Jimmy Thesiger arrived at Letherbury on a sunny autumn afternoon andwas greeted affectionately by Lady Coote and with cold dislike by Sir Os-wald. Aware of the keen matchmaking eye of Lady Coote upon him,Jimmy took pains to make himself extremely agreeable to Socks Daventry.
O’Rourke was there in excellent spirits. He was inclined to be officialand secretive about the mysterious events at the Abbey, about whichSocks catechized him freely, but his official reticence1 took a novel form .?.?.
namely that of embroidering2 the tale of events in such a fantastic mannerthat nobody could possibly guess what the truth might have been.
“Four masked men with revolvers? Is that really so?” demanded Socksseverely.
“Ah! I’m remembering now that there was the round half-dozen of themto hold me down and force the stuff down my throat. Sure, and I thought itwas poison, and I done for entirely4.”
“And what was stolen, or what did they try and steal?”
“What else but the crown jewels of Russia that were brought to Mr. Lo-max secretly to deposit in the Bank of England.”
“What a bloody5 liar6 you are,” said Socks without emotion.
“A liar, I? And the jewels brought over by aeroplane with my best friendas pilot. This is secret history I’m telling you, Socks. Will you ask JimmyThesiger there if you don’t believe me. Not that I’d be putting any trust inwhat he’d say.”
“Is it true,” said Socks, “that George Lomax came down without his falseteeth? That’s what I want to know.”
“There were two revolvers,” said Lady Coote. “Nasty things. I saw themmyself. It’s a wonder this poor boy wasn’t killed.”
“Oh, I was born to be hanged,” said Jimmy.
“I hear that there was a Russian countess there of subtle beauty,” saidSocks. “And that she vamped Bill.”
“Some of the things she said about Buda Pesth were too dreadful,” saidLady Coote. “I shall never forget them. Oswald, we must send a subscrip-tion.”
Sir Oswald grunted7.
“I’ll make a note of it, Lady Coote,” said Rupert Bateman.
“Thank you, Mr. Bateman. I feel one ought to do something as a thankoffering. I can’t imagine how Sir Oswald escaped being shot—letting alonedie of pneumonia8.”
“Don’t be foolish, Maria,” said Sir Oswald.
“I’ve always had a horror of cat burglars,” said Lady Coote.
“Think of having the luck to meet one face to face. How thrilling!” mur-mured Socks.
“Don’t you believe it,” said Jimmy. “It’s damned painful.” And he pattedhis right arm gingerly.
“How is the poor arm?” inquired Lady Coote.
“Oh, pretty well all right now. But it’s been the most confounded nuis-ance having to do everything with the left hand. I’m no good whateverwith it.”
“Every child should be brought up to be ambidexterous,” said Sir Os-wald.
“Oh!” said Socks, somewhat out of her depth. “Is that like seals?”
“Not amphibious,” said Mr. Bateman. “Ambidexterous means usingeither hand equally well.”
“Oh!” said Socks, looking at Sir Oswald with respect. “Can you?”
“Certainly; I can write with either hand.”
“But not with both at once?”
“That would not be practical,” said Sir Oswald shortly.
“No,” said Socks thoughtfully. “I suppose that would be a bit too subtle.”
“It would be a grand thing now in a Government department,” observedMr. O’Rourke, “if one could keep the right hand from knowing what theleft hand was doing.”
“Can you use both hands?”
“No, indeed. I’m the most right-handed person that ever was.”
“But you deal cards with your left hand,” said the observant Bateman. “Inoticed the other night.”
“Oh, but that’s different entirely,” said Mr. O’Rourke easily.
A gong with a sombre note pealed9 out and everyone went upstairs todress for dinner.
After dinner Sir Oswald and Lady Coote, Mr. Bateman and Mr. O’Rourkeplayed bridge and Jimmy passed a flirtatious10 evening with Socks. The lastwords Jimmy heard as he retreated up the staircase that night were Sir Os-wald saying to his wife:
“You’ll never make a bridge player, Maria.”
And her reply:
“I know, dear. So you always say. You owe Mr. O’Rourke another pound,Oswald. That’s right.”
It was some two hours later that Jimmy crept noiselessly (or so hehoped) down the stairs. He made one brief visit to the dining room andthen found his way to Sir Oswald’s study. There, after listening intently fora minute or two, he set to work. Most of the drawers of the desk werelocked, but a curiously11 shaped bit of wire in Jimmy’s hand soon saw tothat. One by one the drawers yielded to his manipulations.
Drawer by drawer he sorted through methodically, being careful to re-place everything in the same order. Once or twice he stopped to listen,fancying he heard some distant sound. But he remained undisturbed.
The last drawer was looked through. Jimmy now knew—or could haveknown had he been paying attention—many interesting details relating tosteel; but he had found nothing of what he wanted—a reference to HerrEberhard’s invention or anything that could give him a clue to the identityof the mysterious No 7. He had, perhaps, hardly hoped that he would. Itwas an off chance and he had taken it—but he had not expected much res-ult—except by sheer luck.
He tested the drawers to make sure that he had relocked them securely.
He knew Rupert Bateman’s powers of minute observation and glancedround the room to make sure that he had left no incriminating trace of hispresence.
“That’s that,” he muttered to himself softly. “Nothing there. Well, per-haps I’ll have better luck tomorrow morning—if the girls only play up.”
He came out of the study, closing the door behind him and locking it.
For a moment he thought he heard a sound quite near him, but decided12 hehad been mistaken. He felt his way noiselessly along the great hall. Justenough light came from the high-vaulted windows to enable him to pickhis way without stumbling into anything.
Again he heard a soft sound—he heard it quite certainly this time andwithout the possibility of making a mistake. He was not alone in the hall.
Somebody else was there, moving as stealthily as he was. His heart beatsuddenly very fast.
With a sudden spring he jumped to the electric switch and turned on thelights. The sudden glare made him blink—but he saw plainly enough. Notfour feet away stood Rupert Bateman.
“My goodness, Pongo,” cried Jimmy, “you did give me a start. Slinkingabout like that in the dark.”
“I heard a noise,” explained Mr. Bateman severely3. “I thought burglarshad got in and I came down to see.”
Jimmy looked thoughtfully at Mr. Bateman’s rubbersoled feet.
“You think of everything, Pongo,” he said genially13. “Even a lethalweapon.”
His eye rested on the bulge14 in the other’s pocket.
“It’s as well to be armed. One never knows whom one may meet.”
“I am glad you didn’t shoot,” said Jimmy. “I’m a bit tired of being shotat.”
“I might easily have done so,” said Mr. Bateman.
“It would be dead against the law if you did,” said Jimmy. “You’ve got tomake quite sure the beggar’s housebreaking, you know, before you pot athim. You mustn’t jump to conclusions. Otherwise you’d have to explainwhy you shot a guest on a perfectly15 innocent errand like mine.”
“By the way what did you come down for?”
“I was hungry,” said Jimmy. “I rather fancied a dry biscuit.”
“There are some biscuits in a tin by your bed,” said Rupert Bateman.
He was staring at Jimmy very intently through his horn-rimmed spec-tacles.
“Ah! That’s where the staff work has gone wrong, old boy. There’s a tinthere with “Biscuits for Starving Visitors” on it. But when the starving vis-itor opened it—nothing inside. So I just toddled16 down to the dining room.”
And with a sweet, ingenuous18 smile, Jimmy produced from his dressinggown pocket a handful of biscuits.
There was a moment’s pause.
“And now I think I’ll toddle17 back to bed,” said Jimmy. “Night- night,Pongo.”
With an affectation of nonchalance20, he mounted the staircase. RupertBateman followed him. At the doorway21 of his room, Jimmy paused as if tosay good night once more.
“It’s an extraordinary thing about these biscuits,” said Mr. Bateman. “Doyou mind if I just—?”
“Certainly, laddie, look for yourself.”
Mr. Bateman strode across the room, opened the biscuit box and staredat its emptiness.
“Very remiss,” he murmured. “Well, good night.”
He withdrew. Jimmy sat on the edge of his bed listening for a minute.
“That was a narrow shave,” he murmured to himself. “Suspicious sort ofchap, Pongo. Never seems to sleep. Nasty habit of his, prowling aroundwith a revolver.”
He got up and opened one of the drawers of the dressing19 table. Beneathan assortment22 of ties lay a pile of biscuits.
“There’s nothing for it,” said Jimmy. “I shall have to eat the damnedthings. Ten to one, Pongo will come prowling round in the morning.”
With a sigh, he settled down to a meal of biscuits for which he had no in-clination whatever.
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1
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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2
embroidering
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| v.（在织物上）绣花( embroider的现在分词 )；刺绣；对…加以渲染（或修饰）；给…添枝加叶 | |
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3
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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5
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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6
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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7
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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pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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9
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
flirtatious
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| adj.爱调情的，调情的，卖俏的 | |
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11
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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12
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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13
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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14
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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15
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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16
toddled
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的过去式和过去分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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toddle
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| v.（如小孩）蹒跚学步 | |
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18
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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20
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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21
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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22
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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