For a minute or more I must have stood gazing down on the damning words, unmoving, breathless almost. Then I glanced at the quiet face on the pillow and back again to the tablet I held in my hand.
I am glad to know—proud, in the little pride I may call mine—that at that supreme1 moment I stood stanch2; that I cried to myself: “It is a lie, born of his disease! He never did it!” That I dashed the tablet back upon the bed and that my one overwhelming thought was: “How may I defend this poor soul from himself?”
That he might die in peace with his conscience—that was the end of my desire. Yet how was I, knowing so little, to convince him? Disproof I had none, but only assurance of sympathy and a moral certainty that a nature so constituted could never lend itself to so horrible a deed.
In the midst of my confusion of thought a sudden idea woke in me and quickened into a resolve. I went swiftly out of the room, down the stairs, and walked in upon old Peggy mumbling3 her bread and milk in the kitchen. I was going out for awhile, I told her, and bade her listen for any sound upstairs that might betoken4 uneasiness on the part of the patient.
For the time being there was no rain to greet me as I stepped outside, but the wind still blew boisterously5 from the east, and the sky was all drawn6 and wrapt in a doleful swaddle of cloud. Sternly and without hesitation7 I made my way to the house of Dr. Crackenthorpe. An anaemic, cross-looking servant girl was polishing what remained of the handle of the front door with a tattered8 doeskin glove.
“Is the doctor inside?” I said to her.
She left the glove sticking on the handle like a frouzy knocker, and stood upright looking down upon me.
“What do you want with him?” she said.
“I wish to see him on private business.”
“He’s at his breakfast. He won’t thank you for troubling him now.”
“I don’t want him to thank me. I wish to see him, that’s all.”
“Well, then, you can’t—and that’s all.”
I pushed past her and walked into the hall and she followed me clamoring.
The ugly voice I knew well called from a back room I had not yet been into: “What’s that?”
I turned the handle and walked in. He was seated before a stained and dinted urn9 of copper10, and a great slice of toast from which he had just bitten a jagged semicircle was in his hand.
“I told him you was at breakfast,” said the cross girl, “but nothing ’ud suit his lordship but to drive his elbow into my chest and walk in.”
She emphasized her little lie with a pressure of her hand upon the presumably wounded part.
“Assault and battery,” said the doctor, showing his teeth. “Get out of my house, fellow.”
“After I’ve had a word with you.”
“Certainly,” I said. “The very thing I should like. I’ll wait here till he comes.”
He called to the girl as she was running out: “Wait a bit! Leave the fellow with me and shut the door.”
She obeyed sulkily and we were alone together.
He went on with his breakfast with an affectation of unconcern and took no notice of me whatever.
“I believe you wished me to let you know, Dr. Crackenthorpe, if I should be in further need of your services?”
He swallowed huge gulps12 of tea with an unpleasant noise, protruding13 his lips like a gargoyle14, but answer made he none.
“I am in need of your services.”
He dissected15 the leg of a fowl16 with professional relish17, but did not speak. In a gust18 of childish anger that was farcical I nipped the joint19 between finger and thumb and threw it into the fire.
For an instant he sat dumfounded staring at his empty plate; then he scrambled20 to his feet and ran to the mantelshelf all in a scurry21 of fury and began diving among the litter there and tossing it right and left.
“The pistol—the pistol!” he muttered, in a cracked voice. “Where is it? What have I done with it?”
“Never mind. You expect a fee for your services, I suppose?”
“You don’t want to kill the goose with the golden eggs, I presume?” said I, coolly.
He twisted round and faced me.
“You have a rude boorish23 insistence24 of your own,” he cried at me hoarsely25. “But I suppose I must value it for what it’s worth. It’s the custom to ask a fee for professional services.”
“You volunteered yours, you know.”
“Quite so,” he said. “The matter lies with you.”
“With you, I think. In visiting my father the other night you had no secret hope, I suppose, that we should pay you in the sort of coin you have already had too much of?”
“You insult me, sir.”
“Unwittingly, I assure you. Will you answer me one question? Is there the remotest chance of my father recovering from this attack?”
“Not the remotest—not of his definitely rallying even, I should say.”
“Is that only an opinion?”
“Bah! Miracles don’t occur in surgery. He is practically a dead man, I tell you.”
“Why do you adopt this attitude to me, then, if you have an eye to a particular sort of fee?”
“Perhaps I wanted proof that the old man was past levying27 toll28 on.” A wicked smile wrinkled his mouth. “Perhaps I satisfied myself he was, and from you I expected no consideration or justice.”
“You can leave that out of the question. A mere29 business contract is another matter, and that is what I come to propose.”
“Oh, indeed!”
He said it with a sneer30, but moved nevertheless nearer the table, so that we could talk without raising our voices.
“May I ask the nature of this stupendous contract?”
“I will tell you without asking. I make you this offer—to hand over to you all that remains31 of the treasure on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“That you tell me how my brother Modred came by his death.”
He gave a little start; then dropped his eyes, frowning, and drummed with his fingers on the table. I saw he understood; that he was groping in his mind for some middle course, whereby he could satisfy all parties and secure the prize for himself.
“If your father didn’t do it,” he was beginning, but I took him up at the outset.
“You know he didn’t! It is a foul32 lie of such a man. Dr. Crackenthorpe”—my voice, despite my stubborn resolve, broke a little—“he is lying there on his deathbed, despairing, haunted with the thought that it was he who in a fit of drunken madness strangled the life in his own son. It is all hideous—monstrous—unnatural. You know more about it, I believe, than any man. You were sitting with him that night.”
“But he left me awhile.”
“You know it wasn’t in his nature to do such a thing!”
“Pardon me. I have always looked upon your father as a dangerous, reckless fellow.”
“I won’t believe it. You know more than you will say—more than you dare to tell. Oh, if that churchyard fellow had only lived I would have had the truth by now.”
“I hope so, though you do me the honor to hold me implicated33 with him in some absurd and criminal secret, and on the strength of a little delirious34 raving—not an uncommon35 experience in the profession, trust me.”
“I don’t appeal to your charity or your mercy. There’s a rich reward awaiting you if you tell what you know and ease the old dying man’s mind. Further than that—if you withhold36 the truth and let him pass in his misery37, I swear that I’ll never rest till I’ve dragged you down and destroyed you.”
“I really can’t afford to temporize39 with my conscience for any one living or dead. As it is, I have allowed myself to slip into the position of an accomplice40, which is an extreme concession41 on my part of friendly patronage42 toward a family that has certainly never studied to claim my good offices.”
I looked at him gloomily. I could not believe even now that he would dismiss me without some by-effort toward the prize that he saw almost within his grasp; and I was right.
“Still,” he went on, “I don’t claim infallibility for my deduction43. I shall be pleased, if you wish it, to return with you and if possible to question the patient.”
I was too anguished44 and distraught to reject even this little thread of hope. Perhaps it was in me that at the last moment the sight of that stricken figure at home might move the cold cynicism of the man before me to some weak warmth of charity.
He bade me wait in the hall while he finished his breakfast and I had nothing for it but to go and sit down under the row of smoky prints.
He kept me a deliberate while, and then came forth45 leisurely46 and donned his brown coat, that was hanging like a decayed pirate beside me. We walked out together.
The mill greeted us with no jarring thunder as we entered its door, for the discord47 of its phantom48 grinding I had myself silenced.
I listened as we climbed the wooden stairs for any sound from the room above, but only the echo of our footfalls reverberated49 in the lonely house.
No sign of old Peggy had I seen, but, when I pushed open the door of my father’s room there she was standing50 by his bed and leaning over.
At the noise of our entrance she twisted her head, gave a sort of sudden pee-wit cry and tumbled upon the floor in a collapsed51 heap, the tablet from the bed in her hand.
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收听单词发音
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1
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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3
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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4
betoken
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| v.预示 | |
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boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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6
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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7
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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8
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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11
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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12
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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13
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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14
gargoyle
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| n.笕嘴 | |
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dissected
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| adj.切开的，分割的，（叶子）多裂的v.解剖（动物等）( dissect的过去式和过去分词 )；仔细分析或研究 | |
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16
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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scurry
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| vi.急匆匆地走；使急赶；催促；n.快步急跑，疾走；仓皇奔跑声；骤雨，骤雪；短距离赛马 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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boorish
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| adj.粗野的，乡巴佬的 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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levying
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| 征（兵）( levy的现在分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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29
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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31
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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32
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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33
implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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34
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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35
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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38
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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39
temporize
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| v.顺应时势；拖延 | |
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40
accomplice
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| n.从犯，帮凶，同谋 | |
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41
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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42
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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43
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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44
anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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45
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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46
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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47
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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48
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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49
reverberated
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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50
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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51
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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