Chapter 1 Paris to Croydon
DEATH IN THE CLOUDS 
Agatha Christie 
Chapter 1 Paris to Croydon
The September sun beat down hotly on Le Bourget aerodrome as the passengers crossed the ground and climbed into the air liner 
"Prometheus," due to depart for Croydon in a few minutes' time. 
Jane Grey was among the last to enter and take her seat, No. 16. Some of the passengers had already passed on through the center door past the tiny pantry kitchen and the two wash rooms to the front car. Most people were already seated. On the opposite side of the gangway there was a good deal of chatter - a rather shrill, high-pitched woman's voice dominating it. Jane's lips twisted slightly. She knew that particular type of voice so well. 
"My dear, it's extraordinary - no idea... Where do you say?... Juan les Pins?... Oh, yes... No, Le Pinet... Yes, just the same old crowd... But of course let's sit together... Oh, can't we?... Who?... Oh, I see." 
And then a man's voice, foreign, polite: 
"With the greatest of pleasure, madame." 
Jane stole a glance out of the corner of her eye. 
A little elderly man with large mustaches and an egg-shaped head was politely moving himself and his belongings from the seat 
corresponding to Jane's on the opposite side of the gangway. 
Jane turned her head slightly and got a view of the two women whose unexpected meeting had occasioned this polite action on the stranger's part. The mention of Le Pinet had stimulated her curiosity, for Jane, also, had been at Le Pinet. 
She remembered one of the women perfectly - remembered how she had seen her last, at the baccarat table, her little hands clenching and unclenching themselves; her delicately made-up, Dresden-china face flushing and paling alternately. With a little effort, Jane thought, she could have remembered her name. A friend had mentioned it; had said, "She's a peeress, she is. But not one of the proper ones; she was only some chorus girl or other." 
Deep scorn in the friend's voice. That had been Maisie, who had a first- class job as a masseuse, taking off flesh. 
The other woman, Jane thought in passing, was the real thing. "The horsey county type," thought Jane, and forthwith forgot the two women and interested herself in the view obtainable through the window of Le Bourget aerodrome. Various other machines were standing about. One of them looked like a big metallic centipede. 
The one place she was obstinately determined not to look was straight in front of her, where, on the seat opposite, sat a young man. 
He was wearing a rather bright periwinkle-blue pullover. Above the pullover, Jane was determined not to look. If she did, she might catch his eye. And that would never do! 
Mechanics shouted in French; the engine roared, relaxed, roared again; obstructions were pulled away; the plane started. 
Jane caught her breath. It was only her second flight. She was still capable of being thrilled. It looked - it looked as though they must run into that fence thing - no, they were off the ground, rising, rising, sweeping round; there was Le Bourget beneath them. 
The midday service to Croydon had started. It contained twenty-one passengers - ten in the forward carriage, eleven in the rear one. It had two pilots and two stewards. The noise of the engines was very skillfully deadened. There was no need to put cotton wool in the ears. Nevertheless, there was enough noise to discourage conversation and encourage thought. 
As the plane roared above France on its way to the Channel, the passengers in the rear compartment thought their various thoughts. 
Jane Grey thought: "I won't look at him - I won't. It's much better not. I'll go on looking out of the window and thinking. I'll choose a definite thing to think about; that's always the best way. That will keep my mind steady. I'll begin at the beginning and go all over it." 
Resolutely she switched her mind back to what she called the beginning - that purchase of a ticket in the Irish Sweep. It had been an extravagance, but an exciting extravagance. 
A lot of laughter and teasing chatter in the hairdressing establishment in which Jane and five other young ladies were employed: 
"What'll you do if you win it, dear?" 
"I know what I'd do." 
Plans, castles in the air, a lot of chaff. 
Well, she hadn't won it - it being the big prize. But she had won a hundred pounds. 
A hundred pounds! 
"You spend half of it, dear, and keep the other half for a rainy day. You never know." 
"I'd buy a fur coat, if I was you - a real tip-top one." 
"What about a cruise?" 
Jane had wavered at the thought of a cruise, but in the end she had remained faithful to her first idea. A week at Le Pinet. So many of her ladies had been going to Le Pinet or just come back from Le Pinet. Jane - her clever fingers patting and manipulating the waves, her tongue uttering mechanically the usual clichés, "Let me see. How long is it since you had your perm, madam?... Your hair's such an uncommon color, madam... What a wonderful summer it has been, hasn't it, madam?" - had thought to herself, "Why the devil can't I go to Le Pinet?" Well, now she could! 
Clothes presented small difficulty. Jane, like most London girls employed in smart places, could produce a miraculous effect of fashion for a ridiculously small outlay. Nails, make-up and hair were beyond reproach. 
Jane went to Le Pinet. 
Was it possible that now, in her thoughts, ten days at Le Pinet had dwindled down to one incident? 
An incident at the roulette table. Jane allowed herself a certain amount each evening for the pleasures of gambling. That sum she was determined not to exceed. Contrary to the prevalent superstition, Jane's beginner's luck had been bad. This was her fourth evening and the last stake of that evening. So far she had staked prudently on color or on one of the dozens; she had won a little, but lost more. Now she waited, her stake in her hand. 
There were two numbers on which nobody had staked. Five and six. Should she put this, her last stake, on one of those numbers? If so, which of them? Five or six? Which did she feel? 
Five - five was going to turn up. The ball was spun. Jane stretched out her hand. Six - she'd put it on six. 
Just in time. She and another player opposite staked simultaneously. She on six, he on five. 
"Rien ne va plus," said the croupier. 
The ball clicked, settled. 
"Le numéro cinq, rouge, impair, manque." 
Jane could have cried with vexation. The croupier swept away the stakes, paid out. The man opposite said: "Aren't you going to take up your winnings?" 
"Mine?" 
"Yes." 
"But I put on six." 
"Indeed you didn't. I put on six and you put on five." 
He smiled - a very attractive smile. White teeth in a very brown face. Blue eyes. Crisp short hair. 
Half unbelievingly, Jane picked up her gains. Was it true? She felt a little muddled herself. Perhaps she had put her counters on five. She looked doubtingly at the stranger and he smiled easily back. 
"That's right," he said. "Leave a thing lying there and somebody else will grab it who has got no right to it. That's an old trick." 
Then, with a friendly little nod of the head, he had moved away. That, too, had been nice of him. She might have suspected otherwise that he had not let her take his winnings in order to scrape acquaintance with her. But he wasn't that kind of man. He was nice. And here he was, sitting opposite to her. 
And now it was all over, the money spent, a last two days - rather disappointing days - in Paris, and now home on her return air ticket. 
"And what next?" 
"Stop," said Jane in her mind. "Don't think of what's going to happen next. It'll only make you nervous." 
The two women had stopped talking. 
She looked across the gangway. The Dresden-china woman exclaimed 
petulantly, examining a broken finger nail. She rang the bell, and when the white-coated steward appeared she said: 
"Send my maid to me. She's in the other compartment." 
"Yes, my lady." 
The steward, very deferential, very quick and efficient, disappeared again. A dark-haired French girl dressed in black appeared. She carried a small jewel case. 
Lady Horbury spoke to her in French: 
"Madeleine, I want my red morocco case." 
The maid passed along the gangway. At the extreme end of the car were some piled-up rugs and cases. 
The girl returned with a small dressing case. 
Cicely Horbury took it and dismissed the maid. 
"That's all right, Madeleine. I'll keep it here." 
The maid went out again. Lady Horbury opened the case and from the beautifully fitted interior she extracted a nail file. Then she looked long and earnestly at her face in a small mirror and touched it up here and there - a little powder, more lip salve. 
Jane's lips curled scornfully; her glance traveled farther down the car. 
Behind the two women was the little foreigner who had yielded his seat to the county woman. Heavily muffled up in unnecessary mufflers, he appeared to be fast asleep. Perhaps made uneasy by Jane's scrutiny, his eyes opened, looked at her for a moment, then closed again. 
Beside him sat a tall, gray-haired man with an authoritative face. He had a flute case open in front of him and was polishing the flute with loving care. Funny, Jane thought, he didn't look like a musician - more like a lawyer or a doctor. 
Behind these two were a couple of Frenchmen, one with a beard and one much younger - perhaps his son. They were talking and gesticulating in an excited manner. 
On her own side of the car, Jane's view was blocked by the man in the blue pullover - the man at whom, for some absurd reason, she was determined not to look. 
"Absurd to feel so - so excited. I might be seventeen," thought Jane disgustedly. 
Opposite her, Norman Gale was thinking: 
"She's pretty - really pretty. She remembers me all right. She looked so disappointed when her stakes were swept away. It was worth a lot more than that to see her pleasure when she won. I did that rather well. She's very attractive when she smiles - no pyorrhoea there - healthy gums and sound teeth... Damn it, I feel quite excited. Steady, my boy." 
He said to the steward, who hovered at his side with the menu, "I'll have cold tongue." 
The Countess of Horbury thought: "What shall I do? It's the hell of a mess. The hell of a mess. There's only one way out that I can see. If only I had the nerve - Can I do it? Can I bluff it out? My nerves are all to pieces! That's the coke. Why did I ever take to coke? My face looks awful - simply awful. That cat, Venetia Kerr, being here makes it worse. She always looks at me as though I were dirt. Wanted Stephen herself. Well, she didn't get him! That long face of hers gets on my nerves. It's exactly like a horse. I hate these county women. What shall I do? I've got to make up my mind. The old hag meant what she said." 
She fumbled in her vanity bag for her cigarette case and fitted a cigarette into a long holder. Her hands shook slightly. 
The Honorable Venetia Kerr thought: "Little tart! That's what she is. Poor old Stephen! If he only could get rid of her!" 
She, in turn, felt for her cigarette case. She accepted Cicely Horbury's match. 
The steward said: "Excuse me, ladies; no smoking." 
Cicely Horbury said, "Hell!" 
M. Hercule Poirot thought: "She is pretty, that little one over there. There is determination in that chin. Why is she so worried over something? Why is she so determined not to look at the handsome young man opposite her? She is very much aware of him and he of her." The plane dropped slightly. "Mon estomac!" thought Hercule Poirot, and closed his eyes determinedly. 
Beside him, Doctor Bryant, caressing his flute with nervous hands, thought: "I can't decide. I simply cannot decide. This is the turning point of my career." 
Nervously he drew out his flute from its case, caressingly, lovingly. Music - in music there was an escape from all your cares. Half smiling, he raised the flute to his lips; then put it down again. The little man with the mustaches beside him was fast asleep. There had been a moment, when the plane had bumped a little, when he had looked distinctly green. Doctor Bryant was glad he himself became neither train-sick nor sea-sick nor air-sick. 
M. Dupont pére turned excitedly in his seat and shouted at M. Dupont fils, sitting beside him: 
"There is no doubt about it! They are all wrong - the Germans, the Americans, the English! They date the prehistoric pottery all wrong! 
Take the Samarra ware -" 
Jean Dupont, tall, fair, with a false air of indolence, said: 
"You must take the evidences from all sources. There is Tall Halaf, and Sakje Geuze -" 
They prolonged the discussion. 
Armand Dupont wrenched open a battered attaché case. 
"Take these Kurdish pipes, such as they make today. The decoration on them is almost exactly similar to that on the pottery of 5000 b.c." 
An eloquent gesture almost swept away the plate that a steward was placing in front of him. 
Mr Clancy, writer of detective stories, rose from his seat behind Norman Gale and padded to the end of the car, extracted a Continental Bradshaw from his raincoat pocket and returned with it to work out a complicated alibi for professional purposes. 
Mr Ryder, in the seat behind him, thought: "I'll have to keep my end up, but it's not going to be easy. I don't see how I'm going to raise the dibs for the next dividend. If we pass the dividend the fat's in the fire... Oh, hell!" 
Norman Gale rose and went to the wash room. As soon as he had gone, Jane drew out a mirror and surveyed her face anxiously. She also applied powder and lipstick. 
A steward placed coffee in front of her. 
Jane looked out of the window. The Channel showed blue and shining below. 
A wasp buzzed round Mr Clancy's head just as he was dealing with 19:55 at Tsaribrod, and he struck at it absently. The wasp flew off to investigate the Duponts' coffee cups. 
Jean Dupont slew it neatly. 
Peace settled down on the car. Conversation ceased, but thoughts pursued their way. 
Right at the end of the car, in Seat No. 2, Madame Giselle's head lolled forward a little. One might have taken her to be asleep. But she was not asleep. She neither spoke nor thought. 
Madame Giselle was dead.
第1节 从巴黎飞往克罗伊登
空中命案 
作者：阿加莎.克里斯蒂 
第1节 从巴黎飞往克罗伊登
    9月的太阳烤得布尔歇机场发烫。乘客们穿过地下通道，登上飞往克罗伊登的“普罗米修斯”号航班，飞机再过几分钟就要起飞了。
    简•格雷落在了后面，她匆忙在16号座位上坐定。一些乘客已经通过中门旁的洗手间和餐厅，来到前舱。过道对面，一位女士的尖嗓音压过了其他乘客的谈话声。简微微撅了撅嘴，她太熟悉这声音了。
    “天啊，真了不起。……你说什么？……哦，对……不，是派尼特。……对，还是那些人……我们就坐在一起……，可以吗？谁？……哦，明白了。”
    然后，一个和蔼的男中音说：“我不胜荣幸，夫人。”
    简顺着眼角朝他看了看。
    他不算太老，鸡蛋形的脸上蓄着长长的胡须。他很有礼貌地将自己的行李挪到过道对面与简相对应的座位上。他们在谈话中提到了派尼特，这引起了简的注意，因为她刚去过那地方。简猛然记起在派尼特见过那位女士。一位朋友说她是什么贵妇人，但也有人说她在什么合唱团工作，简似乎不愿再想下去，她望着窗外机场上繁忙的景象。在简的对面坐着一位穿套衫的年轻人，简决意不正视他，无论发生什么事情，她都不能看他。
    机械师用法语喊叫着什么，发动机顿时轰鸣起来，飞机起飞了。简屏住了呼吸，这是她第二次乘飞机。她感到机身离开了地面，布尔歇机场被远远抛在了身后。
    飞机的普通舱里有28位乘客，简所在的后舱有11位乘客，机组包括两名驾驶员和两位乘务员。震耳欲聋的飞机发动机声窒息了大家谈话的热情，乘客们只好各思所想。
    简•格雷想：“不要看他，绝对不能。想一想什么别的事情会使自己心神安宁。”
    不久前，简和理发厅工作的五位同事购买了爱尔兰一家公司发行的彩票。
    “假如你中了彩，你打算做什么，亲爱的？”
    “我已经有了打算。”
    然而，虽然她未能获大奖，可她赢了100英镑！
    “花上一半，亲爱的，另一办存起来。”
    “如果我是你，就去买一件最好的皮衣。”
    “去旅行怎么样？”
    去派尼特避暑，呆上一星期，这是许多人梦寐以求的奢望。穿什么衣服去并非什么大问题。像简这样在小公司供职的伦敦姑娘都有一衣柜上好的时装。此外，指甲、化妆和发型也绝不逊色于任何一位上流社会的贵妇人。
    可现在，在派尼特10天的旅行当中，简只记起了一件事情。
    每天晚上，简拿出一小部分钱去参加“愉快赌博”。一连4天，她输多赢少。现在是她这一天最后一次下注。赌盘上除了5和6两个位置外都已被人下了注。简犹豫片刻，把赌注放在6点上，对面一位年轻人将赌注放在了5点上。赌盘飞快地旋转，简闭上了眼睛，直到荷官说：“5点红。”
    简差点没哭出声音，可对面的年轻人说：“你怎么还不查点自己的胜码？”
    “我赢了？可我下的是6点。”
    “你没有。我下的是6点，你下的是5点。”他露出迷人的微笑，雪白的牙齿衬托着褐色的脸庞。他有一对湛蓝的眼睛，留着短发。
    简给弄糊涂了，她用怀疑的目光看了看年轻人。
    “没错儿，”他说，“别再犹豫了。”然后，他友好地点点头，转身而去。这人真不错，她想，也许他这么做是想和自己套近乎。看来他不是那种人。现在，他就坐在她对面。
    一切都结束了，钱也花完了。最后两天在巴黎的旅行真让人失望。现在乘机飞回伦敦，“下一步做什么呢？”
    过道对面的两个女人停止了谈话。其中一位叫霍布里夫人的满脸不高兴地看着一片断裂的指甲。她拉铃叫来了乘务员：“你去前舱把我的仆人叫来。”
    不一会儿，一个黑发黑装的法国姑娘拿着一只首饰盒走了过来。霍布里夫人用法语对她说：“小姐，我要那只红皮小盒。”
    法国姑娘又匆忙穿过过道，走到机舱尽头，拿来一只红皮化妆盒。西西里•霍布里接过小盒说：“就放在这儿吧。”
    简看着远去的仆人。在两个女士后面坐着刚才给乡下妇人让座位的外国人。他裹着围巾似乎睡得很沉。在他身旁坐着一位灰发高个男子，他正小心地擦拭着手中的长笛。
简觉得他不像是搞音乐的，倒像是律师或者医生。
    在他们身后是两个法国人，像是一对父子，两人正指手划脚激动地谈着话。
    简的视线被一位身着蓝套衫的男子遮住了，这就是她执意不愿去看的那个人。
    面对着她，诺曼•盖尔在想：她很漂亮。她一定还记得我。让她赌赢一把，那表情真让人感到愉快。她笑起来真迷人。
    霍布里伯爵夫人在想：什么乱七八糟的，真让人烦透了。那只猫使一切都变得糟糕。
她看着我，就好像我是一条腥鱼。我恨这些乡下女人。我该怎么办呢？
    霍布里夫人所讨厌的那只猫即是她对面坐着的维尼夏•克尔侯爵夫人。侯爵夫人在想：可怜的史蒂芬，你干吗要离开我投入那怀女人的怀抱，我希望你能回心转意。
    两位夫人几乎同时掏出了香烟。乘务员连忙说：“对不起，夫人们，飞机上不能抽烟。”
    西西里•霍布里说：“见鬼”
    赫尔克里•波洛先生在想：那位姑娘很标致。她好像有什么心事，她怎么不愿看一看对面的俊小伙子？他们两人似乎都在提防着对方。飞机微微往下一沉，波洛先生觉得有些不舒服，他闭上了眼睛。在他身旁，布赖恩特大夫显得有些紧张：我很难作出决定，很难啊。这将是我一生的转折点。他小心地将长笛从笛盒里拿出来。音乐使人远离一切尘世的烦恼。他脸上露出了微笑，将笛子放在嘴边，然后又放了回去。显然，他身旁那位矮个子已经睡得很沉了。
    老杜邦对身旁的小杜邦用法语嚷道：“这很明显嘛，他们都错了。那些德国人、美国人还有英国人竟去探寻什么史前陶器。比如萨马拉的器皿……”
    儿子琼•杜邦似乎有些不以为然。阿诺德•杜邦打开一只手提包：“比如这些库尔德人的烟杆，看上去像公元5000年前的东西，其实刚出厂不久。”他们的谈话就这样一直延续着。
    侦探小说作家克兰西先生从诺曼•盖尔的座位后面站了起来，他拍了拍机舱的后壁，出于职业上的考虑，他不愿卷入任何争论。
    坐在他身后的赖德先生在想：我一定要坚持住，尽管困难很大，这次分红我一定要增加留存，一旦过了这一关……！
    诺曼•盖尔去了洗手间。简拿出化妆品，抹了抹粉，上了点口红。乘务员将咖啡送到她面前。简看见窗外的英吉利海峡在太阳下闪着蓝光。
    一只黄蜂在克兰西先生的头上盘旋，他不经意地挥了挥手。黄蜂又嗡嗡飞去拜访杜邦父子的咖啡杯。琼•杜邦很灵巧地掐死了它。
    谈话停止了，机舱终于安静下来。不过乘客们并没有停止思索。
    坐在机舱顶头2号座位的吉赛尔夫人的头猛地朝前耷拉了下来，也许她睡着了。可她没有睡。她不能说话，也不能思考了。
    吉赛尔夫人已经死了。
Chapter 2 Discovery
Chapter 2 Discovery
Henry Mitchell, the senior of the two stewards, passed swiftly from table to table, depositing bills. In half an hour's time they would be at Croydon. He gathered up notes and silver, bowed, said, "Thank you, sir...Thank you, madam." At the table where the two Frenchmen sat, he had to wait a minute or two; they were so busy discussing and gesticulating. And there wouldn't be much of a tip, anyway, from them, he thought gloomily. Two of the passengers were asleep - the little man with the mustaches and the old woman down at the end. She was a good tipper, though; he remembered her crossing several times. He refrained, therefore, from awaking her. 
The little man with the mustaches woke up and paid for the bottle of mineral water and the thin captain's biscuits, which was all he had had. 
Mitchell left the other passenger as long as possible. About five minutes before they reached Croydon, he stood by her side and leaned over her. 
"Pardon, madam; your bill." 
He laid a deferential hand on her shoulder. She did not wake. He increased the pressure, shaking her gently, but the only result was an unexpected slumping of the body down in the seat. Mitchell bent over her; then straightened up with a white face. 
Albert Davis, second steward, said: 
"Coo! You don't mean it." 
"I tell you it's true." 
Mitchell was white and shaking. 
"You sure, Henry?" 
"Dead sure. At least - well, I suppose it might be a fit." " We'll be at Croydon in a few minutes." 
"If she's just taken bad -" 
They remained a minute or two undecided; then arranged their course of action. Mitchell returned to the rear car. He went from table to table, bending his head and murmuring confidentially: 
"Excuse me, sir; you don't happen to be a doctor?" 
Norman Gale said, "I'm a dentist. But if there's anything I can do -" He half rose from his seat. 
"I'm a doctor," said Doctor Bryant. "What's the matter?" 
"There's a lady at the end there - I don't like the look of her." 
Bryant rose to his feet and accompanied the steward. Unnoticed, the little man with the mustaches followed them. 
Doctor Bryant bent over the huddled figure in Seat No. 2 - the figure of a stoutish middle-aged woman dressed in heavy black. 
The doctor's examination was brief. 
He said: "She's dead." 
Mitchell said: "What do you think it was? Kind of fit?" 
"That I can't possibly say without a detailed examination. When did you last see her - alive, I mean?" 
Mitchell reflected. 
"She was all right when I brought her coffee along." 
"When was that?" 
"Well, it might have been three-quarters of an hour ago - about that. Then, when I brought the bill along, I thought she was asleep." 
Bryant said: "She's been dead at least half an hour." 
Their consultation was beginning to cause interest; heads were craned round, looking at them. Necks were stretched to listen. 
"I suppose it might have been a kind of fit like?" suggested Mitchell hopefully. 
He clung to the theory of a fit. His wife's sister had fits. He felt that fits were homely things that any man might understand. 
Doctor Bryant had no intention of committing himself. He merely shook his head with a puzzled expression. 
A voice spoke at his elbow - the voice of the muffled-up man with the mustaches. 
"There is," he said, "a mark on her neck." 
He spoke apologetically, with a due sense of speaking to superior knowledge. 
"True," said Doctor Bryant. 
The woman's head lolled over sideways. There was a minute puncture mark on the side of her throat, with a circle of red round it. 
"Pardon," the two Duponts joined in. They had been listening for the last few minutes. "The lady is dead, you say, and there is a mark on the neck?" 
It was Jean, the younger Dupont, who spoke: 
"May I make a suggestion? There was a wasp flying about. I killed it." He exhibited the corpse in his coffee saucer. "Is it not possible that the poor lady has died of a wasp sting? I have heard such things happen." 
"It is possible," agreed Bryant. "I have known of such cases. Yes, that is certainly quite a possible explanation. Especially if there were any cardiac weakness." 
"Anything I'd better do, sir?" asked the steward. "We'll be at Croydon in a minute." 
"Quite, quite," said Doctor Bryant as he moved away a little. "There's nothing to be done. The - er - body must not be moved, steward." 
"Yes, sir, I quite understand." 
Doctor Bryant prepared to resume his seat and looked in some surprise at the small, muffled-up foreigner who was standing his ground. 
"My dear sir," he said, "the best thing to do is to go back to your seat. We shall be at Croydon almost immediately." 
"That's right, sir," said the steward. He raised his voice: "Please resume your seats, everybody." 
"Pardon," said the little man. "There is something -" 
"Something?" 
"Mais oui, something that has been overlooked." 
With the tip of a pointed patent-leather shoe, he made his meaning clear. The steward and Doctor Bryant followed the action with their eyes. They caught the glint of orange and black on the floor, half concealed by the edge of the black skirt. 
"Another wasp?" said the doctor, surprised. 
Hercule Poirot went down on his knees. He took a small pair of tweezers from his pocket and used them delicately. He stood up with his prize. 
"Yes," he said, "it is very like a wasp, but it is not a wasp." 
He turned the object about this way and that, so that both the doctor and the steward could see it clearly - a little knot of teased fluffy silk, orange and black, attached to a long peculiar-looking thorn with a discolored tip. 
"Good gracious! Good gracious me!" The exclamation came from little Mr Clancy, who had left his seat and was poking his head desperately over the steward's shoulder. "Remarkable - really very remarkable - absolutely the most remarkable thing I have ever come across in my life. Well, upon my soul, I should never have believed it." 
"Could you make yourself just a little clearer, sir?" asked the steward. 
"Do you recognize this?" 
"Recognize it? Certainly I recognize it." Mr Clancy swelled with passionate pride and gratification. "This object, gentlemen, is the native thorn shot from a blowpipe by certain tribes - er - I cannot be exactly certain now if it is South African tribes or whether it is the inhabitants of Borneo which I have in mind. But that is undoubtedly a native dart that has been aimed by a blowpipe, and I strongly suspect that on the tip -" 
"-is the famous arrow poison of the South American Indians," finished Hercule Poirot. And he added, "Mais enfin! Est-ce que c'est possible?" 
"It is certainly very extraordinary," said Mr Clancy, still full of blissful excitement. "As I say, most extraordinary. I am myself a writer of detective fiction, but actually to meet, in real life -" 
Words failed him. 
The aeroplane heeled slowly over, and those people who were standing up staggered a little. The plane was circling round in its descent to Croydon aerodrome.
第2节 发现死者
第2节 发现死者
    岁数稍大一点的乘务员亨利•米切尔在小园桌之间来回穿梭收帐单。再过半个小时飞机将到达克罗伊登机场。他一边收钞票和银币，一边点头说：“谢谢，先生，……谢谢，夫人。”他来到激烈争辩着的法国父子身旁，足足等了两分钟。他预感到要想得到他们的小费怕是不可能了。
    另一头，留着胡子的小个男人睁开了眼睛。他把钱给了米切尔。他只喝了一瓶矿泉水，吃了一包饼干。
    米切尔就这样忙碌了好大一阵。离飞机降落前5分钟的时喉，他走到吉赛尔夫人面前，欠身说：“对不起，夫人。您的帐单。”他轻轻在她肩上拍了拍，她没有醒来。他又用力摇了摇了她，可她的身子却从座位上塌了下来。米切尔弯下腰，然后苍白着脸直起身子。
    另一位乘务员艾伯特•戴维斯说：“真的？！”
    “没有半句假话。”米切尔苍白着脸，身体不停颤抖。
    “肯定没错儿，亨利？”
    “完全肯定。至少，……嗯，是突然昏厥。”
    他们犹豫了片刻，然后分头行动。米切尔来到后舱，挨桌低头问道：“对不起，先生，请问您是医生吗？”
    诺曼•盖尔说：“我是牙科医生。假如需要我做什么事情的话－－”他从座位上站了起来。
    “我是医生。”布赖恩特先生说，“怎么一回事？”
    “顶头上那位女士，她的样子挺可怕。”
    布赖恩特跟着乘务员走了过去，留胡子的矮个男子也跟了去。布赖恩特弯下腰看着身穿黑服的女人。她体格健壮，瘫在2号座位下。
    大夫稍做检查后说：“她已经死了。”
    米切尔说：“怎么死的？是昏厥所致吗？”
    “在详细检查之前我还难以做出判断。她临死之前你最后一次看到她是在什么时候？”
    米切尔想了想，“我送咖啡来的时候她还好好的。”
    “那是什么时间？”
    “大约45分钟之前。然后我来收帐单，以为她睡着了。”
    布赖恩特说：“她死了至少有半个小时。”
    他们的对话引起了大家的注意，乘客们伸长了脖子望着他们。
    布赖恩特大夫身后传出一个声音，是那位留胡子的矮个男人。
    “你们看，”他说，“她脖子上有一个痕迹。”
    死者的头偏向一边，喉部一侧上有一个很小的针眼，周围是一圈红晕。
    “对不起，”老杜邦插话说，“那女人死了？脖子上有什么痕迹？”
    小杜邦说：“可以做一个假设吗？有一只黄蜂在机舱里飞来飞去，我弄死了它。”
他看了看咖啡碟上的死黄蜂，“是不是黄蜂叮死了那可怜的人？我常听说有这种事情。”
    “有可能，”布赖恩特应道，“我见过这种病例。对，这种解释完全成立，特别是那些心脏病患者。”
    “我该做什么呢，大夫？”乘务员说，“飞机马上就要到达克罗伊登了。”
    “安静，安静。”布赖恩特挪动了一下身体说，“什么都别做。乘务员，尸体不能动。”
    “是，先生，我明白。”
    布赖恩特打算回到座位上，他吃惊地发现那位矮个男人站着一动不动。
    “先生，”他说，“现在最好回到座位上去，飞机马上就要降落了。”
    “说得对，”乘务员说，“请大家都回到座位上去。”
    “对不起，”矮个男人说：“我有了新发现。”他用皮鞋尖一指，算是一种说明。
乘务员和布赖恩特顺眼望去，看见一个橙黑色的东西半掩在一件黑衬衫下面。
    “又是一只黄蜂？”大夫大吃一惊说。
    赫尔克里•波洛蹲下身体，从口袋里拿出一把镊子，十分轻松地捕获到了他的战利品。
    “看上去是只黄蜂，”他说，“可它不是黄蜂。”
    他来回转动着镊子，大夫和乘务员终于看明白了。这东西一头是橙黄色丝绒，另一头是样式奇特的染色针尖。
    “天啊，我的天啊！”克兰西先生发出了感叹。他起身从乘务员的肩后探过头来，“离奇，真是太离奇了。我一生中从未见过这样离奇的事情。我发誓，我以前绝不会相信这种事情。”
    “能不能说得更明白一些，先生？”乘务员说，“这是什么东西？”
    “岂止知道。”克兰西先生露出一丝满足和得意，“先生们，这东西是某个原始部落的武器，由吹管发射。我不敢确定这东西来自南美还是婆罗洲。不过我敢肯定那针尖上－－”
    “－－涂有南美印第安人所使用的毒素。”赫尔克里•波洛接过话来。
    “的确十分离奇，”克兰西先生仍然激动不已，“我是侦探小说家，可这事情偏偏让我赶上了。”
    飞机猛然放慢了速度，机上站着的人摇晃了一下。飞机在克罗伊登机场降落了。
Chapter 3 Croydon
Chapter 3 Croydon
The steward and the doctor were no longer in charge of the situation. Their place was usurped by the rather absurd-looking little man in the muffler. He spoke with an authority and a certainty of being obeyed that no one thought of questioning. 
He whispered to Mitchell and the latter nodded, and - pushing his way through the passengers - he took up his stand in the doorway leading past the wash rooms to the front car. 
The plane was running along the ground now. When it finally came to a stop, Mitchell raised his voice: 
"I must ask you, ladies and gentlemen, to keep your seats and remain here until somebody in authority takes charge. I hope you will not be detained long." 
The reasonableness of this order was appreciated by most of the occupants of the car, but one person protested shrilly. 
"Nonsense!" cried Lady Horbury angrily. "Don't you know who I am? I insist on being allowed to leave at once!" 
"Very sorry, my lady. Can't make exceptions." 
"But it's absurd - absolutely absurd." Cicely tapped her foot angrily. "I shall report you to the company. It's outrageous that we should be shut up here with a dead body." 
"Really, my dear," Venetia Kerr spoke with her well-bred drawl, "too devastating, but I fancy we'll have to put up with it." She herself sat down and drew out a cigarette case. "Can I smoke now, steward?" 
The harassed Mitchell said: "I don't suppose it matters now, miss." 
He glanced over his shoulder. Davis had disembarked the passengers from the front car by the emergency door and had now gone in search of orders. 
The wait was not a long one, but it seemed to the passengers as though half an hour, at least, had passed before an erect, soldierly figure in plain clothes, accompanied by a uniformed policeman, came hurriedly across the aerodrome and climbed into the plane by the door that Mitchell held open. 
"Now, then, what's all this?" demanded the newcomer in brisk official tones. 
He listened to Mitchell and then to Doctor Bryant, and he flung a quick glance over the crumpled figure of the dead woman. 
He gave an order to the constable and then addressed the passengers: 
"Will you please follow me, ladies and gentlemen?" 
He escorted them out of the plane and across the aerodrome, but he did not enter the usual customs department. Instead, he brought them to a small private room. 
"I hope not to keep you waiting any longer than is unavoidable, ladies and gentlemen." 
"Look here, inspector," said Mr James Ryder. "I have an important business engagement in London." 
"Sorry, sir." 
"I am Lady Horbury. I consider it absolutely outrageous that I should be detained in this manner!" 
"I'm sincerely sorry, Lady Horbury. But, you see, this is a very serious matter. It looks like a case of murder." 
"The arrow poison of the South American Indians," murmured Mr Clancy deliriously, a happy smile on his face. 
The inspector looked at him suspiciously. 
The French archaeologist spoke excitedly in French, and the inspector replied to him slowly and carefully in the same language. 
Venetia Kerr said: "All this is a most crashing bore, but I suppose you have your duty to do, inspector," to which that worthy replied, "Thank you, madam," in accents of some gratitude. 
He went on: 
"If you ladies and gentlemen will remain here, I want a few words with Doctor - er - Doctor -" 
"Bryant, my name is." 
"Thank you. Just come this way with me, doctor." 
"May I assist at your interview?" 
It was the little man with the mustaches who spoke. 
The inspector turned on him, a sharp retort on his lips. Then his face changed suddenly. 
"Sorry, M. Poirot," he said. "You're so muffled up I didn't recognize you. Come along by all means." 
He held the door open and Bryant and Poirot passed through, followed by the suspicious glances of the rest of the company. 
"And why should he be allowed out and we made to stay here?" cried Cicely Horbury. 
Venetia Kerr sat down resignedly on a bench. 
"Possibly one of the French police," she said. "Or a customs spy." 
She lit a cigarette. 
Norman Gale said rather diffidently to Jane: 
"I think I saw you at - er - Le Pinet." 
"I was at Le Pinet." 
Norman Gale said: "It's an awfully attractive place. I like the pine trees." 
Jane said: "Yes, they smell so nice." 
And then they both paused for a minute or two, uncertain what to say next. 
Finally Gale said: 
"I - er - recognized you at once in the plane." 
Jane expressed great surprise. 
"Did you?" 
Gale said: "Do you think that woman was really murdered?" 
"I suppose so," said Jane. "It's rather thrilling, in a way, but it's rather nasty too -" and she shuddered a little, and Norman Gale moved just a little nearer in a protective manner. 
The Duponts were talking French to each other. Mr Ryder was making calculations in a little notebook and looking at his watch from time to time. Cicely Horbury sat with her foot tapping impatiently on the floor. She lit a cigarette with a shaking hand. 
Against the door on the inside leaned a very large, blue-clad, impassive-looking policeman. 
In a room near by, Inspector Japp was talking to Doctor Bryant and Hercule Poirot. 
"You've got a knack of turning up in the most unexpected places, M. Poirot." 
"Isn't Croydon aerodrome a little out of your beat, my friend?" asked Poirot. 
"Ah! I'm after rather a big bug in the smuggling line. A bit of luck, my being on the spot. This is the most amazing business I've come across for years. Now, then, let's get down to it... First of all, doctor, perhaps you'll give me your full name and address." 
"Roger James Bryant. I am a specialist on diseases of the ear and throat. My address is 329 Harley street." 
A stolid constable sitting at a table took down these particulars. 
"Our own surgeons will, of course, examine the body," said Japp, "but we want you at the inquest, doctor." 
"Quite so, quite so." 
"Can you give us any idea of the time of death?" 
"The woman must have been dead at least half an hour when I examined her - that was a few minutes before we arrived at Croydon. I can't go nearer than that, but I understand from the steward that he had spoken to her about an hour before." 
"Well, that narrows it down for all practical purposes. I suppose it's no good asking you if you observed anything of a suspicious nature?" 
The doctor shook his head. 
"And me, I was asleep," said Poirot with deep chagrin. "I suffer almost as badly in the air as on the sea. Always I wrap myself up well and try to sleep." 
"Any idea as to the cause of death, doctor?" 
"I should not like to say anything definite at this stage. This is a case for post-mortem examination and analysis." 
Japp nodded comprehendingly. 
"Well, doctor," he said, "I don't think we need detain you now. I'm afraid you'll - er - have to go through certain formalities - all the passengers will. We can't make exceptions." 
Doctor Bryant smiled. 
"I should prefer you to make sure that I have no - er - blowpipes or other lethal weapons concealed upon my person," he said gravely. 
"Rogers will see to that," Japp nodded to his subordinate. "By the way, doctor, have you any idea what would be likely to be on this -" 
He indicated the discolored thorn, which was lying in a small box on the table in front of him. 
Doctor Bryant shook his head. 
"Difficult to say without an analysis. Curare is the usual poison employed by the South American natives, I believe." 
"Would that do the trick?" 
"It is a very swift and rapid poison." 
"But not very easy to obtain, eh?" 
"Not at all easy for a layman." 
"Then we'll have to search you extra carefully," said Japp, who was always fond of his joke... "Rogers!" 
The doctor and the constable left the room together. 
Japp tilted back his chair and looked at Poirot. 
"Rum business this," he said. "Bit too sensational to be true. I mean, blowpipes and poisoned darts in an aeroplane - well, it insults one's intelligence." 
"That, my friend, is a very profound remark," said Poirot. 
"A couple of my men are searching the plane," said Japp. "We've got a fingerprint man and a photographer coming along. I think we'd better see the stewards next. 
He strode to the door and gave an order. The two stewards were ushered in. The younger steward had recovered his balance. He looked more excited than anything else. The other steward still looked white and frightened. 
"That's all right, my lads," said Japp. "Sit down. Got the passports there?... Good." 
He sorted through them quickly. 
"Ah, here we are. Marie Morisot, French passport. Know anything about her?" 
"I've seen her before. She crossed to and fro from England fairly often," said Mitchell. 
"Ah, in business of some kind. You don't know what her business was?" 
Mitchell shook his head. The younger steward said: "I remember her too. I saw her on the early service - the eight o'clock from Paris." 
"Which of you was the last to see her alive?" 
"Him." The younger steward indicated his companion. 
"That's right," said Mitchell. "That's when I took her her coffee." 
"How was she looking then?" 
"Can't say I noticed. I just handed her the sugar and offered her milk, which she refused." 
"What time was that?" 
"Well, I couldn't say exactly. We were over the Channel at the time. Might have been somewhere about two o'clock." 
"Thereabouts," said Albert Davis, the other steward. 
"When did you see her next?" 
"When I took the bills round." 
"What time was that?" 
"About a quarter of an hour later. I thought she was asleep... Crikey! 
She must have been dead then!" The steward's voice sounded awed. 
"You didn't see any signs of this -" Japp indicated the little wasp-like dart. 
"No, sir, I didn't." 
"What about you, Davis?" 
"The last time I saw her was when I was handing the biscuits to go with the cheese. She was all right then." 
"What is your system of serving meals?" asked Poirot. "Do each of you serve separate cars?" 
"No, sir, we work it together. The soup, then the meat and vegetables and salad, then the sweet, and so on. We usually serve the rear car first, and then go out with a fresh lot of dishes to the front car." 
Poirot nodded. 
"Did this Morisot woman speak to anyone on the plane, or show any signs of recognition?" asked Japp. 
"Not that I saw, sir." 
"You, Davis?" 
"No, sir." 
"Did she leave her seat at all during the journey?" 
"I don't think so, sir." 
"There's nothing you can think of that throws any light on this business 
-either of you?" 
Both the men thought, then shook their heads. 
"Well, that will be all for now, then. I'll see you again later." 
Henry Mitchell said soberly: 
"It's a nasty thing to happen, sir. I don't like it - me having been in charge, so to speak." 
"Well, I can't see that you're to blame in any way," said Japp. "Still, I agree, it's a nasty thing to happen." 
He made a gesture of dismissal. Poirot leaned forward. 
"Permit me one little question." 
"Go ahead, M. Poirot." 
"Did either of you two notice a wasp flying about the plane?" 
Both men shook their heads. 
"There was no wasp that I know of," said Mitchell. 
"There was a wasp," said Poirot. "We have its dead body on the plate of one of the passengers." 
"Well, I didn't see it, sir," said Mitchell. 
"No more than did I," said Davis. 
"No matter." 
The two stewards left the room. Japp was running his eye rapidly over the passports. 
"Got a countess on board," he said. "She's the one who's throwing her weight about, I suppose. Better see her first before she goes right off the handle and gets a question asked in the House about the brutal methods of the police." 
"You will, I suppose, search very carefully all the baggage - the hand baggage - of the passengers in the rear car of the plane?" 
Japp winked cheerfully. 
"Why, what do you think, M. Poirot? We've got to find that blowpipe - if there is a blowpipe and we're not all dreaming! Seems like a kind of nightmare to me. I suppose that little writer chap hasn't suddenly gone off his onion and decided to do one of his crimes in the flesh instead of on paper? This poisoned-dart business sounds like him." 
Poirot shook his head doubtfully. 
"Yes," continued Japp, "everybody's got to be searched, whether they kick up rough or not, and every bit of truck they had with them has got to be searched, too - and that's flat." 
"A very exact list might be made, perhaps," suggested Poirot. "A list of everything in these people's possession." 
Japp looked at him curiously. 
"That can be done if you say so, M. Poirot. I don't quite see what you're driving at, though. We know what we're looking for." 
"You may, perhaps, mon ami. But I am not so sure. I look for something, but I know not what it is." 
"At it again, M. Poirot! You do like making things difficult, don't you? 
Now for her ladyship, before she's quite ready to scratch my eyes out." 
Lady Horbury, however, was noticeably calmer in her manner. She accepted a chair and answered Japp's questions without the least hesitation. She described herself as the wife of the Earl of Horbury, gave her address as Horbury Chase, Sussex, and Grosvenor Square, London. She was returning to London from Le Pinet and Paris. The deceased woman was quite unknown to her. She had noticed nothing suspicious during the flight over. In any case, she was facing the other way - towards the front of the plane - so had had no opportunity of seeing anything that was going on behind her. She had not left her seat during the journey. As far as she remembered, no one had entered the rear car from the front one, with the exception of the stewards. She could not remember exactly, but she thought that two of the men passengers had left the rear car to go to the wash rooms, but she was not sure of this. She had not observed anyone handling anything that could be likened to a blowpipe. No - in answer to Poirot - she had not noticed a wasp in the car. 
Lady Horbury was dismissed. She was succeeded by the Honorable Venetia Kerr. 
Miss Kerr's evidence was much the same as that of her friend. She gave her name as Venetia Anne Kerr, and her address as Little Paddocks, Horbury, Sussex. She herself was returning from the south of France. As far as she was aware, she had never seen the deceased before. She had noticed nothing suspicious during the journey. Yes, she had seen some of the passengers farther down the car striking at a wasp. One of them, she thought, had killed it. That was after luncheon had been served. 
Exit Miss Kerr. 
"You seem very much interested in that wasp, M. Poirot." 
"The wasp is not so much interesting as suggestive, eh?" 
"If you ask me," said Japp, changing the subject, "those two Frenchmen are the ones in this! They were just across the gangway from the Morisot woman, they're a seedy-looking couple, and that battered old suitcase of theirs is fairly plastered with outlandish foreign labels. Shouldn't be surprised if they'd been to Borneo or South America or whatever it is. Of course we can't get a line on the motive, but I dare say we can get that from Paris. We'll have to get the Sыreté 
to collaborate over this. It's their job more than ours. But if you ask me, those two toughs are our meat." 
Poirot's eyes twinkled a little. 
"What you say is possible, certainly; but as regards some of your points, you are in error, my friend. Those two men are not toughs or cutthroats, as you suggest. They are, on the contrary, two very distinguished and learned archaeologists." 
"Go on! You're pulling my leg!" 
"Not at all. I know them by sight perfectly. They are M. Armand Dupont and his son, M. Jean Dupont. They have returned not long ago from conducting some very interesting excavations in Persia at a site not far from Susa." 
"Go on!" 
Japp made a grab at a passport. 
"You're right, M. Poirot," he said, "but you must admit they don't look up to much, do they?" 
"The world's famous men seldom do! I myself - moi, qui vous parle - I have before now been taken for a hairdresser!" 
"You don't say so," said Japp with a grin. "Well, let's have a look at your distinguished archaeologists." 
M. Dupont père declared that the deceased was quite unknown to him. He had noticed nothing of what had happened on the journey over, as he had been discussing a very interesting point with his son. He had not left his seat at all. Yes, he had noticed a wasp towards the end of lunch. His son had killed it. 
M. Jean Dupont confirmed this evidence. He had noticed nothing of what went on round about him. The wasp had annoyed him and he had killed it. What had been the subject of the discussion? The prehistoric pottery of the Near East. 
Mr Clancy, who came next, came in for rather a bad time. Mr Clancy, so felt Inspector Japp, knew altogether too much about blowpipes and poisoned darts. 
"Have you ever owned a blowpipe yourself?" 
"Well, I - er - well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have." 
"Indeed!" Inspector Japp pounced on the statement. 
Little Mr Clancy fairly squeaked with agitation: 
"You mustn't - er - misunderstand. My motives are quite innocent. I can explain -" 
"Yes, sir, perhaps you will explain." 
"Well, you see, I was writing a book in which the murder was committed that way." 
"Indeed." 
Again that threatening intonation. Mr Clancy hurried on: 
"It was all a question of fingerprints - if you understand me. It was necessary to have an illustration illustrating the point I meant - I mean, the fingerprints - the position of them - the position of them on the blowpipe, if you understand me, and having noticed such a thing - in the Charing Cross Road it was - at least two years ago now - and so I bought the blowpipe, and an artist friend of mine very kindly drew it for me, with the fingerprints, to illustrate my Point. I can refer you to the book - 'The Clue of the Scarlet Petal' - and my friend too." 
"Did you keep the blowpipe?" 
"Why, yes - why, yes, I think so - I mean, yes, I did." 
"And where is it now?" 
"Well, I suppose - well, it must be somewhere about." 
"What exactly, do you mean by somewhere about, Mr Clancy?" 
"I mean - well, somewhere - I can't say where. I - I am not a very tidy man." 
"It isn't with you now, for instance?" 
"Certainly not. Why, I haven't seen the thing for nearly six months." 
Inspector Japp bent a glance of cold suspicion on him and continued his questions: 
"Did you leave your seat at all in the plane?" 
"No, certainly not - at least - well, yes, I did." 
"Oh, you did. Where did you go?" 
"I went to get a Continental Bradshaw out of my raincoat pocket. The raincoat was piled with some rugs and suitcases by the entrance at the end." 
"So you passed close by the deceased's seat?" 
"No - at least - well, yes, I must have done so. But this was long before anything could have happened. I'd only just drunk my soup." 
Further questions drew negative answers. Mr Clancy had noticed nothing suspicious. He had been absorbed in the perfecting of his cross-Europe alibi. 
"Alibi, eh?" said the inspector darkly. 
Poirot intervened with a question about wasps. 
Yes, Mr Clancy had noticed a wasp. It had attacked him. He was afraid of wasps... When was this?... Just after the steward had brought him his coffee. He struck at it and it went away. 
Mr Clancy's name and address were taken and he was allowed to depart, which he did with relief on his face. 
"Looks a bit fishy to me," said Japp. "He actually had a blowpipe, and look at his manner. All to pieces." 
"That is the severity of your official demeanor, my good Japp." 
"There's nothing for anyone to be afraid of if they're only telling the truth," said the Scotland Yard man austerely. 
Poirot looked at him pityingly. 
"In verity, I believe that you yourself honestly believe that." 
"Of course I do. It's true. Now, then let's have Norman Gale." 
Norman Gale gave his address as Shepherd's Avenue, Muswell Hill. By profession he was a dentist. He was returning from a holiday spent at Le Pinet on the French coast. He had spent a day in Paris, looking at various new types of dental instruments. 
He had never seen the deceased and had noticed nothing suspicious during the journey. In any case, he had been facing the other way - towards the front car. He had left his seat once during the journey - to go to the wash room. He had returned straight to his seat and had never been near the rear end of the car. He had not noticed any wasp. After him came James Ryder, somewhat on edge and brusque in manner. He was returning from a business visit to Paris. He did not know the deceased. Yes, he had occupied the seat immediately in front of hers. But he could not have seen her without rising and looking over the back of his seat. He had heard nothing - no cry or exclamation. No one had come down the car except the stewards. Yes, the two Frenchmen had occupied the seats across the gangway from his. They had talked practically the whole journey. The younger of the two had killed a wasp at the conclusion of the meal. No, he hadn't noticed the wasp previously. He didn't know what a blowpipe was like, as he'd never seen one, so he couldn't say if he'd seen one on the journey or not. 
Just as this point there was a tap on the door. A police constable entered, subdued triumph in his bearing. 
"The sergeant's just found this, sir," he said. "Thought you'd like to have it at once." 
He laid his prize on the table, unwrapping it with care from the handkerchief in which it was folded. 
"No fingerprints, sir, so far as the sergeant can see, but he told me to be careful." 
The object thus displayed was an undoubted blowpipe of native manufacture. 
Japp drew his breath in sharply. 
"Good Lord, then it is true! Upon my soul. I didn't believe it!" 
Mr Ryder leaned forward interestedly. 
"So that's what the South Americans use, is it? Read about such things, but never seen one. Well, I can answer your question now. I didn't see anyone handling anything of this type." 
"Where was it found?" asked Japp sharply. 
"Pushed down out of sight behind one of the seats, sir." 
"Which seat?" 
"No. 9." 
"Very entertaining," said Poirot. 
Japp turned to him. 
"What's entertaining about it?" 
"Only that No. 9 was my seat." 
"Well, that looks a bit odd for you, I must say," said Mr Ryder. 
Japp frowned. 
"Thank you, Mr Ryder; that will do." 
When Ryder had gone, he turned to Poirot with a grin. 
"This your work, old bird?" 
"Mon ami," said Poirot with dignity, "when I commit a murder, it will not be with the arrow poison of the South American Indians." 
"It is a bit low," agreed Japp. "But it seems to have worked." 
"That is what gives one so furiously to think." 
"Whoever it was must have taken the most stupendous chances. Yes, by Jove, they must! Lord, the fellow must have been an absolute lunatic. Who have we got left? Only one girl. Let's have her in and get it over. Jane Grey - sounds like a history book." 
"She is a pretty girl," said Poirot. 
"Is she, you old dog? So you weren't asleep all the time, eh?" 
"She was pretty - and nervous," said Poirot. 
"Nervous, eh?" said Japp alertly. 
"Oh, my dear friend, when a girl is nervous it usually means a young man, not crime." 
"Oh, well, I suppose you're right... Here she is." 
Jane answered the questions put to her clearly enough. Her name was Jane Grey and she was employed at Messrs. Antoine's hairdressing establishment in Bruton Street. Her home address was 10 Harrogate Street, N.W.5. She was returning to England from Le Pinet. 
"Le Pinet, h'm!" 
Further questions drew the story of the sweep ticket. 
"Ought to be made illegal, those Irish Sweeps," growled Japp. 
"I think they're marvelous," said Jane. "Haven't you ever put half a crown on a horse?" 
Japp blushed and looked confused. 
The questions were resumed. Shown the blowpipe, Jane denied having seen it at any time. She did not know the deceased, but had noticed her at Le Bourget. 
"What made you notice her particularly?" 
"Because she was so frightfully ugly," said Jane truthfully. 
Nothing else of any value was elicited from her, and she was allowed to go. 
Japp fell back into contemplation of the blowpipe. 
"It beats me," he said. "The crudest detective-story dodge coming out trumps! What have we got to look for now? A man who's traveled in the part of the world this thing comes from? And where exactly does it come from? Have to get an expert on to that. It may be Malayan or South American or African." 
"Originally, yes," said Poirot. "But if you observe closely, my friend, you will notice a microscopic piece of paper adhering to the pipe. It looks to me very much like the remains of a torn-off price ticket. I fancy that this particular specimen has journeyed from the wilds via some curio dealer's shop. That will possibly make our search more easy. Just one little question." 
"Ask away." 
"You will still have that list made - the list of the passengers' 
belongings?" 
"Well, it isn't quite so vital now, but it might as well be done. You're very set on that?" 
"Mais oui, I am puzzled - very puzzled. If I could find something to help me -" 
Japp was not listening. He was examining the torn price ticket. 
"Clancy let out that he bought a blowpipe. These detective-story writers, always making the police out to be fools, and getting their procedure all wrong. Why, if I were to say the things to my super that their inspectors say to superintendents, I should be thrown out of the force tomorrow on my ear. Set of ignorant scribblers! This is just the sort of fool murder that a scribbler of rubbish would think he could get away with."
第3节 克罗伊登机场
第3节 克罗伊登机场
    乘务员和大夫已让位于围着围巾的矮个男人。他的话音里带着自信和权威性。他在米切尔耳旁低语了些什么，然后在洗手间旁连接前舱的门口站住。飞机完全停了。米切尔抬高嗓音说：“女士们，先生们，请大家坐在座位上保持安静，直至有关人员前来处理。我希望不会耽误大家太久。”大多数乘客都愉快地接受了他的指令，但只有一个人例外。
    “胡说！”霍布里夫人气愤地嚷道，“你不知道我是谁吗？我要求立即下飞机。”
    “非常抱歉，夫人。我不敢负这个责任。”
    “真是岂有此理，”西西里跺着脚愤愤地说：“我要去公司告你，把我们和一具尸体关在一起。”
    “对，亲爱的，”维尼夏•克尔装腔作势地附和着，“真让人难以接受。不过我看也只好忍受了。”她坐下后抽出一支烟，“现在允许抽烟吗，乘务员？”
    米切尔慌忙说：“我想现在可以。”他抬头望去，戴维斯已经将前舱乘客从应急门送下了飞机，他现在正在寻找有关人员的指示。大家觉得似乎过了半个小时，从应急门口上来一位衣着便装的人，后面跟着一位警官。
    “好了，你们说吧。”来者用官腔十足的口气问。他一边听着米切尔和布赖恩特大夫的介绍，一边不停地扫视着瘫在地上的尸体。他对警官说了些什么，然后面对所以乘客，“女士门，先生们，请大家跟我来。”他领着大家下了飞机，没有去边检站，而是来到一间小屋。他说：“女士们，先生们，我不会耽搁大家过多的时间。”
    “喂，检查管先生，”詹姆士•赖德说，“我要去伦敦出席一个十分重要的商务会议。”
    “对不起，先生。”
    “我是霍布里夫人，我认为这样扣留我是不能容忍的。”
    “非常抱歉，霍布里夫人。不过这件事挺严重，像是一起谋杀案。”
    维尼夏•克尔说：“这的确让人感到无聊。不过我想，检查管，这也是你的公务。”
    “谢谢，夫人。”检查官说，“请各位女士先生暂呆一会儿，我有话要对大夫说。”
    “我叫布赖恩特。”
    “谢谢，请到这边来，大夫。”
    “你们的谈话能让我参加吗？”说话者是个留胡子的矮个男人。检查官回过头来朝他看了看，然后又突然改变了主意。
    “对不起，波洛先生。你用围巾遮着脸，我差点儿没认出你来。好，来吧。”
    其他人好奇地目送他们离去。
    诺曼•盖尔羞怯地对简说：“我在派尼特见过你。”
    “我去过派尼特。”
    “我……我一上飞机就认出了你。”
    简有点吃惊：“是吗？”
    盖尔说：“你说这是不是一起谋杀案？”
    “我想是。它既让人不寒而栗，又使人感到厌恶。”
    杜邦父子用法语继续说着话。赖德先生在笔记本上计算着什么，又不时看看手表。
西西里•霍布里不耐烦地抖着脚，用抖动的手点燃了一支烟。房间门口站着一位目无表情、体格高大的警察。隔壁房间里警察官贾普在同布赖恩特和波洛谈话。
    “你总是能够在最不可能的地方出现，波洛先生。”
    “克罗伊登机场也好像不在你的管辖范围之内，我的朋友。”波洛没有让步。
    “哦！我正在捕捉一个走私集团的大头目。也许是由于我的运气，这件事儿被我撞上了。好了，我们言归正传。大夫，首先请您告诉我您的全名和地址。”
    “罗杰•詹姆士•布赖恩特，耳喉专科大夫。地址是哈利街329号。”
    桌旁一位粗壮的警察记下了他说的话。
    “死者大约是什么时候死的？”贾普问。
    “在我查看她至少半个小时之前，也就是离飞机降落还有几分钟时。不过据乘务员说，一小时之前他还和她说过话。”
    “好，我们直截了当地说，你发现什么可疑之处了吗？”
    大夫摇摇头。
    “我，我当时在睡觉，”波洛哭丧着脸说，“一上飞机舱我就不舒服，我老得裹起衣服尽力睡上一觉。”
    “能谈谈死因吗，大夫？”
    “目前我还不能作出判断，得看看验尸报告。”
    贾普赞许地点点头，“好了，大夫，我想没有必要让你留下来了。不过，嗯……，还有一些手续，其他的乘客都一样，对任何人都不例外。”
    布赖恩特大夫微笑着说：“我希望你能证实我身上没有吹管之类的杀人武器。”
    “罗杰斯会处理的。”贾普朝他的下属点点头，“顺便问问，大夫，你看这上面是……”
他指了指桌上染了色的钢针。
    布赖恩特大夫摇摇头，“这很难说，需要进一步分析。箭毒是南美印第安人常用的毒素，能很快致人于死地。”
    “不过很难获得？”
    “特别是外行。”
    “那我们可得好好儿调查你了。”贾普似乎是个爱开玩笑的人。大夫和警察一道走出了房间。
    贾普探过身体，望着波洛说：“真是又离奇又荒唐。我是说，吹管和毒针，这的确让人不可思议。”
    “这是个很深刻的见解，我的朋友。”波洛说。
    “我们有几个人在搜查飞机。指纹专家和摄影师立即就到。我想请乘务员进来。”
他来到门口，请乘务员进屋。年轻一点的乘务员看似刚刚恢复过来，不过显得有些激动。
另一位乘务员脸色发白，战战兢兢。
    “好了，小伙子们，”贾普说，“坐下。护照收齐了吗？……好。”他迅速抽出一本护照。“哦，就是她，玛丽•莫里索，法国护照。了解她吗？”
    “以前我见过她，”米切尔说，“她经常来往于英法两国之间。”
    “是业务原因？你知道她有什么业务？”
    米切尔摇摇头。年轻的乘务员说：“我记起来了，有一次她在巴黎搭乘8点的早班飞机。”
    “在她临死之前你们谁最后见到她？”
    “他。”年轻乘务员指了指伙伴。
    “对，”米切尔说，“我当时给她送咖啡。”
    “那是什么时候？”
    “说不准，当时我们在英吉利海峡上空，大约是在两点钟。一刻钟之后我开始收取帐单，我还以为她睡着了，……可她已经死了。”他的声音听起来有些可怕。
    “你当时没见到这东西？”贾普指了指钢针。
    “没有，先生。”
    “你呢，戴维斯？”
    “我去分发饼干，那是我最后一次见到她。当时她还好好的。”
    “你们一般怎么样送餐？”波洛问：“是两人分舱发送？”
    “不，我们一起送。有菜汤、肉食、蔬菜、色拉，然后是甜食。我们先送后舱，装好餐盒后再送前舱。”
    “这位叫莫里索的女人在飞机上对谁说过话吗？”贾普问。
    “我没看见。”
    “你呢，戴维斯？”
    “我也没有。”
    “飞行当中她离开过座位吗？”
    “我看没有。”
    “你们想想还有什么可提供的线索？”
    两人对视了一下，摇摇头。
    “那就这样吧。我们还会见面。”
    波洛凑身过去说：“请允许我问一个小问题。”
    “说吧，波洛先生。”
    “你们看见一只黄蜂在飞机里飞动了吗？”
    两人摇摇头。米切尔说：“至少我没看见。”
    “一位乘客的盘子里有一只死黄蜂，”波洛说。
    “哦，我没看见。”
    “我也没看见。”戴维斯说。
    “这没关系。”
    两个乘务员离开了房间。贾普的目光落在了护照上。
    “让伯爵夫人进来，”他说，“我看她的来头不小，先找她谈，否则她将会去国会指控警察做事武断。”
    “我想应当仔细搜查所有的行李，手提包，特别是后舱乘客的物品。”
    贾普愉快地眨了眨眼，“波洛先生，我们怎样才能找到那支吹管呢？我想，也许是那个什么作家心血来潮，希望亲身体验一下杀人的整个过程。你说呢？”
    波洛疑虑地摇摇头。
    “对，”贾普继续说，“所有的人和物品都必须接受检查，这并不算违法。”
    “需要开列出一张十分详细的清单，”波洛建议。
    贾普好奇地看着他，“既然你这么说，我就照办，波洛先生。不过我并不明白你的意图。我们有自己的搜查目标。”
    “也许是这样，我的朋友。可我也在找一件东西，不过现在我还说不准是什么。”
    霍布里夫人并不像想象中那样激动，对贾普的问题回答得毫不犹豫。她说自己是霍布里伯爵夫人，住在萨西克斯郡的霍布里街，在伦敦格罗斯维诺广场附近。她乘飞机从派尼特经巴黎回到伦敦，她不认识死者，也没有发现任何可疑的事情。还有，她面对机头，不可能注意到后面发生的事情。不过她说后面有两位先生去过洗手间。她不知道什么是吹管，也没见到有只黄蜂飞来飞去。
    霍布里夫人出去之后，进屋的是维尼夏•克尔夫人。她说自己住在萨西克斯郡的小围场，从南非回到伦敦。她没有注意到死者，也想不起有什么可疑之处。但她说后排有乘客在抓黄蜂，一位乘客将黄蜂弄死了。这件事发生在午餐之后。于是，克尔夫人也离去了。
    “你好像对那只黄蜂挺感兴趣，波洛先生。”
    “倒不如说黄蜂更具有启发性。”
    “依我看，”贾普转换了话题，“那两个法国人最让人怀疑，他们隔着过道坐在死者的对面，看他俩那副模样，还有那只手提包，上面贴满了古里古怪的外国标签。他们一定去过婆罗洲和南美。当然我们得弄清作案的动机，可以请求巴黎警察厅协助调查这件案子。”
    波洛眨了眨眼，“这完全可能。不过，我的朋友，你有些看法并不正确。那两个法国人是知名的考古学家。”
    “说下去！”
    “眼明人一看就会明白。他们是阿曼德•杜邦和琼•杜邦，前不久在古波斯苏萨城进行发掘工作。”
    贾普抓起一本护照，“可是，波洛先生，他们的模样并不像什么学者。”
    “世界知名人士都是这样。拿我来说，我曾经被当成理发师。”
    “好了，”贾普咧嘴一笑，“那就请知名的考古学家。”
    老杜邦声言自己不认识死者，他没有注意到周围发生的任何事情，他在和儿子讨论一个有趣的话题。他从未离开过座位。看见了一只黄蜂，是儿子弄死了它。
    小杜邦确信自己没有注意到周围的任何事情，他弄死了那只侵扰他的黄蜂。他们的话题是近东地区史前陶器。随后请进来的是克兰西先生。
    “你自己有没有一支吹管？”
    “哦，我，对，我有。”
    小个儿的克兰西先生说话有些激动，“你们别误解了，我的动机是纯洁的。我的解释是，我曾经写过一本书，而谋杀正好采取了这种方式。”
    “确有其事？”
    克兰西先生连忙应道：“这都和指纹有关，对阐明我的意思很有必要，请相信我。
那是两年前的事了。我买了一支吹管，上面有我一位朋友的指纹，用来说明我的观点。
我写的那本书叫《红色金属的痕迹》。”他说话的逻辑似乎有些混乱。
    “那支吹管还在吗？”
    “哦，对，对，我想还在，对，还在。”
    “它现在在哪儿呢？”
    “我想是放在什么地方了。”
    “说确切些，究竟在什么地方，克兰西先生？”
    “我是说，某一个地方，我也说不准。我是一个不爱收拾的人。”
    “比如，它现在不在你身边？”
    “当然不在。我有半年都未见到那支吹管了。”
    检查官贾普用怀疑的目光冷冷地看了他一眼，“你离开过座位吗？”
    “哦，不，真的，哦，对了，离开过。”
    “离开过！你去了哪儿？”
    “我从雨衣口袋中拿了点东西。我的雨衣和手提箱一起放在入口处旁。”
    “这么说你经过死者的座位了？”
    “不，哦，对，一定经过了。不过这是在事情发生之前的事，我刚喝完了菜汤。”
    克兰西对其他问题的回答都是否定的，他没有发现任何可疑的事情，对，他注意到了一只黄蜂，他害怕那东西。当时乘务员刚好给他送上咖啡。他打了一下黄蜂，可它飞走了。克兰西将姓名和地址做了登记后，带着如释重负的表情离开了。
    “看来这里面有鬼，”贾普说，“他居然有一支吹管，你再看看他那紧张的模样。”
    “其实，你自己好像已经找到了答案。”
    “那当然好。好了，叫诺曼•盖尔进来。”
    诺曼•盖尔住在玛萨维山的牧羊人街，开业牙科大夫，在法国沿海度假之后从派尼特返回伦敦。他在巴黎呆了一天，参观了那里的新型牙科器具。他从未注意到死者，也没有发现任何可疑的情况。他面对前舱，飞行途中从未离开过座位，除了唯一的一次－－去了洗手间，然后又径直回到座位上。他从未去过后舱的后排，也没有看见什么黄蜂。
    在他之后，走进房间的是詹姆士•赖德。他不认识死者，在巴黎业务拜访后回到伦敦。他正好坐在死者的前面，可没有听到任何喊叫和呻吟。除了乘务员，没有任何人来过后排。对，两位法国人就坐在过道对面，但他们一直都在说话。乘客就餐快结束之前，年轻的那位弄死了一只黄蜂。他不知道什么是吹管，而且从来没有见过。
    就在这时，一位警察敲门进来。“这是警官发现的，他们说你现在正用得着。”他将手中的东西放在桌上，小心解开了包裹着的手绢。
    “上面没有指纹，因此，警官要我十分小心。”这正是一支由原始工艺制造的吹管。
    贾普深深吸了一口气，“这就是南美人用的武器？曾经听说过，可从未亲眼看过。
你们这是在哪儿找到的？”
    “九号座位下不显眼的地方。”
    “真有趣。”波洛说，“那正好是我的座位。”
    “哦，看来你感到吃惊。”赖德先生说。
    贾普皱了皱眉，“谢谢，赖德先生，你可以走了。”他回头对波洛咧了咧嘴。
    “是你干的，老鬼？”
    “我的朋友，”波洛庄重地说，“如果我杀人，可不会用南美印第安人的毒针。”
    “这的确很卑鄙，”贾普说，“不过也很有效。”
    “凶手一定不简单。”
    “他的时机把握得再好不过了，这家伙一定是个疯子。好了，还剩下一位姑娘了。
简•格雷，好像是什么历史人物的名字。”
    “她很迷人。”波洛说。
    “是吗？这么说你根本没睡着，老家伙。”
    “但她显得有些不自在。”
    “不自在？”贾普警觉地问。
    “哦，我的朋友，女孩子的不自在常常是由于某个小伙子，而不是谋杀。”
    “也许你是对的……，哦，她来了。”
    简的回答简单明了，她在布鲁顿街一家美发厅工作，住在哈罗盖特街，从派尼特返回英国。然后她有谈到了赌场上的事情。
    “我看这些赌场是非法的。”贾普说。
    “我倒认为是个好去处，”简说，“难道您就没有在赛场上投放过半个先令？”
    贾普看上去有点不自然，他连忙又继续提问。她不认识死者，但在法国布尔歇机场见过她，“因为她长得十分丑陋。”其余回答就没有什么价值了。
    “这可把我给难住了。”贾普说，“我们现在在找什么呢？一个去过吹管产地的人？
那又是什么地方呢？得找位专家来咨询咨询。”
    “原则上应当如此。”波洛说，“不过，假如你仔细观察，会发现吹管上贴着一块极小的纸片，很像是被撕去的价格标签。我想这件东西不知怎么落到了古玩收藏店主的手中。看来，这使我们的调查容易多了。还有一个小问题。”
    “说吧。”
    “那张清单要做得尽可能详细，就是乘客物品清单。”
    “哦，现在还不少时候，不过会做好的。你干吗老是关心这个？”
    “我感到很纳闷，希望不放过任何线索。”
    贾普并没有用心听他说话，他仔细查看被撕去的价格标签。
    “克兰西说他买过一支吹管，这些侦探小说家老是在捉弄警察，假如我们按他们的设计去开展调查，那我们警察不都成白痴了！”
Chapter 4 The Inquest
Chapter 4 The Inquest
The inquest on Marie Morisot was held four days later. The sensational manner of her death had aroused great public interest, and the coroner's court was crowded. 
The first witness called was a tall, elderly Frenchman with a gray beard - Maоtre Alexandre Thibault. He spoke English slowly and precisely, with a slight accent but quite idiomatically. 
After the preliminary questions the coroner asked, "You have viewed the body of the deceased. Do you recognize it?" 
"I do. It is that of my client, Marie Angélique Morisot." 
"That is the name on the deceased's passport. Was she known to the public by another name?" 
"Yes, that of Madame Giselle." 
A stir of excitement went round. Reporters sat with pencils poised. The coroner said: "Will you tell us exactly who this Madame Morisot, or Madame Giselle, was?" 
"Madame Giselle - to give her her professional name; the name under which she did business - was one of the best-known money lenders in Paris." 
"She carried on her business - where?" 
"At the Rue Joliette. That was also her private residence." 
"I understand that she journeyed to England fairly frequently. Did her business extend to this country?" 
"Yes. Many of her clients were English people. She was very well known amongst a certain section of English society." 
"How would you describe that section of society?" 
"Her clientele was mostly among the upper and professional classes - in cases where it was important that the utmost discretion should be observed." 
"She had the reputation of being discreet?" 
"Extremely discreet." 
"May I ask if you have an intimate knowledge of - er - her various business transactions?" 
"No. I dealt with her legal business, but Madame Giselle was a first- class woman of business, thoroughly capable of attending to her own affairs in the most competent manner. She kept the control of her business entirely in her own hands. She was, if I may say so, a woman of very original character and a well-known public figure." 
"To the best of your knowledge, was she a rich woman at the time of her death?" 
"She was an extremely wealthy woman." 
"Had she, to your knowledge, any enemies?" 
"Not to my knowledge." 
Maоtre Thibault then stepped down and Henry Mitchell was called. 
The coroner said: "Your name is Henry Charles Mitchell and you reside at 11 Shoeblack Lane, Wandsworth?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"You are in the employment of Universal Air Lines, Ltd.?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"You are the senior steward on the air liner 'Prometheus'?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"On Tuesday last, the eighteenth, you were on duty on the 
'Prometheus' on the twelve-o'clock service from Paris to Croydon. The deceased traveled by that service. Had you ever seen the deceased before?" 
"Yes, sir. I was on the 8:45 a.m. service six months ago, and I noticed her traveling by that once or twice." 
"Did you know her name?" 
"Well, it must have been on my list, sir, but I didn't notice it special, so to speak." 
"Have you ever heard the name of Madame Giselle?" 
"No, sir." 
"Please describe the occurrences of Tuesday last in your own way." 
"I'd served the luncheons, sir, and was coming round with the bills. The deceased was, as I thought, asleep. I decided not to wake her until about five minutes before we got in. When I tried to do so, I discovered that she was dead or seriously ill. I discovered that there was a doctor on board. He said -" 
"We shall have Doctor Bryant's evidence presently. Will you take a look at this?" 
The blowpipe was handed to Mitchell, who took it gingerly. 
"Have you ever seen that before?" 
"No, sir." 
"You are certain that you did not see it in the hands of any of the passengers?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"Albert Davis." 
The younger steward took the stand. 
"You are Albert Davis, of 23 Barcome Street, Croydon? You are employed by Universal Air Lines, Ltd.?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"You were on duty on the 'Prometheus' as second steward on Tuesday last?" 
"Yes, sir." 
"What was the first that you knew of the tragedy?" 
"Mr Mitchell, sir, told me that he was afraid something had happened to one of the passengers." 
"Have you ever seen this before?" 
The blowpipe was handed to Davis. 
"No, sir." 
"You did not observe it in the hands of any of the passengers?" 
"No, sir." 
"Did anything at all happen on the journey that you think might throw light on this affair?" 
"No, sir." 
"Very good. You may stand down." 
"Dr Roger Bryant." 
Doctor Bryant gave his name and address and described himself as a specialist in ear and throat diseases. 
"Will you tell us in your own words, Doctor Bryant, exactly what happened on Tuesday last, the eighteenth?" 
"Just before getting into Croydon I was approached by the chief steward. He asked me if I was a doctor. On my replying in the affirmative, he told me that one of the passengers had been taken ill. I rose and went with him. The woman in question was lying slumped down in her seat. She had been dead some time." 
"What length of time in your opinion, Doctor Bryant?" 
"I should say at least half an hour. Between half an hour and an hour would be my estimate." 
"Did you form any theory as to the cause of death?" 
"No. It would have been impossible to say without a detailed examination." 
"But you noticed a small puncture on the side of the neck?" 
"Yes." 
"Thank you... Dr James Whistler." 
Doctor Whistler was a thin, scraggy little man. 
"You are the police surgeon for this district?" 
"I am." 
"Will you give your evidence in your own words?" 
"Shortly after three o'clock on Tuesday last, the eighteenth, I received a summons to Croydon aerodrome. There I was shown the body of a middle-aged woman in one of the seats of the air liner 'Prometheus.' 
She was dead, and death had occurred, I should say, about an hour previously. I noticed a circular puncture on the side of the neck, directly on the jugular vein. This mark was quite consistent with having been caused by the sting of a wasp or by the insertion of a thorn which was shown to me. The body was removed to the mortuary, where I was able to make a detailed examination." 
"What conclusions did you come to?" 
"I came to the conclusion that death was caused by the introduction of a powerful toxin into the blood stream. Death was due to acute paralysis of the heart and must have been practically instantaneous." 
"Can you tell us what that toxin was?" 
"It was a toxin I had never come across before." 
The reporters, listening attentively, wrote down: "Unknown poison." 
"Thank you... Mr Henry Winterspoon." 
Mr Winterspoon was a large, dreamy-looking man with a benignant expression. He looked kindly but stupid. It came as something of a shock to learn that he was chief government analyst and an authority on rare poisons. 
The coroner held up the fatal thorn and asked Mr Winterspoon if he recognized it. 
"I do. It was sent to me for analysis." 
"Will you tell us the result of that analysis?" 
"Certainly. I should say that originally the dart had been dipped in a preparation of native curare - an arrow poison used by certain tribes." 
The reporters wrote with gusto. 
"You consider, then, that death may have been due to curare?" 
"Oh, no," said Mr Winterspoon. "There was only the faintest trace of the original preparation. According to my analysis, the dart had recently been dipped in the venom of Dispholidus Typus, better known as the Boomslang, or Tree Snake." 
"A boomslang? What is a boomslang?" 
"It is a South African snake - one of the most deadly and poisonous in existence. Its effect on a human being is not known, but some idea of the intense virulence of the venom can be realized when I tell you that on injecting the venom into a hyena, the hyena died before the needle could be withdrawn. A jackal died as though shot by a gun. The poison causes acute hemorrhage under the skin and also acts on the heart, paralyzing its action." 
The reporters wrote: "Extraordinary story. Snake poison in air drama. Deadlier than the cobra." 
"Have you ever known the venom to be used in a case of deliberate poisoning?" 
"Never. It is most interesting." 
"Thank you, Mr Winterspoon." 
Detective Sergeant Wilson deposed to the finding of the blowpipe behind the cushion of one of the seats. There were no fingerprints on it. Experiments had been made with the dart and the blowpipe. What you might call the range of it was fairly accurate up to about ten yards. 
"M. Hercule Poirot." 
There was a little stir of interest, but M. Poirot's evidence was very restrained. He had noticed nothing out of the way. Yes, it was he who had found the tiny dart on the floor of the car. It was in such a position as it would naturally have occupied if it had fallen from the neck of the dead woman. 
"The Countess of Horbury." 
The reporters wrote: "Peer's wife gives evidence in air death mystery." Some of them put: "in snake-poison mystery." 
Those who wrote for women's papers put: "Lady Horbury wore one of the new collegian hats and fox furs" or "Lady Horbury, who is one of the smartest women in town, wore black with one of the new collegian hats" or "Lady Horbury, who before her marriage was Miss Cicely Bland, was smartly dressed in black, with one of the new hats." 
Everyone enjoyed looking at the smart and lovely young woman, though her evidence was the briefest. She had noticed nothing; she had never seen the deceased before. 
Venetia Kerr succeeded her, but was definitely less of a thrill. 
The indefatigable purveyors of news for women wrote: "Lord Cottesmore's daughter wore a well-cut coat and skirt with one of the new stocks." And noted down the phrase: "Society women at inquest." 
"James Ryder." 
"You are James Bell Ryder and your address is 17 Blainberry Avenue, N.W.?" 
"Yes." 
"What is your business or profession?" 
"I am managing director of the Ellis Vale Cement Co." 
"Will you kindly examine the blowpipe?" A pause. "Have you ever seen this before?" 
"No." 
"You did not see any such thing in anybody's hand on board the 
'Prometheus'?" 
"No." 
"You were sitting in Seat No. 4, immediately in front of the deceased." 
"What if I was?" 
"Please do not take that tone with me. You were sitting in Seat No. 4. From that seat you had a view of practically everyone in the compartment." 
"No, I hadn't. I couldn't see any of the people on my side of the thing. The seats have got high backs." 
"But if one of those people had stepped out into the gangway, into such a position as to be able to aim the blowpipe at the deceased, you would have seen them then?" 
"Certainly." 
"And you saw no such thing?" 
"No." 
"Did any of the people in front of you move from their seats?" 
"Well, the man two seats ahead of me got up and went to the wash- room compartment." 
"That was in a direction away from you and from the deceased?" 
"Yes." 
"Did he come down the car towards you at all?" 
"No, he went straight back to his seat." 
"Was he carrying anything in his hand?" 
"Nothing at all." 
"You're quite sure of that?" 
"Quite." 
"Did anyone else move from his seat?" 
"The chap in front of me. He came the other way - past me to the back of the car." 
"I protest," squeaked Mr Clancy, springing up from his seat in court. 
"That was earlier - much earlier - about one o'clock." 
"Kindly sit down," said the coroner. "You will be heard presently... Proceed, Mr Ryder. Did you notice if this gentleman had anything in his hands?" 
"I think he had a fountain pen. When he came back he had an orange- colored book in his hand." 
"Is he the only person who came down the car in your direction? Did you yourself leave your seat?" 
"Yes, I went to the wash-room compartment - and I didn't have any blowpipe in my hand either." 
"You are adopting a highly improper tone. Stand down." 
Mr Norman Gale, dentist, gave evidence of a negative character. Then the indignant Mr Clancy took the stand. 
Mr Clancy was news of a minor kind, several degrees inferior to a peeress. 
"Mystery-story writer gives evidence. Well-known author admits purchase of deadly weapon. Sensation in court." 
But the sensation was, perhaps, a little premature. 
"Yes, sir," said Mr Clancy shrilly. "I did purchase a blowpipe, and what is more, I have brought it with me today. I protest strongly against the inference that the blowpipe with which the crime was committed was my blowpipe. Here is my blowpipe." 
And he produced the blowpipe with a triumphant flourish. 
The reporters wrote: "Second blowpipe in court." 
The coroner dealt severely with Mr Clancy. He was told that he was here to assist justice, not to rebut totally imaginary charges against himself. Then he was questioned about the occurrences on the 
"Prometheus," but with very little result. Mr Clancy, as he explained at totally unnecessary length, had been too bemused with the eccentricities of foreign train services and the difficulties of the twenty-four-hour times to have noticed anything at all going on round about him. The whole car might have been shooting snake-venomed darts out of the blowpipes, for all Mr Clancy would have noticed of the matter. 
Miss Jane Grey, hairdresser's assistant, created no flutter among journalistic pens. 
The two Frenchmen followed. 
M. Armand Dupont deposed that he was on his way to London, where 
he was to deliver a lecture before the Royal Asiatic Society. He and his son had been very interested in a technical discussion and had noticed very little of what went on round them. He had not noticed the deceased until his attention had been attracted by the stir of excitement caused by the discovery of her death. 
"Did you know this Madame Morisot, or Madame Giselle, by sight?" 
"No, monsieur, I had not seen her before." 
"But she is a well-known figure in Paris, is she not?" 
Old M. Dupont shrugged his shoulders. 
"Not to me. In any case, I am not very much in Paris these days." 
"You have lately returned from the East, I understand?" 
"That is so, monsieur. From Persia." 
"You and your son have traveled a good deal in out-of-the-way parts of the world?" 
"Pardon?" 
"You have journeyed in wild places?" 
"That, yes." 
"Have you ever come across a race of people that used snake venom as an arrow poison?" 
This had to be translated; and when M. Dupont understood the question, he shook his head vigorously. 
"Never - never have I come across anything like that." 
His son followed him. His evidence was a repetition of his father's. He had noticed nothing. He had thought it possible that the deceased had been stung by a wasp, because he had himself been annoyed by one and had finally killed it. 
The Duponts were the last witnesses. 
The coroner cleared his throat and addressed the jury. 
This, he said, was without doubt the most astonishing and incredible case with which he had ever dealt in this court. A woman had been murdered - they could rule out any question of suicide or accident - in mid-air, in a small inclosed space. There was no question of any outside person having committed the crime. The murderer or murderess must be of necessity one of the witnesses they had heard this morning. There was no getting away from that fact, and a very terrible and awful one it was. One of the persons present had been lying in a desperate and abandoned manner. 
The manner of the crime was one of unparalleled audacity. In the full view often - or twelve, counting the stewards - witnesses, the murderer had placed a blowpipe to his lips and sent the fatal dart on its murderous course through the air, and no one had observed the act. It seemed frankly incredible, but there was the evidence of the blowpipe, of the dart found on the floor, of the mark on the deceased's neck and of the medical evidence to show that, incredible or not, it had happened. 
In the absence of further evidence incriminating some particular person, he could only direct the jury to return a verdict of murder against a person or persons unknown. Everyone present had denied any knowledge of the deceased woman. It would be the work of the police to find out how and where a connection lay. In the absence of any motive for the crime, he could only advise the verdict he had just mentioned. The jury would now consider the verdict. 
A square-faced member of the jury with suspicious eyes leaned forward, breathing heavily. 
"Can I ask a question, sir?" 
"You say as how the blowpipe was found down a seat? Whose seat was it?" 
The coroner consulted his notes. Sergeant Wilson stepped to his side and murmured. 
"Ah, yes. The seat in question was No. 9 - a seat occupied by M. Hercule Poirot. M. Poirot, I may say, is a very well-known and respected private detective who has - er - collaborated several times with Scotland Yard." 
The square-faced man transferred his gaze to the face of M. Hercule Poirot. It rested with a far from satisfied expression on the little Belgian's long mustaches. 
"Foreigners," said the eyes of the square-faced man - "you can't trust foreigners, not even if they are hand and glove with the police." 
Out loud he said: 
"It was this Mr Porrott who picked up the dart, wasn't it?" 
"Yes." 
The jury retired. They returned after five minutes and the foreman handed a piece of paper to the coroner. 
"What's all this?" The coroner frowned. "Nonsense. I can't accept this verdict." 
A few minutes later the amended verdict was returned: "We find that the deceased came to her death by poison, there being insufficient evidence to show by whom the poison was administered."
第4节 庭审现场
第4节 庭审现场
    玛丽•莫里索谋杀案听证会于四天之后进行。这一轰动事件引起了公众强烈的关注，听证会场挤满了人。
    第一位出场的证人是一个高大的、留着灰胡须的法国人，梅特•亚历山大。他的英文说得很慢，但十分地道。
    “你看过了尸体，”法官问，“能认出她是谁吗？”
    “她是我的客户，玛丽•安杰利克•莫里索。”
    “那是她护照上登记的名字，她还有其他名字吗？”
    “有，吉赛尔夫人。”
    场内一片嗡嗡声，记者们准备好了纸笔。法官说：“你能不能详细谈谈这位叫莫里索或者吉赛尔夫人的人？”
    “吉赛尔夫人是她的职业名字，她用它来开展业务。她是巴黎知名的放债人。”
    “她在什么地方开展业务？”
    “乔里特街，她的私人住宅。”
    “据说她常到英国来，她的业务也延伸到了这个国家？”
    “对。她在英国有许多客户，在英国的某个社会阶层享有极高的声誉。”
    “你说的某个社会阶层指什么？”
    “她的客户大都是上层和职业人士。对待这种客户需要相当谨慎。”
    “你能不能详细谈谈她的各类业务？”
    “不能。我在法律上对她负责。不过吉赛尔夫人是一位一流的生意人，具有优秀商业人士的所有素质。她将自己所有的业务都控制在手中。可以说，她是一位极富创新精神的知名人物。”
    “那么据你所知，她去世时是一位富有的女人了？”
    “非常富有。”
    “据你所知，她是否有过仇人？”
    “我不知道。”
    梅特•亚历山大走下台子，下一位证人是米切尔。
    “你是环宇航空有限公司的老乘务员，在普罗米修斯号上服务，是这样吗？”
    “是的。”
    “上周星期二，也就是18日，你在从巴黎飞往克罗伊登的两点钟的航班上服务，死者在乘坐这次航班。你以前见过她吗？”
    “见过。半年前我在8点45分的航班上服务，她有一两次乘坐这次航班。”
    “你知道她叫什么名字吗？”
    “我有记录，不过没有特别注意。”
    “你听说过吉赛尔夫人这个名字吗？”
    “没有。”
    “请讲述一下当时发生的事情。”
    “我送完午餐之后便开始发送帐单。我先以为她睡着了。5分钟以后我试着想弄醒她，结果发现她已经死了。我从乘客当中找到一位大夫。他说－－”
    “布赖恩特大夫将很快出庭作证。请您看看这个。”吹管送到了米切尔跟前。“你以前见过吗？”
    “没有。”
    “你有没有看见哪一位乘客持有过吹管？”
    “没有。”
    “艾伯特•戴维斯。”年轻的乘务员走了上来。“你是环宇航空有限公司的雇员，普罗米修斯航班上周2班次的乘务副手，是吗？”
    “是的。”
    “你怎么知道发生这件事的？”
    “米切尔先生说一位乘客出事了。”
    “你以前见过吗？”吹管被送了过去。
    “没有。”
    “有没有看见哪位乘客持有过吹管？”
    “没有。”
    “还有没有你认为可以提供的线索？”
    “没有。”
    “很好，你可以下去了。”
    “罗杰•布赖恩特大夫。”
    布赖恩特报了姓名、地址、职业等。
    “请描述一下上周二即18日飞机上发生的事情。”
    “飞机即将到达克罗伊登时，值班乘务员前来问我是不是大夫，他说有位乘客生病了。我起身跟他走了过去。那女人至少死了有半个小时了。据我估计约在半小时和1小时之间。”
    “你对死因怎么看呢？”
    “没有详细的检查很难做出判断。”
    “是你注意到她颈侧有一个针眼，是吗？”
    “是的。”
    “谢谢。……詹姆斯•惠斯勒大夫。”
    惠斯勒大夫体形单薄，个子矮小。
    “你是本警区的法医？”
    “是的。”
    “请你为本案作证。”
    “上周星期二刚过3点钟，我被叫去克罗伊登机场，然后上了普罗米修斯号飞机，一位中年女子已经死了，死亡发生在约1小时之前。我注意到颈静脉上有一个小圆点，可能是黄蜂蛰叮或者小针扎刺的结果。尸体被弄到停尸间之后，我进行了详细的检查。”
    “你的结论呢？”
    “死亡是由毒素渗入血管，心脏骤然瘫痪所致。”
    “请谈一谈这种毒素。”
    “这种毒素我以前从未见过。”
    专心致志的记者们记下：“未知毒物。”
    “谢谢。……亨利•温特斯普。”
    温特斯普先生体格高大，表情和蔼。他是政府在罕见毒品方面的首席权威。法官将毒针拿起来问温特斯普先生是否见过。
    “见过。并且已经对它做了分析。”
    “请谈谈分析结果。”
    “当然。某些部落常使用这种毒素，他们事先在箭头上蘸上一种名为箭毒的毒物。”
    “您认为死亡是由箭毒所致？”
    “哦，不。”温特斯普说，“这种毒素并非由人制作，据我分析，针头上蘸的是一种名为布姆斯兰的毒汁。”
    “什么是布姆斯兰？”
    “一种南非的毒蛇，世上现存最剧毒的蛇类。我举个例子吧，将毒汁注射到鬣狗身上，还未拔出针头它就死了。毒汁致使皮下出血，心脏功能瘫痪。”
    记者们写下：“离奇的故事。空中毒蛇事件。比眼镜蛇更致命。”
    “你有没有见过用此类毒汁杀人的案件？”
    “没有。”
    “谢谢，温特斯普先生。”
    探长威尔逊宣誓作证说，在座位下发现的吹管没有指纹。对吹管的发射距离做了试验，最大射程为10码。
    “赫尔克里•波洛。”
    波洛的证词相当严谨，他没有注意到任何特别的事情。对，是他发现了地上小针，所发现的地方正好是死者颈部的下方。
    “霍布里伯爵夫人。”
    记者们写到：“伯爵的妻子为空难之谜出庭作证。”他们最喜欢的还是年轻漂亮的维尼夏•克尔，但她的证词却没有詹姆斯•赖德引人注目。
    “你的职业是什么？”
    “埃和斯水泥公司的总经理。”
    “请仔细看看这支吹管，你以前见过吗？”
    “没有。”
    “你就坐在死者前面的4号座位上，可以看见机舱里所发生的一切？”
    “不，我看不见，因为座位都是高靠背。”
    “假如有人走上过道，将吹管对准死者，你一定能看见。”
    “当然，但我没有看见这种情况。”
    “你座位前两排的一位男子去过洗手间。”
    “对。”
    “他直接朝你走来？”
    “不，他直接从洗手间回到自己的座位上。”
    “他手上拿着什么东西吗？”
    “什么也没有。”
    “还有谁离开过座位？”
    “我前面的那个人，他经过我去了机舱的后面。”
    “我抗议。”克兰西先生从座位上撑了起来嚷到，“是在这之前，大约是1点种。”
    “请坐下，”法官说，“会轮到你的，……请继续，赖德先生。那么这位先生手里拿着什么东西吗？”
    “好像是一支钢笔。他回来的时候手上拿着一本橙色的书。”
    “朝你走过来的人只有他？你自己离开过座位吗？”
    “我去过洗手间，不过我手上没有吹管。”
    “你的音调有些失礼。请下去。”
    诺曼•盖尔的证词几乎都是否定的，很快他就被愤愤不平的克兰西先生代替了。
    于是，记者写到“侦探小说作家出庭，知名作家承认购买过杀人武器。”
    “对，”克兰西说，“我的确买过一支吹管，而且我今天把它带来了。我强烈抗议将杀人致死的吹管与我的吹管联系起来。这是我的吹管。”他得意地炫耀着自己的吹管。
记者们写到：“作证庭上的第2支吹管。”克兰西严肃地对法官说，自己出庭是为了维护正义。他长长的发言不时被打断，从他嘴里并没有获得什么有价值的东西。
    简•格雷的证词对记者们来说几乎没有任何意义。随后是两位法国人。阿曼德•杜邦说他是前往皇家亚洲学会作学术发言的。在飞机上他和儿子一直都在探讨技术性的问题，没有注意到身边发生的事情，直到听人说身后一位乘客出了问题。
    “你认识死者吗？”
    “不认识。”
    “据说她是巴黎的一位知名人物？”
    老杜邦耸耸肩，“我没听说过。况且，近来我经常不在巴黎。”
    “据我所知，你最近去过中东。”
    “对，古波斯。”
    “你们父子去过世界上许多神秘遥远的地方？”
    “是的。”
    “你有没有见过有什么民族用蛇毒作为武器？”
    “没有，绝对没有。”
    儿子的回答与父亲的大同小异。他不认识死者，没有注意到飞机上的任何事情。还有，他弄死了一只毒蜂。杜邦父子是最后出庭的证人。
    法官清了清嗓子对陪审团说，这是本法庭所处理过的最难于捉摸的案子。一个妇女在空中，在一个封闭的空间遭谋杀，很显然凶手就在出庭作证的人当中，他们之中的一位以极为狡猾的手段在说谎。
    犯罪的方式及其残酷，在10位－－加上乘务员有12位－－证人中，凶手手持吹管将毒针吹射到死者的喉部。具有意义的物证是一支吹管，一支毒针和死者脖子上的针眼。
由于出庭作证的人都否认认识死者，这件事只好交由警方进一步调查了。
    一位方脸的陪审员带着疑虑的目光欠身说：“您说吹管是在一个座位下发现的，那是谁的座位？”
    法官核对了一下文档，威尔逊探长凑上去在他耳边低语了些什么。
    “哦，对，是9号座位，波洛先生的座位。我可以告诉大家，波洛先生是一位知名的、受人尊敬的私人侦探，他曾经多次成功地与伦敦警察厅合作。”
    方脸陪审员将目光转向波洛先生，似乎有些怀疑眼前这位留着胡子的矮小的比利时人。
    法庭休会5分钟。当陪审员重新入座，并将陪审裁决书交给法官时，他皱了皱眉，“废话！我无法接受这份裁决。”几分钟后，一份修正裁决书又递交了上来：“我们一致同意死者中毒而亡，然而没有足够的证明是谁下的毒。”
Chapter 5 After the Inquest
Chapter 5 After the Inquest
As Jane left the court after the verdict, she found Norman Gale beside her. 
He said: 
"I wonder what was on that paper that the coroner wouldn't have at any price." 
"I can tell you, I think," said a voice behind him. 
The couple turned, to look into the twinkling eyes of M. Hercule Poirot. 
"It was a verdict," said the little man, "of willful murder against me." 
"Oh, surely -" cried Jane. 
Poirot nodded happily. 
"Mais oui. As I came out I heard one man say to the other: 'That little foreigner - mark my words - he done it!' The jury thought the same." 
Jane was uncertain whether to condole or to laugh. She decided on the latter. Poirot laughed in sympathy. 
"But, see you," he said, "definitely I must set to work and clear my character." 
With a smile and a bow, he moved away. 
Jane and Norman stared after his retreating figure. 
"What an extraordinarily rum little beggar," said Gale. "Calls himself a detective. I don't see how he could do much detecting. Any criminal could spot him a mile off. I don't see how he could disguise himself." 
"Haven't you got a very old-fashioned idea of detectives?" asked Jane. 
"All the false-beard stuff is very out of date. Nowadays detectives just sit and think out a case psychologically." 
"Rather less strenuous." 
"Physically, perhaps. But of course you need a cool clear brain." 
"I see. A hot muddled one won't do." 
They both laughed. 
"Look here," said Gale. A slight flush rose in his cheeks and he spoke rather fast: "Would you mind - I mean, it would be frightfully nice of you 
-it's a bit late - but how about having some tea with me? I feel - comrades in misfortune and -" 
He stopped. To himself he said: 
"What is the matter with you, you fool? Can't you ask a girl to have a cup of tea without stammering and blushing and making an utter ass of yourself? What will the girl think of you?" 
Gale's confusion served to accentuate Jane's coolness and self- possession. 
"Thank you very much," she said. "I would like some tea." 
They found a tea shop, and a disdainful waitress with a gloomy manner took their order with an air of doubt as of one who might say: "Don't blame me if you're disappointed. They say we serve teas here, but I never heard of it." 
The tea shop was nearly empty. Its emptiness served to emphasize the intimacy of tea drinking together. Jane peeled off her gloves and looked across the table at her companion. He was attractive - those blue eyes and that smile. And he was nice too. 
"It's a queer show, this murder business," said Gale, plunging hastily into talk. He was still not quite free from an absurd feeling of embarrassment. 
"I know," said Jane. "I'm rather worried about it - from the point of view of my job, I mean. I don't know how they'll take it." 
"Ye-es. I hadn't thought of that." 
"Antoine's mayn't like to employ a girl who's been mixed up in a murder case and had to give evidence and all that." 
"People are queer," said Norman Gale thoughtfully. "Life's so - so unfair. A thing like this isn't your fault at all." He frowned angrily. "It's damnable!" 
"Well, it hasn't happened yet," Jane reminded him. "No good getting hot and bothered about something that hasn't happened. After all, I suppose there is some point in it; I might be the person who murdered her! And when you've murdered one person, they say you usually murder a lot more; and it wouldn't be very comfortable having your hair done by a person of that kind." 
"Anyone's only got to look at you to know you couldn't murder anybody," said Norman, gazing at her earnestly. 
"I'm not sure about that," said Jane. "I'd like to murder some of my ladies sometimes - if I could be sure I'd get away with it! There's one in particular - she's got a voice like a corn crake and she grumbles at everything. I really think sometimes that murdering her would be a good deed and not a crime at all. So you see I'm quite criminally minded." 
"Well, you didn't do this particular murder, anyway," said Gale. "I can swear to that." 
"And I can swear you didn't do it," said Jane. "But that won't help you if your patients think you have." 
"My patients, yes." Gale looked rather thoughtful. "I suppose you're right; I hadn't really thought of that. A dentist who might be a homicidal maniac - no, it's not a very alluring prospect." 
He added suddenly and impulsively: 
"I say, you don't mind my being a dentist, do you?" 
Jane raised her eyebrows. 
"I? Mind?" 
"What I mean is, there's always something rather - well, comic about a dentist. Somehow, it's not a romantic profession. Now, a doctor everyone takes seriously." 
"Cheer up," said Jane. "A dentist is decidedly a cut above a hairdresser's assistant." 
They laughed and Gale said: "I feel we're going to be friends. Do you?" 
"Yes, I think I do." 
"Perhaps you'll dine with me one night and we might do a show?" 
"Thank you." 
There was a pause, and then Gale said: 
"How did you like Le Pinet?" 
"It was great fun." 
"Had you ever been there before?" 
"No, you see -" 
Jane, suddenly confidential, came out with the story of the winning sweep ticket. They agreed together on the general romance and desirability of sweeps and deplored the attitude of an unsympathetic English government. 
Their conversation was interrupted by a young man in a brown suit who had been hovering uncertainly near by for some minutes before they noticed him. 
Now, however, he lifted his hat and addressed Jane with a certain glib assurance. 
"Miss Jane Grey?" he said. 
"Yes." 
"I represent the Weekly Howl, Miss Grey. I wondered if you would care to do us a short article on this air-death murder. Point of view of one of the passengers." 
"I think I'd rather not, thanks." 
"Oh, come now. Miss Grey. We'd pay well for it." 
"How much?" asked Jane. 
"Fifty pounds, or - well, perhaps we'd make it a bit more. Say sixty." 
"No," said Jane. "I don't think I could. I shouldn't know what to say." 
"That's all right," said the young man easily. "You needn't actually write the article, you know. One of our fellows will just ask you for a few suggestions and work the whole thing up for you. It won't be the least trouble to you." 
"All the same," said Jane, "I'd rather not." 
"What about a hundred quid? Look here; I really will make it a hundred. And give us a photograph." 
"No," said Jane. "I don't like the idea." 
"So you may as well clear out," said Norman Gale. "Miss Grey doesn't want to be worried." 
The young man turned to him hopefully. 
"Mr Gale, isn't it?" he said. "Now look here, Mr Gale. If Miss Grey feels a bit squeamish about it, what about your having a shot? Five hundred words. And we'll pay you the same as I offered Miss Grey - and that's a good bargain, because a woman's account of another woman's murder is better news value. I'm offering you a good chance." 
"I don't want it. I shan't write a word for you." 
"It'll be good publicity apart from the pay. Rising professional man - brilliant career ahead of you - all your patients will read it." 
"That," said Norman Gale, "is mostly what I'm afraid of!" 
"Well, you can't get anywhere without publicity in these days." 
"Possibly, but it depends on the kind of publicity. I'm hoping that just one or two of my patients may not read the papers and may continue in ignorance of the fact that I've been mixed up in a murder case. Now you've had your answer from both of us. Are you going quietly, or have I got to kick you out of here?" 
"Nothing to get annoyed about," said the young man, quite undisturbed by this threat of violence. "Good evening, and ring me up at the office if you change your mind. Here's my card." 
He made his way cheerfully out of the tea shop, thinking to himself as he did so: "Not too bad. Made quite a decent interview." 
And, in truth, the next issue of the Weekly Howl had an important column on the views of two of the witnesses in the air-murder mystery. Miss Jane Grey had declared herself too distressed to talk about the matter. It had been a terrible shock to her and she hated to think about it. Mr Norman Gale had expressed himself at length on the effect upon a professional man's career of being mixed up in a criminal case, however innocently. Mr Gale had humorously expressed the hope that some of his patients only read the fashion columns and so might not suspect the worst when they came for the ordeal of the "chair." 
When the young man had departed, Jane said: 
"I wonder why he didn't go for the more important people." 
"Leaves that to his betters, probably," said Gale grimly. "He's probably tried there and failed." 
He sat frowning for a minute or two. Then he said: 
"Jane - I'm going to call you Jane; you don't mind, do you? - Jane, who do you think really murdered this Giselle woman?" 
"I haven't the faintest idea." 
"Have you thought about it? Really thought about it?" 
"Well, no, I don't suppose I have. I've been thinking about my own part in it, and worrying a little. I haven't really wondered seriously which - which of the others did it. I don't think I'd realized until today that one of them must have done it." 
"Yes, the coroner put it very plainly. I know I didn't do it and I know you didn't do it because - well, because I was watching you most of the time." 
"Yes," said Jane. "I know you didn't do it - for the same reason. And of course I know I didn't do it myself! So it must have been one of the others - but I don't know which. I haven't the slightest idea. Have you?" 
"No." 
Norman Gale looked very thoughtful. He seemed to be puzzling out some train of thought. Jane went on: 
"I don't see how we can have the least idea, either. I mean we didn't see anything - at least I didn't. Did you?" 
Gale shook his head. 
"Not a thing." 
"That's what seems so frightfully odd. I dare say you wouldn't have seen anything. You weren't facing that way. But I was. I was looking right along the middle. I mean, I could have been -" 
Jane stopped and flushed. She was remembering that her eyes had been mostly fixed on a periwinkle-blue pullover, and that her mind, far from being receptive to what was going on around her, had been mainly concerned with the personality of the human being inside the periwinkle-blue pullover. 
Norman Gale thought: 
"I wonder what makes her blush like that... She's wonderful... I'm going to marry her. Yes, I am... But it's no good looking too far ahead. I've got to have some good excuse for seeing her often. This murder business will do as well as anything else... Besides, I really think it would be as well to do something - that whippersnapper of a reporter and his publicity -" 
Aloud he said: 
"Let's think about it now. Who killed her? Let's go over all the people. The stewards?" 
"No," said Jane. 
"I agree. The women across the aisle from us?" 
"I don't suppose anyone like Lady Horbury would go killing people. And the other one - Miss Kerr - well, she's far too county. She wouldn't kill an old Frenchwoman, I'm sure." 
"Only an unpopular M.F.H. I expect you're not far wrong, Jane. Then there's mustachios, but he seems, according to the coroner's jury, to be the most likely person; so that washes him out. The doctor? That doesn't seem very likely either." 
"If he'd wanted to kill her, he could have used something quite untraceable and nobody would ever have known." 
"Ye-es," said Norman doubtfully. "These untraceable, tasteless, odorless poisons are very convenient, but I'm a bit doubtful if they really exist. What about the little man who owned up to having a blowpipe?" 
"That's rather suspicious. But he seemed a very nice little man, and he needn't have said he had a blowpipe; so that looks as though he were all right." 
"Then there's Jameson - no, what's his name? - Ryder." 
"Yes, it might be him." 
"And the two Frenchmen?" 
"That's the most likely of all. They've been to queer places. And of course they may have had some reason we know nothing about. I thought the younger one looked very unhappy and worried." 
"You probably would be worried if you'd commited a murder," said Norman Gale grimly. 
"He looked nice, though," said Jane. "And the old father was rather a dear. I hope it isn't them." 
"We don't seem to be getting on very fast," said Norman Gale. 
"I don't see how we can get on without knowing a lot of things about the old woman who was murdered. Enemies, and who inherits her money and all that." 
Norman Gale said thoughtfully: 
"You think this is mere idle speculation?" 
Jane said coolly, "Isn't it?" 
"Not quite." Gale hesitated, then went on slowly, "I have a feeling it may be useful." 
Jane looked at him inquiringly. 
"Murder," said Norman Gale, "doesn't concern the victim and the guilty only. It affects the innocent too. You and I are innocent, but the shadow of murder has touched us. We don't know how that shadow is going to affect our lives." 
Jane was a person of cool common sense, but she shivered suddenly. 
"Don't," she said. "You make me feel afraid." 
"I'm a little afraid myself," said Gale.
第5节 庭审之后
第5节 庭审之后
    简•格雷离开法庭时，发现诺曼•盖尔在她身边。
    他说：“我不知道为什么法官不接受第一份裁决书。”
    “让我告诉你吧，”一个声音在他身后说。他们回头一看，赫尔克里•波洛先生正朝他们挤着眼，“那份裁决书对我十分不利。”
    “哦，是吗？”简高声说。
    “我刚才听见有人说：‘是那个外国人干的。’陪审团也这么想。”
    简不知道自己是否应该向他说些安慰话，或是随便一笑了之。结果还是波洛先生报以同情的一笑。
    他说：“好了，再见，我得工作了，以维护我的名声。”他微笑着点头离去了。
    盖尔说，“他自称是什么侦探，不知道怎么个侦探法的，罪犯老远就认出他了。”
    “我看你对侦探的看法已经过时了，”简说，“他们不用带假胡子伪装自己。如今，他们坐在办公室里进行心理分析。”两人不知为何都笑了起来。
    “哦，对了，”盖尔说的有些快，双颊略微发红，“不知道……如果你不介意的话……我想请你喝茶？咱们都是无辜的同胞……”盖尔的难为情更加衬托出简的沉着冷静。
    “非常感谢。我也想喝茶。”
    他们来到一间茶庄，侍者板着脸前来服务。喝茶的人不多。简脱去手套，望着桌对面的盖尔。他很英俊，蓝蓝的眼睛，微笑的脸。
    “这桩杀人案真奇怪，”盖尔连忙提起话题。
    “可从我工作的角度考虑，我倒是有些担心。”
    “哦，这我没想过。”盖尔应道。
    “安东尼也许不愿继续雇用与谋杀案有牵连的人。”
    “人是一种奇怪的动物，”盖尔说，“生活就是这样不公平。可这又不是你的错。”
    “哦，这只是我的担心，”简提醒他说，“没有必要为未发生的事情大惊小怪。反正我也许就是凶手，任何人都不愿让凶手给他做头发。”
    “任何人一看就知道你不会杀人。”盖尔热情地望着她说，“我发誓你不是凶手。”
    “我也发誓你不是凶手，”简说，“否则你的病人就不会找上门来了。”
    “我的病人？对！”盖尔若有所思地说，“牙科大夫是杀人狂？不！那他前景可非常不妙。”他停顿了一下换了一个话题：“你觉得派尼特怎么样？”
    “很好玩。”
    “以前去过吗？”
    “没有－－”简猛然想起了自己在赌场上意外的胜局，她也试着寻找其他话题。可不一会儿，盖尔又提起了谋杀案。
    “简－－请允许我这样称呼，你觉得谋杀这位吉赛尔的凶手究竟是谁呢？”
    “我真的不知道。”
    “你想过了吗？”
    “哦，没有。我只是担心自己的处境，直到今天我才意识到凶手就在飞机上。”
    “对，法官对此已经讲得很清楚了。我相信你我都不是凶手，一定是其他人干的，因为我一直都在看着你。”
    “对，”简说，“出于同样的原因，我也相信不是你干的，一定是其他人。不过究竟是谁，我一点都不知道。”
    诺曼•盖尔摇摇头，好像陷入了深深的思考之中。
    “我们什么异常的情况都没有看见，至少我没有看见。”
    “我也没有。”盖尔说。
    “这太奇怪了。我敢说你什么都没看见，因为你的脸对着前方。可我，我面对后方，应该－－”简停住了，她的脸有些发红。她记得自己的双眼一直盯着一件蓝色套衫，而她的心却老是想着穿套衫的这个人。
    诺曼•盖尔在想：“她干吗脸红？她很迷人，我要向她求婚。对，我……不过别操之过急，得想法找借口经常能见到她，比如说这桩谋杀案……”
    他抬高了嗓门，“我们现在可以想一想，将所有的人都想一遍。乘务员？”
    “不是。”简说。
    “我同意。我们对面那个女人？”
    “霍布里夫人这种人不会杀人。克尔小姐呢？不会，这个乡下佬怎么会去杀一位法国老妇呢？”
    “那个留胡子的人呢？陪审团认为他有最大的嫌疑，可法官又不同意。大夫呢？他也不像。”
    “如果他是凶手，他不会留下这些痕迹。”
    “对，”诺曼仍然有些怀疑，“这种毒针是否真的存在也很难说。那么，拥有一支成功的矮个男人呢？”
    “他叫什么？赖德？”
    “对，有可能是他。”
    “还有两个法国人。”
    “这两个最有可能，他们去过一些稀奇古怪的地方。那年轻人满脸不高兴，好像在担心什么。”
    “杀人凶手的担心是理所当然的了。”诺曼严肃地说。
    “不过，他样子挺可爱。”简说，“老父亲也挺和蔼。我希望不是他们。”
    “看来我们还是没有结果。”诺曼说。
    “我们应当了解有关死者的许多事情才能做出判断，比如她的仇人，谁将继承她的财产等。”
    “不过有一点十分清楚，”盖尔慢慢地说，“谋杀不仅仅涉及到受害者，也影响到无辜的人。你我都是无辜的，但谋杀的阴影笼罩着我们，也许这阴影将影响我们的一生。”
    简本来是一个冷静的人，这时也禁不住打了个寒颤。
    “对，”她说，“你使我感到害怕了。”
    “我自己也有些害怕。”盖尔说。
Chapter 6 Consultation
Chapter 6 Consultation
Hercule Poirot rejoined his friend, Inspector Japp. The latter had a grin on his face. 
"Hullo, old boy," he said. "You've had a pretty near squeak of being locked up in a police cell." 
"I fear," said Poirot gravely, "that such an occurrence might have damaged me professionally." 
"Well," said Japp with a grin, "detectives do turn out to be criminals sometimes - in storybooks." 
A tall thin man with an intelligent melancholy face joined them, and Japp introduced him. 
"This is Monsieur Fournier, of the Sыreté. He has come over to collaborate with us about this business." 
"I think I have had the pleasure of meeting you once some years ago, M. Poirot," said Fournier, bowing and shaking hands. "I have also heard of you from M. Giraud." 
A very faint smile seemed to hover on his lips. And Poirot, who could well imagine the terms in which Giraud - whom he himself had been in the habit of referring to disparagingly as the "human foxhound" - had spoken of him, permitted himself a small discreet smile in reply. 
"I suggest," said Poirot, "that both you gentlemen should dine with me at my rooms. I have already invited Maоtre Thibault. That is, if you and my friend Japp do not object to my collaboration." 
"That's all right, old cock," said Japp, slapping him heartily on the back. "You're in on this on the ground floor." 
"We 
shall 
be 
indeed 
honored," 
murmured 
the 
Frenchman 
ceremoniously. 
"You see," said Poirot, "as I said to a very charming young lady just now, I am anxious to clear my character." 
"That jury certainly didn't like the look of you," agreed Japp, with a renewal of his grin. "Best joke I've heard for a long time." 
By common consent, no mention of the case was made during the very excellent meal which the little Belgian provided for his friends. 
"After all, it is possible to eat well in England," murmured Fournier appreciatively, as he made delicate use of a thoughtfully provided toothpick. 
"A delicious meal, M. Poirot," said Thibault. 
"Bit Frenchified, but damn good," pronounced Japp. 
"A meal should always lie lightly on the estomac," said Poirot. "It should not be so heavy as to paralyze thought." 
"I can't say my stomach ever gives me much trouble," said Japp. "But I won't argue the point. Well, we'd better get down to business. I know that M. Thibault has got an appointment this evening, so I suggest that we should start by consulting him on any point that seems likely to be useful." 
"I am your service, gentlemen. Naturally, I can speak more freely here than in a coroner's court. I had a hurried conversation with Inspector Japp before the inquest and he indicated a policy of reticence - the bare necessary facts." 
"Quite right," said Japp. "Don't ever spill the beans too soon. But now let's hear all you can tell us of this Giselle woman." 
"To speak the truth, I know very little. I know her as the world knew her 
-as a public character. Of her private life as an individual I know very little. Probably M. Fournier here can tell you more than I can. But I will say to you this: Madame Giselle was what you call in this country 'a character.' She was unique. Of her antecedents nothing is known. I have an idea that as a young woman she was good-looking. I believe that as a result of smallpox she lost her looks. She was - I am giving you my impressions - a woman who enjoyed power - she had power. She was a keen woman of business. She was the type of hard-headed Frenchwoman who would never allow sentiment to affect her business interests, but she had the reputation of carrying on her profession with scrupulous honesty." 
He looked for assent to Fournier. That gentleman nodded his dark melancholic head. 
"Yes," he said, "she was honest, according to her lights. Yet the law could have called her to account if only evidence had been forthcoming; but that -" He shrugged his shoulders despondently. "It is too much to ask - with human nature what it is." 
"You mean?" 
"Chantage." 
"Blackmail?" echoed Japp. 
"Yes, blackmail of a peculiar and specialized kind. It was Madame Giselle's custom to lend money on what I think you call in this country 
'note of hand alone.' She used her discretion as to the sums she lent and the methods of repayment, but I may tell you that she had her own methods of getting paid." 
Poirot leaned forward interestedly. 
"As Maоtre Thibault said today, Madame Giselle's clientele lay amongst the upper and professional classes. Those classes are particularly vulnerable to the force of public opinion. Madame Giselle had her own intelligence service. It was her custom, before lending money - that is, in the case of a large sum - to collect as many facts as possible about the client in question, and her intelligence system, I may say, was an extraordinarily good one. I will echo what our friend has said - according to her lights, Madame Giselle was scrupulously honest. She kept faith with those who kept faith with her. I honestly believe that she has never made use of her secret knowledge to obtain money from anyone, unless that money was already owed to her." 
"You mean," said Poirot, "that this secret knowledge was her form of security?" 
"Exactly. And in using it she was perfectly ruthless and deaf to any finer shades of feeling. And I will tell you this, gentlemen: Her system paid! Very, very rarely did she have to write off a bad debt. A man or woman in a prominent position would go to desperate lengths to obtain the money which would obviate a public scandal. As I say, we knew of her activities, but as for prosecution -" he shrugged his shoulders - 
"that is a more difficult matter. Human nature is human nature." 
"And supposing," said Poirot, "that she did, as you say happened occasionally, have to write off a bad debt? What then?" 
"In that case," said Fournier slowly, "the information she held was published, or was given to the person concerned in the matter." 
There was a moment's silence. Then Poirot said: 
"Financially, that did not benefit her?" 
"No," said Fournier. "Not directly, that is." 
"But indirectly?" 
"Indirectly," said Japp, "it made the others pay up, eh?" 
"Exactly," said Fournier. "It was valuable for what you call the moral effect." 
"Immoral effect, I should call it," said Japp. "Well -" he rubbed his nose thoughtfully - "it opens up a very pretty line in motives for murder - a very pretty line. Then there's the question of who is going to come into her money." He appealed to Thibault. "Can you help us there at all?" 
"There was a daughter," said the lawyer. "She did not live with her mother; indeed, I fancy that her mother has never seen her since she was a tiny child. But she made a will many years ago now, leaving everything, with the exception of a small legacy to her maid, to her daughter, Anne Morisot. As far as I know, she has never made another." 
"And her fortune is large?" asked Poirot. 
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. 
"At a guess, eight or nine million francs." 
Poirot pursed his lips to a whistle. Japp said, "Lord, she didn't look it! 
Let me see. What's the exchange? - that's - why, that must be well over a hundred thousand pounds! Whew!" 
"Mademoiselle Anne Morisot will be a very wealthy young woman," said Poirot. 
"Just as well she wasn't on that plane," said Japp dryly. "She might have been suspected of bumping off her mother to get the dibs. How old would she be?" 
"I really cannot say. I should imagine about twenty-four or five." 
"Well, there doesn't seem anything to connect her with the crime. We'll have to get down to this blackmailing business. Everyone on that plane denies knowing Madame Giselle. One of them is lying. We've got to find out which. An examination of her private papers might help, eh, Fournier?" 
"My friend," said the Frenchman, "immediately the news came through, after I had conversed with Scotland Yard on the telephone, I went straight to her house. There was a safe there containing papers. All those papers had been burned." 
"Burned? Who by? Why?" 
"Madame Giselle had a confidential maid, ?lise. ?lise had instructions, in the event of anything happening to her mistress, to open the safe, the combination of which she knew, and burn the contents." 
"What? But that's amazing!" Japp stared. 
"You see," said Fournier, "Madame Giselle had her own code. She kept faith with those who kept faith with her. She gave her promise to her clients that she would deal honestly with them. She was ruthless, but she was also a woman of her word." 
Japp shook his head dumbly. The four men were silent, ruminating on the strange character of the dead woman. Maоtre Thibault rose. 
"I must leave you, messieurs. I have to keep an appointment. If there is any further information I can give you at any time, you know my address." 
He shook hands with them ceremoniously and left the apartment.
第6节 磋商
第6节 磋商
    检查官贾普看见赫尔克里•本来走过来，他对他咧嘴一笑。“喂，老家伙，”贾普说，“你差点被送去蹲监狱。”
    “我很担心，”波洛严肃地说，“这种事会影响我的职业声誉。”
    “有些书上说，侦探有时也会变成罪犯。”
    一位瘦高个走了过来，贾普向波洛介绍：“这是巴黎警察厅的福尼尔先生，他专程前来协办此案。”
    “我还记得几年前有幸见过你，波洛先生。”福尼尔走向前与他握手。
    “我提议，”波洛说，“请两位先生光临寒舍吃顿便饭，我还邀请了梅特•亚历山大，希望你们别介意。”
    “那好吧，”贾普热诚地拍了拍波洛的肩头，“反正你早安排好了。”
    “不胜荣幸。”法国警察有礼貌地说。
    “我刚才和一位美丽迷人的姑娘说过话，”波洛说，“我希望尽快洗刷我的嫌疑。”
    “陪审团不喜欢你那副模样，”贾普说，“我很久没听说有谁开如此大的玩笑了。”
    当朋友们在享用矮小的比利时人提供的丰富饭菜时，他们一致同意不提此案。福尼尔和亚历山大对丰盛的晚餐大加赞赏。
    “有点法国味，还真可口。”贾普说，“好了，我们谈正事吧。亚历山大先生上有个约会，利用这时间先向他咨询咨询。”
    “很荣幸为大家效劳。比起在法庭，我在这儿说话要自由得多。在出庭之前我和贾普先生简短地交谈过一次，他让我尽量保持沉默。”
    “对，”贾普说，“否则会说漏嘴。那么现在请详细谈谈这个叫吉塞尔的女人。”
    “说实话，我对她知之甚少。谁都知道她是个知名人物。至于她的私人情况，也许福尼尔先生知道得比我还多。不过我要说的是，吉塞尔夫人与众不同，我觉得她年轻时是个漂亮的姑娘，由于出天花而毁了容。我的印象是，一个喜欢玩弄权力的女人，并且地生意方面十分精明，她那坚强的决心和意志决不允许任何情感影响她的事业。她的声望来自谨慎和坦诚。”
    他看见福尼尔赞许地点了点关，继续说：“然而她的坦诚却经不住法律的检验。”
    “你的意思是……？”
    “敲诈。对，一种特殊形式的敲诈。她对自己放债的数目和归还方式都十分谨慎小心，应当指出的是一整套使借贷人还债的手段。”
    波洛欠身仔细地听着。
    “今天上午亚历山大先生说过，吉赛尔夫人的客户主要是上层和职业人士，公众舆论对这种阶层的人并无好感。吉赛尔夫人有自己的情报机构，在放债之前，特别是对大额数目的借贷，她都要对举债人进行全面的调查。”
    “你的意思是，”波洛说，“这种秘密调查是她开展业务的保证和前提？”
    “完全正确。在这种方式下，她变得近乎毫无人性。然而，她获得了回报，对她来说，勾销一笔借债是十分难得的事情。我们了解她的业务活动，但其具体做法却不为人所知。”
    “你刚才提到，”波洛说，“她毕竟有过勾销借债的事情，那一般是在什么情况下？”
    福尼尔想了想说：“她的情报被泄漏，或者说情报被送到了借债人的手中。”
    “从经济利益上讲，”波洛说，“这对她并没有好处。”
    “但应当说对她有间接的好处，”贾普说，“因为此笔债务将由其他人支付？”
    “完全正确，”福尼尔说，“这就是所谓的相对效果。”
    “这就对本案的作案动机提供了极好的说明。”贾普捏了捏鼻子对亚历山大说，“应当弄清楚她向谁放过债。我想你能在这方面帮助我。”
    “她有个女儿，”福尼尔又说，“也许从她出生的那一天起，她母亲就未见过她。
然而在几年前，吉塞尔夫人留下遗嘱，除了将一小部分财产给自己的贴身仆人外，其余的都留给她女儿安尼•莫里索。据我所知，这是她唯一的一份遗嘱。”
    “她有多少财产？”波洛问。
    “大概有八九百法郎。”
    波洛翘起嘴唇吹了一下口哨，“八九百万英镑！安妮•莫里索小姐要成富婆了。”
    “可她不在飞机上，”贾普冷冷地说，“但有可能她等得不耐烦了，便杀了她母亲。
她有多大？”
    “大约二十四五岁吧。”
    “可这并不能说明问题。飞机上所有的人都说不认识吉塞尔夫人，但有一人在撒谎，必须找到他是谁。也许我们可以搜查一下她的私人文件。福尼尔？”
    “我和伦敦警察厅一通完话，”法国警官说，“便立刻去了她的住所。她的私人文件都放在一只保险箱里。当我赶到时，所有的文件都被烧毁了。”
    “烧毁了？怎么……？”
    “吉塞尔夫人有一位叫埃莉斯的贴身仆人。根据吉塞尔的指示，一旦她有什么不测，埃莉斯就立即烧毁保险箱中的文件。”
    “太难以置信了。”贾普吃惊地说。
    福尼尔继续说：“吉塞尔夫人有一套秘密联络方式。她很无情，但说话算数。”
    四人同时不语了，思忖着这位死者的古怪性格。
    亚历山大起身说：“对不起，先生们，我有约会得走了。假如还需要我提供任何情况，请随时来找我。”他有礼貌地和大家一一握手，离开了房间。
Chapter 7 Probabilities
Chapter 7 Probabilities
With the departure of Maоtre Thibault, the three men drew their chairs a little closer to the table. 
"Now then," said Japp, "let's get down to it." He unscrewed the cap of his fountain pen. "There were eleven passengers in that Plane - in rear car, I mean - the other doesn't come into it - eleven passengers and two stewards - that's thirteen people we've got. One of those thirteen did the old woman in. Some of the passengers were English, some were French. The latter I shall hand over to M. Fournier. The English ones I'll take on. Then there are inquiries to be made in Paris - that's your job, too, Fournier." 
"And not only in Paris," said Fournier. "In the summer Giselle did a lot of business at the French watering places - Deasuville, Le Pinet, Wimereux. She went down south, too, to Antibes and Nice and all those places." 
"A good point - one or two of the people in the 'Prometheus' mentioned Le Pinet, I remember. Well, that's one line. Then we've got to get down to the actual murder itself - prove who could possibly be in a position to use that blowpipe He unrolled a sketch plan of the aeroplane and placed it in the center of the table. "Now then, we're ready for the preliminary work. And to begin with, let's go through the people one by one, and decide on the probabilities and - even more important - the possibilities." 
"To begin with, we can eliminate M. Poirot here. That brings the number down to eleven." 
Poirot shook his head sadly. 
"You are of too trustful a nature, my friend. You should trust nobody - nobody at all." 
"Well, we'll leave you in, if you like," said Japp good-temperedly. "Then there are the stewards. Seems to me very unlikely it should be either of them from the probability point of view. They're not likely to have borrowed money on a grand scale, and they've both got a good record 
-decent sober men, both of them. It would surprise me very much if either of them had anything to do with this. On the other hand, from the possibility point of view we've got to include them. They were up and down the car. They could actually have taken up a position from which they could have used the blowpipe - from the right angle, I mean - though I don't believe that a steward could shoot a poisoned dart out of a blowpipe in a car full of people without someone noticing him do it. I know by experience that most people are blind as bats, but there are limits. Of course, in a way, the same thing applies to every blessed person. It was madness - absolute madness - to commit a crime that way. Only about a chance in a hundred that it would come off without being spotted. The fellow that did it must have had the luck of the devil. Of all the damn fool ways to commit a murder -" 
Poirot, who had been sitting with his eyes down, smoking quietly, interposed a question: 
"You think it was a foolish way of committing a murder, yes?" 
"Of course it was. It was absolute madness." 
"And yet it succeeded. We sit here, we three, we talk about it, but we have no knowledge of who committed the crime! That is success!" 
"That's pure luck," argued Japp. "The murderer ought to have been spotted five or six times over." 
Poirot shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. 
Fournier looked at him curiously. 
"What is it that is in your mind, M. Poirot?" 
"Mon ami," said Poirot, "my point is this: An affair must be judged by its results. This affair has succeeded. That is my point." 
"And yet," said the Frenchman thoughtfully, "it seems almost a miracle." 
"Miracle or no miracle, there it is," said Japp. "We've got the medical evidence, we've got the weapon - and if anyone had told me a week ago that I should be investigating a crime where a woman was killed with a poisoned dart with snake venom on it - well, I'd have laughed in his face! It's an insult - that's what this murder is - an insult." 
He breathed deeply. Poirot smiled. 
"It is, perhaps, a murder committed by a person with a perverted sense of humor," said Fournier thoughtfully. "It is most important in a crime to get an idea of the psychology of the murderer." 
Japp snorted slightly at the word "psychology," which he disliked and mistrusted. 
"That's the sort of stuff M. Poirot likes to hear," he said. 
"I am very interested, yes, in what you both say." 
"You don't doubt that she was killed that way, I suppose?" Japp asked him suspiciously. "I know your tortuous mind." 
"No, no, my friend. My mind is quite at ease on that point. The poisoned thorn that I picked up was the cause of death - that is quite certain. But, nevertheless, there are points about this case -" 
He paused, shaking his head perplexedly. 
Japp went on: 
"Well, we get back to our Irish stew, we can't wash out the stewards absolutely, but I think myself it's very unlikely that either of them had anything to do with it. Do you agree, M. Poirot?" 
"Oh, you remember what I said. Me, I would not wash out - what a term, mon Dieu! - anybody at this stage." 
"Have it your own way. Now, the passengers. Let's start up at the end by the stewards' pantry and the wash rooms. Seat No. 16." He jabbed a pencil on the plan. "That's the hairdressing girl, Jane Grey. Got a ticket in the Irish Sweep - blewed it at Le Pinet. That means the girl's a gambler. She might have been hard up and borrowed from the old dame; doesn't seem likely either that she borrowed a large sum, or that Giselle could have a hold over her. Seems rather too small a fish for what we're looking for. And I don't think a hairdresser's assistant has the remotest chance of laying her hands on snake venom. They don't use it as a hair dye or for face massage. 
"In a way, it was rather a mistake to use snake venom; it narrows things down a lot. Only about two people in a hundred would be likely to have any knowledge of it and be able to lay hands on the stuff." 
"Which makes one thing, at least, perfectly clear," said Poirot. 
It was Fournier who shot a quick glance of inquiry at him. 
Japp was busy with his own ideas. 
"I look at it like this," he said. "The murderer has got to fall into one of two categories. Either he's a man who's knocked about the world in queer places - a man who knows something of snakes, and of the more deadly varieties, and of the habits of the native tribes who use the venom to dispose of their enemies. That's Category No. 1." 
"And the other?" 
"The scientific line. Research. This boomslang stuff is the kind of thing they experiment with in high-class laboratories. I had a talk with Winterspoon. Apparently, snake venom - cobra venom, to be exact - is sometimes used in medicine. It's used in the treatment of epilepsy with a fair amount of success. There's a lot being done in the way of scientific investigation into snake bite." 
"Interesting and suggestive," said Fournier. 
"Yes. But let's go on. Neither of those categories fits the Grey girl. As far as she's concerned, motive seems unlikely; chances of getting the poison, poor. Actual possibility of doing the blowpipe act very doubtful indeed - almost impossible. See here." 
The three men bent over the plan. 
"Here's No. 16," said Japp. "And here's No. 2 where Giselle was sitting, with a lot of people and seats intervening. If the girl didn't move from her seat - and everybody says she didn't - she couldn't possibly have aimed the thorn to catch Giselle on the side of the neck. I think we can take it she's pretty well out of it. 
"Now then, No. 12, opposite. That's the dentist, Norman Gale. Very much the same applies to him. Small fry. I suppose he'd have a slightly better chance of getting hold of snake venom." 
"It is not an injection favored by dentists," murmured Poirot gently. "It would be a case of kill rather than cure." 
"A dentist has enough fun with his patients as it is," said Japp, grinning. "Still, I suppose he might move in circles where you could get access to some funny business in drugs. He might have a scientific friend. But as regards possibility, he's pretty well out of it. He did leave his seat, but only to go to the wash room - that's in the opposite direction. On his way back to his seat he couldn't be farther than the gangway here, and to shoot off a thorn from a blowpipe so as to catch the old lady in the neck, he'd have to have a kind of pet thorn that would do tricks and make a right-angle turn. So he's pretty well out of it." 
"I agree," said Fournier. "Let us proceed." 
"We'll cross the gangway now. No. 17." 
"That was my seat originary," said Poirot. "I yielded it to one of the ladies, since she desired to be near her friend." 
"That's the Honorable Venetia. Well, what about her? She's a big bug. She might have borrowed from Giselle. Doesn't look as though she had any guilty secrets in her life, but perhaps she pulled a horse in a point to point, or whatever they call it. We'll have to pay a little attention to her. The position's possible. If Giselle had got her head turned a little, looking out of the window, the Honorable Venetia could take a sporting shot - or do you call it a sporting puff? - diagonally across down the car, it would be a bit of a fluke, though. I rather think she'd have to stand up to do it. She's the sort of woman who goes out with the guns in the autumn. I don't know whether shooting with a gun is any help to you with a native blowpipe. I suppose it's a question of eye just the same. Eye and practice. And she's probably got friends - men - who've been big-game hunters in odd parts of the globe. She might have got hold of some queer native stuff that way. What balderdash it all sounds, though! It doesn't make sense." 
"It does indeed seem unlikely," said Fournier. "Mademoiselle Kerr - I saw her at the inquest today." He shook his head. "One does not readily connect her with murder." 
"Seat 13," said Japp. "Lady Horbury. She's a bit of a dark horse. I know something about her I'll tell you presently. I shouldn't be surprised if she had a guilty secret or two." 
"I happen to know," said Fournier, "that the lady in question has been losing very heavily at the baccarat table at Le Pinet." 
"That's smart of you. Yes, she's the type of pigeon to be mixed up with Giselle." 
"I agree absolutely." 
"Very well, then; so far, so good. But how did she do it? She didn't leave her seat either, you remember. She'd have had to have knelt up in her seat and leaned over the top - with eleven people looking at her. Oh, hell, let's get on." 
"Numbers 9 and 10," said Fournier, moving his finger on the plan. 
"M. Hercule Poirot and Doctor Bryant," said Japp, "What has M. Poirot to say for himself?" 
Poirot shook his head sadly. 
"Mon estomac," he said pathetically. "Alas, that the brain should be the servant of the stomach. 
"I, too," said Fournier with sympathy. "In the air, I do not feel well." 
He closed his eyes and shook his head expressively. 
"Now then, Doctor Bryant. What about Doctor Bryant? Big bug in Harley Street. Not very likely to go to a Frechwoman money lender, but you never know. And if any funny business crops up with a doctor, he's done for life! Here's where my scientific theory comes in. A man like Bryant, at the top of the tree, is in with all the medical-research people. He could pinch a test tube of snake venom as easy as winking when he happens to be in some swell laboratory." 
"They check these things, my friend," objected Poirot. "It would not be just like plucking a buttercup in a meadow." 
"Even if they do check 'em. A clever man could substitute something harmless - it could be done. Simply because a man like Bryant would be above suspicion." 
"There is much in what you say," agreed Fournier. 
"The only thing is: Why did he draw attention to the thing? Why not say the woman died from heart failure - natural death?" 
Poirot coughed. The other two looked at him inquiringly. 
"I fancy," he said, "that that was the doctor's first - well, shall we say, impression? After all, it looked very like natural death - possibly as the result of a wasp sting. There was a wasp, remember." 
"Not likely to forget that wasp," put in Japp. "You're always harping on it." 
"However," continued Poirot, "I happened to notice the fatal thorn on the ground and picked it up. Once we had found that, everything pointed to murder." 
"The thorn would be bound to be found anyway." 
Poirot shook his head. 
"There is just a chance that the murderer might have been able to pick it up unobserved." 
"Bryant?" 
"Bryant or another." 
"H'm, rather risky." 
Fournier disagreed. 
"You think so now," he said, "because you know that it is murder. But when a lady dies suddenly of heart failure, if a man is to drop his handkerchief and stoop to pick it up, who will notice the action or think twice about it?" 
"That's true," agreed Japp. "Well, I fancy Bryant is definitely on the list of suspects. He could lean his head round the corner of his seat and do the blowpipe act - again diagonally across the car. But why nobody saw him - However, I won't go into that again. Whoever did it wasn't seen!" 
"And for that, I fancy, there must be a reason," said Fournier. "A reason that, by all I have heard -" he smiled - "will appeal to M. Poirot. I mean a psychological reason." 
"Continue, my friend," said Poirot. "It is interesting, what you say there." 
"Supposing," said Fournier, "that when traveling in a train you were to pass a house in flames. Everyone's eyes would at once be drawn to the window. Everyone would have his attention fixed on a certain point. A man in such a moment might whip out a dagger and stab a man, and nobody would see him do it." 
"That is true," said Poirot. "I remember a case in which I was concerned - a case of poison where that very point arose. There was, as you call it, a psychological moment. If we discover that there was such a moment during the journey of the 'Prometheus' -" 
"We ought to find that out by questioning the stewards and the passengers," said Japp. 
"True. But if there was such a psychological moment, it must follow logically that the cause of that moment must have originated with the murderer. He must have been able to produce the particular effect that caused that moment." 
"Perfectly, perfectly," said the Frenchman. 
"Well, we'll note down that as a point for questions," said Japp. "I'm coming now to Seat No. 8 - Daniel Michael Clancy." 
Japp spoke the name with a certain amount of relish. 
"In my opinion, he's the most likely suspect we've got. What's easier than for a mystery author to fake up an interest in snake venom and get some unsuspecting scientific chemist to let him handle the stuff? 
Don't forget he went down past Giselle's seat - the only one of the passengers who did." 
"I assure you, my friend," said Poirot, "that I have not forgotten that point." 
He spoke with emphasis. 
Japp went on: 
"He could have used that blowpipe from fairly close quarters without any need of a psychological moment, as you call it. And he stood quite a respectable chance of getting away with it. Remember, he knows all about blowpipes; he said so." 
"Which makes one pause, perhaps." 
"Sheer artfulness," said Japp. "And as to this blowpipe he produced today - who is to say that it's the one he bought two years ago? The whole thing looks very fishy to me. I don't think it's healthy for a man to be always brooding over crime and detective stories. Reading up all sorts of cases. It puts ideas into his head:." 
"It is certainly necessary for a writer to have ideas in his head," agreed Poirot. 
Japp returned to his plan of the plane. 
"No. 4 was Ryder - the seat slap in front of the dead woman. Don't think he did it. But we can't leave him out. He went to the wash room, he could have taken a pot shot on the way back from fairly close quarters. The only thing is, he'd be right up against the archaeologist fellows when he did so. They'd notice it - couldn't help it." 
Poirot shook his head thoughtfully. 
"You are not, perhaps, acquainted with many archaeologists? If these two were having a really absorbing discussion on some point at issue - eh bien, my friend, their concentration would be such that they could be quite blind and deaf to the outside world. They would be existing, you see, in 5000 or so b.c. Nineteen hundred and thirty-four a.d. would have been nonexistent for them." 
Japp looked a little skeptical. 
"Well, we'll pass on to them. What can you tell us about the Duponts, Fournier?" 
"M. Armand Dupont is one of the most distinguished archaeologists in France." 
"Then that doesn't get us anywhere much. Their position in the car is pretty good from my point of view - across the gangway, but slightly farther forward than Giselle. And I suppose that they've knocked about the world and dug things up in a lot of queer places; they might easily have got hold of some native snake poison." 
"It is possible, yes," said Fournier. 
"But you don't believe it's likely?" 
Fournier shook his head doubtfully. 
"M. Dupont lives for his profession. He is an enthusiast. He was formerly an antique dealer. He gave up a flourishing business to devote himself to excavation. Both he and his son are devoted heart and soul to their profession. It seems to me unlikely - I will not say impossible; since the ramifications of the Stavisky business, I will believe anything! - unlikely that they are mixed up in this business." 
"All right," said Japp. 
He picked up the sheet of paper on which he had been making notes and cleared his throat. 
"This is where we stand: Jane Grey. Probability, poor. Possibility, practically nil. Gale. Probability, poor. Possibility, again practically nil. Miss Kerr. Very improbable. Possibility, doubtful. Lady Horbury. Probability, good. Possibility, practically nil. M. Poirot, almost certainly the criminal; the only man on board who could create a psychological moment." 
Japp enjoyed a good laugh over his little joke and Poirot smiled indulgently and Fournier a trifle diffidently. Then the detective resumed: 
"Bryant. Probability and possibility, both good. Clancy. Motive doubtful, probability and possibility very good indeed. Ryder. Probability uncertain, possibility, quite fair. The two Duponts. Probability poor as regards motive, good as to means of obtaining poison. Possibility, good. 
"That's a pretty fair summary, I think, as fair as we can go. We'll have to do a lot of routine inquiry. I shall take on Clancy and Bryant first; find out what they've been up to; if they've been hard up at any time in the past; if they've seemed worried or upset lately; their movement in the last year - all that sort of stuff. I'll do the same for Ryder. Then it won't do to neglect the others entirely. I'll get Wilson to nose round there. M. Fournier, here, will undertake the Duponts." 
The man from the Sыreté nodded. 
"Be well assured, that will be attended to. I shall return to Paris tonight. There may be something to be got out of ?lise, Giselle's maid, now that we know a little more about the case. Also, I will check up Giselle's movements very carefully. It will be well to know where she has been during the summer. She was, I know, at Le Pinet once or twice. We may get information as to her contacts with some of the English people involved. Ah, yes, there is much to do." 
They both looked at Poirot, who was absorbed in thought. 
"You going to take a hand at all, M. Poirot?" asked Japp. 
Poirot roused himself. 
"Yes, I think I should like to accompany M. Fournier to Paris." 
"Enchanté," said the Frenchman. 
"What are you up to, I wonder?" asked Japp. He looked at Poirot curiously. "You've been very quiet over all this. Got some of your little ideas, eh?" 
"One or two - one or two - but it is very difficult." 
"Let's hear about it." 
"One thing that worries me," said Poirot slowly, "is the place where the blowpipe was found." 
"Naturally! It nearly got you locked up." 
Poirot shook his head. 
"I do not mean that. It is not because it was found pushed down beside my seat that it worries me - it was its being pushed down behind any seat." 
"I don't see anything in that," said Japp. "Whoever did it had got to hide the thing somewhere. He couldn't risk its being found on him." 
"?videmment. But you may have noticed, my friend, when you examined the plane, that although the windows cannot be opened, there is in each of them a ventilator - a circle of small, round holes in the glass which can be opened or closed by turning a fan of glass. These holes are of a sufficient circumference to admit the passage of our blowpipe. What could be simpler than to get rid of the blowpipe that way? It falls to the earth beneath and it is extremely unlikely that it will ever be found." 
"I can think of an objection to that - the murderer was afraid of being seen. If he pushed the blowpipe through the ventilator, someone might have noticed." "I see," said Poirot. "He was not afraid of being seen placing the blowpipe to his lips and dispatching the fatal dart, but he was afraid of being seen trying to push the blowpipe through the window!" 
"Sounds absurd, I admit," said Japp, "but there it is. He did hide the blowpipe behind the cushion of a seat. We can't get away from that." 
Poirot did not answer, and Fournier asked curiously: 
"It gives you an idea, that?" 
Poirot bowed his head assentingly. 
"It gives rise to, say, a speculation in my mind." 
With absent-minded fingers he straightened the unused ink-stand that Japp's impatient hand had set a little askew. 
Then lifting his head sharply, he asked: 
" А propos, have you that detailed list of the belongings of the passengers that I asked you to get me?"
第7节 动机分析
第7节 动机分析
    亚历山大走后，三人凑近在桌子边。
    贾普取下钢笔帽，“飞机的后舱里有11位乘客和两个乘务员。在这13个人当中有人位是凶手。有些乘客是英国人，有些是法国人，后者我将交由福尼尔先生处理，我着手调查那些英国人。福尼尔，你的调查将在巴黎进行。”
    “不仅仅是在巴黎。”福尼尔说，“今年夏天，吉塞尔去过法国的一些海滨胜地洽谈业务，如多维尔、派尼特和温默鲁，她还去过南方的一些城市如昂蒂布和尼斯。”
    “很好，我记得有一个乘客也去过派尼特。现在我们来看看谁占据的位置最有可能发射毒针。”贾普将一张飞机后舱座位草图摊开放在桌子中间。
    “应当支掉这位波洛先生，这样就只有10位乘客了。”
    波洛无奈地摇摇头，“不能轻信任何一个人。”
    “那好，如果你不介意，也将你包括在内。”贾普和蔼地说。“还有乘务员。从可能性的角度看不像是他们，他们不大可能借一大笔款项；但从位置的角度看，他们又最有可能，因为他们随时都可以在最佳发射位置。不过我深信他们的任何一个举动都将被乘客们看见，虽然他们当中有些人对所发生的事情视而不见。但是－－谋杀案毕竟老发生了。”
    “而且干得很漂亮，”波洛说，“我们3人坐在一起谈论它，但毫无结果，这不能说是一个了不起的成功。”
    “而且是一个奇迹。”福尼尔说。
    “不管是不是奇迹，”贾普说，“我们毕竟获得了医学化验的结果，还有杀人凶器。
诚然，我们不能排除两个乘务员，不过我认为是他们所为的可能性极小。同意吗，波洛先生？”
    “你还记得吗？在场的所有的都不能排除，包括我在内。”
    “好吧。我们先从餐具室和洗手间开始。第16号座位是……”贾普用钢笔指着草图说，“理发厅的姑娘，简•格雷。她赢得了一场赌局，去派尼特把钱挥霍了。这说明她好赌，也许由于手头拮据向吉塞尔借了钱，但一定不是大数目。对我们和吉塞尔来说她不过是一条小鱼。此外，简小姐很难弄到什么毒蛇，因为做头发和面部按摩不需要这东西。”
    “应当从能否弄到蛇毒这一点入手，只有五十分之一的有这方面的知识。看来我们的调查范围可以进一步缩小了。”
    “这样有一点就十分清楚了。”波洛说。
    福尼尔带眷怀疑的目光看了他一眼，贾普在整理自己的思路，他继续说：“凶手必须符合两个条件。首先，他去过世界上的一些奇异之地，对蛇类和蛇毒有所了解。这是第一个条件。”
    “另一个呢？”
    “科研能力。这种名为布姆斯兰的毒素一般只在一流的实验室才能找到。据温特斯普说，蛇毒，确切地说是眼镜蛇毒有时也用于药品配方，以治疗癫痫之症，而且很有效果。用蛇毒治疗病症已经在医学界得广泛的研究。”
    “有趣，有启发。”福尼尔说。
    “对。再看看这位格雷姑娘，她不具备任何一个条件：缺乏动机，没有机会获得毒物，不太可能会使用吹管做凶器。”
    三人埋头看着草图。贾普继续说：“这是16号座位，这是死者坐的2号座位，中间有这么大的间隔。假如她不离开座位－－所有的人都这么认为，她根本无法将凶器对准死者的颈部。我们完全有理由排除她。”
    “再看看她对面的12号座位，是牙科大夫诺曼•盖尔。他俩的情况几乎相似，并且我认为他不太可能有机会获得蛇毒。”
    “牙医们不会用它来做注射，”波洛说，“否则，与其说是一种治疗手段还不如说是一种公开杀人。”
    贾普眨了眨眼，“然而，由于工作关系他有可能接触到某些特殊的药品，也可能在科技界交有朋友。然而从可能性的角度考虑，他应当被排除在外。他离开过座位，但只去了洗手间，然后又直接回到了座位上。此外，他面对与死者完全相反的方向。”
    “我同意，”福尼尔说，“现看下一个。”
    “过道对面的17号座位。”
    “本来是我的座位，”波洛说，“一个女士说她想和朋友坐在一起，我就让给了她。”
    “是维尼夏小姐。她有可能找吉塞尔借钱，虽然她一生中未有过什么不好的记录，但我们得稍稍留心一下。她所在位置有这可能，她与死者正好在后舱对角线的两头。可她去遥远的地方弄些奇怪的毒物来，这又不太可能。”
    “我也这么想，”福尼尔说，“我看我无法将谋杀案与她联系起来。”
    “13号座位上是霍布里夫人，”贾普说，“即使她有什么不可告人的秘密我也不会感到吃惊。”
    “据我所知，”福尼尔说，“这位女士是派尼特一家赌场的常客。”
    “可她并没有离开过座位，其他11位乘客可以作证。”
    “9和10号……”福尼尔在草图上移动着手指。
    “波洛先生和布赖恩特大夫。”贾普说，“请波洛先生自己说说看？”
    “我的胃出了毛病，”波洛无奈地摇摇头，“这时我的头脑是胃的仆人。”
    “那么布赖特大夫，不太可能去找一个法国女人借钱，但以他的科研能力而言，他的嫌疑较大，从某个实验室弄一试管蛇毒还不是举手之劳的事情。”
    “你说的有点意思。”福尼尔说。
    “此外，是他转移了大家的注意力，他为什么不说是心力衰竭－－一种自然死亡？”
    “我想，”波洛说，“那是大夫的第一印象。它毕竟很像自然死亡，也可能是由于那只黄蜂。别忘了，还有一只黄蜂。”
    “不会忘的，”贾普说，“别唠唠叨叨地。”
    “然而，”波洛继续说，“当我从地上拾起一根致命的毒针时，一切都证明了是谋杀。”
    “它迟早会被发现的。”
    波洛摇摇头，“凶手完全有机会且不为人察觉便将它拾起来。”
    “布赖恩特？”
    “或者其他什么人？”
    “说得对，”贾普说，“布赖恩特完全应当被列为嫌疑人，他可能探起头，从座位上吹射毒针。不过，为什么没有一个人看得见？”
    “这有一个心理注意力的原因。”福尼尔说，“假如一列行驶的火车经一间正在燃烧着的房子，所有人的眼睛都注视着窗外。在这一特定的场合下，一个人抽出匕首向另一个人刺去，其他人不会注意到他在行刺。”
    “我们能够找到飞机上这种分散注意力的时刻……”波洛说，“应当说这一时刻的出现是凶手蓄意造成的。”
    “完全正确。”法国警官福尼尔说。
    “好吧，我们把它做为一个疑点记录下来。”贾普说，“下面是丹尼尔•克兰西的座位。依我看，他才是最大的嫌疑人。神秘小说的作者大都有广泛的兴趣。弄点蛇毒，找个化学家配制毒物那还不容易。别忘了，只有他一个人经过吉塞尔的座位，只有他。”
    “请放心，”波洛说，“我没有忘。”
    贾普继续说：“他经过吉塞尔时，近距离向目标吹射毒针不需要那种分散注意力的时机。还有，他今天拿出的那支吹管，谁知道他是不是两年前买的？成天想着犯罪和侦探故事的人不会是健康人，时不时他就有一些想法。”
    “有想法的作家才能写也好作品。”波洛说。
    贾普又回到了草图边，“赖德的4号座位正好在死者前面，他去过洗手间，回座位的时候也要从吉塞尔身旁过。但假如是他干的，那两个法国考古学家，一旦他们专注于谈话，他们是不会注意到周围发生的任何事情的，他们只关心5000年前的世界。”
    贾普仍有些不解，“那么就来看看这对杜邦父子。福尼尔？”
    “阿曼德•杜邦是法国知名的考古学家。”
    “这并不能问题。他的位置最近，过道对面，吉塞尔的前一排。我看他们一定去过世界许多古怪的地方，接触过土著人的什么蛇毒。”
    “有可能，”福尼尔说，“但我不相信是他。杜邦先生是学者，他放弃了较好的从商机会而献身考古事业，父子均为事业付出了他们的一切。我不相信他们与这件事有关联。”
    “好吧。”贾普收拾起草图和笔记，清了清嗓子，“从可能性的角度上讲，简•格雷几乎为零，盖尔不可能，克尔小姐不太可能，霍布里夫人有可能。还有波洛先生，只有他能创造那种分散注意力的时机。”
    贾普觉得自己的结束语很逗，波洛勉强报以微笑，福尼尔却有些疑虑。贾普继续说：
“布赖恩特有可能，克兰西也有可能但动机不详，赖德有一定可能性；从动机上讲，杜邦父子的可能性几乎为零，但从获得毒物的机会上讲又有很大嫌疑。目前我们只能做出这样的结论，但需要开展一些例行的调查。我先从克兰西和布赖恩特着手，看看他们是否曾有过不好的记录，是否最近有异常的举动，还有这一年他们的一些活动。对赖德先生我也会这么调查，我将让威尔逊探长派人调查。那么，福尼尔先生你就负责杜邦父子。”
    “今晚我就回巴黎。也许能从吉塞尔的仆人埃莉斯那里弄到些什么情况，我还要调查吉塞尔近来的活动，比如说夏天她去过派尼特。对，有很多事情要做。”
    两人同时望着陷入沉思的波洛。“你打算怎么办？”贾普问。
    波洛站了起来，“我想和福尼尔一道去巴黎。我一直在想这吹管是从哪儿弄来的？”
    “问得好！由于它，你差点儿被关起来。”
    波洛摇摇头说：“我不是这个意思。我考虑的不是因为它是在我座位下被发现的，而是它怎样被弄来的。”
    “这我就不明白了。”贾普说，“它可以藏在任何地方，凶手怎么可能将它留在身上冒此风险呢？”
    “说得对。不过你在检查飞机的时候也许注意到了，飞机上的窗户不能开启，但每位乘客座位顶上都有一个通风口，凶手完全可以将凶器塞出通风口而永远不会被发现。”
    “我有一个不同的意见，这样做他会被别人看见。”
    “那么，”波洛说，“他不怕别人看见他用吹管吹射毒针，难道就怕别人看见他将凶器塞出窗口？”
    “这有些荒唐，”贾普说，“毕竟我们在那个座位下找到了吹管。”
    波洛没有作答，福尼尔好奇地问：“你有什么主意？”
    波洛赞许地点点头，“乘客物品的详细清单准备好了吗？”
Chapter 8 The List
Chapter 8 The List
"I'm a man of my word, I am," said Japp. 
He grinned and dived his hand into his pocket, bringing out a mass of closely typewritten paper. 
"Here you are. It's all here, down to the minutest detail! And I'll admit that there is one rather curious thing in it. I'll talk to you about it when you've finished reading the stuff." 
Poirot spread out the sheets on the table and began to read. Fournier moved up and read them over his shoulder. 
JAMES RYDER 
Pockets. Linen handkerchief marked J. Pigskin note case - seven ?1 
notes, three business cards. Letter from partner, George Elbermann, hoping "loan has been successfully negotiated... otherwise we're in Queer Street." Letter signed Maudie making appointment Trocadero following evening. Cheap paper, illiterate handwriting. Silver cigarette case. Match folder. Fountain pen. Bunch of keys. Yale door key. Loose change in French and English money. 
Attaché Case. Mass of papers concerning dealings in cement. Copy of 
"Bootless Cup" (banned in this country). A box of Immediate Cold Cures. 
DOCTOR BRYANT 
Pockets. Two linen handkerchiefs. Note case containing ?20 and 500 
francs. Loose change in French and English money. Engagement book. Cigarette case. Lighter. Fountain pen. Yale door key. Bunch of keys. 
Flute in case. Carrying "Memoirs of Benvenuto Cellini" and "Les Maux de l'Oreille." 
NORMAN GALE 
Pockets. Silk handkerchief. Wallet containing ?1 in English money and 600 francs. Loose change. Business cards of two French firms, makers of dental instruments. Bryant & May match box, empty. Silver lighter. Briar pipe. Rubber tobacco pouch. Yale door key. 
Attaché Case. White-linen coat. Two small dental mirrors. Dental rolls of cotton wool. La Vie Parisienne. The Strand Magazine. The Autocar. 
ARMAND DUPONT 
Pockets. Wallet containing 1000 francs and ?10 in English. Spectacles in case. Loose change in French money. Cotton handkerchief. Packet of cigarettes, match folder. Cards in case. Toothpick. 
Attaché Case. Manuscript of proposed address to Royal Asiatic Society. Two German archaeological publications. Two sheets of rough sketches of pottery. Ornamented hollow tubes - said to be Kurdish pipe stems. Small basketwork tray. Nine unmounted 
photographs - all of pottery. 
JEAN DUPONT 
Pockets. Note case containing ?5 in English and 300 francs. Cigarette case. Cigarette holder - ivory. Lighter. Fountain pen. Two pencils. Small notebook full of scribbled notes. Letter in English from L. Marriner, giving invitation to lunch at restaurant near Tottenham Court Road. Loose change in French. 
DANIEL CLANCY 
Pockets. Handkerchief - ink-stained. Fountain pen - leaking. Note case containing ?4 and 100 francs. Three newspaper cuttings dealing with recent crimes. One poisoning by arsenic, and two embezzlement. Two letters from house agents with details of country properties. Engagement book. Four pencils. Penknife. Three receipted and four unpaid bills. Letter from "Gordon" headed "S.S. Minotaur." Half-done crossword puzzle cut from Times. Notebook containing suggestions for plots. Loose change in Italian, French, Swiss and English money. Receipted hotel bill, Naples. Large bunch of keys. 
In overcoat pocket. Manuscript notes of "Murder on Vesuvius." Continental Bradshaw. Golf ball. Pair of socks. Toothbrush. Receipted hotel bill, Paris. 
MISS KERR 
Vanity bag. Compact. Two cigarette holders - one ivory, one jade. Cigarette case. Match folder. Handkerchief. ?2 English money. Loose change. One half letter of credit. Keys. 
Dressing Case. Shagreen fitted. Bottles, brushes, combs, and so on. Manicure outfit. Washing bag containing toothbrush, sponge, tooth powder, soap. Two pair of scissors. Five letters from family and friends in England. Two Tauchnitz novels. Photograph of two spaniels. 
Carried Vogue and Good Housekeeping. 
MISS GREY 
Hand bag. Lipstick, rouge, compact. Yale key and one trunk key. Pencil. Cigarette case. Holder. Match folder. Two handkerchiefs. Receipted hotel bill Le Pinet. Small book French Phrases. Note case 100 francs and 10 shillings. Loose French and English change. One casino counter, value 5 francs. 
In pocket of traveling coat. Six post cars of Paris, two handkerchiefs and silk scarf, letter signed "Gladys." Tube of aspirin. 
LADY HORBURY 
Vanity bag. Two lipsticks, rouge, compact. Handkerchief. Three mille notes. ?6 English money. Loose change - French. A diamond ring. Five French stamps. Two cigarette holders. Lighter with case 
Dressing Case. Complete make-up outfit. Elaborate manicure set - gold. Small bottle labeled in ink "Boracic Powder." 
As Poirot came to the end of the list, Japp laid his finger on the last item. 
"Rather smart of our man. He thought that didn't seem quite in keeping with the rest. Boracic powder my eye! The white powder in that bottle was cocaine." 
Poirot's eyes opened a little. He nodded his head slowly. 
"Nothing much to do with our case, perhaps," said Japp. "But you don't need me to tell you that a woman who's got the cocaine habit hasn't got much moral restraint. I've an idea, anyway, that her ladyship wouldn't stick at much to get what she wanted, in spite of all that helpless feminine business. All the same, I doubt if she'd have the nerve to carry a thing like this through. And frankly, I can't see that it was possible for her to do it. The whole thing is a bit of a teaser." 
Poirot gathered up the loose typewritten sheets and read them through once again. Then he laid them down with a sigh. 
"On the face of it," he said, "it seems to point very plainly to one person as having committed the crime. And yet, I cannot see why, or even how." 
Japp stared at him. 
"Are you pretending that by reading all this stuff you've got an idea who did it?" 
"I think so." 
Japp seized the papers from him and read them through, handing each sheet over to Fournier when he had finished with it. Then he slapped them down on the table and stared at Poirot. 
"Are you pulling my leg, Moosior Poirot?" 
"No, no. Quelle idée!" 
The Frenchman in his turn laid down the sheets. 
"What about you, Fournier?" 
The Frenchman shook his head. 
"I may be stupid," he said, "but I cannot see that this list advances us much." 
"Not by itself," said Poirot, "but taken in conjunction with certain features of the case... No? Well, it may be that I am wrong - quite wrong." 
"Well, come out with your theory," said Japp. "I'll be interested to hear it, at all events." 
Poirot shook his head. 
"No, as you say, it is a theory - a theory only. I hoped to find a certain object on that list. Eh bien, I have found it. It is there. But it seems to point in the wrong direction. The right clue on the wrong person. That means there is much work to be done, and truly, there is much that is still obscure to me. I cannot see my way. Only, certain facts seem to stand out, to arrange themselves in a significant pattern. You do not find it so? No, I see you do not. Let us, then, each work to his own idea. I have no certainty, I tell you; only a certain suspicion." 
"I believe you're just talking through your hat," said Japp. He rose. 
"Well, let's call it a day. I work the London end, you return to Paris, Fournier - and what about our M. Poirot?" 
"I still wish to accompany M. Fournier to Paris - more than ever now." 
"More than ever? I'd like to know just what kind of maggot you've got in your brain." 
"Maggot? Ce n'est pas joli, зa!" 
Fournier shook hands ceremoniously. 
"I wish you good evening, with many thanks for your delightful hospitality. We will meet, then, at Croydon tomorrow morning?" 
"Exactly. А demain." 
"Let us hope," said Fournier, "that nobody will murder us en route." 
The two detectives departed. 
Poirot remained for a time as in a dream. Then he rose, cleared away any traces of disorder, emptied the ash trays and straightened the chairs. 
He went to a side table and picked up a copy of the Sketch. He turned the pages until he came to the one he sought. 
"Two Sun Worshippers," it was headed. "The Countess of Horbury and Mr Raymond Barraclough at Le Pinet." He looked at the two laughing figures in bathing suits, their arms entwined. 
"I wonder," said Hercule Poirot. "One might do something along those lines. Yes, one might."
第8节 所带物品清单
第8节 所带物品清单
    “我说话算数，”贾普说着将一摞纸放在波洛面前，“乘客物品的详细清单。你先看看我们再谈。”
    波洛将清单摊开，福尼尔也凑了过来。
    [[詹姆斯•赖德的物品]]
    衣兜－－亚麻手绢。钱包里有7张1英镑的钞票，三张名片。合伙人乔治•埃尔伯曼的信函，上面写着“贷款已经谈判成功，否则我们将处境不妙。”信笺上有莫迪的签名，约定次日晚与特罗卡多见面。银质烟盒。折叠夹。钢笔。一串钥匙。弹簧锁钥匙。零散的法郎和英镑。
    手提箱－－许多有关水泥方面的文件和材料。
    [[布赖恩特大夫的物品]]
    衣兜－－亚麻手绢两条。英法货币和钥匙。记事本。烟盒。打火机。钢笔。盒里的长笛。
    [[诺曼•盖尔的物品]]
    衣兜－－丝手绢。英法钞票和零钱。两个法国公司的名片。牙科器具盒，里面没有东西。银质打火机。一串钥匙。
    手提箱－－白衣亚麻外套。两面微型牙医镜。医用棉花。3本杂志。
    [[阿曼德•杜邦的物品]]
    衣兜－－法郎和英镑。眼镜盒与眼镜。棉质手绢。香烟和打火机。牙签。
    手提箱－－英法钞票。香烟盒和打火机。钢笔。两支铅笔。小笔记本，上面有潦草的记录。马里纳签名的英文书信，信中邀请他去托特纳姆餐厅进餐。
    [[丹尼尔•克兰西的物品]]
    衣兜－－有墨迹的手绢。漏水的钢笔。英法钞票。3张有关最近犯罪案件的剪报。两封房地产商的售房广告信。记事本。钢笔刀。3张收讫和4张未付的帐单。故事情节构思笔记本。意大利、法国、瑞士和英国的钱币。那不勒斯饭店收讫的帐单。一大串钥匙。
    外衣兜－－为一部小说准备的手记。高尔夫球。一双袜子。牙刷。一张巴黎饭店收讫的帐单。
    [[克尔小姐的物品]]
    小手提包－－粉盒。香烟盒。一封未写完的信贷公函。
    化妆盒－－瓶、刷、梳等。修指甲用具。牙刷、海绵、牙粉、肥皂。两把小剪刀。
5封私人信件。两部小说。长毛狗的照片。
    [[简•格雷的物品]]
    手提包－－口红，粉盒。钥匙。手绢。派尼特饭店收讫帐单。英法钞票。一枚赌钱的筹码，价值5法朗。
    化妆盒－－全套化妆用品。精制的修指甲用具。一只小瓶，上面标签上写着：硼酸粉。``
    波洛看完清单后，贾普指着最后一栏说：“我的人差点被蒙过去了。硼酸粉其实就是可卡因。”波洛的眼睛亮了一下，然后慢慢点点头。
    “也许这与本案无关，”贾普说，“但有吸毒史的人不一定具备良好的道德素质。
说实话，我觉得凶手不太可能是她。”
    波洛将清单放下，叹了一口气，“从表面上看，显然有一个人是凶手。但我却不明白是为什么。”
    贾普盯着他说：“你看出什么来了？”
    “我想是这样。”
    贾普抓起清单和福尼尔又从头到尾看了一遍，“不是在开玩笑吧，波洛先生？”
    “不，不。”
    “你呢，福尼尔？”
    法国警官摇摇头，“我也许很笨？……”
    “当我们将它与本案的某些特征联系起来的时候……”波洛停顿了一下，“不，也许我错了。我一直希望在清单中找到一件物品，我的确看到了。但它却与我的思路相反。
正确的线索，但不恰当的人选。这意味着我们还有许多工作要做。某些迹象出现了，并且以一种有意义的方式组合起来。你们也许没有察觉。那好，我们各自按自己的思路行动吧。我不敢确信自己，只不过是某种猜测而已。”
    “我看你说得太玄了。”贾普说，“我们今天就到此为止。我负责伦敦这边，你回巴黎。那么你呢，波洛先生？”
    “我现在更希望和福尼尔一道去巴黎。”
    福尼尔起身与他们握手，“感谢你们热情的款待。我们明天在克罗伊登机场再会。”
    两位侦探走后，波洛陷入了沉思，他收拾好桌椅，希望从杂乱的思绪中清醒过来。
他坐在桌旁，顺手拿过一本杂志，封面标题是：两位日光崇拜者－－霍布里伯爵夫人和雷蒙德•巴勒克拉夫先生在派尼特。封面照上，两人身着泳装，双臂缠绕在一起。
    “这种人会这么做的，会的。”波洛自语道。
Chapter 9 Elise Grandier
Chapter 9 Elise Grandier
The weather on the following day was of so perfect a nature that even Hercule Poirot had to admit that his estomac was perfectly peaceful. 
On this occasion they were traveling by the 8:45 air service to Paris. 
There were seven or eight travelers besides Poirot and Fournier in the compartment and the Frenchman utilized the journey to make some experiments. He took from his pocket a small piece of bamboo, and three times during the journey he raised this to his lips, pointing it in a certain direction. Once he did it bending himself round the corner of his seat. Once with his head slightly turned sideways. Once when he was returning from the wash room. And on each occasion he caught the eye of some passenger or other eying him with mild astonishment. On the last occasion, indeed, every eye in the car seemed to be fixed upon him. 
Fournier sank in his seat discouraged, and was but little cheered by observing Poirot's open amusement. 
"You are amused, my friend? But you agree, one must try the experiments?" 
"?videmment! In truth, I admire your thoroughness. There is nothing like ocular demonstration. You play the part of the murderer with blowpipe. The result is perfectly clear. Everybody sees you!" 
"Not everybody." 
"In a sense, no. On each occasion there is somebody who does not see you. But for a successful murder that is not enough. You must be reasonably sure that nobody will see you." 
"And that is impossible, given ordinary conditions," said Fournier. "I hold then to my theory that there must have been extraordinary conditions. The psychological moment! There must have been a psychological moment when everyone's attention was mathematically centered elsewhere." 
"Our friend Inspector Japp is going to make minute inquiries on that point." 
"Do you not agree with me, M. Poirot?" 
Poirot hesitated a minute, then he said slowly: 
"I agree that there was - that there must have been a psychological reason why nobody saw the murderer. But ideas are running in a slightly different channel from yours. I feel that in this case mere ocular facts may be deceptive. Close your eyes, my friend, instead of opening them wide. Use the eyes of the brain, not of the body. Let the little grey cells of the mind function. Let it be their task to show you what actually happened." 
Fournier stared at him curiously. 
"I do not follow you, M. Poirot." 
"Because you are deducing from things that you have seen. Nothing can be so misleading as observation." 
Fournier shook his head again and spread out his hands. 
"I give it up. I cannot catch your meanings." 
"Our friend Giraud would urge you to pay no attention to my vagaries. 
'Be up and doing,' he would say. 'To sit still in an armchair and think - that is the method of an old man past his prime.' But I say that a young hound is often so eager upon the scent that he overruns it. For him is the trail of the red herring. There, it is a very good hint I have given you there." 
And leaning back, Poirot closed his eyes, it may have been to think, but it is quite certain that five minutes later he was fast asleep. 
On arrival in Paris they went straight to No. 3, Rue Joliette. 
The Rue Joliette is on the south side of the Seine. There was nothing to distinguish No. 3 from the other houses. An aged concierge admitted them and greeted Fournier in a surly fashion. 
"So, we have the police here again! Nothing but trouble. This will give the house a bad name." 
He retreated grumbling into his apartment. 
"We will go to Giselle's office," said Fournier. "It is on the first floor." 
He drew a key from his pocket as he spoke and explained that the French police had taken the precaution of locking and sealing the door whilst awaiting the result of the English inquest. 
"Not, I fear," said Fournier, "that there is anything here to help us." 
He detached the seals, unlocked the door, and they entered. Madame Giselle's office was a small stuffy apartment. It had a somewhat old- fashioned type of safe in a corner, a writing desk of businesslike appearance and several shabbily upholstered chairs. The one window was dirty, and it seemed highly probable that it had never been opened. 
Fournier shrugged his shoulders as he looked round. 
"You see?" he said. "Nothing. Nothing at all." 
Poirot passed round behind the desk. He sat down in the chair and looked across the desk at Fournier. He passed his hand gently across the surface of the wood, then down underneath it. 
"There is a bell here," he said. 
"Yes, it rings down to the concierge." 
"Ah, a wise precaution. Madame's clients might sometimes become obstreperous." 
He opened one or two of the drawers. They contained stationery, a calendar, pens and pencils, but no papers and nothing of a personal nature. 
Poirot merely glanced into them in a cursory manner. 
"I will not insult you, my friend, by a close search. If there were anything to find, you would have found it, I am sure." He looked across at the safe. "Not a very efficacious pattern, that." 
"Somewhat out of date," agreed Fournier. 
"It was empty?" 
"Yes. That cursed maid had destroyed everything." 
"Ah, yes, the maid. The confidential maid. We must see her. This room, as you say, has nothing to tell us. It is significant, that; do you not think so?" 
"What do you mean by significant, M. Poirot?" 
"I mean that there is in this room no personal touch. I find that interesting." 
"She was hardly a woman of sentiment," said Fournier dryly. 
Poirot rose. 
"Come," he said. "Let us see this maid - this highly confidential maid." 
?lise Grandier was a short, stout woman of middle age with a florid face and small shrewd eyes that darted quickly from Fournier's face to that of his companion and then back again. 
"Sit down, Mademoiselle Grandier," said Fournier. 
"Thank you, monsieur." 
She sat down composedly. 
"M. Poirot and I have returned today from London. The inquest - the inquiry, that is, into the death of madame - took place yesterday. There is no doubt whatsoever. Madame was poisoned." 
The Frenchwoman shook her head gravely. 
"It is terrible, what you say there, monsieur. Madame poisoned. Who would ever have dreamed of such a thing?" 
"That is, perhaps, where you can help us, mademoiselle." 
"Certainly, monsieur, I will, naturally, do all I can to aid the police. But I know nothing - nothing at all." 
"You know that madame had enemies?" said Fournier sharply. 
"That is not true. Why should madame have enemies?" 
"Come, come, Mademoiselle Grandier," said Fournier dryly. "The profession of a money lender - it entails certain unpleasantnesses." 
"It is true that sometimes the clients of madame were not very reasonable," agreed ?lise. 
"They made scenes, eh? They threatened her?" 
The maid shook her head. 
"No, no, you are wrong there. It was not they who threatened. They whined, they complained, they protested they could not pay - all that, yes." Her voice held a very lively contempt. 
"Sometimes, perhaps, mademoiselle," said Poirot, "they could not pay." 
?lise Grandier shrugged her shoulders. 
"Possibly. That is their affair! They usually paid in the end." 
Her tone held a certain amount of satisfaction. 
"Madame Giselle was a hard woman," said Fournier. 
"Madame was justified." 
"You have no pity for the victims?" 
"Victims - victims." ?lise spoke with impatience. "You do not understand. Is it necessary to run into debt? To live beyond your means? To run and borrow, and then expect to keep the money as a gift? It is not reasonable, that! Madame was always fair and just. She lent, and she expected repayment. That is only fair. She herself had no debts. Always she paid honorably what she owed. Never, never were there any bills outstanding. And when you say that madame was a hard woman, it is not the truth! Madame was kind. She gave to the Little Sisters of the Poor when they came. She gave money to charitable institutions. When the wife of Georges, the concierge, was ill, madame paid for her to go to a hospital in the country." 
She stopped, her face flushed and angry. 
She repeated, "You do not understand. No, you do not understand madame at all." 
Fournier waited a moment for her indignation to subside, and then said: 
"You made the observation that madame's clients usually managed to pay in the end. Were you aware of the means madame used to compel them?" 
She shrugged her shoulders. 
"I know nothing, monsieur - nothing at all." 
"You knew enough to burn madame's papers." 
"I was following her instructions. If ever, she said, she were to meet with an accident, or if she were taken ill and died somewhere away from home, I was to destroy her business papers." 
"The papers in the safe downstairs?" asked Poirot. 
"That is right. Her business papers." 
"And they were in the safe downstairs?" 
His persistence brought the red up in ?lise's cheeks. 
"I obeyed madame's instructions," she said. 
"I know that," said Poirot, smiling. "But the papers were not in the safe. That is so, is it not? That safe, it is far too old-fashioned; quite an amateur might have opened it. The papers were kept elsewhere. In madame's bedroom, perhaps?" 
?lise paused a moment, and then answered: 
"Yes, that is so. Madame always pretended to clients that papers were kept in the safe, but in reality the safe was a blind. Everything was in madame's bedroom." 
"Will you show us where?" 
?lise rose and the two men followed her. The bedroom was a fair-sized room, but was so full of ornate heavy furniture that it was hard to move about freely in it. In one corner was a large old-fashioned trunk. ?lise lifted the lid and took out an old-fashioned alpaca dress with a silk underskirt. On the inside of the dress was a deep pocket. 
"The papers were in this, monsieur," she said. "They were kept in a large sealed envelope." 
"You told me nothing of this," said Fournier sharply, "when I questioned you three days ago?" 
"I ask pardon, monsieur. You asked me where were the papers that should be in the safe? I told you I had burned them. That was true. Exactly where the papers were kept seemed unimportant." 
"True," said Fournier. "You understand, Mademoiselle Grandier, that those papers should not have been burned." 
"I obeyed madame's orders," said ?lise sullenly. 
"You acted, I know, for the best," said Fournier soothingly. "Now I want you to listen to me very closely, mademoiselle. Madame was murdered. It is possible that she was murdered by a person or persons about whom she held certain damaging knowledge. That knowledge was in those papers you burned. I am going to ask you a question, mademoiselle, and do not reply too quickly without reflection. It is possible - indeed, in my view, it is probable and quite understandable - that you glanced through those papers before committing them to the flames. If that is the case, no blame will be attached to you for so doing. On the contrary, any information you have acquired may be of the greatest service to the police, and may be of material service in bringing the murderer to justice. Therefore, mademoiselle, have no fear in answering truthfully. Did you, before burning the papers, glance over them?" 
?lise breathed hard. She leaned forward and spoke emphatically. 
"No, monsieur," she said, "I looked at nothing. I read nothing. I burned the envelope without undoing the seal."
第9节 伊莉斯·格兰迪耶
第9节 伊莉斯•格兰迪耶
    翌晨，天气真好，波洛感觉自己的胃有上佳的表现。他和福尼尔登上了8点45分去巴黎的飞机，机上只有七八位乘客。波洛打算利用旅途的时间做做试验。他从口袋里拿出一支竹管，将它放在嘴边瞄准某个目标。他连续试验了3次，使一些乘客禁不住用奇怪的目光望着他。
    福尼尔躲在自己的座位上，并不为波洛的傻气而感到开心，“别人一定觉得你挺逗，我的朋友。”
    “这很自然。但这种公开演示的结果显而易见不过了，所有的人都能看见你。”
    “并不是所有的人。”
    “你是对的。一个成功的杀手将确保任何人都看不风他。”
    “这虽说不太可能，”福尼尔说，“但一定有那样一种分散注意力的时机。”
    波洛犹豫了一下，慢吞吞地说：“一定有，但我的想法你稍有不同。我觉得视觉可能欺骗了我们。闭上你的眼睛，打开心灵的视窗，让心中的细胞活跃起来。”
    “我不明白你的意思，波洛先生。”
    “因为你心中事先已设计好了视线的目标，因此你所观察到的都是事实。”波洛往后一靠闭上了眼睛。5分钟之后，他已经睡着了。
    到达巴黎后，他们直奔乔利特街3号。看门人对警察再次来访似乎满脸不高兴。经过福尼尔的解释，看门人撕去了一楼的封条，让他们进了吉塞尔夫人的办公室。福尼尔环顾四周，然后耸耸肩，“看来没有新的发现。”
    波洛绕过书桌面对福尼尔在椅子上坐了下来，“这有一只铃。”他说。
    “对，那是叫看门人的。”
    波洛打开抽屉，里面有文具、日历、钢笔和铅笔，没有什么有意义的东西。他朝墙角的保险箱看了看，“里面已空了？”
    “对，被那该死的仆人烧光了。”
    “嗯，那个贴身仆人。这里什么都没有，我们立即去见她。”
    埃莉斯•格兰迪尔个子矮胖，已步入中年，两只眼睛警觉地扫视着福尼尔和他的同伴。
    “波洛先生和我今天从伦敦赶来。听证会于昨天举行。毫无疑问，夫人被人毒死了。”
    法国女人沉重地摇摇头，“被毒死了？！真可怕。谁会干出这种事情？”
    “也许你能帮助我们。”福尼尔说，“你知道夫人有什么敌人吗？”
    “不会的。”埃莉斯有点激动，“诚然，夫人的客户有时有些不讲道理，他们喊叫，抱怨，为自己不能还钱而争辩。”
    “有时他们不还债？波洛问。
    “是这样，不过最终还是还清了。”
    “夫人是一位强硬的女人。”福尼尔。
    “但她是公平的。她借债给人当然希望还钱，她不欠任何人的。你们说她强硬，这不是事实。夫人很善良，她为许多慈善机构捐款。看门人的妻子得了病，还是夫人出钱送她上医院的。”她气得脸都发红了，“你们不了解夫人。”
    福尼尔等她气头过后说：“你说她的客户最终还是还请了借债，那么夫人是怎么迫使他们这么做的呢？”
    “我一无所知，先生。”
    “你烧毁了夫人的文件。”
    “她说过，一旦发生意外就烧毁保险箱的文件。”
    “楼下保险箱的文件？”波洛说。
    “对。那是夫人的指示。”
    “不对，我知道文件并没有放在保险箱里。”波洛说，“因为那只保险箱太破旧了，任何外行都可以打开它。文件应该是放在其他地方，比如说在夫人的卧室？”
    “你说对了，那只保险箱只不过是个幌子，所有的东西都在夫人的卧室里。”
    吉塞尔的卧室里放着笨重的家俱。埃莉斯走到角落，打开一只过时的箱子，从里面拿出一件驼毛大衣，大衣面襟里有一只很深的口袋。
    “文件就在里面的大信封里。”埃莉斯说。
    “3天前我问你的时候，你可没有提这个。”福尼尔尖刻地说。
    “对不起，先生。你当时问我保险箱里有没有文件，我说把它烧了。”她沮丧着脸说，“那是夫人的旨意。”
    “这我不怪你，”福尼尔安慰她说，“现在我想让你听明白，小姐。夫人已经死了，她是被某一位知情者所害，那些情况都在文件里。我还想问你一个问题，你可以不必立即回答，你烧毁文件时看过里面的内容吗？我想提醒你，任何有关的情况对我们的侦破都大有帮助。”
    埃莉斯急促地呼吸着，然后坚定地说：“没有，先生。我从衣袋里拿出信封时，连封口都未拆就把它们烧了。”
Chapter 10 The Little Black Book
Chapter 10 The Little Black Book
Fournier stared hard at her for a moment or two. Then, satisfied that she was speaking the truth, he turned away with a gesture of discouragement. 
"It is a pity," he said. "You acted honorably, mademoiselle, but it is a pity." 
"I cannot help it, monsieur. I am sorry." 
Fournier sat down and drew a notebook from his pocket. 
"When I questioned you before, you told me, mademoiselle, that you did not know the names of madame's clients. Yet, just now, you speak of them whining and asking for mercy. You did, therefore, know something about these clients of Madame Giselle's?" 
"Let me explain, monsieur. Madame never mentioned a name. She never discussed her business. But all the same, one is human, is one not? There are ejaculations, comments. Madame spoke to me sometimes as she would to herself." 
Poirot leaned forward. 
"If you would give us an instance, mademoiselle -" he said. 
"Let me see - ah, yes - say a letter comes. Madame opens it. She laughs - a short dry laugh. She says, 'You whine and you snivel, my fine lady. All the same, you must pay.' Or she would say to me, 'What fools! 
What fools! To think I would lend large sums without proper security. Knowledge is security, ?lise. Knowledge is power.' Something like that she would say." 
"Madame's clients who came to the house - did you ever see any of them?" 
"No, monsieur - at least hardly ever. They came to the first floor only, you understand. And very often they came after dark." 
"Had Madame Giselle been in Paris before her journey to England?" 
"She returned to Paris only the afternoon before." 
"Where had she been?" 
"She had been away for a fortnight - to Deauville, Le Pinet, Paris - Plage and Wimereaux - her usual September round." 
"Now think, mademoiselle. Did she say anything - anything at all - that might be of use?" 
?lise considered for some moments. Then she shook her head. 
"No, monsieur," she said, "I cannot remember anything. Madame was in good spirits. Business was going well, she said. Her tour had been profitable. Then she directed me to ring up Universal Air Lines and book a passage to England for the following day. The early-morning service was booked, but she obtained a seat on the twelve-o'clock service." 
"Did she say what took her to England? Was there any urgency about it?" 
"Oh, no, monsieur. Madame journeyed to England fairly frequently. She usually told me the day before." 
"Did any clients come to see madame that evening?" 
"I believe there was one client, monsieur, but I am not sure. Georges, perhaps, would know. Madame said nothing to me." 
Fournier took from his pockets various photographs - mostly snapshots, taken by reporters, of various witnesses leaving the coroner's court. 
"Can you recognize any of these, mademoiselle?" 
?lise took them and gazed at each in turn. Then she shook her head. 
"No, monsieur." 
"We must try Georges then." 
"Yes, monsieur. Unfortunately, Georges has not very good eyesight. It is a pity." 
Fournier rose. 
"Well, mademoiselle, we will take our leave. That is, if you are quite sure that there is nothing - nothing at all - that you have omitted to mention?" 
"I? What - what could there be?" 
?lise looked distressed. 
"It is understood then... Come, M. Poirot... I beg your pardon. You are looking for something?" 
Poirot was indeed wandering round the room in a vague searching way. 
"It is true," said Poirot. "I am looking for something I do not see." 
"What is that?" 
"Photographs. Photographs of Madame Giselle's relations - of her family." 
?lise shook her head. 
"She had no family, madame. She was alone in the world." 
"She had a daughter," said Poirot sharply. 
"Yes, that is so. Yes, she had a daughter." 
?lise sighed. 
"But there is no picture of that daughter?" Poirot persisted. 
"Oh, monsieur does not understand. It is true that madame had a daughter, but that was long ago, you comprehend. It is my belief that madame had never seen that daughter since she was a tiny baby." 
"How was that?" demanded Fournier sharply. 
?lise's hands flew out in an expressive gesture. 
"I do not know. It was in the days when madame was young. I have heard that she was pretty then. Pretty and poor. She may have been married. She may not. Myself, I think not. Doubtless some arrangement was made about the child. As for madame, she had the smallpox, she was very ill, she nearly died. When she got well, her beauty was gone. There were no more follies, no more romance. Madame became a woman of business." 
"But she left her money to this daughter?" 
"That is only right," said ?lise. "Who should one leave one's money to except one's own flesh and blood? Blood is thicker than water. And madame had no friends. She was always alone. Money was her passion. To make more and more money. She spent very little. She had no love for luxury." 
"She left you a legacy. You know that?" 
"But yes, I have been informed. Madame was always generous. She gave me a good sum every year as well as my wages. I am very grateful to madame." 
"Well," said Fournier, "we will take our leave. On the way out I will have another word with old Georges." 
"Permit me to follow you in a little minute my friend," said Poirot. 
"As you wish." 
Fournier departed. 
Poirot roamed once more round the room, then sat down and fixed his eyes on ?lise. 
Under his scrutiny the Frenchwoman got slightly restive. 
"Is there anything more monsieur requires to know?" 
"Mademoiselle Grandier," said Poirot, "do you know who murdered your mistress?" 
"No, monsieur. Before the good God, I swear it." 
She spoke very earnestly, Poirot looked at her searchingly, then bent his head. 
"Bien," he said. "I accept that. But knowledge is one thing, suspicion is another. Have you any idea - an idea only - who might have done such a thing?" 
"I have no idea, monsieur. I have already said so to the agent of police." 
"You might say one thing to him and another thing to me." 
"Why do you say that, monsieur? Why should I do such a thing?" 
"Because it is one thing to give information to the police and another thing to give it to a private individual." 
"Yes," admitted ?lise, "that is true." 
A look of indecision came over her face. She seemed to be thinking. Watching her very closely, Poirot leaned forward and spoke: 
"Shall I tell you something. Mademoiselle Grandier? It is part of my business to believe nothing I am told - nothing, that is, that is not proved. I do not suspect first this person and then that person; I suspect everybody. Anybody connected with a crime is regarded by me as a criminal until that person is proved innocent." 
Elsie Grandier scowled at him angrily. 
"Are you saying that you suspect me - me - of having murdered madame? It is too strong, that! Such a thought is of a wickedness unbelievable!" 
Her large bosom rose and fell tumultuously. 
"No, ?lise," said Poirot, "I do not suspect you of having murdered madame. Whoever murdered madame was a passenger in the 
aeroplane. Therefore, it was not your hand that did the deed. But you might have been an accomplice before the act. You might have passed on to someone the details of madame's journey." 
"I did not. I swear I did not." 
Poirot looked at her again for some minutes in silence. Then he nodded his head. 
"I believe you," he said. "But, nevertheless, there is something that you conceal... Oh, yes, there is! Listen, I will tell you something. In every case of a criminal nature one comes across the same phenomena when questioning witnesses. Everyone keeps something back. Sometimes - often, indeed - it is something quite harmless, something, perhaps, quite unconnected with the crime, but - I say it again - there is always something. That is so with you. Oh, do not deny! 
I am Hercule Poirot and I know. When my friend M. Fournier asked you if you were sure there was nothing you had omitted to mention, you were troubled. You answered, unconsciously, with an evasion. Again just now when I suggested that you might tell me something which you would not care to tell the police, you very obviously turned the suggestion over in your mind. There is, then, something. I want to know what that something is." 
"It is nothing of importance." 
"Possibly not. But all the same, will you not tell me what it is? 
Remember," he went on as she hesitated, "I am not of the police." 
"That is true," said ?lise Grandier. She hesitated, and went on: 
"Monsieur, I am in a difficulty. I do not know what madame herself would have wanted me to do." 
"There is a saying that two heads are better than one. Will you not consult me? Let us examine the question together." 
The woman still looked at him doubtfully. He said with a smile: 
"You are a good watch dog, ?lise. It is a question, I see, of loyalty to your dead mistress?" 
"That is quite right, monsieur. Madame trusted me. Ever since I entered her service I have carried out her instructions faithfully." 
"You were grateful, were you not, for some great service she had rendered you?" 
"Monsieur is very quick. Yes, that is true. I do not mind admitting it. I had been deceived, monsieur, my savings stolen, and there was a child. Madame was good to me. She arranged for the baby to be brought up by some good people on a farm - a good farm, monsieur, and honest people. It was then, at that time, that she mentioned to me that she, too, was a mother." 
"Did she tell you the age of her child, where it was, any details?" 
"No, monsieur; she spoke as of a part of her life that was over and done with. It was best so, she said. The little girl was well provided for and would be brought up to a trade or profession. It would also inherit her money when she died." 
"She told you nothing further about this child or about its father?" 
"No, monsieur, but I have an idea -" 
"Speak, Mademoiselle ?lise." 
"It is an idea only, you understand." 
"Perfectly, perfectly." 
"I have an idea that the father of the child was an Englishman." 
"What, exactly, do you think gave you that impression?" 
"Nothing definite. It is just that there was a bitterness in madame's voice when she spoke of the English. I think, too, that in her business transactions she enjoyed having anyone English in her power. It is an impression only." 
"Yes, but it may be a very valuable one. It opens up possibilities... Your own child. Mademoiselle ?lise? Was it a girl or a boy?" 
"A girl, monsieur. But she is dead - dead these five years now." 
"Ah, all my sympathy." 
There was a pause. 
"And now, Mademoiselle ?lise," said Poirot, "what is this something that you have hitherto refrained from mentioning?" 
?lise rose and left the room. She returned a few minutes later with a small shabby black notebook in her hand. 
"This little book was madame's. It went with her everywhere. When she was about to depart for England, she could not find it. It was mislaid. After she had gone, I found it. It had dropped down behind the head of the bed. I put it in my room to keep until madame should return. I burned the papers as soon as I heard of madame's death, but I did not burn the book. There were no instructions as to that." 
"When did you hear of madame's death?" 
?lise hesitated a minute. 
"You heard it from the police, did you not?" said Poirot. "They came here and examined madame's papers. They found the safe empty and you told them that you had burned the papers, but actually you did not burn the papers until afterwards." 
"It is true, monsieur," admitted ?lise. "Whilst they were looking in the safe, I removed the papers from the trunk. I said they were burned, yes. After all, it was very nearly the truth. I burned them at the first opportunity. I had to carry out madame's orders. You see my difficulty, monsieur? You will not inform the police? It might be a very serious matter for me." 
"I believe, Mademoiselle ?lise, that you acted with the best intentions. All the same, you understand, it is a pity - a great pity. But it does no good to regret what is done and I see no necessity for communicating the exact hour of the destruction to the excellent M. Fournier. Now let me see if there is anything in this little book to aid us." 
"I do not think there will be, monsieur," said ?lise, shaking her head. 
"It is madame's private memorandums, yes, but there are numbers only. Without the documents and files, these entries are meaningless." 
Unwillingly, she held out the book to Poirot. He took it and turned the pages. There were penciled entries in a sloping foreign writing. They seemed to be all of the same kind. 
A number followed by a few descriptive details such as: 
CX 265. Colonel's wife. Stationed Syria. Regimental funds. 
GF 342. French Deputy, Stavisky connection. 
There were perhaps twenty entries in all. At the end of the book were penciled memoranda of dates or places such as: 
Le Pinet, Monday. Casino, 10:30. Savoy Hotel, 5 o'clock. A.B.C. Fleet Street 11 o'clock. 
None of these were complete in themselves, and seemed to have been put down less as actual appointments than as aids to Giselle's memory. 
?lise was watching Poirot anxiously. 
"It means nothing, monsieur, or so it seems to me. It was comprehensible to madame, but not to a mere reader." 
Poirot closed the book and put it in his pocket. 
"This may be very valuable, mademoiselle. You did wisely to give it to me. And your conscience may be quite at rest. Madame never asked you to burn this book." 
"That is true," said ?lise, her face brightening a little. 
"Therefore, having no instructions, it is your duty to hand this over to the police. I will arrange matters with M. Fournier so that you shall not be blamed for not having done so sooner." 
"Monsieur is very kind." 
Poirot rose. 
"I will go now and join my colleague. Just one last question: When you reserved a seat in the aeroplane for Madame Giselle, did you ring up the aerodrome at Le Bourget or the office of the company?" 
"I rang up the office of Universal Air Lines, monsieur." 
"And that, I think, is in the Boulevard des Capucines?" 
"That is right, monsieur; Boulevard des Capucines." 
Poirot made a note in his little book; then, with a friendly nod, he left the room.
第10节 黑色笔记本
第10节 黑色笔记本
    福尼尔注视她良久，才拿出笔记本坐了下来。“上次我问你，小姐，你说不知道夫人客户。可刚才你说听见过他们唠叨，乞求夫人的怜悯。”
    “请听我解释，先生。夫人从未提到过任何一位客户的名字，她从不与人谈她的业务。比如说，她拆开一封信，干笑一声，似乎自言自语地说：‘真蠢，真蠢！别以为我会借出这么大一笔钱，我一定需要得到保证。情报就是保证，埃莉斯，情报就是力量。’
她就这么说。”
    “你见过前来拜访的客户吗？”
    “没有，先生。他们只去一楼，并且大都是天黑后才来。”
    “她最近去了些什么地方？”
    “她出去了约半个月，到杜维尔、派尼特、普拉格和温默鲁。每年9月她都去这些地方。”
    “你还记得什么？”
    “不记得了，先生。”她说，“这次夫人回来情绪挺好，一定是大有收获。她让我预定一张环宇航空公司去英国的机票。由于早班已满员，她只好乘坐12点的航班。”
    “头一天晚上有什么客户来过？”
    好像有一位，看门人乔治一定知道。
    福尼尔从口袋里拿出些照片，“你认识里面的人吗？”
    埃莉斯接过照片，一一看了一遍，然后摇摇头。
    “我们去找乔治，”福尼尔说。
    “好吧，先生。不过可惜的是乔治的视力极差。”
    “我们走吧。喂，波洛先生，对不起，你在找什么东西？”
    “我在找照片，”波洛说，“但没有她女儿的照片。”
    “哦，先生您不明白，夫人是有个女儿。但那是很久以前的事儿了。自从她出生后，夫人就没有再见过她。”
    “怎么可能？”福尼尔紧追着问。
    “我听说夫人年轻时很漂亮，但也比较穷。她结过婚没有也说不清楚，反正有了孩子。后来她染上了天花，差点没死去。她告别了自己的美貌，也告别了青春和浪漫，她成了生意人。”
    “可她把自己的财产给了女儿。”
    “对，”埃莉斯说，“血浓于水嘛。夫人没有朋友，她只知道赚钱，十分节俭，从不奢侈。”
    “她还留给你一部分财产。”
    “对。夫人很慷慨，我的薪水很高，我十分感激她。”
    波洛在房间里来回走动着，然后他坐下用双眼盯着埃莉斯。在他的审视下，法国女人显得有些不自然。“格兰迪尔小姐。”波洛说，“你知道是谁杀死夫人的？”
    “天哪，先生。我发誓不知道。”
    波洛的目光在她脸上搜寻着，，“好，我接受。那你知不知道谁会干这种事情？”
    “先生，我不知道。”一丝犹豫的神情从埃莉斯的脸上闪过。
    “让我告诉你，格兰迪特小姐。”波洛欠身说，“我有责任不相信任何人说的话。
任何与本案有关的人在我看来都有嫌疑，直至他被证明是无辜的。”
    埃莉斯愤怒地咆哮起来，“那你怀疑是我杀了夫人？”
    “不，埃莉斯，”波洛说，“凶手是飞机上的一位乘客，但也许你是他的帮凶。你有可能将夫人的旅行计划泄漏给什么人。”
    “没有，我发誓。”
    波洛默默地看着她，过了一会儿点点头，“我相信你。然而，你隐瞒了一些事情。
对，就是这样。我们在调查的时候总会遇到这种事情，证人尽力避免与犯罪事实联系在一起。你不用抵赖。我的朋友福尔尼问你是否知道什么其他情况时，你看起来有些为难，你的回答是一种无意识的躲避。你一定还知道一些事情，而我非常希望了解。”
    “那不是什么有意义的事情。”
    “也许不是，但我想知道。埃莉斯，你对已故主人的忠诚无可非议，你对她充满感激之情。”
    “对，我不得不承认是如此。”埃莉斯慢慢说，“夫人将孩子送给一家好心的农户，当时她对我说她是孩子的母亲。”
    “她告诉你孩子有多大了吗？”
    “没有，先生。她说她要让孩子过得很富裕，她死后她所有的财产将由女儿继承。”
    “她谈到过孩子的父亲了吗？”
    “没有，先生。不过在我的印象中，孩子的父亲是个英国人，因为每当提起英国，夫人的声音里都带着愤恨。这只是我的印象而已……”
    “很有价值的印象。埃莉斯小姐，你有孩子吗？”
    “有过一个女儿，可5年前死了。”
    “哦，对不起。”停顿了一下波洛又说：“你还有什么能告诉我们？”
    埃莉斯起身离去，不一会儿拿来一个黑色的笔记本。“这是夫人的，不管去任何地方她都带着它。这次去英国，她怎么也找不到，后来被我碰巧发现了，于是我就把它藏在卧室。夫人指示只让我烧毁文件，没让我烧笔记本。这样我就把它留了下来。”
    “我相信你是出于良好的动机，小姐。”波洛说，“我们来看看这个小本子里是什么。”
    “我看没什么东西，先生，”埃莉斯摇摇头说，“是夫人的私人备忘录，还有数字。”
    波洛接过笔记本，小心翻开。
    CX265。上校的妻子。驻叙利亚。团部基金。
    GF342。法国代表。斯塔维斯基的关系。……大约有20个这样的条目，笔记本最后用铅笔记有：派尼特，星期一。赌场，10点30分。萨伏伊饭店。ABC舰队街11号。
    这些记录都不完整，只有吉赛尔才知道它能提醒自己什么事情。埃莉斯焦急地望着波洛。他不慌不忙关上笔记本，将它放进衣兜，“它会有用处的，小姐。你的良知也应当平衡了，因为夫人从未说过让你把它烧掉。”
    “是这样。”埃莉斯的双眼亮了起来。
    “本来你应该把它交给警方，我会和福尼尔安排一下，使你免于受到他们的责难。”
    “真谢谢你了。”
    “我想最后再问个问题。你是在布尔歇机场还是在公司售票处预定的机票？”
    “我用电话在售票处预定的，先生。”
    “是卡普辛斯街的售票处？”
    “对，卡普辛斯街。”
Chapter 11 The American
Chapter 11 The American
Fournier was deep in conversation with old Georges. The detective was looking hot and annoyed. 
"Just like the police," the old man was grumbling in his deep, hoarse voice. "Ask one the same question over and over again! What do they hope for? That sooner or later one will give over speaking the truth and take to lies instead? Agreeable lies, naturally; lies that suit the book of ces messieurs." 
"It is not lies I want but the truth." 
"Very well, it is the truth that I have been telling you. Yes, a woman did come to see madame the night before she left for England. You show me those photographs, you ask me if I recognize the woman among them. I tell you what I have told you all along - my eyesight is not good, it was growing dark, I did not look closely. I did not recognize the lady. If I saw her face to face I should probably not recognize her. There! 
You have it plainly for the fourth or fifth time." 
"And you cannot even remember if she was tall or short, dark or fair, young or old? It is hardly to be believed, that." 
Fournier spoke with irritable sarcasm. 
"Then do not believe it. What do I care? A nice thing - to be mixed up with the police! I am ashamed. If madame had not been killed high up in the air, you would probably pretend that I, Georges, had poisoned her. The police are like that." 
Poirot forestalled an angry retort on Fournier's part by slipping a tactful arm through that of his friend. 
"Come, mon vieux," he said. "The stomach calls. A simple but satisfying meal, that is what I prescribe. Let us say omelette aux champignons, Sole а la Normande, a cheese of Port Salut. And with it red wine. What wine exactly?" 
Fournier glanced at his watch. 
"True," he said. "It is one o'clock. Talking to this animal here -" He glared at Georges. 
Poirot smiled encouragingly at the old man. 
"It is understood," he said. "The nameless lady was neither tall nor short, fair nor dark, thin nor fat; but this at least you can tell us: Was she chic?" 
"Chic?" said Georges, rather taken aback. 
"I am answered," said Poirot. "She was chic. And I have a little idea, my friend, that she would look well in a bathing dress." 
George stared at him. 
"A bathing dress? What is this about a bathing dress?" 
"A little idea of mine. A charming woman looks still more charming in a bathing dress. Do you not agree? See here?" 
He passed to the old man a page torn from the Sketch. 
There was a moment's pause. The old man gave a very slight start. 
"You agree, do you not?" asked Poirot. 
"They look well enough, those two," said the old man, handing the sheet back. "To wear nothing at all would be very nearly the same thing." 
"Ah," said Poirot. That is because nowadays we have discovered the beneficial action of sun on the skin. It is very convenient, that." 
Georges condescended to give a hoarse chuckle and moved away as Poirot and Fournier stepped out into the sunlit street. 
Over the meal as outlined by Poirot, the little Belgian produced the little black memorandum book. 
Fournier was much excited, though distinctly irate with ?lise. Poirot argued the point: 
"It is natural - very natural. The police - it is always a word frightening to that class. It embroils them in they know not what. It is the same everywhere, in every country." 
"That is where you score," said Fournier. "The private investigator gets more out of witnesses than you ever get through official channels. However, there is the other side of the picture. We have official records, the whole system of a big organization at our command." 
"So let us work together amicably," said Poirot, smiling... "This omelet is delicious." 
In the interval between the omelet and the sole, Fournier turned the pages of the black book. Then he made a penciled entry in his notebook. 
He looked across at Poirot. 
"You have read through this? Yes?" 
"No, I have only glanced at it. You permit?" 
He took the book from Fournier. 
When the cheese was placed before them, Poirot laid down the book on the table and the eyes of the two men met. 
"There are certain entries," began Fournier. 
"Five," said Poirot. 
"I agree. Five." 
He read out from the notebook: 
"CL 52. English Peeress. Husband. 
"RT 362. Doctor. Harley Street. 
"MR 24. Forged Antiquities. 
"XVB 724. English. Embezzlement. 
"GF 45. Attempted Murder. English." 
"Excellent, my friend," said Poirot. "Our minds march together to a marvel. Of all the entries in that little book, those five seem to me to be the only ones that can in any way bear a relation to the persons traveling in the aeroplane. Let us take them one by one." 
"'English Peeress. Husband,'" said Fournier. "That may conceivably apply to Lady Horbury. She is, I understand, a confirmed gambler. Nothing could be more likely than that she should borrow money from Giselle. Giselle's clients are usually of that type. The word 'husband' 
may have one of two meanings. Either Giselle expected the husband to pay up his wife's debts or she had some hold over Lady Horbury, a secret which she threatened to reveal to the lady's husband." 
"Precisely," said Poirot. "Either of those two alternatives might apply. I favor the second one myself, especially as I would be prepared to bet that the woman who visited Giselle the night before the aeroplane journey was Lady Horbury." 
"Ah, you think that, do you?" 
"Yes, and I fancy you think the same. There is a touch of chivalry, I think, in our concierge's disposition. His persistence in remembering nothing at all about the visitor seems rather significant. Lady Horbury is an extremely pretty woman. Moreover, I observed his start - oh, a very slight one - when I handed him a reproduction of her in bathing costume from the Sketch. Yes, it was Lady Horbury who went to Giselle's that night." 
"She followed her to Paris from Le Pinet," said Fournier slowly. "It looks as though she were pretty desperate." 
"Yes, yes, I fancy that may be true." 
Fournier looked at him curiously. 
"But it does not square with your private ideas, eh?" 
"My friend, as I tell you, I have what I am convinced is the right clue pointing to the wrong person. i am very much in the dark. My clue cannot be wrong, and yet -" 
"You wouldn't like to tell me what it is?" suggested Fournier. 
"No, because I may, you see, be wrong. Totally and utterly wrong. And in that case I might lead you, too, astray. No, let us each work according to our own ideas. To continue with our selected items from the little book." "'RT 362. Doctor. Harley Street,'" read out Fournier. 
"A possible clue to Doctor Bryant. There is nothing much to go on, but we must not neglect that line of investigation." 
"That, of course, will be the task of Inspector Japp." 
"And mine," said Poirot. "I, too, have my finger in this pie." 
"'MR 24. Forged Antiquities,'" read Fournier. "Farfetched, perhaps, but it is just possible that that might apply to the Duponts. I can hardly credit it. M. Dupont is an archaeologist of world-wide reputation. He bears the highest character." 
"Which would facilitate matters very much for him," said Poirot. 
"Consider, my dear Fournier, how high has been the character, how lofty the sentiments, and how worthy of admiration the life of most swindlers of note - before they are found out!" 
"True - only too true," agreed the Frenchman with a sigh. 
"A high reputation," said Poirot, "is the first necessity of a swindler's stock in trade. An interesting thought. But let us return to our list." 
"'XVB 724' is very ambiguous. 'English. Embezzlement.'" 
"Not very helpful," agreed Poirot. "Who embezzles? A solicitor? A bank clerk? Anyone in a position of trust in a commercial firm. Hardly an author, a dentist or a doctor. Mr James Ryder is the only representative of commerce. He may have embezzled money, he may have borrowed from Giselle to enable his theft to remain undetected. As to the last entry. 'GF 45. Attempted Murder. English.' That gives us a very wide field. Author, dentist, doctor, business man, steward, hairdresser's assistant, lady of birth and breeding - any one of those might be GF 45. In fact, only the Duponts are exempt by reason of their nationality." 
With a gesture he summoned the waiter and asked for the bill. 
"And where next, friend?" he inquired. 
"To the Sыreté. They may have some news for me." 
"Good. I will accompany you. Afterwards, I have a little investigation of my own to make in which, perhaps, you will assist me." 
At the Sыreté, Poirot renewed acquaintance with the chief of the detective force, whom he had met some years previously in the course of one of his cases. M. Gilles was very affable and polite. 
"Enchanted to learn that you are interesting yourself in this case, M. Poirot." 
"My faith, my dear M. Gilles, it happened under my nose. It is an insult, that, you agree? Hercule Poirot, to sleep while murder is committed!" 
M. Gilles shook his head tactfully. 
"These machines! On a day of bad weather, they are far from steady - far from steady. I myself have felt seriously incommoded once or twice." 
"They say that an army marches on its stomach," said Poirot. "But how much are the delicate convolutions of the brain influenced by the digestive apparatus? When the mal de mer seizes me, I, Hercule Poirot, am a creature with no gray cells, no order, no method - a mere member of the human race somewhat below average intelligence! It is deplorable, but there it is! And talking of these matters, how is my excellent friend Giraud?" 
Prudently ignoring the significance of the words "these matters," M. Gilles replied that Giraud continued to advance in his career. 
"He is most zealous. His energy is untiring." 
"It always was," said Poirot. "He ran to and fro. He crawled on all fours. He was here, there and everywhere. Not for one moment did he ever pause and reflect." 
"Ah, M. Poirot, that is your little foible. A man like Fournier will be more to your mind. He is of the newest school - all for the psychology. That should please you." 
"It does. It does." 
"He has a very good knowledge of English. That is why we sent him to Croydon to assist in this case. A very interesting case, M. Poirot. Madame Giselle was one of the best-known characters in Paris. And the manner of her death, extraordinary! A poisoned dart from a blowpipe in an aeroplane. I ask you! Is it possible that such a thing could happen?" 
"Exactly!" cried Poirot. "Exactly! You hit the nail upon the head. You place a finger unerringly - Ah, here is our good Fournier. You have news, I see." 
The melancholy-faced Fournier was looking quite eager and excited. 
"Yes, indeed. A Greek antique dealer, Zeropoulos, has reported the sale of a blowpipe and darts three days before the murder. I propose now, monsieur -" he bowed respectfully to his chief - "to interview this man." 
"By all means," said Gilles. "Does M. Poirot accompany you?" 
"If you please," said Poirot. "This is interesting. Very interesting." 
The shop of M. Zeropoulos was in the Rue St. Honoré. It was by way of being a high-class antique dealer's shop. There was a good deal of Rhages ware and other Persian pottery. There were one or two bronzes from Luristan, a good deal of inferior Indian jewelry, shelves of silks and embroideries from many countries, and a large proportion of perfectly worthless beads and cheap Egyptian goods. It was the kind of establishment in which you could spend a million francs on an object worth half a million, or ten francs on an object worth fifty centimes. It was patronized chiefly by tourists and knowledgeable connoisseurs. 
M. Zeropoulos himself was a short stout little man with beady black eyes. He talked volubly and at great length. 
The gentlemen were from the police? He was delighted to see them. Perhaps they would step into his private office. 
Yes, he had sold a blowpipe and darts - a South American curio. "You comprehend, gentlemen, me, I sell a little of everything! I have my specialties. Persia is my specialty. M. Dupont - the esteemed M. Dupont - he will answer for me. He himself comes always to see my collection, to see what new purchases I have made, to give his judgment on the genuineness of certain doubtful pieces. What a man! 
So learned! Such an eye! Such a feel! But I wander from the point. I have my collection - my valuable collection that all connoisseurs know 
-and also I have - Well, frankly, messieurs, let us call it junk! Foreign junk, that is understood; a little bit of everything - from the South Seas, from India, from Japan, from Borneo. No matter! Usually I have no fixed price for these things. If anyone takes an interest, I make my estimate and I ask a price, and naturally I am beaten down and in the end I take only half. And even then - I will admit it - the profit is good! 
These articles, I buy them from sailors, usually at a very low price." 
M. Zeropoulos took a breath and went on happily, delighted with himself, his importance and the easy flow of his narration. 
"This blowpipe and darts, I have had it for a long time - two years perhaps. It was in that tray there, with a cowrie necklace and a red Indian headdress and one or two crude wooden idols and some inferior jade beads. Nobody remarks it, nobody notices it, till there comes this American and asks me what it is." 
"An American?" said Fournier sharply. 
"Yes, yes, an American - unmistakably an American - not the best type of American either. The kind that knows nothing about anything and just wants a curio to take home. He is of the type that makes the fortune of bead sellers in Egypt - that buys the most preposterous scarabs ever made in Czechoslovakia. Well, very quickly I size him up. I tell him about the habits of certain tribes, the deadly poisons they use. I explain how very rare and unusual it is that anything of this kind comes into the market. He asks the price and I tell him. It is my American price, not quite so high as formerly... Alas? They have had the depression over there!... I wait for him to bargain, but straightaway he pays my price. I am stupefied. It is a pity. I might have asked more! I give him the blowpipe and the darts wrapped up in a parcel and he takes them away. It is finished. But afterwards, when I read in the paper of this astounding murder, I wonder - yes, I wonder very much. And I communicate with the police." 
"We are much obliged to you, M. Zeropoulos," said Fournier politely. 
"This blowpipe and dart - you think you would be able to identify them? 
At the moment they are in London, you understand, but an opportunity will be given you of identifying them." 
"The blowpipe was about so long -" M. Zeropoulos measured a space on his desk. "And so thick - you see, like this pen of mine. It was of a light color. There were four darts. They were long pointed thorns, slightly discolored at the tips, with a little fluff of red silk on them." 
"Red silk?" asked Poirot keenly. 
"Yes, monsieur. A cerise red, somewhat faded." 
"That is curious," said Fournier. "You are sure that there was not one of them with a black-and-yellow fluff of silk?" 
"Black and yellow? No, monsieur." 
The dealer shook his head. 
Fournier glanced at Poirot. There was a curious satisfied smile on the little man's face. 
Fournier wondered why. Was it because Zeropoulos was lying? Or was it for some other reason? 
Fournier said doubtfully: "It is very possible that this blowpipe and dart have nothing whatever to do with the case. It is just one chance in fifty, perhaps. Nevertheless, I should like as full a description as possible of this American." 
Zeropoulos spread out a pair of Oriental hands. 
"He was just an American. His voice was in his nose. He could not speak French. He was chewing the gum. He had tortoise-shell glasses. He was tall and, I think, not very old." 
"Fair or dark?" 
"I could hardly say. He had his hat on." 
"Would you know him again if you saw him?" 
Zeropoulos seemed doubtful. 
"I could not say. So many Americans come and go. He was not remarkable in any way." 
Fournier showed him the collection of snapshots, but without avail. None of them, Zeropoulos thought, was the man. 
"Probably a wild-goose chase," said Fournier as they left the shop. 
"It is possible, yes," agreed Poirot. "But I do not think so. The price tickets were of the same shape and there are one or two points of interest about the story and about M. Zeropoulos' remarks. And now, my friend, having been upon one wild-goose chase, indulge me and come upon another." 
"Where to?" 
"To the Boulevard des Capucines." 
"Let me see. That is -" 
"The office of Universal Air Lines." 
"Of course. But we have already made perfunctory inquiries there. They could tell us nothing of interest." 
Poirot tapped him kindly on the shoulder. 
"Ah, but, you see, an answer depends on the questions. You did not know what questions to ask." 
"And you do?" 
"Well, I have a certain little idea." 
He would say no more and in due course they arrived at the Boulevard des Capucines. 
The office of Universal Air Lines was quite small. A smart-looking dark man was behind a highly polished wooden counter and a boy of about fifteen was sitting at a typewriter. 
Fournier produced his credentials and the man, whose name was Jules Perrot, declared himself to be entirely at their service. 
At Poirot's suggestion, the typewriting boy was dispatched to the farthest corner. 
"It is very confidential, what we have to say," he explained. 
Jules Perrot looked pleasantly excited. 
"Yes, messieurs?" 
"It is this matter of the murder of Madame Giselle." 
"Ah, yes, I recollect. I think I have already answered some questions on the subject." 
"Precisely. Precisely. But it is necessary to have the facts very exactly. Now, Madame Giselle reserved her place - when?" 
"I think that point has already been settled. She booked her seat by telephone on the seventeenth." 
"That was for the twelve-o'clock service on the following day?" 
"Yes, monsieur." 
"But I understand from her maid that it was on the 8:45 a.m. service that madame reserved a seat?" 
"No, no; at least this is what happened. Madame's maid asked for the 8:45 service, but that service was already booked up, so we gave her a seat on the twelve o'clock instead." 
"Ah, I see. I see." 
"Yes, monsieur." 
"I see. I see. But all the same, it is curious. Decidedly, it is curious." 
The clerk looked at him inquiringly. 
"It is only that a friend of mine, deciding to go to England at a moment's notice, went to England on the 8:45 service that morning, and the plane was half empty." 
M. Perrot turned over some papers. He blew his nose. 
"Possibly, your friend has mistaken the day. The day before or the day after -" 
"Not at all. It was the day of the murder, because my friend said that if he had missed that plane, as he nearly did, he would have actually been one of the passengers in the 'Prometheus.'" 
"Ah, indeed. Yes, very curious. Of course, sometimes people do not arrive at the last minute, and then, naturally, there are vacant places. And then sometimes there are mistakes. I have to get in touch with Le Bourget; they are not always accurate." 
The mild inquiring gaze of Hercule Poirot seemed to be upsetting to Jules Perrot. He came to a stop. His eyes shifted. A little bead of perspiration came out on his forehead. 
"Two quite possible explanations," said Poirot. "But somehow, I fancy, not the true explanation. Don't you think it might perhaps be better to make a clean breast of the matter?" 
"A clean breast of what? I don't understand you." 
"Come, come. You understand me very well. This is a case of murder - murder, M. Perrot. Remember that, if you please. If you withhold information, it may be very serious for you - very serious indeed. The police will take a very grave view. You are obstructing the ends of justice." 
Jules Perrot stared at him. His mouth fell open. His hands shook. 
"Come," said Poirot. His voice was authoritative, autocratic. "We want precise information, if you please. How much were you paid, and who paid you?" 
"I meant no harm - I had no idea - I never guessed -" 
"How much? And who by?" 
"F-five thousand francs. I never saw the man before. I - this will ruin me." 
"What will ruin you is not to speak out. Come now, we know the worst. Tell us exactly how it happened." 
The perspiration rolling down his forehead, Jules Perrot spoke rapidly, in little jerks: 
"I meant no harm. Upon my honor, I meant no harm. A man came in. He said he was going to England on the following day. He wanted to negotiate a loan from - from Madame Giselle. But he wanted their meeting to be unpremeditated. He said it would give him a better chance. He said that he knew she was going to England on the following day. All I had to do was to tell her the early service was full up and to give her Seat No. 2 in the 'Prometheus.' I swear, messieurs, that I saw nothing very wrong in that. What difference could it make? - that is what I thought. Americans are like that - they do business in unconventional ways." 
"Americans?" said Fournier sharply. 
"Yes, this monsieur was an American." 
"Describe him." 
"He was tall, stooped, had gray hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a little goatee beard." 
"Did he book a seat himself?" 
"Yes, monsieur. Seat No. 1. Next to - to the one I was to keep for Madame Giselle." 
"In what name?" 
"Silas - Silas Harper." 
Poirot shook his head gently. 
"There was no one of that name traveling and no one occupied Seat No. 1." 
"I saw by the paper that there was no one of that name. That is why I thought there was no need to mention the matter. Since this man did not go by the plane -" 
Fournier shot him a cold glance. 
"You have withheld valuable information from the police," he said. 
"This is a very serious matter." 
Together, he and Poirot left the office, leaving Jules Perrot staring after them with a frightened face. 
On the pavement outside, Fournier removed his hat and bowed. 
"I salute you, M. Poirot. What gave you this idea?" 
"Two separate sentences. One this morning when I heard a man in our plane say that he had crossed on the morning of the murder in a nearly empty plane. The second sentence was that uttered by ?lise when she said that she had rung up the office of Universal Air Lines and that there was no room on the early-morning service. Now, those two statements did not agree. I remembered the steward on the 
'Prometheus' saying that he had seen Madame Giselle before on the early service; so it was clearly her custom to go by the 8:45 a.m. plane. 
"But somebody wanted her to go on the twelve o'clock - somebody who was already traveling by the 'Prometheus.' Why did the clerk say that the early service was booked up? A mistake? Or a deliberate lie? I fancied the latter. I was right." 
"Every minute this case gets more puzzling!" cried Fournier. "First we seem to be on the track of a woman. Now it is a man. This American -" 
He stopped and looked at Poirot. 
The latter nodded gently. 
"Yes, my friend," he said. "It is so easy to be an American here in Paris! A nasal voice, the chewing gum, the little goatee, the horned- rimmed spectacles - all the appurtenances of the stage American." 
He took from his pocket the page he had torn from the Sketch. 
"What are you looking at?" 
"At a countess in her bathing suit." 
"You think - But no, she is petite, charming, fragile; she could not impersonate a tall stooping American. She has been an actress, yes, but to act such a part is out of the question. No, my friend, that idea will not do." 
"I never said it would," said Hercule Poirot. 
And still he looked earnestly at the printed page.
第11节 那个美国人
第11节 那个美国人
    福尼尔和老乔治激烈地争吵着。乔治说：“那天晚上有个女人来过。你问我认识不认识，我说了，我的眼力差，即使她现在在我跟前我也认不出。我已经说过四五遍了。”
    “难得你也不知道她的高矮、年龄还有肤色。”福尼尔的话有些尖刻。
    “我不知道！我不想和警察搅在一起。夫人是飞机上被人毒死的，你们警察以为我乔治是凶手？”
    波洛走到福尼尔跟前，轻轻拍了他一下，“好了，朋友。我肚子在抱怨了，我们随便去吃点什么。”
    福尼尔看了看表说：“1点了，好吧。真是对牛弹琴……”他悻悻地看了乔治一眼。
    波洛友善地对老人一笑，“我知道那个女人不高不矮、不胖不瘦。但刚才你说长得很漂亮，特别是穿着泳装？”他把一张从杂志上撕下的插画递给乔治说：“你觉得怎么样？”
    “很漂亮，”老乔治说，“这和什么都不穿又有什么两样。”
    “哦。如今时兴的是日光浴，这样就能更多地接触阳光。”
    乔治咯咯笑起来，然后，他目送着波洛和福尼尔走向充满阳光的街道。
    吃饭的时候，波洛又拿出笔记本，“很显然，人们总是希望避警察而远之，这在任何国家都一样。”
    “这就是你的长处了。”福尼尔说，“私人侦探能弄到官方渠道不能获得的东西。
但事物的另一面是，我们有官方的纪录，有一整套的体系。”
    “因此我们需要亲密地合作。”波洛微笑道。
    福尼尔翻着笔记本，说：“你来看看这5条比较有意义。”他念道：
    “CL52。英国伯爵夫人。丈夫。
    RT362。大夫，哈利街。
    MR24。假古董。
    XVB724。英国人。挪用。
    GF45。企图谋杀。英国人。”
    “很好，朋友。”波洛说，“我们想到一块儿了。笔记本里只有这5条与飞机上的一位乘客有联系。”
    “英国伯爵夫人。丈夫。”福尼尔说，“这可能指的是霍布里夫人。我们知道，她是个赌徒，她很可能向吉塞尔借钱。‘丈夫’这个词有两种含义：一是吉塞尔夫人希望其丈夫为她还债；另一个是她抓住了霍布里夫人的什么把柄，威胁要将秘密告知其丈夫。”
    “完全正确。”波洛说，“不过我倾向于第2种可能。此外，我怀疑吉塞尔出门的头天晚上去拜访她的就是霍布里夫人。”
    “哦，那是为什么？”
    “根据看门人的表现。他坚持说什么都不记得，这有点蹊跷。霍布里夫人是个迷人的女人。还有，当我将杂志上她身着泳装的照片给他看时，我观察到他猛然吃惊了一下。
对，拜访吉塞尔的人就是霍布里夫人。”
    “她跟着吉塞尔从派尼特来到巴黎，”福尼尔说，“好像她有些绝望了。”
    “我的朋友，我相信找到了一条线索，但却是一个不恰当的人。我感到纳闷，我的线索没错，不过－－”
    “不过你并不想告诉我？”福尼尔提醒他。
    “不，我也许错了，完全错了。我不想把你也扯入泥潭。还是让我们沿着各自的思路走下去，继续看笔记本吧。”
    “MR24。假古董。”福尼尔念道，“很牵强，也许与杜邦父子有关。不过很难让你相信，他是世界知名的考古学家，并且人品极佳。”
    “这想法有趣，”波洛说，“那还是看下一个。”
    “‘XVB724、英国人。挪用。’这太模棱两可了。”
    “意义不大，”波洛同意他的看法，“谁在挪用？作家和大夫都不可能。只有赖德先生是经商的，他有可能挪用款项，或向吉赛尔借钱。最后一项‘GF45。企图谋杀。英国人’的适用范围就大多了，除了杜邦父子之外，其他人都是英国人。”他做了个手势向侍者要帐单。“下一站去哪儿，我的朋友？”
    “去巴黎警察厅。他们可能有什么新的情况。”
    “那好，我陪你去。”
    在警察厅，巴黎遇见自己以前共过事的侦探长吉勒斯先生。寒暄之后波洛说：“这案子竟在我的眼皮下发生了。乘我睡觉的功夫就把人给杀了，这对我是一种侮辱。”
    “这案子真有趣，波洛先生。吉赛尔是巴黎的名流，却又死得如此古怪。”
    “完全如此。”波洛说，“好了，我和福尼尔来看看你们弄到了什么新情况。”福尼尔忧郁的脸随之激动了。
    “的确有。一位名叫泽罗普洛斯的希腊古董商报告说，3天前他出售给凶手一支吹管和射针。我建议现在立即约见他。你也去，波洛先生？”
    “那还用说。”
    泽罗普洛斯的古玩店位于圣霍诺里街，所出售的物品有波斯陶器，廉价的印度珠宝，其他国家的丝绸和刺绣，还有埃及的廉价物品。矮胖的泽罗普洛斯先生有一双乌黑的眼睛，说话罗嗦。他欢迎警察的到来，对，他是卖过吹管和射针－－一种南美的古董。
“先生们，我专卖波斯的古玩，大名鼎鼎的杜邦先生可以作证，他常光顾我的商店。我的物品没有固定的价格，我随便出个价，别人给一半我也卖了。的确，我也赚了些钱，我的东西大都是以低价从海员哪儿买来的。”他喘了口气，似乎对自己的话很满意，然后继续说：“吹管和射针就放在这儿，有两年了。上面镶有印第安人的头饰，还有一些劣等的珠子。它一直都不起眼，直到来了那个美国人，他问我这是上面……”
    “美国人？”福尼尔敏锐地问。
    “对，是美国人，好像他并不怎么识货。我向他解释这东西的来历，说这是十分稀有的东西。他问多少钱，我给了个价。可他没有讨价便立即付了钱。我真蠢，应当再多要一些。后来我从报上看到了这个可怕的谋杀案，我觉得很奇怪。于是我就和警察联系上了。”
    “非常感谢。泽罗普洛斯先生。”福尼尔礼貌地说，“你能描述一下吹管和射针吗？”
    “吹管有这么长，”他在桌上量了一个距离，“比较粗，就像我这支钢笔，浅色。
射针有4根，尖头上染有不显眼的颜色，另一头缠着红绸。”
    “奇怪，”福尼而说，“有没有一根缠着黑黄色的绸带？”
    “黑黄色？没有。是鲜红色，不过有些褪色了。”
    福尼尔看了波洛一眼，不解地发现他面带微笑，“现在，请详细描绘一下那个美国人。”
    “他就是美国人，声音在鼻腔里打转，不会说法语，嚼着口香糖，带着玳瑁眼镜，修长的身体，不算太老。”
    “肤色呢？”
    “我说不准，他带着便帽。”
    “你能认出他吗？”福尼尔拿出一些照片，结果，泽罗普洛斯说他没有一人认识。
    “很可能又是一次徒劳的追寻。”他们一走出古董店，福尼尔说。
    “有可能，”波洛说，“但我不这样认为。价格标签是相同的，另外他的话有几处比较有趣。我们现在去环宇航空公司售票处。”
    “当然，不过我们已经去拜访过了，他们的回答并无特别之处。”
    波洛友善地拍了拍他的肩头，说：“那得看怎么样提问。”
    售票处的房间不大。福尼尔向一位叫朱尔斯•佩罗特的矮个男人亮出了证件，并说明了来意。
    “我想，就这个问题我已经回答过你们了。”佩罗特说。
    “完全正确。不过我们想详细核对一下情况。吉赛尔夫人是什么时候来登记机票的？”
    “17日用电话预定的。”
    “是第二天12点钟的飞机？”
    “对，先生。”
    “可她的仆人说她希望预定8点45分的飞机。”
    “不，不，是这样，夫人的仆人说预定8点45分的飞机，可已经满员了，我们就给她定下了12点的。”
    “奇怪了，”波洛说，“我一位朋友也打算去英国，可早班飞机只有一半的乘客。”
    佩罗特翻了翻记录本，“可能你的朋友说的不是那一天。”
    “不，就是在谋杀发生的那一天。他说假如错过了早班，他将改乘普罗米修斯航班。”
波洛盯着佩罗特，发现他双眼不停地眨动，前额也渗出了汗水。“佩罗特先生，这是一桩谋杀案，如果你隐瞒了任何真相都将对你极为不利。”
    佩罗特的嘴张开着，双手在颤抖。
    “说吧，”波洛的声音挺强硬，“他们给了你多少钱？谁给的？”
    “我不是有意的……我根本想不到……”
    “多少？是谁？”
    “5000法郎，我不认识他……这会毁了我。”
    “不说出来才会毁了你，全都说出来！”
    汗水从佩罗特的头上流了下来，“我是无意的。那个人说想去英国，去找吉赛尔夫人借钱。他说她第二天要去英国。我对他说早班飞机已经满员了，我给了吉赛尔夫人一张中班机票，座位是2号。我想，这又有什么不妥？美国人就是这样做事不讲规矩。”
    “美国人？”福尼尔连忙问。
    “嗯，个子比较高，带着眼镜，留着山羊胡子。”
    “他订座了吗？”
    “订了，吉赛尔夫人旁的1号座位。”
    “他叫什么名字？”
    “塞拉斯•哈珀。我看了报纸，那人没有上飞机。”
    福尼尔冷冷地看了他一眼，“你向警察隐瞒了情况，这是很严重的。”说完他和波洛离开了售票处。一走到街上，福尼尔脱帽向波洛鞠躬：“我向你致敬，波洛先生。你怎么会有这种想法？”
    “那天在飞机上一位乘客说早班飞机空了一半，而埃莉斯去订票时早班飞机已经满员了。这两件事无法吻合。此外，我记得乘务员说吉赛尔习惯乘坐8点45分的那班飞机。”
    “那么，我的朋友。”波洛说，“不过，在巴黎假扮成美国人那还不容易？沉重的鼻音，嚼着口香糖，留着胡子，带着眼镜－－这是典型的美国人的舞台形象。”他从口袋中拿出杂志的插画。
    “你在看什么？”
    “身着泳装的伯爵夫人。”
    “可她美貌迷人，身材苗条，不像是高大曲背的美国人。不，不可能。”
    “我可并没有说是。”波洛仍然继续看着手中的画片。
Chapter 12 At Horbury Chase
Chapter 12 At Horbury Chase
Lord Horbury stood by the sideboard and helped himself absent- mindedly to kidneys. 
Stephen Horbury was twenty-seven years of age. He had a narrow head and a long chin. He looked very much what he was - a sporting, out-of-door kind of man without anything very spectacular in the way of brains. He was kindhearted, slightly priggish, intensely loyal and invincibly obstinate. 
He took his heaped plate back to the table and began to eat. Presently he opened a newspaper, but immediately, with a frown, he cast it aside. He thrust aside his unfinished plate, drank some coffee and rose to his feet. He paused uncertainly for a minute, then, with a slight nod of the head, he left the dining room, crossed the wide hall and went upstairs. He tapped at a door and waited for a minute. From inside the room a clear high voice cried out, "Come in!" 
Lord Horbury went in. 
It was a wide beautiful bedroom facing south. Cicely Horbury was in bed - a great carved-oak Elizabethan bed. Very lovely she looked, too, in her rose-chiffon draperies, with the curling gold of her hair. A breakfast tray with the remains of orange juice and coffee on it was on a table beside her. She was opening her letters. Her maid was moving about the room. 
Any man might be excused if his breath came a little faster when confronted by so much loveliness, but the charming picture his wife presented affected Lord Horbury not at all. 
There had been a time, three years ago, when the breathtaking loveliness of his Cicely had set the young man's senses reeling. He had been madly, wildly, passionately in love. All that was over. He had been mad. He was now sane. 
Lady Horbury said in some surprise: 
"Why, Stephen?" 
He said abruptly, "I'd like to talk to you alone." 
"Madeleine," Lady Horbury spoke to her maid. "Leave all that. Get out." 
The French girl murmured: "Très bien, m'lady," shot a quick interested look out of the corner of her eye at Lord Horbury and left the room. 
Lord Horbury waited till she had shut the door, then he said: 
"I'd like to know, Cicely, just exactly what is behind this idea of coming down here?" 
Lady Horbury shrugged her slender beautiful shoulders. 
"After all, why not?" 
"Why not? It seems to me there are a good many reasons." 
His wife murmured: "Oh, reasons." 
"Yes, reasons. You'll remember that we agreed that as things were between us, it would be as well to give up this farce of living together. You were to have the town house and a generous - an extremely generous - allowance. Within certain limits, you were to go your own way. Why this sudden return?" 
Again Cicely shrugged her shoulders. 
"I thought it better." 
"You mean, I suppose, that it's money?" 
Lady Horbury said: "How I hate you! You're the meanest man alive." 
"Mean! Mean, you say, when it's because of you and your senseless extravagance that there's a mortgage on Horbury." 
"Horbury - Horbury - that's all you care for! Horses and hunting and shooting and crops and tiresome old farmers. What a life for a woman!" 
"Some women enjoy it." 
"Yes, women like Venetia Kerr, who's half a horse herself. You ought to have married a woman like that." 
Lord Horbury walked over to the window. 
"It's a little late to say that. I married you." 
"And you can't get out of it," said Cicely. Her laugh was malicious, triumphant. "You'd like to get rid of me, but you can't." 
He said, "Need we go into all this?" 
"Very much God and the old school, aren't you? Most of my friends fairly laugh their heads off when I tell them the kind of things you say." 
"They are quite welcome to do so. Shall we get back to our original subject of discussion? Your reason for coming here." 
But his wife would not follow his lead. She said: 
"You advertised in the papers that you wouldn't be responsible for my debts. Do you call that a gentlemanly thing to do?" 
"I regret having had to take that step. I warned you, you will remember. Twice I paid up. But there are limits. Your insensate passion for gambling - well, why discuss it? But I do want to know what prompted you to come down to Horbury? You've always hated the place, been bored to death here." 
Cicely Horbury, her small face sullen, said, "I thought it better just now." 
"Better just now?" He repeated the words thoughtfully. Then he asked a question sharply: "Cicely, had you been borrowing from that old French money lender?" 
"Which one? I don't know what you mean." 
"You know perfectly what I mean. I mean the woman who was murdered on the plane from Paris - the plane on which you traveled home. Had you borrowed money from her?" 
"No, of course not. What an idea!" 
"Now don't be a little fool over this, Cicely. If that woman did lend you money you'd better tell me about it. Remember, the business isn't over and finished with. The verdict at the inquest was willful murder by a person or persons unknown. The police of both countries are at work. It's only a matter of time before they come on the truth. The woman's sure to have left records of her dealings. If anything crops up to connect you with her, we should be prepared beforehand. We must have Ffoulkes' advice on the matter." Ffoulkes, Ffoulkes, Wilbraham & Ffoulkes were the family solicitors, who, for generations, had dealt with the Horbury estate. 
"Didn't I give evidence in that damned court and say I had never heard of the woman?" 
"I don't think that proves very much," said her husband dryly. "If you did have dealings with this Giselle, you can be sure the police will find it out." 
Cicely sat up angrily in bed. 
"Perhaps you think I killed her. Stood up there in that plane and puffed darts at her from a blowpipe. Of all the crazy businesses!" 
"The whole thing sounds mad," Stephen agreed thoughtfully. "But I do want you to realize your position." 
"What position? There isn't any position. You don't believe a word I say. It's damnable. And why be so anxious about me all of a sudden? A lot you care about what happens to me. You dislike me. You hate me. You'd be glad if I died tomorrow. Why pretend?" 
"Aren't you exaggerating a little? In any case, old-fashioned though you think me, I do happen to care about my family name. An out-of- date sentiment which you will probably despise. But there it is." 
Turning abruptly on his heel, he left the room. 
A pulse was beating in his temple. Thoughts followed each other rapidly through his head: 
"Dislike? Hate? Yes, that's true enough. Should I be glad if she died tomorrow? I'd feel like a man who's been let out of prison... What a queer beastly business life is! When I first saw her - in 'Do It Now' - what a child, what an adorable child she looked! So fair and so lovely... Young fool! I was mad about her - crazy. She seemed everything that was adorable and sweet. And all the time she was what she is now - vulgar, vicious, spiteful, empty-headed... I can't even see her loveliness now." 
He whistled and a spaniel came running to him, looking up at him with adoring sentimental eyes. 
He said, "Good old Betsy," and fondled the long fringed ears. 
Cramming an old fishing hat on his head, he left the house accompanied by the dog. 
This aimless saunter of his round the estate began gradually to soothe his jangled nerves. He stroked the neck of his favorite hunter, had a word with the groom, then he went to the home farm and had a chat with the farmer's wife. He was walking along a narrow lane. Betsy at his heels, when he met Venetia Kerr on her bay mare. 
Venetia looked her best upon a horse. Lord Horbury looked up at her with admiration, fondness and a queer sense of home-coming. 
He said, "Hullo, Venetia." 
"Hullo, Stephen." 
"Where've you been? Out in the five acre?" 
"Yes, she's coming along nicely, isn't she?" 
"First rate. Have you seen that two-year-old of mine I bought at Chattisley's sale?" 
They talked horses for some minutes. Then he said: 
"By the way, Cicely's here." 
"Here, at Horbury?" 
It was against Venetia's code to show surprise, but she could not quite keep the undertone of it out of her voice. 
"Yes. Turned up last night." 
There was a silence between them. Then Stephen said: 
"You were at that inquest, Venetia. How - how - er - did it go?" 
She considered a moment. 
"Well, nobody was saying very much, if you know what I mean." 
"Police weren't giving anything away?" 
"No." 
Stephen said, "Must have been rather an unpleasant business for you." 
"Well, I didn't exactly enjoy it. But it wasn't too devastating. The coroner was quite decent." 
Stephen slashed absent-mindedly at the hedge. 
"I say, Venetia, any idea - have you, I mean - as to who did it?" 
Venetia Kerr shook her head slowly. 
"No." She paused a minute, seeking how best and most tactfully to put into words what she wanted to say. She achieved it at last with a little laugh: "Anyway, it wasn't Cicely or me. That I do know. She'd have spotted me and I'd have spotted her." 
Stephen laughed too. 
"That's all right then," he said cheerfully. 
He passed it off as a joke, but she heard the relief in his voice. So he had been thinking - 
She switched her thoughts away. 
"Venetia," said Stephen, "I've known you a long time, haven't I?" 
"H'm, yes. Do you remember those awful dancing classes we used to go to as children?" 
"Do I not? I feel I can say things to you -" 
"Of course you can." 
She hesitated, then went on in a calm matter-of-fact tone: 
"It's Cicely, I suppose?" 
"Yes. Look here, Venetia. Was Cicely mixed up with this woman Giselle in any way?" 
Venetia answered slowly, "I don't know. I've been in the south of France, remember. I haven't heard the Le Pinet gossip yet." 
"What do you think?" 
"Well, candidly, I shouldn't be surprised." 
Stephen nodded thoughtfully. Venetia said gently: 
"Need it worry you? I mean, you live pretty semi-detached lives, don't you? This business is her affair, not yours." 
"As long as she's my wife it's bound to be my business too." 
"Can you - er - agree to a divorce?" 
"A trumped-up business, you mean? I doubt if she'd accept it." 
"Would you divorce her if you had the chance?" 
"If I had cause I certainly would." He spoke grimly. 
"I suppose," said Venetia thoughtfully, "she knows that." 
"Yes." 
They were both silent. Venetia thought: "She has the morals of a cat! I know that well enough. But she's careful. She's shrewd as they make 
'em." Aloud she said: "So there's nothing doing?" 
He shook his head. Then he said: 
"If I were free, Venetia, would you marry me?" 
Looking very straight between her horse's ears, Venetia said in a voice carefully devoid of emotion: 
"I suppose I would." 
Stephen! She'd always loved Stephen - always since the old days of dancing classes and cubbing and bird's nesting. And Stephen had been fond of her, but not fond enough to prevent him from falling desperately, wildly, madly in love with a clever calculating cat of a chorus girl. 
Stephen said, "We could have a marvelous life together." 
Pictures floated before his eyes - hunting, tea and muffins, the smell of wet earth and leaves, children. All the things that Cicely could never share with him, that Cicely would never give him. A kind of mist came over his eyes. Then he heard Venetia speaking, still in that flat, emotionless voice: 
"Stephen, if you care, what about it? If we went off together. Cicely would have to divorce you." 
He interrupted her fiercely: 
"Do you think I'd let you do a thing like that?" 
"I shouldn't care." 
"I should." 
He spoke with finality. 
Venetia thought. "That's that. It's a pity, really. He's hopelessly prejudiced, but rather a dear. I wouldn't like him to be different." 
Aloud she said: "Well, Stephen, I'll be getting along." 
She touched her horse gently with her heel. As she turned to wave a good-by to Stephen, their eyes met, and in that glance was all the feeling that their careful words had avoided. 
As she rounded the corner of the lane, Venetia dropped her whip. A man walking picked it up and returned it to her with an exaggerated bow. 
"A foreigner," she thought as she thanked him. "I seem to remember his face." Half of her mind searched through the summer days at Juan les Pins while the other half thought of Stephen. 
Only just as she reached home did memory suddenly pull her half- dreaming brain up with a jerk: 
"The little man who gave me his seat in the aeroplane. They said at the inquest he was a detective." 
And hard on that came another thought: 
"What is he doing down here?"
第12节 跟踪霍布里
第12节 跟踪霍布里

    斯蒂芬.霍布里27岁，长脸长下巴，精力充沛，但看起来大脑并不发达，他心地善良，有些自命不凡，并且固执。他将早餐盘端到桌上准备就餐，当翻开桌上的报纸时，猛然皱了一下眉头。他摇摇头起身上了楼。他敲了敲门，里面一个清脆的声音说：“进来！”他走了进去。
    这间宽敞华丽的卧室面对南方，西西里.霍布里坐在床上，面前放着一个早餐食物架。在这可爱的气氛当中，任何男人都将为之神魂颠倒，但对霍布里爵士来说，他妻子已经失去了昔日的风采。3年前，娇柔的西西里使他疯狂地坠入爱河。如今一切已经过去，他变得稳健面而有理智了。
    霍布里夫的吃惊地说：“什么事，斯蒂芬。”
    “西西里，这到底是怎么回事儿？我们已经约定没有必要这样生活下去，你将有自己的房子种生活费用，非常可观的一笔费用。你干嘛又突然回来了？”
    “我觉得这样更好。”西西里耸耸肩，“对，你喜欢的女人是克尔，你应当种她结婚。”
    “现在为时已晚，因为我和你结了婚。”爵士说：“可是你讨厌这个地方，讨厌这里的生活，那你干嘛又回到霍布里家族来？”
    西西里板着脸说，“刚才我想过了，还是回来的好。”
    “刚才？”他想了想然后又说：“西西里，你从那个法国女人那儿借了钱吗？就是那个在飞机上被谋杀的女人。”
    “没有，当然没有。”
    “别装傻了，西西里。假如你借了钱，最好告诉我。警察迟早会抓住凶犯的。如果你和这件事有什么牵连，我们最好事先有所准备，然后找家庭律师福克斯来帮忙处理。”
    西西里气愤地从床上撑起来说：“也许你以为我是凶手，可我从不知道还有那种杀人的玩意儿。我知道你恨我，巴不得我明天就去死。”
    “你说得夸张了，我所担心的是我们家族的名声。”说完他转身离开了房间。头上的脉搏在跳动，他无法平静下来。她从前是多么温柔可爱，可现在变得庸俗、堕落、邪恶。他吹了一声口哨。一只卷毛狗冲着他摇头摆尾跪了过来，他们一前一后走出了院宅。他毫无目的地走着，心里很乱。在一条窄道上他遇见了骑着栗色马的维尼夏.克尔小姐。
    “你好，维尼夏。”
    “你好，斯蒂芬。”他们寒暄了一阵子。
    “西西里昨晚又回来了。”斯蒂芬说，他俩沉默了片刻。“维尼夏，你知不知道飞机上那件事是谁干的？”
    “不知道，”她说，“不是西西里也不是我。她就在我对面，我们一直在注意着对方。”
    “维尼夏，”斯蒂芬说，“我认识你已经很久了，你能不能告诉我西西里究竟与这个吉塞尔有没有什么瓜葛？”这时他发现骑在马上的维尼夏十分迷人，风度翩翩。
      “不知道。不过说实话，即使有我也不会吃惊。你干嘛这么担心？你们已经处于半分居状态，那是她的事。”
    “只要她名义上还是我的妻子，就不能说与我没关系。”
    “那么，你－－你同意离婚了吗？”
    “只怕她不肯接受。”他们沉默了一会，他又说：“假如我离了婚，维尼夏，你愿意嫁给我吗？”
    “人想会的。”她低头看着马眼说。斯蒂芬，她是多么地爱他，他们青梅竹马，可后来那个巧于心计的合唱队姑娘使他着了魔。“斯蒂芬，我有个主意，我俩私奔，西西里准会同意离婚的。”
    他猛然打断她，“我不让你这么做，我不能败坏你的名声。”
    维尼夏想：他有偏见，有时固执，但我会永远爱他。“好了，斯蒂芬，我得走了。”她轻蹬了一下马肚，挥手远去。她骑马走了一会儿，无意中鞭子落在了地上。林中走出一个男人拾起鞭子递给她，并十分夸张地向她鞠了一大躬。
    “那个外国人，飞机上是他给我让的座，他们说他是侦探。他到这儿干嘛来了？”
Chapter 13 At Antoine’s
Chapter 13 At Antoine’s

Jane presented herself at Antoine's on the morning after the inquest with some trepidation of spirit. 
The person who was usually regarded as M. Antoine himself, and whose real name was Andrew Leech, greeted her with an ominous frown. 
It was by now second nature to him to speak in broken English once within the portals of Bruton Street. 
He upbraided Jane as a complete imbecile. Why did she wish to travel by air, anyway? What an idea! Her escapade would do his establishment infinite harm. Having vented his spleen to the full, Jane was permitted to escape, receiving as she did so a large-sized wink from her friend, Gladys. 
Gladys was an ethereal blonde with a haughty demeanor and a faint, far-away professional voice. In private, her voice was hoarse and jocular. 
"Don't you worry, dear," she said to Jane. "The old brute's sitting on the fence watching which way the cat will jump. And it's my belief it isn't going to jump the way he thinks it is. Ta-ta, dearie, here's my old devil coming in, damn her eyes. I suppose she'll be in seventeen tantrums, as usual. I hope she hasn't brought that lap dog with her." 
A moment later Gladys' voice could be heard with its faint far-away notes: 
"Good morning, madam. Not brought your sweet little Pekingese with you? Shall we get on with the shampoo, and then we'll be all ready for M. Henri." 
Jane had just entered the adjoining cubicle, where a henna-haired woman was sitting waiting, examining her face in the glass and saying to a friend: 
"Darling, my face is really too frightful this morning; it really is." 
The friend, who, in a bored manner, was turning over the pages of a three weeks' old Sketch, replied uninterestediy: 
"Do you think so, my sweet? It seems to me much the same as usual." 
On the entrance of Jane, the bored friend stopped her languid survey of the Sketch and subjected Jane to a piercing stare instead. 
Then she said, "It is, darling. I'm sure of it." 
"Good morning, madam," said Jane, with that airy brightness expected of her and which she could now produce quite mechanically and without any effort whatsoever. "It's quite a long time since we've seen you here. I expect you've been abroad." 
"Antibes," said the henna-haired woman, who in her turn was staring at Jane with the frankest interest. 
"How lovely," said Jane with false enthusiasm. "Let me see. Is it a shampoo and set, or are you having a tint today?" 
Momentarily diverted from her scrutiny, the henna-haired woman leaned toward and examined her hair attentively. 
"I think I could go another week. Heavens, what a fright I look!" 
The friend said, "Well, darling, what can you expect at this time of the morning?" 
Jane said: "Ah, wait until M. Georges has finished with you." 
"Tell me -" the woman resumed her stare - "are you the girl who gave evidence at the inquest yesterday? The girl who was in the aeroplane?" 
"Yes, madam." 
"How too terribly thrilling! Tell me about it." 
Jane did her best to please: 
"Well, madam, it was all rather dreadful, really." She plunged into narration, answering questions as they came. What had the old woman looked like? Was it true that there were two French detectives aboard and that the whole thing was mixed up with the French government scandals? Was Lady Horbury on board? Was she really as good- looking as everyone said? Who did she, Jane, think had actually done the murder? They said the whole thing was being hushed up for government reasons, and so on and so on. 
This first ordeal was only a forerunner of many others, all on the same lines. Everyone wanted to be done by "the girl who was on the plane." Everyone was able to say to her friends, "My dear, positively too marvelous. The girl at my hairdresser's is the girl... Yes, I should go there if I were you; they do your hair very well... Jeanne, her name is - rather a little thing - big eyes. She'll tell you all about it if you ask her nicely." 
By the end of the week Jane felt her nerves giving way under the strain. Sometimes she felt that if she had to go through the recital once again she would scream or attack her questioner with the dryer. 
However, in the end she hit upon a better way of relieving her feelings. She approached M. Antoine and boldly demanded a raise of salary. 
"You ask that? You have the impudence? When it is only out of kindness of heart that I keep you here, after you have been mixed up in a murder case. Many men less kind-hearted than I would have dismissed you immediately." 
"That's nonsense," said Jane coolly. "I'm a draw in this place, and you know it. If you want me to go, I'll go. I'll easily get what I want from Henri's or the Maison Richet." 
"And who is to know you have gone there? Of what importance are you anyway?" 
"I met one or two reporters at that inquest," said Jane. "One of them would give my change of establishment any publicity needed." 
Because he feared that this was indeed so, grumblingly M. Antoine agreed to Jane's demands. Gladys applauded her friend heartily. 
"Good for you, dear," she said. "Iky Andrew was no match for you that time. If a girl couldn't fend for herself a bit, I don't know where we'd all be. Grit, dear, that's what you've got, and I admire you for it." 
"I can fight for my own hand all right," said Jane, her small chin lifting itself pugnaciously. "I've had to all my life." 
"Hard lines, dear," said Gladys. "But keep your end up with Iky Andrew. He likes you all the better for it, really. Meekness doesn't pay in this life, but I don't think we're either of us troubled by too much of that." 
Thereafter Jane's narrative, repeated daily with little variation, sank into the equivalent of a part played on the stage. 
The promised dinner and theater with Norman Gale had duly come off. It was one of those enchanting evenings when every word and confidence exchanged seemed to reveal a bond of sympathy and shared tastes. 
They liked dogs and disliked cats. They both hated oysters and loved smoked salmon. They liked Greta Garbo and disliked Katharine Hepburn. They didn't like fat women and admired really jet-black hair. They disliked very red nails. They disliked loud voices, and noisy restaurants. They preferred busses to tubes. 
It seemed almost miraculous that two people should have so many points of agreement. 
One day at Antoine's, opening her bag, Jane let a letter from Norman fall out. As she picked it up with a slightly heightened color, Gladys pounced upon her: 
"Who's your boy friend, dear?" 
"I don't know what you mean," retorted Jane, her color rising. 
"Don't tell me! I know that letter isn't from your mother's great-uncle. I wasn't born yesterday. Who is he, Jane?" 
"It's someone - a man - that I met at Le Pinet. He's a dentist." 
"A dentist," said Gladys with lively distaste. "I suppose he's got very white teeth and a smile." 
Jane was forced to admit that this was indeed the case. 
"He's got a very brown face and very blue eyes." 
"Anyone can have a brown face," said Gladys. "It may be the seaside or it may be out of a bottle - two and eleven pence at the chemist's. Handsome Men are Slightly Bronzed. The eyes sound all right. But a dentist! Why, if he was going to kiss you, you'd feel he was going to say, 'Open a little wider, please.'" 
"Don't be an idiot, Gladys." 
"You needn't be so touchy, my dear. I see you've got it badly... Yes, Mr Henry, I'm just coming... Drat Henry. Thinks he's God Almighty, the way he orders us girls about!" 
The letter had been to suggest dinner on Saturday evening. At lunchtime on Saturday, when Jane received her augmented pay, she felt full of high spirits. 
"And to think," said Jane to herself, "that I was worrying so that day coming over in the aeroplane. Everything's turned out beautifully. Life is really too marvelous." 
So full of exuberance did she feel that she decided to be extravagant and lunch at the Corner House and enjoy the accompaniment of music to her food. 
She seated herself at a table for four where there were already a middle-aged woman and a young man sitting. The middle-aged woman 
was just finishing her lunch. Presently she called for her bill, picked up a large collection of parcels and departed. 
Jane, as was her custom, read a book as she ate. Looking up as she turned a page she noticed the young man opposite her staring at her very intently, and at the same moment realized that his face was vaguely familiar to her. 
Just as she made these discoveries, the young man caught her eye and bowed. 
"Excuse me, mademoiselle. You do not recognize me?" 
Jane looked at him more attentively. He had a fair boyish-looking face, attractive more by reason of its extreme mobility than because of any actual claim to good looks. 
"We have not been introduced, it is true," went on the young man. 
"Unless you call murder an introduction and the fact that we both gave evidence in the coroner's court." 
"Of course," said Jane. "How stupid of me! I thought I knew your face. You are -" 
"Jean Dupont," said the man, and gave a funny, rather engaging little bow. 
A remembrance flashed into Jane's mind of a dictum of Gladys', expressed perhaps without undue delicacy: 
"If there's one fellow after you, there's sure to be another. Seems to be a law of Nature. Sometimes it's three or four." 
Now, Jane had always led an austere hard-working life - rather like the description, after the disappearance, of girls who were missing - "She was a bright cheerful girl, with no men friends," and so on. Jane had been "a bright cheerful girl, with no men friends." Now it seemed that men friends were rolling up all round. There was no doubt about it; Jean Dupont's face as he leaned across the table held more than mere interested politeness. He was pleased to be sitting opposite Jane. He was more than pleased, he was delighted. 
Jane thought to herself, with a touch of misgiving: 
"He's French, though. You've got to look out with the French; they always say so." 
"You're still in England, then," said Jane, and silently cursed herself for the extreme inanity of her remark. 
"Yes. My father has been to Edinburgh to give a lecture there, and we have stayed with friends also. But now - tomorrow - we return to France." 
"I see." 
"The police, they have not made an arrest yet?" said Jean Dupont. 
"No. There's not even been anything about it in the papers lately. Perhaps they've given it up." 
Jean Dupont shook his head. 
"No, no, they will not have given it up. They work silently -" he made an expressive gesture - "in the dark." 
"Don't," said Jane uneasily. "You give me the creeps." 
"Yes, it is not a very nice feeling - to have been so close when a murder was committed." He added: "And I was closer than you were. I was very close indeed. Sometimes I do not like to think of that." 
"Who do you think did it?" asked Jane. "I've wondered and wondered." 
Jean Dupont shrugged his shoulders. 
"It was not I. She was far too ugly!" 
"Well," said Jane, "I suppose you would rather kill an ugly woman than a good-looking one?" 
"Not at all. If a woman is good-looking, you are fond of her; she treats you badly; she makes you jealous, mad with jealousy. 'Good,' you say, 
'I will kill her. It will be a satisfaction.'" 
"And is it a satisfaction?" 
"That, mademoiselle, I do not know. Because I have not yet tried." He laughed, then shook his head. "But an ugly old woman like Giselle - who would want to bother to kill her?" 
"Well, that's one way of looking at it," said Jane. She frowned. "It seems rather terrible, somehow, to think that perhaps she was young and pretty once." 
"I know, I know." He became suddenly grave. "It is the great tragedy of life - that women grow old." 
"You seem to think a lot about women and their looks," said Jane. 
"Naturally. It is the most interesting subject possible. That seems strange to you because you are English. An Englishman thinks first of his work - his job, he calls it - and then of his sport, and last - a good way last - of his wife. Yes, yes, it is really so. Why, imagine, in a little hotel in Syria was an Englishman whose wife had been taken ill. He himself had to be somewhere in Iraq by a certain date. Eh bien, would you believe it, he left his wife and went on so as to be on duty in time? 
And both he and his wife thought that quite natural; they thought him noble, unselfish. But the doctor, who was not English, thought him a barbarian. A wife, a human being - that should come first. To do one's job - that is something much less important." 
"I don't know," said Jane. "One's work has to come first, I suppose." 
"But why? You see, you, too, have the same point of view. By doing one's work one obtains money; by indulging and looking after a woman one spends it; so the last is much more noble and ideal than the first." 
Jane laughed. 
"Oh, well," she said, "I think I'd rather be regarded as a mere luxury and self-indulgence than be regarded sternly as a first duty. I'd rather a man felt that he was enjoying himself looking after me than that he should feel I was a duty to be attended to." 
"No one, mademoiselle, would be likely to feel that with you." 
Jane blushed slightly at the earnestness of the young man's tone. He went on talking quickly: 
"I have only been in England once before. It was very interesting to me the other day at the - inquest, you call it? - to study three young and charming women, all so different from one another." 
"What did you think of us all?" asked Jane, amused. 
"That Lady Horbury - bah, I know her type well. It is very exotic, very, very expensive - you see it sitting round the baccarat table - the soft face, the hard expression - and you know - you know so well what it will be like in, say, fifteen years. She lives for sensation, that one. For high play, perhaps for drugs. Au fond, she is uninteresting!" 
"And Miss Kerr?" 
"Ah, she is very, very English. She is the kind that any shopkeeper on the Riviera will give credit to - they are very discerning, our shopkeepers. Her clothes are very well cut, but rather like a man's. She walks about as though she owns the earth; she is not conceited about it; she is just an Englishwoman. She knows which department of England different people come from. It is true; I have heard ones like her in Egypt. 'What? The Etceteras are here? The Yorkshire Etceteras? 
Oh, the Shropshire Etceteras.'" 
His mimicry was good. Jane laughed at the drawling, well-bred tones. 
"And then, me," she said. 
"And then you. And I say to myself, 'How nice, how very nice it would be if I were to see her again one day.' And here I am sitting opposite you. The gods arrange things very well sometimes." 
Jane said: "You're an archaeologist, aren't you? You dig up things." 
And she listened with keen attention while Jean Dupont talked of his work. 
Jane gave a little sigh at last. 
"You've been in so many countries. You've seen so much. It all sounds so fascinating. And I shall never go anywhere or see anything." 
"You would like that? To go abroad? To see wild parts of the earth? 
You would not be able to get your hair waved, remember." 
"It waves by itself," said Jane, laughing. 
She looked up at the clock and hastily summoned the waitress for her bill. 
Jean Dupont said with a little embarrassment: 
"Mademoiselle, I wonder if you would permit - as I have told you, I return to France tomorrow - if you would dine with me tonight." 
"I'm so sorry. I can't. I'm dining with someone." 
"Ah! I am sorry - very sorry. You will come again to Paris, soon?" 
"I don't expect so." 
"And me, I do not know when I shall be in London again! It is sad!" 
He stood a moment, holding Jane's hand in his. 
"I shall hope to see you again, very much," he said, and sounded as though he meant it.
第13节 安托万美发店
第13节 安托万美发店

    出庭作证的第二天一大早，简心神不定地来到安万美发厅。安托万先生的真名是安德鲁.利奇，他向她皱了皱眉。他无法理解她为什么要乘飞机旅行，并从那引人注目的谋杀案中安然脱身。她的金发朋友格拉迪斯在远处向她挤眼，用手指了指身边一位前来做头发的棕发女郎。简走到格拉迪跟前，听她说道：“亲爱的，别理他，快去招呼顾客。”
    “您好，夫人。很久不见了。您今天染发？”
    手拿《随笔》杂志的棕发女郎说：“我想下周再说。”她猛然放下手中的杂志，“你就是昨天出庭的那姑娘？太可怕了。给我说说。”
    “是夫人，真的挺可怕。”她开始讲述起来，并且还得回答没完没了的问题。这下一发不可收拾，所有的顾客都希望让“那个飞机上的姑娘”给他们做头发。简一遍又一遍地重复叙述，她受不了了，来到安托万的办公室要求增加报酬。
    “你和谋杀案有牵连，我让你留下来都算不错了。”
    “顾客都是冲着我来的。亨利美发厅还表示立即聘我。两位记者打算对我采访报道。”
    安托万沉默了，然后点头同意了简的请求。格兰迪斯由衷地为朋友感到自豪，“安德鲁终于认输了，我钦佩你的胆识。”
    于是，简的叙述日复一日地重复着，没有一点变化，好像在舞台上扮演的角色。一天晚上，诺曼.盖尔邀请她吃饭，他们谈得挺投机，并且发现拥有许多共同的爱好。又过了几天，在美发厅，简开手提包时，无意中将诺曼.盖尔的一封信落在了地上。格兰迪斯凑了过来，“你男朋友的？”
    简的脸在些泛红了，“不是。我在派尼特认识的一位牙科大夫。”
    “牙科大夫？他的牙一定挺白。他想吻你的时候准会说：‘箐再张大一点’。”
    “别逗我了，格兰迪斯。”这封信邀请简星期六共进晚餐。这天中午，简拿到了增加的工资，她的情绪可好了。这天中午，她换好装，来到一家餐厅准备好好享用一顿。她在桌旁坐定后要了菜饭，然后拿出一本书准备翻阅。她用眼角向四周看了看，发现有一个年青人微笑着向他走来。
    “还认识我吗？飞机上的谋杀案算是自我介绍。”
    “哦，琼.杜邦。”简想，他是法国人，人们说得当心那些法国人。“你还在英国？”
    “对。不过，我明天就回法国。警察抓到凶手了吗？”
    “没有。报上也没有什么新的消息。也许他们已经罢手了。这件事我一想来就毛骨悚然。”
    “我也一样，不过那种丑陋的女人死了也不足为惜。杀死她，也算是一种满足吧。”
    “满足？”
    “小姐，”他笑了起来，“随便说说，我又没试过。咱们换个话题吧。你们英国人工作第一，然后是娱乐，最后是妻子。可妻子是人，应当放在首要的位置。”
    “我就喜欢那种把照顾妻子当成乐事的男人，把我看作是他的奢侈品。”
    “小姐，你这种想法我可不敢恭维了。不过，说实话，今天我有幸坐在你面前和你说话，那是上苍的安排。”
    “你是考古学家？挖什么东西的？”简说。她似乎很专注地听着他谈论自己工作，有许多事情她似懂非懂。琼.杜邦最后说：“小姐，不知您是否介意……我明天就回法国了，我想请你今晚吃饭。”
    “对不起，今晚我已经约了人。”
    “哦，对不起。你会再来巴黎吗？”
    “还没有这个打算。”
    “我……我不知道什么时候再来伦敦。”他站起身，握着简的手说：“我非常希望能够再次见到你。”
    简望着他远去的身影，叹了一口气。她抬头看了看钟，然后向侍者要来帐单。
Chapter 14 At Muswell Hill
Chapter 14 At Muswell Hill

At about the time that Jane was leaving Antoine's, Norman Gale was saying in a hearty professional tone: 
"Just a little tender, I'm afraid. Tell me if I hurt you." 
His expert hand guided the electric drill. 
"There. That's all over... Miss Ross." 
Miss Ross was immediately at his elbow, stirring a minute white concoction on a slab. 
Norman Gale completed his filling and said: 
"Let me see, it's next Tuesday you're coming for those others?" 
His patient, rinsing her mouth ardently, burst into a fluent explanation: She was going away - so sorry - would have to cancel the next appointment. Yes, she would let him know when she got back. 
And she escaped hurriedly from the room. 
"Well," said Gale, "that's all for today." 
Miss Ross said: "Lady Higginson rang up to say she must give up her appointment next week. She wouldn't make another. Oh, and Colonel Blunt can't come on Thursday." 
Norman Gale nodded. His face hardened. 
Every day was the same. People ringing up. Canceled appointments. All varieties of excuses - going away, going abroad, got a cold, may not be here. 
It didn't matter what reason they gave. The real reason Norman had just seen quite unmistakably in his last patient's eye as he reached for the drill. A look of sudden panic. 
He could have written down the woman's thoughts on paper: 
"Oh, dear. Of course, he was in that aeroplane when that woman was murdered... I wonder... You do hear of people going off their heads and doing the most senseless crimes. It really isn't safe. The man might be a homicidal lunatic. They look the same as other people, I've always heard. I believe I always felt there was rather a peculiar look in his eye." 
"Well," said Gale, "it looks like being a quiet week next week. Miss Ross." 
"Yes, a lot of people have dropped out. Oh, well, you can do with a rest. You worked so hard earlier in the summer." 
"It doesn't look as though I were going to have a chance of working very hard in the autumn, does it?" 
Miss Ross did not reply. She was saved from having to do so by the telephone ringing. She went out of the room to answer it. 
Norman dropped some instruments into the sterilizer, thinking hard. 
"Let's see how we stand. No beating about the bush. This business has about done for me professionally. Funny. It's done well for Jane. People come on purpose to gape at her. Come to think of it, that's what's wrong here. They have to gape at me, and they don't like it! 
Nasty, helpless feeling you have in a dentist's chair. If the dentist were to run amuck - 
"What a strange business murder is! You'd think it was a perfectly straight-forward issue, and it isn't. It affects all sorts of queer things you'd never think of... Come back to facts. As a dentist, I seem to be about done for... What would happen, I wonder, if they arrested the Horbury woman? Would my patients come trooping back? Hard to say. Once the rot's set in... Oh, well, what does it matter? I don't care. Yes, I do, because of Jane... Jane's adorable. I want her. And I can't have her yet... A damnable nuisance." 
He smiled. 
"I feel it's going to be all right. She cares. She'll wait... Damn it, I shall go to Canada - yes, that's it - and make money there." 
He laughed to himself. 
Miss Ross came back into the room. 
"That was Mrs Lorrie. She's sorry -" 
"-but she may be going to Timbuctoo," finished Norman. "Vive les rats! You'd better look out for another post, Miss Ross. This seems to be a sinking ship." 
"Oh, Mr Gale, I shouldn't think of deserting you." 
"Good girl. You're not a rat, anyway. But seriously, I mean it. If something doesn't happen to clear up this mess, I'm done for." 
"Something ought to be done about it!" said Miss Ross with energy. "I think the police are disgraceful. They're not trying." 
Norman laughed. 
"I expect they're trying all right." 
"Somebody ought to do something." 
"Quite right. I've rather thought of trying to do something myself; though I don't quite know what." 
"Oh, Mr Gale, I should. You're so clever." 
"I'm a hero to that girl all right," thought Norman Gale. "She'd like to help me in my sleuth stuff, but I've got another partner in view." 
It was that same evening that he dined with Jane. 
Half unconsciously he pretended to be in very high spirits, but Jane was too astute to be deceived. She noted his sudden moments of absent-mindedness, the little frown that showed between his brows, the sudden strained line of his mouth. 
She said at last: 
"Norman, are things going badly?" 
He shot a quick glance at her, then looked away. 
"Well, not too frightfully well. It's a bad time of year." 
"Don't be idiotic," said Jane sharply. 
"Jane!" 
"I mean it. Don't you think I can see that you're worried to death?" 
"I'm not worried to death. I'm just annoyed." 
"You mean people fighting shy -" 
"Of having their teeth attended to by a possible murderer. Yes." 
"How cruelly unfair"" 
"It is, rather. Because, frankly, Jane, I'm a jolly good dentist. And I'm not a murderer." 
"It's wicked. Somebody ought to do something." 
"That's what my secretary, Miss Ross, said this morning." 
"What's she like?" 
"Miss Ross?" 
"Yes." 
"Oh, I don't know. Big, lots of bones, nose rather like a rocking horse, frightfully competent." 
"She sounds quite nice," said Jane graciously. 
Norman rightly took this as a tribute to his diplomacy. Miss Ross' 
bones were not really quite as formidable as stated and she had an extremely attractive head of red hair, but he felt, and rightly, that it was just as well not to dwell on the latter point to Jane. 
"I'd like to do southing," he said. "If I was a young man in a book, I'd find a clue or I'd shadow somebody." 
Jane tugged suddenly at his sleeve. 
"Look, there's Mr Clancy - you know, the author. Siting over there by the wall by himself. We might shadow him." 
"But we were going to the flicks!" 
"Never mind the flicks. I feel somehow this might be meant. You said you wanted to shadow somebody and here's somebody to shadow. You never know. We might find out something." 
Jane's enthusiasm was infectious. Norman fell in with the plan readily enough. 
"As you say, one never knows," he said. "Whereabouts has he got to in his dinner? I can't see properly without turning my head, and I don't want to stare." 
"He's about level with us," said Jane. "We'd better hurry a bit and get ahead, and then we can pay the bill and be ready to leave when he does." 
They adopted this plan. When at last little Mr Clancy rose and passed out into Dean Street, Norman and Jane were fairly close on his heels. 
"In case he takes a taxi," Jane explained. 
But Mr Clancy did not take a taxi. Carrying an overcoat over one arm, and occasionally allowing it to trail on the ground, he ambled gently through the London streets. His progress was somewhat erratic. Sometimes he moved forward at a brisk trot; sometimes he slowed down till he almost came to a stop. Once, on the very brink of crossing a road, he did come to a standstill, standing there with one foot hanging out over the curb and looking exactly like a slow-motion picture. 
His direction, too, was erratic. Once he actually took so many right- angle turns that he traversed the same streets twice over. 
Jane felt her spirits rise. 
"You see?" she said excitedly. "He's afraid of being followed. He's trying to put us off the scent." 
"Do you think so?" 
"Of course. Nobody would go round in circles, otherwise." 
"Oh!" 
They had turned a corner rather quickly and had almost cannoned into their quarry. He was standing staring up at a butcher's shop. The shop itself was naturally closed, but it seemed to be something about the level of the first floor that was riveting Mr Clancy's attention. 
He said aloud: 
"Perfect. The very thing. What a piece of luck!" 
He took out a little book and wrote something down very carefully. Then he started off again at a brisk pace, humming a little tune. 
He was now heading definitely for Bloomsbury. Sometimes, when he turned his head, the two behind could see his lips moving. 
"There is something up," said Jane. "He's in great distress of mind. He's talking to himself and he doesn't know it." 
As he waited to cross by some traffic lights, Norman and Jane drew abreast. 
It was quite true: Mr Clancy was talking to himself. His face looked white and strained. Norman and Jane caught a few muttered words: 
"Why doesn't she speak? Why? There must be a reason." 
The lights went green. As they reached the opposite pavement, Mr Clancy said: 
"I see now. Of course. That's why she's got to be silenced!" 
Jane pinched Norman ferociously. 
Mr Clancy set off at a great pace now. The overcoat dragged hopelessly. With great strides the little author covered the ground, apparently oblivious of the two people on his track. 
Finally, with disconcerting abruptness, he stopped at a house, opened the door with a key and went in. 
Norman and Jane looked at each other. 
"It's his own house," said Norman. "Forty-seven Cardington Square. That's the address he gave at the inquest." 
"Oh, well," said Jane. "Perhaps he'll come out again by and by. And anyway, we have heard something. Somebody - a woman - is going to be silenced. And some other woman won't speak. Oh, dear, it sounds dreadfully like a detective story." 
A voice came out of the darkness. 
"Good evening," it said. 
The owner of the voice stepped forward. A pair of magnificent mustaches showed in the lamplight. 
"Eh bien," said Hercule Poirot. "A fine evening for the chase, is it not?"
第14节 莫斯威尔·希尔
第14节 莫斯威尔•希尔

    就在简正经历一段走运的日子的同时，诺曼.盖尔的业务却出现了危机。每天都有病人打来电话，取消他们的预约就诊，有各式各样的借口－－出门了，出国了，害了感冒，也许短期内不在英国……
    眼前这位病人罗斯小姐说：“希金斯夫人打让我转告你，她一定得取消下周的预约。哦，还有，布朗特上校说他星期四不能来。”
    诺曼板着脸，点点头。他放下手中的器械，陷入了深思。当时我的确在飞机上，但这并不是我的错，看来我的职业生涯要给毁了。奇怪的是，简却像中了彩一样，而我的病人都退缩了。那又有什么关系？因为我认识了简，她是多么可爱……
    那天晚上与她吃饭的时候，他一直设法打起精神，但简太敏锐了，她终于说：“你好像有心事？”
    “对。那件谋杀案把我的病人都吓跑了。我是牙科大夫，不是凶手。”
    “真是太不公平了。”
    “说实话，假如我弄到了什么线索，我一定自己去跟踪调查。”诺曼说。
    “你看，那是克兰西先生，一个人坐在那儿。我们不妨去跟踪他。”诺曼愉快地接受了简的建议。他们静静等待着。
    终于，克兰西先生起身出了餐厅，诺曼和简紧随其后。克兰西没有乘车，手上挎着外套，无目的地在伦敦的街头逛悠，每到街口他就转弯，结果每条街他都走了至少两遍。他来到一间肉铺前，朝里面望了片刻，然后拿出小本子写些什么。有时，他无意中回过头来，后面跟踪的诺曼和简便会看见他的嘴唇在动，好像是自言自语什么。然后，他迈开大步走着，在一幢房子前停下。他拿出钥匙开病房走了进去。
    诺曼和简对视了一下，简说：“卡丁顿广场57号，这是作证时他说的地址。”
    “晚上好。”一个声音从黑暗中冒出来，“好一出夜色跟踪！”是赫邱里.波洛。
Chapter 15 In Bloomsbury
Chapter 15 In Bloomsbury

Of the two startled young people, it was Norman Gale who recovered himself first. 
"Of course," he said. "It's Monsieur - Monsieur Poirot. Are you still trying to clear your character, M. Poirot?" 
"Ah, you remember our little conversation? And it is the poor Mr Clancy you suspect?" 
"So do you," said Jane acutely, "or you wouldn't be here." 
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. 
"Have you ever thought about murder, mademoiselle? Thought about it, I mean, in the abstract - cold-bloodedly and dispassionately?" 
"I don't think I've ever thought about it at all until just lately," said Jane. 
Hercule Poirot nodded. 
"Yes, you think about it now because a murder has touched you personally. But me, I have dealt with crime for many years now. I have my own way of regarding things. What should you say the most important thing was to bear in mind when you are trying to solve a murder?" 
"Finding the murderer," said Jane. 
Norman Gale said: "Justice." 
Poirot shook his head. 
"There are more important things than finding the murderer. And justice is a fine word, but it is sometimes difficult to say exactly what one means by it. In my opinion, the important thing is to clear the innocent." 
"Oh, naturally," said Jane. "That goes without saying. If anyone is falsely accused -" 
"Not even that. There may be no accusation. But until one person is proved guilty beyond any possible doubt, everyone else who is associated with the crime is liable to suffer in varying degrees." 
Norman Gale said with emphasis: 
"How true that is." 
Jane said: 
"Don't we know it!" 
Poirot looked from one to the other. 
"I see. Already you have been finding that out for yourselves." 
He became suddenly brisk: 
"Come now, I have affairs to see to. Since our aims are the same, we three, let us combine together? I am about to call upon our ingenious friend, Mr Clancy. I would suggest that mademoiselle accompanies me in the guise of my secretary. Here, mademoiselle, is a notebook and a pencil for the shorthand." 
"I can't write shorthand," gasped Jane. 
"But naturally not. But you have the quick wits, the intelligence. You can make plausible signs in pencil in the book, can you not? Good. As for Mr Gale, I suggest that he meets us in, say, an hour's time. Shall we say upstairs at Monseigneur's? Bon! We will compare notes then." 
And forthwith he advanced to the bell and pressed it. 
Slightly dazed, Jane followed him, clutching the notebook. 
Gale opened his mouth as though to protest, then seemed to think better of it. 
"Right," he said. "In an hour. At Monseigneur's." 
The door was opened by a rather forbidding-looking elderly woman attired in severe black. 
Poirot said. "Mr Clancy?" 
She drew back and Poirot and Jane entered. 
"What name, sir?" 
"Mr Hercule Poirot." 
The severe woman led them upstairs and into a room on the first floor. 
"Mr Air Kule Prott," she announced. 
Poirot realized at once the force of Mr Clancy's announcement at Croydon to the effect that he was not a tidy man. The room, a long one with three windows along its length and shelves and bookcases on the other walls, was in a state of chaos. There were papers strewn about, cardboard files, bananas, bottles of beer, open books, sofa cushions, a trombone, miscellaneous china, etchings, and a bewildering assortment of fountain pens. 
In the middle of this confusion, Mr Clancy was struggling with a camera and a roll of films. 
"Dear me," said Mr Clancy, looking up as the visitors were announced. He put the camera down and the roll of films promptly fell on the floor and unwound itself. He came forward with outstretched hand. "Very glad to see you, I'm sure." 
"You remember me, I hope," said Poirot. "This is my secretary, Miss Grey." 
"How d'you do, Miss Grey." He shook her by the hand and then turned back to Poirot. "Yes, of course I remember you - at least - now, where was it exactly? Was it at the Skull and Crossbones Club?" 
"We were fellow passengers on an aeroplane from Paris on a certain fatal occasion." 
"Why, of course," said Mr Clancy. "And Miss Grey too! Only I hadn't realized she was your secretary. In fact, I had some idea that she was in a beauty parlor - something of that kind." 
Jane looked anxiously at Poirot. 
The latter was quite equal to the situation. 
"Perfectly correct," he said. "As an efficient secretary, Miss Grey has at times to undertake certain work of a temporary nature; you understand?" 
"Of course," said Mr Clancy. "I was forgetting. You're a detective - the real thing. Not Scotland Yard. Private investigation... Do sit down, Miss Grey... No, not there; I think there's orange juice on that chair... If I shift this file... Oh, dear, now everything's tumbled out. Never mind... You sit here, M. Poirot... That's right, isn't it? Poirot?... The back's not really broken. It only creaks a little as you lean against it. Well, perhaps it's best not to lean too hard... Yes, a private investigator like my Wilbraham Rice. The public have taken very strongly to Wilbraham Rice. He bites his nails and eats a lot of bananas. I don't know why I made him bite his nails, to start with; it's really rather disgusting, but there it is. He started by biting his nails and now he has to do it in every single book. So monotonous. The bananas aren't so bad; you get a bit of fun out of them - criminals slipping on the skin. I eat bananas myself 
-that's what put it into my head. But I don't bite my nails... Have some beer?" 
"I thank you, no." 
Mr Clancy sighed, sat down himself, and gazed earnestly at Poirot. 
"I can guess what you've come about. The murder of Giselle. I've thought and thought about that case. You can say what you like; it's amazing - poisoned darts and a blowpipe in an aeroplane. An idea I have used myself, as I told you, both in book and short-story form. Of course it was a very shocking occurrence, but I must confess, M. Poirot, that I was thrilled - positively thrilled." 
"I can quite see," said Poirot, "that the crime must have appealed to you professionally, Mr Clancy." 
Mr Clancy beamed. 
"Exactly. You would think that anyone, even the official police, could have understood that! But not at all. Suspicion - that is all I got. Both from the inspector and at the inquest. I go out of my way to assist the course of justice and all I get for my pains is palpable thick-headed suspicion!" 
"All the same," said Poirot, smiling, "it does not seem to affect you very much." 
"Ah," said Mr Clancy. "But, you see, I have my methods, Watson. If you'll excuse my calling you Watson. No offense intended. Interesting, by the way, how the technic of the idiot friend has hung on. Personally, I myself think the Sherlock Holmes stories greatly overrated. The fallacies - the really amazing fallacies - that there are in those stories - But what was I saying?" 
"You said that you had your methods." 
"Ah, yes." Mr Clancy leaned forward. "I'm putting that inspector - what is his name? Japp? Yes, I'm putting him in my next book. You should see the way Wilbraham Rice deals with him." 
"In between bananas, as one might say." 
"In between bananas - that's very good, that." Mr Clancy chuckled. 
"You have a great advantage as a writer, monsieur," said Poirot. "You can relieve your feelings by the expedient of the printed word. You have the power of the pen over your enemies." 
Mr Clancy rocked gently back in his chair. 
"You know," he said, "I begin to think this murder is going to be a really fortunate thing for me. I'm writing the whole thing exactly as it happened - only as fiction, of course, and I shall call it 'The Air Mail Mystery.' Perfect pen portraits of all the passengers. It ought to sell like wild fire, if only I can get it out in time." 
"Won't you be had up for libel, or something?" asked Jane. 
Mr Clancy turned a beaming face upon her. 
"No, no, my dear lady. Of course, if I were to make one of the passengers the murderer - well, then, I might be liable for damages. But that is the strong part of it all - an entirely unexpected solution is revealed in the last chapter." 
Poirot leaned forward eagerly. 
"And that solution is?" 
Again Mr Clancy chuckled. 
"Ingenious," he said. "Ingenious and sensational. Disguised as the pilot, a girl gets into the plane at Le Bourget and successfully stows herself away under Madame Giselle's seat. She has with her an ampul of the newest gas. She releases this, everybody becomes unconscious for three minutes, she squirms out, fires the poisoned dart, and makes a parachute descent from the rear door of the car." 
Both Jane and Poirot blinked. 
Jane said: "Why doesn't she become unconscious from the gas too?" 
"Respirator," said Mr Clancy. 
"And she descends into the Channel?" 
"It needn't be the Channel. I shall make it the French coast." 
"And anyway, nobody could hide under a seat; there wouldn't be room." 
"There will be room in my aeroplane," said Mr Clancy firmly. 
"?patant," said Poirot. "And the motive of the lady?" 
"I haven't quite decided," said Mr Clancy meditatively. "Probably Giselle ruined the girl's lover, who killed himself." 
"And how did she get hold of the poison?" 
"That's the really clever part," said Mr Clancy. "The girl's a snake charmer. She extracts the stuff from her favorite python." 
"Mon Dieu!" said Hercule Poirot. 
He said: 
"You don't think, perhaps, it is just a little sensational?" 
"You can't write anything too sensational," said Mr Clancy firmly. 
"Especially when you're dealing with the arrow poison of the South American Indians. I know it was snake juice really, but the principle is the same. After all, you don't want a detective story to be like real life? 
Look at the things in the papers - dull as ditch water." 
"Come now, monsieur, would you say this little affair of ours is dull as ditch water?" 
"No," admitted Mr Clancy. "Sometimes, you know, I can't believe it really happened." 
Poirot drew the creaking chair a little nearer to his host. His voice lowered itself confidentially: 
"Mr Clancy, you are a man of brains and imagination. The police, as you say, have regarded you with suspicion; they have not sought your advice. But I, Hercule Poirot, desire to consult you." 
Mr Clancy flushed with pleasure. 
"I'm sure that's very nice of you." 
He looked flustered and pleased. 
"You have studied the criminology. Your ideas will be of value. It would be of great interest to me to know who, in your opinion, committed the crime." 
"Well -" Mr Clancy hesitated, reached automatically for a banana and began to eat it. Then, the animation dying out of his face, he shook his head, "You see, M. Poirot, it's an entirely different thing. When you're writing you can make it anyone you like, but of course in real life there is a real person. You haven't any command over the facts. I'm afraid, you know, that I'd be absolutely no good as a real detective." 
He shook his head sadly and threw the banana skin into the grate. 
"It might be amusing, however, to consider the case together," suggested Poirot. 
"Oh, that, yes." 
"To begin with, supposing you had to make a sporting guess, who would you choose?" 
"Oh, well, I suppose one of the two Frenchmen." 
"Now, why?" 
"Well, she was French. It seems more likely somehow. And they were sitting on the opposite side not too far away from her. But really I don't know." 
"It depends," said Poirot thoughtfully, "so much on motive." 
"Of course, of course. I suppose you tabulate all the motives very scientifically?" 
"I am old-fashioned in my methods. I follow the old adage, 'Seek whom the crime benefits.'" 
"That's all very well," said Mr Clancy. "But I take it that's a little difficult in a case like this. There's a daughter who comes into money, so I've heard. But a lot of the people on board might benefit, for all we know - that is, if they owed her money and haven't got to pay it back." 
"True," said Poirot. "And I can think of other solutions. Let us suppose that Madame Giselle knew of something - attempted murder, shall we say - on the part of one of those people." 
"Attempted murder?" said Mr Clancy. "Now why attempted murder? 
What a very curious suggestion." 
"In cases such as these," said Poirot, "one must think of everything." 
"Ah!" said Mr Clancy. "But it's no good thinking. You've got to know." 
"You have reason - you have reason. A very just observation." 
Then he said: 
"I ask your pardon, but this blowpipe that you bought -" 
"Damn that blowpipe," said Mr Clancy. "I wish I'd never mentioned it." 
"You bought it, you say, at a shop in the Charing Cross Road? Do you, by any chance, remember the name of that shop?" 
"Well," said Mr Clancy, "it might have been Absolom's - or there's Mitchell & Smith. I don't know. But I've already told all this to that pestilential inspector. He must have checked up on it by this time." 
"Ah!" said Poirot. "But I ask for quite another reason. I desire to purchase such a thing and make a little experiment." 
"Oh, I see. But I don't know that you'll find one all the same. They don't keep sets of them, you know." 
"All the same, I can try... Perhaps, Miss Grey, you would be so obliging as to take down those two names?" 
Jane opened her notebook and rapidly performed a series of - she hoped - professional-looking squiggles. Then she surreptitiously wrote the names in longhand on the reverse side of the sheet, in case these instructions of Poirot's should be genuine. 
"And now," said Poirot, "I have trespassed on your time too long. I will take my departure with a thousand thanks for your amiability." 
"Not at all. Not at all," said Mr Clancy. "I wish you would have had a banana." 
"You are most amiable." 
"Not at all. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling rather happy tonight. I'd been held up in a short story I was writing - the thing wouldn't pan out properly, and I couldn't get a good name for the criminal. I wanted something with a flavor. Well, just a bit of luck I saw just the name I wanted over a butcher's shop. Pargiter. Just the name I was looking for. There's a sort of genuine sound to it - and about five minutes later I got the other thing. There's always the same snag in stories. Why won't the girl speak? The young man tries to make her and she says her lips are sealed. There's never any real reason, of course, why she shouldn't blurt out the whole thing at once, but you have to try and think of something that's not too definitely idiotic. Unfortunately, it has to be a different thing every time!" 
He smiled gently at Jane. 
"The trials of an author!" 
He darted past her to a bookcase. 
"One thing you must allow me to give you." 
He came back with a book in his hand. 
"'The Clue of the Scarlet Petal.' I think I mentioned at Croydon that that book of mine dealt with arrow poison and native darts." 
"A thousand thanks. You are too amiable." 
"Not at all. I see," said Mr Clancy suddenly to Jane, "that you don't use the Pitman system of shorthand." 
Jane flushed scarlet. Poirot came to her rescue: 
"Miss Grey is very up-to-date. She uses the most recent system invented by a Czechoslovakian." 
"You don't say so? What an amazing place Czechoslovakia must be. Everything seems to come from there - shoes, glass, gloves, and now a shorthand system. Quite amazing." 
He shook hands with them both. 
"I wish I could have been more helpful." 
They left him in the littered room smiling wistfully after them.
第15节 布鲁姆伯利克兰希的小层
第15节 布鲁姆伯利克兰希的小层

    诺曼.盖尔首先从惊讶中恢复过来，“当然，是－－是波洛先生，你就这样来维护自己的名声？”
    “可不是嘛。你们怀疑那可怜的克兰西？知不知道侦破凶杀案的关键是什么？”
    “找到凶手。”简说。
    “维护正义。”诺曼也说。
    波洛摇摇头，“你们俩都没错，依我看，关键是要澄清谁是无辜的。”他望着不住点头赞同的两个年轻人说：“我们的目标是一致的。我们现在就去拜访聪明的克兰西先生。小姐，你就假扮我的秘书，这是速记本。”
    “我不会速记。”简说。
    “这没关系，但你总可以记些什么。好，盖尔先生，我们一小时之后再见，就在老爷店的楼上？”然后，他按响了门铃。
    克兰西的房间有3面窗户，室内挤满了书架和杂乱无序的物什。
    “这是我的秘书格雷小姐。”波洛介绍说。
    “哦，当然，”克兰西先生说，“可我的印象是，她在什么美发厅工作，怎么又成了你的秘书？”
    波洛看见了简焦急的目光，“格雷小姐也临时做做兼职秘书。”
    “哦，对。”克兰西先生说，“你是私人侦探。请坐，格雷小姐……，对不起，椅上有橙子汁！你坐这边……。波洛先生，你坐这儿。”大家坐定后，克兰西先生又说：“我想你们一定是为吉塞尔谋杀案而来。”
    “完全正确。”波洛说，“克兰西先生，您聪明，富于想象。正如你说的那样，警察已经把你列入嫌疑人之列，他们不可能来寻求你的看法。而我，赫邱里.波洛，则渴望得到你的指教。”
    克兰西的脸由于兴奋而涨红了，“我打算将此案写入我的下一本书，我想它一定会成为畅销书的。”
    “你研究过犯罪学，你的看法将十分有价值。我非常希望知道你的看法－－究竟谁是凶手。”
    “哦－－”，克兰西先生犹豫了片刻，“波洛先生，这和写小说是两码事。
在现实侦破方面，我掌握的材料根本不及一名侦探。”
    “那么我们共同来探讨一定会十分有趣。”
    “对，那当然。”
    “首先，假如请你大胆推测，你的怀疑对象是谁？”
    “两个法国人当中的一个。他们就坐在她对面。不过，我很难说得清楚。”
    “动机是应当首先考虑的因素。我坚信侦破工作的一条原则：‘谁能通过犯罪获取好处。’”
    “这我同意，”克兰西说，“不过这案子有些不同。据说她女儿将继承她的财产，或许飞机上其他一些人也会因此受益。比如，借了吉塞尔的债，她一死，他们就无需还债了。”
    “我考虑有其他可能性。”波洛说，“假设吉塞尔知道这些人当中的某个人企图谋害她？”
    “企图谋害？我看你这种想法有些不着边际。”
    “我们应当想到任何可能性。此外，我只是想听听你的看法。”波洛说，“哦，对了，你说你那支吹管是从什么地方买的呢？”
    “大概是在阿布索隆古玩店，要么是在米切－－史密斯古玩店。”
    “哦，我也想去买一支做做试验。那么，格雷小姐请把这两个地址记下来。”简潦草地在笔记本上记下了地址。波洛起身说：“耽搁你许多宝贵的时间，非常感谢你热情的款待。”
    “别这么说。今晚我觉得很开心。我手上这部小说中一个罪犯的取名把我给难住了，我出去走了走，在一家肉店找到了我所希望的名字－－帕吉特。”
    波洛朝简微微一笑，“作家的磨难”。克兰西先生从书架上翻出一本书递给简，“这就是我在克罗伊登机场谈到的《红色金属的痕迹》，请允许我赠送给你。”
    “非常感谢。”
    “不用了。”克兰西先生猛然看着简，“你的笔记本上怎么不是皮特曼速记系统？”
    简的脸红了，波洛连忙上前解围：“那是一种最近由捷克人发明的系统。”
    “是吗？捷克斯洛伐克人真是一个了不起的民族，什么都是由它发明的－－鞋、玻璃、手套、还有现在的速记法。”然后，他与客人一一握手，“希望我能够为你们做些什么。”
Chapter 16 Plan of Campaign
Chapter 16 Plan of Campaign

From Mr Clancy's house they took a taxi to the Monseigneur, where they found Norman Gale awaiting them. 
Poirot ordered some consomm?and a chaud-froid of chicken. 
"Well," said Norman, "how did you get on?" 
"Miss Grey," said Poirot, "has proved herself the supersecretary." 
"I don't think I did so very well," said Jane. "He spotted my stuff when he passed behind me. You know, he must be very observant." 
"Ah, you noticed that? This good Mr Clancy is not quite so absent- minded as one might imagine." 
"Did you really want those addresses?" asked Jane. 
"I think they might be useful, yes." 
"But if the police -" 
"Ah, the police! I should not ask the same questions as the police have asked. Though, as a matter of fact, I doubt whether the police have asked any questions at all. You see, they know that the blow-pipe found in the plane was purchased in Paris by an American." 
"In Paris? An American? But there wasn't any American in the aeroplane." 
Poirot smiled kindly on her. 
"Precisely. We have here an American just to make it more difficult. Voilа tout." 
"But it was bought by a man?" said Norman. 
Poirot looked at him with rather an odd expression. 
"Yes," he said, "it was bought by a man." 
Norman looked puzzled. 
"Anyway," said Jane, "it wasn't Mr Clancy. He'd got one blowpipe already, so he wouldn't want to go about buying another." 
Poirot nodded his head. 
"That is how one must proceed. Suspect everyone in turn and then wipe him or her off the list." 
"How many have you wiped off so far?" asked Jane. 
"Not so many as you might think, mademoiselle," said Poirot with a twinkle. "It depends, you see, on the motive." 
"Has there been -" Norman Gale stopped, and then added apologetically: "I don't want to butt in on official secrets, but is there no record of this woman's dealings?" 
Poirot shook his head. 
"All the records are burned." 
"That's unfortunate." 
" Кvidemment! But it seems that Madame Giselle combined a little blackmailing with her profession of money lending, and that opens up a wider field. Supposing, for instance, that Madame Giselle had knowledge of a certain criminal offense - say, attempted murder on the part of someone." 
"Is there any reason to suppose such a thing?" 
"Why, yes," said Poirot slowly, "there is. One of the few pieces of documentary evidence that we have in this case." 
He looked from one to the other of their interested faces and gave a little sigh. 
"Ah, well," he said. "That is that. Let us talk of other matters - for instance, of how this tragedy has affected the lives of you two young people." 
"It sounds horrible to say so, but I've done well out of it," said Jane. 
She related her rise of salary. 
"As you say, mademoiselle, you have done well, but probably only for the time being. Even a nine days' wonder does not last longer than nine days, remember." 
Jane laughed. 
"That's very true." 
"I'm afraid it's going to last more than nine days in my case," said Norman. 
He explained the position. Poirot listened sympathetically. 
"As you say," he observed thoughtfully, "it will take more than nine days, or nine weeks, or nine months. Sensationalism dies quickly, fear is long-lived." 
"Do you think I ought to stick it out?" 
"Have you any other plan?" 
"Yes. Chuck up the whole thing. Go out to Canada or somewhere and start again." 
"I'm sure that would be a pity," said Jane firmly. 
Norman looked at her. 
Poirot tactfully became engrossed with his chicken. 
"I don't want to go," said Norman. 
"If I discover who killed Madame Giselle, you will not have to go," said Poirot cheerfully. 
"Do you really think you will?" asked Jane. 
Poirot looked at her reproachfully. 
"If one approaches a problem with order and method, there should be no difficulty in solving it; none whatever," said Poirot severely. 
"Oh, I see," said Jane, who didn't. 
"But I should solve this problem quicker if I had help," said Poirot. 
"What kind of help?" 
Poirot did not speak for a moment or two. Then he said: 
"Help from Mr Gale. And perhaps, later, help from you also." 
"What can I do?" asked Norman. 
Poirot shot a sideways glance at him. 
"You will not like it," he said warningly. 
"What is it?" repeated the young man impatiently. 
Very delicately, so as not to offend English susceptibilities, Poirot used a toothpick. Then he said: 
"Frankly, what I need is a blackmailer." 
"A blackmailer?" exclaimed Norman. He stared at Poirot as a man does who cannot believe his ears. 
Poirot nodded. 
"Precisely," he said. "A blackmailer." 
"But what for?" 
"Parbleu! To blackmail." 
"Yes, but I mean, who? Why?" 
"Why," said Poirot, "is my business. As to who -" He paused for a moment, then went on in a calm businesslike tone: 
"Here is the plan I will outline for you. You will write a note - that is to say, I will write a note and you will copy it - to the Countess of Horbury. You will mark it Personal. In the note you will ask for an interview. You will recall yourself to her memory as having traveled to England by air on a certain occasion. You will also refer to certain business dealings of Madame Giselle's having passed into your hands." 
"And then?" 
"And then you will be accorded an interview. You will go and you will say certain things - in which I will instruct you. You will ask for - let me see - ten thousand pounds." 
"You're mad!" 
"Not at all," said Poirot. "I am eccentric, possibly, but mad, no." 
"And suppose Lady Horbury sends for the police. I shall go to prison." 
"She will not send for the police." 
"You can't know that." 
"Mon cher, practically speaking, I know everything!" 
"And anyway I don't like it." 
"You will not get the ten thousand pounds - if that makes your conscience any clearer," said Poirot with a twinkle. 
"Yes, but look here, M. Poirot; this is the sort of wildcat scheme that might ruin me for life." 
"Ta-ta-ta. The lady will not go to the police - that I assure you." 
"She may tell her husband." 
"She will not tell her husband." 
"I don't like it." 
"Do you like losing your patients and ruining your career?" 
"No, but -" 
Poirot smiled at him kindly. 
"You have the natural repugnance, yes? That is very natural. You have, too, the chivalrous spirit. But I can assure you that Lady Horbury is not worth all this fine feeling; to use your idiom, she is a very nasty piece of goods." 
"All the same, she can't be a murderess." 
"Why?" 
"Why? Because we should have seen her. Jane and I were sitting just opposite." 
"You have too many preconceived ideas. Me, I desire to straighten things out, and to do that, I must know." 
"I don't like the idea of blackmailing a woman." 
"Ah, mon Dieu, what there is in a word! There will be no blackmail. You have only to produce a certain effect. After that, when the ground is prepared, I will step in." 
Norman said: 
"If you land me in prison -" 
"No, no, no. I am very well known at Scotland Yard. If anything should occur, I will take the blame. But nothing will occur other than what I have prophesied." 
Norman surrendered with a sigh. 
"All right. I'll do it. But I don't half like it." 
"Good. This is what you will write. Take a pencil." 
He dictated slowly. 
"Voilа," he said. "Later I will instruct you as to what you are to say... Tell me, mademoiselle, do you ever go to the theater?" 
"Yes, fairly often," said Jane. 
"Good. Have you seen, for instance, a play called 'Down Under'?" 
"Yes. I saw it about a month ago. It's rather good." 
"An American play, is it not?" 
"Yes." 
"Do you remember the part of Harry, played by Mr Raymond Barraclough?" 
"Yes. He was very good." 
"You thought him attractive? Yes?" 
"Frightfully attractive." 
"Ah, il est sex appeal?" 
"Decidedly," said Jane, laughing. 
"Just that, or is he a good actor as well?" 
"Oh, I think he acts well too." 
"I must go and see him," said Poirot. 
Jane stared at him, puzzled. 
What an odd little man he was, hopping from subject to subject like a bird from one branch to another. 
Perhaps he read her thoughts. He smiled. 
"You do not approve of me, mademoiselle? Of my methods?" 
"You jump about a good deal." 
"Not really. I pursue my course logically, with order and method. One must not jump wildly to a conclusion. One must eliminate." 
"Eliminate?" said Jane. "Is that what you're doing?" She thought a moment. "I see. You've eliminated Mr Clancy." 
"Perhaps," said Poirot. 
"And you've eliminated us, and now you're going, perhaps to eliminate Lady Horbury... Oh!" 
She stopped as a sudden thought struck her. 
"What is it, mademoiselle?" 
"That talk of attempted murder? Was that a test?" 
"You are very quick, mademoiselle. Yes, that was part of the course I pursue. I mention attempted murder and I watch Mr Clancy, I watch you, I watch Mr Gale - and in neither of you three is there any sign, not so much as the flicker of an eyelash. And let me tell you that I could not be deceived on that point. A murderer can be ready to meet any attack that he foresees. But that entry in a little notebook could not have been known to any of you. So, you see, I am satisfied." 
"What a horrible tricky sort of person you are, M. Poirot," said Jane. "I shall never know why you are saying things." 
"That is quite simple. I want to find out things." 
"I suppose you've got very clever ways of finding out things?" 
"There is only one really simple way." 
"What is that?" 
"To let people tell you." 
Jane laughed. "Suppose they don't want to?" 
"Everyone likes talking about themselves." 
"I suppose they do," admitted Jane. 
"That is how many a quack makes a fortune. He encourages patients to come and sit and tell him things - how they fell out of the perambulator when they were two, and how their mother ate a pear and the juice fell on her orange dress, and how, when they were one and a half, they pulled their father's beard; and then he tells them that now they will not suffer from the insomnia any longer, and he takes two guineas, and they go away, having enjoyed themselves, oh, so much - and perhaps they do sleep." 
"How ridiculous," said Jane. 
"No, it is not so ridiculous as you think. It is based on a fundamental need of human nature - the need to talk, to reveal oneself. You yourself, mademoiselle, do you not like to dwell on your childhood memories? On your mother and your father?" 
"That doesn't apply in my case. I was brought up in an orphanage." 
"Ah, that is different. It is not gay, that." 
"I don't mean that we were the kind of charity orphans who go out in scarlet bonnets and cloaks. It was quite fun, really." 
"It was in England?" 
"No, in Ireland, near Dublin." 
"So you are Irish. That is why you have the dark hair and the blue-gray eyes with the look -" 
"-as though they had been put in with a smutty finger," Norman finished with amusement. 
"Comment? What is that you say?" 
"That is a saying about Irish eyes - that they have been put in with a smutty finger." 
"Really? It is not elegant, that. And yet, it expresses it well." He bowed to Jane. "The effect is very good, mademoiselle." 
Jane laughed as she got up. 
"You'll turn my head, M. Poirot. Good night and thank you for supper. You'll have to stand me another if Norman is sent to prison for blackmail." 
A frown came over Norman's face at the reminder. 
Poirot bade the two young people good night. 
When he got home he unlocked a drawer and took out a list of eleven names. 
Against four of these names he put a light tick. Then he nodded his head thoughtfully. 
"I think I know," he murmured to himself, "but I have got to be sure. Il faut continuer."
第16节 拟定作战计划
第16节 拟定作战计划

    从克兰西先生家出来，他们乘车直奔老爷店，诺曼.盖尔正在等他们。波洛要了一些肉冻和炖肉汤。
    “情况怎么样？”诺曼问。
    “格雷小姐是个一流的秘书。”
    “他可什么都看出来了。”简说，“你干嘛让我记下那两个地址？”
    “有些问题警方或许还未问过，但他们应当知道飞机上发现的吹管是一个美国人在巴黎买的。”
    “巴黎？美国人？飞机上没有美国人。”
    “说得对。现在又冒出个美国人，事情就没那么简单了。”
    “反正，”简说，“不是克兰西先生，他已经有了一支吹管，没必要再买。”
    波洛点点头，“还得继续工作。首先怀疑所有的人，然后一一将清白者排除掉。关键是要考虑作案的动机。”
    “那女人有没有留下什么材料？”诺曼说。
    “所有的材料都给烧毁了。吉塞尔夫人好像是在借债的问题上受到敲诈，比如说，她知道有人想谋害她。”
    “你有什么理由吗？”
    “有的，”波洛慢慢地说，“为数不多的几份文字材料中有一份能够说明问题。好了，我们还是从另一个角度来看这个问题，比如说这件事对你们的生活产生了什么影响？”
    简谈到了自己加薪的事情，诺曼述说了自己的不幸。
    波洛认真地听完后说：“幸运与不幸可能会持续1周，1个月或者1年。但是跟时髦总是不能持久，担心很快将会消失。”
    “你想让我坚持住？我真想去加拿大或者其他什么地方重新开始。”诺曼说，“可我又不愿离开英国。”
    “假如我找到了凶手，你就不必离开了。”波洛爽快地说。
    “你真有这个把握？”简说。
    “以一种谨慎有序的方式对待它，找到答案并不困难。如果有人愿意帮助我，我还会提早解开这个谜。”
    “谁的帮助？”简问。
    “诺曼先生，然后还有你。”
    “我能做什么？”诺曼情不自禁提高了嗓门。
    “我给你勾画一下我的计划。你写封信给霍布里夫人－－确切说，是我写，由你抄送给她。说你希望和她见面，说你记得你们曾同乘一架飞机去英国，还要提及有关吉塞尔夫人业务来往的一些材料已经落入你的手中。”
    “然后呢？”
    “然后她会约你见面，你如期赴会，我到时会告诉你对她说什么。你向她讨价，要－－1万英镑。”
    “你疯了。”
    “不。”波洛说，“我做事的确有些古怪。”
    “假如她报警把我送进监狱怎么办？”
    “她不会去找警察。”
    “她会告诉她丈夫。”
    “也不会。”
    “我看她不像是凶手。”
    “什么？这是你的先入之见。我希望将事情理出头绪。”
    “我不愿去敲诈一个女人。”
    “哦，我的上帝。这不是去敲诈，而是为了产生某种效果。一旦有了眉目我将插手进去。”
    “我不愿去蹲监狱。”
    “不、不、不。伦敦警察厅的人我都认识，一旦出了什么问题由我兜着。
不过依我推测，不会出现任何问题。”
    诺曼叹了口气，让步了。
    “好，我们现在就写。拿支铅笔来。”波洛一字一句口授起来。“好了。
我会告诉你见了面怎么说。格雷小姐，你去过剧院吗？”
    “经常去。”简说。
    “看过由雷蒙特.巴勒克拉夫主演的美国剧吗？”
    “看过，他很出色，颇具男子气。”
    “我现在得立即去见他。”波洛说。
    简不解地望着他，多么奇怪的小老头儿，树枝上的小鸟，从一个话题到另一个话题上。
    波洛好像看出了她的心思，“我的言行有严格的逻辑性，我们不能跳跃似地获得结论，应当谨慎地排除各种可能。”
    “排除？”简略想了一下又说：“你已经排除克兰西了。”
    “也许是。”
    “你排除了我们俩，现在你打算排除霍布里夫人？测验一下‘企图谋杀’是否正确？”
    “你反应真快，小姐，这的确是我的下一个目标。当提及‘企图谋杀’时，我仔细观察了你，还有克兰西和诺曼先生，你们的眼睛都没有眨一下，因为你们与小笔记本中记录的‘企图谋杀’没有关系。”
    “你的确很有心计，而且你的调查方法设计得挺聪明。”简说。
    “那不过是一个非常简单的办法。”
    “什么办法？”
    “让别人告诉你。任何人都喜欢谈论自己，比如你的童年、父母和教育。”
    “我好像似懂非懂。”简说，“好了，波洛先生，非常感谢你的晚餐。假如由于敲诈诺曼进了监狱，你一定还得再请我。”
    最后这句话使得诺曼皱了皱眉。波洛向两位年轻人道别之后回到家里。他从抽屉里拿出11位乘客的名单，用铅笔在4个名字后面轻轻勾了一下，然后点点头。他自语道：“看来有答案了，虽然还没有百分之百的把握。”
Chapter 17 In Wandsworth
Chapter 17 In Wandsworth

Mr Henry Mitchell was just sitting down to a supper of sausage and mash when a visitor called to see him. 
Somewhat to the steward's astonishment, the visitor in question was the full-mustachioed gentleman who had been one of the passengers on the fatal plane. 
M. Poirot was very affable, very agreeable in his manner. He insisted on Mr Mitchell's getting on with his supper, paid a graceful compliment to Mrs Mitchell, who was standing staring at him open-mouthed. 
He accepted a chair, remarked that it was very warm for the time of year and then gently came round to the purpose of his call. 
"Scotland Yard, I fear, is not making much progress with the case," he said. 
Mitchell shook his head. 
"It was an amazing business, sir - amazing. I don't see what they've got to go on. Why, if none of the people on the plane saw anything, it's going to be difficult for anyone afterwards." 
"Truly, as you say." 
"Terribly worried. Henry's been, over it," put in his wife. "Not able to sleep of nights." 
The steward explained: 
"It's lain on my mind, sir, something terrible. The company had been very fair about it. I must say I was afraid at first I might lose my job." 
"Henry, they couldn't. It would have been cruelly unfair." 
His wife sounded highly indignant. She was a buxom highly complexioned woman with snapping dark eyes. 
"Things don't always happen fairly, Ruth. Still, it turned out better than I thought. They absolved me from blame. But I felt it, if you understand me. I was in charge, as it were." 
"I understand your feelings," said Poirot sympathetically. "But I assure you that you are overconscientious. Nothing that happened was your fault." 
"That's what I say, sir," put in Mrs Mitchell. 
Mitchell shook his head. 
"I ought to have noticed that the lady was dead sooner. If I'd tried to wake her up when I first took round the bills -" 
"It would have made little difference. Death, they think, was very nearly instantaneous." 
"He worries so," said Mrs Mitchell. "I tell him not to bother his head so. Who's to know what reason foreigners have for murdering each other, and if you ask me, I think it's a dirty trick to have done it in a British aeroplane." 
She finished her sentence with an indignant and patriotic snort. 
Mitchell shook his head in a puzzled way. 
"It weighs on me, so to speak. Every time I go on duty I'm in a state. And then the gentleman from Scotland Yard asking me again and again if nothing unusual or sudden occurred on the way over. Makes me feel as though I must have forgotten something, and yet I know I haven't. It was a most uneventful voyage in every way until - until it happened." 
"Blowpipes and darts - heathen, I call it," said Mrs Mitchell. 
"You are right," said Poirot, addressing her with a flattering air of being struck by her remarks. "Not so is an English murder committed." 
"You're right, sir." 
"You know, Mrs Mitchell, I can almost guess what part of England you come from?" 
"Dorset, sir. Not far from Bridport. That's my home." 
"Exactly," said Poirot. "A lovely part of the world." 
"It is that. London isn't a patch on Dorset. My folk have been settled at Dorset for over two hundred years, and I've got Dorset in the blood, as you might say." 
"Yes, indeed." He turned to the steward again. "There's one thing I'd like to ask you, Mitchell." 
The man's brow contracted. 
"I've told all that I know; indeed I have, sir?" 
"Yes, yes, this is a very trifling matter. I only wondered if anything on the table - Madame Giselle's table, I mean - was disarranged?" 
"You mean when - when I found her?" 
"Yes. The spoons and forks, the saltcellar - anything like that?" 
The man shook his head. 
"There wasn't anything of that kind on the tables. Everything was cleared away, bar the coffee cups. I didn't notice anything myself. I shouldn't, though. I was much too flustered. But the police would know that, sir; they searched the plane through and through." 
"Ah, well," said Poirot, "it is no matter. Sometime I must have a word with your colleague Davis." 
"He's on the early 8:45 a.m. service now, sir." 
"Has this business upset him much?" 
"Oh, well, sir, you see, he's only a young fellow. If you ask me, he's almost enjoyed it all. The excitement! And everyone standing him drinks and wanting to hear about it." 
"Has he, perhaps, a young lady?" asked Poirot. "Doubtless his connection with the crime would be very thrilling to her." 
"He's courting old Johnson's daughter at the Crown and Feathers," said Mrs Mitchell. "But she's a sensible girl; got her head screwed on the right way. She doesn't approve of being mixed up with a murder." 
"A very sound point of view," said Poirot, rising. "Well, thank you, Mr Mitchell - and you, Mrs Mitchell - and I beg of you, my friend, do not let this weigh upon your mind." 
When he had departed, Mitchell said: "The thick heads in the jury at the inquest thought he'd done it. But if you ask me, he's secret service." 
"If you ask me," said Mrs Mitchell, "there's Bolshies at the back of it." 
Poirot had said that he must have a word with the other steward, Davis, sometime. As a matter of fact, he had it not many hours later, in the bar of the Crown and Feathers. 
He asked Davis the same question he had asked Mitchell. 
"Nothing disarranged, no, sir. You mean upset? That kind of thing?" 
"I mean - well, shall we say something missing from the table, or something that would not usually be there?" 
Davis said slowly: 
"There was something. I noticed it when I was clearing up after the police had done with the place. But I don't suppose that it's the sort of thing you mean. It's only that the dead lady had two coffee spoons in her saucer. It does sometimes happen when we're serving in a hurry. I noticed it because there's a superstition about that; they say two spoons in a saucer means a wedding." 
"Was there a spoon missing from anyone else's saucer?" 
"No, sir, not that I noticed. Mitchell or I must have taken the cup and saucer along that way - as I say, one does sometimes, what with the hurry and all. I laid two sets of fish knives and forks only a week ago. On the whole, it's better than laying the table short, for then you have to interrupt yourself and go and fetch the extra knife or whatever it is you've forgotten." 
Poirot asked one more question - a somewhat jocular one: 
"What do you think of French girls, Davis?" 
"English is good enough for me, sir." 
And he grinned at a plump fair-haired girl behind the bar.
第17节 在旺兹沃思
第17节 在旺兹沃思

    亨利.米切尔和妻子吃午饭时，正好被前来拜访的波洛先生赶上。他坚持让米切尔先生继续吃饭，说自己不会耽搁得太久。他接受了米切尔先生的让座，并说明了来意。
    “我看这案子有些难办，”米切尔说，“飞机上所有的人都说没有看见什么异常的情况。”
    “你说得对。”
    “这件事弄得亨利心神不定，”他妻子说，“有时晚上还睡不着觉。”
    “我理解你的心情，”波洛同情地说，“不过，你过于敏感了，这件事的发生又不是你的错。”
    “我让他不要老是这样自责，”米切尔夫人说，“那是些外国人在相互残杀，事情发生在英国的飞机上，这太卑鄙了。”
    米切尔先生带着困惑的神情摇摇头说，“伦敦警察厅的先生们一次又一次地问我，有没有注意到什么不寻常的情况。没有－－我认认真真地想过。
假如我开始收帐单的时候就叫醒她，也许－－”
    “这并没有什么两样，你们不过是空中乘务员，无法避免这种事。”波洛说，“有一件事我想问问你，米切尔，你在收拾吉塞尔夫人的小桌的时候，她的餐具是否被重新放置过？”
    “你是说当我发现她死了的时候？”
    “对。比如说调羹、刀叉还有盐瓶。”
    乘务员米切尔摇摇头，“桌上什么都没有，都被收走了－－除了咖啡杯。
我当时惊惶失措。警察来过，他们检查过飞机。”
    “好了，”波洛说，“我想找时间和你的同事戴维斯谈谈。”
    “他现在在早班飞机上服务。”
    “这件事对他影响大吗？”
    “哦，你知道，他是年轻人，那是一种刺激。别人请他吃饭，让他把经过讲出来。”
    “他有女朋友吗？”波洛说，“这件事一定把她吓坏了。”
    “他正在追求约翰逊的女儿，”米切尔夫人说，“她可不希望她的男朋友与谋杀案有任何牵连。”
    “多么好的见解，”波洛起身说，“谢谢你们。不要为这件事担心。”
    波洛离开米切尔家几个小时之后便找到了乘务员戴维斯，他向他询问了同样的问题。
    “桌上的东西没人动过。”
    “比如说有没有什么东西丢失了？”
    戴维斯想了想说：“似乎有。警察检察过飞机之后，我去收拾桌子。我注意到死者的碟子里有两支咖啡调羹。当然，有时由于我们工作的失误，也有这种情况。”
    波洛又问了一个问题：“你觉得法国姑娘怎么样，戴维斯？”
    “英国姑娘就够我受的了。”
Chapter 18 In Queen Victoria Street
Chapter 18 In Queen Victoria Street

Mr James Ryder was rather surprised when a card bearing the name of M. Hercule Poirot was brought to him. 
He knew that the name was familiar but for the moment he could not remember why. Then he said to himself: 
"Oh, that fellow!" And told the clerk to show the visitor in. 
M. Hercule Poirot was looking very jaunty. In one hand he carried a cane. He had a flower in his buttonhole. 
"You will forgive my troubling you, I trust," said Poirot. "It is this affair of the death of Madame Giselle." 
"Yes?" said Mr Ryder. "Well, what about it? Sit down, won't you? Have a cigar?" 
"I thank you, no. I smoke always my own cigarettes. Perhaps you will accept one?" 
Ryder regarded Poirot's tiny cigarettes with a somewhat dubious eye. 
"Think I'll have one of my own, if it's all the same to you. Might swallow one of those by mistake." He laughed heartily. 
"The inspector was round here a few days ago," said Mr Ryder, when he had induced his lighter to work. "Nosey, that's what those fellows are. Can't mind their own business." 
"They have, I suppose, to get information," said Poirot mildly. 
"They needn't be so offensive about it," said Mr Ryder bitterly. "A man's got his feelings and his business reputation to think about?" 
"You are, perhaps, a little oversensitive." 
"I'm in a delicate position, I am," said Mr Ryder. "Sitting where I did - just in front of her - well, it looks fishy, I suppose. I can't help where I sat. If I'd known that woman was going to be murdered, I wouldn't have come by that plane at all. I don't know, though, perhaps I would." 
He looked thoughtful for a moment. 
"Has good come out of evil," asked Poirot, smiling. 
"It's funny, your saying that. It has and it hasn't, in a manner of speaking. I mean I've had a lot of worry. I've been badgered. Things have been insinuated. And why me - that's what I say. Why don't they go and worry that Doctor Hubbard - Bryant, I mean. Doctors are the people who can get hold of highfaluting undetectable poisons. How'd I get hold of snake juice? I ask you!" 
"You were saying," said Poirot, "that although you had been put to a lot of inconvenience -" 
"Ah, yes, there was a bright side to the picture. I don't mind telling you I cleaned up a tidy little sum from the papers. Eyewitness stuff - though there was more of the reporter's imagination than of my eyesight; but that's neither here nor there." 
"It is interesting," said Poirot, "how a crime affects the lives of people who are quite outside it. Take yourself, for example; you make suddenly a quite unexpected sum of money - a sum of money perhaps particularly welcome at the moment." 
"Money's always welcome," said Mr Ryder. 
He eyed Poirot sharply. 
"Sometimes the need of it is imperative. For that reason men embezzle, they make fraudulent entries -" he waved his hands - "all sorts of complications arise." 
"Well, don't let's get gloomy about it," said Mr Ryder. 
"True. Why dwell on the dark side of the picture? This money was grateful to you, since you failed to raise a loan in Paris." 
"How the devil did you know that?" asked Mr Ryder angrily. 
Hercule Poirot smiled. 
"At any rate, it is true." 
"It's true enough. But I don't particularly want it to get about." 
"I will be discretion itself, I assure you." 
"It's odd," mused Mr Ryder, "how small a sum will sometimes put a man in Queer Street. Just a small sum of ready money to tide him over a crisis. And if he can't get hold of that infinitesimal sum, to hell with his credit. Yes, it's odd. Money's odd. Credit's odd. Come to that, life is odd!" 
"Very true." 
"By the way, what was it you wanted to see me about?" 
"It is a little delicate. It has come to my ears - in the course of my profession, you understand - that in spite of your denials, you did have dealings with this woman Giselle." 
"Who says so? It's a lie - a damned lie - I never saw the woman!" 
"Dear me, that is very curious!" 
"Curious! It's a damned libel." 
Poirot looked at him thoughtfully. 
"Ah," he said. "I must look into the matter." 
"What do you mean? What are you getting at?" 
Poirot shook his head. 
"Do not enrage yourself. There must be a mistake." 
"I should think there was. Catch me getting myself mixed with these high-toned society money lenders. Society women with gambling debts - that's their sort." 
Poirot rose. 
"I must apologize for having been misinformed." He paused at the door. "By the way, just as a matter of curiosity, what made you call Doctor Bryant, Doctor Hubbard just now?" 
"Blessed if I know. Let me see. Oh, yes, I think it must have been the flute. The nursery rime, you know. Old Mother Hubbard's dog: 'But when she came back he was playing the flute.' Odd thing, how you mix up names." 
"Ah, yes, the flute. These things interest me, you understand, psychologically." 
Mr Ryder snorted at the word "psychologically." It savored to him of what he called that tom-fool business, psychoanalysis. 
He looked at Poirot with suspicion.
第18节 在维多利亚女王街
第18节 在维多利亚女王街

    詹姆斯.赖德接过印有赫邱里.波洛字样的名片时感到有些意外，他十分熟悉这个名字，于是让秘书请波洛进来。
    “非常抱歉前来打扰你。”波洛说，“我是为吉塞尔夫人谋杀案而来。”
    “那么，请坐。”赖德说，“前几天检察官来过了，他们问了许多不该问的事情。”
    “他们正设法全面收集情况。”
    “但他们也没有必要如此咄咄逼人，”赖德先生尖酸的说，“总得考虑别人的感情和业务吧。我的处境比较微妙。我就坐在她前面。假如我知道有人要谋害她，我决不会坐那趟飞机了。”
    “你就没有一点收获？”波洛微笑说。
    “任何事物都有其光明的一面。说实话，由于这件事我轻而易举地弄到了一大笔钱。我做为目击证人再加上记者们的丰富联想，可够几家报纸忙的了。”
    “真有趣。”波洛说，“谋杀案影响了许多人的生活。拿你来说吧，你意外获得一笔可观的收入，也许你目前急需用这笔钱。”
    “钱总是好东西。”赖德先生机敏地看了波洛一眼。
    “可有人靠挪用、敲诈等不法手段获取钱财。”波洛说，“于是，一些复杂的事情就出现了。”
    “我想你别再拐弯抹角了。”
    “那么谈谈这件事的阴暗面吧。由于你未能在巴黎筹借到款子，那笔意外的钱财对你来说一定十分有意义。”
    “你怎么知道这件事？”赖德先生有些愤怒。
    波洛微笑道：“反正这是事实。”
    赖若有所思地说：“我时常纳闷，一小笔钱就会使人产生危机感，甚至毁掉他的声誉。那么，你希望我说什么呢？”
    “由于职业的关系，我听说你和吉塞尔夫人有过什么交易，尽管你一直否认。”
    “谁说的？完全是撒谎。我从未见过那女人！”
    “哦，”波洛说，“我将就此事进行调查。”
    “你这是什么意思？”
    “你别激动，也许是个误会。”
    “我想也是，我从不愿意和那种时髦的上流社会女人搅在一起。”
    波洛起身说：“对不起，也许消息来源有误。”
Chapter 19 Enter and Exit Mr. Robinson
Chapter 19 Enter and Exit Mr. Robinson

The Countess of Horbury sat in her bedroom at 115 Grosvenor Square in front of her toilet table. Gold brushes and boxes, jars of face cream, boxes of powder, dainty luxury all around her. But in the midst of the luxury. Cicely Horbury sat with dry lips and a face on which the rouge showed up in unbecoming patches on her cheeks. 
She read the letter for the fourth time. 
The Countess of Horbury, 
Dear Madam: Re Madame Giselle, deceased. 
I am the holder of certain documents formerly in the possession of the deceased lady. If you or Mr Raymond Barraclough are interested in the matter, I should be happy to call upon you with a view to discussing the affair. 
Or perhaps you would prefer me to deal with your husband in the matter? 
Yours truly, 
John Robinson. 
Stupid, to read the same thing over and over again. As though the words might alter their meaning. 
She picked up the envelope - two envelopes - the first with Personal on it. The second with Private and Very Confidential. 
Private and Very Confidential. 
The beast - the beast. 
And that lying old Frenchwoman who had sworn that "All arrangements were made" to protect clients in case of her own sudden demise. 
Damn her. 
Life was hell - hell! 
"Oh, God, my nerves," thought Cicely. "It isn't fair. It isn't fair." 
Her shaking hand went out to a gold-topped bottle. 
"It will steady me. Pull me together." 
She snuffed the stuff up her nose. 
There. Now she could think! 
What to do? 
See the man, of course. Though where she could raise any money - perhaps a lucky flutter at that place in Carios Street - 
But time enough to think of that later. See the man; find out what he knows. 
She went over to the writing table, dashed off in her big unformed handwriting: 
The Countess of Horbury presents her compliments to Mr John Robinson and will see him if he calls at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. 
"Will I do?" asked Norman. 
He flushed a little under Poirot's startled gaze. 
"Name of a name," said Hercule Poirot, "what kind of a comedy is it that you are playing?" 
Norman Gale flushed even more deeply. 
He mumbled, "You said a slight disguise would be as well." 
Poirot sighed. Then he took the young man by the arm and marched him to the looking-glass. 
"Regard yourself," he said. "That is all I ask of you - regard yourself! 
What do you think you are? A Santa Claus dressed up to amuse the children? I agree that your beard is not white - no, it is black; the color for villains. But what a beard - a beard that screams to heaven! A cheap beard, my friend, and most imperfectly and amateurishly attached! Then there are your eyebrows - but it is that you have the mania for false hair? The spirit gum, one smells it several yards away, and if you think that anyone will fail to perceive that you have a piece of sticking plaster attached to a tooth, you are mistaken. My friend, it is not your metier - decidedly not - to play the part." 
"I acted in amateur theatricals a good deal at one time," said Norman Gale stiffly. 
"I can hardly believe it. At any rate, I presume they did not let you indulge in your own ideas of make-up. Even behind the footlights your appearance would be singularly unconvincing. In Grosvenor Square in broad daylight -" 
Poirot gave an eloquent shrug of the shoulders by way of finishing the sentence. 
"No, mon ami," he said. "You are a blackmailer, not a comedian. I want her ladyship to fear you, not to die of laughing when she sees you. I observe that I wound you by what I am saying. I regret, but it is a moment when only the truth will serve. Take this, and this -" he pressed various jars upon him. "Go into the bathroom and let us have an end of what you call in this country the fool-tommery." 
Crushed, Norman Gale obeyed. When he emerged a quarter of an hour later, his face a vivid shade of brick red, Poirot gave him a nod of approval. 
"Tr鑣 bien. The farce is over. The serious business begins. I will permit you to have a small mustache. But I will, if you please, attach it to you myself... There... And now we will part the hair differently... So. That is quite enough. Now let me see if you at least know your lines." 
He listened with attention, then nodded. 
"That is good. En avant and good luck to you." 
"I devoutly hope so. I shall probably find an enraged husband and a couple of policemen." 
Poirot reassured him: 
"Have no anxiety. All will march to a marvel." 
"So you say," muttered Norman rebelliously. 
With his spirits at zero, he departed on his distasteful mission. 
At Grosvenor Square he was shown into a small room on the first floor. There, after a minute or two, Lady Horbury came to him. 
Norman braced himself. He must not - positively must not - show that he was new to this business. 
"Mr Robinson?" said Cicely. 
"At your service," said Norman, and bowed. 
"Damn it all! Just like a shopwalker," he thought disgustedly. "That's fright." 
"I had your letter," said Cicely. 
Norman pulled himself together. "The old fool said I couldn't act," he said to himself with a mental grin. 
Aloud he said rather insolently: 
"Quite so. Well, what about it. Lady Horbury?" 
"I don't know what you mean." 
"Come, come. Must we really go into details? Everyone knows how pleasant a - well, call it a weekend at the seaside - can be, but husbands seldom agree. I think you know, Lady Horbury, just exactly what the evidence consists of. Wonderful woman, old Giselle. Always had the goods. Hotel evidence, and so on, is quite first class. Now the question is who wants it most - you or Lord Horbury? That's the question." 
She stood there quivering. 
"I'm a seller," said Norman, his voice growing commoner as he threw himself more whole-heartedly into the part of Mr Robinson. "Are you a buyer? That's the question." 
"How did you get hold of this evidence?" 
"Now really. Lady Horbury, that's rather beside the point. I've got it - that's the main thing." 
"I don't believe you. Show it to me." 
"Oh, no." Norman shook his head with a cunning leer. "I didn't bring anything with me. I'm not so green as that. If we agree to do business, that's another matter. I'll show you the stuff before you hand the money over. All fair and aboveboard." 
"How - how much?" 
"Ten thousand of the best - pounds, not dollars." 
"Impossible. I could never lay my hands on anything like that amount." 
"It's wonderful what you can do if you try. Jewels aren't fetching what they did, but pearls are still pearls. Look here, to oblige a lady, I'll make it eight thousand. That's my last word. And I'll give you two days to think it over." 
"I can't get the money, I tell you." 
Norman sighed and shook his head. 
"Well, perhaps it's only right Lord Horbury should know what's been going on. I believe I'm correct in saying that a divorced woman gets no alimony, and Mr Barraclough's a very promising young actor, but he's not touching big money yet. Now not another word. I'll leave you to think it over, and mind what I say - I mean it." 
He paused, and then added: 
"I mean it just as Giselle meant it." 
Then quickly, before the wretched woman could reply, he had left the room. 
"Ouch!" said Norman as he reached the street. He wiped his brow. 
"Thank goodness that's over." 
It was a bare hour later when a card was brought to Lady Horbury. 
"M. Hercule Poirot." 
She thrust it aside. 
"Who is he? I can't see him!" 
"He said, m'lady, that he was here at the request of Mr Raymond Barraclough." 
"Oh." She paused. "Very well, show him in." 
The butler departed, reappeared. 
"M. Hercule Poirot." 
Exquisitely dressed in the most dandiacal style, M. Poirot entered, bowed. 
The butler closed the door. Cicely took a step forward. 
"Mr Barraclough sent you?" 
"Sit down, madame," His tone was kindly but authoritative. 
Mechanically she sat. He took a chair near her. His manner was fatherly and reassuring. 
"Madame, I entreat you, look upon me as a friend. I come to advise you. You are, I know, in grave trouble." 
She murmured faintly: "I don't -" 
" Кcoutez, madame. I do not ask you to give away your secrets. It is unnecessary. I know them beforehand. That is the essence of being a good detective - to know." 
"A detective." Her eyes widened. "I remember. You were on the plane; it was you -" 
"Precisely. It was me. Now, madame, let us get to business. As I said just now, I do not press you to confide in me. You shall not start by telling me things; I will tell them to you. This morning, not an hour ago, you had a visitor. That visitor - his name was Brown, perhaps." 
"Robinson," said Cicely faintly. 
"It is the same thing - Brown, Smith, Robinson - he uses them in turn. He came her to blackmail you, madame. He has in his possession certain proofs of, shall we say, indiscretion? Those proofs were once in the keeping of Madame Giselle. Now this man has them. He offers them to you for, perhaps, seven thousand pounds." 
"Eight." 
"Eight, then. And you, madame, will not find it easy to get that sum very quickly?" 
"I can't do it - I simply can't do it. I'm in debt already. I don't know what to do." 
"Calm yourself, madame. I come to assist you." 
She stared at him. 
"How do you know all this?" 
"Simply, madame, because I am Hercule Poirot. Eh bien, have no fears. Place yourself in my hands; I will deal with this Mr Robinson." 
"Yes," said Cicely sharply. "And how much will you want?" 
Hercule Poirot bowed. 
"I shall ask only a photograph, signed, of a very beautiful lady." 
She cried out: "Oh, dear, I don't know what to do! My nerves! I'm going mad!" 
"No, no, all is well. Trust Hercule Poirot. Only, madame, I must have the truth - the whole truth. Do not keep anything back or my hands will be tied." 
"And you'll get me out of this mess?" 
"I swear to you solemnly that you will never hear of Mr Robinson again." 
She said, "All right. I'll tell you everything." 
"Good. Now then, you borrowed money from this woman Giselle?" 
Lady Horbury nodded. 
"When was that? When did it begin, I mean?" 
"Eighteen months ago. I was in a hole." 
"Gambling?" 
"Yes, I had an appalling run of luck." 
"And she lent you as much as you wanted?" 
"Not at first. Only a small sum to begin with." 
"And she lent you as much as you wanted?" 
"Not at first. Only a small sum to begin with." 
"Who sent you to her?" 
"Raymond - Mr Barraclough told me that he had heard she lent money to society women." 
"But later she lent you more?" 
"Yes, as much as I wanted. It seemed like a miracle at the time." 
"It was Madame Giselle's special kind of miracle," said Poirot dryly. "I gather that before then you and Mr Barraclough had become - er - friends?" 
"Yes." 
"But you were very anxious that your husband should not know about it?" 
Cicely cried angrily: 
"Stephen's a prig! He's tired of me! He wants to marry someone else. He'd have jumped at the thought of divorcing me." 
"And you did not want divorce?" 
"No. I - I -" 
"You liked your position, and also you enjoyed the use of a very ample income. Quite so. Les femmes, naturally, they must look after themselves. To proceed, there arose the question of repayment?" 
"Yes. And I - I couldn't pay back the money. And then the old devil turned nasty. She knew about me and Raymond. She'd found out places and dates and everything. I can't think how." 
"She had her methods," said Poirot dryly. "And she threatened, I suppose, to send all this evidence to Lord Horbury." 
"Yes, unless I paid up." 
"And you couldn't pay?" 
"No." 
"So her death was quite providential?" 
Cicely Horbury said earnestly: 
"It seemed too, too wonderful." 
"Ah, precisely - too, too wonderful. But it made you a little nervous, perhaps?" 
"Nervous?" 
"Well, after all, madame, you alone of anyone on the plane had a motive for desiring her death." 
She drew in her breath sharply. 
"I know. It was awful. I was in an absolute state about it." 
"Especially since you had been to see her in Paris the night before and had had something of a scene with her?" 
"The old devil! She wouldn't budge an inch. I think she actually enjoyed it. Oh, she was a beast through and through! I came away like a rag." 
"And yet you said at the inquest that you had never seen the woman before?" 
"Well, naturally, what else could I say?" 
Poirot looked at her thoughtfully. 
"You, madame, could say nothing else." 
"It's been too ghastly - nothing but lies, lies, lies. That dreadful inspector man has been here again and again badgering me with questions. But I felt pretty safe. I could see he was only trying it on. He didn't know anything." 
"If one does guess, one should guess with assurance." 
"And then," continued Cicely, pursuing her own line of thought, "I couldn't help feeling that if anything were to leak out, it would have leaked out at once. I felt safe till that awful letter yesterday." 
"You have not been afraid all this time?" 
"Of course I've been afraid!" 
"But of what? Of exposure? Or of being arrested for murder?" 
The color ebbed away from her cheeks. 
"Murder! But I didn't - Oh, you don't believe that! I didn't kill her. I didn't!" 
"You wanted her dead." 
"Yes, but I didn't kill her!... Oh, you must believe me - you must. I never moved from my seat. I -" 
She broke off. Her beautiful blue eyes were fixed on him imploringly. 
Hercule Poirot nodded soothingly. 
"I believe you, madame, for two reasons - first, because of your sex, and, secondly, because of a wasp." 
She stared at him. 
"A wasp?" 
"Exactly. That does not make sense to you, I see. Now then, let us attend to the matter ir hand. I will deal with this Mr Robinson. I pledge you my word that you shall never see or hear of him again. I will settle his - his - I have forgotten the word - his bacon? No, his goat. Now, in return for my services, I will ask you two little questions. Was Mr Barraclough in Paris the day before the murder?" 
"Yes, we dined together. But he thought it better I should go and see the woman alone." 
"Ah, he did, did he? Now, madame, one further question: Your stage name before you were married was Cicely Bland. Was that your real name?" 
"No, my real name is Martha Jebb. But the other -" 
"-made a better professional name. And you were born - where?" 
"Doncaster; but why -" 
"Mere curiosity. Forgive me. And now, Lady Horbury, will you permit me to give you some advice? Why not arrange with your husband a discreet divorce?" 
"And let him many that woman?" 
"And let him marry that woman. You have a generous heart, madame. And besides, you will be safe - oh, so safe and your husband he will pay you an income." 
"Not a very large one." 
"Eh bien, once you are free, you will marry a millionaire." 
"There aren't any nowadays." 
"Ah, do not believe that, madame. The man who had three millions, perhaps now he has two million - it is still enough." 
Cicely laughed. 
"You're very persuasive, M. Poirot. And are you really sure that dreadful man will never bother me again?" 
"On the word of Hercule Poirot," said that gentleman solemnly.
第19节 罗宾逊的出与没
第19节 罗宾逊的出与没

    霍布里伯爵夫人坐在卧室梳妆台边，面前是一大堆考究时髦的化妆品，她紧抿嘴唇，心里感到不安。她把那封信已经看了4遍：
    霍布里伯爵夫人：
        我已经获得已故的吉塞尔夫人的一些材料。如果您或者雷蒙特.巴勒
    克拉夫先生有意，我将非常荣幸与您见面。
        或许，您希望我与您丈夫讨论此事？
                                             您忠诚的约翰.鲁滨逊
    那个该死的法国女人发誓说，万一出现意外，她已有所安排以保护她的客户。霍布里夫人的手在颤抖，她拿起一瓶洒，昂脖灌了下去。该怎么办？当然，应该和他见面，了解他的底细。她走到书桌旁，草草写了一封回信，信中邀请鲁滨逊先生明晚11点在她家见面。
    “我该怎么办？”诺曼急得脸都有些红了。
    “你将演出一幕喜剧，只需稍作打扮就行了。”波洛把他拉到镜子前，“你看着自己，想象自己是圣诞老人，要去使孩子们开心。弄上一些假胡子、假眉毛、假头发，再弄些定型发胶。”
    “我经常在业余剧院演出。”诺曼固执地说。
    波洛耸了耸肩，“不，我的朋友。你是敲诈者，不是喜剧演员。我希望你能使夫人产生一种畏惧感，而不是一见到你就让她笑破肚皮。到洗手间去，然后以崭新的面貌走出来。”
    1刻钟之后，诺曼.盖尔精神振作走了出来，波洛赞许地点了点头。他向诺曼.盖尔面授机宜，诺曼认真听着，不时点点头，然后怀着复杂的心情出发了。
    诺曼被引进霍布里夫人住所一楼的一间小屋，不一会儿霍布里夫人走了出来。
    “鲁滨逊先生吗？”西西里说，“我收到了你的信。”
    诺曼振作精神，咧嘴一笑，然后高声说：“我知道。你觉得怎么样，霍布里夫人？”
    “人不明白你的意思。”
    “得了，你一定要我把话挑明吗？谁不羡慕海边的风情时光，可你丈夫却不太同意。老吉塞尔真是了不起，什么好处都让她给捞走了。现在的问题是由你还是霍布里爵士来处理这件事。”诺曼的目光没有离开微微颤抖的霍布里夫人，“我是卖方，你是买方。”
    “你有什么凭据？”
    “霍布里夫人，那是另外一件事情。”
    “我无法相信。拿证据给我看。”
    “哦，不，”诺曼狡黠地摇着头，“我不会带证据来，只有新手才会这么做。如果你愿意合作并且付了钱，我就把东西给你。”
    “你……你要多少？”
    “1万英镑－－不是美元。”
    “我哪儿去弄这么些钱呢？”
    “你会有办法的。算了，看在一个女人的份上，我只收8千，我给你两天时间考虑。”
    “我弄不到这么多钱。”
    诺曼叹了口气，摇头说：“也许霍布里男爵知道怎么办。我知道巴勒克拉夫虽说前途无量，但目前他并不富有。”他停顿一下又补充道：“我和吉塞尔一样说话算数。”未等对方开口回答，他连忙走出房间。他来到街上，抹了一下额头，“感谢上帝，终于结束了。”
    1小时之后，霍布里夫人收到了一张名片：赫邱里.波洛先生，自称是巴勒克拉夫让他来的。她连忙让门房请客人进来。波洛进屋后向主人深鞠一躬，西西里跨前一步说：“是巴勒克拉夫让你来的？”
    “夫人，坐下慢慢说。”波洛用命令式的口气说，“夫人，我希望你能把我当朋友。我前来告之你，情况很严重。我并不需要你告诉我你的秘密，作为一个有名望的侦探我已经事先知道了。”
    “侦探？我记起来了，你也在飞机上。”
    “对，是我。好了，今天上午有人来拜访你，他叫布朗？”
    “鲁滨逊。”西西里连忙说。
    “都一样，他经常变更名字。他获得了吉塞尔夫人的一些材料就前来敲诈你。他要多少？7千英镑？”
    “8千。”
    “可你一时无法筹到这笔钱？”
    “对，我有些债还没有付清。”她望着他，“你怎么知道这些事情？”
    “因为我是赫邱里.波洛。不用害怕，我知道怎么对付这个鲁滨逊。夫人，请相信我，你只需对我说实话。”
    “你真能帮助我？”
    “我发誓这个鲁滨逊将再也不会出现了。”
    “那好，我全都告诉你。18个月前我入不敷出，我从她那儿只借到一小笔钱。”
    “是谁介绍的？”
    “雷蒙特.巴勒克拉夫。从那以后，我要多少她就借多少。”
    “那么，你害怕你丈夫知道这件事？”
    “史蒂芬不是个东西，他想和我离婚，与别的女人结婚。”
    “你不想离婚？”
    “不。我－－”
    “你借这么多钱，想过怎么样归还吗？”
    “想过。可我无法还钱，那老妇人要挟说要将此事告诉我丈夫。”
    “那么她的死是上苍在保佑你了？”
    西西里真诚地说：“是这样。”
    “然而你又有些不安，因为在飞机上的乘客当中只有你希望她死去，特别是由于你离开巴黎的头一天晚上你去找过她，然而在听证会上你说你并不认识她。”
    “我还能说什么呢？不过，我不是凶手。我坐在座位上从未挪动过，请相信我。”
    “我相信你－－有两个理由：你的性别，还有那只黄蜂。”
    “黄蜂？”她盯着他。
    “也许它对你没有意义。那我再问你两个小问题。案发前一天巴勒克拉夫在巴黎吗？”
    “在，我们一起吃的饭，他说我最好单独去找吉塞尔。”
    “好，还有个问题。你的艺名是西西里.布兰德，那你的真名呢？”
    “马莎.杰布。”
    “出生地呢？”
    “唐卡斯特。怎么？”
    “对不起，仅仅是出于好奇。霍布里夫人请接受我的一个建议：体面地和男爵离婚，因为你将获得一大笔财产。”
    “一大笔财产？”
    “你可以去找位亿万富翁。”
    “眼下富翁已经为数不多了。”西西里笑了起来，她觉得波洛挺逗。“你发誓那个人不会再来烦我了？”
    “赫邱里.波洛从来说话算数。”
Chapter 20 In Harley Street
Chapter 20 In Harley Street

Detective Inspector Japp walked briskly up Harley Street, stopped at a certain door, and asked for Doctor Bryant. 
"Have you an appointment, sir?" 
"No, I'll just write a few words," and on an official card he wrote: 
Should be much obliged if you could spare me a few moments. I won't keep you long. 
He sealed up the card in an envelope and gave it to the butler. 
He was shown into a waiting room. There were two women there and a man. Japp settled down with an elderly copy of Punch. 
The butler reappeared, and crossing the floor, said in a discreet voice: 
"If you wouldn't mind waiting a short time, sir, the doctor will see you, but he's very busy this morning." 
Japp nodded. He did not in the least mind waiting - in fact, he rather welcomed it. The two women had begun to talk. They had, obviously, a very high opinion of Doctor Bryant's abilities. More patients came in. Evidently Doctor Bryant was doing well in his profession. 
"Fairly coining money," thought Japp to himself. "That doesn't look like needing to borrow, but of course the loan may have taken place a long time ago. Anyway, he's got a fine practice; a breath of scandal would bust it to bits. That's the worst of being a doctor." 
A quarter of an hour later, the butler reappeared and said: 
"The doctor will see you now, sir." 
Japp was shown into Doctor Bryant's consulting room - a room at the back of the house with a big window. The doctor was sitting at his desk. He rose and shook hands with the detective. 
His fine-lined face showed fatigue, but he seemed in no way disturbed by the inspector's visit. 
"What can I do for you, inspector?" he said as he resumed his seat and motioned Japp to a chair opposite. 
"I must apologize first for calling in your consulting hours, but I shan't keep you long, sir." 
"That is all right. I suppose it is about the aeroplane death?" 
"Quite right, sir. We're still working on it." 
"With any result?" 
"We're not so far on as we'd like to be. I really came to ask you some questions about the method employed. It's this snake-venom business that I can't get the hang of." 
"I'm not a toxicologist, you know," said Doctor Bryant, smiling. "Such things aren't in my line. Winterspoon's your man." 
"Ah, but you see, it's like this, doctor: Winterspoon's an expert - and you know what experts are. They talk so that the ordinary man can't understand them. But as far as I can make out, there's a medical side to this business. Is it true that snake venom is sometimes injected for epilepsy?" 
"I'm not a specialist in epilepsy either," said Doctor Bryant. "But I believe that injections of cobra venom have been used in the treatment of epilepsy with excellent results. But, as I say, that's not really my line of country." 
"I know - I know. What it really amounts to is this: I felt that you'd take an interest, having been on the aeroplane yourself. I thought it possible that you'd have some ideas on the subject yourself that might be useful to me. It's not much good my going to an expert if I don't know what to ask him?" 
Doctor Bryant smiled. 
"There is something in what you say, inspector. There is probably no man living who can remain entirely unaffected by having come in close contact with murder. I am interested, I admit. I have speculated a good deal about the case in my quiet way." 
"And what do you think, sir?" 
Bryant shook his head slowly. 
"It amazes me. The whole thing seems almost unreal, if I might put it that way. An astounding way of committing a crime. It seems a chance in a hundred that the murderer was not seen. He must be a person with a reckless disregard of risks." 
"Very true, sir." 
"The choice of poison is equally amazing. How could a would-be murderer possibly get hold of such a thing?" 
"I know. It seems incredible. Why, I don't suppose one man in a thousand has ever heard of such a thing as a boomslang, much less actually handled the venom. You yourself, sir - now, you're a doctor, but I don't suppose you've ever handled the stuff." 
"There are certainly not many opportunities of doing so. I have a friend who works at tropical research. In his laboratory there are various specimens of dried snake venoms - that of the cobra, for instance - but I cannot remember any specimen of the boomslang." 
"Perhaps you can help me." Japp took out a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor. "Winterspoon wrote down these three names; said I might get information there. Do you know any of these men?" 
"I know Professor Kennedy slightly, Heidler I knew well; mention my name and I'm sure he'll do all he can for you. Carmichael's an Edinburgh man; I don't know him personally, but I believe they've done some good work up there." 
"Thank you, sir; I'm much obliged. Well, I won't keep you any longer." 
When Japp emerged into Harley Street, he was smiling to himself in a pleased fashion. 
"Nothing like tact," he said to himself. "Tact does it. I'll be bound he never saw what I was after. Well, that's that."
第20节 哈利街上
第20节 哈利街上

    侦探长贾普来到哈利街布恩特大夫的诊所，他递进一张纸条后便坐在候诊室等待。这里有一男两女，随后又来了些病人。从他们的谈话当中，贾普知道布赖恩特大夫的医术高明，信誉极佳。1刻钟之后，秘书将贾普带到大夫的问诊室。布赖恩特起身和探长握手。
    “很报歉在你工作时间前来打扰，我不会耽搁太久，还是为了蛇毒那件事。”
    “我不是病毒学家，”布赖恩特微笑道，“你应当去找温特斯普。”
    “对，虽说他是专家，可专家们说的话一般人很难听得懂。我只想知道蛇毒是否可以用于治疗癫痫。”
    “这方面我也不是专家。不过我听说注射蛇毒治疗癫痫效果不错。”
    “你是飞机上的乘客，对这案子一定有些看法。我觉得在我去找专家咨询之前，你的专业知识一定会对我有所帮助。”
    布赖恩特笑道：“谋杀就在眼前发生，任何人都不能不为之所动。我空闲下来时也想过这案子。”
    “你怎么想的呢？”
    布赖恩特慢慢地摇摇头，“整件事情难以让人相信。凶手想不让人看见，那只有百分之一的可能性，但他却甘冒如此巨大的风险。此外，凶手竟然选择了蛇毒做为行凶的手段。”
    “我看知道布姆斯兰这种毒物的人为数极少，更不用说具体使用它了。我想你一定没有接触过。”
    “因为没有必要。我的一位朋友在做热带动植物方面的研究，在他的实验室里有干蛇毒的标本，比如眼镜蛇，可我没有见过什么布姆斯兰的蛇毒。”
    贾普拿出一张纸条，“温特斯普开列了3个名字，要我前去咨询。你认识他们吗？”
    “我和肯尼迪教授不熟。与海德勒来往较多，你提及我的名字他就会尽力帮忙。卡迈克尔是爱丁堡人，我本人不认识他。”
    “非常感谢，我不再耽搁你了。”走到哈利大街上，贾普会心地笑了，“我敢打赌他绝不会知道我此行的目的。”
Chapter 21 The Three Clues
Chapter 21 The Three Clues

When Japp got back to Scotland Yard, he was told that M. Hercule Poirot was waiting to see him. 
Japp greeted his friend heartily. 
"Well, M. Poirot, and what brings you along? Any news?" 
"I came to ask you for news, my good Japp." 
"If that isn't just like you. Well, there isn't much and that's the truth. The dealer fellow in Paris has identified the blowpipe all right. Fournier's been worrying the life out of me from Paris about his moment psychologique. I've questioned those stewards till I'm blue in the face and they stick to it that there wasn't a moment psychologique. Nothing startling or out of the way happened on the voyage." 
"It might have occurred when they were both in the front car." 
"I've questioned the passengers too. Everyone can't be lying." 
"In one case I investigated everyone was!" 
"You and your cases! To tell the truth. M. Poirot, I'm not very happy. The more I look into things the less I get. The chief's inclined to look on me rather coldly. But what can I do? Luckily, it's one of those semi- foreign cases. We can put it on the Frenchmen over here, and in Paris they say it was done by an Englishman and that it's our business." 
"Do you really believe the Frenchman did it?" 
"Well, frankly, I don't. As I look at it, an archaeologist is a poor kind of fish. Always burrowing in the ground and talking through his hat about what happened thousands of years ago, and how do they know, I should like to know? Who's to contradict them? They say some rotten string of beads is five thousand three hundred and twenty-two years old, and who's to say it isn't? Well, there they are, liars perhaps - though they seem to believe it themselves - but harmless. I had an old chap in here the other day who'd had a scarab pinched. Terrible state he was in - nice old boy, but helpless as a baby in arms. No, between you and me, I don't think for a minute that pair of French archaeologists did it." 
"Who do you think did it?" 
"Well, there's Clancy, of course. He's in a queer way. Goes about muttering to himself. He's got something on his mind." 
"The plot of a new book, perhaps." 
"It may be that - and it may be something else. But try as I may, I can't get a line on motive. I still think CL 52 in the black book is Lady Horbury, but I can't get anything out of her. She's pretty hardboiled, I can tell you." 
Poirot smiled to himself. Japp went on: 
"The stewards - well, I can't find a thing to connect them with Giselle." 
"Doctor Bryant?" 
"I think I'm on to something there. Rumors about him and a patient. Pretty woman - nasty husband - takes drugs or something. If he's not careful he'll be struck off by the medical council. That fits in with RT 
362 well enough, and I don't mind telling you that I've got a pretty shrewd idea where he could have got the snake venom from. I went to see him and he gave himself away rather badly over that. Still, so far it is all surmise, no facts. Facts aren't any too easy to get at in this case. Ryder seems all square and aboveboard; says he went to raise a loan in Paris and couldn't get it, gave names and addresses, all checked up. I've found out that the firm was nearly in Queer Street about a week or two ago, but they seem to be just pulling through. There you are again, unsatisfactory. The whole thing is a muddle." 
"There is no such thing as muddle - obscurity, yes, but muddle can exist only in a disorderly brain." 
"Use any word you choose. The result's the same. Fournier's stumped too. I suppose you've got it all taped out, but you'd rather not tell!" 
"You mock yourself at me. I have not got it all taped out. I proceed, a step at a time, with order and method, but there is still far to go." 
"I can't help feeling glad to hear that. Let's hear about these orderly steps." 
Poirot smiled. 
"I make a little table, so." He took a paper from his pocket. "My idea is this: A murder is an action performed to bring about a certain result." 
"Say that again slowly." 
"It is not difficult." 
"Probably not, but you make it sound so." 
"No, no. it is very simple. Say you want money; you get it when an aunt dies. Bien. You perform an action - this is to kill the aunt - and get the result - inherit the money." 
"I wish I had some aunts like that," sighed Japp. "Go ahead. I see your idea. You mean there's got to be a motive." 
"I prefer my own way of putting it. An action is performed - the action being murder. What now are the results of that action? By studying the different results, we should get the answer to our conundrum. The results of a single action may be very varied; that particular action affects a lot of different people. Eh bien, I study today - three weeks after the crime - the result in eleven different cases." 
He spread out the paper. 
Japp leaned forward with some interest and read over Poirot's shoulder. 
Miss Grey. Result - temporary improvement. Increased salary. 
Mr Gale. Result - bad. Loss of practice. 
Lady Horbury. Result - good, if she's CL 52. 
Miss Kerr. Result - bad, since Giselle's death makes it more unlikely Lord Horbury will get the evidence to divorce his wife. 
"H'm." Japp interrupted his scrutiny. "So you think she's keen on his lordship? You are a one for nosing out love affairs." 
Poirot smiled. Japp bent over the chart once more. 
Mr Clancy. Result - good. Expects to make money by book dealing with the murder. 
Doctor Bryant. Result - good if RT 362. 
Mr Ryder. Result - good, owing to small amount of cash obtained through articles on murder which tided firm over delicate time. Also good if Ryder is XVB 724. 
M. Dupont. Result - unaffected. 
M. Jean Dupont. Result - the same. 
Mitchell. Result - unaffected. 
Davis. Result - unaffected. 
"And you think that's going to help you?" asked Japp skeptically. "I can't see that writing down 'I don't know. I don't know. I can't tell,' 
makes it any better." 
"It gives one a clear classification," explained Poirot. "In four cases - Mr Clancy, Miss Grey, Mr Ryder and, I think I may say, Lady Horbury - there is a result on the credit side. In the cases of Mr Gale and Miss Kerr there is a result on the debit side; in four cases there is no result at all, so far as we know, and in one - Doctor Bryant - there is either no result or a distinct gain." 
"And so?" asked Japp. 
"And so," said Poirot, "we must go on seeking." 
"With precious little to go upon," said Japp gloomily. "The truth of it is that we're hung up until we can get what we want from Paris. It's the Giselle side that wants going into. I bet I could have got more out of that maid than Fournier did." 
"I doubt it, my friend. The most interesting thing about this case is the personality of the dead woman. A woman without friends, without relations - without, as one might say, any personal life. A woman who was once young, who once loved and suffered, and then with a firm hand pulled down the shutter - all that was over! Not a photograph, not a souvenir, not a knickknack. Marie Morisot became Madame Giselle, money lender." 
"Do you think there is a clue in her past?" 
"Perhaps." 
"Well, we could do with it! There aren't any clues in this case." 
"Oh, yes, my friend, there are." 
"The blowpipe, of course." 
"No, no, not the blowpipe." 
"Well, let's hear your ideas of the clues in the case." 
Poirot smiled. 
"I will give them titles, like the names of Mr Clancy's stories! The Clue of the Wasp. The Clue in the Passenger's Baggage. The Clue of the Extra Coffee Spoon." 
"You're potty," said Japp kindly. And added: 
"What's this about a coffee spoon?" 
"Madame Giselle had two spoons in her saucer." 
"That's supposed to mean a wedding." 
"In this case," said Poirot, "it meant a funeral."
第21节 三条线索
第21节 三条线索

    贾普回到伦敦警察厅，听说波洛正在等他。
    “我是来向你讨情况的。”波洛说。
    “我只能说还没有新的进展。巴黎的古玩商认出了他所出售的吹管，福尼尔一直很关心分散注意力的时间。整个旅途中没有任何意外情况发生。这是一桩半涉外的案子。我们可以说是法国人干的；巴黎也可以说是英国人干的，不干我们的事。”
    “你真认为是法国人干的？”
    “不。那个考古学家成天埋头于地下，他怎么说你就怎么信。他们说一串发黄的珠有5322年的历史，你能说什么呢？不过，说老实话，我不认为是法国考古学家所为。”
    “那你怀疑谁呢？”
    “那个克兰西，他举止奇怪，脑子里装满了荒唐的主意。”
    “也许吧。据我看，小黑本里的CL52就是霍布里夫人，不过她的动机不详。两个乘务员似乎不太可能与吉塞尔有什么联系。”
    “布赖恩特大夫呢？”
    “据说他和一位病人吸毒，医务局正在处理这件事。他可能是RT362。
我去问他从哪儿能弄到蛇毒，结果一无所获，被他打发走了。赖德好像很坦然。承认去过巴黎借款，还说出了一些地址和姓名，我们查过了。这案子看来真是糟透了。”
    “只不过是前景不明朗而已，‘糟透了’只存在于混乱的思维当中。”
    “随便你怎么说，结果都一样。福尼尔那边也没有进展，也许你有，但你不愿说。”
    “我正一步一个脚印地前进。”
    “那好，就让我听听。”
    波洛笑了笑，从口袋里拿出一张纸条，“我的看法是，谋杀的目的是希望产生某种效果。这案子已发生3周了，今天我就其结果归了归类。”他摊开纸条，贾普凑了过去。
    格雷小姐－－暂时乐观，增加了工资。
    盖尔先生－－挺糟，职业生涯受挫。
    霍布里夫人－－假如她是CL52，有利。
    克尔小姐－－不利。吉塞尔一死，霍布里男爵将更不可能找到离婚的理由。
    克兰西先生－－有利，又有了写书的题材。
    布赖恩特大夫－－有利，如果他是RT362。
    赖德先生－－有利，有关谋杀的文章使其获得一笔钱，并且如果他是XVB724
       杜邦先生－－没有影响。
    琼.杜邦先生－－没有影响。
    米切尔－－没有影响。
    戴维斯－－没有影响。
    “你觉得这会有什么帮助？”贾普怀疑地问。
    “这分类很明确，”波洛说，“对克兰西、格雷、赖德还有霍布里夫人来说此案有积极的作用，对盖尔和克尔来说有负面的作用，而布赖恩特则居其中间。”
    “我看不出这分类有什么意义，”贾普忧郁地说，“福尼尔在巴黎也没有什么进展。”
    “此案最有趣的部分就是吉塞尔的人品和性格。她没有朋友、没有亲人，她也没有留下一张照片和相关的物什。而现在小莫里索一夜之间便成了吉塞尔夫人。”
    “可现在我们仍然没有线索。”
    “有的。”
    “吹管和毒针？”
    “不、不。吉塞尔夫人的咖啡盘子里有两只调羹。”
Chapter 22 Jane Takes a New Job
Chapter 22 Jane Takes a New Job
 
When Norman Gale, Jane and Poirot met for dinner on the night after the blackmailing incident, Norman was relieved to hear that his services as Mr Robinson were no longer required.
"He is dead, the good Mr Robinson," said Poirot. He raised his glass.
"Let us drink to his memory."
"R.I.P.," said Norman with a laugh.
"What happened?" asked Jane of Poirot.
He smiled at her.
"I found out what I wanted to know."
"Was she mixed up with Giselle?"
"Yes."
"That was pretty clear from my interview with her," said Norman.
"Quite so," said Poirot. "But I wanted a full and detailed story."
"And you got it?"
"I got it."
They both looked at him inquiringly, but Poirot, in a provoking manner, began to discuss the relationship between a career and a life.
"There are not so many round pegs in square holes one might think. Most people, in spite of what they tell you choose the occupation that they secretly desire. You will hear a man say who works in an office, 'I should like to explore, to rough it in far countries.' But you will find that he likes reading the fiction that deals with that subject, but that he himself prefers the safety and moderate comfort of an office stool."
"According to you," said Jane, "my desire for foreign travel isn't genuine. Messing about with women's heads is my true vocation. Well, that isn't true."
Poirot smiled at her.
"You are young still. Naturally, one tries this, that and the other, but what one eventually settles down into is the life one prefers."
"And suppose I prefer being rich?"
"Ah, that, it is more difficult!"
"I don't agree with you," said Gale. "I'm a dentist by chance, not choice. My uncle was a dentist; he wanted me to come in with him, but I was all for adventure and seeing the world. I chucked dentistry and went off to farm in South Africa. However, that wasn't much good; I hadn't had enough experience. I had to accept the old man's offer and come and set up business with him."
"And now you are thinking of chucking dentistry again and going off to Canada. You have a Dominion complex!"
"This time I shall be forced to do it."
"Ah, but it is incredible how often things force one to do the thing one would like to do."
"Nothing's forcing me to travel," said Jane wistfully. "I wish it would."
"Eh bien, I make you an offer here and now. I go to Paris next week. If you like, you can take the job of my secretary. I will give you a good salary."
Jane shook her head.
"I mustn't give up Antoine's. It's a good job."
"So is mine a good job."
"Yes, but it's only temporary."
"I will obtain you another post of the same kind."
"Thanks, but I don't think I'll risk it."
Poirot looked at her and smiled enigmatically.
Three days later he was rung up.
"M. Poirot," said Jane, "is that job still open?"
"But, yes. I go to Paris on Monday."
"You really mean it? I can come?"
"Yes, but what has happened to make you change your mind?"
"I've had a row with Antoine. As a matter of fact, I lost my temper with a customer. She was an - an absolute - Well, I can't say just what she was through the telephone. I was feeling nervy, and instead of doing my soothing-sirup stuff, I just let rip and told her exactly what I thought of her."
"Ah, the thought of the great wide-open spaces."
"What's that you say?"
"I say that your mind was dwelling on a certain subject."
"It wasn't my mind, it was my tongue that slipped. I enjoyed it. Her eyes looked just like her beastly Pekingese's - as though they were going to drop out - but here I am, thrown out on my ear, as you might say. I must get another job sometime, I suppose, but I'd like to come to Paris first."
"Good; it is arranged. On the way over, I will give you your instructions."
Poirot and his new secretary did not travel by air, for which Jane was secretly thankful. The unpleasant experience of her last trip had shaken her nerve. She did not want to be reminded of that lolling figure in rusty black.
On their way from Calais to Paris they had the compartment to themselves and Poirot gave Jane some idea of his plans.
"There are several people in Paris that I have to see. There is the lawyer - Maоtre Thibault. There is also M. Fournier, of the Sыret?- a melancholy man, but intelligent. And there are M. Dupont p閞e and M. Dupont fils. Now, Mademoiselle Jane, whilst I am taking on the father, I shall leave the son to you. You are very charming, very attractive. I fancy that M. Dupont will remember you from the inquest."
"I've seen him since then," said Jane, her color rising slightly.
"Indeed? And how was that?"
Jane, her color rising a little more, described their meeting in the Corner House.
"Excellent; better and better. Ah, it was a famous idea of mine to bring you to Paris with me. Now listen carefully, Mademoiselle Jane. As far as possible do not discuss the Giselle affair, but do not avoid the subject if Jean Dupont introduces. It might be well if, without actually saying so, you could convey the impression that Lady Horbury is suspected of the crime. My reason for coming to Paris, you can say, is to confer with M. Fournier and to inquire particularly into any dealings Lady Horbury may have had with the dead woman."
"Poor Lady Horbury. You do make her a stalking horse!"
"She is not the type I admire. Eh bien, let her be useful for once."
Jane hesitated for a minute, then said:
"You don't suspect young M. Dupont of the crime, do you?"
"No, no, no. I desire information merely." He looked at her sharply. "He attracts you, eh, this young man? Il est sex appeal?"
Jane laughed at the phrase.
"No, that's not how I would describe him. He's very simple, but rather a dear."
"So that is how you describe him - very simple?"
"He is simple. I think it's because he's led a nice unworldly life."
"True," said Poirot. "He has not, for instance, dealt with teeth. He has not been disillusioned by the sight of a public hero shivering with fright in the dentist's chair."
Jane laughed.
"I don't think Norman's roped in any public heroes yet as patients."
"It would have been a waste, since he is going to Canada."
"He's talking of New Zealand now. He thinks I'd like the climate better."
"At all events he is patriotic. He sticks to the British Dominions."
"I'm hoping," said Jane, "that it won't be necessary."
She fixed Poirot with an inquiring eye.
"Meaning that you put your trust in Papa Poirot? Ah, well, I will do the best I can; that I promise you. But I have the feeling very strongly, mademoiselle, that there is a figure who has not yet come into the limelight - a part as yet unplayed."
He shook his head, frowning.
"There is, mademoiselle, an unknown factor in this case. Everything points to that."
Two days after their arrival in Paris, M. Hercule Poirot and his secretary dined in a small restaurant, and the two Duponts, father and son, were Poirot's guests.
Old M. Dupont Jane found as charming as his son, but she got little chance of talking to him. Poirot monopolized him severely from the start. Jane found Jean no less easy to get on with than she had done in London. His attractive boyish personality pleased her now as it had then. He was such a simple friendly soul.
All the same, even while she laughed and talked with him, her ear was alert to catch snatches of the two older men's conversation. She wondered precisely what information it was that Poirot wanted. So far as she could hear, the conversation had never touched once on the murder. Poirot was skillfully drawing out his companion on the subject of the past. His interest in archaeological research in Persia seemed both deep and sincere. M. Dupont was enjoying his evening enormously. Seldom did he get such an intelligent and sympathetic listener.
Whose suggestion it was that the two young people should go to a cinema was not quite clear, but when they had gone, Poirot drew his chair a little closer to the table and seemed prepared to take a still more practical interest in archaeological research.
"I comprehend," he said. "Naturally, it is a great anxiety in these difficult days to raise sufficient funds. You accept private donations?"
M. Dupont laughed.
"My dear friend, we sue for them practically on bended knees! But our particular type of dig does not attract the great mass of humanity. They demand spectacular results! Above all, they like gold - large quantities of gold! It is amazing how little the average person cares for pottery. Pottery - the whole romance of humanity can be expressed in terms of pottery. Design, texture -"
M. Dupont was well away. He besought Poirot not to be led astray by the specious publications of B----, the really criminal misdating of L----, and the hopelessly unscientific stratification of G----. Poirot promised solemnly not to be led astray by any of the publications of these learned personages.
Then he said:
"Would a donation, for instance, of five hundred pounds -"
M. Dupont nearly fell across the table in his excitement:
"You - you are offering that? To me? To aid our researches! But it is magnificent! Stupendous! The biggest private donation we have had!"
Poirot coughed.
"I will admit, there is a favor -"
"Ah, yes, a souvenir - some specimen of pottery."
"No, no, you misunderstand me," said Poirot quickly, before M. Dupont could get well away again. "It is my secretary - that charming young girl you saw tonight - if she could accompany you on your expedition?"
M. Dupont seemed slightly taken aback for a moment.
"Well," he said, pulling his mustache, "it might possibly be arranged. I should have to consult my son. My nephew and his wife are to accompany us. It was to have been a family party. However, I will speak to Jean."
"Mademoiselle Grey is passionately interested in pottery. The past has for her an immense fascination. It is the dream of her life to dig. Also she mends socks and sews on buttons in a manner truly admirable."
"A useful accomplishment."
"Is it not? And now you were telling me about the pottery of Susa."
M. Dupont resumed a happy monologue on his own particular theories of Susa I and Susa II.
Poirot reached his hotel, to find Jane saying good night to Jean Dupont in the hall.
As they went up in the lift, Poirot said: "I have obtained for you a job of great interest. You are to accompany the Duponts to Persia in the spring."
Jane stared at him.
"Are you quite mad?"
"When the offer is made to you, you will accept with every manifestation of delight."
"I am certainly not going to Persia. I shall be in Muswell Hill or New Zealand with Norman."
Poirot twinkled at her gently.
"My dear child," he said, "it is some months to next March. To express delight is not to buy a ticket. In the same way I have talked about a donation, but I have not actually signed a check! By the way, I must obtain for you in the morning a handbook on prehistoric pottery of the Near East. I have said that you are passionately interested in the subject."
Jane sighed.
"Being secretary to you is no sinecure, is it? Anything else?"
"Yes. I have said that you sew on buttons and darn socks to perfection."
"Do I have to give a demonstration of that tomorrow too?"
"It would be as well, perhaps," said Poirot, "if they took my word for it."
第22节 简的新任务
第22节 简的新任务

    敲诈事件后的那天晚上，诺曼.盖尔、简和波洛在一起吃饭。诺曼为自己不必再假扮鲁滨逊而感到欣慰。
    “从我和她的谈话时看得出，她和吉塞尔夫人有过联系。”诺曼说。
    “很显然，”波洛说，“不过我了解到更详细的情况。大多数人虽然表面上说的是一套，但他们在心中却暗地盘算。比如说，有人抱怨‘我不想呆在办公室里，我想去什么遥远的国度重塑自我。’可他却满足于安稳和舒适的办公室工作。”
    “这么说，”简说，“我去国外旅行的动机不纯了？”
    波洛看着她微笑，“你还年轻，人一生自然会做出诸多选择，可最终会确定自己生活的模式。”
    “比如，我希望富有。”
    “哦，那可就更难了。”
    “我不同意你的法，”盖尔说，“由于一个偶然的机会我成了牙科大夫。
我叔叔是牙医，他希望我也从事他的职业，但我却希望周游世界，阅尽人间百态。我曾一度放弃行医去了南非的一个农场，然而收获不大。结果我不得不顺从了叔叔的意愿又重操旧业。”
    “现在你又被迫弃医去加拿大？”
    “这一次我不得不这么做。”诺曼说。
    “我出门旅行可是出于自愿。”简说。
    “好了，”波洛说，“我下周去巴黎，我希望你做为我的秘书，我会付你好报酬的。”
    简摇摇头，“我得辞掉安托万美发厅的工作，那可是一份好差事。”
    “我这份也是，挺不错。”
    “对，不过那只是暂时的。”
    “我保证再给你找一份同样好的工作。”
    “谢谢。可我现在不冒此风险。”
    波洛无可奈何地看着她。可3天之后简打来电话：“那份工作我还可以做吗？”
    “当然。怎么？你改变了主意？”
    “我和安托万大闹了一场。我对一位顾客发脾气，我对她一五一十说出了我的看法。”
    “我说过人明里说一套，暗地里却想着别的事情。”
    “也许是我的嘴害了我。不过，现在我首先想到的是巴黎，也许你会说我口是心非。”
    “她吧，就这么定了。我会告诉你该怎么做。”
    波洛和他的新任秘书没有乘飞机，简认为这样不错，上次飞机上的遭遇她至今仍念念不忘。他们在卡来订了一间船舱，坐直达船到巴黎。波洛向她口授了自己的打算。
    “到巴黎后我要去见几个人，有律师梅特.亚历山大，巴黎警察厅的福尼尔，还有杜邦父子。不过，小杜邦由你负责，似乎他对你有些好感。他可能还记得你。”
    “其实我和他见过面了。”简他们的邂逅告诉了波洛。
    “那就更好了。小姐，我们这次去巴黎，你不得与任何人谈论吉塞尔夫人的事情。假如小杜邦执意要谈，你可以说霍布里夫人是最大的嫌疑。我去找福尼尔也正是想确认一下我的想法。”
    “可怜的霍布里夫人，你拿她当挡箭牌了。”简想了一下又说：“你不怀疑是小杜邦干的？”
    “不，不。”波洛说，“我只是想收集情况。此外，他似乎迷上了你，不是吗？”
    简大笑起来，“他的思维简单，不过挺可爱。他只知道摆弄什么远古化石之类的东西。”
    “他和诺曼不一样。”波洛说，“虽然两人都希望周游世界。诺曼不是说准备去加拿大吗？”
    “他现在又想去新西兰，说我会喜欢那儿的天气。”
    “可现在你已经将自己托付给了波洛大叔，我将竭尽全力照顾你。”
    两天后他们到达巴黎，波洛和他的秘书以及杜邦父子来到一家僻静的小餐馆就餐。英国来宾各自面对自己的谈话对象，简觉得小杜邦并不像在伦敦时那样随和。她一边谈笑，一边偷听邻座两位老人的谈话，她发现他们只字未提谋杀案的事，波洛不断地说自己对波斯考古兴趣大增。最终不知是谁建议让两位年青人去看电影。他们走后，波洛拉过椅子说：“如今经济不景气，筹资并不是一件容易的事情。你接受过私人捐助吗？”
    “哦，我的朋友，我们几乎是跪着向别人请求资助。公众对我们这一行的兴趣不大，谁会关心陶器上的花纹和造型？”
    “那么一次捐助有多少呢？500英镑？”
    杜邦先生惊讶地直起身体，“你想捐助？对我们来讲那可是一个巨大的数目。”
    波洛干咳了一下，“我只是想帮帮忙。请别误解了。我的秘书，也就是你刚才看见的姑娘，她希望与你们一同去探险。”
    杜邦先生略有些不解，摸了摸胡子说：“哦，那没问题。”
    “格雷小姐对古陶情有独钟，她毕生梦想有一天能挖到些古物。并且，她手巧心细。”
    “这可是一个有用的资质。”杜邦先生似乎接受了。
    当波洛回到店时，正看见简与小杜邦在大厅道别。然后，他们一同上了电梯。
波洛说：“我已经给你找到了一份称心的差事。春天你将和杜邦父子一道去波斯。”
    “你疯了吗？我肯定不会去波斯。我打算与诺曼一道去新西兰的马斯维尔山。”
    波洛和蔼地向她挤了挤眼，“我的孩子，离5月份还有几个月的时间。愉快的微笑并不意味着认可。正如我和老杜邦谈及捐助之事，并不意味着我就要签支票。”
Chapter 23 Anne Morisot
Chapter 23 Anne Morisot

At half past ten on the following morning the melancholy M. Fournier walked in to Poirot's sitting room and shook the little Belgian warmly by the hand. 
His own manner was far more animated than usual. 
"Monsieur," he said, "there is something I want to tell you. I have, I think, at last seen the point of what you said in London about the finding of the blowpipe." 
"Ah!" Poirot's face lighted up. 
"Yes," said Fournier, taking a chair. "I pondered much over what you had said. Again and again I say to myself: 'Impossible that the crime should have been committed as we believe.' And at last - at last I see a connection between that repetition of mine and what you said about the finding of the blowpipe." 
Poirot listened attentively, but said nothing. 
"That day in London you said: 'Why was the blowpipe found when it might so easily have been passed out through the ventilator?' And I think now that I have the answer: The blowpipe was found because the murderer wanted it to be found." 
"Bravo!" said Poirot. 
"That was your meaning, then? Good. I thought so And I went on a step further. I ask myself, 'Why did the murderer want the blowpipe to be found?' And to that I got the answer: 'Because the blowpipe was not used.'" 
"Bravo! Bravo! My reasoning exactly." 
"I say to myself: 'The poisoned dart, yes, but not the blowpipe." Then something else was used to send that dart through the air - something that a man or woman might put to their lips in a normal manner, and which would cause no remark. And I remembered your insistence on a complete list of all that was found in the passengers' luggage and upon their persons. There were two things that especially attracted my attention - Lady Horbury had two cigarette holders, and on the table in front of the Duponts were a number of Kurdish pipes." 
M. Fournier paused. He looked at Poirot. Poirot did not speak. 
"Both those things could have been put to the lips naturally without anyone remarking on it. I am right, am I not?" 
Poirot hesitated, then he said: 
"You are on the right track, yes, but go a little further. And do not forget the wasp." 
"The wasp?" Fournier stared. "No, there I do not follow you. I cannot see where the wasp comes in." 
"You cannot see? But it is there that I -" 
He broke off as the telephone rang. 
He took up the receiver. 
"Allф. Allф... Ah, good morning... Yes, it is I myself, Hercule Poirot." In an aside to Fournier, he said, "It is Thibault... 
"Yes, yes, indeed... Very well. And you?... M. Fournier?... Quite right... Yes; he has arrived. He is here at this moment." 
Lowering the receiver, he said to Fournier: 
"He tried to get you at the Sыret? They told him that you had come to see me here. You had better speak to him. He sounds excited." 
Fournier took the telephone. 
"Allф. Allф... Yes, it is Fournier speaking...What? What?... In verity, is that so?... Yes, indeed... Yes. Yes, I am sure he will. We will come round at once." 
He replaced the telephone on its hook and looked across at Poirot. 
"It is the daughter. The daughter of Madame Giselle." 
"What?" 
"Yes, she has arrived to claim her heritage." 
"Where has she come from?" 
"America, I understand. Thibault has asked her to return at half past eleven. He suggests we should go round and see him." 
"Most certainly. We will go immediately. I will leave a note for Mademoiselle Grey." 
He wrote: 
Some developments have occurred which force me to go out. If M. Jean Dupont should ring up or call, be amiable to him. Talk of buttons and socks, but not as yet of prehistoric pottery. He admires you, but he is intelligent! 
Au revoir. 
Hercule Poirot. 
"And now let us come, my friend," he said, rising. "This is what I have been waiting for - the entry on the scene of the shadowy figure of whose presence I have been conscious all along. Now, soon, I ought to understand everything." 
Maоtre Thibault received Poirot and Fournier with great affability. 
After an interchange of compliments and polite questions and answers, the lawyer settled down to the discussion of Madame Giselle's heiress. 
"I received a letter yesterday," he said. "And this morning the young lady herself called upon me." 
"What age is Mademoiselle Morisot?" 
"Mademoiselle Morisot - or rather Mrs Richards; for she is married - is exactly twenty-four years of age." 
"She brought documents to prove her identity?" said Fournier. 
"Certainly. Certainly." 
He opened a file at his elbow. 
"To begin with, there is this." 
It was a copy of a marriage certificate between George Leman, bachelor, and Marie Morisot, both of Quebec. Its date was 1910. There was also the birth certificate of Anne Morisot Leman. There were various other documents and papers. 
"This throws a certain light on the early life of Madame Giselle," said Fournier. 
Thibault nodded. 
"As far as I can piece it out," he said, "Marie Morisot was nursery governess or sewing maid when she met this man Leman. 
"He was, I gather, a bad lot who deserted her soon after the marriage, and she resumed her maiden name. 
"The child was received in the Institut de Marie at Quebec and was brought up there. Marie Morisot, or Leman, left Quebec shortly afterwards - I imagine with a man - and came to France. She remitted sums of money from time to time and finally dispatched a lump sum of ready money to be given to the child on attaining the age of twenty- one. At that time, Marie Morisot, or Leman, was no doubt living an irregular life, and considered it better to sunder any personal relations." 
"How did the girl realize that she was the heiress to a fortune?" 
"We have inserted discreet advertisements in various journals. It seems one of these came to the notice of the principal of the Institut de Marie and she wrote or telegraphed to Mrs Richards, who was then in Europe, but on the point of returning to the States." 
"Who is Richards?" 
"I gather he is an American or Canadian from Detroit; by profession a maker of surgical instruments." 
"He did not accompany his wife?" 
"No, he is still in America." 
"Is Mrs Richards able to throw any light upon a possible reason for her mother's murder?" 
The lawyer shook his head. 
"She knows nothing about her. In fact, although she had once heard the principal mention it, she did not even remember what her mother's maiden name was." 
"It looks," said Fournier, "as though her appearance on the scene is not going to be of any help in solving the murder problem. Not, I must admit, that I ever thought it would. I am on quite another tack at present. My inquiries have narrowed down to a choice of three persons." 
"Four," said Poirot. 
"You think four?" 
"It is not I who say four. But on the theory that you advanced to me you cannot confine yourself to three persons." He made a sudden rapid motion with his hands. "The two cigarette holders, the Kurdish pipes and a flute. Remember the flute, my friend." 
Fournier gave an exclamation, but at that moment the door opened and an aged clerk mumbled: 
"The lady has returned." 
"Ah," said Thibault. "Now you will be able to see the heiress for yourself... Come in, madame. Let me present to you M. Fournier, of the Sыret? who is in charge in this country of the inquiries into your mother's death. This is M. Hercule Poirot, whose name may be familiar to you and who is kindly giving us his assistance. Madame Richards." 
Giselle's daughter was a dark chic-looking young woman. She was very smartly, though plainly, dressed. 
She held out her hand to each of the men in turn, murmuring a few appreciative words. 
"Though I fear, messieurs, that I have hardly the feeling of a daughter in the matter. I have been to all intents and purposes an orphan all my life." 
In answer to Fournier's questions, she spoke warmly and gratefully of M鑢e Ang閘ique, the head of the Institut de Marie. 
"She has always been kindness itself to me." 
"You left the Institut - when, madame?" 
"When I was eighteen, monsieur. I started to earn my living. I was, for a time, a manicurist. I have also been in a dressmaker's establishment. I met my husband in Nice. He was then just returning to the States. He came over again on business to Holland and we were married in Rotterdam a month ago. Unfortunately, he had to return to Canada. I was detained, but I am now about to rejoin him." 
Anne Richard's French was fluent and easy. She was clearly more French than English. 
"You heard of the tragedy - how?" 
"Naturally, I read of it in me papers. But I did not know - that is, I did not realize - that the victim in the case was my mother. Then I received a telegram here in Paris from M鑢e Ang閘ique giving me the address of Maоtre Thibault and reminding me of my mother's maiden name." 
Fournier nodded thoughtfully. 
They talked a little further, but it seemed clear that Mrs Richards could be of little assistance to them in their search for the murderer. She knew nothing at all of her mother's life or business relations. 
Having elicited the name of the hotel at which she was staying, Poirot and Fournier took leave of her. 
"You are disappointed, mon vieux," said Fournier. "You have some idea in your brain about this girl? Did you suspect that she might be an impostor? Or do you, in fact, still suspect that she is an impostor?" 
Poirot shook his head in a discouraged manner. 
"No, I do not think she is an impostor. Her proofs of identity sound genuine enough. It is odd, though; I feel that I have either seen her before, or that she reminds me of someone." 
"A likeness to the dead woman?" suggested Fournier doubtfully. 
"Surely not." 
"No, it is not that. I wish I could remember what it was. I am sure her face reminds me of someone." 
Fournier looked at him curiously. 
"You have always, I think, been intrigued by the missing daughter." 
"Naturally," said Poirot, his eyebrows rising a little. "Of all the people who may or may not benefit by Giselle's death, this young woman does benefit very definitely in hard cash." 
"True, but does that get us anywhere?" 
Poirot did not answer for a minute or two. He was following the train of his own thoughts. He said at last: 
"My friend, a very large fortune passes to this girl. Do you wonder that, from the beginning, I speculated as to her being implicated? There were three women on that plane. One of them. Miss Venetia Kerr, was of well-known and authenticated family. But the other two? Ever since ?lise Grandier advanced the theory that the father of Madame Giselle's child was an Englishman, I have kept it in my mind that one of the two other women might conceivably be this daughter. They were both of approximately the right age. Lady Horbury was a chorus girl whose antecedents were somewhat obscure and who acted under a stage name. Miss Jane Grey, as she once told me, had been brought up in an orphanage." 
"Ah-ha!" said the Frenchman. "So that is the way your mind has been running? Our friend Japp would say that you were being 
overingenious." 
"It is true that he always accuses me of preferring to make things difficult." 
"You see?" 
"But as a matter of fact, it is not true. I proceed always in the simplest manner imaginable! And I never refuse to accept facts." 
"But you are disappointed? You expected more from this Anne Morisot?" 
They were just entering Poirot's hotel. An object lying on me reception desk recalled Fournier's mind to something Poirot had said earlier in the morning. 
"I have not thanked you," he said, "for drawing my attention to the error I had committed. I noted the two cigarette holders of Lady Horbury and the Kurdish pipes of the Duponts. I was unpardonable on my part to have forgotten the flute of Doctor Bryant. Though I do not seriously suspect him." 
"You do not?" 
"No. He does not strike me as the kind of man to -" 
He stopped. The man standing at the reception desk talking to the clerk turned, his hand on the flute case. His glance fell on Poirot and his face lit up in grave recognition. Poirot went forward; Fournier discreetly withdrew into the background. As well that Bryant should not see him. 
"Doctor Bryant," said Poirot, bowing. 
"M. Poirot." 
They shook hands. A woman who had been standing near Bryant moved away toward the lift. Poirot sent just a fleeting glance after her. 
He said: "Well, M. le docteur, are your patients managing to do without you for a little?" 
Doctor Bryant smiled - that melancholy attractive smile that the other remembered so well. He looked tired, but strangely peaceful. 
"I have no patients now," he said. 
Then moving toward a little table, he said: 
"A glass of sherry, M. Poirot? Or some other aperitif?" 
"I thank you." 
They sat down and the doctor gave the order. Then he said slowly: 
"No, I have no patients now. I have retired." 
"A sudden decision?" 
"Not so very sudden." 
He was silent as the drinks were set before them. Then, raising his glass, he said: 
"It is a necessary decision. I resign of my own free will before I am struck off the register." He went on speaking in a gentle far-away voice: "There comes to everyone a turning point in their lives, M. Poirot. They stand at the crossroads and have to decide. My profession interests me enormously; it is a sorrow - a very great sorrow - to abandon it. But there are other claims. There is, M. Poirot, the happiness of a human being." 
Poirot did not speak. He waited. 
"There is a lady - a patient of mine - I love her very dearly. She has a husband who causes her infinite misery. He takes drugs. If you were a doctor you would know what that meant. She has no money of her own, so she cannot leave him. 
"For some time I have been undecided, but now I have made up my mind. She and I are now on our way to Kenya to begin a new life. I hope that at last she may know a little happiness. She has suffered so long." 
Again he was silent. Then he said in a brisker tone: 
"I tell you this, M. Poirot, because it will soon be public property, and the sooner you know the better." 
"I understand," said Poirot. After a minute, he said, "You take your flute, I see." 
Doctor Bryant smiled. 
"My flute, M. Poirot, is my oldest companion. When everything else fails, music remains." 
His hand ran lovingly over the flute case; then, with a bow, he rose. 
Poirot rose also. 
"My best wishes for your future, M. le docteur, and for that of madame," said Poirot. 
When Fournier rejoined his friend, Poirot was at the desk making arrangements for a trunk call to Quebec.
第23节 安妮·莫里索
第23节 安妮•莫里索

    翌晨10点半，表情忧虑的福尼尔来到波洛的客厅，热情地和矮小的比利时人握手。
    “我想告诉你我的想法。”
    “哦！”波洛的脸上放着光彩。
    “那天你在伦敦说，凶手为什么就不把凶器塞出通风口？我找到了答案：我们很容易就找到了吹管，因为这是凶手所希望的。”
    “太好了！”波洛说。
    “我进一步问自己：凶手干嘛要这么做？我的答案是，吹管这件凶器根本就没有使用过。”
    “太好了，太好了！这也是我的推理。”
    “我以为凶器只是毒针，凶手是用其他什么东西发射的。我记得你坚持要一份乘客所有物品的清单，有两件东西吸引了我的注意力－－霍布里夫人有两只烟盒；杜邦父子的桌上有几根库尔德人的竹管。”
    波洛静静地望着他，然后说：“你的思路是对的，但有些偏颇。别忘了那只黄蜂－－”这时电话响起，他拿过话筒：“你好。对，是我，赫邱里.波洛……，是亚历山大先生吗？……福尼尔先生……对……对，他刚到。”他扭头低声对福尼尔说：“他去巴黎警察厅找过你。他很激动，要来见你。”
    福尼尔接过电话：“喂，你好。……我是福尼尔……，什么？……什么？好，好，我们马上就去。”他放下话筒，面对波洛，“是吉塞尔的女儿，她来索要遗产。”
    “她从哪儿来？”
    “大概是美国。亚历山大让她11点半到，还让我们立即去见他。”
    “我们就去。我一直等待的幕后者终于露面了，很快就会有答案了。”
    亚历山大先生愉快地接待了他们，相互寒暄之后，他转入了正题：
    “我昨天收到一封信，莫里索小姐也就是现在的理查兹小姐要求今天上午前来拜访。她已经结婚，正好24岁，并带来了身份证明文件。”他打开桌上的档案夹里面有乔治.莱曼和玛丽.莫里索的结婚证书，在魁北克登记注册，时间为1910年，还有莫里索.莱曼的出生证明等材料。亚历山大先生放下材料说：“据我看，莫里索认识莱曼时，她是幼儿园的教师，同时还替孩子们缝补衣物。
她丈夫待她不好，两人离了婚，她又恢复了自己婚前的姓名。魁北克玛丽孤儿院曾接收过一个孩子，她在那里长大。玛丽.莫里索不久和一位男人离开加拿大去了法国，此后玛丽也就是当时的莱曼夫人定期给加拿大的孩子寄钱，一直到她21岁。”
    “那姑娘是怎么知道自己是继承人的？”
    “我们在一些刊物上登记了广告，玛丽孤儿院院长有一天发现了其中的一则，她拍了份电报给理查兹夫人，她当时在欧洲，正准备返回美国。”
    “谁是理查兹？”
    “依我的推论，他是美国人或是加拿大人，职业是手术器械制造商。”
    “他没有和妻子一块儿去欧洲？”
    “没有。他还在美国。”
    “关于她母亲之死，理查兹夫人在没有提供有价值的情况？”
    亚历山大律师摇摇头，“她对她一无所知，假如不是院长提起，她几乎都忘记了自己母亲的婚前姓名。”
    “看来，”福尼尔说，“她的出现对我们并没有多大的帮助。依据我的推断，调查应集中在3个人身上。”
    “4个。”波洛说。
    “4个？”
    “依据你的思路，应该是4个。两只烟盒，库尔德的竹管，还有一支长笛。”
    福尼尔兴奋起来，这时门开了，一位年长的报务员说：“那位女士回来了。”
    “好。”亚历山大说，“……请进吧，夫人。我来介绍一下。巴黎警察厅的福尼尔探长，著名私人侦探赫邱里.波洛先生。他们正在调查你母亲那桩谋杀案。”
    理查兹夫人的打扮潇洒别致，一双眼睛满精神的。她伸出手，说子些感激的话。“我过惯了孤独的生活。一夜之间成了富有母亲的女儿，我感到不太适应。”她特别对孤儿院院长充满感激之情。
    “你什么时候离开孤儿院的？”
    “18岁，先生。我开始自食其力，曾经做过修指工、制衣工。后来我在尼斯遇上了我丈夫，我们在鹿特丹结了婚。可他必须回加拿大，我们分开了一段时间，现在我打算去和他团聚。”安妮.莫里索的法语讲得很流利。
    “你怎么知道这不幸消息的呢？”
    “我从报上看到的，我根本不知道受害者就是我母亲。院长给我拍了份电报，让我来找梅特.亚历山大先生。”
    福尼尔点点头，看来她的话并没有什么价值。理查兹夫人留下自己所住饭店的地址后离去了。
    “那么根据你的思路，”福尼尔说，“你怀疑她是骗子？”
    “不，我不怀疑。她的证明材料都是货真价实的。奇怪的是我觉得在什么地方见过她。”
    “和死者长得相像？”
    “不，不是。我记不得了。”波洛说，“不过有一点十分肯定，这姑娘是吉塞尔夫人谋杀案中最大的受益者。至于谁是吉塞尔夫人的女儿，我曾经设想过有3个人。维尼夏.克尔小姐出身名门，另外两个呢？吉塞尔的仆人埃莉斯曾谈到吉塞尔夫人孩子的父亲是个英国人，这两个人应该与吉塞尔夫人的年龄一般大。霍布里夫人曾是合唱团的演员，她的家庭出身不太清楚。格雷小姐曾告诉我，她也是在孤儿院长大的。”
    “哈－－哈！”法国探长说：“这就是你的思路？”
    他们一同来到波洛下榻的饭店，福尼尔向波洛表示感谢，因为他提醒他注意那支长笛，不过他并不怀疑长笛的主人布赖恩特大夫是凶手。波洛在柜台前站住，他认出了什么人，福尼尔连忙退到一旁。
    “布赖恩特大夫。”波洛说。
    “波洛先生。”他们相互握手，站在布赖恩特身后的一个女人迅速朝电梯走去。这没有逃过波洛的眼睛。
    “你的病人没有你的照料能行吗？”
    “我现在没有病人了，”他说，“我已经退休了。”
    “突然决定的？”
    “必要的决定。每个人的一生都有其转折点。我非常喜爱自己的职业，但十分遗憾我不得不放弃它，因为我需要的是人类共同追求的东西－－幸福。”他看见波洛没有说话又继续说：“我深深爱上了自己的一个病人，她丈夫由于吸毒给她带来了不尽的痛苦。她自己没有钱，只得依赖他。我犹豫了很长一段时间，但终于下定了决心。我们打算去肯尼亚开始新的生活，她受的苦太多了，我希望给她幸福。波洛先生，我对你说这些，是因为你迟早会知道的。”
    “我理解你，”波洛说，“我看见你还带着长笛。”波洛看见他爱抚地摸了摸长笛，“我为你的未来祝贺。”他目送布赖恩特大夫远去。波洛招呼福尼尔过来，他们在服务台给魁北克去了一个长途电话。
Chapter 24 A Broken Finger-Nail
Chapter 24 A Broken Finger-Nail

"What now?" cried Fournier. "You are still preoccupied with this girl who inherits? Decidedly, it is the id閑 fixe you have there." 
"Not at all - not at all," said Poirot. "But there must be in all things order and method. One must finish with one thing before proceeding to the next." 
He looked round. 
"Here is Mademoiselle Jane. Suppose that you commence dejeuner. I will join you as soon as I can." 
Fournier acquiesced and he and Jane went into the dining room. 
"Well?" said Jane with curiosity. "What is she like?" 
"She is a little over medium height, dark with a matte complexion, a pointed chin -" 
"You're talking exactly like a passport," said Jane. "My passport description is simply insulting, I think. It's composed of mediums and ordinary. Nose, medium; mouth, ordinary. How do they expect you to describe a mouth? Forehead, ordinary, chin, ordinary." 
"But not ordinary eyes," said Fournier. 
"Even they are gray, which is not a very exciting color." 
"And who has told you, mademoiselle, that it is not an exciting color?" said the Frenchman, leaning across the table. 
Jane laughed. "Your command of the English language," she said, "is highly efficient. Tell me more about Anne Morisot. Is she pretty?" 
"Assez bien," said Fournier cautiously. "And she is not Anne Morisot. She is Anne Richards. She is married." 
"Was the husband there too?" 
"No." 
"Why not, I wonder?" 
"Because he is in Canada or America." 
He explained some of the circumstances of Anne's life. Just as he was drawing his narrative to a close, Poirot joined them. 
He looked a little dejected. 
"Well, mon cher?" inquired Fournier. 
"I spoke to the principal - to Mкre Ang閘ique herself. It is romantic, you know, the transatlantic telephone. To speak so easily to someone nearly halfway across the globe." 
"The telegraphed photograph - that, too, is romantic. Science is the greatest romance there is. But you were saying?" 
"I talked with Mкre Ang閘ique. She confirmed exactly what Mrs Richards told us of the circumstances of her having been brought up at the Institut de Marie. She spoke quite frankly about the mother who left Quebec with a Frenchman interested in the wine trade. She was relieved at the time that the child would not come under her mother's influence. From her point of view, Giselle was on the downward path. Money was sent regularly, but Giselle never suggested a meeting." 
"In fact, your conversation was a repetition of what we heard this morning." 
"Practically, except that it was more detailed. Anne Morisot left the Institut de Marie six years ago to become a manicurist, afterwards she had a job as a lady's maid, and finally left Quebec for Europe in that capacity. Her letters were not frequent, but Mкre Ang閘ique usually heard from her about twice a year. When she saw an account of the inquest in the paper, she realized that this Marie Morisot was in all probability the Marie Morisot who had lived in Quebec." 
"What about the husband?" asked Fournier. "Now that we know definitely that Giselle was married, the husband might become a factor?" 
"I thought of that. It was one of the reasons for my telephone call. George Leman, Giselle's blackguard of a husband, was killed in the early days of the war." 
He paused and then remarked abruptly: 
"What was it that I just said - not my last remark, the one before? I have an idea that, without knowing it, I said something of significance." 
Fournier repeated as well as he could the substance of Poirot's remarks, but the little man shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. 
"No, no, it was not that. Well, no matter." 
He turned to Jane and engaged her in conversation. 
At the close of the meal he suggested that they should have coffee in the lounge. 
Jane agreed and stretched out her hand for her bag and gloves, which were on the table. As she picked them up she winced slightly. 
"What is it, mademoiselle?" 
"Oh, it's nothing," laughed Jane. "It's only a jagged nail. I must file it." 
Poirot sat down again very suddenly. 
"Nom d'un nom d'un nom," he said quietly. 
The other two stared at him in surprise. 
"M. Poirot!" cried Jane. "What is it?" 
"It is," said Poirot, "that I remember now why the face of Anne Morisot is familiar to me. I have seen her before. In the aeroplane on the day of the murder. Lady Horbury sent for her to get a nail file. Anne Morisot was Lady Horbury's maid."
第24节 断裂的手指甲
第24节 断裂的手指甲

    波洛、福尼尔和简来到餐厅。波洛告诉简刚才发生的事，她很吃惊，“她长什么样？”
    “中等身材，皮肤略黑，长下巴，瓜子脸。”
    “她现在不是安妮.莫里索，”福尼尔说，“是安妮.理查兹夫人，她结婚了。”
    “她丈夫也来了吗？”
    “没有，他在加拿大或是美国。”
    “我刚才和玛丽孤儿院长通了话，”波洛说，“她确认了玛丽在孤儿院的那一段经历，她认为吉塞没有对她的女儿产生什么影响，她定期给她寄钱，但从未提出前去看望女儿。安妮离开孤儿院后也常给院长去信。院长从报上看到吉塞尔夫人被谋杀之后就拍了电报给安妮。”
    “那她丈夫呢？”福尼尔说，“吉塞尔肯定结过婚，她丈夫是个很重要的线索。”
    “这也是我打电话的原因之一。乔治.莱曼是吉塞尔的黑人保镖，他早年死于战乱。”他停顿了一下又说：“我刚才说什么来着？好像是什么有价值的事情？”福尼尔把他的话大致重复了一遍，波洛不满地摇摇头。
    吃过饭，波洛建议大家去咖啡厅坐坐。简欣然同意，准备收拾桌上的手提包和手套。
    “这是什么，小姐？”波洛说。
    “没什么，化妆品之类的东西。”
    “有了！想起来了！”波洛喊道。
    两人吃惊地看着他。
    “难怪安妮.莫里索怎么这样面熟。我见过她，在发生谋杀案的飞机上。霍布里夫人让她去拿化妆盒。安妮.莫里索是霍布里夫人的女仆。”
Chapter 25 ’I Am Afraid’
Chapter 25 ’I Am Afraid’

This sudden revelation had an almost stunning effect on the three people sitting round the luncheon table. It opened up an entirely new aspect of the case. 
Instead of being a person wholly remote from the tragedy, Anne Morisot was now shown to have been actually present on the scene of the crime. It took a minute or two for everyone to readjust his ideas. 
Poirot made a frantic gesture with his hand; his eyes were closed; his face contorted in agony. 
"A little minute - a little minute," he implored them. "I have got to think, to see, to realize how this affects my ideas of the case. I must go back in mind. I must remember. A thousand maledictions on my unfortunate stomach. I was preoccupied only with my internal sensations!" 
"She was actually on the plane, then," said Fournier. "I see. I begin to see." 
"I remember," said Jane. "A tall dark girl." Her eyes half closed in an effort of memory. "Madeleine, Lady Horbury called her." 
"That is it - Madeleine," said Poirot. 
"Lady Horbury sent her along to the end of the plane to fetch a case - a scarlet dressing case." 
"You mean," said Fournier, "that this girl went right past the seat where her mother was sitting?" 
"That is right." 
"The motive," said Fournier. He gave a great sigh. "And the opportunity. Yes, it is all there." 
Then, with a sudden vehemence most unlike his usual melancholy manner, he brought down his hand with a bang on the table. 
"But parbleu!" he cried. "Why did no one mention this before? Why was she not included amongst the suspected persons?" 
"I have told you, my friend - I have told you," said Poirot wearily. "My unfortunate stomach." 
"Yes, yes, that is understandable. But there were other stomachs unaffected. The stewards, the other passengers." 
"I think," said Jane, "that perhaps it was because it was so very early this happened. The plane had only just left Le Bourget. And Giselle was alive and well an hour or so after that. It seemed as though she must have been killed much later." 
"That is curious," said Fournier thoughtfully. "Can there have been a delayed action of the poison? Such things happen." 
Poirot groaned and dropped his head into his hands. 
"I must think. I must think. Can it be possible that all along my ideas have been entirely wrong?" 
"Mon vieux," said Fournier, "such things happen. They happen to me; it is possible that they have happened to you. One has occasionally to pocket one's pride and readjust one's ideas." 
"That is true," agreed Poirot. "It is possible that all along I have attached too much importance to one particular thing. I expected to find a certain clue. I found it, and I built up my case from it. But if I have been wrong from the beginning - if that particular article was where it was merely as the result of an accident - why, then - yes, I will admit that I have been wrong - completely wrong." 
"You cannot shut your eyes to the importance of this turn of events," said Fournier. "Motive and opportunity - what more can you want?" 
"Nothing. It must be as you say. The delayed action of the poison is indeed extraordinary - practically speaking, one would say impossible. But where poisons are concerned, the impossible does happen. One has to reckon with idiosyncrasy." 
His voice tailed off. 
"We must discuss a plan of campaign," said Fournier. "For the moment-it would, I think, be unwise to arouse Anne Morisot's suspicions. She is completely unaware that you have recognized her. Her bona fides has been accepted. We know the hotel at which she is staying and we can keep in touch with her through Thibault. Legal formalities can always be delayed. We have two points established - opportunity and motive. We have still to prove that Anne Morisot had snake venom in her possession. There is also the question of the American who bought the blowpipe and bribed Jules Perrot. It might certainly be the husband, Richards. We have only her word for it that he is in Canada." 
"As you say, the husband - yes, the husband. Ah! wait - wait." 
Poirot pressed his hands upon his temples. 
"It is all wrong," he murmured. "I do not employ the little gray cells of the brain in an orderly and methodical way. No, I leap to conclusions. I think, perhaps, what I am meant to think. No, that is wrong again. If my original idea were right, I could not be meant to think -" 
He broke off. 
"I beg your pardon," said Jane. 
Poirot did not answer for a moment or two. Then he took his hands from his temples, sat very upright and straightened two forks and a saltcellar which offended his sense of symmetry. 
"Let us reason," he said. "Anne Morisot is either guilty or innocent of the crime. If she is innocent, why has she lied? Why has she concealed the fact that she was lady's maid to Lady Horbury?" 
"Why, indeed?" said Fournier. 
"So we say Anne Morisot is guilty because she has lied. But wait. Suppose my first supposition was correct. Will that supposition fit in with Anne Morisot's guilt or with Anne Morisot's lie? Yes, yes, it might - given one premise. But in that case, and if that premise is correct, then Anne Morisot should have not been on the plane at all." 
The others looked at him politely, if with, perhaps, a rather perfunctory interest. 
Fournier thought: 
"I see now what the Englishman, Japp, meant. He makes difficulties, this old one. He tries to make an affair which is now simple sound complicated. He cannot accept a straightforward solution without pretending that it squares with his preconceived ideas." 
Jane thought: 
"I don't see in the least what he means. Why couldn't the girl be in the plane? She had to go wherever Lady Horbury wanted her to go. I think he's rather a mountebank, really." 
Suddenly Poirot drew in his breath with a hiss. 
"Of course," he said. "It is a possibility! And it ought to be very simple to find out." 
He rose. 
"What now, my friend?" asked Fournier. 
"Again the telephone," said Poirot. 
"The transatlantic to Quebec?" 
"This time it is merely to call to London." 
"To Scotland Yard?" 
"No, to Lord Horbury's house in Grosvenor Square. If only I have the good fortune to find Lady Horbury at home." 
"Be careful, my friend, if any suspicion gets round to Anne Morisot that we have been making inquiries about her, it would not suit our affair. Above all, we must not put her upon her guard." 
"Have no fears. I will be discreet. I ask only one little question. A question of a most harmless nature." He smiled. "You shall come with me if you like." 
"No, no." 
"But, yes. I insist." 
The two men went off, leaving Jane in the lounge. 
It took some little time to put the call through. But Poirot's luck was in. Lady Horbury was lunching at home. 
"Good. Will you tell Lady Horbury that it is Mr Hercule Poirot speaking from Paris." There was a pause. "That is you, Lady Horbury?... No, no, all is well. I assure you all is well. It is not that matter at all. I want you to answer me a question... Yes... When you go from Paris to England by air, does your maid usually go with you, or does she go by train?... By train. And so on that particular occasion?... I see... You are sure?... Ah, she has left you... I see. She left you very suddenly, at a moment's notice... Mais oui, base ingratitude. It is too true. A most ungrateful class!... Yes, yes, exactly... No, no, you need not worry. Au revoir. Thank you." 
He replaced the receiver and turned to Fournier, his eyes green and shining. 
"Listen, my friend; Lady Horbury's maid usually traveled by train and boat. On the occasion of Giselle's murder, Lady Horbury decided at the last moment that Madeleine had better go by air too." 
He took the Frenchman by the arm. 
"Quick, my friend," he said. "We must go to her hotel. If my little idea is correct - and I think it is - there is no time to be lost." 
Fournier stared at him. But before he could frame a question, Poirot had turned away and was heading for the revolving doors leading out of the hotel. 
Fournier hastened after him. 
"But I do not understand? What is all this?" 
The commissionaire was holding open the door of a taxi. Poirot jumped in and gave the address of Anne Morisot's hotel. 
"And drive quickly, but quickly!" 
Fournier jumped in after him. 
"What fly is this that has bitten you? Why this mad rush, this haste?" 
"Because, my friend, if, as I say, my little idea is correct, Anne Morisot is in imminent danger." 
"You think so?" 
Fournier could not help a skeptical tone creeping into his voice. 
"I am afraid," said Poirot. "Afraid. Bon Dieu, how this taxi crawls!" 
The taxi at the moment was doing a good forty miles an hour and cutting in and out of traffic with a miraculous immunity due to the excellent eye of the driver. 
"It crawls to such an extent that we shall have an accident in a minute," said Fournier dryly. "And Mademoiselle Grey, we have left her planted there awaiting our return from the telephone, and instead we leave the hotel without a word. It is not very polite, that!" 
"Politeness or impoliteness, what does it matter in an affair of life and death?" 
"Life or death?" Fournier shrugged his shoulders. 
He thought to himself: 
"It is all very well, but this obstinate madman may endanger the whole business. Once the girl knows that we are on her track -" 
He said in a persuasive voice: 
"See now, M. Poirot; be reasonable. We must go carefully." 
"You do not understand," said Poirot. "I am afraid - afraid." 
The taxi drew up with a jerk at the quiet hotel where Anne Morisot was staying. 
Poirot sprang out and nearly collided with a young man just leaving the hotel. 
Poirot stopped dead for a moment, looking after him. 
"Another face that I know. But where?... Ah! I remember. It is the actor, Raymond Barraclough." 
As he stepped forward to enter the hotel, Fournier placed a restraining hand on his arm. 
"M. Poirot, I have the utmost respect, the utmost admiration for your methods, but I feel very strongly that no precipitate action must be taken. I am responsible here in France for the conduct of this case." 
Poirot interrupted him: 
"I comprehend your anxiety. But do not fear any precipitate action on my part. Let us make inquiries at the desk. If Madame Richards is here and all is well, then no harm is done and we can discuss together our future action. You do not object to that?" 
"No, no, of course not." 
"Good." 
Poirot passed through the revolving door and went up to the reception desk. Fournier followed him. 
"You have a Mrs Richards staying here, I believe," said Poirot. 
"No, monsieur. She was staying here, but she left today." 
"She has left?" demanded Fournier. 
"Yes, monsieur." 
"When did she leave?" 
The clerk glanced up at the clock. 
"A little over half an hour ago." 
"Was her departure unexpected? Where has she gone?" 
The clerk stiffened at the questions and was disposed to refuse to answer. But when Fournier's credentials were produced, the clerk changed his tone and was eager to give any assistance in his power. 
No, the lady had not left an address. He thought her departure was the result of a sudden change of plans. She had formerly said she was making a stay of about a week. More questions. The concierge was summoned, the luggage porters, the lift boys. 
According to the concierge, a gentleman had called to see the lady. He had come while she was out, but had awaited her return and they had lunched together. What kind of gentleman? An American gentleman. Very American. She had seemed surprised to see him. After lunch, the lady gave orders for her luggage to be brought down and put on a taxi. 
Where had she driven to? She had driven to the Gare du Nord - at least that was the order she had given to the taximan. Did the American gentleman go with her? No, she had gone alone. 
"The Gare du Nord," said Fournier. "That means England on the face of it. The two-o'clock service. But it may be a blind. We must telephone to Boulogne and also try and get hold of that taxi." 
It was as though Poirot's fears had communicated themselves to Fournier. 
The Frenchman's face was anxious. 
Rapidly and efficiently he set the machinery of the law in motion. 
It was five o'clock when Jane, sitting in the lounge of the hotel with a book, looked up to see Poirot coming toward her. 
She opened her mouth reproachfully, but the words regained unspoken. Something in his face stopped her. 
"What is it?" she said. "Has anything happened?" 
Poirot took both her hands in his. 
"Life is very terrible, mademoiselle," he said. 
Something in his tone made Jane feel frightened. 
"What is it?" she said again. 
Poirot said slowly: 
"When the boat train reached Boulogne, they found a woman in a first- class carriage, dead." 
The color ebbed from Jane's face. 
"Anne Morisot?" 
"Anne Morisot. In her hand was a little blue glass bottle which had contained prussic acid." 
"Oh!" said Jane. "Suicide?" 
Poirot did not answer for a moment or two. Then he said, with the air of one who chooses his words carefully: 
"Yes, the police think it was suicide." 
"And you?" 
Poirot slowly spread out his hands in an expressive gesture. 
"What else is there to think?" 
"She killed herself? Why? Because of remorse or because she was afraid of being found out?" 
Poirot shook his head. 
"Life can be very terrible," he said. "One needs much courage." 
"To kill oneself? Yes, I suppose one does." 
"Also to live," said Poirot, "one needs courage."
第25节 “我担心……”
第25节 “我担心……”

    突然出现的新情况使3人惊呆了，它为此案的侦破又提供了新的契机。安妮.莫里索案发时在现场，波洛陷入了深思，他的脸由于痛苦的思索而扭曲了。
“我得好好想想。当时我胃痛，无法详细观察发生的情况。我只记得她是个皮肤略黑的姑娘，霍布里夫人叫她小姐。她让她到机舱后面去拿什么化妆盒。”
    “你的意思是，”福尼尔说，“她经过了她母亲的座位？”
    “对。”
    “再加上动机的可能性－－，她应该被列入嫌疑之列。”
    “也许，”简说，“根据时间推算有些不恰当，那是飞机离开布尔歇机场不久发生的，而吉塞尔被谋杀时与这一时间相距较远。”
    “那么毒药有某种延续效果？”
    波洛哼哼了一下，双手捂着脸，“我得想想……，难道我以前的推论都错了吗？”
    “任何人都会出错，因此需要将自豪感隐藏起来，重新调整思路。”
    “说得对。”波洛说，“也许我对其中某点过分依赖了，我的整个推论都建立在它的上面。但是，假如我一开始就错了，那么这仅仅应当被视做是一个个事件的结果。”
    “现在，动机和机会都出现在一个人身上，”福尼尔说，“你还想要什么呢？”
    “不。正如你所说的，毒药的延续效果实际上是根本不存在的。”
    “我们现在要定出一个行动计划。”福尼尔说，“首先不能惊动安妮.莫里索，她并不知道你认出了她。我们已经知道她的住址，继续和亚历山大保持联系。我们要证明安妮.莫里索获得过蛇毒，还有那个买过吹管、贿赂过佩罗特的美国人，也许他就是安妮的丈夫理查兹。”
    “你说是她丈夫？哦！等等。”波洛用双手按住了太阳穴，“我快要有结论了。莫里索要么有罪，要么无辜。假如她是无辜的，那她为什么要撒谎？为什么不愿说自己是霍布里夫人的仆人？”
    “那又怎么样？”福尼尔说。
    “假如我的第一个假设是正确的，那么安妮.莫里索就不应当出现在飞机上。”
    福尼尔想：英国侦探贾普是说对了，这老家伙就想把事情弄复杂，他宁愿坚持自己的先入之见也不愿接受直截了当的答案。
    简想：我不明白他的意思。她怎么就不可能在飞机上？霍布里夫人让她去哪儿她就得去哪儿。
    猛然，波洛深深地吸了一口气说：“有可能，并且非常容易加以证实。我去打个电话，看看霍布里夫人是否呆在家里。”
    “当心啊，别惊动了安妮.莫里索。”
    “放心吧，我会谨慎从事的。我只提一个无关痛痒的小问题。你和我一起去？”电话打通了，波洛很幸运，霍布里在家。
    “我是赫邱里.波洛。……是霍布里夫人？……不，不，都还好。……不是为那件事。我有个小问题……对……你从巴黎乘机去英国，通常要带上仆人吗？乘火车？……有没有什么例外的时候？……她离开你了，……突然离开的……哦，哦……对，对，……别担心。好了，谢谢。”
    他放下话筒，面对福尼尔微笑，“她的仆人通常乘船或是火车。吉塞尔夫人被害那一天，她决定让仆人乘飞机。”他一把抓住福尼尔的手臂，“我们赶快去她的饭店，没有时间了。”还未等福尼尔开口，波洛已经将他拽到旋转门旁。门卫替他们招来了出租车。波洛和福尼尔上了车。波洛一路嫌司机开得慢。
    “你这么慌张究竟是为了什么？”
    “因为，我的朋友，假如我的想法是对的，那么安妮.莫里索现在正置身在危险之中。哼！这车简直的在爬行。”然而，出租车风驰电掣般以每小时40英里的速度飞奔着。
    “这车迟早会出事的。”福尼尔说，“还有格雷小姐，她还在等我们打完电话回去。我们不辞而别，这没有礼貌。”
    “有没有礼貌不要紧，现在是安妮.莫里索生死攸关的问题。”
    出租车嘎地一声停在安妮.莫里索所往的饭店门前。波洛一个箭步冲了进去，差点撞上走出饭店的一个年轻人。波洛望着他站住了，“我记得这张脸，对，是那个演员雷蒙德.巴勒克拉夫。”
    福尼尔走到他面前，“波洛先生，我对你的思维方法表示钦佩，但我强烈请求你不要贸然行事。”
    “我当然不会贸然从事。假如理查兹夫人在这儿没事儿，那很好，我们就可以共同探讨下一步的计划，你不反对吧？”
    “不，当然不。”
    他们来到前台，波洛说：“理查兹夫人住在这儿吧。”
    “是，可今天她离开了。”
    “去哪儿了？”福尼尔亮出了证件。
    “不知道，她没有留下地址。”
    他们招来了门卫、行李员和电梯工。门卫说一位先生来找过她，可她出去了，他一直等到她回来，然后一起去餐厅吃午饭。他的外表像是个美国人，她对他的来访很吃惊。吃过饭，她收拾好行李，叫了辆出租车走了。
    他们找到当时值班的出租车司机。他说她去了火车北站，那个美国人没有和她在一起。
    “火车北站，就意味着她打算去英国，是2点钟的联运火车。也许这是想遮人耳目，不过我们得立即和布洛涅方面联系。”
    时钟指向了5点，简手捧一本书还在咖啡厅里等候。波洛走了过来，他的表情严肃，愤愤然。简一时不敢开口。
    “出什么事了？”她终于问。
    “生活是多么残酷，”波洛慢慢说，“当联运火车到达在布洛涅时，他们发现一个女人死在头等舱里，地安妮.莫里索！她手里拿着一个蓝色的小瓶，里面装着氢氰酸。”
    “哦，天哪！”简说，“是自杀？”
    “对，警方是这么认定的。”
    “你怎么想呢？”
    “我还能怎么想呢？”波洛摇摇头，“小姐，生活真残酷，活着需要勇气。”
Chapter 26 After Dinner Speech
Chapter 26 After Dinner Speech

The next day Poirot left Paris. Jane stayed behind with a list of duties to perform. Most of these seemed singularly meaningless to her, but she carried them out to the best of her powers. She saw Jean Dupont twice. He mentioned the expedition which she was to join, and Jane did not dare to undeceive him without orders from Poirot, so she hedged as best she could and turned the conversation to other matters. 
Five days later she was recalled to England by a telegram. 
Norman met her at Victoria and they discussed recent events. 
Very little publicity had been given to the suicide. There had been a paragraph in the papers stating that a Canadian lady, a Mrs Richards, had committed suicide in the Paris-Boulogne express, but that was all. There had been no mention of any connection with the aeroplane murder. 
Both Norman and Jane were inclined to be jubilant. Their troubles, they hoped, were at an end. Norman was not so sanguine as Jane. 
"They may suspect her of doing her mother in, but now that she's taken this way out, they probably won't bother to go on with the case. And unless it is proved publicly, I don't see what good it is going to be to all of us poor devils. From the point of view of the public, we shall remain under suspicion just as much as ever." 
He said as much to Poirot, whom he met a few days later in Piccadilly. 
Poirot smiled. 
"You are like all the rest. You think I am an old man who accomplishes nothing! Listen, you shall come tonight to dine with me. Japp is coming, and also our friend, Mr Clancy. I have some things to say that may be interesting." 
The dinner passed off pleasantly. Japp was patronizing and good- humored, Norman was interested, and little Mr Clancy was nearly as thrilled as when he had recognized the fatal thorn. 
It seemed clear that Poirot was not above trying to impress the little author. 
After dinner, when coffee had been drunk, Poirot cleared his throat in a slightly embarassed manner not free from self-importance. 
"My friends," he said, "Mr Clancy here has expressed interest in what he would call 'my methods, Watson,' C'est зa, n'est-ce pas? I propose, if it will not bore you all -" 
He paused significantly, and Norman and Japp said quickly, "No, no," and "Most interesting." 
"-to give you a little r閟um?of my methods in dealing with this case." 
He paused and consulted some notes. Japp whispered to Norman: 
"Fancies himself, doesn't he? Conceit's that little man's middle name." 
Poirot looked at him reproachfully and said. "Ahem!" 
Three politely interested faces were turned to him and he began: 
"I will start at the beginning, my friends. I will go back to the air liner 
'Prometheus' on its ill-fated journey from Paris to Croydon. I am going to tell you my precise ideas and impressions at the time; passing on to how I came to confirm or modify them in the light of future events. 
"When, just before we reached Croydon, Doctor Bryant was approached by the steward and went with him to examine the body, I accompanied him. I had a feeling that it might - who knows? - be something in my line. I have, perhaps, too professional a point of view where deaths are concerned. They are divided, in my mind, into two classes - deaths which are my affair and deaths which are not my affair 
-and though the latter class is infinitely more numerous, nevertheless, whenever I come in contact with death, I am like the dog who lifts his head and sniffs the scent. 
"Doctor Bryant confirmed the steward's fear that the woman was dead. As to the cause of death, naturally, he could not pronounce on that without a detailed examination. It was at this point that a suggestion was made - by Mr Jean Dupont - that death was due to shock following on a wasp sting. In furtherance of this hypothesis, he drew attention to a wasp that he himself had slaughtered shortly before. 
"Now, that was a perfectly plausible theory, and one quite likely to be accepted. There was the mark on the dead woman's neck, closely resembling the mark of a sting, and there was the fact that a wasp had been in the plane. 
"But at that moment I was fortunate enough to look down and espy what might at first have been taken for the body of yet another wasp. In actuality it was a native thorn with a little teased yellow-and-black silk on it. 
"At this point Mr Clancy came forward and made the statement that it was a thorn shot from a blowpipe after the manner of some native tribe. Later, as you all know, the blowpipe itself was discovered. 
"By the time we reached Croydon, several ideas were working in my mind. Once I was definitely on the firm ground, my brain began to work once more with its normal brilliance." 
"Go it, M. Poirot," said Japp, with a grin. "Don't have any false modesty." 
Poirot threw him a look and went on: 
"One idea presented itself very strongly to me - as it did to everyone else - and that was the audacity of a crime being committed in such a manner, and the astonishing fact that nobody noticed its being done! 
"There were two other points that interested me. One was the convenient presence of the wasp. The other was the discovery of the blowpipe. As I remarked after the inquest to my friend Japp, why on earth did the murderer not get rid of it by passing it out through the ventilating hole in the window? The thorn itself might be difficult to trace or identify, but a blowpipe which still retained a portion of its price label was a very different matter. 
"What was the solution? Obviously, that the murderer wanted the blowpipe to be found. 
"But why? Only one answer seemed logical. If a poisoned dart and a blowpipe were found, it would naturally be assumed that the murder had been committed by a thorn shot from a blowpipe. Therefore, in reality the murder had not been committed that way. 
"On the other hand, as medical evidence was to show, the cause of death was undoubtedly the poisoned thorn. I shut my eyes and asked myself: 'What is the surest and most reliable way of placing a poisoned thorn in the jugular vein?' And the answer came immediately: 'By hand.' 
"And that immediately threw light on the necessity for the finding of the blowpipe. The blowpipe inevitably conveyed the suggestion of distance. If my theory was right, the person who killed Madame Giselle was a person who went right up to her table and bent over her. 
"Was there such a person? Yes, there were two people. The two stewards. Either of them could go up to Madame Giselle, lean toward her, and nobody would notice anything unusual. 
"Was there anyone else? 
"Well, there was Mr Clancy. He was the only person in the car who had passed immediately by Madame Giselle's seat - and I remember that it was he who had first drawn attention to the blowpipe-and-thorn theory." 
Mr Clancy sprang to his feet. 
"I protest!" he cried. "I protest! This is an outrage!" 
"Sit down," said Poirot. "I have not finished yet. I have to show you all the steps by which I arrived at my conclusion. 
"I had now three persons as possible suspects. Mitchell, Davis and Mr Clancy. None of them at first sight appeared like murderers, but there was much investigation to be done. 
"I next turned my mind to the possibilities of the wasp. It was suggestive, that wasp. To begin with, no one had noticed it until about the time coffee was served. That in itself was rather curious. I constructed a certain theory of the crime. The murderer presented to the world two separate solutions of the tragedy. On the first or simplest, Madame Giselle was stung by a wasp and had succumbed to heart failure. The success of that solution depended on whether or not the murderer was in a position to retrieve the thorn. Japp and I agreed that that could be done easily enough - so long as no suspicion of foul play had arisen. There was the particular coloring of the silk which I had no doubt was deliberately substituted for the original cerise so as to simulate the appearance of a wasp. 
"Our murderer, then, approaches the victim's table, inserts the thorn and releases the wasp! The poison is so powerful that death would occurr almost immediately. If Giselle cried out, it would probably not be heard, owing to the noise of the plane. If it was just noticed, well, there was a wasp buzzing about to explain the cry. The poor woman had been stung. 
"That, as I say, was Plan No. 1. But supposing that, as actually happened, the poisoned thorn was discovered before the murderer could retrieve it. In that case, the fat is in the fire. The theory of natural death is impossible. Instead of getting rid of the blowpipe through the window, it is put in a place where it is bound to be discovered when the plane is searched. And at once it will be assumed that the blowpipe was the instrument of the crime. The proper atmosphere of distance will be created, and when the blowpipe is traced it will focus suspicion in a definite and prearranged direction. 
"I had now my theory of the crime, and I had three suspects, with a barely possible fourth - M. Jean Dupont who had outlined the Death-by- a-wasp-sting theory, and who was sitting on the gangway so near Giselle that he might just possibly have moved from his seat without being noticed. On the other hand, I did not really think he would have dared to take such a risk. 
"I concentrated on the problem of the wasp. If the murderer had brought the wasp onto the plane and released it at the psychological moment, he must have had something in the nature of a small box in which to keep it. 
"Hence my interest in the contents of the passengers pockets and hand luggage. 
"And here I came up against a totally unexpected development. I found what I was looking for - but, as it seemed to me, on the wrong person. There was an empty small-sized Bryant & May's match box in Mr Norman Gale's pocket. But by everybody's evidence, Mr Gale had never passed down the gangway of the car. He had only visited the wash-room compartment and returned to his own seat. 
"Nevertheless, although it seems impossible, there was a method by which Mr Gale could have committed the crime - as the contents of his attach?case showed." 
"My attach?case?" said Norman Gale. He looked amused and puzzled. 
"Why, I don't even remember now what was in it." 
Poirot smiled at him amiably. 
"Wait a little minute. I will come to that. I am telling you my first ideas. 
"To proceed, I had four persons who could have done the crime - from the point of view of possibility. The two stewards, Clancy and Gale. 
"I now looked at the case from the opposite angle - that of motive; if a motive were to coincide with a possibility - well, I had my murderer! 
But alas, I could find nothing of the kind. My friend Japp has accused me of liking to make things difficult. On the contrary, I approached this question of motive with all the simplicity in the world. To whose benefit would it be if Madame Giselle were removed? Clearly, to her unknown daughter's benefit, since that unknown daughter would inherit a fortune. There were also certain persons who were in Madame Giselle's power - or shall we say, who might be in Giselle's power for aught we knew? That, then, was a task of elimination. Of the passengers in the plane I could only be certain of one who was undoubtedly mixed up with Giselle. That one was Lady Horbury. 
"In Lady Horbury's case the motive was clear. She had visited Giselle at her house in Paris the night before. She was desperate and she had a friend, a young actor, who might easily have impersonated the American who bought the blowpipe, and might also have bribed the clerk in Universal Air Lines to insure that Giselle traveled by the twelve o'clock service. 
"I had, as it were, a problem in two halves. I did not see how it was possible for Lady Horbury to commit the crime. And I could not see for what motive the stewards, Mr Clancy or Mr Gale should want to commit it. 
"Always, in the back of my mind, I considered the problem of Giselle's unknown daughter and heiress. Were any of my four suspects married, and if so, could one of the wives be this Anne Morisot? If her father was English, the girl might have been brought up in England. Mitchell's wife I soon dismissed - she was of good old Dorset country stock. Davis was courting a girl whose father and mother were alive. Mr Clancy was not married. Mr Gale was obviously head over ears in love with Miss Jane Grey. 
"I may say that I investigated the antecedents of Miss Grey very carefully, having learned from her in casual conversation that she had been brought up in an orphanage near Dublin. But I soon satisfied myself that Miss Grey was not Madame Giselle's daughter. 
"I made out a table of results. The stewards had neither gained nor lost by Madame Giselle's death, except that Mitchell was obviously suffering from shock. Mr Clancy was planning a book on the subject by which he hoped to make money Mr Gale was fast losing his practice. Nothing very helpful there. 
"And yet, at that time I was convinced that Mr Gale was the murderer - there was the empty match box, the contents of his attach?case. Apparently he lost, not gained, by the death of Giselle. But those appearances might be false appearances. 
"I determined to cultivate his acquaintance. It is my experience that no one, in the course of conversation, can fail to give themselves away sooner or later. Everyone has an irresistible urge to talk about themselves. 
"I tried to gain Mr Gale's confidence. I pretended to confide in him, and I even enlisted his help. I persuaded him to aid me in the fake blackmailing of Lady Horbury. And it was then that he made his first mistake. 
"I had suggested a slight disguise. He arrived to play his part with a ridiculous and impossible outfit! The whole thing was a farce. No one, I felt sure, could play a part as badly as he was proposing to play one. What, then, was the reason for this? Because his knowledge of his own guilt made him chary of showing himself to be a good actor. When, however, I had adjusted his ridiculous make-up, his artistic skill showed itself. He played his part perfectly and Lady Horbury did not recognize him. I was convinced then that he could have disguised himself as an American in Paris and could also have played the necessary part in the 'Prometheus.' 
"By this time I was getting seriously worried about Mademoiselle Jane. Either she was in this business with him, or else she was entirely innocent; and in the latter case she was a victim. She might wake up one day to find herself married to a murderer. 
"With the object of preventing a precipitate marriage, I took Mademoiselle Jane to Paris as my secretary. 
"It was whilst we were there that the missing heiress appeared to claim her fortune. I was haunted by a resemblance that I could not place. I did place it in the end, but too late. 
"At first, the discovery that she had actually been in the plane and had lied about it seemed to overthrow all my theories. Here, overwhelmingly, was the guilty person. 
"But if she were guilty, she had an accomplice - the man who bought the blowpipe and bribed Jules Perrot. 
"Who was that man? Was it conceivably her husband? 
"And then, suddenly, I saw the true solution. True, that is, if one point could be verified. 
"For my solution to be correct, Anne Morisot ought not to have been on the plane. 
"I rang up Lady Horbury and got my answer. The maid Madeleine, traveled in the plane by a last-minute whim of her mistress." 
He stopped. 
Mr Clancy said: 
"Ahem - but I'm afraid I'm not quite clear." 
"When did you stop pitching on me as the murderer?" asked Norman. 
Poirot wheeled round on him. 
"I never stopped. You are the murderer... Wait. I will tell you everything. For the last week Japp and I have been busy. It is true that you became a dentist to please your uncle, John Gale. You took his name when you came into partnership with him, but you were his sister's son, not his brother's. Your real name is Richards. It was as Richards that you met the girl Anne Morisot at Nice last winter when she was there with her mistress. The story she told us was true as the facts of her childhood, but the later part was edited carefully by you. She did know her mother's maiden name. Giselle was at Monte Carlo; she was pointed out and her real name was mentioned. You realized that there might be a large fortune to be got. It appealed to your gambler's nature. It was from Anne Morisot that you learned of Lady Horbury's connection with Giselle. The plan of the crime formed itself in your head. Giselle was to be murdered in such a way that suspicion would fall on Lady Horbury. Your plans matured and finally fructified. You bribed the clerk in Universal Air Lines so that Giselle should travel on the same plane as Lady Horbury. Anne Morisot had told you that she herself was going to England by train; you never expected her to be on the plane, and it seriously jeopardized your plans. If it was once known that Giselle's daughter and heiress had been on the plane, suspicion would naturally have fallen upon her. Your original idea was that she should claim the inheritance with a perfect alibi, since she would have been on a train or a boat at the time of the crime! And then you would have married her. 
"The girl was by this time infatuated with you. But it was money you were after, not the girl herself. 
"There was another complication to your plans. At Le Pinet you saw Mademoiselle Jane Grey and fell madly in love with her. Your passion for her drove you on to play a much more dangerous game. 
"You intended to have both the money and the girl you loved. You were committing a murder for the sake of money and you were in no mind to relinquish the fruits of the crime. You frightened Anne Morisot by telling her that if she came forward at once to proclaim her identity, she would certainly be suspected of the murder. Instead you induced her to ask for a few days' leave and you went together to Rotterdam, where you were married. 
"In due course you primed her how to claim the money. She was to say nothing of her employment as lady's maid and it was very clearly to be made plain that she and her husband had been abroad at the time of the murder. 
"Unfortunately, the date planned for Anne Morisot to go to Paris and claim her inheritance coincided with my arrival in Paris where Miss Grey had accompanied me. That did not suit your book at all. Either Mademoiselle Jane or myself might recognize in Anne Morisot the Madeleine who had been Lady Horbury's maid. 
"You tried to get in touch with her in time, but failed. You finally arrived in Paris yourself and found she had already gone to the lawyer. When she returned, she told you of her meeting with me. Things were becoming dangerous and you made up your mind to act quickly. 
"It had been your intention that your new-made wife should not survive her accession to wealth very long. Immediately after the marriage ceremony, you had both made wills leaving all you had one to the other! A very touching business. 
"You intended, I fancy, to follow a fairly leisurely course. You would have gone to Canada - ostensibly because of the failure of your practice. There you would have resumed the name of Richards and your wife would have rejoined you. All the same, I do not fancy it would have been very long before Mrs Richards regrettably died, leaving a fortune to a seemingly inconsolable widower. You would then have returned to England as Norman Gale, having had the good fortune to make a lucky speculation in Canada! But now you decided that no time must be lost." 
Poirot paused and Norman Gale threw back his head and laughed. 
"You are very clever at knowing what people intend to do! You ought to adopt Mr Clancy's profession!" His tone deepened to one of anger: "I never heard such a farrago of nonsense. What you imagined, M. Poirot, is hardly evidence!" 
Poirot did not seem put out. He said: 
"Perhaps not. But then I have some evidence." 
"Really?" sneered Norman. "Perhaps you have evidence as to how I killed old Giselle when everyone in the aeroplane knows perfectly well I never went near her?" 
"I will tell you exactly how you committed the crime," said Poirot. 
"What about the contents of your dispatch case? You were on a holiday. Why take a dentist's linen coat? That is what I asked myself. And the answer is this: Because it resembled so closely a steward's coat. 
"This is what you did: When coffee was served and the stewards had gone to the other compartment, you went to the wash room, put on your linen coat, padded your cheeks with cotton-wool rolls, came out, seized a coffee spoon from the box in the pantry opposite, hurried down the gangway with the steward's quick run, spoon in hand, to Giselle's table. You thrust the thorn into her neck, opened the match box and let the wasp escape, hurried back into the wash room, changed your coat and emerged leisurely to return to your table. The whole thing took only a couple of minutes. 
"Nobody notices a steward particularly. The only person who might have recognized you was Mademoiselle Jane, but you know women! 
As soon as a woman is left alone - particularly when she is traveling with an attractive young man - she seizes the opportunity to have a good look in her hand mirror, powder her nose and adjust her make- up." 
"Really," sneered Gale, "a most interesting theory, but it didn't happen. Anything else?" 
"Quite a lot," said Poirot. "As I have just said, in the course of conversation a man gives himself away. You were imprudent enough to mention that for a while you were on a farm in South Africa. What you did not say, but what I have since found out, is that it was a snake farm." 
For the first time, Norman Gale showed fear. He tried to speak, but the words would not come. 
Poirot continued: 
"You were there under your own name of Richards: a photograph of you transmitted by telephone has been recognized. That same photograph has been identified in Rotterdam as the man Richards who married Anne Morisot." 
Again Norman Gale tried to speak and failed. His whole personality seemed to change. The handsome vigorous young man turned into a rat-like creature with furtive eyes looking for a way of escape and finding none. 
"It was haste ruined your plan," said Poirot. "The superior of the Institut de Marie hurried things on by wiring to Anne Morisot. It would have looked suspicious to ignore that wire. You had impressed it upon your wife that unless she suppressed certain facts either she or you might be suspected of murder, since you had both, unfortunately, been in the plane when Giselle was killed. When you met her afterwards and you learned that I had been present at the interview, you hurried things on. You were afraid I might get the truth out of Anne. Perhaps she herself was beginning to suspect you. You hustled her away out of the hotel and into the boat train. You administered prussic acid to her by force and you left the empty bottle in her hand." 
"A lot of damned lies!" 
"Oh, no. There was a bruise on her neck." 
"Damned lies. I tell you!" 
"You even left your fingerprints on the bottle." 
"You lie! I wore -" 
"Ah. You wore gloves? I think, monsieur, that little admission cooks your gander." 
"You damned interfering little mountebank!" Livid with passion, his face unrecognizable, Gale made a spring at Poirot. Japp, however, was too quick for him. Holding him in a capable unemotional grip. Japp said: 
"James Richards alias Norman Gale. I hold a warrant for your arrest on the charge of willful murder. I must warn you that anything you say will be taken down and used in evidence." 
A terrible shudder shook the man. He seemed on the point of collapse. 
A couple of plainclothes men were waiting outside. Norman Gale was taken away. 
Left alone with Poirot, little Mr Clancy drew a deep breath of ecstasy. 
"M. Poirot," he said, "that has been absolutely the most thrilling experience of my life. You have been wonderful!" 
Poirot smiled modestly. 
"No, no. Japp deserves as much credit as I do. He has done wonders in identifying Gale as Richards. The Canadian police want Richards. A girl he was mixed up with there is supposed to have committed suicide, but facts have come to light which seem to point to murder." 
"Terrible," Mr Clancy chirped. 
"A killer," said Poirot. "And like many killers, attractive to women." 
Mr Clancy coughed. 
"That poor girl, Jane Grey." 
Poirot shook his head sadly. 
"Yes, as I said to her, life can be very terrible. But she has courage. She will come through." 
With an absent-minded hand, he arranged a pile of picture papers that Norman Gale had disarranged in his wild spring. 
Something arrested his attention - a snapshot of Venetia Kerr at a race meeting "talking to Lord Horbury and a friend." 
He handed it to Mr Clancy. 
"You see that? In a year's time there will be an announcement: 'A marriage is arranged and will shortly take place between Lord Horbury and the Hon. Venetia Kerr.' And do you know who will have arranged that marriage? Hercule Poirot! There is another marriage that I have arranged too." 
"Lady Horbury and Mr Barraclough?" 
"Ah, no, in that matter I take no interest." He leaned forward. "No, I refer to a marriage between M. Jean Dupont and Miss Jane Grey. You will see." 
It was a month later that Jane came to Poirot. 
"I ought to hate you, M. Poirot." 
She looked pale and fine drawn, with dark circles round her eyes. 
Poirot said gently: 
"Hate me a little if you will. But I think you are one of those who would rather look truth in the face than live in a fool's paradise. And you might not have lived in it so very long. Getting rid of women is a vice that grows." 
"He was so terribly attractive," said Jane. 
She added: 
"I shall never fall in love again." 
"Naturally," agreed Poirot. "That side of life is finished for you." 
Jane nodded. 
"But what I must do is to have work - something interesting that I could lose myself in." 
Poirot tilted back his chair and looked at the ceiling. 
"I should advise you to go to Persia with the Duponts. That is interesting work, if you like." 
"But - but I thought that was only camouflage on your part?" 
Poirot shook his head. 
"On the contrary, I have become so interested in archaeology and prehistoric pottery that I sent the check for the donation I had promised. I heard this morning that they were expecting you to join the expedition. Can you draw at all?" 
"Yes, I was rather good at drawing at school." 
"Excellent. I think you will enjoy your season." 
"Do they really want me to come?" 
"They are counting on it." 
"It would be wonderful," said Jane, "to get right away." 
A little color rose in her face. 
"M. Poirot -" she looked at him suspiciously - "you're not - you're not being kind?" 
"Kind?" said Poirot, with a lively horror at the idea. "I can assure you, mademoiselle, that where money is concerned I am strictly a man of business." 
He seemed so offended that Jane quickly begged his pardon. 
"I think," she said, "that I'd better go to some museums and look at some prehistoric pottery." 
"A very good idea." 
At the doorway, Jane paused and then came back. 
"You mayn't have been kind in that particular way, but you have been kind to me." 
She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and went out again. 
第26节 饭后的演讲
第26节 饭后的演讲

    第2天，波洛离开了巴黎。他开列出一张清单，让简去完成一些工作，大多数事项在简看来都没有什么意义，但她仍努力去逐项完成。她见过琼.杜邦两次，谈到了去探险的事情，根据波洛的旨意，她违心地说自己非常喜欢加入杜邦父子的行列。5天之后，一封电报将简招回了英国，诺曼到维多得亚车站来接她。
    安妮.莫里索自杀的消息没有引起轩然大波，报上只刊载了一小段报道，说一位来自加拿大的理查兹夫人在巴黎至布洛涅的快车上自杀了，对自杀事件与飞机谋杀案的关系只字未提。
    诺曼和简沉浸在幸福之中，他们的苦难即将结束。然而，诺曼并不像简那样乐观自信。
    “他们可能怀疑她与她母亲之死有牵连，或许他们对此案已经无能为力了。
反正，能远离涉嫌谋杀案就是我们不幸中之大幸。”几天之后，他在皮卡迪利大街上遇见了波洛，说了同样的一番话。
    “你和其他人一样都以为我是一个一事无成的老家伙。今天我请你吃饭，贾普和克兰西也来，我将告诉大家一些非常有趣的事情。”
    丰盛的晚餐使大家无暇谈及谋杀案，饭后又送来香甜可口的咖啡。波洛清了清嗓子，“朋友们，克兰西先生对我的推理方式很感兴趣，我希望你们也不会感到厌倦。”他环顾了一下客人后慢慢说开了：
    “我将从头说起。我从巴黎乘坐普罗米修斯航班前往克罗伊登，不幸的事情发生了。快到达目的地时，乘务员找到布赖恩特大夫说，后舱一位女士出了问题。我跟着他们走了过去，因为那是我的职业。布赖恩特大夫证实那个女人已经死了。至于死因，他说需要进行详细的化验分析才能做出判断。这时有人－－琼.杜邦先生－－认为死亡可能是一只黄蜂引起的。为了说明自己的假设，他说自己见到了一只黄蜂，并且弄死了它。”
    “于是一种结论便成立了，并且迅速为大家所接受。死者脖上的针眼是黄蜂螫咬的结果。就在这个时候，我无意中看见了另一只黄蜂，其实它是缠着黄黑丝带的毒针。克兰西先生走了过来，认为毒针是由某个部族常用的吹管发射的，不久，吹管又被发现了。到达克罗伊登的时候，我便开动了脑筋，也就是那充满智慧的脑筋。”
    “快说吧，波洛先生。”贾普说，“别卖关子了。”
    “首先，如此残忍的谋杀案竟没有一个人注意到便发生了。但有两点使我费解，一是黄蜂的出现，别一个是找到了吹管。我曾问过贾普，凶手干嘛不把凶器从通风口扔出去。我的结论是凶手希望我们能找到吹管。”
    “另一方面，化验结果表明死亡是由毒针所致。于是我闭目自问：将毒针置入颈静脉最可靠的方式是什么呢？我立即有了答案：用手。”
    “于是调查吹管的来源并有了结果。我以为凶手走到她桌前并且弯腰实施谋杀。有这种人吗？有两个，两个乘务员，他们经过吉塞尔的座位，谁也不会觉得这有什么奇怪。还有什么人呢？有，克兰西先生。所有乘客当中只有他经过吉塞尔的座位，而且也是他提出的吹管加毒针的结论。”
    克兰西先生跳了起来，“我抗议，我抗议！这是诬陷。”
    “坐下，”波洛说，“我还没有把话说完。我正在讲述我推论的各个步骤。”
    “于是我有了3个嫌疑对象：米切尔、戴维斯和克兰西。然而从表面上看他们都不像凶手，这当然需要进一步调查证实。”
    “我又想到了黄蜂，它具有启发意义。它在送咖啡的时候才出现，这不能不说有些蹊跷。于是我设想了凶杀案的发生过程。凶手想让人们知道死亡是由两种可能性造成的。第一个也是最简单的一个：吉塞尔夫人是由黄蜂螫咬致死的，这意味凶手没有使用过什么凶器。我和简都认为这样做最为简单。然而，当我看见毒针上的黄黑丝带时，我得出了结论：这种色彩的选择是有意在模仿黄蜂。”
    “凶手将毒针按入吉塞尔夫人的颈部，同时放出了黄蜂。毒素的威力之大，死亡立即发生了。假如吉塞尔喊叫，由于飞机的噪音，其他乘客也无法听见。”
    “这是我的设想之一。但是，假如毒针被发现－－实际情况也是这样，那么非人为死亡的结论便不攻自破了。可能凶手没有设法毁掉凶器，而是让它轻易地被我们看到，于是吹管是凶器的结论便随之成立了。警方竭尽全力寻觅吹管的来源。此时我的怀疑对象又多了一位－－琼.杜邦，是他道出了黄蜂致死的说法，而且他就坐在吉塞尔夫人附近。但另一方面，我认为他不太可能冒此风险。”
    “我继续思考黄蜂的事情。假如凶手将黄蜂带上飞机，那他一定有一只小盒装黄蜂，于是我对乘客的所有行李物品产生了兴趣。盖尔先生身上有只火柴盒，我觉得有些出乎意料，但所有的人都证明他没有离开过自己的座位。然而盖尔先生也存在作案的可能性，他公文包里的东西可以说明问题。”
    “公文包？”诺曼.盖尔感到不解，“我现在甚至无法记起里面装有什么东西。”
    波洛和蔼地微笑说：“别着急，先听听我的看法。于是，我的嫌疑者中又多了盖尔先生。我从作案的动机进行分析，结果失败了。贾普指责我把事情弄复杂。吉塞尔夫人一死，直接受益者便是她女儿，而与吉塞尔有联系的乘客只有霍布里夫人。就动机而言，霍布里夫人的情况很清楚，她从巴黎出发的前一天晚上曾拜会过吉塞尔。她的美国朋友巴勒克拉夫买过一支吹管，还贿赂了环宇航空公司的售票员，并弄清了吉塞尔夫人要搭乘2点钟的飞机的情况。”
    “于是，一个问题被分成了两半。霍布里夫人亲自作案不太可能，克兰西和盖尔作案的动机又不存在。于是，我想到了吉塞尔夫人的女儿。这4位嫌疑者结过婚吗？假如是的话，其中必定有一人是安妮.莫里索的丈夫。米切尔的妻子是一位老实厚道的多塞特人，戴维斯正在追求一位与父母同住的姑娘，克兰西没有结婚，盖尔先生正拼命地博取格雷小姐的好感。”
    “我暗中调查了格雷小姐的身世，她曾经寄宿于都柏林的一所孤儿院，然而我确信她不是吉塞尔夫人的女儿。我制作了一张表格，注明吉塞尔事件对我的涉嫌对象的利与弊：米切尔还未从震惊中恢复过来，克兰西获得了撰写下一部书的题材，盖尔的职业生涯几乎被毁。”
    “然而在这个时候，我逐渐开始怀疑诺曼.盖尔是凶手，只因为他的火柴盒和公文包。吉塞尔之死对他造成的损失不过是一种暂时假相。我开始接近盖尔，博取他的信任，甚至请他出面协助敲诈霍布里夫人。于是他犯下了第一个错误。”
    “他不是职业演员，但他在霍布里夫人面前的表演出色极了，她没有认出他。
我相信他也有同样的才华在巴黎假扮美国人。此时，我为格雷小姐感到担心，也许她某一天醒来，发现自己嫁给了一个杀人凶手。为避免一场婚姻悲剧，我把她带到了巴黎，名义上是我的秘书。”
    “不久，吉塞尔夫人的合法继承人出现了，当发现她曾在飞机上并向我们撒谎时，几乎粉碎了我的推理。假如她有罪，那她就是那位买过吹管和贿赂过佩罗特的人的帮凶。那人是谁呢？是她丈夫？突然，我似乎看到了真正的答案，假如有一点能得以证实的话。我给霍布里夫人打电话，结果有了答案。她心血来潮最后一分钟决定让仆人乘坐飞机。”波洛停了下来。
    克兰西说：“恐怕我还是不明白。”
    “你什么时候才不再把我看成是凶手了呢？”诺曼说。
    波洛扭头正视着他，“永远不会。你就是凶手！这几天我和贾普进行了大量的调查。的确，为了取悦你叔叔，你当上了牙科大夫。然而你不是他妹妹的儿子，是他兄弟的儿子。你的真名叫理查兹，就是你在尼斯遇见了霍布里夫人的女仆安妮.莫里索。她所说的自己的童年是真实的，但以后的情况则是由你精心编造的。
她知道自己母亲的婚前姓名。你意识到这是一个获取一大笔财富的绝好机会，这正符合你赌徒的性格。于是一个罪恶的计划便产生了：使谋害吉塞尔夫人的嫌疑都落在霍布里夫人的身上。你贿赂了环宇公司的售票员，使吉塞尔能够与霍布里夫人同乘一架飞机。安妮.莫里索告诉你说她将乘火车去英国，你绝没想到她也上了飞机，这几乎毁了你的整个计划。你先前的打算是，她可以合法获取遗产，因为案发时她不在现场。于是你就和她结了婚。那姑娘已经被你弄得神魂颠倒，但你看中的却是她的钱。”
    “这里还有一个插曲。你在派尼特遇上了简.格雷小姐，除了钱，你希望同时获取你之所爱。你威胁安妮.莫里索说，一旦她暴露自己的真实身份她将涉嫌谋杀。你劝诱她向主人告假几天，去鹿特丹和你结了婚。为了那笔钱，你授意不让她说出自己是霍布里夫人的仆人，这是为了表明案发时你们正在国外。”
    “不幸的是，安妮和我到达巴黎碰巧是在同一天，我在格雷小姐的启发下认出了安妮就是霍布里夫人的仆人。于是你迫不及待地设法与她联系，但没有成功。
你前往巴黎，但她已经去见过了律师。她还告诉你她见到了我。情况已经变得十分危险了，你决定尽快采取行动。”
    “你决定你的新婚妻子必须死在获取那笔财产之前，离婚之后你与她签下了契约。然后你打算去加拿大，表面上是因为你的职业出了麻烦。你重新恢复了理查兹的名字，当理查兹夫人来到你身边又悲惨的死去之后，那笔财产就自然归于你的名下，于是你从加拿大回到英国，又恢复诺曼.盖尔的名字。为了这一个如意算盘，你认为必须立即行动。”
    诺曼.盖尔仰头笑了起来，“你真聪明，能揣摩透别人的心思。你应当去干克兰西先生那一行。这一切都是你的想象，波洛先生，不是事实。”
    “我有证据，我说说你是怎么行凶的。你公文包里中有什么东西呢？你去休假，干嘛还带着牙医的服装？我的答案是：因为它和飞机乘务员的服装相似。那么你行凶的步骤是：乘务员去前舱送咖啡的时候，你去了洗手间，换上牙医服，用棉球在脸上稍事打扮。你从洗手间旁的餐具架上拿起一把调羹，迅速走到吉塞尔夫人的桌前，将毒针按进她的颈部，放出了黄蜂，然后又回到洗手间换上原来的衣服，再回自己的座位上，整个过程只用了几分钟的时间。乘客们对乘务员的走动不会过分注意，唯一能注意到你的，只有格雷小姐。然而她是女人，当她和一位英俊男子一道旅行时，她一定会抓住任何机会对着镜子打扮打扮。”
    “这的确很有趣，”盖尔讥讽地说，“但事情并不是这样。”
    “但是，”波洛继续说，“在你的谈话中你露了馅。你曾经谈到你在南非的一个农场做过事，然而我们发现那是个饲养蛇类的农场。你在那儿的名字是理查兹，有关照片显示在鹿特丹与安妮.莫里索结婚的人是同一个人。”
    诺曼.盖尔无话可说了，他英俊的脸蛋变成了紫色，他恨不得找个地缝钻下去。
    “由于你的草率而毁了你的计划，”波洛说，“玛丽孤儿院院长匆忙给安妮的电报可以佐证。由于你和安妮都在飞机上，她泄露出的任何真实情况必将导致你们涉嫌谋杀，因为你知道我已经见过了安妮.莫里索。你设法从饭店将她诱骗出来上了火车，在车上你用氢氰酸杀死了她并将空瓶放入她的手中。”
    “真是一派胡言。”
    “哦，不。她脖上有伤痕，并且瓶上留下了你的指纹。”
    “你血口喷人！”盖尔朝波洛扑过去，但贾普牢牢抓住了他。
    “詹姆斯.理查兹，化名诺曼.盖尔，由于涉嫌谋杀现正式逮捕你。你现在所说的任何话都将做为呈堂证供。”
    诺曼.盖尔完全垮了，几乎站不起来。克兰西先生欣喜地吸了一口气：“多么好的素材！你真了不起。”
    “不，”波洛说，“是贾普弄清楚了理查兹的身份。可怜的简.格雷小姐。我对她说过生活总是很残酷的。她是一个有勇气的姑娘，能够度过难关的。此外我还有一个预测：不出一年维尼夏.克尔将和霍布里爵士结婚，那是我赫邱里.波洛安排的。”
    “是吗？那么霍布里夫人和巴勒克拉夫结婚？”
    “我对此倒不感兴趣，我希望琼.杜邦先生和格雷小姐结合在一起。”
    一个月后简找到了波洛，她瘦了，眼睛上还带有一轮黑圈。
    “我希望你能忘记所发生的事情，”波洛说。
    “他的确非常英俊。我想自己再也不会恋爱了。”
    “别这么早就下结论。”波洛说，“我已经安排你和杜邦父子一道去波斯，今天早上我听他们说十分欢迎你加入他们的行列。”
    “那太好了。”简的脸上出现了红晕，“波洛先生，你是个大好人。”
    “好人？可现在我已经迷上了考古学了，我打算去博物馆看看古代的陶器。”
    “我想我也应该去。”简停顿片刻，然后将一个吻深深烙在了波洛的额头上。