Chapter 16
(Not from Captain Hastings' Personal Narrative)
Mr. Alexander Bonaparte Cust came out with the rest of the audience the Torquay Pavilion, where he had been seeing and hearing that highly emotional film, Not a Sparrow...
He blinked a little as he came out into the afternoon sunshine and peered round him in that lost-dog fashion that was characteristic of him.
He murmured to himself: "It's an idea -"
Newsboys passed along crying out:
"Latest... Homicidal Maniac at Churston..."
They carried placards on which was written:
CHURSTON MURDER. LATEST.
Mr. Cust fumbled in his pocket, found a coin, and bought a paper. He did not open it at once.
Entering the Princess Gardens, he slowly made his way to a shelter facing Torquay harbour. He sat down and opened the paper.
There were big headlines:
SIR CARMICHAEL CLARKE MURDERED
TERRIBLE TRAGEDY AT CHURSTON
WORK OF A HOMICIDAL MANIAC
And below them:
Only a month ago England was shocked and startled by the murder of a young girl, Elizabeth Barnard, at Bexhill. It may be remembered that an A.B.C. railway guide figured in the case. An A.B.C. as also found by the dead body of Sir Carmichael Clarke, and the police incline to the belief that both crimes were committed by the same person. Can it be possible that a homicidal murderer is going the round of our seaside resorts?...
A young man in flannel trousers and a bright blue aertex shirt who was sitting beside Mr. Cust remarked:
"Nasty business - eh?"
Mr. Cust jumped.
"Oh, very - very -"
His hands, the young man noticed, were trembling so that he could hardly hold the paper.
"You never know with lunatics," said the young man chattily. "They don't always look balmy, you know. Often they seem just the same as you or me..."
"I suppose they do," said Mr. Cust.
"It's a fact. Sometimes it's the war what unhinged them - never been right since."
"I - I expect you're right."
"I don't hold with wars," said the young man.
His companion turned on him.
"I don't hold with plague and sleeping sickness and famine and cancer... ut they happen all the same!"
"War's preventable," said the young man with assurance.
Mr. Cust laughed. He laughed for some time.
The young man was slightly alarmed.
"He's a bit batty himself," he thought.
Aloud he said:
"Sorry, sir, I expect you were in the war."
"I was," said Mr. Cust. "It - it - unsettled me. My head's never been right since. It aches, you know. Aches terribly."
"Oh! I'm sorry about that," said the young man awkwardly.
"Sometimes I hardly know what I'm doing..."
"Really? Well, I must be getting along," said the young man and removed himself hurriedly. He knew what people were once they began to talk about their health.
Mr. Cust remained with his paper.
He read and reread...
People passed to and fro in front of him.
Most of them were talking of the murder...
"Awful... do you think it was anything to do with the Chinese? Wasn't the waitress in a Chinese cafй...?"
"Actually on the golf links..."
"I heard it was on the beach..."
"- but, darling, we took out tea to Elbury only yesterday..."
"- police are sure to get him..."
"- say he may be arrested any minute now..."
"- quite likely he's in Torquay... that other woman was who murdered the what do you call 'ems..."
Mr. Cust folded up the paper very neatly and laid it on the seat. Then he rose and walked sedately along towards the town.
Girls passed him, girls in white and pink and blue, in summery frocks and pyjamas and shorts. They laughed and giggled. Their eyes appraised the men they passed.
Not once did their eyes linger for a second on Mr. Cust...
He sat down at a little table and ordered tea and Devonshire cream...
第十六章 （并非选自黑斯廷斯上尉的自述）
阿历山大·波那帕特·卡斯特先生与余下的观众一同步出托基的雅典娜剧院，在那里他刚刚看完那场极其情感化的电影《不识燕雀》……
他走入午后的阳光之中，稍稍眨眼，四处张望，一副若有所失的样子，这倒恰好是其性格所在。
他对自己小声说：“这倒是个主意……”
报童经过，口中叫喊着：
“最新消息……彻斯顿的杀人狂……”
彻斯顿谋杀案。最新消息。
卡斯特先生在他的口袋中摸索，找到一个硬币，买了一份报纸。他并没有马上翻开它。
他进入了王妃花园，慢慢走向面对托基港的一个荫凉处。他坐下来翻开报纸。
大大的标题印着：
卡迈克尔·克拉克爵士被谋杀。
彻斯顿发生的恐怖惨案。
杀人狂之作。
接着是下面的报道：
仅仅是在一个月前，贝克斯希尔的一位年轻姑
娘伊丽莎白·巴纳德的谋杀案使得整个英格兰都大
为振动和惊恐。人们可能还记得，那案子中涉及一
本ABC铁路指南书。在卡迈克尔·克拉克尸体边上同
样发现一本ABC，警方倾向于认定两桩罪案系出自
一人之手。那么，这位杀人凶手在我们海滨胜地再
进行一轮谋杀，是否有可能呢……
一位年轻人，他身穿着法兰绒长裤和鲜艳的蓝色“阿泰克斯”牌衬衫，坐在卡斯特先生身边，评说道：
“这真是件恶劣的勾当。”
卡斯特先生跳了起来。“非常……非常地……”
年轻人注意到，他的手颤抖不已，几乎拿不住报纸。
“你永远也无法了解那些疯子，”年轻人闲聊着说，“他们可不总是显得傻头傻脑，你知道，他们——经常看上去就像你我一样。”
“我想他们是这样的。”卡斯特先生说。
“事实如此。有时候战争使他们错乱——从此再也无法正常。”
“我——我希望你是对的。”
“我并不赞成战争。”年轻人说。
他的同伴则向他反击。
“我并不赞成瘟疫、昏睡症、饥荒和癌症，可它们照样会出现。”
“战争是可以防止的。”年轻人确信地说。
卡斯特先生笑了，他笑了一会儿。
年轻人则稍有惊恐。
“他有点反常。”他寻思道。
他大声说：
“对不起，先生，我料想您还沉浸在战争之中。”
“是的，”卡斯特先生说，“它——它困扰着我。我的头从未正常过，头老是痛，你知道，痛得厉害。”
“哦！我很抱歉。”年轻人尴尬地说道。
“有时候我几乎不明白自己在做些什么……”
“是吗？噢，我必须走了。”年轻人说着匆忙离去。他清楚人们一开始谈身体状况时会是什么样子。
卡斯特先生则拿着报纸留坐在那里。
他读了一遍又一遍……
“太可怕了……你是否认为这跟中国人有关吗？难道不是一家中餐馆的女招待……？”
“实际上在高尔夫球场上……”
“我听说在海滩上……”
“——可是，亲爱的，我们昨天才带茶来厄尔布利……”
“——警察肯定会逮到他的……”
“——说是他现在每时每刻都有可能被抓获……”
“——看来他象是在托基，……而另一位妇女则是被你所称之为‘他们’的人谋杀的……”
卡斯特先生仔细地叠好报纸，放在座位上。然后他站起身，镇静地走向小城。
姑娘们从他身边经过，她们穿着白色、粉红色和蓝色的衣服，身着夏日的上衣、宽松裤和短装。她们欢笑，放声大笑。她们的眼睛评判着经过身边的男人们。
她们的眼睛一刻也没停留在卡斯特先生身上。
他在一个小餐桌边坐下，点了茶和达夫郡产的奶油。
Chapter 17
MARKING TIME
With the murder of Sir Carmichael Clarke the A.B.C. mystery leaped into the fullest prominence.
The newspapers were full of nothing else. All sorts of "clues" were reported to have been discovered. Arrests were announced to be imminent. There were photographs of every person or place remotely connected with the murder. There were interviews with any one who would give interviews. There were questions asked in Parliament. The Andover murder was not bracketed with the other two. It was the belief of Scotland Yard that the fullest publicity was the best chance of laying the murderer by the heels. The population of Great Britain turned itself into an army of amateur sleuths.
The Daily Flicker had the grand inspiration of using the caption:
He may be in your town!
Poirot, of course, was in the thick of things. The letters sent to him were published and facsimiled. He was abused wholesale for not having prevented the crimes and defended on the ground that he was on the point of naming the murderer.
Reporters incessantly badgered him for interviews.
What M. Poirot Says Today.
Which was usually followed by a half-column of imbecilities.
M. Poirot Takes Grave View of Situation.
M. Poirot on the Eve of Success.
Captain Hastings, the great friend of M. Poirot, told our Special Representative...
"Poirot," I would cry. "Pray believe me. I never said anything of the kind."
My friend would reply kindly:
"I know, Hastings - I know. The spoken word and the written - there is an astonishing gulf between them. There is a way of turning sentences that completely reverses the original meaning."
"I wouldn't like you to think I'd said -"
"But do not worry yourself. All this is of no importance. These imbecilities, even, may help."
"How?"
"Eh bien," said Poirot grimly. "If our madman reads what I am supposed to have said to the Daily Flicker today, he will lose all respect for me as an opponent!"
I am, perhaps, giving the impression that nothing practical was being done in the way of investigations. On the contrary, Scotland Yard and the local police of the various counties were indefatigable in following up the smallest clues.
Hotels, people who kept lodgings, boarding-houses - all those within a wide radius of the crimes were questioned minutely. Hundreds of stories from imaginative people who had "seen a man looking very queer and rolling his eyes," or "noticed a man with a sinister face slinking along," were sifted to the last detail. No information, even of the vaguest character, was neglected. Trains, buses, trams, railway porters, conductors, bookstalls, stationers - there was an indefatigable round of questions and verifications.
At least a score of people were detained and questioned until they could satisfy the police as to their movements on the night in question. The net result was not entirely a blank. Certain statements were borne in mind and noted down as of possible value, but without further evidence they led nowhere.
If Crome and his colleagues were indefatigable, Poirot seemed to me strangely supine. We argued now and again.
"But what is it that you would have me do, my friend? The routine inquiries, the police make them better than I do. Always - always you want me to run about like the dog."
"Instead of which you sit at home like - like -"
"A sensible man! My force, Hastings, is in my brain, not in my feet! All the time, whilst I seem to you idle, I am reflecting."
"Reflecting?" I cried. "Is this a time for reflection?"
"Yes, a thousand times yes."
"But what can you possibly gain by reflection? You know the facts of the three cases by heart."
"It is not the facts I reflect upon - but the mind of the murderer."
"The mind of a madman!"
"Precisely. And therefore not to be arrived at in a minute. When I know what the murderer is like, I shall be able to find out who he is. And all the time I learn more. After the Andover crime, what did we know about the murderer? Next to nothing at all. After the Bexhill crime? A little more. After the Churston murder? More still. I begin to see - not what you would like to see - the outlines of a face and form - but the outlines of a mind. A mind that moves and works in certain definite directions. After the next crime -"
"Poirot!"
My friend looked at me dispassionately.
"But, yes, Hastings, I think it is almost certain there will be another. A lot depends on la chance. So far our inconnu has been lucky. This time the luck may turn against him. But in any case, after another crime, we shall know infinitely more. Crime is terribly revealing. Try and vary your methods as you will your tastes, your habits, your attitude of mind, and your soul is revealed by your actions. There are confusing indications - sometimes it is as though there were two intelligences at work - but soon the outline will clear itself, I shall know."
"Who it is?"
"No, Hastings, I shall not know his name and address! I shall know what kind of man he is."
"And then?"
"Et alors, je vais a la pкche."
As I looked rather bewildered, he went on:
"You comprehend, Hastings, an expert fisherman knows exactly what flies to offer to what fish. I shall offer the right kind of fly."
"And then?"
"And then? And then? You are as bad as the superior Crome with his eternal, 'Oh, yes?' Eh bien, and then he will take the bait and the hook and we will reel in the line..."
"In the meantime people are dying right and left."
"Three people. And there are, what is it - about 140 - road deaths every week?"
"That is entirely different."
"It is probably exactly the same to those who die. For the others, the relations, the friends - yes, there is a difference, but one thing at least rejoices me in this case."
"By all means let us hear anything in the nature of rejoicing."
"Inutile to be so sarcastic. It rejoices me that there is here no shadow of guilt to distress the innocent."
"Isn't this worse?"
"No, no, a thousand times no! There is nothing so terrible as to live in an atmosphere of suspicion - to see eyes watching you and the look in them changing to fear - nothing so terrible as to suspect those near and dear to you... It is poisonous - a miasma. No, the poisoning of life for the innocent, that, at least, we cannot lay at A.B.C.'s door."
"You'll soon be making excuses for the man!" I said bitterly.
"Why not? He may believe himself fully justified. We may, perhaps end by having sympathy with his point of view."
"Really, Poirot!"
"Alas! I have shocked you. First my inertia - and then my views."
I shook my head without replying.
"All the same," said Poirot after a minute or two, "I have one project that will please you - since it is active and not passive. Also, it will entail a lot of conversation and practically no thought."
I did not quite like his tone.
"What is it?" I asked cautiously.
"The extraction from the friends, relations, and servants of the victims of all they know."
"Do you suspect them of keeping things back, then?"
"Not intentionally. But telling everything you know always implies selection. If I were to say to you, recount me your day yesterday, you would perhaps reply: 'I rose at nine, I breakfasted at half-past, I had eggs and bacon and coffee, I went to my club, etc.' You would not include: 'I tore my nail and had to cut it. I rang for shaving water. I spilt a little coffee on the tablecloth. I brushed my hat and put it on.' One cannot tell everything. Therefore one selects. At the time of a murder people select what they think is important. But quite frequently they think wrong!"
"And how is one to get at the right things?"
"Simply, as I said just now, by conversation. By talking! By discursing a certain happening, or a certain person, or a certain day, over and over again, extra details are bound to arise."
"What kind of details?"
"Naturally that I do not know or I should not want to find out! I think enough time has passed now for ordinary things to reassume their value. It is against all mathematical laws that in three cases of murder there is no single fact or sentence with a bearing on the case. Some trivial happening, some trivial remark there must be which would be a pointer! It is looking for the needle in the haystack, I grant - but in the haystack there is a needle - of that I am convinced!"
It seemed to me extremely vague and hazy.
"You do not see it? Your wits are not so sharp as those of a mere servant girl."
He tossed me over a letter. It was neatly written in a sloping board-school hand.
Dear Sir,
I hope you will forgive the liberty I take in writing to you. I have been thinking a lot since these awful two murders like poor Auntie. It seems as though we're all in the same boat, as it were. I saw the young lady picture in the paper, the young lady, I mean, that is the sister of the young lady that was killed at Bexhill. I made so bold as to write to her and tell her I was coming to London to get a place and asked if I could come to her or her mother as I said two heads might be better than one and I would not want much wages, but only to find out who this awful fiend is and perhaps we might get at it better if we could say what we knew something might come of it.
The young lady wrote very nicely and said as how she worked in an office and lived in a hotel, but she suggested I might write to you and she said she'd been thinking something of the same kind as I had. And she said we were in the same trouble and we ought to stand together. So I am writing, sir, to say I am coming to London and this is my address.
Hoping I am not troubling you,
Yours respectfully,
Mary Drower
"Mary Drower," said Poirot, "is a very intelligent girl."
He picked up another letter.
"Read this."
It was a line from Franklin Clarke, saying that he was coming to London and would call upon Poirot the following day if not inconvenient.
"Do not despair, mon ami," said Poirot. "Action is about to begin."
第十七章 标记时间
由卡迈克尔·克拉克爵士的谋杀案引起，ABC迷案迅速获得全方位的关注。
报纸上全是关于本案的新闻，而没有其他的事件。各种各样的“线索”均被报道，说是凶手已被发现，逮捕行动即将展开。报上还登有与谋杀案遥遥相关的个人和地点的照片。每个愿意接受采访的人都受到了采访，有人还在国会对案子提了问题。
安多弗谋杀案现在与其他两件案子扯上了关系。
苏格兰场则相信，最大程度的公众化是抓获凶手的最佳机会。英国的大众都正在改造成为一支业余侦探大军。
《每日闪耀》报用以下标题强烈地刺激人们的灵感：
他可能就在你的城镇中！
波洛先生，当然，身处事件的最激烈之处，那些寄给他的信件被发表和摹写出来。他因未能阻止犯罪而遭到大规模的攻击，同时又有人为他辩护，说他正处于揭露凶手的前夕。
记者们继续不断地纠缠着他要求采访。
波洛先生今日所言。
其后总会有半个栏目的蠢笨的文章。
波洛先生就时势阐述重要见解。
波洛先生在成功前夕。
黑斯廷斯上尉，波洛先生的挚友，向我刊特别代表透露……
“波洛，”我叫喊道，“请相信我，我可从未说过那样的话。”
我的朋友会心平气和地回答：
“我知道，黑斯廷斯——我知道。口说之言和笔录之词——它们之间往往会有一道惊人的鸿沟，总有办法把原意颠倒成完全相反的词句。”
“我只是不想让你以为我说过……”
“别担心吧。这一切无关紧要。这些愚蠢的话甚至可能会有所帮助。”
“怎么会？”
“Eh bien（法文，意为：那么。——译注），”波洛严厉地说，“如果我们这位疯子读到我据说是在今天的《每日趣事》中说的话，他会丧失把我作为一个对手的全部敬意。”
我可能有这样一种印象，觉得在案情调查方面还没有什么实质的进展。相反，苏格兰场与许多郡县的地方警局都在努力不懈地追踪最细小的线索。
酒店、管理出租房屋和寄宿房子的人，所有位于犯罪地点的广泛区域内的地方，均受到细致的盘查。
许多想象力丰富的人们声称“见到过一个外表极其怪诞、眼睛不断打转的人”，或是“注意到一个人，他长着阴险的脸，在鬼鬼祟祟地踱步”，他们提供的数百个故事，都经过了极其严格的筛选。所有的消息，甚至是最含糊不清的那一类，都没有被忽视，火车、公交车、有轨电车、铁路服务员、售票员、书摊、文具店——所有这些地方都进行了不折不扣的检查和验证。
相当多的人士受到了扣留和盘问，直到他们能够提供他们在出事当晚的行踪，使警察满意为止。
检查的结果倒也并非完全空白。某些证词留下印象，并因有可能的价值而被记录下来，但由于没有进一步的迹象而起不到任何作用。
如果说克罗姆与他的同事们尽心尽力，在我看来，波洛则异常地懒散。我们不时地吵嘴。
“可你要我做些什么呢，我的朋友？例行公事的查问，警局要比我做得好得多。你总是——总是要我像狗一样玩命地奔跑。”
“而你静坐在家中，就像是……就像是——”
“一个神经兮兮的人！黑斯廷斯，我的力量在于我的大脑，而不是双脚！我在你看来轻闲无事，其实我从头到尾都在反思之中。”
“反思？”我叫道，“这是反思的时候吗？”
“是的，绝对是的。”
“可你通过反思，会有些什么收获呢？你内心里十分清楚这三件案子的实情。”
“我可不是在反思案情——而是凶手的心理。”
“疯子的心理。”
“正确。因而，在短时间内不能下定论。当我获知凶手是什么样子时，我就能发现他是谁，我始终在收获更多的东西。在安多弗的凶案之后，我们对凶手了解些什么情况呢？我们几乎是一无所知。在贝克斯希尔凶案之后呢？则多了一点了解。彻斯顿凶案之后呢？又多了一点。我开始见到——那可不是你所乐意于见到的——一张脸和外形的轮廓，而且看到一种心理的轮廓。那是一种向某些固定方向远行和工作的心思。在下一场凶案之后——”
“波洛。”
我的朋友心平气和地看着我。
“但，是的，黑斯廷斯，我想几乎毋庸置疑，还会有另一场谋杀。有许多东西是依靠la chance（法文，意为：机会。——译注）。到目前为止我们的inconnu （法文，意为：陌生人。——译注）一直很幸运。这次时运很可能会与他背道而驰。可是无论如何，在下一场凶案之后，我们会有无数的了解。罪行正在可怕地暴露出来。试想，改变一下你的方法，你的品位，你的习惯，你的思维态式，那样你的心灵就是你行动的表现。总会有混淆的迹象——有时就好像是有两股智力在运作着——而不久，我知道，大体的轮廓就会凸现出来的。”
“是谁呢？”
“不，黑斯廷斯，我不知道他的姓名和地址？我知道他是哪一类人……”
“然后呢？”
“Et alors，je vais a.la peche.（法文，意为：那么，我去钓鱼。——译注）”
正当我一脸疑惑，他继续说道：
“你想，黑斯廷斯，一个经验老道的钓鱼者知道该用什么样的鱼饵喂给什么样的鱼。我是在对症下药地喂饵。”
“然后呢？”
“然后呢？然后呢？你与那位傲慢的克罗姆那无休止的‘哦，是吗？’一样糟糕。Em bien（法文，意为：好吧。——译注），然后他将会吞饵上钩，我们就收紧线轮……”
“与此同时，四处都有人们在死亡。”
“三个人。而每周，怎么讲——大约会有120个人死于道路交通。”
“那可是完全不同的两码事。”
“对死者来说，这也许恰好一样。对其他人而言，对亲戚、对朋友，——是的，的确有所不同，可这件案子中至少有一件事情令我欣喜。”
“不管怎样，让我听听有什么事情可如此欣喜？”
“这样挖苦毫无意义。令我感到欣慰的是，这件案子中并没有什么错误的阴影笼罩在无辜者身上。”
“这难道不是更坏吗？”
“不，不，绝对不是。没有什么事情要比生活在怀疑的氛围中更可怕——看看那些注视着你的眼睛，眼中的爱变成了恐惧——没有什么事情要比去怀疑那些与你亲近的人来得可怕。这种怀疑相当恶毒——是种有害的瘴气。不，对无辜人士的生命毒害，至少这一点，我们不能归咎于ABC。”
“你不久将会为这个人寻找借口。”我挖苦地说。
“为什么不呢？他可能认定自己是正当的。我们则可能，会因同情他的观点而告终。”
“真的吗，波洛！”
“哎呀！我令你感到震惊。首先是我的惰性——然后是我的观点。”
我摇头，没有作答。
“同样，”波洛停了一两分钟之后说，“我有一种设想，它肯定会使你感到高兴——因为它很积极，不消极。而且，这种设想需要大量的谈话，并且确实不带有思想。”
我不太喜欢他的口气。
“那是什么呢？”我疑心地问。
“受害人的朋友、亲戚和仆人们对他们所知道的全部情况都会进行筛选。”
“那么，你是否在怀疑他们将有些事情隐而不宣？”
“他们并不是有意要这样做。可是，告知你所了解的每一件事往往意味着选择。如果我要你向我复述一遍你昨天干的事情，你可能会答复：‘我九点钟起床，九点半吃早餐，我吃了鸡蛋、薰肉和咖啡，我又去了俱乐部，等等。’你却并没有包括：‘我弄破了指甲而必须剪掉它。我打电话定购洗面液。我洒了一点咖啡在台布上。我刷了帽子并带上它。’一个人不可能把每件事都讲出来，人们会选择他们认为重要的情况。可他们的想法通常是错误的！”
“可怎么才能获得正确的情况呢？”
“正如我刚才所说，只要通过对话就行。通过聊天！通过谈论某一件发生的事，或某个人，或某一天，通过反复谈论，多余的细节就必定会呈现出来。”
“什么样的细节？”
“自然，我并无所知也不想去发现。可等过了足够长的时间之后，普通的事物会重新拥有价值。在三场谋杀暗中，并没有某个事实，也没有任何意见与案件相关，这与所有确定的规则相违背。有些细微的事件，有些琐碎的评论必定可能会是个点子！我想，这好比大海捞针——可是在海水之中确实有针存在，我对此很确信！”
这在我听来极其含糊不清。
“你难道不理解吗？你的智慧还不如一个当女仆的姑娘那样敏锐。”
他仍给我一封信，信是用一种倾斜的寄宿学校的手法很清晰地写的。
亲爱的先生：
我希望您会原谅我冒昧写信给您。自那两件
与可怜的姨妈如出一辙的谋杀案发生后，我一直
在思考。看来我们大家都有相同的处境。我在报
上见到了那个年轻姑娘，我是指那个在贝克斯希
尔被谋杀的年轻姑娘的姐姐。我大着胆子写信给
她，告诉她我正到伦敦来谋职，并问她我是否可
以去为她或她母亲做事，因为我认为两个头脑会
胜过一个头脑，而且我不会要太多工资，只是为
了发现那个恶魔是谁，如果我们能从所知道的事
情中悟出些什么，我们可能会更好地查明案情。
那位年轻女士回信写得极友好，并说她在一
件办公室工作，住在一家旅店，可她建议我写信
给您。她还说，她也在考虑着一些与我相同的问
题。她说我们处于同样的麻烦之中，我们应该站
在同一个立场上。所以我写信给您，告诉您我来
到伦敦，这儿有我的地址。
希望我没有麻烦您。尊敬您的
玛丽·德劳尔
“玛丽·德劳尔，”波洛说，“是个非常精明的姑娘。”
他捡起另外一封信。
“读这封吧。”
这是富兰克林·克拉克的来信，信中说他也来到伦敦，如果没什么不方便的话，会在第二天拜访波洛。
“别绝望，mon ami（法文，意为：我的朋友。——译注），”波洛说，“行动就要开始。”
Chapter 18
POIROT MAKES A SPEECH
Franklin Clarke arrived at three o'clock on the following afternoon and came straight to the point without beating about the bush.
"M. Poirot," he said, "I'm not satisfied."
"No, Mr. Clarke?"
"I've no doubt that Crome is a very efficient officer, but frankly, he puts my back up. That air of his of knowing best! I hinted something of what I had in mind to your friend here when he was down at Churston, but I've had all my brother's affairs to settle up and I haven't been free until now. My idea is, M. Poirot, that we oughtn't to let the grass grow under our feet -"
"Just what Hastings is always saying!"
"- but go right ahead. We've got to get ready for the next crime."
"So you think there will be a next crime?"
"Don't you?"
"Certainly."
"Very well, then. I want to get organized."
"Tell me your idea exactly."
"I propose, M. Poirot, a kind of special legion - to work under your orders - composed of the friends and relatives of the murdered people."
"Une bonne idйe."
"I'm glad you approve. By putting our heads together I feel we might get at something. Also, when the next warning comes, by being on the spot, one of us might - I don't say it's probable - but we might recognize some person as having been near the scene of a previous crime."
"I see your idea, and I approve, but you must remember, Mr. Franklin, the relations and friends of the other victims are hardly in your sphere of life. They are employed persons and though they might be given a short vacation -"
Franklin Clarke interrupted.
"That's just it. I'm the only person in a position to foot the bill. Not that I'm particularly well off myself, but my brother died a rich man and it will eventually come to me. I propose, as I say, to enroll a special legion, the members to be paid for their services at the same rate as they get habitually, with, of course, the additional expenses."
"Who do you propose should form this legion?"
"I've been into that. As a matter of fact, I wrote to Miss Megan Barnard - indeed, this is partly her idea. I suggest myself, Miss Barnard, Mr. Donald Fraser, who was engaged to the dead girl. Then there is a niece of the Andover woman - Miss Barnard knows her address. I don't think the husband would be of any use to us - I hear he's usually drunk. I also think the Barnards - the father and mother - are a bit old for active campaigning."
"Nobody else?"
"Well - er - Miss Grey."
He flushed slightly as he spoke the name.
"Oh! Miss Grey?"
Nobody in the world could put a gentle nuance of irony into a couple of words better than Poirot. About thirty-five years fell away from Franklin Clarke. He looked suddenly like a shy schoolboy.
"Yes. You see, Miss Grey was with my brother for over two years. She knows the countryside and the people round, and everything. I've been away for a year and a half."
Poirot took pity on him and turned the conversation.
"You have been in the East? In China?"
"Yes. I had a kind of roving commission to purchase things for my brother."
"Very interesting it must have been. Eh bien, Mr. Clarke, I approve very highly of your idea. I was saying to Hastings only yesterday that a rapprochement of the people concerned was needed. It is necessary to pool reminiscences, to compare notes - enfin to talk the thing over - to talk - to talk - and again to talk. Out of some innocent phrase may come enlightenment."
A few days later the "Special Legion" met at Poirot's rooms.
As they sat round looking obediently towards Poirot, who had his place, like the chairman at a Board meeting, at the head of the table, I myself passed them, as it were, in review, confirming or revising my first impressions of them.
The three girls were all of them striking looking - the extraordinary fair beauty of Thora Grey, the dark intensity of Megan Barnard, with her strange Red Indian immobility of face - Mary Drower, neatly dressed in a black coat and skirt, with her pretty, intelligent face. Of the two men, Franklin Clarke, big, bronzed and talkative, Donald Fraser, self-contained and quiet, made an interesting contrast to each other.
Poirot, unable, of course, to resist the occasion, made a little speech.
"Mesdames and Messieurs, you know what we are here for. The police are doing their utmost to track down the criminal. I, too, in my different way. But it seems to me a reunion of those who have a personal interest in the matter - and also, I may say, a personal knowledge of the victims - might have results that an outside investigation cannot pretend to attain.
"Here we have three murders - an old woman, a young girl, an elderly man. Only one thing links these three people together - the fact that the same person killed them. That means that the same person was present in three different localities and was seen necessarily by a large number of people. That he is a madman in an advanced stage of mania goes without saying. That his appearance and behaviour give no suggestion of such a fact is equally certain. This person - and though I say he, remember it may be a man or woman - has all the devilish cunning of insanity. He has succeeded so far in covering his traces completely. The police have certain vague indications but nothing upon which they can act.
"Nevertheless, there must exist indications which are not vague but certain. To take one particular point - this assassin he did not arrive at Bexhill at midnight and find conveniently on the beach a young lady whose name began with B -"
"Must we go into that?"
It was Donald Fraser who spoke - the words wrung from him, it seemed, by some inner anguish.
"It is necessary to go into everything, Monsieur," said Poirot, turning to him. "You are here, not to save your feelings by refusing to think of details, but if necessary to harrow them by going into the matter au fond. As I say, it was not chance that provided A.B.C. with a victim in Betty Barnard. There must have been deliberate selection on his part - and therefore premeditation. That is to say, he must have reconnoitered the ground beforehand. There were facts of which he had informed himself - the best hour for the committing of the crime at Andover - the mise en scйne at Bexhill - the habits of Sir Carmichael Clarke at Churston. Me, for one, I refuse to believe that there is no indication - no slightest hint - that might help to establish his identity.
"I make the assumption that one - or possibly all of you - knows something that they do not know they know.
"Sooner or later, by reason of your association with one another, something will come to light, will take on a significance as yet undreamed of. It is like the jigsaw puzzle - each of you may have a piece apparently without meaning, but which when reunited may show a definite portion of the picture as a whole."
"Words!" said Megan Barnard.
"Eh?" Poirot looked at her inquiringly.
"What you've been saying. It's just words. It doesn't mean anything."
She spoke with that kind of desperate dark intensity that I had come to associate with her personality.
"Words, mademoiselle, are only the outer clothing of ideas."
"Well, I think it's sense," said Mary Drower. "I do really, miss. It's often when you're talking over things that you seem to see your way clear. Your mind gets made up for you sometimes without your knowing how it's happened. Talking leads to a lot of things one way or another."
"If 'least said is soonest mended,' it's the converse we want here," said Franklin Clarke.
"What do you say, Mr. Fraser?"
"I rather doubt the practical applicability of what you say, M. Poirot."
"What do you think, Thora?" asked Clarke.
"I think the principle of talking things over is always sound."
"Suppose," suggested Poirot, "that you all go over your own remembrances of the time preceding the murder. Perhaps you'll start, Mr. Clarke."
"Let me see, on the morning of the day Car was killed I went off sailing. Caught eight mackerel. Lovely out there on the bay. Lunch at home. Irish stew, I remember. Slept in the hammock. Tea. Wrote some letters, missed the post, and drove into Paignton to post them. Then dinner and - I'm not ashamed to say it - reread a book of E. Nesbit's that I used to love as a kid. Then the telephone rang -"
"No further. Now reflect, Mr. Clarke, did you meet any one on your way down to the sea in the morning?"
"Lots of people."
"Can you remember anything about them?"
"Not a damned thing now."
"Sure?"
"Well - let's see - I remember a remarkably fat woman - she wore a striped silk dress and I wondered why - had a couple of kids with her - two young men with a fox terrier on the beach throwing stones for it - Oh yes, a girl with yellow hair squeaking as she bathed - funny how things come back - like a photograph developing."
"You are a good subject. Now later in the day - the garden - going to the post -"
"The gardener watering... Going to the post? Nearly ran down a bicyclist - silly woman wobbling and shouting to a friend. That's all, I'm afraid."
Poirot turned to Thora Grey.
"Miss Grey?"
Thora Grey replied in her clear, positive voice:
"I did correspondence with Sir Carmichael in the morning - saw the housekeeper. I wrote letters and did needlework in the afternoon, I fancy. It is difficult to remember. It was quite an ordinary day. I went to bed early."
Rather to my surprise, Poirot asked no further. He said:
"Miss Barnard - can you bring back your remembrances of the last time you saw your sister?"
"It would be about a fortnight before her death. I was down for Saturday and Sunday. It was fine weather. We went to Hastings to the swimming pool."
"What did you talk about most of the time?"
"I gave her a piece of my mind," said Megan.
"And what else? She conversed of what?"
The girl frowned in an effort of memory.
"She talked about being hard up - of a hat and a couple of summer frocks she'd just bought. And a little of Don... She also said she disliked Milly Higley - that's the girl at the cafй - and we laughed about the Merrion woman who keeps the cafй... I don't remember anything else..."
"She didn't mention any man - forgive me, Mr. Fraser - she might be meeting?"
"She wouldn't to me," said Megan dryly.
Poirot turned to the red-haired young man with the square jaw.
"Mr. Fraser - I want you to cast your mind back. You went, you said, to the cafй on the fatal evening. Your first intention was to wait there and watch for Betty Barnard to come out. Can you remember any one at all whom you noticed whilst you were waiting there?"
"There were a large number of people walking along the front. I can't remember any of them."
"Excuse me, but are you trying? However preoccupied the mind may be, the eye notices mechanically - unintelligently but accurately..."
The young man repeated doggedly:
"I don't remember anybody."
Poirot sighed and turned to Mary Drower.
"I suppose you got letters from your aunt?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"When was the last?"
Mary thought a minute.
"Two days before the murder, sir."
"What did it say?"
"She said the old devil had been round and that she'd sent him off with a flea in the ear - excuse the expression, sir - said she expected me over on the Wednesday - that's my day out, sir - and she said we'd go to the pictures. It was going to be my birthday, sir."
Something - the thought of the little festivity perhaps, suddenly brought tears to Mary's eyes. She gulped down a sob. Then apologized for it.
"You must forgive me, sir. I don't want to be silly. Crying's no good. It was just the thought of her - and me - looking forward to our treat. It upset me somehow, sir."
"I know just what you feel like," said Franklin Clarke. "It's always the little things that get one - and especially anything like a treat or a present - something jolly and natural. I remember seeing a woman run over once. She'd just bought some new shoes. I saw her lying there - and the burst parcel with the ridiculous little high-heeled slippers peeping out - it gave me a turn - they looked so pathetic."
Megan said with a sudden eager warmth:
"That's true - that's awfully true. The same thing happened after Betty - died. Mum had bought some stockings for her as a present - bought them the very day it happened. Poor mum, she was all broken up. I found her crying over them. She kept saying: 'I bought them for Betty - I bought them for Betty - and she never even saw them.'"
Her own voice quivered a little. She leaned forward, looking straight at Franklin Clarke. There was between them a sudden sympathy - a fraternity in trouble.
"I know," he said. "I know exactly. Those are just the sort of things that are hell to remember."
Donald Fraser stirred uneasily.
Thora Grey diverted the conversation.
"Aren't we going to make any plans - for the future?" she asked.
"Of course." Franklin Clarke resumed his ordinary manner. "I think that when the moment comes - that is, when the fourth letter arrives - we ought to join forces. Until then, perhaps we might each try our luck on our own. I don't know whether there are any points M. Poirot thinks might repay investigation?"
"I could make some suggestions," said Poirot.
"Good. I'll take them down." He produced a notebook. "Go ahead, M. Poirot. A -?"
"I consider it just possible that the waitress, Milly Higley, might know something useful."
"A - Milly Higley," wrote down Franklin Clarke.
"I suggest two methods of approach. You, Miss Barnard, might try what I call the offensive approach."
"I suppose you think that suits my style?" said Megan dryly.
"Pick a quarrel with the girl - say you knew she never liked your sister - and that your sister had told you all about her. If I do not err, that will provoke a flood of recrimination. She will tell you just what she thought of your sister! Some useful fact may emerge."
"And the second method?"
"May I suggest, Mr. Fraser, that you should show signs of interest in the girl?"
"Is that necessary?"
"No, it is not necessary. It is just a possible line of exploration."
"Shall I try my hand?" asked Franklin. "I've - er - a pretty wide experience, M. Poirot. Let me see what I can do with the young lady."
"You've got your own part of the world to attend to," said Thora Grey rather sharply.
Franklin's face fell just a little.
"Yes," he said. "I have."
"Tout de mкme, I do not think there is much you can do down there for the present," said Poirot. "Mademoiselle Grey now, she is far more fitted -"
Thora Grey interrupted him.
"But you see, M. Poirot, I have left Devon for good."
"Ah? I did not understand."
"Miss Grey very kindly stayed on to help me clear up things," said Franklin. "But naturally she prefers a post in London."
Poirot directed a sharp glance from one to the other.
"How is Lady Clarke?" he demanded.
I was admiring the faint colour in Thora Grey's cheeks and almost missed Clarke's reply.
"Pretty bad. By the way, M. Poirot, I wonder if you could see your way to running down to Devon and paying her a visit? She expressed a desire to see you before I left. Of course, she often can't see people for a couple of days at a time, but if you would risk that - at my expense, of course."
"Certainly, Mr. Clarke. Shall we say, the day after tomorrow?"
"Good. I'll let nurse know and she'll arrange the dope accordingly."
"For you, my child," said Poirot, turning to Mary, "I think you might perhaps do good work in Andover. Try the children."
"The children?"
"Yes. Children will not chat readily to outsiders. But you are known in the street where your aunt lived. There were a good many children playing about. They may have noticed who went in and out of your aunt's shop."
"What about Miss Grey and myself?" asked Clarke. "That is, if I'm not to go to Bexhill."
"M. Poirot," said Thora Grey. "What was the postmark on the third letter?"
"Putney, mademoiselle."
She said thoughtfully: "S.W. 15, Putney, that is right, is it not?"
"For a wonder, the newspapers printed it correctly."
"That seems to point to A.B.C. being a Londoner."
"On the face of it, yes."
"One ought to be able to draw him," said Clarke. "M. Poirot, how would it be if I inserted an advertisement - something after these lines: A.B.C. Urgent. H.P close on your track. A hundred for my silence. X.Y.Z. Nothing quite so crude as that - but you see the idea. It might draw him."
"It is a possibility - yes."
"Might induce him to try and have a shot at me."
"I think it's very dangerous and silly," said Thora Grey sharply. "What about it, M. Poirot?"
"It can do no harm to try. I think myself that A.B.C. will be too cunning to reply." Poirot smiled a little. "I see, Mr. Clarke, that you are - if I may say so without being offensive - still a boy at heart."
Franklin Clarke looked a little abashed.
"Well," he said, consulting his notebook, "we're making a start.
A. - Miss Barnard and Milly Higley.
B. - Mr. Fraser and Miss Higley.
C. - Children in Andover.
D. - Advertisement.
I don't feel any of it is much good, but it will be something to do whilst waiting."
He got up and a few minutes later the meeting had dispersed.
第十八章 波洛发表演讲
富兰克林·克拉克第二天下午三点到达，他丝毫没有旁敲侧击，谈话直入主体。
“波洛先生，”他说，“我并不满意。”
“是吗，克拉克先生？”
“我毫无疑问，克罗姆是个工作很有效率的官员，可是，坦白地说，他令我厌倦不已。他那种自以为是的神态。当你朋友还在彻斯顿时，我就向他暗示了一些我的想法，可我要把哥哥的事务都处理掉，直到现在才有空闲。波洛先生，我想我们应该抓紧时间行动……”
“黑斯廷斯一直就是这么说的！”
“那就抓紧干吧。我们该着手准备应付下一场罪案了。”
“那你认为会有下一次谋杀？”
“难道你不这么认为吗？”
“当然是的。”
“那么，很好，我想要严阵以待。”
“能否告诉我你的真实想法？”
“波洛先生，我提议建一个特殊的团体，是由那些遇害人的朋友和亲戚组成，听从你的命令行事。”
“Une bonne idee。（法文，意为：这是个好主意。——译注）”
“我很高兴你表示同意。通过群策群力，我感觉我们才可能掌握些什么。而且，当下次警告来临的时候，我们其中一人要赶赴案发地点，我没说这样一定合适，但我们可以认出上一次案发现场附近出现的某人。”
“我理解你的主意，而且我表示赞同，可你必须记住，克拉克先生，其他遇害人的亲戚朋友并没有生活在您的圈子里，他们都有工作，尽管他们可能会有一个较短的假期——”
富兰克林·克拉克打断他的话。
“那正好如此。我是唯一的出资人。这倒并不是因为我格外富有，而是我哥哥去世时财产颇丰，这些最终全属于我。如我所言，我提议招收一个特别团体。这些成员可以获得平日工资的同等报酬，当然，还有额外的费用。”
“你认为该由谁组成这个团组呢？”
“我已开始办理此事。事实上，我写信给梅根·巴纳德，——实际上，这有一部分是她的主意。我建议包括我自己，巴纳德小姐。与那位死去的姑娘订婚的唐纳德·弗雷泽先生，还有一位是安多弗妇人的侄女——巴纳德小姐知道她的地址。我不认为那个丈夫对我们会有什么用途——听说他经常喝醉。我还认为巴纳德夫妇——父亲和母亲——他们参加这样的行动可能年事稍高了一点。”
“就没有别人了吗？”
“嗯，格雷小姐。”
当他吐露出这一名字时，脸上微微泛红。
“哦！格雷小姐吗？”
这世上没人能比波洛更好地把这一微弱的讽刺融入到这个字眼当中。他仿佛比富兰克林·克拉克年轻了三十五年，突然间，他看上去像是个害羞的小男生。
“是的。你知道，格雷小姐跟我哥哥做事已有两年多了。她熟悉乡野村庄和周围居住的人们，她知道一切。我自己则是离开了一年半。”
波洛怜悯起他来，于是扭转话题。
“你去了东方？是在中国吗？”
“是的。我身负这种频繁奔走的职务，为哥哥采购物品。”
“那肯定有意思极了。Eh bien（法文，意为：好吧。——译注），克拉克先生，我非常赞同你的主意。我昨天还对黑斯廷斯说，我们需要相关人士的和睦联络，很有必要集中起来进行回忆，对评论进行比较，然后，在就事论事——进行谈话，谈话——再谈话。从某些坦白的措辞之中，也许会有令人启发的事务出现。”
数天之后，这个特别团体在波洛的屋子里聚会。
他们围坐着，顺从地望着波洛，波洛则像是董事会主席，坐在桌子的一头。我自己则回顾他们每个人，确定和修正着我对他们的第一印象。
三位姑娘全都容貌惊艳——托拉·格雷那不同寻常的美貌；梅根·巴纳德黝黑浓烈，脸上带着一种奇特的红色印第安人的沉稳；玛丽·德劳尔整洁的身着黑色的上装和裙子，她长着漂亮、机敏的脸。在三个男人当中，富兰克林·克拉克，身材高大，铜黑色的皮肤，挺健谈的，唐纳德·弗雷泽则沉默寡言，相当安静。两个人之间形成有趣的对比。
波洛当然无法抵制这一场合，他讲了一小段话：
“女士们，先生们，你们都知道我们在此碰面的原因，警方正在尽全力追查案犯，我呢，在以不同的方式进行追查。在我看来，那些对此案怀有个人兴趣的人，还有，我想说，那些对死者有个人了解的人们，再进行碰面，可能会获得外在的调查无法获取的结果。”
“在此我们有三桩谋杀案——一位老太太，一位年轻姑娘，一位老人，只有一件事把他们三个人联系在一起，那就是杀害他们的是同一个人。那也即表示，同一个人曾在不同的三个地点出现，并有可能被一大堆人看到过。无须多说，他必定是个有狂燥症，且病入膏肓的疯子。同时也很显然，他的外表和行为举止，并不可能就把他表现出来。这个人——尽管我说的是他，可能是个男人或是女人——他有着恶魔般的疯狂狡猾。到目前为止，他成功地掩盖自己的蛛丝马迹。警方只是掌握了一些模糊的迹象，可他们还是无法据此采取行动。”
“而且，一定还存在一些清楚而明确的迹象。比方说有一点特别之处，那个凶手，他可不是在半夜抵达贝克斯希尔，便能够轻而易举地在海滩上发现一个以B为姓氏开头的年轻姑娘——”
“我们必须要探究那一点吗？”
是唐纳德·弗雷泽在讲话，那些话从他口中挤出来，透着些内心的苦楚。
“我有必要对每件事都深究一番，先生。”波洛说，转身向着他。“你来此地，并不是要用拒绝对细节进行思考而挽留你的感情，而是有必要探究此事，来对这些细节重新审理。如我所说，ABC并不是因机遇而得知像贝蒂·巴纳德这样的受害人。他肯定经过刻意的挑选，因而会进行预谋。也就是说，他事先肯定对这个地方进行过侦察。他已获得了一些事实，如在安多弗作案的最佳时间，贝克斯希尔的miseen scene（法文，意为：场景。——译注），彻斯顿的卡迈克尔·克拉克爵士的习惯。就我来说，我是不会相信会没有迹象——没有最细微的线索——有助于我们识别他的。”
“我假设有某个人——或者，也可能是你们当中的所有人，知道他们并不认为自己了解的什么事情。”
“由于你们将事物互相联系，迟早会有些情况显露出来，展现出料想不到的特殊意义。这就好比拼图游戏，你们中每个人可能会有显然是毫无意义的一个小块，可这些小拼块重组起来，会将整个画面的特点部分显现出来。”
“话语！”梅根·巴纳德说。
“嗯？”波洛疑问地望着她。
“你刚才说的话，只是些言语之辞，它并不意味着什么。”
她讲话的方式十分强烈，我认为这与她的个性有关。
“语言，小姐，只是思想的外衣。”
“哦，我倒认为这有道理。”玛丽·德劳尔说，“小姐，我真的是这样认为的。当你在谈论事物的时候，你看来像是把自己的路子弄清楚了，这是常有的情形。有时，你做出判断，可并不了解发生了些什么事。谈话总是能以某种方式引导出许多情况。”
“人说‘多言反坏事’，我们这里想要的恰恰相反。”富兰克林·克拉克说。
“你如何认为，弗雷泽先生？”
“我倒挺怀疑你所言之词的实用性，波洛先生。”
“你怎么想，托拉？”克拉克问。
“我认为反复谈话的原则总会是对的。”
“试想，”波洛建议道，“你们都重述一下案发前自己的回忆。克拉克先生，你先开始吧。”
“让我想想，卡迈克尔遇害那天早晨我去航海。捕了八条鲇鱼，海湾风景非常怡人，我在家吃午餐，吃的是爱尔兰炖品。在吊床上睡觉，然后喝茶，写了几封信，错过了邮递时间，便开车去佩恩顿寄掉信件。然后是吃晚餐，我也没什么不好意思说的，我又重新读了一本E·耐斯比特的书，在孩提时代我就喜欢。然后电话响了——”
“还有其它情况吗，克拉克先生，现在回想一下，你那天早晨去海边的路上碰到什么人没有？”
“有许多人。”
“你能记得他们中的一些什么吗？”
“什么也不记得了。”
“你确信吗？”
“嗯，我想想，有个相当胖的女人——她穿着条纹的丝绸外衣，我还纳闷，为何她还带着两个小孩，两个年轻人带着只狐狗在海滩上扔石头。哦，是的，那个长着黄头发的姑娘在沐浴时尖叫。真好笑，这些事情是如何冒出来的？像是在冲印胶卷。”
“你开了个好头。那天晚些时候——在花园的情形，去邮局的情况？”
“园艺工在浇水……去邮局吗？我几乎撞上一个骑车人，那个笨女人迟疑不决，对着一个朋友大叫。我想那就是全部了。”
波洛转向托拉·格雷。
“格雷小姐？”
托拉·格雷用她那清晰、生动的声音回答。
“我早上为卡迈克尔爵士处理邮件——见到过管家。下午我想是在……写信和做针线活。回忆起来挺困难的。那是很普通的一天，我很早就上床歇息了。”
令我感到惊奇的是，波洛没有再问。他说：
“巴纳德小姐，你可以回想起最后一次见你妹妹的情形吗？”
“那大概是在她死前两周。我回去过周六、周日。天气很好。我们去哈斯丁游泳。”
“你大部分时间内都在谈些什么？”
“我与她畅谈了一番。”梅根说。
“还有什么别的吗？她说了些什么吗？”
“她说带的帽子和几件夏装绷得挺紧的。谈了会儿关于唐的事……她还说并不喜欢米莉·希格利，就是那个餐厅里的姑娘。我们又嘲笑了一番那位开餐厅的梅里恩……我记不起还有些什么别的……”
“她没有提到她可能要与什么人会面吗？——请原谅，弗雷泽先生。”
“她不肯对我说的。”
波洛转向那个一头红发、下颌方正的年轻人。
“弗雷泽先生——我希望你能将思绪返回。你说过，发生命案那天晚上曾去过餐厅。你的首要意向是在那儿等待，看着贝蒂·巴纳德出来。你等在那里的时候，是否能想起你曾经注意到谁了呢？”
“前面有许多人在走动，我什么人都记不得了。”
“对不起，可你在尝试吗？无论脑子里的想法如何被预先占据过，眼睛总是在机械性地进行注视的——不用智力，却相当准确……”
年轻人固执地重复：
“我什么人也不记得了。”
波洛叹口气，转向玛丽·德劳尔。
“我猜想你接到过姨妈的信？”
“是的，先生。”
“最后一封信是在什么时候？”
玛丽思索了一会儿。
“凶案前两天，先生。”
“信中怎么说？”
“她说那个老魔鬼不断骚扰她，她用俏皮话气走了他。她还说希望我星期三过去，那是我的假期。她说我们去拍照，因为我刚好要过生日了，先生。”
一想到这一件小事，突然间玛丽的眼中涌出泪花。她哽咽着抽泣，然后又表示歉意。
“对不起，先生。我也不想如此蠢笨，哭是没有用的，我只是想起了她，而我曾期盼过那次聚餐。它令我伤心，先生。”
“我理解你的心情，”富兰克林·克拉克说，“那些小事情，比如聚会或是一件礼物总会让人快乐和坦然。我有一次曾见过一个妇女被车碾过，她刚买了些新鞋。我看到她丢在那儿擦破的包裹内露出那些难以置信的高跟便鞋，这是我一惊，它们看上去那样哀婉动人。”
梅根带着种渴切的暖意说：
“的确如此，那确是如此。贝蒂死后也一样。妈妈买了些长统袜想作为礼物，——就是出事那天买的。可怜的妈妈，她真实身心崩溃了。我看到她在那堆袜子前哭泣。她一直说：‘我是为贝蒂买的，我是为贝蒂买的，可她从未穿过……’”
她声音微微颤抖。她身子向前倾斜，直勾勾地看着富兰克林·克拉克。他们之间有一种突然的同情——痛苦之中的关爱。
“我知道，”他说，“我确实知道。那些正是牢记在心中的悲惨经历。”
唐纳德·弗雷泽不安地挪动身体。
托拉·格雷则转变话题。
“我们难道不为将来作些计划吗？”
“当然。”富兰克林·克拉克恢复了常态，“我想，那时刻来临的时候，那第四封信到来时，我们必须团结起来。到那时，我们可能要尝试每一份运气，我不知道波洛先生是否认为还有什么需要重新调查的。”
“我倒是可以提些建议。”波洛说。
“好，我纪录。”他拿出笔记本，“请讲，波洛先生。”
“我认为那个女招待，米莉·希格利可能会知道些有用的情况。”
“啊——米莉·希格利。”富兰克林·克拉克记录下来。
“我建议采取两种处理方法。你，巴纳德小姐，可以尝试这种我认为的攻势措施。”
“我想你认为那符合我的风格？”梅根乏味地说。
“与那个姑娘吵架——说你知道她从来不喜欢你妹妹，而你妹妹还把她的一切告诉你了。如果我没弄错的话，那将引起一阵反击。她会告诉你她对你妹妹的全部看法！有些有用的事实便会出现。”
“第二个方法呢？”
“我是否可以提议，弗雷泽先生，你向那个姑娘表示些兴趣吗？”
“那有必要吗？”
“不，没什么必要。这只是可能的一种探究办法。”
“我可以尝试一下吗？”富兰克林问道：“我——有过挺多经验，波洛先生。让我想想与这个年轻姑娘能干些什么。”
“你可有自己的事要干。”托拉·格雷尖刻地说。
富兰克林的脸沉下来一点。
“是的，”他说，“我有。”
“Tout de meme（法文，意为：不管怎样。译注），我认为在目前你还没有什么事可做，”波洛说，“格雷小姐呢，她更适合于……”
托拉·格雷打断了他的话。
“可您知道，波洛先生，我已经彻底离开了达夫郡。”
“噢？我不理解。”
“格雷小姐及其友善，她留下来帮我清理物品。”富兰克林说，“可是自然她更喜欢在伦敦有份工作。”
波洛的眼光尖锐的从一人扫向另一人。
“克拉克夫人怎么样了？”他询问道。
我正在欣赏着托拉·格雷泛着红晕的脸颊，几乎没听到克拉克的回答。
“她状态极差。顺便说一句，波洛先生，我在疑虑，您是否能安排去德文一趟，去看看她？我离开之前，她表达了一种想见您的愿望。当然，她有时可能几天都见不到人，不过，您如果愿意那样做，我可以支付费用。”
“当然可以，克拉克先生。我们可以后天去吗？”
“好，我会通知护士，她会相应地准备好镇静剂。”
“至于你，我的孩子，”波洛说，转向玛莉，“我想你可能在安多弗会干得挺好的。尝试一下孩子们。”
“孩子们？”
“是的。孩子们不会乐意与外来者交谈，可你在姨妈居住的街道为人所知。那里有许多孩子们在玩耍，他们可能曾注意到谁出入过你姨妈的商店。”
“格雷小姐和我干什么呢？”克拉克问，“如果我不去贝克斯希尔的话。”
“波洛先生，”托拉·格雷说，“第三封信上的邮戳是什么地方盖的？”
“普特耐，小姐。”
她回忆着说：“SW15区，普特耐，就是那儿，不是吗？”
“说来奇怪，报纸上居然印对了。”
“那好像表明ABC是伦敦人。”
“表面上看来，是的。”
“我们应该引他开口，”克拉克说，“波洛先生，如果我插登一则广告事情会是怎么样？——如下面几行：ABC 紧急。你的行踪已被高度追踪，用一百磅使我保持沉默。XYZ。这样做的确十分莽撞——可你会明白，这个主意很可能会引她开口。”
“这倒是有可能——是的。”
“可能会诱使他试着袭击我。”
“我认为这很危险，也很愚蠢。”托拉·格雷尖刻地说。
“您认为如何，波洛先生？”
“尝试一下也无妨，我自己认为ABC非常狡猾，不会回答。”波洛微笑。“我想，克拉克先生，如果我这样说并不太冒犯的话，你本质上还是个孩子。”
富兰克林·克拉克看上去有点窘迫。
“噢，”他说，一边查阅他的笔记本，“我们正在开始。
“A——巴纳德小姐与米莉·希格利
“B——弗雷泽先生与希格利小姐
“C——安多弗的孩子们
“D——广告
“我倒并不觉得这有多么好，但这是等待的过程之中该做的事情。”
他站起身来，几分钟后会议散去。
Chapter 19
BY WAY OF SWEDEN
Poirot returned to his seat and sat humming a little tune to himself.
"Unfortunate that she is so intelligent," he murmured.
"Who?"
"Megan Barnard. Mademoiselle Megan. 'Words,' she snaps out. At once she perceives that what I am saying means nothing at all. Everybody else was taken in."
"I thought it sounded very plausible."
"Plausible, yes. It was just that that she perceived."
"Didn't you mean what you said, then?"
"What I said could have been comprised into one short sentence. Instead I repeated myself ad lib. without any one but Mademoiselle Megan being aware of the fact."
"But why?"
"Eh bien - to get things going! To imbue every one with the impression that there was work to be done! To start - shall we say - conversations!"
"Don't you think any of these lines will lead to anything?"
"Oh, it is always possible."
He chuckled.
"In the midst of tragedy we start the comedy. It is so, is it not?"
"What do you mean?"
"The human drama, Hastings! Reflect a little minute. Here are three sets of human beings brought together by a common tragedy. Immediately a second drama commences - tout а fait а part. Do you remember my first case in England? Oh, so many years ago now. I brought together two people who loved one another by the simple method of having one of them arrested for murder! Nothing less would have done it! In the midst of death we are in life, Hastings. Murder, I have often noticed, is a great matchmaker."
"Really, Poirot," I cried, scandalized. "I'm sure none of those people was thinking of anything but -"
"Oh! my dear friend. And what about yourself?"
"I?"
"Mais oui, as they departed, did you not come back from the door humming a tune?"
"One may do that without being callous."
"Certainly, but that tune told me your thoughts."
"Indeed?"
"Yes. To hum a tune is extremely dangerous. It reveals the subconscious mind. The tune you hummed dates, I think, from the days of the war. Comme зa," Poirot sang in an abominable falsetto voice:
"Some of the time I love a brunette,
Some of the time I love a blonde
(who comes from Eden
by way of Sweden).
"What could be more revealing? Mais je crois que la blonde l'emporte sur la brunette."
"Really, Poirot," I cried, blushing slightly.
"C'est tout naturel. Did you observe how Franklin Clarke was suddenly at one and in sympathy with Mademoiselle Megan? How he leaned forward and looked at her? And did you also notice how very much annoyed Mademoiselle Thora Grey was about it? And Mr. Donald Fraser, he -"
"Poirot," I said, "your mind is incurably sentimental."
"That is the last thing my mind is. You are the sentimental one, Hastings."
I was about to argue the point hotly, but at that moment the door opened. To my astonishment it was Thora Grey who entered.
"Forgive me for coming back," she said composedly. "But there was something that I think I would like to tell you, M. Poirot."
"Certainly, mademoiselle. Sit down, will you not?"
She took a seat and hesitated for just a minute as though choosing her words.
"It is just this, Mr. Poirot. Mr. Clarke very generously gave you to understand just now that I had left Combeside by my own wish. He is a very kind and loyal person. But as a matter of fact, it is not quite like that. I was quite prepared to stay on - there is any amount of work to be done in connection with the collections. It was Lady Clarke who wished me to leave! I can make allowances. She is a very ill woman, and her brain is somewhat muddled with the drugs they give her. It makes her suspicious and fanciful. She took an unreasoning dislike to me and insisted that I should leave the house."
I could not but admire the girl's courage. She did not attempt to gloss over facts, as so many might have been tempted to do, but went straight to the point with an admirable candour. My heart went out to her in admiration and sympathy.
"I call it splendid of you to come and tell us this," I said.
"It's always better to have the truth," she said with a little smile. "I don't want to shelter behind Mr. Clarke's chivalry. He is a very chivalrous man."
There was a warm glow in her words. She evidently admired Franklin Clarke enormously.
"You have been very honest, mademoiselle," said Poirot.
"It is rather a blow to me," said Thora ruefully. "I had no idea Lady Clarke disliked me so much. In fact, I always thought she was rather fond of me." She made a wry face. "One lives and learns."
She rose.
"That is all I came to say. Goodbye."
I accompanied her downstairs.
"I call that very sporting of her," I said as I returned to the room. "She has courage, that girl."
"And calculation."
"What do you mean - calculation?"
"I mean that she has the power of looking ahead."
I looked at him doubtfully.
"She really is a lovely girl," I said.
"And wears very lovely clothes. That crepe marocain and the silky fox collar - dernier cri!"
"You're a man milliner, Poirot. I never notice what people have on."
"You should join a nudist colony."
As I was about to make an indignant rejoinder, he said, with a sudden change of subject:
"Do you know, Hastings, I cannot rid my mind of the impression that already, in our conversations this afternoon, something was said that was significant. It is odd - I cannot pin down exactly what it was. Just an impression that passed through my mind. That reminds me of something I have already heard or seen or noted -"
"Something at Churston?"
"No - not at Churston... Before that... No matter, presently it will come to me... "
He looked at me (perhaps I had not been attending very closely), laughed and began once more to hum.
"She is an angel, is she not?
From Eden, by way of Sweden "
"Poirot," I said. "Go to the devil!"
第十九章 途径瑞典
波洛回到座位上坐下，嘴里哼着小调。
“很遗憾，她太聪明了。”
“谁？”
“梅根·巴纳德，梅根小姐。她那样急促地说出话语，她即刻便知道我所言之词一文不值，而其他人则轻信了。”
“我认为这听起来挺有道理的。”
“有道理，是的。那仅仅是她将觉察到的。”
“那么你所言之词毫无意义吗？”
“我所说的话本可用一句话完成，而我却随意重复，只有梅根小姐才认识到了这个事实。”
“可为什么要这样做呢？”
“En bien（法文，意为：好吧。——译注），——是为了让大家行动起来！要让每个人都满怀这样一种印象，还有事情要做！我们该说的是，要开始对话了！”
“你不认为这些话会导致什么吗？”
“哦，这倒有可能。”
他暗自窃喜。
“在悲剧当中，我们展开喜剧。正是这样，不是吗？”
“你是什么意思？”
“是人的戏剧，黑斯廷斯！你试想，这儿有三组人物，是被一个共同的悲剧召集到一起的。第二个戏剧又突然开场——tout a fait a part（法文，意为：完全是不相干的。——译注）。你是否还记得我在英格兰的第一件案子？哦，那已经是在多年以前的事了。我把两个相互爱着的人凑在一起——采用的以谋杀罪逮捕其中一人的简单方法。没什么更简要的方法能达到这个目的。在死亡的过程当中我们生活于人世，黑斯廷斯……我经常注意到，谋杀案是个十足的媒人。”
“真的，波洛，”我震惊地叫道，“我相信那些人当中没有一个人会想到——”
“哦！我亲爱的朋友，你想到什么？”
“哦？”
“Mais oui（法文，意为：是的。——译注），他们离开后，你从门那边回来的时候，难道没哼着小调？”
“人无须冷淡便可这样做。”
“当然可以，可是那曲调向我透露了你的想法。”
“是吗？”
“是的，哼曲调是极度危险的。这表明了一种潜意识的心态。我想，你哼的曲调可以追溯到战争之时。Comme Ca（法文，意为：是这样子的。——译注），”波洛用一种令人生厌的假声唱道：
“曾几何时我深爱褐发丽人，
曾几何时我深爱金发丽人（她途径瑞典来到乐园）。”
“还有什么能更具表现力呢？Mais jecrois que la blonde l'emporte sur la brunette（法文，意为：可我却认为金发要比褐发更胜一筹。——译注）！”
“真的，波洛。”我叫道，脸色微红。
“C'est tout naturel（法文，意为：这很自然。——译注）。你有没有发现富兰克林·克拉克突然与梅根小姐持相同的观点并同情起她来？他怎样斜靠向前盯着她看？你是否还注意到托拉·格雷小姐对此深感厌恶？唐纳德·弗雷泽先生，他——”
“波洛，”我说，“你的头脑敏感得无可救药！”
“那是我心目中唯一剩下的东西。你才是那个敏感的人，黑斯廷斯。”
我正想就他的这一论点激烈辩论一番，此时门打开了。
进来的人是托拉·格雷，这令我感到惊讶。
“请原谅我又回来。”她镇静自若地说，“可有些事我想该告诉您，波洛先生。”
“当然，小姐。请坐下，不好吗？”
她坐下来，犹豫了一会儿，像是在选择措词。
“是这样的，波洛先生。克拉克先生刚才极其大方地使您相信我是自愿离开康比赛德的。他是个友善和忠实的人。可事实上，也并非全是那样子。我准备要留下来——还有一些与收藏品相关的事情要做，是克拉克夫人希望我离开！我说这话是有余地的。她病得很重，脑子由于他们给她的药物而迷糊。这使得她疑心重重，凭空幻想。她对我有股盲目冲动的厌恶，坚持我该离开那房子。”
我不得不钦佩那姑娘的勇气。她并未试图掩饰真相，而是以一种令人钦佩的直率直入主题。我内心深处挺佩服和同情她。
“我认为你来告诉我们，这样做极好。”我说。
“道明实情总会更好一点。”她笑着说，“我并不想躲在克拉克先生的殷勤之下，他是个挺会献殷勤的人。”
她话语之中洋溢着暖意，显然她极其崇拜富兰克林·克拉克。
“你非常的诚实，小姐。”波洛说。
“这对我来说是个打击。”托拉懊丧地说，“克拉克夫人如此讨厌我，我一点也没想到。事实上，我一直认为她挺喜欢我的。”她做了个鬼脸，“人真是活到老，学到老。”
她站起身。
“那就是我所有想说的。再见。”
我陪她走下楼梯。
“我觉得她挺光明正大的。”我回到房间时说，“她有勇气，那姑娘。”
“还有算计。”
“你是什么意思——算计？”
“我的意思是她有预见能力。”
我怀疑地望着他。
“她着实是个可爱的姑娘。”我说。
“她衣着极其秀美，那绉纱的马罗坎平纹绉和银狐衣领——dernier cri（法文，意为：最后的叫喊。——译注）。”
“你可真是个女装设计师，波洛。我可从来不注意人们穿什么衣服。”
“你真该加入裸体主义者聚居地。”
我义愤填膺，正想反唇相讥，他突然改变话题，说：
“黑斯廷斯，你知道吗？我无法摆脱头脑里早已存在的印象，今天下午的谈话当中，曾提到过一些值得注意的事。那倒是挺奇怪的——我无法确知那是什么……我脑中闪烁而过的只是一种印象……那提醒了我，使我想起曾经听到、看到、注意到的一些事情……”
“是在彻斯顿的什么事？”
“不，不是在彻斯顿……是在那之前……无论如何，现在它会出现……”
他看着我（可能我并不十分投入），笑着，再次开始哼着小调。
“她是个天使，不是吗？来自伊甸园，途径瑞典……”
“波洛，”我说，“见鬼去吧！”
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