(Extracts from the diary of Sir Eustace Pedler, MP)It is an extraordinary thing that I never seem to get any peace. I am a manwho likes a quiet life. I like my Club, my rubber of Bridge, a well-cookedmeal, a sound wine. I like England in the summer, and the Riviera in thewinter. I have no desire to participate in sensational1 happenings. Some-times, in front of a good fire, I do not object to reading about them in thenewspaper. But that is as far as I am willing to go. My object in life is to bethoroughly comfortable. I have devoted2 a certain amount of thought, anda considerable amount of money, to further that end. But I cannot say thatI always succeed. If things do not actually happen to me, they happenround me, and frequently, in spite of myself, I become involved. I hate be-ing involved.
All this because Guy Pagett came into my bedroom this morning with atelegram in his hand and a face as long as a mute at a funeral.
Guy Pagett is my secretary, a zealous3, painstaking4, hardworking fellow,admirable in every respect. I know no one who annoys me more. For along time I have been racking my brains as to how to get rid of him. Butyou cannot very well dismiss a secretary because he prefers work to play,likes getting up early in the morning, and has positively5 no vices6. The onlyamusing thing about the fellow is his face. He has the face of a fourteenth-century poisoner—the sort of man the Borgias got to do their odd jobs forthem.
I wouldn’t mind so much if Pagett didn’t make me work too. My idea ofwork is something that should be undertaken lightly and airily—trifledwith, in fact! I doubt if Guy Pagett has ever trifled with anything in his life.
He takes everything seriously. That is what makes him so difficult to livewith.
Last week I had the brilliant idea of sending him off to Florence. Hetalked about Florence and how much he wanted to go there.
“My dear fellow,” I cried, “You shall go tomorrow. I will pay all your ex-penses.”
January isn’t the usual time for going to Florence, but it would be all oneto Pagett. I could imagine him going about, guidebook in hand, religiouslydoing all the picture galleries. And a week’s freedom was cheap to me atthe price.
It has been a delightful7 week. I have done everything I wanted to, andnothing that I did not want to do. But when I blinked my eyes open, andperceived Pagett standing8 between me and the light at the unearthly hourof 9 am this morning, I realized that freedom was over.
“My dear fellow,” I said, “has the funeral already taken place, or is it forlater in the morning?”
Pagett does not appreciate dry humour. He merely stared.
“So you know, Sir Eustace?”
“Know what?” I said crossly. “From the expression on your face I in-ferred that one of your near and dear relatives was to be interred9 thismorning.”
Pagett ignored the sally as far as possible.
“I thought you couldn’t know about this.” He tapped the telegram. “Iknow you dislike being aroused early—but it is nine o’clock”—Pagett in-sists on regarding 9 am as practically the middle of the day —“and Ithought that under the circumstances—” He tapped the telegram again.
“What is that thing?” I asked.
“It’s a telegram from the police at Marlow. A woman has been murderedin your house.”
That aroused me in earnest.
“What colossal10 cheek,” I exclaimed. “Why in my house? Who murderedher?”
“They don’t say. I suppose we shall go back to England at once, Sir Eu-stace?”
“You need suppose nothing of the kind. Why should we go back?”
“The police—”
“What on earth have I to do with the police?”
“Well, it is your house.”
“That,” I said, “appears to be more my misfortune than my fault.”
Guy Pagett shook his head gloomily.
“It will have a very unfortunate effect upon the constituency,” he remarkedlugubriously.
I don’t see why it should have—and yet I have a feeling that in such mattersPagett’s instincts are always right. On the face of it, a Member of Parliamentwill be none the less efficient because a stray young woman comes and getsherself murdered in an empty house that belongs to him—but there is no ac-counting for the view the respectable British public takes of a matter.
“She’s a foreigner too, and that makes it worse,” continued Pagett gloomily.
Again I believe he is right. If it is disreputable to have a woman murdered inyour house, it becomes more disreputable if the woman is a foreigner. Anotheridea struck me.
“Good heavens,” I exclaimed, “I hope this won’t upset Caroline.”
Caroline is the lady who cooks for me. Incidentally she is the wife of mygardener. What kind of a wife she makes I do not know, but she is an excellentcook. James, on the other hand, is not a good gardener—but I support him inidleness and give him the lodge11 to live in solely12 on account of Caroline’s cook-ing.
“I don’t suppose she’ll stay after this,” said Pagett.
“You always were a cheerful fellow,” I said.
I expect I shall have to go back to England. Pagett clearly intends that Ishall. And there is Caroline to pacify13.
Three days later.
It is incredible to me that anyone who can get away from England in winterdoes not do so! It is an abominable14 climate. All this trouble is very annoying.
The house agents say it will be next to impossible to let the Mill House after allthe publicity15. Caroline has been pacified—with double pay. We could havesent her a cable to that effect from Cannes. In fact, as I have said all along,there was no earthly purpose to serve by our coming over. I shall go back to-morrow.
One day later.
Several very suprising things have occurred. To begin with, I met AugustusMilray, the most perfect example of an old ass16 the present Government hasproduced. His manner oozed17 diplomatic secrecy18 as he drew me aside in theClub into a quiet corner. He talked a good deal. About South Africa and theindustrial situation there. About the growing rumours19 of a strike on the Rand.
Of the secret causes actuating that strike. I listened as patiently as I could. Fi-nally, he dropped his voice to a whisper and explained that certain docu-ments had come to light which ought to be placed in the hands of GeneralSmuts.
“I’ve no doubt you’re quite right,” I said, stifling20 a yawn.
“But how are we to get them to him? Our position in the matter is delicate—very delicate.”
“What’s wrong with the post?” I said cheerfully. “Put a two-penny stamp onand drop ’em in the nearest letter box.”
He seemed quite shocked at the suggestion.
“My dear Pedler! The common post!”
It has always been a mystery to me why Governments employ King’s Mes-sengers and draw such attention to their confidential21 documents.
“If you don’t like the post, send one of your own young fellows. He’ll enjoythe trip.”
“Impossible,” said Milray, wagging his head in a senile fashion. “There arereasons, my dear Pedler—I assure you there are reasons.”
“Well,” I said rising, “all this is very interesting, but I must be off—”
“One minute, my dear Pedler, one minute, I beg of you. Now tell me, in con-fidence, is it not true that you intend visiting South Africa shortly yourself?
You have large interests in Rhodesia, I know, and the question of Rhodesiajoining in the union is one in which you have a vital interest.”
“Well, I had thought of going out in about a month’s time.”
“You couldn’t possibly make it sooner? This month? This week, in fact?”
“I could,” I said, eyeing him with some interest. “But I don’t know that Iparticularly want to.”
“You would be doing the Government a great service—a very great service.
You would not find them—er—ungrateful.”
“Meaning, you want me to be the postman?”
“Exactly. Your position is an unofficial one, your journey is bona fide.
Everything would be eminently22 satisfactory.”
“Well,” I said slowly, “I don’t mind if I do. The one thing I am anxious to dois to get out of England again as soon as possible.”
“You will find the climate of South Africa delightful—quite delightful.”
“My dear fellow, I know all about the climate. I was out there shortly beforethe war.”
“I am really much obliged to you, Pedler. I will send you round the packageby messenger. To be placed in General Smuts’s own hands, you understand?
The Kilmorden Castle sails on Saturday—quite a good boat.”
I accompanied him a short way along Pall23 Mall, before we parted. He shookme warmly by the hand, and thanked me again effusively24. I walked home re-flecting on the curious byways of Governmental policy.
It was the following evening that Jarvis, my butler, informed me that a gen-tleman wished to see me on private business, but declined to give his name. Ihave always a lively apprehension25 of insurance touts26, so told Jarvis to say Icould not see him. Guy Pagett, unfortunately, when he might for once havebeen of real use, was laid up with a bilious27 attack. These earnest, hardwork-ing young men with weak stomachs are always liable to bilious attacks.
Jarvis returned.
“The gentleman asked me to tell you, Sir Eustace, that he comes to you fromMr. Milray.”
That altered the complexion28 of things. A few minutes later I was confront-ing my visitor in the library. He was a well-built young fellow with a deeplytanned face. A scar ran diagonally from the corner of his eye to the jaw29, disfig-uring what would otherwise have been a handsome though somewhat recklesscountenance.
“Well,” I said, “what’s the matter?”
“Mr. Milray sent me to you, Sir Eustace. I am to accompany you to SouthAfrica as your secretary.”
“My dear fellow,” I said, “I’ve got a secretary already. I don’t want an-other.”
“I think you do, Sir Eustace. Where is your secretary now?”
“He’s down with a bilious attack,” I explained.
“You are sure it’s only a bilious attack?”
“Of course it is. He’s subject to them.”
My visitor smiled.
“It may or may not be a bilious attack. Time will show. But I can tell youthis, Sir Eustace, Mr. Milray would not be surprised if an attempt were madeto get your secretary out of the way. Oh, you need have no fear for yourself”—Isuppose a momentary30 alarm had flickered31 across my face —“you are notthreatened. Your secretary out of the way, access to you would be easier. Inany case, Mr. Milray wishes me to accompany you. The passage money will beour affair, of course, but you will take the necessary steps about the passport,as though you had decided32 that you needed the services of a second secretary.”
He seemed a determined33 young man. We stared at each other and he staredme down.
“Very well,” I said feebly.
“You will say nothing to anyone as to my accompanying you.”
“Very well,” I said again.
After all, perhaps it was better to have this fellow with me, but I had a pre-monition that I was getting into deep waters. Just when I thought I had at-tained peace!
I stopped my visitor as he was turning to depart.
“It might be just as well if I knew my new secretary’s name,” I observed sar-castically.
He considered for a minute.
“Harry Rayburn seems quite a suitable name,” he observed.
It was a curious way of putting it.
“Very well,” I said for the third time.

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1
sensational
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adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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devoted
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adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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zealous
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adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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painstaking
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adj.苦干的;艰苦的,费力的,刻苦的 | |
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positively
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adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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vices
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缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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delightful
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adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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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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interred
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v.埋,葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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colossal
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adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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lodge
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v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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solely
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adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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pacify
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vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒);抚慰 | |
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abominable
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adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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publicity
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n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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ass
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n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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oozed
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v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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secrecy
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n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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rumours
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n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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stifling
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a.令人窒息的 | |
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confidential
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adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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eminently
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adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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pall
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v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
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effusively
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adv.变溢地,热情洋溢地 | |
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apprehension
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n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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touts
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n.招徕( tout的名词复数 );(音乐会、体育比赛等的)卖高价票的人;侦查者;探听赛马的情报v.兜售( tout的第三人称单数 );招揽;侦查;探听赛马情报 | |
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bilious
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adj.胆汁过多的;易怒的 | |
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complexion
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n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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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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momentary
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adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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flickered
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(通常指灯光)闪烁,摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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