Chapter 8 – The Fatal Shawl

I suppose it was not more than forty seconds that we stood there, frozen with horror, unable to move, but it seemed like an hour. Then Poirot moved forward, shaking off my hand. He moved stiffly like an automaton.

'It has happened,' he murmured, and I can hardly describe the anguished bitterness of his voice. 'In spite of everything-in spite of my precautions, it has happened. Ah! miserable criminal that I am, why did I not guard her better. I should have foreseen. Not for one instant should I have left her side.'

'You mustn't blame yourself,' I said.

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I could hardly articulate.

Poirot only responded with a sorrowful shake of his head. He knelt down by the body.

And at that moment we received a second shock.

For Nick's voice rang out, clear and gay, and a moment later Nick appeared in the square of the window silhouetted against the lighted room behind.

'Sorry I've been so long, Maggie,' she said. 'But-' Then she broke off-staring at the scene before her.

With a sharp exclamation, Poirot turned over the body on the lawn and I pressed forward to see.

I looked down into the dead face of Maggie Buckley.

In another minute Nick was beside us. She gave a sharp cry.

'Maggie-Oh! Maggie-it-it can't-'

Poirot was still examining the girl's body. At last very slowly he rose to his feet.

'Is she-is-' Nick's voice broke off.

'Yes, Mademoiselle. She is dead.'

'But why? But why? Who could have wanted to kill her?'

Poirot's reply came quickly and firmly.

'It was not her they meant to kill, Mademoiselle! It was you! They were misled by the shawl.'

A great cry broke from Nick.

'Why couldn't it have been me?' she wailed. 'Oh! why couldn't it have been me? I'd so much rather. I don't want to live-now. I'd be glad-willing-happy-to die.'

She flung up her arms wildly and then staggered slightly. I passed an arm round her quickly to support her.

'Take her into the house, Hastings,' said Poirot. 'Then ring up the police.' 'The police?'

'Mais oui! Tell them someone has been shot. And afterwards stay with Mademoiselle Nick. On no account leave her.'

I nodded comprehension of these instructions, and supporting the half-fainting girl, made my way through the drawing-room window. I laid the girl on the sofa there, with a cushion under her head, and then hurried out into the hall in search of the telephone.

I gave a slight start on almost running into Ellen. She was standing there with a most peculiar expression on her meek, respectable face. Her eyes were glittering and she was passing her tongue repeatedly over her dry lips. Her hands were trembling, as though with excitement. As soon as she saw me, she spoke.

'Has-has anything happened, sir?'

'Yes,' I said curtly. 'Where's the telephone?' 

'Nothing-nothing wrong, sir?'

'There's been an accident,' I said evasively. 'Somebody hurt. I must telephone.'

'Who has been hurt, sir?'

There was a positive eagerness in her face.

'Miss Buckley. Miss Maggie Buckley.'

'Miss Maggie? Miss Maggie ? Are you sure, sir-I mean are you sure that-that it's Miss Maggie?'

'I'm quite sure,' I said. 'Why?'

'Oh!-nothing. I-I thought it might be one of the other ladies. I thought perhaps it might be-Mrs Rice.'

'Look here,' I said. 'Where's the telephone?'

'It's in the little room here, sir.' She opened the door for me and indicated the instrument.

'Thanks,' I said. And, as she seemed disposed to linger, I added: 'That's all I want, thank you.'

'If you want Dr Graham-'

'No, no,' I said. 'That's all. Go, please.'

She withdrew reluctantly, as slowly as she dared. In all probability she would listen outside the door, but I could not help that. After all, she would soon know all there was to be known.

I got the police station and made my report. Then, on my own initiative, I rang up the Dr Graham, Ellen had mentioned. I found his number in the book. Nick, at any rate, should have medical attention, I felt-even though a doctor could do nothing for that poor girl lying out there. He promised to come at once and I hung up the receiver and came out into the hall again.

If Ellen had been listening outside the door she had managed to disappear very swiftly. There was no one in sight when I came out. I went back into the drawing-room. Nick was trying to sit up.

'Do you think-could you get me-some brandy?' 'Of course.'

I hurried into the dining-room, found what I wanted and came back. A few sips of the spirit revived the girl. The colour began to come back into her cheeks. I rearranged the cushion for her head.

'It's all-so awful.' She shivered. 'Everything-everywhere.' 'I know, my dear, I know.'

'No, you don't! You can't. And it's all such a waste. If it were only me. It would be all over...'

'You mustn't,' I said, "be morbid".'

She only shook her head, reiterating: 'You don't know! You don't know!'

Then, suddenly, she began to cry. A quiet, hopeless sobbing like a child. That, I thought, was probably the best thing for her, so I made no effort to stem her tears.

When their first violence had died down a little, I stole across to the window and looked out. I had heard an outcry of voices a few minutes before. They were all there by now, a semi-circle round the scene of the tragedy, with Poirot like a fantastical sentinel, keeping them back.

As I watched, two uniformed figures came striding across the grass. The police had arrived.

I went quietly back to my place by the sofa. Nick lifted her tear-stained face. 'Oughtn't I to be doing something?'

'No, my dear. Poirot will see to it. Leave it to him.' Nick was silent for a minute or two, then she said: 'Poor Maggie. Poor dear old Maggie. Such a good sort who never harmed a soul in her life. That this should happen to her. I feel as though I'd killed her-bringing her down in the way that I did.'

I shook my head sadly. How little one can foresee the future. When Poirot insisted on Nick's inviting a friend, how little did he think that he was signing an unknown girl's death warrant.

We sat in silence. I longed to know what was going on outside, but I loyally fulfilled Poirot's instructions and stuck to my post.

It seemed hours later when the door opened and Poirot and a police inspector entered the room. With them came a man who was evidently Dr Graham. He came over at once to Nick.

'And how are you feeling, Miss Buckley? This must have been a terrible shock.' His fingers were on her pulse.

'Not too bad.'

He turned to me.

'Has she had anything?'

'Some brandy,' I said.

'I'm all right,' said Nick, bravely.

'Able to answer a few questions, eh?'

'Of course.'

The police inspector moved forward with a preliminary cough. Nick greeted him with the ghost of a smile.

'Not impeding the traffic this time,' she said.

I gathered they were not strangers to each other.

'This is a terrible business, Miss Buckley,' said the inspector. 'I'm very sorry about it. Now Mr Poirot here, whose name I'm very familiar with (and proud we are to have him with us, I'm sure), tells me that to the best of his belief you were shot at in the grounds of the Majestic Hotel the other morning?'

Nick nodded.

'I thought it was just a wasp,' she explained. 'But it wasn't.'

'And you'd had some rather peculiar accidents before that?'

'Yes-at least it was odd their happening so close together.'

She gave a brief account of the various circumstances.

'Just so. Now how came it that your cousin was wearing your shawl tonight?'

'We came in to fetch her coat-it was rather cold watching the fireworks. I flung off the shawl on the sofa here. Then I went upstairs and put on the coat I'm wearing now-a light nutria one. I also got a wrap for my friend Mrs Rice out of her room. There it is on the floor by the window. Then Maggie called out that she couldn't find her coat. I said it must be downstairs. She went down and called up she still couldn't find it. I said it must have been left in the car-it was a tweed coat she was looking for-she hasn't got an evening furry one-and I said I'd bring her down something of mine. But she said it didn't matter-she'd take my shawl if I didn't want it. And I said of course but would that be enough? And she said Oh, yes, because she really didn't feel it particularly cold after Yorkshire. She just wanted something. And I said all right, I'd be out in a minute. And when I did-did come out-'

She stopped, her voice breaking...

'Now, don't distress yourself, Miss Buckley. Just tell me this. Did you hear a shot-or two shots?'

Nick shook her head.

'No-only just the fireworks popping and the squibs going off.'

'That's just it,' said the inspector. 'You'd never notice a shot with all that going on. It's no good asking you, I suppose, if you've any clue to who it is making these attacks upon you?'

'I haven't the least idea,' said Nick. 'I can't imagine.'

'And you wouldn't be likely to,' said the inspector. 'Some homicidal maniac-that's what it looks like to me. Nasty business. Well, I won't need to ask you any more questions to-night, miss. I'm more sorry about this than I can say.'

Dr Graham stepped forward.

'I'm going to suggest, Miss Buckley, that you don't stay here. I've been talking it over with M. Poirot. I know of an excellent nursing home. You've had a shock, you know. What you need is complete rest-'

Nick was not looking at him. Her eyes had gone to Poirot. 'Is it-because of the shock?' she asked. He came forward.

'I want you to feel safe, mon enfant. And I want to feel, too, that you are safe. There will be a nurse there-a nice practical unimaginative nurse. She will be near you all night. When you wake up and cry out-she will be there, close at hand. You understand?'

'Yes,' said Nick, 'I understand. But you don't. I'm not afraid any longer. I don't care one way or another. If anyone wants to murder me, they can.'

'Hush, hush,' I said. 'You're over-strung.' 'You don't know. None of you know!'

'I really think M. Poirot's plan is a good one,' the doctor broke in soothingly. 'I will take you in my car. And we will give you a little something to ensure a good night's rest. Now what do you say?'

'I don't mind,' said Nick. 'Anything you like. It doesn't matter.'

Poirot laid his hand on hers.

'I know, Mademoiselle. I know what you must feel. I stand before you ashamed and stricken to the heart. I, who promised protection, have not been able to protect. I have failed. I am a miserable. But believe me, Mademoiselle, my heart is in agony because of that failure. If you know what I am suffering you would forgive, I am sure.'

'That's all right,' said Nick, still in the same dull voice. 'You mustn't blame yourself. I'm sure you did the best you could. Nobody could have helped it-or done more, I'm sure. Please don't be unhappy.'

'You are very generous, Mademoiselle.' 'No, I-'

There was an interruption. The door flew open and George Challenger rushed into the room.

'What's all this?' he cried. 'I've just arrived. To find a policeman at the gate and a rumour that somebody's dead. What is it all about? For God's sake, tell me. Is it-is it-Nick?'

The anguish in his tone was dreadful to hear. I suddenly realized that Poirot and the doctor between them completely blotted out Nick from his sight.

Before anyone had time to answer, he repeated his question.

'Tell me-it can't be true-Nick isn't dead?'

'No, mon ami,' said Poirot, gently. 'She is alive.'

And he drew back so that Challenger could see the little figure on the sofa.

For a moment or two Challenger stared at her incredulously. Then, staggering a little, like a drunken man, he muttered: 'Nick-Nick.'

And suddenly dropping on his knees beside the sofa and hiding his head in his hands, he cried in a muffled voice: 'Nick-my darling-I thought that you were dead.'

Nick tried to sit up.

'It's all right, George. Don't be an idiot. I'm quite safe.'

He raised his head and looked round wildly.

'But somebody's dead? The policeman said so.'

'Yes,' said Nick. 'Maggie. Poor old Maggie. Oh!-'

A spasm twisted her face. The doctor and Poirot came forward. Graham helped her to her feet. He and Poirot, one on each side, helped her from the room.

'The sooner you get to your bed the better,' remarked the doctor. 'I'll take you along at once in my car. I've asked Mrs Rice to pack a few things ready for you to take.'

They disappeared through the door. Challenger caught my arm. 'I don't understand. Where are they taking her?' I explained.

'Oh! I see. Now, then, Hastings, for God's sake give me the hang of this thing. What a ghastly tragedy! That poor girl.'

'Come and have a drink,' I said. 'You're all to pieces.'

'I don't mind if I do.'

We adjourned to the dining-room.

'You see,' he explained, as he put away a stiff whisky and soda, 'I thought it was Nick.'

There was very little doubt as to the feelings of Commander George Challenger. A more transparent lover never lived.

第八章　致命的披肩

惊骇之中，我们一动不动地僵在那里，虽然只有几十秒，却像过了一个小时似的。

波洛甩开我的手走上前去，动作僵硬得像个机器人。

“终于出事了，”他喃喃地说，声音里带着无法描写的痛苦。“尽管我们小心提防，祸事还是发生了！啊，都怪我，我为什么没有更小心地保护她？我应当预见到的，是的——完全应当预见到的。我一刻也不该离开她呀。”

“别责备自己了，”我说。可是我的声音像凝结在喉咙里似的，听起来模模糊糊的。

波洛只是伤心地摇摇头。他在尸体旁跪了下去。

突然我们大吃一惊，不约而同地挺起了身子——我们听到了尼克的声音，又清晰又快活。接着在窗户明亮的背景上出现了尼克黑色的身影。

“真抱歉，马吉，我让你等久了，”她说，“怎么——”

她莫名其妙地看着眼前这个场面。

波洛尖叫了一声，把草地上的尸体翻了过来。我弯下腰去，看见马吉全无生气的脸。

尼克尖叫了一声。

“马吉——哦，马吉！这不，不……”

波洛草草检查了尸体，慢慢站了起来。

“她真的——她难道真的……”尼克说。

“是的，小姐，她死了。”

“这是为什么？是怎么回事？谁会去伤害她这样一个人？”

波洛的回答迅速坚决：

“他们要杀的不是她，是你！他们上了这块披肩的当了。”

尼克听了差点昏倒。

“为什么死的不是我？”她痛哭起来，“让我吃这一枪多好，我现在还留恋什么？死对于我只是解脱！”

她向空中挥舞着双臂，步履蹒跚，摇摇欲坠。我立刻伸过手去扶住了她。

“把她搀进屋里去，黑斯廷斯。”波洛说，“然后打电话给警察。”

“警察？”

“对，告诉他们有人被打死了。你得陪着尼克小姐，决不要离开她。”

接受了指示，我扶着半昏迷的姑娘从落地窗门艰难地走进了客厅。我把她安顿在一张长沙发上，在她头下塞了个软垫，然后急忙跑进堂屋去找电话。

我出乎意外地撞见埃伦。她正站在那里，庄严可敬的脸上有一种十分特别的表情。她两眼放光，舌头反复舔着干燥的嘴唇，双手好像由于激动而不停地颤抖。看见我，她说：

“先生，发生了——什么事吗？”

“是的，”我简短地说，“电话在哪儿？”

“别是出了……岔子了吧，先生？”

“出事了，”我推委地说，“有人受伤了。我必须打电话。”

“谁受伤了？先生？”这时她脸上那种极其迫切的表情叫人吃惊。

“巴克利小姐——马吉·巴克利小姐。”

“马吉小姐？马吉小姐？你能肯定吗，先生，我是说，你肯定是马吉小姐吗？”

“相当肯定。怎么啦？”

“哦，没什么。我——我还以为是另外一位。我以为可能是……赖斯太太。”

“嗨，电话在哪里？”

“在那个小房间里，先生，”她替我开了门，把电话机指给我看。

“谢谢，”我说。看见她踌躇不决，我又加了一句，“没别的事了，谢谢你。”

“如果你想请格雷厄姆医师……”

“不，不，”我说，“没另外的事了，你请便吧。”

于是她勉强退了出去。很可能她会在门外偷听，但我有什么办法呢？她终究会知道一切的。

我接通了当地警察局，向他们作了简单的报告，然后又自作主张打了个电话给埃伦推荐的那位格雷厄姆医师——电话号码是在号码簿里查到的。就算他不能让躺在花园里的那位可怜姑娘起死回生，总能够使躺在沙发上的那位不幸女孩顺脉定心。那医师答应尽快赶到。我挂上电话出了小房间。

要是埃伦曾在门外偷听，她一定溜得极快，因为我走出小房间时，目光所及空无一人。回到客厅里，尼克正想坐起身来。

“你觉得——是不是可以给我倒点白兰地？”

“当然可以。”

我急忙赶到餐厅倒了杯白兰地给尼克。抿了几口之后，她稍稍振作了一些，脸上也有了点血色。我给她把枕在头下的软垫摆正了。

“多吓人，”她战战兢兢地说：“时时处处——”

“我知道，亲爱的，我知道。”

“不，你不知道！你什么都不了解。一切全是白费劲！如果刚才死的是我，一切就全过去了……”

“你可千万别胡思乱想。”

她只是一再摇头。“你不懂，一点也不懂。”

她突然哭了起来，像个孩子似的绝望地抽泣。我想让她哭一场也好，就没有去打扰她。

外面第一阵大乱稍稍平息之后，我赶到窗前向外看。人们在出事地点围成个半圆形，波洛像个卫兵似的拚命把他们挡住。

正当我在观看的时候，有两个身穿制服的人穿过草地大步走来，警察到了。我赶快回到沙发旁。尼克抬起泪眼问道：

“我是不是应当做些什么？”

“不，我亲爱的，有波洛在呢，他会料理一切的。”

尼克静默了一两分钟，然后说：

“可怜的马吉，可怜的好姑娘！她一生中从没伤害过谁，这种惨祸竟会落到她头上！我觉得好像是我杀了她——是我那么急急地把她叫来的。”

我黯然地摇了摇头。将来的事太难预料了。当波洛坚持叫尼克请一个亲戚来陪她的时候，他何尝知道自己正在给一个毫不相识的姑娘签署死亡证书！

我们无言地坐着。虽然我很想知道他们在外边干什么，但还是忠实地执行着波洛的指示，在我的岗位上恪尽职守。

当波洛同一位警官推门进来时，我觉得自己好像已经等了好几个小时似的。同他们一起进来的另一位无疑就是格雷厄姆医师。他立刻走到尼克身边。

“你感觉怎样，巴克利小姐？唉，真是飞来横祸。”他用手指按着她的脉搏，说：“还好。”然后转向我问道：“她吃了什么没有？”

“喝了一点白兰地酒。”我说。

“我没事。”尼克打起精神说。

“能回答几个问题吗？”

“当然可以。”

警官清了清嗓子走到尼克身旁。尼克对他阴郁地笑了笑，说：

“这次我总没有违反交通规则吧。”

我猜他们以前打过交道。警官说：

“这件凶杀案使我深感不安，巴克利小姐。幸好我们久仰的波洛先生也在此地（跟他在一起是大可以引为自豪的），他很有把握地告诉我说有人在美琪旅馆对你开过枪，是这样吗？”

尼克点点头说：“那颗子弹从我头旁擦过时，我还以为是只飞得极快的黄蜂哩。”

“以前还发生过其它一些怪事？”

“是的，至少这点很奇怪：它们是接连发生的。”

她把那几件事简单地复述了一遍。

“跟我们所听说的一样。但今天晚上你的表姐怎么会披上你的披肩呢？”

“我们进屋来穿衣服——在外面看焰火有些冷。我把披肩扔在沙发上就跑到楼上去穿我现在穿在身上的这件大衣——是薄薄的海狸鼠皮大衣。我从赖斯太太的房里给她也拿出一条披肩，就是窗下地板上那一条。这时马吉叫了起来，说她找不到她的大衣。我说可能在楼下，她就下楼去找——她在找的是件苏格兰呢大衣，她没有皮的——我说我可以给她拿一件我的穿。可是她说不用了，她可以披我那块披肩，如果我不用的话。我说当然可以，就怕不够暖。她回答说够暖了，因为约克郡比这里冷得多，她随便围上点什么都行。我说好的，并告诉她我马上就出来。但当我出，出来时……”

她说不下去了。

“别难过，巴克利小姐。请告诉我，你是否听见一声枪声或者两声？”

尼克摇摇头。

“没有，我只听到放焰火和爆竹的噼啪声。”

“是啊。”警官说，“这种时候枪声是不会引起丝毫注意的。我还想请问一个我并不抱希望的问题：对于向你开枪的人你可能够提供什么线索吗？”

“一点也提供不了。”尼克说，“我想不出。”

“你自然想不出，”那警官说，“至于我，我觉得既然找不出动机，那么干这种事的就只能是个嗜杀成性的疯子了。好吧，小姐，今天晚上我不再打扰你了。对你的不幸我深表遗憾和同情。”

格雷厄姆医生说：

“巴克利小姐，我建议你别再待在这儿。我跟波洛先生商量了一下，想送你进休养所。你受的刺激太大了，需要百分之百的安静休养。”

尼克两眼看着波洛。

“是因为受了刺激？”她问。

波洛走到她身边。

“我要你产生一种安全感，孩子。而且我也必须把你放在一个安全的环境之中。那休养所里将有一个护士，一个切切实实讲究现实的好护士通宵在你附近值班。只要你醒过来低声一唤，她立刻便会应招而来。你懂了吗？”

“我懂，”尼克说，“但你却不懂：我的恐怖不会持续多久了。用这种手段杀我也好，用那种手段杀我也好，我全不在乎。如果有人一心要干掉我的话，他一定办得到。”

“嘘，镇静些，”我说，“你太紧张了。”

“不，你们谁也不懂！”

“我很赞成波洛先生的计划，”医生抚慰说，“我用我的汽车带你去吧。我们还要给你吃点药，让你可以好好休息一夜。你看怎样？”

“我无所谓，”尼克说，“悉听尊便吧。”

波洛把手按在她的手上说：

“我知道，小姐，我知道你会怎么想。我站在你面前，心里充满了羞赧和愧疚。我曾对你保证过要使你化险为夷，可我疏忽了，失败了，我责无旁贷，后悔莫及。请相信我，小姐，这次的失败深深地刺伤了我的心。要是你知道我多么痛苦，你一定会原谅我的。”

“没什么，”尼克木然地说，“不要苛责自己。我相信你已经尽了你的力。没有谁能比你做得更好了。请别难过。”

“你真宽容，小姐。”

“不，我——”

这句话被打断了。乔治·查林杰撞开门冲了进来。

“是怎么回事？”他叫道，“我一到就看见门外有警察，还听说死了人。究竟是怎么回事？看在上帝的分上，快告诉我。是——是尼克吗？”

他那痛苦的声音听着叫人害怕。我忽然发现波洛和医生刚好把尼克从他的视线里挡住了。没等别人来得及回答，他又重复了他的问题：

“告诉我——不会是真的——尼克没有死吧？”

“没有，我的朋友，”波洛从容地说，“她活着。”

说着，波洛闪到一旁。查林杰看见了躺在沙发上的尼克。有那么一刹那他怀疑地凝视着她，后来像个醉汉似的踉呛了一步，咕哝道：

“尼克——尼克！”

他突然在沙发旁跪了下去，双手捂住脸哭了起来，用压抑着的声音说：

“尼克，我的心肝，我以为你死了。”

尼克想要坐起来。

“没什么，乔治，别像个白痴似的，我很平安。”

他抬起头向左右看看。

“但警察说有人死了。”

“是的，”尼克说，“马吉，可怜的好马吉，哦……”

她的脸上泪痕未干，眼里又充满了泪水。医生同波洛走上前去把她扶了起来搀出客厅。

“你越快躺到床上越好，”医生说，“我马上用我的汽车带你去。我已经叫赖斯太太把你要用的东西包好了。”

他们的身影一会儿就消失在门外了。查林杰抓住我的膀子。

“我不懂，他们把她带到什么地方去？”

我告诉了他。

“哦，是这样。那么，黑斯廷斯，看在上帝的分上，快告诉我究竟是怎么回事。多恐怖的悲剧！那可怜的姑娘！”

“来喝点酒吧，”我说，“你的神经快要四分五裂了。”

“这才无关紧要呢。”

我们走进餐厅。

“你瞧，”他放下苏打水和威士忌瓶子时说，“我还以为是尼克出了事呢。”

对乔治·查林杰的感情是没有什么可怀疑的，因为实在找不出比他更不加掩饰的情人了。