山核桃大街谋杀案（17）
时间：2025-03-03 03:10:34
（单词翻译:单击）
Chapter Sixteen
I
“Hickory, dickory, dock,” said Nigel, “the mouse ran up the clock. The police said ‘Boo,’ I
wonder who, will eventually stand in the Dock?”
He added:
“To tell or not to tell? That is the question!”
He poured himself out a fresh cup of coffee and brought it back to the breakfast table.
“Tell what?” asked Len Bateson.
“Anything one knows,” said Nigel, with an airy wave of the hand.
Jean Tomlinson said disapprovingly2:
“But of course! If we have any information that may be of use, of course we must tell the
police. That would be only right.”
“And there speaks our bonnie Jean,” said Nigel.
“Moi je n’aime pas les flics,” said René, offering his contribution to the discussion.
“Tell what?” Leonard Bateson said again.
“The things we know,” said Nigel. “About each other, I mean,” he said helpfully. His glance
“After all,” he said cheerfully, “we all do know lots of things about each other, don’t we? I
mean, one’s bound to, living in the same house.”
“But who is to decide what is important or not? There are many things no business of the police
sharp remarks about his collection of postcards.
“I hear,” said Nigel, turning towards Mr. Akibombo, “that they found some very interesting
things in your room.”
discomfited6 manner.
“Very much superstition7 in my country,” he said. “My grandfather give me things to bring here.
voodoo, but owing to imperfect command of language I find very difficult to explain to
policeman.”
“Even dear little Jean has her secrets, I expect,” said Nigel, turning his gaze back to Miss
Tomlinson.
Jean said hotly that she wasn’t going to be insulted.
“I shall leave this place and go to the YWCA,” she said.
“Come now, Jean,” said Nigel. “Give us another chance.”
“Oh, cut it out, Nigel!” said Valerie wearily. “The police have to snoop, I suppose, under the
circumstances.”
Colin McNabb cleared his throat, preparatory to making a remark.
“In my opinion,” he said judicially9, “the present position ought to be made clear to us. What
exactly was the cause of Mrs. Nick’s death?”
“We’ll hear at the inquest, I suppose,” said Valerie, impatiently.
“I suppose it was her heart, wasn’t it?” said Patricia. “She fell down in the street.”
“Drunk and incapable,” said Len Bateson. “That’s how she got taken to the police station.”
“So she did drink,” said Jean. “You know, I always thought so. When the police searched the
house they found cupboards full of empty brandy bottles in her room, I believe,” she added.
“Trust our Jean to know all the dirt,” said Nigel approvingly.
“Well, that does explain why she was sometimes so odd in her manner,” said Patricia.
Colin cleared his throat again.
“Ahem!” he said. “I happened to observe her going into The Queen’s Necklace on Saturday
evening, when I was on my way home.”
“That’s where she got tanked up, I suppose,” said Nigel.
“I suppose she just died of drink, then?” said Jean.
Len Bateson shook his head.
“Cerebral haemorrhage? I rather doubt it.”
“For goodness’ sake, you don’t think she was murdered too, do you?” said Jean.
“Please,” said Mr. Akibombo. “It is thought someone killed her? Is that right?”
He looked from face to face.
“We’ve no reason to suppose anything of the sort yet,” said Colin.
“But who would want to kill her?” demanded Genevieve. “Had she much money to leave? If
she was rich it is possible, I suppose.”
“She was a maddening woman, my dear,” said Nigel. “I’m sure everybody wanted to kill her. I
II
“Please, Miss Sally, may I ask you a question? It is after what was said at breakfast. I have been
thinking very much.”
“Well, I shouldn’t think too much if I were you, Akibombo,” said Sally. “It isn’t healthy.”
Sally and Akibombo were partaking of an open-air lunch in Regent’s Park. Summer was
officially supposed to have come and the restaurant was open.
“All this morning,” said Akibombo mournfully, “I have been much disturbed. I cannot answer
my professor’s questions good at all. He is not pleased at me. He says to me that I copy large bits
out of books and do not think for myself. But I am here to acquire wisdom from much books and it
seems to me that they say better in the books than the way I put it, because I have not good
command of the English. And besides, this morning I find it very hard to think at all except of
what goes on at Hickory Road and difficulties there.”
“I’ll say you’re right about that,” said Sally. “I just couldn’t concentrate myself this morning.”
“So that is why I ask you please to tell me certain things, because as I say, I have been thinking
very much.”
“Well, let’s hear what you’ve been thinking about, then.”
“Well, it is this borr—ass—sic.”
“Borr-ass-ic? Oh, boracic! Yes. What about it?”
“Well, I do not understand very well. It is an acid, they say? An acid like sulphuric acid?”
“Not like sulphuric acid, no,” said Sally.
“It is not something for laboratory experiment only?”
“I shouldn’t imagine they ever did any experiments in laboratories with it. It’s something quite
mild and harmless.”
“You mean, even you could put it in your eyes?”
“That’s right. That’s just what one does use it for.”
“Ah, that explains that then. Mr. Chandra Lal, he have little white bottle with white powder, and
he puts powder in hot water and bathes his eyes with it. He keeps it in bathroom and then it is not
there one day and he is very angry. That would be the bor-ac-ic, yes?”
“What is all this about boracic?”
“I tell you by and by. Please not now. I think some more.”
Akibombo.”
III
“Valerie, do you think you could give me some advice?”
“Of course I could give you advice, Jean, though I don’t know why anyone ever wants advice.
They never take it.”
“It’s really a matter of conscience,” said Jean.
“Then I’m the last person you ought to ask. I haven’t got any conscience, to speak of.”
“Oh, Valerie, don’t say things like that!”
“Well, it’s quite true,” said Valerie. She stubbed out a cigarette as she spoke. “I smuggle14 clothes
in from Paris and tell the most frightful15 lies about their faces to the hideous16 women who come to
What’s it all about?”
“It’s what Nigel said at breakfast. If one knows something about someone else, do you think
one ought to tell?”
to tell, or don’t want to tell?”
“It’s about a passport.”
“A passport?” Valerie sat up, surprised. “Whose passport?”
“Nigel’s. He’s got a false passport.”
“Nigel?” Valerie sounded disbelieving. “I don’t believe it. It seems most improbable.”
“But he has. And you know, Valerie, I believe there’s some question—I think I heard the police
saying that Celia had said something about a passport. Supposing she’d found out about it and he
killed her?”
this story about a passport?”
“I saw it.”
“How did you see it?”
case a week or two ago, and by mistake I must have looked in Nigel’s attaché case instead. They
were both on the shelf in the common room.”
Valerie laughed rather disagreeably.
“Tell that to the marines!” she said. “What were you really doing? Snooping?”
“No, of course not!” Jean sounded justly indignant. “The one thing I’d never do is to look
among anybody’s private papers. I’m not that sort of person. It was just that I was feeling rather
absentminded, so I opened the case and I was just sorting through it. . . .”
“Look here, Jean, you can’t get away with that. Nigel’s attaché case is a good deal larger than
admit that you are that sort of person. All right. You found a chance to go through some of Nigel’s
things and you took it.”
Jean rose.
“Of course, Valerie, if you’re going to be so unpleasant and so very unfair and unkind, I shall. .
. .”
“Oh, come back, child!” said Valerie. “Get on with it. I’m getting interested now. I want to
know.”
“Well, there was this passport,” said Jean. “It was down at the bottom and it had a name on it.
Stanford or Stanley or some name like that, and I thought, ‘How odd that Nigel should have
somebody else’s passport here.’ I opened it and the photograph inside was Nigel! So don’t you
see, he must be leading a double life? What I wonder is, ought I to tell the police? Do you think
it’s my duty?”
Valerie laughed.
“Bad luck, Jean,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I believe there’s quite a simple explanation. Pat
told me. Nigel came into some money, or something, on condition that he changed his name. He
did it perfectly22 properly by deed poll or whatever it is, but that’s all it is. I believe his original
name was Stanfield or Stanley, or something like that.”
“Ask Pat about it if you don’t believe me,” said Valerie.
“Oh—no—well, if it’s as you say, I must have made a mistake.”
“Better luck next time,” said Valerie.
“I don’t know what you mean, Valerie.”
“You’d like to get your knife into Nigel, wouldn’t you? And get him in wrong with the police?”
Jean drew herself up.
“You may not believe me, Valerie,” she said, “but all I wanted to do was my duty.”
She left the room.
“Oh, hell!” said Valerie.
There was a tap at the door and Sally entered.
“What’s the matter, Valerie? You’re looking a bit down in the mouth.”
“It’s that disgusting Jean. She really is too awful! You don’t think, do you, that there’s the
remotest chance it was Jean that bumped off poor Celia? I should rejoice madly if I ever saw Jean
in the dock.”
“I’m with you there,” said Sally. “But I don’t think it’s particularly likely. I don’t think Jean
would ever stick her neck out enough to murder anybody.”
“What do you think about Mrs. Nick?”
“I just don’t know what to think. I suppose we shall hear soon.”
“I’d say ten to one she was bumped off, too,” said Valerie.
“But why? What’s going on here?” said Sally.
“I wish I knew. Sally, do you ever find yourself looking at people?”
“What do you mean, Val, looking at people?”
“Well, looking and wondering, ‘Is it you?’ I’ve got a feeling, Sally, that there’s someone here
who’s mad. Really mad. Bad mad, I mean—not just thinking they’re a cucumber.”
“That may well be,” said Sally. She shivered.
“Ouch!” she said. “Somebody’s walking over my grave.”
IV
“Nigel I’ve got something I must tell you.”
“Well, what is it, Pat?” Nigel was burrowing25 frantically26 in his chest of drawers. “What the hell
did I do with those notes of mine I can’t imagine. I shoved them in here, I thought.”
“Oh, Nigel, don’t scrabble like that! You leave everything in such a frightful mess and I’ve just
tidied it.”
“Well, what the hell, I’ve got to find my notes, haven’t I?”
“Nigel, you must listen!”
“OK, Pat, don’t look so desperate. What is it?”
“It’s something I’ve got to confess.”
“No, of course not!”
“It was one day when I mended your socks and I brought them along here to your room and was
putting them away in your drawer. . . .”
“Yes?”
“And the bottle of morphia was there. The one you told me about, that you got from the
hospital.”
“Yes, and you made such a fuss about it!”
“But, Nigel, it was there in your drawer among your socks, where anybody could have found
it.”
“Why should they? Nobody else goes rooting about among my socks except you.”
“Well, it seemed to me dreadful to leave it about like that, and I know you’d said you were
going to get rid of it after you’d won your bet, but in the meantime there it was, still there.”
“Of course. I hadn’t got the third thing yet.”
“Well, I thought it was very wrong, and so I took the bottle out of the drawer and I emptied the
poison out of it, and I replaced it with some ordinary bicarbonate of soda29. It looked almost exactly
the same.”
“Good lord!” he said. “Did you really? You mean that when I was swearing to Len and old
Colin that the stuff was morphine sulphate or tartrate or whatever it was, it was merely bicarbonate
of soda all the time?”
“Yes. You see. . . .”
Nigel interrupted her. He was frowning.
“I’m not sure, you know, that that doesn’t invalidate the bet. Of course, I’d no idea—”
“But Nigel, it was really dangerous keeping it there.”
“Oh lord, Pat, must you always fuss so? What did you do with the actual stuff?”
“I put it in the soda bic bottle and I hid it at the back of my handkerchief drawer.”
Nigel looked at her in mild surprise.
“Really, Pat, your logical thought processes beggar description! What was the point?”
“I felt it was safer there.”
“My dear girl, either the morphia should have been under lock and key, or if it wasn’t, it
couldn’t really matter whether it was among my socks or your handkerchiefs.”
“Well, it did matter. For one thing, I have a room to myself and you share yours.”
“Why, you don’t think poor old Len was going to pinch the morphia off me, do you?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you about it, ever, but I must now. Because, you see, it’s gone.”
“You mean the police have swiped it?”
“No. It disappeared before that.”
“Do you mean . . . ? ” Nigel gazed at her in consternation31. “Let’s get this straight. There’s a
bottle labelled ‘Soda Bic,’ containing morphine sulphate, which is knocking about the place
somewhere, and at any time someone may take a heaping teaspoonful32 of it if they’ve got a pain in
their middle? Good God, Pat! You have done it! Why the hell didn’t you throw the stuff away if
you were so upset about it?”
“Because I thought it was valuable and ought to go back to the hospital instead of being just
thrown away. As soon as you’d won your bet, I meant to give it to Celia and ask her to put it
back.”
“You’re sure you didn’t give it to her?”
“No, of course not. You mean I gave it to her, and she took it and it was suicide, and it was all
my fault?”
“Calm down. When did it disappear?”
“I don’t know exactly. I looked for it the day before Celia died. I couldn’t find it, but I just
thought I’d perhaps put it somewhere else.”
“It was gone the day before she died?”
“I suppose,” said Patricia, her face white, “that I’ve been very stupid.”
conscience go!”
“Nigel. D’you think I ought to tell the police?”
“Oh, hell!” said Nigel. “I suppose so, yes. And it’s going to be all my fault.”
“Oh, no, Nigel darling, it’s me. I—”
“I pinched the damned stuff in the first place,” said Nigel. “It all seemed to be a very amusing
“I am sorry. When I took it I really meant it for—”
“You meant it for the best. I know! Look here, Pat, I simply can’t believe the stuff has
disappeared. You’ve forgotten just where you put it. You do mislay things sometimes, you know.”
“Yes, but—”
She hesitated, a shade of doubt appearing on her frowning face.
Nigel rose briskly.
“Let’s go along to your room and have a thorough search.”
V
“Nigel, those are my underclothes.”
you would hide a bottle, now, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I’m sure I—”
“We can’t be sure of anything until we’ve looked everywhere. And I’m jolly well going to do
it.”
There was a perfunctory tap on the door and Sally Finch entered. Her eyes widened with
surprise. Pat, clasping a handful of Nigel’s socks, was sitting on the bed, and Nigel, the bureau
drawers all pulled out, was burrowing like an excited terrier into a heap of pullovers whilst about
“For land’s sake,” said Sally, “what goes on?”
“Bicarbonate? Why?”
“I’ve got a pain,” said Nigel, grinning. “A pain in my tum-tum-tum—and nothing but
“I’ve got some somewhere, I believe.”
“No good, Sally, it’s got to be Pat’s. Hers is the only brand that will ease my particular
“You’re crazy,” said Sally. “What’s he up to, Pat?”
“You haven’t seen my soda bic, have you, Sally?” she asked. “Just a little in the bottom of the
bottle?”
no, I can’t remember—Have you got a stamp, Pat? I want to mail a letter and I’ve run out.”
“In the drawer there.”
Sally opened the shallow drawer of the writing table, took out a book of stamps, extracted one,
twopence-halfpenny on the desk.
“Thanks. Shall I mail this letter of yours at the same time?”
“Yes—no—no, I think I’ll wait.”
Sally nodded and left the room.
“Nigel?”
“Yes?” Nigel had transferred his attention to the wardrobe and was looking in the pockets of a
coat.
“There’s something else I’ve got to confess.”
“Good lord, Pat, what else have you been doing?”
“I’m afraid you’ll be angry.”
“I’m past being angry. I’m just plain scared. If Celia was poisoned with the stuff that I pinched,
I shall probably go to prison for years and years, even if they don’t hang me.”
“It’s nothing to do with that. It’s about your father.”
“You do know he’s very ill, don’t you?”
“I don’t care how ill he is.”
“It said so on the wireless48 last night. ‘Sir Arthur Stanley, the famous research chemist, is lying
in a very critical condition.’ ”
“So nice to be a VIP. All the world gets the news when you’re ill.”
“Nigel, if he’s dying, you ought to be reconciled to him.”
“Like hell I will!”
“But if he’s dying.”
“He’s the same swine dying as he was when he was in the pink of condition!”
“You mustn’t be like that, Nigel. So bitter and unforgiving.”
“Listen, Pat—I told you once: he killed my mother.”
“I know you said so, and I know you adored her. But I do think, Nigel, that you sometimes
exaggerate. Lots of husbands are unkind and unfeeling and their wives resent it and it makes them
very unhappy. But to say your father killed your mother is an extravagant49 statement and isn’t
really true.”
“You know so much about it, don’t you?”
“I know that some day you’ll regret not having made it up with your father before he died.
him—”
“You’ve written to him? Is that the letter Sally wanted to post?” He strode over to the writing
table. “I see.”
He picked up the letter lying addressed and stamped, and with quick, nervous fingers, he tore it
into small pieces and threw it into the wastepaper basket.
“That’s that! And don’t you dare do anything of that kind again.”
“Really, Nigel, you are absolutely childish. You can tear the letter up, but you can’t stop me
writing another, and I shall.”
mother, I was stating just a plain unvarnished fact. My mother died of an overdose of medinal.
Took it by mistake, they said at the inquest. But she didn’t take it by mistake. It was given to her,
deliberately53, by my father. He wanted to marry another woman, you see, and my mother wouldn’t
Denounced him to the police? My mother wouldn’t have wanted that . . . So I did the only thing I
could do—told the swine I knew—and cleared out—for ever. I even changed my name.”
“Nigel—I’m sorry . . . I never dreamed. . . .”
“Well, you know now . . . The respected and famous Arthur Stanley with his researches and
antibiotics55. Flourishing like the green bay tree! But his fancy piece didn’t marry him after all. She
sheered off. I think she guessed what he’d done—”
“Nigel dear, how awful—I am sorry. . . .”
“All right. We won’t talk of it again. Let’s get back to this blasted bicarbonate business. Now
think back carefully to exactly what you did with the stuff. Put your head in your hands and think,
Pat.”
VI
Genevieve entered the common room in a state of great excitement. She spoke to the assembled
students in a low thrilled voice.
“I am sure now, but absolutely sure I know who killed the little Celia.”
“Who was it, Genevieve?” demanded René. “What has arrived to make you so positive?”
Genevieve looked cautiously round to make sure the door of the common room was closed. She
lowered her voice.
“It is Nigel Chapman.”
“Nigel Chapman, but why?”
“Listen. I pass along the corridor to go down the stairs just now and I hear voices in Patricia’s
room. It is Nigel who speaks.”
“Nigel? In Patricia’s room?” Jean spoke in a disapproving1 voice. But Genevieve swept on.
“And he is saying to her that his father killed his mother, and that, pour ça, he has changed his
name. So it is clear, is it not? His father was a convicted murderer, and Nigel he has the hereditary56
possible. He is so violent, Nigel, so unbalanced. No self-control. You agree?” He turned
condescendingly to Akibombo, who nodded an enthusiastic black woolly head and showed his
white teeth in a pleased smile.
“I’ve always felt very strongly,” said Jean, “that Nigel has no moral sense . . . A thoroughly
degenerate59 character.”
“It is sex murder, yes,” said Mr. Achmed Ali. “He sleeps with this girl, then he kills her.
Because she is a nice girl, respectable, she will expect marriage. . . .”
“Rot,” said Leonard Bateson explosively.
“What did you say?”
“I said rot!” roared Len.
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收听单词发音
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disapproving
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disapprovingly
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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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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eyelids
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discomfited
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| v.使为难( discomfit的过去式和过去分词)；使狼狈；使挫折；挫败 | |
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superstition
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piety
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judicially
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adjourn
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finch
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helping
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corpse
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smuggle
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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idiotic
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frankly
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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burrowing
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frantically
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flippancy
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lesser
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soda
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scramble
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consternation
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teaspoonful
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| n.一茶匙的量；一茶匙容量 | |
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muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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34
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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35
vitriolic
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| adj.硫酸的，尖刻的 | |
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36
prudish
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| adj.装淑女样子的，装规矩的，过分规矩的；adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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37
component
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| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
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38
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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39
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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40
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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41
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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42
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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43
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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44
affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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45
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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46
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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47
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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48
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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49
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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50
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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51
incurably
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| ad.治不好地 | |
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52
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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53
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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54
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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55
antibiotics
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| n.（用作复数）抗生素；（用作单数）抗生物质的研究；抗生素，抗菌素( antibiotic的名词复数 ) | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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57
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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58
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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59
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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