山核桃大街谋杀案（15）
时间：2025-03-03 03:09:14
（单词翻译:单击）
Chapter Fourteen
I
Mrs. Nicoletis came up the stairs from the basement, where she had just succeeded in thoroughly1
infuriating both Geronimo and the temperamental Maria.
thieves!”
“It’s a pity,” she said, “to upset them just while they’re cooking the supper.”
Mrs. Hubbard suppressed the retort that rose to her lips.
“I shall come in as usual on Monday,” said Mrs. Nicoletis.
“Yes, Mrs. Nicoletis.”
“And please get someone to repair my cupboard door first thing Monday morning. The bill for
repairing it will go to the police, do you understand? To the police.”
“And I want fresh electric lightbulbs put in the dark passages—stronger ones. The passages are
too dark.”
“You said especially that you wanted low power bulbs in the passages—for economy.”
“That was last week,” snapped Mrs. Nicoletis. “Now—it is different. Now I look over my
shoulder—and I wonder ‘Who is following me?’ ”
Was her employer dramatising herself, Mrs. Hubbard wondered, or was she really afraid of
something or someone? Mrs. Nicoletis had such a habit of exaggerating everything that it was
always hard to know how much reliance to place on her statements.
Mrs. Hubbard said doubtfully:
“Are you sure you ought to go home by yourself? Would you like me to come with you?”
“I shall be safer there than here, I can tell you!”
“But what is it you are afraid of? If I knew, perhaps I could—”
“It is not your business. I tell you nothing. I find it insupportable the way you continually ask
me questions.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure—”
“Now you are offended.” Mrs. Nicoletis gave her a beaming smile. “I am bad tempered and
rude—yes. But I have much to worry me. And remember I trust you and rely on you. What I
should do without you, dear Mrs. Hubbard, I really do not know. See, I kiss my hand to you. Have
a pleasant weekend. Good night.”
Mrs. Hubbard watched her as she went out through the front door and pulled it to behind her.
Relieving her feelings with a rather inadequate7 “Well, really!” Mrs. Hubbard turned towards the
kitchen stairs.
Mrs. Nicoletis went down the front steps, out through the gate and turned to the left. Hickory
Road was a fairly broad road. The houses in it were set back a little in their gardens. At the end of
the road, a few minutes’ walk from number 26, was one of London’s main thoroughfares, down
which buses were roaring. There were traffic lights at the end of the road and a public house, The
Queen’s Necklace, at the corner. Mrs. Nicoletis walked in the middle of the pavement and from
time to time sent a nervous glance over her shoulder, but there was no one in sight. Hickory Road
The Queen’s Necklace. Taking another hasty glance round she slipped rather guiltily through into
the saloon bar.
frightened and uneasy woman that she had a short time previously10. Her animosity against the
pay. Yes, they shall pay!” and finished off her drink. She ordered another and brooded over recent
happenings. Unfortunate, extremely unfortunate, that the police should have been so tactless as to
because really, could one trust anyone? These things always did get round. Geronimo knew. He
had probably already told his wife, and she would tell the cleaning women and so it would go on
until—she started violently as a voice behind her said:
“Why, Mrs. Nick, I didn’t know this was a haunt of yours?”
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “I thought. . . .”
“Who did you think it was? The big bad wolf? What are you drinking? Have another on me.”
“It is all the worry,” Mrs. Nicoletis explained with dignity. “These policemen searching my
house, upsetting everyone. My poor heart. I have to be careful with my heart. I do not care for
drink, but really I felt quite faint outside. I thought a little brandy. . . .”
“Nothing like brandy. Here you are.”
Mrs. Nicoletis left The Queen’s Necklace a short while later feeling revived and positively14
for her. Yes, definitely, the air would be good for her. She felt not exactly unsteady on her feet but
just a little bit uncertain. One brandy less, perhaps, would have been wise, but the air would soon
clear her head. After all, why shouldn’t a lady have a quiet drink in her own room from time to
time? What was there wrong with it? It was not as though she had ever allowed herself to be seen
intoxicated16. Intoxicated? Of course, she was never intoxicated. And anyway, if they didn’t like it;
if they ticked her off, she’d soon tell them where they got off! She knew a thing or two, didn’t she?
doubt, her head was swimming a little. Perhaps if she just leant against the wall here for a little? If
she closed her eyes for a moment or two. . . .
II
clerk.
“There’s a woman here, Officer. I really—she seems to have been taken ill or something. She’s
lying in a heap.”
“Passed out,” he said. “Drunk. Ah well, don’t worry, sir, we’ll see to it.”
III
Hercule Poirot, having finished his Sunday breakfast, wiped his moustaches carefully free from all
traces of his breakfast cup of chocolate and passed into his sitting room.
instructions given to George. Poirot took the rucksack he had purchased the day before from its
wrapping, and added it to the others. The result was interesting. The rucksack he had bought from
Mr. Hicks did not seem inferior in any way that he could see, to the articles purchased by George
from various other establishments. But it was very decidedly cheaper.
“Interesting,” said Hercule Poirot.
He stared at the rucksacks.
Then he examined them in detail. Inside and outside, turning them upside down, feeling the
seams, the pockets, the handles. Then he rose, went into the bathroom and came back with a small
sharp corn knife. Turning the rucksack he had bought at Mr. Hicks’s store inside out, he attacked
the bottom of it with the knife. Between the inner lining25 and the bottom there was a heavy piece of
dismembered rucksack with a great deal of interest.
Then he proceeded to attack the other rucksacks.
He sat back finally and surveyed the amount of destruction he had just accomplished28.
Then he drew the telephone towards him and after a short delay managed to get through to
“Ecoutez, mon cher,” he said. “I want to know just two things.”
“I know two things about the horse,
And one of them is rather coarse,” he observed.
“I beg your pardon?” said Hercule Poirot, surprised.
“Nothing. Nothing. Just a rhyme I used to know. What are the two things you want to know?”
months. Can you tell me the dates of them and also the time of day they were made?”
“Yes—well—that should be easy. It’ll be in the files. Just wait and I’ll look it up.”
“That is too long ago.”
“Inquiry re Montague Jones, Eurasian, wanted in connection with murder of Mrs. Alice Combe
of Cambridge—February 24th—5:30 p.m. Inquiry re William Robinson—native West Africa,
wanted by Sheffield police—March 6th, 11 a.m.”
“Ah! I thank you.”
“But if you think that either of those cases could have any connection with—”
Poirot interrupted him.
“No, they have no connection. I am interested only in the time of day they were made.”
“What are you up to, Poirot?”
Gently he replaced the receiver.
before. It ran as follows:
Rucksack (Len Bateson’s)
Electric light bulbs
Diamond ring (Patricia’s)
Powder compact (Genevieve’s)
Evening shoe (Sally’s)
Stethoscope (Len Bateson’s)
Bath salts (?)
Scarf cut in pieces (Valerie’s)
Trousers (Colin’s)
Cookery book (?)
Boracic (Chandra Lal’s)
Costume brooch (Sally’s)
Ink spilled on Elizabeth’s notes.
(This is the best I can do. It’s not absolutely accurate. L Hubbard.)
Poirot looked at it a long time.
He sighed and murmured to himself, “Yes . . . decidedly . . . we have to eliminate the things that
do not matter. . . .”
He had an idea as to who could help him to do that. It was Sunday. Most of the students would
probably be at home.
He dialled the number of 26 Hickory Road and asked to speak to Miss Valerie Hobhouse. A
thick rather guttural voice seemed rather doubtful as to whether she was up yet, but said it would
go and see.
Presently he heard a low husky voice:
“Valerie Hobhouse speaking.”
“It is Hercule Poirot. You remember me?”
“Of course, M. Poirot. What can I do for you?”
“I would like, if I may, to have a short conversation with you?”
“Certainly.”
“I may come round, then, to Hickory Road?”
“Yes. I’ll be expecting you. I’ll tell Geronimo to bring you up to my room. There’s not much
privacy here on a Sunday.”
“Thank you, Miss Hobhouse. I am most grateful.”
usual conspiratorial41 air.
Placing a finger on his lips, he led the way upstairs and into a good sized room overlooking
Hickory Road. It was furnished with taste and a reasonable amount of luxury as a bed-sitting
furnishings of 26 Hickory Road.
dark circles round her eyes.
Valerie smiled.
“I’ve been here a good time,” she said. “Two and a half years. Nearly three. I’ve dug myself in
more or less and I’ve got some of my own things.”
“You are not a student, are you, mademoiselle?”
“In a—cosmetic firm, was it?”
in the business. We run a certain amount of sidelines besides beauty treatment. Accessories, that
type of thing. Small Parisian novelties. And that’s my department.”
“You go over then fairly often to Paris and to the Continent?”
“Oh yes, about once a month, sometimes oftener.”
“You must forgive me,” said Poirot, “if I seem to be displaying curiosity. . . .”
“Why not?” She cut him short. “In the circumstances in which we find ourselves we must all put
up with curiosity. I’ve answered a good many questions yesterday from Inspector Sharpe. You
look as though you would like an upright chair, M. Poirot, rather than a low armchair.”
“You display the perspicacity49, mademoiselle.” Poirot sat down carefully and squarely in a high-
backed chair with arms to it.
Valerie sat down on the divan. She offered him a cigarette and took one herself and lighted it.
young woman, he thought. He wondered if her nervousness was the result of the recent inquiry or
same about her on the evening when he had come to supper.
“Inspector Sharpe has been making inquiries of you?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed.”
“And you have told him all that you know?”
“Of course.”
“I wonder,” said Poirot, “if that is true.”
“Since you did not hear my answers to Inspector Sharpe you can hardly be a judge,” she said.
“Ah no. It is merely one of my little ideas. I have them, you know—the little ideas. They are
here.” He tapped his head.
Valerie, however, did not smile. She looked at him in a straightforward56 manner. When she spoke it
was with a certain abruptness57.
“Shall we come to the point, M. Poirot?” she asked. “I really don’t know what you’re driving
at.”
“But certainly, Miss Hobhouse.”
He took from his pocket a little package.
“You can guess, perhaps, what I have here?”
“I’m not clairvoyant58, M. Poirot. I can’t see through paper and wrappings.”
“I have here,” said Poirot, “the ring that was stolen from Miss Patricia Lane.”
“The engagement ring? I mean, her mother’s engagement ring? But why should you have it?”
“I asked her to lend it to me for a day or two.”
“Indeed,” she observed.
“I was interested in the ring,” said Poirot. “Interested in its disappearance60, in its return and in
something else about it. So I asked Miss Lane to lend it to me. She agreed readily. I took it straight
away to a jeweller friend of mine.”
“Yes?”
“I asked him to report on the diamond in it. A fairly large stone, if you remember, flanked at
either side by a little cluster of small stones. You remember—mademoiselle?”
“I think so. I don’t really remember it very well.”
“But you handled it, didn’t you? It was in your soup plate.”
“That was how it was returned! Oh yes, I remember that. I nearly swallowed it.” Valerie gave a
short laugh.
“As I say, I took the ring to my jeweller friend and I asked him his opinion on the diamond. Do
you know what his answer was?”
“How could I?”
“His answer was that the stone was not a diamond. It was merely a zircon. A white zircon.”
“Oh!” She stared at him. Then she went on, her tone a little uncertain. “D’you mean that—
Patricia thought it was a diamond but it was only a zircon or. . . .”
Poirot was shaking his head.
“No, I do not mean that. It was the engagement ring, so I understand, of this Patricia Lane’s
mother. Miss Patricia Lane is a young lady of good family, and her people, I should say, certainly
is spent upon an engagement ring—a diamond ring or a ring containing some other precious stone.
I am quite certain that the papa of Miss Lane would not have given her mamma anything but a
valuable engagement ring.”
“As to that,” said Valerie, “I couldn’t agree with you more. Patricia’s father was a small country
“Therefore,” said Poirot, “it would seem that the stone in the ring must have been replaced by
another stone later.”
“I suppose,” said Valerie slowly, “that Pat might have lost the stone out of it, couldn’t afford to
replace it with a diamond, and had a zircon put in instead.”
“That is possible,” said Hercule Poirot, “but I do not think it is what happened.”
“Well, M. Poirot, if we’re guessing, what do you think happened?”
“I think,” said Poirot, “that the ring was taken by Mademoiselle Celia and that the diamond was
deliberately removed and the zircon substituted before the ring was returned.”
Valerie sat up very straight.
“You think that Celia stole that diamond deliberately?”
Poirot shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I think you stole it, mademoiselle.”
Valerie Hobhouse caught her breath sharply:
“Well, really!” she exclaimed. “That seems to me pretty thick. You’ve no earthly evidence of
any kind.”
“But, yes,” Poirot interrupted her. “I have evidence. The ring was returned in a plate of soup.
Now me, I dined here one evening. I noticed the way the soup was served. It was served from a
tureen on the side table. Therefore, if anyone found a ring in their soup plate it could only have
been placed there either by the person who was serving the soup (in this case Geronimo) or by the
person whose soup plate it was. You! I do not think it was Geronimo. I think that you staged the
return of the ring in the soup in that way because it amused you. You have, if I may make the
criticism, rather too humorous a sense of the dramatic. To hold up the ring! To exclaim! I think
you indulged your sense of humour there, mademoiselle, and did not realise that you betrayed
yourself in so doing.”
“Is that all?” Valerie spoke scornfully.
“Oh, no, it is by no means all. You see, when Celia confessed that evening to having been
responsible for the thefts here, I noticed several small points. For instance, in speaking of this ring
she said, ‘I didn’t realise how valuable it was. As soon as I knew I managed to return it.’ How did
she know, Miss Valerie? Who told her how valuable the ring was? And then again in speaking of
the cut scarf, little Miss Celia said something like, ‘That didn’t matter, Valerie didn’t mind . . . ’
Why did you not mind if a good quality silk scarf belonging to you was cut to shreds63? I formed the
impression then and there that the whole campaign of stealing things, of making herself out to be a
kleptomaniac64, and so attracting the attention of Colin McNabb, had been thought out for Celia by
someone else. Someone with far more intelligence than Celia Austin had and with a good working
knowledge of psychology65. You told her the ring was valuable; you took it from her and arranged
pieces.”
“These are all theories,” said Valerie, “and rather farfetched theories at that. The inspector has
already suggested to me that I put Celia up to doing these tricks.”
“And what did you say to him?”
“I said it was nonsense,” said Valerie.
“And what do you say to me?”
Valerie looked at him searchingly for a moment or two. Then she gave a short laugh, stubbed
out her cigarette, leaned back thrusting a cushion behind her back, and said:
“You’re quite right. I put her up to it.”
“May I ask you why?”
Valerie said impatiently:
blocks and all the rest of it, and I thought it would be really rather fun to egg him on and make a
talking-to, explained in outline the whole scheme, and urged her on to it. She was a bit nervous, I
think, about it all, but rather thrilled at the same time. Then, of course, one of the first things the
little idiot does is to find Pat’s ring left in the bathroom and pinch that—a really valuable piece of
jewellery about which there’d be a lot of hoo-haa and the police would be called in and the whole
thing might take a serious turn. So I grabbed the ring off her, told her I’d return it somehow, and
something of mine which wouldn’t land her in trouble.”
Poirot drew a deep breath.
“That was exactly what I thought,” he said.
“I wish that I hadn’t done it now,” said Valerie sombrely. “But I really did mean well. That’s an
atrocious thing to say and just like Jean Tomlinson, but there it is.”
“And now,” said Poirot, “we come to this business of Patricia’s ring. Celia gave it to you. You
were to find it somewhere and return it to Patricia. But before returning it to Patricia,” he paused.
“What happened?”
wearing round her neck. He went on, in an even more persuasive75 voice:
“You were hard up, eh, was that it?”
Without looking up at him she gave a short nod of the head.
“I said I’d come clean,” she said and there was bitterness in her voice. “The trouble with me is,
M. Poirot, I’m a gambler. That’s one of the things that’s born in you and you can’t do anything
much about it. I belong to a little club in Mayfair—oh, I shan’t tell you just where—I don’t want
to be responsible for getting it raided by the police or anything of that kind. We’ll just let it go at
the fact that I belong to it. There’s roulette there, baccarat, all the rest of it. I’ve taken a nasty
series of losses one after the other. I had this ring of Pat’s. I happened to be passing a shop where
there was a zircon ring. I thought to myself, ‘if this diamond was replaced with a white zircon Pat
would never know the difference!’ You never do look at a ring you know really well. If the
diamond seems a bit duller than usual you just think it needs cleaning or something like that. All
right, I had an impulse. I fell. I prised out the diamond and sold it. Replaced it with a zircon and
that night I pretended to find it in my soup. That was a damn silly thing to do, too, I agree. There!
Now you know it all. But honestly, I never meant Celia to be blamed for that.”
“No, no, I understand.” Poirot nodded his head. “It was just an opportunity that came your way.
It seemed easy and you took it. But you made there a great mistake, mademoiselle.”
“I realise that,” said Valerie drily. Then she broke out unhappily:
“But what the hell! Does that matter now? Oh, turn me in if you like. Tell Pat. Tell the
inspector. Tell the world! But what good is it going to do? How’s it going to help us with finding
out who killed Celia?”
Poirot rose to his feet.
“One never knows,” he said, “what may help and what may not. One has to clear out of the way
so many things that do not matter and that confuse the issue. It was important for me to know who
had inspired the little Celia to play the part she did. I know that now. As to the ring, I suggest that
you go yourself to Miss Patricia Lane and that you tell her what you did and express the customary
sentiments.”
“I dare say that’s pretty good advice on the whole,” she said. “All right, I’ll go to Pat and I’ll eat
humble77 pie. Pat’s a very decent sort. I’ll tell her that when I can afford it again I’ll replace the
diamond. Is that what you want, M. Poirot?”
“It is not what I want, it is what is advisable.”
The door opened suddenly and Mrs. Hubbard came in.
She was breathing hard and the expression in her face made Valerie exclaim:
“What’s the matter, Mum? What’s happened?”
Mrs. Hubbard dropped into a chair.
“It’s Mrs. Nicoletis.”
“Mrs. Nick? What about her?”
“Oh, my dear. She’s dead.”
“Dead?” Valerie’s voice came harshly. “How? When?”
“It seems she was picked up in the street last night—they took her to the police station. They
thought she was—was—”
“Drunk? I suppose. . . .”
“Yes—she had been drinking. But anyway—she died—”
Poirot said gently:
“You were fond of her, mademoiselle?”
“It’s odd in a way—she could be a proper old devil—but yes—I was . . . When I first came here
—three years ago, she wasn’t nearly as—as temperamental as she became later. She was good
company—amusing—warmhearted. She’s changed a lot in the last year—”
Valerie looked at Mrs. Hubbard.
“I suppose that’s because she’d taken to drinking on the quiet—they found a lot of bottles and
things in her room, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Hubbard hesitated, then burst out: “I do blame myself—letting her go off home
alone last night—she was afraid of something, you know.”
“Afraid?”
Mrs. Hubbard nodded unhappily. Her mild round face was troubled.
“Yes. She kept saying she wasn’t safe. I asked her to tell me what she was afraid of—and she
snubbed me. And one never knew with her, of course, how much was exaggeration. But now—I
wonder—”
Valerie said:
“You don’t think that she—that she, too—that she was—”
She broke off with a look of horror in her eyes.
Poirot asked:
“What did they say was the cause of death?”
Mrs. Hubbard said unhappily:
“They—they didn’t say. There’s to be an inquest—on Tuesday—”
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thoroughly
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liars
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triumphant
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descending
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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inadequate
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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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previously
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lessened
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hoard
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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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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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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bellicose
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swerved
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abruptly
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constable
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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bent
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aroma
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neatly
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lining
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corrugated
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stiffening
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accomplished
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inspector
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guffaw
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inquiries
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32
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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33
disseminating
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| 散布，传播( disseminate的现在分词 ) | |
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34
subversive
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| adj.颠覆性的，破坏性的；n.破坏份子，危险份子 | |
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dissect
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| v.分割；解剖 | |
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36
Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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37
bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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38
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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39
earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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40
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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41
conspiratorial
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| adj.阴谋的，阴谋者的 | |
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42
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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43
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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44
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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45
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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46
chic
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| n./adj.别致(的)，时髦(的)，讲究的 | |
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47
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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48
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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49
perspicacity
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| n. 敏锐, 聪明, 洞察力 | |
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50
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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51
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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52
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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53
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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55
mountebank
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| n.江湖郎中；骗子 | |
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56
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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57
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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58
clairvoyant
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| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
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59
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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61
taxation
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| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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63
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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kleptomaniac
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| n.有偷窃狂的人 | |
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65
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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66
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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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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72
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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73
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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74
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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76
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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77
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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