It was over a week later that Luke, carelessly scanning the front page ofThe Times, gave a sudden startled exclamation1.
“Well, I’m damned!”
Jimmy Lorrimer looked up.
“What’s the matter?”
Luke did not answer. He was staring at a name in the printed column.
Jimmy repeated his question.
Luke raised his head and looked at his friend. His expression was so pe-culiar that Jimmy was quite taken aback.
“What’s up, Luke? You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”
For a minute or two the other did not reply. He dropped the paper,strode to the window and back again. Jimmy watched him with increasingsurprise.
Luke dropped into a chair and leaned forward.
“Jimmy, old son, do you remember my mentioning an old lady I trav-elled up to town with—the day I arrived in England?”
“The one you said reminded you of your Aunt Mildred? And then shegot run over by a car?”
“That’s the one. Listen, Jimmy. The old girl came out with a long rigmar-ole of how she was going up to Scotland Yard to tell them about a lot ofmurders. There was a murderer loose in her village — that’s what itamounted to, and he’s been doing some pretty rapid execution.”
“You didn’t tell me she was batty,” said Jimmy.
“I didn’t think she was.”
“Oh, come now, old boy, wholesale2 murder—”
Luke said impatiently:
“I didn’t think she was off her head. I thought she was just letting herimagination run away with her like old ladies sometimes do.”
“Well, yes, I suppose that might have been it. But she was probably a bittouched as well, I should think.”
“Never mind what you think, Jimmy. At the moment, I’m telling you,see?”
“Oh, quite—quite—get on with it.”
“She was quite circumstantial, mentioned one or two victims by nameand then explained that what had really rattled3 her was the fact that sheknew who the next victim was going to be.”
“Yes?” said Jimmy encouragingly.
“Sometimes a name sticks in your head for some silly reason or other.
This name stuck in mine because I linked it up with a silly nursery rhymethey used to sing to me when I was a kid. Fiddle4 de dee, fiddle de dee, the flyhas married the bumblebee.”
“Very intellectual, I’m sure, but what’s the point?”
“The point, my good ass5, is that the man’s name was Humbleby—Dr.
Humbleby. My old lady said Dr. Humbleby would be the next, and she wasdistressed because he was ‘such a good man.’ The name stuck in my headbecause of the aforementioned rhyme.”
“Well?” said Jimmy.
“Well, look at this.”
Luke passed over the paper, his finger pressed against an entry in thecolumn of deaths.
HUMBLEBY. — On June 13, suddenly, at his residence,Sandgate, Wychwood- under- Ashe, JOHN EDWARD
HUMBLEBY, MD, beloved husband of JESSIE ROSE HUMBLEBY.
Funeral Friday. No flowers, by request.
“You see, Jimmy? That’s the name and the place and he’s a doctor. Whatdo you make of it?”
Jimmy took a moment or two to answer. His voice was serious when hesaid at last rather uncertainly:
“I suppose it’s just a damned odd coincidence.”
“Is it, Jimmy? Is it? Is that all it is?”
Luke began to walk up and down again.
“What else could it be?” asked Jimmy.
Luke wheeled round suddenly.
“Suppose that every word that dear bleating6 old sheep said was true!
Suppose that that fantastic story was just the plain literal truth!”
“Oh, come now, old boy! That would be a bit thick! Things like that don’thappen.”
“What about the Abercrombie case? Wasn’t he supposed to have doneaway with a goodish few?”
“More than ever came out,” said Jimmy. “A pal7 of mine had a cousinwho was the local coroner. I heard a bit through him. They got Abercrom-bie for feeding the local vet8 with arsenic9, then they dug up his wife andshe was full of it, and it’s pretty certain his brother-in-law went the sameway—and that wasn’t all, by a long chalk. This pal of mine told me the un-official view was that Abercrombie had done away with at least fifteenpeople in his time. Fifteen!”
“Exactly. So these things do happen!”
“Yes, but they don’t happen often.”
“How do you know? They may happen a good deal oftener than you sup-pose.”
“There speaks the police wallah! Can’t you forget you’re a policemannow that you’ve retired10 into private life?”
“Once a policeman, always a policeman, I suppose,” said Luke. “Nowlook here, Jimmy, supposing that before Abercrombie had got so foolhardyas fairly to push his murders under the nose of the police, some dear lo-quacious old spinster had just simply guessed what he was up to and hadtrotted off to tell someone in authority all about it. Do you suppose they’dhave listened to her?”
Jimmy grinned.
“No fear!”
“Exactly. They’d have said she’d got bats in the belfry. Just as you said!
Or they’d have said, ‘Too much imagination. Not enough to do.’ As I said!
And both of us, Jimmy, would have been wrong.”
Lorrimer took a moment or two to consider, then he said:
“What’s the position exactly—as it appears to you?”
Luke said slowly:
“The case stands like this. I was told a story—an improbable, but not animpossible story. One piece of evidence, the death of Dr. Humbleby, sup-ports that story. And there’s one other significant fact. Miss Pinkerton wasgoing to Scotland Yard with this improbable story of hers. But she didn’tget there. She was run over and killed by a car that didn’t stop.”
Jimmy objected.
“You don’t know that she didn’t get there. She might have been killedafter her visit, not before.”
“She might have been, yes—but I don’t think she was.”
“That’s pure supposition. It boils down to this—you believe in this—thismelodrama.”
Luke shook his head sharply.
“No, I don’t say that. All I say is, there’s a case for investigation11.”
“In other words, you are going to Scotland Yard.”
“No, it hasn’t come to that yet — not nearly. As you say, this manHumbleby’s death may be merely a coincidence.”
“Then what, may I ask, is the idea?”
“The idea is to go down to this place and look into the matter.”
“So that’s the idea, is it?”
“Don’t you agree that that is the only sensible way to set about it?”
Jimmy stared at him, then he said:
“Are you serious about this business, Luke?”
“Absolutely.”
“Suppose the whole thing’s a mare’s nest?”
“That would be the best thing that could happen.”
“Yes, of course…” Jimmy frowned. “But you don’t think it is, do you?”
“My dear fellow, I’m keeping an open mind.” Jimmy was silent for aminute or two. Then he said:
“Got any plan? I mean, you’ll have to have some reason for suddenly ar-riving in this place.”
“Yes, I suppose I shall.”
“No ‘suppose’ about it. Do you realize what a small English country townis like? Anyone new sticks out a mile!”
“I shall have to adopt a disguise,” said Luke with a sudden grin. “Whatdo you suggest? Artist? Hardly—I can’t draw, let alone paint.”
“You could be a modern artist,” suggested Jimmy. “Then that wouldn’tmatter.”
But Luke was intent on the matter in hand.
“An author? Do authors go to strange country inns to write? They might,I suppose. A fisherman, perhaps — but I’ll have to find out if there’s ahandy river. An invalid12 ordered country air? I don’t look the part, andanyway everyone goes to a nursing home nowadays. I might be lookingfor a house in the neighbourhood. But that’s not very good. Hang it all,Jimmy, there must be some plausible13 reason for a hearty14 stranger to des-cend upon an English village?”
Jimmy said:
“Wait a sec—give me that paper again.”
Taking it, he gave it a cursory15 glance and announced triumphantly16:
“I thought so! Luke, old boy—to put it in a nutshell—I’ll fix you OK.
Everything’s as easy as winking17!”
Luke wheeled round.
“What?”
Jimmy was continuing with modest pride:
“I thought something struck a chord! Wychwood-under-Ashe. Of course!
The very place!”
“Have you, by any chance, a pal who knows the coroner there?”
“Not this time. Better than that, my boy. Nature, as you know, has en-dowed me plentifully18 with aunts and cousins—my father having been oneof a family of thirteen. Now listen to this: I have a cousin in Wychwood-un-der-Ashe.”
“Jimmy, you’re a blinking marvel19.”
“It is pretty good, isn’t it?” said Jimmy modestly.
“Tell me about him.”
“It’s a her. Her name’s Bridget Conway. For the last two years she’s beensecretary to Lord Whitfield.”
“The man who owns those nasty little weekly papers?”
“That’s right. Rather a nasty little man too! Pompous20! He was born inWychwood-under-Ashe, and being the kind of snob21 who rams22 his birthand breeding down your throat and glories in being self-made, he has re-turned to his home village, bought up the only big house in the neighbour-hood (it belonged to Bridget’s family originally, by the way) and is busymaking the place into a ‘model estate.’”
“And your cousin is his secretary?”
“She was,” said Jimmy darkly. “Now she’s gone one better! She’s en-gaged to him!”
“Oh,” said Luke, rather taken aback.
“He’s a catch, of course,” said Jimmy. “Rolling in money. Bridget tookrather a toss over some fellow—it pretty well knocked the romance out ofher. I dare say this will pan out very well. She’ll probably be kind of firmwith him and he’ll eat out of her hand.”
“And where do I come in?”
Jimmy replied promptly23.
“You go down there to stay—you’d better be another cousin. Bridget’sgot so many that one more or less won’t matter. I’ll fix that up with her allright. She and I have always been pals24. Now for your reason for goingthere—witchcraft, my boy.”
“Witchcraft?”
“Folklore, local superstitions25—all that sort of thing. Wychwood-under-Ashe has got rather a reputation that way. One of the last places wherethey had a Witches’ Sabbath—witches were still burnt there in the lastcentury—all sorts of traditions. You’re writing a book, see? Correlating thecustoms of the Mayang Straits and old English folklore—points of resemb-lance, etc. You know the sort of stuff. Go round with a notebook and inter-view the oldest inhabitant about local superstitions and customs. They’requite used to that sort of thing down there, and if you’re staying at AsheManor it vouches26 for you.”
“What about Lord Whitfield?”
“He’ll be all right. He’s quite uneducated and completely credulous—ac-tually believes things he reads in his own papers. Anyway Bridget will fixhim. Bridget’s all right. I’ll answer for her.”
Luke drew a deep breath.
“Jimmy, old scout27, it looks as though the thing is going to be easy. You’rea wonder. If you can really fix up with your cousin—”
“That will be absolutely OK. Leave it to me.”
“I’m no end grateful to you.”
Jimmy said:
“All I ask is, if you’re hunting down a homicidal murderer, let me be inat the death!”
He added sharply:
“What is it?”
Luke said slowly:
“Just something I remembered my old lady saying to me. I’d said to herthat it was a bit thick to do a lot of murders and get away with it, and sheanswered that I was wrong—that it was very easy to kill…” He stopped,and then said slowly, “I wonder if that’s true, Jimmy? I wonder if it is—”
“What?”
“Easy to kill….”
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收听单词发音
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1
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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vet
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| n.兽医，退役军人；vt.检查 | |
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arsenic
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| n.砒霜，砷；adj.砷的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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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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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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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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cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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rams
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| n.公羊( ram的名词复数 )；(R-)白羊（星）座；夯；攻城槌v.夯实（土等）( ram的第三人称单数 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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pals
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| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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vouches
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| v.保证( vouch的第三人称单数 )；担保；确定；确定地说 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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