The suite1 of rooms into which they were ushered2 appeared to be furnished in irreproachable3 taste. Except for the salon4 at the further end of the suite, where play was in progress, the charming apartment might have been a private one; and the homelike simplicity5 of the room, where books, flowers, and even a big, grey cat confirmed the first agreeable impression, accented the lurking6 smile on Sengoun’s lips.
Doc Curfoot, in evening dress, came forward to receive them, in company with another man, young, nice-looking, very straight, and with the high, square shoulders of a Prussian.
“Bong soire, mussoors,” said Curfoot genially8. “J’ai l’honnoor de vous faire connaitre mong ami, Mussoor Weishelm.”
In excellent French Weishelm inquired whether they desired supper; and learning that they did not, bowed smilingly and bade them welcome:
“You are at home, gentlemen; the house is yours. If it pleases you to sup, we offer you our hospitality; if you care to play, the salon is at your disposal, or, if you prefer, a private room. Yonder is the buffet10; there are electric bells at your elbow. You are at home,” he repeated, clicked his heels together, bowed, and took his leave.359
Sengoun dropped into a comfortable chair and sent a waiter for caviar, toast, and German champagne11.
Over in a corner on a sofa a rather pretty woman, a cigarette between her jewelled fingers, was reading an evening newspaper. Two others in the adjoining room, young and attractive, their feet on the fireplace fender, conversed13 together over a sandwich, a glass of the widely advertised Dubonnet, and another of the equally advertised Bon Lait Maggi—as serenely14 and as comfortably as though they were by their own firesides.
“Perhaps they are,” remarked Sengoun, plastering an oblong of hot toast with caviar. “Birds of this kind nest easily anywhere.”
Neeland continued to gaze toward the salon where play was in progress. There did not seem to be many people there. At a small table he recognised Brandes and Stull playing what appeared to be bridge whist with two men whom he had never before seen. There were no women playing.
As he watched the round, expressionless face of Brandes, who was puffing15 a long cigar screwed tightly into the corner of his thin-lipped mouth, it occurred to him somewhat tardily16 what Rue17 Carew had said concerning personal danger to himself if any of these people believed him capable of reconstructing from memory any of the stolen plans.
He had not thought about that specific contingency18; instinct alone had troubled him a little when he first entered the Café des Bulgars.
However, his unquiet eyes could discover nothing of either Kestner or Breslau; and, somehow, he did not even think of encountering Ilse Dumont in such a place. 360As for Brandes and Stull, they did not recognise him at all.
So, entirely19 reassured20 once more by the absence of Ali-Baba and Golden Beard, and of Scheherazade whom he had no fear of meeting, Neeland ate his caviar with a relish22 and examined his surroundings.
Of course it was perfectly23 possible that the stolen papers had been brought here. There were three other floors in the building, too, and he wondered what they were used for.
Sengoun’s appetite for conflict waned24 as he ate and drank; and a violent desire to gamble replaced it.
“You poke25 about a bit,” he said to Neeland. “Talk to that girl over there and see what you can learn. As for me, I mean to start a little flirtation26 with Mademoiselle Fortuna. Does that suit you?”
If Sengoun wished to play it was none of Neeland’s business.
“Do you think it an honest game?” he asked, doubtfully.
“With negligible stakes all first-class gamblers are honest.”
“If I were you, Sengoun, I wouldn’t drink anything more.”
“Excellent advice, old fellow!” emptying his goblet27 with satisfaction. And, rising to his firm and graceful28 height, he strolled away toward the salon where play progressed amid the most decorous and edifying29 of atmospheres.
Neeland watched him disappear, then he glanced curiously at the girl on the sofa who was still preoccupied30 with her newspaper.
So he rose, sauntered about the room examining the few pictures and bronzes, modern but excellent. The 361carpet under foot was thick and soft, but, as he strolled past the girl who seemed to be so intently reading, she looked up over her paper and returned his civil recognition of her presence with a slight smile.
As he appeared inclined to linger, she said with pleasant self-possession:
“These newspaper rumours31, monsieur, are becoming too persistent33 to amuse us much longer. War talk is becoming vieux jeu.”
“Why read them?” inquired Neeland with a smile.
“Why?” She made a slight gesture. “One reads what is printed, I suppose.”
“Written and printed by people who know no more about the matter in question than you and I, mademoiselle,” he remarked, still smiling.
“That is perfectly true. Why is it worth while for anyone to search for truth in these days when everyone is paid to conceal34 it?”
“Oh,” he said, “not everyone.”
“No; some lie naturally and without pay,” she admitted indifferently.
“But there are still others. For example, mademoiselle, yourself.”
“I?” She laughed, not troubling to refute the suggestion of her possible truthfulness35.
He said:
“This—club—is furnished in excellent taste.”
“Yes; it is quite new.”
“Has it a name?”
“I believe it is called the Cercle Extranationale. Would monsieur also like to know the name of the club cat?”
They both laughed easily, but he could make nothing of her.362
“Thank you,” he said; “and I fear I have interrupted your reading––”
“I have read enough lies; I am quite ready to tell you a few. Shall I?”
“You are most amiable36. I have been wondering what the other floors in this building are used for.”
“Private apartments,” she replied smiling, looking him straight in the eyes. “Now you don’t know whether I’ve told you the truth or not; do you?”
“Of course I know.”
“Which, then?”
“The truth.”
She laughed and indicated a chair; and he seated himself.
“How could you see him at all through your newspaper?”
“To look at him or at me?”
“Prince Erlik, of Mongolia,” replied Neeland solemnly.
“I supposed so. We of the infernal aristocracy belong together. I am the Contessa Diabletta d’Enfer.”
He inclined gravely:
“I’m afraid I don’t belong here,” he said. “I’m only a Yankee.”
“Hell is full of them,” she said, smiling. “All Yankees belong where Prince Erlik and I are at home.... Do you play?”
“No. Do you?”
“It depends on chance.”363
“It would give me much pleasure––”
“Thank you, not tonight.” And in the same, level, pleasant voice: “Don’t look immediately, but from where you sit you can see in the mirror opposite two women seated in the next room.”
After a moment he nodded.
“Are they watching us?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Neeland?”
He reddened with surprise.
“Get Captain Sengoun and leave,” she said, still smiling. “Do it carelessly, convincingly. Neither of you needs courage; both of you lack common sense. Get up, take leave of me nicely but regretfully, as though I had denied you a rendezvous39. You will be killed if you remain here.”
For a moment Neeland hesitated, but curiosity won:
“Who is likely to try anything of that sort?” he asked. And a tingling40 sensation, not wholly unpleasant, passed over him.
“Almost anyone here, if you are recognised,” she said, as gaily41 as though she were imparting delightful42 information.
“But you recognise us. And I’m certainly not dead yet.”
“Which ought to tell you more about me than I am likely to tell anybody. Now, when I smile at you and shake my head, make your adieux to me, find Captain Sengoun, and take your departure. Do you understand?”
“Are you really serious?”
“It is you who should be serious. Now, I give you your signal, Monsieur Neeland––”
But the smile stiffened43 on her pretty face, and at 364the same moment he was aware that somebody had entered the room and was standing44 directly behind him.
He turned on his chair and looked up into the face of Ilse Dumont.
There was a second’s hesitation45, then he was on his feet, greeting her cordially, apparently46 entirely at ease and with nothing on his mind except the agreeable surprise of the encounter.
“I had your note,” he said. “It was charming of you to write, but very neglectful of you not to include your address. Tell me, how have you been since I last saw you?”
Ilse Dumont’s red lips seemed to be dry, for she moistened them without speaking. In her eyes he saw peril—knowledge of something terrible—some instant menace.
Then her eyes, charged with lightning, slowly turned from him to the girl on the sofa who had not moved. But in her eyes, too, a little flame began to flicker47 and play, and the fixed48 smile relaxed into an expression of cool self-possession.
Neeland’s pleasant, careless voice broke the occult tension:
“This is a pretty club,” he said; “everything here is in such excellent taste. You might have told me about it,” he added to Ilse with smiling reproach; “but you never even mentioned it, and I discovered it quite by accident.”
Ilse Dumont seemed to find her voice with an effort:
“May I have a word with you, Mr. Neeland?” she asked.
“Please follow me!”365
He turned to the girl on the sofa and made his adieux with conventional ceremony and a reckless smile which said:
“You were quite right, mademoiselle; I’m in trouble already.”
Then he followed Ilse Dumont into the adjoining room, which was lined with filled bookcases and where the lounges and deep chairs were covered with leather.
Halting by the library table, Ilse Dumont turned to him—turned on him a look such as he never before had encountered in any living woman’s eyes—a dead gaze, dreadful, glazed50, as impersonal51 as the fixed regard of a corpse52.
She said:
“I came.... They sent for me.... I did not believe they had the right man.... I could not believe it, Neeland.”
A trifle shaken, he said in tones which sounded steady enough:
“What frightens you so, Scheherazade?”
“Why did you come? Are you absolutely mad?”
“Mad? No, I don’t think so,” he replied with a forced smile. “What threatens me here, Scheherazade?”—regarding her pallid53 face attentively54.
“Death.... You must have known it when you came.”
“Death? No, I didn’t know it.”
“Did you suppose that if they could get hold of you they’d let you go?—A man who might carry in his memory the plans for which they tried to kill you? I wrote to you—I wrote to you to go back to America! And—this is what you have done instead!”
“Well,” he said in a pleasant but rather serious 366voice, “if you really believe there is danger for me if I remain here, perhaps I’d better go.”
“You can’t go!”
“You think I’ll be stopped?”
“Yes. Who is your crazy companion? I heard that he is Alak Sengoun—the headlong fool—they call Prince Erlik. Is it true?”
“Where did you hear all these things?” he demanded. “Where were you when you heard them?”
“At the Turkish Embassy. Word came that they had caught you. I did not believe it; others present doubted it.... But as the rumour32 concerned you, I took no chances; I came instantly. I—I had rather be dead than see you here––” Her voice became unsteady, but she controlled it at once:
He looked intently at Ilse Dumont, then his gaze swept the handsome suite of rooms. No one seemed to notice him; in perspective, men moved leisurely56 about the further salon, where play was going on; and there seemed to be no one else in sight. And, as he stood there, free, in full pride and vigour57 of youth and strength, he became incredulous that anything could threaten him which he could not take care of.
A smile grew in his eyes, confident, humorous, a little hint of tenderness in it:
“Scheherazade,” he said, “you are a dear. You pulled me out of a dreadful mess on the Volhynia. I offer you gratitude58, respect, and the very warm regard for you which I really cherish in my heart.”
He took her hands, kissed them, looked up half laughing, half in earnest.367
“If you’re worried,” he said, “I’ll find Captain Sengoun and we’ll depart––”
She retained his hands in a convulsive clasp:
“Oh, Neeland! Neeland! There are men below who will never let you pass! And Breslau and Kestner are coming here later. And that devil, Damat Mahmud Bey!”
“Golden Beard and Ali Baba and the whole Arabian Nights!” exclaimed Neeland. “Who is Damat Mahmud Bey, Scheherazade dear?”
“The shadow of Abdul Hamid.”
“His shadow dogs the spurred heels of Enver Pasha,” she said, striving to maintain her composure. “Oh, Neeland!—A hundred thousand Armenians are yet to die in that accursed shadow! And do you think Mahmud Damat will hesitate in regard to you!”
“Nonsense! Does a murderous Moslem60 go about Paris killing61 people he doesn’t happen to fancy? Those things aren’t done––”
“Have you and Sengoun any weapons at all?” she interrupted desperately62, “Anything!—A sword cane––?”
“No. What the devil does all this business mean?” he broke out impatiently. “What’s all this menace of lawlessness—this impudent63 threat of interference––”
“It is war!”
“War?” he repeated, not quite understanding her.
She caught him by the arm:
“War!” she whispered; “War! Do you understand? They don’t care what they do now! They mean to kill you here in this place. They’ll be out of France before anybody finds you.”368
“Tomorrow! It is known in certain circles!” She dropped his arm and clasped her hands and stood there twisting them, white, desperate, looking about her like a hunted thing.
“Why did you do this?” she repeated in an agonised voice. “What can I do? I’m no traitor65!... But I’d give you a pistol if I had one––” She checked herself as the girl who had been reading an evening newspaper on a sofa, and to whom Neeland had been talking when Ilse Dumont entered, came sauntering into the room.
The eyes of both women met; both turned a trifle paler. Then Ilse Dumont walked slowly up to the other:
“I overheard your warning,” she said with a deadly stare.
“Really?”
Ilse stretched out her bare arm, palm upward, and closed the fingers tightly:
“I hold your life in my hand. I have only to speak. Do you understand?”
“No.”
“You are lying. You do understand. You take double wages; but it is not France you betray! Nor Russia!”
“Are you insane?”
“Almost. Where do you carry them?”
“What?”
“Answer quickly. Where? I tell you, I’ll expose you in another moment if you don’t answer me! Speak quickly!”
The other woman had turned a ghastly white; for a second or two she remained dumb, then, dry-lipped:369
“Above—the knee,” she stammered66; but there was scarcely a sound from the blanched67 lips that formed the words.
“Pistols?”
“Yes.”
“Loaded? Both of them?”
“Yes.”
“Clips?”
“No.”
“Unstrap them!”
The woman turned, bent68 almost double, twisting her supple69 body entirely around; but Ilse Dumont was at her side like a flash and caught her wrist as she withdrew her hand from the hem7 of her fluffy70 skirt.
“Now—take your life!” said Ilse Dumont between her teeth. “There’s the door! Go out!”—following her with blazing eyes—“Stop! Stand where you are until I come!”
Then she came quickly to where Neeland stood, astonished; and thrust two automatic pistols into his hands.
“Get Sengoun,” she whispered. “Don’t go down-stairs, for God’s sake. Get to the roof, if you can. Try—oh, try, try, Neeland, my friend!” Her voice trembled; she looked into his eyes—gave him, in that swift regard, all that a woman withholds71 until the right man asks.
Her lips quivered; she turned sharply on her heel, went to the outer hallway, where the other woman stood motionless.
“What am I to do with you?” demanded Ilse Dumont. “Do you think you are going out of here to summon the police? Mount those stairs!”370
The woman dropped her hand on the banisters, heavily, set foot on the first stair, then slowly mounted as though her little feet in their dainty evening slippers72 were weighted with ball and chain.
Ilse Dumont followed her, opened a door in the passage, motioned her to enter. It was a bedroom that the electric light revealed. The woman entered and stood by the bed as though stupefied.
“I’ll keep my word to you,” said Ilse Dumont. “When it becomes too late for you to do us any mischief73, I’ll return and let you go.”
And she stepped back across the threshold and locked the door on the outside.
As she did so, Neeland and Sengoun came swiftly up the stairs, and she beckoned74 them to follow, gathered the skirts of her evening gown into one hand, and ran up the stairs ahead of them to the fifth floor.
In the dim light Neeland saw that the top floor was merely a vast attic75 full of débris from the café on the ground floor—iron tables which required mending or repainting, iron chairs, great jars of artificial stone with dead baytrees standing in them, parts of rusty76 stoves and kitchen ranges, broken cutlery in boxes, cracked table china and heavier kitchen crockery in tubs which once had held flowers.
The only windows gave on a court. Through their dirty panes77 already the grey light of that early Sunday morning glimmered78, revealing the contents of the shadowy place, and the position of an iron ladder hooked to two rings under the scuttle79 overhead.
Ilse Dumont laid her finger on her lips, conjuring80 silence, then, clutching her silken skirts, she started up the iron ladder, reached the top, and, exerting all her 371strength, lifted the hinged scuttle leading to the leads outside.
Instantly somebody challenged her in a guttural voice. She stood there a few moments in whispered conversation, then, from outside, somebody lowered the scuttle cover; the girl locked it, descended81 the iron ladder backwards82, and came swiftly across to where Neeland and Sengoun were standing, pistols lifted.
“They’re guarding the roof,” she whispered, “—two men. It is hopeless, that way.”
“The proper way,” said Sengoun calmly, “is for us to shoot our way out of this!”
The girl turned on him in a passion:
“Do you suppose I care what happens to you?” she said. “If there were no one else to consider you might do as you pleased, for all it concerns me!”
Sengoun reddened:
“Be silent, you treacherous83 little cat!” he retorted. “Do you imagine your riffraff are going to hold me here when I’m ready to depart! Me! A free Cossack! Bah!”
“Don’t talk that way, Sengoun,” said Neeland sharply. “We owe these pistols to her.”
“Oh,” muttered Sengoun, shooting a menacing glance at her. “I didn’t understand that.” Then his scowl84 softened85 and a sudden laugh cleared his face.
“I’m sorry, mademoiselle,” he said. “You’re quite welcome to your low opinion of me. But if anyone should ask me, I’d say that I don’t understand what is happening to us. And after a while I’ll become angry and go downstairs for information.”
“They know nothing about you in the salle de jeu,” she said, “but on the floor below they’re waiting to kill you.”372
Neeland, astonished, asked her whether the American gamblers in the salon where Sengoun had been playing were ignorant of what was going on in the house.
“What Americans?” she demanded, incredulously. “Do you mean Weishelm?”
“Didn’t you know there were Americans employed in the salle de jeu?” asked Neeland, surprised.
“No. I have not been in this house for a year until I came tonight. This place is maintained by the Turkish Government—” She flashed a glance at Sengoun—“you’re welcome to the information now,” she added contemptuously. And then, to Neeland: “There was, I believe, some talk in New York about adding one or two Americans to the personnel, but I opposed it.”
“They’re here,” said Neeland drily.
“Do you know who they are?”
“Yes. There’s a man called Doc Curfoot––”
“Who!!”
And suddenly, for the first time, Neeland remembered that she had been the wife of one of the men below.
“Brandes and Stull are the others,” he said mechanically.
The girl stared at him as though she did not comprehend, and she passed one hand slowly across her forehead and eyes.
“Eddie Brandes? Here? And Stull? Curfoot? Here in this house!”
“In the salon below.”
“They can’t be!” she protested in an odd, colourless voice. “They were bought soul and body by the British Secret Service!”
All three stood staring at one another; the girl flushed, clenched86 her hand, then let it fall by her side as though utterly87 overcome.373
“All this espionage88!” cried Sengoun, furiously. “—It makes me sick, I tell you! Where everybody betrays everybody is no place for a free Cossack!––”
The terrible expression on the girl’s face checked him; she said, slowly:
“It is we others who have been betrayed, it seems. It is we who are trapped here. They’ve got us all—every one of us. Oh, my God!—every one of us—at last!”
She lifted her haggard face and stared at the increasing light which was turning the window panes a sickly yellow.
“With sunrise comes war,” she said in a stunned89 voice, as though to convince herself. “We are caught here in this house. And Kestner and Weishelm and Breslau and I––” she trembled, framing her burning face in slim hands that were like ice. “Do you understand that Brandes and Curfoot, bought by England, have contracted to deliver us to a French court martial90?”
The men looked at her in silence.
“Kestner and Breslau knew they had been bought. One of our own people witnessed that treachery. But we never dreamed that these traitors91 would venture into this house tonight. We should have come here ourselves instead of going to the Turkish Embassy. That was Mahmud Damat’s meddling92! His messenger insisted. God! What a mistake! What a deathly mistake for all of us!”
She leaned for a moment against one of the iron pillars which supported the attic roof, and covered her face with her hands.
After a moment, Neeland said:
“I don’t understand why you can’t leave this house 374if you are in danger. You say that there are men downstairs who are waiting to kill us—waiting only for Kestner and Breslau and Mahmud Damat to arrive.”
She said faintly:
“I did not before understand Mahmud’s delay. Now, I understand. He has been warned. Breslau and Kestner will not come. Otherwise, you now would be barricaded93 behind that breastwork of rubbish, fighting for your lives.”
“But you say there are men on the stairs below who are ready to kill us if we try to leave the house.”
“They, too, are trapped without knowing it. War will come with sunrise. This house has been under surveillance since yesterday afternoon. They have not closed in on us yet, because they are leaving the trap open in hopes of catching94 us all. They are waiting for Breslau and Kestner and Mahmud Damat.... But they’ll never come, now.... They are out of the city by this time.... I know them. They are running for their lives at this hour.... And we—we lesser95 ones—caught here—trapped—reserved for a French court martial and a firing squad96 in a barrack square!”
Neeland said:
“I am going to stand by you. Captain Sengoun will do the same.”
She shook her head:
“No use,” she said with a shiver. “I am too well known. They have my dossier almost complete. My procès will be a brief one.”
“Can’t you get away by the roof? There are two of your men up there.”375
“They themselves are caught, and do not even know it. They too will face a squad of execution before the sun rises tomorrow. And they never dream of it up there––”
She made a hopeless gesture:
“What is the use! When I came here from the Turkish Embassy, hearing that you were here but believing the information false, I discovered you conversing98 with a Russian spy—overheard her warn you to leave this house.
“And there, all the while, unknown to me, in the salle de jeu were Curfoot and that unspeakable scoundrel Brandes! Why, the place was swarming99 with enemies—and I never dreamed it!... Yet—I might have feared some such thing—I might have feared that the man, Brandes, who had betrayed me once, would do it again if he ever had the chance.... And he’s done it.”
There was a long silence. Ilse stood staring at the melancholy100 greyish light on the window panes.
She said as though to herself:
“I shall never see another daybreak.”... After a moment she turned and began to pace the attic, a strange, terrible figure of haggard youth in the shadowy light. “How horribly still it is at daybreak!” she breathed, halting before Neeland. “How deathly quiet––”
The dry crack of a pistol cut her short. Then, instantly, in the dim depths of the house, shot followed shot in bewildering succession, faster, faster, filling the place with a distracting tumult101.
Neeland jerked up his pistol as a nearer volley rattled102 out on the landing directly underneath103.
Sengoun, exasperated104, shouted:376
“Well, what the devil is all this!” and ran toward the head of the stairs, his pistol lifted for action.
Then, in the garret doorway105, Weishelm appeared, his handsome face streaming blood. He staggered, turned mechanically toward the stairs again with wavering revolver; but a shot drove him blindly backward and another hurled106 him full length across the floor, where he lay with both arms spread out, and the last tremors107, running from his feet to his twitching108 face.
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irreproachable
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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lurking
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hem
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genially
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retired
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buffet
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| n.自助餐；饮食柜台；餐台 | |
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champagne
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curiously
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conversed
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serenely
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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tardily
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rue
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contingency
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entirely
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reassured
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reassure
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relish
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perfectly
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waned
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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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26
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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27
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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28
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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29
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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30
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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31
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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32
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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33
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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34
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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35
truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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36
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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37
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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38
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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39
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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40
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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41
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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42
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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43
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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44
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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45
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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46
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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47
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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48
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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50
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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51
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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52
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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53
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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54
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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57
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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58
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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71
withholds
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| v.扣留( withhold的第三人称单数 )；拒绝给予；抑制（某事物）；制止 | |
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72
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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73
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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80
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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81
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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82
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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83
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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84
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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85
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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86
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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87
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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88
espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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89
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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90
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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91
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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92
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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94
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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95
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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96
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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97
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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98
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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99
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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100
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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101
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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102
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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103
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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104
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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105
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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106
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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107
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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108
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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