Tommy was not pleased with life. Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives had met witha reverse, distressing1 to their pride if not to their pockets. Called in profes-sionally to elucidate2 the mystery of a stolen pearl necklace at AdlingtonHall, Adlington, Blunt’s Brilliant Detectives had failed to make good.
Whilst Tommy, hard on the track of a gambling3 Countess, was trackingher in the disguise of a Roman Catholic priest, and Tuppence was “gettingoff” with the nephew of the house on the golf links, the local Inspector4 ofPolice had unemotionally arrested the second footman who proved to be athief well- known at headquarters, and who admitted his guilt5 withoutmaking any bones about it.
Tommy and Tuppence, therefore, had withdrawn6 with what dignitythey could muster7, and were at the present moment solacing8 themselveswith cocktails9 at the Grand Adlington Hotel. Tommy still wore his clericaldisguise.
“Hardly a Father Brown touch, that,” he remarked gloomily. “And yetI’ve got just the right kind of umbrella.”
“It wasn’t a Father Brown problem,” said Tuppence. “One needs a cer-tain atmosphere from the start. One must be doing something quite ordin-ary, and then bizarre things begin to happen. That’s the idea.”
“Unfortunately,” said Tommy, “we have to return to town. Perhapssomething bizarre will happen on the way to the station.”
He raised the glass he was holding to his lips, but the liquid in it wassuddenly spilled, as a heavy hand smacked10 him on the shoulder, and avoice to match the hand boomed out words of greeting.
“Upon my soul, it is! Old Tommy! And Mrs. Tommy too. Where did youblow in from? Haven’t seen or heard anything of you for years.”
“Why, it’s Bulger!” said Tommy, setting down what was left of the cock-tail, and turning to look at the intruder, a big square-shouldered man ofthirty years of age, with a round red beaming face, and dressed in golfingkit. “Good old Bulger!”
“But I say, old chap,” said Bulger (whose real name, by the way, wasMarvyn Estcourt), “I never knew you’d taken orders. Fancy you a blinkingparson.”
Tuppence burst out laughing, and Tommy looked embarrassed. Andthen they suddenly became conscious of a fourth person.
A tall, slender creature, with very golden hair and very round blue eyes,almost impossibly beautiful, with an effect of really expensive blacktopped by wonderful ermines, and very large pearl earrings11. She wassmiling. And her smile said many things. It asserted, for instance, that sheknew perfectly12 well that she herself was the thing best worth looking at,certainly in England, and possibly in the whole world. She was not vainabout it in any way, but she just knew, with certainty and confidence, thatit was so.
Both Tommy and Tuppence recognised her immediately. They had seenher three times in The Secret of the Heart, and an equal number of times inthat other great success, Pillars of Fire, and in innumerable other plays.
There was, perhaps, no other actress in England who had so firm a holdon the British public, as Miss Gilda Glen. She was reported to be the mostbeautiful woman in England. It was also rumoured13 that she was the stu-pidest.
“Old friends of mine, Miss Glen,” said Estcourt, with a tinge14 of apology inhis voice for having presumed, even for a moment, to forget such a radi-ant creature. “Tommy and Mrs. Tommy, let me introduce you to MissGilda Glen.”
The ring of pride in his voice was unmistakable. By merely being seen inhis company, Miss Glen had conferred great glory upon him.
The actress was staring with frank interest at Tommy.
“Are you really a priest?” she asked. “A Roman Catholic priest, I mean?
Because I thought they didn’t have wives.”
Estcourt went off in a boom of laughter again.
“That’s good,” he exploded. “You sly dog, Tommy. Glad he hasn’t re-nounced you, Mrs. Tommy, with all the rest of the pomps and vanities.”
Gilda Glen took not the faintest notice of him. She continued to stare atTommy with puzzled eyes.
“Are you a priest?” she demanded.
“Very few of us are what we seem to be,” said Tommy gently. “My pro-fession is not unlike that of a priest. I don’t give absolution—but I listen toconfessions—I—”
“Don’t you listen to him,” interrupted Estcourt. “He’s pulling your leg.”
“If you’re not a clergyman, I don’t see why you’re dressed up like one,”
she puzzled. “That is, unless—”
“Not a criminal flying from justice,” said Tommy. “The other thing.”
“Oh!” she frowned, and looked at him with beautiful bewildered eyes.
“I wonder if she’ll ever get that,” thought Tommy to himself. “Not unlessI put it in words of one syllable15 for her, I should say.”
Aloud he said:
“Know anything about the trains back to town, Bulger? We’ve got to bepushing for home. How far is it to the station?”
“Ten minutes” walk. But no hurry. Next train up is the 6:35 and it’s onlyabout twenty to six now. You’ve just missed one.”
“Which way is it to the station from here?”
“Sharp to the left when you turn out of the hotel. Then—let me see—down Morgan’s Avenue would be the best way, wouldn’t it?”
“Morgan’s Avenue?” Miss Glen started violently, and stared at him withstartled eyes.
“I know what you’re thinking of,” said Estcourt, laughing. “The Ghost.
Morgan’s Avenue is bounded by the cemetery16 on one side, and traditionhas it that a policeman who met his death by violence gets up and walkson his old beat, up and down Morgan’s Avenue. A spook policeman! Canyou beat it? But lots of people swear to having seen him.”
“A policeman?” said Miss Glen. She shivered a little. “But there aren’treally any ghosts, are there? I mean—there aren’t such things?”
She got up, folding her wrap tighter round her.
“Goodbye,” she said vaguely17.
She had ignored Tuppence completely throughout, and now she did noteven glance in her direction. But, over her shoulder, she threw onepuzzled questioning glance at Tommy.
Just as she got to the door, she encountered a tall man with grey hairand a puffy face, who uttered an exclamation18 of surprise. His hand on herarm, he led her through the doorway19, talking in an animated20 fashion.
“Beautiful creature, isn’t she?” said Estcourt. “Brains of a rabbit. Ru-mour has it that she’s going to marry Lord Leconbury. That was Lecon-bury in the doorway.”
“He doesn’t look a very nice sort of man to marry,” remarked Tuppence.
Estcourt shrugged21 his shoulders.
“A title has a kind of glamour22 still, I suppose,” he said. “And Leconburyis not an impoverished23 peer by any means. She’ll be in clover. Nobodyknows where she sprang from. Pretty near the gutter24, I dare say. There’ssomething deuced mysterious about her being down here anyway. She’snot staying at the hotel. And when I tried to find out where she was stay-ing, she snubbed me — snubbed me quite crudely, in the only way sheknows. Blessed if I know what it’s all about.”
He glanced at his watch and uttered an exclamation.
“I must be off. Jolly glad to have seen you two again. We must have abust in town together some night. So long.”
He hurried away, and as he did so, a page approached with a note on asalver. The note was unaddressed.
“But it’s for you, sir,” he said to Tommy. “From Miss Gilda Glen.”
Tommy tore it open and read it with some curiosity. In-side were a few lines written in a straggling untidyhand.
I’m not sure, but I think you might be able to help me. Andyou’ll be going that way to the station. Could you be at TheWhite House, Morgan’s Avenue, at ten minutes past six?
Yours sincerely,
Gilda Glen.
Tommy nodded to the page, who departed, and then handed the note toTuppence.
“Extraordinary!” said Tuppence. “Is it because she still thinks you’re apriest?”
“No,” said Tommy thoughtfully. “I should say it’s because she’s at lasttaken in that I’m not one. Hullo! what’s this?”
“This,” was a young man with flaming red hair, a pugnacious25 jaw26, andappallingly shabby clothes. He had walked into the room and was nowstriding up and down muttering to himself.
“Hell!” said the red-haired man, loudly and forcibly. “That’s what I say—Hell!”
He dropped into a chair near the young couple and stared at themmoodily.
“Damn all women, that’s what I say,” said the young man, eyeing Tup-pence ferociously27. “Oh! all right, kick up a row if you like. Have me turnedout of the hotel. It won’t be for the first time. Why shouldn’t we say whatwe think? Why should we go about bottling up our feelings, and smirking,and saying things exactly like everyone else. I don’t feel pleasant and po-lite. I feel like getting hold of someone round the throat and graduallychoking them to death.”
He paused.
“Any particular person?” asked Tuppence. “Or just anybody?”
“One particular person,” said the young man grimly.
“This is very interesting,” said Tuppence. “Won’t you tell us somemore?”
“My name’s Reilly,” said the red-haired man. “James Reilly. You mayhave heard it. I wrote a little volume of Pacifist poems—good stuff, al-though I say so.”
“Pacifist poems?” said Tuppence.
“Yes—why not?” demanded Mr. Reilly belligerently28.
“Oh! nothing,” said Tuppence hastily.
“I’m for peace all the time,” said Mr. Reilly fiercely. “To Hell with war.
And women! Women! Did you see that creature who was trailing aroundhere just now? Gilda Glen, she calls herself. Gilda Glen! God! how I’ve wor-shipped that woman. And I’ll tell you this—if she’s got a heart at all, it’s onmy side. She cared once for me, and I could make her care again. And ifshe sells herself to that muck heap, Leconbury—well, God help her. I’d assoon kill her with my own hands.”
And on this, suddenly, he rose and rushed from the room.
Tommy raised his eyebrows29.
“A somewhat excitable gentleman,” he murmured. “Well, Tuppence,shall we start?”
A fine mist was coming up as they emerged from the hotel into the coolouter air. Obeying Estcourt’s directions, they turned sharp to the left, andin a few minutes they came to a turning labelled Morgan’s Avenue.
The mist had increased. It was soft and white, and hurried past them inlittle eddying30 drifts. To their left was the high wall of the cemetery, ontheir right a row of small houses. Presently these ceased, and a high hedgetook their place.
“Tommy,” said Tuppence. “I’m beginning to feel jumpy. The mist—andthe silence. As though we were miles from anywhere.”
“One does feel like that,” agreed Tommy. “All alone in the world. It’s theeffect of the mist, and not being able to see ahead of one.”
Tuppence nodded.
“Just our footsteps echoing on the pavement. What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“I thought I heard other footsteps behind us.”
“You’ll be seeing the ghost in a minute if you work yourself up like this,”
said Tommy kindly31. “Don’t be so nervy. Are you afraid the spook police-man will lay his hands on your shoulder?”
Tuppence emitted a shrill32 squeal33.
“Don’t, Tommy. Now you’ve put it into my head.”
She craned her head back over her shoulder, trying to peer into thewhite veil that was wrapped all round them.
“There they are again,” she whispered. “No, they’re in front now. Oh!
Tommy, don’t say you can’t hear them?”
“I do hear something. Yes, it’s footsteps behind us. Somebody else walk-ing this way to catch the train. I wonder—”
He stopped suddenly, and stood still, and Tuppence gave a gasp34.
For the curtain of mist in front of them suddenly parted in the most arti-ficial manner, and there, not twenty feet away, a gigantic policeman sud-denly appeared, as though materialised out of the fog. One minute he wasnot there, the next minute he was—so at least it seemed to the rather su-perheated imaginations of the two watchers. Then as the mist rolled backstill more, a little scene appeared, as though set on a stage.
The big blue policeman, a scarlet35 pillar box, and on the right of the roadthe outlines of a white house.
“Red, white, and blue,” said Tommy. “It’s damned pictorial36. Come on,Tuppence, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
For, as he had already seen, the policeman was a real policeman. And,moreover, he was not nearly so gigantic as he had at first seemed loomingup out of the mist.
But as they started forward, footsteps came from behind them. A manpassed them, hurrying along. He turned in at the gate of the white house,ascended the steps, and beat a deafening37 tattoo38 upon the knocker. He wasadmitted just as they reached the spot where the policeman was standingstaring after him.
“There’s a gentleman seems to be in a hurry,” commented the police-man.
He spoke39 in a slow reflective voice, as one whose thoughts took sometime to mature.
“He’s the sort of gentleman always would be in a hurry,” remarkedTommy.
The policeman’s stare, slow and rather suspicious, came round to reston his face.
“Friend of yours?” he demanded, and there was distinct suspicion nowin his voice.
“No,” said Tommy. “He’s not a friend of mine, but I happen to know whohe is. Name of Reilly.”
“Ah!” said the policeman. “Well, I’d better be getting along.”
“Can you tell me where the White House is?” asked Tommy.
The constable40 jerked his head sideways.
“This is it. Mrs. Honeycott’s.” He paused, and added, evidently with theidea of giving them valuable information, “Nervous party. Always suspect-ing burglars is around. Always asking me to have a look around the place.
Middle-aged41 women get like that.”
“Middle-aged, eh?” said Tommy. “Do you happen to know if there’s ayoung lady staying there?”
“A young lady,” said the policeman, ruminating42. “A young lady. No, Ican’t say I know anything about that.”
“She mayn’t be staying here, Tommy,” said Tuppence. “And anyway, shemayn’t be here yet. She could only have started just before we did.”
“Ah!” said the policeman suddenly. “Now that I call it to mind, a younglady did go in at this gate. I saw her as I was coming up the road. Aboutthree or four minutes ago it might be.”
“With ermine furs on?” asked Tuppence eagerly.
“She had some kind of white rabbit round her throat,” admitted the po-liceman.
Tuppence smiled. The policeman went on in the direction from whichthey had just come, and they prepared to enter the gate of the WhiteHouse.
Suddenly, a faint, muffled43 cry sounded from inside the house, and al-most immediately afterwards the front door opened and James Reillycame rushing down the steps. His face was white and twisted, and his eyesglared in front of him unseeingly. He staggered like a drunken man.
He passed Tommy and Tuppence as though he did not see them, mutter-ing to himself with a kind of dreadful repetition.
“My God! My God! Oh, my God!”
He clutched at the gatepost, as though to steady himself, and then, asthough animated by sudden panic, he raced off down the road as hard ashe could go in the opposite direction from that taken by the policeman.
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1
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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elucidate
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| v.阐明，说明 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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8
solacing
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的现在分词 ) | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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smacked
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| 拍，打，掴( smack的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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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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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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15
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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17
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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18
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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19
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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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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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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23
impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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pugnacious
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| adj.好斗的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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belligerently
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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30
eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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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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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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pictorial
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| adj.绘画的；图片的；n．画报 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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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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40
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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42
ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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43
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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