Emily returned to find eggs and bacon, and Charles, waiting for her.
Mrs. Curtis was still agog1 with excitement over the escape of the convict.
“Two years it is since last one escaped,” she said, “and three days it wasbefore they found him. Near to Moretonhampstead he was.”
“Do you think he’ll come this way?” asked Charles.
Local knowledge vetoed this suggestion.
“They never comes this way, all bare moorland it is and only smalltowns when you do come off the moor2. He’ll make for Plymouth, that’s themost likely. But they’ll catch him long before that.”
“You could find a good hiding place among these rocks on the other sideof the Tor,” said Emily.
“You’re right, Miss, and there is a hiding place there, the Pixie’s Cavethey call it. As narrow an opening between two rocks as you could find,but it widens out inside. They say one of King Charles’s men hid thereonce for a fortnight with a serving maid from a farm bringing him food.”
“I must take a look at that Pixie’s Cave,” said Charles.
“You’ll be surprised how hard it is to find, sir. Many a picnic party insummer looks for it the whole afternoon and doesn’t find it, but if you dofind it be sure you leave a pin inside it for luck.”
“I wonder,” said Charles when breakfast was over and he and Emily hadstrolled out into the small bit of garden, “if I ought to go off to Princetown?
Amazing how things pile up once you have a bit of luck. Here I am—I startwith a simple football competition prize, and before I know where I am Irun straight into an escaped convict and a murderer. Marvellous!”
“What about this photographing of Major Burnaby’s cottage?”
Charles looked up at the sky.
“H’m,” he said. “I think I shall say the weather is wrong. I have got tohang on to my raison d’étre of being in Sittaford as long as possible, andit’s coming over misty3. Er—I hope you don’t mind, I have just posted off aninterview with you?”
“Oh! that’s all right,” said Emily mechanically. “What have you made mesay?”
“Oh, the usual sort of things people like to hear,” said Mr. Enderby. “Ourspecial representative records his interview with Miss Emily Trefusis, thefiancée of Mr. James Pearson who has been arrested by the police andcharged with the murder of Captain Trevelyan—Then my impression ofyou as a high-spirited, beautiful girl.”
“Thank you,” said Emily.
“Shingled4,” went on Charles.
“What do you mean by shingled?”
“You are,” said Charles.
“Well, of course I am,” said Emily. “But why mention it?”
“Women readers always like to know,” said Charles Enderby. “It was asplendid interview. You’ve no idea what fine womanly touching5 thingsyou said about standing6 by your man, no matter if the whole world wasagainst him.”
“Did I really say that?” said Emily wincing7 slightly.
“Do you mind?” said Mr. Enderby anxiously.
“Oh! no,” said Emily. “Enjoy yourself, darling.” Mr. Enderby lookedslightly taken aback.
“It’s all right,” said Emily. “That’s a quotation8. I had it on my bib when Iwas small—my Sunday bib. The weekday one had ‘Don’t be a glutton’ onit.”
“Oh! I see. I put in a very good bit about Captain Trevelyan’s sea careerand just a hint at foreign idols9 looted and a possibility of a strange priest’srevenge—only a hint you know.”
“Well, you seem to have done your day’s good deed,” said Emily.
“What have you been up to? You were up early enough, heaven knows.”
Emily described her meeting with Mr. Rycroft.
She broke off suddenly and Enderby, glancing over his shoulder and fol-lowing the direction of her eyes, became aware of a pink, healthy-lookingyoung man leaning over the gate and making various apologetic noises toattract attention.
“I say,” said the young man, “frightfully sorry to butt10 in and all that. Imean, it is awfully11 awkward, but my aunt sent me along.”
Emily and Charles both said, “Oh,” in an inquiring tone, not being muchthe wiser for the explanation.
“Yes,” said the young man. “To tell the truth my aunt’s rather a Tartar.
What she says goes, if you know what I mean. Of course, I think it’s fright-fully bad form coming along at a time like this, but if you knew my aunt—and if you do as she wants, you will know her in a few minutes—”
“Is your aunt Miss Percehouse?” broke in Emily.
“That’s right,” said the young man much relieved. “So you know allabout her? Old Mother Curtis has been talking, I suppose. She can wag atongue, can’t she? Not that she’s a bad sort, mind you. Well, the fact is, myaunt said she wanted to see you, and I was to come along and tell you so.
Compliments, and all that, and would it be troubling you too much—shewas an invalid12 and quite unable to get out and it would be a great kind-ness—well, you know the sort of thing. I needn’t say it all. It’s curiosityreally, of course, and if you say you’ve got a headache, or have got lettersto write, it will be quite all right and you needn’t bother.”
“Oh, but I should like to bother,” said Emily. “I’ll come with you at once.
Mr. Enderby has got to go along and see Major Burnaby.”
“Have I?” said Enderby in a low voice.
“You have,” said Emily firmly.
She dismissed him with a brief nod and joined her new friend in theroad.
“I suppose you’re Mr. Garfield,” she said.
“That’s right. I ought to have told you.”
“Oh, well,” said Emily, “it wasn’t very difficult to guess.”
“Splendid of you coming along like this,” said Mr. Garfield. “Lots of girlswould have been awfully offended. But you know what old ladies are.”
“You don’t live down here, do you, Mr. Garfield?”
“You bet your life I don’t.” said Ronnie Garfield with fervour. “Did youever see such a godforsaken spot? Not so much as the Pictures to go to. Iwonder someone doesn’t commit a murder to—”
He paused, appalled13 by what he had said.
“I say, I am sorry. I am the most unlucky devil that ever lived. Alwayscoming out with the wrong thing. I never meant it for a moment.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” said Emily soothingly14.
“Here we are,” said Mr. Garfield. He pushed open a gate, and Emilypassed through and went up the path leading to a small cottage identicalwith the rest. In the living room giving on the garden was a couch, and onit was lying an elderly lady with a thin wrinkled face and with one of thesharpest and most interrogative noses that Emily had ever seen. Sheraised herself on an elbow with a little difficulty.
“So you’ve brought her,” she said. “Very kind of you, my dear, to comealong to see an old woman. But you know what it is when you are an in-valid. You must have a finger in every pie going and if you can’t go to thepie, then the pie has got to come to you. And you needn’t think it’s all curi-osity—it’s more than that. Ronnie, go out and paint the garden furniture.
In the shed at the end of the garden. Two basket chairs and a bench. You’llfind the paint there all ready.”
“Right oh, Aunt Caroline.”
The obedient nephew disappeared.
“Sit down,” said Miss Percehouse.
Emily sat on the chair indicated. Strange to say she had immediately feltconscious of a distinct liking15 and sympathy for this rather sharp-tonguedmiddle-aged invalid. She felt indeed a kind of kinship with her.
“Here is someone,” thought Emily, “who goes straight to the point andmeans to have her own way and bosses everybody she can. Just like me,only I happen to be rather good-looking, and she has to do it all by force ofcharacter.”
“I understand you are the girl who is engaged to Trevelyan’s nephew,”
said Miss Percehouse. “I’ve heard all about you and now I have seen you Iunderstand exactly what you are up to. And I wish you good luck.”
“Thank you,” said Emily.
“I hate a slobbering female,” said Miss Percehouse. “I like one who getsup and does things.”
She looked at Emily sharply.
“I suppose you pity me — lying here never able to get up and walkabout?”
“No,” said Emily thoughtfully. “I don’t know that I do. I suppose that onecan, if one has the determination, always get something out of life. If youcan’t get it in one way you get it in another.”
“Quite right,” said Miss Percehouse. “You’ve got to take life from a differ-ent angle, that’s all.”
“Angle of attack,” murmured Emily.
“What’s that you say?”
As clearly as she was able, Emily outlined the theory that she hadevolved that morning and the application of it she had made to the matterin hand.
“Not bad,” said Miss Percehouse nodding her head. “Now, my dear—wewill get down to business. Not being a born fool, I suppose you’ve come upto this village to find out what you can about the people here, and to see ifwhat you find out has any bearing on the murder. Well, if there’s anythingyou want to know about the people here, I can tell it to you.”
Emily wasted no time. Concise16 and businesslike she came to the point.
“Major Burnaby?” she asked.
“Typical retired17 army officer, narrow-minded and limited in outlook,jealous disposition18. Credulous19 in money matters. Kind of man who investsin a South Sea Bubble because he can’t see a yard in front of his own nose.
Likes to pay his debts promptly20 and dislikes people who don’t wipe theirfeet on the mat.”
“Mr. Rycroft?” said Emily.
“Queer little man, enormous egotist. Cranky. Likes to think himself awonderful fellow. I suppose he has offered to help you solve the casearight owing to his wonderful knowledge of criminology.”
Emily admitted that that was the case.
“Mr. Duke?” she asked.
“Don’t know a thing about the man—and yet I ought to. Most ordinarytype. I ought to know—and yet I don’t. It’s queer. It’s like a name on the tipof your tongue and yet for the life of you, you can’t remember it.”
“The Willetts?” asked Emily.
“Ah! the Willetts!” Miss Percehouse hoisted21 herself up on an elbowagain in some excitement. “What about the Willetts indeed? Now, I’ll tellyou something about them, my dear. It may be useful to you, or it maynot. Go over to my writing table there and pull out the little top drawer—the one to the left—that’s right. Bring me the blank envelope that’s there.”
Emily brought the envelope as directed.
“I don’t say it’s important — it probably isn’t,” said Miss Percehouse.
“Everybody tells lies one way or another, and Mrs. Willett is perfectly22 en-titled to do the same as everybody else.”
She took the envelope and slipped her hand inside.
“I will tell you all about it. When the Willetts arrived here, with theirsmart clothes and their maids and their innovation trunks, she and Violetcame up in Forder’s car and the maids and the innovation trunks came bythe station bus. And naturally, the whole thing being an event as youmight say, I was looking out as they passed, and I saw a coloured labelblow off from one of the trunks and dive down onto one of my borders.
Now, if there is one thing I hate more than another it is a litter of paper ormess of any kind, so I sent Ronnie out to pick it up, and I was going tothrow it away when it struck me it was a bright, pretty thing, and I mightas well keep it for the scrapbooks I make for the children’s hospital. Well, Iwouldn’t have thought about it again except for Mrs. Willett deliberatelymentioning on two or three occasions that Violet had never been out ofSouth Africa and that she herself had only been to South Africa, England,and the Riviera.”
“Yes?” said Emily.
“Exactly. Now—look at this.”
Miss Percehouse thrust a luggage label into Emily’s hand. It bore the in-scription, Mendle’s Hotel, Melbourne.
“Australia,” said Miss Percehouse, “isn’t South Africa—or it wasn’t in myyoung days. I daresay it isn’t important, but there it is for what it is worth.
And I’ll tell you another thing. I have heard Mrs. Willett calling to herdaughter, and she called Cooee, and that again is more typical of Australiathan South Africa. And what I say is, it is queer. Why shouldn’t you wishto admit that you come from Australia if you do?”
“It’s certainly curious,” said Emily. “And it’s curious that they shouldcome to live here in winter time as they have.”
“That leaps to the eye,” said Miss Percehouse. “Have you met them yet?”
“No. I thought of going there this morning. Only I didn’t know quitewhat to say.”
“I’ll provide you with an excuse,” said Miss Percehouse briskly. “Fetchme my fountain pen and some notepaper and an envelope. That’s right.
Now, let me see.” She paused deliberately23, then without the least warningraised her voice in a hideous24 scream.
“Ronnie, Ronnie, Ronnie! Is the boy deaf? Why can’t he come when he’scalled? Ronnie! Ronnie!”
Ronnie arrived at a brisk trot25, paint brush in hand.
“Is there anything the matter, Aunt Caroline?”
“What should be the matter? I was calling you, that was all. Did youhave any particular cake for tea when you were at the Willetts’ yester-day?”
“Cake?”
“Cake, sandwiches—anything. How slow you are, boy. What did youhave to eat for tea?”
“There was coffee cake,” said Ronnie very much puzzled, “and somep?té sandwiches—”
“Coffee cake,” said Miss Percehouse. “That’ll do.” She began to writebriskly. “You can go back to your painting, Ronnie. Don’t hang about, anddon’t stand there with your mouth open. You had your adenoids out whenyou were eight years old, so there is no excuse for it.”
She continued to write:
Dear Mrs. Willett,—I hear you had the most delicious cof-fee cake for tea yesterday afternoon. Will you be so verykind as to give me the recipe for it? I know you’ll not mindmy asking you this—an invalid has so little variety exceptin her diet. Miss Trefusis has kindly26 promised to take thisnote for me as Ronnie is busy this morning. Is not this newsabout the convict too dreadful?
Yours very sincerely,
Caroline Percehouse.
She put it in an envelope, sealed it down and addressed it.
“There you are, young woman. You will probably find the doorsteplittered with reporters. A lot of them passed along the lane in Forder’scharabanc. I saw them. But you ask for Mrs. Willett and say you havebrought a note from me and you’ll sail in. I needn’t tell you to keep youreyes open and make the most you can of your visit. You will do that any-way.”
“You are kind,” said Emily. “You really are.”
“I help those who can help themselves,” said Miss Percehouse. “By theway, you haven’t asked me what I think of Ronnie yet. I presume he is onyour list of the village. He is a good lad in his way, but pitifully weak. I amsorry to say he would do almost anything for money. Look at what hestands from me! And he hasn’t got the brains to see that I would like himjust ten times better if he stood up to me now and again, and told me to goto the devil.
“The only other person in the village is Captain Wyatt. He smokesopium, I believe. And he’s easily the worst-tempered man in England. Any-thing more you want to know?”
“I don’t think so,” said Emily. “What you have told me seems pretty com-prehensive.”
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收听单词发音
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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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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7
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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9
idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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10
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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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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13
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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15
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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concise
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| adj.简洁的，简明的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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25
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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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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