赫尔克里·波洛的丰功伟绩58
时间：2024-12-31 11:28:55
（单词翻译:单击）
Twelve
THE CAPTURE OF CERBERUS
Hercule Poirot, swaying to and fro in the tube train, thrown now against one body, now against
another, thought to himself that there were too many people in the world! Certainly there were too
many people in the Underground world of London at this particular moment (6:30 p.m.) of the
evening. Heat, noise, crowd, contiguity—the unwelcome pressure of hands, arms, bodies,
distastefully) a plain and uninteresting lot of strangers! Humanity seen thus en masse was not
attractive. How seldom did one see a face sparkling with intelligence, how seldom a femme bien
mise! What was this passion that attacked women for knitting under the most unpropitious
conditions? A woman did not look her best knitting; the absorption, the glassy eyes, the restless,
knit in a crowded tube, but women managed it! If they succeeded in obtaining a seat, out came a
ridiculously and extravagantly11 dressed! Once there had been such women. But now—now—
The train stopped at a station; people surged out, forcing Poirot back on to the points of
passengers. The train started off again, with a jerk, Poirot was thrown against a stout13 woman with
knobbly parcels, said “Pardon!” bounced off again into a long angular man whose attaché case
caught him in the small of the back. He said “Pardon!” again. He felt his moustaches becoming
limp and uncurled. Quel enfer! Fortunately the next station was his!
It was also the station of what seemed to be about a hundred and fifty other people, since it
happened to be Piccadilly Circus. Like a great tidal wave they flowed out on to the platform.
surface of the earth.
Up, thought Poirot, from the Infernal Regions . . . How exquisitely15 painful was a suitcase
At that moment, a voice cried his name. Startled, he raised his eyes. On the opposite
escalator, the one descending18, his unbelieving eyes saw a vision from the past. A woman of full
and flamboyant form; her luxuriant henna red hair crowned with a small plastron of straw to which
was attached a positive platoon of brilliantly feathered little birds. Exotic-looking furs dripped
from her shoulders.
lungs.
“It is!” she screamed. “But it is! Mon cher Hercule Poirot! We must meet again! I insist!”
But Fate itself is not more inexorable than the behaviour of two escalators moving in an
Twisting himself sideways, leaning over the balustrade, Poirot cried despairingly:
“Chère Madame—where can I find you?”
Her reply came to him faintly from the depths. It was unexpected, yet seemed at the moment
strangely apposite.
“In Hell . . .”
Hercule Poirot blinked. He blinked again. Suddenly he rocked on his feet. Unawares he had
reached the top—and had neglected to step off properly. The crowd spread out round him. A little
hour was Hell. If that had been the Countess’s meaning, he could not agree with her more. . . .
Resolutely25 Poirot crossed over, sandwiched himself into the descending crowd and was borne
back into the depths. At the foot of the escalator no sign of the Countess. Poirot was left with a
Was the Countess patronizing the Bakerloo or the Piccadilly line? Poirot visited each
platform in turn. He was swept about amongst surging crowds boarding or leaving trains, but
Weary, battered28, and infinitely29 chagrined30, Hercule Poirot once more ascended31 to ground level
excitement.
It is the misfortune of small precise men to hanker after large and flamboyant women. Poirot
had never been able to rid himself of the fatal fascination33 the Countess held for him. Though it
was something like twenty years since he had seen her last the magic still held. Granted that her
bourgeois36 was still thrilled by the aristocrat37. The memory of the adroit38 way she stole jewellery
the fact when taxed with it. A woman in a thousand—in a million! And he had met her again—and
lost her!
“In Hell,” she had said. Surely his ears had not deceived him? She had said that?
But what had she meant by it? Had she meant London’s Underground Railways? Or were her
words to be taken in a religious sense? Surely, even if her own way of life made Hell the most
plausible41 destination for her after this life, surely—surely her Russian courtesy would not suggest
that Hercule Poirot was necessarily bound for the same place?
No, she must have meant something quite different. She must have meant—Hercule Poirot
was brought up short against bewilderment. What an intriguing42, what an unpredictable woman! A
poignantly45 and impossibly: “Hell!”
Poirot sighed. But he was not defeated. In his perplexity he took the simplest and most
straightforward46 course on the following morning, he asked his secretary, Miss Lemon.
Miss Lemon was unbelievably ugly and incredibly efficient. To her Poirot was nobody in
particular—he was merely her employer. She gave him excellent service. Her private thoughts and
of her mind.
“Miss Lemon, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course, M. Poirot.” Miss Lemon took her fingers off the typewriter keys and waited
“If a friend asked you to meet her—or him—in Hell, what would you do?”
Miss Lemon, as usual, did not pause. She knew, as the saying goes, all the answers.
“It would be advisable, I think, to ring up for a table,” she said.
Hercule Poirot stared at her in a stupefied fashion.
He said, staccato, “You—would—ring—up—for—a table?”
Miss Lemon nodded and drew the telephone towards her.
briskly.
“Temple Bar 14578? Is that Hell? Will you please reserve a table for two. M. Hercule Poirot.
Eleven o’clock.”
very slight look of impatience51 was discernible upon her face. She had done her part, the look
seemed to say, surely her employer could now leave her to get on with what she was doing?
But Hercule Poirot required explanations.
“What is it, then, this Hell?” he demanded.
Miss Lemon looked slightly surprised.
“Oh didn’t you know, M. Poirot? It’s a nightclub—quite new and very much the rage at
present—run by some Russian woman, I believe. I can fix up for you to become a member before
this evening quite easily.”
Whereupon, having wasted (as she made obvious) quite time enough, Miss Lemon broke into
a perfect fusillade of efficient typing.
discreetly53 showed one letter at a time. A gentleman in red tails received him and took from him his
coat.
A gesture directed him to a flight of wide shallow stairs leading downwards. On each step a
phrase was written. The first one ran:
“I meant well . . .”
The second:
The third:
“I can give it up any time I like . . .”
“The good intentions that pave the way to Hell,” Hercule Poirot murmured appreciatively.
“C’est bien imaginé, ça!”
bridge shaped like a boat. Poirot crossed by it.
ever seen! It sat up very straight and gaunt and immovable. It was perhaps, he thought, (and
And then Poirot noticed a decorative61 basket of small round dog biscuits. They were labelled,
heard. Hastily Poirot picked up a biscuit and tossed it towards the great hound.
Cerberus had accepted his sop! Poirot moved on through an open doorway.
The room was not a big one. It was dotted with little tables, a space of dancing floor in the
All this Poirot took in before, with all the impulsiveness67 of her Russian nature, Countess Vera
Rossakoff, resplendent in scarlet evening dress, bore down upon him with outstretched hands.
“Ah, you have come! My dear—my very dear friend! what a joy to see you again! After such
years—so many—how many?—No, we will not say how many! To me it seems but as yesterday.
You have not changed—not in the least have you changed!”
“Nor you, chère amie,” Poirot exclaimed, bowing over her hand.
Rossakoff might not uncharitably have been described as a ruin. But she was at least a spectacular
ruin. The exuberance68, the full-blooded enjoyment69 of life was still there, and she knew, none better,
how to flatter a man.
She drew Poirot with her to a table at which two other people were sitting.
“My friend, my celebrated70 friend, M. Hercule Poirot,” she announced. “He who is the terror
of evildoers! I was once afraid of him myself, but now I lead a life of the extreme, the most
“The Professor Liskeard,” the Countess announced. “He who knows everything about the
past and who gave me the valuable hints for the decorations here.”
Poirot observed the frescoes more closely. On the wall facing him Orpheus and his jazz band
played, while Eurydice looked hopefully towards the grill. On the opposite wall Osiris and Isis
seemed to be throwing an Egyptian underworld boating party. On the third wall some bright
young people were enjoying mixed bathing in a state of Nature.
“The Country of the Young,” explained the Countess and added in the same breath,
completing her introductions: “And this is my little Alice.”
Poirot bowed to the second occupant of the table, a severe-looking girl in a check coat and
skirt. She wore horn-rimmed glasses.
“She is very, very clever,” said Countess Rossakoff. “She has a degree and she is a
psychologist and she knows all the reasons why lunatics are lunatics! It is not, as you might think,
“My dear young lady, I fear I only waltz.”
“This is a waltz,” said Alice patiently.
They got up and danced. They did not dance well.
The Countess Rossakoff sighed. Following out a train of thought of her own, she murmured,
“And yet she is not really bad-looking. . . .”
“She does not make the most of herself,” said Poirot judicially78.
not try any more to please—always, in my youth, I tried—the colours that suited me—a little
padding in the frocks—the corset laced tight round the waist—the hair, perhaps, a more interesting
shade—”
She pushed back the heavy Titian tresses from her forehead—
it was undeniable that she, at least, was still trying and trying
hard!
little Alice she writes pages of long words about Sex, but how often, I ask you, does a man suggest
to her that they should go to Brighton for the weekend? It is all long words and work, and the
welfare of the workers, and the future of the world. It is very worthy81, but I ask you, is it gay? And
look, I ask you, how drab these young people have made the world! It is all regulations and
prohibitions82! Not so when I was young.”
“That reminds me, how is your son, Madame?” At the last moment he substituted “son,” for
“little boy,” remembering that twenty years had passed.
The Countess’s face lit up with enthusiastic motherhood.
“The beloved angel! So big now, such shoulders, so handsome! He is in America. He builds
there—bridges, banks, hotels, department stores, railways, anything the Americans want!”
Poirot looked slightly puzzled.
“He is then an engineer? Or an architect?”
“What does it matter?” demanded the Countess. “He is adorable! He is wrapped up in iron
girders, and machinery83, and things called stresses. The kind of thing that I have never understood
in the least. But we adore each other—always we adore each other! And so for his sake I adore the
little Alice. But yes, they are engaged. They meet on a plane or a boat or a train, and they fall in
love, all in the midst of talking about the welfare of the workers. And when she comes to London
she comes to see me and I take her to my heart.” The Countess clasped her arms across her vast
do you leave him in America?’ And she talks about her ‘job’ and the book she is writing, and her
career, and frankly I do not understand, but I have always said: ‘One must be tolerant.’ ” She
added all in one breath, “And what do you think, cher ami, of all this that I have imagined here?”
“It is very well imagined,” said Poirot, looking round him approvingly. “It is chic!”
The place was full and it had about it that unmistakable air of success which cannot be
counterfeited85. There were languid couples in full evening dress, Bohemians in corduroy trousers,
about it, Hell had caught on.
“We have all kinds here,” said the Countess. “That is as it should be, is it not? The gates of
Hell are open to all?”
“Except, possibly, to the poor?” Poirot suggested.
The Countess laughed. “Are we not told that it is difficult for a rich man to enter the Kingdom
of Heaven? Naturally, then, he should have priority in Hell.”
The Professor and Alice were returning to the table. The Countess got up.
“I must speak to Aristide.”
She exchanged some words with the head waiter, a lean Mephistopheles, then went round
from table to table, speaking to the guests.
“She is a personality, is she not? People feel it.”
He excused himself as he went over to speak to someone at another table. Poirot, left alone
with the severe Alice, felt slightly embarrassed as he met the cold blue of her eyes. He recognized
that she was actually quite good-looking, but he found her distinctly alarming.
“I do not yet know your last name,” he murmured.
“Cunningham. Dr. Alice Cunningham. You have known Vera in past days, I understand?”
“Twenty years ago it must be.”
“I find her a very interesting study,” said Dr. Alice Cunningham. “Naturally I am interested in
her as the mother of the man I am going to marry, but I am interested in her from the professional
standpoint as well.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. I am writing a book on criminal psychology88. I find the night life of this place very
illuminating89. We have several criminal types who come here regularly. I have discussed their early
life with some of them. Of course you know all about Vera’s criminal tendencies—I mean that she
steals?”
“Why, yes—I know that,” said Poirot, slightly taken aback.
money. Always jewels. I find that as a child she was petted and indulged but very much shielded.
punishment. That is at the root of her indulgence in theft. She wants the importance, the notoriety
of being punished!”
Poirot objected, “Her life can surely not have been safe and dull as a member of the ancien
régime in Russia during the revolution?”
A look of faint amusement showed in Miss Cunningham’s pale blue eyes.
“Ah,” she said. “A member of the ancien régime? She has told you that?”
“She is undeniably an aristocrat,” said Poirot staunchly, fighting back certain uneasy
memories of the wildly varying accounts of her early life told him by the Countess herself.
“One believes what one wishes to believe,” remarked Miss Cunningham, casting a
professional eye on him.
to carry the war into the enemy’s camp. He enjoyed the Countess Rossakoff’s society partly
because of her aristocratic provenance93, and he was not going to have his enjoyment spoiled by a
spectacled little girl with boiled gooseberry eyes and a degree in psychology!
“Do you know what I find astonishing?” he asked.
herself with looking bored but indulgent.
Poirot went on:
“It amazes me that you—who are young, and who could look pretty if you took the trouble—
well, it amazes me that you do not take the trouble! You wear the heavy coat and skirt with the big
pockets as though you were going to play the game of golf. But it is not here the golf links, it is the
underground cellar with the temperature of 71 Fahrenheit95, and your nose it is hot and shines, but
emphasizing the curve of the lips! You are a woman, but you do not draw attention to the fact of
being a woman. And I say to you ‘Why not?’ It is a pity!”
For a moment he had the satisfaction of seeing Alice Cunningham look human. He even saw
is fundamentals that matter—not the trappings.”
She looked up as a dark and very beautiful young man came towards them.
and has strange depraved cravings! I want him to tell me more about a nursery governess who
looked after him when he was three years old.”
A moment or two later she was dancing with the young man. He danced divinely. As they
drifted near Poirot’s table, Poirot heard her say: “And after the summer at Bognor she gave you a
toy crane? A crane—yes, that’s very suggestive.”
For a moment Poirot allowed himself to toy with the speculation100 that Miss Cunningham’s
interest in criminal types might lead one day to her mutilated body being found in a lonely wood.
He did not like Alice Cunningham, but he was honest enough to realize that the reason for his
dislike was the fact that she was so palpably unimpressed by Hercule Poirot! His vanity suffered!
Then he saw something that momentarily put Alice Cunningham out of his head. At a table
on the opposite side of the floor sat a fair-haired young man. He wore evening dress, his whole
demeanour was that of one who lives a life of ease and pleasure. Opposite him sat the right kind of
have murmured: “The idle rich!” Nevertheless Poirot knew very well that the young man was
neither rich nor idle. He was, in fact, Detective Inspector102 Charles Stevens, and it seemed probable
to Poirot that Detective Inspector Charles Stevens was here on business. . . .
点击
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1
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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shrimp
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| n.虾，小虾；矮小的人 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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stout
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| adj.强壮的，粗大的，结实的，勇猛的，矮胖的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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inverse
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| adj.相反的，倒转的，反转的；n.相反之物；v.倒转 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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espy
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| v.（从远处等）突然看到 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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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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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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aplomb
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| n.沉着，镇静 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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poignantly
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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54
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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60
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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sop
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| n.湿透的东西，懦夫；v.浸，泡，浸湿 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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frescoes
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| n.壁画( fresco的名词复数 )；温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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impulsiveness
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| n.冲动 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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72
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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73
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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76
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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80
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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prohibitions
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| 禁令，禁律( prohibition的名词复数 )； 禁酒； 禁例 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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84
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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counterfeited
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| v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的过去分词 ) | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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magpie
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| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
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craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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provenance
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| n.出处；起源 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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Fahrenheit
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| n./adj.华氏温度；华氏温度计(的) | |
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lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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98
ideology
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| n.意识形态，(政治或社会的)思想意识 | |
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99
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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100
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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101
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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102
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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