弄假成真9
时间：2025-03-03 03:28:29
（单词翻译:单击）
Nine
I
Although he had none of Constable Hoskins’ ingrained prejudice against foreigners, Inspector
Bland took an instant dislike to Etienne de Sousa. The polished elegance of the young man, his
sartorial perfection, the rich flowery smell of his brilliantined hair, all combined to annoy the
inspector.
De Sousa was very sure of himself, very much at ease. He also displayed, decorously veiled, a
certain aloof amusement.
“One must admit,” he said, “that life is full of surprises. I arrive here on a holiday cruise, I
admire the beautiful scenery, I come to spend an afternoon with a little cousin that I have not seen
for years—and what happens? First I am engulfed in a kind of carnival with coconuts whizzing
past my head, and immediately afterwards, passing from comedy to tragedy, I am embroiled in a
murder.”
He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and said:
“Not that it concerns me in any way, this murder. Indeed, I am at a loss to know why you
should want to interview me.”
“You arrived here as a stranger, Mr. de Sousa—”
De Sousa interrupted:
“And strangers are necessarily suspicious, is that it?”
“No, no, not at all, sir. No, you don’t take my meaning. Your yacht, I understand, is moored in
Helmmouth?”
“That is so, yes.”
“And you came up the river this afternoon in a motor launch?”
“Again—that is so.”
“As you came up the river, did you notice on your right a small boathouse jutting out into the
river with a thatched roof and a little mooring quay underneath it?”
De Sousa threw back his handsome, dark head and frowned as he reflected.
“Let me see, there was a creek and a small grey tiled house.”
“Farther up the river than that, Mr. de Sousa. Set amongst trees.”
“Ah, yes, I remember now. A very picturesque spot. I did not know it was the boathouse
attached to this house. If I had done so, I would have moored my boat there and come ashore.
When I asked for directions I had been told to come up to the ferry itself and go ashore at the quay
there.”
“Quite so. And that is what you did?”
“That is what I did.”
“You didn’t land at, or near, the boathouse?”
De Sousa shook his head.
“Did you see anyone at the boathouse as you passed?”
“See anyone? No. Should I have seen anyone?”
“It was just a possibility. You see, Mr. de Sousa, the murdered girl was in the boathouse this
afternoon. She was killed there, and she must have been killed at a time not very distant from
when you were passing.”
Again de Sousa raised his eyebrows.
“You think I might have been a witness to this murder?”
“The murder took place inside the boathouse, but you might have seen the girl—she might have
looked out from the window or come out on to the balcony. If you had seen her it would, at any
rate, have narrowed the time of death for us. If, when you’d passed, she’d been still alive—”
“Ah. I see. Yes, I see. But why ask me particularly? There are plenty of boats going up and
down from Helmmouth. Pleasure steamers. They pass the whole time. Why not ask them?”
“We shall ask them,” said the inspector. “Never fear, we shall ask them. I am to take it, then,
that you saw nothing unusual at the boathouse?”
“Nothing whatever. There was nothing to show there was anyone there. Of course I did not look
at it with any special attention, and I did not pass very near. Somebody might have been looking
out of the windows, as you suggest, but if so I should not have seen that person.” He added in a
polite tone, “I am very sorry that I cannot assist you.”
“Oh, well,” said Inspector Bland in a friendly manner, “we can’t hope for too much. There are
just a few other things I would like to know, Mr. de Sousa.”
“Yes?”
“Are you alone down here or have you friends with you on this cruise?”
“I have had friends with me until quite recently, but for the last three days I have been on my
own—with the crew, of course.”
“And the name of your yacht, Mr. de Sousa?”
“The Espérance.”
“Lady Stubbs is, I understand, a cousin of yours?”
De Sousa shrugged his shoulders.
“A distant cousin. Not very near. In the islands, you must understand, there is much
intermarrying. We are all cousins of one another. Hattie is a second or third cousin. I have not seen
her since she was practically a little girl, fourteen—fifteen.”
“And you thought you would pay her a surprise visit today?”
“Hardly a surprise visit, Inspector. I had already written to her.”
“I know that she received a letter from you this morning, but it was a surprise to her to know
that you were in this country.”
“Oh, but you are wrong there, Inspector. I wrote to my cousin—let me see, three weeks ago. I
wrote to her from France just before I came across to this country.”
The inspector was surprised.
“You wrote to her from France telling her you proposed to visit her?”
“Yes. I told her I was going on a yachting cruise and that we should probably arrive at Torquay
or Helmmouth round about this date, and that I would let her know later exactly when I should
arrive.”
Inspector Bland stared at him. This statement was at complete variance with what he had been
told about the arrival of Etienne de Sousa’s letter at the breakfast table. More than one witness had
testified to Lady Stubbs having been alarmed and upset and very clearly startled at the contents of
the letter. De Sousa returned his stare calmly. With a little smile he flicked a fragment of dust from
his knee.
“Did Lady Stubbs reply to your first letter?” the inspector asked.
De Sousa hesitated for a moment or two before he answered, then he said:
“It is so difficult to remember…No, I do not think she did. But it was not necessary. I was
travelling about, I had no fixed address. And besides, I do not think my cousin, Hattie, is very
good at writing letters.” He added: “She is not, you know, very intelligent, though I understand
that she has grown into a very beautiful woman.”
“You have not yet seen her?” Bland put it in the form of a question and de Sousa showed his
teeth in an agreeable smile.
“She seems to be most unaccountably missing,” he said. “No doubt this espèce de gala bores
her.”
Choosing his words carefully, Inspector Bland said:
“Have you any reason to believe, Mr. de Sousa, that your cousin might have some reason for
wishing to avoid you?”
“Hattie wish to avoid me? Really, I do not see why. What reason could she have?”
“That is what I am asking you, Mr. de Sousa.”
“You think that Hattie has absented herself from this fête in order to avoid me? What an absurd
idea.”
“She had no reason, as far as you know, to be—shall we say—afraid of you in any way?”
“Afraid—of me?” De Sousa’s voice was sceptical and amused. “But if I may say so, Inspector,
what a fantastic idea!”
“Your relations with her have always been quite amicable?”
“It is as I have told you. I have had no relations with her. I have not seen her since she was a
child of fourteen.”
“Yet you look her up when you come to England?”
“Oh, as to that, I had seen a paragraph about her in one of your society papers. It mentions her
maiden name and that she is married to this rich Englishman, and I think ‘I must see what the little
Hattie has turned into. Whether her brains now work better than they used to do.’” He shrugged
his shoulders again. “It was a mere cousinly politeness. A gentle curiosity—no more.”
Again the inspector stared hard at de Sousa. What, he wondered, was going on behind the
mocking, smooth façade? He adopted a more confidential manner.
“I wonder if you can perhaps tell me a little more about your cousin? Her character, her
reactions?”
De Sousa appeared politely surprised.
“Really — has this anything to do with the murder of the girl in the boathouse, which I
understand is the real matter with which you occupy yourself?”
“It might have a connection,” said Inspector Bland.
De Sousa studied him for a moment or two in silence. Then he said with a slight shrug of the
shoulders:
“I never knew my cousin at all well. She was a unit in a large family and not particularly
interesting to me. But in answer to your question I would say to you that although mentally weak,
she was not, as far as I know, ever possessed by any homicidal tendencies.”
“Really, Mr. de Sousa, I wasn’t suggesting that!”
“Weren’t you? I wonder. I can see no other reason for your question. No, unless Hattie has
changed very much, she is not homicidal!” He rose. “I am sure that you cannot want to ask me
anything further, Inspector. I can only wish you every possible success in tracking down the
murderer.”
“You are not thinking of leaving Helmmouth for a day or two, I hope, Mr. de Sousa?”
“You speak very politely, Inspector. Is that an order?”
“Just a request, sir.”
“Thank you. I propose to stay in Helmmouth for two days. Sir George has very kindly asked me
to come and stay in the house, but I prefer to remain on the Espérance. If you should want to ask
me any further questions, that is where you will find me.”
He bowed politely. P.C. Hoskins opened the door for him, and he went out.
“Smarmy sort of fellow,” muttered the inspector to himself.
“Aah,” said P.C. Hoskins in complete agreement.
“Say she is homicidal if you like,” went on the inspector, to himself. “Why should she attack a
nondescript girl? There’d be no sense in it.”
“You never know with the barmy ones,” said Hoskins.
“The question really is, how barmy is she?”
Hoskins shook his head sapiently.
“Got a low I.Q., I reckon,” he said.
The inspector looked at him with annoyance.
“Don’t bring out these newfangled terms like a parrot. I don’t care if she’s got a high I.Q. or a
low I.Q. All I care about is, is she the sort of woman who’d think it funny, or desirable, or
necessary, to put a cord round a girl’s neck and strangle her? And where the devil is the woman,
anyway? Go out and see how Frank’s getting on.”
Hoskins left obediently, and returned a moment or two later with Sergeant Cottrell, a brisk
young man with a good opinion of himself, who always managed to annoy his superior officer.
Inspector Bland much preferred the rural wisdom of Hoskins to the smart know-all attitude of
Frank Cottrell.
“Still searching the grounds, sir,” said Cottrell. “The lady hasn’t passed out through the gate,
we’re quite sure of that. It’s the second gardener who’s there giving out the tickets and taking the
admission money. He’ll swear she hasn’t left.”
“There are other ways of leaving than by the main gate, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, sir. There’s the path down to the ferry, but the old boy down there—Merdell, his
name is—is also quite positive that she hasn’t left that way. He’s about a hundred, but pretty
reliable, I think. He described quite clearly how the foreign gentleman arrived in his launch and
asked the way to Nasse House. The old man told him he must go up the road to the gate and pay
for admission. But he said the gentleman seemed to know nothing about the fête and said he was a
relation of the family. So the old man set him on the path up from the ferry through the woods.
Merdell seems to have been hanging about the quay all the afternoon so he’d be pretty sure to
have seen her ladyship if she’d come that way. Then there’s the top gate that leads over the fields
to Hoodown Park, but that’s been wired up because of trespassers, so she didn’t go through there.
Seems as though she must be still here, doesn’t it?”
“That may be so,” said the inspector, “but there’s nothing to prevent her, is there, from slipping
under a fence and going off across country? Sir George is still complaining of trespassing here
from the hostel next door, I understand. If you can get in the way the trespassers get in, you can
get out the same way, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes, sir, indubitably, sir. But I’ve talked to her maid, sir. She’s wearing”— Cottrell
consulted a paper in his hand—“a dress of cyclamen crêpe georgette (whatever that is), a large
black hat, black court shoes with four-inch french heels. Not the sort of things you’d wear for a
cross-country run.”
“She didn’t change her clothes?”
“No. I went into that with the maid. There’s nothing missing—nothing whatever. She didn’t
pack a suitcase or anything of that kind. She didn’t even change her shoes. Every pair’s there and
accounted for.”
Inspector Bland frowned. Unpleasant possibilities were rising in his mind. He said curtly:
“Get me that secretary woman again—Bruce—whatever her name is.”
II
Miss Brewis came in looking rather more ruffled than usual, and a little out of breath.
“Yes, Inspector?” she said. “You wanted me? If it isn’t urgent, Sir George is in a terrible state
and—”
“What’s he in a state about?”
“He’s only just realized that Lady Stubbs is—well, really missing. I told him she’s probably
only gone for a walk in the woods or something, but he’s got it into his head that something’s
happened to her. Quite absurd.”
“It might not be so absurd, Miss Brewis. After all, we’ve had one—murder here this afternoon.”
“You surely don’t think that Lady Stubbs—? But that’s ridiculous! Lady Stubbs can look after
herself.”
“Can she?”
“Of course she can! She’s a grown woman, isn’t she?”
“But rather a helpless one, by all accounts.”
“Nonsense,” said Miss Brewis. “It suits Lady Stubbs now and then to play the helpless nitwit if
she doesn’t want to do anything. It takes her husband in, I dare say, but it doesn’t take me in!”
“You don’t like her very much, Miss Brewis?” Bland sounded gently interested.
Miss Brewis’ lips closed in a thin line.
“It’s not my business either to like or dislike her,” she said.
The door burst open and Sir George came in.
“Look here,” he said violently, “you’ve got to do something. Where’s Hattie? You’ve got to
find Hattie. What the hell’s going on round here I don’t know. This confounded fête—some ruddy
homicidal maniac’s got in here, paying his half crown and looking like everyone else, spending his
afternoon going round murdering people. That’s what it looks like to me.”
“I don’t think we need take such an exaggerated view as that, Sir George.”
“It’s all very well for you sitting there behind the table, writing things down. What I want is my
wife.”
“I’m having the grounds searched, Sir George.”
“Why did nobody tell me she’d disappeared? She’s been missing a couple of hours now, it
seems. I thought it was odd that she didn’t turn up to judge the Children’s Fancy Dress stuff, but
nobody told me she’d really gone.”
“Nobody knew,” said the inspector.
“Well, someone ought to’ve known. Somebody ought to have noticed.”
He turned on Miss Brewis.
“You ought to have known, Amanda, you were keeping an eye on things.”
“I can’t be everywhere,” said Miss Brewis. She sounded suddenly almost tearful. “I’ve got so
much to see to. If Lady Stubbs chose to wander away—”
“Wander away? Why should she wander away? She’d no reason to wander away unless she
wanted to avoid that dago fellow.”
Bland seized his opportunity.
“There is something I want to ask you,” he said. “Did your wife receive a letter from Mr. de
Sousa some three weeks ago, telling her he was coming to this country?”
Sir George looked astonished.
“No, of course she didn’t.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Oh, quite sure. Hattie would have told me. Why, she was thoroughly startled and upset when
she got his letter this morning. It more or less knocked her out. She was lying down most of the
morning with a headache.”
“What did she say to you privately about her cousin’s visit? Why did she dread seeing him so
much?”
Sir George looked rather embarrassed.
“Blessed if I really know,” he said. “She just kept saying that he was wicked.”
“Wicked? In what way?”
“She wasn’t very articulate about it. Just went on rather like a child saying that he was a wicked
man. Bad; and that she wished he wasn’t coming here. She said he’d done bad things.”
“Done bad things? When?”
“Oh, long ago. I should imagine this Etienne de Sousa was the black sheep of the family and
that Hattie picked up odds and ends about him during her childhood without understanding them
very well. And as a result she’s got a sort of horror of him. I thought it was just a childish
hangover myself. My wife is rather childish sometimes. Has likes and dislikes, but can’t explain
them.”
“You are sure she did not particularize in any way, Sir George?”
Sir George looked uneasy.
“I wouldn’t want you to go by—er—what she said.”
“Then she did say something?”
“All right. I’ll let you have it. What she said was—and she said it several times—‘He kills
people.’”
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