Chapter 1  白发男人(The Man with the White Hair)
Chapter 1  THE MAN WITH THE WHITE HAIR 
It was close on midnight when a man crossed the Place de la Concorde. In spite of the handsome fur coat which garbed his meagre form, there was something essentially weak and paltry about him. 
A little man with a face like a rat. A man, one would say, who could never play a conspicuous part, or rise to prominence in any sphere. And yet, in leaping to such a conclusion, an onlooker would have been wrong. For this man, negligible and 
inconspicuous as he seemed, played a prominent part in the destiny of the world. In an Empire where rats ruled, he was the king of the rats. 
Even now, an Embassy awaited his return. But he had business to do first - business of which the Embassy was not officially cognizant. His face gleamed white and sharp in the moonlight. There was the least hint of a curve in the thin nose. His father had been a Polish Jew, a journeyman tailor. It was business such as his father would have loved that took him abroad tonight. 
He came to the Seine, crossed it, and entered one of the less reputable quarters of Paris. Here he stopped before a tall, dilapidated house and made his way up to an apartment on the fourth floor. He had barely time to knock before the door was opened by a woman who had evidently been awaiting his arrival. She gave him no greeting, but helped him off with his overcoat and then led the way into the tawdrily furnished sitting-room. 
The electric light was shaded with dirty pink festoons, and it softened, but could not disguise the girl's face with its mask of crude paint. Could not disguise, either, the broad Mongolian cast of her countenance. 
There was no doubt of Olga Demiroff's profession, nor of her nationality. 
"All is well, little one?" 
"All is well, Boris Ivanovitch." 
He nodded murmuring: "I do not think I have been followed." 
But there was anxiety in his tone. He went to the window, drawing the curtains aside slightly, and peering carefully out. He started away violently. 
"There are two men - on the opposite pavement. It looks to me -" He broke off and began gnawing at his nails - a habit he had when anxious. 
The Russian girl was shaking her head with a slow, reassuring action. 
"They were here before you came." 
"All the same, it looks to me as though they were watching this house." 
"Possibly," she admitted indifferently. 
"But then -" 
"What of it? Even if they know - it will not be you they will follow from here." A thin, cruel smile came to his lips. 
"No," he admitted, "that is true." 
He mused for a minute or two and then observed. 
"This damned American - he can look after himself as well as anybody." 
"I suppose so." 
He went again to the window. 
"Tough customers," he muttered, with a chuckle. "Known to the police, I fear. Well, well, I wish Brother Apache good hunting." 
Olga Demiroff shook her head. 
"If the American is the kind of man they say he is, it will take more than a couple of cowardly apaches to get the better of him." 
She paused. "I wonder -" 
"Well?" 
"Nothing. Only twice this evening a man has passed along this street - a man with white hair." 
"What of it?" 
"This. As he passed those two men, he dropped his glove. One of them picked it up and returned it to him. A threadbare device." 
"You mean - that the white-haired man is - their employer?" 
"Something of the kind." 
The Russian looked alarmed and uneasy. 
"You are sure - the parcel is safe? It has not been tampered with? 
There has been too much talk... much too much talk." 
He gnawed his nails again. 
"Judge for yourself." 
She bent to the fireplace, deftly removing the coals. Underneath, from amongst the crumpled balls of newspaper, she selected from the very middle an oblong package wrapped round with grimy newspaper, and handed it to the man. 
"Ingenious," he said, with a nod of approval. 
"The apartment has been searched twice. The mattress on my bed was ripped open." 
"It is as I said," he muttered. "There has been too much talk. This haggling over the price - it was a mistake." 
He had unwrapped the newspaper. Inside was a small brown paper parcel. This in turn he unwrapped, verified the contents, and quickly wrapped it up once more. As he did so, an electric bell rang sharply. 
"The American is punctual," said Olga, with a glance at the clock. 
She left the room. In a minute she returned ushering in a stranger, a big, broad-shouldered man whose transatlantic origin was evident. His keen glance went from one to the other. 
"M. Krassnine?" he inquired politely. 
"I am he," said Boris. "I must apologize for - for the unconventionality of this meeting-place. But secrecy is urgent. I - I cannot afford to be connected with this business in any way." 
"Is that so?" said the American politely. 
"I have your word, have I not, that no details of this transaction will be made public? That is one of the conditions of - sale." 
The American nodded. 
"That has already been agreed upon," he said indifferently. "Now, perhaps, you will produce the goods." 
"You have the money - in notes?" 
"Yes," replied the other. 
He did not, however, make any attempt to produce it. After a moment's hesitation, Krassnine gestured towards the small parcel on the table. 
The American took it up and unrolled the wrapping paper. The contents he took over to a small electric lamp and submitted them to a very thorough examination. Satisfied, he drew from his pocket a thick leather wallet and extracted from it a wad of notes. These he handed to the Russian, who counted them carefully. 
"All right?" 
"I thank you, Monsieur. Everything is correct." 
"Ah!" said the other. He slipped the brown paper parcel negligently into his pocket. He bowed to Olga. "Good evening, Mademoiselle. Good evening, M. Krassnine." 
He went out, shutting the door behind him. The eyes of the two in the room met. The man passed his tongue over his dry lips. 
"I wonder - will he ever get back to his hotel?" he muttered. 
By common accord, they both turned to the window. They were just in time to see the American emerge into the street below. 
He turned to the left and marched along at a good pace without once turning his head. Two shadows stole from a doorway and followed noiselessly. Pursuers and pursued vanished into the night. Olga Demiroff spoke. 
"He will get back safely," she said. "You need not fear - or hope - whichever it is." 
"Why do you think he will be safe?" asked Krassnine curiously. 
"A man who has made as much money as he has could not possibly be a fool," said Olga. "And talking of money -" 
She looked significantly at Krassnine. 
"Eh?" 
"My share, Boris Ivanovitch." 
With some reluctance, Krassnine handed over two of the notes. She nodded her thanks, with a complete lack of emotion, and tucked them away in her stocking. 
"That is good," she remarked, with satisfaction. 
He looked at her curiously. 
"You have no regrets, Olga Vassilovna?" 
"Regrets? For what?" 
"For what has been in your keeping. There are women - most women, I believe, who go mad over such things." 
She nodded reflectively. 
"Yes, you speak truth there. Most women have that madness. I - have not. I wonder now -" She broke off. 
"Well?" asked the other curiously. 
"The American will be safe with them - yes, I am sure of that. But afterwards -" 
"Eh? What are you thinking of?" 
"He will give them, of course, to some woman," said Olga thoughtfully. "I wonder what will happen then..." 
She shook herself impatiently and went over to the window. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation and called to her 
companion. 
"See, he is going down the street now - the man I mean." 
They both gazed down together. A slim, elegant figure was progressing along at a leisurely pace. He wore an opera hat and a cloak. As he passed a street lamp, the light illuminated a thatch of thick white hair. 

第一章 白发男人
    将近子夜时分，一个人穿过协和广场（巴黎最大的广场，位于塞纳河右岸，城西北部。译注）。他虽然穿着贵重的皮毛大衣，还是不难使人看出他体弱多病，穷困潦倒。
    这个人长着一副老鼠的面孔。谁也不会认为这样一个身体虚弱的人在生活中会起什么作用。但正是他在世界的一个角落里发挥着他的作用。
    此时此刻，有一使命催他回家。但在回家之前，他还要做一件交易。而那一使命和这一交易是互不相干的。
    他来到塞纳河畔，穿过桥，到了巴黎的一个名声很坏的街区。他在一栋没有人看守的大楼前稍停片刻，左右窥视几眼，便上了四层楼。没等他伸手敲门，一个女人就把门打开了。这个女人仿佛是在等待着这个男人的到来。她帮助他脱掉了大衣，带他走进客厅。这个客厅的装饰和摆设都很俗气。污秽的灯罩下的灯光照在这个女人的面颊上。她象蒙古人一样颧骨突起，头上戴着廉价的首饰。这个女人名叫奥尔加•德米罗夫娜，说到她的职业，那人们就不必有什么怀疑了，就象不用怀疑她那民族的特性一样。
    “都办妥了吗？小宝贝！”
    “都办妥了，鲍里斯•伊万诺维奇。”
    他点了点头，压低了嗓门说：“我相信没我盯我的梢。”
    但是他的声音里却流露出胆怯的心情。他走到窗前，把窗帘拉开，向楼下张望了一下，蓦然回过头来说道：
    “外面有两个人，在街那边的人行道上。这可能是……”他的话音未落便思忖起来，正象他恐惧的时候时常做的那样。
    而那个俄国女人却若无其事地摇摇头。
    “他们在您来之前就在那里了……”
    “看样子，他们是在监视这座楼房。”
    “这是可能的。”她附和着说道。
    “如果这是这样的话……”
    “我想他们不会跟踪您，除非他们嗅到了什么。”
    这个男人的嘴角上浮现出一丝愚蠢而痛苦的笑容。
    “你说的对。”这个男人说道。
    他思虑了足有一分钟，然后带着充满仇恨的语调慢声细语地说道：“这个该死的美国佬真会保护自己，比谁都会。”
    “这一点我是相信的。”
    他又走到了窗前。
    “恶棍！”他嘟哝着，冷笑了一声，“是警察局的老相识，老弟，祝你们成功！”
    奥尔加•德米罗夫娜摇摇头。
    “若是那个美国佬象您所说的那样，那么就是有两个恶棍也不是他的对手。”
    他没有吭声。
    “我在想……”
    “怎么？”
    “要知道，今天晚上有一个人两次到过这条街，是一个白发男人。”
    “他要干什么？”
    “没有什么。当这个人走到那个人身旁时，好象故意掉下一只手套在地上，其中一个人把手套拾起来又交还给了白发男人。真是一场滑稽剧。”
    “你认为这个白发男人是这两个家伙的后台吗？”
    “有点象。”
    这回俄国佬有点吃惊。
    “你果真认为是这样？包裹还安全吗？没有什么人动过？事情越来越复杂了。”
    他又陷入了深思。
    “您要有信心！”
    她在火炉旁弯下腰把煤块摆拨动了一下，从中取出一个纸包递给了他。
    “真聪明！”他满意地说道。
    “这所房子已经被搜查了两次，我的床单都被撕破了。”
    “我已经说过，我们说的太多了。”他叨咕着，“对价钱过多的考虑是致命的错误。”
    他撕去了包裹的外层，里面还包着一层纸。他打开纸，看了一眼里面的东西，又紧紧地包上了。这时电铃声突然响起。
    “美国佬准时来到了。”奥尔加看了一下手表。她走出房间，没过多久她带进来一个陌生人，高个头、宽肩膀，从外貌上一眼就可以看出是个美国人。美国人先是瞟了一眼女人，继而又向那个男人扫了一眼。
    “您是克雷斯内先生吗？”美国佬客气地问道。
    “正是，正是我。”鲍里斯回答道。“请原谅，接头地点变动了。要知道，最紧要的是：我们的交易不能露出马脚。我不能把这种东西带在身上去接头。”
    “啊，是这样。”美国人很有礼貌地说道。
    “您曾对我说过，这桩交易只是能在我们之间进行，是吗？这是这桩买卖的重要条件之一。”
    美国人点了一下头。
    “这方面我们是一致的。”他冷淡地说。“您是否现在把货拿出来让我看一下。”
    “您的钱拿来了吗？是钞票？”
    “是的。”对方回答道。
    可是他没有提到他的钱是否已带在身上。克雷斯内犹豫了下，就把纸包放在桌子上了。
    美国人打开纸包。他走到灯光下把里面的东西取出来，细心地看了一会儿，似乎还比较满意。他从口袋里掏出一个厚厚的信封，拿出来一叠钞票，交给了俄国人，俄国人谨慎地数着钞票。
    “对吗？”
    “谢谢，完全对。”
    “好，好极啦！”美国人说道。
    美国人把纸包放进自己的衣袋里，对奥尔加鞠了一躬。
    “再见，小姐。再见，克雷斯内先生。”
    道别后，他便离开了房间，房门在他身后关上了。剩下的两个人面面相视了一会儿。
    男的用舌头舔着干燥的嘴唇说道：“我在想，他会不会回到他下榻的饭店去呢？”
    两人不约而同的向窗外望去。这时那个美国人正好走到街上。他向左边瞥了一眼，随即猛然加快了脚步向前走去。墙角处有两个人悄悄地跟上了他。跟踪和被跟踪者都消失在漆黑的夜幕中。
    奥尔加•德米罗夫娜说道：“他一定回家了。您不用替他担心，也不要对他抱有希望。”
    “你为什么认为他一定很安全呢？”克雷斯内问道。
    “如果一个人有那么钱，那他决不是傻瓜。”奥尔加说，“足够的钱……”她意味深长地看着克雷斯内。
    “嗯？”
    “我的那一份，鲍里斯•伊万诺维奇？”
    他很不情愿地给了她两张钞票。她默不作声地谢了他，把钱塞进袜统里。
    他好奇地看着奥尔加。
    “你不感到惋惜吗？奥尔加•德米罗夫娜？””
    “有什么可惋惜的呢？”
    “你把那么绝妙的首饰放弃了。我相信，大多数女人对这种东西爱得发狂。”
    她点点头。
    “您说的对。很多女人都有这种疯狂般的特点，可是我没有。我只想知道一件事……”
    “什么？”克雷斯内问道。
    “这个美国人拿到了宝石，且又安然无事。对此我深信无疑。可是以后会怎样呢……”
    “以后会怎样呢？”
    “他肯定会把宝石送给一个女人。”奥尔加说着，遐想着，“我想，如果给了一个女人，会怎么样呢？”
    她又走到窗前，突然喊了一声，把头转向她的同伙。
    “您瞧。走在路边上的那个人，就是我刚才提到过的那个人。”
    一个身子又瘦又长的，很潇洒的男人沉着地走过。他头戴一顶圆帽，穿着大衣。
在路灯照耀下，可以清楚地看到他的露在圆帽外边的一头长发。
Chapter 2  侯爵先生(M. Le Marquis)
Chapter 2  M. LE MARQUIS 
The man with the white hair continued on his course unhurried, and seemingly indifferent to his surroundings. He took a side turning to the right and another one to the left. Now and then he hummed a little air to himself. 
Suddenly he stopped dead and listened intently. He had heard a certain sound. It might have been the bursting of a tyre or it might have been - a shot. A curious smile played round his lips for a minute. Then he resumed his leisurely walk. 
On turning a corner he came upon a scene of some activity. A representative of the law was making notes in a pocket-book, and one or two late passers-by had collected on the spot. To one of these the man with the white hair made a polite request for information. 
"Something has been happening, yes?" 
"Mais oui, Monsieur. Two apaches set upon an elderly American gentleman." 
"They did him no injury?" 
"No, indeed." The man laughed. "The American, he had a revolver in his pocket, and before they could attack him, he fired shots so closely round them that they took alarm and fled. The police, as usual, arrived too late." 
"Ah!" said the inquirer. 
He displayed no emotion of any kind. Placidly and unconcernedly he resumed his nocturnal strolling. Presently he crossed the Seine and came into the richer areas of the city. It was some twenty minutes later that he came to a stop before a certain house in a quiet but aristocratic thoroughfare. 
The shop, for shop it was, was a restrained and unpretentious one. D. Papopolous, dealer in antiques, was so known to fame that he needed no advertisement, and indeed most of his business was not done over a counter. 
M. Papopolous had a very handsome apartment of his own overlooking the Champs Elysees, and it might reasonably be supposed that he would have been found there and not at his place of business at such an hour, but the man with the white hair seemed confident of success as he pressed the obscurely placed 
bell, having first given a quick glance up and down the deserted street. 
His confidence was not misplaced. The door opened and a man stood in the aperture. He wore gold rings in his ears and was of a swarthy cast of countenance. 
"Good evening," said the stranger. "Your master is within?" 
"The master is here, but he does not see chance visitors at this time of night," growled the other. 
"I think he will see me. Tell him that his friend M. le Marquis is here." 
The man opened the door a little wider and allowed the visitor to enter. 
The man who gave his name as M. le Marquis had shielded his face with his hand as he spoke. When the man-servant returned with the information that M. Papopolous would be pleased to receive the visitor a further change had taken place in the stranger's appearance. The man-servant must have been very unobservant or very well trained for he betrayed no surprise at the small black satin mask which hid the other's features. 
Leading the way to a door at the end of the hall, he opened it and announced in a respectful murmur: "M. le Marquis." 
The figure which rose to receive this strange guest was an imposing one. There was something venerable and patriarchal about M. Papopolous. He had a high domed forehead and a beautiful white beard. His manner had in it something 
ecclesiastical and benign. 
"My dear friend," said M. Papopolous. He spoke in French and his tones were rich and unctuous. 
"I must apologize," said the visitor, "for the lateness of the hour." 
"Not at all. Not at all," said M. Papopolous - "an interesting time of night. You have had, perhaps, an interesting evening?" 
"Not personally," said M. Le Marquis. 
"Not personally," repeated M. Papopolous, "no, no, of course not. And there is news, eh?" 
He cast a sharp glance sideways at the other, a glance that was not ecclesiastical or benign in the least. 
"There is no news. The attempt failed. I hardly expected anything else." 
"Quite so," said M. Papopolous, "anything crude -" 
He waved his hand to express his intense distaste for crudity in any form. There was indeed nothing crude about M. Papopolous nor about the goods he handled. He was well known in most European courts, and kings called him Demetrius in a friendly manner. He had the reputation for the most exquisite discretion. That, together with the nobility of his aspect, had carried him through several very questionable transactions. 
"The direct attack -" said M. Papopolous. He shook his head. "It answers sometimes - but very seldom." 
The other shrugged his shoulders. 
"It saves time," he remarked, "and to fail costs nothing - or next to nothing. The other plan - will not fail." 
"Ah," said M. Papopolous, looking at him keenly. 
The other nodded slowly. 
"I have great confidence in your - er - reputation," said the antique dealer. 
M. le Marquis smiled gently. 
"I think I may say," he murmured, "that your confidence will not be misplaced." 
"You have unique opportunities," said the other, with a note of envy in his voice. 
"I make them," said M. le Marquis. 
He rose and took up the cloak which he had thrown carelessly on the back of a chair. 
"I will keep you informed, M. Papopolous, through the usual channels, but there must be no hitch in your arrangements." 
M. Papopolous was pained. 
"There is never a hitch in my arrangements," he complained. 
The other smiled, and without any further word of adieu he left the room, closing the door behind him. 
M. Papopolous remained in thought for a moment stroking his venerable white beard, and then moved across to a second door which opened inwards. As he turned the handle, a young woman, who only too clearly had been leaning against it with her ear to the keyhole, stumbled headlong into the room. M. Papopolous 
displayed neither surprise nor concern. It was evidently all quite natural to him. 
"Well, Zia?" he asked. 
"I did not hear him go," explained Zia. 
She was a handsome young woman, built on Junoesque lines, with 
dark flashing eyes and such a general air of resemblance to M. Papopolous that it was easy to see they were father and daughter. 
"It is annoying," she continued vexedly, "that one cannot see through a keyhole and hear through it at the same time." 
"It has often annoyed me," said M. Papopolous, with great simplicity. 
"So that is M. le Marquis," said Zia slowly. "Does he always wear a mask, father?" 
"Always." 
There was a pause. 
"It is the rubies, I suppose?" asked Zia. 
Her father nodded. 
"What do you think, my little one?" he inquired, with a hint of amusement in his beady black eyes. 
"Of M. le Marquis?" 
"Yes." 
"I think," said Zia slowly, "that it is a very rare thing to find a well- bred Englishman who speaks French as well as that." 
"Ah!" said M. Papopolous, "so that is what you think." 
As usual, he did not commit himself, but he regarded Zia with benign approval. 
"I thought, too," said Zia, "that his head was an odd shape." 
"Massive," said her father - "a trifle massive. But then that effect is always created by a wig." 
They both looked at each other and smiled. 

第二章 侯爵先生
    白发男人不慌不忙地只顾走路，周围的一切他全不放在心上。他跨进一个胡同，拐了一个弯便来来了另一条大街上，嘴里还哼着歌曲。
    他突然收住了脚步，紧张地听着。他的到一种声响，这声响有点象轮胎放炮，又有点象枪声。他嘴角浮出了一丝少有的微笑，然后又继续走路。在街角上他看到了一个热闹的场面：有个警察在笔记本上记录着什么。白发男人也凑过去询问着与别人相同的问题。
    “发生了什么事？”
    “是这样，先生。两个恶棍袭击了一个美国人。”
    “那个美国人受伤了吗？”
    “看不出来。”回答白发男人的话的那个人淡淡一笑。“那个美国人的衣袋里有一只手枪。那两个恶棍还没来得及下手，美国人就开了枪。那两个家伙吓跑了。警察嘛，同往常一样，总是姗姗来迟。”
    “原来如此。”白发男人说道。此事对他来说似乎无关紧要。
    他泰然自若，依然赶路。过了塞纳河，在繁华市区的一条恬静的马路上他停住了脚步，身旁是一家商店。
    这家平平常常的商店并不引人注意。它的主人帕波波鲁斯博士是个极其有名望的古玩商人，以致并不需要什么广告招揽生意。他的生意也很少在商店的柜台上成交。
帕波波鲁斯在香榭丽舍大街有一幢豪华的住宅，人们在夜晚到那里去找他，比到他的商店里找他好得多。但是白发男人还声称没有什么人跟踪他。
    看门人听了白发男人的话就放了心，打开了门，但只打开一道缝。是一个手上戴着金戒指的胖男人给白发男人打开的门。
    “晚上好！”白发男人说，“大师在家吗？”
    “大师在家。可是这个时候他不见任何人。”胖男人说道。
    “他应该见我。您对他说，是侯爵来了。”
    胖子把门开大了一点，请他进来。
    白发男人在说话的时候用手捂着脸。这位胖男人，也就是博士的仆人，回来时告诉他说，帕波波鲁斯先生很高兴接见他。这时，这位自称侯爵的人表情显得很轻松。
仆人注意到来方者的脸上罩着黑绸面纱，他把白发男人引到前厅，开了门，有礼貌地说道：侯爵先生到。
    帕波波鲁斯看来真是令人肃然起敬。他有着宽大的额头，一把很好看的胡须，好象是父系社会主持祭祀的长老一样。
    “欢迎您，亲爱的朋友！”这是他通常的客套话。
    “请原谅！”来访者说，“这么晚了还来打扰您。”
    “说那里话。对做买卖来说没有什么晚不晚的。您一定度过了一个很有意思的夜晚。”
    “对我个人来说并不是这样。”
    “当然并不是对个人了。您是不是有什么事要对我说？”
    他偷偷地扫视来访者一眼，但他对来访者的态度神秘而温和。
    “没有什么值得向您报告的。袭击失败了，除此之外我想不出其它办法。”
    “不出所料，完全是粗暴的武力解决……”
    帕波波鲁斯做了一个手势，表示他对任何形式的、赤裸裸的武力解决的轻蔑。事实上，同帕波波鲁斯交往也好，做生意也好，都不能采取强硬的手段。他是个有名望有欧洲贵族阶层的人物，国王们都友好地称他是“神农氏”。他的声望同他的谨慎是联系在一起的。他的这种声望使他轻而易举地解决了许多特别麻烦的事件。
    “直接的进攻，有时可能成功，但希望很小。”古玩商摇着头说道。
    侯爵耸耸肩膀。
    “直接行动，”他说，“节省时间，几乎不用什么代价。我还有一个计划──绝不会失败。”
    帕波波鲁斯点了一下头，陷入了沉思。
    “我对您完全相信，您有很好的声望。”
    侯爵先生诌媚地一笑。
    “请允许我向您保证，”他喃喃地说，“我一定不辜负您的信赖。”
    “您现在只有这一桩独一无二的交易。”古玩商人说道，声音里充满了信任之情。
    “我一定完成。”
    侯爵先生穿上大衣。
    “我同往常一样同您保持联系，我提醒您：别忘了我们的协定。”
    “我从来也不忘记自己的任何一项协定。”古玩商人现出不满的神色。
    来访者淡淡一笑，离开了房间，不辞而别。
    帕波波鲁斯伸手摸了一下胡须，随即转到另外一扇门前。当他拉开房门时，一个年轻的女郎突然跌倒在门口。看来她是在偷听他们的谈话。帕波波鲁斯现出惊讶的神色。
    “齐娅，是你？”他脱口问道。
    “我都听到了，一句不漏。”她说道。
    她是一个年轻貌美的女郎，有一双亮晶晶的黑眼睛，高高的个子。她同帕波波鲁斯长得是那样的相象，以致没有人会怀疑不是他的女儿。
    “很可惜，”她仿佛现出了几分恼怒，“从这个钥匙孔里不能听看兼顾。”
    “这确实是个令人头痛的事实。”父亲庄重地说道。
    “他是侯爵先生？”齐娅慢悠悠地说，“他一直戴着面纱吗？爸爸！”
    “是的。”
    “是关于宝石的事吧，爸爸，是吗？”齐娅问道。
    古玩商人点了点头。
    “你觉得他怎么样，孩子。”
    “您是说侯爵先生吗？”
    “当然啦！”
    “依我看，”齐娅慢悠悠地说，“很难找到一个地地道道的英国人象他那样讲一口流利的法语。”
    “噢，你是这样想的。”
    他没说出自己的看法，但是他向女儿投以肯定的目光。
    “还有，他的脑袋好象有些畸形。”齐娅说道。
    “这是很明显的，”父亲说，“特别明显。可是，只要有人戴上假面具，人们总是会产生这种感觉的。”
    父女俩会心地一笑。
Chapter 3 火心宝石(Heart of Fire)
Chapter 3 
HEART OF FIRE 
Rufus Van Aldin passed through the revolving doors of the Savoy, and walked to the reception desk. The desk clerk smiled a respectful greeting. 
"Pleased to see you back again, Mr Van Aldin," he said. 
The American millionaire nodded his head in a casual greeting. 
"Everything all right?" he asked. 
"Yes, sir. Major Knighton is upstairs in the suite now." 
Van Aldin nodded again. 
"Any mail?" he vouchsafed. 
"They have all been sent up, Mr Van Aldin. Oh! wait a minute." 
He dived into a pigeon hole, and produced a letter. 
"Just come this minute," he explained. 
Rufus Van Aldin took the letter from him, and as he saw the handwriting, a woman's flowing hand, his face was suddenly transformed. The harsh contours of it softened, and the hard line of his mouth relaxed. He looked a different man. He walked across to the lift with the letter in his hand and the smile still on his lips. 
In the drawing-room of his suite, a young man was sitting at a desk nimbly sorting correspondence with the ease born of long practice. He sprang up as Van Aldin entered. 
"Hallo, Knighton!" 
"Glad to see you back, sir. Had a good time?" 
"So so!" said the millionaire unemotionally. "Paris is rather a one- horse city nowadays. Still - I got what I went over for." 
He smiled to himself rather grimly. 
"You usually do, I believe," said the secretary, laughing. 
"That's so," agreed the other. 
He spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, as one stating a well-known fact. Throwing off his heavy overcoat, he advanced to the desk. 
"Anything urgent?" 
"I don't think so, sir. Mostly the usual stuff. I have not quite finished sorting it out." 
Van Aldin nodded briefly. He was a man who seldom expressed either blame or praise. His methods with those he employed were simple; he gave them a fair trial and dismissed promptly those who 
were 
inefficient. 
His 
selections 
of 
people 
were 
unconventional. 
Knighton, for instance, he had met casually at a Swiss resort two months previously. He had approved of the fellow, looked up his war record, and found in it the explanation of the limp with which he walked. Knighton had made no secret of the fact that he was looking for a job, and indeed diffidently asked the millionaire if he knew of any available post. Van Aldin remembered, with a grim smile of amusement, the young man's complete astonishment when he had been offered the post of secretary to the great man himself. 
"But - but I have no experience of business," he had stammered. 
"That doesn't matter a cuss," Van Aldin had replied. "I have got three secretaries already to attend to that kind of thing. But I am likely to be in England for the next six months, and I want an Englishman who - well, knows the ropes - and can attend to the social side of things for me." 
So far, Van Aldin had found his judgment confirmed. Knighton had proved quick, intelligent, and resourceful, and he had a distinct charm of manner. 
The secretary indicated three or four letters placed by themselves on the top of the desk. 
"It might perhaps be as well, sir, if you glanced at these," he suggested. "The top one is about the Colton agreement -" 
But Rufus Van Aldin held up a protesting hand. 
"I am not going to look at a darned thing tonight," he declared. 
"They can all wait till the morning. Except this one," he added, looking down at the letter he held in his hand. And again that strange transforming smile stole over his face. 
Richard Knighton smiled sympathetically. 
"Mrs Kettering?" he murmured. "She rang up yesterday and today. She seems very anxious to see you at once, sir." 
"Does she, now!" 
The smile faded from the millionaire's face. He ripped open the envelope which he held in his hand and took out the enclosed sheet. As he read it his face darkened, his mouth set grimly in the line which Wall Street knew so well, and his brows knit themselves ominously. Knighton turned tactfully away, and went on opening letters and sorting them. A muttered oath escaped the millionaire, and his clenched fist hit the table sharply. 
"I'll not stand for this," he muttered to himself. "Poor little girl, it's a good thing she has her old father behind her." 
He walked up and down the room for some minutes, his brows drawn together in a scowl. Knighton still bent assiduously over the desk. Suddenly Van Aldin came to an abrupt halt. He took up his overcoat from the chair where he had thrown it. 
"Are you going out again, sir?" 
"Yes, I'm going round to see my daughter." 
"If Colton's people ring up -" 
"Tell them to go to the devil," said Van Aldin. 
"Very well," said the secretary unemotionally. 
Van Aldin had his overcoat on by now. Cramming his hat upon his head, he went towards the door. He paused with his hand upon the handle. 
"You are a good fellow, Knighton," he said. "You don't worry me when I am rattled." 
Knighton smiled a little, but made no reply. 
"Ruth is my only child," said Van Aldin, "and there is no one on this earth who knows quite what she means to me." 
A faint smile irradiated his face. He slipped his hand into his pocket. 
"Care to see something, Knighton?" 
He came back towards the secretary. 
From his pocket he drew out a parcel carelessly wrapped in brown paper. He tossed off the wrapping and disclosed a big, shabby, red velvet case. In the centre of it were some twisted initials surmounted by a crown. He snapped the case open, and the secretary drew in his breath sharply. Against the slightly dingy white of the interior, the stones glowed like blood. 
"My God! sir," said Knighton. "Are they - are they real?" 
Van Aldin laughed a quiet little cackle of amusement. 
"I don't wonder at your asking that. Amongst these rubies are the three largest in the world. Katherine of Russia wore them, Knighton. That centre one there is known as Heart of Fire. It's perfect - not a flaw in it." 
"But," the secretary murmured, "they must be worth a fortune." 
"Four or five hundred thousand dollars," said Van Aldin nonchalantly, "and that is apart from the historical interest." 
"And you carry them about - like that, loose in your pocket?" 
Van Aldin laughed amusedly. 
"I guess so. You see, they are my little present for Ruthie." 
The secretary smiled discreetly. 
"I can understand now Mrs Kettering's anxiety over the telephone," he murmured. But Van Aldin shook his head. The hard look returned to his face. 
"You are wrong there," he said. "She doesn't know about these; they are my little surprise for her." 
He shut the case, and began slowly to wrap it up again. 
"It's a hard thing, Knighton," he said, "how little one can do for those one loves. I can buy a good portion of the earth for Ruth, if it would be any use to her, but it isn't. I can hang these things round her neck and give her a moment or two's pleasure, maybe, but -" 
He shook his head. 
"When a woman is not happy in her home -" 
He left the sentence unfinished. The secretary nodded discreetly. He knew, none better, the reputation of the Hon Derek Kettering. Van Aldin sighed. Slipping the parcel back in his coat pocket, he nodded to Knighton and left the room. 

第三章  火心宝石
    鲁夫斯•冯•阿尔丁走进伦敦萨活旅馆的旋转门，接着就走入招待厅。招待员彬彬有礼地上前问候。
    “能够接待您感到很高兴，冯•阿尔丁先生。”
    这位百万富翁毫不在意地点了一下头。
    “都办妥了吗？”他问道。
    “是这样的，奈顿少校先生在楼上您的房间里等候您。”
    冯•阿尔丁又点点头。
    “有信件吗？”
    “都拿到楼上去了。噢，对不起，请您等一下。”
    他从一大堆信件中又挑出一封。
    “这是刚才来的信。”
    鲁夫斯•冯•阿尔丁把信接过来。当他看到这封信是女人的字迹的时候，他的神态刷的一下变了，脸面上严肃的表情顿时消失了，完全变成了另外一个人。他拿着信上了楼，脸上带着着难以抑制的微笑。
    在他的房间里，有一个青年人坐在写字台旁边看报。他见鲁夫斯•冯•阿尔丁进来，立即站起身。
    “哈罗，奈顿。”
    “您又回到伦敦，非常高兴。先生，在巴黎过得好吗？”
    “马马虎虎。”这位百万富翁心不在焉地说，“巴黎变得微乎其微了。我想得到什么就可能得到什么。”
    “您总是这样。”他的秘书说道，脸上堆着笑容。
    “当然。”百万富翁补充说道。态度冷漠，如同往常做交易时那样。
    “有什么要紧的事吗？”
    “没什么。只是有些事，我还没来得及安排。”
    冯•阿尔丁点了一下头。他是一个不轻易称赞和责备别人的人，对待他的职员方式也很简单。他在任何人面前都喜欢抛头露面，遇到不如意的事就毫不犹豫地脱身。
在选择下属人员方面，也有他自已不同寻常的办法。就拿奈顿来说，是他两个月前在瑞士的一个休养所里认识的。他比较喜欢这个人，尽管奈顿因战时负伤腿有点瘸。那时奈顿坦率地请冯•阿尔丁帮他找一个工作做。往事又萦绕在冯•阿尔丁的脑海里：当这个年青人听说冯•阿尔丁录用他当自己的私人秘书时，他由于惊讶几乎说不出话来。
    “我可没有做生意的实际经验。”当时奈顿有点口吃地说道。
    “这我并不在意。”冯•阿尔丁回答道。“我已经有了三个私人秘书了。考虑到我可能要在英国呆六个月，因此需要一个英国人。他要有很好的社会关系，有体面应酬的才能。”
    直到现在，冯•阿尔丁对他的选择并不后悔。奈顿很聪明，反应敏捷，人也蛮可爱的。
    秘书指着旁边的三四封信。
    “这几封信需要您亲自过目一下，先生！”奈顿说，“因为这些信是涉及到与科尔顿那桩交易的事。”
    可是，冯•阿尔丁却打了个手势，发誓似的说道：“今天晚上我决不看一眼这些东西。留待明天再说，这一封可要另当别论了。”
    冯•阿尔丁把指着手里的那封信。笑容又浮上他的面孔，完全是另一种表情。
    理查特•奈顿微笑着点了点头。
    “是凯特林女士来的信吗？”他喃喃说道，“昨天和今天都给您来过电话，可能是有要紧的事想告诉您。”
    “真的吗？”
    笑容马上从百万富翁的脸面上消失了。他拆开信大略地看了一下内容。他的脸面上刹时间布满了阴云，嘴角上又出现了严肃的皱纹，紧锁起眉头。奈顿又埋头于自己的工作中。久久压抑的愤怒从这个百万富翁的身上暴发出来。只听“哐啷”一声，他紧握起拳头猛击在桌面上。
    “这是我决不允许的！”他喃喃地说，“可怜的女孩！好吧，你有你的老父亲做后盾。”
    冯•阿尔丁在房间里迈着沉重的步子，踱来踱去。然后收住了脚步，顺手拿起他进屋时穿的扔到坐椅上的大衣。
    “您还要出去吗，先生？”
    “到我女儿那里去。”
    “如果科尔顿来电话……”
    “你就说，让他去见鬼去吧！”
    “是！”秘书面无表情地回答说。
    冯•阿尔丁把帽子扣到头上便走出了门，扶着门把手回过头来说道：“你是一个好人，奈顿。你不要打扰我，我心里不太快活。”
    奈顿微笑了一下，没有吱声。
    “露丝是我唯一的孩子。”冯•阿尔丁说，“不会有人晓得她对我意味着什么。”
    冯•阿尔丁面颊上涌上一丝笑容，把手伸进口袋。
    “你想看看吗，奈顿？”
    冯•阿尔丁转身走近秘书，从口袋里掏出一个蓝色的纸包。当他把外面的那一层纸撕掉时，露出一个绒布盒子，盒盖的当中是绒线织成的皇冠。他打开盒子，秘书几乎屏住了呼吸。在有些弄脏的白色底衬上，有几颗深红色的宝石闪闪发光。
    “啊，上帝啊！”奈顿惊叹道，“这是，这是原物吗？”
    冯•阿尔丁大笑起来。
    “你的惊异并不使我感到意外。在这几颗宝石里有世界上最大的一颗，就是俄国女皇卡塔琳娜（指俄国女皇叶卡特琳娜•阿列克塞耶夫娜•卡塔琳娜二世）戴过的那颗。当中的那颗‘火心宝石’就是。简直宝贵极了，是世界上绝无仅有的珍品。”
    “但是，”秘书说，“总得给这些宝石作出估价才好吧？”
    “可能值四十万到五十万美元。”冯•阿尔丁不加思索地说道。
    “完全符合这一宝物的历史价值。”
    “如此昂贵的东西您竟随便地装在口袋里，带来带去？”
    冯•阿尔丁神秘地一笑。
    “现在我懂了，为什么凯特林女士在电话里那么激动。”
    冯•阿尔丁摇了摇头，面部的神色又严肃下来。
    “你弄错了。”他说，“她还不知道这件事。我是想叫她突然高兴。”他把盒子盖上，缓慢地包好。
    “奈顿，如果一个人对他心爱的人做得太少的话，那是很令人痛苦的事。如果需要的话，我可以把半个世界买下来给露丝，可惜没有这种必要。我可以把这件东西戴在她的脖子上，她会在一段时间里沉浸在快乐里，但是……”
    他又摇了一下头。
    “如果一个女人的婚姻是不幸的……”
    冯•阿尔丁的话语停顿下来了。秘书默不作声是点了点头。谁也不如他更了解德里克•凯特林的名声了。冯•阿尔丁叹着气，他把东西又放进口袋里，向秘书点点头便离开了房间。
Chapter 4 露丝·凯特林(In Curzon Street)
Chapter 4 
IN CURZON STREET 
The Hon Mrs Derek Kettering lived in Curzon Street. The butler who opened the door recognized Rufus Van Aldin at once and permitted himself a discreet smile of greeting. He led the way upstairs to the big double drawing-room on the first floor. 
A woman who was sitting by the window started up with a cry. 
"Why, Dad, if that isn't too good for anything! I've been telephoning Major Knighton all day to try and get hold of you, but he couldn't say for sure when you were expected back." 
Ruth Kettering was twenty-eight years of age. Without being beautiful, or in the real sense of the word even pretty, she was striking looking because of her colouring. Van Aldin had been called Carrots and Ginger in his time, and Ruth's hair was almost pure auburn. With it went dark eyes and very black lashes - the effect somewhat enhanced by art. She was tall and slender, and moved well. At a careless glance it was the face of a Raphael Madonna. Only if one looked closely did one perceive the same line of jaw and chin as in Van Aldin's face, bespeaking the same hardness and determination. It suited the man, but suited the woman less well. From her childhood upward Ruth Van Aldin had been accustomed to having her own way, and anyone who had ever stood up against her soon realized that Rufus Van Aldin's daughter never gave in. 
"Knighton told me you'd phoned him," said Van Aldin. "I only got back from Paris half an hour ago. What's all this about Derek?" 
Ruth Kettering flushed angrily. 
"It's unspeakable. It's beyond all limits," she cried. "He - he doesn't seem to listen to anything I say." 
There was bewilderment as well as anger in her voice. 
"He'll listen to me," said the millionaire grimly. 
Ruth went on. 
"I've hardly seen him for the last month. He goes about everywhere with that woman." 
"With what woman?" 
"Mirelle. She dances at the Parthenon, you know." 
Van Aldin nodded. 
"I was down at Leconbury last week. I - I spoke to Lord Leconbury. He was awfully sweet to me, sympathized entirely. He said he'd give Derek a good talking to." 
"Ah!" said Van Aldin. 
"What do you mean by 'Ah!', Dad?" 
"Just what you think I mean, Ruthie. Poor old Leconbury is a wash-out. Of course he sympathized with you, of course he tried to soothe you down. Having got his son and heir married to the daughter of one of the richest men in the States, he naturally doesn't want to mess the thing up. But he's got one foot in the grave already, everyone knows that, and anything he may say will cut darned little ice with Derek." 
"Can't you do anything, Dad?" urged Ruth, after a minute or two. 
"I might," said the millionaire. He waited a second reflectively, and then went on. 
"There are several things I might do, but there's only one that will be any real good. How much pluck have you got, Ruthie?" 
She stared at him. He nodded back at her. 
"I mean just what I say. Have you got the grit to admit to all the world that you've made a mistake? There's only one way out of this mess, Ruthie. Cut your losses and start afresh." 
"You mean -" 
"Divorce." 
"Divorce!" 
Van Aldin smiled drily. 
"You say that word, Ruth, as though you'd never heard it before. And yet your friends are doing it all round you every day." 
"Oh! I know that. But -" 
She stopped, biting her lip. Her father nodded comprehendingly. 
"I know, Ruth. You're like me, you can't bear to let go. But I've learnt, and you've got to learn, that there are times when it's the only way. I might find ways of whistling Derek back to you, but it would all come to the same in the end. He's no good, Ruth; he's rotten through and through. And mind you, I blame myself for ever letting you marry him. But you were kind of set on having him, and he seemed in earnest about turning over a new leaf - and well, I'd crossed you once, honey..." 
He did not look at her as he said the last words. Had he done so, he might have seen the swift colour that came up in her face. 
"You did," she said in a hard voice. 
"I was too darned soft-hearted to do it a second time. I can't tell you how I wish I had, though. You've led a poor kind of life for the last few years, Ruth." 
"It has not been very - agreeable," agreed Mrs Kettering. 
"That's why I say to you that this thing has got to stop!" He brought his hand down with a bang on the table. "You may have a hankering after the fellow still. Cut it out. Face facts. Derek Kettering married you for your money. That's all there is to it. Get rid of him, Ruth." 
Ruth Kettering looked down at the ground for some moments, then she said, without raising her head: 
"Supposing he doesn't consent?" 
Van Aldin looked at her in astonishment. 
"He won't have a say in the matter." 
She flushed and bit her lip. 
"No - no - of course not. I only meant -" 
She stopped. Her father eyed her keenly. 
"What did you mean?" 
"I meant -" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "He mayn't take it lying down." 
The millionaire's chin shot out grimly. 
"You mean he'll fight the case? Let him! But, as a matter of fact, you're wrong. He won't fight. Any solicitor he consults will tell him he hasn't a leg to stand upon." 
"You don't think -" she hesitated - "I mean - out of sheer spite against me - he might try to make it awkward?" 
Her father looked at her in some astonishment. 
"Fight the case, you mean?" 
He shook his head. 
"Very unlikely. You see, he would have to have something to go upon." 
Mrs Kettering did not answer. Van Aldin looked at her sharply. 
"Come, Ruth, out with it. There's something troubling you - what is it?" 
"Nothing, nothing at all." 
But her voice was unconvincing. 
"You are dreading the publicity, eh? Is that it? You leave it to me. I'll put the whole thing through so smoothly that there will be no fuss at all." 
"Very well, Dad, if you really think it's the best thing to be done." 
"Got a fancy for the fellow still, Ruth? Is that it?" 
"No." 
The word came with no uncertain emphasis. Van Aldin seemed satisfied. He patted his daughter on the shoulder. 
"It will be all right, little girl. Don't you worry any. Now let's forget all about this. I have brought you a present from Paris." 
"For me? Something very nice?" 
"I hope you'll think so," said Van Aldin, smiling. 
He took the parcel from his coat pocket and handed it to her. She unwrapped it eagerly, and snapped open the case. A longdrawn 
"Oh!" came from her lips. Ruth Kettering loved jewels - always had done so. 
"Dad, how - how wonderful!" 
"Rather in a class by themselves, aren't they?" said the millionaire, with satisfaction. "You like them, eh?" 
"Like them? Dad, they're unique. How did you get hold of them?" 
Van Aldin smiled. 
"Ah! that's my secret. They had to be bought privately, of course. They are rather well known. See that big stone in the middle? You have heard of it, maybe, that's the historic 'Heart of Fire.'" 
"Heart of Fire!" repeated Mrs Kettering. 
She had taken the stones from the case and was holding them against her breast. 
The millionaire watched her. He was thinking of the series of women who had worn the jewels. The heartaches, the despairs, the jealousies. 'Heart of Fire,' like all famous stones, had left behind it a trail of tragedy and violence. Held in Ruth Kettering's assured hand, it seemed to lose its potency of evil. With her cool, equable poise, this woman of the western world seemed a negation to tragedy or heart-burnings. Ruth returned the stones to their case, then, jumping up, she flung her arms round her father's neck. 
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dad! They are wonderful! You do give me the most marvelous presents always." 
"That's all right," said Van Aldin, patting her shoulder. "You are all I have, you know, Ruthie." 
"You will stay to dinner, won't you, father?" 
"I don't think so. You were going out, weren't you?" 
"Yes, but I can easily put that off. Nothing very exciting." 
"No," said Van Aldin. "Keep your engagement. I have got a good deal to attend to. See you tomorrow, my dear. Perhaps if I phone you, we can meet at Galbraiths?" 
Messrs. Galbraith, Galbraith, Cuthbertson, & Galbraith were Van Aldin's London solicitors. 
"Very well, Dad." She hesitated. "I suppose it - this - won't keep me from going to the Riviera?" 
"When are you off?" 
"On the fourteenth." 
"Oh, that will be all right. These things take a long time to mature. By the way, Ruth, I shouldn't take those rubies abroad if I were you. Leave them at the bank." 
Mrs Kettering nodded. 
"We don't want to have you robbed and murdered for the sake of 
'Heart of Fire,'" said the millionaire jocosely. 
"And yet you carried it about in your pocket loose," retorted his daughter, smiling. 
"Yes -" 
Something, some hesitation, caught her attention. 
"What is it, Dad?" 
"Nothing." He smiled. "Thinking of a little adventure of mine in Paris." 
"An adventure?" 
"Yes, the night I bought these things." 
He made a gesture towards the jewel case. 
"Oh, do tell me." 
"Nothing to tell, Ruthie. Some apache fellows got a bit fresh and I shot at them and they got off. That's all." 
She looked at him with some pride. 
"You're a tough proposition, Dad." 
"You bet I am, Ruthie." 
He kissed her affectionately and departed. On arriving back at the Savoy, he gave a curt order to Knighton. 
"Get hold of a man called Goby; you'll find his address in my private book. He's to be here tomorrow morning at half-past nine." 
"Yes, sir." 
"I also want to see Mr Kettering. Run him to earth for me if you can. Try his Club - at any rate, get hold of him somehow, and arrange for me to see him here tomorrow morning. Better make it latish, about twelve. His sort aren't early risers." 
The secretary nodded in comprehension of these instructions. Van Aldin gave himself into the hands of his valet. His bath was prepared, and as he lay luxuriating in the hot water, his mind went back over the conversation with his daughter. On the whole he was well satisfied. His keen mind had long since accepted the fact that divorce was the only possible way out. Ruth had agreed to the proposed solution with more readiness than he had hoped for. Yet, in spite of her acquiescence, he was left with a vague sense of uneasiness. Something about her manner, he felt, had not been quite natural. He frowned to himself. 
"Maybe I'm fanciful," he muttered, "and yet - I bet there's something she has not told me." 

第四章  露丝•凯特林
    德里克•凯特林夫人住在古尔松大街。仆人开了门，一看是冯•阿尔丁就立即让他进去。她对百万富翁微微一笑，现出尊敬的神色。百万富翁随即走进大厅。他的女儿从窗子看到了他，高兴得喊了起来。
    “我多么高兴啊，爸爸，你回来了！我成天给你打电话，可是你的秘书总是回答不出来你回国的时间。”
    露丝•凯特林今年二十八岁，谈不上好看，但是身上的各种色调却很吸引人。金黄色的头发，黑色的眼睛，墨黑的睫毛，而且她还会根据自己的这些色调来打扮自己。她有着修长的身材，第一眼看去真象拉斐尔（意大利文艺复兴时期的画家。译注）画的圣母。如果仔细端详就会发现她的嘴和下巴之间有一条皱纹，这是与她父亲相似之处的明显特点。
    若是男人有这么一条明显的皱纹，并不会太引人注目的，而一个女人有这么一条皱纹，好象画家别具匠心地加了一道重彩，就很吸引人。
    她从小就惯于坚持已见，假如有人敢于领教一下她的这种意志，那他很快就会得出结论：冯•阿尔丁的女儿是从不屈服的。
    “奈顿告诉我说，你给他打过电话。我刚刚从巴黎回来半个小时，你丈夫又有些什么新花样？”
    露丝的面颊由于愤怒而现出红晕。
    “简直太不象话！”她说道，“我的话，他完全当成耳旁风。”
    “可是，他应该听我的话。”百万富翁忿忿地说。
    露丝继续说道：“我有一个多月没见到他的面了。他和那个坏女人整天到处胡混。”
    “哪个坏女人？”
    “米蕾•帕泰农饭店的舞女。”
    冯•阿尔丁点了一下头。
    “上星期我到他父亲那里去过。”露丝说道，“他很喜欢我，完全站在我这边，他说他一定找机会教育他的儿子。”
    “算了吧，这个老雷康布里还从来不敢正经地对他儿子说点什么呢。他已经是土埋半截的人了。”
    “爸爸，你能帮点忙吗？”
    “当然可以。”百万富翁说。他思虑片刻继续说，“我可以采取各种手段。最重要的是要达到一个实际的目的。孩子，你有勇气吗？”
    露丝凝视着父亲，现出不甚明白的神色。冯•阿尔丁对女儿点了点头。
    “你是否有勇气向公众承认自己犯了一个错误。这是唯一可以使你摆脱这种尴尬境地的办法。和过去一刀两断，开始新的生活吧！”
    “你是说……”
    “离婚！”
    “离婚？”
    冯•阿尔丁微笑了。
    “你说出这两个字的时候，露丝，好象是第一次才听到过似的。可是你却让你的女友们一个接一个地去离婚。”
    “这我知道，可是……”
    露丝的话又咽下去了。她咬紧了嘴唇。父亲看了她一眼，投以理解的目光。
    “露丝，我了解你。你同我一样，只要是你想做什么，就决不会罢休。但是，我学会了，你也应该学会理解，有时处境很复杂，而且只有一条路才能摆脱这种困境。我也可能有办法使德里克回你的身边。如果那样的话，往日的痛苦又会重新折磨你。他是个可救药的人，完全堕落了。我经常责备自己，为什么允许你同他结婚。但是你却看中了他，而且那时候看来他还可能变好。亲爱的，只有一次，我违背了你的意志。”
    说最后一句话时，冯•阿尔丁没看着女儿，否则的话他会发现露丝的脸瞬时泛起了红晕。
    “是的！”露丝•凯特林的声音很坚定。
    “我的心软下来了，不愿再一次违背了你的意愿。可是那时我再狠一下心该多好，最近几年来你经历的事太多了。”
    “简直是没有快乐的时候。”露丝•凯特林说道。
    “因此，我说还是结束的好。”他用手拍了一下桌子。“你可能还在喜欢他。算了吧，还事情的本来面目吧。他是为了金钱才和你结婚的。事情就是这样。你要抛弃他，看他会怎样。”
    露丝长时间地死盯着地板。随后头也不抬地说道：
    “可是，如果他不同意呢？”
    冯•阿尔丁迷惑不解地看着露丝。
    “我们根本不用去问他。”
    红晕又泛上了露丝的脸面上，她咬着嘴唇。
    “可是，他要是使你不得安宁呢？”
    “你是说他会提出反对？只要他敢！但是我不相信他会这样做。任何一个律师都会告诉他，他的处境是毫无指望的。”
    “你不相信他会……”露丝犹豫不决。“我是说，他可会为了折磨我而制造出许多麻烦？”
    父亲看着女儿，现出不理解的神色。
    “你是说他会对离婚的诉提出反上诉吗？这种可能性是不大的。他没有反上诉的理由，他决不会这样做。”
    露丝没有回答父亲的话。
    冯•阿尔丁严肃地看了女儿一眼。
    “露丝，过来，说出来吧，你心里有什么秘密，说出来吧！”
    “没有，爸爸，确实没有什么。”但是露丝的声音很不坚定。
    “你是怕公共舆论？这个你让我去处理好了。一切都会悄然无声地过去的。”
    “那好吧，可是爸爸，你是否认为这是最好的解决办法？”
    “你还是喜欢这小子？是吗？”
    “不。”
    露丝的声音很坚决，冯•阿尔丁感到心满意足。他亲昵地拍着女儿的肩膀。
    “孩子，一切都会顺利！不用担心。现在说点别的什么事吧。我从巴黎给你带回一点小礼物。”
    “真的吗？是什么可爱的东西？”
    “但愿你能喜欢它。”冯•阿尔丁微笑地说道。
    他从口袋里掏出那个纸包。露丝贪婪地撕去外面的纸，打开盒子。“啊！”的一声，是长长的一声惊叫。露丝喜欢宝石，她一向喜欢这玩艺儿。
    “噢，爸爸，多么好啊！”
    “是货真价实的好东西！“百万富翁满意地说道，“你喜欢吗？”
    “喜欢？真是至宝，你是怎么得到手的？”
    冯•阿尔丁微微一笑。
    “这是我的秘密。当然我得亲自去买。这些装饰品是极其名贵的。你看到中间的那块大宝石吗？你可能已经听说过了。这是历史上著名的‘火心宝石’。”
    “‘火心宝石’！”露丝重复地说道。
    她从盒子里取出宝石，把宝石握在手里，贴在胸前。百万富翁看着自己的女儿。这时他在想象那些所有戴过这块宝石的女人们，想象着由于宝石而引起的一切嫉妒和不平。
“火心宝石”同其它有名的宝石一样，有一段充满武力和暗杀的历史。现在这些宝石在露丝•凯特林的手里似乎完全推动了它们那种罪恶的力量。这个西方女人看来以她的冷静和毅力显示出她能够抗拒一切悲剧和野蛮行为。
    露丝把宝石又放回盒里，然后跑到爸爸面前，搂住了他的脖子。“谢谢你，爸爸，谢谢！这件首饰太好了。你总是送给我非常好的礼物。”
    “应该这样。”冯•阿尔丁亲切地说，“你就是我的一切，小露丝。”
    “你要不要在这里吃饭，爸爸？”
    “我不想在这儿里吃，你是否要出去？”
    “可以不去，没有什么特别的事。”
    “不，”冯•阿尔丁说出自己的想法，“你尽管去吧，反正我有事要做。明天见，亲爱的。若是我给你打电话，那么可能在加尔布雷恩那里打给你。”
    加尔布雷恩•卡恩件森是冯•阿尔丁在伦敦的法律顾问。
    “好吧，爸爸。”她犹豫了一下，“这件事不会妨碍我去利维埃拉旅行吧？”
    “你什么时候走？”
    “十四号。”
    “这很容易办。这样的离婚案件不会拖得很久。另外，露丝，我要是你的话，在这种情况下我不会把宝石带在身上。你最好把宝石存在银行里。”
    露丝点了一下头。
    “我不愿意由于这‘火心宝石’而使你遭动或被暗杀。”百万富翁开玩笑说。
    “可是你却把宝石带在身上到处走。”女儿笑着说。
    “的确。”
    冯•阿尔丁犹豫了一下。女儿看看父亲。
    “你要说什么，爸爸？”
    “没什么。”他笑了。“我只是想起了在巴黎的一次小小冒险。”
    “冒险？”
    “是的，就是我买这些东西的那天晚上。”他指着那个宝石盒子说道。
    “给我讲讲听，爸爸！”
    “没什么特别的，孩子。有两个恶棍想耍无懒，我向他们开了枪，他们就跑掉了。
就是这些。”
    她吃惊的看着他。
    “和你是开不得玩笑的，爸爸！”
    “你说的很对。”
    他亲热地吻了女儿一下就走了。他回到公寓时对奈顿指示说道：
    “你想法把戈比找来。在我的笔记本里有他的地址，让他明天九点半到我这里来。”
    “好的，先生。”
    “我还想和凯特林先生谈一谈。你一定要找到他！在他的俱乐部里你可能找到他，告诉他明天上午十二点钟左右到我这里来。时间早了这种人是不会起床的。”
    秘书点了点头，表示他已经明白了。冯•阿尔丁离开了自己的雇员。洗澡水已经准备好了，当他躺在热水盆里之后，想起了同女儿的谈话。总而言之他还是满意的。他早就敏感地看出离婚是使他女儿摆脱困境的唯一办法。象他所希望的那样，他的女儿已表示同意了。虽然如此，他总是觉得这件事有着使人心情不快的成分：她的神态里有着某种不情愿的东西。他紧锁起眉头。
    “也可能是我的一种错觉，”他嘟哝着说。“不，她可能有什么秘密瞒着我。”
Chapter 5 有用的先生(A Useful Gentleman)
Chapter 5 
A USEFUL GENTLEMAN 
Rufus Van Aldin had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself when Knighton entered the room. 
"Mr Goby is below, sir, waiting to see you." 
The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just half-past nine. 
"All right," he said curtly. "He can come up." 
A minute or two later, Mr Goby entered the room. He was a small, elderly man, shabbily dressed, with eyes that looked carefully all round the room, and never at the person he was addressing. 
"Good morning, Goby," said the millionaire. "Take a chair." 
"Thank you, Mr Van Aldin." 
Mr Goby sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at the radiator. 
"I have got a job for you." 
"Yes, Mr Van Aldin?" 
"My daughter is married to the Hon Derek Kettering, as you may perhaps know." 
Mr Goby transferred his gaze from the radiator to the left-hand drawer of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face. Mr Goby knew a great many things, but he always hated to admit the fact. 
"By my advice, she is about to file a petition for divorce. That, of course, is a solicitor's business. But, for private reasons, I want the fullest and most complete information." 
Mr Goby looked at the cornice and murmured: 
"About Mr Kettering?" 
"About Mr Kettering." 
"Very good, sir." 
Mr Goby rose to his feet. 
"When will you have it ready for me?" 
"In a hurry, sir?" 
"I'm always in a hurry," said the millionaire. 
Mr Goby smiled understandingly at the wall. "Two o'clock this afternoon, sir?" 
"Excellent," approved the other. "Good morning, Goby." 
"Good morning, Mr Van Aldin." 
"That's a very useful man," said the millionaire as Goby went out and his secretary came in. "In his own line he's a specialist." 
"What is his line?" 
"Information. Give him twenty-four hours and he would lay the private life of the Archbishop of Canterbury bare for you." 
"A useful sort of chap," said Knighton, with a smile. 
"He has been useful to me once or twice," said Van Aldin. "Now then, Knighton, I'm ready for work." 
The next few hours saw a vast quantity of business rapidly transacted. It was half-past twelve when the telephone bell rang, and Mr Van Aldin was informed that Mr Kettering had called. Knighton looked at Van Aldin, and interpreted his brief nod. 
"Ask Mr Kettering to come up, please." 
The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering stood aside to let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him. 
"Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear." 
The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in Van Aldin. 
There was charm in it - there had always been charm in it. He looked piercingly at his son-in-law. Derek Kettering was thirty- four, lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something indescribabiy boyish in it. 
"Come in," said Van Aldin curtly. "Sit down." 
Kettering flung himself lightly into an armchair. He looked at his father-in-law with a kind of tolerant amusement. 
"Not seen you for a long time, sir," he remarked pleasantly. 
"About two years, I should say. Seen Ruth yet?" 
"I saw her last night," said Van Aldin. 
"Looking very fit, isn't she?" said the other lightly. 
"I didn't know you had had much opportunity of judging," said Van Aldin drily. 
Derek Kettering raised his eyebrows. 
"Oh, we sometimes meet at the same night club, you know," he said airily. 
"I am not going to beat about the bush," Van Aldin said curtly. "I have advised Ruth to file a petition for divorce." 
Derek Kettering seemed unmoved. 
"How drastic!" he murmured. "Do you mind if I smoke, sir?" 
He lit a cigarette, and puffed out a cloud of smoke as he added nonchalantly: 
"And what did Ruth say?" 
"Ruth proposes to take my advice," said her father. 
"Does she really?" 
"Is that all you have got to say?" demanded Van Aldin sharply. 
Kettering flicked his ash into the grate. 
"I think, you know," he said, with a detached air, "that she's making a great mistake." 
"From your point of view she doubtless is," said Van Aldin grimly. 
"Oh, come now," said the other, "don't let's be personal. I really wasn't thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Ruth. You know my poor old Governor really can't last much longer; all the doctors say so. Ruth had better give it a couple more years, then I shall be Lord Leconbury, and she can be chatelaine of Leconbury, which is what she married me for." 
"I won't have any of your darned impudence," roared Van Aldin. 
Derek Kettering smiled at him quite unmoved. 
"I agree with you. It's an obsolete idea," he said. "There's nothing in a title nowadays. Still, Leconbury is a very fine old place, and, after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be very annoying for Ruth if she divorces me to find me marrying again, and some other woman queening it at Leconbury instead of her." 
"I am serious, young man," said Van Aldin. 
"Oh, so am I," said Kettering. "I am in very low water financially; it will put me in a nasty hole if Ruth divorces me, and, after all, if she has stood it for ten years, why not stand it a little longer? I give you my word of honour that the old man can't possibly last out another eighteen months, and, as I said before, it's a pity Ruth shouldn't get what she married me for." 
"You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position?" 
Derek Kettering laughed a laugh that was not all amusement. 
"You don't think it was a question of a love match?" he asked. 
"I know," said Van Aldin slowly, "that you spoke very differently in Paris ten years ago." 
"Did I? Perhaps I did. Ruth was very beautiful, you know - rather like an angel or a saint, or something that had stepped down from a niche in a church. I had fine ideas, I remember, of turning over a new leaf, of settling down and living up to the highest traditions of English home-life with a beautiful wife who loved me." 
He laughed again, rather more discordantly. 
"But you don't believe that, I suppose?" he said. 
"I have no doubt at all that you married Ruth for her money," said Van Aldin unemotionally. 
"And that she married me for love?" asked the other ironically. 
"Certainly," said Van Aldin. 
Derek Kettering stared at him for a minute or two, then he nodded reflectively. 
"I see you believe that," he said. "So did I at the time. I can assure you, my dear father-in-law, I was very soon undeceived." 
"I don't know what you are getting at," said Van Aldin, "and I don't care. You have treated Ruth darned badly." 
"Oh, I have," agreed Kettering lightly, "but she's tough, you know. She's your daughter. Underneath the pink-and-white softness of her she's as hard as granite. You have always been known as a hard man, so I have been told, but Ruth is harder than you are. You, at any rate, love one person better than yourself. Ruth never has and never will." 
"That is enough," said Van Aldin. "I asked you here so that I could tell you fair and square what I meant to do. My girl has got to have some happiness, and remember this, I am behind her." 
Derek Kettering got up and stood by the mantelpiece. He tossed away his cigarette. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. 
"What exactly do you mean by that, I wonder?" he said. 
"I mean," said Van Aldin, "that you had better not try to defend the case." 
"Oh," said Kettering. "Is that a threat?" 
"You can take it any way you please," said Van Aldin. 
Kettering drew a chair up to the table. He sat down fronting the millionaire. 
"And supposing," he said softly, "that, just for argument's sake, I did defend the case?" 
Van Aldin shrugged his shoulders. 
"You have not got a leg to stand upon, you young fool. Ask your solicitors, they will soon tell you. Your conduct has been notorious, the talk of London." 
"Ruth has been kicking up a row about Mirelle, I suppose. Very foolish of her. I don't interfere with her friends." 
"What do you mean?" said Van Aldin sharply. 
Derek Kettering laughed. 
"I see you don't know everything, sir," he said. "You are, perhaps naturally, prejudiced." 
He took up his hat and stick and moved towards the door. 
"Giving advice is not much in my line." He delivered his final thrust. "But, in this case, I should advise most strongly perfect frankness between father and daughter." 
He passed quickly out of the room and shut the door behind him just as the millionaire sprang up. 
"Now, what the hell did he mean by that?" said Van Aldin as he sank back into his chair again. 
All his uneasiness returned in full force. 
There was something here that he had not yet got to the bottom of. The telephone was by his elbow; he seized it, and asked for the number of his daughter's house. 
"Hallo! Hallo! Is that Mayfair 81907? Mrs Kettering in? Oh, she's out, is she? Yes, out to lunch. What time will she be in? You don't know? Oh, very good; no, there's no message." 
He slammed the receiver down again angrily. 
At two o'clock he was pacing the floor of his room waiting expectantly for Goby. 
The latter was ushered in at ten minutes past two. 
"Well?" barked the millionaire sharply. 
But the little Mr Goby was not to be hurried. 
He sat down at the table, produced a very shabby pocketbook, and proceeded to read from it in a monotonous voice. The millionaire listened attentively, with an increasing satisfaction. Goby came to a full stop, and looked attentively at the wastepaper-basket. 
"Um!" said Van Aldin. "That seems pretty definite. The case will go through like winking. The hotel evidence is all right, I suppose?" 
"Cast iron," said Mr Goby, and looked malevolently at a gilt armchair. 
"And financially he's in very low water. He's trying to raise a loan now, you say? Has already raised practically all he can upon his expectations from his father. Once the news of the divorce gets about, he won't be able to raise another cent, and not only that, his obligations can be bought up and pressure can be put upon him from that quarter. We have got him, Goby; we have got him in a cleft stick." 
He hit the table a bang with his fist. His face was grim and triumphant. 
"The information," said Mr Goby in a thin voice, "seems satisfactory." 
"I have got to go round to Curzon Street now," said the millionaire. 
"I am much obliged to you, Goby. You are the goods all right." 
A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little man's face. 
"Thank you, Mr Van Aldin," he said, "I try to do my best." 
Van Aldin did not go direct to Curzon Street. He went first to the City, where he had two interviews which added to his satisfaction. From there he took the tube to Down Street. As he was walking along Curzon Street, a figure came out of No. 160, and turned up the street towards him, so that they passed each other on the pavement. For a moment, the millionaire had fancied it might be Derek Kettering himself; the height and build were not unlike. But as they came face to face, he saw that the man was a stranger to him. At least - no, not a stranger; his face awoke some call of recognition in the millionaire's mind, and it was associated definitely with something unpleasant. 
He cudgelled his brains in vain, but the thing eluded him. He went on, shaking his head irritably. He hated to be baffled. 
Ruth Kettering was clearly expecting him. She ran to him and kissed him when he entered. 
"Well, Dad, how are things going?" 
"Very well," said Van Aldin, "but I have got a word or two to say to you, Ruth." 
Almost insensibly he felt the change in her, something shrewd and watchful replaced the impulsiveness of her greeting. She sat down in a big armchair. 
"Well, Dad?" she asked. "What is it?" 
"I saw your husband this morning," said Van Aldin. 
"You saw Derek?" 
"I did. He said a lot of things, most of which were darned cheek. Just as he was leaving, he said something that I didn't understand. He advised me to be sure that there was perfect frankness between father and daughter. What did he mean by that, Ruthie?" 
Mrs Kettering moved a little in her chair. 
"I - I don't know, Dad. How should I?" 
"Of course you know," said Van Aldin. "He said something else, about his having his friends and not interfering with yours. What did he mean by that?" 
"I don't know," said Ruth Kettering again. 
Van Aldin sat down. His mouth set itself in a grim line. 
"See here, Ruth. I am not going into this with my eyes closed. I am not at all sure that that husband of yours doesn't mean to make trouble. Now, he can't do it, I am sure of that. I have got the means to silence him, to shut his mouth for good and all, but I have got to know if there's any need to use those means. What did he mean by your having your own friends?" 
Mrs Kettering shrugged her shoulders. 
"I have got lots of friends," she said uncertainly. "I don't know what he meant, I am sure." 
"You do," said Van Aldin. 
He was speaking now as he might have spoken to a business adversary. 
"I will put it plainer. Who is the man?" 
"What man?" 
"The man. That's what Derek was driving at. Some special man who is a friend of yours. You needn't worry, honey, I know there is nothing in it, but we have got to look at everything as it might appear to the Court. They can twist these things about a good deal, you know. I want to know who the man is, and just how friendly you have been with him." 
Ruth didn't answer. Her hands were kneading themselves 
together in intense nervous absorption. 
"Come, honey," said Van Aldin in a softer voice. "Don't be afraid of your old Dad. I was not too harsh, was I, even that time in Paris? - By gosh!" 
He stopped, thunderstruck. 
"That's who it was," he murmured to himself. "I thought I knew his face." 
"What are you talking about, Dad? I don't understand." 
The millionaire strode across to her and took her firmly by the wrist. 
"See here, Ruth, have you been seeing that fellow again?" 
"What fellow?" 
"The one we had all that fuss about years ago. You know who I mean well enough." 
"You mean -" she hesitated - "you mean the Comte de la Roche?" 
"Comte de la Roche!" snorted Van Aldin. "I told you at the time that the man was no better than a swindler. You had entangled yourself with him then very deeply, but I got you out of his clutches." 
"Yes, you did," said Ruth bitterly. "And I married Derek Kettering." 
"You wanted to," said the millionaire sharply. 
She shrugged her shoulders. 
"And now," said Van Aldin slowly, "you have been seeing him again - after all I told you. He has been in the house today. I met him outside, and couldn't place him for the moment." 
Ruth Kettering had recovered her composure. 
"I want to tell you one thing, Dad; you are wrong about Armand - the Comte de la Roche, I mean. Oh, I know there were several regrettable incidents in his youth - he has told me about them; but 
-well, he has cared for me always. It broke his heart when you parted us in Paris, and now -" 
She was interrupted by the snort of indignation her father gave. 
"So you fell for that stuff, did you? You, a daughter of mine! My God!" 
He threw up his hands. 
"That women can be such darned fools!" he murmured. 

第五章 有用的先生
    奈顿进屋的时候，冯•阿尔丁刚刚吃完简单的早餐：咖啡和酸葡萄酒。
    “戈比先生在楼下等您见他。”
    百万富翁看了一下手表，正好是九点半。
    “好吧，”他扼要地说，“让他上来。”
    一分钟后戈比先生走进屋来。他是个侏儒，穿戴很寒酸，两只眼睛好奇地打量着屋里的一切，一眼也不看同他谈话的对方。
    “早晨好，戈比！”百万富翁说，“请坐。”
    “谢谢，冯•阿尔丁先生。”
    戈比坐下，双手放在膝盖上，两眼死盯着壁炉。
    “我给您找了一桩生意。”
    “一桩生意？冯•阿尔丁先生？”
    “您可能知道，我女儿同德里克•凯特林结了婚。”
    戈比的目光转向写字台的抽屉，脸庞上现出一丝轻蔑的微笑。戈比是知道一些底细的，但很少流露出来。
    “根据我的建议，我的女儿将对我的女婿提出离婚。诚然这是律师的事，但由于本人的愿望，我希望得到与此事有关的详细和完整的情报。”
    戈比仰望了一下天花板，嘟哝了一句：“关于凯特林先生？”
    “是的，关于凯特林先生。”
    “好吧，先生。”
    戈比站起身来。
    “什么时候听您的消息？”
    “事情很急迫吗，先生？”
    “我的事情一向都很急迫。”百万富翁回答道。
    戈比望着壁炉，会心地一笑。
    “那么就定在明天下午两点。”
    “太好了，再见，戈比。”
    “再见，冯•阿尔丁先生。”
    “一个非常有用的人。”当戈比走出房间，百万富翁对秘书说。“他干这一行是个老手，简直没有什么可挑剔的。”
    “哪一行？”
    “情报。你给他二十四小时的时间，他会把坎特布里大主教私生活的内幕搞得一清二楚。”
    “的确是个可以利用的家伙。”奈顿微笑地说道。
    “他已经给我干过一两次事了。好了，现在我们开始工作吧，奈顿。”
    以后几个小时他们完全忙于工作。下午十二点半德里克•凯特林来了。“请让凯特林先生上楼来。”
    秘书把文件整理一下，离开了房间。他在门口碰上了德里克，德里克•凯特林一闪身让了一下路，然后走进房间。
    “您好，岳父大人。我听说您急切地想同我谈一谈。”
    他总是无所谓的样子，用一种嘲弄的口吻压低了声音马马虎虎的说道。冯•阿尔丁死盯着他的女婿。德里克•凯特林是个身材匀称的年青人，脸庞很窄，皮色微黑。虽然他已经是三十四岁的人了，但看上去还很年轻。
    “坐吧！”冯•阿尔丁简短地说了一句。
    凯特林坐在藤椅上，望着他的岳父，现出无所谓和嬉笑的神态。
    “许久没见面了。”他说着，字里行间充满着激情，“差不多两年了。你见过露丝了吗？”
    “昨天晚上。”
    “看来她还不错，是吗？”
    “据我所知，你根本无暇去过问她的生活情况。”冯•阿尔丁干巴巴地说道。
    德里克•凯特林皱起了眉头。
    “上帝啊，我们总是在同一个夜总会里见面。”
    “我没时间和兴致同你多费口舌。露丝接受了我的劝告，提出同你离婚。”
    德里克•凯特林硬挺挺地坐着。
    “多残酷的决定啊！”他嘟哝道，“可以吸烟吗？”
    他点着一支香烟，然后懒洋洋地说道：
    “露丝对此事的态度如何呢？”
    “露丝决定接受我的劝告。”
    “真的吗？”
    “你没有别的话可说吗？”冯•阿尔丁严肃地问道。
    凯特林弹掉烟灰。他说，“事情是已经发展到无法挽回的地步。我认为她犯了一个大错误。”
    “从你的立场出发当然是这样。”冯•阿尔丁气愤地说道。
    “我们最好摆脱开个人关系。我现在的确不只是为自己着想，我也为露丝着想。我的老父亲肯定活不了多久，这一点医生们的意见是一致的。如果露丝再等一、二年，那时我就将成为劳尔德•雷康布里，她将成为雷康布里宫殿的女主人。也正是为此她才同我结婚的。”
    “我已经听够了你那些无耻的谰言。”冯•阿尔丁咆哮一声。
    德里克•凯特林微笑一下，一动不动。
    “你说得对，这确实是个蠢笨的念头。如今有谁还注意贵族的称号呢？但是，我们毕竟是英国的老式家族。如果有一天人们发现雷康布里的夫人是另外一个女人来代替露丝，那将会引起一场轩然大波。”
    “我在严肃地同你谈问题，年青人！”冯•阿尔丁提醒道。
    “我也是，岳父大人，我也是很严肃。在经济方面可以说我已经陷入困境。如果露丝离开我，那我将十分狼狈。可是，露丝已经同我在一起十年了，为什么让她再等一个时期呢？我可以直率地说，我的老爹最多也只能活十八月了。如果她没有达到她当时想嫁给我的目的，那可有点太遗憾了。”
    “你认为我的女儿是为了你的称号和你的社会地位才同你结婚的吗？”
    德里克•凯特林狂笑起来，笑声极为刺耳。
    “时至今日你还相信这是一桩爱情的婚姻吗？”
    “我知道。”冯•阿尔丁说，“十年前你在巴黎可完全是另外一种说法。”
    “我说过吗？这很可能。露丝当时非常漂亮，你当然是知道的。她当时多么象一个从教堂圣龛中飞下来的天使或圣母。我当时怀着很美妙的想法，想踏入新的生活，当一个理想的丈夫。有一个漂亮的妻子，她爱我，并且总是多情地看着我。”
    他又是狰狞的一笑。
    “但是，这一点你是不会相信的，是吗？”
    “我看你和露丝的结婚只是为了贪图金钱，这一点是毫无疑问的。”冯•阿尔丁若无其事地说道。
    “而她是出于爱情而同我结合的，对吗？”对方嘲笑地说道。
    “当然啦。”冯•阿尔丁回答道。
    德里克•凯特林凝视对方足有一分钟的时间，然后低下头陷入了深思。
    “你相信是这样？”凯特林说。“当时我也相信，可是我对你直言不讳地说，岳父，不久我就学乖了一些。”
    “你学不学乖，对此我丝毫不感兴趣。反正你对露丝的行为是很无耻的。”
    “这我当然承认。”凯特林加上一句。“可是，她又如何呢？她可真不愧是你的女儿。你一直是个严肃的人，可是露丝比你更严肃。你除了自己之外还爱另外一个人，可是露丝却不能。”
    “够了，”冯•阿尔丁说，“我叫你来是为了开诚布公地说明我的意图。我女儿有要求起码幸福的权利。你不要忘记，她有我撑腰。”
    德里克•凯特林站起身，走到壁炉旁。把头扔到火里，他的声调现出几分沉静。
    “说明确一些，你到底要怎样？”
    “我是要说，”岳父回答说，“劝你不要对离婚案提出反对意见。”
    “啊，原来如此。”凯特林说，“这是威胁吗？”
    “如果你愿意，可以这样理解。”
    凯特林把椅子搬到写字台跟前，坐在百万富翁的对面。
    “要是我不同意离婚呢？”
    冯•阿尔丁耸了一下肩膀。
    “那么只能证明，你是个笨蛋。你的所作所为在伦敦是尽人皆知的。”
    “露丝可能对我同米蕾这件事有点嫉妒。看她多傻。我可从不过问她同自己情人的事。”
    “你这是什么意思？”冯•阿尔丁严厉地问道。
    德里克•凯特林大笑一声。
    “看来，你对此还是一无所知啊。”
    他拿起帽子和手杖走到门口。
    “我向来不习惯于劝说别人的。但是有这种情况下，我倒是愿意劝说你们父女之间应该开诚相见。”话音刚落，他就消失在门外，门随后关上。岳父被激怒得跳了起来。
    “卑鄙！”冯•阿尔丁暗问道：他这是指的什么呢？
    那种不愉快的感觉又涌上了心头，而且是那样的强烈。他女婿的这番话里隐藏着什么东西，冯•阿尔丁决定立即弄个水落石出。他拿起电话筒拨了女儿的电话号码。
    “喂喂，是梅费尔81-907号吗？凯特林女士在家吗？……噢，出去吃饭去了？她什么时候回来？……您还不知道？好吧。……不，没有什么可转告的。”他放下话筒，现出烦恼的神色。
    戈比应该两点钟到这里来。冯•阿尔丁在室里踱来踱过。两点过十分钟那位有用的先生来了。
    “怎样？”百万富翁气愤地问道。
    这个侏儒却仍旧平静。他不慌不忙地坐下，掏出一个破旧的笔记本，用一种单调的声音讲述着，百万富翁聚精会神地听着。他的面孔立刻现出开朗的神色。戈比终于念完了他的记录，然后他的目光死死地停在纸篓上。
    “嗯，”冯•阿尔丁嘟哝着，“这是些很有用的材料。事情已经开始了。证明在旅馆约会的材料已经足够了？”
    “当然。”戈比恶狠狠地看着嵌金的靠椅。
    “他已经完全陷入了境。据您刚才说，他到处借钱，而且债务已经超过了他父亲死后可能留下的遗产。一旦这次离婚的事件传出去，毫无疑问，他到哪里也别想借到分文，不仅如此，而且向他讨债的人一定会蜂拥而来。他已经被我们掌握在手心里了，牢牢地被掌握住了。”
    冯•阿尔丁的手掌“啪”的一下落在桌面上，脸孔现出一丝愤怒的冷笑。
    “看来，”戈比用低哑的声音说，“对我的情报您还感到满意。”
    “我要立即到我女儿那里去。”百万富翁说，“我十分感谢您，戈比。您的确是位很有用的人。”
    戈比这个侏儒的面孔现出了一丝满意的笑容。
    “谢谢，冯•阿尔丁先生。有志者事竟成。”
    冯•阿尔丁没有直接到他女儿的住处去。他先到市里进行了两次会谈。然后乘地铁到了他女儿住处附近的那站。当他来到古尔松大街的时候，意外地看到从160 号房子里走出一个男人。他思忖起来，可能是德里克•凯特林，身子和个头都很象他的女婿。但是，当他走到那人身旁时，才发现是个陌生人。可是又并非完全陌生，那人脸面上的神情使他记起了一张令人讨厌的面孔。他绞尽脑汁，回想这个人在哪里见过面。他一面走一面摇头。他的记忆力衰退了吗？
    露丝•凯特林早就在等候冯•阿尔丁了。她跑到父亲面前，吻了他一下。
    “怎么，爸爸，我们的事情进行的怎样？”
    “很好，孩子……得是我需要同你谈谈。”
    冯•阿尔丁本能地感到她有些异样。露丝的面孔现出期望的神情。她坐到那把大摇椅上。
    “谈什么，爸爸？”
    “今天上午我同你丈夫谈过。”
    “你同德里克谈过？”
    “是的。他同我谈了他所能谈的一切，而且象先前一样的无赖。临走的时候他说了几句莫明其妙的话。他说什么父女之间应该开诚相见。他这是什么意思呢？”
    “我怎么知道呢，爸爸？”
    “我相信你是知道的。他还说过一些别的话，似乎是说他并不并心你同你朋友的事。
这是什么意思？”
    “我不知道。”
    冯•阿尔丁坐下，脸面上又浮上了几忿忿的神情。
    “听着，露丝。我当然不想被这家伙引诱到一个不太好的境地。这蠢货一定还有什么坏主意。我当然有办法使他沉默下来，如果需要这样的话。但是我相知道，有没有必要采取这样一种强制措施。他说的那个人，你的朋友，到底是谁？”
    凯特林女士肩膀耸动一下。
    “上帝保佑，我有很多的朋友，有不少熟人。”她的话讲得并不坚决，“我确实不知道他说的是谁？”
    “不，你知道。”
    冯•阿尔丁以同对手做生意的口吻说话。“我想把问题简化一下，这个人是谁？”
    “哪个人？”
    “那个人。不言而喻，就是有这么一个同你特别要好。不要担心，露丝，我知道，这没有什么关系，但是我们必须法庭面前做到处处都没有什么漏洞。这些搞法律的人会把一只蚊子吹成大象。我想知道，这个人到底是谁？你同他的感情到底有多深？”
    露丝没吱声。她的两只手神经质地反复摆弄着。
    “在你老爸爸面前不要害怕，亲爱的！”冯•阿尔丁以缓和的口吻说道。“当时我在巴黎对你太严厉了吗？……真该死，是的！”他突然想起了什么。“现在我知道他是谁了。”他喃喃道。“我立即就认出了他的面孔。”
    “你在说什么呀，爸爸，真不懂得你的意思。”
    百万富翁站在女儿面前，双手抓住她的手背。
    “同我说真话，露丝，你同这个人又在一起了？”
    “什么人呀？”
    “你知道我说的谁！”
    “你是说，”露丝犹豫不绝地说，“你是说罗歇伯爵？”
    “好一个伯爵！我曾经对你说过，这家伙完全是一个流氓骗子。十年前你同他的来往过分密切了。但是感谢上帝，我及时把你从他的魔爪下解救出来。”
    “是的，你成功了。”露丝痛苦地说，“于是我就同德里克•凯特林结了婚。”
    “按着别人的意志。”百万富翁补充了一句。
    露丝耸了一下肩膀。
    “可是现在，”冯•阿尔丁接着说：“你又同他混在一起了，不听我的良言。……他今天到过这个房子。我在外面见到了他。”
    露丝•凯特林已经恢复了自我克制的能力。
    “我想说一说，爸爸。你对阿尔曼特的看法是错误的，我指的是对罗歇伯爵的看法。
当然，我知道他在年轻时是有一些恶作剧。他自己曾对我讲过这些事。但是，他是爱我的。由于你，使我们不得不在巴黎分离，他的心几乎碎了。而现在……”
    一声愤怒的声音中断了她的话语。
    “现在，现在你又一次上当了？你，我的女儿！天啊！女人是一群多么可怕的傻瓜呀！”
Chapter 6 米蕾(Mirelle)
Chapter 6  MIRELLE 
Derek Kettering emerged from Van Aldin's suite so precipitantly that he collided with a lady passing across the corridor. He apologised, and she accepted his apologies with a smiling reassurance and passed on, leaving him with a pleasant 
impression of a soothing personality and rather fine grey eyes. For all his nonchalance, his interview with his father-in-law had shaken him more than he cared to show. He had a solitary lunch, and after it, frowning to himself a little, he went round to the sumptuous flat that housed the lady known as Mirelle. A trim Frenchwoman received him with smiles. 
'But enter then, Monsieur. Madame reposes herself.' 
He was ushered into the long room with its eastern setting which he knew so well. Mirelle was lying on the divan, supported by an incredible amount of cushions, all in varying shades of amber, to harmonise with the yellow ochre of her complexion. The dancer was a beautifully made woman, and if her face, beneath its mask of yellow, was in truth somewhat haggard, it had a bizarre charm of its own, and her orange lips smiled invitingly at Derek Kettering. He kissed her, and flung himself into a chair.  
'What have you been doing with yourself? Just got up, I suppose?' 
The orange mouth widened into a long smile. 
'No,' said the dancer. 'I have been at work.' 
She flung out a long, pale hand towards the piano, which was littered with untidy music scores. 
'Ambrose has been here. He has been playing me the new Opera.' 
Kettering nodded without paying much attention. He was 
profoundly uninterested in Claud Ambrose and the latter's operatic setting of Ibsen's Peer Gynt. So was Mirelle, for that matter, regarding it merely as a unique opportunity for her own presentation as Anitra. 
'It is a marvellous dance,' she murmured. 'I shall put all the passion of the desert into it. I shall dance hung over with jewels - ah! and, by the way, mon ami, there is a pearl that I saw yesterday in Bond Street - a black pearl.' 
She paused, looking at him invitingly. 
'My dear girl,' said Kettering, 'it's no use talking of black pearls to me. At the present minute, as far as I am concerned, the fat is in the fire.' 
She was quick to respond to his tone. She sat up, her big black eyes widening. 
'What did you say, Dereek? What has happened?' 
"My esteemed father-in-law," said Kettering, "is preparing to go off the deep-end." 
"Eh?" 
"In other words, he wants Ruth to divorce me." 
"How stupid!" said Mirelle. "Why should she want to divorce you?" 
Derek Kettering grinned. 
"Mainly because of you, cherie!" he said. 
Mirelle shrugged her shoulders. 
"That is foolish," she observed in a matter-of-fact voice. 
"Very foolish," agreed Derek. 
"What are you going to do about it?" demanded Mirelle. 
"My dear girl, what can I do? On the one side, the man with unlimited money; on the other side, the man with unlimited debts. There is no question as to who will come out on top." 
"They are extraordinary, these Americans," commented Mirelle. 
"It is not as though your wife were fond of you." 
"Well," said Derek, "what are we going to do about it?" 
She looked at him inquiringly. He came over and took both her hands in his. 
"Are you going to stick to me?" 
"What do you mean? After -" 
"Yes," said Kettering. "After, when the creditors come down like wolves on the fold. I am damned fond of you, Mirelle; are you going to let me down?" 
She pulled her hands away from him. 
"You know I adore you, Dereek." 
He caught the note of evasion in her voice. 
"So that's that, is it? The rats will leave the sinking ship." 
"Ah, Dereek!" 
"Out with it," he said violently. "You will fling me over; is that it?" 
She shrugged her shoulders. 
"I am fond of you, mon ami - indeed I am fond of you. You are very charming - un beau gar?on, but ce n'est pas pratique." 
"You are a rich man's luxury, eh? Is that it?" 
"If you like to put it that way." 
She leaned back on the cushions, her head flung back. 
"All the same, I am fond of you, Dereek." 
He went over to the window and stood there some time looking out, with his back to her. Presently the dancer raised herself on her elbow and stared at him curiously. 
"What are you thinking of, mon ami?" 
He grinned at her over his shoulder, a curious grin that made her vaguely uneasy. 
"As it happened, I was thinking of a woman, my dear." 
"A woman, eh?" 
Mirelle pounced on something that she could understand. 
"You are thinking of some other woman, is that it?" 
"Oh, you needn't worry, it is purely a fancy portrait. 'Portrait of a lady with grey eyes.'" 
Mirelle said sharply, "When did you meet her?" 
Derek Kettering laughed, and his laughter had a mocking, ironical sound. 
"I ran into the lady in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel." 
"Well! what did she say?" 
"As far as I can remember, I said, 'I beg your pardon,' and she said, 'It doesn't matter,' or words to that effect." 
"And then?" persisted the dancer. 
Kettering shrugged his shoulders. 
"And then - nothing. That was the end of the incident." 
"I don't understand a word of what you are talking about," declared the dancer. 
"Portrait of a lady with grey eyes," murmured Derek reflectively. 
"Just as well I am never likely to meet her again." 
"Why?" 
"She might bring me bad luck. Women do." 
Mirelle slipped quickly from her couch, and came across to him, laying one long, snake-like arm round his neck. 
"You are foolish, Dereek," she murmured. "You are very foolish. You are beau gar?on, and I adore you, but I am not made to be poor - no, decidedly I am not made to be poor. Now listen to me; everything is very simple. You must make it up with your wife." 
"I am afraid that's not going to be actually in the sphere of practical politics," said Derek drily. 
"How do you say? I do not understand." 
"Van Aldin, my dear, is not taking any. He is the kind of man who makes up his mind and sticks to it." 
"I have heard of him," nodded the dancer. "He is very rich, is he not? Almost the richest man in America. A few days ago, in Paris, he bought the most wonderful ruby in the world - 'Heart of Fire' it is called." 
Kettering did not answer. The dancer went on musingly: 
"It is a wonderful stone - a stone that should belong to a woman like me. I love jewels, Dereek, they say something to me. Ah! to wear a ruby like 'Heart of Fire.'" 
She gave a little sigh, and then became practical once more. 
"You don't understand these things, Dereek, you are only a man. Van Aldin will give these rubies to his daughter, I suppose. Is she his only child?" 
"Yes." 
"Then when he dies, she will inherit all his money. She will be a rich woman." 
"She is a rich woman already," said Kettering drily. "He settled a couple of millions on her at her marriage." 
"A couple of millions! But that is immense. And if she died suddenly, eh? That would all come to you?" 
"As things stand at present," said Kettering slowly, "it would. As far as I know she has not made a will." 
"Mon Dieu!" said the dancer. "If she were to die, what a solution that would be." 
There was a moment's pause, and then Derek Kettering laughed outright. 
"I like your simple, practical mind, Mirelle, but I am afraid what you desire won't come to pass. My wife is an extremely healthy person." 
"Eh, bien!" said Mirelle, "there are accidents." 
He looked at her sharply but did not answer. 
She went on. 
"But you are right, mon ami, we must not dwell on possibilities. See now, my little Dereek, there must be no more talk of this divorce. Your wife must give up the idea." 
"And if she won't?" 
The dancer's eyes widened to slits. 
"I think she will, my friend. She is one of those who would not like the publicity. There are one or two pretty stories that she would not like her friends to read in the newspapers." 
"What do you mean?" asked Kettering sharply. 
Mirelle laughed, her head thrown back. 
"Parbleu! I mean the gentleman who calls himself the Comte de la Roche. I know all about him. I am Parisienne, you remember. He was her lover before she married you, was he not?" 
Kettering took her sharply by the shoulders. 
"That is a damned lie," he said, "and please remember that, after all, you are speaking of my wife." 
Mirelle was a little sobered. 
"You are extraordinary, you English," she complained. "All the same, I dare say that you may be right. The Americans are so cold, are they not? But you will permit me to say, mon ami, that she was in love with him before she married you, and her father stepped in and sent the Comte about his business. And the little Mademoiselle, she wept many tears! But she obeyed. Still, you must know as well as I do, Dereek, that it is a very different story now. She sees him nearly every day, and on the fourteenth she goes to Paris to meet him." 
"How do you know all this?" demanded Kettering. 
"Me? I have friends in Paris, my dear Dereek, who know the Comte intimately. It is all arranged. She is going to the Riviera, so she says, but in reality the Comte meets her in Paris and - who knows! 
Yes, yes, you can take my word for it, it is all arranged." 
Derek Kettering stood motionless. 
"You see," purred the dancer, "if you are clever, you have her in the hollow of your hand. You can make things very awkward for her." 
"Oh, for God's sake be quiet," cried Kettering. "Shut your cursed mouth!" 
Mirelle flung herself down again on the divan with a laugh. Kettering caught up his hat and coat and left the flat, banging the door violently. And still the dancer sat on the divan and laughed softly to herself. She was not displeased with her work. 

第六章 米蕾
    德里克•凯特林从冯•阿尔丁的住宅里跑出来之后，在走廊里遇到了一位女士。他俩撞了一个满怀，女士说了一声“抱歉”，甜蜜地莞尔一笑。一对美丽的盈盈的大眼睛给他留下了很深刻的印象。
    他同岳父谈话后，表面上很安静，内心却很矛盾。吃过午饭，他来到一所豪华的住宅，女主人是舞女米蕾。一个衣着整洁的俏皮的法国侍女笑容满面地接待了他。
    “您请进好了，先生！女士只休息一会儿。”
    侍女把他引到一个有着东方陈设的房间里，这里的一切他都很熟悉。米蕾躺在沙发上，周围塞满了很多枕头，枕头都嵌着各种五颜六色的琥珀，同她那赭石色的皮肤十分相称。
    舞女长得非常娇媚动人，尽管黄色的面罩使她的脸孔显得有些细长，却有一种迷人的诱惑力。
    凯特林吻了她一下，坐在椅子上。
    “你刚刚起床，宝贝？”
    她那桔红色的嘴唇现出一丝微笑。
    “不，”舞女回答道，“我在工作呢。”
    她把长长的胳膊伸向一架钢琴，钢琴上杂乱无章地堆着很多乐谱。
    “阿姆布罗泽在这儿呆过了。他弹了弹新歌剧的曲子”。凯特林点了一下头，不十分感兴趣。
    哥劳德•阿姆布罗泽及其舞剧《贵族琼特》对他来说倒无所谓。而米蕾对此的兴趣也只限于她演这个剧的主角安妮。
    “舞蹈太美了。”她自言自语地说，“我将倾注全部的精力跳这个舞。我要是跳好这个舞，就能得到很多宝石。我的朋友！我昨天在奔德大街看到一颗珍珠，颜色是黑色的，真是迷人透了。”
    她很逗人喜爱地看着他，停住了嘴。
    “好宝贝，”凯特林说，“同我谈什么黑色的珍珠，完全没有意义。我的钱库已是空空如也了。”
    她坐了起来，用一双黑黑的大眼睛看着他。
    “发生了什么事，德里克？发生了什么事？”
    “我那尊敬的岳父大人下了狠心，要掐断我的生活来源！”
    “你说些什么呀。”
    “换句话说，我那忠诚的老婆要同我离婚。”
    “多傻，”米蕾说，“为什么会这样？”
    德里克讥笑地说道：“多半是为了你，我的心肝儿。”
    米蕾耸了一下肩膀。
    “她真是太蠢了！”
    “实际上也的确太傻。”德里克压低了声音说。
    “你准备怎么对付这件事呢？”
    “我能说什么呢？我的心上人儿？一方是占有万贯家财的他、冯•阿尔丁；另一方面是债台高筑的我；因此也就不必问强大的一方是谁了。”
    “这些美国人真不可靠。”米蕾说，“要是这个女人能够听你的就好了。”
    “看来，”德里克说，“我们毕竟得采取点措施。可是什么措施呢？”
    她满腹疑团地看着他。他凑近她，抓住她的双手。
    “如果那些债主象一群恶狼一样向我扑来，你不会离开我吧？我爱你爱的要命，你不会离开我吧？”
    她把手从他的手中抽出。
    “你知道，德里克，我对你的感情有多么强烈。”
    从说话的声音就可以听出她是在撒谎。
    “事情就是这样，”德里克慢悠悠地说，“老鼠就要离开沉没的船了。”
    “你怎么能这样想呢？德里克。”
    “少来这一套！”他愤怒地说。“你要抛弃我，对吗？”
    她耸了一下肩。
    “我对你很感兴趣，我的朋友……，差不多可以说，我是爱你的！你的确很迷人，可爱的小伙子，但不切实际。”
    “你是不是想说：你是男子的受用之物，是他们的玩物。对吗？”
    “天啊！假如你硬要这样说的话！”她又靠在枕头上，把头向后一仰。
    “我发誓，我是爱你的。”
    “算了吧！”他走到窗前望着外边，背朝着这个舞女。米蕾马上站了起来，看着他，投以不理解的目光。
    “你在想什么？我的朋友。”
    他越过她的肩膀凝视着远方，撇嘴一笑，使她觉得很不舒服。
    “说真的。我正在想另一个女人，亲爱的。“
    “想另一个女人！你在想另一个女人？”
    “不要激动，我的脑海里出现了一位长着蓝眼睛的女人的肖像。”
    米蕾严厉地问道：“你是什么时候遇到她的？”
    德里克•凯特林嘲弄地一笑。
    “我在萨沃旅馆的楼梯上和她打了个对面。”
    “怎么，她同你说过什么吗？”
    “根据我的记忆，我说：‘对不起’，她说：‘没什么’。就是这些。”
    “然后呢？”舞女步步紧逼地问道。
    “然后就什么也没有了，谈话结束了。”
    “我对你所的一切，感到莫明其妙。”米蕾说道。
    “一位长着蓝眼睛的女人的肖像，”德里克深思着说道，“但愿今后不要再和她相遇。”
    “为什么？”
    “她会给我带来不幸，女人给我带来的总是不幸。”
    米蕾从沙发上跳起来，用长长的手臂搂住他的脖子。
    “你是头驴，德里克！”她喃喃地说，“你是头大蠢驴。你是个漂亮的小伙子，我非常爱你。但是，我不想使自己变得两手空空，真的。现在你听我的，事情很简单，你应该同你老婆和好。”
    “和好，但是事实上行不通。”德里克无可奈何地说道。
    “为什么？”
    “因为同冯•阿尔丁是开不得玩笑的，一旦他拿定了主意，你就别想阻止他。”
    “我听说过他，”舞女点头说道。“他是美国最大的富翁之一，对吗？前几天他在巴黎买了一颗世界上最好的宝石，‘火心宝石’。”
    凯特林不回答。舞女继续说道：“绝妙的好宝石，它应该属于象我这样的人，为了宝石我是不惜生命的。除了我以外，谁还能配戴这样的宝石呢！”
    她叹了一口气，较为实际地说着。
    “你不懂这些事，德里克，你是个男人。冯•阿尔丁很可能把这块宝石给了他女儿。
他就这么一个宝贝女儿嘛。”
    “嗯。”
    “如果冯•阿尔丁死了，她就会成为一个非常富有的女人。”
    “她现在就很有钱。结婚的时候他爸爸给了她几百万美元。”
    “几百万？数目真是可观。如果有朝一日她突然死去，你不就可以继承这笔财产了吗？”
    “如果目前这种情况继续下去，当然由我继承。”凯特林慢悠悠地说道。“据我所知，她还没有立遗嘱。”
    “我的上帝！”舞女说道，“这是一个多么好的解脱机会啊！”
    一阵沉寂降临在他们之间，凯特林大笑起来。
    “你真是个比较实际的人。但是我担心你的愿望难到实现。我老婆身体很好，非常健康。”
    “那好啊，”米蕾说，“可是她总会遇到意外事故。”
    他死盯着她一句话也不说。她继续说道：“你是对的，人们不应该想这些不切实际的事情。但是，我的孩子，你不能离婚。你的老婆应该放弃这种想法。”
    “她要是不放弃呢？”
    舞女睁大了眼睛。
    “她会的。她那种女人特别害怕把事情弄得满城风雨，有一两件事她肯定不愿意让她的熟人在报纸上看到。”
    “你指的是什么？”凯特林严肃地问道。米蕾仰面大笑起来。
    “我亲爱的！我说的是罗歇伯爵。我很了解这个人。请你不要忘记，我是个巴黎人。
她结婚之前，那人可是她的情人。”
    凯特林气愤地抓住了她的双肩。
    “你完全是无耻的捏造！你不要忘记，她毕竟还是我的妻子！”
    米蕾显然有点吃惊。
    “你们英国人都是些怪物。”她抱怨地说。“也可能你是对的。人们都说，美国人天性冷淡，是吗？尽管这样，她还是在同你结婚之前爱上了他。然后她的父亲插了一脚进来。这位可怜的小姐不知流了多少眼泪，但是最终还是屈从了父亲的意志。现在，事情有了一些变化。他们几乎每天碰头，本月十四日她和他在巴黎还有一个约会。”
    “这一切你是从哪里知道的？”
    “我？我在巴黎有些朋友，亲爱的德里克，他们认识这位伯爵。一切都安排好了。
她借口去利维埃拉，但实际上是去巴黎看伯爵，以后……天知道！请你相信我，一点都不会错！”德里克•凯特林呆若木鸡似的站在那里。
    “懂了吗？”米蕾多情地说，“如果你离了婚，那你可以搞点小动作，使她非常狼狈。”
    “怎么能那样搞？住口！”凯特林叫道：“闭上你那该死的嘴！”
    米蕾大笑着坐到了沙发上。凯特林拿起帽子和大衣，砰的一声关上了门。舞女坐在沙发上还在暗自发笑。她对自己的行为感到满意。
Chapter 7  两封来信(Letters)
Chapter 7  LETTERS 
"Mrs Samuel Harfield presents her compliments to Miss Katherine Grey and wishes to point out that under the circumstances Miss Grey may not be aware -" 
Mrs Harfield, having written so far fluently, came to a dead stop, held up by what has proved an insuperable difficulty to many other people - namely, the difficulty of expressing oneself fluently in the third person. 
After a minute or two of hesitation, Mrs Harfield tore up the sheet of notepaper and started afresh. 
"Dear Miss Grey, 
Whilst fully appreciating the adequate way you discharged your duties to my Cousin Emma (whose recent death has indeed been a 
severe blow to us all), I cannot but feel -" 
Again Mrs Harfield came to a stop. Once more the letter was consigned to the wastepaper-basket. 
It was not until four false starts had been made that Mrs Harfield at last produced an epistle that satisfied her. It was duly sealed and stamped and addressed to Miss Katherine Grey, Little Crampton, St Mary Mead, Kent, and it lay beside that lady's plate on the following morning at breakfast-time in company with a more important looking communication in a long blue envelope. 
Katherine Grey opened Mrs Harfield's letter first. The finished production ran as follows: 
"Dear Miss Grey, 
My husband and I wish to express our thanks to you for your services to my poor cousin, Emma. Her death has been a great blow to us, though we were, of course, aware that her mind has been failing for some time past. I understand that her latter testamentary dispositions have been of a most peculiar character, and they would not hold good, of course, in any court of law. I have no doubt that, with your usual good sense, you have already realized this fact. If these matters can be arranged privately it is always so much better, my husband says. We shall be pleased to recommend you most highly for a similar post and hope that you will also accept a small present. Believe me, dear Miss Grey, yours cordially, 
Mary Anne Harfield." 
Katherine Grey read the letter through, smiled a little, and read it a second time. Her face as she laid the letter down after the second reading was distinctly amused. Then she took up the second letter. After one brief perusal she laid it down and stared very straight in front of her. This time she did not smile. Indeed, it would have been hard for anyone watching her to guess what emotions lay behind that quiet, reflective gaze. 
Katherine Grey was thirty-three. She came of good family, but her father had lost all his money, and Katherine had had to work for her living from an early age. She had been just twenty-three when she had come to old Mrs Harfield as companion. 
It was generally recognized that old Mrs Harfield was "difficult." Companions came and went with startling rapidity. They arrived full of hope and they usually left in tears. But from the moment Katherine Grey set foot in Little Crampton, ten years ago, perfect peace had reigned. No one knows how these things come about. Snake-charmers, they say, are born, not made. Katherine Grey was born with the power of managing old ladies, dogs and small boys, and she did it without any apparent sense of strain. 
At twenty-three she had been a quiet girl with beautiful eyes. At thirty-three she was a quiet woman, with those same grey eyes, shining steadily out on the world with a kind of happy serenity that nothing could shake. 
Moreover, she had been born with, and still possessed, a sense of humour. 
As she sat at the breakfast-table, staring in front of her, there was a ring at the bell, accompanied by a very energetic rat-a-tat-tat at the knocker. In another minute the little maid-servant opened the door and announced rather breathlessly: 
"Dr Harrison." 
The big, middle-aged doctor came buzzing in with the energy and breeziness that had been fore-shadowed by his onslaught on the knocker. 
"Good morning, Miss Grey." 
"Good morning, Dr Harrison." 
"I dropped in early," began the doctor, "in case you should have heard from one of those Harfield cousins. Mrs Samuel, she calls herself - a perfectly poisonous person." 
Without a word, Katherine picked up Mrs Harfield's letter from the table and gave it to him. With a good deal of amusement she watched his perusal of it, the drawing together of the bushy eyebrows, the snorts and grunts of violent disapproval. He dashed it down again on the table. 
"Perfectly monstrous," he fumed. "Don't you let it worry you, my dear. They're talking through their hat. Mrs Harfield's intellect was as good as yours or mine, and you won't get anyone to say the contrary. They wouldn't have a leg to stand upon, and they know it. All that talk of taking it into court is pure bluff. Hence this attempt to get round you in a hole-and-corner way. And look here, my dear, don't let them get round you with soft soap either. Don't get fancying it's your duty to hand over the cash, or any tomfoolery of conscientious scruples." 
"I'm afraid it hasn't occurred to me to have scruples," said Katherine. "All these people are distant relatives of Mrs Harfield's husband, and they never came near her or took any notice of her in her lifetime." 
"You're a sensible woman," said the doctor. "I know, none better, that you've had a hard life of it for the last ten years. You're fully entitled to enjoy the old lady's savings, such as they were." 
Katherine smiled thoughtfully. 
"Such as they were," she repeated. "You've no idea of the amount, doctor?" 
"Well - enough to bring in five hundred a year or so, I suppose." 
Katherine nodded. 
"That's what I thought," she said. "Now read this." 
She handed him the letter she had taken from the long blue envelope. The doctor read and uttered an exclamation of utter astonishment. 
"Impossible," he muttered. "Impossible." 
"She was one of the original shareholders in Mortaulds. Forty years ago she must have had an income of eight or ten thousand a year. She has never, I am sure, spent more than four hundred a year. She was always terribly careful about money. I always believed that she was obliged to be careful about every penny." 
"And all the time the income has accumulated at compound interest. My dear, you're going to be a very rich woman." 
Katherine Grey nodded. 
"Yes," she said, "I am." 
She spoke in a detached, impersonal tone, as though she were looking at the situation from outside. 
"Well," said the doctor, preparing to depart, "you have all my congratulations." He flicked Mrs Samuel Harfield's letter with his thumb. "Don't worry about that woman and her odious letter." 
"It really isn't an odious letter," said Miss Grey tolerantly. "Under the circumstances, I think it's really quite a natural thing to do." 
"I have the gravest suspicions of you sometimes," said the doctor. 
"Why?" 
"The things that you find perfectly natural." 
Katherine Grey laughed. 
Doctor Harrison retailed the great news to his wife at lunch-time. She was very excited about it. 
"Fancy old Mrs Harfield - with all that money. I'm glad she left it to Katherine Grey. That girl's a saint." 
The doctor made a wry face. 
"Saints I always imagine must have been difficult people. Katherine Grey is too human for a saint." 
"She's a saint with a sense of humour," said the doctor's wife, twinkling. "And, though I don't suppose you've ever noticed the fact, she's extremely good looking." 
"Katherine Grey?" The doctor was honestly surprised. "She's got very nice eyes, I know." 
"Oh, you men!" cried his wife. "Blind as bats. Katherine's got all the makings of a beauty in her. All she wants is clothes!" 
"Clothes? What's wrong with her clothes? She always looks very nice." 
Mrs Harrison gave an exasperated sigh, and the doctor rose preparatory to starting on his rounds. 
"You might look in on her, Polly," he suggested. 
"I'm going to," said Mrs Harrison promptly. 
She made her call about three o'clock. 
"My dear, I'm so glad," she said warmly, as she squeezed Katherine's hand. "And everyone in the village will be glad too." 
"It's very nice of you to come and tell me," said Katherine. "I hoped you would come, because I wanted to ask about Johnnie." 
"Oh! Johnnie. Well -" 
Johnnie was Mrs Harrison's youngest son. In another minute she was off, retailing a long history in which Johnnie's adenoids and tonsils bulked largely. Katherine listened sympathetically. Habits die hard. Listening had been her portion for ten years now. "My dear, I wonder if I ever told you about that naval ball at Portsmouth? When Lord Charles admired my gown?" And composedly, kindly, Katherine would reply: "I rather think you have, Mrs Harfield, but I've forgotten about it. Won't you tell it me again?" And then the old lady would start off full swing, with numerous details. And half of Katherine's mind would be listening, saying the right things mechanically when the old lady paused... 
Now, with that same curious feeling of duality to which she was accustomed, she listened to Mrs Harrison. 
At the end of half an hour, the latter recalled herself suddenly. 
"I've been talking about myself all this time," she exclaimed. "And I came here to talk about you and your plans." 
"I don't know that I've got any yet." 
"My dear - you're not going to stay on here." 
Katherine smiled at the horror in the other's tone. 
"No; I think I want to travel. I've never seen much of the world, you know." 
"I should think not. It must have been an awful life for you cooped up here all these years." 
"I don't know," said Katherine. "It gave me a lot of freedom." 
She caught the other's gasp, and reddened a little. 
"It must sound foolish - saying that. Of course, I hadn't much freedom in the downright physical sense -" 
"I should think not," breathed Mrs Harrison, remembering that Katherine had seldom had that useful thing as a "day off." 
"But, in a way, being tied physically gives you lots of scope mentally. You're always free to think. I've had a lovely feeling always of mental freedom." 
Mrs Harrison shook her head. 
"I can't understand that." 
"Oh! you would if you'd been in my place. But, all the same, I feel I want a change. I want - well, I want things to happen. Oh! Not to me - I don't mean that. But to be in the midst of things, exciting things - even if I'm only the looker-on. You know, things don't happen in St Mary Mead." 
"They don't indeed," said Mrs Harrison, with fervour. 
"I shall go to London first," said Katherine. "I have to see the solicitors, anyway. After that, I shall go abroad, I think." 
"Very nice." 
"But, of course, first of all -" 
"Yes?" 
"I must get some clothes." 
"Exactly what I said to Arthur this morning," cried the doctor's wife. "You know, Katherine, you could look possibly positively beautiful if you tried." 
Miss Grey laughed unaffectedly. 
"Oh, I don't think you could ever make a beauty out of me," she said sincerely. "But I shall enjoy having some really good clothes. I'm afraid I'm talking about myself an awful lot." 
Mrs Harrison looked at her shrewdly. 
"It must be quite a novel experience for you," she said drily. 
Katherine went to say good-bye to old Miss Viner before leaving the village. Miss Viner was two years older than Mrs Harfield, and her mind was mainly taken up with her own success in outliving her dead friend. 
"You wouldn't have thought I'd have outlasted Jane Harfield, would you?" she demanded triumphantly of Katherine. "We were at school together, she and I. And here we are, she taken, and I left. Who would have thought it?" 
"You've always eaten brown bread for supper, haven't you?" murmured Katherine mechanically. 
"Fancy your remembering that, my dear. Yes; if Jane Harfield had had a slice of brown bread every evening and taken a little stimulant with her meals she might be here today." 
The old lady paused, nodding her head triumphantly, then added in sudden remembrance: 
"And so you've come into a lot of money, I hear? Well, well. Take care of it. And you're going up to London to have a good time? 
Don't think you'll get married, though, my dear, because you won't. You're not the kind to attract the men. And, besides, you're getting on. How old are you now?" 
"Thirty-three," Katherine told her. 
"Well," remarked Miss Viner doubtfully, "that's not so very bad. You've lost your first freshness, of course." 
"I'm afraid so," said Katherine, much entertained. 
"But you're a very nice girl," said Miss Viner kindly. "And I'm sure there's many a man might do worse than take you for a wife instead of one of these flibbertigibbets running about nowadays showing more of their legs than the Creator ever intended them to. Good-bye, my dear, and I hope you'll enjoy yourself, but things are seldom what they seem in this life." 
Heartened by these prophecies, Katherine took her departure. Half the village came to see her off at the station, including the little maid of all work, Alice, who brought a stiff wired nosegay and cried openly. 
"There ain't a many like her," sobbed Alice when the train had finally departed. "I'm sure when Charlie went back on me with that girl from the Dairy, nobody could have been kinder than Miss Grey was, and though particular about the brasses and the dust, she was always one to notice when you'd give a thing an extra rub. Cut myself in little pieces for her, I would, any day. A real lady, that's what I call her." 
Such was Katherine's departure from St Mary Mead. 

第七章 两封来信
    当卡泰丽娜•格蕾小姐吃早饭的时候，桌子上放着两封信，其中一封是一个女人的字体，别外一封是用很讲究和庄重的信封寄来的。
    第一封信的内容是这样：
      “亲爱的格蕾小姐：请允许我们对您为我们那可怜的堂姐所付出的劳动表示
    衷心的感谢，她的死对我们来说是一个沉重的打击，虽然我们早就知道了，她
    长期以来已经是不省人事了。我们听说，她立了一个很可笑的遗嘱。当然世界
    上决不会有一个法庭会承认那样的遗嘱。我们相信您那非凡的智慧会立即领会
    这个事实。我的丈夫说，在我们私下之间了结此事是最好不过的了。您如能接
    受我们热忱向您推荐一个合适的职务，那对我们来说将是莫大的欣慰，我们并
    且希望，您不会拒绝接受我们的这份薄礼。
忠实于您的
 玛丽•安娜•哈尔费德
    卡泰丽娜看完这封信后，神秘地一笑。她又拿起了第一封信。大略看过之后，就把信放在桌子上，凝视着前方，陷入了深思。假如当时有一位目睹者在场，也很难猜透她的心思。
    卡泰丽娜•格蕾小姐今年三十三岁，她本是名门闺秀，由于她父亲失去了全部产业，因此她从小就不得不自力更生。她在二十三岁的时候便到哈尔费德女士家里当养女。
    哈尔费德女士十分挑剔，尽人皆知。她的养女换来换去已不止一人。她们满怀希望而来，饱含泪水而去。卡泰丽娜来的那天正值风和日丽，人们都说有一位降魔的人出世。
卡泰丽娜有一套本领，她能使老太婆、狗和孩子都乖乖地听话。
    她二十三岁的时候，是一个沉默寡言的姑娘，有一双水汪汪的眼睛。到了三十三岁，她就变成了一位喜欢思考的妇女，但那双眼睛还是那么楚楚动人，并用一种不大在乎的、但绝对坚定的目光观察世界。除此之外，她还有一种幽默感，依靠这种幽默感，她在这个世界上成功地保护了自己。
    早饭还没吃完，门铃就响了。侍女说哈里松先生来了。
    这位医生身材高大，体魄健康，他紧紧地握了握卡泰丽娜的手。
    “早上好，格蕾女士！”
    “早安，哈里松先生！”
    “我这么早来打扰您，”医生说，“因为我估计哈尔费德那些可爱的亲属们会来串门的。这位哈尔费德女士可是一条有名的毒蛇。”
    卡泰丽娜一声不响地把哈尔费德女士的来信递给医生，并看着他带来的那只惊恐不安的小狗。
    “卑鄙龌龊的毒蛇！”他叫道，把信扔到桌面上。“您不要怕她，孩子，完全是无稽之谈。那时老夫人头脑很清醒，同她和我一样。她所讲述的法院之类的话完全是吓唬人的，您不要生疑，您将对继承这笔财产。”
    “对此我从来没有怀疑过。这些人同哈尔费德女士已故的丈夫稍有点儿沾亲带故，女士活着的时候，他们谁也不没有关心过她。”
    “您是一位很明智的人。”医生说，“我比谁都了解，近几年您是多么不容易。您最有权利得到老夫人的这笔财产。”
    卡泰丽娜深思地微笑了一下。
    “医生，您说说，您是否知道这笔财产的数目？”
    “嗯，我想年利是五百镑。”
    卡泰丽娜点了一下头。
    “我也是这样估计的，”她说道。“现在请您读一读这封信。”
    她把那封封面考究的信递给了他。
    医生看了一遍，惊奇地喊了一声：“不可能，简直是不可能！”
    “她是考淘尔德人造丝公司的股东，这个公司一直生意兴隆。四十年来，她的年收入都在八千到一万镑之间。据我说知，这些钱她一笔也没动用过。您是知道的，她很俭朴。我总是那样看她，她花每个铜板，都得算计算计。”
    “另外，这些年来她的财产一直有增无减。亲爱的孩子，您将是一位非常富有的女士。”
    “是的。”卡泰丽娜肯定地回答道，“我将会是这样的。”
    “我衷心地祝贺您！”医生说，“请您不必为那些敲竹杠的人操心。”
    格蕾小姐却很大方，她说：“我认为她的举动还是可以理解的。”
    “有时我对您倒是不太理解。”医生摇晃着头说道。
    “怎么不理解？”
    “您的所谓‘是可以理解的’怎么解释？”
    卡泰丽娜只是笑着。
    吃过午饭时，哈里松医生把这条消息告诉了他的太太，她极为激动。
    “是的，哈尔费德女士是一个十分富有的女人，谁也不知道她到底有多少钱。我很高兴她把这笔财产留给格蕾女士。这个小姐是个圣女。”
    医生做了一个鬼脸。
    “同圣女打交道，我感到很不舒服。作为圣女，卡泰丽娜太人格化了些。”
    “她的幽默感使她成了圣女。”太太说，“如果你不是这样认为的话，可以简单地说，她长得很美。”
    医生似乎不以为然，他说道：“是的，她的眼睛很美。”
    “噢，你们这些男人，简直是什么也不懂。卡泰丽娜若是穿上得体的衣裳，那才算美丽呢。”
    “可是，我认为她的穿戴十分得体。”
    下午三点钟光景，医生太太去看望卡泰丽娜小姐。
    “我多么为您高兴啊，孩子！”她热切地说，“整个村子肯定都象我一样为您高兴。
可是，您有什么打算吗？”
    “可以说还没有。”
    “您不会长期地留在这里吧？”
    “是的，我想去旅行。我对世界了解的太少了。”
    “这一点我相信。您在这里呆了整整十年，这期间您几乎没有什么空闲。”
    “说得明确一些，可以这么说，我想体验一下生活。这就是说，我不想局限于个人的一得之见，而想到外地去看看那里发生的事情，看看有哪些令人振奋的事，当然啦，如果这一切都允许我去见识见识的话。这这里，在玛丽麦德村，实在是太平淡了。”
    “您说得对。”医生太太说。
    “我首先去伦敦。”卡泰丽娜说，“在那里我要同律师谈一谈。然后我将去国外旅行。当然在这之前……”
    “怎么？”
    “我要穿戴一下。”
    “您看，这正是要紧的事。我同我丈夫刚才还得到这件事。您知道吗？卡泰丽娜，若是您在穿戴上多少费点神，您会更漂亮些。”
    “从我身上产生不了什么美。”卡泰丽娜笑着说道：“当然，如果有几件新衣裳，我也会高兴的。可是我发现人们没完没了的议论我。”
    “可是这对您来说是新鲜事啊！”哈里松医生太太干巴巴地说道。
    傍晚的时候，卡泰丽娜到维妮夫人那里去告别。这是一位比哈尔费德女士大两岁的老妇。老妇总以为，哈尔费德女士比她先死是她的一个胜利。
    “我对燕妮不知说过多少次：每餐喝上一小杯酒，就能活到一百岁。如果燕妮不是那么顽固地忌酒的话，那她今天还会活在世上。”老妇微笑着，流露出满足和得意的神情。她突然想起了一件事。
    “噢，您现在将得到一大笔财产，亲爱的，太好了。可是您得留心点，别被人偷走了。您不打算结婚吗？您到底多大年纪了？”
    “三十三岁。”
    “还不成问题，可是总有点……”
    “但这是无法改变的。”卡泰丽娜风趣地说道。
    “总而言之您是位好小姐，”老妇友好地说，“有些男人劝您结婚，都是一片好心。
同您结婚比同那些贱货好多了，那些人整天只知道卖弄她们的大腿，一直到人们看腻味了为止。再见，我的孩子，您可别把我忘啦。”
    在火车站上，几乎是全村的居民都来同卡泰丽娜告别。那个小侍女哭得格外伤心。
    “这样的人现在可不多。”她呜咽地说。这时火车已经缓慢地移动了。“那时当查理为了牛奶厂那个姑娘离开这里，她对我是那样的爱抚，简直是没说的。她主动地承担起清扫的重活；可是她自己呢，一旦发现别人累了，就劝人休息。我真愿把一切都给她！真是个好人，直的。”
    这就是卡泰丽娜离开玛丽麦德村时的情景。
Chapter 8  坦普林女士的信(Lady Tamplin Writes a Letter)
Chapter 8 LADY TAMPLIN WRITES A LETTER 
"Well," said Lady Tamplin, "well." 
She laid down the continental Daily Mail and stared out across the blue waters of the Mediterranean. A branch of golden mimosa, hanging just above her head, made an effective frame for a very charming picture. A golden-haired, blue-eyed lady in a very becoming negligee. That the golden hair owed something to art, as did the pink-and-white complexion, was undeniable, but the blue of the eyes was Nature's gift, and at forty-four Lady Tamplin could still rank as a beauty. 
Charming as she looked, Lady Tamplin was, for once, not thinking of herself. That is to say, she was not thinking of her appearance. She was intent on graver matters. Lady Tamplin was a well-known figure on the Riviera, and her parties at the Villa Marguerite were justly celebrated. She was a woman of considerable experience, and had had four husbands. The first had been merely an indiscretion, and so was seldom referred to by the lady. He had had the good sense to die with commendable promptitude, and his widow thereupon espoused a rich manufacturer of buttons. He too had departed for another sphere after three years of married life - it was said after a congenial evening with some good companions. After him came Viscount Tamplin, who had placed Rosalie securely on those heights where she wished to tread. She had retained her title when she married for a fourth time. This fourth venture had been undertaken for pure pleasure. Mr Charles Evans, an extremely good-looking young man of twenty-seven, with delightful manners, a keen love of sport, and an appreciation of this world's goods, had no money of his own whatsoever. Lady Tamplin was very pleased and satisfied with life generally, but she had occasional faint preoccupations about money. 
The button manufacturer had left his widow a considerable fortune, but, as Lady Tamplin was wont to say, "what with one thing and another -" (one thing being the depreciation of stocks owing to the war, and the other the extravagances of the late Lord Tamplin). She was still comfortably off. But to be merely comfortably off is hardly satisfactory to one of Rosalie Tamplin's temperament. 
So, on this particular January morning, she opened her blue eyes extremely wide as she read a certain item of news and uttered that noncommittal monosyllable "Well." 
The only other occupant of the balcony was her daughter, the Hon Lenox Tamplin. A daughter such as Lenox was a sad thorn in Lady Tamplin's side, a girl with no kind of tact, who actually looked older than her age, and whose peculiar sardonic form of humour was, to say the least of it, uncomfortable. 
"Darling," said Lady Tamplin, "just fancy." 
"What is it?" 
Lady Tamplin picked up the Daily Mail, handed it to her daughter, and indicated with an agitated forefinger the paragraph of interest. 
Lenox read it without any of the signs of agitation shown by her mother. She handed back the paper. 
"What about it?" she asked. "It is the sort of thing that is always happening. Cheeseparing old women are always dying in villages and leaving fortunes of millions to their humble companions." 
"Yes, dear, I know," said her mother, "and I dare say the fortune is not anything like as large as they say it is; newspapers are so inaccurate. But even if you cut it down by half -" 
"Well," said Lenox, "it has not been left to us." 
"Not exactly, dear," said Lady Tamplin, "but this girl, this Katherine Grey, is actually a cousin of mine. One of the Worcestershire Greys, the Edgeworth lot. My very own cousin! 
Fancy!" 
"Ah-ha," said Lenox. 
"And I was wondering -" said her mother. 
"What there was in it for us," finished Lenox, with that sideways smile that her mother always found difficult to understand. 
"Oh, darling," said Lady Tamplin, on a faint note of reproach. 
It was very faint, because Rosalie Tamplin was used to her daughter's outspokenness and to what she called Lenox's 
uncomfortable way of putting things. 
"I was wondering," said Lady Tamplin, again drawing her artistically pencilled brows together, "whether - oh, good morning, Chubby darling; are you going to play tennis? How nice!" 
Chubby, thus addressed, smiled kindly at her, remarked 
perfunctorily, "How topping you look in that peach-coloured thing," and drifted past them and down the steps. 
"The dear thing," said Lady Tamplin, looking affectionately after her husband. 
"Let me see, what was I saying? Ah!" She switched her mind back to business once more. "I was wondering -" 
"Oh, for God's sake get on with it. That is the third time you have said that." 
"Well, dear," said Lady Tamplin, "I was thinking that if would be very nice if I wrote to dear Katherine and suggested that she should pay us a little visit out here. Naturally, she is quite out of touch with Society. It would be nicer for her to be launched by one of her own people. An advantage for her and an advantage for us." 
"How much do you think you would get her to cough up?" asked Lenox. 
Her mother looked at her reproachfully and murmured. 
"We should have to come to some financial arrangement, of course. What with one thing and another - the war - your poor father -" 
"And Chubby now," said Lenox. "He is an expensive luxury if you like." 
"She was a nice girl as I remember her," murmured Lady Tamplin, pursuing her own line of thought -"quiet, never wanted to shove herself forward, not a beauty, and never a man-hunter." 
"She will leave Chubby alone, then?" said Lenox. 
Lady Tamplin looked at her in protest. 
"Chubby would never -" she began. 
"No," said Lenox, "I don't believe he would; he knows a jolly sight too well which way his bread is buttered." 
"Darling," said Lady Tamplin, "you have such a coarse way of putting things." 
"Sorry," said Lenox. 
Lady Tamplin gathered up the Daily Mail and her negligee, a vanity-bag, and various odd letters. 
"I shall write to dear Katherine at once," she said, "and remind her of the dear old days at Edgeworth." 
She went into the house, a light of purpose shining in her eyes. 
Unlike Mrs Samuel Harfield, correspondence flowed easily from her pen. She covered four sheets without pause or effort, and on re-reading it found no occasion to alter a word. 
Katherine received it on the morning of her arrival in London. Whether she read between the lines of it or not is another matter. 
She put it in her handbag and started out to keep the appointment she had made with Mrs Harfield's lawyers. 
The firm was an old-established one in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and after a few minutes' delay Katherine was shown into the presence of the senior partner, a kindly, elderly man with shrewd blue eyes and a fatherly manner. 
They discussed Mrs Harfield's will and various legal matters for some minutes, then Katherine handed the lawyer Mrs Samuel's letter. 
"I had better show you this, I suppose," she said, "though it is really rather ridiculous." 
He read it with a slight smile. 
"Rather a crude attempt, Miss Grey. I need hardly tell you, I suppose, that these people have no claim of any kind upon the estate, and if they endeavour to contest the will no court will uphold them." 
"I thought as much." 
"Human nature is not always very wise. In Mrs Samuel Harfield's place, I should have been more inclined to make an appeal to your generosity." 
"That is one of the things I wanted to speak to you about. I should like a certain sum to go to these people." 
"There is no obligation." 
"I know that." 
"And they will not take it in the spirit it is meant. They will probably regard it as an attempt to pay them off, though they will not refuse it on that account." 
"I can see that, and it can't be helped." 
"I should advise you, Miss Grey, to put that idea out of your head." 
Katherine shook her head. "You are quite right, I know, but I should like it done all the same." 
"They will grab at the money and abuse you all the more afterwards." 
"Well," said Katherine, "let them if they like. We all have our own ways of enjoying ourselves. They were, after all, Mrs Harfield's only relatives, and though they despised her as a poor relation and paid no attention to her when she was alive, it seems to me unfair that they should be cut off with nothing." 
She carried her point, though the lawyer was still unwilling, and she presently went out into the streets of London with a comfortable assurance that she could spend the money freely and make what plans she liked for the future. Her first action was to visit the establishment of a famous dressmaker. 
A slim, elderly Frenchwoman, rather like a dreaming duchess, received her, and Katherine spoke with a certain naiveté. 
"I want, if I may, to put myself in your hands. I have been very poor all my life and know nothing about clothes, but now I have come into some money and want to look really well dressed." 
The 
Frenchwoman 
was 
charmed. 
She 
had 
an 
artist's 
temperament, which had been soured earlier in the morning by a visit from an Argentine meat queen, who had insisted on having those models least suited to her flamboyant type of beauty. She scrutinized Katherine with keen, clever eyes. "Yes - yes, it will be a pleasure, Mademoiselle has a very good figure; for her the simple lines will be best. She is also très anglaise. Some people it would offend them if I said that, but Mademoiselle, no. Une belle Anglaise, there is no style more delightful." 
The demeanour of a dreaming duchess was suddenly put off. She 
screamed out diction to various mannequins. "Clothilde, Virginie, quickly, my little ones, the little tailleur gris clair and the robe de soirée soupir d'automne. Marcelle, my child, the little mimosa suit of crepe de chine." 
It was a charming morning. Marcelle, Clothilde, Virginie, bored and scornful, passed slowly round, squirming and wriggling in the time-honoured fashion of mannequins. 
The Duchess stood by Katherine and made entries in a small notebook. 
"An excellent choice, Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle has great go?t. Yes, indeed. Mademoiselle cannot do better than those little suits if she is going to the Riviera, as I suppose, this winter." 
"Let me see that evening dress once more," said Katherine - "the pinky mauve one." 
Virginie appeared, circling slowly. 
"That is the prettiest of all," said Katherine, as she surveyed the exquisite draperies of mauve and grey and blue. "What do you call it?" 
"Soupir d'automne; yes, yes, that is truly the dress of Mademoiselle." 
What was there in these words that came back to Katherine with a faint feeling of sadness after she had left the dressmaking establishment. 
"'Soupir d'automne; that is truly the dress of Mademoiselle.'" Autumn, yes, it was autumn for her. She who had never known spring or summer, and would never know them now. Something she had lost never could be given to her again. These years of servitude in St Mary Mead - and all the while life passing by. 
"I am an idiot," said Katherine. "I am an idiot. What do I want? 
Why, I was more contented a month ago than I am now." 
She drew out from her handbag the letter she had received that morning from Lady Tamplin. Katherine was no fool. She 
understood the nuances of that letter as well as anybody and the reason of Lady Tamplin's sudden show of affection towards a long-forgotten cousin was not lost upon her. It was for profit and not for pleasure that Lady Tamplin was so anxious for the company of her dear cousin. Well, why not? There would be profit on both sides. 
"I will go," said Katherine. 
She was walking down Piccadilly at the moment, and turned into Cook's to clinch the matter then and there. She had to wait for a few minutes. The man with whom the clerk was engaged was also 
going to the Riviera. Everyone, she felt, was going. Well, for the first time in her life, she, too, would be doing what 'everybody did.' 
The man in front of her turned abruptly, and she stepped into his place. She made her demand to the clerk, but at the same time half of her mind was busy with something else. That man's face - in some vague way it was familiar to her. Where had she seen him before? Suddenly she remembered. It was in the Savoy outside her room that morning. 
She had collided with him in the passage. 
Rather an odd coincidence that she should run into him twice in a day. She glanced over her shoulder, rendered uneasy by 
something, she knew not what. The man was standing in the doorway looking back at her. A cold shiver passed over Katherine; she had a haunting sense of tragedy, of doom impending... 
Then she shook the impression from her with her usual good sense and turned her whole attention to what the clerk was saying. 

第八章 坦普林女士的信
    坦普林女士把《每日邮报》的巴黎版放下，深思地望着地中海的波涛。合欢树的金黄色的枝柯在她的头上摇曳着，构成了一副颇为动人而美丽的图画。她是一位碧眼金发的女郎，身着一件华丽的睡衣。金发可能是染成的，但眼睛确实是蓝色的。四十四岁的坦普林还是保持她那时昔日的风韵。
    但是，坦普林女士现在却不是思虑自己的事，或者说，不完全是为自己的美貌而深思。她正是在解决一个棘手的问题。
    坦普林女士在利维埃拉是个有名的人物。在侯爵镇上交际很广。她是个生活经验丰富的太太，有过四个男人。第一个男人只是一种误会，所以她厌恶提起他。那男人聪明、机敏，但很快死去了，于是寡妇就同一个钮扣厂的老板结了婚。但是这一位在三年之后也到了冥间。那是在一个快乐的晚上，他狂饮之后发了酒疯死去的。第三个男人名叫洛德•坦普林，他把妻子带到了上流社会，这正是她的宿愿。当她第四次结婚时，她保留了男人的姓氏。第四个丈夫使她第一次享受到婚后生活的幸福。查理•艾万斯先生是个很出色的小伙子，二十七岁，具有一切吸引人的气质，爱好很多体育运动；另外他还有一个特点：一贫如洗。
    坦普林女士对他的现状是比较满意的，不过有时花费颇大。好在钮扣老板给她留下了相当可观的财产，但是她没有用这些钱做点买卖。因为单身汉洛德•坦普林挥霍无度，花掉了很多钱。她生活在一个富裕和环境里，但光是这一点对一个女人还是不够的。
    正月的一个早晨，当她从报上读到一条消息之后，她便睁大了眼睛陷入了深思。身边坐着她的女儿雷诺斯•坦普林，这位姑娘已经成为妈妈的眼中钉。因为年满十八周岁之后，她已经是母亲的竞争对手了。雷诺斯那种玩世不恭的幽默感，常常弄得别人啼笑皆非。
    “亲爱的，”坦普林女士说，“你看……”
    “什么呀？”
    坦普林女士指着报纸上那条她非常感兴趣的新闻。
    雷诺斯看了一眼报上的新闻，对母亲的激动之情完全无动于衷。
    “这类事多的是。在一些偏僻的乡村里很多老妇常常留给她们的忠诚养女们几百万块钱。”
    “数目可没那么大，报纸上登的不一定可靠。就是其中的一半数目也够多的了。”
    “可是她并没有给我们留下什么钱。”雷诺斯说。
    “当然没有，我的孩子！可是这个叫卡泰丽娜•格蕾的女士是我的一个堂妹。你想象一下吧，如果是……”
    “如果是对我们有点什么……”女儿把母亲的话接下去说完。
    坦普林女士狠狠地瞪了女儿一眼。雷诺斯有一个坏习惯，总愿把事情的真相一语道破。
    “我想。“母亲耐心地说道，紧皱着画过的眉毛。这时丘比来了。她说道：“早晨好，丘比，我亲爱的，现在去打网球吗？多美妙啊！”
    丘比──这是坦普林女士为丈夫起的爱称──说道：“你穿这件衣服显得多美啊！”话音未落便急忙地消失在阳台的梯子上。
    “可爱的小伙子。”坦普林女士多情地目送着自己的丈夫。“可是我要说什么来着？对，对……”她又想起了自己的计划。
    “我是想……”
    “你倒是快说啊，妈妈，你到底想什么呀？”
    “是的，孩子，我是想，如果我建议那个可爱的卡泰丽娜到我这里来做客，不是很妙吗？她一定想到上流社会里出头露面。如果由我出面来周旋，要比别人办强得多。对她对我们都有益处。”
    “你认为从她身上可以榨出多少油水来？”雷诺斯问道。
    母亲严厉地看着女儿，喃喃地说道：“当然要些经济方面的开支了。你当然知道我们的开支情况，你那可怜的爸爸……”
    “现在可是丘比了。他是一个顺从的玩物。”
    “我记得，她是一个可爱的女郎。”坦普林女士自言自语地说，想着自己的心事。
“她恬静、纯朴，不算漂亮，从未追求过男性。”
    “你是说，她对丘比构不成一种威胁，是吗？”
    坦普林觉得是在刺她。“丘比可从来不……”
    “不，”雷诺斯说，“我才不相信呢。他自己也明白他同你结婚为是什么，是贪图金钱。”
    “亲爱的，你总是把话说得那么粗鲁。”
    “请原谅！”雷诺斯说道。
    坦普林女士把《每日邮报》、乱七八糟的手提包，还有其它一些东西都收拾好。
    “我要立即给卡泰丽娜小姐写信，使她想起在埃奇沃思的那些美妙时刻。”
    她回到房间里去，眼神流露出坚定的决心。
    卡泰丽娜到达伦敦的第二天接到了一封四页的长信。她把信塞进手提包就去找哈尔费德多年的律师和财产管理人。律师以慈父般的感情接待了她。寒暄之后，卡泰丽娜递给他一封信，这是死者亲属写来的信。
    律师读了信之后微微一笑。
    “这简直是无耻的觊觎，格蕾小姐。我可以对你说，按照法律，这些人丝毫也没有理由对遗嘱提出任何要求。”
    “我也是这样想。”
    “人们有时是多么的愚蠢。我要是处在他们的地位，我将指望您的宽宏大量。”
    “我正想同您谈谈这件事。我想给死者的亲属留下一笔钱。”
    “您完全可以不承担这样的义务。”
    “我知道。”
    “但是您可能有这样的错觉，好象您欠了他们债似的。当然，您将领取这些钱。这之后可能有人要暗算您。”
    “这些我都知道。但尽管如此，我还是决定这样做。这对我是无所谓的。另外，她毕竟还是哈尔费德女士唯一的亲属。尽管哈尔费德女士在世的时候这位亲属从未过问过她的生活，我还是不想让她空着手回去。”
    虽然律师一再劝阻，她还是坚持已见。当她走到伦敦街头上时，内心里感到很宽慰，这样她就可以心平气和地筹划未来。她的第一件事是去裁缝店。
    接待她的是一位身材瘦长的老妇，看起来很象个公爵夫人。卡泰丽娜很天真地说：“我完全听从您的安排，我有生以来一直很穷，也不懂穿戴。现在我有了钱，也的确想穿戴得好一点。”
    法国女裁缝兴致勃勃。一个钟头之前有个阿根廷胖女人在这里挑剔了半天，使她甚为烦恼。她用行家的眼光打量着卡泰丽娜。
    “当然，当然，您一定会满意，小姐，您的身材很美。小姐，我给您挑选一件线条朴素的。小姐，您是位典型的英国人。有些人认为这是对他们的嘲弄。世界上可没有十全十美的人。”
    这位公爵夫人完全成了能干的生意人，她来回忙碌于模特儿之间，向卡泰丽娜介绍着形形色色的服装。“这是克洛蒂尔德，这是维吉妮。快，我的小天使，这是浅灰色的连衣裙，还有晚秋服。”
    这是一个有趣的上午。各式各样的服装在眼前闪耀。公爵夫人拿着小笔记本记着。
    “小姐，您挑选的这些衣裳太好了。小姐，您真有眼力。在利维埃拉过个冬天，这些衣服是最合适不过的了。”
    “请您给我看一下那件紫黄色的睡衣。”卡泰丽娜说道。
    睡衣被拿到她的面前。
    “这件比任何一件都好。”卡泰丽娜说，“您管这件衣服叫什么来着？”
    “‘晚秋’。是的，这件衣服正适合小姐您穿。”
    当卡泰丽娜离开裁缝店的时候，“晚秋”这个词又浮现在她的脑海里。这是为什么？为什么她无法排除这种忧郁的感情？
    “晚秋。这件衣服正适合小姐您穿。”是的，她一生中的秋天已经到来。春天和夏天她从来没有体验过，也永远不会返。她失掉了一些东西，而没有任何人可以把失去的还给她。十年来，在玛丽麦德村里她一直过着奴役般的生活，而人世间的光阴却荏苒而逝。
    “我真是一个傻瓜。”卡泰丽娜说，“我到底想干什么呢？说真的，我觉得一个月之前要比现在满意得多。”
    她从手提包里拿出早晨接到的信。这是坦普林女士写给她的。卡泰丽娜并不愚蠢。
她很明白信中字里行间的含义，而且她对坦普林女士突然对她表示的好意也不抱任何幻想。她的堂姐并不是邀请她去享福，而是对她有所冀求。为什么不去呢！对卡泰丽娜来说，这种安排了许是有益的。“我接受邀请。”她说道。
    她来到考瑞克旅行社以便立即办好手续。她订了一张火车票，同时还想着另外一件事：有一位特别面熟的男人，在哪里见过他呢？突然间她回忆起来，是在萨沃旅馆的走廊里。那时卡泰丽娜同他打了个照面。真巧，今天又遇上了他。她回头看了一眼，感到很不快，但不知为什么。那个男人站在门旁看着她。一阵恐惧向她袭来，她预感到会有一场悲剧……
    她坚决地摆脱了这种预感，全神贯注同旅行社职员办理手续。
Chapter 9  拒绝贿赂(An Offer Refused)
Chapter 9 AN OFFER REFUSED 
It was rarely that Derek Kettering allowed his temper to get the better of him. An easygoing insouciance was his chief 
characteristic and it had stood him in good stead in more than one tight corner. Even now, by the time he had left Mirelle's flat, he had cooled down. He had need of coolness. The corner he was in now 
was a tighter one than he had ever been in before, and unforeseen factors had arisen with which, for the moment, he did not know how to deal. 
He strolled along deep in thought. His brow was furrowed, and there was none of the easy, jaunty manner which sat so well on him. Various possibilities floated trough his mind. It might have been said of Derek Kettering that he was less of a fool than he looked. He saw several roads that he might take - one in particular. If he shrank from it, it was for the moment only. 
Desperate ills need desperate remedies. He had gauged his father-in-law correctly. A war between Derek Kettering and Rufus Van Aldin could end only one way. Derek damned money and the power of money vehemently to himself. He walked up St James's Street, across Piccadilly, and strolled along it in the direction of Piccadilly Circus. As he passed the offices of Messrs. Thomas Cook & Sons his footsteps slackened. He walked on, however, still turning the matter over in his mind. Finally, he gave a brief nod of his head, turned sharply - so sharply as to collide with a couple of pedestrians who were following in his footsteps, and went back the way he had come. This time he did not pass Cook's, but went in. The office was comparatively empty, and he got attended to at once. 
"I want to go to Nice next week. Will you give me particulars?" 
"What date, sir?" 
"The 14th. What is the best train?" 
"Well, of course, the best train is what they call 'The Blue Train.' 
You avoid the tiresome Customs business at Calais." 
Derek nodded. He knew all this, none better. 
"The 14th," murmured the clerk, "that is rather soon. The Blue Train is nearly always all booked up." 
"See if there is a berth left," said Derek. 
"If there is not -" He left the sentence unfinished with a curious smile on his face. 
The clerk disappeared for a few minutes, and presently returned. 
"That is all right, sir; still three berths left. I will book you one of them. What name?" 
"Pavett," said Derek. He gave the address of his rooms in Jermyn Street. 
The clerk nodded, finished writing it down, wished Derek good morning politely, and turned his attention to the next client. 
"I want to go to Nice - on the 14th. Isn't there a train called the Blue Train?" 
Derek looked round sharply. 
Coincidence - a strange coincidence. He remembered his own half-whimsical words to Mirelle, "Portrait of a lady with grey eyes. I don't suppose I shall ever see her again." But he had seen her again, and, what was more, she proposed to travel to the Riviera on the same day as he did. 
Just for a moment a shiver passed over him; in some ways he was superstitious. He had said, half-laughingly, that this woman might bring him bad luck. Suppose - suppose that should prove to be true. From the doorway he looked back at her as she stood talking to the clerk. For once his memory had not played him false. A lady 
-a lady in every sense of the word. Not very young, not singularly beautiful. But with something - grey eyes that might perhaps see too much. He knew as he went out of the door that in some way he was afraid of this woman. He had a sense of fatality. 
He went back to his rooms in Jermyn Street and summoned his man. 
"Take this cheque, Pavett, cash it first thing in the morning, and go around to Cook's in Piccadilly. They will have some tickets there booked in your name, pay for them, and bring them back." 
"Very good, sir." 
Pavett withdrew. 
Derek strolled over to a side-table and picked up a handful of letters. They were of a type only too familiar. Bills, small bills and large bills, one and all pressing for payment. 
The tone of the demands was still polite. 
Derek knew how soon that polite tone would change if - if certain news became public property. 
He flung himself moodily into a large leather-covered chair. A damned hole - that was what he was in. Yes, a damned hole! 
And ways of getting out of that damned hole were not too promising. 
Pavett appeared with a discreet cough. 
"A gentleman to see you - sir - Major Knighton." 
"Knighton, eh?" 
Derek sat up, frowned, became suddenly alert. He said in a softer tone, almost to himself: 
"Knighton - I wonder what is in the wind now?" 
"Shall I - er - show him in, sir?" 
His master nodded. When Knighton entered the room he found a charming and genial host awaiting him. 
"Very good of you to look me up," said Derek. 
Knighton was nervous. 
The other's keen eyes noticed that at once. 
The errand on which the secretary had come was clearly distasteful to him. He replied almost mechanically to Derek's easy flow of conversation. He declined a drink, and, if anything, his manner became stiffer than before. 
Derek appeared at last to notice it. 
"Well," he said cheerfully, "what does my esteemed father-in-law want with me? You have come on his business, I take it?" 
Knighton did not smile in reply. 
"I have, yes," he said carefully. "I - I wish Mr Van Aldin had chosen someone else." 
Derek raised his eyebrows in mock dismay. 
"Is it as bad as all that? I am not very thin skinned, I can assure you, Knighton." 
"No," said Knighton, "but this -" 
He paused. 
Derek eyed him keenly. 
"Go on, out with it," he said kindly. "I can imagine my dear father- in-law's errands might not always be pleasant ones." 
Knighton cleared his throat. He spoke formally in tones that he strove to render free of embarrassment. 
"I am directed by Mr Van Aldin to make you a definite offer." 
"An offer?" For a moment Derek showed his surprise. Knighton's opening words were clearly not what he had expected. He offered a cigarette to Knighton, lit one himself, and sank back in his chair, murmuring in a slightly sardonic voice: 
"An offer? That sounds rather interesting." 
"Shall I go on?" 
"Please. You must forgive my surprise, but it seems to me that my dear father-in-law has rather climbed down since our chat this morning. And climbing down is not what one associates with strong men. Napoleons of finance, etc. It shows - I think it shows that he finds his position weaker than he thought it." 
Knighton listened politely to the easy, mocking voice, but no sign of any kind showed itself on his rather stolid countenance. 
He waited until Derek had finished, and then he said quietly: 
"I will state the proposition in the fewest possible words." 
Knighton did not look at the other. His voice was curt and matter- of-fact. 
"The matter is simply this. Mrs Kettering, as you know, is about to file a petition for divorce. If the case goes undefended you will receive one hundred thousand on the day that the decree is made absolute." 
Derek, in the act of lighting his cigarette, suddenly stopped dead. 
"A hundred thousand!" he said sharply. "Dollars?" 
"Pounds." 
There was dead silence for at least two minutes. Kettering had his brows together linking. A hundred thousand pounds. It meant Mirelle and a continuance of his pleasant, carefree life. It meant that Van Aldin knew something. Van Aldin did not pay for nothing. He got up and stood by the chimney-piece. 
"And in the event of my refusing his handsome offer?" he asked, with a cold, ironical politeness. 
Knighton made a deprecating gesture. 
"I can assure you, Mr Kettering," he said earnestly, "that it is with the utmost unwillingness that I came here with this message." 
"That's all right," said Kettering. "Don't distress yourself; it's not your fault. Now then - I asked you a question, will you answer it?" 
Knighton also rose. He spoke more reluctantly than before. 
"In the event of your refusing this proposition," he said, "Mr Van Aldin wished me to tell you in plain words that he proposes to break you. Just that." 
Kettering raised his eyebrows, but he retained his light, amused manner. 
"Well, well!" he said, "I suppose he can do it. I certainly should not be able to put up much of a fight against America's man of millions. A hundred thousand! If you are going to bribe a man there is nothing like doing it thoroughly. Supposing I were to tell you that for two hundred thousand I'd do what he wanted, what then?" 
"I would take your message back to Mr Van Aldin," said Knighton unemotionally. "Is that your answer?" 
"No," said Derek, "funnily enough it is not. You can go back to my father-in-law and tell him to take himself and his bribes to hell. Is that clear?" 
"Perfectly," said Knighton. He got up, hesitated, and then flushed. 
"I - you will allow me to say, Mr Kettering, that I am glad you have answered as you have." 
Derek did not reply. When the other had left the room he remained for a minute or two lost in thought. A curious smile came to his lips. 
"And that is that," he said softly. 

第九章 拒绝贿赂
    德里克•凯特林很少受情绪的支配。他那可笑的无忧无虑的神态在很多场合下帮助他解脱过困境。离开米蕾的公寓不久，他就很快变成了另一个人：勇敢而无所畏惧。经过冷静的思索之后，他又感到很困倦。这是他有生以来最为困难的时刻，一些从未料的因素已经出现了，而解决这些难题的对策还没有着落。
    他深思默想，在街上踱步。有时脑海里浮现出解决难题的一些办法。德里克•凯特林并不是愚蠢的人。有很多办法可以使他摆脱困境，但可以走得通的只有一条路。人既然得了重病，就不能拒绝服用哪怕是危险的药物。他非常了解自己的岳父。他在同他的较量中决不能有片刻的犹豫。当走到考瑞克旅行社的时候，他放慢了脚步，但是没有进去。他还在思忖着。突然之间他猛一转身走进了旅行社。旅行社里人很少，很快就有人来关照他。
    “下周我要去尼扎。”
    “哪一天？”
    “十四号。哪次车最好？”
    “当然是‘蓝色特快’。坐这次车在加来可以免去海关的很多麻烦。”
    德里克点了一下头。他对此当然都很了解。
    “十四号，”职员说，“晚了，‘蓝色特快’的票常常在很多天之前就售完了。”
    “请您再看一下，是否还有卧铺。”德里克说，“是否还有可能……”他没有把话说完，古怪地笑了一下。
    职员走进办公室，几分钟之后就回来了。
    “好的，有三个位置还空着。我可以给您订一个，您贵姓？”
    “帕维特。”德里克说道。并把地址写给了他。
    职员又去照顾旁边的一位女士。
    “我想在十四号那天去尼扎，听说有一次‘蓝色特快’的列车。”
    德里克回过头来。偶然，真是少有的偶然！他与米蕾开玩笑时说的话又涌现在他的脑海里。“一双蓝眼睛女人的肖像”。“我再不想见到她。”可是现在又一次见到了她，不仅如此，她还将同他一起到利维埃拉。
    这种罕见的邂逅相遇确有些奇怪，而且带有点神秘色彩。那时他笑着说，这个女人可能给他带来不幸。真会这样吗？来到门口他又回头看了她一眼。这是一位女士，真正的女士。不算年轻，也谈不上漂亮，长着一双蓝色的眼睛。从的表情看，她似乎能够看透周围的一切。在这个女士面前，他仿佛产生了恐惧的心理。似乎有一种宿命的成分隐藏在他的灵魂里。
    他回到自己的住处对仆人说道：
    “请把这张支票况换一下，然后到考瑞克旅行社去取一张火车票，那是我以您的名字帕维特订购的。”
    “是的，先生。”
    帕维特走了。
    德里克走到写字台跟前，看看那里放着的邮件。不用看，他就知道，除了帐单还是帐单。但是催帐的口气还是很有礼貌的。他很了解，一旦那个新闻传播出去，这种有礼貌的口吻立刻就会发生变化。
    他有气无力地坐在靠椅上。他的处境从来没有象现在这样尴尬。解脱这种困境的出路到目前为止还无从说起。
    帕维特回来了，呼哧呼哧地喘着。
    “有位先生想见您，奈顿少校先生。”
    “奈顿？”德里克猛地站起，皱了一下眉头，做了个鬼脸。“奈顿？这又意味着什么呢？”
    “要把他带来见您吗，先生？”
    德里克点了一下头。奈顿进来了，他发现凯特林很可亲，情绪看来也很好。
    “对您的拜访我感到非常高兴。”德里克说道。
    奈顿显得有点神经质。德里克那敏锐的眼光立即就发现了这一点。这位秘书要完成的使命显然是很棘手的。他只是木然地应付着德里克那些漫无边际的闲谈。给他一杯利口酒，他也不喝，举止拘泥而又生硬。德里克最后只好单刀直入了。
“好吧，”他痛快地说：“我那可爱的岳父大人要对我说些什么吧？您恐怕是带着他的使命来找我的吧？”
    “是的，”奈顿严肃地说，“冯•阿尔丁先生如果派别人来就好了。”
    “没有那么可怕吧？我向您保证，我的脸皮很厚。”
    奈顿清了一下嗓子。
    “我受委托向您说明冯•阿尔丁先生给您的一笔费用。”
    “一笔费用？”德里克虽然很坦然，但也感到有点出乎意料。可是他很快就恢复了自持力，递给奈顿一支烟，自己也点燃了一支，然后用他那常有的嘲弄的口吻说道：
    “一笔费用？这简直是太有意思了。”
    “我是否继续往下讲？”
    “请便。我感到，我那可爱的岳父好象是从我们今晨谈话时的立场向后退了一点。
可能他意识到，他的处境并不象他自己认为的那样有利。”
    奈顿继续说道：
    “事情很简单：正象您所说的那样，凯特林夫人已经决定提出同您离婚。在她上诉的时候，如果您不提出反诉，那么在判决离婚的那一天，您将得到一笔数目为十万的费用。”
    德里克把点香烟的火柴随便扔到地板上。
    “十万，美元吗？”
    “英镑。”
    屋内罩着一片寂静。凯特林皱起眉头深思。十万英镑！这将使他和米蕾无忧无虑的生活得以继续下去。另外，这还说明，冯•阿尔丁已经从他女儿那里获悉了一点内情。
否则他才不会平白无故地拿出这么多的钱来呢！
    德里克站起来，倚靠在壁炉旁。
    “可是，如果我不接受这笔慷慨的款项呢？”他用一种冷淡而嘲弄的口气问道。
    “凯特林先生，我向您坦白地说。”奈顿认真地说，“派我来充当这个差使，使我的处境很尴尬。”
    “您与此事是无关的，您也并不知道其中之奥妙。现在我向您询问一个问题，请您给予明确的回答。”
    奈顿也站了起来，颇为吃力地说道：
    “冯•阿尔丁先生明确地对我说，如果您不接受这笔款项，那么他就要除掉您。”
    凯特林听了这句话并没有惊慌害怕，反而轻松愉快地说道：
    “噢，噢，我并不怀疑他会施展他的这种伎俩。如今，有钱能使鬼推磨。十万英镑！如果我愿意的话，可以用它来要挟我。但是我若是提出要二十万英镑呢？那会怎样？”
    “那我将向我的主人汇报。可以认为这是您的回答吗？”奈顿反问道。
    “不！”德里克说，“可笑的是您理解错了。您可以告诉我的岳父：让他把这笔贿赂金送给鬼去吧！明白吗？”
    “完全明白。”奈顿说，他站起来犹豫了一下，脸面涨红起来。补充说，“如果您允许我表示一下话，我可以说：凯特林先生，我非常高兴您这样回答，而不是另一种回答。”
    德里克没吱声。当谈话的对方离开屋子之后，他还倚靠在炉旁站了一会。嘴边上挂着一丝微笑。
    “事情就这样解决了。”他喃喃地说道。
Chapter 10  “蓝色特快”(On the Blue Train)
Chapter 10  ON THE BLUE TRAIN 
"Dad!" 
Mrs Kettering started violently. Her nerves were not completely under control this morning. Very perfectly dressed in a long mink coat and a little hat of Chinese lacquer red, she had been walking along the crowded platform of Victoria deep in thought, and her father's sudden appearance and hearty greeting had an unlooked- for effect upon her. 
"Why, Ruth, how you jumped!" 
"I didn't expect to see you, I suppose, Dad. You said good-bye to me last night and said you had a conference this morning." 
"So I have," said Van Aldin, "but you are more to me than any number of darned conferences. I came to take a last look at you, since I am not going to see you for some time." 
"That is very sweet of you, Dad. I wish you were coming too." 
"What would you say if I did?" 
The remark was merely a joking one. He was surprised to see the quick colour flame in Ruth's cheeks. For a moment he almost thought he saw dismay flash out of her eyes. 
She laughed uncertainly and nervously. 
"Just for a moment I really thought you meant it," she said. 
"Would you have been pleased?" 
"Of course." She spoke with exaggerated emphasis. 
"Well," said Van Aldin, "that's good." 
"It isn't really for very long, Dad," continued Ruth, "you know, you are coming out next month." 
"Ah!" said Van Aldin unemotionally, "sometimes I guess I will go to one of these smug guys in Harley Street and have him tell me that I need sunshine and change of air right away." 
"Don't be so lazy," cried Ruth, "next month is ever so much nicer than this month out there. You have got all sorts of things. You can't possibly leave just now." 
"Well, that's so, I suppose," said Van Aldin with a sigh. "You had better be getting on board this train of yours, Ruth. Which is your seat?" 
Ruth Kettering looked vaguely up at the train. At the door of one of the Pullman cars a thin, tall woman dressed in black was standing 
-Ruth Kettering's maid. She drew aside as her mistress came up to her. 
"I have put your dressing-case under your seat, Madam, in case you should need it. Shall I take the rugs, or will you require one?" 
"No, no, I shan't want one. Better go and find your own seat now, Mason." 
"Yes, Madam." 
The maid departed. 
Van Aldin entered the Pullman car with Ruth. She found her seat, and Van Aldin deposited various papers and magazines on the table in front of her. The seat opposite to her was already taken, and the American gave a cursory glance at its occupant. He had a fleeting impression of attractive grey eyes and a neat travelling costume. He indulged in a little more desultory conversation with Ruth, the kind of talk peculiar to those seeing other people off by train. 
Presently, as whistles blew, he glanced at his watch. 
"I had best be clearing out of here. Good-bye. Don't worry, I will attend to things." 
"Oh, father!" 
He turned back sharply. There had been something in Ruth's voice, something so entirely foreign to her usual manner, that he was startled. It was almost a cry of despair. She had made an impulsive movement towards him, but in another minute she was mistress of herself once more. 
"Till next month," she said cheerfully. 
Two minutes later the train started. Ruth sat very still, biting her under lip and trying hard to keep the unaccustomed tears from her eyes. She felt a sudden sense of horrible desolation. There was a wild longing upon her to jump out of the train and to go back before it was too late. She, so calm, so self-assured, for the first time in her life felt like a leaf swept by the wind. If her father knew - what would he say? 
Madness! Yes, just that, madness! For the first time in her life she was swept away by emotion, swept away to the point of doing a thing which even she knew to be incredibly foolish and reckless. She was enough Van Aldin's daughter to realize her own folly, and level-headed enough to condemn her own action. But she was his 
daughter in another sense also. She had that same iron determination that would have what it wanted and once it had made up its mind would not be balked. From her cradle she had been self-willed; the very circumstances of her life had developed that self-will in her. It drove her now remorselessly. Well, the die was cast. She must go through with it now. 
She looked up, and her eyes met those of the woman sitting opposite. She had a sudden fancy that in some way this other woman had read her mind. She saw in those grey eyes 
understanding and - yes - compassion. 
It was only a fleeting impression. The faces of both women hardened to well-bred impassiveness. Mrs Kettering took up a magazine, and Katherine Grey looked out of the window and watched a seemingly endless vista of depressing streets and suburban houses. 
Ruth found an increasing difficulty in fixing her mind on the printed page in front of her. In spite of herself, a thousand apprehensions preyed on her mind. What a fool she had been! What a fool she was! Like all cool and self-sufficient people, when she did lose her self-control she lost it thoroughly - it was too late... Was it too late? 
Oh, for someone to speak to, for someone to advise her. She had never before had such a wish; she would have scorned the idea of relying on any judgment other than her own, but now - what was the matter with her? Panic. Yes, that would describe it best - panic. She, Ruth Kettering, was completely and utterly panic stricken. 
She stole a covert glance at the figure opposite. 
If only she knew someone like that, some nice, cool, calm, sympathetic creature. 
That was the sort of person one could talk to. But you can't, of course, confide in a stranger. And Ruth smiled to herself a little at the idea. She picked up the magazine again. Really she must control herself. After all, she had thought all this out. She had decided of her own free will. What happiness had she ever had in her life up to now? She said to herself restlessly: "Why shouldn't I be happy? No one will ever know." 
It seemed no time before Dover was reached. Ruth was a good sailor. She disliked the cold, and was glad to reach the shelter of the private cabin she had telegraphed for. Although she would not have admitted the fact, Ruth was in some ways superstitious. She was of the order of people to whom coincidence appeals. After disembarking at Calais and settling herself down with her maid in her double compartment in the Blue Train, she went along to the luncheon car. 
It was with a little shock of surprise that she found herself set down to a small table with, opposite her, the same woman who had been her vis-а-vis in the Pullman. A faint smile came to the lips of both women. 
"This is quite a coincidence," said Mrs Kettering. 
"I know," said Katherine, "it is odd the way things happen." 
A flying attendant shot up to them with the wonderful velocity always displayed by the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons- Lits and deposited two cups of soup. By the time the omelette succeeded the soup they were chatting together in friendly fashion. 
"It will be heavenly to get into the sunshine," sighed Ruth. 
"I am sure it will be a wonderful feeling." 
"You know the Riviera well?" 
"No; this is my first visit." 
"Fancy that." 
"You go every year, I expect?" 
"Practically. January and February in London are horrible." 
"I have always lived in the country. They are not very inspiring months there either. Mostly mud." 
"What made you suddenly decide to travel?" 
"Money," said Katherine. "For ten years I have been a paid companion with just enough money of my own to buy myself strong country shoes; now I have been left what seems to me a fortune, though I dare say it would not seem so to you." 
"Now I wonder why you say that - that it would not seem so to me." 
Katherine laughed. "I don't really know. I suppose one forms impressions without thinking of it. I put you down in my own mind as one of the very rich of the earth. It was just an impression. I dare say I am wrong." 
"No," said Ruth, "you are not wrong." 
She had suddenly become very grave. "I wish you would tell me what other impressions you formed about me?" 
"I -" 
Ruth swept on disregarding the other's embarrassment. 
"Oh, please, don't be conventional. I want to know. As we left Victoria I looked across at you, and I had the sort of feeling that you - well, understood what was going on in my mind." 
"I can assure you I am not a mind reader," said Katherine, smiling. 
"No; but will you tell me, please, just what you thought." Ruth's eagerness was so intense and so sincere that she carried her point. 
"I will tell you if you like, but you must not think me impertinent. I thought that for some reason you were in great distress of mind, and I was sorry for you." 
"You are right. You are quite right. I am in terrible trouble. I - I should like to tell you something about it, if I may." 
"Oh, dear," Katherine thought to herself, "how extraordinarily alike the world seems to be everywhere! People were always telling me things in St Mary Mead, and it is just the same thing here, and I don't really want to hear anybody's troubles!" 
She replied politely: 
"Do tell me." 
They were just finishing their lunch. Ruth gulped down her coffee, rose from her seat, and quite oblivious of the fact that Katherine had not begun to sip her coffee, said: "Come to my compartment with me." 
They were two single compartments with a communicating door between them. In the second of them a thin maid, whom Katherine had noticed at Victoria, was sitting very upright on the seat, clutching a big scarlet morocco case with the initials R.V.K. on it. Mrs Kettering pulled the communicating door to and sank down on the seat. Katherine sat down beside her. 
"I am in trouble and I don't know what to do. There is a man whom I am fond of - very fond of indeed. We cared for each other when we were young, and we were thrust apart most brutally and unjustly. Now we have come together again." 
"Yes?" 
"I - I am going to meet him now. Oh! I dare say you think it is all wrong, but you don't know the circumstances. My husband is impossible. He has treated me disgracefully." 
"Yes," said Katherine again. 
"What I feel so badly about is this. I have deceived my father - it was he who came to see me off at Victoria today. He wishes me to divorce my husband, and, of course, he has no idea - that I am going to meet this other man. He would think it extraordinarily foolish." 
"Well, don't you think it is?" 
"I suppose it is." 
Ruth Kettering looked down at her hands; they were shaking violently. 
"But I can't draw back now." 
"Why not?" 
"I - it is all arranged, and it would break his heart." 
"Don't you believe it," said Katherine robustly, "hearts are pretty tough." 
"He will think I have no courage, no strength of purpose." 
"It seems to me an awfully silly thing that you are going to do," said Katherine. "I think you realize that yourself." 
Ruth Kettering buried her face in her hands. "I don't know - I don't know. Ever since I left Victoria I have had a horrible feeling of something - something that is coming to me very soon - that I can't escape." 
She clutched convulsively at Katherine's hand. 
"You must think I am mad talking to you like this, but I tell you I know something horrible is going to happen." 
"Don't think it," said Katherine, "try to pull yourself together. You could send your father a wire from Paris, if you like, and he would come to you at once." 
The other brightened. 
"Yes, I could do that. Dear old Dad. It is queer - but I never knew until today how terribly fond of him I am." She sat up and dried her eyes with a handkerchief. "I have been very foolish. Thank you so much for letting me talk to you. I don't know why I got into such a queer, hysterical state." 
She got up. "I am quite all right now. I suppose, really, I just needed someone to talk to. I can't think now why I have been making such an absolute fool of myself." 
Katherine got up too. 
"I am so glad you feel better," she said, trying to make her voice sound as conventional as possible. She was only too well aware that the aftermath of confidences is embarrassment. She added tactfully: 
"I must be going back to my own compartment." 
She emerged into the corridor at the same time as the maid was also coming out from the next door. The latter looked towards Katherine, over her shoulder, and an expression of intense surprise showed itself on her face. Katherine turned also, but by that time whoever it was who had aroused the maid's interest had retreated into his or her compartment, and the corridor was empty. Katherine walked down it to regain her own place, which was in the next coach. As she passed the end compartment the door opened and a woman's face looked out for a moment and then pulled the door to sharply. 
It was a face not easily forgotten, as Katherine was to know when she saw it again. A beautiful face, oval and dark, very heavily made up in a bizarre fashion. Katherine had a feeling that she had seen it before somewhere. 
She regained her own compartment without other adventure and sat for some time thinking of the confidence which had just been made to her. She wondered idly who the woman in the mink coat might be, wondered also how the end of her story would turn out. 
"If I have stopped anyone from making an idiot of themselves, I suppose I have done good work," she thought to herself. "But who knows? That is the kind of woman who is hard-headed and egotistical all her life, and it might be good for her to do the other sort of thing for a change. Oh, well - I don't suppose I shall ever see her again. She certainly won't want to see me again. That is the worst of letting people tell you things. They never do." 
She hoped that she would not be given the same table at dinner. She reflected, not without humour, that it might be awkward for both of them. Leaning back with her head against a cushion she felt tired and vaguely depressed. They had reached Paris, and the slow journey round the ceinture, with its interminable stops and waits, was very wearisome. 
When they arrived at the Gare de Lyon she was glad to get out and walk up and down the platform. The keen cold air was refreshing after the steam-heated train. 
She observed with a smile that her friend of the mink coat was solving the possible awkwardness of the dinner problem in her own way. A dinner basket was being handed up and received through the window by the maid. 
When the train started once more, and dinner was announced by a violent ringing of bells, Katherine went along to it much relieved in mind. Her vis-а-vis tonight was of an entirely different kind - a small man, distinctly foreign in appearance, with a rigidly waxed moustache and an egg-shaped head which he carried rather on one side. Katherine had taken in a book to dinner with her. She found the little man's eyes fixed on it with a kind of twinkling amusement. 
"I see, Madame, that you have a Roman Policier. You are fond of such things?" 
"They amuse me," Katherine admitted. 
The little man nodded with the air of complete understanding. 
"They have a good sale always, so I am told. Now why is that, eh, Mademoiselle? I ask it of you as a student of human nature - why should that be?" 
Katherine felt more and more amused. 
"Perhaps they give one the illusion of living an exciting life," she suggested. 
He nodded gravely. 
"Yes, there is something in that." 
"Of course, one knows that such things don't really happen," Katherine was continuing, but he interrupted her sharply. 
"Sometimes, Mademoiselle! Sometimes! I who speak to you - they have happened to me." 
She threw him a quick, interested glance. 
"Some day, who knows, you might be in the thick of things," he went on. "It is all chance." 
"I don't think it is likely," said Katherine, "Nothing of that kind ever happens to me." 
He leaned forward. 
"Would you like it to?" 
The question startled her, and she drew in her breath sharply. 
"It is my fancy, perhaps," said the little man, as he dexterously polished one of the forks, "but I think that you have a yearning in you for interesting happenings. Eh bien, Mademoiselle, all through my life I have observed one thing - 'All one wants one gets!' Who knows?" His face screwed itself up comically. "You may get more than you bargain for." 
"Is that a prophecy?" asked Katherine, smiling as she rose from the table. 
The little man shook his head. 
"I never prophesy," he declared pompously. "It is true that I have the habit of being always right - but I do not boast of it. Good- night, Mademoiselle, and may you sleep well." 
Katherine went back along the train amused and entertained by her little neighbour. 
She passed the open door of her friend's compartment and saw the conductor making up the bed. The lady in the mink coat was standing looking out of the window. The second compartment, as 
Katherine saw trough the communicating door, was empty, with rugs and bags heaped up on the mat. The maid was not there. 
Katherine found her own bed prepared and since she was tired, she went to bed and switched off her light about half-past nine. 
She woke with a sudden start; how much time had passed she did 
not know. Glancing at her watch, she found that it had stopped. 
A feeling of intense uneasiness pervaded her and grew stronger moment by moment. At last she got up, threw her dressing-gown round her shoulders, and stepped out into the corridor. The whole train seemed wrapped in slumber. Katherine let down the window 
and sat by it for some minutes, drinking in the cool night air and trying vainly to calm her uneasy fears. She presently decided that she would go along to the end and ask the conductor for the right time so that she could set her watch. She found, however, that his little chair was vacant. 
She hesitated for a moment and then walked through into the next coach. She looked down the long, dim line of the corridor and saw, to her surprise, that a man was standing with his hand on the door of the compartment occupied by the lady in the mink coat. That is to say, she thought it was the compartment. Probably, however, she was mistaken. He stood there for a moment or two with his back to her, seeming uncertain and hesitating in his attitude. Then he slowly turned, and with an odd feeling of fatality, Katherine recognized him as the same man whom she had noticed 
twice before - once in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel and once in Cook's offices. Then he opened the door of the compartment and passed in, drawing it to behind him. 
An idea flashed across Katherine's mind. Could this be the man of whom the other woman had spoken - the man she was journeying 
to meet. 
Then Katherine told herself that she was romancing. In all probability she had mistaken the compartment. 
She went back to her own carriage. Five minutes later the train slackened speed. 
There was the long plaintive hiss of the Westinghouse brake, and a few minutes later the train came to a stop at Lyons. 

第十章 “蓝色特快”
    “爸爸！”
    凯特林女士吓了一跳。她控制不了她的过于脆弱的神经。她穿着一件贵重的皮大衣，头戴着一项贵重的中国式的帽子，在挤满旅客的月台上踱来踱去。她无论如何也想不到父亲会突然出现在她的面前。
    “你好象是受惊了，露丝。”
    “我没有想到你会来，爸爸。你昨天就同我告别了，你还告诉我说，今天你不来送我，因为你要参加一个会。”
    “噢，原来如此。”冯•阿尔丁说，“你比世界上任何会议都重要。”
    “爸爸，你真好。遗憾的是你不能和我一起走。”
    “我打算同你一道走，使你高兴高兴。”
    父亲对女儿的这种表白尽管是一种玩笑，可是露丝却信以为真，脸上即刻泛出了红晕。她觉得父亲的这种表白对她来说很可怕。她神经质地笑着，假装不大相信的样子。
    “我还以为您说的是真的呢。”她说道。
    “你高兴我去吗？”
    “当然。”她回答道，但听起来不象真心话。
    “我非常高兴听到你的这样回答。”冯•阿尔丁说。
    “可是，爸爸，您下个月就要去巴黎了，在这之前工作离不开，你是不会同我一道去的。”
    “可异啊，可异！”冯•阿尔丁叹了一口气。“现在你可以去找你的座位了。”
    露丝•凯特林向周围瞟了一眼。卧车车厢门口站着一个穿黑色衣服的高个头的女人，这是露丝的女仆。
    “我已经把您的小手提包放在您的座位上了，尊敬的夫人。”
    “谢谢，马松。现在你最好去看看你的座位在哪里？”
    “是，夫人。”
    女仆走了，冯•阿尔丁陪着露丝到了车上。他把一大堆报纸和杂志放在她的座位旁边的桌子上。对面的座位已经有一位女士坐在那里。美国佬向那个女士看了一眼。她那双蓝眼睛给他留下了深刻的印象。美国佬又同女儿谈了几句，看了看手表。
    “看来我应该下车了。火车马上就要开了。再见，孩子，放心吧，我一切都会安排好的。”
    “爸爸！”
    冯•阿尔丁突然回过头来。露丝的这一声喊叫过去很少听到过，使人不寒而栗。这种声音几乎同喊“救命”一样。她不由自主地做了一个扑向冯•阿尔丁的姿势，可是她又立即抑制住了自己。
    “下个月见。”他兴高采烈地说道。
    一分钟之后火车开动了。
    露丝一动不动地坐在那里，竭力控制那不由自主地流下来的眼泪。她蓦然感到自己是那样的孤独。在火车开动的那一瞬间她真想跳下去，但是已经迟了。她，平常是那样自信和平静的人，生平头一次觉得自己宛如一片随着秋风飘荡的落叶。若是她父亲知道她心乱如麻，他又会怎样呢？
    胡闹，完全是胡闹！有生以来她第一次忍受感情的摆弄，在冲动中去做一件她明知是愚蠢的事。做为冯•阿尔丁的女儿，她十分明白自己的此举纯属一种愚蠢的行为。但做为他的女儿，她还具有另外一方面的特征：同他一样，只要是头脑里有什么想法，就非去实现它不可。从幼年起她就形成了这种性格。
    事情已成定局。无法挽回了。
    她环顾了一下四周，看到了对面的旅伴。她仿佛觉得，对面这位女士已经完全猜透了她的心绪。从对方的眼神里，她看得出好象对她有所理解和同情。但这只是一个短暂的印象。正因为如此，两位女士的面部表情又都流露出若无其事的样子，凯特林女士拿起一本杂志。卡泰丽娜•格蕾面向窗外。
    但是露丝却无法把思想集中在读物的内容上。不祥的念头折磨着她。她多傻呀！但又能如何呢，已经太晚了……真的是太晚了吗？如果现在有人同她谈一谈，劝一劝她，将会怎样呢？她的恐惧心理愈来愈重。
    她偷偷地瞟了一眼对面的坐着的女士。是的，同这个女人看来是很容易攀谈的。但是未免有些欠考虑，怎么可以随便向一个陌生人倾吐自己内心的秘密呢！这种想法实在是很可笑的。最后她终于把一切都考虑妥当。她有生以来有谁给过她幸福？为什么这种幸福不去尝试一下……？
    谁也不会知道这件事。
    火车向多佛尔飞驰。在英吉利海峡摆渡的轮船里，她很快就找到了预订好的卧铺，然后很快就到餐车上去用饭。当看到对面坐着的那位女士正是在火车上遇到的那位的时候，她感到有些意外，两个女士都会心地微笑起来。
    “多么巧呀！”凯特林女士说。
    “是啊，真巧。”卡泰丽娜也笑着说。
    侍者奔忙着端菜送饭。当吃完第一道菜的时候，两位女士已经象老朋友一样攀谈起来了。
    “我非常高兴，在阳光充足的季节到南方去。”凯特林说，“您对利维埃拉很熟悉吗？”
    “不，我第一次到那里去。”
    “这怎么可能！”
    “您每年都去南方旅行吗？”
    “几乎是这样，一、二月份的伦敦真叫人讨厌。”
    “我一直住在乡下。那里冬天阳光很少。”
    “您怎么突然决定去旅行了呢？”
    “钱，”卡泰丽娜说，“我当了十年的养女，挣得的钱只能够买一双过冬的棉鞋。
现在我突然得到了一大笔钱，当然，在您说来这种事是不会发生的。”
    “您为什么这样认为呢？”
    卡泰丽娜笑了。
    “我自己也不知道！不知怎的，我感到您很富有。当然也可能是错误的。”
    “不，”露丝说，“您没有错。”她突然严肃起来。“如果我允许的话，请问，您对我的印象如何？”
    “我……”
    “请您坦白地说。我对此很感兴趣。当我在伦敦站台上第一次看到您的时候，就觉得您好象看透了我的内心世界。”
    “感谢上帝，我可不是个算命先生。”卡泰丽娜微笑着说道。
    “尽管如此，我还是衷心地请求您，把对我的印象告诉我。”
    她说得那样的真挚和诚恳，使得卡泰丽娜不得不回答她的问题。
    “我想对您说，但是您不要以为我没有礼貌。我的印象是，您的内心非常空虚。”
    “您说得对。完全正确。我的心情很坏。我想对您谈谈。可以吗？”
    “这关我什么事”，卡泰丽娜这样想，但她还是很有礼貌地回答道：
    “当然可以。”
    露丝把咖啡喝完，站了起来，也不理会卡泰丽娜的咖啡还没有喝，就说道：
    “走，到我的包厢去。”
    旁边的一个包厢通过一道门同凯特林夫人的包厢相连，里面坐着那个女仆，手里紧握着一个小皮包，上面有R•K•的字样。凯特林女士关上了门，坐在一个枕头旁。卡泰丽娜坐在她的身旁。
    “我现在犹豫的很，也得不到任何人的忠告。我爱上了一个人。特别爱他。我们从小就青梅竹马，但是被人残酷地分开了。我们现在又找到了相互的地址。”
    “以后呢？”
    “我们常见面，您可能从坏处看待我，但是您不了解内情。我的丈夫非常不象话，他使我蒙受着耻辱。”
    “非常遗憾。”她又能说些什么呢？
    “只是有一件事使我伤心：我把我父亲瞒过了。就是在火车站上和我告别的那位先生。他主张我同丈夫离婚，可是他哪里知道，我是同另外一个男人去约会。他一定以为我是个大傻瓜。”
    “可是，这难道不是件傻事吗？”
    露丝•凯特林瞅着自己的手，神经质地瞅着。“我不能回去了。”
    “为什么？”
    “一切都办妥了，否则他会心碎的。”
    “不见得吧。”卡泰丽娜单调地说，“一个人的心不会那样轻而易碎的。”
    “他会认为，我是个意志薄弱而没有勇气的人。”
    “您的所作所为，我认为既欠考虑，也不明智。”卡泰丽娜说，“我想您自己也许知道。”
    露丝用双手蒙住了脸。
    “我不知道！我不知道！整个旅程中我总觉得要发生什么事，这种事肯定要降临到我头上。”
    她痉挛地握住了卡泰丽娜的手。
    “您一定认为我无法理解：为什么会同您谈这些事。可是我要告诉您：要发生非常可怕的事。”
    “别这样想，”卡泰丽娜说。“您要设法控制一下自己。您可以在巴黎给您父亲打个电报。他会马上到您这里来。”
    露丝脸上的气色舒展起来。
    “是的，我可以打电报，我爱我的老爸爸。直到今天我才发现，我是多么爱他。”她站起来擦干眼泪。
    “我的确有点糊涂。非常、非常感谢您能同我聊聊。”她站了起来。
    “我现在感觉好多了，我连自己也不明白，我会是那样的蠢。”
    卡泰丽娜也站了起来。
    “我真高兴您的心情好了起来。”她尽量用最世俗的语调说。她只知道，在一个人做过这样一种忏悔之后，会有另一种难以言传的羞愧感。她告别了露丝，回到自己的包厢里去。
    这时，凯特林的女仆也离开了包厢。她是那样惊慌失措地看着卡泰丽娜走来的方向，使卡泰丽娜也情不自禁地回头望了一眼。女仆的惊慌是没有什么理由的，因为车厢空无一人。卡泰丽娜继续走向她那在另一节车厢里的包厢。当她走到那一节车厢最后一个包厢时，看到了一张女人的面孔，随后猛地关上了包厢的门。这是一张使人不能忘却的、微黑而漂亮的面孔，她很动人，但打扮得有些古怪。卡泰丽娜觉得似乎在哪儿看见过她。
    “如果我阻止她从事这一次可笑的冒险，那么我将会做一件好事。”卡泰丽娜坐在自己的包厢里思索着。“可是谁知道呢？这个女人给我的印象是，几乎一生都是个冷冰冰的自私鬼。对这种人来说，要是突然对某个人开始强烈的追求，那可能更好些。此外，但愿我再也不要见到她。无论如何，我是再也没有同她见面的兴趣了。”
    她躺在枕头上，突然感到浑身发软。火车快到巴黎了，缓慢地在城郊绕行，使卡泰丽娜感到很无聊。高兴的是火车在里昂站停了几分钟，可以到外面去散散步，呼吸些新鲜空气。冷空气使她觉得很舒服，因为火车里过于闷热了。她的那位新女友在列车里订了盒饭，这太好了；否则，如果在餐车里又遇上这个穿皮大衣的女人，并和她面对面的一起吃饭，那未免太可怕了。
    列车又开动了。到了吃饭时间。卡泰丽娜立刻到了餐车里。这次，坐在她对面的却是个小老头，头盖骨象个鸡蛋。一小撮山羊胡须，这说明他不是英国人。卡泰丽娜从包厢里带了一本书。她发现小老头好奇地注视着她那本书的书名。
    “看来，这位小姐是有看一本侦探小说。您喜欢看这一类读物吗？”
    “是的，我觉得写得很神秘。”卡泰丽娜回答道。
    小老头点了一下头，似乎他完全理解这种爱好。这个人身材很奇怪，脑袋稍微有点歪斜，象只金丝鸟。
    “我听说，这种书的发行量非常之大，为什么呢？小姐，请问，这是为什么？”
    卡泰丽娜越来越发生了兴趣。
    “可能是因为这种书制造了一种幻想并把这种幻想反映到生活中去，而在生活中有可能出现类似这种幻想的东西。”卡泰丽娜说道。
    小老头很郑重地点了下头。“其实，有些事可能是真实的。”
    “当然生活中很少出现这种事情，这是人人皆知的事。”
    “恰恰相反，小姐。我可以同您说说。我就是处理这种事的人。这种事常常发生。”
    卡泰丽娜向他投以敏捷而兴味盎然的一瞥。
    “谁能预料到呢，也许突然有一天您被卷到一个案子中去。”小老头继续说。“生活中许多事情的发生都带有偶然性。”
    “我相信。”卡泰丽娜说，“但我永远不会经历这种事的。”
    小老头向她鞠了一躬。
    “您想体验一下吗？”
    这一问把卡泰丽娜吓了一跳，她的心怦怦直跳，胸脯一起一伏。
    “这可能是种想象。”小老头说。“可是我总觉很您仿佛要成为一起骇人听闻的案件的中心人物。好吧，小姐，我在这方面是有经验的，而且我觉得，如果一个人急切地思虑某件事，这件事就会向他扑来。谁知道呢？”他滑稽歪了一下头。“也有可能，您所经历的要比您所喜欢的更多。”
    “这是预言吗？”卡泰丽娜询问着，站起身来，面带笑容。
    小老头摇了摇头。
    “我从来不作任何预言。”他严肃地说道，“但应该说，我的预测总是十分正确。
我从来不吹牛，晚安，小姐，希望您休息得好。”
    卡泰丽娜回到了自己的包厢，回忆着小老头的话，微笑在脸面上一闪而过。当她走过她那位女友的包厢的时，看到乘务员正在铺床。穿着皮大衣的女士面朝窗子向外张望，隔壁的包厢空无一人，被褥、旅行包都堆放在坐位上。女仆人没在里面。卡泰丽娜回到了自己的包厢，因为她感到很累，所以九点半就熄了灯。
    她突然醒来时，一点儿也不知道，列车行驶了多长时间。她看了一下表，表肯定停了。不安的情绪越来越沉重。最后她围上披肩走出包厢。整列火车仿佛都沉浸在梦乡中。
她把窗子打开，呼吸着外面的新鲜空气。但始终无法排除那种恐惧的心理。最后她决定到车厢尾部找一下乘务员打听一下准确的时间。但是，那里没有人。她犹豫了一会儿，又决定到下一节车厢去。她看到整个车厢的过道里闪烁着半明半暗的灯光，而且使她感到意外的是，在她女朋友的包厢旁边站着一个男人，手扶着门把手。她是否搞错了？这是另一个包厢吧？他在那里站了好一会儿，背朝着卡泰丽娜。他好象有点踌躇不定，然后转过身来。一种命里注定的感觉使她认出了他，即那个两次相遇的男人。一次在萨沃旅馆，一次在考瑞克旅行社。他开门走进了包厢，随手把门关上。
    卡泰丽娜思忖着：他是否就是穿皮大衣的女人所追求的那个男人呢？
    但是她立即就又否定了自己的想法，一定是看错了包厢，那根本不是她那新女友的包厢。她回到了自己的车厢。五分钟之后火车放慢了速度。人们清楚地听到火车的刹车声。这时火车进入了里昂站。
Chapter 11  谋杀(Murder)
Chapter 11 MURDER 
Katherine wakened the next morning to brilliant sunshine. She went along to breakfast early, but met none of her acquaintances of the day before. When she returned to her compartment it had just been restored to its daytime appearance by the conductor, a dark man with a drooping moustache and melancholy face. 
"Madame is fortunate," he said, "the sun shines. It is always a great disappointment to passengers when they arrive on a grey morning." 
"I should have been disappointed, certainly," said Katherine. 
The man prepared to depart. 
"We are rather late, Madame," he said. "I will let you know just before we get to Nice." 
Katherine nodded. She sat by the window; entranced by the sunlit panorama. The palid trees, the deep blue of the sea, the bright yellow mimosa came with all the charm of novelty to the woman who for fourteen years had known only the drab winters of England. 
When they arrived at Cannes, Katherine got out and walked up and down the platform. She was curious about the lady in the mink coat, and looked up at the windows of her compartment. The blinds were still drawn down - the only ones to be so on the whole train. Katherine wondered a little, and when she re-entered the train she passed along the corridor and noticed that these two compartments were still shuttered and closed. The lady of the mink coat was clearly no early riser. 
Presently the conductor came to her and told her that in a few minutes the train would arrive at Nice. Katherine handed him a tip; the man thanked her, but still lingered. 
There was something odd about him. Katherine, who had at first wondered whether the tip had not been big enough, was now convinced that something far more serious was amiss. His face was of a sickly pallor, he was shaking all over, and looked as if he had been frightened out of his life. He was eyeing her in a curious manner. Presently he said abruptly: "Madame will excuse me, but is she expecting friends to meet her at Nice?" 
"Probably," said Katherine. "Why?" 
But the man merely shook his head and murmured something that 
Katherine could not catch and moved away, not reappearing until the train came to rest at the station, when he started handing her belongings down from the window. 
Katherine stood for a moment or two on the platform rather at a loss, but a fair young man with an ingenuous face came up to her and said rather hesitatingly: 
"Miss Grey, is it not?" 
Katherine said that it was, and the young man beamed upon her seraphically and murmured: 
"I am Chubby, you know - Lady Tamplin's husband. I expect she mentioned me, but perhaps she forgot. Have you got your billet de bagages? I lost mine when I came out this year, and you would not believe the fuss they made about it. Regular French red tape!" 
Katherine produced it, and was just about to move off beside him when a very gentle and insidious voice murmured in her ear: 
"A little moment, Madame, if you please." 
Katherine turned to behold an individual who made up for insignificance of stature by a large quantity of gold lace and uniform. 
The individual explained. "There were certain formalities. Madame would perhaps be so kind as to accompany him. The regulations of the police -" He threw up his arms. "Absurd, doubtless, but there it was." 
Mr Chubby Evans listened with a very imperfect comprehension, his French being of a limited order. 
"So like the French," murmured Mr Evans. He was one of those staunch patriotic Britons who, having made a portion of a foreign country their own, strongly resent the original inhabitants of it. 
"Always up to some silly dodge or other. They've never tackled people on the station before, though. This is something quite new. I suppose you'll have to go." 
Katherine departed with her guide. Somewhat to her surprise, he led her towards a siding where a coach of the departed train had been shunted. He invited her to mount into this, and, preceding her down the corridor, held aside the door of one of the compartments. 
In it was a pompous-looking official personage, and with him a nondescript being who appeared to be a clerk. The pompous- looking personage rose politely, bowed to Katherine, and said: 
"You will excuse me, Madame, but there are certain formalities to be complied with. Madame speaks French, I trust?" 
"Sufficiently, I think, Monsieur," replied Katherine in that language. 
"That is good. Pray be seated, Madame. I am M. Caux, the Commissary of Police." 
He blew out his chest importantly, and Katherine tried to look sufficiently impressed. 
"You wish to see my passport?" she inquired. "Here it is." 
The Commissary eyed her keenly and gave a little grunt. 
"Thank you, Madame," he said, taking the passport from her. He cleared his throat. 
"But what I really desire is a little information." 
"Information?" 
The Commissary nodded his head slowly. 
"About a lady who has been a fellow-passenger of yours. You lunched with her yesterday." 
"I am afraid I can't tell you anything about her. We fell into conversation over our meal, but she is a complete stranger to me. I have never seen her before." 
"And yet," said the Commissary sharply, "you returned to her compartment with her after lunch and sat talking for some time?" 
"Yes," said Katherine, "that is true." 
The Commissary seemed to expect her to say something more. He 
looked at her encouragingly. 
"Yes, Madame?" 
"Well, Monsieur?" said Katherine. 
"You can, perhaps, give me some kind of idea of that conversation?" 
"I could," said Katherine, "but at the moment I see no reason to do so." 
In somewhat British fashion she felt annoyed. 
This foreign official seemed to her impertinent. 
"No reason?" cried the Commissary. "Oh yes, Madame, I can assure you that there is a reason." 
"Then perhaps you will give it to me." 
The Commissary rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a minute or two without speaking. 
"Madame," he said at last, "the reason is very simple. The lady in question was found dead in her compartment this morning." 
"Dead!" gasped Katherine. "What was it - heart failure?" 
"No," said the Commissary in a reflective voice. "No - she was murdered." 
"Murdered!" cried Katherine. 
"So you see, Madame, why we are anxious for any information we can possibly get." 
"But surely her maid -" 
"The maid has disappeared." 
"Oh!" Katherine paused to assemble her thoughts. 
"Since the conductor had seen you talking with her in her compartment, he quite naturally reported the fact to the police, and that is why, Madame, we have detained you, in the hope of gaining some information." 
"I am very sorry," said Katherine, "I don't even know her name." 
"Her name is Kettering. That we know from her passport and from the labels on her luggage. If we -" 
There was a knock on the compartment door. M. Caux frowned. He opened it about six inches. 
"What is the matter?" he said peremptorily. "I cannot be disturbed." 
The egg-shaped head of Katherine's dinner acquaintance showed 
itself in the aperture. On his face was a beaming smile. 
"My name," he said, "is Hercule Poirot." 
"Not," the Commissary stammered, "not the Hercule Poirot?" 
"The same," said Mr Poirot. "I remember meeting you once, M. Caux, at the S?reté in Paris, though doubtless you have forgotten me?" 
"Not at all, Monsieur, not at all," declared the Commissary heartily. "But enter, I pray of you. You know of this -" 
"Yes, I know," said Hercule Poirot. "I came to see if I might be of any assistance?" 
"We should be flattered," replied the Commissary promptly. "Let me present you, Mr Poirot, to -" he consulted the passport he still held in his hand - "to Madame - er - Mademoiselle Grey." 
Poirot smiled across at Katherine. 
"It is strange, is it not," he murmured, "that my words should have come true so quickly?" 
"Mademoiselle, alas! can tell us very little," said the Commissary. 
"I have been explaining," said Katherine, "that this poor lady was a complete stranger to me." 
Poirot nodded. 
"But she talked to you, did she not?" he said gently. "You formed an impression - is it not so?" 
"Yes," said Katherine thoughtfully. "I suppose I did. And that impression was -" 
"Yes, Mademoiselle -" the Commissary jerked himself forward - 
"let us by all means have your impressions." 
Katherine sat turning the whole thing over in her mind. She felt in a way as if she were betraying a confidence, but with that ugly word 'Murder' ringing in her ears she dared not keep anything back. Too much might hang upon it. So, as nearly as she could, she repeated word for word the conversation she had had with the dead woman. 
"That is interesting," said the Commissary, glancing at the other. 
"Eh, M. Poirot, that is interesting? Whether it has anything to do with the crime -" He left the sentence unfinished. 
"I suppose it could not be suicide," said Katherine, rather doubtfully. 
"No," said the Commissary, "it could not be suicide. She was strangled with a length of black cord." 
"Oh!" Katherine shivered. M. Caux spread out his hands apologetically. "It is not nice - no. I think that our train robbers are more brutal than they are in your country." 
"It is horrible." 
"Yes, yes -" he was soothing and apologetic - "but you have great courage, Mademoiselle. At once, as soon as I saw you, I said to myself, 'Mademoiselle has great courage.' That is why I am going to ask you to do something more - something distressing, but I assure you very necessary." 
Katherine looked at him apprehensively. 
He spread out his hands apologetically. 
"I am going to ask you, Mademoiselle, to be so good as to accompany me to the next compartment." 
"Must I?" asked Katherine in a low voice. 
"Someone must identify her," said the Commissary, "and since the maid has disappeared -" he coughed significantly - "you appear to be the person who has seen most of her since she joined the train." 
"Very well," said Katherine quietly, "if it is necessary -" 
She rose. Poirot gave her a little nod of approval. 
"Mademoiselle is sensible," he said. "May I accompany you, M. Caux?" 
"Enchanted, my dear M. Poirot." 
They went out into the corridor, and M. Caux unlocked the door of the dead woman's compartment. The blinds on the far side had been drawn half-way up to admit light. The dead woman lay on the berth to their left, in so natural a posture that one could have thought her asleep. The bedclothes were drawn up over her, and her head was turned to the wall, so that only the red auburn curls showed. Very gently M. Caux laid a hand on her shoulder and turned the body back so that the face came into view. Katherine flinched a little and dug her nails into her palms. A heavy blow had disfigured the features almost beyond recognition. Poirot gave a sharp exclamation. 
"When was that done, I wonder?" he demanded. "Before death or after?" 
"The doctor says after," said M. Caux. 
"Strange," said Poirot, drawing his brows together. 
He turned to Katherine. "Be brave, Mademoiselle, look at her well. Are you sure that this is the woman you talked to in the train yesterday?" 
Katherine had good nerves. She steeled herself to look long and earnestly at the recumbent figure. Then she leaned forward and took up the dead woman's hand. 
"I am quite sure," she replied at length. "The face is too disfigured to recognize, but the build and carriage and hair are exact, and besides I noticed this -" she pointed to a tiny mole on the dead woman's wrist - "while I was talking to her." 
"Bon," approved Poirot. "You are an excellent witness, Mademoiselle. There is then no question as to the identity, but it is strange, all the same." He frowned down on the dead woman in perplexity. 
M. Caux shrugged his shoulders. 
"The murderer was carried away by rage, doubtless," he suggested. 
"If 
she 
had 
been 
struck 
down, 
it 
would have 
been 
comprehensible," mused Poirot, "but the man who strangled her slipped up behind and caught her unawares. A little choke - a little gurgle - that is all that would be heard, and then afterwards - that smashing blow on her face. Now why? Did he hope that if the face were unrecognizable she might not be identified? Or did he hate her so much that he could not resist striking that blow even after she was dead?" 
Katherine shuddered, and he turned at once to her kindly. 
"You must not let me distress you, Mademoiselle," he said. "To you this is all very terrible. To me, alas! it is an old story. One moment, I pray of you both." 
They stood against the door watching him as he went quickly round the compartment. He noted the dead woman's clothes neatly folded on the end of the berth, the big fur coat that hung from a hook, and the little red lacquer hat tossed up on the rack. Then he passed through into the adjoining compartment, that in which Katherine had seen the maid sitting. Here the berth had not been made up. Three or four rugs were piled loosely on the seat; there was a hat-box and a couple of suitcases. He turned suddenly to Katherine. 
"You were in here yesterday," he said. "Do you see anything changed, anything missing?" 
Katherine looked carefully round both compartments. 
"Yes," she said, "there is something missing - a scarlet morocco case. It had the initials 'R.V.K.' on it. It might have been a small dressing-case or a big jewel-case. When I saw it, the maid was holding it." 
"Ah!" said Poirot. 
"But, surely," said Katherine. "I - of course, I don't know anything about such things, but surely it is plain enough, if the maid and the jewel-case are missing?" 
"You mean that it was the maid who was the thief? No, Mademoiselle; there is a very good reason against that," said the Commissary. 
"What?" 
"The maid was left behind in Paris." 
He turned to Poirot. 
"I should like you to hear the conductor's story yourself," he murmured confidentially. "It is very suggestive." 
"Mademoiselle would doubtless like to hear it also," said Poirot. 
"You do not object, Monsieur le Commissaire?" 
"No," said the Commissary, who clearly did object very much. 
"No, certainly, M. Poirot, if you say so. You have finished here?" 
"I think so. One little minute." 
He had been turning over the rugs, and now he took one to the window and looked at it, picking something off it with his fingers. 
"What is it?" demanded M. Caux sharply. 
"Four auburn hairs." He bent over the dead woman. "Yes, they are from the head of Madame." 
"And what of it? Do you attach importance to them?" 
Poirot let the rug drop back on the seat. 
"What is important? What is not? One cannot say at this stage. But we must note each little fact carefully." 
They went back again into the first compartment, and in a minute or two the conductor of the carriage arrived to be questioned. 
"Your name is Pierre Michel?" said the Commissary. 
"Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire." 
"I should like you to repeat to this gentleman -" he indicated Poirot 
-"the story that you told me as to what happened in Paris." 
"Very good, Monsieur le Commissaire. It was after we had left the Gare de Lyon. I came along to make the beds, thinking that Madame would be at dinner, but she had a dinner-basket in her compartment. She said to me that she had been obliged to leave her maid behind in Paris, so that I only need make up one berth. She took her dinner-basket into the adjoining compartment, and sat there while I made up the bed; then she told me that she did not wish to be wakened early in the morning, that she liked to sleep on. I told her I quite understood, and she wished me 
'goodnight.'" 
"You yourself did not go into the adjoining compartment?" 
"No, Monsieur." 
"Then you did not happen to notice if a scarlet morocco case was amongst the luggage there?" 
"No, Monsieur, I did not." 
"Would it have been possible for a man to have been concealed in the adjoining compartment?" 
The conductor reflected. 
"The door was half open," he said. "If a man had stood behind that door I should not have been able to see him, but he would, of course, have been perfectly visible to Madame when she went in there." 
"Quite so," said Poirot, "Is there anything more you have to tell us?" 
"I think that is all, Monsieur. I can remember nothing else." 
"And now this morning?" prompted Poirot. 
"As Madame had ordered, I did not disturb her. It was not until just before Cannes that I ventured to knock at the door. Getting no reply, I opened it. The lady appeared to be in her bed asleep. I took her by the shoulder to rouse her, and then -" 
"And then you saw what had happened," volunteered Poirot. "Très bien. I think I know all I want to know." 
"I hope, Monsieur le Commissaire, it is not that I have been guilty of any negligence," said the man piteously. "Such an affair to happen on the Blue Train! It is horrible." 
"Console yourself," said the Commissary. "Everything will be done to keep the affair as quiet as possible, if only in the interests of justice. I cannot think you have been guilty of any negligence." 
"And Monsieur le Commissaire will report as much to the Company?" 
"But certainly, but certainly," said M. Caux impatiently. "That will do now." 
The conductor withdrew. 
"According to the medical evidence," said the Commissary, "the lady was probably dead before the train reached Lyons. Who then was the murderer? From Mademoiselle's story, it seems clear that somewhere on her journey she was to meet this man of whom she 
spoke. Her action in getting rid of the maid seems significant. Did the man join the train at Paris, and did she conceal him in the adjoining compartment? If so, they may have quarrelled, and he may have killed her in a fit of rage. That is one possibility. The other, and the more likely to my mind, is that her assailant was a train robber travelling on the train, that he stole along the corridor unseen by the conductor, killed her, and went off with the red morocco case which doubtless contained jewels of some value. In all probability he left the train at Lyons, and we have already telegraphed to the station there for full particulars of anyone seen leaving the train." 
"Or he might have come on to Nice," suggested Poirot. 
"He might," agreed the Commissary, "but that would be a very bold course." 
Poirot let a minute or two go by before speaking, and then he said: 
"In the latter case you think the man was an ordinary train robber?" 
The Commissary shrugged his shoulders. 
"It depends. We must get hold of the maid. It is possible that she has the red morocco case with her. If so, then the man of whom she spoke to Mademoiselle may be concerned in the case, and the affair is a crime of passion. I myself think the solution of a train robber is the more probable. These bandits have become very bold of late." 
Poirot looked suddenly across to Katherine. 
"And you, Mademoiselle," he said, "you heard and saw nothing during the night?" 
"Nothing," said Katherine. 
Poirot turned to the Commissary. 
"We need detain Mademoiselle no longer, I think," he suggested. 
The latter nodded. 
"She will leave us her address?" he said. 
Katherine gave him the name of Lady Tamplin's villa. Poirot made her a little bow. 
"You permit that I see you again, Mademoiselle?" he said. "Or have you so many friends that your time will be all taken up?" 
"On the contrary," said Katherine, "I shall have plenty of leisure, and I shall be very pleased to see you again." 
"Excellent," said Poirot, and gave her a little friendly nod. "This shall be a 'Roman Policier' a nous. We will investigate this affair together." 

第十一章 谋杀
    当卡泰丽娜第二天早晨醒来的时候，阳光照射着包厢的窗口。她准时进了餐车，但没有遇上一个新结识的熟人。当她回到自己包厢的时候，看到一个男乘务员。他留着一把刷子似的胡须，愁容满面，好象刚梳洗完毕。
    “女士真是幸运！”他说，“明媚的阳光。如果火车到达时是一个昏暗的早晨，旅客们总是很扫兴的。”
    “是的，如果是那样，会使我很扫兴。”
    “女士，我们这列车有些晚点。”乘务员继续说道。“到了尼扎我会叫您的。”
    卡泰丽娜点了一下头，又坐在窗口边，欣赏着迷人的大自然风光。棕榈树，深蓝色的海洋，金色的合欢树强烈地吸引着她。同英国雾茫茫的冬天比较起来，真是天壤之别。
    火车到达戛纳的时候，卡泰丽娜到站台上散了一会儿步。她非常好奇地注意着穿皮大衣的女士到底在干什么。女士那个包厢的窗帘还没有拉开，这是整个列车唯一的一个还挂着窗帘的包厢。当卡泰丽娜回到车厢的时候，发现女士那个包厢朝走廊的那一面窗子也挂着窗帘，使她感到格外惊奇。她想穿皮大衣的女士肯定是个贪睡的人。
    这时，乘务员通知卡泰丽娜说，几分钟后就要到尼扎了。卡泰丽娜给了他小费，他道了谢，可是没有离去。卡泰丽娜以为是小费给得太少了，他可能不满意。可是，她又发现他似乎有什么要紧事要说。他的脸煞白，而且全身都在颤抖。
    乘务员仔细端详了她一会儿，突然说道：“请原谅，女士，到尼扎后有人到车站接您吗？”
    “也许有人接，”卡泰丽娜说，“怎么？”
    这个人摇了摇头，吞吞吐吐地说了几句，卡泰丽娜一句也没听清，然后他就离开了，以便到站台上从窗口接卡泰丽娜的箱子。
    卡泰丽娜在站台上停留了一会儿，这时走过来一个男人，犹豫地向她问道：
    “您是格蕾女士，是吗？”
    卡泰丽娜点了一下头。年轻人爽朗的笑着说：
    “我叫丘比，坦普林女士的丈夫。她也许在信中提起过我，也可能没提，反正都一样。您有行李吗？我到这里来的时候把行李丢了。您简直无法想象这些法国人多么官僚和教条，找了我好大的麻烦。”
    卡泰丽娜把领取行李牌交给了他，正想走，突然听到一个很客气的声音：
    “请等一会儿，女士！”
    卡泰丽娜回头一看，见到一个身着黄色警装的人，这个人说道：
    “还要办理一下手续。如果女士能跟我去一趟，我将非常荣幸。这是警察局里的规定……”
    这个人做着礼仪性的抱歉的样子。“当然，这看起来很麻烦，但总得照章办事。”
    丘比•艾万斯先生想说说请，免去这些手续，但是他那蹩脚的法语使他无能为力。
    “这正是法国佬的作风。”他嘟哝着说。他属于那种爱国的英国人，他们在一切外国人面前把自己看成老爷，而对自己同胞却恨得要命。
    “这帮家伙总要制造一些麻烦！否则到这里来旅行的人就没有这么多不愉快的事了。
总是想点新花招来折腾折腾你！”
    卡泰丽娜被人领走。使她感到惊奇的是她被带到另外一条铁路线上来。到一节车厢旁边。这节车厢是从刚来的那趟列车上摘下来的。她被请到车厢里，打开了一间包厢，里面有一名警官，看他的装束仿佛象头豹子。他旁边站着一个香气扑鼻的女记录员。警官彬彬有礼地站起来，向卡泰丽娜鞠了一躬，然后说道：
    “请您原谅，女士，有些手续还没办完。女士，您讲法语，对吗？”
    “懂一点，先生。”卡泰丽娜用法语回答道。
    “太好了，请坐，女士，我叫科，警察局长。”
    卡泰丽娜表示知道了。局长先生的尊严给她留下了应得的印象。
    “您可能想看看我的护照，这就是。”
    “谢谢，女士。”局长说着接过护照，干咳了一声。“我要您提供一些情况。”
    “情况？”
    局长点了一下头，表示肯定。“是关于您的旅伴的事，您昨天同她一起吃过午饭。”
    “我想，我并不能对您提供关于这位女士的什么情况。我们只是谈过话。另外，她对我来说，完全是陌生人。在这之前我们从未见过面。”
    “可是，”局长严肃地说，“用过饭之后，您陪她回到了她的包厢里，而且你们谈了很久。”
    “是的，”卡泰丽娜回答道，“您说得对。”
    局长似乎还等着她说点什么。他以鼓励的眼光看着卡泰丽娜。
    “怎么，女士？”
    “怎么，先生？”卡泰丽娜反问道。
    “您可以把你们谈话的内容告诉我吗？”
    “非常愿意。”卡泰丽娜说，“但是我认为没有什么理由要这样做。”她似乎感到这位警官有些厚颜无耻。
    “您看不出有某种理由吗？”局长问道，“我可以向你保证这种理由是合理的。”
    “那么您是否可以告诉我呢？”
    局长摸着自己的下巴，思索了一会儿。
    “女士，”他终于开口了，“理由很简单。那位女士今晨死在她的包厢里了！”
    “死了！”卡泰丽娜尖叫了一声。“为什么？是心脏病吗？”
    “不，”局长用沉着而悲伤的语调回答说，“不是，她被暗杀了。”
    “暗杀？”卡泰丽娜又是一声喊叫。
    “您可以看到，女士，我们完全有理由向您了解有关情况的细节。”
    “可是她的女仆人在……”
    “女仆已经失踪。”
    “上帝啊！”卡泰丽娜这才严肃认真起来。
    “乘务员看到，您在她的包厢里同她谈过话，当然他把这个情况报告给警官了。就是由于这个原因，我们才把您留下了，女士，并希望从您这里了解一些新情况。”
    “可惜的是，”卡泰丽娜说，“我还不知道她到底姓甚名谁。”
    “她姓凯特林。这是我们从她的护照和皮箱上的地址知道的。如果我们……”
    有人敲门。科摸了一下额头。顺手把门打开。
    “什么事？希望不要打扰我的工作！”
    卡泰丽娜在餐车上遇见的那位蛋壳脑袋的人，满面笑容地在门口闪了一下。
    “我叫赫库勒•波洛。”他说道。
    “是吗？”局长结结巴巴地问道，“您真是赫库勒•波洛？”
    “当然是真的。”赫库勒•波洛说，“科先生，我记得咱们在巴黎保险公司见过面。
您可能已经把我忘记了。”
    “没有，完全没有忘记，先生。”局长非常高兴地欢迎他。“请进，您可能已经知道这……”
    “对，我知道了。”波洛回答道。“我只是想晓得我对此案是否可以尽些力。”
    “那简直是我的荣幸。”局长立即回答说，“波洛先生，请允许我为您……”他向护照看了一眼，把护照放在格蕾的手里。“介绍一下格蕾女士，请原谅，格蕾女士。”
    波洛向卡泰丽娜微微一笑。
    “这不是罕见的事嘛。”他说道。“我的话这样快就应验了。”
    “可惜这位小姐只能帮点小忙。”局长说道。
    “我已经告诉局长先生了。”卡泰丽娜说道。“我说这位女士对我来说完全是陌生的。”
    “可是您同她谈过话，对吗？”他温和地问道。
    “谈过话您会有一定的印象──或者？”
    “是的。”卡泰丽娜深思地说道。
    “那么这种印象怎样的？”
    “非常对，小姐！”局长走到前面，“请您对我们说说，您得到什么样的印象呢？”
    卡泰丽娜把同那女士的谈话又回忆了一遍。她本来感到不便透露全部真情，但是那个可怕的字眼“谋杀”却使她不敢隐瞒任何细节。因为她所说的一切同“谋杀”一词关系甚为重大。因此她把同死者的谈话的详细经过都叙述了一遍。
    “非常有意思。”局长说道，“是吧，波洛先生？非常有意思！至于是否与罪行有关……”他没有把话说完。
    “是否完全排除是自杀呢？”卡泰丽娜问道。
    “当然。”局长说，“完全排除。她是被人用一条黑绳子勒死的。”
    “太可怕了，太狠毒了！”卡泰丽娜战栗着说道。
    局长遗憾地摊开双手说道：
    “当然，这是一起极其不愉快的案件。我相信我们列车上的凶杀案比起贵国更为残忍。”
    “太可怕了。”
    “是的，是的。”局长想安慰她几句。“但您要有勇气，小姐。我一见到您，我就暗自思忖着：这小姐有勇气。因此我才敢于向您询问一些问题。当然，有些问题使人很不愉快，甚至使人痛苦，但令人遗憾的是，它们还是必要的。”
    卡泰丽娜胆怯地望着他。
    “小姐，劳您的驾，陪我到另外一个包厢里去一趟。”
    “这还要我去吗？”卡泰丽娜胆怯地问道。
    “有人想证实一下。”局长说，“因为那位女士的佣人失踪了。”他意味深长地咳嗽一下。“同她一起旅行的人中，只有您和她接触的时间最多。”
    “好吧！”卡泰丽娜平静地说，“如果需要这样的话。”
    她站起身来，波洛安详地向她点了下头。
    “小姐很通情达理。”波洛说，“允许我陪小姐去吗？科先生！”
    “这将是我的荣幸，波洛先生。”
    科打开死者包厢的门，把朝外的窗帘拉开了半边，透进了一点亮光。死者躺在床上，十分安详，象是睡着了似的。她身上盖着床单，面部朝墙，只是那有些发红的金发看得清清楚楚。科温和地把手伸向死者的肩膀，把尸体翻了个身，以便让人看到她的脸部。
卡泰丽娜情不自禁地退了一步，双手紧紧地捏在一起。死者的脸部受到了可怕的一击，从而得难以辨认。
    “这一击是在死亡之后打的。”科说道。
    “妙极了！”波洛说着转向卡泰丽娜。
    “您要大胆地看一看，小姐，仔细地看一看，您是否可以保证，这位妇女就是昨天在火车上和您谈话的那位。”
    卡泰丽娜的神经还很正常。她认识到案件的严重性，便鼓起勇气看了看尸体。然后弯下腰拉起死者的手。
    “我完全可以保证。”她终于说道。“脸面虽然有些难以辨认，但从身段和头发看，我可以肯定她就是同我谈过话的那个妇女。另外，我还注意到了我的旅伴的这一特征。”
    她指给大家看手腕上的一个黑痣。
    “好！”波洛肯定地说，“您是一位极好的证人，小姐。死者就是她，这是毫无疑问的了。虽然如此，这个案件也是很罕见的。”
    科耸了一下肩膀。
    “很明显，凶手是在一种非常激动和气愤的情况下作的案。”他说道。
    “如果凶手是用凶器打死她的话，脸部会是很容易辨认的。”波洛自言自语地说，“但是这个凶手是从后面偷偷溜进来把她勒死的。而死者在此之前毫无察觉。可能在事情发生时她喊叫了一声，短促的一声，这非常可能。然后凶手又拚命打了她这一下，这是为什么？有什么必要？凶手可能想不让别人辨认出她的模样，或者是出于极度的仇恨，以致不能控制自己的感情，把她打成这样，尽管她已经死去？”
    卡泰丽娜战栗着，波洛很和善地转向她说道：
    “您最好站远一些，这一切对您来说是意外的，可怕的，对我来说早已司空见惯了。
请稍等一下。”
    波洛走到隔壁的包厢里，卡泰丽娜同死者的女仆曾在这里坐过。卧铺根本就没人睡过，三四个垫子零乱地放在那里。还有一个施行包，一个帽盒。他突然对卡泰丽娜说道：
    “您昨天在这儿呆过吗？您是否察觉到有什么变化？缺少什么东西？”
    卡泰丽娜仔细地看了下周围环境。
    “是的，”她回答道，“有的东西不见了──一只红色的手提包。上面有R•K•的字样的标签。这可能是一只小手提包，也可能是一个首饰盒。女仆一直把它拿在手里。”
    “很有意思。”波洛说道。
    “我──我当然不懂这些事。但是我可以明确的说，这里缺少了女仆和首饰盒。”
    “您认为女仆是个小偷？不，小姐。有理由说明这一点。”科说道。
    “什么理由？”
    “女仆被留在了巴黎。”
    “我想您可以亲自听听乘务员的叙述，波洛先生。”科情绪很坏地说道。
    “您是一个明察秋毫的人。”
    “小姐，您可能也很想听听。”波洛说，“局长先生，您是否反对这样做？”
    “不反对。”但从他的眼神里可以看出，这并不是发自内心的话。
    “如果您认为有必要的话。您在这里的事情办完了吗？”
    “再等一下！”他弯下腰把枕头拿到了窗口，仔细看了一会儿，拿起一点什么东西端详起来。
    “您找到了什么？”科好奇地问道。
    “四根金黄色的头发。”他低下头看了下死者。“对，毫无疑问这是死者的头发。”
    “这是什么？这有什么可以值得重视的？”
    “在现在的情况下，谁也不能断定什么值得重视，什么不值得重视。”
    他们又回到了询问卡泰丽娜的那个包厢里，这时局长已经把乘务员找来了。
    “您叫皮埃尔•米歇尔？”科问道。
    “是的，局长先生。”
    “我想让您向这位先生讲一讲火车在巴黎时的情形以及在那里发生的事情。”
    “可以，局长先生。火车刚离开里昂站时，我就进来整理床铺，我那时以为，女士可能在餐厅里。可是她自己却订了饭盒。她对我说，只铺一个床就可以了，她已经把女仆留在了巴黎。在我铺床的时候，她拿着饭盒到了隔壁的包厢里。她还对我说，天亮的时候不要过早地叫醒她，她要多睡一会儿。”
    “您没有到隔壁的包厢里去过吗？”
    “没有，先生。”
    “那您没有偶尔看到，她的行李当中有一只红色皮革的小提包？”
    “不知道，先生，没看到。”
    “您看在隔壁有可能藏着一个男人吗？”
    乘务员想了一会儿。
    “门是半开着的。”他说，“如果有人有门后藏着，那我是看不见的。但是，当这位死去的女士走进包厢里时，她肯定还会发现的。”
    “完全正确。”波洛说，“您 还能给我们提供过一步的情况吗？”
    “我相信，以上就是我知道的全部情况。其它情况我就记不得了。”
    “今天早晨呢？”波洛问道。
    “我没有叫醒她，因为她一再嘱咐不要过早地叫醒她。只是当火车到达戛纳的时候，我才进去敲她的门。因为我没有听到答应声，所以就走进去了。女士似乎还有铺上还没有睡醒。我去摇她的肩膀想叫醒她，可是以后……。”
    “以后您就看到所发生的一切了。”波洛补充说。“我不需要进一步的情况了。”
    “我希望，局长先生，不会由于我的疏忽而产生不良的后果。”乘务员很真诚地说。
“这种事发生在‘蓝色特快’上，真是太可怕了？！”
    “请您放心，”局长说，“我们想竭力避免引起大的震动。另外，据我看，您并没有疏忽大意，您是尽了职的。”
    “那么，局长先生，您也会以同样的看法向我们铁路部门的上级汇报了？”
    “那当然。”局长有些不耐烦地说。“您可以走了。”
    乘务员离去了。
    “医生的意见是，”局长说，“火车到达里昂之前，这位女士就死了。谁是凶手呢？按小姐的说法，那是很清楚的，在火车运行的时候死者想同一个男人会面，并企图同他谈话。女士把她的仆人留在了巴黎，这一点很特别。是否在巴黎有个男人上了车，并藏在隔壁的包厢里，这一点并不排除。这样，可能两人争吵了起来，男的出于气愤而突然失手打死了女的。这是一种可能性。第二种可能是：有一个职业铁路盗窃犯，偷偷地扒上了火车，打死了她，偷去了手提包，当然，手提包里有许多贵重的钻石首饰之类的物品。非常可能，这个人在里昂下了车，我们已经给里昂城火车站发了电报，扣住了在那里下车的那些可疑的男乘客。”
    “或者他同大家一起到了尼扎。”波洛插话说道。
    “这也可能。”局第同意这一点，“但这对他来说是非常危险的。”
    波洛思虑了下问道：
    “您想这是铁路上职业小偷作的案？”
    局长耸耸肩。
    “很难说。另外，我们应该拘留那个女仆人。很可能那个红色小手提包不在她那里。
如果是这种情况，那个想同女士谈话的人就是凶手，可能是情杀案，出于嫉妒。我自己认为，也不排除是偷窃暗杀，出于嫉妒。我自己认为，也不排除是偷窃暗杀。最近铁道盗窃匪帮越来越肆无忌惮了。”
    波洛突然看了卡泰丽娜一眼。
    “那么小姐您，在这一夜里没有看到或者听到其它可疑的情况吗？”
    “没有。”卡泰丽娜回答说。
    “我认为，我们没有理由再打扰这位小姐了。”波洛向局长说道。
    局长点头表示同意。
    “您是否愿意把您的地址留下？”
    卡泰丽娜把坦普林女士别墅的地址留下。波洛微微地弯了一下腰。
    “能允许我到贵处拜访您吗？”他探询地说。“也许您的客人非常多，日程已经排满了？”
    “不是这样。”卡泰丽娜说，“我的时间很充裕，并非常高兴接待您。”
    “太好了！”波洛友好地点了下头。“这部侦探小说是属于我们两个人。我们将共同来调查这个案子。”
Chapter 12  在候爵镇(At the Villa Marguerite)
Chapter 12  AT THE VILLA MARGUERITE 
"Then you were really in the thick of it all!" said Lady Tamplin enviously. "My dear, how thrilling!" She opened her china blue eyes very wide and gave a little sigh. 
"A real murder," said Mr Evans gloatingly. 
"Of course Chubby had no idea of anything of the kind," went on Lady Tamplin, "he simply could not imagine why the police wanted you. My dear, what an opportunity! I think, you know - yes, I certainly think something might be made out of this." 
A calculating look rather marred the ingenuousness of the blue eyes. 
Katherine felt slightly uncomfortable. They were just finishing lunch, and she looked in turn at the three people sitting round the table. Lady Tamplin, full of practical schemes; Mr Evans, beaming with naive appreciation, and Lenox with a queer crooked smile on her dark face. 
"Marvellous luck," murmured Chubby. "I wish I could have gone along with you - and seen - all the exhibits." 
His tone was wistful and childlike. 
Katherine said nothing. The police had laid no injunctions of secrecy upon her, and it was clearly impossible to suppress the bare facts or try to keep them from her hostess. 
But she did rather wish it had been possible to do so. 
"Yes," said Lady Tamplin, coming suddenly out of her reverie, "I do think something might be done. A little account, you know, cleverly written up. An eyewitness, a feminine touch: 'How I chatted with the dead woman, little thinking -' that sort of thing, you know." 
"Rot!" said Lenox. 
"You have no idea," said Lady Tamplin in a soft, wistful voice, 
"what newspapers will pay for a little tit-bit! Written, of course, by someone of really unimpeachable social position. You would not like to do it yourself, I dare say, Katherine dear, but just give me the bare bones of it, and I will manage the whole thing for you. Mr de Haviland is a special friend of mine. We have a little understanding together. A most delightful man - not at all reporterish. How does the idea strike you, Katherine?" 
"I would much prefer to do nothing of the kind," said Katherine bluntly. 
Lady Tamplin was rather disconcerted at this uncompromising refusal. She sighed and turned to the elucidation of further details. 
"A very striking-looking woman, you said? I wonder now who she could have been. You didn't hear her name?" 
"It was mentioned," Katherine admitted, "but I can't remember it. You see, I was rather upset." 
"I should think so," said Mr Evans, "it must have been a beastly shock." 
It is to be doubted whether, even if Katherine had remembered the name, she would have admitted the fact. Lady Tamplin's 
remorseless cross-examination was making her restive. Lenox, who was observant in her own way, noticed this, and offered to take Katherine upstairs to see her room. She left her there, remarking kindly before she went, "You mustn't mind Mother; she would make a few pennies' profit out of her dying grandmother if she could." 
Lenox went down again to find her mother and her stepfather discussing the newcomer. 
"Presentable," said Lady Tamplin, "quite presentable. Her clothes are all right. That grey thing is the same model that Gladys Cooper wore in Palm Trees in Egypt -" 
"Have you noticed her eyes - what?" interposed Mr Evans. 
"Never mind her eyes, Chubby," said Lady Tamplin tartly, "we are discussing the things that really matter." 
"Oh, quite," said Mr Evans, and retired into his shell. 
"She doesn't seem to me very - malleable," said Lady Tamplin, rather hesitating to choose the right word. 
"She has all the instincts of a lady, as they say in books," said Lenox, with a grin. 
"Narrow-minded," murmured Lady Tamplin. "Inevitable under the circumstances, I suppose." 
"I expect you will do your best to broaden her," said Lenox, with a grin, "but you will have your work cut out. Just now, you noticed, she stuck down her forefeet and laid back her ears and refused to budge." 
"Anyway," said Lady Tamplin hopefully, "she doesn't look to me at all mean. Some people, when they come into money, seem to attach undue importance to it." 
"Oh, you'll easily touch her for what you want," said Lenox, "and, after all, that is all that matters, isn't it? That is what she is here for." 
"She is my own cousin," said Lady Tamplin, with dignity. 
"Cousin, eh?" said Mr Evans, waking up again. "I suppose I call her Katherine, don't I?" 
"It is of no importance at all what you call her, Chubby," said Lady Tamplin. 
"Good," said Mr Evans, "then I will. Do you suppose she plays tennis?" he added hopefully. 
"Of course not," said Lady Tamplin. "She has been a companion, I tell you. Companions don't play tennis - or golf. They might possibly play golf-croquet, but I have always understood that they wind wool and wash dogs most of the day." 
"O God!" said Mr Evans, "do they really?" 
Lenox drifted upstairs again to Katherine's room. "Can I help you?" she asked rather perfunctorily. 
On Katherine's disclaimer, Lenox sat on the edge of the bed and stared thoughtfully at her guest. 
"Why did you come?" she said at last. "To us, I mean. We're not your sort." 
"Oh, I am anxious to get into Society." 
"Don't be an ass," said Lenox promptly detecting the flicker of a smile. "You know what I mean well enough. You are not a bit what I thought you would be. I say, you have got some decent clothes." 
She sighed. "Clothes are no good to me. I was born awkward. It's a pity, because I love them." 
"I love them too," said Katherine, "but it has not been much use my loving them up to now. Do you think this is nice?" 
She and Lenox discussed several models with artistic fervour. 
"I like you," said Lenox suddenly. "I came up to warn you not to be taken in by Mother, but I think now that there is no need to do that. You are frightfully sincere and upright and all those queer things, but you are not a fool. Oh hell! what is it now?" 
Lady Tamplin's voice was calling plaintively from the hall: 
"Lenox, Derek has just rung up. He wants to come to dinner tonight. Will it be all right? I mean, we haven't got anything awkward, like quails, have we?" 
Lenox reassured her and came back into Katherine's room. Her face looked brighter and less sullen. 
"I'm glad old Derek is coming," she said, "you'll like him." 
"Who is Derek?" 
"He is Lord Leconbury's son, married a rich American woman. Women are simply potty about him." 
"Why?" 
"Oh, the usual reason - very good-looking and a regular bad lot. Everyone goes off their head about him." 
"Do you?" 
"Sometimes I do," said Lenox, "and sometimes I think I would like to marry a nice curate and live in the country and grow things in frames." She paused a minute, and then added, "An Irish curate would be best, and then I should hunt." 
After a minute or two she reverted to her former theme. "There is something queer about Derek. All that family are a bit potty - mad gamblers, you know. In the old days they used to gamble away their wives and their estates, and did most reckless things just for the love of it. Derek would have made a perfect highwayman - debonair and gay, just the right manner." She moved to the door. 
"Well, come down when you like it." 
Left alone, Katherine gave herself up to thought. Just at present she felt thoroughly ill at ease and jarred by her surroundings. 
The shock of the discovery in the train and the reception of the news by her new friends jarred upon her susceptibilities. She thought long and earnestly about the murdered woman. She had been sorry for Ruth, but she could not honestly say that she had liked her. She had divined only too well the ruthless egoism that was the keynote of her personality, and it repelled her. 
She had been amused and a trifle hurt by the other's cool dismissal of her when she had served her turn. That she had come to some decision, Katherine was quite certain, but she wondered now what that decision had been. Whatever it was, death had stepped in and made all decisions meaningless. 
Strange that it should have been so, and that a brutal crime should have been the ending of that fateful journey. But suddenly Katherine remembered a small fact that she ought, perhaps, to have told the police - a fact that had for the moment escaped her memory. Was it of any real importance? She had certainly thought that she had seen a man going into that particular compartment? 
But she realized that she might easily have been mistaken. It might have been the compartment next door, and certainly the man in question could be no train robber. She recalled him very clearly as she had seen him on those two previous occasions - once at the Savoy and once at Cook's office. No, doubtless she had been mistaken. He had not gone into the dead woman's compartment, and it was perhaps as well that she had said nothing to the police. She might have done incalculable harm by doing so. 
She went down to join the others on the terrace outside. Through the branches of mimosa, she looked out over the blue of the Mediterranean, and, whilst listening with half an ear to Lady Tamplin's chatter, she was glad that she had come. This was better than St Mary Mead. 
That evening she put on the mauvy pink dress that went by the name of soupir d'automne, and after smiling at her reflection in the mirror, went downstairs with, for the first time in her life, a faint feeling of shyness. 
Most of Lady Tamplin's guests had arrived, and since noise was the essential of Lady Tamplin's parties, the din was already critic. Chubby rushed up to Katherine, passed a cocktail upon her, and took her under his wing. 
"Oh, here you are, Derek," cried Lady Tamplin, as the door opened to admit the last comer. "Now at last we can have something to eat. I am starving." 
Katherine looked across the room. She was startled. So this - was Derek, and she realized that she was not surprised. She had always known that she would some day meet the man whom she had seen three times by such a curious chain of coincidences. She thought, too, that he recognized her. He paused abruptly in what he was saying to Lady Tamplin, and went on again as though with an effort. They all went in to dinner, and Katherine found that he was placed beside her. He turned to her at once with a vivid smile. 
"I knew I was going to meet you soon," he remarked, "but I never dreamt that it would be here. It had to be, you know. Once at the Savoy and once at Cook's - never twice without three times. Don't say you can't remember me or never noticed me. I insist upon your pretending that you noticed me, anyway." 
"Oh, I did," said Katherine, "but this is not the third time. It is the fourth. I saw you on the Blue Train." 
"On the Blue Train!" Something undefinable came over his manner; she could not have said just what it was. It was as though he had received a check, a setback. Then he said carelessly: 
"What was the rumpus this morning? Somebody had died, hadn't they?" 
"Yes," said Katherine slowly, "somebody had died." 
"You shouldn't die on a train," remarked Derek flippantly. "I believe it causes all sorts of legal and international complications, and it gives the train an excuse for being even later than usual." 
"Mr Kettering?" A stout American lady, who was sitting opposite, leaned forward and spoke to him with the deliberate intonation of her race. "Mr Kettering, I do believe you have forgotten me, and I thought you such a perfectly lovely man." 
Derek leaned forward, answering her, and Katherine sat almost dazed. 
Kettering! That was the name, of course! - she remembered it now 
-but what a strange, ironical situation! Here was this man whom she had seen go into his wife's apartment last night, who had left her safe and well, and now he was sitting there, quite unconscious of the fate that had befallen her. Of that there was no doubt. He did not know. 
A servant was leaning over Derek, handing him a note and murmuring in his ear. 
With a word of excuse to Lady Tamplin, he broke it open, and an expression of utter astonishment came over his face as he read; then he looked at his hostess. 
"This is most extraordinary. I say, Rosalie, I am afraid I will have to leave you. The Prefect of Police wants to see me at once. I can't think what about." 
"Your sins have found you out," remarked Lenox. 
"They must have," said Derek, "probably some idiotic nonsense, but I suppose I shall have to push off to the Prefecture. How dare the old boy rout me out from dinner? It ought to be something deadly serious to justify that," and he laughed as he pushed back his chair and rose to leave the room. 

第十二章 在候爵镇
    “你是刚刚受到到一桩案子的牵连了。”坦普林女士很惋惜地说道。“我的天，多大的刺激，我亲爱的！”她睁大了那两只蓝色的大眼睛，轻轻地叹了一口气。
    “货真价实的谋杀！”年轻的丈夫很有感触地说道。
    “丘比压根就没想到会有这样的事。”坦普林女士接着说，“他根本就不知道警察把你叫去的原因。你知道吗？应该到用一下这个事件。”
    卡泰丽娜感到有些不快。人们刚刚吃过午饭，卡泰丽娜开始端详饭桌周围的人们。
坦普林女士又在考虑自己的新计划了。艾万斯先生傻气地坐在那里，雷斯诺却显得有些迷惑不解。
    警察局方面并没有要求卡泰丽娜保守秘密，因此她也就没有必要向人们隐瞒事件的真相。当然，如果让她保持缄默，那就更好了。
    “对！”坦普林女士突然从幻梦中清醒过来。“应该做一点事，在报上发表一篇文章，是一个证人的谈话；可以用这样的题目：‘同被害者谈过话，但不知道内情’──或者，如何？”
    “胡思乱想。”雷诺斯说。
    “你不相信？”坦普林女士象唱歌一样继续说道。“你知道报界肯给一篇小小的报道付多大的代价吗？当然，文章必须由一个出身高贵的人写。你当然不能承担这个任务，卡泰丽娜，我时刻准备承担这个工作。你认为如何？”
    “让我去搞这套名堂，还没有这个兴趣呢。”卡泰丽娜直爽地说。
    这种断然的拒绝使坦普林女士大吃一惊。她叹了一口气，但还试探着想多打听一点内情。
    “你是说，这位被害的女士长得满不错，是吗？那能是谁呢？你没有记下她的名字吗？”
    “有人提起过，”卡泰丽娜说，“但是我记不起了。你知道，我当时有点激动。”
    坦普林女士的问题触动了自己的神经。雷诺斯同她母亲一样地敏感，她察觉到母亲的企图，因此，就邀请卡泰丽娜到自己的房间去。她们在房里呆了一会儿。在卡泰丽娜离开她的房间之前，雷诺斯很坦率地说道：“你不要怪罪我妈妈，为了拿一两个铜板，她可以去挖自己的祖坟。”
    雷诺斯回到母亲房间的时候，正遇上母亲同继父在议论新来的客人。
    “她长得很美。”坦普林女士说，“甚至可以说她相当漂亮，穿戴也相当得体。”
    “你注意到她的眼睛了吗？”丘比问道。
    “算了，你不要管她的眼睛了。丘比，现在谈谈要紧事。她看来有点不容易指使，不太听话。可是不会很小气。”
    “妈妈，你将敲成一笔竹杠，你盘算的不是这样吗？”
    “她是我堂妹。”坦普林女士严肃地说道。
    “对，是你的堂妹，”正在打盹的艾万斯先生猛然惊醒。他说道：“你直接叫她卡泰丽娜好了。”
    “你愿意叫她什么，这倒是无所谓的，丘比。”坦普林女士说道。
    “如果你不介意的话，那我也叫她卡泰丽娜。你看她会打网球吗？”
    “没有什么迹象表明这一点。”坦普林女士说，“她不过是个养女罢了。一般说来养女嘛，只会编织点什么东西。最多也不过是捻捻毛线，给小狗洗洗澡。”
    “我的天！”艾万斯先生叫起来。“她真的只会干这些事？”
    雷诺斯又回到卡泰丽娜所在的房间里。
    “我能帮你干点什么吗？”雷诺斯问道。卡泰丽娜婉言拒绝了。雷诺斯坐在床沿上仔细端详着卡泰丽娜。
    “你到底还是到我们这里来了，这是为什么呢？”她终于问道，“你在我们这里是很不合适的。”
    “我要到社会上来体验一下生活。”卡泰丽娜说。
    “看来你不会这样愚蠢，”雷诺斯说。“你穿的这身衣服可真漂亮。”她叹了一口气继续说道，“我不需要漂亮的衣服，我生来就不修边幅。遗憾！可是，我喜欢看别人穿件好看的衣服。”
    “我也是，但时至今日我才很少有机会穿件好看的衣服。你住在这儿，喜欢这地方吗？”卡泰丽娜问道。
    雷诺斯仔细地打量着卡泰丽娜的衣着。
    “我喜欢你。”雷诺斯突然说。“我终于有机会告诉你，要留神我妈妈。但看来不必要了。你是个坦率而有礼貌的人，并不笨拙……出了什么事？”
    从客厅里传出了坦普林女士音乐般的说话声：
    “德里克刚刚来过电话，雷诺斯，他说晚上到我们这儿吃饭。可以吗？我们不是还有火鸡吗？可是他又不爱吃那东西。”
    雷诺斯把妈妈安抚平静了这后，又回到卡泰丽娜的房间，坐在床边上，有点生妈妈的气。
    “我喜欢德里克来。”过了一会儿她说。“他会讨你欢心的。”
    “德里克是谁？”
    “劳尔德•雷康布里的儿子；同一位很有钱的美国女人结了婚。追他的女人都成群结队了。”
    “为什么？”
    “这是现在比较时髦的风气。他是个漂亮的花花公子，纨裤子弟，又是个没用的人。
但是深得许多女人的垂青。”
    “你也是吗？”
    “我有时也挺喜欢他。”雷诺斯说，“但有时我又想找一个乡下的牧师结婚，在一个偏僻的地方去种我的白菜。”
    她沉思了一会儿又继续说道：“同德里克在一起有趣着呢。全家同他一道喝酒，然后进行无聊的赌博，懂吗？在古代，人们可以输掉宫殿和老婆。德里克可以成为一个非常出色的土匪头子。真见鬼！”她站了起来走到门口，回头说道：
    “你有兴趣的话，也下楼来看看。”
    当屋里只剩下卡泰丽娜一个人的时候，她深思了起来。
    她并没有感到是到了家里，反而觉得周围的环境使她颇受压抑。这里的人以这种方式询问她“蓝色特快”上发生的事件，使她那敏感的神经一再受到了刺激。她又认真地思索着被杀害的那位女士。她非常可怜露丝，虽然从个人感情上讲，她并不太喜欢她。
那种贪得无厌的自私自利的本性使她感到很讨厌。
    格蕾小姐谈完话后离开女士包厢时得到的印象是：露丝下了决心。但这种决心的确切含意，她弄不太清楚。可是，死亡把她的一切计划完全毁灭了，一切都成了泡影。多么可怕啊！这次火车上的旅行竟是如此的结局。突然她想起了一件事，她也许应该报告给警察局。这件事是她偶然间想起来的。这有什么意义呢？她确信，有个男子曾到过死者的包厢。当然，也可能那个人就住在隔壁的包厢里。铁路上的强盗作案的可能性是根本不存在的。这时她又一次想起那个人，同她两次见过面的人。一次在萨沃旅馆，一次在考瑞克旅行社。莫非是她搞错了，那个男人要本就没有进过死者的包厢，而是进了他自己的包厢？这件事不向警察局报告也许更好。谁能预料，一旦报告了会惹出什么样的后果。
    她要下楼到他们那里去。透过合欢树的枝叉可见地中海上的蓝色波浪。当她听到坦普林女士说话的时，感到一阵高兴：这里毕竟和丽麦德村里不一样。
    她穿上金黄色的晚服，在境子前打量了一番，带着一种胆怯而害羞的心情走进了大厅。
    客人们已经云集在大厅里了。因为坦普林女士的声音特别的响，所以其他人的说话声乱哄哄地混成了一片，令人难以听清。丘比赶忙跑到卡泰丽娜那里，递给她一杯酒，然后就把她带在了自己的身边。
    “你到底来了，德里克！”当一位迟到的客人走进大厅时，坦普林女士尖叫了一声。
“现在我们终于可以吃点东西了，我都快饿死了。”
    卡泰丽娜吓了一跳。他就是德里克！同时，她又仔细地看了一眼，为了是确认一下，是否就是他。她看到，连续三次同她邂逅相遇的那个男子，这一次又同她相遇了。他似乎也认出了她。突然他停止了同坦普林女士的谈话，心里嘀咕了几秒钟，然后又继续谈下去。吃饭的时候，他同卡泰丽娜坐在一起，并向着卡泰丽娜微微一笑。
    “我知道，我们很快就会认识的。”他说。“我只是没有想到会这种场合下相遇。
我现在开始相信定数了。一次在萨沃旅馆，一次在考瑞克旅行社，但诸事都是‘事不过三’，第三次最好。您现在最好别说，记不清了。您最她说：我们好象见过面。”
    “您的确使我感到意外。”卡泰丽娜说，“但是我今天您想遇不是第三次，而是第四次。第三次在‘蓝色特快’列车上。”
    “在‘蓝色特快’上？”他的表情突然有些变化。但是他并没有流露出一点惊慌的神色。他的声调还是那样沉着，继续说道：
    “今天早晨的谣传到底是怎么回事？列车上真的死了人了？”
    “是的，”卡泰丽娜慢悠悠地说，“是有人死了。”
    “人真不该到列车上去死。我相信这又引起一系列的国际问题。火车又为自己的一再晚点找到了新的借口。”
    “凯特林先生？”坐在他对面的一个美国胖女人，用她那特有的、证明她是个美国人的美国腔，向德里克说。“凯特林先生，看来您已经把我完全忘却了，可是我还是那样喜欢您。”
    德里克很风趣地回答了胖女人的话。卡泰丽娜坐在旁边却显得目瞪口呆。
    凯特林！当然这就是被害者的姓。这是多么离奇面又神秘！过去的一夜他到过自己妻子的包厢里，离别自己妻子的时候她还健在；而今天，今天他却安安稳稳地坐在这里，完全不知道他妻子的命运。这里决没有什么疑问：他不知道她已经死了。
    一位仆人在德里克耳边说了些什么，并递给他一封信。他说了句“原谅”之后拆开了信。一种强烈的绝望的表情浮现在他的脸上，然后他呆滞地凝视着大厅内的太太们。
    “这的确是很离奇的事。罗萨莉（罗萨莉是坦普林女士的爱称），万分遗憾，我不得不离开您。警察局长要见我。不知道是什么事。”
    “你的罪行已经大白于天下了。雷诺斯大笑着说道。
    “是这样，”德里克说。最大的可能是一场恶作剧。但是无论如何我得去一趟。否则这个老家伙决不会在我进行这样丰盛的晚餐的时候，来打扰我。因此，可以说是发生了比较严重的事情了。”他笑着把椅子向后一移，站起身离开了大厅。
Chapter 13  电告范·奥丁尔(Van Aldin Gets a Telegram)
Chapter 13  VAN ALDIN GETS A TELEGRAM 
On the afternoon of the 15th February a thick yellow fog had settled down on London. 
Rufus Van Aldin was in his suite at the Savoy and was making the most of the atmospheric conditions by working double time. Knighton was overjoyed. He had found it difficult of late to get his employer to concentrate on the matters in hand. When he had ventured to urge certain courses, Van Aldin had put him off with a curt word. But now Van Aldin seemed to be throwing himself into work with redoubled energy, and the secretary made the most of his opportunities. Always tactful, he plied the spur so unobtrusively that Van Aldin never suspected it. 
Yet in the middle of this absorption in business matters, one little fact lay at the back of Van Aldin's mind. A chance remark of Knighton's, uttered by the secretary in all unconsciousness, had given rise to it. It now festered unseen, gradually reaching further and further forward into Van Aldin's consciousness, until at last, in spite of himself he had to yield to its insistence. 
He listened to what Knighton was saying with his usual air of keen attention, but in reality not one word of it penetrated his mind. He nodded automatically, however, and the secretary turned to some other paper. 
As he was sorting them out, his employer spoke: 
"Do you mind telling me that over again, Knighton?" 
For a moment Knighton was at a loss. 
"You mean about this, sir?" He held up a closely written Company report. 
"No, no," said Van Aldin, "what you told me about seeing Ruth's maid in Paris last night. I can't make it out. You must have been mistaken." 
"I can't have been mistaken, sir, I actually spoke to her." 
"Well, tell me the whole thing again." 
Knighton complied. 
"I had fixed up the deal with Barthermers," he explained, "and had gone back to the Ritz to pick up my traps preparatory to having dinner and catching the nine o'clock train from the Gare du Nord. At the reception desk I saw a woman whom I was quite sure was Mrs Kettering's maid. I went up to her and asked if Mrs Kettering was staying there." 
"Yes, yes," said Van Aldin. "Of course. Naturally. And she told you that Ruth had gone on to the Riviera and had sent her to the Ritz to await further orders there?" 
"Exactly that, sir." 
"It is very odd," said Van Aldin. "Very odd, indeed, unless the woman had been impertinent or something of that kind." 
"In that case," objected Knighton, "surely Mrs Kettering would have paid her down a sum of money, and told her to go back to England. She would hardly have sent her to the Ritz." 
"No," muttered the millionaire, "that's true." 
He was about to say something further, but checked himself. He was fond of Knighton and liked and trusted him, but he could hardly discuss his daughter's private affairs with his secretary. He had already felt hurt by Ruth's lack of frankness, and this chance revelation which had come to him did nothing to allay his misgivings. 
Why had Ruth got rid of her maid in Paris? What possible object or motive could she have had in so doing? 
He reflected for a moment or two on the curious combination of chance. How should it have occurred to Ruth, except as the wildest coincidence, that the first person that the maid should run across in Paris should be her father's secretary? Ah, but that was the way things happened. That was the way things got found out. 
He winced at the last phrase, it had arisen with complete naturalness to his mind. Was there then 'something to be found out'? He hated to put this question to himself; he had no doubt of the answer. The answer was - he was sure of it - Armand de la Roche. 
It was bitter to Van Aldin that a daughter of his should be gulled by such a man, yet he was forced to admit that she was in good company - that other well-bred and intelligent women had succumbed just as easily to the Count's fascination. Men saw through him, women did not. 
He sought now for a phrase that would allay any suspicion that his secretary might have felt. 
"Ruth is always changing her mind about things at a moment's notice," he remarked; and then he added in a would-be careless tone, "The maid didn't give any - er - reason for this change of plan?" 
Knighton was careful to make his voice as natural as possible as he replied: 
"She said, sir, that Mrs Kettering had met a friend unexpectedly." 
"Is that so?" 
The secretary's practised ears caught the note of strain underlying the seemingly casual tone. 
"Oh, I see. Man or woman?" 
"I think she said a man, sir." 
Van Aldin nodded. His worst fears were being realized. He rose from his chair, and began pacing up and down the room, a habit of his when agitated. Unable to contain his feelings any longer, he burst forth: 
"There is one thing no man can do, and that is to get a woman to listen to reason. Somehow or other, they don't seem to have any kind of sense. Talk of woman's instinct - why, it is well known all the world over that a woman is the surest mark for any rascally swindler. Not one in ten of them knows a scoundrel when she meets one; they can be preyed on by any good-looking fellow with a soft side to his tongue. If I had my way -" 
He was interrupted. A page-boy entered with a telegram. Van Aldin tore it open, and his face went a sudden chalky white. He caught hold of the back of a chair to steady himself, and waved the page-boy from the room. 
"What's the matter, sir?" 
Knighton had risen in concern. 
"Ruth!" said Van Aldin hoarsely. 
"Mrs Kettering?" 
"Killed!" 
"An accident to the train?" 
Van Aldin shook his head. 
"No. From this it seems she has been robbed as well. They don't use the word, Knighton, but my poor girl has been murdered." 
"Oh, my God, sir!" 
Van Aldin tapped the telegram with his forefinger. 
"This is from the police at Nice. I must go out there by the first train." 
Knighton was efficient as ever. He glanced at the clock. 
"Five o'clock from Victoria, sir." 
"That's right. You will come with me, Knighton. Tell my man, Archer, and pack your own things. See to everything here. I want to go round to Curzon Street." 
The telephone rang sharply, and the secretary tilted the receiver. 
"Yes; who is it?" 
Then to Van Aldin. 
"Mr Goby, sir." 
"Goby? I can't see him now. No - wait, we have plenty of time. Tell them to send him up." 
Van Aldin was a strong man. Already he had recovered that iron calm of his. Few people would have noticed anything amiss in his greeting to Mr Goby. 
"I am pressed for time, Goby. Got anything important to tell me?" 
Mr Goby coughed. 
"The movements of Mr Kettering, sir. You wished them reported to you." 
"Yes - well?" 
"Mr Kettering, sir, left London for the Riviera yesterday morning." 
"What?" 
Something in his voice must have startled Mr Goby. That worthy gentleman departed from his usual practice of never looking at a person to whom he was talking, and stole a fleeting glance at the millionaire. 
"What train did he go on?" demanded Van Aldin. 
"The Blue Train, sir." 
Mr Goby coughed again and spoke to the clock on the 
mantelpiece. 
"Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer from the Parthenon, went by the same train." 

第十三章 电告冯•阿尔丁
    二月十三日下午伦敦下着大雾，在这天出门，心情是不会好的。鲁夫斯•冯•阿尔丁在种天气里不顾医生的嘱咐，竭力干着自己的工作。奈顿对此十分高兴。百万富翁这几天总是不能把精力集中在工作上。当秘书有什么重要的事向他报告时候，他虽听着也心不在焉。可是，今天这位美国佬却加倍地工作着。
    但总是觉得有点什么使他安不下心来。他的秘书偶然间发现了这一点。看来，美国佬好象是聚精会神地听着秘书的报告，而实际上，他几乎一个字也没听清。他只是机械地点着头。秘书正要拿另外一个卷宗，主人说道：
    “你能不能再同我讲一下，奈顿？”
    秘书好象没有完全听懂是指什么事。
    “您是指这个事情吗，先生？”他指着一个业务卷宗说道。
    “不，不，”  冯•阿尔丁说，“我是说，您说过，昨天您曾在巴黎看到露丝的女仆，昨天晚上。这一点我有点不理解。您弄错了吧？”
    “我没有弄错，先生，我同她当面谈过话。”
    “请您再讲一下整个见面的过程。”
    奈顿倒是很听话，他说道：“我同巴尔特梅公司会谈结束之后就到里茨去了，到那里去取一件东西。当时我想吃完晚饭就去北站乘诺依列车回来。在饭店的大厅里我看到一个女人，马上就认出了她就是凯特林女士的女仆。我当时还问她凯特林女士是否也在这里下了车。”
    “噢，”冯•阿尔丁说，“然后女仆就告诉您说，露丝继续乘火车去利维埃拉，把她留在里茨，等着主人的新指示。”
    “对，就是这样，先生。”
    “真奇怪！”冯•阿尔丁说，“真是奇怪得很啊。也许这个女人在火车上的行为不端，使我女儿不愿意同她一起旅行。”
    “如果是这种情况的话，”奈顿插话说，“那么凯特林女士就会给她钱让她回英国了。让她呆在里茨饭店，对她可不太合适。”
    “可是她并没有这样做。”百万富翁嘟哝了一句。“您说得有理。”
    他本来还想说什么，但没有说出口。他很相信奈顿，但无论如何不能把女儿的私事讲给秘书听。露丝对他隐瞒了一些事情，这早就伤了他的心，这个意外的消息使他更为烦恼。
    为什么露丝把女仆留在了巴黎？有些事是多么的蹊跷！露丝当然怎么也不会想到，同女仆第一个见面的竟是父亲的秘书。可是，事情就是这样凑巧，人们就是这样搞阴谋的。
    他怎么也摆脱不了这种想法。真会是一种阴谋？他尽可能想独自找出一个答案来。
答案就是阿尔曼特•德•拉•罗歇。这一点是不容置疑的。
    对冯•阿尔丁来说这是一件非常痛苦的事：正是他的女儿被这样一种人愚弄了。他知道，他的女儿出身高贵，不会象别的女人那样容易受伯爵的欺骗，但是，她很容易看透一个男人，对女人她却没有这种能力。
    他想找个借口来消除秘书的怀疑。“露丝总是这样，经常改变自己的计划。”他说道。“为什么她要突然改变自己的旅行计划？这一点女仆没有对您提起过？”
    奈顿尽量控制自己说话的声调，显得自然一些，他回答说：
    “女仆说，凯特林女士偶然遇到了一个熟人。”
    “噢，遇到了一个熟人。她是说遇到了一个女熟人？”
    “据我所知，她说的是一位先生。”
    冯•阿尔丁点了一下头。他心里充满了恐惧。他站起来，如同往常在情绪激动时那样，在屋里来回走动。他无法控制自己的感情，终于脱口说出：“难道一个女人就是这样难以理解吗？人们经常谈论着，女人的本性是善良的，完全是胡说八道。她竟会完全投入这个坏蛋的怀抱。这个恶棍的本事就是把自己打扮得漂亮一点，表演一点骗人的把戏。如果他到我这里来……”
    他收住了话头。这时有一个小佣人拿来一封电报。冯•阿尔丁看着电报，脸面刷地一下子变得惨白。他扶住了椅子背，免得跌倒在地，向小佣人一挥手，让他出去。
    “发生了什么事？先生？”
    奈顿很关心地看了他的主人一眼。
    “露丝！”冯•阿尔丁的嗓子有些噎住了。
    “凯特林女士遇到了什么不幸？”
    “死了！”
    “太可怕了，是火车出了事？”
    冯•阿尔丁摇了一下头。
    “不是，我的孩子被人谋杀了。”
    “简直是天晓得！”
    电报从冯•阿尔丁的那只似乎已经瘫痪的手中飘落到地面上。
    “电报是从尼扎警察局打来的，我必须……马上……”
    他没有告诉奈顿必须干什么，可是奈顿却看了一下手表说道：
    “五点整，从维多利亚火车站发车。”
    “好！你陪我去，奈顿，你向下面的人员交待一下，给我整理一下箱子。把急着要办的事先办一下；我要到我女儿的房间里去一趟。”
    电话铃响了，奈顿拿起了听筒。
    “谁啊？”
    然后他向冯•阿尔丁说道：
    “是戈比，先生。”
    “戈比？我现在不想见他。不，等一下，我们还有时间。让他来吧。”
    冯•阿尔丁是个坚强的人，现在他已经镇静下来。当他同戈比握手时，他的话音同平时一样。
    “我现在很忙，您找我有什么重要的事吗？”
    戈比咳嗽了一声。
    “您不是要听一下关于凯特林先生的情况吗，先生？”
    “是的，怎样？”
    “凯特林先生昨天上午到利维埃拉去了。”
    “您说什么？”
    他的声音几乎使戈比晕了过去。这个经验丰富的老滑头在同对手谈话时从不看对方，这次却斜眼看了看百万富翁。
    “他乘的是哪一次车？”冯•阿尔丁问道。
    “‘蓝色特快’！“戈比又咳了一声，望着壁炉上面的挂钟说道：
    “米蕾小姐，就是那位帕泰农的舞女也同车前往。” 
Chapter 14  马松的自叙(Ada Mason's Story)
Chapter 14  ADA MASON'S STORY 
"I cannot repeat to you often enough, Monsieur, our horror, our consternation, and the deep sympathy we feel for you." 
Thus M. Carrege, the Juge d'Instruction, addressed Van Aldin. M. Caux, the Commissary, made sympathetic noises in his throat. Van Aldin brushed away horror, consternation and sympathy with 
an abrupt gesture. The scene was the Examining Magistrate's room at Nice. Besides M. Carrege, the Commissary, and Van Aldin, there was a further person in the room. It was that person who now spoke. 
"M. Van Aldin," he said, "desires action - swift action." 
"Ah!" cried the Commissary, "I have not yet presented you. M. Van Aldin, this is M. Hercule Poirot; you have doubtless heard of him. Although he has retired from his profession for some years now, his name is still a household word as one of the greatest living detectives." 
"Pleased to meet you, M. Poirot," said Van Aldin, falling back mechanically on a formula that he had discarded some years ago. 
"You have retired from your profession?" 
"That is so, Monsieur. Now I enjoy the world." 
The little man made a grandiloquent gesture. 
"M. Poirot happened to be travelling on the Blue Train," explained the Commissary, "and he has been so kind as to assist us out of his vast experience." 
The millionaire looked at Poirot keenly. Then he said 
unexpectedly: 
"I am a very rich man, M. Poirot. It is usually said that a rich man labours under the belief that he can buy everything and everyone. That is not true. I am a big man in my way, and one big man can ask a favour from another big man." 
Poirot nodded a quick appreciation. 
"That is very well said, M. Van Aldin. I place myself entirely at your service." 
"Thank you," said Van Aldin. "I can only say: call upon me at any time, and you will not find me ungrateful. And now, gentlemen, to business." 
"I propose," said M. Carrege, "to interrogate the maid, Ada Mason. You have her here, I understand?" 
"Yes," said Van Aldin. "We picked her up in Paris in passing through. She was very upset to hear of her mistress's death, but she tells her story coherently enough." 
"We will have her in, then," said M. Carrege. 
He rang the bell on his desk, and in a few minutes Ada Mason entered the room. 
She was very neatly dressed in black, and the tip of her nose was red. She had exchanged her grey travelling gloves for a pair of black suede ones. She cast a look round the Examining 
Magistrate's office in some trepidation, and seemed relieved at the presence of her mistress's father. The Examining Magistrate prided himself on his geniality of manner, and did his best to put her at her ease. He was helped in this by Poirot, who acted as interpreter, and whose friendly manner was reassuring to the Englishman. 
"Your name is Ada Mason; is that right?" 
"Ada Beatrice I was christened, sir," said Mason primly. 
"Just so. And we can understand, Mason, that this has all been very distressing." 
"Oh, indeed it has, sir. I have been with many ladies and always given satisfaction, I hope, and I never dreamt of anything of this kind happening in any situation where I was." 
"No, no," said M. Carrege. 
"Naturally I have read of such things, of course, in the Sunday papers. And then I always have understood that those foreign trains -" She suddenly checked her flow, remembering that the gentlemen who were speaking to her were of the same nationality as the trains. 
"Now let us talk this affair over," said M. Carrege. "There was, I understand, no question of your staying in Paris when you started from London?" 
"Oh no, sir. We were to go straight through to Nice." 
"Have you ever been abroad with your mistress before?" 
"No, sir. I had only been with her two months, you see." 
"Did she seem quite as usual when starting on this journey?" 
"She was worried like and a bit upset, and she was rather irritable and difficult to please." 
M. Carrege nodded. 
"Now then, Mason, what was the first you heard of your stopping in Paris?" 
"It was at the place they call the Gare de Lyon, sir. My mistress was thinking of getting out and walking up and down the platform. She was just going out into the corridor when she gave a sudden exclamation, and came back into her compartment with a 
gentleman. She shut the door between her carriage and mine, so that I didn't see or hear anything, till she suddenly opened it again and told me that she had changed her plans. She gave me some money and told me to get out and go to the Ritz. They knew her well there, she said, and would give me a room. I was to wait there until I heard from her, she would wire me what she wanted me to do. I had just time to get my things together and jump out of the train before it started off. It was a rush." 
"While Mrs Kettering was telling you this, where was the gentleman?" 
"He was standing in the other compartment, sir, looking out of the window." 
"Can you describe him to us?" 
"Well, you see, sir, I hardly saw him. He had his back to me most of the time. He was a tall gentleman and dark; that's all I can say. He was dressed very like any other gentleman in a dark blue overcoat and a grey hat." 
"Was he one of the passengers on the train?" 
"I don't think so, sir; I took it that he had come to the station to see Mrs Kettering in passing through. Of course he might have been one of the passengers; I never thought of that." 
Mason seemed a little flurried by the suggestion. 
"Ah!" M. Carrege passed lightly to another subject. "Your mistress later requested the conductor not to rouse her early in the morning. Was that a likely thing for her to do, do you think?" 
"Oh yes, sir. The mistress never ate any breakfast and she didn't sleep well at nights, so that she liked sleeping on in the morning." 
Again M. Carrege passed to another subject. 
"Amongst the luggage there was a scarlet morocco case, was there not?" he asked. "Your mistress's jewel-case?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"Did you take that case to the Ritz?" 
"Me take the mistress's jewel-case to the Ritz? Oh no, indeed, sir." Mason's tones were horrified. 
"You left it behind you in the carriage?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"Had your mistress many jewels with her, do you know?" 
"A fair amount, sir; made me a bit uneasy sometimes, I can tell you, with those nasty tales you hear of being robbed in foreign countries. They were insured, I know, but all the same it seemed a frightful risk. Why, the rubies alone, the mistress told me, were worth several hundred thousand pounds." 
"The rubies! What rubies?" barked Van Aldin suddenly. 
Mason turned to him. 
"I think it was you who gave them to her, sir, not very long ago." 
"My God!" cried Van Aldin. "You don't imply she had those rubies with her? I told her to leave them at the Bank." 
Mason gave once more the discreet cough which was apparently part of her stock-in-trade as a lady's maid. This time it expressed a good deal. It expressed far more clearly than words could have done, that Mason's mistress had been a lady who took her own way. 
"Ruth must have been mad," muttered Van Aldin. "What on earth could have possessed her?" 
M. Carrege in turn gave vent to a cough, again a cough of significance. It riveted Van Aldin's attention on him. 
"For the moment," said M. Carrege, addressing Mason, "I think that is all. If you will go into the next room, Mademoiselle, they will read over to you the questions and answers, and you will sign accordingly." 
Mason went out escorted by the clerk, and Van Aldin said immediately to the Magistrate: 
"Well?" 
M. Carrege opened a drawer in his desk, took out a letter, and handed it across to Van Aldin. 
"This was found in Madame's handbag." 
"Chère amie" (the letter ran), 
"I will obey you, I will be prudent, discreet - all those things that a lover most hates. Paris would perhaps have been unwise, but the Isles d'Or are far away from the world, and you may be assured that nothing will leak out. It is like you and your divine sympathy to be so interested in the work on famous jewels that I am writing. It will, indeed, be an extraordinary privilege to actually see and handle these historic rubies. I am devoting a special passage to 
'Heart of Fire.' My wonderful one! Soon I will make up to you for all those sad years of separation and emptiness. 
"Your ever-adoring, 
"Armand." 

第十四章 马松的自叙
    “我对您只能再一次表示我们最真挚、最深切的同情。”
    “谢谢您，侦察官先生。”
    对警察方面表示的慰问冯•阿尔丁以他敏捷的方式作了回答。除了两名官员和这位百万富翁之外，侦察官的办公室里还有一个人，他先说道：“冯•阿尔丁先生要求马上开始审讯。”
    “噢，请原谅！”警察局长叫了一声。“请允许我向您介绍一赫库勒•波洛先生。
他虽然退休好几年了，但现在每当提起他的名字时，男女老少皆知他是位有名的侦探。”
    “非常高兴同您认识。您已经不干您那一行了？”
    “是这样，先生。我很安于我的现状。”
    这位小老头做了一个表情丰富的手势。
    “波洛先生也乘了‘蓝色特快’这次车，这完全是巧合。”警察局长说。“他十分友好地表示，要以他那丰富的经验协助我们破案。”
    百万富翁颇有兴致地看着他，然后说道：
    “我很富有，波洛先生。人们常说，有钱能使鬼推磨。但这种话对我来说是不合适的。纽约财界称我是位伟人。现在这个伟人要向另一位伟人求救，以便使我能赢得他的爱戴。”
    “冯•阿尔丁先生，您说得非常好。”波洛点一下头。“我马上准备为您效劳。”
    “谢谢。您将会得到我应有的报答。那么现在我们言归正传吧。”
    “我建议，”侦察官卡雷热说，“先审问一下女仆艾达•马松。据我所知，您已经把她带来了。”
    “正是。”冯•阿尔丁说。“我那可怜的孩子的遽死把她吓坏了，可是她现在已经恢复了常态，可以让她把前后与此相关的事情讲一下。”
    “我立刻就审问她。”侦察官说。他按了一下电钮，紧接着艾达•马松就进了门。
    她整套衣服都换成了黑装，鼻子尖有点发红。她那旅行时戴的手套，也换成了黑色的。在办公室里，她显得有些胆怯。侦察官怀敌意地看着她。
    “您叫艾达•马松，是吗？”
    “正是，艾达•贝阿特里斯是我的教名。”
    “很好，我们很理解，马松女士，这起悲惨的案件使您受到了莫大的刺激。”
    “正是这样，先生。我总是尽力而为，以便使我的主人满意。我怎么也没想到，会经受这种可怕的事情。”
    “我们将会弄清楚这件事是怎么发生的。”侦察官安慰她说。“当您离开伦敦时，从没提起过您将被留在巴黎吗？”
    “没有，先生。我们是准备同路去尼扎的。”
    “在此之前您同您的主人去过国外吗？”
    “没有。我在我主人那里做事才两个月。”
    “您在旅途中没有发现您的主人有什么不正常的表现吗？”
    “是的。她好象有心事老放不下。她显得有些神经质和激动，我不知对她怎样说才好。”
    卡雷热点了一下头。
    “是什么时候谈起您将被留在巴黎的事？”
    “在里昂站。我的女主人想到站台上透一透气。她刚刚开始散步就轻声地叫了一声，接着就同一位先生回到了包厢。然后她就把通向我的包厢的那扇门锁上了，我进不了她的包厢。过了一会儿她突然又打开门说，她要改变她的旅行计划。她给我一些钱，让我到里茨住下，等她的吩咐。我正好来得及整理我的箱子，我刚一下车，火车就开动了。”
    “在您的主人做这些吩咐的时候，那位先生在哪里？”
    “他在隔壁的包厢里，站在窗旁望着外面。”
    “您能否给我们描述一下这位先生的模样？”
    “我几乎没有看清他的模样。整段时间里他都是背朝着我。他是一位个头很高的先生，头发是黑色的。其它的情况我就不知道了。如果我没有记错的话，他穿着深蓝色的衣服。”
    “他是‘蓝色特快’上的旅客吗？”
    “依我看，不象是这次列车上的旅客。给我的印象是：他刚上火车，似乎是来同凯特林女士见面的。”
    “您的主人后来曾对乘务员讲，早晨不要来叫醒她，您认为这是正常的吗？”
    “完全正常。先生，我的主人从来不吃早点。她经常夜里睡不好觉，因此早晨总是想多睡一会儿。”
    卡雷热又转到了另一个话题。
    “在你们的行李中有一个红色的首饰盒，是吗？”
    “正是。”
    “您没有把这个盒子带到里茨去吗？”
    “难道我能把主人的首饰盒带走吗？这简直是天晓得，先生。”女仆显然对这样一种设想感到奇怪。
    “那么说您是把首饰盒留在火车上了？”
    “当然。”
    “您是否知道，凯特林女士身上带着很多的首饰？”
    “据我所知，非常多。我可以对您讲，我对她这一点有些不太满意。人们经常谈起国外的一些盗窃案件。有一次女主人对我讲，只是那一块宝石就值几十万英镑。”
    “简直是天晓得！”冯•阿尔丁大叫了起来，“她竟然把宝石也带在身边！我同她说过，让她把宝石暂时存在银行里。”
    马松咳了一声，她是想说，她的女主人的自信心太强了，人们很难说服她。
    “露丝太任性了。”冯•阿尔丁咕噜了一声，声音低得很难听清楚。
    现在轮到侦察官咳嗽了。他的这声咳嗽大有深意。
    “暂时，”他对女仆说，“就是这些了。小姐，请您到隔壁的房间去，在审询记录上签了名！”
    女仆走了，记录员陪她走出了房间。冯•阿尔丁转向警察官们说道：
    “我觉得，女仆提到首饰盒的事，对你们是极为有价值的。”
    卡雷热打开抽屉，取出一封信递给了冯•阿尔丁。
    “这封信是从女士的手提包中找到的。”
＊  ＊     ＊
“亲爱的朋友，我完全听你的。我将非常小心从事，一句话，象每一个恋
    人都厌恶的那样，我将守口如瓶。黄金岛在世界遥远的地方。请你相信，没有
    任何东西能阻止我们。你对名贵宝石的特殊兴趣和喜爱，证明了这一点，因为
    我也正在为此而工作。如果我能亲眼看一下这块宝石并加以仔细研究，那将是
    我莫大的荣幸。我要为名贵的‘火心宝石’写下特别的一章。你，我的心肝宝
    贝！希望你再忍耐一会儿！很快你就弥补上几年来离别的痛苦和空虚。
Chapter 15  罗歇伯爵(The Comte De La Roche)
Chapter 15  THE COMTE DE LA ROCHE 
Van Aldin read the letter through in silence. His face turned a dull angry crimson. The men watching him saw the veins start out on his forehead, and his big hands clench themselves unconsciously. He handed back the letter without a word. M. Carrege was looking with close attention at his desk, M. Caux's eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, and M. Hercule Poirot was tenderly brushing a speck of dust from his coat sleeve. With the greatest tact they none of them looked at Van Aldin. 
It was M. Carrege, mindful of his status and his duties, who tackled the unpleasant subject. 
"Perhaps, Monsieur," he murmured, "you are aware by whom - er - this letter was written?" 
"Yes, I know," said Van Aldin heavily. 
"Ah?" said the Magistrate inquiringly. 
"A scoundrel who calls himself the Comte de la Roche." 
There was a pause; then M. Poirot leaned forward, straightened a ruler on the judge's desk, and addressed the millionaire directly. 
"M. Van Aldin, we are all sensible, deeply sensible, of the pain it must give you to speak of these matters, but believe me, Monsieur, it is not the time for concealments. If justice is to be done, we must know everything. If you will reflect a little minute you will realize the truth of that clearly for yourself." 
Van Aldin was silent for a moment or two, then almost reluctantly he nodded his head in agreement. 
"You are quite right, M. Poirot," he said. "Painful as it is, I have no right to keep anything back." 
The Commissary gave a sigh of relief, and the Examining Magistrate leaned back in his chair and adjusted a pince-nez on his long thin nose. 
"Perhaps you will tell us in your own words, M. Van Aldin," he said, 
"all that you know of this gentleman." 
"It began eleven or twelve years ago - in Paris. My daughter was a young girl then, and of foolish, romantic notions, like all young girls are. Unknown to me, she made the acquaintance of this Comte de la Roche. You have heard of him, perhaps?" 
The Commissary and Poirot nodded in assent. 
"He calls himself the Comte de la Roche," continued Van Aldin, 
"but I doubt if he has any right to the title." 
"You would not have found his name in the Almanac de Gotha," agreed the Commissary. 
"I discovered as much," said Van Aldin. "The man was a good- looking, plausible scoundrel, with a fatal fascination for women. Ruth was infatuated with him, but I soon put a stop to the whole affair. The man was no better than a common swindler." 
"You are quite right," said the Commissary. "The Comte de la Roche is well known to us. If it were possible, we should have laid him by the heels before now, but to foil - it is not easy; the fellow is cunning, his affairs are always conducted with ladies of high social position. If he obtains money from them under false pretences or as the fruit of blackmail, eh bien! naturally they will not prosecute. To look foolish in the eyes of the world, oh no, that would never do, and he has an extraordinary power over women." 
"That is so," said the millionaire heavily. "Well, as I told you, I broke the affair up pretty sharply. I told Ruth exactly what he was, and she had, perforce, to believe me. About a year afterwards, she met her present husband and married him. As far as I knew, that was the end of the matter; but only a week ago, I discovered, to my amazement, that my daughter had resumed her 
acquaintance with the Comte de la Roche. She had been meeting him frequently in London and Paris. I remonstrated with her on her imprudence, for I may tell you, gentlemen, that, on my insistence, she was preparing to bring a suit for divorce against her husband." 
"That is interesting," murmured Poirot softly, his eyes on the ceiling. 
Van Aldin looked at him sharply, and then went on. 
"I pointed out to her the folly of continuing to see the Comte under the circumstances. I thought she agreed with me." 
The Examining Magistrate coughed delicately. 
"But according to this letter -" he began and then stopped. 
Van Aldin's jaw set itself squarely. 
"I know. It's no good mincing matters. However unpleasant, we have got to face facts. It seems clear that Ruth had arranged to go to Paris and meet de la Roche there. After my warnings to her, however, she must have written to the Count suggesting a change of rendezvous." 
"The Isles d'Or," said the Commissary thoughtfully, "are situated just opposite Hyeres, a remote and idyllic spot." 
Van Aldin nodded. 
"My God! How could Ruth be such a fool?" he exclaimed bitterly. 
"All this talk about writing a book on jewels! Why, he must have been after the rubies from the first." 
"There are some very famous rubies," said Poirot, "originally part of the Crown jewels of Russia; they are unique in character, and their value is almost fabulous. There has been a rumour that they have lately passed into the possession of an American. Are we right in concluding, Monsieur, that you were the purchaser?" 
"Yes," said Van Aldin. "They came into my possession in Paris about ten days ago." 
"Pardon me, Monsieur, but you have been negotiating for their purchase for some time?" 
"A little over two months. Why?" 
"These things become known," said Poirot. "There is always a pretty formidable crowd on the track of jewels such as these." 
A spasm distorted the other's face. 
"I remember," he said brokenly, "a joke I made to Ruth when I gave them to her. I told her not to take them to the Riviera with her, as I could not afford to have her robbed and murdered for the sake of the jewels. My God! the things one says - never dreaming or knowing they will come true." 
There was a sympathetic silence, and then Poirot spoke in a detached manner. 
"Let us arrange our facts with order and precision. According to our present theory, this is how they run. The Comte de la Roche knows of your purchase of these jewels. By an easy stratagem he induces Madame Kettering to bring the stones with her. He, then, is the man Mason saw in the train at Paris." 
The other three nodded in agreement. 
"Madame is surprised to see him, but she deals with the situation promptly. Mason is got out of the way; a dinner basket is ordered. 
We know from the conductor that he made up the berth for the first compartment, that he did not go into the second 
compartment, and that a man could quite well have been concealed from him. So far the Comte would have been hidden to 
a marvel. No one knows of his presence on the train except Madame, he has been careful that the maid did not see his face. All that she could say is that he was tall and dark. It is all most conveniently vague. They are alone - and the train rushes through the night. There would be no outcry, no struggle, for the man is, so she thinks, her lover." 
He turned gently to Van Aldin. 
"Death, Monsieur, must have been almost instantaneous. We will pass over that quickly. The Comte takes the jewel-case which lies ready to his hand. Shortly afterwards the train draws into Lyons." 
M. Carrege nodded his approval. 
"Precisely. The conductor descends. It would be easy for our man to leave the train unseen; it would be easy to catch a train back to Paris or anywhere he pleases. And the crime would be put down as an ordinary train robbery. But for the letter found in Madame's bag, the Comte would not have been mentioned." 
"It was an oversight on his part not to search that bag," declared the Commissary. 
"Without doubt he thought she had destroyed that letter. It was - pardon me, Monsieur - it was an indiscretion of the first water to keep it." 
"And yet," murmured Poirot, "it was an indiscretion the Comte might have foreseen." 
"You mean?" 
"I mean we are all agreed on one point, and that is that the Comte de la Roche knows one subject à fond: Women. How was it that, knowing women as he does, he did not foresee that Madame would have kept that letter?" 
"Yes - yes," said the Examining Magistrate doubtfully, "there is something in what you say. But at such times, you understand, a man is not master of himself. He does not reason calmly. Mon Dieu!" he added, with feeling, "if our criminals kept their heads and acted with intelligence, how should we capture them?" 
Poirot smiled to himself. 
"It seems to me a clear case," said the other, "but a difficult one to prove. He is a slippery customer, and unless the maid can identify him -" 
"Which is most unlikely," said Poirot. 
"True, true." The Examining Magistrate rubbed his chin. "It is going to be difficult." 
"If he did indeed commit the crime -" began Poirot. M. Caux interrupted. 
"If - you say if?" 
"Yes, Monsieur le Juge, I say if." 
The other looked at him sharply. "You are right," he said at last, 
"we go too fast. It is possible that the Comte may have an alibi. Then we should look foolish." 
"Ah, ?a par exemple," replied Poirot, "that is of no importance whatever. Naturally, if he committed the crime he will have an alibi. A man with the Comte's experience does not neglect to take precautions. No, I said if for a very different reason." 
"And what was that?" 
Poirot wagged an emphatic forefinger. 
"The psychology." 
"Eh?" said the Commissary. 
"The psychology is at fault. The Comte is a scoundrel - yes. The Comte is a swindler - yes. The Comte preys upon women - yes. He proposes to steal Madame's jewels - again yes. Is he the kind of man to commit murder? I say no! A man of the type of the Comte is always a coward; he takes no risks. He plays the safe, the mean, what the English call the lowdown game; but murder, a hundred times no!" He shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. 
The Examining Magistrate, however, did not seem disposed to agree with him. 
"The day always comes when such gentry lose their heads and go too far," he observed sagely. "Doubtless that is the case here. Without wishing to disagree with you, M. Poirot -" 
"It was only an opinion," Poirot hastened to explain. "The case is, of course, in your hands, and you will do what seems fit to you." 
"I am satisfied in my own mind that the Comte de la Roche is the man we need to get hold of," said M. Carrege. "You agree with me, Monsieur le Commissaire?" 
"Perfectly." 
"And you, M. Van Aldin?" 
"Yes," said the millionaire. "Yes, the man is a thorough-paced villain, no doubt about it." 
"It will be difficult to lay hands on him, I am afraid," said the Magistrate, "but we shall do our best. Telegraphed instructions shall go out at once." 
"Permit me to assist you," said Poirot. "There need be no difficulty." 
"Eh?" 
The others stared at him. The little man smiled beamingly back at them. 
"It is my business to know things." he explained. "The Comte is a man of intelligence. He is at present at a villa he has leased, the Villa Marina at Antibes." 

第十五章 罗歇伯爵
    冯•阿尔丁默黩地读完了这封信。他的双颊气得通红，太阳穴的血管凸起，一双大手痉挛地发拦。他不声不响地把这封信递给了卡雷热。卡雷热紧张地看着写字台，科望着天花板，波洛弹着袖口上的、可能是想象中的灰尘。当时的气氛使这三个人都不敢正眼瞧冯•阿尔丁一眼。
    过了好大一会儿，侦察官才敢角及这个令人沮丧的题目。
    “您可能知道，先生”，他低声问，“是谁写的信。”
    “我知道，我知道这是谁写的信，”冯•阿尔丁愤怒地说，“是一个叫名叫什么罗歇伯爵的坏蛋！”
    又停了一会儿，波洛低声问道：
    “我们知道，冯•阿尔丁先生，让您来谈这个问题是件很痛苦的事。但是，要解决问题，我们必须了解一些内情。”
    冯•阿尔丁沉默了片刻。然后他轻轻地点了一下头，表示他懂得这个道理。
    “波洛先生，您是对的。这几乎是使我不能忍受的，但是我必须对您说明真情。”
    他忍受着内心的痛苦，用手压着太阳穴，继续说下去：
    “这段历史是从十一、二年前开始的，那是在巴黎。我的女儿象别的女孩子一样，充满浪漫主义，喜欢想入非非，她背着我认识了这个罗歇伯爵。你们可能已对他有所了解。”
    警察局长和波洛同时点了一下头。
    “他挂着这个耀眼的头衔。”冯•阿尔丁继续说，“但是我怀疑他是否有权利来获得这个名称。”
    “在臬塔宫廷的注册上，您是找不到他的名字的。”警察局长加上了一句，表示赞同冯•阿尔丁的观点。
    “这个纨裤子弟在勾引女人方面确有一套本事。露丝就上了他的钩，而且爱他爱得发疯，但是我很快就把他们的这段历史给结束了。这个人实际上是个大骗子。”
    “您说得完全对。”警察局长说。“我们警察局方面对这个伯爵完全了解。我们很久以来一直想找个把柄，把他捉拿归案，可是难啊。这个家伙特别狡猾，他以常同上层社会的女士们打交道。如果这些女士肯为他出足够的钱，那么就很难把他押到法庭上。
谁也不愿在法庭面前得罪他。”
    “原来是这样。”冯•阿尔丁闷闷不乐地说，“正象我同你们讲的那样，我决心干预这件事。大约过了一年之后。我女儿同她现在的丈夫结了婚。我当然认为，他们的那段情史就此结束了。大约一周之前，使我感到失望的是，我发现我女儿又同这个伯爵联系上了。我向她说明，在她决定同她丈夫离婚的时候，她的这种行为是多么不慎重。”
    “真有意思。”波洛低声说道。
    冯•阿尔丁狠狠地瞪了他一眼，继续说道：“看来我女儿从没有下决心同这种人一刀两断，而且毫无疑问，她要与他在巴黎约会。我的劝告看来只产生一种效果，即他们会面的地点改变了。”
    “黄金岛这地方在耶尔的对面，是一个很幽静的田园小镇。”警察局长说道。
    “露丝怎么会成了一个傻瓜。”冯•阿尔丁痛苦地叫道，“她怎么会带着这么贵重的宝石去上圈套！他的所作所为当然只是为了宝石。”
    “最近一个时期人们纷纷议论说，俄国女皇皇冠上的一颗宝石被一个美国人买去了。
那么先生，你就是那位买主了？”
    “正是。”冯•阿尔丁说。“我十天之前在巴黎买到的。”
    “请原谅，我再提一个问题，先生，在你买妥之前，这笔交易谈了很久吗？”
    “大概进行了两个月的时间。为什么问这个问题？”
    “人们经常谈到，”波洛说，“有些人专门追逐一些珍贵的金银首饰和宝石。”
    “我想起了一件事，”冯•阿尔丁突然说，“我记得，在我把宝石交给露丝的时候，我开过一句玩笑。我对她说，不要把宝石带到利维埃拉去，因为这颗宝石会招致抢劫或暗杀。天啊，我却不幸言中了，从来也没想到，当时的笑话竟成了今日的现实！”
    屋子里的人都沉默不语，充满了同情。波洛以公事公办的腔调说道：
    “事情就是这样。罗歇伯爵已经得到了宝石转到您手中的消息。一切表明，凯特林女士对一种迷人的谎话信以为真，把宝石带到了身边。因此，正如女仆所说的，此人也就是火车停在巴黎时她在死者包厢里看到的那个人。”
    其它三个人都点了一下头。
    “女士对他的突然出现有点不知所措，但很快就转为常态。她把马松留在半路上。
乘务员只去整理了第一包厢的床铺。但没有走进第二包厢。伯爵就藏在里面。除了女士之外，没有第二个人知道他在火车上，而且他尽量回避同女仆面对面相遇。他俩单独呆在那儿……火车在深夜里飞驰，不会发生什么搏斗。因为她把这个男人当作了自己的情人。”
    波洛瞄了冯•阿尔丁一眼又继续说道：
    “死亡只发生在一瞬间。伯爵只需要那个首饰盒，他得手后不久，火车就到了里昂城火车站。”
    卡雷热点头表示同意。
    “完全正确。火车到里昂城火车站，卧车乘务员接着就下了车，执行自己的任务。
伯爵偷偷地溜下火车，换乘去巴黎或去其它方向的车，这对他这样一种人来说简直是易如反掌。所有的迹象只能表明，这是一起火车上的盗窃案。要不是在女士的手提包里发现了信，那就很难去怀疑这位伯爵先生了。”
    “这说明他很粗心，他没有去检查一下女士的手提包。”警察局长说道。
    “当然，”波洛随声附和道。“作为一个熟知女性的专家，人应该懂得：一个女人是不会把这样一封信销毁的。”
    “在这种情况下，作案人常常缺乏冷静的思考。”侦察官说，“如果罪犯们都那么按逻辑从事，那我们还怎样去捉拿他归案呢？”
    波洛的脸上掠过一丝不易被人察觉的笑意。
    “对我来说案情已十分清楚。”侦察官继续说，“但是很难用事实证明这一点。伯爵先生比泥鳅还狡猾，如果女仆不能证明他就是……”
    “这非常可能。”波洛同意这一点。
    “可惜。”侦察官摸了一下下巴，“事情真棘手。”
    “如果真是他作的案……，”波洛说道。
    科打断他的话说道：
    “您说‘如果真是他’，这是什么意思？”
    “是的，我是说‘如果真是’，局长先生。”
    “也可能伯爵会提出一个‘不在现场’。”
    “上帝，这不说明问题。”波洛说，“如果他作了案，他总要为自己制造一个‘不在现场’的谎言。不，我是根据其它理由提出‘如果真是’这种疑问。”
    “那么根据什么理由呢？”
    波洛用手指点着，郑重其事地说道：
    “是从心理学角度。伯爵是个流氓，是个无赖，这一点很清楚，他要偷女士的首饰，这一点也很清楚。但是，象他这种人，个个都是胆小鬼。他决不想制造任何一件担风险的事件。谋杀对这样一种人来说，是难以置信的。”他摇了摇头。
    看来侦察官无论如何也不会赞同他的这种分析。
    “这帮家伙早晚要掉脑袋，也可能孤注一掷。”他深思了一会儿说，“我的意思并不是反驳您，波洛先生。”
    “我只是陈述了自己的意见。”波洛急忙解释道。“调查的权利当然是在您的手中，您一定会查个水落石出。”
    “照我个人看来，伯爵正是我们要抓捕的对象。”卡雷热说道。
    “您认为如何？冯•阿尔丁先生。”
    “毫无疑问，此人就是罪犯。”
    “抓住他也不是一件很容易的事。”侦察官说。“但我们将竭尽全力去做。我立即向各地方发出电报。”
    “不必要。”波洛说。
    “为什么？”
    两个人同时盯着波洛。小老头笑着，笑得很得意。
    “我的职业只是了解一切。”他声明说，“伯爵目前就在离我们不远的地方。眼下他就住在昂蒂布的侯爵镇。”
Chapter 16  波洛分析案情(Poirot Discusses the Case)
Chapter 16  POIROT DISCUSSES THE CASE 
Everybody looked respectfully at Poirot. 
Undoubtedly the little man had scored heavily. The Commissary laughed - on a rather hollow note. 
"You teach us all our business," he cried. "M. Poirot knows more than the police." 
Poirot gazed complacently at the ceiling, adopting a mock-modest air. 
"What will you; it is my little hobby," he murmured, "to know things. Naturally I have the time to indulge it. I am not overburdened with affairs." 
"Ah!" said the Commissary shaking his head portentously. "As for me -" 
He made an exaggerated gesture to represent the cares that lay on his shoulders. 
Poirot turned suddenly to Van Aldin. 
"You agree, Monsieur, with this view? You feel certain that the Comte de la Roche is the murderer?" 
"Why, it would seem so - yes, certain." 
Something guarded in the answer made the Examining Magistrate 
look at the American curiously. Van Aldin seemed aware of his scrutiny and made an effort as though to shake off some preoccupation. 
"What about my son-in-law?" he asked. "You have acquainted him with the news? He is in Nice, I understand." 
"Certainly, Monsieur." The Commissary hesitated, and then murmured very discreetly: 
"You are doubtless aware, M. Van Aldin, that M. Kettering was also one of the passengers on the Blue Train that night?" 
The millionaire nodded. 
"Heard it just before I left London," he vouchsafed laconically. 
"He tells us," continued the Commissary, "that he had no idea his wife was travelling on the train." 
"I bet he hadn't," said Van Aldin grimly. "It would have been rather a nasty shock to him if he'd come across her on it." 
The three men looked at him questioningly. 
"I'm not going to mince matters," said Van Aldin savagely. "No one knows what my poor girl has had to put up with. Derek Kettering wasn't alone. He had a lady with him." 
"Ah?" 
"Mirelle - the dancer." 
M. Carrege and the Commissary looked at each other and nodded 
as though confirming some previous conversation. M. Carrege leaned back in his chair, joined his hands, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. 
"Ah!" he murmured again. "One wondered." 
He coughed. "One has heard rumours." 
"The lady," said M. Caux, "is very notorious." 
"And also," murmured Poirot softly, "very expensive." 
Van Aldin had gone very red in the face. 
He leant forward and hit the table a bang with his fist. 
"See here," he cried, "my son-in-law is a damned scoundrel!" 
He glared at them, looking from one face to another. 
"Oh, I know," he went on. "Good looks and a charming, easy manner. It took me in once upon a time. I suppose he pretended to be broken-hearted when you broke the news to him - that is, if he didn't know it already." 
"Oh, it came as a complete surprise to him. He was overwhelmed." 
"Darned young hypocrite," said Van Aldin. "Simulated great grief, I suppose?" 
"N-no," said the Commissary cautiously. "I would not quite say that - eh, M. Carrege?" 
The Magistrate brought the tips of his fingers together, and half closed his eyes. 
"Shock, bewilderment, horror - these things, yes," he declared judicially. "Great sorrow - no - I should not say that." 
Hercule Poirot spoke once more. 
"Permit me to ask, M. Van Aldin, does M. Kettering benefit by the death of his wife?" 
"He benefits to the tune of a couple of millions," said Van Aldin. 
"Dollars?" 
"Pounds. I settled that sum on Ruth absolutely on her marriage. She made no will and leaves no children, so the money will go to her husband." 
"Whom she was on the point of divorcing," murmured Poirot. "Ah, yes - précisément." 
The Commissary turned and looked sharply at him. 
"Do you mean -" he began. 
"I mean nothing," said Poirot. "I arrange the facts, that is all." 
Van Aldin stared at him with awakening interest. 
The little man rose to his feet. 
"I do not think I can be of any further service to you, M. le Juge," he said politely, bowing to M. Carrege. "You will keep me informed of the course of events? It will be a kindness." 
"But certainly - most certainly." 
Van Aldin rose also. 
"You don't want me any more at present?" 
"No, Monsieur; we have all the information we need for the moment." 
"Then I will walk a little way with M. Poirot. That is, if he does not object?" 
"Enchanted, Monsieur," said the little man, with a bow. 
Van Aldin lighted a large cigar, having offered one to Poirot, who declined it, and lit one of his own tiny cigarettes. A man of great strength of character, Van Aldin already appeared to be his everyday, normal self once more. After strolling along for a minute or two in silence, the millionaire spoke: 
"I take it, M. Poirot, that you no longer exercise your profession?" 
"That is so, Monsieur. I enjoy the world." 
"Yet you are assisting the police in this affair?" 
"Monsieur, if a doctor walks along the street and an accident happens, does he say, 'I have retired from my profession, I will continue my walk,' when there is someone bleeding to death at his feet? If I had been already in Nice, and the police had sent to me and asked me to assist them, I should have refused. But this affair, the good God thrust it upon me." 
"You were on the spot," said Van Aldin thoughtfully. "You examined the compartment, did you not?" 
Poirot nodded. 
"Doubtless you found things that were, shall we say, suggestive to you?" 
"Perhaps," said Poirot. 
"I hope you see what I am leading up to?" said Van Aldin. "It seems to me that the case against this Comte de la Roche is perfectly clear, but I am not a fool. I have been watching you for this last hour or so, and I realise that for some reason of your own you don't agree with that theory?" 
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. 
"I may be wrong." 
"So we come to the favour I want to ask you. Will you act in this matter for me?" 
"For you personally?" 
"That was my meaning." 
Poirot was silent for a moment or two. 
Then he said: 
"You realize what you are asking?" 
"I guess so," said Van Aldin. 
"Very well," said Poirot. "I accept. But in that case, I must have frank answers to my questions." 
"Why, certainly. That is understood." 
Poirot's manner changed. He became suddenly brusque and 
businesslike. 
"This question of a divorce," he said. "It was you who advised your daughter to bring the suit?" 
"Yes." 
"When?" 
"About ten days ago. I had had a letter from her complaining of her husband's behaviour, and I put it to her very strongly that divorce was the only remedy." 
"In what way did she complain of his behaviour?" 
"He was being seen about with a very notorious lady - the one we have been speaking of - Mirelle." 
"The dancer. Ah-ha! And Madame Kettering objected? Was she very devoted to her husband?" 
"I would not say that," said Van Aldin hesitating a little. 
"It was not her heart that suffered, it was her pride - is that what you would say?" 
"Yes, I suppose you might put it like that." 
"I gather that the marriage had not been a happy one from the beginning?" 
"Derek Kettering is rotten to the core," said Van Aldin. "He is incapable of making any woman happy." 
"He is, as you say in England, a bad lot. That is right, is it not?" 
Van Aldin nodded. 
"Très bien! You advise Madame to seek a divorce, she agrees; you consult your solicitors. When does M. Kettering get news of what is in the wind?" 
"I sent for him myself, and explained the course of action I proposed to take." 
"And what did he say?" murmured Poirot softly. 
Van Aldin's face darkened at the remembrance. 
"He was infernally impudent." 
"Excuse the question, Monsieur, but did he refer himself to le Comte de la Roche?" 
"Not by name," growled the other unwillingly, "but he showed himself cognizant of the affair." 
"What, if I may ask, was M. Kettering's financial position at the time?" 
"How do you suppose I should know that?" asked Van Aldin, after a very brief hesitation. 
"It seemed likely to me that you would inform yourself on that point." 
"Well - you are quite right, I did. I discovered that Kettering was on the rocks." 
"And now he has inherited two million pounds! Ma foi - it is a strange thing, is it not?" 
Van Aldin looked at him sharply. 
"What do you mean?" 
"I moralize," said Poirot. "I reflect, I speak the philosophy. But to return to where we were. Surely M. Kettering did not propose to allow himself to be divorced without making a fight for it?" 
Van Aldin did not answer for a minute or two, then he said: 
"I don't exactly know what his intentions were." 
"Did you hold any further communications with him?" 
Again a slight pause, then Van Aldin said: "No." 
Poirot stopped dead, took off his hat, and held out his hand. 
"I must wish you good-day, Monsieur. I can do nothing for you." 
"What are you getting at?" demanded Van Aldin angrily. 
"If you do not tell me the truth, I can do nothing." 
"I don't know what you mean." 
"I think you do. You may rest assured, M. Van Aldin, that I know how to be discreet." 
"Very well, then," said the millionaire. "I'll admit that I was not speaking the truth just now. I did have further communication with my son-in-law." 
"Yes?" 
"To be exact, I sent my secretary, Major Knighton, to see him, with instructions to offer him the sum of one hundred thousand pounds in cash if the divorce went through undefended." 
"A pretty sum of money," said Poirot appreciatively, "and the answer of Monsieur, your son-in-law?" 
"He sent back word that I could go to hell," replied the millionaire succinctly. 
"Ah!" said Poirot. 
He betrayed no emotion of any kind. At the moment he was engaged in methodically recording facts. 
"Monsieur Kettering has told the police that he neither saw nor spoke to his wife on the journey from England. Are you inclined to believe that statement, Monsieur?" 
"Yes, I am," said Van Aldin. "He would take particular pains to keep out of her way, I should say." 
"Why?" 
"Because he had got that woman with him." 
"Mirelle?" 
"Yes." 
"How did you come to know that fact?" 
"A man of mine, whom I had put on to watch him, reported to me that they had both left by that train." 
"I see," said Poirot. "In that case, as you said before, he would not be likely to attempt to hold any communication with Madame Kettering." 
The little man fell silent for some time. 
Van Aldin did not interrupt his meditation. 

第十六章 波洛分析案情
在座的人都以敬佩的眼光看着波洛。这个小老头的确名不虚传。
“在您的面前，我们真都成了小学生。”高级警官高声说道，勉强地微笑着，“波洛先生懂的事比全世界的警察懂得的还要多。”
波洛显出很谦虚的样子，仰望着天花板。
“你们何必这样！了解一切，这是我的乐趣。”他喃喃地说，然后突然转向范•奥尔丁。
“先生，您也认为罗奇伯爵是凶手？”
“我怀疑他……甚至确信他就是罪犯。”
可是，检查官听得出他的声音并不那么坚定。
范•奥尔丁思虑了片刻，蓦然想起了一个问题。
“您是否已经把这个案子告诉了我的女婿？据我所知，他目前也在尼斯。”
“当然，先生。”.
警官犹豫了一下，小声说道：“这是您已经晓得的，范•奥尔丁先生，出事的那天夜里，凯特林先生也乘坐了‘蓝色特快’那次车。”
百万富翁点了点头。
“我离开伦敦时听说的。”他简短地回答道。
“您的女婿说，”警官继续着他的话，“他那时并不知道同妻子乘同一次车。”
“如果他知道是在同一次列车上，他将感到十分不愉快。”范•奥尔丁气愤地说道。
三个人不解地看着他。
“没有人能够理解，我那可怜的孩子经受了多大的痛苦。德里克•凯特林并不是独自旅行，陪同他的还有一个女士。”
“一个女士？”
“米雷尔，那个舞女。”
卡雷热同科交换了一下眼色。然后他说道：.
“现在谣言不少。”
“这个女人，”科说，“声名狼藉。”.
“另外，”波洛加了一句，“她的身价还很高。”
范•奥尔丁羞得满脸通红。他弯着腰坐在那里，用拳头敲着桌子。“我的女婿是一个该死的流氓。这个家伙，风度翩翩，引人注目。当然，当然，起初我也被他迷住了。可以想象，当您把消息告诉他的时候，他一定表现得特别悲伤和可怕，对吗？”
“他的表现恰到好处。”
“看来他像是当头挨了一棒，显得特别害怕。如果说这次死亡事件在他的内心深处激起了波澜，那么从外表却看不出有这种迹象。”
现在该波洛说话了。“请允许我提一个问题，范•奥尔丁先生！这次死亡事件对凯特林先生是否有物质上的利益？”
“死亡事件会给他带来二百万英镑的好处。在我女儿结婚时我就把这笔钱拔给了他们。因为没有遗嘱，也没有孩子，所以这笔钱理所当然地归她丈夫所有。”
“就是归凯特林女士想和他离婚的那个人。”波洛说道，“您的意思……”警官瞧着波洛说道。
“我什么也不想说。”波洛打断他的话，“我只想证实一下事情的本来面目。”
小老头站了起来。
“我认为，我暂时还不能为您效劳，检查官先生。”他彬彬有礼地向卡雷热鞠了一躬。“在案情发展过程中您能同我一直保持联系吗？如果您能这样做，我将非常高兴。”
“当然，这是不言而喻的。”
范•奥尔丁也站了起来。
“您还需要我吗？”
“不，先生，暂时我们已经得到了所有的情报。”
“这样的话，我要陪波洛先生走了。”
“我感到很荣幸。”小老头说道。
波洛点燃了一支小雪茄，范•奥尔丁也同时点燃了一支大雪茄。百万富翁又显出冷静的神态。他同侦探走了一段路之后，说道：
“据我所知，您已经不干您那一行了。”
“完全对，先生，我对现在的生活很满意。”
“可是现在您在帮警察局破案。”
“先生，如果一个医生在马路上行走，遇上了一次车祸，难道他能够说：‘我已经不干这一行了，我要散我的步。’而且正好有一个人躺在他的脚下流血？这种事可以说是上帝的旨意。”
“我认为伯爵的罪行是确凿的。”过了一会范•奥尔丁说，“可是您好像不这样认为。”
波洛耸耸肩膀。
“也可能我的看法是错的。”
“我请您帮忙，就如我当初说的那样。您能这样做吗？”.
波洛沉默了一会儿，然后说道：“您理解您对我的要求吗？”
“是的，我认为我理解。”
“那好，我也这样认为。但我也要求您做到一件事：一定要以诚相见。”
“一言为定。”
波洛突然变成了另外一个人。他用公务上所惯有的那种腔调简短而明确地问道：
“您劝过您女儿离婚？”
“是的。”
“什么时候？”
“大概十天之前。她抱怨她丈夫的行为，因此我向她建议，离婚是惟一的出路。”
“她对丈夫最不满的是什么？”
“他同一个声名狼藉的女人鬼混。”
“噢，是那个舞女。当然凯特林女士对此是不满意的。她喜欢自己的丈夫吗？”
“实际上并不喜欢。”范•奥尔丁犹豫了一下。
“那么说，不是伤了她的感情，而是伤了她的自尊心。”
“可以这样理解。”
“这么说，这桩婚姻从一开始就不是幸福的？”
“德里克•凯特林是个坏透了的家伙。”范•奥尔丁说道，“他是不会使妻子幸福的。”
“他是人们指的那种无用的人？”
范•奥尔丁点了一下头。
“事情是这样：您劝女士离婚，她就同意了。您同她都很高兴。凯特林什么时候知道这件事的？”
“我把他叫来，告诉他我们准备对付他的一些做法。”
“他说过什么吗？”
当范•奥尔丁回忆起这件事的时候，他的两颊绯红。
“他当时表现得特别无耻。”
“请原谅，先生，我提一个问题，他当时提到罗奇伯爵吗？”
“没有指名道姓。”他的话是从牙缝里挤出来的，“但是，看来他对此事已经有所了解。”
“当时凯特林的经济状况怎样？”
“正是成问题的时候。”
“可是现在他得到了二百万英镑！是的，生活有时候会露出奇怪的面孔，不是吗？”
范•奥尔丁只是死盯着他。
“您是指什么？”
“我在鼓吹德性，宣扬道德观念，我在回味人生的一些现象。作为一个哲学家，我在验证着自己的观点。还是回到我们的本行里来吧！凯特林先生看来是不准备离婚的了？”
范•奥尔丁思忖了一会儿。
“我不知道他到底持什么态度”。
“您从那时起就没有再同他联系吗？”
范•奥尔丁又沉默了一会儿，然后说道：“没有。”
波洛猛然站起来，拿起帽子把手伸向百万富翁。
“请原谅，我要告辞了，先生。我不能再为您效劳了。”
“这是什么意思？”范•奥尔丁现出不知所措的神色。
“如果您不愿说出真情，那我就无能为力了。”.
“您指的是什么？”
“这您自己心里明白。请您放心好了，范•奥尔丁先生，我懂得保密。”
“那么好吧，”百万富翁说，“我承认，我没有说出真情。我又找过我女婿一次。”
“您看怎么样。”
“确切地说，我是派我的秘书奈顿上校去的，并委托他给我女婿十万英镑，如果他不给离婚的事制造困难的话。”
“一个不小的数字。”波洛赞许地说，“那么您女婿怎么回答的呢？”
“他说，让我见鬼去。”
“噢！”
波洛显得无动于衷。他正在分析上述的那些情况。
“凯特林先生对警察局方面讲，从英国出发之后，在火车上他既没有看到自己的妻子，也没有同她谈过话。您认为这是可信的吗，先生？”
“因为那个舞女在他身边，当然他尽量回避同我女儿见面。”
“我明白了，”波洛说，“在这种情况下他当然不会尝试去同自己的妻子会面。”
小老头陷入了沉思。范•奥尔丁觉得最好这个时候不去打扰他。
Chapter 17  清白的绅士(An Aristocratic Gentleman)
Chapter 17  AN ARISTOCRATIC GENTLEMAN 
"You have been to the Riviera before, Georges?" said Poirot to his valet the following morning. 
George was an intensely English, rather wooden-faced individual. 
"Yes, sir. I was here two years ago when I was in the service of Lord Edward Frampton." 
"And today," murmured his master, "you are here with Hercule Poirot. How one mounts in the world!" 
The valet made no reply to this observation. After a suitable pause he asked: 
"The brown lounge suit, sir? The wind is somewhat chilly today." 
"There is a grease spot on the waistcoat," objected Poirot. "A morceau of Filet de sole a la Jeanette alighted there when I was lunching at the Ritz last Tuesday." 
"There is no spot there now, sir," said George reproachfully. "I have removed it." 
"Très bien!" said Poirot. "I am pleased with you, Georges." 
"Thank you, sir." 
There was a pause, and then Poirot murmured dreamily: 
"Supposing, my good Georges, that you had been born in the same social sphere as your late master, Lord Edward Frampton - that, penniless yourself, you had married an extremely wealthy wife, but that that wife proposed to divorce you, with excellent reasons, what would you do about it?" 
"I should endeavour, sir," replied George, "to make her change her mind." 
"By peaceful or by forcible methods?" 
George looked shocked. 
"You will excuse me, sir," he said, "but a gentleman of the aristocracy would not behave like a Whitechapel coster. He would not do anything low." 
"Would he not, Georges? I wonder now? Perhaps you are right." 
There was a knock on the door. George went to it and opened it a discreet inch or two. A low murmured colloquy went on, and then the valet returned to Poirot. "A note, sir." 
Poirot took it. It was from M. Caux, the Commissary of Police. 
"We are about to interrogate the Comte de la Roche. The Juge d'Instruction begs that you will be present." 
"Quickly, my suit, Georges. I must hasten myself." 
A quarter of an hour later, spick and span in his brown suit, Poirot entered the Examining Magistrate's room. M. Caux was already there, and both he and M. Carrege greeted Poirot with polite empressement. 
"The affair is somewhat discouraging," murmured M. Caux. 
"It appears that the Comte arrived in Nice the day before the murder." 
"If that is true, it will settle your affair nicely for you," responded Poirot. 
M. Carrege cleared his throat. 
"We must not accept this alibi without very cautious inquiry," he declared. He struck the bell upon the table with his hand. In another minute a tall dark man, exquisitely dressed, with a somewhat haughty cast of countenance, entered the room. So very aristocratic-looking was the Count, that it would have seemed sheer heresy even to whisper that his father had been an obscure corn-chandler in Nantes - which, as a matter of fact, was the case. Looking at him, one would have been prepared to swear that innumerable ancestors of his must have perished by the guillotine in the French Revolution." 
"I am here, gentlemen," said the Count haughtily. "May I ask why you wish to see me?" 
"Pray be seated, Monsieur le Comte," said the Examining Magistrate politely. "It is the affair of the death of Madame Kettering that we are investigating." 
"The death of Madame Kettering? I do not understand." 
"You were - ahem! - acquainted with the lady, I believe, Monsieur le Comte?" 
"Certainly I was acquainted with her. What has that to do with the matter?" 
Sticking an eyeglass in his eye, he looked coldly round the room, his glance resting longest on Poirot, who was gazing at him with a kind of simple, innocent admiration which was most pleasing to the Count's vanity. M. Carrege leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. 
"You do not perhaps know, Monsieur le Comte -" he paused - "that Madame Kettering was murdered?" 
"Murdered? Mon Dieu, how terrible!" 
The surprise and the sorrow were excellently done - so well done, indeed, as to seem wholly natural. 
"Madame Kettering was strangled between Paris and Lyons," continued M. Carrege, "and her jewels were stolen." 
"It is iniquitous!" cried the Count warmly, "the police should do something about these train bandits. Nowadays no one is safe." 
"In Madame's handbag," continued the Judge, "we found a letter to her from you. She had, it seemed, arranged to meet you?" 
The Count shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. 
"Of what use are concealments," he said frankly. "We are all men of the world. Privately and between ourselves, I admit the affair." 
"You met her in Paris and travelled down with her, I believe?" said M. Carrege. 
"That was the original arrangement, but by Madame's wish it was changed. I was to meet her at Hyeres." 
"You did not meet her on the train at the Gare de Lyon on the evening of the 14th?" 
"On the contrary, I arrived in Nice on the morning of that day, so what you suggest is impossible." 
"Quite so, quite so," said M. Carrege. "As a matter of fact, you would perhaps give me an account of your movements during the 
evening and night of the 14th." 
The Count reflected for a minute. 
"I dined in Monte Carlo at the Café de Paris. Afterwards I went to the Le Sporting. I won a few thousand francs," he shrugged his shoulders. "I returned home at perhaps one o'clock." 
"Pardon me, Monsieur, but how did you return home?" 
"In my own two-seater car." 
"No one was with you?" 
"No one." 
"You could produce witnesses in support of this statement?" 
"Doubtless many of my friends saw me there that evening. I dined alone." 
"Your servant admitted you on your return to your villa?" 
"I let myself in with my own latchkey." 
"Ah!" murmured the Magistrate. 
Again he struck the bell on the table with his hand. The door opened, and a messenger appeared. 
"Bring in the maid, Mason," said M. Carrege. 
"Very good, Monsieur le Juge." 
Ada Mason was brought in. 
"Will you be so good, Mademoiselle, as to look at this gentleman. To the best of your ability was it he who entered your mistress's compartment in Paris?" 
The woman looked long and searchingly at the Count, who was, Poirot fancied, rather uneasy under this scrutiny. 
"I could not say, sir, I am sure," said Mason at last. "It might be and again it might not. Seeing as how I only saw his back, it's hard to say. I rather think it was the gentleman." 
"But you are not sure?" 
"No-o," said Mason unwillingly, "n-no, I am not sure." 
"You have seen this gentleman before in Curzon Street?" 
Mason shook her head. 
"I should not be likely to see any visitors that come to Curzon Street," she explained, "unless they were staying in the house." 
"Very well, that will do," said the Examining Magistrate sharply. 
Evidently he was disappointed. 
"One moment," said Poirot. "There is a question I would like to put to Mademoiselle, if I may?" 
"Certainly, M. Poirot - certainly, by all means." 
Poirot addressed himself to the maid. 
"What happened to the tickets?" 
"The tickets, sir?" 
"Yes; the tickets from London to Nice. Did you or your mistress have them?" 
"The mistress had her own Pullman ticket, sir; the others were in my charge." 
"What happened to them?" 
"I gave them to the conductor on the French train, sir; he said it was usual. I hope I did right, sir?" 
"Oh, quite right, quite right. A mere matter of detail." 
Both M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate looked at him curiously. Mason stood uncertainly for a minute or two, and then the Magistrate gave her a brief nod of dismissal, and she went out. Poirot scribbled something on a scrap of paper and handed it across to M. Carrege. The latter read it and his brow cleared. 
"Well, gentlemen," demanded the Count haughtily, "am I to be detained further?" 
"Assuredly not, assuredly not," M. Carrege hastened to say, with a great deal of amiability. "Everything is now cleared up as regards your own position in this affair. Naturally, in view of Madame's letter, we were bound to question you." 
The Count rose, picked up his handsome stick from the corner, and, with rather a curt bow, left the room. 
"And that is that," said M. Carrege. "You were quite right, M. Poirot - much better to let him feel he is not suspected. Two of my men will shadow him night and day, and at the same time we will go into the question of the alibi. It seems to me rather - er - a fluid one." 
"Possibly," agreed Poirot thoughtfully. 
"I asked M. Kettering to come here this morning," continued the Magistrate, "though really I doubt if we have much to ask him, but there are one or two suspicious circumstances -" He paused, rubbing his nose. 
"Such as?" asked Poirot. 
"Well -" the Magistrate coughed - "this lady with whom he is said to be travelling - Mademoiselle Mirelle. She is staying at one hotel and he at another. That strikes me - er - as rather odd." 
"It looks," said M. Caux, "as though they were being careful." 
"Exactly," said M. Carrege triumphantly, "and what should they have to be careful about?" 
"An excess of caution is suspicious, eh?" said Poirot. 
"Précisément." 
"We might, I think," murmured Poirot, "ask M. Kettering one or two questions." 
The Magistrate gave instructions. A moment or two later, Derek Kettering, debonair as ever, entered the room. 
"Good morning, Monsieur," said the Judge politely. 
"Good morning," said Derek Kettering curtly. "You sent for me. Has anything fresh turned up?" 
"Pray sit down, Monsieur." 
Derek took a seat and flung his hat and stick on the table. 
"Well?" he asked impatiently. 
"We have, so far, no fresh data," said M. Carrege cautiously. 
"That's very interesting," said Derek drily. "Did you get me here in order to tell me that?" 
"We naturally thought, Monsieur, that you would like to be informed of the progress of the case," said the Magistrate severely. "Even if the progress was nonexistent." 
"We also wished to ask you a few questions." 
"Ask away." 
"You are quite sure that you neither saw nor spoke with your wife on the train?" 
"I've answered that already. I did not." 
"You had, no doubt, your reasons." 
Derek stared at him suspiciously. 
"I - did - not - know - she - was - on - the - train," he explained, spacing his words elaborately, as though to someone dull of intellect. 
"That is what you say, yes," murmured M. Carrege. 
A frown suffused Derek's face. 
"I should like to know what you're driving at. Do you know what I think, M. Carrege?" 
"What do you think, Monsieur?" 
"I think the French police are vastly overrated. Surely you must have some data as to these gangs of train robbers. It's outrageous that such a thing could happen on a train de luxe like that, and that the French police should be helpless to deal with the matter." 
"We are dealing with it, Monsieur, never fear." 
"Madame Kettering, I understand, did not leave a will," interposed Poirot suddenly. His fingertips were joined together, and he was looking intently at the ceiling. 
"I don't think she ever made one," said Kettering. "Why?" 
"It is a very pretty little fortune that you inherit there," said Poirot - 
"a very pretty little fortune." 
Although his eyes were still on the ceiling, he managed to see the dark flush that rose to Derek Kettering's face. 
"What do you mean, and who are you?" 
Poirot gently uncrossed his knees, withdrew his gaze from the ceiling, and looked the young man full in the face. 
"My name is Hercule Poirot," he said quietly, "and I am probably the greatest detective in the world. You are quite sure that you did not see or speak to your wife on that train?" 
"What are you getting at? Do you - do you mean to insinuate that I - I killed her?" 
He laughed suddenly. 
"I mustn't lose my temper, it's too palpably absurd. Why, if I killed her I should have had no need to steal her jewels, would I?" 
"That is true," murmured Poirot, with a rather crestfallen air. "I did not think of that." 
"If ever there were a clear case of murder and robbery, this is it," said Derek Kettering. "Poor Ruth, it was those damned rubies did for her. It must have got about she had them with her. There has been murder done for those same stones before now, I believe." 
Poirot sat up suddenly in his chair. A very faint green light glowed in his eyes. He looked extraordinarily like a sleek, well-fed cat. 
"One more question, M. Kettering," he said. "Will you give me the date when you last saw your wife?" 
"Let me see," Kettering reflected. "It must have been - yes, over three weeks ago. I am afraid I can't give you the date exactly." 
"No matter," said Poirot drily, "that is all I wanted to know." 
"Well," said Derek Kettering impatiently, "anything further?" 
He looked towards M. Carrege. The latter sought inspiration from Poirot, and received it in a very faint shake of the head. 
"No, M. Kettering," he said politely, "no, I do not think we need trouble you any further. I wish you good morning." 
"Good morning," said Kettering. He went out, banging the door behind him. 
Poirot leaned forward and spoke sharply, as soon as the young man was out of the room. "Tell me," he said peremptorily, "when did you speak of these rubies to M. Kettering?" 
"I have not spoken of them," said M. Carrege. "It was only yesterday afternoon that we learnt about them from M. Van Aldin." 
"Yes; but there was a mention of them in the Comte's letter." 
M. Carrege looked pained. 
"Naturally I did not speak of that letter to M. Kettering," he said in a shocked voice. "It would have been most indiscreet at the present juncture of affairs." 
Poirot leaned forward and tapped the table. 
"Then how did he know about them?" he demanded softly. 
"Madame could not have told him, for he has not seen her for three weeks. It seems unlikely that either M. Van Aldin or his secretary would have mentioned them; their interviews with him have been on entirely different lines, and there has not been any hint or reference to them in the newspapers." 
He got up and took his hat and stick. 
"And yet," he murmured to himself, "our gentleman knows all about them. I wonder now, yes, I wonder!" 

第十七章 清白的绅士
    “您到过利维埃拉吗，乔治？”波洛在翌日清晨问他的仆人。
    乔治是个典型的英国人，从面部表情无法看出他的内心活动。
    “是的，先生。两年前，那时我在洛德•爱德华•弗兰普顿那里做事。”
    “可是现在，”主人小声说，“现在你是在赫库勒•波洛这里做事了，多么快的进步啊！”
    仆人有点不知所措，不知怎么回答他的话为好。
    过了片刻他问道：
    “给您拿来那件蓝上衣吗？先生，今天有点凉。”
    “上面有一个小污点。”波洛回答道，“星期二我在里茨吃饭时滴上了一点油迹。”
    “污点不在上面了，先生。”乔治回答道，“我已经把它洗掉了，衣服也熨平了。”
    “我对你非常满意，乔治。”
    “谢谢，先生。”
    停了一会儿波洛若有所思地说道：“乔治，假如你出身于一个上流社会阶层，就象你原来的主人洛德•爱德华•弗兰普顿那样，而自己却穷得没有一个先令，可是后来却娶了一个有钱的妻子！而你妻子又要同你离婚而且振振有词。那你将如何呢？”
    “那么，我一定想办法从她的财产中捞一部分。”乔治回答说。
    “用和平的手段，还是用武力解决？”
    “请原谅，先生。”乔治有点受扫曲似的说，“一个贵族决不会采取与本阶级不相称的手段的。”
    “你相信是这样吗，乔治？我有点不太相信这一点。但也许你是对的。”
    响起了敲门声。仆人出去了一下，带回了一封信。这是警察局长科写来的：“我们正在审讯罗歇伯爵。侦察官请您务必出席。”
    “快给我上衣，乔治，我马上要走。”
    一刻钟之后波洛已经到了侦察官的办公室。
    “我们得到一些令人失望的消息。”警察局长通知说，“一切迹象表明，伯爵是在凶杀案发生的前一天到达尼扎的。”
    “如果这消息属实，那么，先生们，一切就要从头开始了。”波洛回答道。
    卡雷热干咳了一声。
    “对于这个‘不在现场’要小心从事，”他宣布了一下。他的话音还未落，就走进一个高个子、黑头发的男人，西装革履，模样看来坦然而自信。人们只要想一想，伯爵的父亲曾在南特城（法国北部的一个城市。译注）当过一名贩买粮食的小商人，就会认为，他的这种极为高贵的架势，简直是对威严的一种侮辱。可是每当他以这副神态出现在人们面前，人们又会坚定的相信，他确实具有贵族的血统。
    “我来了，先生们！”伯爵显出很高傲的样子说道，“请允许我问一下，你们为什么要找我谈话？”
    “请您先坐下。”侦察官很有礼貌地说。“是关于凯特林女士死亡的事。”
    “凯特林女士死了？我简直不懂。”
    “我知道，您同这位女士很要好。”
    “当然，我同她关系很好！可是，这与本案有什么联系？”
    他把单片眼镜举到鼻梁上环顾一下屋里的人们。他的目光慢悠悠地转向波洛，而波洛正在天真地打量着他，仿佛正在向这位绅士献殷勤。
    “看来您还不知道，”卡雷热慢条斯理地说道，“凯特林女士也经被暗杀了。”
    “被暗杀了？真是太可怕了！”
    他所表现的那种对突发事件的感觉和由此产生的内心的痛苦相当逼真。或者说，他真的不知道？
    “凯特林女士在火车通过巴黎和里昂之间时被人勒死了。”卡雷热继续说，“她的首饰也被盗走。”
    “真惨！”伯爵不知所措地说道。
    “在女士的手提包里，”侦察官说，“我们找到一封您写给她的信。您同女士似乎安排过一次约会。”
    伯爵耸了一下肩膀，打了一个无可奈何的手势。
    “阴谋会导演出一切。”他回答道。“如果您们绝对保密，或者只限于在座的几位知道，我就承认有个约会。”
    “您同她谈妥在巴黎会面，然后一起到这里来，是吗？”卡雷热问道。
    “这是我们原来说妥的事情，但是按照女士的愿望，计划改变了。我要在耶尔同她会面。”
    “本月十四号您没有同她在里昂站会面？”
    “相反，我在十四号这天早晨就到达尼扎了。您所说的那种会面是相本不可能的。”
    “当然，当然，”卡雷热说。“为了使事实更加全面，希望您能告诉我们，十四号的晚上和夜间您在哪里？”
    伯爵考虑了一会儿。
    “我在蒙特卡洛用的晚饭，然后去巴黎咖啡馆。从那里出来后，我就到了体育俱乐部。在那我赢了几千法郎。”说着他做了一个手势。“大约半夜一点左右我回到了家。”
    “请原谅，先生，您是怎样回家的？”
    “乘我的双座汽车。”
    “是一个人吗？”
    “是的。”
    “您能找出证人吗？”
    “当然，我可以把当天晚上相见的朋友都找来作证。但我是一个人吃的晚饭。”
    “是您的仆人给您开的别墅的门吗？”
    “我自己有钥匙。”
    “噢！”侦察官惊叹道。
    他叫了一声，门开了，走进一个记录员。
    “让女仆进来。”卡雷热说。
    艾达洛•马松走了进来。
    “请您凭良心讲，小姐，这位先生是否就是到过死者包厢的那个人。”
    女仆仔细端详了伯爵一阵子。当这种调查方式使这位绅士感到难堪之前，波洛就已经走到了他的面前。
    “先生，我不能确切地说。”马松回答道。“可能是他，也可能不是他。先生们，你们可不要忘了，当时那个人是背朝着我的。但是，我认为就是他。”
    “您能不能保证是他？”
    “不，我不能保证。”
    “您在您主人的住处见过这位先生吗？”
    马松摇摇头。
    “谢谢，已经足够了。”侦察官严厉的说道。看来有点失望。
    “请等一下，”波洛说，“我还想向女士问几个问题，如果您允许的话。”
    “当然，波洛先生，那当然。”
    “车票是怎么办理的，小姐？”
    “车票？”
    “是的。是您拿着从伦敦到尼扎的车票，还是您的主人拿着？”
    “卧车票是主人拿着，其它的都在我这里。”
    “后来，怎么样？”
    “我把车票给了法国列车的乘务员，先生，乘务员说不用把车票给他。我不应该这样做吗，先生？”
    “不，不，您做得完全。”
    科和侦察官都很惊奇的看着波洛。
    马松小姐站在那里不知所措，然后她向侦察官点了一下头，离开了房间，波洛在纸条上写了一些什么，把纸条递给了卡雷热。卡雷热读完纸条之后，脸上浮现出开良的神色。
    “怎么，先生们？”伯爵看着大家说：“你们还想长时间地留我在这里吗？”
    “决不，”卡雷热善意地赶忙解释说。“您已经全部回答了我们的问题。因为有一封您给死去的女士写的信，当然我们就有必要问您一些情况。”
    伯爵站起来深深地鞠了一躬便走出办公室。
    “好，一切就绪。”卡雷热说。“波洛先生，您完全正确，最好是让他觉得我们对他没有怀疑。我们派两三个人日夜不停地盯着他，同时我们将‘不在现场’仔细调查一下。看来是要担点风险。”
    “可能是这样。”波洛深思着说。
    “我准备在今天上午把凯特林先生叫来。”侦察官继续说，“虽然我觉得并没有那么多的问题要问他。可是有很多的疑团……”
    “什么疑团？”
    “就是，”侦察官咳嗽了一声，“首先是同凯特林先生一起旅行的那个女士，他俩分住在两个饭店，这真有点奇怪。”
    “看来有点过于小心，是吗？”波洛问道。“我也是这样认为。”
    侦察官给了记录员一个信号，接着德里克•凯特林就进了屋。
    “您好，先生！”德里克回答道。“是您让我到这里来？有什么事吗？”
    “请坐先生。”
    德里克把帽子和手杖放在桌子上，然后坐下。
    “情况怎样？”他有些不耐烦地问道。
    “我们还没有得到进一步的情况。”卡雷热小心地说道。
    “有意思。”德里克满不在意地说，“您让我来难道是为了通知我这些吗？”
    “我们想，先生，关于案子的进展情况，理所当然地应该同您保持联系。”侦察官严肃地说。
    “即使没有什么进展，也要保持这种联系？”
    “除此之外我还想问您几个问题。”
    “那您就问吧！”
    “您能保证说，您在火车里既没有同您夫人谈过话又没有见过她？”
    “我已经回答过个问题。”
    “您应该尽量地保持耐心和克制。”
    德里克猜疑地凝视着他。
    “我——从——来——不——知——道——她——在——火——车——上。”他用一种过于清晰的腔调说话，就象人们对孩子和遇钝的人讲话一样。
    “不过这是您的说法！”卡雷热低声说道。
    德里克摸着下巴。
    “您还想得到什么呢？卡雷热先生，您知道现在我是怎样想的？”
    “那您是怎样想的？”
    “我认为人们过高地估计了法国警察。在‘蓝色特快’上竟会发生这样一桩案子，这是引人瞩目的，而法国警察方面对这一盗窃谋杀案却束手无策，那就更令人瞩目了。”
    “我们会抓到凶手的，请先生不用担心。”
    “据我所知，凯特林女士并没有留下遗嘱。”波洛突然用一种很不和谐的语调插话。
    “我也认为，她没有留下遗嘱，”凯特林说，“怎么？”
    “如果您能继承她的遗产，那是一笔不小的财产。”波洛说。“一笔不小的财产。”
    虽然他的目光没有同时转向德里克，但也发现了他那脸上顿时泛出了红晕。
    “您这是什么意思？您是什么人？”
    波洛现在不是看天花板，而是死盯着前面的这个年青人。
    “我叫赫库勒•波洛。”他回答说，“某些人认为，我是当今世界上最大的侦探。
您能担保，在火车上您既没有同您夫人见面，又没有同她谈过话？”
    “您为什么要问我这个问题？难道您竟会无耻地认为，我会谋杀自己的妻子？”德里克突然大笑起来。“可是，我为什么要激动呢？这一切都是那么可笑！我要杀死她的话，又何必把她的首饰偷去呢？”
    “是这样，”波洛压低声音慢慢悠悠地说，“您看，我根本就没有这样想过。”
    “再没有比这次盗窃谋杀案更为明显的了，”德里克•凯特林说，“我那可怜的露丝！那颗该死的宝石断送了你的性命。我相信，由于这块宝石，肯定原来就有过一次谋杀。”
    波洛猛然地从坐椅上站了起来。他的目光豁然开朗，闪烁着蓝色，宛如一只兴奋的猫。
    “还有一个问题，凯特林先生。您能不能把您同您妻子最全一次见面的时间告诉我们？”
    “请略等一等！”德里克思考了一下，“应该是……三个星期之前。准确的日期恐怕很难记起了。”
    “您不必去回忆了。”波洛无所谓地说道。
    “还有问题吗？”德里克不耐烦地说道。
    德里克看着卡雷热。卡雷热却在看着波洛的反应，一直到波洛轻轻摇了摇头，他才说道：
    “没有了，凯特林先生，我不会再耽误您的时间了。再见，先生。”
    “再见。”凯特林轻声回答后出了门。
    凯特林刚一出门，波洛就严肃地问道：
    “请告诉我，您是什么时候同凯特林先生谈起过宝石的事？”
    “我从来没有同他谈过此事。”卡雷热说，“只是昨天我才从冯•阿尔丁先生那里得知有一块宝石。”
    “是的，但在伯爵的信中已经提起过此事。”
    “您想想，我怎么好对死者的丈夫提起那封信呢。”侦察官说道。他感到有点委曲，因为别人竟会怀疑他这样不审慎。
    波洛一再鞠躬，然后用拳头猛击了一下桌子。
    “他是怎么知道有宝石的呢？”他悄声地问。“女士自己不会同他谈，因为他们已经有几个星期没有见面了。冯•阿尔丁先生亲自和他谈这个事，那更不可能。报界也没有对这块宝石进行过任何的报道。”
    他站起身来，拿起手杖。
    “不，”他低声说，“关于宝石的事有人对他进行过详尽的报告。奇怪，真奇怪！”
Chapter 18  德里克的晚宴(Derek Lunches)
Chapter 18  DEREK LUNCHES 
Derek Kettering went straight to the Negresco, where he ordered a couple of cocktails and disposed of them rapidly; then he stared moodily out over the dazzling blue sea. He noted the passers-by mechanically - a damned dull crowd, badly dressed, and painfully uninteresting; one hardly ever saw anything worth while 
nowadays. Then he corrected this last impression rapidly, as a woman placed herself at a table a little distance away from him. She was wearing a marvellous confection of orange and black, with a little hat that shaded her face. He ordered a third cocktail; again he stared out to sea, and then suddenly he started. A well- known perfume assailed his nostrils, and he looked up to see the orange-and-black lady standing beside him. He saw her face now, and recognized her - it was Mirelle. She was smiling that insolent, seductive smile he knew so well. 
"Dereek!" she murmured. "You are pleased to see me, no?" 
She dropped into a seat the other side of the table. 
"But welcome me, then, stupid one," she mocked. 
"This is an unexpected pleasure," said Derek. "When did you leave London?" 
She shrugged her shoulders. 
"A day or two ago." 
"And the Parthenon?" 
"I have, how do you say it? - given them the chuck!" 
"Really?" 
"You are not very amiable, Dereek." 
"Do you expect me to be?" 
Mirelle lit a cigarette and puffed at it for a few minutes before saying: 
"You think, perhaps, that it is not prudent so soon?" 
Derek stared at her, then he shrugged his shoulders, and remarked formally: 
"You are lunching here?" 
"Mais oui. I am lunching with you." 
"I am extremely sorry," said Derek. "I have a very important engagement." 
"Mon Dieu! But you men are like children," exclaimed the dancer. 
"But yes, it's the spoilt child that you act to me, ever since that day in London when you flung yourself out of my flat, you sulk. Ah! 
mais c'est inou?!" 
"My dear girl," said Derek, "I really don't know what you are talking about. We agreed in London that rats desert a sinking ship, that is all that there is to be said." 
In spite of his careless words, his face looked haggard and strained. Mirelle leaned forward suddenly. 
"You cannot deceive me," she murmured. "I know - I know what you have done for me." 
He looked up at her sharply. Some undercurrent in her voice arrested his attention. 
She nodded her head at him. 
"Ah! have no fear; I am discreet. You are magnificent! You have a superb courage, but, all the same, it was I who gave you the idea that day, when I said to you in London that accidents sometimes happened. And you are not in danger? The police do not suspect you?" 
"What the devil -" 
"Hush!" 
She held up a slim olive hand with one big emerald on the little finger. 
"You are right; I should not have spoken in so a public place. We will not speak of the matter again, but our troubles are ended; our life together will be wonderful - wonderful!" 
Derek laughed suddenly - a harsh, disagreeable laugh. 
"So the rats come back, do they? Two million makes a difference - of course it does. I ought to have known that." He laughed again. 
"You will help me to spend that two million, won't you, Mirelle? You know how, no woman better." He laughed again. 
"Hush!" cried the dancer. "What is the matter with you, Dereek? 
See - people are turning to stare at you." 
"Me? I will tell you what is the matter. I have finished with you, Mirelle. Do you hear? Finished!" 
Mirelle did not take it as he expected her to do. She looked at him for a minute or two, and then she smiled softly. 
"But what a child! You are angry - you are sore, and all because I am practical. Did I not always tell you that I adored you?" 
She leaned forward. 
"But I know you, Dereek. Look at me? - see, it is Mirelle who speaks to you. You cannot live without her, you know it. I loved you before, I will love you a hundred times more now. I will make life wonderful for you - but wonderful. There is no one like Mirelle." Her eyes burned into his. She saw him grow pale and draw in his breath, and she smiled to herself contentedly. She knew her own magic and power over men. 
"That is settled," she said softly, and gave a little laugh. "And now, Dereek, will you give me lunch?" 
"No." 
He drew in his breath sharply and rose to his feet. 
"I am sorry, but I told you - I have got an engagement." 
"You are lunching with someone else? Bah! I don't believe it." 
"I am lunching with that lady over there." 
He crossed abruptly to where a lady in white had just come up the steps. He addressed her a little breathlessly. 
"Miss Grey, will you - will you have lunch with me? You met me at Lady Tamplin's, if you remember." 
Katherine looked at him for a minute or so with those thoughtful grey eyes that said so much. 
"Thank you," she said, after a moment's pause, "I should like to very much." 

第十八章 德里克的晚宴
    德里克•凯特林直接回到了内格列斯库饭店的餐厅，买了几杯酒，以最快的速度喝了下去。然后，他消失在熙熙攘攘的人群之中。他闷闷不乐，感到这些人既无聊透顶又穿戴粗俗，对每件事都毫无兴味。可是当他走近一个妇女的时候，他的这种懊恼的心情便立即烟消云散。她穿着桔黄色和黑色搭配起来的衣服，头上的小帽遮住了她的脸蛋。
凯特林又要了第四杯酒，凝视着海面。正当他望得出神的时候，一股强烈的香水味刺激着他的嗅觉，他发现了站在他身旁的那个女士，身子不由自主地抽动了一下。此时他看清了她的面孔。她就是米蕾。女士以挑衅和要挟的眼光看着他嫣然一笑，这是凯特林早就熟悉的笑容。
    “德里克，”她轻声说，“见到我你高兴吗？”
    女士靠近他坐下，可是凯特林却呆呆地站在那里。
    “对我不表示欢迎？”
    “真是想象不出的高兴！”德里克说，“你是什么时候离开伦敦的？”
    她耸了一下肩膀。
    “两、三天以前。”
    “那么帕泰农饭店呢？”
    “帕泰农饭店把我盗得精光。”
    “是吗？”
    “怎么，你不为我的出现而高兴吗？”
    “你期待着的高兴吗？”
    米蕾吸了几口烟说道：
    “您是否认为，事情干得有点匆忙，太早了？”
    德里克看着她，然后耸了一下肩膀生硬地问道：
    “你在这里进便餐吗？”
    “当然，同你在一起。”
    “非常遗憾。”德里克说，“我有一个特别重要的约会。”
    “唉，你们这些男人都是孩子。”舞女说，“是的，你在我的面前象个有病的孩子，从你那天没好气地离开我的房间的时候起，你一直象个有病的孩子，真不能忍受！”
    “亲爱的宝贝，”德里克说，“我真不懂你说的是什么！我们在伦敦的时候已经说过：老鼠将要离开沉没的船了。的确没有别的什么可说的！”
    这番话他似乎是无所谓和随便说说的，可是脸上的表情却很忧虑和紧张。米蕾突然弯下腰来说：“你不要担心我。我知道，你是为了我才那样做的。”
    他死盯着她。她在德里克的耳边低声说了些什么，德里克安静了些，米蕾点了一下头。
    “你不要怕，我会保持沉默的。你太好了！你表现得很有勇气。但是，那个想法毕竟是我想出来的。你记得我在伦敦说过的话，可能发生意外的事故。你现在不是很安全吗？警察不是还没有怀疑你吗？”
    “见鬼！”
    “嘘！”她把那带着宝石戒指的桔黄色的手举了一下。“我们还是不谈这些吧。使人担心的时刻已经过去了。我们共同生活一定会特别美好，特别美好！”
    德里克突然大笑起来——这是一种沙哑和令人不快的笑声。
    “老鼠又回到船上了！两百万英镑很起作用，是吗？我早就想到这一点了！”他大笑起来。“你会帮我把这两百万英镑花光，是吗，米蕾？你具有一种神话般的天才——能花钱！”
    “嘘，嘘！”舞女低声嘘了起来，“你怎么了？人们都把我们围起来了。”
    “我怎么了？我正要对你说：我们的关系要一刀两断！米蕾，一刀两断！”
    米蕾对这番话感到有些意外，她看了德里克一眼，又微微一笑。
    “你真是个孩子！你现在很烦恼，你病了，病因是由于我太讲究实际。我不是一直对你说嘛，我离开你是活不成的。”她低下头又继续说道：
    “但是我了解你，德里克。看着我！你应该知道，你离开我也不能活。我将使你的生活进入美妙的梦境。你要知道，没有任何人象米蕾那样爱你。”
    她的双眼闪闪发光。她看到德里克脸色苍白，呼吸短促。她的脸上开始现出得意的笑容。她又一次感到自己是个胜利者。
    “我们说妥了，是吗？”她低声说。“现在怎样？我们一起用餐吧？”
    “不！”
    他长长地叹了口气，站立起来。
    “真抱歉。我已经同你说过，我今天有约会。”
    “你和别人吃饭？我不信！”
    “我要同对面的那位女士一起吃饭。”
    接着他离开桌子，走向那位正走下楼梯的身着白色衣裳的女士。他们寒暄了一阵。
    “格蕾小姐，允许我请您吃饭吗？我们在坦普林女士那里见过面，当然您还记得。”
    卡泰丽娜以一种忧伤而深思的目光注视着他，给人一种特殊的印象。
    “非常高兴。”她沉默了片刻回答说。“您真好。”
Chapter 19  不速之客(An Unexpected Visitor)
Chapter 19  AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 
The Comte de la Roche had just finished déjeuner, consisting of an omelette fines herbes, an entrec?te Bearnaise, and a Savarin au Rhum. Wiping his fine black moustache delicately with his table napkin, the Comte rose from the table. He passed through the salon of the villa, noting with appreciation the few objets d'art which were carelessly scattered about. The Louis XV snuff-box, the satin shoe worn by Marie Antoinette, and the other historic trifles were part of the Comte's mise en scene. They were, he would explain to his fair visitors, heirlooms in his family. Passing through on to the terrace, the Comte looked out on the Mediterranean with an unseeing eye. He was in no mood for appreciating the beauties of scenery. A fully matured scheme had been rudely brought to naught, and his plans had to be cast afresh. Stretching himself out in a basket chair, a cigarette held between his white fingers, the Comte pondered deeply. 
Presently Hippolyte, his manservant, brought out coffee and a choice of liqueurs. The Comte selected some very fine old brandy. 
As the man-servant was preparing to depart, the Comte arrested him with a slight gesture. Hippolyte stood respectfully to attention. 
His countenance was hardly a prepossessing one, but the correctitude of his demeanour went far to obliterate the fact. 
He was now the picture of respectful attention. 
"It is possible," said the Comte, "that in the course of the next few days various strangers may come to the house. They will endeavour to scrape acquaintance with you and with Marie. They will probably ask you various questions concerning me." 
"Yes, Monsieur le Comte." 
"Perhaps this has already happened?" 
"No, Monsieur le Comte." 
"There have been no strangers about the place? You are certain?" 
"There has been no one, Monsieur le Comte." 
"That is well," said the Comte drily, "nevertheless they will come - I am sure of it. They will ask questions." 
Hippolyte looked at his master in intelligent anticipation. 
The Comte spoke slowly, without looking at Hippolyte. 
"As you know, I arrived here last Tuesday morning. If the police or any other inquirer should question you, do not forget that fact. I arrived on Tuesday, the 14th - not Wednesday, the 15th. You understand?" 
"Perfectly, Monsieur le Comte." 
"In an affair where a lady is concerned, it is always necessary to be discreet. I feel certain, Hippolyte, that you can be discreet." 
"I can be discreet, Monsieur." 
"And Marie?" 
"Marie also. I will answer for her." 
"That is well then," murmured the Comte. 
When Hippolyte had withdrawn, the Comte sipped his black coffee with a reflective air. Occasionally he frowned, once he shook his head slightly, twice he nodded it - into the midst of these cogitations came Hippolyte once more. 
"A lady, Monsieur." 
"A lady?" 
The Comte was surprised. Not that a visit from a lady was an unusual thing at the Villa Marina, but at this particular moment the Comte could not think who the lady was likely to be. 
"She is, I think, a lady not known to Monsieur," murmured the valet helpfully. 
The Comte was more and more intrigued. 
"Show her out here, Hippolyte," he commanded. 
A moment later a marvellous vision in orange and black stepped out on the terrace, accompanied by a strong perfume of exotic blossoms. 
"Monsieur le Comte de la Roche?" 
"At your service, Mademoiselle," said the Comte, bowing. 
"My name is Mirelle. You may have heard of me." 
"Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle, but who has not been enchanted by the dancing of Mademoiselle Mirelle? Exquisite!" 
The dancer acknowledged this compliment with a brief 
mechanical smile. 
"My descent upon you is unceremonious," she began. 
"But seat yourself, I beg of you, Mademoiselle," cried the Comte, bringing forward a chair. 
Behind the gallantry of his manner he was observing her narrowly. There were very few things that the Comte did not know about women. True, his experience had not lain much in ladies of Mirelle's class, who were themselves predatory. He and the dancer were, in a sense, birds of a feather. His arts, the Comte knew, would be thrown away on Mirelle. She was a Parisienne, and a shrewd one. Nevertheless, there was one thing that the Comte could recognize infallibly when he saw it. He knew at once that he was in the presence of a very angry woman, and an angry woman, as the Comte was well aware, always says more than is prudent, and is occasionally a source of profit to a level-headed gentleman who keeps cool. 
"It is most amiable of you, Mademoiselle, to honour my poor abode thus." 
"We have mutual friends in Paris," said Mirelle. "I have heard of you from them, but I come to see you today for another reason. I have heard of you since I came to Nice - in a different way, you understand." 
"Ah?" said the Comte softly. 
"I will be brutal," continued the dancer, "nevertheless, believe that I have your welfare at heart. They are saying in Nice, Monsieur le Comte, that you are the murderer of the English lady, Madame Kettering." 
"I - the murderer of Madame Kettering? Pah! But how absurd!" 
He spoke more languidly than indignantly, knowing that he would thus provoke her further. 
"But yes," she insisted, "it is as I tell you." 
"It amuses people to talk," murmured the Comte indifferently. "It would be beneath me to take such wild accusations seriously." 
"You do not understand." Mirelle bent forward, her dark eyes flashing. "It is not the idle talk of those in the streets. It is the police." 
"The police - ah?" 
The Comte sat up, alert once more. 
Mirelle nodded her head vigorously several times. 
"Yes, yes. You comprehend me - I have friends everywhere. The Prefect himself -" 
She left the sentence unfinished, with an eloquent shrug of the shoulders. 
"Who is not indiscreet where a beautiful woman is concerned?" murmured the Count politely. 
"The police believe that you killed Mrs Kettering. But they are wrong." 
"Certainly they are wrong," agreed the Comte easily. 
"You say that, but you do not know the truth. I do." 
The Comte looked at her curiously. 
"You know who killed Madame Kettering? Is that what you would say, Mademoiselle?" 
Mirelle nodded vehemently. 
"Yes." 
"Who was it?" asked the Comte sharply. 
"Her husband." She bent nearer to the Comte, speaking in a low voice that vibrated with anger and excitement. "It was her husband who killed her." 
The Comte leant back in his chair. His face was a mask. 
"Let me ask you, Mademoiselle - how do you know this?" 
"How do I know it?" Mirelle sprang to her feet, with a laugh. "He boasted of it beforehand. He was ruined, bankrupt, dishonoured. Only the death of his wife could save him. He told me so. He travelled on the same train - but she was not to know it. Why was that, I ask you? So that he might creep upon her in the night - Ah! -
" she shut her eyes - "I can see it happening..." 
The Count coughed. 
"Perhaps - perhaps," he murmured. "But surely, Mademoiselle, in that case he would not steal the jewels?" 
"The jewels!" breathed Mirelle. "The jewels. Ah! Those rubies..." 
Her eyes grew misty, a far-away light in them. The Comte looked at her curiously, wondering for the hundredth time at the magical influence of precious stones on the female sex. He recalled her to practical matters. 
"What do you want me to do, Mademoiselle?" 
Mirelle became alert and businesslike once more. 
"Surely it is simple. You will go to the police. You will say to them that M. Kettering committed this crime." 
"And if they do not believe me? If they ask for proof?" He was eyeing her closely. 
Mirelle laughed softly, and drew her orange-and-black wrap closer round her. 
"Send them to me, Monsieur le Comte," she said softly, "I will give them the proof they want." 
Upon that she was gone, an impetuous whirlwind, her errand accomplished. 
The Comte looked after her, his eyebrows delicately raised. 
"She is in a fury," he murmured. "What has happened now to upset her? But she shows her hand too plainly. Does she really believe that Mr Kettering killed his wife? She would like me to believe it. She would even like the police to believe it." 
He smiled to himself. He had no intention whatsoever of going to the police. He saw various other possibilities; to judge by his smile, an agreeable vista of them. 
Presently, however, his brow clouded. According to Mirelle, he was suspected by the police. That might be true or it might not. 
An angry woman of the type of the dancer was not likely to bother about the strict veracity of her statements. On the other hand, she might easily have obtained inside information. 
In that case - his mouth set grimly - in that case he must take certain precautions. 
He went into the house and questioned Hippolyte closely once more as to whether any strangers had been to the house. The valet was positive in his assurances that this was not the case. The Comte went up to his bedroom and crossed over to an old bureau that stood against the wall. He let down the lid of this, and his delicate fingers sought a spring at the back of one of the pigeonholes. 
A secret drawer flew out; in it was a small brown paper package. The Comte took this out and weighed it in his hand carefully for a minute or two. Raising his hand to his head, with a slight grimace he pulled out a single hair. This he placed on the lip of the drawer and shut it carefully. Still carrying the small parcel in his hand, he went downstairs and out of the house to the garage, where stood a scarlet two-seater car. Ten minutes later he had taken the road for Monte Carlo. 
He spent a few hours at the Casino, then sauntered out into the town. Presently he reentered the car and drove off in the direction of Mentone. Earlier in the afternoon he had noticed an inconspicuous grey car some little distance behind him. He noticed it again now. He smiled to himself. The road was climbing steadily upwards. The Comte's foot pressed hard on the 
accelerator. The little red car had been specially built to the Comte's design, and had a far more powerful engine than would have been suspected from its appearance. It shot ahead. 
Presently he looked back and smiled; the grey car was following behind. Smothered in dust, the little red car leaped along the road. It was travelling now at a dangerous pace, but the Comte was a first-class driver. 
Now they were going downhill, twisting and curving unceasingly. Presently the car slackened speed, and finally came to a standstill before a Bureau de Poste. The Comte jumped out, lifted the lid of the tool chest, extracted the small brown paper parcel and hurried into the post office. Two minutes later he was driving once more in the direction of Mentone. When the grey car arrived there, the Comte was drinking English five o'clock tea on the terrace of one of the hotels. 
Later, he drove back to Monte Carlo, dined there, and reached home once more at eleven o'clock. Hippolyte came out to meet him with a disturbed face. 
"Ah! Monsieur le Comte has arrived. Monsieur le Comte did not telephone me, by any chance?" 
The Comte shook his head. 
"And yet at three o'clock I received a summons from Monsieur le Comte, to present myself to him at Nice, at the Negresco." 
"Really," said the Comte, "and you went?" 
"Certainly, Monsieur, but at the Negresco they knew nothing of Monsieur le Comte - he had not been there." 
"Ah" said the Comte, "doubtless at that hour Marie was out doing her afternoon marketing?" 
"That is so, Monsieur le Comte." 
"Ah, well," said the Comte, "it is of no importance. A mistake." 
He went upstairs, smiling to himself. 
Once within his own room, he bolted his door and looked sharply round. Everything seemed as usual. He opened various drawers and cupboards. Then he nodded to himself. 
Things had been replaced almost exactly as he had left them, but not quite. It was evident that a very thorough search had been made. 
He went over to the bureau and pressed the hidden spring. The drawer flew open, but the hair was no longer where he had placed it. He nodded his head several times. 
"They are excellent, our French police," he murmured to himself - 
"excellent. Nothing escapes them." 

第十九章 不速之客
    罗歇伯爵刚刚吃完精选的早点，他用餐巾擦擦小黑胡子站了起来。他在大厅里踱着步，以惬意的神态和精力充沛的眼光看着大厅里的几件古玩：路易十五（法国皇帝。译注）的鼻烟壶，玛丽•安托瓦内特（法国王后，路易十六的妻子。译注）穿过的沙丁鱼鞋，还有一些其它的历史文物。伯爵是一位非常好的自我导演，他经常向自己的女观众介绍说，这些都是大家族的遗物。他走到阳台上，遥望着大海。不，他今天心情不太好，一个周密的计划彻底失败了，他又得从头开始。他坐在藤椅上，手指挟着香烟，深思起来。
    伊波利特，他的佣人，送来一杯咖啡和一杯上等的露酒。伯爵大人喝着一八八四年法国科涅克地方产的白兰地酒。当仆人要离去的时候，伯爵轻轻地打着手势让他留下。
伊波利特站在那里，听候着主人的吩咐。
    “最近几天，”伯爵说，“可能有人来访。也可能有人向你打听关于我的事情。”
    “是，伯爵先生。”
    “在这之前有过这种事吗？”
    “没有，伯爵先生。”
    “真的没有？”
    “谁也没有来过。”
    “可是，一定会有人来，而且会向你问起我的事。听着！正象你所知道的那样，我是在星期三早晨来到这里的。但是，如果是警察或是其它什么人高你问起，你就说我是十四号星期二到达这里的，而不是十五号星期三来的，懂吗？”
    “完全懂，伯爵先生。”
    “我知道，你一向很谨慎，伊波利特。”
    “我会这样的，仁慈的先生。”
    “那么玛丽呢？”
    “玛丽也会这样，我为她担保。”
    “那好。”伯爵低声说道。
    伊波利特走出之后，他开始喝浓咖啡，时而紧皱眉头，时而摇摇头，时而又点点头。
伊波利特再次回到了房间，打断了他的深思。
    “有一个女士找您，仁慈的先生。”
    “一个女士？”
    到玛丽娅别墅来访的女士是很多的，但今天早晨伯爵事先却不知道有任何一个女士来访。
    “这位女士不是先生的熟人。”伊波利特向他报告道。
    “把她带进来吧，伊波利特。”
    过了一会儿，进来一位衣着是桔黄色和黑色打扮的女士，浑身散发着香水味。
    “您就是罗歇伯爵？”
    “愿意为您效劳。”他深鞠一躬，说道。
    “我就是米蕾，您可能听说过我。”
    “当然，小姐，谁不欣赏您的舞蹈艺术呢！”
    舞女勉强地笑着回答了这一恭维。
    “请原谅我来打扰您。”
    “不，我感到荣幸，您请坐。”伯爵说着拉过一把藤椅。
    伯爵透过面纱仔细地端详着她。他是很了解女人的，但是，除了他那个阶层的女人之外，比如说舞女，他却了解得很少。他和米蕾应该说是同行，但是，他那操纵女性的本领这时却没有得到发挥。她是个十分狡黠的巴黎女人。但是有一点他是看出来了：米蕾十分激动。激动的妇女一般都容易说漏嘴。她可能有一件极为平常而又经过冷静思考过的事，从中可能得到的一些好处会改善他的处境。
    “我们俩在巴黎都有熟人。”米蕾说：“他们对我谈了许多关于您的事。在尼扎也有许多人谈起过您，不过是用另外一种方式。”
    “是吗？”
    “恕我直言。”舞女继续说，“我要对您说的事，您听起来可能不大舒服。可是请您相信，我总是关心您的幸福的，现在尼扎的人都在议论说，您就是杀死凯特林女士的凶手。”
    “我！？我是杀死凯特林女士的凶手？荒唐！”
    他的声音听起来有些激动。他认为，这是从她的嘴里探听虚实的最好方法。
    “可是，人们就是这样认为！”
    “上帝啊！人们总是喜欢造谣生事。”伯爵无动于衷地说道。“如果我要认真来对待这些谣言，那就有损于我的尊严。”
    “您理解错了。”米蕾弯下腰，她那双黑眼睛闪着光。“这不只是一种闲话。您知道是谁提起了起诉吗？是警察局！”
    “警察局？”
    伯爵猛然站起来，十分紧张。
    米蕾满意地连连点着头。“是的，是警察局！您知道，到处都有我的朋友，甚至有的官员……”她耸了一下肩，没有说完她的话。
    “谁能在一个美人面前不泄漏机密呢？”伯爵低声说道。
    “警察局方面的意见是：您弄死了凯特林女士。可是，警察局弄错了。”
    “当然弄错了。”伯爵完全同意她的说法。
    “您只是这样说说而已，但不知内情，我是知道内情的。”
    伯爵惊奇地看着她。
    “您知道凯特林女士是谁杀害的？”
    米蕾快活地点着头。
    “是的。”
    “那么，是谁？”
    “是她自己的丈夫。”她又弯下腰低声说，由于激动和气愤，声音有点颤抖。“是她的男人害死了她。”
    伯爵向后一仰，脸上浮出一层疑云。
    “请允许我冒昧地打听一下，小姐，您是怎么知道的？”
    “我是怎么知道的？”米蕾跳起来放声大笑，笑声令人毛骨悚然。“他早就谋划这件事了情。他那时两手空空，债台高筑，没有遗产。只有老婆的死才能使他得救。这是他亲自对我说的。所以，他乘了同一次车去尼扎，当然不让她知道。为什么要这样？我问自己。原来是为了在深夜去袭击自己的老婆！”她闭了双眼，“我亲眼看见了这场好戏。”
    伯爵神秘地咳了一声。
    “可是，一切都是可能的，”他低声说。“但是，完全没有必要在这种情况下把宝石偷走。”
    “宝石，”她长叹了一声，“宝石啊，这块宝石！”
    她的双眼蒙在面纱里射出两道奇异的光。伯爵惊讶地看着她。在伯爵过去的岁月里，他上百次发现宝石在女人身上所起的神奇作用。这次宝石也把米蕾带到了现实生活中。
    “那么要我做些什么事呢，小姐？”
    “事情很简单。您到警察局去对他们说，是凯特林先生作的案。”
    “那么人们会相信我吗？如果他们让我拿出证据呢？”
    米蕾低声笑着，把自己紧紧裹在斗篷里。
    “那你就让警察到我这里来，”她轻声说：“我给他们证据。”
    这个怪僻的女人完成了她的使命。她一阵风似地走出了房间，哐啷一声门在她身后关上了。
    伯爵一面摇着头，一面凝望着她走去的方向。
    “这是一个疾恶如仇的泼妇。”他喃喃自语说着，“是什么使她这么气愤呢？她真相信，凯特林杀死了自己的老婆？总而言之，她想使我和警察都相信这一点。”
    他微笑了一下。决不！再到警察局去一趟？他连丝毫的兴趣都没有。他之所以暗自发笑，有其得意的理由。
    可是，他的脸部立即又蒙上了一层阴影。米蕾说，警察局怀疑他。当然不能排除这种可能性，这个女人一定掌握着可靠的第一手材料。他的嘴边涌起了一丝坚定的皱纹，如果是这样，他就应该采取一定的措施。
    伯爵上楼走进自己的卧室，打开写字台的抽屉。他轻轻的摸着抽屉里的一个固定弹簧。这时跳出一个秘密的灰色木盒。他打开盒子，从中取出一个小包拿在手上掂量了几下。然后他拨下一根头发放在盒子边上，又把盒子放回原处。他手提着小包下楼走到了汽车棚，那里停放着他的深红色的双座小汽车。五分钟之后他开着车来到通往蒙特卡洛的公路上。
    他在卡西诺饭店度过了几个小时，然后在市里兜风。他把车开上了去往门托的公路。
还在这之前，他就发现有一辆灰色的汽车时隐时现地跟踪着他。此时这辆车又出现在他的后面。公路一直是上坡。伯爵加大油门，这辆为他特制的双座小汽车有四个马力很大的汽缸，汽车正以全速飞驰。
    灰色的汽车还是跟踪着他。伯爵全速驾驶着，他是个高级司机。现在正是下坡，蛇形的公路曲折蜿蜒，急转弯一个接着一个。在一个小邮局的前面他突然刹住了车。他跳下车来打开后备箱，取出小灰盒，急忙进了邮局。两分钟后，他又回到了车上。驱车驶向门托。当灰色小汽车来到时，伯爵已经在一座豪华的饭店内安详地喝着午饭后的热茶了。
    傍晚，他又回到蒙特卡洛，在那里吃了晚饭，将近十一点时回到了家。伊波利特开门迎接他，心神有些惶惶然。
    “啊！太好了，伯爵先生又回来了。伯爵先生，您今天给我打过电话吗？”
    伯爵摇了摇头。
    “下午三点的时候我接到伯爵先生的电话，让我到尼扎的内格列斯库饭店去接您。”
    “噢，噢！”伯爵说，“那么你当然就去了？”
    “当然，先生，但是内格列斯库饭店的人谁都不知道您曾到过那里。”
    “玛丽这个时候当然在外面采购，准备晚饭喽？”
    “是的，伯爵先生。”
    “算了吧！”伯爵说，“没什么，只是个误会。”
    他说完就上了楼。
    进了卧室，他反锁上门，仔细查看着周围。好象一切都如同平常一样。他找开所有的衣柜和抽屉，一切都似乎保持原样。但仅仅是“似乎“而已。他那敏锐的眼神立刻发现，整个屋子都被人搜查过了。
    他走到写字台跟前按了一下暗中的弹簧。秘密的盒子跳了出来，但是那一根头发却不在原处。他点了点头，一切都明白了。
    “我们这里该死的警察干得很出色嘛，”他低声自语道，“的确很出色，一切都逃不过他们的眼睛。”
Chapter 20  卡泰丽娜的新友(Katherine Makes a Friend)
Chapter 20 KATHERINE MAKES A FRIEND 
On the following morning Katherine and Lenox were sitting on the terrace of the Villa Marguerite. Something in the nature of a friendship was springing up between them, despite the difference in age. But for Lenox, Katherine would have found life at the Villa Marguerite quite intolerable. The Kettering case was the topic of the moment. Lady Tamplin frankly exploited her guest's 
connection with the affair for all it was worth. 
The most persistent rebuffs that Katherine could administer quite failed to pierce Lady Tamplin's self-esteem. Lenox adopted a detached attitude, seemingly amused at her mother's anoeuvres, and yet with a sympathetic understanding of Katherine's feelings. 
The situation was not helped by Chubby, whose naive delight was unquenchable, and who introduced Katherine to all and sundry as: 
"This is Miss Grey. You know that Blue Train business? She was in it up to the ears! Had a long talk with Ruth Kettering a few hours before the murder! Bit of luck for her, eh?" A few remarks of this kind had provoked Katherine that morning to an unusually tart rejoinder, and when they were alone together Lenox observed in her slow drawl: 
"Not used to exploitation, are you? You have a lot to learn, Katherine." 
"I am sorry I lost my temper. I don't, as a rule." 
"It is about time you learnt to blow off steam. Chubby is only an ass; there is no harm in him. Mother, of course, is trying, but you can lose your temper with her until Kingdom come, and it won't make any impression. She will open large, sad blue eyes at you and not care a bit." 
Katherine made no reply to this filial observation, and Lenox presently went on: 
"I am rather like Chubby. I delight in a good murder, and besides - well, knowing Derek makes a difference." 
Katherine nodded. 
"So you lunched with him yesterday," pursued Lenox reflectively. 
"Do you like him, Katherine?" 
Katherine considered for a minute or two. 
"I don't know," she said very slowly. 
"He is very attractive." 
"Yes, he is attractive." 
"What don't you like about him?" 
Katherine did not reply to the question or at any rate not directly. 
"He spoke of his wife's death," she said. "He said he would not pretend that it had been anything but a bit of most marvellous luck for him." 
"And that shocked you, I suppose," said Lenox. She paused, and then added in rather a queer tone of voice: "He likes you, Katherine." 
"He gave me a very good lunch," said Katherine, smiling. 
Lenox refused to be sidetracked. 
"I saw it the night he came here," she said thoughtfully. "The way he looked at you; and you are not his usual type - just the opposite. Well, I suppose it is like religion - you get it at a certain age." 
"Mademoiselle is wanted at the telephone," said Marie, appearing at the window of the salon. "M. Hercule Poirot desires to speak with her." 
"More blood and thunder. Go on, Katherine; go and dally with your detective." 
M. Hercule Poirot's voice came neat and precise in its intonation to Katherine's ear. 
"That is Mademoiselle Grey who speaks? Mademoiselle, I have a word for you from M. Van Aldin, the father of Madame Kettering. He wishes very much to speak with you, either at the Villa Marguerite or at his hotel, whichever you prefer." 
Katherine reflected for a moment, but she decided that for Van Aldin to come to the Villa Marguerite would be both painful and unnecessary. Lady Tamplin would have hailed his advent with far too much delight. She never lost a chance of cultivating millionaires. She told Poirot that she would much rather come to Nice. 
"Excellent, Mademoiselle. I will call for you myself in an auto. Shall we say in about three-quarters of an hour?" 
Punctually to the moment Poirot appeared. Katherine was waiting for him, and they drove off at once. 
"Well, Mademoiselle, how goes it?" 
She looked at his twinkling eyes, and was confirmed in her first impression that there was something very attractive about M. Hercule Poirot. 
"This is our own Roman Policier, is it not?" said Poirot. "I made you the promise that we should study it together. And me - I always keep my promises." 
"You are too kind," murmured Katherine. 
"Ah, you mock yourself at me; but do you want to hear the developments of the case or do you not?" 
Katherine admitted that she did, and Poirot proceeded to sketch for her a thumbnail portrait of the Comte de la Roche. 
"You think he killed her," said Katherine thoughtfully. 
"That is the theory," said Poirot guardedly. 
"Do you yourself believe that?" 
"I did not say so. And you, Mademoiselle, what do you think?" 
Katherine shook her head. 
"How should I know? I don't know anything about those things, but I should say that -" 
"Yes," said Poirot encouragingly. 
"Well - from what you say the Count does not sound the kind of man who would actually kill anybody." 
"Ah! Very good," cried Poirot, "you agree with me, that is just what I have said." 
He looked at her sharply. "But tell me, you have met Mr Derek Kettering?" 
"I met him at Lady Tamplin's, and I lunched with him yesterday." 
"A mauvais sujet," said Poirot, shaking his head, "but les femmes - they like that, eh?" 
He twinkled at Katherine and she laughed. 
"He is the kind of man one would notice anywhere," continued Poirot. "Doubtless you observed him on the Blue Train?" 
"Yes, I noticed him." 
"In the restaurant car?" 
"No. I didn't notice him at meals at all. I only saw him once - going into his wife's compartment." 
Poirot nodded. "A strange business," he murmured. "I believe you said you were awake, Mademoiselle, and looked out of your window at Lyons? You saw no tall dark man such as the Comte de 
la Roche leave the train?" 
Katherine shook her head. "I don't think I saw anyone at all," she said. "There was a youngish lad in a cap and overcoat who got out, but I don't think he was leaving the train, only walking up and down the platform. There was a fat Frenchman with a beard, in pyjamas and an overcoat, who wanted a cup of coffee. Otherwise, I think there were only the train attendants." 
Poirot nodded his head several times. "It is like this, you see," he confided, "the Comte de la Roche has an alibi. An alibi, it is a very pestilential thing, and always open to the gravest suspicion. But here we are!" 
They went straight up to Van Aldin's suite, where they found Knighton. Poirot introduced him to Katherine. After a few commonplaces had been exchanged, Knighton said, "I will tell Mr Van Aldin that Miss Grey is here." 
He went through a second door into an adjoining room. There was a low murmur of voices, and then Van Aldin came into the room and advanced towards Katherine with outstretched hand, giving her at the same time a shrewd and penetrating glance. 
"I am pleased to meet you, Miss Grey," he said simply. "I have been wanting very badly to hear what you can tell me about Ruth." 
The quiet simplicity of the millionaire's manner appealed to Katherine strongly. She felt herself in the presence of a very genuine grief, the more real for its absence of outward sign. 
He drew forward a chair. 
"Sit here, will you, and just tell me all about it." 
Poirot and Knighton retired discreetly into the other room, and Katherine and Van Aldin were left alone together. She found no difficulty in her task. Quite simply and naturally she related her conversation with Ruth Kettering, word for word as nearly as she could. He listened in silence, leaning back in his chair, with one hand shading his eyes. 
When she had finished he said quietly: "Thank you, my dear." 
They both sat silent for a minute or two. 
Katherine felt that words of sympathy would be out of place. When the millionaire spoke, it was in a different tone: 
"I am very grateful to you, Miss Grey. I think you did something to ease my poor Ruth's mind in the last hours of her life. Now I want to ask you something. You know - M. Poirot will have told you - about the scoundrel that my poor girl had got herself mixed up with. He was the man of whom she spoke to you - the man she was going to meet. In your judgment do you think she might have changed her mind after her conversation with you? Do you think she meant to go back on her word?" 
"I can't honestly tell you. She had certainly come to some decision, and seemed more cheerful in consequence of it." 
"She gave you no idea where she intended to meet the skunk - whether in Paris or at Hyeres?" 
Katherine shook her head. 
"She said nothing as to that." 
"Ah!" said Van Aldin thoughtfully, "and that is the important point. Well, time will show." 
He got up and opened the door of the adjoining room. Poirot and Knighton came back. 
Katherine declined the millionaire's invitation to lunch, and Knighton went down with her and saw her into the waiting car. 
He returned to find Poirot and Van Aldin deep in conversation. 
"If we only knew," said the millionaire thoughtfully, "what decision Ruth came to. It might have been any of half a dozen. She might have meant to leave the train at Paris and cable to me. She may have meant to have gone on to the south of France and have an explanation with the Count there. We are in the dark - absolutely in the dark. But we have the maid's word for it that she was both startled and dismayed at the Count's appearance at the station in Paris. That was clearly not part of the preconceived plan - you agree with me, Knighton?" 
The secretary started. "I beg your pardon, Mr Van Aldin. I was not listening." 
"Day-dreaming, eh?" said Van Aldin. "That's not like you. I believe that girl has bowled you over." 
Knighton blushed. 
"She is a remarkably nice girl," said Van Aldin thoughtfully, "very nice. Did you happen to notice her eyes?" 
"Any man," said Knighton, "would be bound to notice her eyes." 

第二十章 卡泰丽娜的新友
    翌日清晨，卡泰丽娜和雷诺斯坐在伯爵别墅的阳台上，虽然年龄差别很大，但她们之间却仿佛建立了友谊。如果没有雷诺斯，卡泰丽娜在这里的生活是不可能想象的。坦普林女士费尽心机，以利用堂妹这次惊心动魄的事件。就是在吃早饭的时候，卡泰丽娜还愤怒地驳斥了她。
    “我真后悔，今天早晨我没有克制住自己。”她对雷诺斯说。
    “谁都不会得罪妈妈的，她是个典型的脸皮。若是有人对她说了不愉快的话，她只是睁大了那双神秘的大眼睛，迷惑不解地看着对方，然后就无所谓了。”
    卡泰丽娜以沉默回答了小姐的客气话，雷诺斯继续说道：“你今天同德里克一起吃了饭，你喜欢他吗，卡泰丽娜？”卡泰丽娜想了足足有一分钟。
    “我自己也不知道。”她慢慢悠悠地说道。
    “他很迷人。”
    “是的，很迷人。”
    “你不喜欢他哪一点呢？”
    卡泰丽娜不回答，或者说不直接回答这个问题。“他谈论自己妻子死的事，”卡泰丽娜说，“他说，如果他不装伪君子的话，他必须承认，他夫人的死亡对他来说是一件幸运的事。”
    “他的这番话使你感到震惊和可怕？”雷诺斯问道。
    她没有出声，过了一会儿继续说下去，但声音有点变化：“他很喜欢你，卡泰丽娜。
在他来的第一天晚上，我就发现了这一点。他看你的那种神态……，但是，说真的，你不是他所需要的那种类型。但是，象他这样年龄的人都变得温和了，因此在这种年龄中孕含着巨大的爱情。”
    “小姐，电话！”女仆在窗口叫道，“赫库勒•波洛先生打电话找您。”
    “准是那部侦探小说的继续。快，卡泰丽娜，侦探是不能等的。”
    “是格蕾小姐吗？凯特林女士的父亲冯•阿尔丁先生很想同您谈几句话，在伯爵别墅或是他住的旅馆都可以。”
    卡泰丽娜考虑了一会儿。她怕堂姐又会去要挟冯•阿尔丁先生，因此她回答说，最好是去尼扎谈。
    “太好了，小姐。我用汽车接您。四十五分钟以后您能准备好吗？”
    波洛准时到达了。卡泰丽娜早就等候在那里，他们乘车向尼扎的方向飞驰而去。
    “嗯，小姐，近况如何？”
    她看着他那眯缝着的小眼睛，揣摩着，波洛好象又得到了吸引人的新东西，增强了信心。
    “您看怎样！我不是已经同您说过嘛，咱俩共同写一部侦探小说，我要恪守自己的诺言。”
    “太好了。”卡泰丽娜说道。
    “您是否要听一下案情的进展情况？”
    卡泰丽娜表示愿意，波洛扼要地说了一下罗歇伯爵的情况。
    “您认为，是他杀死了凯特林女士？”卡泰丽娜一面深思一面问道。
    “警察局方面的人是这样认为。”波洛慎重地说道。
    “那么您自己呢？您也是这样认为吗？”
    “这，我没有说过。小姐，您怎样看待这个问题呢？”
    “我怎么会懂得这个种事情？我对这类事一窍不通。不过，如果让我说心里话……”
    “怎样？”波洛鼓励她说下去。
    “从一切现象来看，从您对伯爵情况的介绍分析，我看他不象那种能够杀人的人。”
    “太好了！”波洛叫了一声，“那么说，咱们俩的见解是一致的了。”
    他用敏锐的目光看着卡泰丽娜。
    “请您告诉我，您已经认识了德里克•凯特林先生？”
    “我在坦普林女士那里遇到过他，昨天同他一起吃过一顿饭。”
    “不太高明的借口，”波洛摇着头说道，“可是女人们都喜欢这一套，是吗？”
    他瞅着卡泰丽娜笑了起来。
    “他是那种别人揣摩不透的人。”波洛继续说道，“在‘蓝色特快’上您确实见到过他吗？”
    “是的，我看到过他。”
    “是在餐车上吗？”
    “不是，我只见过他一次，那时他正走进他夫人的包厢。”
    波洛点了一下头。“真是一起奇妙案件。”他压低了嗓门说道。“如果我没有记错的话，您曾经说过，在里昂您醒了，并趴在车窗上向外面看了一会儿。您没有见到一个高个子黑头发的男人下车吗？”
    卡泰丽那摇了一下头。“我只是看到一个列车员走出车厢。但我相信，他只是在月台上散了一会儿步。另外，我还看到一位很胖的穿着睡衣的法国旅客，高声叫着要咖啡。
除此之外，如果我的记忆力还健全的话，只看到铁路上的服务人员。”
    波洛连连点头。“事情是这样：罗歇伯爵是不在现场。‘不在现场’总是一件比较讨厌的事。要是有人越是特别令人信服他的‘不在现场’，那么我就越是怀疑他。可是，我们毕竟是被弄糊涂了。”
    他们驱车直接来到了冯•阿尔丁的公寓，奈顿出来迎接了他们。
    接着冯•阿尔丁就走进了房间，他向卡泰丽娜伸出了手。
    “我非常高兴认识您，格蕾小姐。”百万富翁平平淡淡地说道。“我一直渴望从您的嘴里尽可能多地听到一些关于您同我女儿见面的情况。”
    卡泰丽娜觉得，这个人的内心深处无比痛苦，但外表又是那样的恬静。他给卡泰丽娜拉过一把椅子。
    “请坐！请您讲吧！”
    波洛同奈顿一声不响地退到隔壁房间。
    讲述一下这件事对卡泰丽娜来说并不觉得有什么困难。她叙述着她同露丝•凯特林见面的情景，话语朴素而自然，逐字逐句地讲述着她们之间的谈话，尽量回忆着当时的情况。冯•阿尔丁坐在靠椅上用心地听着，用手遮住双眼，垂着头。当卡泰丽娜讲完了之后，他克制着内心的激动说道：
    “谢谢您，我的孩子！”
    此后两人都陷入了沉默。卡泰丽娜一时找不到恰当的字眼去安慰他。后来，还是百万富翁打破了寂静：
    “格蕾小姐，我非常、非常地感谢您。我相信，在我那可怜的孩子一生的最后时刻，是您给了她一点慰藉。有一件事我还要向您打听一下。波洛先生已经对您讲过那个拐骗我女儿的流氓。您能否确切的猜测一下，他们俩到底是在哪里会面，是在巴黎还是在耶尔？”
    卡泰丽娜摇摇头。
    “她没有提到过这件事。”
    “不，”冯•阿尔丁一面思索着一面说，“这是个关键问题，不过时间会澄清事实的。”
    他站起身来找开通往隔壁房间的门。波洛和奈顿又回到了屋内。
    卡泰丽娜婉言谢绝了在这里吃午饭的建议。奈顿陪她到了楼下，并把她送上了汽车。
当奈顿回到房间的时候，见到波洛和冯•阿尔丁正谈得起劲。
    “只要我们知道，”百万富翁痛苦地说道，“露丝最后究竟打了什么主意。这有几种可能性，她也可能决定在巴黎下车给我打电报，或者她决定去利维埃拉同伯爵约会。
我们是在黑暗中摸索，完全是在黑暗中摸索。从女仆那里我们知道，露丝对伯爵突然在巴黎出现感到惊奇，甚至感到不快。巴黎的会面是计划之外的事。奈顿，你不认为是这样吗？”
    秘书吃了一惊。“请原谅，冯•阿尔丁先生，我没有注意听您在说些什么。”
    “你好象在睡梦中似的，是吗？”冯•阿尔丁说，“这可不是你的性格啊。我看得出，格蕾小姐已经使你的心灵失去了平衡。”
    奈顿的脸上刷地一下子泛起了红晕。
    “一位非常可爱的女人。”冯•阿尔丁轻声说道，“你注意到她的眼睛了吗？”
    “她的眼睛？”奈顿回答说，“每个人都应该注意到。”
Chapter 21   网球场上(At the Tennis)
Chapter 21  AT THE TENNIS 
Several days had elapsed. Katherine had been for a walk by herself one morning, and came back to find Lenox grinning at her expectantly. 
"Your young man has been ringing you up, Katherine!" 
"Who do you call my young man?" 
"A new one - Rufus Van Aldin's secretary. You seem to have made rather an impression there. You are becoming a serious breaker of hearts, Katherine. First Derek Kettering, and now this young Knighton. The funny thing is, that I remember him quite well. He was in Mother's War Hospital that she ran out here. I was only a kid of about eight at the time." 
"Was he badly wounded?" 
"Shot in the leg, if I remember rightly - rather a nasty business. I think the doctors messed it up a bit. They said he wouldn't limp or anything, but when he left here he was still completely dot and go one." 
Lady Tamplin came out and joined them. 
"Have you been telling Katherine about Major Knighton?" she asked. "Such a dear fellow! Just at first I didn't remember him - one had so many - but now it all comes back." 
"He was a bit too unimportant to be remembered before," said Lenox. "Now that he is a secretary to an American millionaire, it is a very different matter." 
"Darling!" said Lady Tamplin in her vague reproachful voice. 
"What did Major Knighton ring up about?" inquired Katherine. 
"He asked if you would like to go to the tennis this afternoon. If so, he would call for you in a car. Mother and I accepted for you with empressement. Whilst you dally with a millionaire's secretary, you might give me a chance with the millionaire, Katherine. He is about sixty, I suppose, so that he will be looking about for a nice sweet young thing like me." 
"I should like to meet Mr Van Aldin," said Lady Tamplin earnestly, 
"one has heard so much of him. Those fine rugged figures of the Western world -" she broke off - "so fascinating," she murmured. 
"Major Knighton was very particular to say it was Mr Van Aldin's invitation," said Lenox. "He said it so often that I began to smell a rat. You and Knighton would make a very nice pair, Katherine. Bless you, my children!" 
Katherine laughed, and went upstairs to change her clothes. 
Knighton arrived soon after lunch and endured manfully Lady Tamplin's transports of recognition. 
When they were driving together towards Cannes he remarked to 
Katherine: "Lady Tamplin has changed wonderfully little." 
"In manner or appearance?" 
"Both. She must be, I suppose, well over forty, but she is a remarkably beautiful woman still." 
"She is," agreed Katherine. 
"I am very glad that you could come today," went on Knighton. "M. Poirot is going to be there also. What an extraordinary little man he is. Do you know him well, Miss Grey?" 
Katherine shook her head. "I met him on the train on the way here. I was reading a detective novel, and I happened to say something about such things not happening in real life - of course, I had no idea of who he was." 
"He is a very remarkable person," said Knighton slowly, "and has done some very remarkable things. He has a kind of genius for going to the root of the matter, and right up to the end no one has any idea of what he is really thinking. I remember I was staying at a house in Yorkshire, and Lady Clanravon's jewels were stolen. It seemed at first to be a simple robbery, but it completely baffled the local police. I wanted them to call in Hercule Poirot, and said he was the only man who could help them, but they pinned their faith to Scotland Yard." 
"And what happened?" said Katherine curiously. 
"The jewels were never recovered," said Knighton drily. 
"You really do believe in him?" 
"I do indeed. The Comte de la Roche is a pretty wily customer. He has wriggled out of most things. But I think he has met his match in Hercule Poirot." 
"The Comte de la Roche," said Katherine thoughtfully, "so you really think he did it?" 
"Of course." Knighton looked at her in astonishment. "Don't you?" 
"Oh yes," said Katherine hastily, "that is, I mean, if it was not just an ordinary train robbery." 
"It might be, of course," agreed the other, "but it seems to me that the Comte de la Roche fits into this business particularly well." 
"And yet he has an alibi." 
"Oh, alibis!" Knighton laughed, his face broke into his attractive boyish smile. 
"You confess that you read detective stories, Miss Grey. You must know that anyone who has a perfect alibi is always open to grave suspicion." 
"Do you think that real life is like that?" asked Katherine, smiling. 
"Why not? Fiction is founded on fact." 
"But is rather superior to it," suggested Katherine. 
"Perhaps. Anyway, if I was a criminal I should not like to have Hercule Poirot on my track." 
"No more should I," said Katherine, and laughed. 
They were met on arrival by Poirot. As the day was warm he was attired in a white duck suit, with a white camellia in his buttonhole. 
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," said Poirot. "I look very English, do I not?" 
"You look wonderful," said Katherine tactfully. 
"You mock yourself at me," said Poirot genially, "but no matter. Papa Poirot, he always laughs the last." 
"Where is Mr Van Aldin?" asked Knighton. 
"He will meet us at our seats. To tell you the truth, my friend, he is not too well pleased with me. Oh, those Americans - the repose, the calm, they know it not! Mr Van Aldin, he would that I fly myself in the pursuit of criminals through all the byways of Nice." 
"I should have thought myself that it would not have been a bad plan," observed Knighton. 
"You are wrong," said Poirot, "in these matters one needs not energy but finesse. At the tennis one meets everyone. That is so important. Ah, there is Mr Kettering." 
Derek came abruptly up to them. He looked reckless and angry, as though something had arisen to upset him. He and Knighton greeted each other with some frigidity. 
Poirot alone seemed unconscious of a sense of strain, and chatted pleasantly in a laudable attempt to put everyone at their ease. He paid little compliments. 
"It is amazing, M. Kettering, how well you speak the French," he observed - "so well that you could be taken for a Frenchman if you chose. That is a very rare accomplishment among Englishmen." 
"I wish I did," said Katherine. "I am only too well aware that my French is of a painfully British order." 
They reached their seats and sat down, and almost immediately Knighton perceived his employer signalling to him from the other end of the court, and went off to speak to him. 
"Me, I approve of that young man," said Poirot, sending a beaming smile after the departing secretary, "and you, Mademoiselle?" 
"I like him very much." 
"And you, M. Kettering?" 
Some quick rejoinder was springing to Derek's lips, but he checked it as though something in the little Belgian's twinkling eyes had made him suddenly alert. He spoke carefully, choosing his words. 
"Knighton is a very good fellow," he said. Just for a moment Katherine fancied that Poirot looked disappointed. 
"He is a great admirer of yours, M. Poirot," she said, and she related some of the things that Knighton had said. It amused her to see the little man plume himself like a bird, thrusting out his chest, and assuming an air of mock modesty that would have deceived no one. 
"That reminds me, Mademoiselle," he said suddenly, "I have a little matter of business I have to speak to you about. When you were sitting talking to that poor lady in the train, I think you must have dropped a cigarette case." 
Katherine looked rather astonished. "I don't think so," she said. Poirot drew from his pocket a cigarette case of soft blue leather, with the initial "K" on it in gold. 
"No, that is not mine," Katherine said. 
"Ah, a thousand apologies. It was doubtless Madame's own. 'K' of course, stands for Kettering. We were doubtful, because she had another cigarette case in her bag, and it seemed odd that she should have two." 
He turned to Derek suddenly. "You do not know, I suppose, whether this was your wife's case or not?" 
Derek seemed momentarily taken aback. He stammered a little in 
his reply: "I - I don't know. I suppose so." 
"It is not yours by any chance?" 
"Certainly not. If it were mine it would hardly have been in my wife's possession." 
Poirot looked more ingenuous and childlike than ever. 
"I thought perhaps you might have dropped it when you were in your wife's compartment," he explained guilelessly. 
"I never was there. I have already told the police that a dozen times." 
"A thousand pardons," said Poirot, with his most apologetic air. "It was Mademoiselle here who mentioned having seen you going in." 
He stopped with an air of embarrassment. 
Katherine looked at Derek. His face had gone rather white, but perhaps that was her fancy. His laugh, when it came, was natural enough. 
"You made a mistake, Miss Grey," he said easily. "From what the police have told me, I gather that my own compartment was only a door or two away from that of my wife's - though I never suspected the fact at the time. You must have seen me going into my own compartment." He got up quickly as he saw Van Aldin and Knighton approaching. 
"I'm going to leave you now," he announced. "I can't stand my father-in-law at any price." 
Van Aldin greeted Katherine very courteously, but was clearly in a bad humour. 
"You seem fond of watching tennis, M. Poirot," he growled. 
"It is a pleasure to me, yes," cried Poirot placidly. 
"It is as well you are in France," said Van Aldin. "We are made of sterner stuff in the States. Business comes before pleasure there." 
Poirot did not take offence; indeed, he smiled gently and confidingly at the irate millionaire. 
"Do not enrage yourself, I beg of you. Everyone has his own methods. Me, I have always found it a delightful and pleasing idea to combine business and pleasure together." 
He glanced at the other two. They were deep in conversation, absorbed in each other. Poirot nodded his head in satisfaction, and then leant towards the millionaire, lowering his voice as he did so. 
"It is not only for pleasure that I am here, M. Van Aldin. Observe just opposite us that ill old man - the one with the yellow face and the venerable beard." 
"Well, what of him?" 
"That," Poirot said, "is M. Papopolous." 
"A Greek, eh?" 
"As you say - a Greek. He is a dealer in antiques of world-wide reputation. He has a small shop in Paris, and he is suspected by the police of being something more." 
"What?" 
"A receiver of stolen goods, especially jewels. There is nothing as to the re-cutting and re-setting of gems that he does not know. He deals with the highest in Europe and with the lowest of the riff-raff of the underworld." 
Van Aldin was looking at Poirot with suddenly awakened attention. 
"Well?" he demanded, a new note in his voice. 
"I ask myself," said Poirot, "I, Hercule Poirot -" he thumped himself dramatically on the chest - "ask myself why is M. Papopolous suddenly come to Nice?" 
Van Aldin was impressed. For a moment he had doubted Poirot and suspected the little man of being past his job, a poseur only - now, in a moment, he switched back to his original opinion. He looked straight at the little detective. 
"I must apologize to you, M. Poirot." 
Poirot waved the apology aside with an extravagant gesture. 
"Bah!" he cried, "all that is of no importance. Now listen, M. Van Aldin; I have news for you." 
The millionaire looked sharply at him, all his interest aroused. 
Poirot nodded. 
"It is as I say. You will be interested. As you know, M. Van Aldin, the Comte de la Roche has been under surveillance ever since his interview with the Juge d'Instruction. The day after that, during his absence, the Villa Marina was searched by the police." 
"Well," said Van Aldin, "did they find anything? I bet they didn't." 
Poirot made him a little bow. 
"Your acumen is not at fault, M. Van Aldin. They found nothing of an incriminating nature. It was not to be expected that they would. The Comte de la Roche, as your expressive idiom has it, was not born on the preceding day. He is an astute gentleman with great experience." 
"Well, go on," growled Van Aldin. 
"It may be, of course, that the Comte had nothing of a compromising nature to conceal. But we must not neglect the possibility. If then, he has something to conceal, where is it? Not in his house - the police searched thoroughly. Not on his person, for he knows that he is liable to arrest at any minute. There remains - his car. As I say, he was under surveillance. He was followed on that day to Monte Carlo. From there he went by road to Mentone, driving himself. His car is a very powerful one, it outdistanced his pursuers and for about a quarter of an hour they completely lost sight of him." 
"And during that time you think he concealed something by the roadside?" asked Van Aldin, keenly interested. 
"By the roadside, no. ?a n'est pas pratique. But listen now - me, I have made a little suggestion to M. Carrege. He is graciously pleased to approve of it. In each Bureau de Poste in the neighbourhood it has been seen to that there is someone who knows the Comte de la Roche by sight. Because, you see, Messieurs, the best way of hiding a thing is by sending it away by the post." 
"Well?" demanded Van Aldin; his face was keenly alight with interest and expectation. 
"Well -" With a dramatic flourish Poirot drew out from his pocket a loosely wrapped brown paper package from which the string had 
been removed. 
"During that quarter of an hour's interval, our good gentleman mailed this." 
"The address?" asked the other sharply. 
Poirot nodded his head. 
"Might have told us something, but unfortunately it does not. The package was addressed to one of these little newspaper shops in Paris where letters and parcels are kept until called for on payment of a small commission." 
"Yes, but what is inside?" demanded Van Aldin impatiently. 
Poirot unwrapped the brown paper and disclosed a square cardboard box. He looked round him. 
"It is a good moment," he said quietly. "All eyes are on the tennis. Look, Monsieur!" 
He lifted the lid of the box for the fraction of a second. An exclamation of utter astonishment came from the millionaire. His face turned as white as chalk. 
"My God!" he breathed, "the rubies." 
He sat for a minute as though dazed. Poirot restored the box to his pocket. Then suddenly the millionaire seemed to come out of his trance; he leaned across to Poirot and wrung his hand so heartily that the little man winced with pain. 
"This is great," said Van Aldin. "Great! You are the goods, M. Poirot. Once and for all, you are the goods." 
"It is nothing," said Poirot modestly. "Order, method, being prepared for eventualities beforehand - that is all there is to it." 
"And now, I suppose, the Comte de la Roche has been arrested?" continued Van Aldin eagerly. 
"No," said Poirot. 
A look of utter astonishment came over Van Aldin's face. 
"But why? What more do you want?" 
"The Comte's alibi is still unshaken." 
"But that is nonsense." 
"Yes," said Poirot, "I rather think it is nonsense, but unfortunately we have to prove it so." 
"In the meantime he will slip through your fingers." 
Poirot shook his head very energetically. 
"No," he said, "he will not do that. The one thing the Comte cannot afford to sacrifice is his social position. At all costs he must stop and brazen it out." 
Van Aldin was still dissatisfied. 
"But I don't see -" 
Poirot raised a hand. "Grant me a little moment, Monsieur. Me, I have a little idea. Many have mocked themselves at the little ideas of Hercule Poirot - and they have been wrong." 
"Well," said Van Aldin, "go ahead. What is this little idea?" 
Poirot paused for a moment and then he said: 
"I will call upon you at your hotel at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. Until then, say nothing to anyone." 

第二十一章 网球场上
    几天时光转瞬而逝。一天早晨，卡泰丽娜女士只身散步归来。当她回到客厅的时候，雷诺斯又说又笑地迎接了她。
    “你那可爱的人给你打过电话，卡泰丽娜。”
    “你指的是谁？”
    “是个新的——鲁夫斯•冯•阿尔丁的秘书。看来你给这个人留下了深刻的印象。
卡泰丽娜，看来随着年华车轮的转动，你将变成一位女性的卡萨诺瓦（意大利有名的爱情冒险家。译注）。起先是德里克•凯特林，现在又是年轻的奈顿。最有趣的是，我现在还能记起当时的情景。那时他住过我妈妈开办的战时医院。”
    “他伤得很重吗？”
    “腿部中过一颗子弹，医生治疗得不太理想。他现在走起路来还有点瘸。”
    坦普林女士出现在她俩的面前。
    “你把奈顿少校的事讲给卡泰丽娜听了？”她问道。“他是那样可爱的一个小伙子！开始我并没有认出他来……那时有那么多的伤病员，可是现在，当时的情景又重现在眼前。”
    “那时他就是一位引人注目的人物。”雷诺斯说道，“现在，他当上了美国一位百万富翁的秘书，就更有兴趣回忆回忆他了。”
    “可是，我那亲爱的！”坦普林女士说道，语调温和却有点生气。
    “奈顿少校干嘛要打电话？”卡泰丽娜以试探的口气问道。
    “他问，你是否今天下午去打网球。要是有兴趣，他就用车来接你。妈妈和我当然以你的名义极其高兴地接受了他的邀请。”
    “我十分想同冯•阿尔丁先生认识一下。”坦普林女士严肃的说道。“这个西方有权有势而又冷酷的人物……”她略停了片刻，“真吸引人哪！”
    “奈顿少校在电话里一再强调说，这是以冯•阿尔丁先生的名义邀请的。”雷诺斯说道，“这样反而加重了我的疑心。你同奈顿真是天生的一对。我祝贺你，亲爱的。”
    卡泰丽娜笑容满面地上楼换衣服去了。
    “我非常高兴，你接受了邀请。”这天下午，当卡泰丽娜在汽车里坐在少校身旁时，奈顿对她说道。“波洛先生也去打网球。他是一位多么有趣的人哪！格蕾小姐，您认识他很久了吗？”
    卡泰丽娜摇摇头。“我只是在到这里来的路上，在火车上认识他的。”
    “这个人具有一种特殊的天才，很善于分析事物的本质，而自己对事物的真正看法却不轻率地表露。我记得有一次我到约克州一庄园里做客，那正是卡旺女士的首饰被窃的时候。事件看来完全象是一起通常的盗窃案件，可是当地的警察却无从下手。我当时建议他们请波洛来，并说，这是唯一能够帮他们忙的人。可是这帮警察当时只相信苏格兰的亚德。”
    “后来怎样呢？”
    “首饰仍然无影无踪。”奈顿干巴巴地说道。
    “您真相信他？”
    “当然。罗歇伯爵是个纨裤子弟。他三番五次地摆脱了困境，可是这一次他落到赫库勒•波洛的手里，那可真碰上了死对头。”
    “罗歇伯爵？”卡泰丽娜一面想着一面说道，“您也认为他就是凶手？”
    “当然！”奈顿惊诧地看着她，“您不这样认为吗？”
    “我也是，可是，他不在现场。”
    奈顿的脸面上浮现出一丝愉快而有活力的笑容。
    “格蕾小姐，您曾对我说过，您特别喜欢读侦探小说。那么您应该懂得，‘不在现场’说明不了任何问题。”
    “难道你认为现实生活中也是这样？”卡泰丽娜微笑着问道。
    “为什么不能呢？无论如何，如果我是那个凶手，我绝不会让赫库勒•波洛抓住把柄。”
    “如果我是凶手我也会这样。”卡泰丽娜欢乐地回答道。
    波洛在网球场上等待着他们的到来。因为天气热，他只穿了一件亚麻布衬衣，胸前还戴着一朵山茶花。
    “小姐，您好！”波洛说道，“看我，多象一位地道的英国人。”
    “可以这样说，带有法国人风度的轻佻的英国人。”
    “您是在拿我开心，”波洛心情很好，低声嘟哝了一声，“不过这没有什么关系。
波洛老伯总是笑到最后的人。谁笑到最后，谁也就笑得最好。”
    “冯•阿尔丁先生在哪？”奈顿问道。
    “他在看台上等我们。说真的，他对我并不十分满意。唉，这些美国人，从不晓得什么是安静，什么是劳累！要是依着他，那就要把尼扎的全部有嫌疑的人都定成罪犯。
但是，那样做是不行的。干这一行，人们需要的不是力量，而是计谋。噢，你们看，凯特林先生来了。”
    德里克突然出现在他们身旁。外表上看来他有些神思恍惚，心神不定。奈顿同他冷淡地寒暄了几句。
    他们走上了看台。奈顿发现主人在看台的另一端向他招手，他立即走过去。
    “我很喜欢这个年青人。”波洛微笑着看秘书，向卡泰丽说道。“您也是这样认为吗，格蕾小姐？”
    “我也是这样认为，他很可爱。另外，他还是您的伟大事业的一名崇拜者，波洛先生。”这位小老头表现出一种做作的谦虚，先是双腿立正，头向胸前一垂。这种仪表上的做作，使人一眼就看出是虚假的。
    “另外，格蕾小姐，”波洛突然转了话题，“我还想同您谈一件小事。您同那位可怜的女士谈话时，曾丢失过一个烟盒吗？”
    波洛从衣袋里掏出一个蓝色的皮烟盒，上面嵌着一个金色的字母“Ｋ”。
    “不是，这不是我的。”她回答道。
    “对不起，请您多加原谅！那么就是说，这个烟盒可能是那可怜的女士自己的。字母“Ｋ”当然也可能是“凯特林”的缩写。我们之所以产生了怀疑，是因为在死者的衣袋里还有一个烟盒。我们感到有些奇怪，她怎么会同时带着两个烟盒。”他又突然转向德里克。
    “会不会是您的烟盒？”
    “不是！如果是我的，却很少有可能在我老婆那里找到。”
    这时，波洛显得尤为天真而且幼稚。“我想，会不会是您在到您夫人的包厢去的时候偶尔失落在那里的。”波洛随便地解释道。
    “我没有到过我妻子的包厢。我已经向警察局方面声明过上千次。”
    “我向您表示深切的歉意。”波洛恭敬地说道，“格蕾小姐，”他又转向卡泰丽娜，“曾经提起过，说她曾看到您进过您夫人的包厢。”
    他显得有些狼狈。卡泰丽娜两眼盯着德里克。德里克的脸色是真的变得那样苍白，还是她的错觉？德里克大笑起来，不过笑声听起来有些不真实。
    “您弄错了，格蕾小姐。”他轻松地说道。“我只是在事后知道，我的包厢就在我夫人包厢的隔壁。您当时可能看到我正走进自己的包厢。”他站起身来，因为这时他看到冯•阿尔丁同奈顿正向他们这边走来。“我现在要离开你们。因为我岳父使我有些受不了。”
    冯•阿尔丁彬彬有礼地向卡泰丽娜打了个招呼。看来这位百万富翁的心情不佳。
    “邀请您来看网球，真是天大的笑话，不是吗，波洛先生？”他喃喃抱怨地说道。
    “事实上却给我带来了莫大的乐趣。”波洛回答说。
    “欧洲遍地都些怪人。在我们那里是这样：先办正事，尔后享乐。”
    波洛并没有因为这番话而觉得受到嘲弄。他仍然温和而诚恳，面带笑容地看着这位百万富翁。
    “每个人都有他独特的行动准则。我一直以为，娱乐和工作相结合，乃是最好的准则。”
    卡泰丽娜和奈顿两人陷入了激情的密谈之中。波洛提高了嗓门说道：
    “我的确不只是为了享受才到这里来的。你们看到对面那个老头了吗？就是那个面色发黄、留着一把可敬的胡须的人？”
    “他怎么样？”
    “他就是帕波波鲁斯，是当今世界上有名的古玩商人。他的兼职：欧洲最大的赃物窝藏者。他的爱好：宝石。在与他进行交易的伙伴中，有被加冕的首脑人物，也有令人恐怖的犯罪分子。我现在问自己、向赫库勒•波洛提出一个问题，我问自己，”他戏剧性地捶着自己的胸膛。“为什么帕波波鲁斯偏偏在此时此刻到尼扎来？”
    几分钟之前，冯•阿尔丁还认为，波洛只不过是一个自大狂，是个自我吹嘘的人。
可是顷刻之间，他对这位小老头又恢复了最初见面时的信任。
    “冯•阿尔丁先生，请您听着，我有一条新闻要告诉您。”
    百万富翁以紧张而好奇的神态注视着波洛的面孔。
    “您是知道的，自从第一次审讯伯爵之后，我们的人一直在暗中监视着他。审讯后的第二天我们在他的玛丽娅别墅进行过一次搜查。”
    “发现了什么东西没有？”冯•阿尔丁问道，“当然啦，什么也不会得到。”
    波洛轻轻地鞠了一躬。
    “您的本能证实了您的看法，冯•阿尔丁先生。我们在那里没有得到任何有价值的东西。当然，这是件很使人懊丧的事。罗歇伯爵不是一天两天的人物啦。”
    “还有什么？”冯•阿尔丁低声问道。
    “当然，在伯爵的住处找不到任何有价值的东西，这完全是合乎情理的。即使他把什么东西藏了起来，那会藏在那里呢？藏在自己的家里，决不会，他会知道，警察决不是白吃干饭的。藏在自己的身上，也不可能；因为他意识到，自己随时都可能被捕。只剩下一种可能性，就是藏在他的汽车里。那一天有人一直跟踪着他，到了蒙特卡洛和门托。他的那辆小汽车有一部动力很大的发动机。他把跟踪的人甩掉了几乎有一刻钟的时间。”
    “那么您认为，在这一刻钟的时间里，他会在马路牙子边上藏了什么东西吗？”百万富翁以极大的兴趣追问道。
    “马路牙子边上？不见得。依我看他十分狡猾。难道您从未想到，想使自己摆脱困境，最好的办法是把东西放在邮局里？”
    “那么怎样？”
    “这就是！”波洛以极其敏捷的速度从衣袋里掏出一个蓝色的包裹。
    “在这十五分钟的时间里，这位能人夺得了优势，并把东西存放到我这里来了。”
    “地址写的是哪里？”冯•阿尔丁马上问道。
    “包裹上的地址写的是巴黎的一家报馆。往这家报馆寄东西，有时也可以给一定的报酬把寄出去的东西再取出来。”
    “包裹里装的是什么？”冯•阿尔丁急切地问道。
    波洛剥开外层，指着里面的小纸盒，环顾了一下四周。
    “这一瞬间是有趣的，”他说道，“先生，请看。”
    他把小盒子的盖子打开，百万富翁惊叫了一声，他的脸色立即变得刷白。
    “上帝啊！”他叫道，“宝石！”
    百万富翁呆呆地坐那里许久，波洛把盒子又装进了衣袋，脸上现出明朗的笑容。
    蓦然间，百万富翁从神志恍惚当中清醒了过来。他向波洛弯下腰，紧紧地握住了这位侦探的手，以致使波洛疼得几乎叫出声来。
    “简直令人难以置信！”冯•阿尔丁说道。“难以置信！您是位魔术师，波洛。”
    “说哪里话，”小老头谦虚地说道。“这是一种思考的方法，一点逻辑学，还有一点预见性，除此之外就没有什么值得夸耀的了。”
    “没有把罗歇伯爵逮捕吗？”百万富翁好奇地问道。
    “没有。”波洛答道。
    冯•阿尔丁脸人现出了惊奇的神色。
    “那么还等什么呢？”
    “伯爵不在现场，这一点是不可动摇的论据。”
    “毫无意义！”
    “当然毫无意义，”波洛说，“但是我们应该拿出事实，来证明它毫无意义。”
    “可是在我们寻找这方面证据的时候，他却从我们手指缝间溜走了。”
    波洛坚定的摇了摇头。
    “不，”他说道。“他不会这样想。伯爵决不会把自己的社会地位当成儿戏。他要在原来的地位仍然肆无忌惮地胡作非为下去。”
    冯•阿尔丁有点不相信。
    “我看不出……”
    波洛摸了一下嘴巴。
    “请等一下，先生。我有一个小小的想法。关于赫库勒•波洛，很多人制造了一些有趣的传说，但是，这些传说都不对。”
    “太好了，”冯•阿尔丁说道，“把这个想法透露出来吧！您那个小小的想法到底是什么呢？”
    波洛沉默了一会儿，然后回答道：”明天上午十一点我到饭店去拜访您。在此之前，请您不要向任何人透露我的新发现。”
Chapter 22  帕波波鲁斯的早点(M. Papapolous Breakfasts)
Chapter 22  M. PAPOPOULOS AT BREAKFAST 
M. Papopolous was at breakfast. Opposite him sat his daughter, Zia. 
There was a knock at the sitting-room door, and a chasseur entered with a card which he brought to Mr Papopolous. The latter scrutinized it, raised his eyebrows, and passed it over to his daughter. 
"Ah!" said M. Papopolous, scratching his left ear thoughtfully, 
"Hercule Poirot. I wonder now." 
Father and daughter looked at each other. 
"I saw him yesterday at the tennis," said M. Papopolous. "Zia, I hardly like this." 
"He was very useful to you once," his daughter reminded him. 
"That is true," acknowledged M. Papopolous, "also he has retired from active work, so I hear." 
These interchanges between father and daughter had passed in their own language. Now M. Papopolous turned to the chasseur and said in French: 
"Faites monter ce monsieur." 
A few minutes later Hercule Poirot, exquisitely attired, and swinging a cane with a jaunty air, entered the room. 
"My dear M. Papopolous." 
"My dear M. Poirot." 
"And Mademoiselle Zia." Poirot swept her a low bow. 
"You will excuse us going on with our breakfast," said M. Papopolous, pouring himself out another cup of coffee. "Your call is - ahem! - a little early." 
"It is scandalous," said Poirot, "but see you, I am pressed." 
"Ah!" murmured M. Papopolous, "you are on an affair then?" 
"A very serious affair," said Poirot, "the death of Madame Kettering." 
"Let me see," M. Papopolous looked innocently up at the ceiling, 
"that was the lady who died on the Blue Train, was it not? I saw a mention of it in the papers, but there's no suggestion of foul play." 
"In the interests of justice," said Poirot, "it was thought best to suppress that fact." 
There was a pause. 
"And in what way can I assist you, Mr Poirot?" asked the dealer politely. 
"Voilà," said Poirot, "I shall come to the point." He took from his pocket the same box that he had displayed at Cannes, and opening it, he took out the rubies and pushed them across the table to Papopolous. 
Although Poirot was watching him narrowly, not a muscle of the old man's face moved. He took up the jewels and examined them with a kind of detached interest, then he looked across at the detective inquiringly: 
"Superb, are they not?" asked Poirot. 
"Quite excellent," said M. Papopolous. 
"How much should you say they are worth?" 
The Greek's face quivered a little. 
"Is it really necessary to tell you, M. Poirot?" he asked. 
"You are shrewd, M. Papopolous. No, it is not. They are not, for instance, worth five hundred thousand dollars." 
Papopolous laughed, and Poirot joined with him. 
"As an imitation," said Papopolous, handing them back to Poirot, 
"they are, as I said, quite excellent. Would it be indiscreet to ask, M. Poirot, where you came across them?" 
"Not at all," said Poirot, "I have no objection to telling an old friend like yourself. They were in the possession of the Comte de la Roche." 
M. Papopolous' eyebrows lifted themselves eloquently. 
"In-deed," he murmured. 
Poirot leant forward and assumed his most innocent and beguiling air. 
"M. Papopolous," he said, "I am going to lay my cards upon the table. The original of these jewels was stolen from Madame Kettering on the Blue Train. Now I will say to you first this: I am not concerned with the recovery of these jewels. That is the affair of the police. I am working not for the police but for M. Van Aldin. I want to lay hands on the man who killed Madame Kettering. I am interested in the jewels only in so far as they may lead me to the man. You understand?" 
The last two words were uttered with great magnificence. M. Papopolous, his face quite unmoved, said quietly: "Go on." 
"It seems to me probable, Monsieur, that the jewels will change hands in Nice - maybe they have done so." 
"Ah!" said M. Papopolous. 
He sipped his coffee reflectively, and looked a shade more noble and patriarchal than usual. 
"I say to myself," continued Poirot, with animation, "what good fortune! My old friend, M. Papopolous, is in Nice. He will aid me." 
"And how do you think I can aid you?" inquired M. Papopolous coldly. 
"I said to myself, without doubt M. Papopolous is in Nice on business." 
"Not at all," said M. Papopolous, "I am here for my health - by the doctor's orders." 
He coughed hollowly. 
"I am desolated to hear it," replied Poirot, with somewhat insincere sympathy. "But to continue. When a Russian Grand Duke, an Austrian Archduchess, or an Italian Prince wish to dispose of their family jewels - to whom do they go? To M. Papopolous, is it not? He who is famous all over the world for the discretion with which he arranges these things." 
The other bowed. 
"You flatter me." 
"It is a great thing, discretion," mused Poirot, and was rewarded by the fleeting smile which passed across the Greek's face. "I, too, can be discreet." 
The eyes of the two men met. 
Then Poirot went on speaking very slowly, and obviously picking his words with care. 
"I say to myself, this: if these jewels have changed hands in Nice, M. Papopolous would have heard of it. He has knowledge of all that passes in the jewel world." 
"Ah!" said M. Papopolous, and helped himself to a croissant. 
"The police, you understand," said M. Poirot, "do not enter into the matter. It is a personal affair." 
"One hears rumours," admitted M. Papopolous cautiously. 
"Such as?" prompted Poirot. 
"Is there any reason why I should pass them on?" 
"Yes," said Poirot, "I think there is. You may remember, M. Papopolous, that seventeen years ago there was a certain article in your hands, left there as security by a very - er - Prominent Person. It was in your keeping and it unaccountably disappeared. You were, if I may use the English expression, in the soup." 
His eyes came gently round to the girl. She had pushed her cup and plate aside, and with both elbows on the table and her chin resting on her hands was listening eagerly. Still keeping an eye on her he went on: 
"I am in Paris at the time. You send for me. You place yourself in my hands. If I restore to you that - article, you say I shall earn your undying gratitude. Eh bien! I did restore it to you." 
A long sigh came from M. Papopolous. 
"It was the most unpleasant moment of my career," he murmured. 
"Seventeen years is a long time," said Poirot thoughtfully, "but I believe that I am right in saying, Monsieur, that your race does not forget." 
"A Greek?" murmured Papopolous, with an ironical smile. 
"It was not as a Greek I meant," said Poirot. 
There was a silence, and then the old man drew himself up proudly. 
"You are right, M. Poirot," he said quietly. "I am a Jew. And, as you say, our race does not forget." 
"You will aid me then?" 
"As regards the jewels, Monsieur, I can do nothing." 
The old man, as Poirot had done just now, picked his words carefully. 
"I know nothing. I have heard nothing, but I can perhaps do you a good turn - that is if you are interested in racing." 
"Under certain circumstances I might be," said Poirot, eyeing him steadily. 
"There is a horse running at Longchamps that would, I think, repay attention. I cannot say for certain, you understand; this news passed through so many hands." 
He stopped, fixing Poirot with his eye, as though to make sure that the latter was comprehending him. 
"Perfectly, perfectly," said Poirot, nodding. 
"The name of the horse," said M. Papopolous, leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers together, "is the Marquis. I think, but I am not sure, that it is an English horse, eh, Zia?" 
"I think so too," said the girl. 
Poirot got up briskly. 
"I thank you, Monsieur," he said. "It is a great thing to have what the English call a tip from the stable. Au revoir, Monsieur, and many thanks." 
He turned to the girl. 
"Au revoir, Mademoiselle Zia. It seems to me but yesterday that I saw you in Paris. One would say that two years had passed at most." 
"There is a difference between sixteen and thirty-three," said Zia ruefully. 
"Not in your case," declared Poirot gallantly. "You and your father will perhaps dine with me one night." 
"We shall be delighted," replied Zia. 
"Then we will arrange it," declared Poirot, "and now - je me sauve." 
Poirot walked along the street humming a little tune to himself. He twirled his stick with a jaunty air, once or twice he smiled to himself quietly. He turned into the first Bureau de Poste he came to and sent off a telegram. 
He took some time in wording it, but it was in code and he had to call upon his memory. It purported to deal with a missing scarf- pin, and was addressed to Inspector Japp, Scotland Yard. 
Decoded, it was short and to the point. "Wire me everything known about man whose soubriquet is the Marquis." 

第二十二章 帕波波鲁斯的早点
    帕波波鲁斯和他的女儿齐娅正在用早点。
    有人敲门，继之仆人走进来，手里拿着一张名片。帕波波鲁斯接过名片琢磨了一会儿，然后把它递给了女儿。
    “嗯，”他哼了一声，搔着左耳深思着，“赫库勒•波洛！我对此人不感兴趣。”
    “他有一次可帮了你的大忙。”女儿提醒他说道。
    “是这样。”帕波波鲁斯肯定地回答说。“此外，反正他现在已经退休了。”
    父女俩之间是用希腊语对话的。现在，帕波波鲁斯向仆人说，请客人进来。
    几分钟后赫库勒•波洛进了客厅，同往常一样西装革履，神气活现地挥着手杖。
    “我亲爱的帕波波鲁斯先生！”
    “我亲爱的波洛先生！”
    “噢，迷人的齐娅小姐也在！”波洛深深地鞠了一躬。
    “我们继续用早点，请您不要介意。”帕波波鲁斯说着又为自己倒了一杯咖啡。
    “做客有点太早。”
    “早的有点不象话。”波洛加了一句。“但是，我有急事，请您谅解这一点。”
    “噢，噢，原来如此，”帕波波鲁斯小声附和说着道。“您是来洽谈交易吗？”
    “是一桩非常重要的交易，事关凯特林夫人被害一案。”
    “请等一下！”帕波波鲁斯无所谓地仰望了一眼天花板。“是不是在‘蓝色特快’上死了的那位夫人？我在报上读到过这条新闻。可是报上并没有提起这是一桩犯罪事件。”
    “由于法律方面的原因，还是对事实保持沉默为好。”波洛说道。
    “可是，我又能够在哪些方面帮您的忙呢？波洛先生？”古玩商停了一会儿问道。
    “我马上就向您说明。”波洛从衣袋里掏出在戛纳给冯•阿尔丁看过的那个蓝包裹。
他打开包裹，把宝石拿到帕波波鲁斯的眼前。
    老古玩商的脸上毫无表情。任何一块肌肉都没有动一下。他把宝石拿在手上，以内行的眼光察看了半天。然后向对面的老侦探投以怀疑的眼光。
    “挺美丽的，是吗？”波洛问道。
    “是很美。”帕波波鲁斯表示同意。
    “您认为可值多少钱？”
    这时，希腊老人脸面上的肌肉多少有点抽动。“波洛，要我向您说真话吗？”他问道。
    “不，实际上不必要。我想五十万美元总是值的。”
    帕波波鲁斯笑了起来，波洛也随声附和地笑着。
    “作为一个复制品，”帕波波鲁斯一面说着一面把宝石还给波洛，“作为赝品，正象我所说的那样，是很美，恕我轻率，请问波洛先生：它是怎么到您手中的？”
    “决不是轻率，在老朋友面前我是没有什么秘密的。宝石是在罗歇伯爵那里找到的。”
    帕波波鲁斯的一双蓝眼睛闪闪发光。
    “您说的什么啊！”他低声惊叫起来。
    波洛这时弯着腰坐在那里，表现得比任何时候都无所谓的样子。
    “帕波波鲁斯，”他说道，“我向您摊牌。这个宝石的原物是凯特林女士的，但在‘蓝色特快’上被盗窃了。首先我必须向您讲明：把宝石找回来，这不管我的事，这是警察方面的事。我唯一的目的是弄清谁是杀害凯特林夫人的凶手。这些宝石之所以能够引起我的兴趣，是因为它们能够引导我找到杀人犯。您懂吗？”
    侦探在说出这几个字时，用了一种特别加重的语气。帕波波鲁斯冷漠地说道：“请您继续讲下出。”
    “帕波波鲁斯先生，这些宝石很可能在更换物主，也可已经更换了物主。”
    帕波波鲁斯略有所思地喝了一口咖啡，让人看起来他那绅士派头更加十足。
    “我曾对自己说过。”波洛继续说道，“这是多么幸运，我的老朋友在尼扎！他一定会帮我的忙。”
    “以什么方式帮您的忙？”帕波波鲁斯冷淡地探询着问道。
    “我当时曾猜测，帕波波鲁斯到尼扎一定是来做交易的。”
    “猜错了，”帕波波鲁斯反驳说，“我是由于健康的原因才到这里来的，是遵照我的医生的嘱咐到尼扎的。”他说着大声咳嗽起来。
    “这太遗憾了。”波洛极为同情地说道。“不过，让我们继续说下去。如果一位俄国大公或是一位奥地利大公要把他的传家首饰换成钱，那么他们将会找到谁的门下呢？当然是帕波波鲁斯，他以慎重从事交易而扬名于世。”
    “您是在奉承我。”
    “慎重是伟大的，我有时也很慎重。”
    俩人的目光又碰到了一起。
    然后波洛又字斟句酌地继续说道：
    “以后我又推测：如果这些宝石在尼扎已经换了物主，那么帕波波鲁斯就一定会听到风声，他对宝石市场上的任何一桩交易都了如指掌。”
    “啊！”帕波波鲁斯叫了一声，不慌不忙地在面包上又涂了一层蜜。
    “您懂了吗？”波洛声明说，“警察同此事毫不相干，这是一桩私人的案子。”
    “可是已经谣言四起了。”帕波波鲁斯小心翼翼地说道。
    “请举例说明。”
    “我有什么必要再去扩散这些谣言呢？”
    “有必要。”波洛说道。“您可能还会回忆起来，帕波波鲁斯先生，十七年前，当时您在进行一栏数额可观的交易。一位有名的人物在您这里投了保险。您当时负责保管这些贵重的物品，可是不知怎的，这些东西突然失踪了。您当时处在极为困难的境地。”
    他说完向女郎投去柔和的目光，她把碗碟收在一旁，正在聚精会神地听着。“您那时让我给您找回这些东西，并表示，如果我能够找回，那将重谢我，现在怎样，我已经把那些东西给您找回来了。”
    帕波波鲁斯深深地叹了一口气。
    “那是我一生中最不愉快的时刻。”他压低了声音说道。
    “十七年的时间不算短暂，”波洛沉思着说道，“但是，我相信，应当说，您们的民族是不会忘记的。”
    “您指的是希腊民族吗？”
    “不一定。”
    沉默了很大一会儿，然后老头自豪地站立起来。
    “您说的对，波洛先生。”他镇静地说道，“我是个犹太人，您说得完全正确，我们的民族是不会忘记的。”
    “您想帮我的忙吗？”
    “关于宝石的事，可惜我帮不了什么忙。”这位老头在掂量着自己说话的分量。
    “我什么也不知道，我什么也没听到！可是您如果对赛马有兴趣，我却愿意效劳。”
    “在某些情况下，我对此也很感兴趣。”波洛看着对方，心平气和地说道。
    “赛马场上有一匹马在奔跑，人匀都注意地盯着它。具体的细节我当然不得而知了.这种新闻不知传过多少人之口了。”
    “我完全明白。”波洛点头说道。
    “这匹马的名字，”帕波波鲁斯继续说道，“叫‘候爵’。我相信，这是一匹英国马，但不能肯定。”
    波洛站起身来。
    “谢谢您，帕波波鲁斯先生。马厩里有各种类型的马，总是件好事，再见，先生，非常感谢。”
    他转向女郎。
    “再见，齐娅小姐。我总觉得就象昨天同您分手一样。”
    “十六岁和三十三岁之间无论如何总是有区别的。”齐娅说，忧郁的向他微微一笑。
    “您不是这样！”波洛说道，“如果您同您的父亲最近几天能同我共进午餐，我将感到莫大的愉快。”
    “这对我们来说是莫大的荣幸。”齐娅回答道。
    波洛嘴里哼着愉快的歌曲，手里潇洒地挥着手杖，漫步而去，他到了最大的一家邮局，发了一封电报。电报是发给伦敦警察局长雅普的，内容是关于寻找丢失的一个领带别针的事。
    可是，当收报人用一种特殊的密码译出时，其内容是：“请把外号叫‘候爵’的人的一切情况，尽快电告于我。”
Chapter 23  推测(A New Theory)
Chapter 23 A NEW THEORY 
It was exactly eleven o'clock when Poirot presented himself at Van Aldin's hotel. He found the millionaire alone. 
"You are punctual, M. Poirot," he said, with a smile, as he rose to greet the detective. 
"I am always punctual," said Poirot. "The exactitude - always do I observe it. Without order and method -" 
He broke off. "Ah, but it is possible that I have said these things to you before. Let us come at once to the object of my visit." 
"Your little idea?" 
"Yes, my little idea." Poirot smiled. "First of all, Monsieur, I should like to interview once more the maid, Ada Mason. She is here?" 
"Yes, she's here." 
"Ah!" 
Van Aldin looked at him curiously. He rang the bell, and a messenger was dispatched to find Mason. 
Poirot greeted her with his usual politeness, which was never without effect on that particular class. 
"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle," he said cheerfully. "Be seated, will you not, if Monsieur permits." 
"Yes, yes, sit down, my girl," said Van Aldin. 
"Thank you, sir," said Mason primly, and she sat down on the extreme edge of a chair. She looked bonier and more acid than ever. 
"I have come to ask you yet more questions," said Poirot. "We must get to the bottom of this affair. Always I return to the question of the man in the train. You have been shown the Comte de la Roche. You say that it is possible he was the man, but you are not sure." 
"As I told you, sir, I never saw the gentleman's face. That is what makes it so difficult." 
Poirot beamed and nodded. 
"Precisely, exactly. I comprehend well the difficulty. Now, Mademoiselle, you have been in the service of Madame Kettering two months, you say. During that time, how often did you see your master?" 
Mason reflected a minute or two, and then said: 
"Only twice, sir." 
"And was that near to, or far away?" 
"Well once, sir, he came to Curzon Street. I was upstairs, and I looked over the banisters and saw him in the hall below. I was a bit curious like, you understand, knowing the way things - er - were." Mason finished up with her discreet cough. 
"And the other time?" 
"I was in the Park, sir, with Annie - one of the housemaids, sir, and she pointed out the master to me walking with a foreign lady." 
Again Poirot nodded. 
"Now listen, Mason, this man whom you saw in the carriage talking to your mistress at the Gare de Lyon, how do you know it was not your master?" 
"The master, sir? Oh, I don't think it would have been." 
"But you are not sure," Poirot persisted. 
"Well - I never thought of it, sir." 
Mason was clearly upset at the idea. 
"You have heard that your master was also on the train. What more natural than that it should be he who came along the corridor." 
"But the gentleman who was talking to the mistress must have come from outside, sir. He was dressed for the street. In an overcoat and soft hat." 
"Just so, Mademoiselle, but reflect a minute. The train has just arrived at the Gare de Lyon. Many of the passengers promenade themselves upon the quay. Your mistress was about to do so, and for that purpose had doubtless put on her fur coat, eh?" 
"Yes, sir," agreed Mason. 
"Your master, then, does the same. The train is heated, but outside in the station it is cold. He puts on his overcoat and his hat and he walks along beside the train, and looking up at the lighted windows he suddenly sees Madame Kettering. Until then he has had no idea that she was on the train. Naturally, he mounts the carriage and goes to her compartment. She gives an exclamation 
of surprise at seeing him and quickly shuts the door between the two compartments since it is possible that their conversation may be of a private nature." 
He leaned back in his chair and watched the suggestion slowly take effect. No one knew better than Hercule Poirot that the class to which Mason belongs cannot be hurried. 
He must give her time to get rid of her own preconceived ideas. At the end of three minutes she spoke: 
"Well, of course, sir, it might be so. I never thought of it that way. The master is tall and dark, and just about that build. It was seeing the hat and coat that made me say it was a gentleman from outside. Yes, it might have been the master. I would not like to say either way, I am sure." 
"Thank you very much, Mademoiselle. I shall not require you any further. Ah, just one thing more." He took from his pocket the cigarette case he had already shown to Katherine. "Is that your mistress's case?" he said to Mason. 
"No, sir, it is not the mistress's - at least -" 
She looked suddenly startled. An idea was clearly working its way to the forefront of her mind. 
"Yes," said Poirot encouragingly. 
"I think, sir - I can't be sure, but I think - it is a case that the mistress bought to give to the master." 
"Ah," said Poirot in a noncommittal manner. 
"But whether she ever did give it to him or not, I can't say, of course." 
"Precisely," said Poirot, "precisely. That is all, I think, Mademoiselle. I wish you good afternoon." 
Ada Mason retired discreetly, closing the door noiselessly behind her. 
Poirot looked across at Van Aldin, a faint smile upon his face. The millionaire looked thunderstruck. 
"You think - you think it was Derek?" he queried, "but - everything points the other way. Why, the Count has actually been caught red-handed with the jewels on him." 
"No." 
"But you told me -" 
"What did I tell you?" 
"That story about the jewels. You showed them to me." 
"No." 
Van Aldin stared at him. 
"You mean to say you didn't show them to me." 
"No." 
"Yesterday - at the tennis?" 
"No." 
"Are you crazy, M. Poirot, or am I?" 
"Neither of us is crazy," said the detective. "You ask me a question; I answer it. You say have I not shown you the jewels that day? I reply - no. What I showed you, Van Aldin, was a first-class imitation, not to be distinguished except by an expert from the real ones." 

第二十三章 推测
    时钟刚敲过十一点，波洛就出现在冯•阿尔丁下榻的饭店里了。只有百万富翁一个人在室内。
    “象往常一样，您总是很准时，波洛先生！”冯•阿尔丁迎接着侦探。
    “准时和守秩序是人的两大美德。怎样，书归正传吧。”
    “您那小小的想法？”
    “对，我那小小的想法。”波洛微笑着说道。“不过，首先我必须再同女仆谈谈。
她在吗？”
    “嗯，她在。”
    “太好了。”
    冯•阿尔丁好奇地瞅着波洛。他吩咐了一声，过了一会儿女仆走进了屋子。
    波洛以他那习惯的礼节欢迎了她，这使她这种地位的人感到，他是有礼貌的，并无轻慢相待之意。
    “马松小姐，早晨好，请坐。”
    “谢谢，先生。”马松不自然地说道，坐在椅子边上，显得百无聊赖而又精神萎顿。
    “我只是想向您询问几个问题。”波洛开始说道。“我们把罗歇伯爵指给您看了。
您说，此人可能是火车上的那个，但是又不能肯定。”
    “我当时没看清那个人的脸。”
    “当然！我完全明白。您在您的主人凯特林夫人那里只服务了两个月。在这段时间里您是否经常看到您的老爷？”
    她思考了一下回答道：“只见过他两次，先生。”
    “现在请您注意，小姐。您怎么能够断定，在火车上同夫人谈话的那个人不是您家的主人凯特林先生呢？”
    “凯特林先生？我从来没有这样想过。”
    “您当然也听说过，您家主人也在同一列车上。因此，如果那位女士在同自己的丈夫谈话，不是十分自然的事吗？”
    “可是，那位先生是从外面上的火车。他身穿礼服，还罩着外衣，戴着帽子。”
    “完全正确，小姐。不过请您再想一下。火车刚到里昂站，下车去散步的旅客很多。
您的女主人也有这种想法，下车去透透气，因此也把大衣披在身上。”
    “是的，先生。”女仆应和着说道。
    “是吧，您看怎样！火车里面很热，外面很冷。那位先生穿上了外衣，戴上了帽子，到车厢外沿着列车去散步，从一个亮着灯光的窗口里，他突然看到凯特林夫人。在此之前，他根本不知道夫人也乘这次列车。当然，他就又上了火车，走到夫人的包厢里去。
当夫人发现他的时候，吃惊地叫了一声，随后便关上了同您的包厢相通的门，往后谈的当然就是些私房话了。”
    波洛把身子往靠背上一仰，注意观察着，他的这些暗示的话语在慢慢地起作用。他应该给这位女郎一点时间，以便使她能够把这些新的推测同往事联系在一起。她紧张地思索一阵子之后说道：“这完全可能，我从前没有这样想过。凯特林先生的个头也很高，也是黑头发，身段很象火车上的那个人。是的，完全可能是凯特林先生。”
    “谢谢，小姐，我不过多地耽误您了。只是还有一个问题。”他掏出烟盒，就是给卡泰丽娜看的那个烟盒。他问：“这个烟盒是夫人的吗？”
    “不，这不是我那敬爱的夫人的烟盒，但外表有点象。”她好象转念间有了新的想法。
    “嗯？”波洛询问地嗯了一声。
    “先生，我只是这样想，当然这完全是推测，这可能是夫人才买的烟盒，想赠送给那位先生。”
    “噢，您是这样想的。”
    “但是，我不能断定，我是否见过这个烟盒。”
    “好吧，就这些，小姐。非常感谢！”艾达•马松立即退出了房间，把房门轻轻地带上。
    波洛带着一种难以察觉的微笑看着冯•阿尔丁。
    百万富翁现在的心情坏透了。
    “您认为，是德里克？”他问道。“可是，到目前为止所有的材料都证明伯爵是凶手。可以说宝石把他送上了断头台。”
    “不。”
    “怎么不是呢？是您亲自对我说的……”
    “我对您说什么了？”
    “您还亲自给我看了那些宝石。”
    “没有。”
    冯•阿尔丁不知所措。
    “您敢说，您没有给我看过那些宝石？”
    “我敢说。”
    “波洛，不是您疯了，就是我有精神病。”
    “咱俩谁也没疯。”老侦探心平气和地说道。“您向我提问题，我回答。您问我，是不是我给您看了那些宝石，我回答说，没有。我给您看的那些东西，是头等复制品，就是行家也很难把它们同原物区别开来。”
Chapter 24  波洛的忠告(Poirot Gives Advice)
Chapter 24  POIROT GIVES ADVICE 
It took the millionaire some few minutes to take the thing in. He stared at Poirot as though dumbfounded. The little Belgian nodded at him gently. 
"Yes," he said, "it alters the position, does it not?" 
"Imitation!" 
He leaned forward. 
"All along, M. Poirot, you have had this idea? All along this is what you have been driving at? You never believed that the Comte de la Roche was the murderer?" 
"I have had doubts," said Poirot quietly. "I said as much to you. Robbery with violence and murder -" he shook his head energetically - "no, it is difficult to picture. It does not harmonize with the personality of the Comte de la Roche." 
"But you believe that he meant to steal the rubies?" 
"Certainly. There is no doubt as to that. See, I will recount to you the affair as I see it. The Comte knew of the rubies and he laid his plans accordingly. He made up a romantic story of a book he was writing, so as to induce your daughter to bring them with her. He provided himself with an exact duplicate. It is clear, is it not, that substitution is what he was after. Madame, your daughter, was not an expert on jewels. It would probably be a long time before she discovered what had occurred. When she did so - well - I do not think she would prosecute the Comte. Too much would come out. 
He would have in his possession various letters of hers. Oh yes, a very safe scheme from the Comte's point of view - one that he has probably carried out before." 
"It seems clear enough, yes," said Van Aldin musingly. 
"It accords with the personality of the Comte de la Roche," said Poirot. 
"Yes, but now -" Van Aldin looked searchingly at the other. "What actually happened? Tell me that, M. Poirot." 
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. 
"It is quite simple," he said, "someone stepped in ahead of the Comte." 
There was a long pause. 
Van Aldin seemed to be turning things over in his mind. When he spoke it was without beating about the bush. 
"How long have you suspected my son-in-law, M. Poirot?" 
"From the very first. He had the motive and the opportunity. Everyone took for granted that the man in Madame's compartment 
in Paris was the Comte de la Roche. I thought so, too. Then you happened to mention that you had once mistaken the Comte for your son-in-law. That told me that they were of the same height and build, and alike in colouring. It put some curious ideas in my head. The maid had only been with your daughter a short time. It was unlikely that she would know Mr Kettering well by sight, since he had not been living in Curzon Street; also the man was careful to keep his face turned away." 
"You believe he - murdered her," said Van Aldin hoarsely. 
Poirot raised a hand quickly. 
"No, no, I did not say that - but it is a possibility - a very strong possibility. He was in a tight corner, a very tight corner, threatened with ruin. This was the one way out." 
"But why take the jewels?" 
"To make the crime appear an ordinary one committed by train robbers. Otherwise suspicion might have fallen on him straight away." 
"If that is so, what has he done with the rubies?" 
"That remains to be seen. There are several possibilities. There is a man in Nice who may be able to help, the man I pointed out at the tennis." 
He rose to his feet and Van Aldin rose also and laid his hand on the little man's shoulder. 
His voice when he spoke was harsh with emotion. 
"Find Ruth's murderer for me," he said, "that is all I ask." 
Poirot drew himself up. 
"Leave it in the hands of Hercule Poirot," he said superbly, "have no fears. I will discover the truth." 
He brushed a speck of fluff from his hat, smiled reassuringly at the millionaire, and left the room. Nevertheless, as he went down the stairs some of the confidence faded from his face. 
"It is all very well," he murmured to himself, "but there are difficulties. Yes, there are great difficulties." As he was passing out of the hotel he came to a sudden halt. A car had drawn up in front of the door. In it was Katherine Grey, and Derek Kettering was standing beside it talking to her earnestly. 
A minute or two later the car drove off and Derek remained standing on the pavement looking after it. The expression on his face was an odd one. He gave a sudden impatient gesture of the shoulders, sighed deeply, and turned to find Hercule Poirot standing at his elbow. In spite of himself he started. The two men looked at each other. Poirot steadily and unwaveringly and Derek with a kind of light-hearted defiance. There was a sneer behind the easy mockery of his tone when he spoke, raising his eyebrows slightly as he did so. 
"Rather a dear, isn't she?" he asked easily. 
His manner was perfectly natural. 
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "that describes Mademoiselle Katherine very well. It is very English, that phrase there, and Mademoiselle Katherine, she also is very English." 
Derek remained perfectly still without answering. 
"And yet she is sympathique, is it not so?" 
"Yes," said Derek, "there are not many like her." 
He spoke softly, almost as though to himself. Poirot nodded significantly. Then he leant towards the other and spoke in a different tone, a quiet, grave tone that was new to Derek Kettering. 
"You will pardon an old man, Monsieur, if he says to you something that you may consider impertinent. There is one of your English proverbs that I would quote to you. It says that 'it is well to be off with the old love, before being on with the new.'" 
Kettering turned on him angrily. "What the devil do you mean?" 
"You enrage yourself at me," said Poirot placidly. "I expected as much. As to what I mean - I mean, Monsieur, that there is a second car with a lady in it. If you turn your head you will see her." 
Derek spun around. His face darkened with anger. 
"Mirelle, damn her!" he muttered. "I will soon -" 
Poirot arrested the movement he was about to make. 
"Is it wise what you are about to do there?" he asked warningly. His eyes shone brightly with a green light in them. But Derek was past noticing the warning signs. In his manner he was completely off his guard. 
"I have broken with her utterly, and she knows it," cried Derek angrily. 
"You have broken with her, yes, but has she broken with you?" 
Derek gave a sudden harsh laugh. 
"She won't break with two million pounds if she can help it," he murmured brutally, "trust Mirelle for that." 
Poirot raised his eyebrows. 
"You have the outlook cynical," he murmured. 
"Have I?" There was no mirth in his sudden wide smile. "I have lived in the world long enough, M. Poirot, to know that all women are pretty much alike." His face softened suddenly. "All save one." 
He met Poirot's gaze defiantly. A look of alertness crept into his eyes, then faded again. "That one," he said, and jerked his head in the direction of Cap Martin. 
"Ah!" said Poirot. 
This quiescence was well calculated to provoke the impetuous temperament of the other. 
"I know what you are going to say," said Derek rapidly, "the kind of life I have led, the fact that I am not worthy of her. You will say that I have no right to think even of such a thing. You will say that it is not a case of giving a dog a bad name - I know that it is not decent to be speaking like this with my wife dead only a few days, and murdered at that." 
He paused for breath, and Poirot took advantage of the pause to remark in his plaintive tone. 
"But, indeed, I have not said anything at all." 
"But you will." 
"Eh?" said Poirot. 
"You will say that I have no earthly chance of marrying Katherine." 
"No," said Poirot, "I would not say that. Your reputation is bad, yes, but with women - never does that deter them. If you were a man of excellent character, of strict morality who had done nothing that he should not do, and - possibly everything that he should do - eh bien! then I should have grave doubts of your success. Moral worth, you understand, it is not romantic. It is appreciated, however, by widows." 
Derek Kettering stared at him, then he swung round on his heel and went up to the waiting car. 
Poirot looked after him with some interest. He saw the lovely vision lean out of the car and speak. 
Derek Kettering did not stop. He lifted his hat and passed straight on. 
"?a y est," said M. Hercule Poirot, "it is time, I think, that I return chez moi." 
He found the imperturbable George pressing trousers. 
"A pleasant day, Georges, somewhat fatiguing, but not without interest," he said. 
George received these remarks in his usual wooden fashion. 
"Indeed, sir." 
"The personality of a criminal, Georges, is an interesting matter. Many murderers are men of great personal charm." 
"I always heard, sir, that Dr Crippen was a pleasant-spoken gentleman. And yet he cut up his wife like so much mincemeat." 
"Your instances are always apt, Georges." 
The valet did not reply, and at that moment the telephone rang. Poirot took up the receiver. 
"'Allo - 'allo - yes, yes, it is Hercule Poirot who speaks." 
"This is Knighton. Will you hold the line a minute, M. Poirot? Mr Van Aldin would like to speak to you." 
There was a moment's pause, then the millionaire's voice came through. 
"Is that you, M. Poirot? I just wanted to tell you, Mason came to me now of her own accord. She has been thinking it over, and she says that she is almost certain that the man at Paris was Derek Kettering. There was something familiar about him at the time, she says, but at the minute she could not place it. She seems pretty certain now." 
"Ah," said Poirot, "thank you, M. Van Aldin. That advances us." 
He replaced the receiver, and stood for a minute or two with a very curious smile on his face. George had to speak to him twice before obtaining an answer. 
"Eh?" said Poirot. "What is that that you say to me?" 
"Are you lunching here, sir, or are you going out?" 
"Neither," said Poirot, "I shall go to bed and take a tisane. The expected has happened, and when the expected happens, it always causes me emotion." 

第二十四章 波洛的忠告
    百万富翁迷惑不解地看着波洛。过了很久他才恢复常态。侦探狡滑地看着他。
    “怎么样，事情又呈现出另外一种面貌了吧？”
    “那是复制品？”
    百万富翁弯下身来。
    “您是否最初就有这个想法？您是不是从来就不相信罗歇伯爵是凶手？”
    “至少，我对此有怀疑。”波洛平静地回答道。“我从来就不认为伯爵是一个抢劫杀人犯。这不符合他的性格特点。”
    “那么说，他只是为了宝石？”
    “这是不言而喻的事。我认为事情是这样的：伯爵知道了这些宝石的下落，因此就拟定了一套相应的计划。他编造了一段有关宝石的浪漫的故事，以便让您的女儿把宝石带在身边。他自己制造了一个非常相似的复制品，企图在适当的时机偷天换日，把原物弄到手。如果那样，您女儿一定要在很久以后才会发现这个骗局，也只有到那时，她才有可能去控告他。不过，我自己不太相信她会那样做。伯爵那里一定有您女儿的很多信件，是啊，他一切都做得很妙，可能他不止一次的干过这种欺骗勾当了。”
    “您说的这一切都是当然可信的。”冯•阿尔丁不得不承认。
    “首先，这种行为是同伯爵这个人的品格相一致的。”
    “但事实上究竟发生了什么事，波洛先生？请您告诉我！”
    波洛耸了一下肩膀。
    “有人在伯爵之前已经捷足先登了。”
    沉默了好一阵子。冯•阿尔丁的脑子在激烈地思考着。之后他以商量的口气问道：
    “波洛先生，您从什么时候开始怀疑我的女婿？”
    “从一开始。动机和条件都存在。每个人都自然地认为，在您女儿的包厢里的那个人是罗歇伯爵。起初，我也这样认为。有一次，您偶尔提到，说您把伯爵当成了您的女婿。这说明，这两个人的体形和头发的颜色有些相似。这给我提供了一条非常值得注意的线索。女仆不久前才到您女儿那里，凯特林先生的外貌她几乎说不清楚，因为，他不住在自己的夫人那里，而且也很少去看她。另外，火车上的那个人还尽量不让人家看到他的脸部。”
    “您相信，是他杀的？”冯•阿尔丁悲痛地问道。
    波洛站了起来，挥着手。
    “不，不，我从没有这样说过。这只是一种可能——除此之外，别无他意。由于经济方面的原因，他现在已经陷于崩溃的边缘。此举是他的一条出路。”
    “但是，他为什么要把宝石拿走？”
    “是为了造成一种假象，让人觉得似乎这个案子只是一般的盗窃案。如果他不把宝石拿走，那么人们一开始就会怀疑是他了。”
    “他是怎样处理这些宝石的呢？”
    “尼扎有一个人，我们已经知道了一些他的情况，就是昨天在网球场上我指给您看的那位古玩商。”
    他站起身来，冯•阿尔丁也同时站起来。冯•阿尔丁把手搭在小老头的肩膀上，声音有些颤抖地说道：“希望您能把杀害露丝的凶手侦查出来。”
    “请您把事情包在赫库勒•波洛身上。”侦探以自豪的神态回答道。但是，当他走到大厅的时候，他的自信心又有点渺茫了。
    “一切都进行得非常顺利，但是，毕竟我们还没有找到凶手。”他自言自语道。
    在旅馆大门口他突然收住了脚步。一辆汽车驶到近旁。里面坐着卡泰丽娜•格蕾。
德里克•凯特林靠近了汽车，似乎很想同女士搭话。一分钟之后，汽车开走了。德里克深深地叹了一口长气，回转身来正与波洛打了个照面。他不由自主地停了一下。两人相互凝视着，波洛平静而自信，而德里克却是满面烦恼而暴躁的神色。
    “很可爱的女子，是吗？”德里克若无其事地说道。
    波洛神态自若。
    “正是。”波洛慢腾腾地说。“很可爱，甚至是一个非常可爱的女子。”
    “这样的女人现在可不多。”
    德里克说这话时声音很低，仿佛是说给自己听。波洛点点头。然后他走到德里克的身旁，以一种德里克从未熟悉的声调说道：
    “如果，我的话说得失礼，那么请您原谅我这个老头，凯特林先生。有一句英国谚语说：‘前缘未断，莫结新欢’。”
    凯特林愤愤地看着他。
    “见鬼，您这是什么意思？”
    “我的话您听起来很刺耳。”波洛心平气和地说。“我也料到会是这样。为了您明白我的话的含义，请您转过身来，凯特林先生，您会看到另一辆汽车上也坐着一位女士。”
    德里克猛然一回头。他的脸立即气得发红。“该死的米蕾。”他咀咒着。“我有时真想……”
    波洛打断了他的话。
    “您那是聪明的做法吗？”他严肃地问道。他眼里闪着一丝绿色的光芒。但是德里克没有看出这眼光里的警告信号。他如果是在气头上，就是丢掉自己的脑袋也在所不惜。
    “我同她已经了结了，这点她知道。”
    “可是，她同您是否也已经了结了？”
    德里克嘿嘿地笑着。
    “她现在正提防着，别让那二百万英镑白白跑掉。”他一针见血地指出。“您去依靠米蕾好了！”
    “您真能嘲弄人，亲爱的朋友。”波洛低声说。
    “我真能嘲弄人？”德里克苦笑着说。“我在这个世界上已经活得够了，波洛先生，我看女人都是一类货色。”他的面部突然现出无可奈何的神情。“都一样，只有一个人是例外，就是她。”他把目光转向卡泰丽娜的汽车驶去的方向。
    “噢，您是说她。”
    波洛说话的语调异常平静，而这只会更加激起这位年轻人的满腹怒气。
    “我知道您想说什么！”他的声音有点沙哑。“您是想说，我过的这种生活，而眼睛又盯上了这样一个女人，这是罪孽。您是想说，我的老婆几天前才被人杀害，现在正长眠在地下，我应该感到羞愧。”
    “可是，这些话我连一句都没说过。”
    “您是这样想的。”
    “噢？”
    “您说句真话，难道我就再不能把卡泰丽娜叫作我的心人吗？”
    “这我可不能说。”波洛郑重其事地说。“当然，您的名声很坏，但正因为如此，才对女人有吸引力。相反，如果您具有高度的教养，一生中从来没有在忠贞的道路上走错一步，那您就不会有这个机会了。”
    但是，德里克却没有再去听他讲些什么。他急忙吹去帽子上的灰尘，快步向米蕾的汽车方向走去。侦探还看到，这个舞女如何把一束异国的鲜花从窗口递出来。
    回到家的时候，正看见他那仪表堂堂的仆人在忙着熨衣服。
    “今天过得不错，乔治，虽然有点疲倦，但决不是乏味的。”他说道。
    “是这样，先生。”
    “凶手到底是谁？乔治，这仍然是个有趣的题目。有些凶手还是很有教养的人。”
    “我听过，先生，我听说克里平医生是受人敬重的一位绅士，可是尽管如此，他还是把自己的夫人剁成了肉末。”
    “你举的例子总是那么恰当。”
    乔治没有吱声。电话铃响了，波洛拿起了话筒。
    “喂！是，我是赫库勒•波洛。”
    “我是奈顿。冯•阿尔丁先生想同您讲话。”随后就听出了百万富翁的声音。
    “您是波洛先生？我只想告诉您一件事。女仆马松又到我这里来了一趟。她对我说，她现在几乎可以肯定，以巴黎上火车的那个人就是德里克•凯特林。她说，她可以立即就认出是德里克。但是，开始的时候她没有想到会是这样。现在她对此已确信无疑。”
    “谢谢。”波洛说，“这样的话，就又把我们向前推了一步。”
    他把话筒放下，站在电话机旁边若有所思地微笑了一会儿。乔治叫了他两次，他都没听见。
    “噢，噢。”他心不在焉地嘟哝着。“你是想干什么来着？”
    “您是在家吃午饭，还是到外面吃？”
    “也不在家吃，也不在外面吃。”波洛说道。“我想到床上躺一会儿，再喝了杯菊花茶。我期待的时刻已经到来，要是这样，那我就有点激动。”
Chapter 25  合理的建议(Defiance)
Chapter 25  DEFIANCE 
As Derek Kettering passed the car, Mirelle leant out. 
"Dereek - I must speak to you for a moment -" 
But, lifting his hat, Derek passed straight on without stopping. 
When he got back to his hotel, the concierge detached himself from his wooden pen and accosted him. 
"A gentleman is waiting to see you, Monsieur." 
"Who is it?" asked Derek. 
"He did not give me his name, Monsieur, but he said his business with you was important, and that he would wait." 
"Where is he?" 
"In the little salon, Monsieur. He preferred it to the lounge he said, as being more private." 
Derek nodded, and turned his steps in that direction. 
The small salon was empty except for the visitor, who rose and bowed with easy foreign grace as Derek entered. As it chanced, Derek had only seen the Comte de la Roche once, but found no difficulty in recognizing that aristocratic nobleman, and he frowned angrily. Of all the consummate impertinence! 
"The Comte de la Roche, is it not?" he said. "I am afraid you have wasted your time in coming here." 
"I hope not," said the Comte agreeably. 
His white teeth glittered. 
The Comte's charm of manner was usually wasted on his own sex. 
All men, without exception, disliked him heartily. Derek Kettering was already conscious of a distinct longing to kick the Count bodily out of the room. It was only the realization that scandal would be unfortunate just at present that restrained him. He marveled anew that Ruth could have cared, as she certainly had, for this fellow. A bounder, and worse than a bounder. He looked with distaste at the Count's exquisitely manicured hands. 
"I called," said the Comte, "on a little matter of business. It would be advisable I think, for you to listen to me." 
Again Derek felt strongly tempted to kick him out, but again he refrained. The hint of a threat was not lost upon him, but he interpreted it in his own way. There were various reasons why it would be better to hear what the Comte had to say. 
He sat down and drummed impatiently with his fingers on the table. 
"Well," he said sharply, "what is it?" 
It was not the Comte's way to come out into the open at once. 
"Allow me, Monsieur, to offer you my condolences on your recent bereavement." 
"If I have any impertinence from you," said Derek quietly, "you go out by that window." 
He nodded his head towards the window beside the Comte, and the latter moved uneasily. 
"I will send my friends to you, Monsieur, if that is what you desire," he said haughtily. 
Derek laughed. 
"A duel, eh? My dear Count, I don't take you seriously enough for that. But I should take a good deal of pleasure in kicking you down the Promenade des Anglais." 
The Comte was not at all anxious to take offence. He merely raised his eyebrows and murmured: 
"The English are barbarians." 
"Well," said Derek, "what is it you have to say to me?" 
"I will be frank," said the Comte, "I will come immediately to the point. That will suit us both, will it not?" 
Again he smiled in his agreeable fashion. 
"Go on," said Derek curtly. 
The Comte looked at the ceiling, joined the tips of his fingers together, and murmured softly: 
"You have come into a lot of money, Monsieur." 
"What the devil has that got to do with you?" 
The Comte drew himself up. 
"Monsieur, my name is tarnished! I am suspected - accused - of foul crime." 
"The accusation does not come from me," said Derek coldly, "as an interested party I have not expressed any opinion." 
"I am innocent," said the Comte, "I swear before heaven -" he raised his hand to heaven - "that I am innocent." 
"M. Carrege is, I believe, the Juge d'Instruction in charge of the case," hinted Derek politely. 
The Comte took no notice. 
"Not only am I unjustly suspected of a crime that I did not commit, but I am also in serious need of money." 
He coughed softly and suggestively. 
Derek rose to his feet. 
"I was waiting for that," he said softly, "you blackmailing brute! I will not give you a penny. My wife is dead, and no scandal that you can make can touch her now. She wrote you foolish letters, I dare say. If I were to buy them from you for a round sum at this minute, I am pretty certain that you would manage to keep one or two back; and I will tell you this, M. de la Roche, blackmailing is an ugly word both in England and in France. That is my answer to you. Good afternoon." 
"One moment -" the Comte stretched out a hand as Derek was turning to leave the room. "You are mistaken, Monsieur. You are completely mistaken. I am, I hope, a 'gentleman.'" 
Derek laughed. 
"Any letters that a lady might write to me I should hold sacred." He flung back his head with a beautiful air of nobility. "The proposition that I was putting before you was of quite a different nature. I am, as I said, extremely short of money, and my conscience might impel me to go to the police with certain information." 
Derek came slowly back into the room. 
"What do you mean?" 
The Comte's agreeable smile flashed forth once more. 
"Surely it is not necessary to go into details," he purred. "Seek whom the crime benefits, they say, don't they? As I said just now, you have come into a lot of money lately." 
Derek laughed. 
"If that is all -" he said contemptuously. 
But the Comte was shaking his head. "But it is not all, my dear sir. I should not come to you unless I had much more precise and detailed information than that. It is not agreeable, Monsieur, to be arrested and tried for murder." 
Derek came close up to him. His face expressed such furious anger that involuntarily the Comte drew back a pace or two. 
"Are you threatening me?" the young man demanded angrily. 
"You shall hear nothing more of the matter," the Comte assured him. 
"Of all the colossal bluffs that I have ever struck -" 
The Comte raised a white hand. 
"You are wrong. It is not a bluff. To convince you I will tell you this. My information was obtained from a certain lady. It is she who holds the irrefutable proof that you committed the murder." 
"She? Who?" 
"Mademoiselle Mirelle." 
Derek drew back as though struck. 
"Mirelle," he muttered. 
The Comte was quick to press what he took to be his advantage. 
"A bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs," he said. "I ask no more." 
"Eh?" said Derek absently. 
"I was saying, Monsieur, that a bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs would satisfy my - conscience." 
Derek seemed to recollect himself. He looked earnestly at the Comte. 
"You would like my answer now?" 
"If you please, Monsieur." 
"Then here it is. You can go to the devil. See?" 
Leaving the Comte too astonished to speak, Derek turned on his heel and swung out of the room. 
Once out of the hotel he hailed a taxi and drove to Mirelle's hotel. On inquiring, he learned that the dancer had just come in. Derek gave the concierge his card. 
"Take this up to Mademoiselle and ask if she will see me." 
A very brief interval elapsed, and then Derek was bidden to follow a chasseur. 
A wave of exotic perfume assailed Derek's nostrils as he stepped over the threshold of the dancer's apartments. The room was filled with carnations, orchids, and mimosa. Mirelle was standing by the window in a peignoir of foamy lace. 
She came towards him, her hands outstretched. 
"Derek - you have come to me. I knew you would." 
He put aside the clinging arms and looked down on her sternly. 
"Why did you send the Comte de la Roche to me?" 
She looked at him in astonishment, which he took to be genuine. 
"I? Send the Comte de la Roche to you? But for what?" 
"Apparently - for blackmail," said Derek grimly. 
Again she stared. Then suddenly she smiled and nodded her head. 
"Of course. It was to be expected. It is what he would do, ce type là. I might have known it. No, indeed, Dereek, I did not send him." 
He looked at her piercingly, as though seeking to read her mind. 
"I will tell you," said Mirelle. "I am ashamed, but I will tell you. The other day you comprehend, I was mad with rage, quite mad -" she made an eloquent gesture. "My temperament, it is not a patient one. I want to be revenged on you, and so I go to the Comte de la Roche, and I tell him to go to the police and say so and so, and so and so. But have no fear, Dereek. Not completely did I lose my head; the proof rests with me alone. The police can do nothing without my word, you understand? And now - now?" 
She nestled up close to him, looking up at him with melting eyes. 
He thrust her roughly away from him. She stood there, her breast heaving, her eyes narrowing to a catlike slit. 
"Be careful, Dereek, be very careful. You have come back to me, have you not?" 
"I shall never come back to you," said Derek steadily. 
"Ah!" 
More than ever the dancer looked like a cat. Her eyelids flickered. 
"So there is another woman? The one with whom you lunched that day. Eh, am I right?" 
"I intend to ask that lady to marry me. You might as well know." 
"That prim Englishwoman! Do you think that I will support that for one moment? Ah, no." Her beautiful lithe body quivered. 
"Listen, Dereek, do you remember that conversation we had in London? You said the only thing that could save you was the death of your wife. You regretted that she was so healthy. Then the idea of an accident came to your brain. And more than an accident." 
"I suppose," said Derek contemptuously, "that it was this conversation that you repeated to the Comte de la Roche." 
Mirelle laughed. 
"Am I a fool? Could the police do anything with a vague story like that? See - I will give you a last chance. You shall give up this Englishwoman. You shall return to me. And then, cheri, never, never will I breathe -" 
"Breathe what?" 
She laughed softly. "You thought no one saw you -" 
"What do you mean?" 
"As I say, you thought no one saw you - but I saw you, Dereek, mon ami; I saw you coming out of the compartment of Madame your wife just before the train got into Lyons that night. And I know more than that. I know that when you came out of her compartment she was dead." 
He stared at her. Then, like a man in a dream he turned very slowly and went out of the room, swaying slightly as he walked. 

第二十五章 合理的建议
    “德里克，我有事要同你谈谈。”
    可是德里克却从米蕾的汽车旁走过，没有停步。象往常一样，他只是脱帽表示致意。
    在旅馆门口，看门人告诉他说，有一位先生等着见他。
    “是谁？”德里克问道。
    “他没有通报姓名，先生。但是他说，有要事同您谈。”
    “他在哪？”
    “在小客厅，先生。他说在那里谈话可以不受干扰，比大客厅方便些。”
    德里克点点头，接着就进了小客厅，里面只有一位来访者，此人以早就酝酿好了的亲切态度迎了上去。虽然德里克只见过罗歇伯爵一面，但是他立即就认出了这位贵族阶层的成员。他皱起眉头，摸了一下嘴巴。
    这个人是多么厚颜无耻，竟然还来拜访他。
    “您是罗歇伯爵，是吧？您到这里来，恐怕是要白辛苦一趟了。”
    “我不相信。”伯爵微笑着说道，露出一排雪白的牙齿。
    但是伯爵的这种风度和亲热劲在同性伙伴面前却失去了应有的效力。男人们都受不了他这一套。德里克早就想一脚把他踢出门外。只是考虑到，当前再惹起一场风波并不好，所以才克制住了自己。他在想，露丝为什么会喜欢上这样一个人，喜欢这样一个诈骗能手！他对来访者修剪得十分讲究的手指甲睨视一眼，感到特别恶心。
    “我想同您谈一谈。”伯爵开口了，“谈一笔小小的生意。我相信，只要是听我的话，对您是有益处的。”
    德里克耐心地听着，手指敲打着桌面。“请吧，”他严肃地说，“是一笔什么生意呢？”
    直截了当的谈话，这不是伯爵的风格。
    “首先请允许我，先生，对您近来遭到的巨大损失表示同情。”
    “你要是再无礼，”德里克低声说道，“我就把你扔出去。”
    伯爵有一幅厚脸皮，他只是嘟哝着说道：
    “这些英国佬都是些土匪。”
    “快说，你到底要同我谈什么？”
    “我的话将非常坦率，”伯爵保证道，“我马上就谈正题。”他停了片刻接着说：
    “您一夜之间成了百万富翁，先生。”
    “见鬼，你这是什么意思？”
    伯爵站起身来。“我的徽号受到了玷污。有人给我加上了可怕的罪名。”
    “罪名可不是我给你加上的！”德里克冷冷地回答说。“因为我也同此案有关，所以我什么意见都没有表示过。”
    “我没有罪！”伯爵大叫着。“我向苍天起誓，我是无罪的。”
    “据我所知，这个案子是卡雷热先生主办的，就是那位侦察官。”德里克毫无表情地说道。
    伯爵没有去的德里克的话。“我被不公正地加了罪名，另外我现在手头很拮据。”
    德里克站起身来。
    “我早就等着你这一着了。”他大声说道。“你这个卑鄙的勒索者，我不会给你一文钱！我妻子已经死了，诬陷之词她已经听不到了。如果你想把死者生前给你写的信卖给我，那么我只能对你说：勒索是不道德的！不管是在英国或是法国，都是不道德的！这就是我的话，再见。”
    德里克已经走到门口了。可是伯爵象是要发誓似的，举起手拦住了他。“您误解了，我的先生，我是一位绅士。”
    德里克大笑起来。
    “一个女人给我写的信，那是神圣的东西。我要同您谈的生意完全是另外一码事。
正象我同您说的那样，我的经济状况不佳，而我的责任感又有可以把我带到警察局，去告诉他们某些情报。”
    德里克向他走近一步。
    “您说这话是什么意思？”
    伯爵意味深长地微笑起来。
    “难道真需要我把细节都说出来？我察觉到，您已经陷入了困境。”
    “如果这就是你想对我说的一切……”
    可是伯爵却摇着头说道：“不，我的先生，这还不是全部。我想，如果因为谋杀而被捕并受到审判，这对您来说是件不太愉快的事。”
    德里克已经靠近了伯爵。他的脸上充满了愤怒，使对方吓得不由自主地退了一步。
德里克忍住怒气压低嗓门说道：
    “我见过多少无耻的诈骗行为，但是，我还从未领教过象你这种无耻的诈骗。”
    “您弄错了。”伯爵表示惋惜地说道。“这不是诈骗，我要是对您说了，您可能就会相信我的情报来源于某一女士。这位女士可以无情地证明，谋杀犯就是您。”
    “这位女士是谁？”
    “米蕾小姐。”
    德里克向后退了一步，仿佛是挨了当头一棒。
    “米蕾？”他结结巴巴地说道。
    伯爵急于利用自己有利局面。
    “做为小小的代价，十万法郎。”他说。“这就是我所要求的一切。”
    “你说什么？”德里克魂不附体地问道。
    “我再重复一遍，做为小小的代价，十万法郎，这样可以对得起我的良心。”
    德里克全身的肌肉都绷紧了。
    “你是想让我立即回答你？”
    “我请您立即回答。”
    “见鬼去吧！这就是我的回答。”
    屋子里只剩下伯爵一个人了。他惊骇地摇摇头。真的，他对当今世界再也无法理解了。
    德里克急步走下楼梯，叫了一辆出租汽车。几分钟后，他的汽车已停在米蕾下榻的旅馆门前。从看门人那里知道，舞女在几分钟前刚刚回家，他立即递出了自己的名片。
    过了一会儿走出一个仆人：“小姐请您上楼。”
    一走进舞女的客厅，就嗅到一股刺鼻的香水味。房间里摆满了丁香、兰花和含羞草。
米蕾穿着一件用香味边编成的化装外衣，站在窗前。她伸出手来迎接德里克。“你来了，德里克，我知道，你会来的。”
    他挣脱开她的手，凝视着她。
    “为什么把罗歇伯爵打发到我那里去？”
    “我打发伯爵到你那里？为什么？”
    “明目张胆的勒索！”
    她出神地看了他半天。然后突然放声大笑起来，还点了点头。
    “当然，这种人是会干出这种事来的！不，德里克，我没有让他去，真的没有。”
    他打算猜测一下，这个女人的白净额头里到底在想什么。
    “我把一切供认了吧。”米蕾说，“虽然我感到羞愧。我当时是气疯了！我想报复你一下。所以我才到了伯爵那里，让他到警察局去告你。但是，你别怕，我还没有傻到那种程度。证据我可以撤回。没有我的证据警察不会把你怎样。”
    她的身子靠近德里克，眼神里充满了热情和殷勤。
    他把米蕾粗暴地拉到身前。她的胸脯一起一伏，眼睛象猫似的眯成了一条线。
    “你要小心，要小心！你不是已经回到我这里来了吗？……或是你不愿意回来？”
    “我永远不会再回到你这里来。”德里克坚定地答道。
    “啊！”
    她现在活象一头凶猛的小野兽。她的眼睛痉挛地闪着光。
    “你现在另有新欢，你同她一道吃过饭！我说的对吗？”
    “对。我想向这位女士求婚，我要娶她作我的妻子。我没有理由在你面前隐瞒这一点。”
    “我决不允许你这样做！你永远也别想得逞！”她那美丽而柔软的身子在颤抖着。
“请你回想一下咱俩在伦敦的谈话。你当时说，唯一能救你的办法是你老婆的死！你还抱怨说，你老婆身体非常健康。以后你就产生了一个想法——不幸事故。”
    “就凭这一点。”德里克鄙视地说道，“就凭这一点你去控告我？”
    米蕾大笑起来。
    “你认为我就这么傻？单凭这一段小故事警察局是无从下手的。听着，德里克，我给你最后一个机会。你快把那个英国女人忘掉。只要你回到我这里来，那么他们就永远别想从我的嘴巴里套出一个字，关于……”
    “关于什么？”
    她嘿嘿一笑。“你认为，那时谁也没有发现你？”
    “你说的是什么？”
    “我看到你了，德里克。当你从你老婆的包厢里出来的时候，也就是就，当火车刚刚开进里昂站的时候。我还知道更多的东西。我还知道，在你离开你老婆的时候，她已经死了。”
    他呆住了。然后他转身离开了房间，慢慢地……摇摇晃晃……象一个梦游者。
Chapter 26  警告(A Warning)
Chapter 26  A WARNING 
"And so it is," said Poirot, "that we are the good friends and have no secrets from each other." 
Katherine turned her head to look at him. There was something in his voice, some undercurrent of seriousness, which she had not heard before. 
They were sitting in the gardens of Monte Carlo. Katherine had come over with her friends, and they had run into Knighton and Poirot almost immediately on arrival. Lady Tamplin had seized upon Knighton and had overwhelmed him with reminiscences, most of which Katherine had a faint suspicion were invented. They had moved away together, Lady Tamplin with her hand on the young man's arm. Knighton had thrown a couple of glances back over his shoulder, and Poirot's eyes twinkled a little as he saw them. 
"Of course we are friends," said Katherine. 
"From the beginning we have been sympathetic to each other," mused Poirot. 
"When you told me that a 'roman policier' occurs in real life." 
"And I was right, was I not?" he challenged her, with an emphatic forefinger. "Here we are, plunged in the middle of one. That is natural for me - it is my métier - but for you it is different. Yes," he added in a reflective tone, "for you it is different." 
She looked sharply at him. It was as though he were warning her, pointing out to her some menace that she had not seen. 
"Why do you say that I am in the middle of it? It is true that I had that conversation with Mrs. Kettering just before she died, but now - now all that is over. I am not connected with the case any more." 
"Ah, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, can we ever say, 'I have finished with this or that'?" 
Katherine turned defiantly round to face him. 
"What is it?" she asked. "You are trying to tell me something - to convey it to me rather. But I am not clever at taking hints. I would much rather that you said anything you have to say straight out." 
Poirot looked at her sadly. "Ah, mais c'est anglais ?a," he murmured, 
"everything in black and white, everything clear cut and well defined. But life, it is not like that, Mademoiselle. There are the things that are not yet, but which cast their shadow before." 
He dabbed his brow with a very large silk pocket-handkerchief and murmured: "Ah, but it is that I become poetical. Let us, as you say, speak only of facts. And, speaking of facts, tell me what you think of Major Knighton." 
"I like him very much indeed," said Katherine warmly; "he is quite delightful." 
Poirot sighed. 
"What is the matter?" asked Katherine. 
"You reply so heartily," said Poirot. "If you had said in an indifferent voice, 'Oh, quite nice,' eh bien, do you know I should have been better pleased." 
Katharine did not answer. She felt slightly uncomfortable. Poirot went on dreamily: "And yet, who knows? With les femmes, they have so many ways of concealing what they feel - and heartiness is perhaps as good a way as any other." 
He sighed. 
"I don't see -" began Katherine. 
He interrupted her. 
"You do not see why I am being so impertinent, Mademoiselle? I am an old man and now and then - not very often - I come across someone whose welfare is dear to me. We are friends, 
Mademoiselle. You have said so yourself. And it is just this - I should like to see you happy." 
Katherine stared very straight in front of her. She had a cretonne sunshade with her, and with its point she traced little designs in the gravel at her feet. 
"I have asked you a question about Major Knighton, now I will ask you another. Do you like Mr Derek Kettering?" 
"I hardly know him," said Katherine. 
"That is not an answer, that." 
"I think it is." 
He looked at her, struck by something in her tone. Then he nodded his head gravely and slowly. 
"Perhaps you are right, Mademoiselle. See you, I who speak to you have seen much of the world, and I know that there are two things which are true. A good man may be ruined by his love for a bad woman - but the other way holds good also. A bad man may equally be ruined by his love for a good woman." 
Katherine looked up sharply. 
"When you say ruined -" 
"I mean from his point of view. One must be wholehearted in crime as in everything else." 
"You are trying to warn me," said Katherine in a low voice. 
"Against whom?" 
"I cannot look into your heart, Mademoiselle; I do not think you would let me if I could. I will just say this. There are men who have a strange fascination for women." 
"The Comte de la Roche," said Katherine, with a smile. 
"There are others - more dangerous than the Comte de la Roche. They have qualities that appeal - recklessness, daring, audacity. You are fascinated, Mademoiselle; I see that, but I think that it is no more than that. I hope so. This man of whom I speak, the emotion he feels is genuine enough, but all the same -" 
"Yes?" 
He got up and stood looking down at her. Then he spoke in a low, distinct voice: 
"You could, perhaps, love a thief, Mademoiselle, but not a murderer." 
He wheeled sharply away on that and left her sitting there. 
He heard the little gasp she gave and paid no attention. He had said what he meant to say. He left her there to digest that last unmistakable phrase. 
Derek Kettering, coming out of the Casino into the sunshine, saw her sitting alone on the bench and joined her. 
"I have been gambling," he said, with a light laugh, "gambling unsuccessfully. I have lost everything - everything, that is, that I have with me." 
Katherine looked at him with a troubled face. She was aware at once of something new in his manner, some hidden excitement that betrayed itself in a hundred different infinitesimal signs. 
"I should think you were always a gambler. The spirit of gambling appeals to you." 
"Every day and in every way a gambler? You are about right. Don't you find something stimulating in it? To risk all on one throw - there is nothing like it." 
Calm and stolid as she believed herself to be, Katherine felt a faint answering thrill. 
"I want to talk to you," went on Derek, "and who knows when I may have another opportunity? There is an idea going about that I murdered my wife - no, please don't interrupt. It is absurd, of course." He paused for a minute or two, then went on, speaking more deliberately. "In dealing with the police and Local Authorities here I have had to pretend to - well - a certain decency. I prefer not to pretend with you. I meant to marry money. I was on the look out for money when I first met Ruth Van Aldin. She had the look of a slim Madonna about her, and I - well - I made all sorts of good resolutions - and was bitterly disillusioned. My wife was in love with another man when she married me. She never cared for me in the least. Oh, I am not complaining; the thing was a perfectly respectable bargain. She wanted Leconbury and I wanted money. The trouble arose simply through Ruth's American blood. Without caring a pin for me, she would have liked me to be continually dancing attendance. Time and again she as good as told me that she had bought me and that I belonged to her. The result was that I behaved abominably to her. My father-in- law will tell you that, and he is quite right. At the time of Ruth's death, I was faced with absolute disaster." He laughed suddenly. 
"One is faced with absolute disaster when one is up against a man like Rufus Van Aldin." 
"And then?" asked Katherine in a low voice. 
"And then," Derek shrugged his shoulders, "Ruth was murdered - very providentially." 
He laughed, and the sound of his laugh hurt Katherine. She winced. 
"Yes," said Derek. "that wasn't in very good taste. But it is quite true. Now I am going to tell you something more. From the very first moment I saw you I knew you were the only woman in the world for me. I was - afraid of you. I thought you might bring me bad luck." 
"Bad luck?" said Katherine sharply. 
He stared at her. "Why do you repeat it like that? What have you got in your mind?" 
"I was thinking of things that people have said to me." 
Derek grinned suddenly. "They will say a lot to you about me, my dear, and most of it will be true. Yes, and worse things too - things that I shall never tell you. I have been a gambler always - and I have taken some long odds. I shan't confess to you now or at any other time. The past is done with. There is one thing I do wish you to believe. I swear to you solemnly that I did not kill my wife." 
He said the words earnestly enough, yet there was somehow a theatrical touch about them. He met her troubled gaze and went on: 
"I know. I lied the other day. It was my wife's compartment I went into." 
"Ah," said Katherine. 
"It's difficult to explain just why I went in, but I'll try. I did it on an impulse. You see, I was more or less spying on my wife. I kept out of sight on the train. Mirelle had told me that my wife was meeting the Comte de la Roche in Paris. Well, as far as I had seen, that was not so. I felt ashamed, and I thought suddenly that it would be a good thing to have it out with her once and for all, so I pushed open the door and went in." 
He paused. 
"Yes," said Katherine gently. 
"Ruth was lying on the bunk asleep - her face was turned away from me - I could only see the back of her head. I could have waked her up, of course. But suddenly I felt a reaction. What, after all, was there to say that we hadn't both of us said a hundred times before? She looked so peaceful lying there. I left the compartment as quietly as I could." 
"Why lie about it to the police?" asked Katherine. 
"Because I'm not a complete fool. I've realized from the beginning that, from the point of view of motive, I'm the ideal murderer. If I once admitted that I had been in her compartment just before she was murdered, I'd do for myself once and for all." 
"I see." 
Did she see? She could not have told herself. She was feeling the magnetic attraction of Derek's personality, but there was something in her that resisted, that held back... 
"Katherine -" 
"Yes?" 
"You know that I care for you. Do - do you care for me?" 
"I - I don't know." 
Weakness there. Either she knew or she did not know. 
If - if only - 
She cast a look round desperately as though seeking something that would help her. A soft colour rose in her cheeks as a tall fair man with a limp came hurrying along the path towards them - Major Knighton. 
There was relief and an unexpected warmth in her voice as she greeted him. 
Derek stood up scowling, his face black as a thundercloud. 
"Lady Tamplin having a flutter?" he said easily. "I must join her and give her the benefit of my system." 
He swung round on his heel and left them together. Katherine sat down again. Her heart was beating rapidly and unevenly, but as she sat there talking commonplaces to the quiet, rather shy man beside her, her self-command came back. 
Then she realized with a shock that Knighton also was laying bare his heart, much as Derek had done, but in a very different manner. 
He was shy and stammering. The words came haltingly with no eloquence to back them. 
"From the first moment I saw you - I - I ought not to have spoken so soon - but Mr Van Aldin may leave here any day, and I might not have another chance. I know you can't care for me so soon - that is impossible. I dare say it is presumption anyway on my part. I have private means, but not very much - no, please don't answer now. I know what your answer would be. But in case I went away suddenly I just wanted you to know - that I care." 
She was shaken - touched. His manner was so gentle and appealing. 
"There's one thing more. I just wanted to say that if - if you are ever in trouble, anything that I can do -" 
He took her hand in his, held it tightly for a minute, then dropped it and walked rapidly away towards the Casino without looking back. 
Katherine sat perfectly still, looking after him. Derek Kettering - Richard Knighton - two men so different - so very different. There was something kind about Knighton, kind and trustworthy. As to Derek - Then suddenly Katherine had a very curious sensation. She felt that she was no longer sitting alone on the seat in the Casino gardens, but that someone was standing beside her, and that that someone was the dead woman, Ruth Kettering. She had a further impression that Ruth wanted - badly - to tell her something. The impression was so curious, so vivid, that it could not be driven away. She felt absolutely certain that the spirit of Ruth Kettering was trying to convey something of vital importance to her. The impression faded. Katherine got up, trembling a little. What was it that Ruth Kettering had wanted so badly to say? 

第二十六章 警告
    “我还是这样认为，”波洛说道，“我们是好朋友，彼此之间是无话不谈的。”
    在他的话音里有一种低沉而严肃的语调，卡泰丽娜还从来没有听过他的这种语调。
    他们坐在蒙特卡洛的一个公园里。坦普林女士又把奈顿捕捉到手，奈顿回味往事又动了心，看来奈顿又将成为她的新欢。她同这个青年人消失在公园里的小林荫路上。
    “当然，我们是朋友。”卡泰丽娜说道。“您还记得吗，那时您对我说，在实际生活中也有象侦探小说一样的事？”
    “怎么？难道我没有说到点子上吗？您已经成为这部小说的中心人物了。”
    她以敏锐的目光看了波洛一眼。她似乎从波洛的话语中得到了一种无形的警告，告诉她面临着一种危险，而她至今仍未察觉到这种危险。
    “您为什么说我已经成了这部小说的中心人物？我同这个案子是毫不相干的。”
    “难道您能说：‘我同这个或那个人毫不相干？’”
    “亲爱的朋友，您到底是指什么？我发觉您好象是在暗示我，可是我又没有猜谜语的天才。请您把心里所想的全盘托出来吧。”
    波洛很犹豫地看着她。“天啊，真是英国人的脾气！”他小声说道。“你们岛国人心中只有黑白之分。可是生活却完全是另一种样子。生活中有些东西可能还没有露头，但是已经看到了他们的影子。”
    他用手帕使劲地擦了一下额头，慢悠悠地说道：“我相信，我说得似乎有点玄乎。
我们还是回到事实上来吧。比如说，请您告诉我，您喜欢奈顿少校吗？”
    “我很喜欢他。”卡泰丽娜热情地说道，“他很迷人。”
    波洛叹了一口气。
    “您怎么啦？”卡泰丽娜问道。
    “您的回答是那样的衷心而热情。”波洛说道。“如果您只是心不在焉地回答说：‘嗯，他很好，’那么我就更加高兴一点。”
    卡泰丽娜没有答话。她感到心里有点不舒适。波洛很浪漫地继续说道：
    “可是，谁知道会怎样。女人有许多花招把自己的感情隐藏起来，忠诚可能就是其中的一种花招。”他又叹了一口气。
    “我一点都不懂……”卡泰丽娜傻乎乎地盯着他说。
    她的话被打断了。
    “我是个老头，一会儿到这里来，一会儿又到那里去。有时，但不是经常，遇到某一个人，他的幸福和命运总是挂在我的心上。我们是朋友，您刚刚说过，我们是朋友。
因此，我非常希望您能够幸福。”
    卡泰丽娜凝视着远方。她用伞尖在地面上画着自己的脚形。
    “我已经向您提了一个关于奈顿少校的问题。我现在还要问您点什么。您喜欢德里克•凯特林先生吗？”
    “我还不了解他。”
    “这不是回答。”
    “我认为，我是喜欢他的。”
    他看着卡泰丽娜。从她的声音里几乎察觉不出什么东西。波洛慢慢地点点头。
    “也许您是对的。我是个饱经沧桑的老头，我总结了一条经验：一个好男人也可能被一个坏女人的爱情而毁掉。反过来也是这样。一个坏男人也可能被一个好女子的爱情拯救过来。”
    卡泰丽娜迷惑不解地看着他。
    “怎样来理解‘毁掉’这个字眼儿？”
    “我是从这个词的本身含义来理解的，如果一个人是罪犯，那么他就应该是个完全的罪犯。”
    “您是想警告我什么。”卡泰丽娜说道。
    “我不能洞悉您的心里想的是什么。您当然也可以完全不相信我说的话。我只想告诉您一点：有些男人对女人具有一种无形的吸引力。”
    “比如说，罗歇伯爵。”卡泰丽娜笑着说。
    “还有另外一些人，他们比伯爵更为危险。这些男人具有对女人很起作用的特点：勇敢、冷酷和冒险精神。您现在可能还不觉得，实际上已经处于一个男人的影响之下，并且……”
    “什么？”
    他站起身来看着卡泰丽娜。然后压低了嗓门，但是非常清楚地说道：“您可以爱上一个小偷，但决不要爱上一个杀人犯！”
    当卡泰丽娜抬眼望波洛的时候，他已经不在了。
    德里克从俱乐部里走出来，看到卡泰丽娜一个人坐在椅子上，就凑到她跟前。
    “我赌了一场。”他微笑着，轻松地说道。“当然又是没赢。我把所有的钱都输光了，当然我是指带在身上的钱。”
    卡泰丽娜看了他一眼。他的激动有点异常。她只是这样感觉，当然没有发觉德里克内心的变化。她深思地说道：
    “是的，我认为您是一个天生的赌徒，一个被赌博迷住了心窍的赌徒。”
    “您可能说得很对！难道您不觉得，赌博之中隐藏着巨大的、妙不可言的力量？一切都取决于一张牌——其它的就都不起作用了！”
    她一直把自己看作一个冷酷和没有热情的人，而现在她却感到自己在跟一个赌徒的心理发生共鸣。
    “我想同您谈一谈，”凯特林继续说下去，“谁知道什么时候还会有这样的机会。
人们都在私下议论说， 我杀死了自己的妻子。不，请您不要打断我的话。当然，这些议论都是毫无意义的。”他停了片刻又以果断的语调往下说。“在警察面前，当然我得装成一本正经的样子。在您面前，我就不必表演那套喜剧了。开头，我就是这种看法，为金钱而结婚。带着这种想法，我第一次遇到了露丝。她当时就象一位温柔可爱的圣母，那时，我当然也尽量表现出自己优越的地方。但是，过不久希望就破灭了。我妻子在同我结婚的同时，却爱着别人。她从来就没对我产生过好感。但是，唉，我并不抱怨自己，这是一笔货真价实的交易。她嫁给我是为了我那未来的贵族头衔，我娶她是因为她有钱。
如果露丝的血管里流的不是美国人的血，那么一切都会顺顺当当。我对她来说好比是空气，可是她要我一天到晚都要装成一个温文尔雅的绅士。她越来越放肆地在我的面前扬言，我是她买来的，我是属于她的。她的所作所为，促成我针锋相对地干一些坏事。我的岳父当然把这一切都同您说过，他说得完全对。露丝死之前，我几乎到了崩溃的边缘。”他大笑起来。“是啊，谁要是同鲁夫斯•冯•阿尔丁较量，谁就要崩溃。”
    “以后呢？”卡泰丽娜低声问道。
    德里克耸了耸肩。“以后露丝就被人谋杀了。她死的正是时候。”
    他又大笑起来。卡泰丽娜吓得缩起身子，他的笑声撕裂着她的心。
    “毫无趣味，可以这样说，是吗？”德里克继续往下说。“但却是事实。我现在还要在您面前忏悔一番。自从我们初次见面那一刹那，我就知道，您就是我唯一要找的女人。我在您的面前有点害怕。我怕给您带来不幸。”
    “不幸？”
    “为什么您总是用那种语调讲话？”
    “我在想今天有人对我讲的话。”
    德里克嘿嘿一笑。“人们讲了很多关于我的事，其中有些是事实。我一生都是个赌徒，我指的不止是牌桌上的赌徒。我并不想使自己变得好一些。但是，我可以对您起誓，我没有害死我的妻子！”
    他的话听起来很严肃，但是其中还有点戏剧性的语调。卡泰丽娜的目光停留在他的脸上。他发现了这一点。继续说道：
    “当然，我撒了谎，我到过我妻子的包厢。”他停顿了一会儿。“您应该理解，我那是盯我妻子的梢。在旅途中我一直是隐藏在车厢里。米蕾对我说，我妻子可能在巴黎同伯爵约会。看来这事并没有发生。我当时有一种羞耻感，突然我产生了一种想法，想同我妻子敞开谈一谈。所以我开了门走进了她的包厢。”
    “您看到了什么？”卡泰丽娜紧张地问道。
    “露丝睡着了。她的脸朝着墙，当然我可以叫醒她。可是突然间，我想同她谈话的念头消失了，也可以说同她谈话的勇气消失了。难道我们之间还有什么要谈的吗？那些事我们谈过不止上百次了。她平静地躺在那里。我同进来时一样，轻轻地离开了包厢。”
    “为什么您不向警察说出真想呢？”
    “因为我没有成为疯子。事情一开始我就明白，杀人嫌疑肯定得落到我的头上。假若我承认到过我妻子的包厢，而且就在她被害前不久去过，那我就等于把刀放到了自己的脖子上。”
    “我懂。”
    不过，她真的懂了吗？她自己也不知道。她感觉到，德里克有一种磁石般的引力在吸着她，可是她的内心深处却有另一种力量在扯她的后腿。……
    “您知道，我爱您，卡泰丽娜！那么您怎么样？说吧，对我来讲是无所谓的。”
    “我……我不知道。”
    她向四周环顾了一下，象是求救似的。这时，一个高个、瘦削、走起路有点瘸的年轻人向她走来，她的双颊立刻漾起了红晕。来的人是奈顿少校。
    她轻松愉快地迎接了奈顿，在她的感情里还有一点她自己也尚未察觉的热情。
    德里克站起身来。奈顿的面容是昏暗的，但他的声音还是那样尖刻。
    “坦普林女士试图在赌盘上碰碰运气。”他说道，“那我可要奉陪到底了。我的那一套是无懈可击的，至少是：几乎无懈可击。”
    德里克转身走了，剩下她同奈顿两人。卡泰丽娜很快又恢复了平静。刚才，她的心还是那样忐忑不安地跳动，现在，当看到这位安详而胆怯的男人坐在她的身旁时，她感到，又能够控制住自己的情绪了。
    当奈顿走过来时，她更清楚了：奈顿的内心活动比较容易表现出来，而德里克表现内心活动却是用另外一种方式。奈顿结结巴巴地说道：
    “从看到您的那一瞬间起，我就，我……我不愿说出来。可是，您知道冯•阿尔丁先生随时都可能启程走掉，那时，可能就再也没有机会同您谈话了。我知道，您还不可能从我身上感觉到什么——那是不可能的。我有些太不自量了。我只是有一点财产——不多——不，请不要回答我，我知道您的回答是什么。我只是想说，我可能马上会离开这里，我只是想，想让您知道，知道，我是爱您的。”
    他那语无伦次的讲话并没有扰乱她的平静的心情。他的风度还是那样的温柔，是那样的可爱。
    “我还要向您表白一句。如果您需要帮助，我将随时为您效劳。”
    他抓住卡泰丽娜的手，握了很长时间。然后他放开了她，快步走向赌场，头也不回。
    卡泰丽娜安静地坐在那里。德里克•凯特林和理查特•奈顿，这样不同的两个人，完全不同的两个男人。奈顿身上似乎使人感到亲切和忠厚，使人觉得可以信赖，而德里克却相反……
    卡泰丽娜这时突然产生了一种异样的感觉，宛如一种幻觉。她仿佛觉得不是她一个人在赌场公园的椅子上坐着，而身旁象是站着一个人，这个人很象死去了的人……是露丝•凯特林，她似乎有一种强烈的愿望，想告诉卡泰丽娜什么事。这种奇异的感觉是那样的强烈而生动，致使卡泰丽娜无法摆脱。她觉得，一定是露丝•凯特林的灵魂降临，试图告诉卡泰丽娜一条消息，而这一消息对卡泰丽娜说来是生死攸关的。这一幻觉缓慢地消失了。卡泰丽娜站起身来。她有些发抖。露丝•凯特林一定有话要对她说。她到底要说什么呢？
Chapter 27  同米雷尔的谈话(Interview With Mirelle)
Chapter 27  INTERVIEW WITH MIRELLE 
When Knighton left Katherine he went in search of Hercule Poirot, whom he found in the Rooms, jauntily placing the minimum stake on the even numbers. As Knighton joined him, the number thirty- three turned up, and Poirot's stake was swept away. 
"Bad luck!" said Knighton, "are you going to stake again?" 
Poirot shook his head. 
"Not at present." 
"Do you feel the fascination of gambling?" asked Knighton curiously. 
"Not at roulette." 
Knighton shot a swift glance at him. His own face became troubled. He spoke haltingly, with a touch of deference. 
"I wonder, are you busy, M. Poirot? There is something I would like to ask you about." 
"I am at your disposal. Shall we go outside? It is pleasant in the sunshine."  
They strolled out together, and Knighton drew a deep breath. 
"I love the Riviera," he said. "I came here first twelve years ago, during the war, when I was sent to Lady Tamplin's Hospital. It was like Paradise, coming from Flanders to this." 
"It must have been," said Poirot. 
"How long ago the war seems now!" mused Knighton. 
They walked on in silence for some little way. 
"You have something on your mind?" said Poirot. 
Knighton looked at him in some surprise. 
"You are quite right," he confessed. " I don't know how you knew it, though." 
"It showed itself only too plainly," said Poirot drily. 
"I did not know that I was so transparent." 
"It is my business to observe the physiognomy," the little man explained, with dignity. 
"I will tell you, M. Poirot. You have heard of this dancer woman - Mirelle?''  
"She who is the chère amie of M. Derek Kettering?" 
"Yes, that is the one; and, knowing this, you will understand that Mr. Van Aldin is naturally prejudiced against her. She wrote to him, asking for an interview. He told me to dictate a curt refusal, which of course I did. This morning she came to the hotel and sent up her card, saying that it was urgent and vital that she should see Mr. Van Aldin at once." 
"You interest me," said Poirot. 
"Mr. Van Aldin was furious. He told me what message to send down to her. I ventured to disagree with him. It seemed to me both likely and probable that this woman Mirelle might give us valuable information. We know that she was on the Blue Train, and she may have seen or heard something that it might be vital for us to know. Don't you agree with me, M. Poirot?" 
"I do," said Poicot drily. "M. Van Aldin, if I may say so, behaved exceedingly foolishly." 
"I am glad you take that view of the matter," said the secretary. 
"Now I am going to tell you something, M. Poirot. So strongly did I feel the unwisdom of Mr. Van Aidin's attitude that I went down privately and had an interview with the lady." 
"Eh bien?" 
"The difficulty was that she insisted on seeing Mr Van Aldin himself. I softened his message as much as I possibly could. In fact - to be candid - I gave it in a very different form. I said that Mr Van Aldin was too busy to see her at present, but that she might make any communication she wished to me. That, however, she could not bring herself to do, and she left without saying anything further. But I have a strong impression, M. Poirot that that woman knows something." 
"This is serious," said Poirot quietly. "You know where she is staying?" 
"Yes." Knighton mentioned the name of the hotel. 
"Good," said Poirot, "we will go there immediately." 
The secretary looked doubtful. 
"And Mr Van Aldin?" he queried doubtfully. 
"M. Van Aldin is an obstinate man," said Poirot drily. "I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them. We will go and see the lady immediately. I will tell her that you are empowered by M. Van Aldin to act for him, and you will guard yourself well from contradicting me." 
Knighton still looked slightly doubtful, but Poirot took no notice of his hesitation. 
At the hotel, they were told that Mademoiselle was in, and Poirot sent up both his and Knighton's cards, with "From Mr Van Aldin" pencilled upon them. 
Word came down that Mademoiselle Mirelle would receive them. 
When they were ushered into the dancer's apartments, Poirot immediately took the lead. 
"Mademoiselle," he murmured, bowing very low, "we are here on behalf of M. Van Aldin." 
"Ah! And why did he not come himself?" 
"He is indisposed," said Poirot mendaciously, "the Riviera throat, it has him in its grip, but me, I am empowered to act for him, as is Major Knighton, his secretary. Unless, of course, Mademoiselle would prefer to wait a fortnight or so." 
If there was one thing of which Poirot was tolerably certain, it was that to a temperament such as Mirelle's the mere word "wait" was anathema. 
"Eh bien, I will speak, Messieurs," she cried. "I have been patient. I have held my hand. And for what? That I should be insulted! Yes, insulted! Ah! Does he think to treat Mirelle like that? To throw her off like an old glove. I tell you never has a man tired of me. Always it is I who tire of them." 
She paced up and down the room, her slender body trembling with rage. A small table impeded her free passage and she flung it from her into a corner, where it splintered against the wall. 
"That is what I will do to him," she cried, "and that!" 
Picking up a glass bowl filled with lilies she flung it into the grate, where it smashed into a hundred pieces. 
Knighton was looking at her with cold British disapproval. He felt embarrassed and ill at ease. Poirot, on the other hand, with twinkling eyes was thoroughly enjoying the scene. 
"Ah, it is magnificent!" he cried. "It can be seen - Madame has a temperament." 
"I am an artist," said Mirelle, "every artist has a temperament. I told Dereek to beware, and he would not listen." She whirled round on Poirot suddenly. "It is true, is it not, that he wants to marry that English miss?" 
Poirot coughed. 
"On m'a dit," he murmured, "that he adores her passionately." 
Mirelle came towards them. 
"He murdered his wife," she screamed. "There - now you have it! 
He told me beforehand that he meant to do it. He had got to an impasse - zut! he took the easiest way out." 
"You say that M. Kettering murdered his wife." 
"Yes, yes, yes. Have I not told you so?" 
"The police," murmured Poirot, "will need proof of that - er - statement." 
"I tell you I saw him come out of her compartment that night on the train." 
"When?" asked Poirot sharply. 
"Just before the train reached Lyons." 
"You will swear to that, Mademoiselle?" 
It was a different Poirot who spoke now, sharp and decisive. 
"Yes." 
There was a moment's silence. Mirelle was panting, and her eyes, half defiant, half frightened, went from the face of one man to the other. 
"This is a serious matter, Mademoiselle," said the detective. "You realize how serious?" 
"Certainly I do." 
"That is well," said Poirot. "Then you understand, Mademoiselle, that no time must be lost. You will, perhaps, accompany us immediately to the office of the Examining Magistrate." 
Mirelle was taken aback. She hesitated, but, as Poirot had foreseen, she had no loophole for escape. 
"Very well," she muttered. "I will fetch a coat." 
Left alone together, Poirot and Knighton exchanged glances. 
"It is necessary to act while - how do you say it? - the iron is hot," murmured Poirot. "She is temperamental; in an hour's time, maybe, she will repent, and she will wish to draw back. We must prevent that at all costs." 
Mirelle reappeared, wrapped in a sand-coloured velvet wrap trimmed with leopard skin. She looked not altogether unlike a leopardess, tawny and dangerous. Her eyes still flashed with anger and determination. 
They found M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate together. A few brief introductory words from Poirot, and Mademoiselle Mirelle was courteously entreated to tell her tale. This she did in much the same words as she had done to Knighton and Poirot, though with far more soberness of manner. 
"This is an extraordinary story, Mademoiselle," said M. Carrege slowly. He leant back in his chair, adjusted his pince-nez, and looked keenly and searchingly at the dancer through them. 
"You wish us to believe M. Kettering actually boasted of the crime to you beforehand?" 
"Yes, yes. She was too healthy, he said. If she were to die it must be an accident - he would arrange it all." 
"You are aware, Mademoiselle," said M. Carrege sternly, "that you are making yourself out to be an accessory before the fact?" 
"Me? But not the least in the world, Monsieur. Not for a moment did I take that statement seriously. Ah no, indeed! I know men, Monsieur; they say many wild things. It would be an odd state of affairs if one were to take all they said au pied de la lettre." 
The Examining Magistrate raised his eyebrows. 
"We are to take it, then, that you regarded M. Kettering's threats as mere idle words? May I ask, Mademoiselle, what made you throw up your engagements in London and come out to the Riviera?" 
Mirelle looked at him with melting black eyes. 
"I wished to be with the man I loved," she said simply. "Was it so unnatural?" 
Poirot interpolated a question gently. 
"Was it, then, at M. Kettering's wish that you accompanied him to Nice?" 
Mirelle seemed to find a little difficulty in answering this. She hesitated perceptibly before she spoke. When she did, it was with a haughty indifference of manner. 
"In such matters I please myself, Monsieur," she said. 
That the answer was not an answer at all was noted by all three men. They said nothing. 
"When were you first convinced that M. Kettering had murdered his wife?" 
"As I tell you, Monsieur, I saw M. Kettering come out of his wife's compartment just before the train drew into Lyons. There was a look on his face - ah! at the moment I could not understand it - a look haunted and terrible. I shall never forget it." 
Her voice rose shrilly, and she flung out her arms in an extravagant gesture. 
"Quite so," said M. Carrege. 
"Afterwards, when I found that Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons, then - then I knew!" 
"And still - you did not go to the police, Mademoiselle," said the Commissary mildly. 
Mirelle glanced at him superbly; she was clearly enjoying herself in the role she was playing. 
"Shall I betray my lover?" she asked. "Ah no; do not ask a woman to do that." 
"Yet now -" hinted M. Caux. 
"Now it is different. He has betrayed me! Shall I suffer that in silence?" 
The Examining Magistrate checked her. 
"Quite so, quite so," he murmured soothingly. 
"And now, Mademoiselle, perhaps you will read over the statement of what you have told us, see that it is correct, and sign it." 
Mirelle wasted no time on the document. 
"Yes, yes," she said, "it is correct." She rose to her feet. "You require me no longer, Messieurs?" 
"At present, no, Mademoiselle." 
"And Dereek will be arrested?" 
"At once, Mademoiselle." 
Mirelle laughed cruelly and drew her fur draperies closer about her. 
"He should have thought of this before he insulted me," she cried. 
"There is one little matter -" Poirot coughed apologetically - "just a matter of detail." 
"Yes?" 
"What makes you think Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons?" 
Mirelle stared. 
"But she was dead." 
"Was she?" 
"Yes, of course. I -" 
She came to an abrupt stop. Poirot was regarding her intently, and he saw the wary look that came into her eyes. 
"I have been told so. Everybody says so." 
"Oh," said Poirot, "I was not aware that the fact had been mentioned outside the Examining Magistrate's office." 
Mirelle appeared somewhat discomposed. 
"One hears those things," she said vaguely, "they get about. Somebody told me. I can't remember who it was." 
She moved to the door. M. Caux sprang forward to open it for her, and as he did so, Poirot's voice rose gently once more. 
"And the jewels? Pardon, Mademoiselle. Can you tell me anything about those?" 
"The jewels? What jewels?" 
"The rubies of Katherine the Great. Since you hear so much, you must have heard of them." 
"I know nothing about any jewels," said Mirelle sharply. 
She went out, closing the door behind her. M. Caux came back to his chair; the Examining Magistrate sighed. 
"What a fury!" he said, "but diablement chic. I wonder if she is telling the truth? I think so." 
"There is some truth in her story, certainly," said Poirot. "We have confirmation of it from Miss Grey. She was looking down the corridor a short time before the train reached Lyons and she saw M. Kettering go into his wife's compartment." 
"The case against him seems quite clear," said the Commissary, sighing, "it is a thousand pities," he murmured. 
"How do you mean?" asked Poirot. 
"It has been the ambition of my life to lay the Comte de la Roche by the heels. This time, ma foi, I thought we had got him. This other - it is not nearly so satisfactory." 
M. Carrege rubbed his nose. 
"If anything goes wrong," he observed cautiously, "it will be most awkward. M. Kettering is of the aristocracy. It will get into the newspapers. If we have made a mistake -" He shrugged his shoulders forebodingly. 
"The jewels now," said the Commissary, "what do you think he has done with them?" 
"He took them for a plant, of course," said M. Carrege, "they must have been a great inconvenience to him and very awkward to dispose of." 
Poirot smiled. 
"I have an idea of my own about the jewels. Tell me, Messieurs, what do you know of a man called the Marquis?" 
The Commissary leant forward excitedly. 
"The Marquis," he said, "the Marquis? Do you think he is mixed up in this affair, M. Poirot?" 
"I ask you what you know of him." 
The Commissary made an expressive grimace. 
"Not as much as we should like to," he observed ruefully. "He works behind the scenes, you understand. He has underlings who 
do his dirty work for him. But he is someone high up. That we are sure of. He does not come from the criminal classes." 
"A Frenchman?" 
"Yes. At least we believe so. But we are not sure. He has worked in France, in England, in America. There was a series of robberies in Switzerland last autumn which were laid at his door. By all accounts he is a grand seigneur, speaking French and English with equal perfection and his origin is a mystery." 
Poirot nodded and rose to take his departure. 
"Can you tell us nothing more, M. Poirot?" urged the Commissary. 
"At present, no," said Poirot, "but I may have news awaiting me at my hotel." 
M. Carrege looked uncomfortable. "If the Marquis is concerned in this -" he began, and then stopped. 
"It upsets our ideas," complained M. Caux. 
"It does not upset mine," said Poirot. "On the contrary, I think it agrees with them very well. Au revoir, Messieurs; if news of any importance comes to me I will communicate it to you 
immediately." 
He walked back to his hotel with a grave face. In his absence a telegram had come to him. Taking a paper-cutter from his pocket, he slit it open. It was a long telegram, and he read it over twice before slowly putting it in his pocket. Upstairs, George was awaiting his master. 
"I am fatigued, Georges, much fatigued. Will you order for me a small pot of chocolate?" 
The chocolate was duly ordered and brought, and George set it at the little table at his master's elbow. As he was preparing to retire, Poirot spoke: 
"I believe, Georges, that you have a good knowledge of the English aristocracy?" murmured Poirot. 
George smiled apologetically. 
"I think that I might say that I have, sir," he replied. 
"I suppose that it is your opinion, Georges, that criminals are invariably drawn from the lower orders." 
"Not always, sir. There was great trouble with one of the Duke of Devize's younger sons. He left Eton under a cloud, and after that he caused great anxiety on several occasions. The police would not accept the view that it was kleptomania. A very clever young gentleman, sir, but vicious through and through, if you take my meaning. His Grace shipped him to Australia, and I hear he was convicted out there under another name. Very odd, sir, but there it is. The young gentleman, I need hardly say, was not in want financially." 
Poirot nodded his head slowly. 
"Love of excitement," he murmured, "and a little kink in the brain somewhere. I wonder now -" 
He drew out the telegram from his pocket and read it again. 
"Then there was Lady Mary Fox's daughter," continued the valet in a mood of reminiscence. "Swindled trades-people something shocking, she did. Very worrying to the best families, if I may say so, and there are many other queer cases I could mention." 
"You have a wide experience, Georges," murmured Poirot. "I often wonder having lived so exclusively with titled families that you demean yourself by coming as a valet to me. I put it down to love of excitement on your part." 
"Not exactly, sir," said George. "I happened to see in Society Snippets that you had been received at Buckingham Palace. That was just when I was looking for a new situation. His Majesty, so it said, had been most gracious and friendly and thought very highly of your abilities." 
"Ah," said Poirot, "one always likes to know the reason for things." 
He remained in thought for a few moments and then said: 
"You rang up Mademoiselle Papopolous?" 
"Yes, sir; she and her father will be pleased to dine with you tonight." 
"Ah," said Poirot thoughtfully. He drank off his chocolate, set the cup and saucer neatly in the middle of the tray, and spoke gently, more to himself than to the valet. 
"The squirrel, my good Georges, collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity, Georges, we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching at the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good Georges, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away the little fact here, the little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one particular nut, a nut that I stored away - let me see, seventeen years ago. You follow me, Georges?" 
"I should hardly have thought, sir," said George, "that nuts would have kept so long as that, though I know one can do wonders with preserving bottles." 
Poirot looked at him and smiled. 

第二十七章 同米蕾的谈话
    奈顿离开卡泰丽娜之后就找赫库勒•波洛去了。奈顿在赌场大厅里找到了他。波洛正在聚精会神地把最小的赌本往号码上放。当奈顿走到他身旁时，号码转到了三十三，波洛的赌本输掉了。
    “真倒霉！”奈顿说道。“您还打算玩下去吗？”
    波洛摇摇头。
    “请允许我耽误您几分钟，波洛先生。我想问您点事。”
    “我随时准备为您效劳。我们去散一会儿步，好吗？”
    他们走到院子里。过了好一阵子，奈顿深深叹了一口气，慢慢地说道：“我很喜欢利维埃拉这个地方。我第一次到这里来的时候是十二年前，是战争年代，人们把我送进了坦普林女士开的医院。从佛兰德战壕转到这里，真象是从地狱升到了天堂。”
    “这，是可以想象的。”波洛随声附和地说道。
    他们不声不响地走了几分钟。
    “您不是想问我一些事吗？”波洛终于说道。
    “是的。您听说米蕾这个人吗？是个舞女？”
    “是德里克•凯特林先生的女友，是吗？”
    “对，我说的就是她。这个女人给冯•阿尔丁先生写过一封信，要来拜访他。冯•阿尔丁先生委托我给她回一封信，说他不想见这位女士。今天早晨她亲自来到饭店，还是要见冯•阿尔丁先生，要同他谈话，说是有重要的事要谈。”
    “很有意思。”
    “冯•阿尔丁先生很生气。他让我不要对她客气，轰走了之。我没有按他的话去做。
我认为，这个女人可能有要事相告。我坚信冯•阿尔丁先生的作法是不得体的，我没有按他的嘱咐去做，并同这位女士谈了话。”
    “您做得完全正确。”
    “我当时对她说，冯•阿尔丁先生现在很忙，不能见她；如果有什么事想同他谈，请相信我，我完全可以转告给他。但是，我的话并没有打动她。她不声不响地离开了饭店。但是，给我的印象是，这位女士一定知道一些事。”
    “这很重要，”波洛坦然而坚定地说道。“您知道她住在哪儿吗？”
    “我知道。”奈顿说出了她住的饭店的名字。
    “好，”波洛说道，“我们立刻就去她那里。”
    “那么冯•阿尔丁先生呢？”秘书踌躇地问道。
    “冯•阿尔丁先生是个笨蛋。这种人，我压根儿就不相信他们。我对他们的态度是，似乎他们根本就不存在这个世界上。”
    奈顿象是不完全同意他的说法，可是波洛再也不提这事了。
    他们向舞女通报了姓名，接着就传出话来，说米蕾小姐请先生们进去。
    一进舞女的客厅，波洛就开了口。
    “小姐，”波洛深深作了一揖说道，“我们受冯•阿尔丁先生的委托前来的。”
    “是吗？为什么他自己不来？”
    “他的身体有点不适，您是知道的，他不大习惯这里的气候。不过无论是我，还是奈顿少校，他的秘书，都有权替他办事。或是您再等两个星期，待他痊愈了再谈。”
    波洛深深懂得，象米蕾这种脾气的女人，最怕的字眼儿就是“等待”。
    “好吧，我说。”她叫道。“我再也无法忍受了。我受到了污辱，是的，是污辱！让他知道，凶竟敢象抛掉一只破鞋似的把米蕾抛掉。到现在为止，还没有一个男人厌倦我呢！都是我厌倦男人！”
    她在屋里走来走去，真象关在笼子里的一头猛兽。她那苗条的身躯在颤抖。她猛地一脚把她前面的小桌子踢到墙边。“让这个小子看看老娘的厉害。”她叫道，“好吧！”她从玻璃花瓶里摘下一枝百合花，撕成了碎片，扔进壁炉里。
    奈顿以他那英国式的自负看着这一切，感到难以忍受。而波洛却相反，他津津有味地欣赏着这出表演。
    “啊，太好了。”他叫道，“由此可见，女士是很有个性的。”
    “我是一个艺术家。任何艺术家都有个性。我经常提醒德里克，让他当心点儿。可是他把我话当成了耳边风。是真的吗？他要同那个英国女人结婚？”
    波洛咳嗽了一声。
    “大家都说德里克死命地爱着他。”他小声说。
    米蕾这时贴近波洛的身边站在那里。
    “他把自己的老婆弄死了！”她声嘶力竭地叫道。“好了，现在一切都清楚了。在此之前，他就告诉我，说他要杀死他老婆。这回他可走进死胡同了，这就是他的下场！”
    “警察方面想得到关于这方面材料的证据。”波洛说道。
    “那天夜里，当他离开他老婆的包厢的时候，我看到了他。”
    “什么时间？”波洛敏锐地问道。
    “就是火车快到里昂的时候。”
    “您能对自己所说的话起誓吗，小姐？”
    “当然！”
    屋内一片寂静。米蕾呼呼地喘着气，她一会儿挑衅地看看这里，一会儿又胆怯地瞅瞅那里。
    “这是很严肃的事。”侦探说道，“您意识到这一点了吗？”
    “当然！”
    “嗯，”波洛说道，“那么我们就不用耽搁时间了。就请您陪我们到侦察官先生那里走一趟吧。”
    米蕾跳了起来。波洛发现她点些犹豫，她仿佛有点骑虎难下了。
    “她吧，我去拿我的大衣来。”
    “要趁热打铁。”当她走出门外时，波洛自言自语地说道。“这种女人是猜不透的，过一会儿她可能又变卦了。”
    米蕾出来了。她穿上一件沙土色的豹子皮大衣。她本人也真象是一头伺机而动、凶猛危险的豹子。她的双眼闪射着愤怒和狠毒的目光。
    他们在科的办公室里找到了侦察官。他彬彬有礼地请米蕾再重复一遍她的所见所闻。
    “真是一段不寻常的故事。”卡雷热一面透过夹鼻眼镜端详着舞女，一面慢腾腾地说道。“您是说，凯特林先生在这之前就有预谋？”
    “当然他是有预谋的。他说，他老婆太健康了，除非出一次事故她才会死。他已经做了必要的准备。”
    “您是否认识到，”卡雷热严肃地说，“您由于帮了杀人犯的忙也是有罪的？”
    “我有罪？毫无根据。我可没有把他的话认真对待啊。我了解男人，他们总是这样讲话。”
    侦察官皱起了眉头。
    “您把凯特林先生的威胁的话只看成随便谈天？请允许我问您，什么原因使您辞去了伦敦的职务而决定到利维埃拉来旅行？”
    “我想同我心爱的男人在一起。难道这有什么难以理解的地方吗？”
    波洛慎重地插话问道：
    “您是在凯特林先生的同意之下陪他到尼扎来的？”
    米蕾感到这个问题很棘手。深思了一会儿她自豪地说道：
    “在这种事情上我总是我行我素。”
    在座的三个男人都意识到了，她的回答并不是真切的，但谁都没有说话。
    “您是什么时候知道凯特林先生杀死了自己的妻子？”
    “正象我对你们说的那样，当火车快到里昂站的时候，我看到凯特林离开了他妻子的包厢。他当时张皇失措，神色紧张。他那可怕的面部表情，我还从来没有见过。”她的声音尖利得刺耳，还做了个非常伤感的手势。“这之后，当火车从里昂开动时，我发现凯特林女士死了，于是我就明白了一切。”
    “但是您没有去报告警察。”警察局长温和地责备道。
    舞女这时又在扮演她那经常演过的角色了。
    “难道我能出卖我心爱的人吗？”她问道。“不！您可不能要求一个女人这样做。”
    “可以这样做。”科插话道。
    “当然现在又另当别论了。他骗了我。难道我还要对这事保持沉默？”
    “我们懂了，我们懂了。”侦察官安抚地小声说道。“现在您可以做些友好的表示，把您的谈话记录看一遍，然后签上您的名。”
    米蕾连看都不看一眼，就在记录上签了名。她站了起来，“我的先生们，你们不再需要我了吧？”
    “暂时请便吧。”
    “德里克会被捕吗？”
    “立即逮捕。”
    米蕾一面大笑，一面把自己裹在大衣里。
    “他污辱我的时候就该想一想这种后果。”她叫道。
    “只是还有一个小问题……”波洛干咳了一声，似乎有点歉意似地说道，“是的，只是一个小问题。”
    “请说吧。”
    “当火车离开里昂的时候，您是怎么断定凯特林女士已经死了？”
    米蕾盯着他。
    “可是，她是死了啊。”
    “噢，她死了？”
    “当然，我……”
    她把话咽住了。波洛一直看着她，她的眼神里有种不安的成分，这一点没有逃过波洛的慧眼。
    “这是听说的。好象有谁对我说了一句。究竟是谁，我现在记不清了。”
    她走向房门。科站起来给她她开门，这时波洛的声音又响起来了，还是那样温和而平静。
    “可是宝石呢？请原谅，您能不能告诉我们一下关于宝石的情况？”
    “宝石？什么宝石？”
    “就是卡塔琳娜女皇的首饰，因为您的见闻很多，您能不能谈谈这方面的事。”
    “关于宝石的事，我一无所闻。”米蕾板着面孔说道。
    她离开警察局办公室，随手关上了门。侦察官叹出一口气。
    “是个泼妇！可又象鬼一样精。她说的是不是真话？我不是不愿意相信她。”
    “她讲的那段故事里有些是真的。”波洛说道。“格蕾女士证实了这一点。在火车快到里昂的时候，格蕾女士见到凯特林先生离开了妻子的包厢。”
    “构成他的犯罪的一切证据都是可信的，”警察局长低声说道，叹了一口气又说：“遗憾”。
    “为什么遗憾？”波洛问道。
    “把罗歇伯爵抓到手，是我一生的目标。这次我本来断定，我可把他抓到手了。”
    卡雷热捏了一下鼻子。
    “对，对，宝石，”警察局长说道。“伯爵怎样来解释那些宝石？”
    波洛微笑着。
    “关于宝石我有自己的想法。先生们，请告诉我，你们当中有人知道一个绰号叫做‘侯爵’的先生吗？”
    警察局长伸直了腰。
    “侯爵，”他说道，“是侯爵？您认为他也牵扯到这个案子里了吗？波洛先生？”
    “您了解他些什么？”
    警察局长做了个鬼脸。“知道得不多。他是在后台活动的，懂吗？其它人都给他干粗活。他是个真正的上层人物。一般的案件他是不会轻易插手的。”
    “法国人吗？”
    “是的，至少我们认为他是一个法国人。但是没有十分把握。他在法国、英国和美国都作过案。去年秋天在瑞士连续发生了几起重大的盗窃案，人们都猜测是他干的。肯定是个出身于大地主阶级的人物，法语和英语都说得很流利，但是，他到底生在哪个地方，来自哪个国家，现在还说不清楚。”
    波洛点了点头站起身来。
    “您不能再给我们多讲点吗？波洛先生？”局长要求道。
    “现在还不能。”波洛说，“不过，可能在我的旅馆里，我会得到进一步的情报。”
    看来卡雷热有点不快。“如果，侯爵也参与了这一案件……”他没有把话说完。
    “那么我们就得推翻有关此案的全部想法。”拉抱怨说道。
    “我的想法可不能推翻！”波洛说道。“再见，先生们。一旦有了新的情况，我马上会让你们知道。”
    他板着面孔回到了自己的旅馆。当他不在家的时候，来了一封电报。他看了两遍，然后把电报塞进衣袋里。楼上乔治正等待着主人的到来。
    “我累了，非常累，乔治。你是否能给我要一杯咖啡？”
    咖啡端上来了，放在波洛坐着的沙发旁边的茶几上。当仆人要离开的时候，波洛说道：
    “我相信，乔治，你对英国贵族阶层是很熟悉的。”
    乔治谄媚地一笑。
    “是的，我可以向先生讲一下。”
    “乔治，你说说，是不是所有的罪犯都出身于下层？”
    “不完全是，先生，比如，我想起一段关于德维斯公爵的一个儿子的故事，他总是给家里带来麻烦，可是警察绝对不相信他是个盗窃狂。”
    波洛点点头。“是一种喜欢闹事的怪癖，或是一种小小的疯狂。”
    他把电报从衣袋里掏出来，又看了第三遍。
    “另外还有关于玛丽•福克斯太太的女儿的那件事，”仆人接着说下去。“她可把她的那些供货者骗得团团转，这件事说来话长。但是说出来，对有关的家庭总是不好。
我能讲出很多这样的案件来。”
    “你是个很有经验的人，乔治。”波洛低声说道。“使我感到惊奇的是，你在大家庭里生活过那么久，但是你并没有保持你那高贵的官职，而到我这里当仆人。你也可能有一种好事的怪癖吧？”
    “先生，可不能这么说。”乔治小声说。“有一次我在一张宫廷的报纸上读到一条消息，说是您被国王陛下召见过，国王对您非常热诚，并夸奖您有着非凡的才能。”
    “噢，原来如此。”波洛说道。“对一切事情能寻根究底，这是很好的事。”
    他想了一下然后又问：
    “你给帕波波鲁斯小姐打过电话吗？”
    “当然，先生。帕波波鲁斯先生和小姐很高兴，今天晚上应邀同您一起吃晚饭。”
    “嗯，”他深思地嗯了一声，呷了一口咖啡，习惯地把杯子放在茶几中间，温和而疑惑地说道，与其是说给仆人听，还不如说是给自己听。
    “你知道松鼠怎样收集核桃吗？乔治。它们总是在秋天把核桃贮藏起来，以便往后吃。如果是人，他想收集点什么，那么乔治，用不着考虑自己的官职高低，只要想一想动物的习性就可以了。我总是这样干的。我是老鼠洞前的一只猫，我是低着头跟踪不舍的一只狗，我也是一只松鼠。我一会儿到这里来收集一点材料，一会儿又到那里去收集点情况。我现在要到我的仓库中找出一只核桃来，一只核桃，请等一下，乔治，它是我十七年前收藏的。你是在听我说话吗，乔治？”
    “我不太相信，先生，”乔治说道，“核桃怎么会保存那么多年。但是毕竟是这样，在今天的技术条件下……”
    波洛瞅瞅他，温和地微笑着。
Chapter 28  波洛如松鼠(Poirot Plays the Squirrel)
Chapter 28  POIROT PLAYS THE SQUIRREL 
Poirot started to keep his dinner appointment with a margin of three quarters of an hour to spare. He had an object in this. The car took him, not straight to Monte Carlo, but to Lady Tamplin's house at Cap Martin, where he asked for Miss Grey. The ladies were dressing and Poirot was shown into a small salon to wait, and here, after a lapse of three or four minutes, Lenox Tamplin came to him. 
"Katherine is not quite ready yet," she said. "Can I give her a message, or would you rather wait until she comes down?" 
Poirot looked at her thoughtfully. He was a minute or two in replying, as though something of great weight hung upon his decision. Apparently the answer to such a simple question mattered. 
"No," he said at last, "no, I do not think it is necessary that I should wait to see Mademoiselle Katherine. I think, perhaps, that it is better that I should not. These things are sometimes difficult." 
Lenox waited politely, her eyebrows slightly raised. 
"I have a piece of news," continued Poirot. "You will, perhaps, tell your friend. M. Kettering was arrested tonight for the murder of his wife." 
"You want me to tell Katherine that?" asked Lenox. She breathed rather hard, as though she had been running; her face, Poirot thought, looked white and strained - rather noticeably so. 
"If you please, Mademoiselle." 
"Why?" said Lenox. "Do you think Katherine will be upset? Do you think she cares?" 
"I don't know, Mademoiselle," said Poirot. "See, I admit it frankly. As a rule I know everything, but in this case, I - well, I do not. You, perhaps, know better than I do." 
"Yes," said Lenox, "I know - but I am not going to tell you all the same." 
She paused for a minute or two, her dark brows drawn together in a frown. 
"You believe he did it?" she said abruptly. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. 
"The police say so." 
"Ah," said Lenox, "hedging, are you? So there is something to hedge about." 
Again she was silent, frowning. Poirot said gently: 
"You have known Derek Kettering a long time, have you not?" 
"Off and on ever since I was a kid," said Lenox gruffly. 
Poirot nodded his head several times without speaking. 
With one of her brusque movements Lenox drew forward a chair and sat down on it, her elbows on the table and her face supported by her hands. Sitting thus, she looked directly across the table at Poirot. 
"What have they got to go on?" she demanded. "Motive, I suppose. Probably came into money at her death." 
"He came into two million." 
"And if she had not died he would have been ruined?" 
"Yes." 
"But there must have been more than that," persisted Lenox. "He travelled by the same train, I know, but - that would not be enough to go on by itself." 
"A cigarette case with the letter 'K' on it which did not belong to Mrs Kettering was found in her carriage, and he was seen by two people entering and leaving the compartment just before the train got into Lyons." 
"What two people?" 
"Your friend Miss Grey was one of them. The other was Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer." 
"And he, Derek, what has he got to say about it?" demanded Lenox sharply. 
"He denies having entered his wife's compartment at all," said Poirot. 
"Fool!" said Lenox crisply, frowning. "Just before Lyons, you say? 
Does nobody know when - when she died?" 
"The doctors' evidence necessarily cannot be very definite," said Poirot, "they are inclined to think that death was unlikely to have occurred after leaving Lyons. And we know this much, that a few moments after leaving Lyons Mrs Kettering was dead." 
"How do you know that?" 
Poirot was smiling rather oddly to himself. 
"Someone else went into her compartment and found her dead." 
"And they did not rouse the train?" 
"No." 
"Why was that?" 
"Doubtless they had their reasons." 
Lenox looked at him sharply. 
"Do you know the reason?" 
"I think so - yes." 
Lenox sat still turning things over in her mind. Poirot watched her in silence. At last he looked up. A soft colour had come into her cheeks and her eyes were shining. 
"You think someone on the train must have killed her, but that need not be so at all. What is to stop anyone swinging themselves on to the train when it stopped at Lyons? They could go straight to her compartment, strangle her, and take the rubies and drop off the train again without anyone being the wiser. She may have been actually killed while the train was in Lyons station. Then she would have been alive when Derek went in, and dead when the other person found her." 
Poirot leant back in his chair. He drew a deep breath. He looked across at the girl and nodded his head three times, then he heaved a sigh. 
"Mademoiselle," he said, "what you have said there is very just - very true. I was struggling in darkness, and you have shown me a light. There was a point that puzzled me and you have made it plain." 
He got up. 
"And Derek?" said Lenox. 
"Who knows?" said Poirot, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But I will tell you this, Mademoiselle. I am not satisfied; no, I, Hercule Poirot, am not yet satisfied. It may be that this very night I shall learn something more. At least, I go to try." 
"You are meeting someone?" 
"Yes." 
"Someone who knows something?" 
"Someone who might know something. In these matters one must leave no stone unturned. Au revoir, Mademoiselle." 
Lenox accompanied him to the door. 
"Have I - helped?" she asked. 
Poirot's face softened as he looked up at her standing on the doorstep above him. 
"Yes, Mademoiselle, you have helped. If things are very dark, always remember that." 
When the car had driven off he relapsed into a frowning absorption, but in his eyes was that faint green light which was always the precursor of the triumph to be. He was a few minutes late at the rendezvous, and found that M. Papopolous and his daughter had arrived before him. His apologies were abject, and he outdid himself in politeness and small attentions. The Greek was looking particularly benign and noble this evening, a sorrowful patriarch of blameless life, Zia was looking handsome and good-humoured. The dinner was a pleasant one. Poirot was his best and most sparkling self. He told anecdotes, he made jokes, he paid graceful compliments to Zia Papopolous, and he told many interesting incidents of his career. The menu was a carefully selected one, and the wine was excellent. 
At the close of dinner M. Papopolous inquired politely: "And the tip I gave you? You have had your little flutter on the horse?" 
"I am in communication with - er - my bookmaker," replied Poirot. 
The eyes of the two men met. 
"A well-known horse, eh?" 
"No," said Poirot; "it is what our friends, the English, call a dark horse." 
"Ah!" said M. Papopolous thoughtfully. 
"Now we must step across to the Casino and have our little flutter at the roulette table," cried Poirot gaily. 
At the Casino the party separated, Poirot devoting himself solely to Zia, whilst Papopolous himself drifted away. 
Poirot was not fortunate, but Zia had a run of good luck, and had soon won a few thousand francs. 
"It would be as well," she observed drily to Poirot, "if I stopped now." 
Poirot's eyes twinkled. 
"Superb!" he exclaimed. "You are the daughter of your father, Mademoiselle Zia. To know when to stop. Ah! that is the art." 
He looked round the rooms. 
"I cannot see your father anywhere about," he remarked carelessly. "I will fetch your cloak for you, Mademoiselle, and we will go out in the gardens." 
He did not, however, go straight to the cloak-room. His sharp eyes had seen but a little while before the departure of M. Papopolous. 
He was anxious to know what had become of the wily Greek. He ran him to earth unexpectedly in the big entrance hall. 
He was standing by one of the pillars, talking to a lady who had just arrived. The lady was Mirelle. 
Poirot sidled unostentatiously round the room. He arrived at the other side of the pillar, and unnoticed by the two who were talking together in an animated fashion - or rather, that is to say, the dancer was talking, Papopolous contributing an occasional monosyllable and a good many expressive gestures. 
"I tell you I must have time," the dancer was saying, "If you give me time I will get the money." 
"To wait -" the Greek shrugged his shoulders - "it is awkward." 
"Only a very little while," pleaded the other. "Ah! but you must! A week - ten days - that is all I ask. You can be sure of your affair. The money will be forthcoming." 
Papopolous shifted a little and looked round him uneasily - to find Poirot almost at his elbow with a beaming innocent face. 
"Ah! vous voilà, M. Papopolous. I have been looking for you. It is permitted that I take Mademoiselle Zia for a little turn in the gardens? Good evening, Mademoiselle." He bowed very low to Mirelle. "A thousand pardons that I did not see you immediately." 
The dancer accepted his greetings rather impatiently. She was clearly annoyed at the interruption of her tête-а-tête. Poirot was quick to take the hint. Papopolous had already murmured: 
"Certainly - but certainly," and Poirot withdrew forthwith. He fetched Zia's cloak, and together they strolled out into the gardens. 
"This is where the suicides take place," said Zia. 
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "So it is said. Men are foolish, are they not, Mademoiselle? To eat, to drink, to breathe the good air, it is a very pleasant thing, Mademoiselle. One is foolish to leave all that simply because one has no money - or because the heart aches. L'amour, it causes many fatalities, does it not?" 
Zia laughed. 
"You should not laugh at love, Mademoiselle," said Poirot, shaking an energetic forefinger at her. "You who are young and beautiful." 
"Hardly that," said Zia, "you forget that I am thirty-three, M. Poirot. I am frank with you, because it is no good being otherwise. As you told my father, it is exactly seventeen years since you aided us in Paris that time." 
"When I look at you, it seems much less," said Poirot gallantly. 
"You were then very much as you are now, Mademoiselle, a little thinner, a little paler, a little more serious. Sixteen years old and fresh from your pension. Not quite the petite pensionnaire, not quite a woman. You were very delicious, very charming, 
Mademoiselle Zia; others thought so too, without doubt." 
"At sixteen," said Zia, "one is simple and a little fool." 
"That may be," said Poirot, "yes, that well may be. At sixteen one is credulous, is one not? One believes what one is told." 
If he saw the quick sideways glance that the girl shot at him, he pretended not to have done so. He continued dreamily: "It was a curious affair that, altogether. Your father, Mademoiselle, has never understood the true inwardness of it." 
"No?" 
"When he asked me for details, for explanations, I said to him thus: 
'Without scandal, I have got back for you that which was lost. You must ask no questions.' Do you know, Mademoiselle, why I said these things?" 
"I have no idea," said the girl coldly. 
"It was because I had a soft spot in my heart for a little pensionnaire, so pale, so thin, so serious." 
"I don't understand what you are talking about," cried Zia angrily. 
"Do you not, Mademoiselle? Have you forgotten Antonio Pirezzio?" 
He heard the quick intake of her breath - almost a gasp. 
"He came to work as an assistant in the shop, but not thus could he have got hold of what he wanted. An assistant can lift his eyes to his master's daughter, can he not? If he is young and handsome with a glib tongue. And since they cannot make love all the time, they must occasionally talk of things that interest them both - such as that very interesting thing which was temporarily in M. Papopolous' possession. And since, as you say, Mademoiselle, the young are foolish and credulous, it was easy to believe him and to give him a sight of that particular thing, to show him where it was kept. And afterwards when it is gone - when the unbelievable catastrophe has happened. Alas! the poor little pensionnaire. What a terrible position she is in. She is frightened, the poor little one. To speak or not to speak? And then there comes along that excellent fellow, Hercule Poirot. Almost a miracle it must have been, the way things arranged themselves. The priceless 
heirlooms are restored and there are no awkward questions." 
Zia turned on him fiercely. 
"You have known all the time? Who told you? Was it - was it Antonio?" 
Poirot shook his head. 
"No one told me," he said quietly. "I guessed. It was a good guess, was it not, Mademoiselle? You see, unless you are good at guessing, it is not much use being a detective." 
The girl walked along beside him for some minutes in silence. Then she said in a hard voice: 
"Well, what are you going to do about it, are you going to tell my father?" 
"No," said Poirot sharply. "Certainly not." 
She looked at him curiously. 
"You want something from me?" 
"I want your help, Mademoiselle." 
"What makes you think that I can help you?" 
"I do not think so. I only hope so." 
"And if I do not help you, then - you will tell my father?" 
"But no, but no! Disembarrass yourself of that idea, Mademoiselle. I am not a blackmailer. I do not hold your secret over your head and threaten you with it." 
"If I refuse to help you -" began the girl slowly. 
"Then you refuse, and that is that." 
"Then why -" she stopped. 
"Listen, and I will tell you why. Women, Mademoiselle, are generous. If they can render a service to one who has rendered a service to them, they will do it. I was generous once to you, Mademoiselle. When I might have spoken, I held my tongue." 
There was another silence; then the girl said, "My father gave you a hint the other day." 
"It was very kind of him." 
"I do not think," said Zia slowly, "that there is anything that I can add to that." 
If Poirot was disappointed he did not show it. Not a muscle of his face changed. 
"Eh bien!" he said cheerfully, "then we must talk of other things." 
And he proceeded to chat gaily. The girl was distrait, however, and her answers were mechanical and not always to the point. It was when they were approaching the Casino once more that she seemed to come to a decision. 
"M. Poirot?" 
"Yes, Mademoiselle?" 
"I - I should like to help you if I could." 
"You are very amiable, Mademoiselle - very amiable." 
Again there was a pause. Poirot did not press her. He was quite content to wait and let her take her own time. 
"Ah bah," said Zia, "after all, why should I not tell you? My father is cautious - very cautious in everything he says. But I know that with you it is not necessary. You have told us it is only the murderer you seek, and that you are not concerned over the jewels. I believe you. You were quite right when you guessed that we were in Nice because of the rubies. They have been handed over here according to plan. My father has them now. He gave you a hint the other day as to who our mysterious client was." 
"The Marquis?" murmured Poirot softly. 
"Yes, the Marquis." 
"Have you ever seen the Marquis, Mademoiselle Zia?" 
"Once," said the girl. "But not very well," she added. "It was through a keyhole." 
"That always presents difficulties," said Poirot sympathetically, 
"but all the same you saw him. You would know him again?" 
Zia shook her head. 
"He wore a mask," she explained. 
"Young or old?" 
"He had white hair. It may have been a wig, it may not. It fitted very well. But I do not think he was old. His walk was young, and so was his voice." 
"His voice?" said Poirot thoughtfully. "Ah, his voice! Would you know it again, Mademoiselle Zia?" 
"I might," said the girl. 
"You were interested in him, eh? It was that that took you to the keyhole." 
Zia nodded. 
"Yes, yes. I was curious. One had heard so much - he is not the ordinary thief - he is more like a figure of history or romance." 
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "yes; perhaps so." 
"But it is not this that I meant to tell you," said Zia. "It was just one other little fact that I thought might be - well - useful to you." 
"Yes?" said Poirot encouragingly. 
"The rubies, as I say, were handed over to my father here at Nice. I did not see the person who handed them over, but -" 
"Yes?" 
"I know one thing. It was a woman." 

第二十八章 波洛如松鼠
    波洛提前三刻钟离开了旅馆去赴宴。汽车没有直奔蒙特卡洛，而是开到了坦普林女士的别墅。雷诺斯在客厅里欢迎了他。
    “卡泰丽娜正在换衣服。”她说道。“是不是让我去通报一下？还是您在这里等她下楼来？”
    “不，”波洛考虑了好一阵子说道，“还是不等为好。我有一个消息要告诉她，可惜不是好消息。”
    雷诺斯毕恭毕敬地等着他说下去。
    “凯特林先生将在今晚被捕，罪名是他暗杀了自己的妻子。”
    “我要把这件事告诉卡泰丽娜吗？”雷诺斯问道。她喘吁起来，出气有点急促。
    “请您转告她。”
    “您不认为，这个消息会挫伤卡泰丽娜的情绪吗？她已经垂青于凯特林先生，您不是这样认为吗？”
    “我不知道。一般地说，我什么都知道，但是任何一条规矩都会有例外。您可能会更好地加以判断。”
    “是的，”雷诺斯说，“我知道，但我不告诉您。”
    她沉默起来，两道黑眉毛皱在一起。
    突然她又问道：“您相信，这是他干的？”
    波洛耸了一下肩。“警察方面相信是他犯罪。那些先生们可能在他身上找到犯罪的动机。他妻子的死亡的确使他得到了很大一笔钱。”
    “他继承了二百万镑。”
    “可是，要是凯特林夫人还活着，他就会完全破产。”
    “完全正确。”
    “可是，就凭这一点可构不起诉的条件。当然，他又乘了同一列车。但这又能说明什么呢？”
    “有一个带Ｋ字母的烟盒，它不是凯特林女士的，但又是在她的包厢里拾到的。除此之外，还有两个证人，在火车快到里昂时，看到他走进了夫人的包厢。”
    “这两个证人是谁？”
    “您的女友格蕾小姐和舞女米蕾。”
    “就在火车快到里昂时？可是，谁也不知道，她到底是什么时候死的。”
    “医生当然不能断定准确的时间。”波洛说道。“他们的意见是：死亡不是在火车停在里昂的时候发生的。我们也认为，凯特林夫人是在火车刚离开巴黎的里昂站不久就死了。”
    “您是怎么知道的？”
    波洛自恃地一笑。“有人进了她的包厢，看到她已经死去了。”
    “可是为什么不拉遇难信号阀？”
    “没有拉。”
    “为什么不拉？”
    “当然有他的理由。”
    雷诺斯死死地盯着他。“您知道这些理由吗？”
    “我相信我知道。”
    雷诺斯企图把刚才听到的一切理出个头绪来。波洛沉默不语地看着她。最后她抬起头来，双颊通红，两眼炯炯发光。
    “您总是想，凶手是列车上的一位乘客。可是，谁也证明不了这一点。您怎么知道，火车停在里昂的时候不会有人偷扒上车，直奔她的车厢，把她勒死，拿走了宝石，然后又神不知鬼不觉地跳下了车厢，把她勒死，拿走了宝石，然后又神不知鬼不觉地跳下了车？火车停在里昂的时候她可能已经被杀了。如果不是这样，德里克走进她的包厢时，她还活着；而有人发现她的时候，她已经死了。”
    波洛把身子仰在靠背椅上。他深深化地吸了一口气，看着女疯子，连连点了三次头，叹了一口气。
    “小姐，”他说道，“您的话有许多可取之处。我在黑暗中摸索道路；而您给我一线光明。其中有一点我还不太清楚，可是现在已经豁然开朗了。”他站起来。
    “德里克怎样？”雷诺斯问道。
    “谁知道？有一点我想说，我不满意。我，赫库勒•波洛，并不满意啊！”
    他起身要走。雷诺斯把他送到了门口。
    “我要是多少帮了您一点忙，我将很高兴。”年轻的姑娘说道。
    “您已经帮了我的忙。当一切都模糊不清的时候，您却没有忘记某些要素。”
    他准时到达了吃晚饭的地点。帕波波鲁斯和他的女儿已经到了。这个希腊人今天看来特别庄重而尊严。比父系社会的长老还要庄严。齐娅那种深沉的美今天显得尤为适度。
晚宴极为活跃。波洛特别活泼，不时地打趣，眉开眼笑。他讲着自己经历过的一些故事和趣事，有时还多情地看着齐娅。菜是名贵的，酒都是上等的。
    当晚饭快要结束的时候，帕波波鲁斯彬彬有礼的询问道：
    “我上次给您的那个暗示怎么样？您已经骑上那匹马了吗？”
    “我正在同我那赛马场上的主人取得联系。”波洛回答说。两人的目光相遇在一起。
    “是匹有名的马吧？”
    “不是，”波洛说，“用赛马界的行话说，那是一匹‘昏马’。”
    “噢，噢，”帕波波鲁斯思忖地答应着。
    “现在我们再到赌盘上碰碰运气，先生和小姐，你们觉得怎样？”波洛建议道。
    在赌盘前他们分开坐着。波洛只顾看齐娅，帕波波鲁斯只顾抖他的腿。
    波洛很不走运。齐娅正相反，不声不响地已经把几张一千法郎的钞票弄到了自己的面前。
    “我不想再玩下去了。”她无精打采地说道。
    波洛的小眼睛眨巴了两下。
    “妙极了！”他叫道。“您真不愧是帕波波鲁斯的女儿，齐娅小姐。能够适时地停止玩牌是一门最高的生活艺术。”
    他环顾了一下四周。
    “您父亲不知道到哪儿去了。”他无所谓地说道。“如果您方便，我去取您的大衣，咱们一起到花园里散散步。”
    但是他没有直接去更衣室。。老奸巨滑的希腊人到底在搞什么名堂？他对此很感兴趣。他穿过大厅，在前厅门外的棕榈树叶下，他看到帕波波鲁斯正同一个刚来的女客人谈得火热。这个女士就是米蕾。波洛的好奇心得到了满足。他同来的时候一样，不声不响地又回到了大厅，把大衣披在齐娅的肩膀上。然后，两个人漫步在夜晚的花园里。
    “就是在这个地方，经常有人被弄死。”齐娅说道。
    波洛耸一下肩。“人本身还不是偶尔制造出来的？这不是很好嘛？吃点、喝点、呼吸点新鲜空气。把生活中这些美好的东西都抛弃那是傻瓜。可能是因为没有钱，也可能是因为失恋。爱情所要求作出的代价，同金钱所要求的一样大。”
    齐娅大笑起来。
    “您不要嘲笑爱情，”波洛用举起的食指点着说，“您，年轻又漂亮……”
    “您可要知道，我今年三十三岁了，波洛先生，正象你同爸爸讲得那样，整整十七年了，那时您在巴黎帮助爸爸解脱困境。”
    “若是让我来看您，简直看不出您有那么大年龄。”波洛温情地说道。“您现在的外貌同当年一样。只是有点瘦弱，有点苍白，有点严肃。您那时才十六岁，刚读完中学。
不完全象是个少女，也不完全是个青年女子。您当时就很迷人、很甜，齐娅小姐。”
    “那时才十六岁。”齐娅说道，“象个傻鹅。”
    “这可能。”波洛说道，“不管怎么说，人在十六岁的时候容易轻信。不管谁说点什么，都相信，是吗？”
    他可能已经发觉这位古玩商的女儿斜瞅过来的敏锐的目光，但他却仍然没看她一眼。
他象说梦话似地继续讲述着。“当时，那是一段非常有趣的故事。您父亲一直到今天也不知道这件事的来龙去脉。”
    “他不知道？”
    “当他向我询问此事细节的时候，我回答他说：我会把您丢的东西平平安安地给您送回。请不要问得太多！您知道吗？为什么我要对他这样说？”
    “我不知道。”齐娅冷冰冰地回答道。
    “那么我就告诉您。因为那个苍白的、瘦弱的和严肃的少女占去了我的心。”
    “我真不懂您在说些什么？”齐娅有点烦恼了。
    “真的不懂？难道您忘记了安东尼奥•皮勒齐奥？”
    他感到齐娅刹时间屏住了呼吸。
    “他当时是您父亲的助手。一个助手不能把眼睛总盯着师傅的女儿，对吗？特别是这个助手既年轻又漂亮，那就更不能这样。因为人们总是无休止地谈论爱情，所以我们也该谈谈别的什么，比如说谈谈您父亲当时负责保管的那件吸引人的首饰。正象您自己十分恰当地评价的那样，由于一个年轻的女郎的愚蠢和轻信，所以在向她的长辈显示这件无价之宝的下落的时候，她也就不会产生什么其它的想法。而后，这件宝贝突然失踪了，那真是祸从天降！可怜的小姑娘！她骇怕了，十分骇怕！说还是不说呢？这时来了一个小伙子，来了一个名叫赫库勒•波洛的人。就象变魔术一样，又回来了，可是接着却向那位少女提出了一连串的棘手问题。”
    “您都知道了？是谁告诉您的？是不是安东尼奥？”
    波洛摇摇头。
    “谁也没有告诉我，”他心平气和地说道。“是我猜着的！我猜得很准吧？是吗？假如一个侦探没有猜谜的本领，那么这个侦探就不会有大作为。”
    齐娅沉默不语地在他的身旁漫步。然后傲慢地问道：
    “您是不是对我有什么要求？”
    “我希望得到您的帮助。”
    “您怎么知道我会帮您的忙？”
    “我不知道，这只是我的希望。”
    “可是，如果我无能为力呢？您会在我父亲面前揭发我吗？”
    “毫无此意。我可不是个勒索者。”
    “但是，如果我拒绝帮您的忙……”齐娅拉长了腔调说道。
    “那么您尽管拒绝好了。事情就这样吧。”
    “为什么您要我……”她没有继续说下去。
    “我将向您说明。女人都是宽宏大量的。如果有人为她们做了点什么事，假如能够报答的话，她们就尽量去报答。”
    又是一阵沉默。之后，齐娅说道：“我父亲已经给您提示过了。我不相信我还能对此作什么补充。”
    波洛虽然感到失望，但却没有表露出来。
    “那么好吧。”他爽快地说道。“让我们谈点别的事吧。”
    他又继续谈起来了，唠唠叨叨，没完没了。齐娅却相反，心情很沉闷，只是机械地答应两句。当他们又走近赌场的时候，看得出她已经做出了什么决定。
    “波洛先生。”
    “齐娅小姐？”
    “我想帮助您。”
    “您真是太好了！”
    又是一阵沉默。波洛并不急于催促她。他耐心地等待着。
    “唉，真是，”齐娅说道，“为什么我不能对您说呢？我父亲是很小心的，过于小心了。可是您对我说过，您是在寻找凶手，而不是在寻找首饰。我相信您。您完全猜对了，我们正是为了宝石才到尼扎来的。有人同我父亲约妥了，要在这里交货。宝石就在那个人的手里。另外，我还可以向您暗示，是谁同我父亲作交易的。”
    “是侯爵？”波洛低声问道。
    “是的，是侯爵。”
    “您见过这位侯爵吗，小姐？”
    “就见过一次，但很不清楚。是从钥匙缝里看的。”
    “用这样方式看，是不大容易。”波洛同情地说道。“不过您总算见过他了。如果您再见到他，能认出他来吗？”
    齐娅摇摇头。
    “他戴着假面具。”
    “年轻的，还是老头？”
    “他有一头白发。可能是假发，也可能不是。我不相信他很老。他走路的姿态显得很年轻，声音也是一样。”
    “他的声音？”波洛若有所思地问道。“嗯，他的声音。您能听得出他的说话声音吗，齐娅小姐？”
    “我相信，我能听得出来。”
    “您对他很感兴趣，是吗？因此您才从钥匙孔里去看他。”
    齐娅点点头。
    “是的，我当时很好奇。我听到过好多有关他的事。他可不是一般的小偷。他可以称得上是一部冒险小说的主人公。”
    “可以称得上。”波洛思忖着答道。
    “但是，我要对您讲的还不仅仅是这些，还有一个事实，它可能对您更为有用。”
    “那是什么呢？”波洛催促地问道。
    “正象我对您说过的那样，宝石在尼扎已交到了我父亲的手中。交货人我没有见过，但是……”
    “什么？”
    “有一点我是知道的，交货人是个女的！”
Chapter 29  家乡的来信(A Letter from Home)
Chapter 29  A LETTER FROM HOME 
"Dear Katherine, 
"Living among grand friends as you are doing now, I don't suppose you will care to hear any of our news; but as I always thought you were a sensible girl, perhaps you are a trifle less swollen-headed than I suppose. Everything goes on much the same here. There was great trouble about the new curate, who is scandalously high. In my view, he is neither more nor less than a Roman. Everybody has spoken to the Vicar about it, but you know what the Vicar is - all Christian charity and no proper spirit. I have had a lot of trouble with maids lately. That girl Annie was no good - skirts up to her knees and wouldn't wear sensible woollen stockings. Not one of them can bear being spoken to. I have had a lot of pain with my rheumatism one way and another, and Dr Harris persuaded me to go and see a London specialist - a waste of three guineas and a railway fare, as I told him; but by waiting until Wednesday I managed to get a cheap return. The London doctor pulled a long face and talked all round about and never straight out, until I said to him, 'I'm a plain woman, Doctor, and I like things to be plainly stated. Is it cancer, or is it not?' And then, of course, he had to say it was. They say a year with care, and not too much pain, though I am sure I can bear pain as well as any other Christian woman. Life seems rather lonely at times, with most of my friends dead or gone before. I wish you were in St Mary Mead, my dear, and that is a fact. If you hadn't come into this money and gone off into grand society, I would have offered you double the salary poor Jane gave you to come and look after me; but there - there's no good wanting what we can't get. However, if things should go ill with you - and that is always possible. I have heard no end of tales of bogus noblemen marrying girls and getting hold of their money and then leaving them at the church door. I dare say you are too sensible for anything of the kind to happen to you, but one never knows; and never having had much 
attention of any kind it might easily go to your head now. So just in case, my dear, remember there is always a home for you here; and though a plain-spoken woman I am a warm-hearted one too. 
"Your affectionate old friend, 
"Amelia Viner. 
"P.S. - I saw a mention of you in the paper with your cousin, Viscountess Tamplin, and I cut it out and put it with my cuttings. I prayed for you on Sunday that you might be kept from pride and vain glory." 
Katherine read this characteristic epistle through twice, then she laid it down and stared out of her bedroom window across the blue waters of the Mediterranean. She felt a curious lump in her throat. A sudden wave of longing for St Mary Mead swept over her. So full of familiar, everyday, stupid little things - and yet - home. She felt very inclined to lay her head down on her arms and indulge in a real good cry. 
Lenox, coming in at the moment, saved her. 
"Hello, Katherine," said Lenox. "I say - what is the matter?" 
"Nothing," said Katherine, grabbing up Miss Viner's letter and thrusting it into her handbag. 
"You looked rather queer," said Lenox. "I say - I hope you don't mind - I rang up your detective friend, M. Poirot, and asked him to lunch with us in Nice. I said you wanted to see him, as I thought he might not come for me." 
"Did you want to see him then?" asked Katherine. 
"Yes," said Lenox. "I have rather lost my heart to him. I never met a man before whose eyes were really green like a cat's." 
"All right," said Katherine. She spoke listlessly. The last few days had been trying. Derek Kettering's arrest had been the topic of the hour, and the Blue Train Mystery had been thrashed out from every conceivable standpoint. 
"I have ordered the car," said Lenox, "and I have told Mother some lie or other - unfortunately I can't remember exactly what; but it won't matter, as she never remembers. If she knew where we were going, she would want to come too, to pump M. Poirot." 
The two girls arrived at the Negresco to find Poirot waiting. 
He was full of Gallic politeness, and showered so many compliments upon the two girls that they were soon helpless with laughter, yet for all that the meal was not a gay one. Katherine was dreamy and distracted, and Lenox made bursts of 
conversation, interspersed by silences. As they were sitting on the terrace sipping their coffee she suddenly attacked Poirot bluntly. 
"How are things going? You know what I mean?" 
Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "They take their course," he said. 
"And you are just letting them take their course?" 
He looked at Lenox a little sadly. 
"You are young, Mademoiselle, but there are three things that cannot be hurried - le bon Dieu, Nature, and old people." 
"Nonsense!" said Lenox. "You are not old." 
"Ah, it is pretty what you say there." 
"Here is Major Knighton," said Lenox. Katherine looked round quickly and then turned back again. 
"He is with Mr Van Aldin," continued Lenox. "There is something I want to ask Major Knighton about. I won't be a minute." 
Left alone together, Poirot bent forward and murmured to Katherine: 
"You are distraite, Mademoiselle; your thoughts, they are far away, are they not?" 
"Just as far as England, no farther." 
Guided by a sudden impulse, she took the letter she had received that morning and handed it across to him to read. 
"That is the first word that has come to me from my old life; somehow or other - it hurts." 
He read it through and then handed it back to her. "So you are going back to St Mary Mead?" he said slowly. 
"No, I am not," said Katherine, "why should I?" 
"Ah," said Poirot, "it is my mistake. You will excuse me one little minute." 
He strolled across to where Lenox Tamplin was talking to Van Aldin and Knighton. 
The American looked old and haggard. He greeted Poirot with a curt nod but without any other sign of animation. 
As he turned to reply to some observation made by Lenox, Poirot drew Knighton aside. 
"M. Van Aldin looks ill," he said. 
"Do you wonder?" asked Knighton. "The scandal of Derek Kettering's arrest has about put the lid on things, as far as he is concerned. He is even regretting that he asked you to find out the truth." 
"He should go back to England," said Poirot. 
"We are going the day after tomorrow." 
"That is good news," said Poirot. 
He hesitated, and looked across the terrace to where Katherine was sitting. 
"I wish," he murmured, "that you could tell Miss Grey that." 
"Tell her what?" 
"That you - I mean that M. Van Aldin is I returning to England." 
Knighton looked a little puzzled, but he readily crossed the terrace and joined Katherine. 
Poirot saw him go with a satisfied nod of the head, and then joined Lenox and the American. After a minute or two they joined the others. Conversation was general for a few minutes, then the millionaire and his secretary departed. Poirot also prepared to take his departure. 
"A thousand thanks for your hospitality, Mesdemoiselles," he cried, "it has been a most charming luncheon. Ma foi, I needed it!" He swelled out his chest and thumped it. "I am now a lion - a giant. Ah, Mademoiselle Katherine, you have not seen me as I can be. You have seen the gentle, the calm Hercule Poirot; but there is another Hercule Poirot. I go now to bully, to threaten, to strike terror into the hearts of those who listen to me." 
He looked at them in a self-satisfied way, and they both appeared to be duly impressed, though Lenox was biting her under lip, and the corners of Katherine's mouth had a suspicious twitch. 
"And I shall do it," he said gravely. "Oh yes, I shall succeed." 
He had gone but a few steps when Katherine's voice made him turn. 
"M. Poirot, I - I want to tell you. I think you were right in what you said. I am going back to England almost immediately." 
Poirot stared at her very hard, and under the directness of his scrutiny she blushed. 
"I see," he said gravely. 
"I don't believe you do," said Katherine. 
"I know more than you think, Mademoiselle," he said quietly. 
He left her, with an odd little smile upon his lips. Entering a waiting car, he drove to Antibes. 
Hippolyte, the Comte de la Roche's wooden-faced man-servant, was busy at the Villa Marina polishing his master's beautiful cut- glass table. The Comte de la Roche himself had gone to Monte Carlo for the day. 
Chancing to look out of the window, Hippolyte espied a visitor walking briskly up to the hall door, a visitor of so uncommon a type that Hippolyte, experienced as he was, had some difficulty in placing him. Calling to his wife, Marie, who was busy in the kitchen, he drew her attention to what he called ce type là. 
"It is not the police again?" said Marie anxiously. 
"Look for yourself," said Hippolyte. 
Marie looked. 
"Certainly not the police," she declared. "I am glad." 
"They have not really worried us much," said Hippolyte. "In fact, but for Monsieur le Comte's warning, I should never have guessed that stranger at the wine-shop to be what he was." 
The hall bell pealed and Hippolyte, in a grave and decorous manner, went to open the door. 
"M. le Comte, I regret to say, is not at home." 
The little man with the large moustaches beamed placidly. 
"I know that," he replied. "You are Hippolyte Flavelle, are you not?" 
"Yes, Monsieur, that is my name." 
"And you have a wife, Marie Flavelle?" 
"Yes, Monsieur, but -" 
"I desire to see you both," said the stranger, and he stepped nimbly past Hippolyte into the hall. 
"Your wife is doubtless in the kitchen," he said. "I will go there." 
Before Hippolyte could recover his breath, the other had selected the right door at the back of the hall and passed along the passage and into the kitchen, where Marie paused open-mouthed 
to stare at him. 
"Voilà," said the stranger, and sank into a wooden armchair, "I am Hercule Poirot." 
"Yes, Monsieur?" 
"You do not know the name?" 
"I have never heard it," said Hippolyte. 
"Permit me to say that you have been badly educated. It is the name of one of the great ones of this world." 
He sighed and folded his hands across his chest. 
Hippolyte and Marie were staring at him uneasily. They were at a loss what to make of this unexpected and extremely strange visitor. 
"Monsieur desires -" murmured Hippolyte mechanically. 
"I desire to know why you have lied to the police." 
"Monsieur!" cried Hippolyte, "I - lied to the police? Never have I done such a thing." 
M. Poirot shook his head. 
"You are wrong," he said, "you have done on several occasions. Let me see." He took small notebook from his pocket and consulted it. "Ah, yes; on seven occasions at least. I will recite them to you." 
In a gentle unemotional voice he proceeded to outline the seven occasions. 
Hippolyte was taken aback. 
"But it is not of these past lapses that I wish to speak," continued Poirot, "only, my dear friend, do not get into the habit of thinking yourself too clever. I come now to the particular lie in which I am concerned - your statement that the Comte de la Roche arrived at this villa on the morning of 14th January." 
"But that was no lie, Monsieur; that was the truth. Monsieur le Comte arrived here on the morning of Tuesday, the 14th. That is so, Marie, is it not?" 
Marie assented eagerly. 
"Ah, yes, that is quite right. I remember it perfectly." 
"Ah," said Poirot, "and what did you give your good master for déjeuner that day?" 
"I -" Marie paused, trying to collect herself. 
"Odd," said Poirot, "how one remembers some things - and forgets others." 
He leant forward and struck the table a blow with his fist; his eyes flashed with anger. 
"Yes, yes, it is as I say. You tell your lies and you think nobody knows. But there are two people who know. Yes - two people. One is le bon Dieu -" 
He raised a hand to heaven, and then settling himself back in his chair and shutting his eyelids, he murmured comfortably: 
"And the other is Hercule Poirot." 
"I assure you, Monsieur, you are completely mistaken. Monsieur le Comte left Paris on Monday night -" 
"True," said Poirot, "by the Rapide. I do not know where he broke his journey. Perhaps you do not know that. What I do know is that he arrived here on Wednesday morning, and not on Tuesday morning." 
"Monsieur is mistaken," said Marie stolidly. 
Poirot rose to his feet. 
"Then the law must take its course," he murmured. "A pity." 
"What do you mean, Monsieur?" asked Marie, with a shade of uneasiness. 
"You will be arrested and held as accomplices concerned in the murder of Mrs Kettering, the English lady who was killed." 
"Murder!" 
The man's face had gone chalk white, his knees knocked together. Marie dropped the rolling-pin and began to weep. 
"But it is impossible - impossible. I thought -" 
"Since you stick to your story, there is nothing to be said. I think you are both foolish." 
He was turning towards the door when an agitated voice arrested him. 
"Monsieur, Monsieur, just a little moment. I - I had no idea that it was anything of this kind. I - I thought it was just a matter concerning a lady. There have been little awkwardnesses with the police over ladies before. But murder - that is very different." 
"I have no patience with you," cried Poirot. He turned round on them and angrily shook his fist in Hippolyte's face. "Am I to stop here all day, arguing with a couple of imbeciles thus? It is the truth I want. If you will not give it to me, that is your look out. For the last time, when did Monsieur le Comte arrive at the Villa Marina - Tuesday morning or Wednesday morning?" 
"Wednesday," gasped the man, and behind him Marie nodded confirmation. 
Poirot regarded them for a minute or two, then inclined his head gravely. 
"You are wise, my children," he said quietly. "Very nearly you were in serious trouble." 
He left the Villa Marina, smiling to himself. 
"One guess confirmed," he murmured to himself. "Shall I take a chance on the other?" 
It was six o'clock when the card of Monsieur Hercule Poirot was brought up to Mirelle. 
She stared at it for a moment or two, and then nodded. When Poirot entered, he found her walking up and down the room feverishly. She turned on him furiously. 
"Well?" she cried. "Well? What is it now? Have you not tortured me enough, all of you? Have you not made me betray my poor Dereek? What more do you want?" 
"Just one little question, Mademoiselle. After the train left Lyons, when you entered Mrs Kettering's compartment -" 
"What is that?" 
Poirot looked at her with an air of mild reproach and began again. 
"I say when you entered Mrs Kettering's compartment -" 
"I never did." 
"And found her -" 
"I never did." 
"Ah, sacré!" 
He turned on her in a rage and shouted at her, so that she cowered back before him. 
"Will you lie to me? I tell you I know what happened as well as though I had been there. You went into her compartment and you 
found her dead. I tell you I know it. To lie to me is dangerous. Be careful, Mademoiselle Mirelle." 
Her eyes wavered beneath his gaze and fell. 
"I - I didn't -" she began uncertainly and stopped. 
"There is only one thing about which I wonder," said Poirot. "I wonder, Mademoiselle, if you found what you were looking for or whether -" 
"Whether what?" 
"Or whether someone else had been before you." 
"I will answer no more questions," screamed the dancer. She tore herself away from Poirot's restraining hand, and flinging herself down on the floor in a frenzy, she screamed and sobbed. A frightened maid came rushing in. 
Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, and quietly left the room. 
But he seemed satisfied. 

第二十九章 家乡的来信
“亲爱的卡泰丽娜！您现在是生活在花花世界里了，所以我们这个小村子
    里发生的事您是不感兴趣的。其实，也的确没发生什么事。我整天和女佣人们
    生气。安妮简直是不能用了。她穿的裙子不过膝盖，短到大腿根儿，而且也不
    穿毛袜子。风湿痛给我带来了很大的麻烦，哈里松医生一点也不得闲，有一天
    我只得去伦敦找个专家治病。（当然必须得找一个吉利的日子。）专家拉长了
    脸，东拉西扯地说个没完，最后我不得不问他：‘我是个普通妇女，请您说话
    简单点。痛快说，到底是不是癌症？’最后他说了实话。我已坚持有一年了。
    疼痛我还是能够忍受的。我只是感到非常孤单，我所有的朋友都不在这里了。
    我希望您能回玛丽泰德村来一趟，我的孩子。但是，这是不可能的。最大的可
    能是，当您有什么忧虑或是想得到母亲般的忠告时，请您想到，这里永远是您
    的故乡，是您的家。您那善良的老友
     艾梅莉•瓦伊尼
又及：诺利希最近在报上的社会新闻栏里读到您和您表姐坦普林女士的消
    息。我立即就把它剪下收起来了。我祝愿上帝给您勇气和信心。
    ×   ×  ×
    卡泰丽娜把这位老友的来信读了两遍，然后慢慢地放下，透过卧室的窗口看着地中海蓝色的波涛。她不禁潸然泪下。她是想家了吗？
    雷诺斯打断了她的深思。
    “唉，卡泰丽娜。”年轻女郎叫道，“你是怎么啦？”
    “没什么。”卡泰丽娜说着把信揉在手里。
    “你那样出神地望着，真奇怪。”雷诺斯说道。“对了，我给你的朋友，那个侦探打了个电话，邀请他今天中午到尼扎来吃饭。我还撒了个谎，说你要见他。如果以我的名义，他肯定不会答应。”
    “你想见到他的心情，是那么迫切吗？”
    “坦率地说，是的。我的心都被他俘去了。我还从没有见过一个男人有那么美的绿眼珠。”
    “这可能。”卡泰丽娜随声附和地说道。
    最近几天真是严峻的日子。德里克的被捕成了人们经常谈论的话题。“蓝色特快”上的秘密已广为流传，而这个秘密一直涉及到两个人。
    “我已经租好汽车了。”雷诺斯说道，“妈妈又到什么地方吹牛去了。要是让她知道，她一定会跟着去的。她这个人老是纠缠不休。”
    波洛在内格列斯库饭店早已等着女士们的到来。尽管波洛大献法国式的殷勤，午饭吃得还是不那么痛快。卡泰丽娜郁郁不乐地陷入了深思。雷诺斯一反常态，由夸夸其谈变得沉默不语。在喝黑咖啡时她开口说话了，而且一下就上了正题。
    “有什么新情况吗？我指这当然是那个案子。”
    波洛耸了耸肩。“任何事物都有自己的规律。”
    “那么您就让它按照自己的规律进行？”
    他忧虑地看着雷诺斯。
    “您还年轻。但是，世界上有三件东西您不能催促：可爱的上帝，大自然，还有老头。”
    “尽胡扯。”雷诺斯说道，“您可不算老。”
    “我感谢您对我的夸奖。”
    “奈顿少校来了。”雷诺斯说道。
    卡泰丽娜不由自主地转过头去。
    “他在冯•阿尔丁那里做事。”雷诺斯继续说道。“我想向奈顿问点事。请原谅，我去去就来。”
    当只剩下他们俩的时候，波洛低下头来对卡泰丽娜说道：“您的情绪不好，您的心早就飞离了这里。”
    “到英国去了，飞得不太远。”
    她立即把从衣袋里掏出早晨收到的那封信，递给了波洛。
    “离开玛丽麦德村之后这是我得到的第一个关于家乡生活的消息，它使我很难受。”
    他看完信后又递给卡泰丽娜。
    “您还回玛丽泰德去吗？”他慢悠悠地问道。
    “我指的不是这个。”卡泰丽娜回答道，“为什么我要回去呢？”
    “那我领会错了。”波洛说道，“能够原谅我吗？”
    他走到雷诺斯那边，她正同冯•阿尔丁和奈顿他们谈话。美国佬显得很苍老，愁眉不展。他机械地向波洛点了一下头，表示欢迎。当他正在回答雷诺斯的问题时，波洛把奈顿叫到了一边。
    “冯•阿尔丁先生的脸色真是难看极了。”他说道。
    “您对此感到惊奇吗？”奈顿问道。“德里克的被捕而掀起的这场风波，对他来说实在难以忍受。他感到遗憾的是，他已完全委托您去查清事实真相。”
    “他是要回英国去？”波洛问道。
    “后天我们就回国。”
    波洛犹豫了一会儿，从花坛对面看着卡泰丽娜。“您应该告诉格蕾小姐一声，就说冯•阿尔丁要回英国去。”
    起初奈顿感到有点奇怪，然后却顺从地走向卡泰丽娜。波洛满意地望着他的身影。
    十几分钟后他告别了两位女士，对请他吃午饭也没说什么过分的道谢话。当波洛已离开她们很远的时候，卡泰丽娜又把他叫住。
    “波洛先生，我想对您说句话。您刚才说的对，我最近几天要回英国去。”
    波洛目不转睛地盯着她，以至使她的脸都涨红了。
    “我懂。”他说道。
    “您什么也不懂。”卡泰丽娜说道。
    “我懂的比您猜到的还要多，小姐。”
    他轻轻一笑离开了她，上了汽车直回昂蒂布城。
    罗歇伯爵的那位仪表堂堂的佣人，伊波利特，正在把主人的整套餐具擦得锃亮。伯爵在蒙特卡洛过着自己的日子。伊波利特看到一个小老头正向别墅走来。这次来访对他来说并不十分意外。他把自己的老婆玛丽从厨房里叫出来，低声对她说道：
    “你看那家伙，朝这里走来了。”
    “你相信吗？可能又是从警察局那里来的？”
    “你自己去看好了。”伊波利特望着外面。
    “不是，不是警察局的人。”她声明说。“谢天谢地。”
    门铃响起来，伊波利特开了门，表现得严肃而庄重。
    “伯爵先生不在家。”
    留着一撮胡子的小老头和蔼地看着他。
    “这我知道，”他回答说。“您是伊波利特•弗拉维尔，对吗？”
    “是的，先生。”
    “那么说玛丽•弗拉维尔是您的妻子了？”
    “正是，先生。但……”
    “我希望找你们俩个人谈一谈，”陌生人一面说着一面走进了屋。
    还不等提出什么问题，波洛早已舒适地坐在靠椅上叫道，“我是赫库勒•波洛。”
    “先生，怎样为您效劳好呢？”
    “难道我的名字还没有说明这一点吗？”
    “遗憾的是，并没有。”
    “请允许我给您指出，这是您受教育不足的表现。”
    波洛坐在那里双手抱在胸前。伊波利特与玛丽很不满意地瞧着。他们简直弄不明白，怎样来对待这位毫不知礼的不速之客。
    “先生是想……”伊波利特低声而呆板地问道。
    “我是弄弄清楚，为什么你们要欺骗警察？”
    “先生，”伊波利特叫了一声，“我欺骗警察？完全没有！”
    波洛掏出了一个笔记本在翻着。“您弄错了。您至少有七次对警察说了谎。我这里记录着说谎的细节。”
    他以温和的语调读着这七次谎言的内容。
    伊波利特张口结舌地站在那里。
    “我到这里来不是为了找您的碴，”波洛继续说下去，“您也别这么想，我的朋友。
我到这里来是为了证实一个我感兴趣的谎言。我指的是您曾说过的话，说伯爵是在一月十四日早晨到这个别墅的。”
    “可是，那不是谎言，那是事实。伯爵先生是星期二，一月十四日到别墅。是吗，玛丽？”
    玛丽急忙答应。
    “伯爵先生是星期一离开巴黎的。”伊波利特往下说道。
    “完全正确。”波洛说道，“是乘夜里的快车。在什么地方中断了旅行，这我不清楚。但是事实是，星期三早晨才到了这里，而不是星期二早晨。”
    “先生弄错了。”玛丽泰然自若地插话说。
    波洛跳了起来。
    “那我可要任凭事情的自然发展了。”他嘟哝着。“真可耻！”
    “您说这话是什么意思，先生？”玛丽有点稳不住神了。
    “您们俩将会被逮捕，罪名是协助谋杀凯特林女士，就是那个被人弄死的英国女士。”
    “谋杀……？”
    玛丽的脸面刹时变得象张白纸，两腿颤抖；她的丈夫也变得有点心神不定。
    “可是这简直是不可能的……不可能的！我一直认为……”
    “因为您坚持您的说法，所以任何话都是多余的了。你们是一对大傻瓜。”
    波洛已经走到了门口，这时一声激动的喊叫使他停了下来。
    “先生，先生！请再等一等！我当时认为，又是为了一个女人的事。由于女人的事，我们经常同警察发生小小的磨擦，可是因为谋杀！这是另外一回事，完全是另外一回事。”
    “我的忍耐是有限的。”波洛喊道。“我想知道真相。或者是说真话，或者是……我最后再问你们一次：什么时候伯爵回到别墅的？是星期二早晨还是星期三早晨？”
    “星期三。”男的踌躇地说，女的点头确认。
    波洛不声不响地看了他俩一会儿，然后严肃地点点头。
    “你们俩比我想象的要聪明。”他心平气和地说道。“你们的处境已经到了千钧一发的时刻了。”
    波洛满意地离开了别墅。“猜得很对”，他自言自语地说道。“是否再试一试我那猜谜的天才？”
    米蕾接到赫库勒•波洛的名片的时候，已经是六点钟了。波洛进屋时看到这位舞女神经质地在房间里走来走去。
    “您找我有什么事？”她朝他喊道。“难道你们还没把我折磨够？让我出卖我的德里克，难道这不是你们的罪过？您还想干什么？”
    “有一个小问题，小姐。火车离开里昂，您进了凯特林女士的包厢之后……”
    “您这是什么意思？”
    波洛以温和而责难的目光不断地打量着她。
    “我是说当您进了凯特林女士的包厢之后……”
    “我没有进去过。”
    “您看到她躺地那里……”
    “我不是对您说过吗，我没有走进她的包厢。”
    “见鬼！”他愤怒地大喊了一声，使她不由自主地向后退了一步。
    “您还想骗我？我能够把您当时的情景一丝不漏地描摹一番，就象我亲临其境一样。
您进了她的包厢，发现她已经死了。要想骗我那是危险的，小心点，我的米蕾小姐！”
    在他那敏锐的目光面前，他闭上了双眼，浑身发软，颓然坐下。
    “我只想问您一点。”波洛说道。“您想要找的东西是否已经找到，或是已经……”
    “或是什么？”
    “或是有人已经捷足先登了。”
    “我不想回答任何一个问题了。”米蕾声嘶力竭地叫道。她挣脱了波洛的手，呼呼地喘着气。
    波洛耸了一下肩膀离开了她的屋子。他显得很满意。
Chapter 30  瓦伊纳小姐参加便宴(Miss Viner Gives Judgement)
Chapter 30  MISS VINER GIVES JUDGMENT 
Katherine looked out of Miss Viner's bedroom window. It was raining, not violently, but with a quiet, well-bred persistence. The window looked out on a strip of front garden with a path down to the gate and neat little flower-beds on either side, where later roses and pinks and blue hyacinths would bloom. Miss Viner was lying in a large Victorian bedstead. A tray with the remains of breakfast had been pushed to one side and she was busy opening 
her correspondence and making various caustic comments upon it. 
Katherine had an open letter in her hand and was reading it through for the second time. It was dated from the Ritz Hotel, Paris. 
"Chère Mademoiselle Katherine (it began), 
"I trust that you are in good health and that the return to the English winter has not proved too depressing. Me, I prosecute my inquiries with the utmost diligence. Do not think that it is the holiday that I take here. Very shortly I shall be in England, and I hope then to have the pleasure of meeting you once more. It shall be so, shall it not? On arrival in London I shall write to you. You remember that we are the colleagues in this affair? But indeed I think you know that very well. 
"Be assured, Mademoiselle, of my most respectful and devoted sentiments. 
"Hercule Poirot." 
Katherine frowned slightly. It was as though something in the letter puzzled and intrigued her. 
"A choir boys' picnic indeed," came from Miss Viner. "Tommy Saunders and Albert Dykes ought to be left behind, and I shan't subscribe to it unless they are. What those two boys think they are doing in church on Sundays I don't know. Tommy sang, 'O God, make speed to save us,' and never opened his lips again, and if Albert Dykes wasn't sucking a mint humbug, my nose is not what it is and always has been." 
"I know, they are awful," agreed Katherine. 
She opened her second letter, and a sudden flush came to her cheeks. Miss Viner's voice in the room seemed to recede into the far distance. 
When she came back to a sense of her surroundings Miss Viner was bringing a long speech to a triumphant termination. 
"And I said to her, 'Not at all. As it happens, Miss Grey is Lady Tamplin's own cousin.' What do you think of that?" 
"Were you fighting my battles for me? That was very sweet of you." 
"You can put it that way if you like. There is nothing to me in a title. Vicar's wife or no vicar's wife, that woman is a cat. Hinting you had bought your way into Society." 
"Perhaps she was not so very far wrong." 
"And look at you," continued Miss Viner. "Have you come back a stuck-up fine lady, as well you might have done? No, there you are, as sensible as ever you were, with a pair of good Balbriggan stockings on and sensible shoes. I spoke to Ellen about it only yesterday. 'Ellen,' I said, 'you look at Miss Grey. She has been hobnobbing with some of the greatest in the land, and does she go about as you do with skirts up to her knees and silk stockings that ladder when you look at them, and the most ridiculous shoes that ever I set eyes on'." 
Katherine smiled a little to herself; it had apparently been worth while to conform to Miss Viner's prejudices. The old lady went on with increasing gusto. 
"It has been a great relief to me that you have not had your head turned. Only the other day I was looking for my cuttings. I have several about Lady Tamplin and her War Hospital and what not, but I cannot lay my hand upon them. I wish you would look, my dear; your eyesight is better than mine. They are all in a box in the bureau drawer." 
Katherine glanced down at the letter in her hand and was about to speak, but checked herself, and going over to the bureau found the box of cuttings and began to look over them. Since her return to St Mary Mead her heart had gone out to Miss Viner in admiration of the old woman's stoicism and pluck. She felt that there was little she could do for her old friend, but she knew from experience how much those seemingly small trifles meant to old people. 
"Here is one," she said presently. "'Viscountess Tamplin, who is running her villa at Nice as an Officers' Hospital, has just been the victim of a sensational robbery, her jewels having been stolen. Amongst them were some very famous emeralds, heirlooms of the 
Tamplin family.'" 
"Probably paste," said Miss Viner, "a lot of these Society women's jewels are." 
"Here is another," said Katherine. "A picture of her, 'A charming camera study of Viscountess Tamplin with her little daughter Lenox.'" 
"Let me look," said Miss Viner. "You can't see much of the child's face, can you? But I dare say that is just as well. Things go by contraries in this world and beautiful mothers have hideous children. I dare say the photographer realized that to take the back of the child's head was the best thing he could do for her." 
Katherine laughed. 
"'One of the smartest hostesses on the Riviera this season is Viscountess Tamplin, who has a villa at Cap Martin. Her cousin, Miss Grey, who recently inherited a vast fortune in a most romantic manner, is staying with her there.'" 
"That is the one I wanted," said Miss Viner. "I expect there has been a picture of you in one of the papers that I have missed, you know the kind of thing. Mrs Somebody or other Jones-Williams, at the something or other point-to-point, usually carrying a shooting- stick and having one foot lifted up in the air. It must be a trial to some of them to see what they look like." 
Katherine did not answer. She was smoothing out the cutting with her finger, and her face had a puzzled, worried look. Then she drew the second letter out of its envelope and mastered its contents once more. She turned to her friend. 
"Miss Viner? I wonder - there is a friend of mine, someone I met on the Riviera, who wants very much to come down and see me here?" 
"A man," said Miss Viner. 
"Yes." 
"Who is he?" 
"He is secretary to Mr Van Aldin, the American millionaire." 
"What is his name?" 
"Knighton, Major Knighton." 
"Hm - secretary to a millionaire. And wants to come down here. Now, Katherine, I am going to say something to you for your own good. You are a nice girl and a sensible girl, and though you have your head screwed on the right way about most things, every woman makes a fool of herself once in her life. Ten to one what this man is after is your money." 
With a gesture she arrested Katherine's reply. "I have been waiting for something of this kind. What is a secretary to a millionaire? Nine times out of ten it is a young man who likes living soft. A young man with nice manners and a taste for luxury and no brains and no enterprise, and if there is anything that is a softer job than being a secretary to a millionaire it is marrying a rich woman for her money. I am not saying that you might not be some man's fancy. But you are not young, and though you have a very good complexion you are not a beauty, and what I say to you is, don't make a fool of yourself; but if you are determined to do so, do see that your money is properly tied up on yourself. There, now I have finished. What have you got to say?" 
"Nothing," said Katherine, "but would you mind if he did come down to see me?" 
"I wash my hands of it," said Miss Viner. "I have done my duty, and whatever happens now is on your own head. Would you like him to lunch or to dinner? I dare say Ellen could manage dinner - that is, if she didn't lose her head." 
"Lunch would be very nice," said Katherine. "It is awfully kind of you, Miss Viner. He asked me to ring him up, so I will do so and say that we shall be pleased if he will lunch with us. He will motor down from town." 
"Ellen does a steak with grilled tomatoes pretty fairly," said Miss Viner. "She doesn't do it well, but she does it better than anything else. It is no good having a tart because she is heavy handed with pastry; but her little castle puddings are not bad, and I dare say you could find a nice piece of Stilton at Abbot's. I have always heard that gentlemen like a nice piece of Stilton, and there is a good deal of father's wine left, a bottle of sparkling Moselle, perhaps." 
"Oh no, Miss Viner; that is really not necessary." 
"Nonsense, my child. No gentleman is happy unless he drinks something with his meal. There is some good pre-war whisky if you think he would prefer that. Now do as I say and don't argue. The key of the wine-cellar is in the third drawer down in the dressing-table, in the second pair of stockings on the left-hand side." 
Katherine went obediently to the spot indicated. 
"The second pair, now mind," said Miss Viner. "The first pair has my diamond earrings and my filigree brooch in it." 
"Oh," said Katherine, rather taken aback, "wouldn't you like them put in your jewel-case?" 
Miss Viner gave vent to a terrific and prolonged snort. 
"No, indeed! I have much too much sense for that sort of thing, thank you. Dear, dear, I well remember how my poor father had a safe built in downstairs. Pleased as Punch he was with it, and he said to my mother, 'Now, Mary, you bring me your jewels in their case every night and I will lock them away for you.' My mother was a very tactful woman, and she knew that gentlemen like having their own way, and she brought him the jewel-case locked up just as he said. 
"And one night burglars broke in, and of course - naturally - the first thing they went for was the safe! It would be, with my father talking up and down the village and bragging about it until you might have thought he kept all King Solomon's diamonds there. They made a clean sweep, got the tankards, the silver cups, and the presentation gold plate that my father had had presented to him, and the jewel-case." 
She sighed reminiscently. "My father was in a great state over my mother's jewels. There was the Venetian set and some very fine cameos, and some pale pink corals, and two diamond rings with quite large stones in them. And then, of course, she had to tell him that, being a sensible woman, she had kept her jewellery rolled up in a pair of corsets, and there it was still as safe as anything." 
"And the jewel-case had been quite empty?" 
"Oh no, dear," said Miss Viner, "it would have been too light a weight then. My mother was a very intelligent woman, she saw to that. She kept her buttons in the jewel-case, and a very handy place it was. Boot buttons in the top tray, trouser buttons in the second tray, and assorted buttons below. Curiously enough, my father was quite annoyed with her. He said he didn't like deceit. But I mustn't go chattering on; you want to go and ring up your friend, and mind you choose a nice piece of steak, and tell Ellen she is not to have holes in her stockings when she waits at lunch." 
"Is her name Ellen or Helen, Miss Viner? I thought -" 
Miss Viner closed her eyes. 
"I can sound my h's, dear, as well as anyone, but Helen is not a suitable name for a servant. I don't know what the mothers in the lower classes are coming to nowadays." 
The rain had cleared away when Knighton arrived at the cottage. The pale fitful sunshine shone down on it and burnished Katherine's head as she stood in the doorway to welcome him. He came up to her quickly, almost boyishly. 
"I say, I hope you don't mind. I simply had to see you again soon. I hope the friend you are staying with does not mind." 
"Come in and make friends with her," said Katherine. "She can be most alarming, but you will soon find that she has the softest heart in the world." 
Miss Viner was enthroned majestically in the drawing-room, wearing a complete set of the cameos which had been so providentially preserved in the family. She greeted Knighton with dignity and an austere politeness which would have damped many 
men. Knighton, however, had a charm of manner which was not easily set aside, and after about ten minutes Miss Viner thawed perceptibly. Luncheon was a merry meal, and Ellen, or Helen, in a new pair of silk stockings devoid of ladders performed prodigies of waiting. Afterwards, Katherine and Knighton went for a walk and they came back to have tea tête-а-tête, since Miss Viner had gone to lie down. 
When the car had finally driven off Katherine went slowly upstairs. A voice called her and she went in to Miss Viner's bedroom. 
"Friend gone?" 
"Yes. Thank you so much for letting me ask him down." 
"No need to thank me. Do you think I am the sort of old curmudgeon who will never do anything for anybody?" 
"I think you are a dear," said Katherine affectionately. 
"Humph," said Miss Viner mollified. 
As Katherine was leaving the room she called her back.  
"Katherine?" 
"Yes." 
"I was wrong about that young man of yours. A man when he is making up to anybody can be cordial and gallant and full of little attentions and altogether charming. But when a man is really in love he can't help looking like a sheep. Now, whenever that young man looked at you he looked like a sheep. I take back all I said this morning. It is genuine." 

第三十章 瓦伊尼小姐参加便宴
    卡泰丽娜坐在瓦伊尼小姐的卧室里，遥望着窗外的远方。天下着雨，虽然不大，但可以说是典型的英国天气。
    瓦伊尼小姐躺在一个老式的木床上。她刚吃完早点。正在翻阅着早晨的报纸。
    卡泰丽娜拆开手中的一封信。信是从巴黎的里茨饭店寄来的，内容如下：
“亲爱的卡泰丽娜小姐！我希望，英国的冬天不会使您意志消沉下去。我
    还在办我们那桩案子。您相信吗？我将休假。我不久将去英国，并希望能够拜
    访您，那将是我的享受。您不会忘记吧？我们是同事。始终是您忠实的、可信
    赖的朋友赫库勒•波洛。”
    信中某种使她不安的东西，但究竟是什么，她自已也说不清楚。她又拆开了第二封信，脸上立刻泛起了红晕。瓦伊尼小姐的声音突然响了起来，象是从外面传进来的。
    “亲爱的卡泰丽娜。”这位老女士说，“您见了大世面，却没有堕落下去，这对我来说是再高兴也没有的了，我刚刚把我的剪报又看了一遍。我有一大堆关于坦普林女士和她的战时医院的剪报，还有别的，应有尽在。您一会儿翻出来看看，我的眼睛不管事了。它们都放在我的写字台的抽屉里。”
    卡泰丽娜到写字台那边找剪报去了。老女友的坚韧不拔的勇气使她感到惊异。卡泰丽娜为她做了不少事，但按她的生活经验，有些小事却能给老年人带来乐趣。
    “我看到一份剪报。”卡泰丽娜说，“坦普林女士把她的别墅变成了战地医院，并成了小偷手中的牺牲品。她收藏的宝石被盗窃了，其中还有坦普林家族的家传宝石。”
    “那一定是复制品。”瓦伊尼小姐说道。“现今的女士不管什么玩意儿都往身上戴！”
    “又有一份！”卡泰丽娜说。“上面有一张很引人注目的照片：坦普林女士同她的女儿雷诺斯。”
    “拿过来给我瞧瞧。”瓦伊尼小姐说道。“如果摄影师给孩子们拍照，就只照他们的后脑壳。他们自己也知道这是为什么。”
    卡泰丽娜大笑起来。
    “在今年的利维埃拉旅游季节里，坦普林女士是其中最标致的主人之一，她在马丁角有一栋别墅，她的堂妹，格蕾小姐，以最浪漫的方式成为一大笔财产的占有者，今年曾在她那里坐过客。”
    卡泰丽娜不再往下翻了。她犹豫了一会儿，从信封里抽出那第二封信。
    “瓦伊尼小姐！请您听着，我在利维埃拉认识的一位熟人问我，是不是可以到这里来做客。”
    “他是谁？”
    “他是冯•阿丁的私人秘书，也就是那个美国百万富翁的秘书。”
    “他叫什么？”
    “奈顿少校。”
    “这一着儿我还没想到。他到底怎样？长得很漂亮的年轻人？喜欢过奢侈的生活！他一定是看上您的钱了！我这并不是说不许您去爱男人。可是您到底不是那种年轻姑娘了，也不算很漂亮。若是您找那么一个小伙子，那将来一定得同您分家。我就是想同您谈谈这些。您还有什么要说的吗？”
    “没有。”卡泰丽娜说。“可是，到底让不让他来啊？”
    “我不管您的事。我已经尽了职，今后发生那种事可别怪罪我。是不是想让我请他吃饭？”
    “我想，请他吃午饭最好。”卡泰丽娜说。“要是那样，您可就太伟大和可爱了。
瓦伊尼小姐。如果您允许的话，那么我就打电话告诉他，说很高兴请他来吃午饭。他开小汽车来，从伦敦到我们这里。”
    中午，当奈顿来到乡下这座土房时，雨停了。冬天的太阳耀眼地照着卡泰丽娜，她在房前的花园里迎接了奈顿。他急忙跑到卡泰丽娜的面前。“我想，您不会生我的气吧，我就是来看看您的。希望不会打扰您的主人。”
    “请您进屋同她认识一下。她个性很强，但心地比任何人都好。”
    瓦伊尼小姐坐在老式的沙发上，象个女皇。周围摆着各种摆设各装饰品。她冷冰冰地接待了他，而奈顿却以自己特有的方式表现出他的可爱和忠诚，使老小姐在十分钟之后一直很不舒服。午饭很令人兴奋，埃伦正有机会来显示一下他的烹调技术。饭后不久，老小姐就去休息了，卡泰丽娜同奈顿散了很长时间的步。
    傍晚时分，当汽车开走的之后，卡泰丽娜悄悄地走进了瓦伊尼的卧室。
    “您的男朋友走了吗？”
    “是的，再次衷心感谢您。”
    “不用谢了。您是不是把我看成一个母老虎了，孩子？”
    过了一会儿，当卡泰丽娜要离开女主人时，老小姐又把她叫住了。
    “卡泰丽娜。”
    “嗯？”
    “我错怪了这位年轻人。一个男人如果是那样殷勤、那样的细心和有那么多的客气话，那很可能是装腔作势和故弄玄虚。可是如果一个男人真的是在热恋之中，那他看起来就象一只绵羊。他爱怎么样就怎么样吧！今天，每当这位年轻人看您的时候，他真象一只小绵羊。我收回我今天早晨所说的一切。他似乎很真挚。” 
Chapter 31  女演员和舞女(Mr. Aaron Lunches)
Chapter 31  MR AARONS LUNCHES 
"Ah!" said Mr Joseph Aarons appreciatively. 
He took a long draught from his tankard, set it down with a sigh, wiped the froth from his lips, and beamed across the table at his host, Monsieur Hercule Poirot. 
"Give me," said Mr Aarons, "a good Porterhouse steak and a tankard of something worth drinking, and anyone can have your French fallals and whatnots, your ordoovres and your omelettes and your little bits of quail. Give me," he reiterated, "a Porterhouse steak." 
Poirot, who had just complied with this request, smiled sympathetically. 
"Not that there is much wrong with a steak and kidney pudding," continued Mr Aarons. "Apple tart? Yes, I will take apple tart, thank you, Miss, and a jug of cream." 
The meal proceeded. Finally, with a long sigh, Mr Aarons laid down his spoon and fork preparatory to toying with some cheese before turning his mind to other matters. 
"There was a little matter of business I think you said, Monsieur Poirot," he remarked. "Anything I can do to help you I am sure I shall be most happy." 
"That is very kind of you," said Poirot. "I said to myself, 'If you want to know anything about the dramatic profession there is one person who knows all that is to be known and that is my old friend, Mr Joseph Aarons.'" 
"And you don't say far wrong," said Mr Aarons complacently, 
"whether it is past, present, or future, Joe Aarons is the man to come to." 
"Précisément. Now I want to ask you, Monsieur Aarons, what you know about a young woman called Kidd." 
"Kidd? Kitty Kidd?" 
"Kitty Kidd." 
"Pretty smart, she was. Male impersonator, song and a dance - That one?" 
"That is the one." 
"Very smart, she was. Made a good income. Never out of an engagement. Male impersonation mostly, but, as a matter of fact, you could not touch her as a character actress." 
"So I have heard," said Poirot, "but she has not been appearing lately, has she?" 
"No. Dropped right out of things. Went over to France and took up with some swell nobleman there. She quitted the stage then for good and all, I guess." 
"How long ago was that?" 
"Let me see. Three years ago. And she has been a loss - let me tell you that." 
"She was clever?" 
"Clever as a cartload of monkeys." 
"You don't know the name of the man she became friends with in Paris?" 
"He was a swell, I know that. A Count - or was it a Marquis? Now I come to think of it, I believe it was a Marquis." 
"And you know nothing about her since?" 
"Nothing. Never even run across her accidentally like. I bet she is tooling it round some of these foreign resorts. Being a Marquise to the life. You couldn't put one over on Kitty. She would give as good as she got any day." 
"I see," said Poirot thoughtfully. 
"I am sorry I can't tell you more, Monsieur Poirot," said the other. 
"I would like to be of use to you if I could. You did me a good turn once." 
"Ah, but we are quits on that; you, too, did me a good turn." 
"One good turn deserves another. Ha, ha!" said Mr Aarons. 
"Your profession must be a very interesting one," said Poirot. 
"So-so," said Mr Aarons noncommittally. "Taking the rough with the smooth, it is all right. I don't do so badly at it, all things considered, but you have to keep your eyes skinned. Never know 
what the public will jump for next." 
"Dancing has come very much to the fore in the last few years," murmured Poirot reflectively. 
"I never saw anything in this Russian ballet, but people like it. Too highbrow for me." 
"I met one dancer out on the Riviera - Mademoiselle Mirelle." 
"Mirelle? She is hot stuff, by all accounts. There is always money going to back her - though, so far as that goes, the girl can dance; I have seen her, and I know what I am talking about. I never had much to do with her myself, but I hear she is a terror to deal with. Tempers and tantrums all the time." 
"Yes," said Poirot thoughtfully, "yes, so I should imagine." 
"Temperament!" said Mr Aarons, "temperament! That is what they call it themselves. My missus was a dancer before she married me, but I am thankful to say she never had any temperament. You don't want temperament in the home, Monsieur Poirot." 
"I agree with you, my friend; it is out of place there." 
"A woman should be calm and sympathetic, and a good cook," said Mr Aarons. 
"Mirelle has not been long before the public, has she?" asked Poirot. 
"About two and a half years, that is all," said Mr Aarons. "Some French Duke started her. I hear now that she has taken up with the ex-Prime Minister of Greece. These are the chaps who manage to put money away quietly." 
"That is news to me," said Poirot. 
"Oh, she's not one to let the grass grow under her feet. They say that young Kettering murdered his wife on her account. I don't know, I am sure. Anyway, he is in prison, and she had to look round for herself, and pretty smart she has been about it. They say she is wearing a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg - not that I have ever seen a pigeon's egg myself, but that is what they always call it in works of fiction." 
"A ruby the size of a pigeon's egg!" said Poirot. His eyes were green and catlike. "How interesting!" 
"I had it from a friend of mine," said Mr Aarons. "But, for all I know, it may be coloured glass. They are all the same, these women - they never stop telling tall stories about their jewels. Mirelle goes about bragging that it has got a curse on it. 'Heart of Fire,' I think she calls it." 
"But if I remember rightly," said Poirot, "the ruby that is named 
'Heart of Fire' is the centre stone in a necklace." 
"There you are! Didn't I tell you there is no end to the lies women will tell about their jewellery? This is a single stone, hung on a platinum chain round her neck; but, as I said before, ten to one it is a bit of coloured glass." 
"No," said Poirot gently, "no - somehow I do not think it is coloured glass." 

第三十一章 女演员和舞女
    “味道真好。”约瑟夫•阿伦斯先生用舌头品尝着。
    他又大喝了一口，放下杯子喘了一口气，舐了一下嘴唇上的沫子，满意地看着他的主人赫库勒•波洛。
    “对我来说，最好不过是一块上等的烤牛排和一杯好啤酒。您那冷盘以及其它一些乱七八糟的东西就别想引起我的胃口。当然，我还要点苹果酱。”
    阿伦斯一连要了两次苹果酱。当他象一个行家一样吃奶酷的时候，就把话题从食品转到要紧的事上来。
    “您不是要同我谈谈您那小小的案件吗？亲爱的波洛。若是我能以任何一种方式帮助您，那将非常高兴。”
    “您太好了，”波洛说道。“我经常同自己说：如果您想了解戏剧方面的事，那您就直接去找老朋友阿伦斯。”
    “您说对了。”阿伦斯受宠若惊地说。“无论是什么时候的事，过去、现在或将来，我都知道的一清二楚。”
    “那我知道。我现在要问您的是：您是否知道一位名叫基德的年轻女士？”
    “基德？吉蒂•基德？”
    “对，吉蒂•基德。”
    “我当然认识她。又会唱又会跳，经常穿上大礼服扮演男青年，是她吗？”
    “对，我指的就是她。”
    “是一个很能干的人。挣的钱也很多。她一直同剧院订合同。在女扮男装的角色中，她比较有名。但她最拿手的还是在话剧中扮演很有特色的角色。”
    “有人对我说过。”波洛说。“最近一个时期她好象没有露面。”
    “没有。从舞台上消失了。同一位很有钱的贵族去法国了。我不相信她还会再登台演出。”
    “她是什么时候离开舞台的？”
    “请您让我想一下。噢，大概是在三年以前。”
    “她那个男朋友叫什么？您知道吗？”
    “他是个很高贵的人。一位伯爵或是……等一下，对，是一位侯爵。”
    “从那以后您再也没有听到过她的消息？”
    “毫无消息。可能在一些有名的疗养胜地鬼混。她一定成了侯爵夫人。如果这样的话，别的侯爵夫人都得退避三舍。”
    “懂了，”波洛深思地说道。
    “很遗憾，我没有更多的话要说了，波洛先生。我时刻准备为您效劳。有一次您给我帮了很大的忙。”
    “不要再提那事了。”波洛很不好意思地说。“您的职业一定很有意思。”
    “还可以。有时候好一些，有时候坏一些。如果想维持下去，那就得格外留心。谁知道观众明天又喜欢看什么呢？”
    “目前，只要是同舞蹈有关的节目都很时髦。”波洛说道。
    “是的。如今舞蹈产品可真能挣钱。”
    “我在利维埃拉认识了一个舞女——米蕾。”
    “米蕾？宝贝。无论对她的崇拜者或是对她的经理来说，她可真都是个宝贝。她会跳舞，什么都行。我个人同她从未打过交道。但我的同行怕她怕得要死。每隔两天她就给她的经理一个耳光。”
    “对，就是我说的那个。”波洛说道。
    “有禀性。”阿伦斯先生喊道，“人们都说这种女人有性格。我的老伴同我结婚的时候也是个舞女，但是她没有性格，谢天谢地。在咱老家，有性格也没有什么用。”
    “完全同意您的见解，阿伦斯朋友。”
    “准备结婚的女人应该是脾气好、温情脉脉，首先应该会烹调。”阿伦斯先生说道。
    “米蕾登上舞台才不久？”
    “最多才两年多，是一位法国公爵使她崭露头角。现在她正同希腊的一位前总理来往。您是知道的，这些先生在银行里总还有点存款。”
    “同希腊的总理打交道……噢，这对我来说还是条新闻。”波洛低头深思地说道。
    “这就是说，年轻的凯特林先生为她而杀死了自己的妻子。我当然不知内情，反正他现在坐在班房里。那么她呢？就找个替身了。看来她很成功。有人说，她身上带着一颗宝石，就象鸽子蛋那么大。我没见过鸽子蛋到底有多大，可是人们在小说里总是这么写的。”
    “象鸽子蛋一样大的宝石？”波洛自问道。他的眼睛又象猫眼一样闪烁着绿光。
    “多有意思。”
    “我是从一位朋友那里听到的。”阿伦斯先生说道。“很可能是一个涂了色的玻璃球。女人嘛，反正都一样，她们在宝石方面都是些外行。米蕾逢人便说，那颗宝石有个名，叫什么‘火心宝石’。”
    “据我所知。”波洛说，“那块所谓‘火心宝石’只是一条项链的中间那块。”
    “您看怎样，一定是谣传，米蕾的那块，是用白金项链吊着的单个宝石。我看十有八九是一块上了色的玻璃球。”
    “我不这样认为。”波洛温和地反驳道。“不，我并不认为那是一块上了色的玻璃球。”
Chapter 32  跟踪(Katherine and Poirot Compare Notes)
Chapter 32 KATHERINE AND POIROT COMPARE NOTES 
"You have changed, Mademoiselle," said Poirot suddenly. He and Katherine were seated opposite each other at a small table at the Savoy. 
"Yes, you have changed," he continued. 
"In what way?" 
"Mademoiselle, these nuances are difficult to express." 
"I am older." 
"Yes, you are older. And by that I do not mean that the wrinkles and the crows' feet are coming. When I first saw you, Mademoiselle, you were a looker-on at life. You had the quiet, amused look of one who sits back in the stalls and watches the play." 
"And now?" 
"Now, you no longer watch. It is an absurd thing, perhaps, that I say here, but you have the wary look of a fighter who is playing a difficult game." 
"My old lady is difficult sometimes," said Katherine, with a smile, 
"but I can assure you that I don't engage in deadly contests with her. You must go down and see her some day, Monsieur Poirot. I think you are one of the people who would appreciate her pluck and her spirit." 
There was a silence while the waiter deftly served them with chicken en casserole. When he had departed, Poirot said: 
"You have heard me speak of my friend Hastings? - he who said that I was a human oyster. Eh bien, Mademoiselle, I have met my match in you. You, far more than I, play a lone hand." 
"Nonsense," said Katherine lightly. 
"Never does Hercule Poirot talk nonsense. It is as I say." 
Again there was a silence. Poirot broke it by inquiring: 
"Have you seen any of our Riviera friends since you have been back, Mademoiselle?" 
"I have seen something of Major Knighton." 
"A-ha! Is that so?" 
Something in Poirot's twinkling eyes made Katherine lower hers. 
"So Mr Van Aldin remains in London?" 
"Yes." 
"I must try to see him tomorrow or the next day." 
"You have news for him?" 
"What makes you think that?" 
"I - wondered, that is all." 
Poirot looked across at her with twinkling eyes. 
"And now, Mademoiselle, there is much that you wish to ask me, I can see that. And why not? Is not the affair of the Blue Train our own 'Roman Policier'?" 
"Yes, there are things I should like to ask you." 
"Eh bien?" 
Katherine looked up with a sudden air of resolution. 
"What were you doing in Paris, Monsieur Poirot?" 
Poirot smiled slightly. 
"I made a call at the Russian Embassy." 
"Oh." 
"I see that that tells you nothing. But I will not be a human oyster. No, I will lay my cards on the table, which is assuredly a thing that oysters do not do. You suspect, do you not, that I am not satisfied with the case against Derek Kettering?" 
"That is what I have been wondering. I thought, in Nice, that you had finished with the case." 
"You do not say all that you mean, Mademoiselle. But I admit everything. It was I - my researches - which placed Derek Kettering where he is now. But for me the Examining Magistrate would still be vainly trying to fasten the crime on the Comte de la Roche. Eh bien, Mademoiselle, what I have done I do not regret. I have only one duty - to discover the truth, and that way led straight to Mr Kettering. But did it end there? The police say yes, but I, Hercule Poirot, am not satisfied." 
He broke off suddenly. "Tell me, Mademoiselle, have you heard from Mademoiselle Lenox lately?" 
"One very short, scrappy letter. She is, I think, annoyed with me for coming back to England." 
Poirot nodded. 
"I had an interview with her the night that Monsieur Kettering was arrested. It was an interesting interview in more ways than one." 
Again he fell silent, and Katherine did not interrupt his train of thought. 
"Mademoiselle," he said at last, "I am now on delicate ground, yet I will say this to you. There is, I think, someone who loves Monsieur Kettering - correct me if I am wrong - and for her sake - well - for her sake I hope that I am right and the police are wrong. You know who that someone is?" 
There was a pause, then Katherine said: "Yes - I think I know." 
Poirot leant across the table towards her. 
"I am not satisfied, Mademoiselle; no, I am not satisfied. The facts, the main facts, led straight to Monsieur Kettering. But there is one thing that has been left out of account." 
"And what is that?" 
"The disfigured face of the victim. I have asked myself, Mademoiselle, a hundred times, 'Was Derek Kettering the kind of man who would deal that smashing blow after having committed murder?' What end would it serve? What purpose would it accomplish? Was it a likely action for one of Monsieur Kettering's temperament? And, Mademoiselle, the answer to these questions is profoundly unsatisfactory. Again and again I go back to that one point - 'why?' And the only things I have to help me to a solution of the problem are these." 
He whipped out his pocket-book and extracted something from it which he held between his finger and thumb. 
"Do you remember, Mademoiselle? You saw me take these hairs from the rug in the railway carriage." 
Katherine leant forward, scrutinizing the hairs keenly. 
Poirot nodded his head slowly several times. 
"They suggest nothing to you, I see that, Mademoiselle. And yet - I think somehow that you see a good deal." 
"I have had ideas," said Katherine slowly, "curious ideas. That is why I ask you what you were doing in Paris, Monsieur Poirot." 
"When I wrote to you -" 
"From the Ritz?" 
A curious smile came over Poirot's face. 
"Yes, as you say, from the Ritz. I am a luxurious person sometimes 
-when a millionaire pays." 
"The Russian Embassy," said Katherine, frowning. "No, I don't see where that comes in." 
"It does not come in directly, Mademoiselle. I went there to get certain information. I saw a particular personage and I threatened him - yes, Mademoiselle, I, Hercule Poirot, threatened him." 
"With the police?" 
"No," said Poirot drily, "with the Press - a much more deadly weapon." 
He looked at Katherine and she smiled at him, just shaking her head. 
"Are you not just turning back into an oyster again, Monsieur Poirot?" 
"No, no! I do not wish to make mysteries. See, I will tell you everything. I suspect this man of being the active party in the sale of the jewels of Monsieur Van Aldin. I tax him with it, and in the end I get the whole story out of him. I learn where the jewels were handed over, and I learn, too, of the man who paced up and down outside in the street - a man with a venerable head of white hair, but who walked with the light, springy step of a young man - and I give that man a name in my own mind - the name of 'Monsieur le Marquis.'" 
"And now you have come to London to see Mr Van Aldin?" 
"Not entirely for that reason. I had other work to do. Since I have been in London I have seen two more people - a theatrical agent and a Harley Street doctor. From each of them I have got certain information. Put these things together, Mademoiselle, and see if you can make of them the same as I do." 
"I?" 
"Yes, you. I will tell you one thing, Mademoiselle. There has been a doubt all along in my mind as to whether the robbery and the murder were done by the same person. For a long time I was not sure -" 
"And now?" 
"And now I know." 
There was a silence. Then Katherine lifted her head. Her eyes were shining. 
"I am not clever like you, Monsieur Poirot. Half the things that you have been telling me don't seem to me to point anywhere at all. The ideas that came to me came from such an entirely different angle -" 
"Ah, but that is always so," said Poirot quietly. "A mirror shows the truth, but everyone stands in a different place for looking into the mirror." 
"My ideas may be absurd - they may be entirely different from yours, but -" 
"Yes?" 
"Tell me, does this help you at all?" 
He took a newspaper cutting from her outstretched hand. He read it and, looking up, he nodded gravely. 
"As I told you, Mademoiselle, one stands at a different angle for looking into the mirror, but it is the same mirror and the same things are reflected there." 
Katherine got up. "I must rush," she said. "I have only just time to catch my train, Monsieur Poirot -" 
"Yes, Mademoiselle." 
"It - it mustn't be much longer, you understand. I - I can't go on much longer." 
There was a break in her voice. 
He patted her hand reassuringly. 
"Courage, Mademoiselle, you must not fail now; the end is very near." 

第三十二章 跟踪
    “您变了。”波洛突然说。他和卡泰丽娜坐在萨沃饭店面对面地坐在一张小桌子旁。
    “您指的是哪方面？”
    “这种细微的差别很难说明。”
    “我变老了。”
    “您是变老了。我的意思不是说，您的脸上一下子出现了皱纹，我第一次见到您的时候，您象是一位冷静地观察生活的观众，给人一种泰然自若的印象，似乎您在舒坦地坐着观赏一出喜剧。”
    “那么现在呢？”
    “现在您不是旁观者了。我的比喻可能有点可笑：您现在给人的印象是，一个拳击家面临着一场胜负未卜的格斗。”
    “我那位老小姐有时候有点孤僻，”卡泰丽娜微笑着说道，“但是我可请您放心：我可不想与她拳击。有时间您倒是可以去拜访她一下。我相信，这位坚强的老人会使您喜欢的。”
    服务员很敏捷地送来一只带平底锅装着的烤鸡。当只剩下他们两个人的时候，波洛打听道：
    “自从您回到英国之后，您见过我们在利维埃拉的朋友了吗？”
    “我见过奈顿少校。”
    “噢，噢，真的？”
    卡泰丽娜看着波洛睨目而视的双眼，而自己却不由自主地垂下了眼帘。
    “过几天我要拜访一下冯•阿尔丁先生。”
    “您有什么新情况告诉他？”
    “为什么您认为会这样？”
    “哎呀，我只是问问而已。”
    波洛从桌子对面望着她，不断地眨着眼睛。
    “我看，您象有话要问我，为什么又不问了？难道‘蓝色特快’上的秘密不是我们俩合作的一部小说吗？”
    “我的确要问您几个问题。”
    “那您就鼓起勇气问吧！”
    “您在巴黎干了些什么事？波洛先生？”
    波洛略微一笑。
    “我拜会了俄国的公使。”
    “是吗？”
    “这对您说来难道不是过于离奇了吗？您可能认为，现在对德里克•凯特林的起诉还不太令人满意？当然，是我把德里克送进了监狱。没有我的参与，侦察官先生可能还在忙于进行罗歇伯爵罪行的调查。但是，我对我所作的一切并不后悔。搞清事实真象是我的责任，而线索直接与凯特林先生有关。难道，这条线索以他的这一结局而告终了？尽管警察局方面持此看法，而我，赫库勒•波洛却不满意。”
    他突然转了话题。“告诉我，您最近听到有关雷诺斯的消息吗？”
    “她给我写过几封信。对我回国一事似乎有点生气，感到烦恼。”
    波洛点点头。
    “在凯特林先生被捕的那天晚上，我同她谈过一次话，一次特别有意思的话。”
    两个人又都沉默下来，卡泰丽娜并不想去打断他的思路。
    “小姐，”他最后说道，“我的脚正踏在一只摇晃着的船上，但我要告诉您的一点是：有人爱凯特林先生，正是为这了个人，我希望我是对的，而警察方面是错的。您知道这个人是谁吗？”
    停了一会儿，卡泰丽娜低声说道：“我相信我是知道的。”
    波洛摇了摇头。“我不满意，不，我很满意。所有的事实都证明凯特林是凶犯。可是，却有一个情况被忽视了。”
    “您指的是什么？”
    “那就是死者被打变形的脸。我上百次地问过自己：德里克•凯特林是那种人吗？把自己的妻子害死之后再给她这血腥的一击？究竟要达到什么目的？对他为什么要这样做我百思不得其解。而为了解决这个问题，我只得到了一种帮助。”
    他掏出一个信封，用拇指和食指从里面夹出一点东西。
    “还记得吗？我在包厢里的枕头旁边拾到这一缕头发时您是在场的。”
    卡泰丽娜很有兴趣地弯下腰去看那一缕头发。
    波洛不住地直点头。“您对这些头发说不出所以然，这我看得出。可是，我似乎觉得，您知悉一点内情。”
    “人们常有一些想法，”卡泰丽娜慢悠悠地说。“很古怪的想法！因此我问您，在巴黎您干什么了。”
    “您指的是我写给您的信？”
    “在里茨饭店写的。”
    波洛的脸上露出独具风格的一笑。“如果可以到百万富翁那里报账，人们是会生活得很美好的。”
    “您刚才说起了俄国公使。”卡泰丽娜皱起眉头说道。“这与此案又有什么关系？我一点都不懂。”
    “没有什么直接的瓜葛。我到他那里去了解一个情况。我还同另一个人物谈过话，并对他进行了威胁，对，就是我，赫库勒•波洛，威胁了他。”
    “是同警察谈了话？”
    “不是，”波洛毫无表情地说道。“同报界，同这个致命的武器谈过话。我怀疑一个人，这个人积极参与了卖给冯•阿尔丁宝石的交易。我向他从头到尾地说了一遍，把事情的真相全盘端出。我在他那儿了解到，宝石是在哪里交货的。我还了解了这个人的情况，交货前后此人一直在附近徘徊，他一头白发，走起路来有点瘸，模样却很年轻。
我把此人称为‘侯爵’先生。”
    “那么现在您就到伦敦来了，以便同冯•阿尔丁谈谈这件事。”
    “不只是为了这个目的。我在这里还有其它的事要做。我还同两个人谈过话，一位是剧院的经理，一位是有名的医生。从他们那里我都得到了一些绪料。请您把前前后后的事情理一理，看看是否能从中找出开这把锁的钥匙。”
    “我恐怕不行。”
    “怎么不行！从一开始我就怀疑，偷窃和谋杀是不是出于一个人之手。很长一段时间里我对此不敢肯定。”
    “那么现在呢？”
    “现在我明白了。”
    又是一阵沉默。然后卡泰丽娜抬起了头。她的双眼发出光亮。
    “我不象您那样目光敏锐、善于思考，波洛先生。您同我谈的那些情况只能使我越来越糊涂，而且我觉得前后没有什么联系。我对这个案子的看法，完全是另一种角度。”
    “事情都是这样，镜子里的映象并不变化。”
    “我的想法可能很荒唐……肯定同您的想法不一样，但是……”
    “什么？”
    “您怎么看待这个，波洛先生？”
    她从手提包里取出一张剪报，递给了他，他看了一遍，点了下头。“这就是我同您说的。每个人从不同角度向镜子里看，可是镜子是同一面镜子，映象也是同一种映象。”
    卡泰丽娜站了起来。
    “我得走了，”她说。“我还得赶得上那趟火车。波洛先生……”
    “怎么？”
    “事情，事情不允许再耽搁下去了。再耽搁我就受不了啦。”她的声音听起来很难受。
    他安慰地握着她的手。“要勇敢些！您现在不能再软弱下去了，胜利就有眼前。”
Chapter 33  新的见解(A New Theory)
Chapter 33  A NEW THEORY 
"Monsieur Poirot wants to see you, sir." 
"Damn the fellow!" said Van Aldin. 
Knighton remained sympathetically silent. Van Aldin got up from his chair and paced up and down. 
"I suppose you have seen the cursed newspapers this morning?" 
"I have glanced at them, sir." 
"Still at it hammer and tongs?" 
"I am afraid so, sir." 
The millionaire sat down again and pressed his hand to his forehead. 
"If I had had an idea of this," he groaned. "I wish to God I had never got that little Belgian to ferret out the truth. Find Ruth's murderer - that was all I thought about." 
"You wouldn't have liked your son-in-law to go scot free?" 
Van Aldin sighed. 
"I would have preferred to take the law into my own hands." 
"I don't think that would have been a very wise proceeding, sir." 
"All the same - are you sure the fellow wants to see me?" 
"Yes, Mr Van Aldin. He is very urgent about it." 
"Then I suppose he will have to. He can come along this morning if he likes." 
It was a very fresh and debonair Poirot who was ushered in. He did not seem to see any lack of cordiality in the millionaire's manner, and chatted pleasantly about various trifles. He was in London, he explained, to see his doctor. He mentioned the name of an eminent surgeon. 
"No, no, pas la guerre - a memory of my days in the police force, a bullet of a rascally Apache." 
He touched his left shoulder and winced realistically. 
"I always consider you a lucky man, Monsieur Van Aldin, you are not like our popular idea of American millionaires, martyrs to the dyspepsia." 
"I am pretty tough," said Van Aldin. "I lead a very simple life, you know; plain fare and not too much of it." 
"You have seen something of Miss Grey, have you not?" inquired Poirot, innocently turning to the secretary. 
"I - yes; once or twice," said Knighton. 
He blushed slightly and Van Aldin exclaimed in surprise: 
"Funny you never mentioned to me that you had seen her, Knighton?" 
"I didn't think you would be interested, sir." 
"I like that girl very much," said Van Aldin. 
"It is a thousand pities that she should have buried herself once more in St Mary Mead," said Poirot. 
"It is very fine of her," said Knighton hotly. "There are very few people who would bury themselves down there to look after a cantankerous old woman who has no earthly claim on her." 
"I am silent," said Poirot, his eyes twinkling a little, "but all the same I say it is a pity. And now, Messieurs, let us come to business." 
Both the other men looked at him in some surprise. 
"You must not be shocked or alarmed at what I am about to say. Supposing, Monsieur Van Aldin, that, after all, Monsieur Derek Kettering did not murder his wife?" 
"What?" 
Both men stared at him in blank surprise. 
"Supposing, I say, that Monsieur Derek Kettering did not murder his wife?" 
"Are you mad, Monsieur Poirot?" 
It was Van Aldin who spoke. 
"No," said Poirot, "I am not mad. I am eccentric, perhaps - at least certain people say so; but as regards my profession, I am very much, as one says, 'all there.' I ask you, Monsieur Van Aldin, whether you would be glad or sorry if what I tell you should be the case?" 
Van Aldin stared at him. "Naturally I should be glad," he said at last. "Is this an exercise in suppositions, Monsieur Poirot, or are there any facts behind it?" 
Poirot looked at the ceiling. 
"There is an off-chance," he said quietly, "that it might be the Comte de la Roche after all. At least I have succeeded in upsetting his alibi." 
"How did you manage that?" 
Poirot shrugged his shoulders modestly. 
"I have my own methods. The exercise of a little tact, a little cleverness - and the thing is done." 
"But the rubies," said Van Aldin, "these rubies that the Count had in his possession were false." 
"And clearly he would not have committed the crime except for the rubies. But you are overlooking one point, Monsieur Van Aldin. Where the rubies were concerned, someone might have been before him." 
"But this is an entirely new theory," cried Knighton. 
"Do you really believe all this rigmarole, Monsieur Poirot?" demanded the millionaire. 
"The thing is not proved," said Poirot quietly. "It is as yet only a theory, but I tell you this, Monsieur Van Aldin, the facts are worth investigating. You must come out with me to the south of France and go into the case on the spot." 
"You really think this is necessary - that I should go, I mean." 
"I thought it would be what you yourself would wish," said Poirot. 
There was a hint of reproach in his tone which was not lost upon the other. 
"Yes, yes, of course," he said. "When do you wish to start, Monsieur Poirot?" 
"You are very busy at present, sir," murmured Knighton. 
But the millionaire had now made up his mind, and he waved the other's objections aside. 
"I guess this business comes first," he said. "All right, Monsieur Poirot, tomorrow. What train?" 
"We will go, I think, by the Blue Train," said Poirot, and he smiled. 

第三十三章 新的见解
    “波洛先生想同您谈谈，先生。”
    “真见鬼，他又来了。”冯•阿尔丁不耐烦地说道。
    奈顿审慎地一声不响。
    百万富翁站了起来，在屋子里走来走去。
    “你看到今天早晨那些该死的报纸了吗？”
    “只是粗略地溜了一眼。”
    “难道还不让我和我那可怜的孩子享受享受宁静吗？”
    “可惜先生，看来还不。”
    百万富翁又坐了下来用手摸着前额。“要是我根本不去找那个比利时老头来破这个案，那么我可能就会轻松多了。”
    “那么说，让您的女婿逍遥法外，您就舒服了？”
    冯•阿尔丁叹了口气。
    “我想同他单独算账。现在，看在上帝的面上，让波洛上来。”
    波洛举止潇洒地走进屋来。他并没有介意百万富翁冷冰冰的问候，仍然兴致勃勃地谈天说地。他声称，他到伦敦来是想请教一位医生。他说出了这位医生的名字。
    “不是，不是战时负的伤……是我当警察时受到的教训。是一个下流坯给我留下的子弹。”
    他摸着自己的肩部，戏剧性地耸了耸肩膀。
    “您又见到了格蕾小姐，是吗？”他以好奇的目光看着秘书。
    “是的，见过一两次。”奈顿承认道。
    他的脸上现出赧愧之色，冯•阿尔丁奇怪地叫道：
    “有意思，奇怪，你一点也没对我说过，奈顿。”
    “我不相信您会对此感兴趣，先生。”
    “那位女士确实很可爱。”冯•阿尔丁说道。
    “她在玛丽麦德村又对自己约束起来，这太可惜啦。”波洛说道。
    “她真不错，”奈顿似乎很激动地说，“很少有人会象她那样，以那样一种方式服侍一位有病的老妇。”
    “这我可没话说了。”波洛说，眨了眨眼睛。“但是我并不认为那是令人遗憾的。
现在我们言归正传。请您对我说的话不必惊慌，我们现在假定，德里克•凯特林虽说是那种情况，并没有杀死自己的妻子。”
    “您简直是在开玩笑，波洛？”冯•阿尔丁大叫道。
    “这我不知道。有点古怪是真的，但说我疯了，那就说得有些过分。现在又有一种新情况，说明伯爵是凶手。至少我现在成功地拆穿了伯爵的‘不在现场’这一谎言。”
    “您是怎么弄清的？”
    波洛谦逊地耸了一下肩膀。“我有一种小小的办法，但决不是在耍魔术。”
    “宝石是在他那里找到的，”冯•阿尔丁说道，“但可惜是赝品。”
    “非常明显，除了宝石之外，他没有其它理由去作案，是吗？但您只看到了问题的一面，冯•阿尔丁先生。可能在他之前已经有人把宝石偷走了。”
    “这完全是新见解。”奈顿叫道。
    “您真会相信这种荒唐的说法？”百万富翁问道。
    “这需要证明，当然暂时还不能证明。这只是一种可能性。但不管怎样，应该调查一下，这种可能性是否存在。您应该同我一道再去一趟利维埃拉，来一个实地调查。”
    “您认为我也必须同去？”
    “我相信，您也有兴趣为弄清真相而努力。”
    由于波洛感到自己的话对百万富翁没起作用，所以他在自己的话里加了一些责怪的成分。
    “您说得对，波洛先生。我们什么时候起程？”
    “最近几天您可很忙，有很多桩交易要做。”奈顿插话道。
    但是百万富翁已经打定了主意。
    “我相信，这笔交易完全要用另外一种方式做了。”他说，“好，说妥了，波洛，明天就走，乘那一次车？”
    “我认为，最好还是乘‘蓝色特快’。”波洛笑着说。
Chapter 34  再乘“蓝色特快”(The Blue Train Again)
Chapter 34 THE BLUE TRAIN AGAIN 
'The millionaire's train,' as it is sometimes called, swung round a curve of line at what seemed a dangerous speed. Van Aldin, Knighton and Poirot sat together in silence. 
Knighton and Van Aldin had two compartments connecting with each other, as Ruth Kettering and her maid had had on the fateful journey. Poirot's own compartment was further along the coach. 
The journey was a painful one for Van Aldin, recalling as it did the most agonizing memories. Poirot and Knighton conversed 
occasionally in low tones without disturbing him. 
When, however, the train had completed its slow journey round the ceinture and reached the Gare de Lyon, Poirot became suddenly galvanized into activity. Van Aldin realized that part of his object in travelling by the train had been to attempt to reconstruct the crime. Poirot himself acted every part. He was in turn the maid, hurriedly shut into her own compartment, Mrs Kettering, recognizing her husband with surprise and a trace of anxiety, and Derek Kettering discovering that his wife was travelling on the train. He tested various possibilities, such as the best way for a person to conceal himself in the second compartment. 
Then suddenly an idea seemed to strike him. He clutched at Van Aldin's arm. 
"Mon Dieu, but that is something I have not thought of! We must break our journey in Paris. Quick, quick, let us alight at once." 
Seizing suitcases he hurried from the train. Van Aldin and Knighton, bewildered but obedient, followed him. Van Aldin having once formed his opinion of Poirot's ability was slow to part from it. At the barrier they were held up. Their tickets were in charge of the conductor of the train, a fact which all three of them had forgotten. 
Poirot's explanations were rapid, fluent, and impassioned, but they produced no effect upon the stolid-faced official. 
"Let us get quit of this," said Van Aldin abruptly. "I gather you are in a hurry, Monsieur Poirot. For God's sake pay the fares from Calais and let us get right on with whatever you have got in your mind." 
But Poirot's flood of language had suddenly stopped dead, and he had the appearance of a man turned to stone. His arm still outflung in an impassioned gesture, remained there as though stricken with paralysis. 
"I have been an imbecile," he said simply. "Ma foi, I lose my head nowadays. Let us return and continue our journey quietly. With reasonable luck the train will not have gone." 
They were only just in time, the train moving off as Knighton, the last of the three, swung himself and his suitcase on board. 
The conductor remonstrated with them feelingly, and assisted them to carry their luggage back to their compartments. Van Aldin said nothing, but he was clearly disgusted at Poirot's 
extraordinary conduct. 
Alone with Knighton for a moment or two, he remarked: 
"This is a wild goose chase. The man has lost his grip on things. He has got brains up to a point, but any man who loses his head and scuttles round like a frightened rabbit is no earthly darned good." 
Poirot came to them in a moment or two, full of abject apologies and clearly so crestfallen that harsh words would have been superfluous. 
Van Aldin received his apologies gravely, but managed to restrain himself from making acid comments. 
They had dinner on the train, and afterwards, somewhat to the surprise of the other two, Poirot suggested that they should all three sit up in Van Aldin's compartment. 
The millionaire looked at him curiously. 
"Is there anything that you are keeping back from us, Monsieur Poirot?" 
"I?" Poirot opened his eyes in innocent surprise. "But what an idea." 
Van Aldin did not answer, but he was not satisfied. The conductor was told that he need not make up the beds. Any surprise he might have felt was obliterated by the largeness of the tip which Van Aldin handed to him. The three men sat in silence. Poirot fidgeted and seemed restless. Presently he turned to the secretary. 
"Major Knighton, is the door of your compartment bolted? The door into the corridor, I mean." 
"Yes; I bolted it myself just now." 
"Are you sure?" said Poirot. 
"I will go and make sure, if you like," said Knighton smiling. 
"No, no, do not derange yourself. I will see for myself." 
He passed through the connecting door and returned in a second 
or two, nodding his head. 
"Yes, yes, it is as you said. You must pardon an old man's fussy ways." 
He closed the connecting door and resumed his place in the right- hand corner. 
The hours passed. The three men dozed fitfully, waking with uncomfortable starts. 
Probably never before had three people booked berths on the most luxurious train available, then declined to avail themselves of the accommodation they had paid for. 
Every now and then Poirot glanced at his watch, and then nodded his head and composed himself to slumber once more. On one occasion he rose from his seat and opened the connecting door, peered sharply into the adjoining compartment, and then returned to his seat, shaking his head. 
"What is the matter?" whispered Knighton. "You are expecting something to happen, aren't you?" 
"I have the nerves," confessed Poirot. "I am like the cat upon the hot tiles. Every little noise it makes me jump." 
Knighton yawned. 
"Of all the darned uncomfortable journeys," he murmured. "I suppose you know what you are playing at, Monsieur Poirot." 
He composed himself to sleep as best he could. Both he and Van Aldin had succumbed to slumber, when Poirot, glancing for the fourteenth time at his watch, leant across and tapped the millionaire on the shoulder. 
"Eh? What is it?" 
"In five or ten minutes, Monsieur, we shall arrive at Lyons." 
"My God!" Van Aldin's face looked white and haggard in the dim light. "Then it must have been about this time that poor Ruth was killed." 
He sat staring straight in front of him. His lips twitched a little, his mind reverting back to the terrible tragedy that had saddened his life. 
There was the usual long screaming sigh of the brake, and the train slackened speed and drew into Lyons. Van Aldin let down the window and leant out. 
"If it wasn't Derek - if your new theory is correct, it is here that the man left the train?" he asked over his shoulder. 
Rather to his surprise Poirot shook his head. 
"No," he said thoughtfully, "no man left the train, but I think - yes, I think, a woman may have done so." 
Knighton gave a gasp. 
"A woman?" demanded Van Aldin sharply. 
"Yes, a woman," said Poirot, nodding his head. "You may not remember, Monsieur Van Aldin, but Miss Grey in her evidence mentioned that a youth in a cap and overcoat descended on to the platform ostensibly to stretch his legs. Me, I think that that youth was most probably a woman." 
"But who was she?" 
Van Aldin's face expressed incredulity, but Poirot replied seriously and categorically. 
"Her name - or the name under which she was known, for many years - is Kitty Kidd, but you, Monsieur Van Aldin, knew her by another name - that of Ada Mason." 
Knighton sprang to his feet. 
"What?" he cried. 
Poirot swung round to him. 
"Ah! - before I forget it." He whipped something from a pocket and held it out. 
"Permit me to offer you a cigarette - out of your own cigarette- case. It was careless of you to drop it when you boarded the train on the ceinture at Paris." 
Knighton stood staring at him as though stupefied. Then he made a movement, but Poirot flung up his hand in a warning gesture. 
"No, don't move," he said in a silky voice, "the door into the next compartment is open, and you are being covered from there this minute. I unbolted the door into the corridor when we left Paris, and our friends the police were told to take their places there. As I expect you know, the French police want you rather urgently, Major Knighton - or shall we say - Monsieur le Marquis?" 

第三十四章 再乘“蓝色特快”
    载着百万富翁的火车，象一只喘着粗气的大爬虫，向前奔驰。冯•阿尔丁、奈顿和波洛都坐在车厢里，各人想各人的心事。奈顿同冯•阿尔丁住在两个内部相通的包厢，正如露丝•凯特林及其女仆原来乘车时坐过的那样。波洛的包厢在车厢的另一头。
    旅行又勾起了冯•阿尔丁痛苦的回忆。波洛和奈顿有时交谈两句，不去打扰百万富翁。
    火车到了巴黎北站，然后缓慢地绕着巴黎行驶。当火车到达里昂站时，波洛突然兴奋起来。
    现在冯•阿尔丁意识到，波洛建议再乘这次车，以便把那次犯罪事件再重演一下。
这位侦探扮演着全部的角色。他一会儿在自己的包厢内扮演来回忙碌的女仆；一会儿又扮演露丝•凯特林，设想着她见到自己丈夫时那种惊慌失措的神情；一会儿又扮演德里克•凯特林，想象着当他知道妻子也乘同一次车的情景。他探索着每一种有另外一个人藏在别的包厢里的可能性。
    突然间，他的脑子里出现了一个新想法。他一把抓住冯•阿尔丁的手。
    “哦，我的天啊，我还没有想到，我们应该在巴黎中断旅行，快，快下车。”
    他抓起身旁的旅行袋，立即跳下了火车。另外两个人也以最快的速度跟着下了车。
有人在车站月台的栏杆旁挡住了他们，因为他们把车票忘在乘务员的手里了，可惜当时谁都没有想到这一点。波洛连忙向铁路上的官员们发出了一连串的声明和解释，但官员们无动于衷。
    “别折腾了！”冯•阿尔丁再也忍耐不住了。“我的上帝，干脆补一张从加来到巴黎的车票吧，别让这些鸡毛蒜皮的事打扰了您的计划！尽管直到现在为止我还弄不清楚您到底有什么计划。”
    可是，波洛口若悬河似的讲话突然停下来了，站在那里一动不动，好象一尊石雕像。
他那刚刚还比划着各种手势的胳膊，停在半空不动了。
    “我简直是一头驴。”他说。“上帝，我简直是晕了头。快点，先生们，我们还要继续我们的旅行。如果幸运的话，火车可能还没有开动。”
    他们立即上了车。当奈顿在他们三个当中最后一个摇摇晃晃地刚一上车，就发出了开车的信号，火车开动了。
    乘务员对这三位乘客的行动只好默默地摇头。看来他们已经习惯了这几位乘客的古怪行径。
    他们又坐在车厢里了。当冯•阿尔丁同奈顿在一起的时候，他说道：“简直是一次可笑的围猎！这个人简直是晕了头。有时候他显得很能干，可是他现在的表现活象是个受惊的家兔。”
    波洛回到自己的包厢后心境不佳，百万富翁的指责很不适当。看来，他正竭力克制住自己的一个想法。
    三位旅客在餐车上用完晚餐之后，波洛建议大家在冯•阿尔丁的包厢里坐着过夜。
    百万富翁迷惑不解地看着波洛。
    “您到底想干什么？您是不是在愚弄我们，波洛先生？”
    “我？”波洛天真无邪地说道。“决不会。”
    冯•阿尔丁不吱声了，但是他非常不满意。他们告诉乘务员，不要为他们铺床了。
为此在乘务员的手里塞了很可观的一笔小费。乘务员由此而得到的印象是：这是一批古怪的旅客。
    三个人又都坐在那里。波洛显得有些神经质，难以安静，最后他向秘书说道：
    “奈顿少校，您那包厢的门锁上了吗？我是说通向走廊的那扇门是不是锁上了？”
    “是的，我随手就关上了。”
    “保证关上了吗？”
    “如果您愿意，我可以再去看看。”
    “不，不，您不要去了。我自己去吧。”
    过一会儿，他点着头回来了。
    “对，您说得对。请原谅我的神经质。”
    他关上包厢之间的门又坐在那个角落里。
    几个小时过去了。三个人都坐在那里打着瞌睡。可能有史以来，欧洲的这列高级卧车上还从来没有人象这三位乘客这样地过夜。波洛不时地看着自己的手表，打着瞌睡，一会又挪动一下坐位，想舒服地合一下眼。有一次，他猛地站起，打开连接包厢的门，向隔壁的包厢里看了一眼，摇了摇头又坐下了。
    “您是干什么？”奈顿压低了嗓门说。“您是不是等着会发生什么事？”
    “我有点神经质！”波洛承认道。“我觉得好象坐在针毡上，一点小动静就会使我手足无措。”
    奈顿打了个呵欠。
    “真是一次该死的、讨厌的旅行，”他嘟哝着说。“当然，您本人可能已经体会到这次旅行的乐趣了，波洛先生。”
    说完，他又坐到自己的角落里，同冯•阿尔丁一样缩成一团，合眼打盹。当波洛第十四次看表的时候，轻轻地拍了一下百万富翁的肩膀。
    “干什么？”
    “过一两分钟我们就要到里昂了。”
    “我的天啊！”在暗淡的灯光下冯•阿尔丁的面色显得格外苍白。“差不多就是在这个时候，我那可怜的露丝被人杀害了。”
    他凝视着前方，咬着上嘴唇，以免呻吟出来。使他的生活黯然失色的这幕悲剧，又一次强有力地、突然地出现在他的面前。
    火车发出刹车的声音，速度也放慢了。已经到了里昂城站。冯•阿尔丁打开窗子。
    “按照您的假设来看，如果德里克不是凶手的话，那么那个陌生的男人是从这里下车的吗？”他问道。
    使他感到惊奇的是，波洛却摇了摇头。“不是，”他深思地说道，“下车的不是一个男人，而是一个女人。”
    奈顿惊醒了。
    “是个女的？”冯•阿尔丁大叫起来。
    “对，是个女的！您可能还记得，冯•阿尔丁先生，格蕾小姐曾提到过，说这时有一位先生戴着帽子，穿着大衣到月台上来回散步。我的看法是，这个人是个女的。”
    “那么她是谁呢？”
    冯•阿尔丁现出大谬不然的神色。可是，波洛却斩钉截铁地说道：
    “她的名字……或是，最好还是称她多年以来已经出了名字，吉蒂•基德。而您，冯•阿尔丁先生，知道她的另外一个名字，艾达•马松。”
    奈顿跳了起来，大叫一声：“什么？”
    波洛立即转过身来。
    “对，我还差一点忘了。”他从衣袋里飞快地掏出一件东西，并把它伸向奈顿面前。
    “请您从您自己的烟盒里抽一支烟吸。当您在巴黎的环城铁路跳上车的时候，您把烟盒丢了，这可是您的疏忽。”
    奈顿不知所措地看着他，猛然间他做了一个飞快的动作，就在这时波洛抓住了他的胳膊，高举在空中。“请您还是别这样。”他和善地说道，“通向隔壁包厢的门是开着的，我那些警察局的朋友们都藏在里面，每个人的枪口都对准您。当我们在巴黎下车的时候，我打开了隔壁包厢通往走廊的门，那时我的朋友们便走进了包厢。可能您还不知道，法国警察局找您找已经得够苦的了，奈顿少校，或者我们最好这样称呼您：‘侯爵先生’。”
Chapter 35   波洛的说明(Explanations)
Chapter 35 EXPLANATIONS 
"Explanations?" 
Poirot smiled. He was sitting opposite the millionaire at a luncheon table in the latter's private suite at the Negresco. Facing him was a relieved but very puzzled man. Poirot leant back in his chair, lit one of his tiny cigarettes, and stared reflectively at the ceiling. 
"Yes, I will give you explanations. It began with the one point that puzzled me. You know what that point was? The disfigured face. It is not an uncommon thing to find when investigating a crime and it rouses an immediate question, the question of identity. That naturally was the first thing that occurred to me. Was the dead woman really Mrs Kettering? But that line led me nowhere, for Miss Grey's evidence was positive and very reliable, so I put that idea aside. The dead woman was Ruth Kettering." 
"When did you first begin to suspect the maid?" 
"Not for some time, but one peculiar little point drew my attention to her. The cigarette-case found in the railway carriage and which she told us was one which Mrs Kettering had given to her husband. Now that was, on the face of it, most improbable, seeing the terms that they were on. It awakened a doubt in my mind as to the general veracity of Ada Mason's statements. There was the rather suspicious fact to be taken into consideration, that she had only been with her mistress for two months. Certainly it did not seem as if she could have had anything to do with the crime since she had been left behind in Paris and Mrs Kettering had been seen alive by several people afterwards, but -" 
Poirot leant forward. He raised an emphatic forefinger and wagged it with intense emphasis at Van Aldin. 
"But I am a good detective. I suspect. There is nobody and nothing that I do not suspect. I believe nothing that I am told. I say to myself: how do we know that Ada Mason was left behind in Paris? 
And at first the answer to that question seemed completely satisfactory. There was the evidence of your secretary, Major Knighton, a complete outsider whose testimony might be 
supposed to be entirely impartial, and there was the dead woman's own words to the conductor on the train. But I put the latter point aside for the moment, because a very curious idea - an idea perhaps fantastic and impossible - was growing up in my mind. If by any outside chance it happened to be true, that particular piece of testimony was worthless. 
"I concentrated on the chief stumbling-block to my theory. Major Knighton's statement that he saw Ada Mason at the Ritz after the Blue Train had left Paris. That seemed conclusive enough, but yet, on examining the facts carefully, I noted two things. First, that by a curious coincidence he, too, had been exactly two months in your service. Secondly, his initial letter was the same - 'K.' Supposing - just supposing - that it was his cigarette case which had been found in the carriage. Then, if Ada Mason and he were working together, and she recognized it when we showed it to her, would she not act precisely as she had done? At first, taken aback, she quickly evolved a plausible theory that would agree with Mr Kettering's guilt. Bien entendu, that was not the original idea. The Comte de la Roche was to be the scapegoat, though Ada Mason would not make her recognition of him too certain, in case he should be able to prove an alibi. Now, if you will cast your mind back to that time, you will remember a significant thing that happened. I suggested to Ada Mason that the man she had seen was not the Comte de la Roche, but Derek Kettering. She seemed 
uncertain at the time, but after I had got back to my hotel you rang me up and told me that she had come to you and said that, on thinking it over, she was now quite convinced that the man in question was Mr Kettering. I had been expecting something of the kind. There could be but one explanation of this sudden certainty on her part. After my leaving your hotel, she had had time to consult with somebody, and had received instructions which she acted upon. Who had given her these instructions? Major Knighton. And there was another very small point, which might mean nothing or might mean a great deal. In casual conversation Knighton had talked of a jewel robbery in Yorkshire in a house where he was staying. Perhaps a mere coincidence - perhaps another small link in the chain." 
"But there is one thing I do not understand, Monsieur Poirot. I guess I must be dense or I would have seen it before now. Who was the man in the train at Paris? Derek Kettering or the Comte de la Roche?" 
"That is the simplicity of the whole thing. There was no man. Ah - mille tonnerres! - do you not see the cleverness of it all? Whose word have we for it that there ever was a man there? Only Ada Mason's. And we believe in Ada Mason because of Knighton's evidence that she was left behind in Paris." 
"But Ruth herself told the conductor that she had left her maid behind there," demurred Van Aldin. 
"Ah! I am coming to that. We have Mrs Kettering's own evidence there, but, on the other hand, we have not really got her evidence, because, Monsieur Van Aldin, a dead woman cannot give 
evidence. It is not her evidence, but the evidence of the conductor of the train - a very different affair altogether." 
"So you think the man was lying?" 
"No, no, not at all. He spoke what he thought to be the truth. But the woman who told him that she had left her maid in Paris was not Mrs Kettering." 
Van Aldin stared at him. 
"Monsieur Van Aldin, Ruth Kettering was dead before the train arrived at the Gare de Lyon. It was Ada Mason, dressed in her mistress's very distinctive clothing, who purchased a dinner basket and who made that very necessary statement to the conductor." 
"Impossible!" 
"No, no, Monsieur Van Aldin; not impossible. Les femmes, they look so much alike nowadays that one identifies them more by their clothing than by their faces. Ada Mason was the same height as your daughter. Dressed in that very sumptuous fur coat and the little red lacquer hat jammed down over her eyes, with just a bunch of auburn curls showing over each ear, it was no wonder that the conductor was deceived. He had not previously spoken to Mrs Kettering, you remember. True, he had seen the maid just for a moment when she handed him the tickets, but his impression had been merely that of a gaunt, black-clad female. If he had been an unusually intelligent man, he might have gone so far as to say that mistress and maid were not unlike, but it is extremely unlikely that he would even think that. And remember, Ada Mason, or Kitty Kidd, was an actress, able to change her appearance and tone of voice at a moment's notice. No, no, there was no danger of his recognizing the maid in the mistress's clothing, but there was the danger that when he came to discover the body he might realize it was not the woman he had talked to the night before. And now we see the reason for the disfigured face. The chief danger that Ada Mason ran was that Katherine Grey might visit her compartment after the train left Paris, and she provided against that difficulty by ordering a dinner basket and by locking herself in her compartment." 
"But who killed Ruth - and when?" 
"First, bear it in mind that the crime was planned and undertaken by the two of them - Knighton and Ada Mason, working together. Knighton was in Paris that day on your business. He boarded the train somewhere on its way round the ceinture. Mrs Kettering would be surprised, but she would be quite unsuspicious. Perhaps he draws her attention to something out the window, and as she turns to look he slips the cord round her neck - and the whole thing is over in a second or two. The door of the compartment is locked, and he and Ada Mason set to work. They strip off the dead woman's outer clothes. Mason and Knighton roll the body up in a rug and put it on the seat in the adjoining compartment amongst the bags and suitcases. Knighton drops off the train, taking the jewel-case containing the rubies with him. Since the crime is not supposed to have been committed until nearly twelve hours later he is perfectly safe, and his evidence and the supposed Mrs Kettering's words to the conductor will provide a perfect alibi for his accomplice. 
"At the Gare de Lyon Ada Mason gets a dinner basket, and shutting herself into the toilet compartment she quickly changes into her mistress's clothes, adjusts two false bunches of auburn curls, and generally makes up to resemble her as closely as possible. When the conductor comes to make up the bed, she tells him the prepared story about having left her maid behind in Paris, and whilst he is making up the berth, she stands looking out of the window, so that her back is towards the corridor and people passing along there. That was a wise precaution, because, as we know, Miss Grey was one of those passing, and she among others, was willing to swear that Mrs Kettering was still alive at that hour." 
"Go on," said Van Aldin. 
"Before getting to Lyons, Ada Mason arranged her mistress's body in the bunk, folded up the dead woman's clothes neatly on the end of it, and herself changed into a man's clothes and prepared to leave the train. When Derek Kettering entered his wife's compartment, and, as he thought, saw her asleep in her berth, the scene had been set, and Ada Mason was hidden in the next compartment waiting for the moment to leave the train unobserved. As soon as the conductor had swung himself down on to the platform at Lyons, she follows, slouching along as though just taking a breath of air. At a moment when she is unobserved, she hurriedly crosses to the other platform, and takes the first train back to Paris and the Ritz Hotel. Her name has been registered there as taking a room the night before by one of Knighton's female accomplices. She has nothing to do but wait there placidly for your arrival. The jewels are not, and never have been, in her possession. Kettering had them. No suspicion attaches to him, and, as your secretary, he brings them to Nice without the least fear of discovery. Their delivery there to Monsieur Papopolous is already arranged for and they are entrusted to Mason at the last moment to hand over to the Greek. Altogether a very neatly planned coup, as one would expect from a master of the game such as the Marquis." 
"And you honestly mean that Richard Knighton is a well-known criminal, who has been at this business for years?" 
Poirot nodded. 
"One of the chief assets of the gentleman called the Marquis was his plausible, ingratiating manner. You fell a victim to his charm, Monsieur Van Aldin, when you engaged him as a secretary on such a slight acquaintanceship?" 
"I could have sworn that he never angled for the post," cried the millionaire. 
"It was very astutely done - so astutely done that it deceived a man whose knowledge of other men is as great as yours is." 
"I looked up his antecedents too. The fellow's record was excellent." 
"Yes, yes; that was part of the game. As Richard Knighton his life was quite free from reproach. He was well-born, well-connected, did honourable service in the war, and seemed altogether above suspicion; but when I came to glean information about the mysterious Marquis, I found many points of similarity. Knighton spoke French like a Frenchman, he had been in America, France, 
and England at much the same time as the Marquis was operating. The Marquis was last heard of as engineering various jewel robberies in Switzerland, and it was in Switzerland that you had come across Major Knighton; and it was at precisely that time that the first rumours were going round of your being in treaty for the famous rubies." 
"But why murder?" murmured Van Aldin brokenly. "Surely a clever thief could have stolen the jewels without running his head into a noose." 
Poirot shook his head. "This is not the first murder that lies to the Marquis's charge. He is a killer by instinct; he believes, too, in leaving no evidence behind him. Dead men and women tell no tales. 
"The Marquis had an intense passion for famous and historical jewels. He laid his plans far beforehand by installing himself as your secretary and getting his accomplice to obtain the situation of maid with your daughter, for whom he guessed the jewels were destined. And, though this was his matured and carefully thought- out plan, he did not scruple to attempt a short-cut by hiring a couple of Apaches to waylay you in Paris on the night you bought the jewels. That plan failed, which hardly surprised him, I think. This plan was, so he thought, completely safe. No possible suspicion could attach to Richard Knighton. But like all great men 
-and the Marquis was a great man - he had his weaknesses. He fell genuinely in love with Miss Grey, and suspecting her liking for Derek Kettering, he could not resist the temptation to saddle him with the crime when the opportunity presented itself. And now, Monsieur Van Aldin, I am going to tell you something very curious. Miss Grey is not a fanciful woman by any means, yet she firmly believes that she felt your daughter's presence beside her one day in the Casino Gardens at Monte Carlo, just after she had been having a long talk with Knighton. She was convinced, she says, that the dead woman was urgently trying to tell her something, and it suddenly came to her that what the dead woman was trying to say was that Knighton was her murderer! The idea seemed so fantastic at the time that Miss Grey spoke of it to no one. But she was so convinced of its truth that she acted on it - wild as it seemed. She did not discourage Knighton's advances, and she pretended to him that she was convinced of Derek Kettering's guilt." 
"Extraordinary," said Van Aldin. 
"Yes, it is very strange. One cannot explain these things. Oh, by the way, there is one little point that baffled me considerably. Your secretary has a decided limp - the result of a wound that he received in the war. Now the Marquis most decidedly did not limp. That was a stumbling-block. But Miss Lenox Tamplin happened to 
mention one day that Knighton's limp had been a surprise to the surgeons who had been in charge of the case in her mother's hospital. That suggested camouflage. When I was in London I went to the surgeon in question, and I got several technical details from him which confirmed me in that belief. I mentioned the name of that surgeon in Knighton's hearing the day before yesterday. The natural thing would have been for Knighton to mention that he had been attended by him during the war, but he said nothing - and that little point, if nothing else, gave me the last final assurance that my theory of the crime was correct. Miss Grey, too, provided me with a cutting, showing that there had been a robbery at Lady Tamplin's hospital during the time that Knighton had been there. She realized that I was on the same track as herself when I wrote to her from the Ritz in Paris. 
"I had some trouble in my inquiries there, but I got what I wanted - evidence that Ada Mason arrived on the morning after the crime and not on the evening of the day before." 
There was a long silence, then the millionaire stretched out a hand to Poirot across the table. 
"I guess you know what this means to me, Monsieur Poirot," he said huskily. "I am sending you round a cheque in the morning, but no cheque in the world will express what I feel about what you have done for me. You are the goods, Monsieur Poirot. Every time, you are the goods." 
Poirot rose to his feet; his chest swelled. 
"I am only Hercule Poirot," he said modestly, "yet, as you say, in my own way I am a big man, even as you also are a big man. I am glad and happy to have been of service to you. Now I go to repair the damages caused by travel. Alas! my excellent Georges is not with me." 
In the lounge of the hotel he encountered a friend - the venerable Monsieur Papopolous, his daughter Zia beside him. 
"I thought you had left Nice, Monsieur Poirot," murmured the Greek as he took the detective's affectionately proffered hand. 
"Business 
compelled 
me 
to 
return, my 
dear 
Monsieur 
Papopolous." 
"Business?" 
"Yes, business. And talking of business, I hope your health is better, my dear friend?" 
"Much better. In fact, we are returning to Paris tomorrow." 
"I am enchanted to hear such good news. You have not completely ruined the Greek ex-Minister, I hope." 
"I?" 
"I understand you sold him a very wonderful ruby which - strictly entre nous - is being worn by Mademoiselle Mirelle, the dancer?" 
"Yes," murmured Monsieur Papopolous, "yes, that is so." 
"A ruby not unlike the famous 'Heart of Fire'?" 
"It has points of resemblance, certainly," said the Greek casually. 
"You have a wonderful hand with jewels, Monsieur Papopolous. I congratulate you. Mademoiselle Zia, I am desolate that you are returning to Paris so speedily. I had hoped to see some more of you now that my business is accomplished." 
"Would one be indiscreet if one asked what that business was?" asked Monsieur Papopolous. 
"Not at all, not at all. I have just succeeded in laying the Marquis by the heels." 
A far-away look came over Monsieur Papopolous' noble 
countenance. 
"The Marquis?" he murmured, "now why does that seem familiar to me? No - I cannot recall it." 
"You would not, I am sure," said Poirot. "I refer to a very notable criminal and jewel robber. He has just been arrested for the murder of the English lady, Madame Kettering." 
"Indeed? How interesting these things are!" 
A polite exchange of farewells followed, and when Poirot was out of earshot. Monsieur Papopolous turned to his daughter. 
"Zia," he said, with feeling, "that man is the devil!" 
"I like him." 
"I like him myself," admitted Monsieur Papopolous. "But he is the devil, all the same." 

第三十五章 波洛的说明
    “说明？”波洛微微一笑。这时，他正同冯•阿尔丁在内格列斯库饭店吃午饭。从冯•阿尔丁的表情中可看得出，他既轻松又好奇。波洛舒服地坐在靠背椅上，点燃了一支细雪茄，呆呆地望着天花板。“说明？”他又重复地问了一句，“倒是很想说明一下。
您知道使我绞尽脑汁去思考的第一点是什么？是变了形的脸！在这类罪行中，本能的看法起很大的作用。当然人们首先会提出一个想法：死者果真是凯特林夫人吗？可是这一线索没有什么价值，因为格蕾小姐的口供是肯定的，而且绝对可信。因此，这种想法也就不存在了。对，死者就是露丝•凯特林嘛。”
    “您是什么时候第一次开始对女仆产生怀疑的？”
    “就在不久以前，一件微不足道的小事引起了我的注意。那就是在火车包厢里找到的烟盒。照她的说法，这很可能是德里克赠给他妻子的。这一点，我认为是根本就不可能的。他们俩早就分居了嘛！这时我对马松是否可靠产生了一点疑问。之后又出现了一些疑点：她在凯特林夫人那里只干了两个月的活。当然，当时我并没有肯定她同罪行有什么牵连，因为她被留在了巴黎，而且在她留下之后有人还看到凯特林夫人还活着。但是……”
    波洛直起身来，伸出食指指向天空，表情丰富地继续说道：“但是，我是个多年的侦探。我怀疑一切人，怀疑一切事情。我不相信别人对我讲的话。我问我自己：我们怎么可能知道艾达•马松被留在巴黎？对这个问题的初步回答使我很满意。这就是您的秘书的谈话，尽管他完全是一位局外人，但是他的话却完全可靠。除此之外，你女儿还亲自对乘务员讲过话，更证实了这一点。最后一点，当时我未能十分重视，我曾有一个很妙的想法，这个想法也许纯属主观想象，而不太可能符合实际。但是，如果这个想法成立，那么他们的说法就失却了意义。我当时集中精力分析一个情况，即奈顿少校在巴黎里茨饭店见到马松的时候正是‘蓝色特快’刚刚离开巴黎的时候。因此，我的那个小小的想法也就破了产。但经过仔细的观察，我又得到两点启发。第一，奈顿少校是两个月之前才到您这里工作的；第二，拾到烟盒上字同他的名字的第一个字母相同。我暂时作了一个假设，如果一个人善于假设，那他就能洞悉一切。假设这个烟盒是奈顿的。如果这个假设成立，如果他同马松一起作的案，那么当我们把烟盒拿给她看时，她脸上不就应该是当时那种表情吗？当然他俩在开始时就企图把罗歇伯爵作为替罪羊。请你好好回忆一下，当我向马松询问，她看到的那个人是否有可能是德里克•凯特林先生时，她起初有点犹豫；但当我回到旅馆以后，她却打电话告诉我说，她又进行了回忆并确信，她看见的这位先生就是德里克•凯特林。我早就料到她这一着了，对我来说，这不过是一种表白而已。在我离开您的饭店以后，她与某人碰头进行了协商。同谁？同奈顿少校！那么现在就剩下一件小事了，这件小事可能毫无意义，也可能意义重大。在一次无意的谈话中，他提到过在约克州乡下别墅内发生的一件宝石失盗案件。当然，上面所说可能纯属偶然，但也可能是我要证明的一个环节。”
    “但是，波洛，有一点我不明白。可能我的理解能力太差，否则，我早就应该豁然开朗了。在巴黎上车的那个男人到底是谁？是德里克•凯特林还是罗歇伯爵？”
    “答案简单得令人吃惊：根本就没有这样一个男人。您看，这个阴谋真可谓工于心计了，不是吗？究竟根据谁的说法，我们才认为有这样一个上车呢？当然是根据马松的说法，而我们为什么一直对马松的说法如此相信呢？就是因为奈顿曾经证明，马松被留在了巴黎。”
    “可是露丝亲口对乘务员讲过，说她把女仆留在了巴黎。”冯•阿尔丁打断他的话说道。
    “我正想说明这一点。当然，我们听说凯特林女士讲过这样的话；可是实际上那并不是她的话，一个死人是不会讲话的。至于列车员的说法，那完全是另一回事。”
    “难道那个乘务员在撒谎？”
    “绝对不是！他自己也认为他所讲的都是真情。但是，那个对他讲话的女人，说她把女仆留在巴黎的那个女人，不是凯特林女士。”
    冯•阿尔丁迷惑不解地看着他。
    “火车刚巴黎里昂站的时候，露丝•凯特林女士已经死了。是艾达•马松穿了女主人的衣服买了晚饭盒，并对乘务员讲了那句关键的话。”
    “这简直是难以置信！”
    “不，不，冯•阿尔丁先生。这不是不可能的。今天的女人们彼此相象，多半是由于穿同样的衣服，而少半是由于脸型相同。艾达•马松个头同您女儿差不多。穿上那样贵重的皮大衣，戴上那顶蒙着半个脸的红色漆帽，人们只能从侧面看到一两绺金黄色的卷发，这就很容易打马虎眼，这个乘务员在此之前没同凯特林女士谈过话，可能看到过一、两次女仆，在他的记忆里只留下了一个目光严肃、穿着一身黑衣服的女仆形象。除非有一个极为聪明的人，否则不可能发现，女主人同女仆人长得如此相象。请您不要忘记，艾达•马松原名叫吉蒂•基德，是一个女演员，因此她会改变说话的声音。不，不，乘务员把装扮主人的女仆辨认出来的危险，是不存在的。万一他以后又认出来，尸体不是前一天晚上同他讲话的那个女士，那怎么办？这就是他们将死者毁容的理由。对这帮罪犯唯一能构成危险的是卡泰丽娜•格蕾小姐。当火车离开巴黎之后，如果格蕾小姐再一次去女士的包厢来拜访她的话，这种危险就可能发生。为此，这个女罪犯想了一个花招，她买了一个饭盒，把包厢反锁上不出来了。”
    “到底是谁打死了我那可怜的露丝？是什么时候发生的事？”
    “罪行是由两个人共同谋划的。那一天奈顿在巴黎为您办了一桩交易。他隐匿在巴黎郊区环城铁路附近的一个角落，因为火车在环城铁路上行驶得很慢，有时还得停下，他就趁此机会跳上了火车。凯特林女士对奈顿的出现虽然感到奇怪，但她不会怀疑他有别的想法。他可能用一种什么借口使她向窗外看去，然后他从后面把绳子套住了她的脖子，一、两钞钟之后就完事了。门反锁上了，尸体被抬进了隔壁的包厢，奈顿拿着首饰盒跳下了火车。因为大家都认为死亡是在夜间十二点左右发生的，所以他是绝对安全的。
他的说法和所谓的凯特林女士同乘务员的谈话，为他的罪行造成了一个绝对可靠的‘不在现场’。”
    “在巴黎的里昂站，艾达•马松买她饭盒就回到了包厢，以最快的速度换上了女主人的衣服，并把准备好的两绺金黄色卷发戴在两鬓。然后乘务员来铺床，她就讲了那个众所周知的故事，说她把女仆留在了巴黎。在铺床的过程中，她一直扒在玻璃上望着窗外，后背朝着走廊，朝着那里来来往往的旅客们。这是一个非常重要的预防措旋。因为在那些来往走动的人们中间，就可能有格蕾小姐；如果她看见了，那么她就可以对天起誓地说，这时凯特林女士还活着。”
    “请您继续讲下去。”冯•阿尔丁极为震惊地说道。
    “火车一到里昂，艾达•马松就把女主人的尸体弄成象夜里睡觉的姿势，把死者的衣服扒掉，小心翼翼地放到床上，然后她自己换上了一套男装，准备下车。当德里克•凯特林走进妻子的包厢时，他还以为妻子在睡觉呢，而这时马松却藏在隔壁包厢里，伺机偷偷下车。在里昂城火车站，她装成了一位旅客到外面去呼吸新鲜空气。趁人们不注意的时候，她飞快地来到另外一个月台，登上正准备开住巴黎的里茨的火车。她的名字早在前一天就由奈顿的一个女同伙在里茨饭店登了记。她不费多大劲就平安无事地到了里茨饭店。首饰当然不在她的手中。奈顿悄悄地把它带到了尼扎。把货交给帕波波鲁斯一事，当然是早就商量好的。他是通过艾达•马松转交的。总的说来，这次阴谋活动干得颇为出色。对于这样的行动也只有侯爵这样的行家才当之无愧！”
    “您相信奈顿是罪犯？”
    波洛点点头。
    “这位先生故意做出样子，似乎他具有忠厚、可爱和谦虚这类最可贵的本质。就因为这个，您受了骗，冯•阿尔丁先生，虽然您只认识他两天，就把他收为秘书了。”
    “他当时可绝对没有表示非找这个职业不可。”百万富翁高声说道。
    “此人老奸巨滑，深谋远虑，可以长时间地愚弄您，他在关系学方面的造诣可能不亚于您。冯•阿尔丁先生。”
    “我也调查过他的历史，所有人都证明他是个好人。”
    “当然会这样。理查德•奈顿生活得安逸而幸福。战时他表现勇敢，忠于职守，看来无可非议。当我着手分析那位神秘的侯爵的材料时，发现了某些与他一致的地方。奈顿说得一口流利的法语，同真正的法国人完全一样，他在美国、法国和英国度过的时间同那位侯爵的‘工作时间’也正好相等。最后，人们曾谈论过瑞士的那起重大的首饰偷盗案，而您，先生，正是在瑞士认识了奈顿少校。也正是那个时候，有些知情人透露了您要买那件名贵宝石的消息。”
    “可是为什么要杀人呢？”冯•阿尔丁喃喃自语地说道。“如果是一起手段高超的盗窃案，完全可以不去冒杀人的风险而把宝石偷走。”
    波洛摇摇头。
    “这不是侯爵第一次制造血案了。他是个嗜血成性的杀人犯。另外，为万全计，他也不愿留下罪证，而死人是不能说话的。”
    “侯爵对名贵的、有历史价值的宝石有一种不可抑制的爱好。他钻营到您的秘书的职务时，早就阴谋策划对您女儿下毒手。宝石肯定会归露丝•凯特林，这一点他非常清楚。另外，他还企图在漫长而吃力的道路上少走一段路程，这也是他的本性决定的。因此，他雇用了几个流氓恶棍，想在你买走宝石的那天晚上进行袭击。这个计划流产了，可是侯爵对此并不感到突然和失望。谁也不会怀疑这是奈顿干的。正象所有的大人物一样（应该说侯爵也是个他那种类型的大人物），他们都有自已的弱点。他确实被格蕾小姐迷住了，当他发现她点喜欢德里克•凯特林的时候，就不由自主地，本能地企图嫁祸于德里克。这回，冯•阿尔丁先生，我可要对您说一桩非常有趣的事。格蕾小姐不是个神秘的人，但她确信，一天晚上在蒙特卡洛赌场的公园里感到您女儿还活着，正是在此之前不久，她刚同奈顿谈过一次话，她那时确实感到，死者竭力想告诉她，她甚至感觉到，死者要说的话是：奈顿就是凶手！当时，这种想法是那么强烈，深深地铭刻在她的脑海里，尽管她没有把这种想法告诉任何人，可是她坚信这种幻觉的真实性。她有意让奈顿更强烈地追求她，并给他造成一种假象，似乎罪行是德里克犯下的。”
    “太离奇了！”冯•阿尔丁说道。
    “非常离奇！这一类事情人们总是很难说清楚的。对，还有一件小事使我当时对我的线索产生了动摇。您的秘书有点瘸。可侯爵走起路来并不瘸。关于这一点我很长时间又没有弄清楚。有一天，雷诺斯•坦普林小姐偶然说起，她母亲那所医院里的外科医生对奈顿的瘸腿都感到很奇怪。这说明，他的腿瘸是假装出来的。我在伦敦找了一个外科专家，并得到了专门的材料，证明了我的想法是正确的。正如您记得的那样，我曾当着奈顿的面提起过这位医生的名字。照理说，奈顿当时应该谈起，正是这位大夫在战时给他治过伤。但是他对此不置一词，这个微不足道的情况更加深了我的怀疑。另外，格蕾小姐还给我看过一份剪报，上面提到，在奈顿住院期间，坦普林女士的医院里发生了一起宝石失盗事件。正当我从巴黎里茨饭店给格蕾小姐写信的时候，她才第一次意识到，我们是沿着同一个方向跟踪的。虽然付出了巨大的努力，但是我终于得到了我的证据，有力的证据，即艾达•马松只是在罪行发生的当天早晨到达饭店的，而不是前一天。”
    两个人沉默了好久。然后百万富翁伸出了手，同桌子对面波洛的手相握：“您可以想象，这对我意味着什么，波洛，”他低沉地说道，非常感动。“明天我给您转去一张支票，但是世界上没有任何一张支票能够表达我对您的谢意。您是一位伟人，波洛永远是一位伟人。”
    波洛站起身来。
    “我是赫库勒•波洛。”他谦虚地说。“但正象您所说的那样，我是我这一行的伟人，正象你是您那一行的伟人一样。我对自己能够为您效劳而感到高兴。”
    大厅里走进了庄严的帕波波鲁斯和他的女儿齐娅。
    “我相信您将离开尼扎了，波洛。”这位希腊人低声对这位侦探说，同时握住了他伸向自己的手。
    “公事催我回去，我亲爱的帕波波鲁斯。”
    “公事？”
    “对，公事。我们刚刚谈过公事……希望您的身体状况有好转，帕波波鲁斯。”
    “感谢上帝。它甚至有明显的好转，明天我们都能一起回巴黎了。”
    “太好了，非常难得。希望您没有把希腊总理完全搞垮。”
    “我？”
    “我听说，您卖给他一颗当今非常名贵的宝石，这可只有我们俩知道，而米蕾小姐，那个舞女正带着这颗宝石。”
    “可是……”帕波波鲁斯喃喃地说道。
    “一颗与‘火心宝石’相似的宝石。”
    “有很大的差别。”希腊人毫不在意地说道。
    “您是个非常在行的宝石专家，帕波波鲁斯！我特别感到难受，齐娅小姐，您会这么快就回巴黎。我曾希望，在我的公事办完之后，我们能够单独在一起多呆一会儿。”
    “恕我冒昧地问一下，您办的是什么公事？”帕波波鲁斯问道。
    “您一点也不冒昧。我们刚才顺利地把侯爵抓到了。”
    帕波波鲁斯幻想般地望着远方。
    “侯爵，侯爵？”他低声说道。“我似乎知道他。不，我真的有点记不清楚了。”
    “当然记不清了。”波洛说。“我说的是关于一件危险的宝石盗窃案。他似乎同您见过一次面？另外，他由于谋杀凯特林女士而被捕了。”
    “您说什么？真有意思！”
    他们很有礼貌地相互告别了，当波洛走远之后，帕波波鲁斯对女儿说道：
    “齐娅，这个人是个魔鬼。”
    “我喜欢他。”
    “我也喜欢他。”帕波波鲁斯承认道。“尽管如此，他还是个魔鬼。”
Chapter 36  在海滨上(By the Sea)
Chapter 36  BY THE SEA 
The mimosa was nearly over. The scent of it in the air was faintly unpleasant. There were pink geraniums twining along the 
balustrade of Lady Tamplin's villa, and masses of carnations below sent up a sweet, heavy perfume. The Mediterranean was at 
its bluest. Poirot sat on the terrace with Lenox Tamplin. He had just finished telling her the same story he had told to Van Aldin two days before. Lenox had listened to him with absorbed attention, her brows knitted and her eyes sombre. 
When he had finished she said simply: "And Derek?" 
"He was released yesterday." 
"And he has gone - where?" 
"He left Nice last night." 
"For St Mary Mead?" 
"Yes, for St Mary Mead." 
There was a pause. 
"I was wrong about Katherine," said Lenox. "I thought she did not care." 
"She is very reserved. She trusts no one." 
"She might have trusted me," said Lenox, with a shade of bitterness. 
"Yes," said Poirot gravely, "she might have trusted you. But Mademoiselle Katherine has spent a great deal of her life listening, and those who have listened do not find it easy to talk; they keep their sorrows and joys to themselves and tell no one." 
"I was a fool," said Lenox, "I thought she really cared for Knighton. I ought to have known better. I suppose I thought so because - well, I hoped so." 
Poirot took her hand and gave it a little friendly squeeze. 
"Courage, Mademoiselle," he said gently. 
Lenox looked very straight out across the sea, and her face, in its ugly rigidity, had for the moment a tragic beauty. 
"Oh, well," she said at last, "it would not have done. I am too young for Derek; he is like a kid that has never grown up. He wants the Madonna touch." 
There was a long silence, then Lenox turned to him quickly and impulsively. "But I did help, Monsieur Poirot - at any rate I did help." 
"Yes, Mademoiselle. It was you who gave me the first inkling of the truth when you said that the person who committed the crime need not have been on the train at all. Before that, I could not see how the thing had been done." 
Lenox drew a deep breath. 
"I am glad," she said, "at any rate - that is something." 
From far behind them there came a long-drawn scream of an engine's whistle. 
"That is that damned Blue Train," said Lenox. "Trains are relentless things, aren't they, Monsieur Poirot? People are murdered and die, but they go on just the same. I am talking nonsense, but you know what I mean." 
"Yes, yes, I know. Life is like a train, Mademoiselle. It goes on. And it is a good thing that that is so." 
"Why?" 
"Because the train gets to its journey's end at last, and there is a proverb about that in your language, Mademoiselle." 
"'Journeys end in lovers meeting.'" Lenox laughed. "That is not going to be true for me." 
"Yes - yes, it is true. You are young, younger than you yourself know. Trust the train, Mademoiselle, for it is le bon Dieu who drives it." 
The whistle of the engine came again. 
"Trust the train, Mademoiselle," murmured Poirot again. "And trust Hercule Poirot. He knows." 

第三十六章 在海滨上
    合欢树的花已经凋谢了。天竺葵围簇着坦普林女士的别墅，繁茂的丁香散发出浓郁的香气。地中海比以往任何时候都蓝。波洛与雷诺斯•坦普林小姐坐在阳台上。他刚刚讲完了揭露那个神秘人物——被人称为“侯爵”的案子。雷诺斯紧张而有兴趣地、一字不漏地听着，神态有些忧郁。
    当波洛结束他那故事的时候，她只问了一句：“那么德里克呢？”
    “他昨天被释放了。”
    “他去玛丽麦德村了吗？”
    “对，去了。”
    过了一会儿，这位女郎倔强地说道：
    “我当时认为，卡泰丽娜对德里克的追求不会成功，我猜测错了。”
    “您对谁都不相信。”
    “她可以信任我。”雷诺斯以痛苦的声调小声说。
    “是的。”波洛严肃地说。“她可以想信您。可是卡泰丽娜一生中大半时间是顺从别人的。如果一个人习惯于顺从别的，那么他想直抒已见就不那么容易。她把自己的忧伤和欢乐隐埋在心底，无人可与之分担。”
    “我真傻。”雷诺斯自我抱怨地说。“我当时以为，她可能爱上了奈顿。我可全都是往好处想。可能这种想法完全是多余的，算了，别谈这些了。”
    波洛握着她的手，紧紧地握着，友好而温和地说道：“抬起头来，小姐。”
    雷诺斯望着远方的海面，她那平淡而严肃的脸上刹时间显出一层哀伤的美。
    “天啊。”她最后说，“事情的结局竟是这样。我对德里克说来是太年轻了，而他则是永葆青春的青年。他需要一个象圣母玛丽亚那样的人。”
    又是长时间的沉默。之后雷诺斯猛然对侦探说道：“我可是帮了您的忙啊，波洛先生？”
    “正是。通过您我得到了了解真相的线索，当时您曾指出，凶手不一定是火车上的乘客。”
    雷诺斯深深地吸了一口气。
    “我对此感到欣慰。这是唯一的一点欣慰。”
    远方传来了火车的汽笛声，声音拖得很长。
    “这就是那列被人咀咒的‘蓝色特快’。”雷诺斯说。“火车总是令人恐惧，它是一种妖气的阴森可怕的东西，您说是吗，波洛？有人在火车里被暗杀了，而火车照样奔驰，按照时刻表在继续奔驰……天啊，我又在说胡话了。”
    “我理解您指的是什么，年轻小姐。生活就是一列火车。它在继续前进，而继续前进总是好的。您还年轻，并且具备年轻人最优越的条件，有机会漫游人生的道路，而且，哪里中您的意，您就可以在哪里下车。但对于您来说，那种同‘蓝色特快’一样的生活的时刻也会到来。”
    “我的生活中也可能发生不幸，也会过早地死去。”
    “生活会把您带到光明的彼岸，带到一位您所爱的人那里。”
    “您怎么知道？”
    “您竟敢对我的话产生怀疑？”他突然对雷诺斯大吼一声，吓了雷诺斯一跳。
    但是他的目光说明他那声吼叫是在装腔作势。赫库勒•波洛现在的眼睛不象猫的眼睛了，而一双充满了和善、聪明和谅解人的眼睛。
    “请相信波洛老伯吧。我知道一切。这就是我的职业。”