(Anne’s Narrative1 Resumed)
It was on the night of the Fancy Dress dance that I decided2 that the timehad come for me to confide3 in someone. So far I had played a lone4 handand rather enjoyed it. Now suddenly everything was changed. I distrustedmy own judgement and for the first time a feeling of loneliness and desol-ation crept over me.
I sat on the edge of my bunk5, still in my gipsy dress, and considered thesituation. I thought first of Colonel Race. He had seemed to like me. Hewould be kind, I was sure. And he was no fool. Yet, as I thought it over, Iwavered. He was a man of commanding personality. He would take thewhole matter out of my hands. And it was my mystery! There were otherreasons, too, which I would hardly acknowledge to myself, but whichmade it inadvisable to confide in Colonel Race.
Then I thought of Mrs. Blair. She, too, had been kind to me. I did not de-lude myself into the belief that that really meant anything. It was probablya mere6 whim7 of the moment. All the same, I had it in my power to interesther. She was a woman who had experienced most of the ordinary sensa-tions in life. I proposed to supply her with an extraordinary one! And Iliked her; liked her ease of manner, her lack of sentimentality, her free-dom from any form of affectation.
My mind was made up. I decided to seek her out then and there. Shewould hardly be in bed yet.
Then I remembered that I did not know the number of her cabin. Myfriend, the night stewardess8, would probably know.
I rang the bell. After some delay it was answered by a man. He gave methe information I wanted. Mrs. Blair’s cabin was No. 71. He apologized forthe delay in answering the bell, but explained that he had all the cabins toattend to.
“Where is the stewardess, then?” I asked.
“They all go off duty at ten o’clock.”
“No—I mean the night stewardess.”
“No stewardess on at night, miss.”
“But—but a stewardess came the other night—about one o’clock.”
“You must have been dreaming, miss. There’s no stewardess on dutyafter ten.”
He withdrew and I was left to digest this morsel9 of information. Whowas the woman who had come to my cabin on the night of the 22nd? Myface grew graver as I realized the cunning and audacity10 of my unknownantagonists. Then, pulling myself together, I left my own cabin and soughtthat of Mrs. Blair. I knocked at the door.
“Who’s that?” called her voice from within.
“Its me—Anne Beddingfeld.”
“Oh, come in, gipsy girl.”
I entered. A good deal of scattered11 clothing lay about, and Mrs. Blairherself was draped in one of the loveliest kimonos I had ever seen. It wasall orange and gold and black and made my mouth water to look at it.
“Mrs. Blair,” I said abruptly12, “I want to tell you the story of my life—thatis, if it isn’t too late, and you won’t be bored.”
“Not a bit. I always hate going to bed,” said Mrs. Blair, her face crinklinginto smiles in the delightful13 way it had. “And I should love to hear thestory of your life. You’re a most unusual creature, gipsy girl. Nobody elsewould think of bursting in on me at 1 am to tell me the story of their life.
Especially after snubbing my natural curiosity for weeks as you havedone! I’m not accustomed to being snubbed. It’s been quite a pleasing nov-elty. Sit down on the sofa and unburden your soul.”
I told her the whole story. It took some time as I was conscientious14 overall the details. She gave a deep sigh when I had finished, but she did notsay at all what I had expected her to say. Instead she looked at me,laughed a little and said:
“Do you know, Anne, you’re a very unusual girl? Haven’t you ever hadqualms?”
“Qualms15?” I asked, puzzled.
“Yes, qualms, qualms, qualms! Starting off alone with practically nomoney. What will you do when you find yourself in a strange country withall your money gone?”
“It’s no good bothering about that until it comes. I’ve got plenty ofmoney still. The twenty-five pounds that Mrs. Flemming gave me is prac-tically intact, and then I won the sweep yesterday. That’s another fifteenpounds. Why, I’ve got lots of money. Forty pounds!”
“Lots of money! My God!” murmured Mrs. Blair. “I couldn’t do it, Anne,and I’ve plenty of pluck in my own way. I couldn’t start off gaily16 with afew pounds in my pocket and no idea as to what I was doing and where Iwas going.”
“But that’s the fun of it,” I cried, thoroughly17 roused. “It gives one such asplendid feeling of adventure.”
She looked at me, nodded once or twice, and then smiled.
“Lucky Anne! There aren’t many people in the world who feel as youdo.”
“Well,” I said impatiently, “what do you think of it all, Mrs. Blair?”
“I think it’s the most thrilling thing I ever heard! Now, to begin with, youwill stop calling me Mrs. Blair. Suzanne will be ever so much better. Isthat agreed?”
“I should love it, Suzanne.”
“Good girl. Now let’s get down to business. You say that in Sir Eustace’ssecretary—not that long-faced Pagett, the other one—you recognized theman who was stabbed and came into your cabin for shelter?”
I nodded.
“That gives us two links connecting Sir Eustace with the tangle18. The wo-man was murdered in his house, and it’s his secretary who gets stabbed atthe mystic hour of one o’clock. I don’t suspect Sir Eustace himself, but itcan’t be all coincidence. There’s a connexion somewhere even if he him-self is unaware19 of it.
“Then there’s the queer business of the stewardess,” she continuedthoughtfully. “What was she like?”
“I hardly noticed her. I was so excited and strung up—and a stewardessseemed such an anticlimax20. But—yes—I did think her face was familiar.
Of course it would be if I’d seen her about the ship.”
“Her face seemed familiar to you,” said Suzanne. “Sure she wasn’t aman?”
“She was very tall,” I admitted.
“Hum. Hardly Sir Eustace, I should think, nor Mr. Pagett—Wait!”
She caught up a scrap21 of paper and began drawing feverishly22. She in-spected the result with her head poised23 on one side.
“A very good likeness24 of the Rev25. Edward Chichester. Now for the etcet-eras.” She passed the paper over to me. “Is that your stewardess?”
“Why, yes,” I cried. “Suzanne, how clever of you!”
She disdained26 the compliment with a light gesture.
“I’ve always had suspicions about that Chichester creature. Do you re-member how he dropped his coffee cup and turned a sickly green whenwe were discussing Crippen the other day?”
“And he tried to get Cabin 17!”
“Yes, it all fits in so far. But what does it all mean? What was reallymeant to happen at one o’clock in Cabin 17? It can’t be the stabbing of thesecretary. There would be no point in timing27 that for a special hour on aspecial day in a special place. No, it must have been some kind of appoint-ment and he was on his way to keep it when they knifed him. But whowas the appointment with? Certainly not with you. It might have beenwith Chichester. Or it might have been with Pagett.”
“That seems unlikely,” I objected; “they can see each other any time.”
We both sat silent for a minute or two, then Suzanne started off on an-other tack28.
“Could there have been anything hidden in the cabin?”
“That seems more probable,” I agreed. “It would explain my things be-ing ransacked29 the next morning. But there was nothing hidden there, I’msure of it.”
“The young man couldn’t have slipped something into a drawer thenight before?”
I shook my head.
“I should have seen him.”
“Could it have been your precious bit of paper they were looking for?”
“It might have been, but it seems rather senseless. It was only a timeand a date—and they were both past by then.”
Suzanne nodded.
“That’s so, of course. No, it wasn’t the paper. By the way, have you got itwith you? I’d rather like to see it.”
I had brought the paper with me as Exhibit A, and I handed it over toher. She scrutinized30 it, frowning.
“There’s a dot after the 17. Why isn’t there a dot after the 1 too?”
“There’s a space,” I pointed31 out.
“Yes, there’s a space, but—”
Suddenly she rose and peered at the paper, holding it as close under thelight as possible. There was a repressed excitement in her manner.
“Anne, that isn’t a dot! That’s a flaw in the paper! A flaw in the paper,you see? So you’ve got to ignore it, and just go by the spaces—the spaces!”
I had risen and was standing32 by her. I read out the figures as I now sawthem.
“1 71 22.”
“You see,” said Suzanne. “It’s the same, but not quite. It’s one o’clockstill, and the 22nd—but it’s Cabin 71! My cabin, Anne!”
We stood staring at each other, so pleased with our new discovery andso rapt with excitement that you might have thought we had solved thewhole mystery. Then I fell to earth with a bump.
“But, Suzanne, nothing happened here at one o’clock on the 22nd?”
Her face fell also.
“No—it didn’t.”
Another idea struck me.
“This isn’t your own cabin, is it, Suzanne? I mean not the one you origin-ally booked?”
“No, the purser changed me into it.”
“I wonder if it was booked before sailing for someone—someone whodidn’t turn up. I suppose we could find out.”
“We don’t need to find out, gipsy girl,” cried Suzanne. “I know! Thepurser was telling me about it. The cabin was booked in the name of Mrs.
Grey—but it seems that Mrs. Grey was merely a pseudonym33 for the fam-ous Madame Nadina. She’s a celebrated34 Russian dancer, you know. She’snever appeared in London, but Paris has been quite mad about her. Shehad a terrific success there all through the War. A thoroughly bad lot, I be-lieve, but most attractive. The purser expressed his regrets that she wasn’tonboard in a most heartfelt fashion when he gave me her cabin, and thenColonel Race told me a lot about her. It seems there were very queer stor-ies afloat in Paris. She was suspected of espionage35, but they couldn’t proveanything. I rather fancy Colonel Race was over there simply on that ac-count. He’s told me some very interesting things. There was a regular or-ganized gang, not German in origin at all. In fact the head of it, a man al-ways referred to as ‘the Colonel,’ was thought to be an Englishman, butthey never got any clue to his identity. But there is no doubt that he con-trolled a considerable organization of international crooks36. Robberies, es-pionage, assaults, he undertook them all—and usually provided an inno-cent scapegoat37 to pay the penalty. Diabolically38 clever, he must have been!
This woman was supposed to be one of his agents, but they couldn’t gethold of anything to go upon. Yes, Anne, we’re on the right tack. Nadina isjust the woman to be mixed up in this business. The appointment on themorning of the 22nd was with her in this cabin. But where is she? Whydidn’t she sail?”
A light flashed upon me.
“She meant to sail,” I said slowly.
“Then why didn’t she?”
“Because she was dead. Suzanne, Nadina was the woman murdered atMarlow!”
My mind went back to the bare room in the empty house and thereswept over me again the indefinable sensation of menace and evil. With itcame the memory of the falling pencil and the discovery of the roll offilms. A roll of films—that struck a more recent note. Where had I heard ofa roll of films? And why did I connect that thought with Mrs. Blair?
Suddenly I flew at her and almost shook her in my excitement.
“Your films! The ones that were passed to you through the ventilator?
Wasn’t that on the 22nd?”
“The ones I lost?”
“How do you know they were the same? Why would anyone returnthem to you that way—in the middle of the night? It’s a mad idea. No—they were a message, the films had been taken out of the yellow tin case,and something else put inside. Have you still got it?”
“I may have used it. No, here it is. I remember I tossed it into the rack atthe side of the bunk.”
She held it out to me.
It was an ordinary round tin cylinder39, such as films are packed in forthe tropics. I took it with trembling hand, but even as I did so my heartleapt. It was noticeably heavier than it should have been.
With shaking fingers I peeled off the strip of adhesive40 plaster that kept itairtight. I pulled off the lid, and a stream of dull glassy pebbles41 rolled on tothe bed.
“Pebbles,” I said, keenly disappointed.
“Pebbles?” cried Suzanne.
The ring in her voice excited me.
“Pebbles? No, Anne, not pebbles! Diamonds!”
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收听单词发音
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1
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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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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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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stewardess
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| n.空中小姐，女乘务员 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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18
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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anticlimax
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| n.令人扫兴的结局；突降法 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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timing
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| n.时间安排，时间选择 | |
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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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pseudonym
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| n.假名，笔名 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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diabolically
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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adhesive
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| n.粘合剂；adj.可粘着的，粘性的 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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