” he said thoughtfully, “Ithink really it’s loneliness. The knowledge that you’re such a clever chap,but that there’s nobody you can talk to about it.”
“You haven’t told me when you started to suspect him,” I said.
“Well, straightaway he started telling lies. We asked for anyone who’dseen Father Gorman that night to communicate with us. Mr. Osborne com-municated and the statement he made was a palpable lie. He’d seen a manfollowing Father Gorman and he described the features of that man, buthe couldn’t possibly have seen him across the street on a foggy night. Anaquiline nose in profile he might have seen, but not an Adam’s apple. Thatwas going too far. Of course, that lie might have been innocent enough.
Mr. Osborne might just want to make himself important. Lots of peopleare like that. But it made me focus my attention on Mr. Osborne and hewas really rather a curious person. At once he started to tell me a lot abouthimself. Very unwise of him. He gave me a picture of someone who hadalways wanted to be more important than he was. He’d not been contentto go into his father’s old-fashioned business. He’d gone off and tried hisfortunes on the stage, but he obviously hadn’t been a success. Probably, Ishould say, because he couldn’t take production. Nobody was going to dic-tate to him the way he should play a part! He was probably genuineenough when he told of his ambition to be a witness in a murder trial, suc-cessfully identifying a man who had come in to buy poison. His mind ranon those lines a good deal, I should think. Of course we don’t know atwhat point, and when, the idea occurred to him that he might become areally big criminal, a man so clever that he could never be brought tojustice.
“But that’s all surmise11. To go back. Osborne’s description of the man hehad seen that night was interesting. It was so obviously a description of areal person whom he had at one time seen. It’s extraordinarily12 difficult,you know, to make up a description of anybody. Eyes, nose, chin, ears,bearing, all the rest of it. If you try it you’ll find yourself unconsciously de-scribing somebody that you’ve noticed somewhere—in a tram or a train oran omnibus. Osborne was obviously describing a man with somewhat un-usual characteristics. I’d say that he noticed Venables sitting in his car oneday in Bournemouth and was struck by his appearance—if he’d seen himthat way, he wouldn’t realise the man was a cripple.
“Another reason that kept me interested in Osborne was that he was apharmacist. I thought it just possible that that list we had might tie-upwith the narcotic13 trade somewhere. Actually that wasn’t so, and I might,therefore, have forgotten all about Mr. Osborne if Mr. Osborne himselfhadn’t been determined14 to keep in the picture. He wanted, you see, toknow just what we were doing, and so he writes to say that he’s seen theman in question at a church fête in Much Deeping. He still didn’t knowthat Mr. Venables was a paralysis15 case. When he did find that out hehadn’t the sense to shut up. That was his vanity. Typical criminal’s vanity.
He wasn’t going to admit for one moment that he’d been wrong. Like afool, he stuck to his guns and put forward all sorts of preposterous16 theor-ies. I had a very interesting visit to him at his bungalow17 in Bournemouth.
The name of it ought to have given the show away. Everest. That’s what hecalled it. And he’d hung up a picture of Mount Everest in the hall. Told mehow interested he was in Himalayan exploration. But that was the kind ofcheap joke that he enjoyed. Ever rest. That was his trade—his profession.
He did give people eternal rest on payment of a suitable fee. It was a won-derful idea, one’s got to hand him that. The whole setup was clever. Brad-ley in Birmingham, Thyrza Grey holding her séances in Much Deeping.
And who was to suspect Mr. Osborne who had no connection with ThyrzaGrey, no connection with Bradley and Birmingham, no connection withthe victim. The actual mechanics of the thing was child’s play to a phar-macist. As I say, if only Mr. Osborne had had the sense to keep quiet.”
“But what did he do with the money?” I asked. “After all, he did it formoney presumably?”
“Oh, yes, he did it for the money. Had grand visions, no doubt, of himselftravelling, entertaining, being a rich and important person. But of coursehe wasn’t the person he imagined himself to be. I think his sense of powerwas exhilarated by the actual performance of murder. To get away withmurder again and again intoxicated18 him, and what’s more, he’ll enjoyhimself in the dock. You see if he doesn’t. The central figure with all eyesupon him.”
“But what did he do with the money?” I demanded.
“Oh, that’s very simple,” said Lejeune, “though I don’t know that Ishould have thought of it unless I’d noticed the way he’d furnished thebungalow. He was a miser19, of course. He loved money and he wantedmoney, but not for spending. That bungalow was sparsely20 furnished andall with stuff that he’d bought cheap at sales. He didn’t like spendingmoney, he just wanted to have it.”
“Do you mean he banked it all?”
“Oh no,” said Lejeune. “I’d say we’ll find it somewhere under the floor inthat bungalow of his.”
Both Lejeune and I were silent for some minutes while I contemplatedthe strange creature that was Zachariah Osborne.
“Corrigan,” said Lejeune dreamily, “would say it was all due to somegland in his spleen or his sweetbread or something either overfunctioningor underproducing—I never can remember which. I’m a simple man—Ithink he’s just a wrong ’un—What beats me—it always does—is how aman can be so clever and yet be such a perfect fool.”
“One imagines a mastermind,” I said, “as some grand and sinister21 figureof evil.”
Lejeune shook his head. “It’s not like that at all,” he said. “Evil is notsomething superhuman, it’s something less than human. Your criminal issomeone who wants to be important, but who never will be important, be-cause he’ll always be less than a man.”
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1
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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rant
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| v.咆哮；怒吼；n.大话；粗野的话 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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variant
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| adj.不同的，变异的；n.变体，异体 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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13
narcotic
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| n.麻醉药，镇静剂；adj.麻醉的，催眠的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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