雪地上的女尸5
时间：2025-04-18 03:26:13
（单词翻译:单击）
V
The end of Christmas Day was like the end of most Christmas Days. The tree was lighted, a
splendid Christmas cake came in for tea, was greeted with approval but was partaken of only
moderately. There was cold supper.
Both Poirot and his host and hostess went to bed early.
"Good night, M. Poirot," said Mrs Lacey. "I hope you've enjoyed yourself."
"It has been a wonderful day, Madame, wonderful."
"You're looking very thoughtful," said Mrs Lacey.
"It is the English pudding that I consider."
"You found it a little heavy, perhaps?" asked Mrs Lacey delicately.
"No, no, I do not speak gastronomically1. I consider its significance."
"It's traditional, of course," said Mrs Lacey. "Well, good night, M. Poirot, and don't dream too
much of Christmas puddings and mince-pies."
"Yes," murmured Poirot to himself as he undressed. "It is a problem certainly, that Christmas plum
manner. "Well - we shall see."
After making certain preparations, Poirot went to bed, but not to sleep.
It was some two hours later that his patience was rewarded. The door of his bedroom opened very
gently. He smiled to himself. It was as he had thought it would be. His mind went back fleetingly3
to the cup of coffee so politely handed him by Desmond Lee- Wortley. A little later, when
Desmond's back was turned, he had laid the cup down for a few moments on a table. He had then
apparently4 picked it up again and Desmond had had the satisfaction, if satisfaction it was, of
seeing him drink the coffee to the last drop. But a little smile lifted Poirot's moustache as he
reflected that it was not he but someone else who was sleeping a good sound sleep tonight. "That
pleasant young David," said Poirot to himself, "he is worried, unhappy. It will do him no harm to
have a night's really sound sleep. And now, let us see what will happen?"
He lay quite still, breathing in an even manner with occasionally a suggestion, but the very faintest
suggestion, of a snore.
went to the dressing- table. By the light of a tiny torch the visitor was examining Poirot's
belongings6 neatly7 arranged on top of the dressing-table. Fingers explored the wallet, gently pulled
open the drawers of the dressing-table, then extended the search to the pockets of Poirot's clothes.
Finally the visitor approached the bed and with great caution slid his hand under the pillow.
Withdrawing his hand, he stood for a moment or two as though uncertain what to do next. He
he presently returned. Then, with a faint exclamation9 of disgust, he went out of the room.
"Ah," said Poirot, under his breath. "You have disappointment. Yes, yes, a serious disappointment.
Bah! To imagine, even, that Hercule Poirot would hide something where you could find it!" Then,
turning over on his other side, he went peacefully to sleep.
He was aroused next morning by an urgent soft tapping on his door.
"Qui est là? Come in, come in."
The door opened. Breathless, red- faced, Colin stood upon the threshold. Behind him stood
Michael.
"Monsieur Poirot, Monsieur Poirot."
"But yes?" Poirot sat up in bed. "It is the early tea? But no. It is you, Colin. What has occurred?"
Colin was, for a moment, speechless. He seemed to be under the grip of some strong emotion. In
actual fact it was the sight of the nightcap that Hercule Poirot wore that affected10 for the moment
"I think - M. Poirot, could you help us? Something rather awful has happened."
"Something has happened? But what?"
"It's - it's Bridget. She's out there in the snow. I think - she doesn't move or speak and - oh, you'd
better come and look for yourself. I'm terribly afraid - she may be dead."
"What?" Poirot cast aside his bed covers. "Mademoiselle Bridget is dead!"
"I think - I think somebody's killed her. There's - there's blood and - oh do come!"
"But certainly. But certainly. I come on the instant."
With great practicality Poirot inserted his feet into his outdoor shoes and pulled a fur- lined
"I come," he said. "I come on the moment. You have aroused the house?"
"No. No, so far I haven't told anyone but you. I thought it would be better. Grandfather and Gran
aren't up yet. They're laying breakfast downstairs, but I didn't say anything to Peverell. She -
Bridget - she's round the other side of the house, near the terrace and the library window."
"I see. Lead the way. I will follow."
Turning away to hide his delighted grin, Colin led the way downstairs. They went out through the
side door. It was a clear morning with the sun not yet high over the horizon. It was not snowing
now, but it had snowed heavily during the night and everywhere around was an unbroken carpet of
thick snow. The world looked very pure and white and beautiful.
The scene was indeed dramatic enough. A few yards away Bridget lay in the snow. She was
black hair. One arm was under her body, the other lay flung out, the fingers clenched16, and standing17
up in the centre of the crimson stain was the hilt of a large curved Kurdish knife which Colonel
Lacey had shown to his guests only the evening before.
"Mon Dieu!" ejaculated M. Poirot. "It is something on the stage!"
"I know," he said. "It - it doesn't seem real somehow, does it? Do you see those footprints - I
suppose we mustn't disturb them?"
"Ah yes, the footprints. No, we must be careful not to disturb those footprints."
"That's what I thought," said Colin. "That's why I wouldn't let anyone go near her until we got
you. I thought you'd know what to do."
"All the same," said Hercule Poirot briskly, "first, we must see if she is still alive? Is not that so?"
"Well - yes - of course," said Michael, a little doubtfully, "but you see, we thought, I mean, we
didn't like…"
"Ah, you have the prudence19! You have read the detective stories. It is most important that nothing
should be touched and that the body should be left as it is. But we cannot be sure as yet if it is a
body, can we? After all, though prudence is admirable, common humanity comes first. We must
think of the doctor, must we not, before we think of the police?"
"Oh yes. Of course," said Colin, still a little taken aback.
"We only thought - I mean - we thought we'd better get you before we did anything," said Michael
hastily.
"Then you will both remain here," said Poirot. "I will approach from the other side so as not to
disturb these footprints. Such excellent footprints, are they not - so very clear? The footprints of a
man and a girl going out together to the place where she lies. And then the man's footsteps come
back but the girl's do not."
"They must be the footprints of the murderer," said Colin, with bated breath.
"Exactly," said Poirot. "The footprints of the murderer. A long narrow foot with rather a peculiar20
type of shoe. Very interesting. Easy, I think, to recognise. Yes, those footprints will be very
important."
At that moment Desmond Lee-Wortley came out of the house with Sarah and joined them.
"What on earth are you all doing here?" he demanded in a somewhat theatrical21 manner. "I saw you
from my bedroom window. What's up? Good lord, what's this? It - it - looks like..."
"Exactly," said Hercule Poirot. "It looks like murder, does it not?"
"You mean someone's killed the girl - what's-her-name - Bridget?" demanded Desmond. "Who on
earth would want to kill her? It's unbelievable!"
"There are many things that are unbelievable," said Poirot. "Especially before breakfast, is it not?
That is what one of your classics says. Six impossible things before breakfast." He added: "Please
wait here, all of you."
Carefully making a circuit, he approached Bridget and bent for a moment down over the body.
Colin and Michael were now both shaking with suppressed laughter. Sarah joined them,
murmuring "What have you two been up to?"
"I've never seen anything look so dead as Bridget does," whispered Michael.
Hercule Poirot straightened up again.
"This is a terrible thing," he said. His voice held an emotion it had not held before.
Overcome by mirth, Michael and Colin both turned away. In a choked voice Michael said:
"What - what must we do?"
"There is only one thing to do," said Poirot. "We must send for the police. Will one of you
telephone or would you prefer me to do it?"
"I think," said Colin, "I think - what about it, Michael?"
"Yes," said Michael, "I think the jig's up now." He stepped forward. For the first time he seemed a
little unsure of himself. "I'm awfully24 sorry," he said, "I hope you won't mind too much. It - er - it
was a sort of joke for Christmas and all that, you know. We thought we'd well, lay on a murder for
you."
"You thought you would lay on a murder for me? Then this - then this..."
"It's just a show we put on," explained Colin, "to to make you feel at home, you know."
"Aha," said Hercule Poirot. "I understand. You make of me the April fool, is that it? But today is
not April the first, it is December the twenty-sixth."
"I suppose we oughtn't to have done it really," said Colin, "but but you don't mind very much, do
you, M. Poirot? Come on, Bridget," he called, "get up. You must be half-frozen to death already."
The figure in the snow, however, did not stir.
"It is odd," said Hercule Poirot, "she does not seem to hear you." He looked thoughtfully at them.
"It is a joke, you say? You are sure this is a joke?"
"Why, yes." Colin spoke uncomfortably. "We - we didn't mean any harm."
"But why then does Mademoiselle Bridget not get up?"
"I can't imagine," said Colin.
"Come on, Bridget," said Sarah impatiently. "Don't go on lying there playing the fool."
"We really are very sorry, M. Poirot," said Colin apprehensively25. "We do really apologise."
"You need not apologise," said Poirot, in a peculiar tone.
"What do you mean?" Colin stared at him. He turned again. "Bridget! Bridget! What's the matter?
Why doesn't she get up? Why does she go on lying there?"
Desmond joined him.
"Feel her pulse," said Poirot.
Desmond Lee-Wortley bend down. He touched the arm the wrist.
"There's no pulse..." he stared at Poirot. "Her arm's stiff. Good God, she really is dead!"
Poirot nodded. "Yes, she is dead," he said. "Someone has turned the comedy into a tragedy."
"Someone - who?"
"There is a set of footprints going and returning. A set of footprints that bears a strong
resemblance to the footprints you have just made, Mr Lee-Wortley, coming from the path to this
spot."
Desmond Lee-Wortley wheeled round.
"What on earth... Are you accusing me? Me? You're crazy! Why on earth should I want to kill the
girl?"
"Ah - why? I wonder... Let us see... "
He bent down and very gently prised open the stiff fingers of the girl's clenched hand.
Desmond drew a sharp breath. He gazed down unbelievingly. In the palm of the dead girl's hand
"It's that damn' thing out of the pudding!" he cried.
"Is it?" said Poirot. "Are you sure?"
"Of course it is."
With a swift movement Desmond bent down and plucked the red stone out of Bridget's hand.
"You should not do that," said Poirot reproachfully. "Nothing should have been disturbed."
"I haven't disturbed the body, have I? But this thing might might get lost and it's evidence. The
great thing is to get the police here as soon as possible. I'll go at once and telephone."
He wheeled round and ran sharply towards the house. Sarah came swiftly to Poirot's side.
"I don't understand," she whispered. Her face was dead white. "I don't understand." She caught at
Poirot's arm. "What did you mean about about the footprints?"
"Look for yourself, Mademoiselle."
The footprints that led to the body and back again were the same as the ones just made
accompanying Poirot to the girl's body and back.
"You mean - that it was Desmond? Nonsense!"
Suddenly the noise of a car came through the clear air. They wheeled round. They saw the car
clearly enough driving at a furious pace down the drive and Sarah recognised what car it was.
"It's Desmond," she said. "It's Desmond's car. He - he must have gone to fetch the police instead of
telephoning."
Diana Middleton came running out of the house to join them.
"What's happened?" she cried in a breathless voice. "Desmond just came rushing into the house.
He said something about Bridget being killed and then he rattled28 the telephone but it was dead. He
couldn't get any answer. He said the wires must have been cut. He said the only thing was to take a
car and go for the police. Why the police...?"
Poirot made a gesture.
"Bridget?" Diana stared at him. "But surely - isn't it a joke of some kind? I heard something -
something last night. I thought that they were going to play a joke on you, M. Poirot?"
"Yes," said Poirot, "that was the idea - to play a joke on me. But now come into the house, all of
you. We shall catch our deaths of cold here and there is nothing to be done until Mr Lee-Wortley
returns with the police."
"But look here," said Colin, "we can't - we can't leave Bridget here alone."
"You can do her no good by remaining," said Poirot gently. "Come, it is a sad, a very sad tragedy,
but there is nothing we can do any more to help Mademoiselle Bridget. So let us come in and get
warm and have perhaps a cup of tea or of coffee."
They followed him obediently into the house. Peverell was just about to strike the gong. If he
thought it extraordinary for most of the household to be outside and for Poirot to make an
appearance in pyjamas and an overcoat, he displayed no sign of it. Peverell in his old age was still
the perfect butler. He noticed nothing that he was not asked to notice. They went into the dining-
spoke.
"I have to recount to you," he said, "a little history. I cannot tell you all the details, no. But I can
give you the main outline. It concerns a young princeling who came to this country. He brought
unfortunately before that he made friends with a very pretty young lady. This pretty young lady
did not care very much for the man, but she did care for his jewel - so much so that one day she
disappeared with this historic possession which had belonged to his house for generations. So the
go to the police. Therefore he comes to me, to Hercule Poirot. 'Recover for me,' he says, 'my
historic ruby.' Eh bien, this young lady, she has a friend and the friend, he has put through several
with the sale of jewellery abroad. Always he has been very clever. He is suspected, yes, but
nothing can be proved. It comes to my knowledge that this very clever gentleman, he is spending
Christmas here in this house. It is important that the pretty young lady, once she has acquired the
jewel, should disappear for a while from circulation, so that no pressure can be put upon her, no
questions can be asked her. It is arranged, therefore, that she comes here to Kings Lacey,
ostensibly as the sister of the clever gentleman..."
Sarah drew a sharp breath.
"Oh, no. Oh, no, not here! Not with me here!"
"But so it is," said Poirot. "And by a little manipulation I, too, become a guest here for Christmas.
This young lady, she is supposed to have just come out of hospital. She is much better when she
arrives here. But then comes the news that I, too, arrive, a detective a well-known detective. At
once she has what you call the wind up. She hides the ruby in the first place she can think of, and
then very quickly she has a relapse and takes to her bed again. She does not want that I should see
her, for doubtless I have a photograph and I shall recognise her. It is very boring for her, yes, but
she has to stay in her room and her brother, he brings her up the trays."
"And the ruby?" demanded Michael.
"I think," said Poirot, "that at the moment it is mentioned I arrive, the young lady was in the
kitchen with the rest of you, all laughing and talking and stirring the Christmas puddings. The
Christmas puddings are put into bowls and the young lady she hides the ruby, pressing it down
into one of the pudding bowls. Not the one that we are going to have on Christmas Day. Oh no,
that one she knows is in a special mould. She puts it in the other one, the one that is destined35 to be
eaten on New Year's Day. Before then she will be ready to leave, and when she leaves no doubt
that Christmas pudding will go with her. But see how fate takes a hand. On the very morning of
Christmas Day there is an accident. The Christmas pudding in its fancy mould is dropped on the
stone floor and the mould is shattered to pieces. So what can be done? The good Mrs Ross, she
takes the other pudding and sends it in."
"Good lord," said Colin, "do you mean that on Christmas Day when Grandfather was eating his
pudding that that was a real ruby he'd got in his mouth?"
"Precisely," said Poirot, "and you can imagine the emotions of Mr Desmond Lee-Wortley when he
saw that. Eh bien, what happens next? The ruby is passed round. I examine it and I manage
unobtrusively to slip it in my pocket. In a careless way as though I were not interested. But one
person at least observes what I have done. When I lie in bed that person searches my room. He
searches me. He does not find the ruby. Why?"
"Because," said Michael breathlessly, "you had given it to Bridget. That's what you mean. And so
that's why but I don't understand quite - I mean... Look here, what did happen?"
Poirot smiled at him.
"Come now into the library," he said, "and look out of the window and I will show you something
that may explain the mystery."
He led the way and they followed him.
"Consider once again," said Poirot, "the scene of the crime."
He pointed out of the window. A simultaneous gasp broke from the lips of all of them. There was
no body lying on the snow, no trace of the tragedy seemed to remain except a mass of scuffled
snow.
"It wasn't all a dream, was it?" said Colin faintly. "I - has someone taken the body away?"
"Ah," said Poirot. "You see? The Mystery of the Disappearing Body." He nodded his head and his
eyes twinkled gently.
"Good lord," cried Michael. "M. Poirot, you are - you haven't - oh, look, he's been having us on all
this time!"
Poirot twinkled more than ever.
"It is true, my children, I also have had my little joke. I knew about your little plot, you see, and so
I arranged a counterplot of my own. Ah, voilà Mademoiselle Bridget. None the worse, I hope, for
your exposure in the snow? Never should I forgive myself if you attrapped une fluxion de
poitrine."
Bridget had just come into the room. She was wearing a thick skirt and a woollen sweater. She
was laughing.
hurts still after that tourniquet37 you made me put on it."
"You were splendid, my child," said Poirot. "Splendid. But see, all the others are still in the fog.
Last night I went to Mademoiselle Bridget. I told her that I knew about your little complot and I
asked her if she would act a part for me. She did it very cleverly. She made the footprints with a
pair of Mr Lee-Wortley's shoes."
Sarah said in a harsh voice:
"But what's the point of it all, M. Poirot? What's the point of sending Desmond off to fetch the
Poirot shook his head gently.
"But I do not think for one moment, Mademoiselle, that Mr Lee-Wortley went to fetch the police,"
he said. "Murder is a thing in which Mr Lee-Wortley does not want to be mixed up. He lost his
nerve badly. All he could see was his chance to get the ruby. He snatched that, he pretended the
telephone was out of order and he rushed off in a car on the pretence39 of fetching the police. I think
myself it is the last you will see of him for some time. He has, I understand, his own ways of
getting out of England. He has his own plane, has he not, Mademoiselle?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes," she said. "We were thinking of..." she stopped.
"He wanted you to elope with him that way, did he not? Eh bien, that is a very good way of
smuggling40 a jewel out of the country. When you are eloping with a girl, and that fact is publicised,
then you will not be suspected of also smuggling a historic jewel out of the country. Oh yes, that
would have made a very good camouflage41."
"I don't believe it," said Sarah. "I don't believe a word of it!"
"Then ask his sister," said Poirot, gently nodding his head over her shoulder. Sarah turned her
head sharply.
in a furious temper.
"Sister my foot!" she said, with a short unpleasant laugh. "That swine's no brother of mine! So he's
beaten it, has he, and left me to carry the can? The whole thing was his idea! He put me up to it!
to say that Ali had given me his historic jewel. Des and I were to have shared the swag in Paris
get out of here... Can someone telephone for a taxi?"
"A car is waiting at the front door to take you to the station, Mademoiselle," said Poirot.
"Think of everything, don't you?"
"Most things," said Poirot complacently47.
But Poirot was not to get off so easily. When he returned to the dining-room after assisting the
spurious Miss Lee-Wortley into the waiting car, Colin was waiting for him.
There was a frown on his boyish face.
"But look here, M. Poirot. What about the ruby? Do you mean to say you've let him get away with
it?"
Poirot's face fell. He twirled his moustaches. He seemed ill at ease.
"I shall recover it yet," he said weakly. "There are other ways. I shall still..."
"Well, I do think!" said Michael. "To let that swine get away with the ruby!"
Bridget was sharper.
"He's having us on again," she cried. "You are, aren't you, M. Poirot?"
Bridget thrust her hand in. She drew it out again with a scream of triumph and held aloft a large
ruby blinking in crimson splendour.
brought it from London in case it was possible to make a substitution. You understand? We do not
want the scandal. Monsieur Desmond will try and dispose of that ruby in Paris or in Belgium or
wherever it is that he has his contacts, and then it will be discovered that the stone is not real!
What could be more excellent? All finishes happily. The scandal is avoided, my princeling
receives his ruby back again, he returns to his country and makes a sober and we hope a happy
marriage. All ends well."
"Except for me," murmured Sarah under her breath.
She spoke so low that no one heard her but Poirot. He shook his head gently.
"You are in error, Mademoiselle Sarah, in what you say there. You have gained experience. All
"That's what you say," said Sarah.
"But look here, M. Poirot," Colin was frowning. "How did you know about the show we were
going to put on for you?"
"It is my business to know things," said Hercule Poirot. He twirled his moustache.
"Yes, but I don't see how you could have managed it. Did someone split - did someone come and
tell you?"
"No, no, not that."
"Then how? Tell us how?"
They all chorused, "Yes, tell us how."
"But no," Poirot protested. "But no. If I tell you how I deduced that, you will think nothing of it. It
"Tell us, M. Poirot! Go on. Tell us, tell us!"
"You really wish that I should solve for you this last mystery?"
"Yes, go on. Tell us."
"Ah, I do not think I can. You will be so disappointed."
"Now, come on, M. Poirot, tell us. How did you know?"
"Well, you see, I was sitting in the library by the window in a chair after tea the other day and I
outside the window close to me, and the window was open at the top."
"Is that all?" cried Colin, disgusted. "How simple!"
"Is it not?" said Hercule Poirot, smiling. "You see? You are disappointed."
"Oh well," said Michael, "at any rate we know everything now."
"Do we?" murmured Hercule Poirot to himself. "I do not. I, whose business it is to know things."
He walked out into the hall, shaking his head a little. For perhaps the twentieth time he drew from
his pocket a rather dirty piece of paper. "DON'T EAT NONE OF THE PLUM PUDDING. ONE
AS WISHES YOU WELL."
Hercule Poirot shook his head reflectively. He who could explain everything could not explain
this! Humiliating. Who had written it? Why had it been written? Until he found that out he would
never know a moment's peace. Suddenly he came out of his reverie to be aware of a peculiar
headed creature in a flowered overall. She was staring at the paper in his hand with large round
eyes.
"Oh sir," said this apparition54. "Oh, sir. Please, sir."
"Annie Bates, sir, please sir. I come here to help Mrs Ross. I didn't mean, sir, I didn't mean to to
do anything what I shouldn't do. I did mean it well, sir. For your good, I mean."
Enlightenment came to Poirot. He held out the dirty piece of paper.
"Did you write that, Annie?"
"I didn't mean any harm, sir. Really I didn't."
"Of course you didn't, Annie." He smiled at her. "But tell me about it. Why did you write this?"
"Well, it was them two, sir. Mr Lee-Wortley and his sister. Not that she was his sister, I'm sure.
None of us thought so! And she wasn't ill a bit. We could all tell that. We thought - we all thought
- something queer was going on. I'll tell you straight, sir. I was in her bathroom taking in the clean
towels, and I listened at the door. He was in her room and they were talking together. I heard what
they said plain as plain. 'This detecive,' he was saying. 'This fellow Poirot who's coming here.
We've got to do something about it. We've got to get him out of the way as soon as possible.' And
then he says to her in a nasty, sinister56 sort of way, lowering his voice, 'Where did you put it?' And
she answered him 'In the pudding.' Oh, sir, my heart gave such a leap I thought it would stop
beating. I thought they meant to poison you in the Christmas pudding. I didn't know what to do!'
Mrs Ross, she wouldn't listen to the likes of me. Then the idea came to me as I'd write you a
warning. And I did and I put it on your pillow where you'd find it when you went to bed." Annie
paused breathlessly.
Poirot surveyed her gravely for some minutes.
"You see too many sensational57 films, I think, Annie," he said at last, "or perhaps it is the television
that affects you? But the important thing is that you have the good heart and a certain amount of
"Oh thank you, sir. Thank you very much, sir."
"What would you like, Annie, as a present?"
"Anything I like, sir? Could I have anything I like?"
"Oh sir, could I have a vanity box? A real posh slap up vanity box like the one Mr Lee-Wortley's
sister, wot wasn't his sister, had?"
"Yes," said Poirot, "yes, I think that could be managed."
The heart of women does not change."
"Beg your pardon, sir?" said Annie.
"It is nothing," said Poirot, "I reflect. You shall have your vanity box, child."
"Oh thank you, sir. Oh thank you very much indeed, sir."
Annie departed ecstatically. Poirot looked after her, nodding his head in satisfaction.
"Ah," he said to himself. "And now - I go. There is nothing more to be done here."
A pair of arms slipped round his shoulders unexpectedly.
"If you will stand just under the mistletoe..." said Bridget.
Hercule Poirot enjoyed it. He enjoyed it very much. He said to himself that he had had a very good
Christmas.
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收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
gastronomically
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| adj.美食法的，美食学的 | |
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2
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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3
fleetingly
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| adv.飞快地，疾驰地 | |
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4
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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5
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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7
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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8
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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reset
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| v.重新安排，复位；n.重新放置；重放之物 | |
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quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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tourniquet
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| n.止血器，绞压器，驱血带 | |
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hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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40
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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41
camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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42
platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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43
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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44
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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45
prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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49
replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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50
prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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51
conjuror
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| n.魔术师，变戏法者 | |
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52
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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53
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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54
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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55
genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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56
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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57
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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58
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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59
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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60
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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61
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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62
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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