How Tommy got through that evening he never quite knew. He dared notlet his eyes stray too often in the direction of Mrs. Blenkensop. At dinnerthree more habitués of Sans Souci appeared—a middle-aged1 couple, Mr.
and Mrs. Cayley, and a young mother, Mrs. Sprot, who had come downwith her baby girl from London and was clearly much bored by her en-forced stay at Leahampton. She was placed next to Tommy and at inter-vals fixed2 him with a pair of pale gooseberry eyes and in a slightly aden-oidal voice asked: “Don’t you think it’s really quite safe now? Everyone’sgoing back, aren’t they?”
Before Tommy could reply to these artless queries3, his neighbour on theother side, the beaded lady, struck in:
“What I say is one mustn’t risk anything with children. Your sweet littleBetty. You’d never forgive yourself and you know that Hitler has said theBlitzkrieg on England is coming quite soon now—and quite a new kind ofgas, I believe.”
Major Bletchley cut in sharply:
“Lot of nonsense talked about gas. The fellows won’t waste time fiddlinground with gas. High explosive and incendiary bombs. That’s what wasdone in Spain.”
The whole table plunged4 into the argument with gusto. Tuppence’svoice, high-pitched and slightly fatuous5, piped out: “My son Douglas says—”
“Douglas, indeed,” thought Tommy. “Why Douglas, I should like toknow.”
After dinner, a pretentious6 meal of several meagre courses, all of whichwere equally tasteless, everyone drifted into the lounge. Knitting was re-sumed and Tommy was compelled to hear a long and extremely boring ac-count of Major Bletchley’s experiences on the North-West Frontier.
The fair young man with the bright blue eyes went out, executing a littlebow on the threshold of the room.
Major Bletchley broke off his narrative7 and administered a kind of digin the ribs8 to Tommy.
“That fellow who’s just gone out. He’s a refugee. Got out of Germanyabout a month before the war.”
“He’s a German?”
“Yes. Not a Jew either. His father got into trouble for criticising the Nazirégime. Two of his brothers are in concentration camps over there. Thisfellow got out just in time.”
At this moment Tommy was taken possession of by Mr. Cayley, who toldhim at interminable length all about his health. So absorbing was the sub-ject to the narrator that it was close upon bedtime before Tommy could es-cape.
On the following morning Tommy rose early and strolled down to thefront. He walked briskly to the pier10 returning along the esplanade whenhe spied a familiar figure coming in the other direction. Tommy raised hishat.
“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Er—Mrs. Blenkensop, isn’t it?”
There was no one within earshot. Tuppence replied:
“Dr. Livingstone to you.”
“How on earth did you get here, Tuppence?” murmured Tommy. “It’s amiracle—an absolute miracle.”
“It’s not a miracle at all—just brains.”
“Your brains, I suppose?”
“You suppose rightly. You and your uppish Mr. Grant. I hope this willteach him a lesson.”
“It certainly ought to,” said Tommy. “Come on, Tuppence, tell me howyou managed it. I’m simply devoured11 with curiosity.”
“It was quite simple. The moment Grant talked of our Mr. Carter Iguessed what was up. I knew it wouldn’t be just some miserable12 office job.
But his manner showed me that I wasn’t going to be allowed in on this. SoI resolved to go one better. I went to fetch some sherry and, when I did, Inipped down to the Browns’ flat and rang up Maureen. Told her to ringme up and what to say. She played up loyally—nice high squeaky voice—you could hear what she was saying all over the room. I did my stuff, re-gistered annoyance13, compulsion, distressed14 friend, and rushed off withevery sign of vexation. Banged the hall door, carefully remaining inside it,and slipped into the bedroom and eased open the communicating doorthat’s hidden by the tallboy.”
“And you heard everything?”
“Everything,” said Tuppence complacently15.
Tommy said reproachfully:
“And you never let on?”
“Certainly not. I wished to teach you a lesson. You and your Mr. Grant.”
“He’s not exactly my Mr. Grant and I should say you have taught him alesson.”
“Mr. Carter wouldn’t have treated me so shabbily,” said Tuppence. “Idon’t think the Intelligence is anything like what it was in our day.”
Tommy said gravely: “It will attain16 its former brilliance17 now we’re backin it. But why Blenkensop?”
“Why not?”
“It seems such an odd name to choose.”
“It was the first one I thought of and it’s handy for underclothes.”
“What do you mean, Tuppence?”
“B, you idiot. B for Beresford. B for Blenkensop. Embroidered18 on mycamiknickers. Patricia Blenkensop. Prudence19 Beresford. Why did youchoose Meadowes? It’s a silly name.”
“To begin with,” said Tommy, “I don’t have large B’s embroidered on mypants. And to continue, I didn’t choose it. I was told to call myself Mead-owes. Mr. Meadowes is a gentleman with a respectable past—all of whichI’ve learnt by heart.”
“Very nice,” said Tuppence. “Are you married or single?”
“I’m a widower20,” said Tommy with dignity. “My wife died ten years agoat Singapore.”
“Why at Singapore?”
“We’ve all got to die somewhere. What’s wrong with Singapore?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s probably a most suitable place to die. I’m a widow.”
“Where did your husband die?”
“Does it matter? Probably in a nursing home. I rather fancy he died ofcirrhosis of the liver.”
“I see. A painful subject. And what about your son Douglas?”
“Douglas is in the Navy.”
“So I heard last night.”
“And I’ve got two other sons. Raymond is in the Air Force and Cyril, mybaby, is in the Territorials21.”
“And suppose someone takes the trouble to check up on these imaginaryBlenkensops?”
“They’re not Blenkensops. Blenkensop was my second husband. My firsthusband’s name was Hill. There are three pages of Hills in the telephonebook. You couldn’t check up on all the Hills if you tried.”
Tommy sighed.
“It’s the old trouble with you, Tuppence. You will overdo22 things. Twohusbands and three sons. It’s too much. You’ll contradict yourself over thedetails.”
“No, I shan’t. And I rather fancy the sons may come in useful. I’m notunder orders, remember. I’m a freelance. I’m in this to enjoy myself andI’m going to enjoy myself.”
“So it seems,” said Tommy. He added gloomily: “If you ask me the wholething’s a farce23.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you’ve been at Sans Souci longer than I have. Can you honestlysay you think any of these people who were there last night could be adangerous enemy agent?”
Tuppence said thoughtfully:
“It does seem a little incredible. There’s the young man, of course.”
“Carl von Deinim. The police check up on refugees, don’t they?”
“I suppose so. Still, it might be managed. He’s an attractive young man,you know.”
“Meaning, the girls will tell him things? But what girls? No Generals’ orAdmirals’ daughters floating around here. Perhaps he walks out with aCompany Commander in the ATS.”
“Be quiet, Tommy. We ought to be taking this seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously. It’s just that I feel we’re on a wild-goose chase.”
Tuppence said seriously:
“It’s too early to say that. After all, nothing’s going to be obvious aboutthis business. What about Mrs. Perenna?”
“Yes,” said Tommy thoughtfully. “There’s Mrs. Perenna, I admit—shedoes want explaining.”
Tuppence said in a businesslike tone:
“What about us? I mean, how are we going to cooperate?”
Tommy said thoughtfully:
“We mustn’t be seen about too much together.”
“No, it would be fatal to suggest we know each other better than we ap-pear to do. What we want to decide is the attitude. I think—yes, I think—pursuit is the best angle.”
“Pursuit?”
“Exactly. I pursue you. You do your best to escape, but being a merechivalrous male don’t always succeed. I’ve had two husbands and I’m onthe lookout25 for a third. You act the part of the hunted widower. Every nowand then I pin you down somewhere, pen you in a café, catch you walkingon the front. Everyone sniggers and thinks it very funny.”
“Sounds feasible,” agreed Tommy.
Tuppence said: “There’s a kind of age-long humour about the chasedmale. That ought to stand us in good stead. If we are seen together, all any-one will do is to snigger and say, ‘Look at poor old Meadowes.’ ”
Tommy gripped her arm suddenly.
“Look,” he said. “Look ahead of you.”
By the corner of one of the shelters a young man stood talking to a girl.
They were both very earnest, very wrapped up in what they were saying.
Tuppence said softly:
“Carl von Deinim. Who’s the girl, I wonder?”
“She’s remarkably26 good-looking, whoever she is.”
Tuppence nodded. Her eyes dwelt thoughtfully on the dark passionateface, and on the tight-fitting pullover that revealed the lines of the girl’sfigure. She was talking earnestly, with emphasis. Carl von Deinim waslistening to her.
Tuppence murmured:
“I think this is where you leave me.”
“Right,” agreed Tommy.
He turned and strolled in the opposite direction.
At the end of the promenade27 he encountered Major Bletchley. The latterpeered at him suspiciously and then grunted28 out, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“See you’re like me, an early riser,” remarked Bletchley.
Tommy said:
“One gets in the habit of it out East. Of course, that’s many years agonow, but I still wake early.”
“Quite right, too,” said Major Bletchley with approval. “God, these youngfellows nowadays make me sick. Hot baths—coming down to breakfast atten o’clock or later. No wonder the Germans have been putting it over onus29. No stamina30. Soft lot of young pups. Army’s not what it was, anyway.
Coddle ’em, that’s what they do nowadays. Tuck ’em up at night with hot-water bottles. Faugh! Makes me sick!”
Tommy shook his head in melancholy31 fashion and Major Bletchley, thusencouraged, went on:
“Discipline, that’s what we need. Discipline. How are we going to winthe war without discipline? Do you know, sir, some of these fellows comeon parade in slacks—so I’ve been told. Can’t expect to win a war that way.
Slacks! My God!”
Mr. Meadowes hazarded the opinion that things were very differentfrom what they had been.
“It’s all this democracy,” said Major Bletchley gloomily. “You can overdoanything. In my opinion they’re overdoing32 the democracy business. Mix-ing up the officers and the men, feeding together in restaurants—Faugh!—the men don’t like it, Meadowes. The troops know. The troops alwaysknow.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Meadowes, “I have no real knowledge of Armymatters myself—”
The Major interrupted him, shooting a quick sideways glance. “In theshow in the last war?”
“Oh yes.”
“Thought so. Saw you’d been drilled. Shoulders. What regiment33?”
“Fifth Corfeshires.” Tommy remembered to produce Meadowes’ militaryrecord.
“Ah yes, Salonica!”
“Yes.”
“I was in Mespot.”
Bletchley plunged into reminiscences. Tommy listened politely. Bletch-ley ended up wrathfully.
“And will they make use of me now? No, they will not. Too old. Too oldbe damned. I could teach one or two of these young cubs34 something aboutwar.”
“Even if it’s only what not to do?” suggested Tommy with a smile.
“Eh, what’s that?”
A sense of humour was clearly not Major Bletchley’s strong suit. Hepeered suspiciously at his companion. Tommy hastened to change the con-versation.
“Know anything about that Mrs.—Blenkensop, I think her name is?”
“That’s right, Blenkensop. Not a bad-looking woman—bit long in thetooth—talks too much. Nice woman, but foolish. No, I don’t know her.
She’s only been at Sans Souci a couple of days.” He added: “Why do youask?”
Tommy explained.
“Happened to meet her just now. Wondered if she was always out asearly as this?”
“Don’t know, I’m sure. Women aren’t usually given to walking beforebreakfast—thank God,” he added.
“Amen,” said Tommy. He went on: “I’m not much good at making politeconversation before breakfast. Hope I wasn’t rude to the woman, but Iwanted my exercise.”
Major Bletchley displayed instant sympathy.
“I’m with you, Meadowes. I’m with you. Women are all very well intheir place, but not before breakfast.” He chuckled35 a little. “Better be care-ful, old man. She’s a widow, you know.”
“Is she?”
The Major dug him cheerfully in the ribs.
“We know what widows are. She’s buried two husbands and if you askme she’s on the lookout for number three. Keep a very wary36 eye open,Meadowes. A wary eye. That’s my advice.”
And in high good humour Major Bletchley wheeled about at the end ofthe parade and set the pace for a smart walk back to breakfast at SansSouci.
In the meantime, Tuppence had gently continued her walk along theesplanade, passing quite close to the shelter and the young couple talkingthere. As she passed she caught a few words. It was the girl speaking.
“But you must be careful, Carl. The very least suspicion—”
Tuppence was out of earshot. Suggestive words? Yes, but capable of anynumber of harmless interpretations37. Unobtrusively she turned and againpassed the two. Again words floated to her.
“Smug, detestable English. .?.?.”
The eyebrows38 of Mrs. Blenkensop rose ever so slightly. Carl von Deinimwas a refugee from Nazi9 persecution39, given asylum40 and shelter by Eng-land. Neither wise nor grateful to listen assentingly to such words.
Again Tuppence turned. But this time, before she reached the shelter,the couple had parted abruptly41, the girl to cross the road leaving the seafront, Carl von Deinim to come along to Tuppence’s direction.
He would not, perhaps, have recognised her but for her own pause andhesitation. Then quickly he brought his heels together and bowed.
Tuppence twittered at him:
“Good morning, Mr. von Deinim, isn’t it? Such a lovely morning.”
“Ah, yes. The weather is fine.”
Tuppence ran on:
“It quite tempted42 me. I don’t often come out before breakfast. But thismorning, what with not sleeping very well—one often doesn’t sleep wellin a strange place, I find. It takes a day or two to accustom43 oneself, I al-ways say.”
“Oh yes, no doubt that is so.”
“And really this little walk has quite given me an appetite for breakfast.”
“You go back to Sans Souci now? If you permit I will walk with you.” Hewalked gravely by her side.
Tuppence said:
“You also are out to get an appetite?”
Gravely, he shook his head.
“Oh no. My breakfast I have already had it. I am on my way to work.”
“Work?”
“I am a research chemist.”
“So that’s what you are,” thought Tuppence, stealing a quick glance athim.
Carl von Deinim went on, his voice stiff:
“I came to this country to escape Nazi persecution. I had very littlemoney—no friends. I do now what useful work I can.”
He stared straight ahead of him. Tuppence was conscious of some un-dercurrent of strong feeling moving him powerfully.
She murmured vaguely44:
“Oh yes, I see. Very creditable, I am sure.”
Carl von Deinim said:
“My two brothers are in concentration camps. My father died in one. Mymother died of sorrow and fear.”
Tuppence thought:
“The way he says that—as though he had learned it by heart.”
Again she stole a quick glance at him. He was still staring ahead of him,his face impassive.
They walked in silence for some moments. Two men passed them. Oneof them shot a quick glance at Carl. She heard him mutter to his compan-ion:
“Bet you that fellow is a German.”
Tuppence saw the colour rise in Carl von Deinim’s cheeks.
Suddenly he lost command of himself. That tide of hidden emotion cameto the surface. He stammered45:
“You heard—you heard—that is what they say—I—”
“My dear boy,” Tuppence reverted46 suddenly to her real self. Her voicewas crisp and compelling. “Don’t be an idiot. You can’t have it both ways.”
He turned his head and stared at her.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a refugee. You have to take the rough with the smooth. You’realive, that’s the main thing. Alive and free. For the other—realise that it’sinevitable. This country’s at war. You’re a German.” She smiled suddenly.
“You can’t expect the mere24 man in the street—literally the man in thestreet—to distinguish between bad Germans and good Germans, if I mayput it so crudely.”
He still stared at her. His eyes, so very blue, were poignant47 with sup-pressed feeling. Then suddenly he too smiled. He said:
“They said of Red Indians, did they not, that a good Indian was a deadIndian.” He laughed. “To be a good German I must be on time at my work.
Please. Good morning.”
Again that stiff bow. Tuppence stared after his retreating figure. Shesaid to herself:
“Mrs. Blenkensop, you had a lapse48 then. Strict attention to business infuture. Now for breakfast at Sans Souci.”
The hall door of Sans Souci was open. Inside, Mrs. Perenna was conduct-ing a vigorous conversation with someone.
“And you’ll tell him what I think of that last lot of margarine. Get thecooked ham at Quillers—it was twopence cheaper last time there, and becareful about the cabbages—” She broke off as Tuppence entered.
“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Blenkensop, you are an early bird. You haven’thad breakfast yet. It’s all ready in the dining room.” She added, indicatingher companion: “My daughter Sheila. You haven’t met her. She’s beenaway and only came home last night.”
Tuppence looked with interest at the vivid, handsome face. No longerfull of tragic49 energy, bored now and resentful. “My daughter Sheila.”
Sheila Perenna.
Tuppence murmured a few pleasant words and went into the diningroom. There were three people breakfasting—Mrs. Sprot and her babygirl, and big Mrs. O’Rourke. Tuppence said “Good morning” and Mrs.
O’Rourke replied with a hearty50 “The top of the morning to you” that quitedrowned Mrs. Sprot’s more anaemic salutation.
The old woman stared at Tuppence with a kind of devouring51 interest.
“ ’Tis a fine thing to be out walking before breakfast,” she observed. “Agrand appetite it gives you.”
Mrs. Sprot said to her offspring:
“Nice bread and milk, darling,” and endeavoured to insinuate52 a spoonfulinto Miss Betty Sprot’s mouth.
The latter cleverly circumvented53 this endeavour by an adroit54 movementof her head, and continued to stare at Tuppence with large round eyes.
She pointed55 a milky56 finger at the newcomer, gave her a dazzling smileand observed in gurgling tones: “Ga—ga bouch.”
“She likes you,” cried Mrs. Sprot, beaming on Tuppence as on onemarked out for favour. “Sometimes she’s so shy with strangers.”
“Bouch,” said Betty Sprot. “Ah pooth ah bag,” she added with emphasis.
“And what would she be meaning by that?” demanded Mrs. O’Rourke,with interest.
“She doesn’t speak awfully57 clearly yet,” confessed Mrs. Sprot. “She’s onlyjust over two, you know. I’m afraid most of what she says is just bosh. Shecan say Mama, though, can’t you, darling?”
Betty looked thoughtfully at her mother and remarked with an air of fi-nality:
“Cuggle bick.”
“ ’Tis a language of their own they have, the little angels,” boomed outMrs. O’Rourke. “Betty, darling, say Mama now.”
Betty looked hard at Mrs. O’Rourke, frowned and observed with terrificemphasis: “Nazer—”
“There now, if she isn’t doing her best! And a lovely sweet girl she is.”
Mrs. O’Rourke rose, beamed in a ferocious58 manner at Betty, andwaddled heavily out of the room.
“Ga, ga, ga,” said Betty with enormous satisfaction, and beat with aspoon on the table.
Tuppence said with a twinkle:
“What does Na-zer really mean?”
Mrs. Sprot said with a flush: “I’m afraid, you know, it’s what Betty sayswhen she doesn’t like anyone or anything.”
“I rather thought so,” said Tuppence.
Both women laughed.
“After all,” said Mrs. Sprot, “Mrs. O’Rourke means to be kind but she israther alarming — with that deep voice and the beard and — andeverything.”
With her head on one side Betty made a cooing noise at Tuppence.
“She has taken to you, Mrs. Blenkensop,” said Mrs. Sprot.
There was a slight jealous chill, Tuppence fancied, in her voice. Tup-pence hastened to adjust matters.
“They always like a new face, don’t they?” she said easily.
The door opened and Major Bletchley and Tommy appeared. Tuppencebecame arch.
“Ah, Mr. Meadowes,” she called out. “I’ve beaten you, you see. First pastthe post. But I’ve left you just a little breakfast!”
She indicated with the faintest of gestures the seat beside her.
Tommy, muttering vaguely: “Oh—er—rather—thanks,” sat down at theother end of the table.
Betty Sprot said “Putch!” with a fine splutter of milk at Major Bletchley,whose face instantly assumed a sheepish but delighted expression.
“And how’s little Miss Bo Peep this morning?” he asked fatuously59. “BoPeep!” He enacted60 the play with a newspaper.
Betty crowed with delight.
Serious misgivings61 shook Tuppence. She thought:
“There must be some mistake. There can’t be anything going on here.
There simply can’t!”
To believe in Sans Souci as a headquarters of the Fifth Column neededthe mental equipment of the White Queen in Alice.
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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Nazi
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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attain
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brilliance
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embroidered
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prudence
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widower
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territorials
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overdo
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farce
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mere
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lookout
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remarkably
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promenade
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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onus
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stamina
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melancholy
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overdoing
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regiment
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cubs
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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interpretations
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| n.解释( interpretation的名词复数 )；表演；演绎；理解 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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circumvented
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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fatuously
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| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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