Chapter 1 THE MISTRESS OF LITTLEGREEN HOUSE
Chapter 1 THE MISTRESS OF LITTLEGREEN HOUSE
Miss Arundell died on May 1st. Though her illness was short her death did not occasion much surprise in the little country town of Market Basing where she had lived since she was a girl of sixteen. For Emily Arundell was well over seventy, the last of a family of five, and she had been known to be in delicate health for many years and had indeed nearly died of a similar attack to the one that killed her some eighteen months before.
But though Miss Arundell’s death surprised no one, something else did. The provisions of her will gave rise to varying emotions, astonishment, pleasurable excitement, deep condemnation, fury, despair, anger and general gossip. For weeks and even months Market Basing was to talk of nothing else! Everyone had their own contribution to make to the subject from Mr. Jones the grocer, who held that “blood was thicker than water,” to Mrs. Lamphrey at the post office, who repeated ad nauseamthat “there’s something behind it, depend upon it! You mark my words.”
What added zest to the speculations on the subject was the fact that the will had been made as lately as April 21st. Add to this the further fact that Emily Arundell’s near relations had been staying with her just before that date over Easter Bank Holiday and it will be realized that the most scandalous theories could be propounded, pleasurably relieving the monotony of everyday life in Market Basing.
There was one person who was shrewdly suspected of knowing more about the matter than she was willing to admit. That was Miss Wilhelmina Lawson, Miss Arundell’s companion. Miss Lawson, however, professed herself just as much in the dark as everyone else. She, too, she declared, had been dumbfounded when the will was read out.
A lot of people, of course, did not believe this. Nevertheless, whether Miss Lawson was or was not as ignorant as she declared herself to be, only one person really knew the true facts. That person was the dead woman herself. Emily Arundell had kept her own counsel as she was in the habit of doing. Even to her lawyer she had said nothing of the motives underlying her action. She was content with making her wishes clear.
In that reticence could be found the keynote of Emily Arundell’s character. She was, in every respect, a typical product of her generation. She had both its virtues and its vices. She was autocratic and often overbearing, but she was also intensely warmhearted. Her tongue was sharp but her actions were kind. She was outwardly sentimental but inwardly shrewd. She had a succession of companions whom she bullied unmercifully, but treated with great generosity. She had a great sense of family obligation. On the Friday before Easter Emily Arundell was standing in the hall of Littlegreen House giving various directions to Miss Lawson.
Emily Arundell had been a handsome girl and she was now a well-preserved handsome old lady with a straight back and a brisk manner. A faint yellowness in her skin was a warning that she could not eat rich food with impunity.
Miss Arundell was saying:
“Now then, Minnie, where have you put them all?”
“Well, I thought—I hope I’ve done right—Dr. and Mrs. Tanios in the Oak room and Theresa in the Blue room and Mr. Charles in the Old Nursery—”
Miss Arundell interrupted:
“Theresa can have the Old Nursery and Charles will have the Blue room.”
“Oh, yes—I’m sorry—I thought the Old Nursery being rather more inconvenient—”
“It will do very nicely for Theresa.”
In Miss Arundell’s day, women took second place. Men were the important members of society.
“I’m so sorry the dear little children aren’t coming,” murmured Miss Lawson, sentimentally.
She loved children and was quite incapable of managing them.
“Four visitors will be quite enough,” said Miss Arundell. “In any case Bella spoils her children abominably. They never dream of doing what they are told.”
Minnie Lawson murmured:
“Mrs. Tanios is a very devoted mother.”
Miss Arundell said with grave approval:
“Bella is a good woman.”
Miss Lawson sighed and said:
“It must be very hard for her sometimes—living in an outlandish place like Smyrna.”
Emily Arundell replied:
“She has made her bed and she must lie on it.”
And having uttered this final Victorian pronouncement she went on:
“I am going to the village now to speak about the orders for the weekend.”
“Oh, Miss Arundell, do let me. I mean—”
“Nonsense. I prefer to go myself. Rogers needs a sharp word. The trouble with you is, Minnie, that you’re not emphaticenough. Bob! Bob! Where isthe dog?”
A wirehaired terrier came tearing down the stairs. He circled round and round his mistress uttering short staccato barks of delight and expectation.
Together mistress and dog passed out of the front door and down the short path to the gate.
Miss Lawson stood in the doorway smiling rather foolishly after them, her mouth a little open. Behind her a voice said tartly:
“Them pillowcases you gave me, miss, isn’t a pair.”
“What? How stupid of me….”
Minnie Lawson plunged once more into household routine.
Emily Arundell, attended by Bob, made a royal progress down the main street of Market Basing.
It was very much of a royal progress. In each shop she entered the proprietor always hurried forward to attend to her.
She was Miss Arundell of Littlegreen House. She was “one of our oldest customers.” She was “one of the old school. Not many about like her nowadays.”
“Good morning, miss. What can I have the pleasure of doing for you—Not tender? Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I thought myself it was as nice a little saddle—Yes, of course, Miss Arundell. If you say so, it is so—No, indeed I wouldn’t think of sending Canterbury to you,Miss Arundell—Yes, I’ll see to it myself, Miss Arundell.”
Bob and Spot, the butcher’s dog, circled slowly round each other, hackles raised, growling gently. Spot was a stout dog of nondescript breed. He knew that he must not fight with customers’ dogs, but he permitted himself to tell them, by subtle indication, just exactly what mincemeat he would make of them were he free to do so.
Bob, a dog of spirit, replied in kind.
Emily Arundell said “Bob!” sharply and passed on.
In the greengrocer’s there was a meeting of heavenly bodies. Another old lady, spherical in outline, but equally distinguished by that air of royalty, said:
“Mornin’, Emily.”
“Good morning, Caroline.”
Caroline Peabody said:
“Expecting any of your young people down?”
“Yes, all of them. Theresa, Charles and Bella.”
“So Bella’s home, is she? Husband too?”
“Yes.”
It was a simple monosyllable, but underlying it was knowledge common to both ladies.
For Bella Biggs, Emily Arundell’s niece, had married a Greek. And Emily Arundell’s people, who were what is known as “all service people,” simply did not marry Greeks.
By way of being obscurely comforting (for of course such a matter could not be referred to openly) Miss Peabody said:
“Bella’s husband’s got brains. Andcharming manners!”
“His manners are delightful,” agreed Miss Arundell.
Moving out into the street Miss Peabody asked:
“What’s this about Theresa being engaged to young Donaldson?”
Miss Arundell shrugged her shoulders.
“Young people are so casual nowadays. I’m afraid it will have to be a rather long engagement—that is, if anything comes of it. He has no money.”
“Of course Theresa has her own money,” said Miss Peabody
Miss Arundell said stiffly:
“A man could not possibly wish to live on his wife’s money.”
Miss Peabody gave a rich, throaty chuckle.
“They don’t seem to mind doing it, nowadays. You and I are out of date, Emily. What I can’t understand is what the child seesin him. Of all the namby-pamby young men!”
“He’s a clever doctor, I believe.”
“Those pince-nez—and that stiff way of talking! In my young days we’d have called him a poor stick!”
There was a pause while Miss Peabody’s memory, diving into the past, conjured up visions of dashing, bewhiskered young men….
She said with a sigh:
“Send that young dog Charles along to see me—if he’ll come.”
“Of course. I’ll tell him.”
The two ladies parted.
They had known each other for considerably over fifty years. Miss Peabody knew of certain regrettable lapses in the life of General Arundell, Emily’s father. She knew just precisely what a shock Thomas Arundell’s marriage had been to his sisters. She had a very shrewd idea of certain troubles connected with the younger generation.
But no word had ever passed between the two ladies on any of these subjects. They were both upholders of family dignity, family solidarity, and complete reticence on family matters.
Miss Arundell walked home, Bob trotting sedately at her heels. To herself, Emily Arundell admitted what she would never have admitted to another human being, her dissatisfaction with the younger generation of her family.
Theresa, for instance. She had no control over Theresa since the latter had come into her own money at the age of twenty-one. Since then the girl had achieved a certain notoriety. Her picture was often in the papers. She belonged to a young, bright, go-ahead set in London—a set that had freak parties and occasionally ended up in the police courts. It was not the kind of notoriety that Emily Arundell approved of for an Arundell. In fact, she disapproved very much of Theresa’s way of living. As regards the girl’s engagement, her feelings were slightly confused. On the one hand she did not consider an upstart Dr. Donaldson good enough for an Arundell. On the other she was uneasily conscious that Theresa was a most unsuitable wife for a quiet country doctor.
With a sigh her thoughts passed on to Bella. There was no fault to find with Bella. She was a good woman—a devoted wife and mother, quite exemplary in behaviour—and extremely dull! But even Bella could not be regarded with complete approval. For Bella had married a foreigner—and not only a foreigner—but a Greek. In Miss Arundell’s prejudiced mind a Greek was almost as bad as an Argentine or a Turk. The fact that Dr. Tanios had a charming manner and was said to be extremely able to his profession only prejudiced the old lady slightly more against him. She distrusted charm and easy compliments. For this reason, too, she found it difficult to be fond of the two children. They had both taken after their father in looks—there was really nothing English about them.
And then Charles….
Yes, Charles….
It was no use blinding one’s eyes to facts. Charles, charming though he was, was not to be trusted….
Emily Arundell sighed. She felt suddenly tired, old, depressed….
She supposed that she couldn’t last much longer….
Her mind reverted to the will she had made some years ago.
Legacies to the servants—to charities—and the main bulk of her considerable fortune to be divided equally between these, her three surviving relations….
It still seemed to her that she had done the right and equitable thing. It just crossed her mind to wonder whether there might not be someway of securing Bella’s share of the money so that her husband could not touch it….She must ask Mr. Purvis.
She turned in at the gate of Littlegreen House.
Charles and Theresa Arundell arrived by car—the Tanioses, by train.
The brother and sister arrived first. Charles, tall and good-looking, with his slightly mocking manner, said:
“Hullo, Aunt Emily, how’s the girl? You look fine.”
And he kissed her.
Theresa put an indifferent young cheek against her withered one.
“How are you, Aunt Emily?”
Theresa, her aunt thought, was looking far from well. Her face, beneath its plentiful makeup, was slightly haggard and there were lines round her eyes.
They had tea in the drawing room. Bella Tanios, her hair inclined to straggle in wisps from below the fashionable hat that she wore at the wrong angle, stared at her cousin Theresa with a pathetic eagerness to assimilate and memorize her clothes. It was poor Bella’s fate in life to be passionately fond of clothes without having any clothes sense. Theresa’s clothes were expensive, slightly bizarre, and she herself had an exquisite figure.
Bella, when she arrived in England from Smyrna, had tried earnestly to copy Theresa’s elegance at an inferior price and cut.
Dr. Tanios, who was a big-bearded jolly-looking man, was talking to Miss Arundell. His voice was warm and full—an attractive voice that charmed a listener almost against his or her will. Almost in spite of herself, it charmed Miss Arundell.
Miss Lawson was fidgeting a good deal. She jumped up and down, handing plates, fussing over the tea table. Charles, whose manners were excellent, rose more than once to help her, but she expressed no gratitude.
When, after tea, the party went out to make a tour of the garden Charles murmured to his sister:
“Lawson doesn’t like me. Odd, isn’t it?”
Theresa said, mockingly:
“Very odd. So there isone person who can withstand your fatal fascination?”
Charles grinned—an engaging grin—and said:
“Lucky it’s only Lawson….”
In the garden Miss Lawson walked with Mrs. Tanios and asked her questions about the children. Bella Tanios’ rather drab face lighted up. She forgot to watch Theresa. She talked eagerly and animatedly. Mary had said such a quaintthing on the boat….
She found Minnie Lawson a most sympathetic listener.
Presently a fair-haired young man with a solemn face and pince-nezwas shown into the garden from the house. He looked rather embarrassed. Miss Arundell greeted him politely.
Theresa said:
“Hullo, Rex!”
She slipped an arm through his. They wandered away.
Charles made a face. He slipped away to have a word with the gardener, an ally of his from old days.
When Miss Arundell reentered the house Charles was playing with Bob. The dog stood at the top of the stairs, his ball in his mouth, his tail gently wagging.
“Come on, old man,” said Charles.
Bob sank down on his haunches, nosed his ball slowly and slowly nearer the edge. As he finally bunted it over he sprang to his feet in great excitement. The ball bumped slowly down the stairs. Charles caught it and tossed it up to him. Bob caught it neatly in his mouth. The performance was repeated.
“Regular game of his,” said Charles.
Emily Arundell smiled.
“He’ll go on for hours,” she said.
She turned into the drawing room and Charles followed her. Bob gave a disappointed bark.
Glancing through the window Charles said:
“Look at Theresa and her young man. They arean odd couple!”
“You think Theresa is really serious over this?”
“Oh, she’s crazy about him!” said Charles with confidence. “Odd taste, but there it is. I think it must be the way he looks at her as though she were a scientific specimen and not a live woman. That’s rather a novelty for Theresa. Pity the fellow’s so poor. Theresa’s got expensive tastes.”
Miss Arundell said drily:
“I’ve no doubt she can change her way of living—if she wants to! And after all she has her own income.”
“Eh? Oh yes, yes, of course.” Charles shot an almost guilty look at her.
That evening, as the others were assembled in the drawing room waiting to go in to dinner, there was a scurry and a burst of profanity on the stairs. Charles entered with his face rather red.
“Sorry, Aunt Emily, am I late? That dog of yours nearly made me take the most frightful toss. He’d left that ball of his on the top of the stairs.”
“Careless little doggie,” cried Miss Lawson, bending down to Bob.
Bob looked at her contemptuously and turned his head away.
“I know,” said Miss Arundell. “It’s most dangerous. Minnie, fetch the ball and put it away.”
Miss Lawson hurried out.
Dr. Tanios monopolized the conversation at the dinner table most of the time. He told amusing stories of his life in Smyrna.
The party went to bed early. Miss Lawson carrying wool, spectacles, a large velvet bag and a book accompanied her employer to her bedroom chattering happily.
“Really mostamusing, Dr. Tanios. He is such goodcompany! Not that I should care for that kind of life myself….One would have to boil the water, I expect….And goat’s milk, perhaps—such a disagreeable taste—”
Miss Arundell snapped:
“Don’t be a fool, Minnie. You told Ellen to call me at half past six?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Arundell. I said no tea, but don’t you think it might be wiser—You know, the vicar at Southbridge—a most conscientious man, told me distinctly that there was no obligation to come fasting—”
Once more Miss Arundell cut her short.
“I’ve never yet taken anything before Early Service and I’m not going to begin now. Youcan do as you like.”
“Oh, no—I didn’t mean—I’m sure—”
Miss Lawson was flustered and upset.
“Take Bob’s collar off,” said Miss Arundell.
The slave hastened to obey.
Still trying to please she said:
“Such a pleasantevening. They all seem so pleasedto be here.”
“Hmph,” said Emily Arundell. “All here for what they can get.”
“Oh, dear Miss Arundell—”
“My good Minnie, I’m not a fool whatever else I am! I just wonder which of them will open the subject first.”
She was not long left in doubt on that point. She and Miss Lawson returned from attending Early Service just after nine. Dr. and Mrs. Tanios were in the dining room, but there were no signs of the two Arundells. After breakfast, when the others had left, Miss Arundell sat on, entering up some accounts in a little book.
Charles entered the room about ten.
“Sorry I’m late, Aunt Emily. But Theresa’s worse. She’s not unclosed an eyelid yet.”
“At half past ten breakfast will be cleared away,” said Miss Arundell. “I know it is the fashion not to consider servants nowadays, but that is not the case in myhouse.”
“Good. That’s the true die-hard spirit!”
Charles helped himself to kidneys and sat down beside her.
His grin, as always, was very attractive. Emily Arundell soon found herself smiling indulgently at him. Emboldened by this sign of favour, Charles plunged.
“Look here, Aunt Emily, sorry to bother you, but I’m in the devil of a hole. Can you possibly help me out? A hundred would do it.”
His aunt’s face was not encouraging. A certain grimness showed itself in her expression.
Emily Arundell was not afraid of speaking her mind. She spoke it.
Miss Lawson hustling across the hall almost collided with Charles as he left the dining room. She glanced at him curiously. She entered the dining room to find Miss Arundell sitting very upright with a flushed face.
第一章 小绿房子的女主人

阿伦德尔小姐死于五月一日。虽然她这次没病太久就去世了，但在这个名叫贝辛市场的小镇上，她的死讯并没有引起太大的波澜。艾米莉•阿伦德尔从十六岁起就住在这里，终年七十多岁，是家族中五个兄弟姐妹里最后一个去世的。镇上的人都知道她多年饱受疾病折磨，就在十八个月前，一场类似的病就差点儿要了她的命。
阿伦德尔的死讯没让众人吃惊，不过另一件事做到了。她的遗嘱引来了种种不同的反应，震惊、兴奋、强烈的谴责、盛怒、绝望、不满和少不了的流言飞语。在数周甚至数月的时间里，贝辛市场的人们几乎没有换过话题！每个人对这事都有自己的解读，杂货店的琼斯先生相信“血浓于水”。而邮局的兰福瑞夫人则惹人生厌地一遍一遍重复着：“这背后肯定有猫腻！记着我说的，准没错！”
遗嘱直到四月二十一日才拟定，这一事实为人们的猜测平添了不少乐子。更有趣的是，就在前一天，艾米莉•阿伦德尔还和她的近亲们一起庆祝复活节银行假日。人们意识到，那些最不光彩的推测是时候登场了，这为贝辛市场乏味的日常生活增添了些乐趣。
有这么一个人，她虽然不愿承认，但明眼人一看就明白，她知道的内情远比她肯承认的要多得多。这人就是威廉米娜•劳森小姐，阿伦德尔的贴身女仆。不过她声称自己和其他人一样对这件事一无所知，还强调宣读遗嘱的时候，自己也被惊得目瞪口呆。
当然，没多少人买她的账，不管她是否真如自己所说的那样，对此事毫不知情。知道背后真相的人也只有一个，那就是阿伦德尔小姐自己。艾米莉•阿伦德尔习惯隐藏自己的内心，即使对她的律师，也从不解释原因，只是安排吩咐。只要能清楚地传达自己的意愿，她就心满意足了。
从阿伦德尔平日的含蓄自持可以看出，她个性如此。无论从哪个角度看都不难发现，她身上凝聚着她这代人的典型特征，兼有时代的美德和缺陷。她颐指气使，常常表现得十分专横，同时又是个极度热心肠的人。她言辞犀利，做起事来却温柔友善。外表多愁善感，但内里心思缜密。贴身女仆换过一个又一个，虽然每个都饱受她毫不留情面的欺辱，但同时也承蒙她的慷慨。她还是个家庭责任感极强的人。
复活节前的那个周五，艾米莉•阿伦德尔正站在利特格林别墅的门厅里指使着劳森小姐忙东忙西。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔年轻时容貌姣好，如今是个保养得当的漂亮老妇人，腰板挺直，做事麻利。微黄的肤色好像在警示她少吃油腻的食物。
阿伦德尔说：
“喂，米妮（注：米娜的昵称。），你把他们都安置到哪儿了？”
“呃，让我想想——希望我没做错——塔尼奥斯医生和他夫人住有橡木家具的那间房，特雷萨住贴蓝色墙纸的那间，查尔斯先生住原来的育婴房……”
阿伦德尔打断了她的话：
“安排特雷萨去住育婴房，查尔斯住蓝色这间。”
“哦，好的——很抱歉——我还以为育婴房对特雷萨来说太不方便……”
“特雷萨住这间正好。”
在阿伦德尔那个年代，女人永远是次要的，男人才是社会的主角。
“知道孩子们不能来我真的很遗憾。”劳森小姐略带伤感，小声嘟囔着。
她很喜欢孩子，也非常擅长照顾他们。
“四个客人对我们来说已经很多了，”阿伦德尔说道，“无论怎么说，贝拉都太宠孩子了，他们常常失控，根本不听大人的话。”
米妮小声说：
“塔尼奥斯夫人是个称职的母亲。”
“贝拉的确是。”阿伦德尔表示赞同。
劳森长叹一口气，说：
“住在士麦那那种穷乡僻壤，对她来说肯定很不容易。”
艾米莉•阿伦德尔回应道：
“她自己铺的床自己睡。”
在引用完这句维多利亚时代的名言之后，她继续说：
“我现在要到村子里去一趟，订购周末聚会需要的东西。”
“哦，阿伦德尔小姐，还是我去吧，我是说……”
“别说废话了，我看还是我自己去比较好，跟罗杰斯这人打交道，你得嘴巴厉害点儿才行，而米妮，你的毛病正是说话太没有力度。鲍勃！鲍勃！这狗跑哪儿去了？”
一只硬毛小猎犬从楼梯上一溜烟跑下来，兴奋地绕着女主人转圈，不时发出既愉快又期待的叫声。
女主人带着狗出了别墅前门，沿着小路向大门走去。
劳森小姐站在门厅里看着她们，微微张开嘴，傻傻地笑着。身后突然有个声音冷冷地说：
“小姐，你给我的枕套根本不是一对儿。”
“什么？我可真糊涂啊……”
 
米妮•劳森再次投入到繁忙的家务事里。
在鲍勃的陪伴下，艾米莉•阿伦德尔像皇室出巡一样走在贝辛市场的主路上。
说是皇室出巡可一点儿也不为过。她每进一个店铺，店主都急忙上前恭迎。
她可是利特格林别墅的女主人阿伦德尔小姐，是这些店主嘴里“最老的主顾”，“真正的老一派，现如今可没几个像她这样的人了”。
“早晨好，小姐。请问我能为你做些什么——不够嫩吗？啊，实在很抱歉，我本以为这是块不错的脊肉呢——好的，没问题，阿伦德尔小姐，一切都听你的——不，我绝对不会把坎特伯雷那儿来的肉给你送去的，阿伦德尔小姐——是的，你放心，阿伦德尔小姐，所有的事情我都会亲力亲为。”
鲍勃和屠夫的狗，施波特，正绕着对方缓缓地打转，它们颈部的毛倒竖着，轻声低吼。施波特体型粗壮，看不出是什么品种。它知道自己绝对不能和顾客的狗打架，但允许自己用声音巧妙地暗示对手，要是没人管着，它会把对方打成怎样的一堆肉酱。
鲍勃也不是好欺负的角色，同样在向对方发出警示。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔厉声唤道：“鲍勃！”便继续前行。
蔬果店里的情形就像是两个天体碰撞。另有一位老妇人，体型浑圆，尊贵的气质丝毫不输阿伦德尔，她说：
“早啊，艾米莉。”
“早，卡罗琳。”
卡罗琳•皮博迪说：
“正张罗着等你的小辈们过来？”
“没错，全都要来。特雷萨、查尔斯和贝拉。”
“这么说，贝拉回来了，是吗？先生也和她一起？”
“是的。”
虽然是个再简单不过的问答，却暗示着两位女士都心知肚明的事。
这是因为艾米莉•阿伦德尔的外甥女，贝拉•比格斯，嫁给了一个希腊人。而艾米莉•阿伦德尔家的人，都是“虔诚做礼拜的人”，不跟希腊人通婚。
皮博迪小姐用安慰的话语含糊地（这种事当然不能正大光明地谈论）说：
“贝拉的丈夫头脑很好，而且风度迷人。”
从店里出来，皮博迪小姐继续问：
“特雷萨和唐纳森家的小伙子订婚是怎么回事？”
阿伦德尔耸了耸肩。
“时下的年轻人都太随便了。我看这婚恐怕要订很久了——就算最后真有了什么结果，他可没钱。”
“当然，特雷萨自己有钱。”皮博迪小姐说道。
阿伦德尔略微死板地回应：
“一个男人可不能指望靠妻子的钱过活。”
皮博迪小姐咯咯笑起来，声音洪亮中带着沙哑。
“现如今他们好像并不介意这样做。你和我都跟不上时代了，艾米莉，不过有一点我倒很好奇，特雷萨这孩子究竟看上了他什么。尽是些矫揉造作的男人！”
“我相信，他肯定是个聪明的医生。”
“那副夹鼻眼镜——还有他那呆板木讷的说话方式。要是在我年轻那会儿，准会叫他可怜的呆头鹅！”
皮博迪小姐停顿了一下，陷入往日的回忆——那些干劲十足，蓄着络腮胡的小伙子……
她叹息一声，说：
“让查尔斯那小子来看看我——如果他愿意的话。”
“当然，我会告诉他的。”
两位女士就此告别。
她们相识已经超过五十年。皮博迪小姐知道艾米莉的父亲阿伦德尔将军一生中那些令他懊悔的过错，也很清楚托马斯•阿伦德尔的婚姻给他妹妹带来了怎样的震撼。对年轻这一代之间的麻烦事，她看得很清楚。
不过她们俩从没和对方谈起过这些话题。她们都扮演着支柱的角色，维系着家族的尊严和团结，对家庭琐事向来闭口不谈。
阿伦德尔小姐步行回家，鲍勃安静地踏着碎步跟在她脚旁。对艾米莉•阿伦德尔自己来说，她承认家族里的年青一代让她很不满，只不过她不可能在别人面前承认。
拿特雷萨来说，自她二十一岁起继承了属于自己的财产，就完全逃脱了阿伦德尔的掌控。之后更是声名狼藉，照片常常上报。她加入了伦敦一个激进的年轻人组织——这个组织常常搞些反常的聚会，偶尔还会沦落到治安法庭。艾米莉•阿伦德尔绝对不能容忍家族里的任何一分子与这样的坏名声扯上关系。事实上，她极度反对特雷萨的生活方式。至于这年轻姑娘订婚的事，她感到些许困惑。一方面，她不认为傲慢自负的唐纳森医生高攀得上阿伦德尔家族；另一方面她也很不安，因为她意识到，对一个文静的乡下医生来说，特雷萨可能是最不合适的选择。
叹息一声后，她又想到贝拉。乍看之下，贝拉身上好像没什么好挑剔的，她是个本分的女人——一个忠诚的妻子和称职的母亲，在行为举止方面简直可以当做榜样——同时也蠢极了！连贝拉也无法得到她完全的认可。因为她嫁给了一个外国人——不单单是个外国人——而且还是一个希腊人。在阿伦德尔小姐充满偏见的想法中，希腊人几乎和阿根廷人或土耳其人一样糟。事实上，塔尼奥斯医生不仅举止优雅，而且医术高明，不过这只能进一步加深了这位老妇人对他的偏见。她从不信任所谓的魅力和轻浮的恭维。也就是由于这个原因，她也不太喜欢他们的两个孩子。他们都遗传了父亲的长相——一点儿英国味儿都没有。
 
接下来是查尔斯……
是啊，查尔斯……
就算把双眼蒙起来不看事实也没有用。查尔斯，虽然很迷人，却很难让人信任。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔又长叹了一声。她觉得自己突然累了，老了，绝望了……
她估计自己大概也活不了多久了……
这不禁让她想起多年前立的那份遗嘱。
留给仆人们的部分，捐出去做慈善的部分，还剩下一大部分，那笔可观的数目平分给她仅有的三个家人……
她觉得这样分配正确且公平。突然，她脑海里闪出个念头，有没有什么办法能保护贝拉的那部分钱不让她丈夫沾光……她必须问问珀维斯先生。
她转身走进利特格林别墅的大门。
查尔斯和特雷萨是坐车来的——塔尼奥斯夫妇坐的是火车。
兄妹俩先到。查尔斯，身材高挑，容貌俊美，用略带轻佻的口吻说：
“你好啊，艾米莉姑姑，近来可好？你看上去真不错。”
接着，他吻了吻她。
特雷萨面色冰冷，把她年轻的脸贴到阿伦德尔干瘪的面颊上。
“最近好吗，艾米莉姑姑？”
在姑姑眼里，特雷萨看上去可不太好。她的面容被厚厚的妆粉遮掩住，看上去有些憔悴，眼睛周围满是纹路。
他们在客厅喝茶。贝拉•塔尼奥斯戴着时髦的帽子，头发一绺绺散落着，帽子的角度很不合适。她直愣愣地望着她的表妹特雷萨，想把表妹的衣着全部记下来，好去模仿。可怜的贝拉，一直对穿衣打扮颇有热情，却缺乏品位。特雷萨的衣服大都很昂贵，款式略微新潮，而且她有着完美的体型。
而贝拉呢，从士麦那回到英国，便迫不及待地以便宜的价格和拙劣的手工模仿特雷萨高雅的衣着。
塔尼奥斯医生留着大胡子，看上去开朗又愉快，这会儿正和阿伦德尔小姐聊天。他的声音饱满而温柔——很容易让听者不由自主地沉浸其中。阿伦德尔小姐这会儿也难以自已地被迷住了。
劳森小姐慌乱地忙活着。她不停地跑上跑下，递盘子，添茶加点。查尔斯有着极好的修养，不止一次站起来搭把手，而劳森似乎并不领情。
享用完茶点，一众人来到花园里散步。查尔斯在他妹妹耳边低声说道：
“劳森好像不怎么喜欢我。很奇怪，不是吗？”
特雷萨略带嘲讽地说：
“的确奇怪。原来这世上真有人能抵挡你那致命的诱惑啊？”
查尔斯咧开嘴笑了——笑容非常迷人——接着说：
“还好这人是劳森。”
花园里，劳森小姐和塔尼奥斯夫人走在一起，关切地询问孩子们的事。听到这个话题，贝拉一改愁云惨雾的脸色，表情明快起来。她甚至忘了盯着特雷萨看，开始急切又充满生气地讲起玛丽说船上发生了一件怪事。
她发现米妮•劳森是个很有同情心的听众。
这时一个带着夹鼻眼镜的金发青年从屋里走出来。他表情略带尴尬。阿伦德尔小姐礼貌地和他打了招呼。
特雷萨说：
“嗨，雷克斯！”
她一把挽起他的手臂，两个人漫步走开了。
查尔斯做了个鬼脸，跑去和园丁聊天，他们打小就是“亲密战友”。
当阿伦德尔小姐再次回到屋里时，查尔斯正在和鲍勃玩。它站在楼梯顶端，叼着一只球，尾巴温柔地来回摇摆。
“来吧，伙计。”查尔斯说。
鲍勃后腿趴在地上，用鼻子把球一点儿一点儿拱到楼梯边缘，一下子推下去，接着兴奋地一跃而起。球顺着楼梯缓缓地弹落到楼下，查尔斯接住，再扔给鲍勃。鲍勃利落地张嘴接住。又重复刚才的表演。
“这是它惯常的娱乐项目。”查尔斯说。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔面带微笑。
“它能玩上好几个小时。”她说。
她走进客厅，查尔斯也跟着一起走了。鲍勃失望地叫了一声。
查尔斯望着窗外，说：
“快看特雷萨和那个小伙子，他们可真是一对奇怪的情侣。”
“你觉得特雷萨这回是认真的吗？”
“哦，她简直为他疯狂！”查尔斯很有把握地说道，“品位真独特，但谁又能怎么样呢，我猜他看特雷萨的时候肯定把她幻想成标本，而不是个活生生的人。特雷萨可能也觉得挺新奇。可惜这家伙没什么钱。特雷萨的品位可贵着呢。”
阿伦德尔小姐嘲讽地回应道：
“我一点儿都不怀疑她能改变自己的生活方式——只要她想！说到底，她自己还是有收入的。”
“哈？哦，是，当然。”查尔斯心虚地瞄了她一眼。
当天晚上，当大家聚集在客厅里等待晚餐时，楼上突然传来一串急促的脚步声，伴随着咒骂，查尔斯满脸通红地走进来。
“对不起，艾米莉姑姑，我晚了吗？你的那只狗让我差点儿摔了一跤。它把球留在楼梯口了。”
 
“真是个粗心大意的小东西。”劳森小姐弯下腰，对鲍勃骂道。
鲍勃满不在乎地看了她一眼，把头转开了。
“我知道，”阿伦德尔小姐说，“这危险极了。米妮，快去把球捡起来收好。”
劳森小姐匆匆照做。
餐桌上的大部分时间里，塔尼奥斯医生都是谈话的焦点。他讲了很多在士麦那生活的趣事。
聚会提前结束了。劳森小姐拿着毛毯、眼镜、一个天鹅绒布大包和一本书，随着女主人走进卧室，愉快地同她聊着天。
“真是太有趣了，塔尼奥斯医生。真是个好伴儿……不是说我想过那种生活……人们总得把水烧开了再喝吧，我想……还有羊奶，或许吧——那味道实在很难让人认同——”
阿伦德尔厉声说：
“别犯傻了，米妮。你告诉艾伦明早上六点半叫我起床了吗？”
“哦，是的，阿伦德尔小姐。我让她不要备茶，但你难道不觉得——你知道，那个南桥教区的牧师——绝对虔诚的人，曾经很明确地告诉我，没有规定早上一定要斋戒——”
阿伦德尔小姐再一次打断她的话。
“我从没有在做早礼拜前吃过东西，也不打算破这个例。你想怎么做是你的事。”
“哦，不——我不是说——我确定——”
劳森小姐显得慌张不安。
“把鲍勃的项圈摘了。”阿伦德尔小姐说。
劳森赶紧照做。
她继续试图取悦主人，说：
“很愉快的夜晚，不是吗？大家似乎都乐在其中。”
“哼，”阿伦德尔说，“一个个还不是为了得到点儿什么才来的。”
“哦，亲爱的阿伦德尔小姐——”
“我的好米妮，无论如何我都不是个傻子！我只想知道谁会先开口。”
这个问题并没有困扰她太久。早上九点，当她和米妮做完早礼拜回来时，塔尼奥斯夫妇正在客厅里，两个姓阿伦德尔的兄妹却不见踪影。早餐过后，其他人都走开了，阿伦德尔小姐继续坐在那里，拿出个小本子记账。
大约十点左右，查尔斯走进来。
“对不起，姑姑，我迟到了。但是特雷萨更过分，到现在还没睁眼呢。”
“早餐十点半就会撤走，”阿伦德尔小姐说，“我知道，时下大家都不怎么替仆人们考虑，但这在我的房子里是不允许的。”
“好的。这才是择善固执的家风！”
查尔斯坐在她旁边，吃了些牛腰。
他的笑容一如既往的迷人。艾米莉•阿伦德尔也不由自主地回以宠溺的微笑。
在这个迹象的鼓舞下，查尔斯决定放手一搏。
“你看，艾米莉姑姑，我又要给你添麻烦了。我现在手头真的很紧，你能帮帮我吗？一百英镑就足够了。”
他姑姑的脸色可不太好看，透着一丝无情。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔从不害怕表达自己的想法，她确实也这么做了。
劳森小姐急匆匆地穿过门厅，差点儿和正要出去的查尔斯撞个满怀。她好奇地看了他一眼。当她走进客厅时，发现阿伦德尔小姐笔直地坐在那里，脸色发红。
Chapter 2 THE RELATIONS
Chapter 2 THE RELATIONS
Charles ran lightly up the stairs and tapped on his sister’s door. Her answering “Come in” came promptly and he entered.
Theresa was sitting up in bed yawning.
Charles took a seat on the bed.
“What a decorative female you are, Theresa,” he remarked appreciatively.
Theresa said sharply:
“What’s the matter?” Charles grinned.
“Sharp, aren’t you? Well, I stole a march on you, my girl! Thought I’d make my touch before yougot to work.”
“Well?”
Charles spread his hands downwards in negation.
“Nothing doing! Aunt Emily ticked me off good and proper. She intimated that she was under no illusions as to why her affectionate family had gathered round her! And she also intimated that the said affectionate family would be disappointed. Nothing being handed out but affection—and not so much of that.”
“You might have waited a bit,” said Theresa drily.
Charles grinned again.
“I was afraid you or Tanios might get in ahead of me. I’m sadly afraid, Theresa my sweet, that there’ll be nothing doing this time. Old Emily is by no means a fool.”
“I never thought she was.”
“I even tried to put the wind up her.”
“What d’you mean?” asked his sister sharply.
“Told her she was going about it the right way to get bumped off. After all she can’t take the dibs to heaven with her. Why not loosen up a bit?”
“Charles, you are a fool!”
“No, I’m not. I’m a bit of a psychologist in my way. It’s never a bit of good sucking up to the old girl. She much prefers you to stand up to her. And after all, I was only talking sense. We get the money when she dies—she might just as well part with a little beforehand! Otherwise the temptation to help her out of the way might become overwhelming.”
“Did she see your point?” asked Theresa, her delicate mouth curling up scornfully.
“I’m not sure. She didn’t admit it. Just thanked me rather nastily for my advice and said she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ve warned you.’ ‘I’ll remember it,’ she said.”
Theresa said angrily:
“Really, Charles, you are an utter fool.”
“Damn it all, Theresa, I was a bit ratty myself! The old girl’s rolling—simply rolling. I bet she doesn’t spend a tenth part of her income—what has she got to spend it on, anyway? And here we are—young, able to enjoy life—and to spite us she’s capable of living to a hundred….I want my fun now….So do you….”
Theresa nodded.
She said in a low, breathless voice:
“They don’t understand—old people don’t….they can’t….They don’t know what it is to live!”
Brother and sister were silent for some minutes.
Charles got up.
“Well, my love, I wish you better success than I’ve had. But I rather doubt it.”
Theresa said:
“I’m rather counting on Rex to do the trick. If I can make old Emily realize how brilliant he is, and how it matters terrifically that he should have his chance and not have to sink into a rut as a general practitioner… Oh, Charles, a few thousand of capital just at this minute would make all the difference in the world to our lives!”
“Hope you get it, but I don’t think you will. You’ve got through a bit too much capital in riotous living in your time. I say, Theresa, you don’t think the dreary Bella or the dubious Tanios will get anything, do you?”
“I don’t see that money would be any good to Bella. She goes about looking like a ragbag and her tastes are purely domestic.”
“Oh, well,” said Charles, vaguely. “I expect she wants things for those unprepossessing children of hers, schools, and plates for their front teeth and music lessons. And anyway it isn’t Bella—it’s Tanios. I bet he’sgot a nose for money all right! Trust a Greek for that. You know he’s got through most of Bella’s? Speculated with it and lost it all.”
“Do you think he’ll get something out of old Emily?”
“He won’t if I can prevent him,” said Charles, grimly.
He left the room and wandered downstairs. Bob was in the hall. He fussed up to Charles agreeably. Dogs liked Charles
He ran towards the drawing room door and looked back at Charles.
“What’s the matter?” said Charles, strolling after him.
Bob hurried into the drawing room and sat down expectantly by a small bureau.
Charles strolled over to him.
“What’s it all about?”
Bob wagged his tail, looked hard at the drawers of the bureau and uttered an appealing squeak.
“Want something that’s in here?”
Charles pulled open the top drawer. His eyebrows rose.
“Dear, dear,” he said.
At one side of the drawer was a little pile of treasury notes.
Charles picked up the bundle and counted them. With a grin he removed three one pound notes and two ten shilling ones and put them in his pocket. He replaced the rest of the notes carefully in the drawer where he had found them.
“That was a good idea, Bob,” he said. “Your Uncle Charles will be able at any rate to cover expenses. A little ready cash always comes in handy.”
Bob uttered a faint reproachful bark as Charles shut the drawer.
“Sorry old man,” Charles apologized. He opened the next drawer. Bob’s ball was in the corner of it. He took it out.
“Here you are. Enjoy yourself with it.” Bob caught the ball, trotted out of the room and presently bump, bump, bump, was heard down the stairs.
Charles strolled out into the garden. It was a fine sunny morning with a scent of lilac.
Miss Arundell had Dr. Tanios by her side. He was speaking of the advantage of an English education—a good education—for children and how deeply he regretted that he could not afford such a luxury for his own children.
Charles smiled with satisfied malice. He joined in the conversation in a lighthearted manner, turning it adroitly into entirely different channels.
Emily Arundell smiled at him quite amiably. He even fancied that she was amused by his tactics and was subtly encouraging them.
Charles’ spirits rose. Perhaps, after all, before he left—
Charles was an incurable optimist.
Dr. Donaldson called for Theresa in his car that afternoon and drove her to Worthem Abbey, one of the local beauty spots. They wandered away from the Abbey itself into the woods.
There Rex Donaldson told Theresa at length about his theories and some of his recent experiments. She understood very little but listened in a spellbound manner, thinking to herself:
“How clever Rex is—and how absolutely adorable!”
Her fiancé paused once and said rather doubtfully:
“I’m afraid this is dull stuff for you, Theresa.”
“Darling, it’s too thrilling,” said Theresa, firmly. “Go on. You take some of the blood of the infected rabbit—?”
Presently Theresa said with a sigh:
“Your work means a terrible lot to you, my sweet.”
“Naturally,” said Dr. Donaldson.
It did not seem at all natural to Theresa. Very few of her friends did any work at all, and if they did they made extremely heavy weather about it.
She thought as she had thought once or twice before, how singularly unsuitable it was that she should have fallen in love with Rex Donaldson. Why did these things, these ludicrous and amazing madnesses, happen to one? A profitless question. This had happened to her.
She frowned, wondered at herself. Her crowd had been so gay—so cynical. Love affairs were necessary to life, of course, but why take them seriously? One loved and passed on.
But this feeling of hers for Rex Donaldson was different, it went deeper. She felt instinctively that here there would be no passing on… Her need of him was simple and profound. Everything about him fascinated her. His calmness and detachment, so different from her own hectic, grasping life, the clear, logical coldness of his scientific mind, and something else, imperfectly understood, a secret force in the man masked by his unassuming slightly pedantic manner, but which she nevertheless felt and sensed instinctively.
In Rex Donaldson there was genius—and the fact that his profession was the main preoccupation of his life and that she was only a part—though a necessary part—of existence to him only heightened his attraction for her. She found herself for the first time in her selfish pleasure-loving life content to take second place. The prospect fascinated her. For Rex she would do anything—anything!
“What a damned nuisance money is,” she said, petulantly. “If only Aunt Emily were to die we could get married at once, and you could come to London and have a laboratory full of test tubes and guinea pigs, and never bother anymore about children with mumps and old ladies with livers.”
Donaldson said:
“There’s no reason why your aunt shouldn’t live for many years to come—if she’s careful.”
Theresa said despondently:
“I know that….”
In the big double-bedded room with the old-fashioned oak furniture, Dr. Tanios said to his wife:
“I think that I have prepared the ground sufficiently. It is now your turn, my dear.”
He was pouring water from the old-fashioned copper can into the rose-patterned china basin.
Bella Tanios sat in front of the dressing table wondering why, when she combed her hair as Theresa did, it should not look like Theresa’s!
There was a moment before she replied. Then she said:
“I don’t think I want—to ask Aunt Emily for money.”
“It’s not for yourself, Bella, it’s for the sake of the children. Our investments have been so unlucky.”
His back was turned, he did not see the swift glance she gave him—a furtive, shrinking glance.
She said with mild obstinacy:
“All the same, I think I’d rather not… Aunt Emily is rather difficult. She can be generous but she doesn’t like being asked.” Drying his hands, Tanios came across from the washstand.
“Really, Bella, it isn’t like you to be so obstinate. After all, what have we come down here for?”
She murmured:
“I didn’t—I never meant—it wasn’t to ask for money….”
“Yet you agreed that the only hope if we are to educate the children properly is for your aunt to come to the rescue.”
Bella Tanios did not answer. She moved uneasily.
But her face bore the mild mulish look that many clever husbands of stupid wives know to their cost.
She said:
“Perhaps Aunt Emily herself may suggest—”
“It is possible, but I’ve seen no signs of it so far.”
Bella said:
“If we could have brought the children with us. Aunt Emily couldn’t have helped loving Mary. And Edward is sointelligent.”
Tanios said, drily:
“I don’t think your aunt is a great child lover. It is probably just as well the children aren’t here.”
“Oh, Jacob, but—”
“Yes, yes, my dear. I know your feelings. But these desiccated English spinsters—bah, they are not human. We want to do the best we can, do we not, for our Mary and our Edward? To help us a little would involve no hardship to Miss Arundell.”
Mrs. Tanios turned, there was a flush in her cheeks.
“Oh, please, please, Jacob, not this time. I’m sure it would be unwise. I would so very very much rather not.”
Tanios stood close behind her, his arm encircled her shoulders. She trembled a little and then was still—almost rigid.
He said and his voice was still pleasant:
“All the same, Bella, I think—I think you will do what I ask… You usually do, you know—in the end… Yes, I think you will do what I say….”
第二章 亲戚

查尔斯轻快地跑上楼梯，敲了敲妹妹的房门。里面随即应声让他进去。
特雷萨正躺在床上，打着哈欠。
查尔斯坐在床边。
“你可真是个会装傻的女人啊。”他佯装赞赏地评价道。
特雷萨急忙问：
“到底怎么回事？”
查尔斯咧嘴一笑。
“可真敏锐啊你，不是吗？不过，我还是抢先了一步，小丫头。想在你之前试试我的办法。”
“然后呢？”
查尔斯摊了摊手，给她一个否定的答案。
“没成！艾米莉姑姑狠狠地教训了我一顿，讽刺说，她压根没对她最爱的家人聚在自己身边的理由有过什么幻想。她还说，她可能要让最爱的家人们失望了，因为她除了对他们的爱，没什么别的能给。”
“你应该再等等。”特雷萨嘲讽地说。
查尔斯又咧开嘴笑了起来。
“我这不是害怕你或塔尼奥斯夫妻俩抢先嘛。这次，我亲爱的特雷萨，我想是够呛了。老艾米莉可不是个傻子。”
“我早就知道她不是。”
“我甚至还试着恐吓了她。”
“你这话什么意思？”特雷萨连忙问道。
“我告诉她，她已经被人盯上了，时刻都有可能被人杀了。毕竟她没办法带着钱去天堂，为什么现在不松松手呢？”
“查尔斯，你真是个蠢货！”
“不，我不是。我只是运用了点儿心理学。拍这老小姐的马屁不会得到任何好处。她宁愿你来硬的。而且我说得很有道理。反正她死了以后钱就是我们的了——提前预支一点儿又何妨！不然提早送她上天堂的诱惑，我可把持不住。”
“她明白你的意思了？”特雷萨问，精致的嘴唇轻蔑地向上翘起。
“我不确定。她不肯承认，只是用不太好听的话感谢了我的忠告，说她能把自己照顾好。我说：‘既然这样，那好吧，我可是警告过你了。’她说：‘我会放在心上的。’”
特雷萨生气地说：
“天哪，查尔斯，你真是个不折不扣的蠢货！”
“去他的，特雷萨，我承认自己的确有些急躁！这老小姐正在用钱滚钱——别的什么都不用做。我保证她花的还不到收入的十分之一呢——剩下那么多她打算怎么花？她又不像我们——年轻，有的是时间享受生活——她竟然还打算活到一百岁来折磨我们……我现在就想开始享受……你也一样……”
特雷萨点了点头。
她屏住呼吸，用低沉的声音说：
“他们不会了解——老人们不会……他们也无法了解……他们根本不懂什么是生活！”
兄妹俩就这么静默了几分钟。
查尔斯起身。
“哎，亲爱的，祝愿你能成功。不过我相当怀疑。”
特雷萨说：
“我还是等着雷克斯想出什么法子来吧。如果我能让老艾米莉意识到他多么有才华，能给他个出头的机会，而不是默默无闻地做个普通的医生，那是多么重要……哦，查尔斯，我们只需要几千英镑，就能彻底改变我们现在的生活！”
“希望你能如愿，虽然我觉得没什么希望。你之前那段狂放的生活的确花了不少钱。我说，特雷萨，你不认为可怜的贝拉和可疑的塔尼奥斯能得到什么，对吗？”
“我看不出钱能给贝拉带来什么好处。她的衣服像个破布袋子，品位完全上不了台面。”
“哦，”查尔斯含糊地说，“我想，她还指望为那两个一无所有的穷孩子争点儿什么呢，送他们去上学、矫正牙齿、上音乐课。重点不是贝拉——是塔尼奥斯，我敢打赌，他肯定眼红，希腊人绝对是这样。你知道他已经快把贝拉榨干了吧？把钱都拿去投机做生意，结果赔了个精光。”
“你觉得他能从老艾米莉那儿得手？”
“只要我从中作梗，他就没戏。”查尔斯咧开嘴，笑着说。
他从房里出来，晃晃悠悠地走下楼梯。鲍勃正在门厅里，一看到查尔斯就赶忙凑上去。小狗很喜欢他。
它跑向客厅门口，回头望着查尔斯。
“怎么了？”查尔斯问道，大步跟上去。
鲍勃急匆匆地跑进客厅，满怀期待地坐在一张小写字台旁。
查尔斯一路跟随。
“到底是怎么回事？”
鲍勃摇着尾巴，两眼紧盯着写字台的抽屉，不时发出哀求的叫声。
“里面有你想要的东西？”
查尔斯拉开最上面的抽屉。他扬起了眉毛。
“宝贝儿，宝贝儿。”他说。
抽屉一边有一沓钞票。
查尔斯从中间拿起一沓数起来。他笑着抽出三张一镑和两张十先令的钞票，装进口袋，再把剩下的小心翼翼放回原位。
“这可真是个好主意，鲍勃，”他说道，“你叔叔我总算有钱花了，一点儿现金还是很管用的。”
 
查尔斯关抽屉的时候，鲍勃不满地小声吠了一声。
“不好意思，老伙计。”查尔斯道歉。他拉开下面一个抽屉。鲍勃的球就躺在抽屉的角落里。他拿了出来。
“给你，好好玩去吧。”鲍勃接住球，欢快地跑出客厅。楼梯上立刻传来球弹落的声音。
查尔斯大步走进花园。真是个阳光明媚的早晨，空气中有紫丁香的香气。
阿伦德尔小姐让塔尼奥斯医生坐在她身旁。他正在谈论英式教育对孩子的好处——卓越的教育品质，还说着他多么遗憾自己没有能力供孩子们享受这样奢侈的教育。
查尔斯带着恶意得到满足的快感，微微一笑，漫不经心地加入谈话，巧妙地把话题引到完全不相干的主题上。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔对着他微笑，笑容十分亲切。他甚至幻想，她是否被自己的策略逗得很开心，借由这笑容鼓励他继续。
查尔斯瞬间来了精神，说不定，在他离开之前——
他是个无可救药的乐天派。
下午，唐纳森医生开车来接特雷萨，去当地一个名叫沃斯姆大教堂的景区游览。他们一路逛着，从教堂走到了树林里。
雷克斯•唐纳森滔滔不绝地讲着自己的研究理论和实验成果。虽然特雷萨一点儿也不懂，但还是一边出神地听，一边自顾自地琢磨：
“雷克斯真是太聪明了——怎么会这么讨人喜欢！”
她的未婚夫停了一下，怀疑地问：
“我想我讲的这些对你来说太枯燥了，特雷萨。”
“亲爱的，这简直太让人激动了，”特雷萨用笃定的语气说，“快继续啊，你从被感染的兔子身上采了些血——”
不一会儿，特雷萨叹了一口气，说：
“你的工作对你很重要，亲爱的。”
“当然。”唐纳森医生回答。
这对特雷萨来说很难理解。她的大部分朋友都没有工作过，即使有，也是大吐苦水，不停地抱怨。
她又想起之前想过一两次的事。她爱上雷克斯•唐纳森简直是这世上最不可思议、最不合适的事了。这种事——这种疯狂至极、荒诞无稽的事——怎么会发生在自己身上？真是个无解的问题。然而已经真真切切地发生在她身上了。
她微微皱起眉头，自顾自地琢磨。她和她周围的伙伴曾经那么开心——那么愤世嫉俗。对他们来说，情爱当然是人生的必需品，但何苦要如此严肃认真地对待？爱过之后，生活不是还得继续。
但是她对雷克斯•唐纳森的感情不同，她爱得更深刻。她本能地意识到，没了雷克斯，生活将无法继续……她需要他，那感觉直白且深刻。有关他的一切都让她着迷。他的沉静，他的淡漠，与她狂热又慌乱的生活是那么不同；他清晰、冷静又富有逻辑的科学思维，还有一点是她说不清、道不明的：在他那谦虚、略微有点儿学究式的外表下，隐藏着一股神秘的力量，而她，本能地感受到了。
雷克斯•唐纳森很有天赋——事实上，他的专业研究才是他人生的重心，而她只能占一部分而已——必不可少的一部分——这一事实让他在她眼里更具魅力。在她习以为常的、自私寻欢的情爱生活中，她发现自己第一次甘愿退居其次。生活的前景让她着迷，为了雷克斯，她愿意做任何事——任何事！
“钱可真是件惹人厌的麻烦事，”她任性地说，“只要艾米莉姑姑一死，我们就能立刻结婚，你就能搬到伦敦来，找一个装满试管和豚鼠的实验室，再也不用为那些得了腮腺炎的孩子和肝脏不好的老人而烦恼了。”
唐纳森说：
“没什么特殊情况的话，你姑姑应该还能活很多年——只要她自己注意保养。”
特雷萨泄气地说：
“我知道……”
* * *
宽敞的双人床房间里摆着复古的橡木家具，塔尼奥斯医生对夫人说：
“我已经给你打了个很好的基础，亲爱的，接下来是轮到你上场的时候了。”
他一边说，一边举着复古样式的铜罐，把水倒进有玫瑰图样的瓷盆里。
贝拉•塔尼奥斯正坐在梳妆台前，忍不住地纳闷，她已经把发型梳得和特雷萨一模一样了，为什么看起来完全不如她好看！
她停了一会儿，才回答：
“我不认为我想——向艾米莉姨妈开口要钱。”
“这可不是为了你自己，贝拉，这是为了我们的孩子。你也清楚我们之前搞投资，运气不太好。”
他背对着她，没看见她瞟他一眼时的眼神——那眼神即诡秘又犹豫。
她仍旧不冷不热地表达着自己的坚持：
“不管怎么说，我还是不愿意……艾米莉姨妈可不好对付。她会慷慨相助，但是不喜欢被别人要求。”
塔尼奥斯医生擦干手，从盥洗台边走过来。“说真的，贝拉，这么固执可不像你。说到底，我们为什么来这儿你还不清楚吗？”
 
她小声嘟囔着：
“我没有——我从没说过——反正来这儿不是为了要钱……”
“可是你同意，如果我们想给孩子们更好的教育，除了你姨妈能帮帮忙之外，我们别无选择。”
贝拉•塔尼奥斯没有作答，只是不自然地挪了挪身子。
但她脸上带着温顺、执拗的表情。每一个娶了愚蠢妻子的聪明丈夫都知道，这表情意味着他们离成功还很远。
她说：
“兴许艾米莉姨妈自己会张口——”
“或许吧，不过目前我没看到什么迹象。”
贝拉说：
“要是能把孩子们带来就好了。艾米莉姨妈肯定会情不自禁地喜欢上玛丽，还有爱德华，他是那么聪明。”
塔尼奥斯冷冷地说：
“我不觉得你姨妈是个喜欢小孩的人。兴许小孩没来反而正好。”
“哦，雅各，可是——”
“是的，没错，亲爱的。我知道你的感受。但这些干巴巴的英国老小姐——呸，她们根本不是人。为了玛丽和爱德华，我们要竭尽所能，不是吗？帮帮我们，这对阿伦德尔小姐来说不过是举手之劳。”
塔尼奥斯夫人脸颊通红，转过身去。
“哦，求你了，求你了雅各，还不到时候。我敢保证这么做很不明智。我宁可——宁可不要。”
他用听起来依然愉快的语气回答道：
“不管怎样，贝拉，我想——我想你还是会照我说的做……通常都是，你知道——到头来……是的，我想这次你会照我说的做……”
Chapter 3 THE ACCIDENT
Chapter 3 THE ACCIDENT
It was Tuesday afternoon. The side door to the garden was open. Miss Arundell stood on the threshold and threw Bob’s ball the length of the garden path. The terrier rushed after it.
“Just once more, Bob,” said Emily Arundell. “A good one.”
Once again the ball sped along the ground with Bob racing at full speed in pursuit.
Miss Arundell stooped down, picked up the ball from where Bob laid it at her feet and went into the house, Bob followed her closely. She shut the side door, went into the drawing room, Bob still at her heels, and put the ball away in the drawer.
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was half past six.
“A little rest before dinner, I think, Bob.”
She ascended the stairs to her bedroom. Bob accompanied her. Lying on the big chintz-covered couch with Bob at her feet, Miss Arundell sighed. She was glad that it was Tuesday and that her guests would be going tomorrow. It was not that this weekend had disclosed anything to her that she had not known before. It was more the fact that it had not permitted her to forget her own knowledge.
She said to herself:
“I’m getting old, I suppose…” And then, with a little shock of surprise: “I amold….”
She lay with her eyes closed for half an hour, then the elderly house-parlourmaid, Ellen, brought hot water and she rose and prepared for dinner.
Dr. Donaldson was to dine with them that night. Emily Arundell wished to have an opportunity of studying him at close quarters. It still seemed to her a little incredible that the exotic Theresa should want to marry this rather stiff and pedantic young man. It also seemed a little odd that this stiff and pedantic young man should want to marry Theresa.
She did not feel as the evening progressed that she was getting to know Dr. Donaldson any better. He was very polite, very formal and, to her mind, intensely boring. In her own mind she agreed with Miss Peabody’s judgement. The thought flashed across her brain, “Better stuff in our young days.”
Dr. Donaldson did not stay late. He rose to go at ten o’clock. After he had taken his departure Emily Arundell herself announced that she was going to bed. She went upstairs and her young relations went up also. They all seemed somewhat subdued tonight. Miss Lawson remained downstairs performing her final duties, letting Bob out for his run, poking down the fire, putting the guard up and rolling back the hearth rug in case of fire.
She arrived rather breathless in her employer’s room about five minutes later.
“I think I’ve got everything,” she said, putting down wool, workbag, and a library book. “I do hope the book will be all right. She hadn’t got any of the ones on your list but she said she was sure you’d like this one.”
“That girl’s a fool,” said Emily Arundell. “Her taste in books is the worst I’ve ever come across.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry—Perhaps I ought—”
“Nonsense, it’s not your fault.” Emily Arundell added kindly. “I hope you enjoyed yourself this afternoon.”
Miss Lawson’s face lighted up. She looked eager and almost youthful.
“Oh, yes, thank you very much. So kindof you to spare me. I had the most interesting time. We had the Planchette and really—it wrote the most interestingthings. There were several messages… Of course its not quitethe same thing as the sittings… Julia Tripp has been having a lot of success with the automatic writing. Several messages from Those who have Passed Over. It—it really makes one feel so grateful—that such things should be permitted….”
Miss Arundell said with a slight smile:
“Better not let the vicar hear you.”
“Oh, but indeed, dear Miss Arundell, I am convinced—quite convinced—there can be nothingwrong about it. I only wish dear Mr. Lonsdale would examinethe subject. It seems to me so narrow-minded to condemn a thing that you have not even investigated.Both Julia and Isabel Tripp are such truly spiritualwomen.”
“Almost too spiritual to be alive,” said Miss Arundell.
She did not care much for Julia and Isabel Tripp. She thought their clothes ridiculous, their vegetarian and uncooked fruit meals absurd, and their manner affected. They were women of no traditions, no roots—in fact—no breeding! But she got a certain amount of amusement out of their earnestness and she was at bottom kindhearted enough not to grudge the pleasure that their friendship obviously gave to poor Minnie.
Poor Minnie! Emily Arundell looked at her companion with mingled affection and contempt. She had had so many of these foolish, middle-aged women to minister to her—all much the same, kind, fussy, subservient and almost entirely mindless.
Really poor Minnie was looking quite excited tonight. Her eyes were shining. She fussed about the room vaguely touching things here and there without the least idea of what she was doing, her eyes all bright and shining.
She stammered out rather nervously:
“I—I do wish you’d been there… I feel, you know, that you’re not quite a believer yet. But tonight there was a message—for E.A., the initials came quitedefinitely. It was from a man who had passed over many years ago—a very good-looking military man—Isabel saw him quite distinctly. It must have been dear General Arundell. Such a beautiful message, so full of love and comfort, and how through patience all could be attained.”
“Those sentiments sound very unlike papa,” said Miss Arundell.
“Oh, but our Dear Ones change so—on the other side. Everything is love and understanding. And then the Planchette spelt out something about a key—I think it was the key of the Boule cabinet—could that be it?”
“The key of the Boule cabinet?” Emily Arundell’s voice sounded sharp and interested.
“I think that was it. I thought perhaps it might be important papers—something of the kind. There was a well-authenticated case where a message came to look in a certain piece of furniture and actually a willwas discovered there.”
“There wasn’t a will in the Boule cabinet,” said Miss Arundell. She added abruptly: “Go to bed, Minnie. You’re tired. So am I. We’ll ask the Tripps in for an evening soon.”
“Oh, that willbe nice! Good night, dear. Sure you’ve got everything? I hope you haven’t been tired with so many people here. I must tell Ellen to air the drawing room very welltomorrow, and shake out the curtains—all this smoking leaves such a smell. I must say I think it’s very good of you to let them all smoke in the drawing room!”
“I must make some concessions to modernity,” said Emily Arundell. “Good night, Minnie.”
As the other woman left the room, Emily Arundell wondered if this spiritualistic business was really good for Minnie. Her eyes had been popping out of her head, and she had looked so restless and excited.
Odd about the Boule cabinet, thought Emily Arundell as she got into bed. She smiled grimly as she remembered the scene of long ago. The key that had come to light after papa’s death, and the cascade of empty brandy bottles that had tumbled out when the cabinet had been unlocked! It was little things like that, things that surely neither Minnie Lawson nor Isabel and Julia Tripp could possibly know, which made one wonder whether, after all, there wasn’t something in this spiritualistic business….
She felt wakeful lying on her big four-poster bed. Nowadays she found it increasingly difficult to sleep. But she scorned Dr. Grainger’s tentative suggestion of a sleeping draught. Sleeping draughts were for weaklings, for people who couldn’t bear a finger ache, or a little toothache, or the tedium of a sleepless night.
Often she would get up and wander noiselessly round the house, picking up a book, fingering an ornament, rearranging a vase of flowers, writing a letter or two. In those midnight hours she had a feeling of the equal liveliness of the house through which she wandered. They were not disagreeable, those nocturnal wanderings. It was as though ghosts walked beside her, the ghosts of her sisters, Arabella, Matilda and Agnes, the ghost of her brother Thomas, the dear fellow as he was before That Woman got hold of him! Even the ghost of General Charles Laverton Arundell, that domestic tyrant with the charming manners who shouted and bullied his daughters but who nevertheless was an object of pride to them with his experiences in the Indian Mutiny and his knowledge of the world. What if there were days when he was “not quite so well” as his daughters put it evasively?
Her mind reverting to her niece’s fiancé, Miss Arundell thought, “I don’t suppose he’llever take to drink! Calls himself a manand drank barley waterthis evening! Barley water! And I opened papa’s special port.”
Charles had done justice to the port all right. Oh! if only Charles were to be trusted. If only one didn’t know that with him—
Her thoughts broke off… Her mind ranged over the events of the weekend….
Everything seemed vaguely disquieting….
She tried to put worrying thoughts out of her mind.
It was no good.
She raised herself on her elbow and by the light of the nightlight that always burned in a little saucer she looked at the time.
One o’clock and she had never felt less like sleep.
She got out of bed and put on her slippers and her warm dressing gown. She would go downstairs and just check over the weekly books ready for the paying of them the following morning.
Like a shadow she slipped from her room and along the corridor where one small electric bulb was allowed to burn all night.
She came to the head of the stairs, stretched out one hand to the baluster rail and then, unaccountably, she stumbled, tried to recover her balance, failed and went headlong down the stairs.
The sound of her fall, the cry she gave, stirred the sleeping house to wakefulness. Doors opened, lights flashed on.
Miss Lawson popped out of her room at the head of the staircase.
Uttering little cries of distress she pattered down the stairs. One by one the others arrived—Charles, yawning, in a resplendent dressing gown. Theresa, wrapped in dark silk. Bella in a navy-blue kimono, her hair bristling with combs to “set the wave.”
Dazed and confused Emily Arundell lay in a crushed heap. Her shoulder hurt her and her ankle—her whole body was a confused mass of pain. She was conscious of people standing over her, of that fool Minnie Lawson crying and making ineffectual gestures with her hands, of Theresa with a startled look in her dark eyes, of Bella standing with her mouth open looking expectant, of the voice of Charles saying from somewhere—very far away so it seemed—
“It’s that damned dog’s ball! He must have left it here and she tripped over it. See? Here it is!”
And then she was conscious of authority, putting the others aside, kneeling beside her, touching her with hands that did not fumble but knew.
A feeling of relief swept over her. It would be all right now.
Dr. Tanios was saying in firm, reassuring tones:
“No, it’s all right. No bones broken… Just badly shaken and bruised—and of course she’s had a bad shock. But she’s been very lucky that it’s no worse.”
Then he cleared the others off a little and picked her up quite easily and carried her up to her bedroom, where he had held her wrist for a minute, counting, then nodded his head, sent Minnie (who was still crying and being generally a nuisance) out of the room to fetch brandy and to heat water for a hot bottle.
Confused, shaken, and racked with pain, she felt acutely grateful to Jacob Tanios in that moment. The relief of feeling oneself in capable hands. He gave you just that feeling of assurance—of confidence—that a doctor ought to give
There was something—something she couldn’t quite get hold of—something vaguely disquieting—but she wouldn’t think of it now. She would drink this and go to sleep as they told her.
But surely there was something missing—someone.
Oh well, she wouldn’t think… Her shoulder hurt her—She drank down what she was given.
She heard Dr. Tanios say—and in what a comfortable assured voice—“She’ll be all right, now.”
She closed her eyes.
She awoke to a sound that she knew—a soft, muffled bark.
She was wide awake in a minute.
Bob—naughty Bob! He was barking outside the front door—his own particular “out all night very ashamed of himself” bark, pitched in a subdued key but repeated hopefully.
Miss Arundell strained her ears. Ah, yes, that was all right. She could hear Minnie going down to let him in. She heard the creak of the opening front door, a confused low murmur—Minnie’s futile reproaches—“Oh, you naughty little doggie—a very naughty little Bobsie—” She heard the pantry door open. Bob’s bed was under the pantry table.
And at that moment Emily realized what it was she had subconsciously missed at the moment of her accident. It was Bob. All that commotion—her fall, people running—normally Bob would have responded by a crescendo of barking from inside the pantry.
So thatwas what had been worrying her at the back of her mind. But it was explained now—Bob, when he had been let out last night, had shamelessly and deliberately gone off on pleasure bent. From time to time he had these lapses from virtue—though his apologies afterwards were always all that could be desired.
So that was all right. But was it? What else was there worrying her, nagging at the back of her head. Her accident—something to do with her accident.
Ah, yes, somebody had said—Charles—that she had slipped on Bob’s ball which he had left on the top of the stairs….
The ball had been there—he had held it up in his hand….
Emily Arundell’s head ached. Her shoulder throbbed. Her bruised body suffered….
But in the midst of her suffering her mind was clear and lucid. She was no longer confused by shock. Her memory was perfectly clear.
She went over in her mind all the events from six o’clock yesterday evening… She retraced every step…till she came to the moment when she arrived at the stairhead and started to descend the stairs….
A thrill of incredulous horror shot through her….
Surely—surely, she must be mistaken… One often had queer fancies after an event had happened. She tried—earnestly she tried—to recall the slippery roundness of Bob’s ball under her foot….
But she could recall nothing of the kind.
Instead—
“Sheer nerves,” said Emily Arundell. “Ridiculous fancies.”
But her sensible, shrewd, Victorian mind would not admit that for a moment. There was no foolish optimism about the Victorians. They could believe the worst with the utmost ease.
Emily Arundell believed the worst.
第三章 意外

那是个星期二的下午。花园的侧门开着。阿伦德尔小姐站在门槛上，朝花园小径的方向给鲍勃丢球。小猎犬一路追着球跑。
“再来一次，”艾米莉•阿伦德尔说，“来次漂亮的。”
球再一次贴着地面飞蹿出去，鲍勃在后面以全速追赶。
阿伦德尔小姐弯下腰，把球捡起来，鲍勃把球放在她脚边，她走进屋里，它也紧跟着。她关上侧门，走进客厅，鲍勃还是寸步不离，直到她把球收进抽屉。
她抬眼看了看壁炉台上的表。正好六点半。
“鲍勃，我看，晚餐前还是休息一会儿吧。”
她走上楼梯，回到卧室。鲍勃陪伴着她。她躺在盖着印花棉布的沙发上，鲍勃就卧在她脚边，阿伦德尔小姐深深地叹了口气。她很高兴今天已经周二了，她的客人们明天就都走了。这个周末没能揭露出她以前不知道的事。只让她确信要把一些早就知道的事都铭记在心。
她对自己说：
“我越来越老了，大概是……”紧接着，语气变得似乎有点儿震惊，“我老了……”
她躺在那儿闭目养神了大概半个小时，年长的客厅女仆艾伦打来热水，阿伦德尔小姐起身准备去吃晚餐。
唐纳森医生晚上会和大家一起用餐。艾米莉•阿伦德尔希望能有机会近距离好好观察观察他。对她来说，这件事还是很难相信，富有异国风情的特雷萨竟然打算嫁给这个看上去既呆板又迂腐的年轻人。当然，这样性格的年轻人愿意娶特雷萨，也的确很古怪。
随着晚餐的进行，她觉得自己没能更好地了解唐纳森医生。他很有礼貌，举止得体，同时，在她看来，也无聊至极。她心里其实很同意皮博迪小姐的判断。接着，她脑海中闪过一句话：“还是我们那个年代的小伙子比较好。”
唐纳森医生并没有待很久，十点钟左右就起身离开了。他走之后，艾米莉•阿伦德尔宣布自己要上床睡觉了。她上楼后，年轻人也接着回到各自的房间。他们今晚看起来都很镇静，似乎有所保留。劳森小姐在楼下执行她今天最后的任务——放鲍勃出去遛遛，把壁炉里的火熄了，架好护栏，卷起壁炉前的地毯，以防失火。
五分钟后，她上气不接下气地来到女主人的房间。
“我想我把该拿的都拿来了，”说着，她把毛线、工具袋和一本从图书馆借来的书放下，“希望这书不错。你列出来的书她那儿一本都没有，不过她保证你会喜欢这本。”
“那姑娘是个傻子，”艾米莉•阿伦德尔说，“她对书的品位是我见过最差的。”
“哦，亲爱的。我很抱歉——或许我应该——”
“又说废话，这又不是你的错，”艾米莉•阿伦德尔仁慈地补充道，“我希望今天下午你也过得愉快。”
劳森小姐的脸色一下子亮了起来。她看上去热切极了，充满朝气。
“哦，是的，太感谢你了。你能给我放假简直太仁慈了。我的下午过得非常有趣。我们玩了占卜板，真的，它能写出最有趣的事来。我们从中收到了一些信息……当然，和我们预先的设定并不完全相符……茱莉亚•特里普做得最成功，得到了很多自动写出来的信息。有些是来自亡灵的启示——这真的让人很感恩——能被允许和过世的人交流……”
阿伦德尔小姐微微一笑：
“最好别让牧师听到你的话。”
“哦，可这是真的，亲爱的阿伦德尔小姐，我深信不疑——真的深信不疑——这种事没有什么错，我只希望朗斯戴尔先生能验证一下。在我看来如果不去调查就一味指责，是心胸狭窄的表现。茱莉亚和伊莎贝尔•特里普都是如此虔诚的降灵术信徒。”
“虔诚到快不必呼吸了。”阿伦德尔小姐说。
她不太喜欢茱莉亚和伊莎贝尔•特里普两姐妹。她觉得她们的穿着十分滑稽，她们吃未经烹饪的蔬菜水果，这种饮食习惯也让她觉得荒谬，她们的行为举止更是做作。在她看来，她们没有传统，没有根基——事实上——没有教养！不过看她们假正经的模样倒也有趣，而她说到底还是个心地善良的人，不会嫉妒她们的友谊带给米妮的愉悦。
可怜的米妮！艾米莉•阿伦德尔带着复杂的感情和轻蔑的态度看着自己的贴身女仆。曾有过无数个没什么大脑的中年女人服侍过她——都大同小异：善良，大惊小怪，怯懦，而且差不多都没什么头脑。
而今晚，可怜的米妮看上去真的很兴奋。她眼中充满神采，在房间里神志不清地到处乱摸，根本不知道自己在做什么，她的双眼看起来明亮极了，仿佛在闪光。
她相当紧张，结结巴巴地说：
“我——我很希望你今天也能在那儿……我想，你知道，我感觉你还不太相信这些。但今天晚上，真的有一条信息——给E.A.，这两个首字母非常清晰。是一个去世多年的人捎来的信息——一个长相俊美的军人——伊莎贝尔看得很清楚。一定是亲爱的阿伦德尔将军。多美好的信息啊，充满爱和抚慰，还说只要耐心容忍，就能得到一切。”
 
“这么多愁善感的话，爸爸可说不出来。”阿伦德尔小姐说。
“哦，但是就算最亲的人也会变，不是吗——在另一个世界。爱和理解就是一切。接着占卜板画出了一把钥匙的形状——我猜，应该是咱家布勒柜橱的钥匙——你说会是吗？”
“布勒柜橱的钥匙？”艾米莉•阿伦德尔的声音有点儿急促，好像很感兴趣。
“我估计是的。我想里面或许放了些重要的文书——就是那一类的东西。之前有个真真切切的例子，有人得到了信息，让他去某件家具里找，结果就发现了遗嘱。”
“布勒橱柜里可没有遗嘱，”阿伦德尔说，她紧接着打住这个话题，“快去睡吧，米妮。你看上去累极了，我也是。过些时候我们找个晚上，请特里普姐妹过来。”
“哦，那真是太好了！晚安，亲爱的，你确定没什么需要的了？希望这么多客人没让你累着。我一定要嘱咐艾伦，明天好好给客厅透透气，抖一抖窗帘——他们留下的烟味太重了。要我说，让他们在客厅里抽烟，你可真是太仁慈了！”
“我总要对这些现代作风让步的，”艾米莉•阿伦德尔说，“晚安，米妮。”
米妮离开房间后，艾米莉•阿伦德尔开始琢磨，这些降灵术之类的把戏对米妮是否有好处。她两眼突出，看起来坐立不安，兴奋极了。
布勒橱柜的事倒真的挺奇怪，艾米莉•阿伦德尔上床时想着。她回想起很多年前的一幕，嘴角泛起冷笑。爸爸去世后被发现的那把钥匙，以及打开橱柜门时像瀑布一样滚落的空白兰地瓶子！像这样的小事，米妮•劳森和特里普姐妹根本不可能知道，这不禁让她怀疑，降灵术这种事到底是不是真的不存在……
她躺在有四根帷柱的大卧床上，睡意全无。最近，她发现自己越来越难入睡了。但对于格兰杰医生那个试试安眠药的建议，她嗤之以鼻。安眠药是给那些软弱的人吃的，这些人连手指尖上的一点点疼痛或一点点牙疼都无法忍耐，当然无法忍受这不眠的漫漫长夜里的烦闷。
通常这种时候，她会起床，在房子里悄无声息地逛逛，拿本书，把玩装饰品，重新插一瓶花，写一两封信。在这样的午夜时刻，她觉得这幢房子和四处漫游的自己一样，充满生气。这种午夜的漫游从不会让她不快。好像魂灵们也跟着她并行，那是她的姐妹们，阿拉贝拉，玛蒂尔达和阿格尼丝。还有她哥哥托马斯，多可爱的人啊！还像被那个邪恶的女人迷住之前一样。甚至查尔斯（注：此处疑为作者笔误。）•拉弗顿•阿伦德尔将军的鬼魂也会来。他的举止如此优雅，在家中却是个暴君，时常欺凌自己的女儿，对她们大呼小叫，但同时，他在印度叛变中的经历和他无所不知的学识，也是她们引以为傲的资本。如果碰到他“真的不太好”(正如他的女儿们婉转地描述的一样）的时候，她们又该怎么办呢？
她的思绪又回到侄女的未婚夫身上，阿伦德尔小姐想：“他大概连酒都不会喝！大晚上喝大麦汤，还敢说他自己是个男人！大麦汤！枉费我开了一瓶爸爸的特酿葡萄酒。”
查尔斯倒是丝毫没浪费那瓶酒。哦，要是查尔斯是个值得信赖的人。要是没人知道他——
她的思绪断了……想起了周末发生的一些事情……
现在回想起来似乎隐隐地让人不安……
她尝试让自己不再这么忧虑了。
这很不健康。
但没什么用。
她用胳膊肘撑起身子，借着微弱的火光——睡觉时她常会在小碟子里留一簇微光——看了看时间。
一点了，可她还是一点儿困意都没有。
她下床穿好拖鞋，换上暖和的晨衣。想去核查一下每周收到的书，好准备明天一早付款。
像影子一样，她悄悄走出房门，沿着走廊过去，一盏小夜灯整夜都开着。
走到楼梯口，她正要伸手去抓扶手，却不知怎么的突然绊了一下，她试着找回平衡，但失败了，一头栽下楼梯。
她跌落的声音和她的惊叫声，把整幢沉睡的别墅都惊醒了。房门纷纷打开，灯都亮了起来。
劳森小姐从楼梯口的房间里一下子跳出来。
她发出几声痛心的尖叫，一路跑下楼梯。人们一个接一个出现——查尔斯打着哈欠，穿着华丽的晨衣。特雷萨裹着一身黑色的丝绸。贝拉穿着海军蓝的和服，头发上插着些梳子，用来“固定波浪”。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔头晕目眩地瘫在地上。她的肩膀很疼，还有脚踝——全身上下都剧烈地疼痛。她意识到身边站满了人，愚蠢至极的米妮•劳森正一边哭喊，一边毫无意义地比划着，而特雷萨那双深色的眼睛看上去好像吓坏了，贝拉则正如她料想的那样，张着大嘴呆立在那里，查尔斯的声音不知从哪个方向传来——听起来那么远——
 
“是那该死的狗的玩具皮球！一定是它把球留在这里，结果姑姑就正好踩到了。看见了吗？就在这儿。”
然后她意识到，有个专业人士过来了，把其他人都赶到一边，跪在她身边，敏捷地用熟练的手法轻轻地触摸她。
她感到释然。这下子应该没事了。
塔尼奥斯医生用坚定可靠的语气说：
“不，一切都很好。没有骨折……只是受到了严重的震荡，还有擦伤——当然，还有严重的惊吓。但她很幸运，没什么更严重的问题。”
他让其他人退后一点儿，轻松地把她抱起来，进了卧室。然后扶着她的手腕数了数心跳，接着点了点头，派米妮（这家伙还在不停地哭，惹得大家都很烦躁）去拿白兰地，再烧些开水灌热水瓶。
疑惑、震惊和疼痛的折磨让她此时很感激雅各•塔尼奥斯。知道自己正被有把握的人照顾着，她感到很安心。此刻他让她觉得很笃定——很有信心——正是医生应该给予病人的。
有什么事——她还没能弄明白——含糊不清却隐隐地让人忧虑，但现在无法思考了。她会喝了白兰地，然后照他们说的，老老实实上床睡觉。
但她确定这中间肯定漏了什么事——某个人。
好吧好吧，她不想了……肩膀的疼痛折磨着她——她一口喝下不知谁递过来的什么东西。
她听见塔尼奥斯医生说——依旧是那种抚慰、笃定的声音——“她很快就会没事了。”
她闭上了双眼。
一个熟悉的声音把她惊醒——一声温柔又低沉的吠叫。
她瞬间清醒了。
鲍勃——淘气的鲍勃！是它正在前门外面叫——以它特有的那种“在外面一整晚，实在太惭愧了”的叫声，听起来很压抑却又夹杂着高音，充满希望地一遍遍重复着。
阿伦德尔小姐竖起耳朵。啊，对，这样就没事了。她能听见米妮下楼把它放进来。她听见前门打开时的嘎吱声，伴随着疑惑的低语——米妮那毫无震慑力的斥责——“哦，你这个淘气的小狗崽——真是个淘气的小鲍勃——”她听见餐具室的门打开，鲍勃的床就在橱柜下面。
突然，艾米莉意识到，刚才事故发生时，她潜意识里不停纠结的“遗失的一环”是什么。是鲍勃。刚才那场骚乱中——她先摔倒——人们纷纷跑过来——通常这种情况下，鲍勃会在餐具室里越叫越响，以引起人们的注意。
原来这就是让她不安的事情。不过现在都可以解释了——鲍勃昨晚被放出去后，故意不知羞耻地疯玩去了。它总时不时地犯这种错——尽管它事后道歉的方式总是那么完美周全。
这下就都对了，是吗？好像还有什么地方让她觉得不安，一直在她脑中萦绕。她的意外——是有关她刚才意外跌落的什么事。
啊，对，有人说了什么——查尔斯——说鲍勃把球留在楼梯口，她不小心踩到才跌落的……
球之前在那儿——他把它捡起来拿在手上……
艾米莉•阿伦德尔头疼起来。她的肩膀因为疼痛而抽搐。满是擦伤的身体也折磨着她……
但在疼痛的折磨中，她的头脑很清醒。她不再因为惊吓而神志不清，记忆渐渐清晰起来……
她在脑海里回顾昨晚六点后发生的所有事情……一步一步地再现……一直到她走到楼梯口，开始往下掉……
突然，一个可怕到让她不愿相信的猜想闪过脑海……
当然——肯定是这样——她肯定是搞错了……人在意外发生后总容易产生奇怪的幻想。她努力——及其努力——去回想当时踩到的鲍勃的球，回想它圆滑的形状……
但她发现没有。
相反——
“肯定是因为紧张，”艾米莉•阿伦德尔说，“可笑的幻想。”
但她那敏感、精明、维多利亚式的思维不允许这件事就这么过去。维多利亚做派的人从来不是愚蠢的乐天派。他们能用最安心的态度设想最坏的情况。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔就相信最坏的情况。
Chapter 4 MISS ARUNDELL WRITES A LETTER
Chapter 4 MISS ARUNDELL WRITES A LETTER
It was Friday.
The relations had left.
They left on the Wednesday as originally planned. One and all, they had offered to stay on. One and all they had been steadfastly refused. Miss Arundell explained that she preferred to be “quite quiet.”
During the two days that had elapsed since their departure, Emily Arundell had been alarmingly meditative. Often she did not hear what Minnie Lawson said to her. She would stare at her and curtly order her to begin all over again.
“It’s the shock,poor dear,” said Miss Lawson.
And she added with the kind of gloomy relish in disaster which brightens so many otherwise drab lives:
“I daresay she’ll never be quite herself again.”
Dr. Grainger, on the other hand, rallied her heartily.
He told her that she’d be downstairs again by the end of the week, that it was a positive disgrace she had no bones broken, and what kind of patient was she for a struggling medical man? If all his patients were like her, he might as well take down his plate straight away.
Emily Arundell replied with spirit—she and old Dr. Grainger were allies of long-standing. He bullied and she defied—they always got a good deal of pleasure out of each other’s company!
But now, after the doctor had stumped away, the old lady lay with a frown on her face, thinking—thinking—responding absentmindedly to Minnie Lawson’s well-meant fussing—and then suddenly coming back to consciousness and rending her with a vitriolic tongue.
“Poor little Bobsie,” twittered Miss Lawson, bending over Bob who had a rug spread on the corner of his mistress’s bed. “Wouldn’t little Bobsie be unhappy if he knew what he’d done to his poor, poor Missus?”
Miss Arundell snapped:
“Don’t be idiotic, Minnie. And where’s your English sense of justice? Don’t you know that everyone in this country is accounted innocent until he or she is proved guilty?”
“Oh, but we do know—”
Emily snapped:
“We don’t know anything at all. Do stop fidgeting, Minnie. Pulling this and pulling that. Haven’t you any idea how to behave in a sickroom? Go away and send Ellen to me.”
Meekly Miss Lawson crept away.
Emily Arundell looked after her with a slight feeling of self-reproach. Maddening as Minnie was, she did her best.
Then the frown settled down again on her face.
She was desperately unhappy. She had all a vigorous strong-minded old lady’s dislike of inaction in any given situation. But in this particular situation she could not decide upon her line of action.
There were moments when she distrusted her own faculties, her own memory of events. And there was no one, absolutely no one in whom she could confide.
Half an hour later, when Miss Lawson tiptoed creakingly into the room, carrying a cup of beef tea, and then paused irresolute at the view of her employer lying with closed eyes, Emily Arundell suddenly spoke two words with such force and decision that Miss Lawson nearly dropped the cup.
“Mary Fox,” said Miss Arundell.
“A box, dear?” said Miss Lawson. “Did you say you wanted a box?”
“You’re getting deaf, Minnie. I didn’t say anything about a box. I said Mary Fox. The woman I met at Cheltenham last year. She was the sister of one of the Canons of Exeter Cathedral. Give me that cup. You’ve spilt it into the saucer. And don’t tiptoe when you come into a room. You don’t know how irritating it is. Now go downstairs and get me the London telephone book.”
“Can I find the number for you, dear? Or the address?”
“If I’d wanted you to do that I’d have told you so. Do what I tell you. Bring it here, and put my writing things by the bed.”
Miss Lawson obeyed orders.
As she was going out of the room after having done everything required of her, Emily Arundell said unexpectedly:
“You’re a good, faithful creature, Minnie. Don’t mind my bark. It’s a good deal worse than my bite. You’re very patient and good to me.”
Miss Lawson went out of the room with her face pink and incoherent words burbling from her lips.
Sitting up in bed, Miss Arundell wrote a letter. She wrote it slowly and carefully, with numerous pauses for thought and copious underlining. She crossed and recrossed the page—for she had been brought up in a school that was taught never to waste notepaper. Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, she signed her name and put it into an envelope. She wrote a name upon the envelope. Then she took a fresh sheet of paper. This time she made a rough draft and after having reread it and made certain alterations and erasures, she wrote out a fair copy. She read the whole thing through very carefully, then satisfied that she had expressed her meaning she enclosed it in an envelope and addressed it to William Purvis, Esq., Messrs Purvis, Purvis, Charlesworth and Purvis, Solicitors, Harchester.
She took up the first envelope again, which was addressed to M. Hercule Poirot, and opened the telephone directory. Having found the address she added it.
A tap sounded at the door.
Miss Arundell hastily thrust the letter she had just finished addressing—the letter to Hercule Poirot—inside the flap of her writing case.
She had no intention of rousing Minnie’s curiosity. Minnie was a great deal too inquisitive.
She called “Come in” and lay back on her pillows with a sigh of relief.
She had taken steps to deal with the situation.
第四章 阿伦德尔小姐写了封信

这天是周五。
所有的亲戚都走了。
他们按照最初计划的那样，在周三那天一个个离开，他们都说可以留下帮忙照顾，但还是一个接一个地被拒绝了。阿伦德尔小姐解释说她更愿意“享享清静”。
在他们走后的两天里，艾米莉•阿伦德尔总是令人担忧地陷入沉思。她常常听不见米妮•劳森对她说的话，只是瞪着眼睛望着劳森，简单地命令她再说一遍。
“看样子是受了惊吓，可怜的人啊。”米妮•劳森说。
她以一种经历灾难后的阴郁腔调继续说下去，那语气好像能给听者乏味的生活增添数不尽的光彩。
“我敢说，她也许永远都没办法恢复了。”
另一方面，格兰杰医生则积极地鼓励阿伦德尔小姐。
他告诉她，到了这周末，她就可以下楼了，说她连一根骨头都没跌断，真是太丢脸了，说她哪像个病人的样子啊，要是病人都像她这样，他们这些做医生的干脆趁早关门不干了。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔也兴致满满地回应着——她和老医生格兰杰一直是好战友。他恐吓她，她违抗他——对方的陪伴总是让他们很愉快！
而现在，看着医生步履蹒跚地走出去，这位老妇人躺在床上不禁皱起眉头来，想着——想着——心不在焉地回应米妮•劳森那些善意的牢骚——然后突然恢复意识，用刻薄的语气回她两句。
“我可怜的小鲍勃，”劳森小姐弯下腰，对着鲍勃小鸟一般叫嚷着，鲍勃正躺在女主人床脚的毯子上，“要是小鲍勃知道它对自己这可怜到家的女主人所做的一切，会不会很伤心？”
阿伦德尔小姐打断她：
“别犯傻了，米妮。你那英国式的正义感哪儿去了？难道你不知道，这个国家的任何一个罪犯在被定罪之前，都被认为是无辜的吗？”
“哦，可我们不是已经知道——”
艾米莉再次打断她：
“我们还什么都不知道呢。所以别在这儿坐立不安的了，米妮。一会儿抓抓这儿，一会儿动动那儿。难道你不知道在病人的房间里该怎么做吗？出去，把艾伦叫过来。”
劳森小姐顺从而安静地离开了。
艾米莉•阿伦德尔看着她，感到些许自责。像米妮这样的人能这样服侍她，已经尽了全力了。
接着她的眉头又皱起来。
她非常不开心。她可是个精力充沛、意志坚强的老妇人，在知道事情的来龙去脉后，她很讨厌无所作为。但鉴于现在情况特殊，她还没决定自己究竟该走哪一步。
有时候她也会怀疑自己的感官和记忆。可是又没有人——没有任何一个人——能让她放心交谈。
半小时后，劳森小姐小心翼翼地踮着脚尖，端着牛肉汤进来，发现女主人正躺着休息，两眼紧闭。劳森小姐正犹豫要不要叫醒她，艾米莉•阿伦德尔突然说了两个词，那声音充满力量又十分笃定，劳森小姐差点儿把杯子摔到地上。
“玛丽•福克斯。”阿伦德尔小姐说。
“亲爱的，盒子（注：箱子box与福克斯fox发音相近。）？”劳森小姐问道，“你是说你要一个盒子么？”
“我看你真是快聋了，米妮。我压根儿没提什么盒子。我说玛丽•福克斯。我去年在切尔特纳姆遇见的那个女人。她是埃克塞特大教堂一位教士的姐姐。把杯子端过来。你把汤都洒到托盘里了。进屋的时候别蹑手蹑脚的。你不知道那动作有多烦人。现在赶快下楼去，把我伦敦的电话簿拿来。”
“你需要我帮你查么？电话或地址？”
“如果我需要的话会告诉你的，照我说的做就行了。把它拿过来，再把我的书写文具放到床边。”
劳森小姐立刻照做。
在她做完主人吩咐的所有事情，正要离开卧室时，艾米莉•阿伦德尔出人意料地说：
“你是个忠诚、善良的人，米妮。别太在意我的吠叫。我虽然吠得难听，但下口很轻。你对我真的很好，也很耐心。”
劳森小姐走出房门，面色粉红，嘴巴像吐水泡一样语无伦次地吐出一些词。
阿伦德尔小姐起身坐在床上，开始写信。她写得很慢，很仔细，时常停下来思考，在词句底下画线强调。她一再检查——因为她所受的学校教育让她绝对不能浪费纸张。最终，她满意地舒了口气，在结尾处签名，叠好信放进信封。她在信封上写了个名字，紧接着又拿出一张空白的纸。这次她先打了个粗略的草稿，又重新读了一遍，做了些改动和删除，然后仔细抄了一份。她认真阅读了整封信，认为自己清楚地表达了要说的事情，感到很满意。她把信纸叠好，放进信封，写上威廉•珀维斯的名字和地址：哈彻斯特、查尔斯沃思与珀维斯律师事务所，珀维斯先生收。
 
她拿出第一个信封，写上收信人赫尔克里•波洛，然后翻开电话簿找到相应的地址，写在信封上。
传来一声轻轻的敲门声。
阿伦德尔小姐急忙拿起刚写完地址的那封给赫尔克里•波洛的信，扔进她的文具箱。
阿伦德尔小姐不想引起米妮的好奇——她实在太爱管闲事了。
她应声“进来”，然后松了一口气，躺回枕头上。
她已经开始采取行动了。
 
Chapter 5 HERCULE POIROT RECEIVES A LETTER
Chapter 5 HERCULE POIROT RECEIVES A LETTER
The events which I have just narrated were not, of course, known to me until a long time afterwards. But by questioning various members of the family in detail, I have, I think, set them down accurately enough.
Poirot and I were only drawn into the affair when we received Miss Arundell’s letter.
I remember the day well. It was a hot, airless morning towards the end of June.
Poirot had a particular routine when opening his morning correspondence. He picked up each letter, scrutinized it carefully and neatly slit the envelope open with his paper cutter. Its contents were perused and then placed in one of four piles beyond the chocolate pot. (Poirot always drank chocolate for breakfast—a revolting habit.) All this with a machinelike regularity!
So much was this the case that the least interruption of the rhythm attracted one’s attention.
I was sitting by the window, looking out at the passing traffic. I had recently returned from Argentina and there was something particularly exciting to me in being once more in the roar of London.
Turning my head, I said with a smile:
“Poirot, I—the humble Watson—am going to hazard a deduction.”
“Enchanted, my friend. What is it?”
I struck an attitude and said pompously:
“You have received this morning oneletter of particular interest!”
“You are indeed the Sherlock Holmes! Yes, you are perfectly right.”
I laughed.
“You see, I know your methods,Poirot. If you read a letter through twice it must mean that it is of special interest.”
“You shall judge for yourself, Hastings.”
With a smile my friend tendered me the letter in question.
I took it with no little interest, but immediately made a slight grimace. It was written in one of those old-fashioned spidery handwritings, and it was, moreover, crossed on two pages.
“Must I read this, Poirot?” I complained.
“Ah, no, there is no compulsion. Assuredly not.”
“Can’t you tell me what it says?”
“I would prefer you to form your own judgement. But do not trouble if it bores you.”
“No, no, I want to know what it’s all about,” I protested.
My friend remarked drily:
“You can hardly do that.In effect, the letter says nothing at all.”
Taking this as an exaggeration I plunged without more ado into the letter.
M. Hercule Poirot.Dear Sir,After much doubt and indecision, I am writing(the last word was crossed out and the letter went on) I am emboldened to write to you in the hope that you may be able to assist me in a matter of a strictly private nature.(The words strictly privatewere underlined three times.) I may say that your name is not unknown to me. It was mentioned to me by a Miss Fox of Exeter, and although Miss Fox was not herself acquainted with you, she mentioned that her brother-in-law’s sister (whose name I cannot, I am sorry to say, recall) had spoken of your kindness and discretion in the highest terms(highest termsunderlined once). I did not inquire, of course, as to the nature(natureunderlined) of the inquiry you had conducted on her behalf, but I understood from Miss Fox that it was of a painful and confidential nature(last four words underlined heavily).
I broke off my difficult task of spelling out the spidery words.
“Poirot,” I said. “Must I go on? Does she ever get to the point?”
“Continue, my friend. Patience.”
“Patience!” I grumbled. “It’s exactly as though a spider had got into an inkpot and was walking over a sheet of notepaper! I remember my Great-Aunt Mary’s writing used to be much the same!”
Once more I plunged into the epistle.
In my present dilemma, it occurs to me that you might undertake the necessary investigations on my behalf. The matter is such, as you will readily understand, as calls for the utmost discretion and I may, in fact—and I need hardly say how sincerely I hope and pray (prayunderlined twice) that this may be the case—I may, in fact, be completely mistaken. One is apt sometimes to attribute too much significance to facts capable of a natural explanation.
“I haven’t left out a sheet?” I murmured in some perplexity.
Poirot chuckled.
“No, no.”
“Because this doesn’t seem to make sense. What is it she is talking about?”
“Continuez toujours.”
“The matter is such, as you will readily understand—No, I’d got past that. Oh! here we are. In the circumstances as I am sure you will be the first to appreciate, it is quite impossible for me to consult anyone in Market Basing(I glanced back at the heading of the letter. Littlegreen House, Market Basing, Berks), but at the same time you will naturally understand that I feel uneasy(uneasyunderlined). During the last few days I have reproached myself with being unduly fanciful(fancifulunderlined three times) but have only felt increasingly perturbed. I may be attaching undue importance to what is, after all, a trifle(trifleunderlined twice) but my uneasiness remains. I feel definitely that my mind must be set at rest on the matter. It is actually preying on my mind and affecting my health, and naturally I am in a difficult position as I can say nothing to anyone(nothing to anyoneunderlined with heavy lines). In your wisdom you may say, of course, that the whole thing is nothing but a mare’s nest. The facts may be capable of a perfectly innocent explanation(innocentunderlined). Nevertheless, however trivial it may seem, ever since the incident of the dog’s ball, I have felt increasingly doubtful and alarmed. I should therefore welcome your views and counsel on the matter. It would, I feel sure, take a great weight off my mind. Perhaps you would kindly let me know what your fees are and what you advise me to do in the matter?I must impress on you again that nobody here knows anything at all. The facts are, I know, very trivial and unimportant, but my health is not too good and my nerves (nervesunderlined three times) are not what they used to be. Worry of this kind, I am convinced, is very bad for me, and the more I think over the matter, the more I am convinced that I was quite right and no mistake was possible. Of course, I shall not dream of saying anything(underlined) to anyone(underlined).Hoping to have your advice in the matter at an early date.I remain, Yours faithfully,Emily Arundell.”
I turned the letter over and scanned each page closely. “But, Poirot,” I expostulated, “what is it all about?”
My friend shrugged his shoulders.
“What indeed?”
I tapped the sheets with some impatience.
“What a woman! Why can’t Mrs.—or Miss Arundell—”
“Miss, I think. It is typically the letter of a spinster.”
“Yes,” I said. “A real, fussy old maid. Why can’t she say what she’s talking about?”
Poirot sighed.
“As you say—a regrettable failure to employ order and method in the mental processes, and without order and method, Hastings—”
“Quite so,” I interrupted hastily. “Little grey cells practically nonexistent.”
“I would not say that, my friend.”
“I would. What’s the senseof writing a letter like that?”
“Very little—that is true,” Poirot admitted.
“A long rigmarole all about nothing,” I went on. “Probably some upset to her fat lapdog—an asthmatic pug or a yapping Pekinese!” I looked at my friend curiously. “And yet you read that letter through twice. I do not understand you, Poirot.”
Poirot smiled.
“You, Hastings, you would have put it straight in the wastepaper basket?”
“I’m afraid I should.” I frowned down on the letter. “I suppose I’m being dense, as usual, but Ican’t see anything of interest in this letter!”
“Yet there is one point in it of great interest—a point that struck me at once.”
“Wait,” I cried. “Don’t tell me. Let me see if I can’t discover it for myself.”
It was childish of me, perhaps. I examined the letter very thoroughly. Then I shook my head.
“No, I don’t see it. The old lady’s got the wind up, I realize that—but then, old ladies often do! It may be about nothing—it may conceivably be about something, but I don’t see that you can tell that that is so. Unless your instinct—”
Poirot raised an offended hand.
“Instinct! You know how I dislike that word. ‘Something seems to tell me’—that is what you infer. Jamais de la vie!Me, I reason.I employ the little grey cells. There is one interesting point about that letter which you have overlooked utterly, Hastings.”
“Oh, well,” I said wearily. “I’ll buy it.”
“Buy it? Buy what?”
“An expression. Meaning that I will permit you to enjoy yourself by telling me just where I have been a fool.”
“Not a fool, Hastings, merely unobservant.”
“Well, out with it. What’s the interesting point? I suppose, like the ‘incident of the dog’s ball,’ the point isthat there is no interesting point!”
Poirot disregarded this sally on my part. He said quietly and calmly:
“The interesting point is the date.”
“The date?”
I picked up the letter. On the top left-hand corner was written April 17th.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “That isodd. April 17th.”
“And we are today June 28th. C’est curieux, n’est ce pas?Over two months ago.”
I shook my head doubtfully.
“It probably doesn’t mean anything. A slip. She meant to put June and wrote April instead.”
“Even then it would be ten or eleven days old—an odd fact. But actually you are in error. Look at the colour of the ink. That letter was written more than ten or eleven days ago. No, April 17th is the date assuredly. But why was the letter not sent?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“That’s easy. The old pussy changed her mind.”
“Then why did she not destroy the letter? Why keep it over two months and post it now?”
I had to admit that that was harder to answer. In fact I couldn’t think of a really satisfactory answer. I merely shook my head and said nothing.
Poirot nodded.
“You see—it is a point! Yes, decidedly a curious point.”
“You are answering the letter?” I asked.
“Oui, mon ami.”
The room was silent except for the scratching of Poirot’s pen. It was a hot, airless morning. A smell of dust and tar came in through the window.
Poirot rose from his desk, the completed letter in his hand. He opened a drawer and drew out a little square box. From this he took out a stamp. Moistening this with a little sponge he prepared to affix it to the letter.
Then suddenly he paused, stamp in hand, shaking his head with vigour.
“Non!” he exclaimed. “That is the wrong thing I do.” He tore the letter across and threw it into the wastepaper basket
“Not so must we tackle this matter! We will go,my friend.”
“You mean to go down to Market Basing?”
“Precisely. Why not? Does not one stifle in London today? Would not the country air be agreeable?”
“Well, if you put it like that,” I said. “Shall we go in the car?”
I had acquired a secondhand Austin.
“Excellent. A very pleasant day for motoring. One will hardly need the muffler. A light overcoat, a silk scarf—”
“My dear fellow, you’re not going to the North Pole!” I protested.
“One must be careful of catching the chill,” said Poirot sententiously.
“On a day like this?”
Disregarding my protests, Poirot proceeded to don a fawn-coloured overcoat and wrap his neck up with a white silk handkerchief. Having carefully placed the wetted stamp face downwards on the blotting paper to dry, we left the room together.
第五章赫尔克里·波洛收到一封信

当然，以上我所讲述的这些事，在我知道的时候，已经过去很久了。但在仔细询问过这一家人后，我想，我已经记录得相当详尽了。
波洛和我收到阿伦德尔小姐的信之后，便被卷入了这个事件。
我仍能很清楚地回忆起那天的情形。那是七月末一个酷热的早晨，没什么风。
波洛早晨阅读信件时有个很特殊的程序。他把信一一拿起，仔细检查过后，熟练地用美工刀划开。详细地读过之后，再把信放进巧克力罐旁边的四沓信封中的其中一沓里（波洛早餐习惯喝热巧克力——多惹人讨厌的臭毛病啊）。这一切就像机器作业一样规律！
他这一系列动作是那么流畅，哪怕稍有停顿，都会引起旁人注意。
我坐在窗边，看着往来的车辆。刚从阿根廷回来不久，再一次置身于伦敦的喧嚣之中，总能发现让我特别兴奋的事情。
我转过头，微笑着说：
“波洛，我——谦虚的‘华生’——想提出一个非常大胆的推论。”“洗耳恭听，我的朋友，你的推论是什么？”
我摆出个架势，装出自大的语气，说：
“你今天早晨收的信中，有一封特别有趣！”
“你简直是歇洛克•福尔摩斯啊！对，你说的一点儿也没错。”
我大笑。
“看吧，我知道你的套路，波洛。只要你把一封信读上两遍，就说明肯定有什么引起了你的兴趣。”
“你自己判断，黑斯廷斯。”
我的朋友微笑着把信递过来。
我饶有兴致地接过信来看了一眼，立即摆了个痛苦的鬼脸。这信通篇都是用一种老式的、蜘蛛一样的笔迹写成，不仅如此，足足两页纸，到处都是勾画涂抹的痕迹。
“我必须读吗，波洛？”我抱怨着。
“呃，当然不是，这又不是你的义务，当然不用。”
“那你能告诉我信里讲了什么吗？”
“我更希望你能看过之后自己下判断。但如果你觉得枯燥的话，就不用劳烦了。”
“不，不，我想知道到底是怎么回事。”我抗议道。
我的朋友嘲讽地说：
“那对你来说几乎不可能。事实上，信里什么都没说。”
因为认定他是在夸大其词，我便不再废话，全神贯注投入信件中。
M.赫尔克里•波洛
亲爱的波洛先生，
经过再三地犹豫和踌躇，我决定写(最后这个字被划掉了）我鼓起勇气写信给你，希望你能就我这件绝对私密的事情帮帮忙（“绝对私密”底下画了三条线）。很不好意思，我一开始并不知道你是谁。直到埃克塞特的福克斯小姐向我提起你，尽管福克斯小姐和你本人并不相识，她和我提过，她姐夫的姐姐（很抱歉地说，这人的名字我真的回想不起来了）曾盛赞你，说你十分善良，有着极准确的判断力（“盛赞”底下也画了线）。当然，我当时并没有询问你调查的事件的性质，但据福克斯小姐说，是件痛苦且私密的事（“痛苦且私密的事”底下重重地画了线）。
我停止辨认这蜘蛛一样难认的字体。
“波洛，”我说，“我一定要继续吗？她到底有没有说到重点？”
“继续，我的朋友，一定要耐心。”
“耐心！”我抱怨着，“这简直就像一只蜘蛛掉进了墨水瓶，然后在信纸上走出来的花纹一样！我记得我曾姨母玛丽的笔迹，简直和这个一模一样！”
我再一次埋首，专心致志地继续读下去。
鉴于现在两难的处境，我突然想起你可能愿意帮我做必要的调查工作。这件事，正如你即将知道的，需要你以最高度的警惕来对待，而我，事实上——简直都不知道该如何描述，我有多么真诚地盼望和祈祷（“祈祷”底下画了两条线）这件事是——是我自己完完全全误读了。人们有时总是把一些很容易解释清楚的事情赋予过多的意义。
“我没漏掉一页吧？”我困惑地嘟囔着。
波洛笑起来。
“没有，你没有。”
“因为这看上去不太合理，她到底想讲些什么？”
“继续看下去。”（注：原文为法语。）
事情是这样的，正如你即将要知道的——哦，这些话我还是略去不说了。哦！从这儿开始。以目前的情况，我确定你是第一个知道这件事的，让我和贝辛市场的人商量这件事是不可能的（我返回去看了看信首。伯克郡，贝辛市场镇，利特格林别墅），但是，与此同时，相信你能理解我现在的不安（“不安”底下画了线）。最近几天我不停地责怪自己太过沉溺于幻想了（“幻想”底下画了三条线），却控制不住地心慌。我可能把这事看得太重了，毕竟，这只是件琐事（“琐事”底下画了两条线），但我的不安还在。我很清楚地知道，不应该再去想这事了。可它侵吞了我的思维，影响了我的健康，鉴于我不能向任何人透露一丁点（“不能向任何人透露一丁点”底下用粗线标出来）。以你的聪慧，肯定会说，当然，这整件事不过是无稽之谈。事实真相没准儿能给出完全清白的解释（“清白”底下画了线）。然而，无论这事多么琐碎，自从小狗的皮球那件事发生后，我越发感觉怀疑和焦虑。因此，我很想听听你的观点和对这事的见解。这样的话，我敢肯定，能减轻不少我心里的负担。方便的话，你是否能告知我你的收费标准，以及你对这事的建议？
 
我必须再提醒你一遍，任何人都不能知道这事。事实上，我
知道，这种琐事没什么重要的，但我的健康状况真的不太好，我的脑子（“脑子”底下画了三条线）也大不如从前。我很肯定，为这种事烦心，对我来说很不健康，我想得越多，就越发确定自己是对的，没出什么差错。当然，我压根就不该想着对“任何人”（画线）提及“任何事”（画线）。
希望早日收到你对这事的建议。
此致，你忠诚的，艾米莉•阿伦德尔
我翻过信纸，仔细地查阅每一页。“但是，波洛，”我催他快点儿告诉我，“这到底是怎么回事？”
我的朋友耸耸肩。
“的确，怎么一回事呢？”
我极不耐烦地拍着信纸。
“这女人真是！为什么这个阿伦德尔夫人——或是小姐不能——”
“我想，应该叫小姐。这是一封典型的只有未婚的老小姐才能写出来的信。”
“没错，”我说，“肯定是个十足的老小姐，天天只会庸人自扰。她为什么不直说呢？”
波洛叹了口气。
“正如你所说——这就是因为在思考过程中没有使用合理的方法和次序，没了方法和次序，黑斯廷斯——”
“确实，”我急忙打断，“她大脑里负责思维的小灰细胞估计早就没了。”
“我可不会那么说，我的朋友。”
“我会。写这样一封信究竟有什么意义？”
“微乎其微——的确。”波洛补充道。
“这真是一段冗长的、没有任何意义的废话，”我继续说，“没准儿是因为担心她那只肥胖的小狗——肯定是只气喘吁吁的哈巴狗，要不就是只叫个不停的京巴！”我好奇地看着我的朋友，“而你，竟然还把这封信从头到尾读了两遍。我真不理解你，波洛。”
波洛笑了。
“如果是你，黑斯廷斯，是不是就直接把它扔进废纸篓了？”
“恐怕是。”我对着那封信皱了皱眉，“我想我大概又犯傻了，和往常一样，但我真没看出什么蹊跷！”
“不过这信里有一点非常有趣——一下子就把我吸引住了。”
“等等，”我喊道，“先别说，看我能不能自己找出来。”
我是有点儿幼稚，或许吧。把信从头到尾又仔仔细细地检查一遍，还是摇了摇头。
“没有，什么都没发现。这老妇人好像被吓着了，我看出来了——再说，人年龄大了本来就容易受惊吓！没准儿什么事都没有——没准儿真有什么事，可我不觉得你像你自己说的那样，看出什么来了。除非你的本能——”
波洛举起手来，有些生气地说：
“本能！你知道我有多讨厌这个词！你在暗指什么？‘我得到了神助’是吗？我一辈子都不会这样！我，我推理。我运用脑子里那些小灰细胞。这信里有一点非常有趣，而你，黑斯廷斯，完完全全把它忽略了。”
“哦，好吧，”我无精打采地说，“我买账了。”
“买账了？买什么账了？”
“这只是一种说法。意思就是我允许你指出我究竟蠢在何处，然后自得其乐。”
“你不蠢，黑斯廷斯，只是不够细心。”
“好吧，快说吧。有趣的地方到底在哪儿？我想，就和‘小狗的皮球那件事’一样，有趣的地方就是压根儿没什么有趣的！”
波洛不理会我的俏皮话。他平静而沉稳地说：
“有趣的地方就是日期。”
“日期？”
我拿起信，左上角写着“四月十七日”。
“是啊，”我慢慢地说，“这太奇怪了，四月十七日。”
“而今天是六月二十八日。很奇怪，不是吗？两个多月前。”
我疑惑地摇摇头。
“这可能不代表什么。也许只是个笔误。她本想写六月，结果写成四月了。”
“即便是那样，距离写信的时候也已经十或十一天——这很奇怪。而且从事实来看，你这么猜想是不对的。看看墨水的颜色。写信的时间绝对远远超过十或十一天。不，可以说四月十七日这个日期是可以肯定的。但为什么没有紧接着寄出来？”
我耸了耸肩。
“很简单，这老小姐改主意了。”
“那她为什么不把信销毁？为什么留着，等两个月以后再寄出来？”
我不得不承认这很难回答。事实上，我无法找出一个合理的解释。我只是摇了摇头，什么都没说。
波洛点点头。
“你明白了吧——这就是关键！是的，毫无疑问，这一点很令人好奇。”
“你要回信吗？”我问。
“当然了，我的朋友。”
除了波洛的笔在纸上发出的沙沙声，整个房间安静极了。这是个炎热无风的早晨。尘土和柏油的气味从窗外飘进来。
波洛从桌前站起来，把写好的信拿在手上。他打开抽屉，拿出一个方形的小盒子，从里面取了张邮票，用一块小海绵把邮票沾湿，准备贴在信封上。
 
突然，他的动作停止了，邮票还在手里。他用力摇头。
“不对，”他惊叫，“这么做是错的。”说罢，他把信撕得粉碎，扔进废纸篓。
“这事不应该这么处理！我们亲自去，我的朋友。”
“你是说去贝辛市场？”
“没错。为什么不呢？在伦敦待着难道不觉得窒息吗？为什么不去享受一下乡下令人愉快的空气？”
“好吧，如果你非这么说的话，”我说，“我们开车去吗？”
我有一辆二手的奥斯汀。
“太棒了。今天兜风再合适不过了。可以不用戴厚围巾了，轻薄的大衣，丝质的围巾——”
“老兄，你不是去北极！”我抗议道。
“要小心别得了风寒。”波洛一副说教的口吻。
“在这种天气？”
波洛完全没理会我的异议，穿上一件淡褐色的大衣，脖子上围着白色的丝帕。他小心地把沾湿的邮票翻过来放在吸墨纸上晾干，然后我们一起出了门。
Chapter 6 WE GO TO LITTLEGREEN HOUSE
Chapter 6 WE GO TO LITTLEGREEN HOUSE
Idon’t know what Poirot felt like in his coat and muffler but I myself felt roasted before we got out of London. An open car in traffic is far from being a refreshing place on a hot summer’s day.
Once we were outside London, however, and getting a bit of pace on the Great West Road my spirits rose.
Our drive took us about an hour and a half, and it was close upon twelve o’clock when we came into the little town of Market Basing. Originally on the main road, a modern bypass now left it some three miles to the north of the main stream of traffic and in consequence it had kept an air of old-fashioned dignity and quietude about it. Its one wide street and ample market square seemed to say, “I was a place of importance once and to any person of sense and breeding I am still the same. Let this modern speeding world dash along their newfangled road; I was built to endure in a day when solidarity and beauty went hand in hand.”
There was a parking area in the middle of the big square, though there were only a few cars occupying it. I duly parked the Austin, Poirot divested himself of his superfluous garments, assured himself that his moustaches were in their proper condition of symmetrical flamboyance and we were then ready to proceed.
For once in a way our first tentative inquiry did not meet with the usual response, “Sorry, but I’m a stranger in these parts.” It would seem indeed probable that there were no strangers in Market Basing! It had that effect! Already, I felt, Poirot and myself (and especially Poirot) were somewhat noticeable. We tended to stick out from the mellow background of an English market town secure in its traditions.
“Littlegreen House?” The man, a burly, ox-eyed fellow, looked us over thoughtfully. “You go straight up the High Street and you can’t miss it. On your left. There’s no name on the gate, but it’s the first big house after the bank.” He repeated again, “You can’t miss it.”
His eyes followed us as we started on our course.
“Dear me,” I complained. “There is something about this place that makes me feel extremely conspicuous. As for you, Poirot, you look positively exotic.”
“You think it is noticed that I am a foreigner—yes?”
“The fact cries aloud to heaven,” I assured him.
“And yet my clothes are made by an English tailor,” mused Poirot.
“Clothes are not everything,” I said. “It cannot be denied, Poirot, that you have a noticeable personality. I have often wondered that it has not hindered you in your career.”
Poirot sighed.
“That is because you have the mistaken idea implanted in your head that a detective is necessarily a man who puts on a false beard and hides behind a pillar! The false beard, it is vieux jeu,and shadowing is only done by the lowest branch of my profession. The Hercule Poirots, my friend, need only to sit back in a chair and think.”
“Which explains why we are walking along this exceedingly hot street on an exceedingly hot morning.”
“That is very neatly replied, Hastings. For once, I admit, you have made the score off me.”
We found Littlegreen House easily enough, but a shock awaited us—a house agent’s board.
As we were staring at it, a dog’s bark attracted my attention.
The bushes were thin at that point and the dog could be easily seen. He was a wirehaired terrier, somewhat shaggy as to coat. His feet were planted wide apart, slightly to one side, and he barked with an obvious enjoyment of his own performance that showed him to be actuated by the most amiable motives.
“Good watchdog, aren’t I?” he seemed to be saying. “Don’t mind me! This is just my fun! My duty too, of course. Just have to let ’em know there’s a dog about the place! Deadly dull morning. Quite a blessing to have something to do. Coming into our place? Hope so. It’s darned dull. I could do with a little conversation.”
“Hallo, old man,” I said and shoved forward a fist.
Craning his neck through the railings he sniffed suspiciously, then gently wagged his tail, uttering a few short staccato barks.
“Not been properly introduced, of course, have to keep this up! But I see you know the proper advances to make.”
“Good old boy,” I said.
“Wuff,” said the terrier amiably.
“Well, Poirot?” I said, desisting from this conversation and turning to my friend.
There was an odd expression on his face—one that I could not quite fathom. A kind of deliberately suppressed excitement seems to describe it best.
“The Incident of the Dog’s Ball,” he murmured. “Well, at least, we have here a dog.”
“Wuff,” observed our new friend. Then he sat down, yawned widely and looked at us hopefully.
“What next?” I asked.
The dog seemed to be asking the same question.
“Parbleu,to Messrs—what is it—Messrs Gabler and Stretcher.”
“That does seem indicated,” I agreed.
We turned and retraced our steps, our canine acquaintance sending a few disgusted barks after us.
The premises of Messrs Gabler and Stretcher were situated in the Market Square. We entered a dim outer office where we were received by a young woman with adenoids and a lacklustre eye.
“Good morning,” said Poirot politely.
The young woman was at the moment speaking into a telephone but she indicated a chair and Poirot sat down. I found another and brought it forward.
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said the young woman into the telephone vacantly. “No, I don’t know what the rates would be… Pardon? Oh, main water, I think, but, of course, I couldn’t be certain… I’m very sorry, I’m sure… No, he’s out… No, I couldn’t say… Yes, of course I’ll ask him… Yes…8135? I’m afraid I haven’t quite got it. Oh…8935…39… Oh, 5135… Yes, I’ll ask him to ring you…after six… Oh, pardon, before six… Thank you so much.”
She replaced the receiver, scribbled 5319 on the blotting pad and turned a mildly inquiring but uninterested gaze on Poirot.
Poirot began briskly.
“I observe that there is a house to be sold just on the outskirts of this town. Littlegreen House, I think is the name.”
“Pardon?”
“A house to be let or sold,” said Poirot slowly and distinctly. “Littlegreen House.”
“Oh, Littlegreen House,” said the young woman vaguely. “LittlegreenHouse, did you say?”
“That is what I said.”
“Littlegreen House,” said the young woman, making a tremendous mental effort. “Oh, well, I expect Mr. Gabler would know about that.”
“Can I see Mr. Gabler?”
“He’s out,” said the young woman with a kind of faint, anaemic satisfaction as of one who says, “A point to me.”
“Do you know when he will be in?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure,” said the young woman.
“You comprehend, I am looking for a house in this neighbourhood,” said Poirot.
“Oh, yes,” said the young woman, uninterested.
“And Littlegreen House seems to me just what I am looking for. Can you give me particulars?”
“Particulars?” The young woman seemed startled.
“Particulars of Littlegreen House.”
Unwillingly she opened a drawer and took out an untidy file of papers.
Then she called, “John.”
A lanky youth sitting in a corner looked up.
“Yes, miss.”
“Have we got any particulars of—what did you say?”
“Littlegreen House,” said Poirot distinctly.
“You’ve got a large bill of it here,” I remarked, pointing to the wall.
She looked at me coldly. Two to one, she seemed to think, was an unfair way of playing the game. She called up her own reinforcements.
“You don’t know anything about Littlegreen House, do you, John?”
“No, miss. Should be in the file.”
“I’m sorry,” said the young woman without looking so in the least. “I rather fancy we must have sent all the particulars out.”
“C’est dommage.”
“Pardon?”
“A pity.”
“We’ve a nice bungalow at Hemel End, two bed., one sitt.”
She spoke without enthusiasm, but with the air of one willing to do her duty by her employer.
“I thank you, no.”
“And a semidetached with small conservatory. I could give you particulars of that.”
“No, thank you. I desired to know what rent you were asking for Littlegreen House.”
“It’s not to be rented,” said the young woman, abandoning her position of complete ignorance of anything to do with Littlegreen House in the pleasure of scoring a point. “Only to be sold outright.”
“The board says, ‘To be Let or Sold.’”
“I couldn’t say as to that, but it’s for sale only.”
At this stage in the battle the door opened and a grey-haired, middle-aged man entered with a rush. His eye, a militant one, swept over us with a gleam. His eyebrows asked a question of his employee.
“This is Mr. Gabler,” said the young woman.
Mr. Gabler opened the door of an inner sanctum with a flourish.
“Step in here, gentlemen.” He ushered us in, an ample gesture swept us into chairs and he himself was facing us across a flat-topped desk.
“And now what can I do for you?”
Poirot began again perseveringly.
“I desired a few particulars of Littlegreen House—”
He got no further. Mr. Gabler took command.
“Ah! Littlegreen House—there’sa property! An absolute bargain. Only just come into the market. I can tell you gentlemen, we don’t often get a house of that class going at the price. Taste’s swinging round. People are fed up with jerry-building. They want sound stuff. Good, honest building. A beautiful property—character—feeling—Georgian throughout. That’s what people want nowadays—there’s a feeling for period houses if you understand what I mean. Ah, yes, Littlegreen House won’t be long in the market. It’ll be snapped up. Snapped up! A member of parliament came to look at it only last Saturday. Liked it so much he’s coming down again this weekend. And there’s a stock exchange gentleman after it too. People want quiet nowadays when they come to the country, want to be well away from main roads. That’s all very well for some people, but we attract class here. And that’s what that house has got. Class! You’ve got to admit, they knew how to build for gentlemen in those days. Yes, we shan’t have Littlegreen long on our books.”
Mr. Gabler, who, it occurred to me, lived up to his name very happily, paused for breath.
“Has it changed hands often in the last few years?” inquired Poirot.
“On the contrary. Been in one family over fifty years. Name of Arundell. Very much respected in the town. Ladies of the old school.”
He shot up, opened the door and called:
“Particulars of Littlegreen House, Miss Jenkins. Quickly now.”
He returned to the desk.
“I require a house about this distance from London,” said Poirot. “In the country, but not in the dead country, if you understand me—”
“Perfectly—perfectly. Too much in the country doesn’t do. Servants don’t like it for one thing. Here, you have the advantages of the country but not the disadvantages.” Miss Jenkins flitted in with a typewritten sheet of paper which she placed in front of her employer who dismissed her with a nod.
“Here we are,” said Mr. Gabler, reading with practised rapidity. “Period House of character: four recep., eight bed and dressing, usual offices, commodious kitchen premises, ample outbuildings, stables, etc. Main water, old-world gardens, inexpensive upkeep, amounting in all to three acres, two summerhouses, etc., etc. Price £2,850 or near offer.”
“You can give me an order to view?”
“Certainly, my dear sir.” Mr. Gabler began writing in a flourishing fashion. “Your name and address?”
Slightly to my surprise, Poirot gave his name as Mr. Parotti.
“We have one or two other properties on our books which might interest you,” Mr. Gabler went on.
Poirot allowed him to add two further additions.
“Littlegreen House can be viewed anytime?” he inquired.
“Certainly, my dear sir. There are servants in residence. I might perhaps ring up to make certain. You will be going there immediately? Or after lunch?”
“Perhaps after lunch would be better.”
“Certainly—certainly. I’ll ring up and tell them to expect you about two o’clock—eh? Is that right?”
“Thank you. Did you say the owner of the house—a Miss Arundell, I think you said?”
“Lawson. Miss Lawson. That is the name of the present owner. Miss Arundell, I am sorry to say, died a short time ago. That is how the place has come into the market. And I can assure you it will be snapped up. Not a doubt of it. Between you and me, just in confidence, if you do think of making an offer I should make it quickly. As I’ve told you, there are two gentlemen after it already, and I shouldn’t be surprised to get an offer for it any day from one or other of them. Each of them knows the other’s after it, you see. And there’s no doubt that competition spurs a man on. Ha, ha! I shouldn’t like you to be disappointed.”
“Miss Lawson is anxious to sell, I gather.”
Mr. Gabler lowered his voice confidentially.
“That’s just it. The place is larger than she wants—one middle-aged lady living by herself. She wants to get rid of this and take a house in London. Quite understandable. That’s why the place is going so ridiculously cheap.”
“She would be open, perhaps, to an offer?”
“That’s the idea, sir. Make an offer and set the ball rolling. But you can take it from me that there will be no difficulty in getting a price very near the figure named. Why, it’s ridiculous! To build a house like that nowadays would cost every penny of six thousand, let alone the land value and the valuable frontages.”
“Miss Arundell died very suddenly, didn’t she?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Anno domini—anno domini. She had passed her threescore and ten some time ago. And she’d been ailing for a long time. The last of her family—you know something about the family, perhaps?”
“I know some people of the same name who have relations in this part of the world. I fancy it must be the same family.”
“Very likely. Four sisters there were. One married fairly late in life and the other three lived on here. Ladies of the old school. Miss Emily was the last of them. Very highly thought of in the town.”
He leant forward and handed Poirot the orders.
“You’ll drop in again and let me know what you think of it, eh? Of course, it may need a little modernizing here and there. That’s only to be expected. But I always say, ‘What’s a bathroom or two? That’s easily done.’”
We took our leave and the last thing we heard was the vacant voice of Miss Jenkins saying:
“Mrs. Samuels rang up, sir. She’d like you to ring her—Holland 5391.”
As far as I could remember that was neither the number Miss Jenkins had scribbled on her pad nor the number finally arrived at through the telephone.
I felt convinced that Miss Jenkins was having her revenge for having been forced to find the particulars of Littlegreen House.
第六章 我们前往小绿别墅

我不知道波洛穿着大衣戴着围巾是什么感觉，在车开出伦敦之前，我觉得自己快被烤熟了。这样炎热的夏天坐在敞篷车里，挤在车阵中，可不是什么清爽凉快的事。
可是车一开出伦敦，在大西路上加速，我的精神一下子高涨起来。
我们开了足足一个半小时，接近十二点时才到达这个名叫贝辛市场的小镇。小镇原先在主干道旁，北边三英里外一条新修的现代化公路使它偏离了主交通线，这也使它那沉寂的老式高雅气质得以保留。镇里宽阔的主干道和集市广场好像在说：“这里曾经是个重要的地方。对于任何讲道理、有教养的人来说，依旧还是。让这个高速的现代世界唠叨它那些时髦的公路去吧。我可是美丽与统一的完美结合，自建成以来就是要忍受一切的。”
在大广场中间有个停车场，不过只有零零星星几辆车停在那里。我把奥斯汀停好，波洛脱去他那件完全多余的外套，把自己的小胡子整理到完美的状态，既对称又华丽。我们准备好便出发了。
第一次尝试性的问路没能得到往常一样的回答，“不好意思，这一带我也不太熟。”贝辛市场好像从没来过陌生人！就是这种感觉！不知不觉，我发现，波洛和我（尤其是波洛）已经引起了人们的注意。在这个有着深厚传统护卫、气氛古典愉悦的英国市场小镇，我们的出现显得尤为突兀。
“利特格林别墅？”回答我们的是个男人，身材魁梧，眼睛很大，他若有所思地打量着我们，“沿着这条街直直往下走就到了，肯定能找着，在左边。没有门牌，不过它是银行过去的第一幢，”他又重复道，“肯定能找着。”
他紧盯着我们上路。
“天哪，”我抱怨道，“不知道为什么我总觉得自己在这地方很显眼。至于你，波洛，你本来就是地地道道的外国人。”
“你觉得他们注意到我是个外国人了——对吗？”
“就像胸前挂了块牌子一样明显。”我向他保证。
“可我的衣服是英国裁缝做的。”波洛打趣道。
“不单单是衣服，”我说，“不可否认，波洛，你的气质实在太显眼了。我常想，这难道不会给你的职业生涯造成阻碍吗？”
波洛叹了口气。
“这是你脑子里预设的错误想法，侦探就必须戴着假胡子，躲在电线杆后面！假胡子那种把戏是最低劣的侦探玩的。我亲爱的朋友，鼎鼎有名的赫尔克里•波洛只需要坐在椅子上思考就够了。”
“这话完美地解释了为什么在这个热的要死的早晨，我们会走在这条热得要死的街上。”
“回得妙，黑斯廷斯。我得承认，这是你头一回让我无从辩驳。”
我们很容易就找到了利特格林别墅，但迎接我们的却是惊诧——房屋经纪商的广告牌。
当我们盯着牌子的时候，一声狗吠引起了我们的注意。
灌木丛很稀疏，所以很容易就能看见那只狗。它是只硬毛小猎犬，毛显得过长。它四只爪子张开，紧贴着地，身子微微偏向一侧，它的叫声显得很享受，好像很满意自己表达友好的方式。
“我是只很称职的看门狗，对吧？”它好像在说，“别介意，这只是为了好玩！当然也是我的职责。只要让路过的人知道院子里有只狗就行了！这早晨可真无聊啊。真希望能找点儿事做。你们打算进来吗？希望如此。我都快无聊死了，有个人聊聊天也不错。”
“嘿，好伙计。”我向前伸出拳头，说道。
它从栅栏中钻出头来，谨慎地嗅着，紧接着，尾巴温柔地摇起来，发出几声短促的、不连贯的吠叫。
“还没正式介绍过呢，当然，这是必须的！我看，你应该知道接下来该怎么做。”
“真是个好伙计。”我说。
“汪。”小狗愉快地叫了一声。
“怎么样，波洛？”我停止了和狗的互动，望向我的朋友。
他脸上浮现出非常古怪的表情——一种我看不透的表情。用最恰当的词描述，大概是“极力压抑着兴奋”。
“小狗的皮球事件，”他小声说道，“看来，至少，我们已经找到一只狗了。”
“汪。”我们的新朋友观望着。它坐下来，大大地打了个哈欠，满脸期待地看着我们。
“接下来怎么做？”我问。
狗好像也在问同样的问题。
“当然是，去这个——叫什么来着——‘加布勒和斯特雷奇公司’。”
“显而易见。”我表示赞同。
我们按原路返回，身后，我们的犬类朋友发出几声不满的吠叫。
加布勒和斯特雷奇公司位于集市广场。我们走进昏暗的办公室，一个脖子臃肿、眼睛无神的女人接待了我们。
“早上好。”波洛礼貌地问道。
 
年轻女人正在打电话，她指了指椅子，波洛走过去坐下。我又找来一张，搬到前面。
“我不能保证，我确定，”年轻的女人神情茫然地对着电话里说，“不，我不知道利率多少……你说什么？哦，自来水，我想应该有，当然，我并不确定……我确定……不，他出去办事了……不，我不能保证……是的，当然，我肯定会问他的……对……八一三五？不好意思我恐怕没记下来。哦……八九三五……三九……哦，五一三五……好的，我会请他带给你的……六点之后……哦，不好意思，六点之前……十分感谢。”
她放下听筒，在吸墨纸上草草写下五一三九，然后看着波洛，眼神中略带询问，同时也显得毫不关心。
波洛立刻开了口。
“我注意到镇郊那幢房子正在出售。我想它叫，利特格林别墅。”
“什么？”
“那幢待租或是待售的房子，”波洛缓慢又清晰地重复，“利特格林别墅。”
“哦，利特格林别墅啊，”年轻的女人含糊地回答，“你是说利特格林别墅吗？”
“正是我说的，没错。”
“利特格林别墅，”年轻的女人说，接着绞尽脑汁想了一会儿，“哦，我想加布勒先生一定知道。”
“我能见见他吗？”
“他出去了。”年轻的女人用一种微弱的、贫血病人似的口吻回答，那语气像是在说：“我赢了一分。”
“你知道他什么时候回来？”
“我不能确定，我想。”年轻的女人说。
“你能理解吧，我正在这附近找房子。”波洛说。
“哦，是的。”年轻的女人一副事不关己的表情。
“而利特格林别墅正好就是我想找的那种，你能给我些详细资料吗？”
“详细资料？”
“利特格林别墅的详细资料。”
她极不情愿地拉开抽屉，拿出一沓散乱的文件。
她叫了一声：“约翰。”
“什么事，小姐？”
“咱们有没有关于——你刚才说是哪幢？”
“利特格林别墅的详细资料。”
“这儿不是贴着一张大海报吗？”我指了指墙上。
她冷漠地看着我，二对一，她似乎在琢磨，这是场不公平的竞赛。她赶忙搬来援兵。
“约翰，你对利特格林别墅一无所知，是吧？”
“是的，小姐。档案里应该有。”
“我很抱歉，”年轻的女人找都没找就说，“我想，我们可能已经把所有资料都寄出去了。”
“那太可惜了。”
“你说什么？”
“太遗憾了。”
“我们在赫梅尔安德那儿倒是有幢不错的小平房，两张床，一间客厅。”
她的语气丝毫没有热情，带着一种愿意完成老板交予她的任务的意味。
“不了，谢谢你。”
“这屋子还带一间半独立的小温室。我可以给你那房子的相关资料。”
“不用了，谢谢你，我只想知道利特格林别墅你们租多少钱。”
“利特格林别墅不出租，”年轻女人为了再得一分，放弃之前所说过的、对利特格林别墅一无所知的立场，“只出售。”
“广告牌上写着‘可租可售’。”
“那我就不清楚了，但那房子只售不租。”
双方的舌战在门打开时中止，一个灰色头发的中年男子急匆匆走进来。他以好胜的目光扫了我们一眼，两眼直放光。接着扬起眉毛，像是在期待雇员能给自己一个解释。
“这位是加布勒先生。”年轻女人介绍道。
加布勒先生兴致勃勃地打开内室的门。
“先生们，快到里面来谈。”他把我们引进来，大手一挥，请我们就座，而他自己则坐在办公桌的另一边，面对着我们。
“那么，我能为你二位做些什么呢？”
波洛不依不饶地重复道。
“我想看看利特格林别墅的详细资料——”
还没等他说完，话头就被加布勒先生抢了过去。
“哈！利特格林别墅——是有这么一处房产！这可是个真正的大便宜。刚上市不久。我可以向二位绅士保证，我们从没有以这种价格卖过那样等级的房子。品位也在轮流转啊。现在的人厌倦了偷工减料，他们想买货真价实的好东西。这可是幢真材实料的好房子。漂亮的房产——品位——格调——纯正的佐治亚式建筑。这年头人们就喜欢这样——偏好有些年份的房子，你应该知道我的意思吧。啊，没错，利特格林别墅估计很快就会出手。肯定会被抢购。抢购！上个星期六就有一位国会议员来看过。他很满意，这周末会再过来。还有个搞证券交易的先生也很感兴趣。现如今人们都喜欢到乡下来寻个清静，离主干道远远的。也许有人会喜欢那种地方的房子，但我们这儿吸引的可是有格调的人。这房子正是这样。格调！你不得不承认，过去那个时代的人才真正懂得如何给上流绅士盖房子。没错，利特格林别墅不会在我们的待售列表上待太久的。”
 
加布勒先生——在我看来真是名不虚传——停下来稍稍喘了口气。
“这房子最近几年经常转手吗？”波洛问道。
“恰恰相反。上一个家庭在这儿住了超过五十年。那家人姓阿伦德尔，在我们这个镇上非常受尊敬。真正的老派贵族。”
他猛地站起来，打开门大声喊道：
“利特格林别墅的详细资料，詹金斯小姐。赶快拿过来。”
他又回到书桌前。
“我需要一个离伦敦差不多这么远的房子，”波洛说，“要在乡下，但不是那种死气沉沉的乡下，你明白我的意思吧——”
“当然——完全明白。太过偏僻了也不行。首先仆人们就很不乐意。而这儿呢，既有住在乡下的优点，又没有乡下的缺点。”詹金斯小姐快步进来，手里拿着一张打字机打出的文件，放在老板桌上，在老板点头示意过后退了出去。
“这就是了，”加布勒先生一边说，一边老练地浏览着文件，“有特色的老式建筑：四间客房，八间卧室和起居室，日常办公的房间，宽敞的厨房，外屋也很大，马厩什么的。自来水，老式花园，维护费很便宜，总共占地三英亩，还有两个凉亭。价格是两千八百五十英镑上下。”
“你能给我写个准许参观的证明吗？”
“没问题，我尊敬的先生。”加布勒先生挥笔开始写，“请问你的姓名和住址？”
令我感到惊讶的是，波洛把自己的名字说成了帕罗提。
“我们手里还有两处房产，我想你可能会感兴趣。”加布勒先生补充道。
波洛让他把那两处也加了上去。
“我们什么时候都能去看吗？”他问道。
“当然了，尊敬的先生。屋里有仆人守着。我可以打电话过去确认一下。你是想现在直接过去，还是等到午餐后？”
“吃过午餐后再去比较好。”
“没问题——没问题。我会打电话告诉他们你两点左右到——嗯？你看这样可以吗？”
“谢谢。你刚才提到前屋主——阿伦德尔小姐，你是这么说的没错吧？”
“劳森。劳森小姐。这是现在屋主的名字。我很遗憾，阿伦德尔小姐不久前刚去世。所以这房子才会上市。而且我可以向你保证，这房子肯定会被抢购。毫无疑问。私下说一句，如果你真想出价，我可以抓紧时间定价卖给你。就像我刚才告诉你的，已经有两位先生看中这幢房子了，指不定哪天就接到他们其中一个的出价了。你看，他们俩都知道对方看中了这房子。而竞争无疑会催人抓紧。哈，哈！我可不想到时候让你失望。”
“这位劳森小姐看样子很着急出手，我想。”
加布勒先生压低音量，悄悄地说：
“没错。那地方对她——一个独居的中年妇女来说，太大了。她想赶快脱手，在伦敦买幢房子。的确很好理解。这也就是为什么这房子的价格低得如此离谱。”
“没准儿，她还能接受杀价呢？”
“没错，先生。赶快出价，把这笔生意占了。如果你相信我，把成交的价格降到刚才我说的那么多，应该不是什么难事。我简直不知道为什么，甚至有点儿荒谬了！这年头要盖这样一幢房子得足足六千英镑，少一便士也不行，这都没算地价和屋前空地的价格。”
“阿伦德尔小姐死得很突然，是吗？”
“哦，我可不会这么说。老了——老了。她去世的时候已年过七十。而且她病了很久。是她家里最后一个走的——你认识这家人，是吗？”
“我的确认识几个同姓的人，有亲戚住在这一带。我想应该是同一家族的。”
“很有可能。这家有四个姐妹。其中一个很晚才嫁人，剩下的三个一直住在这里。真正的老派贵族。艾米莉小姐是她们中最后一个去世的，镇上的人都很尊敬她。”
他俯过身，把证明递给波洛。
“请你考虑好了再来告诉我一声，行吗？当然，那屋子里很多地方可能都需要改得时髦点儿。这可想而知，但就像我常说的那样：‘一两个浴室算得了什么？轻轻松松就能搞定。’”
我们告辞了，离开前最后听到的是詹金斯小姐空洞的声音：
“先生，塞缪尔斯太太刚才打电话过来，她等着你回电——荷兰五三九一。”
根据我的记忆，这既不是詹金斯小姐记在吸墨纸上的号码，也不是那通电话里最后确定的号码。
我坚信，一定是因为刚才加布勒先生强迫她找利特格林别墅的资料，詹金斯小姐在报复他。