Chapter 12 – Ellen

Poirot said no word till we had emerged from the nursing home into the outer air. Then he caught me by the arm.

'You see, Hastings? You see? Ah! Sacre tonnerre! I was right! I was right! Always I knew there was something lacking-some piece of the puzzle that was not there. And without that missing piece the whole thing was meaningless.'

His almost despairing triumph was double-Dutch to me. I Could not see that anything very epoch-making had occurred.

'It was there all the time. And I could not see it. But how should I? To know there is something -that, yes-but to know what that something is. Ah! Qa c'est bien plus difficile.'

'Do you mean that this has some direct bearing on the crime?' 'Ma foi, do you not see?' 'As a matter of fact, I don't.'

'Is it possible? Why, it gives us what we have been looking for-the motive-the hidden obscure motive!'

'I may be very dense, but I can't see it. Do you mean jealousy of some kind?'

'Jealousy? No, no, my friend. The usual motive-the inevitable motive. Money, my friend, money!'

I stared. He went on, speaking more calmly.

'Listen, mon ami. Just over a week ago Sir Matthew Seton dies. And Sir Matthew Seton was a millionaire-one of the richest men in England.'

'Yes, but-'

'Attendez. One step at a time. He has a nephew whom he idolizes and to whom, we may safely assume, he has left his vast fortune.'

'But-'

'Mais oui-legacies, yes, an endowment to do with his hobby, yes, but the bulk of the money would go to Michael Seton. Last Tuesday, Michael Seton is reported missing-and on Wednesday the attacks on Mademoiselle's life begin. Supposing, Hastings, that Michael Seton made a will before he started on his flight, and that in that will he left all he had to his fiancee.'

'That's pure supposition.'

'It is supposition-yes. But it must be so. Because, if it is not so, there is no meaning in anything that has happened. It is no paltry inheritance that is at stake. It is an enormous fortune.'

I was silent for some minutes, turning the matter over in my mind. It seemed to me that Poirot was leaping to conclusions in a most reckless manner, and yet I was secretly convinced that he was right. It was his extraordinary flair for being right that influenced me. Yet it seemed to me that there was a good deal to be proved still.

'But if nobody knew of the engagement,' I argued.

'Pah! Somebody did know. For the matter of that, somebody always does know. If they do not know, they guess. Madame Rice suspected. Mademoiselle Nick admitted as much. She may have had means of turning those suspicions into certainties.'

'How?'

'Well, for one thing, there must have been letters from Michael Seton to Mademoiselle Nick. They had been engaged some time. And her best friend could not call that young lady anything but careless. She leaves things here and there, and everywhere. I doubt if she has ever locked up anything in her life. Oh, yes, there would be means of making sure.'

'And Frederica Rice would know about the will that her friend had made?'

'Doubtless. Oh, yes, it narrows down now. You remember my list-a list of persons numbered from A. to J. It has narrowed down to only two persons. I dismiss the servants. I dismiss the Commander Challenger-even though he did take one hour and a half to reach here from Plymouth-and the distance is only thirty miles. I dismiss the long-nosed M. Lazarus who offered fifty pounds for a picture that was only worth twenty (it is odd, that, when you come to think of it. Most uncharacteristic of his race). I dismiss the Australians-so hearty and so pleasant. I keep two people on my list still.'

'One is Frederica Rice,' I said slowly.

I had a vision of her face, the golden hair, the white fragility of the features.

'Yes. She is indicated very clearly. However carelessly worded Mademoiselle's will may have been, she would be plainly indicated as residuary legatee. Apart from End House, everything was to go to her. If Mademoiselle Nick instead of Mademoiselle Maggie had been shot last night, Madame Rice would be a rich woman today.'

'I can hardly believe it!'

'You mean that you can hardly believe that a beautiful woman can be a murderess? One often has a little difficulty with members of a jury on that account. But you may be right. There is still another suspect.'

'Who?'

'Charles Vyse.'

'But he only inherits the house.'

'Yes-but he may not know that. Did he make Mademoiselle's will for her? I think not. If so, it would be in his keeping, not "knocking around somewhere", or whatever the phrase was that Mademoiselle used. So, you see, Hastings,it is quite probable that he knows nothing about that will. He may believe that she has never made a will and that, in that case, he will inherit as next of kin.'

'You know,' I said, 'that really seems to me much more probable.'

'That is your romantic mind, Hastings. The wicked solicitor. A familiar figure in fiction. If as well as being a solicitor he has an impassive face, it makes the matter almost certain. It is true that, in some ways, he is more in the picture than Madame. He would be more likely to know about the pistol and more likely to use one.'

'And to send the boulder crashing down.'

'Perhaps. Though, as I have told you, much can be done by leverage. And the fact that the boulder was dislodged at the wrong minute, and consequently missed Mademoiselle, is more suggestive of feminine agency. The idea of tampering with the interior of a car seems masculine in conception-though many women are as good mechanics as men nowadays. On the other hand, there are one or two gaps in the theory against M. Vyse.'

'Such as-?'

'He is less likely to have known of the engagement than Madame. And there is another point. His action was rather precipitate.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, until last night there was nocertitude that Seton was dead. To act rashly, without due assurance, seems very uncharacteristic of the legal mind.'

'Yes,' I said. 'A woman would jump to conclusions.'

'Exactly. Ce que femme veut, Dieu veut. That is the attitude.'

'It's really amazing the way Nick has escaped. It seems almost incredible.'

And suddenly I remembered the tone in Frederica's voice as she had said: 'Nick bears a charmed life.'

I shivered a little.

'Yes,' said Poirot, thoughtfully. 'And I can take no credit to myself. Which is humiliating.'

'Providence,' I murmured.

'Ah! mon ami, I would not put on the shoulders of the good God the burden of men's wrong doing. You say that in your Sunday morning voice of thankfulness-without reflecting that what you are really saying is that le bon Dieu has killed Miss Maggie Buckley.'

'Really, Poirot!'

'Really, my friend! But I will not sit back and say "le bon Dieu has arranged everything, I will not interfere". Because I am convinced that le bon Dieu created Hercule Poirot for the express purpose of interfering. It is my metier.'

We had been slowly ascending the zigzag path up the cliff. It was at this juncture that we passed through the little gate into the grounds of End House.

'Pouf!' said Poirot. 'That ascent is a steep one. I am hot. My moustaches are limp. Yes, as I was saying just now, I am on the side of the innocent. I am on the side of Mademoiselle Nick because she was attacked. I am on the side of Mademoiselle Maggie because she has been killed.'

'And you are against Frederica Rice and Charles Vyse.'

'No, no, Hastings. I keep an open mind. I say only that at the moment one of those two is indicated. Chut!'

We had come out on the strip of lawn by the house, and a man was driving a mowing machine. He had a long, stupid face and lack-lustre eyes. Beside him was a small boy of about ten, ugly but intelligent-looking.

It crossed my mind that we had not heard the mowing machine in action, but I presumed that the gardener was not overworking himself. He had probably been resting from his labours, and had sprung into action on hearing our voices approaching.

'Good morning,' said Poirot. 'Good morning, sir.'

'You are the gardener, I suppose. The husband of Madame who works in the house.'

'He's my Dad,' said the small boy.

'That's right, sir,' said the man. 'You'll be the foreign gentleman, I take it, that's really a detective. Is there any news of the young mistress, sir?'

'I come from seeing her at the immediate moment. She has passed a satisfactory night.'

'We've had policemen here,' said the small boy. 'That's where the lady was killed. Here by the steps. I seen a pig killed once, haven't I, Dad?'

'Ah!' said his father, unemotionally.

'Dad used to kill pigs when he worked on a farm. Didn't you, Dad? I seen a pig killed. I liked it.'

'Young 'uns like to see pigs killed,' said the man, as though stating one of the unalterable facts of nature.

'Shot with a pistol, the lady was,' continued the boy. 'She didn't have her throat cut. No!'

We passed on to the house, and I felt thankful to get away from the ghoulish child.

Poirot entered the drawing-room, the windows of which were open, and rang the bell. Ellen, neatly attired in black, came in answer to the bell. She showed no surprise at seeing us.

Poirot explained that we were here by permission of Miss Buckley to make a search of the house.

'Very good sir.'

'The police have finished?'

'They said they had seen everything they wanted, sir. They've been about the garden since very early in the morning. I don't know whether they've found anything.'

She was about to leave the room when Poirot stopped her with a question.

'Were you very surprised last night when you heard Miss Buckley had been shot?'

'Yes, sir, very surprised. Miss Maggie was a nice young lady, sir. I can't imagine anyone being so wicked as to want to harm her.'

'If it had been anyone else, you would not have been so surprised-eh?' 'I don't know what you mean, sir?'

'When I came into the hall last night,' he said, 'you asked at once whether anyone had been hurt. Were you expecting anything of the kind?'

She was silent. Her fingers pleated a corner of her apron. She shook her head and murmured: 'You gentlemen wouldn't understand.'

'Yes, yes,' said Poirot, 'I would understand. However fantastic what you may say, I would understand.'

She looked at him doubtfully, then seemed to make up her mind to trust him. 'You see, sir,' she said, 'this isn't a good house.'

I was surprised and a little contemptuous. Poirot, however, seemed to find the remark not in the least unusual.

'You mean it is an old house.' 'Yes, sir, not a good house.'

'You have been here long?'

'Six years, sir. But I was here as a girl. In the kitchen as kitchen-maid. That was in the time of old Sir Nicholas. It was the same then.'

Poirot looked at her attentively.

'In an old house,' she said, 'there is sometimes an atmosphere of evil.'

'That's it, sir,' said Ellen, eagerly. 'Evil. Bad thoughts and bad deeds too. It's like dry rot in a house, sir, you can't get it out. It's a sort of feeling in the air. I always knew something bad would happen in this house, someday.'

'Well, you have been proved right.' 'Yes, sir.'

There was a very slight underlying satisfaction in her tone, the satisfaction of one whose gloomy prognostications have been shown to be correct.

'But you didn't think it would be Miss Maggie.'

'No, indeed, I didn't, sir. Nobody hated her -I'm sure of it.'

It seemed to me that in those words was a clue. I expected Poirot to follow it up, but to my surprise he shifted to quite a different subject.

'You didn't hear the shots fired?'

'I couldn't have told with the fireworks going on. Very noisy they were.'

'You weren't out watching them?'

'No, I hadn't finished clearing up dinner.'

'Was the waiter helping you?'

'No, sir, he'd gone out into the garden to have a look at the fireworks.'

'But you didn't go.'

'No, sir.'

'Why was that?'

'I wanted to get finished.'

'You don't care for fireworks?'

'Oh, yes, sir, it wasn't that. But you see, there's two nights of them, and William and I get the evening off tomorrow and go down into the town and see them from there.'

'I comprehend. And you heard Mademoiselle Maggie asking for her coat and unable to find it?'

'I heard Miss Nick run upstairs, sir, and Miss Buckley call up from the front hall saying she couldn't find something and I heard her say, "All right-I'll take the shawl-"'

'Pardon,' Poirot interrupted. 'You did not endeavour to search for the coat for her-or get it from the car where it had been left?'

'I had my work to do, sir.'

'Quite so-and doubtless neither of the two young ladies asked you because they thought you were out looking at the fireworks?'

'Yes, sir.'

'So that, other years, you have been out looking at the fireworks?'

A sudden flush came into her pale cheeks.

'I don't know what you mean, sir. We're always allowed to go out into the garden. If I didn't feel like it this year, and would rather get on with my work and go to bed, well, that's my business, I imagine.'

'Mais oui. Mais oui. I did not intend to offend you. Why should you not do as you prefer. To make a change, it is pleasant.'

He paused and then added: 'Now another little matter in which I wonder whether you can help me. This is an old house. Are there, do you know, any secret chambers in it?'

'Well-there's a kind of sliding panel-in this very room. I remember being shown it as a girl. Only I can't remember just now where it is. Or was it in the library? I can't say, I'm sure.'

'Big enough for a person to hide in?'

'Oh, no indeed, sir! A little cupboard place-a kind of niche. About a foot square, sir, not more than that.'

'Oh! that is not what I mean at all.' The blush rose to her face again.

'If you think I was hiding anywhere-I wasn't! I heard Miss Nick run down the stairs and out and I heard her cry out-and I came into the hall to see if-if anything was the matter. And that's the gospel truth, sir. That's the gospel truth.'

第十二章　埃伦

从休养所里出来的时候波洛一声不吭。到了外面，他一把抓住我的手臂，说道：

“怎么样，黑斯廷斯？这下明白了吧？嘿，帷幔拉开了！我说得对啊，说得对啊！我一直就说我们的链条少了一环——关键性的一环。离开了它，整个事件就无从解释了。”

他那失望和狂喜交织在一起的声音使我完全摸不着头脑。我看不出发生了什么具有划时代意义的大事。

“这个事实始终就存在着，我却没有及时发现。不过怎么发现得了呢？知道存在着一个重要的未知数——这点我没弄错——但这个未知数究竟是什么，可就很难查明了。”

“你是说，尼克同迈克尔的订婚和这个案子有直接的关系？”

“难道你看不出来？”

“我看不出。”

“看不出？多怪！你要知道，它提供了我们一直在寻找的东西——动机，不为人知的极其明显的动机啊！”

“我可能太冥顽不化了，但我真的看不出。你指的是妒忌这类动机吗？”

“妒忌？不，不，不。此动机是司法界司空见惯的，最善诱人作恶，是谋财。”

我注视着他。他平静下来向我解释道：

“听我说，我的朋友。马修·塞顿爵士死去才一个星期。这位爵士是个百万豪富，是英伦三岛第一流阔佬之一。”

“是啊，不过——”

“别急，我们一步步来嘛。他崇拜自己的侄儿，因此我们可以不加思索地指出这么一个必然的事实：他会把极为可观的财产遗留给这个侄儿。”

“但是……”

“当然，那些遗产会有一部分捐赠给他所爱好的鸟类保护事业，可是大部分的财产将归属迈克尔·塞顿。上星期二开始有了关于迈克尔失踪的报道，而星期三对尼克小姐的谋害就开始了。我们假设一下，黑斯廷斯，迈克尔·塞顿在起飞前曾立过遗嘱，在那里头他把一切全都留给惟一的亲人未婚妻了。”

“这只是你的臆测罢了。”

“对，只是臆测，但肯定不会错的。如果不是这样，所发生的一切便只能是个无解方程。须知这不是一笔无足轻重的小遗产。这是一笔惊人的大赌注呀！”

我沉默了片刻，在心里仔细盘算。我觉得波洛这样下结论未免轻率，然而我也隐约感觉到他已经把握住了关键性的事实。他那卓越的眼力屡试不爽，在过去的年代里给我留下过深刻的印象。不过我还是觉得有不少疑点仍需澄清。

“要是他们的订婚根本就没人知道呢？”我争辩说。

“哈！肯定有人知道。这种事情是没有不走漏风声的。即使不知道，猜也猜得出。赖斯太太就疑心过——这是尼克小姐说的。而且她还可能证实了她的怀疑。”

“怎么证实的？”

“可以这样设想：迈克尔·塞顿必然有信写给尼克小姐，因为他们订婚的时间不短了。尼克小姐向来粗枝大叶，难道会费心把这些信特别秘密地锁在一个安全的地方？我简直不相信她会用锁锁过东西。因此赖斯太太要证实她的疑心实在太容易了。”

“弗雷德里卡·赖斯知道她朋友的遗嘱内容吗？”

“这更不用说了。啊，很好，现在范围缩小了。你还记得我列的那张从一到十的名单吗？表上现在只剩下两个人了。我排除了佣人，排除了查林杰中校——虽然从普利茅斯到这儿的三十英里路他竟开着汽车走了一个半小时，我也排除了拉扎勒斯先生，他曾出价五十镑去买一幅仅值二十镑的画。这在干他那种行当的人来说是耐人寻味的。我也排除了那两位古道热肠的澳大利亚人。表里只留下两个人了。”

“一个是弗雷德里卡·赖斯，”我慢吞吞地说，仿佛又看见了她那苍白的脸，浅黄的头发和柳条般的身影。

“对，她是很明显的。不管尼克那份遗嘱的措辞多么不正规，她总归是一切动产的继承人。除了悬崖山庄之外，其余一切东西都将落到她的手中。如果昨天晚上死的不是马吉小姐而是尼克小姐，赖斯太太今天已经是个腰缠万贯的阔妇人啦。”

“我简直无法相信。”

“你是说你不相信一个如此娇媚纤弱的女郎竟会杀人对不对？其实别说你了，就是陪审团里有时也会有个把不谙世事的陪审员受这种想法的影响哩。不过你也许是对的，因为另外还有一个人也很可疑。”

“谁？”

“查尔斯·维斯。”

“但他只能得到房子呀。”

“是的，不过他可能不知道这一点。是他替尼克起草遗嘱的吗？我想不是的。因为如果是他起草的，这份遗嘱就会由他保存而不会叫尼克说出‘总在什么地方的’这种话来。所以你看，黑斯廷斯，他可能对这个遗嘱一无所知，甚至以为她根本就没有立过遗嘱。这样，在没有遗嘱的情况下，他便是最近的亲属，可以继承尼克留下的一切财产。”

“对，”我说，“我现在认为这个人是凶手的可能性比赖斯太太大。”

“这是因为你怜香惜玉，黑斯廷斯。居心险恶的律师是小说里经常出现的熟悉形象。维斯是个律师，再加上生就一张冷淡的面孔，你就以为是他干的了。当然，从某些方面来看，他的确比赖斯太太更为可疑。他比她更容易知道那枝手枪在什么地方，也更像个会使用这种武器的人。”

“还有把那块石头推下峭壁。”

“是啊，可能的。虽然我说过只要有一根杠杆，这件事谁都干得了。况且那块石头滚得不是时候，没伤着尼克，看上去倒像个女人干的。但把汽车上的刹车搞坏却又像是男人才想得出的点子——虽然现在许多女人摆弄起机器来也是一把好手。不过从另一方面看，如果我们怀疑维斯先生，有一两个地方却解释不通。”

“比如说——”

“他不像赖斯太太那样有机会了解到尼克小姐订婚的消息。还有，他办起事来是沉着冷静的。”

“沉着冷静又怎么样呢？”

“塞顿之死直到昨天吃晚饭的时候才被证实。在这之前，塞顿之死仅仅是人们的猜测。没有任何把握地卤莽行事不像一个职业律师的处事方法。”

“对，”我说，“女人就不同了。她们感情冲动起来是又卤莽又不考虑后果的。”

“不错。”

“尼克至今还能安然无恙地活着，真是侥幸之侥幸。”

突然我想起弗雷德里卡说“尼克每次都能逃避灾难，真有神佑”这句话时所用的奇怪声调，不由得哆嗦了一下。

“是呀，”波洛低声说道，“我也说不出个所以然来——惭愧得很。”

“是天命吧。”我喃喃地说。

“啊，我的朋友，我是不会把人类的过错归咎于上帝的。我说，当你在星期天早上做祷告的时候，虽然出于无心，但在你的声音里总带有那么一种不满，仿佛说是上帝杀了马吉小姐，对不对？”

“真的，波洛！”

“可是，我的朋友，我却不会仰天长叹，说：‘既然上天安排了一切，我便只需袖手旁观’。因为我认为‘天生我材必有用’，上帝把我送到这个世界上来，就是要我来干涉世事的。这是我的天职。”

我们沿着“之”字形小路登上山顶，走进悬崖山庄的花园。

“啊，”波洛说，“这条路真陡，我走得满身是汗，连胡子都挂下来啦。刚才我说到哪里了？哦，对，我要来干涉世事，并且总是站在无辜者和受害者的一边。现在我站在尼克小姐这边，因为她是受害者。我也站在马吉小姐这边，因为她被无辜地打死了。”

“你把长矛指向弗雷德里卡·赖斯和查尔斯·维斯。”

“不，不，黑斯廷斯，我并不抱成见。我只是说，目前看来这两个人当中有一个可能搞了鬼。咦，你看。”

我们走到了屋前的草地上。一个看上去蠢得可以的长脸男人正在推一台割草机。他的双眼就像死鱼眼睛一样没有一点灵光。在他身旁有个十岁光景的男孩，相貌奇丑但相当聪明。

我忽然想起刚才我们好像没有听到割草机的响声，想来大概他干得太累休息了一下，后来听见我们的说话声连忙又干起来。

“早安。”波洛说。

“早安，先生。”

“我想你是园丁，屋里那位管家太太的丈夫吧？”

“他是我爸爸。”男孩说。

“很对，先生。”园丁说，“我想你是一位外国绅士，一位侦探吧？我们年轻的女主人可有什么消息？”

“我刚从她那里来。她夜里睡得很好。”

“刚才警察在这里，”男孩子说，“喏，就在台阶那儿，昨天那位小姐就是在这里被人杀掉的。我以前看过杀猪，对吧，爸爸？”

“哦，”他父亲毫无表情地说。

“爸爸在农场干活的时候常常杀猪的，是不是，爸爸？我看见过杀猪，那才好玩哩。”

“小孩子总是喜欢看杀猪的。”那位父亲说，好像在背诵一条颠扑不破的自然界的真理似的。

“那小姐是被手枪干掉的，”男孩子又说下去，“她没有像猪一样被割断喉管，没有。”

我们向屋子走去，谢天谢地，总算离开了那个残忍不祥的男孩。

波洛进了客厅就打铃唤人。埃伦穿着一身整洁的黑衣服应召而来。见到我们她并不奇怪。

波洛告诉她，我们已得到尼克的同意，要查看一下这幢房子。

“很好，先生。”

“警察已经来过了？”

“他们说他们已经查看完毕，先生。他们一早就在花园里忙乱。不知他们找到了什么没有。”

她正要走开，波洛又把她叫住了。

“昨晚当你听说巴克利小姐被枪杀时，是否非常吃惊？”

“是的，先生，我吓坏了。巴克利小姐是个好姑娘，先生。我想不通怎么她会被人杀害的。”

“如果被害的是另外一个人，你就不会这样惊恐，是吗？”

“你这是什么意思，先生？”

我说：“昨晚我进来打电话的时候你马上问是否有人出了事。你是不是在等待着这种事情的发生？”

她沉默了一会，手指摆弄着衣角。她摇摇头，轻声说道，“先生们，你们不会理解的。”

“不，不，”波洛说，“我会理解的。不管你说什么我都能理解。”

她疑惑地看了他一眼，最后还是相信了他。

“知道吧，先生，”她说，“这不是一幢好房子。”

我听了有点意外，就轻蔑地朝她瞟了一眼。波洛却好像觉得这种说法言之成理。

“你是说，这是一幢古老陈旧的房子吧？”

“是的，先生，这不是一幢好房子。”

“你在这里很久了吧？”

“六年了，先生，不过，当我还是个姑娘的时候，就在这里做过厨房里的女仆。”

波洛很注意地看着她。

“在一幢古屋里，”他说，“有时总有那么一种森冷的邪气。”

“就是，先生。”埃伦急切地说，“一种邪气，还有不良的念头和行为，房子里就好像有一种腐烂的东西被风干了似的，既找不到又无法清除；它是一种感觉，无处不在。我知道总有一天要出事的。”

“是啊，事实证明你是对的。”

“是的，先生。”

她的声音里有一种隐藏着的满足——她那阴沉沉的预言这次可真的成了事实。

“但你却没想到会应在马吉小姐身上。”

“这倒是真的，先生，没有人恨她——这点我是很有把握的。”

我觉得这些话里埋藏着一条线索，我希望波洛会顺藤摸瓜，但叫我大失所望的是他调转了话题。

“你没听到枪声？”

“那时正放焰火呀，吵得很。”

“你没出去看？”

“没有，我还没收拾好晚饭桌上那一摊子。”

“那个临时雇来的男仆在帮你的忙吗？”

“没有，先生，他到花园里看焰火去了。”

“但你却没去。”

“是的，先生。”

“为什么呢？”

“我得把活儿干完。”

“你对焰火不感兴趣？”

“不，先生，不是不感兴趣，但你瞧，焰火要放两晚，我和威廉今晚休息，我们要到城里去，并在那儿看焰火。”

“我明白了。你听到了马吉小姐在到处找她的大衣，可是找不到？”

“我听到尼克小姐跑上楼去，先生，还听到巴克利小姐在楼下堂屋里对尼克叫着说她找不到一样什么东西。我听见她说：‘好吧——我用你那块披肩……’”

“对不起，”波洛打断了她的话，“你没有帮她去找那件大衣，或者到汽车里去替她取？”

“我有我自己的事要干哪，先生。”

“不错，两位女士谁也没要你帮忙，因为她们以为你在外边看焰火。”

“是的，先生。”

“那么，以前几年里，你每年都在外边看焰火的啰？”

她双颊突然泛红。

“我不知道你这是什么意思，先生，并没有谁禁止我们到花园里去呀！今年我不想去看，情愿干完了活就去睡觉，这是我的自由啊，我想。”

“是啊，是啊，我并没有想要冒犯你，你当然可以随意行事的。换换口味，其乐无穷。”

他歇了口气，又说下去：

“还有一点事不知你能不能给我们一点帮助。这是一幢古屋，你是否知道，这所房子里有没有暗室？”

“唔，有一块滑动嵌板——就在这个房间里，我记得以前看到过——我还是个姑娘时，曾在这所屋子里做过女仆——只不过现在我记不得它在哪里了。也可能在书房里吧？我真的说不确切。”

“一个人可以藏在里面吗？”

“不，先生，藏不下的。那只是个壁龛，大约尺把见方而已。”

“啊，我指的根本不是这种东西。”

她脸又红了。

“如果你以为我躲在什么地方——没有！我听到尼克跑下楼，出了房子，又听见她呼喊，我到这里来看看是否出了什么事，就是这样，我可以凭圣经起誓，可以起誓的！”