伯特伦旅馆之谜12
时间：2026-01-04 07:42:19
（单词翻译:单击）
Chapter Seven
On the evening of 19th November Canon Pennyfather had finished an
early dinner at the Athenaeum, he had nodded to one or two friends, had
had a pleasant acrimonious discussion on some crucial points of the dat-
ing of the Dead Sea Scrolls and now, glancing at his watch, saw that it was
time to leave to catch his plane to Lucerne. As he passed through the hall
he was greeted by one more friend: Dr. Whittaker of the SOAS, who said
cheerfully:
“How are you, Pennyfather? Haven’t seen you for a long time. How did
you get on at the Congress? Any points of interest come up?”
“I am sure there will be.”
“Just come back from it, haven’t you?”
“No, no, I am on my way there. I’m catching a plane this evening.”
“Oh I see.” Whittaker looked slightly puzzled. “Somehow or other I
thought the Congress was today.”
“No, no. Tomorrow, the 19th.”
Canon Pennyfather passed out through the door while his friend, look-
ing after him, was just saying:
“But my dear chap, today is the 19th, isn’t it?”
Canon Pennyfather, however, had gone beyond earshot. He picked up a
taxi in Pall Mall, and was driven to the air terminal in Kensington. There
was quite a fair crowd this evening. Presenting himself at the desk it at
last came to his turn. He managed to produce ticket and passport and
other necessities for the journey. The girl behind the desk, about to stamp
these credentials, paused abruptly.
“I beg your pardon, sir, this seems to be the wrong ticket.”
“The wrong ticket? No, no, that is quite right. Flight one hundred and—
well, I can’t really read without my glasses—one hundred and something
to Lucerne.”
“It’s the date, sir. This is dated Wednesday the 18th.”
“No, no, surely. At least—I mean—today is Wednesday the 18th.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Today is the 19th.”
“The 19th!” The Canon was dismayed. He fished out a small diary, turn-
ing the pages eagerly. In the end he had to be convinced. Today was the
19th. The plane he had meant to catch had gone yesterday.
“Then that means—that means—dear me, it means the Congress at Lu-
cerne has taken place today.”
He stared in deep dismay across the counter; but there were many oth-
ers travelling; the Canon and his perplexities were elbowed aside. He
stood sadly, holding the useless ticket in his hand. His mind ranged over
various possibilities. Perhaps his ticket could be changed? But that would
be no use—no indeed—what time was it now? Going on for 9 o’clock? The
conference had actually taken place; starting at 10 o’clock this morning. Of
course, that was what Whittaker had meant at the Athenaeum. He thought
Canon Pennyfather had already been to the Congress.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Canon Pennyfather, to himself. “What a muddle
I have made of it all!” He wandered sadly and silently into the Cromwell
Road, not at its best a very cheerful place.
He walked slowly along the street carrying his bag and revolving per-
plexities in his mind. When at last he had worked out to his satisfaction
the various reasons for which he had made a mistake in the day, he shook
his head sadly.
“Now, I suppose,” he said to himself, “I suppose—let me see, it’s after
nine o’clock, yes, I suppose I had better have something to eat.”
It was curious, he thought, that he did not feel hungry.
Wandering disconsolately along the Cromwell Road he finally settled
upon a small restaurant which served Indian curries. It seemed to him
that though he was not quite as hungry as he ought to be, he had better
keep his spirits up by having a meal, and after that he must find a hotel
and—but no, there was no need to do that. He had a hotel! Of course. He
was staying at Bertram’s; and had reserved his room for four days. What a
piece of luck! What a splendid piece of luck! So his room was there, wait-
ing for him. He had only to ask for his key at the desk and—here another
reminiscence assailed him. Something heavy in his pocket?
He dipped his hand in and brought out one of those large and solid keys
with which hotels try and discourage their vaguer guests from taking
them away in their pockets. It had not prevented the Canon from doing so!
“No. 19,” said the Canon, in happy recognition. “That’s right. It’s very
fortunate that I haven’t got to go and find a room in a hotel. They say
they’re very crowded just now. Yes, Edmunds was saying so at the Athen-
aeum this evening. He had a terrible job finding a room.”
Somewhat pleased with himself and the care he had taken over his trav-
elling arrangements by booking a hotel beforehand, the Canon abandoned
his curry, remembered to pay for it, and strode out once more into the
Cromwell Road.
It seemed a little tame to go home just like this when he ought to have
been dining in Lucerne and talking about all sorts of interesting and fas-
cinating problems. His eye was caught by a cinema.
Walls of Jericho.
It seemed an eminently suitable title. It would be interesting to see if bib-
lical accuracy had been preserved.
He bought himself a seat and stumbled into the darkness. He enjoyed
the film, though it seemed to him to have no relationship to the biblical
story whatsoever. Even Joshua seemed to have been left out. The walls of
Jericho seemed to be a symbolical way of referring to a certain lady’s mar-
riage vows. When they had tumbled down several times, the beautiful star
met the dour and uncouth hero whom she had secretly loved all along and
between them they proposed to build up the walls in a way that would
stand the test of time better. It was not a film destined particularly to ap-
peal to an elderly clergyman; but Canon Pennyfather enjoyed it very
much. It was not the sort of film he often saw and he felt it was enlarging
his knowledge of life. The film ended, the lights went up, the National An-
them was played and Canon Pennyfather stumbled out into the lights of
London, slightly consoled for the sad events of earlier in the evening.
It was a fine night and he walked home to Bertram’s Hotel after first get-
ting into a bus which took him in the opposite direction. It was midnight
when he got in and Bertram’s Hotel at midnight usually preserved a dec-
orous appearance of everyone having gone to bed. The lift was on a higher
floor so the Canon walked up the stairs. He came to his room, inserted the
key in the lock, threw the door open and entered!
Good gracious, was he seeing things? But who—how—he saw the upraised
arm too late….
Stars exploded in a kind of Guy Fawkes’ display within his head….
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