命案目睹记16
时间：2025-10-20 07:22:22
（单词翻译:单击）
II
The inquest was a purely formal affair. No one came forward to identify
the dead woman. Lucy was called to give evidence of finding the body and
medical evidence was given as to the cause of death—strangulation. The
proceedings were then adjourned.
It was a cold blustery day when the Crackenthorpe family came out of
the hall where the inquest had been held. There were five of them all told,
Emma, Cedric, Harold, Alfred, and Bryan Eastley, the husband of the dead
daughter Edith. There was also Mr. Wimborne, the senior partner of the
firm of solicitors who dealt with the Crackenthorpes’ legal affairs. He had
come down specially from London at great inconvenience to attend the in-
quest. They all stood for a moment on the pavement, shivering. Quite a
crowd had assembled; the piquant details of the “Body in the Sarco-
phagus” had been fully reported in both the London and the local Press.
A murmur went round: “That’s them….”
Emma said sharply: “Let’s get away.”
The big hired Daimler drew up to the kerb. Emma got in and motioned
to Lucy. Mr. Wimborne, Cedric and Harold followed. Bryan Eastley said:
“I’ll take Alfred with me in my little bus.” The chauffeur shut the door and
the Daimler prepared to roll away.
“Oh, stop!” cried Emma. “There are the boys!”
The boys, in spite of aggrieved protests, had been left behind at Ruther-
ford Hall, but they now appeared grinning from ear to ear.
“We came on our bicycles,” said Stoddart- West. “The policeman was
very kind and let us in at the back of the hall. I hope you don’t mind, Miss
Crackenthorpe,” he added politely.
“She doesn’t mind,” said Cedric, answering for his sister. “You’re only
young once. Your first inquest, I expect?”
“It was rather disappointing,” said Alexander. “All over so soon.”
“We can’t stay here talking,” said Harold irritably. “There’s quite a
crowd. And all those men with cameras.”
At a sign from him, the chauffeur pulled away from the kerb. The boys
waved cheerfully.
“All over so soon!” said Cedric. “That’s what they think, the young inno-
cents! It’s just beginning.”
“It’s all very unfortunate. Most unfortunate,” said Harold. “I suppose—”
He looked at Mr. Wimborne who compressed his thin lips and shook his
head with distaste.
“I hope,” he said sententiously, “that the whole matter will soon be
cleared up satisfactorily. The police were very efficient. However, the
whole thing, as Harold says, has been most unfortunate.”
He looked, as he spoke, at Lucy, and there was distinct disapproval in
his glance. “If it had not been for this young woman,” his eyes seemed to
say, “poking about where she had no business to be—none of this would
have happened.”
This statement, or one closely resembling it, was voiced by Harold
Crackenthorpe.
“By the way—er—Miss—er—er Eyelesbarrow, just what made you go
looking in that sarcophagus?”
Lucy had already wondered just when this thought would occur to one
of the family. She had known that the police would ask it first thing; what
surprised her was that it seemed to have occurred to no one else until this
moment.
Cedric, Emma, Harold and Mr. Wimborne all looked at her.
Her reply, for what it was worth, had naturally been prepared for some
time.
“Really,” she said in a hesitating voice. “I hardly know… I did feel that
the whole place needed a thorough clearing out and cleaning. And there
was”—she hesitated—“a very peculiar and disagreeable smell….”
She had counted accurately on the immediate shrinking of everyone
from the unpleasantness of this idea….
Mr. Wimborne murmured: “Yes, yes, of course…about three weeks the
police surgeon said… I think, you know, we must all try and not let our
minds dwell on this thing.” He smiled encouragingly at Emma who had
turned very pale. “Remember,” he said, “this wretched young woman was
nothing to do with any of us.”
“Ah, but you can’t be so sure of that, can you?” said Cedric.
Lucy Eyelesbarrow looked at him with some interest. She had already
been intrigued by the rather startling differences between the three broth-
ers. Cedric was a big man with a weather-beaten rugged face, unkempt
dark hair and a jocund manner. He had arrived from the airport un-
shaven, and though he had shaved in preparation for the inquest, he was
still wearing the clothes in which he had arrived and which seemed to be
the only ones he had; old grey flannel trousers, and a patched and rather
threadbare baggy jacket. He looked the stage Bohemian to the life and
proud of it.
His brother Harold, on the contrary, was the perfect picture of a City
gentleman and a director of important companies. He was tall with a neat
erect carriage, had dark hair going slightly bald on the temples, a small
black moustache, and was impeccably dressed in a dark well-cut suit and
a pearl-grey tie. He looked what he was, a shrewd and successful business
man.
He now said stiffly:
“Really, Cedric, that seems a most uncalled-for remark.”
“Don’t see why? She was in our barn after all. What did she come there
for?”
Mr. Wimborne coughed, and said:
“Possibly some—er—assignation. I understand that it was a matter of
local knowledge that the key was kept outside on a nail.”
His tone indicated outrage at the carelessness of such procedure. So
clearly marked was this that Emma spoke apologetically.
“It started during the war. For the A.R.P. wardens. There was a little
spirit stove and they made themselves hot cocoa. And afterwards, since
there was really nothing there anybody could have wanted to take, we
went on leaving the key hanging up. It was convenient for the Women’s
Institute people. If we’d kept it in the house it might have been awkward—
when there was no one at home to give it them when they wanted it to get
the place ready. With only daily women and no resident servants….”
Her voice trailed away. She had spoken mechanically, giving a wordy
explanation without interest, as though her mind was elsewhere.
Cedric gave her a quick puzzled glance.
“You’re worried, sis. What’s up?”
Harold spoke with exasperation:
“Really, Cedric, can you ask?”
“Yes, I do ask. Granted a strange young woman has got herself killed in
the barn at Rutherford Hall (sounds like a Victorian melodrama) and gran-
ted it gave Emma a shock at the time—but Emma’s always been a sensible
girl—I don’t see why she goes on being worried now. Dash it, one gets used
to everything.”
“Murder takes a little more getting used to by some people than it may
in your case,” said Harold acidly. “I dare say murders are two a penny in
Majorca and—”
“Ibiza, not Majorca.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“Not at all—it’s quite a different island.”
Harold went on talking:
“My point is that though murder may be an everyday commonplace to
you, living amongst hot-blooded Latin people, nevertheless in England we
take such things seriously.” He added with increasing irritation, “And
really, Cedric, to appear at a public inquest in those clothes—”
“What’s wrong with my clothes? They’re comfortable.”
“They’re unsuitable.”
“Well, anyway, they’re the only clothes I’ve got with me. I didn’t pack
my wardrobe trunk when I came rushing home to stand in with the family
over this business. I’m a painter and painters like to be comfortable in
their clothes.”
“So you’re still trying to paint?”
“Look here, Harold, when you say trying to paint—”
Mr. Wimborne cleared his throat in an authoritative manner.
“This discussion is unprofitable,” he said reprovingly. “I hope, my dear
Emma, that you will tell me if there is any further way in which I can be of
service to you before I return to town?”
The reproof had its effect. Emma Crackenthorpe said quickly:
“It was most kind of you to come down.”
“Not at all. It was advisable that someone should be at the inquest to
watch the proceedings on behalf of the family. I have arranged for an in-
terview with the inspector at the house. I have no doubt that, distressing
as all this has been, the situation will soon be clarified. In my own mind,
there seems little doubt as to what occurred. As Emma has told us, the key
to the Long Barn was known locally to hang outside the door. It seems
highly probable that the place was used in the winter months as a place of
assignation by local couples. No doubt there was a quarrel and some
young man lost control of himself. Horrified at what he had done, his eye
lit on the sarcophagus and he realized that it would make an excellent
place of concealment.”
Lucy thought to herself, “Yes, it sounds most plausible. That’s just what
one might think.”
Cedric said, “You say a local couple—but nobody’s been able to identify
the girl locally.”
“It’s early days yet. No doubt we shall get an identification before long.
And it is possible, of course, that the man in question was a local resident,
but that the girl came from elsewhere, perhaps from some other part of
Brackhampton. Brackhampton’s a big place—it’s grown enormously in the
last twenty years.”
“If I were a girl coming to meet my young man, I’d not stand for being
taken to a freezing cold barn miles from anywhere,” Cedric objected. “I’d
stand out for a nice bit of cuddle in the cinema, wouldn’t you, Miss Eyeles-
barrow?”
“Do we need to go into all this?” Harold demanded plaintively.
And with the voicing of the question the car drew up before the front
door of Rutherford Hall and they all got out.
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