20
“Now, are you a friend or are you a sleuth? I simply must know.”
Miss Sutcliffe flashed a pair of mocking eyes as she spoke¹. She was sitting in a straight-backed chair, her grey hair becomingly arranged, her legs were crossed and Mr. Satterthwaite admired the perfection of her beautifully shod feet and her slender ankles. Miss Sutcliffe was a very fascinating woman, mainly owing to the fact that she seldom took anything seriously.
“Is that quite fair?” asked Mr. Satterthwaite.
“My dear man, of course it’s fair. Have you come here for the sake of my beautiful eyes, as the French say so charmingly, or have you, you nasty man, come just to pump me about murders?”
“Can you doubt that your first alternative is the correct one?” asked Mr. Satterthwaite with a little bow.
“I can and I do,” said the actress with energy. “You are one of those people who look so mild, and really wallow in blood.”
“No, no.”
“Yes, yes. The only thing I can’t make up my mind about is whether it is an insult or a compliment to be considered a potential murderess. On the whole, I think it’s a compliment.”
She cocked her head a little on one side and smiled that slow bewitching smile that never failed.
Mr. Satterthwaite thought to himself:
“Adorable creature.”
Aloud he said, “I will admit, dear lady, that the death of Sir Bartholomew Strange has interested me considerably². I have, as you perhaps know, dabbled³ in such doings before ... ”
He paused modestly, perhaps hoping that Miss Sutcliffe would show some knowledge of his activities. However, she merely asked:
“Tell me one thing - is there anything in what that girl said?”
“Which girl, and what did she say?”
“The Lytton Gore⁴ girl. The one who is so fascinated by Charles. (What a wretch⁵ Charles is - he will do it!) She thinks that that nice old man down in Cornwall was murdered, too.”
“What do you think?”
“Well, it certainly happened just the same way ... She’s an intelligent girl, you know. Tell me - is Charles serious?”

分享到：