“You are right. My real name is Harry1 Lucas. My father was a retired2 sol-dier who came out to farm in Rhodesia. He died when I was in my secondyear at Cambridge.”
“Were you fond of him?” I asked suddenly.
“I—don’t know.”
Then he flushed and went on with sudden vehemence3:
“Why do I say that? I did love my father. We said bitter things to eachother the last time I saw him, and we had many rows over my wildnessand my debts, but I cared for the old man. I know how much now—whenit’s too late,” he continued more quietly. “It was at Cambridge that I metthe other fellow—”
“Young Eardsley?”
“Yes — young Eardsley. His father, as you know, was one of SouthAfrica’s most prominent men. We drifted together at once, my friend andI. We had our love of South Africa in common and we both had a taste forthe untrodden places of the world. After he left Cambridge, Eardsley had afinal quarrel with his father. The old man had paid his debts twice, he re-fused to do so again. There was a bitter scene between them. Sir Laurencedeclared himself at the end of his patience—he would do no more for hisson. He must stand on his own legs for a while. The result was, as youknow, that those two young men went off to South America together, pro-specting for diamonds. I’m not going into that now, but we had a wonder-ful time out there. Hardships in plenty, you understand, but it was a goodlife—a hand-to-mouth scramble4 for existence far from the beaten track—and, my God that’s the place to know a friend. There was a bond forgedbetween us two out there that only death could have broken. Well, as Col-onel Race told you, our efforts were crowned with success. We found asecond Kimberley in the heart of the British Guiana jungles. I can’t tell youour elation5. It wasn’t so much the actual value in money of the find—yousee, Eardsley was used to money, and he knew that when his father diedhe would be a millionaire, and Lucas had always been poor and was usedto it. No, it was the sheer delight of discovery.”
He paused, and then added, almost apologetically.
“You don’t mind my telling it this way, do you? As though I wasn’t in itat all. It seems like that now when I look back and see those two boys. I al-most forget that one of them was—Harry Rayburn.”
“Tell it any way you like,” I said, and he went on:
“We came to Kimberley—very cock-a-hoop over our find. We brought amagnificent selection of diamonds with us to submit to the experts. Andthen—in the hotel at Kimberley—we met her—”
I stiffened6 a little, and the hand that rested on the doorpost clenched7 it-self involuntarily.
“Anita Grünberg—that was her name. She was an actress. Quite youngand very beautiful. She was South African born, but her mother was aHungarian, I believe. There was some sort of mystery about her, and that,of course, heightened her attraction for two boys home from the wilds.
She must have had an easy task. We both fell for her right away, and weboth took it hard. It was the first shadow that had ever come between us—but even then it didn’t weaken our friendship. Each of us, I honestly be-lieve, was willing to stand aside for the other to go in and win. But thatwasn’t her game. Sometimes, afterwards, I wondered why it hadn’t been,for Sir Laurence Eardsley’s only son was quite a parti. But the truth of itwas that she was married—to a sorter in De Beers—though nobody knewof it. She pretended enormous interest in our discovery, and we told herall about it and even showed her the diamonds. Delilah—that’s what sheshould have been called—and she played her part well!
“The De Beers robbery was discovered, and like a thunderclap the policecame down upon us. They seized our diamonds. We only laughed at first—the whole thing was so absurd. And then the diamonds were produced incourt—and without question they were the stones stolen from De Beers.
Anita Grünberg had disappeared. She had effected the substitution neatlyenough, and our story that these were not the stones originally in our pos-session was laughed to scorn.
“Sir Laurence Eardsley had enormous influence. He succeeded in get-ting the case dismissed—but it left two young men ruined and disgraced toface the world with the stigma8 of thief attached to their name, and itpretty well broke the old fellow’s heart. He had one bitter interview withhis son in which he heaped upon him every reproach imaginable. He haddone what he could to save the family name, but from that day on his sonwas his son no longer. He cast him off utterly9. And the boy, like the proudyoung fool that he was, remained silent, disdaining10 to protest his inno-cence in the face of his father’s disbelief. He came out furious from the in-terview—his friend was waiting for him. A week later, war was declared.
The two friends enlisted11 together. You know what happened. The best pala man ever had was killed, partly through his own mad recklessness inrushing into unnecessary danger. He died with his name tarnished13. .?.?.
“I swear to you, Anne, that it was mainly on his account that I was so bit-ter against that woman. It had gone deeper with him than with me. I hadbeen madly in love with her for the moment — I even think that Ifrightened her sometimes—but with him it was a quieter and deeper feel-ing. She had been the very centre of his universe—and her betrayal of himtore up the very roots of life. The blow stunned14 him and left him para-lysed.”
Harry paused. After a minute or two he went on:
“As you know, I was reported ‘Missing, presumed killed.’ I nevertroubled to correct the mistake. I took the name of Parker and came to thisisland, which I knew of old. At the beginning of the War I had had ambi-tious hopes of proving my innocence15, but now all that spirit seemed dead.
All I felt was, ‘What’s the good?’ My pal12 was dead, neither he nor I had anyliving relations who would care. I was supposed to be dead too; let it re-main at that. I led a peaceful existence here, neither happy nor unhappy—numbed of all feeling. I see now, though I did not realize it at the time, thatthat was partly the effect of the War.
“And then one day something occurred to wake me right up again. I wastaking a party of people in my boat on a trip up the river, and I was stand-ing at the landing stage, helping16 them in, when one of the men uttered astartled exclamation17. It focused my attention on him. He was a small, thinman with a beard, and he was staring at me for all he was worth asthough I was a ghost. So powerful was his emotion that it awakened18 mycuriosity. I made inquiries19 about him at the hotel and learned that hisname was Carton, that he came from Kimberley, and that he was a dia-mond-sorter employed by De Beers. In a minute all the old sense of wrongsurged over me again. I left the island and went to Kimberley.
“I could find out little more about him, however. In the end, I decidedthat I must force an interview. I took my revolver with me. In the briefglimpse I had had of him, I had realized that he was a physical coward. Nosooner were we face to face than I recognized that he was afraid of me. Isoon forced him to tell me all he knew. He had engineered part of the rob-bery and Anita Grünberg was his wife. He had once caught sight of both ofus when we were dining with her at the hotel, and, having read that I waskilled, my appearance in the flesh at the Falls had startled him badly. Heand Anita had married quite young, but she had soon drifted away fromhim. She had got in with a bad lot, he told me—and it was then for the firsttime that I heard of the ‘Colonel.’ Carton himself had never been mixed upin anything except this one affair—so he solemnly assured me, and I wasinclined to believe him. He was emphatically not of the stuff of which suc-cessful criminals are made.
“I still had the feeling that he was keeping back something. As a test, Ithreatened to shoot him there and then, declaring that I cared very littlewhat became of me now. In a frenzy21 of terror he poured out a furtherstory. It seems that Anita Grünberg did not quite trust the ‘Colonel.’ Whilstpretending to hand over to him the stones she had taken from the hotel,she kept back some in her own possession. Carton advised her, with histechnical knowledge, which to keep. If, at any time, these stones were pro-duced, they were of such colour and quality as to be readily identifiable,and the experts at De Beers would admit at once that these stones hadnever passed through their hands. In this way, my story of a substitutionwould be supported, my name would be cleared, and suspicion would bediverted to the proper quarter. I gathered that, contrary to his usual prac-tice, the ‘Colonel’ himself had been concerned in this affair, therefore An-ita felt satisfied that she had a real hold over him, should she need it. Car-ton now proposed that I should make a bargain with Anita Grünberg, orNadina, as she now called herself. For a sufficient sum of money, hethought that she would be willing to give up the diamonds and betray herformer employer. He would cable to her immediately.
“I was still suspicious of Carton. He was a man whom it was easyenough to frighten, but who, in his fright, would tell so many lies that tosift the truth out from them would be no easy job. I went back to the hoteland waited. By the following evening I judged that he would have receivedthe reply to his cable. I called round to his house and was told that Mr.
Carton was away, but would be returning on the morrow. Instantly I be-came suspicious. In the nick of time I found out that he was in reality sail-ing for England on the Kilmorden Castle, which left Cape22 Town in twodays’ time. I had just time to journey down and catch the same boat.
“I had no intention of alarming Carton by revealing my presence onboard. I had done a good deal of acting23 in my time at Cambridge, and itwas comparatively easy for me to transform myself into a grave beardedgentleman of middle age. I avoided Carton carefully on board the boat,keeping to my own cabin as far as possible under the pretence24 of illness.
“I had no difficulty in trailing him when we got to London. He wentstraight to an hotel and did not go out until the following day. He left thehotel shortly before one o’clock. I was behind him. He went straight to ahouse agent in Knightsbridge. There he asked for particulars of houses tolet on the river.
“I was at the next table also inquiring about houses. Then suddenly inwalked Anita Grünberg, Nadina—whatever you like to call her. Superb, in-solent, and almost as beautiful as ever. God! how I hated her. There shewas, the woman who had ruined my life—and who had also ruined a bet-ter life than mine. At that minute I could have put my hands round herneck and squeezed the life out of her inch by inch! Just for a minute ortwo I saw red. I hardly took in what the agent was saying. It was her voicethat I heard next, high and clear, with an exaggerated foreign accent: ‘TheMill House, Marlow. The property of Sir Eustace Pedler. That sounds asthough it might suit me. At any rate, I will go and see it.”
“The man wrote her an order, and she walked out again in her regal in-solent manner. Not by word or a sign had she recognized Carton, yet I wassure that their meeting there was a preconceived plan. Then I started tojump to conclusions. Not knowing that Sir Eustace was at Cannes, Ithought that this house-hunting business was a mere25 pretext26 for meetinghim in the Mill House. I knew that he had been in South Africa at the timeof the robbery, and never having seen him I immediately leaped to theconclusion that he himself was the mysterious ‘Colonel’ of whom I hadheard so much.
“I followed my two suspects along Knightsbridge. Nadina went into theHyde Park Hotel. I quickened my pace and went in also. She walkedstraight into the restaurant, and I decided20 that I would not risk her recog-nizing me at the moment, but would continue to follow Carton. I was ingreat hopes that he was going to get the diamonds, and that by suddenlyappearing and making myself known to him when he least expected it Imight startle the truth out of him. I followed him down into the Tube sta-tion at Hyde Park Corner. He was standing27 by himself at the end of theplatform. There was some girl standing near, but no one else. I decidedthat I would accost28 him then and there. You know what happened. In thesudden shock of seeing a man whom he imagined far away in SouthAfrica, he lost his head and stepped back upon the line. He was always acoward. Under the pretext of being a doctor, I managed to search his pock-ets. There was a wallet with some notes in it and one or two unimportantletters, there was a roll of films—which I must have dropped somewherelater—and there was a piece of paper with an appointment made on it forthe 22nd on the Kilmorden Castle. In my haste to get away before anyonedetained me, I dropped that also, but fortunately I remembered the fig-ures.
“I hurried to the nearest cloak room and hastily removed my makeup29. Idid not want to be laid by the heels for picking a dead man’s pocket. ThenI retraced30 my steps to the Hyde Park Hotel. Nadina was still having lunch.
I needn’t describe in detail how I followed her down to Marlow. She wentinto the house, and I spoke31 to the woman at the lodge32, pretending that Iwas with her. Then I, too, went in.
He stopped. There was a tense silence.
“You will believe me, Anne, won’t you? I swear before God that what Iam going to say is true. I went into the house after her with somethingvery like murder in my heart—and she was dead! I found her in that first-floor room—God! It was horrible. Dead—and I was not more than threeminutes behind her. And there was no sign of anyone else in the house! Ofcourse I realized at once the terrible position I was in. By one master-stroke the blackmailed33 had rid himself of the blackmailer34, and at the sametime had provided a victim to whom the crime would be ascribed. Thehand of the ‘Colonel’ was very plain. For the second time I was to be hisvictim. Fool that I had been to walk into the trap so easily!
“I hardly know what I did next. I managed to go out of the place lookingfairly normal, but I knew that it could not be long before the crime wasdiscovered and a description of my appearance telegraphed all over thecountry.
“I lay low for some days, not daring to make a move. In the end, chancecame to my aid. I overheard a conversation between two middle-aged35 gen-tlemen in the street, one of whom proved to be Sir Eustace Pedler. I atonce conceived the idea of attaching myself to him as his secretary. Thefragment of conversation I had overheard gave me my clue. I was now nolonger so sure that Sir Eustace Pedler was the ‘Colonel.’ His house mighthave been appointed as a rendezvous36 by accident, or for some obscuremotive that I had not fathomed37.”
“Do you know,” I interrupted, “that Guy Pagett was in Marlow at thedate of the murder?”
“That settles it then. I thought he was at Cannes with Sir Eustace.”
“He was supposed to be in Florence—but he certainly never went there.
I’m pretty certain he was really in Marlow, but of course I can’t prove it.”
“And to think I never suspected Pagett for a minute until the night hetried to throw you overboard. The man’s a marvellous actor.”
“Yes, isn’t he?”
“That explains why the Mill House was chosen. Pagett could probablyget in and out of it unobserved. Of course he made no objection to my ac-companying Sir Eustace across in the boat. He didn’t want me laid by theheels immediately. You see, evidently Nadina didn’t bring the jewels withher to the rendezvous, as they had counted on her doing. I fancy that Car-ton really had them and concealed38 them somewhere on the KilmordenCastle—that’s where he came in. They hoped that I might have some clueas to where they were hidden. As long as the ‘Colonel’ did not recover thediamonds, he was still in danger—hence his anxiety to get them at allcosts. Where the devil Carton hid them—if he did hide them—I don’tknow.”
“That’s another story,” I quoted. “My story. And I’m going to tell it to younow.”
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1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
stigma
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| n.耻辱，污名；(花的)柱头 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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disdaining
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| 鄙视( disdain的现在分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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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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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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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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accost
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| v.向人搭话，打招呼 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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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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blackmailed
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| 胁迫，尤指以透露他人不体面行为相威胁以勒索钱财( blackmail的过去式 ) | |
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blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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fathomed
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| 理解…的真意( fathom的过去式和过去分词 )； 彻底了解； 弄清真相 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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