Chapter 11 – The Motive

I was dumbfounded.

I turned on Poirot.

'Is this what you meant?'

'Yes, mon ami. This morning-I knew.'

'How did you know? How did you guess? You said it stared you in the face at breakfast.'

'So it did, my friend. From the front page of the newspaper. I remembered the conversation at dinner last night-and I saw everything.'

He turned to Nick again.

'You heard the news last night?'

'Yes. On the wireless. I made an excuse about the telephone. I wanted to hear the news alone-in case...' She swallowed hard. 'And I heard it...'

'I know, I know.' He took her hand in both of his.

'It was-pretty ghastly. And all the people arriving. I don't know how I got through it. It all felt like a dream. I could see myself from outside-behaving just as usual. It was queer somehow.'

'Yes, yes, I understand.'

'And then, when I went to fetch Freddie's wrap-I broke down for a minute. I pulled myself together quite quickly. But Maggie kept calling up about her coat. And then at last she took my shawl and went, and I put on some powder and some rouge and followed her out. And there she was-dead...'

'Yes, yes, it must have been a terrible shock.'

'You don't understand. I was angry! I wished it had been me! I wanted to be dead-and there I was-alive and perhaps to live for years! And Michael dead-drowned far away in the Pacific.'

'Pauvre enfant.'

'I don't want to be alive. I don't want to live, I tell you!' she cried, rebelliously.

'I know-I know. To all of us, Mademoiselle, there comes a time when death is preferable to life. But it passes-sorrow passes and grief. You cannot believe that now, I know. It is useless for an old man like me to talk. Idle words-that is what you think-idle words.'

'You think I'll forget-and marry someone else? Never!'

She looked rather lovely as she sat up in bed, her two hands clenched and her cheeks burning.

Poirot said gently: 'No, no. I am not thinking anything of the kind. You are very lucky, Mademoiselle. You have been loved by a brave man-a hero. How did you come to meet him?'

'It was at Le Touquet-last September. Nearly a year ago.'

'And you became engaged-when?'

'Just after Christmas. But it had to be a secret.'

'Why was that?'

'Michael's uncle-old Sir Matthew Seton. He loved birds and hated women.'

'Ah! ce n'est pas raisonnable!'

'Well-I don't mean quite that. He was a complete crank. Thought women ruined a man's life. And Michael was absolutely dependent on him. He was frightfully proud of Michael and it was he who financed the building of the Albatross and the expenses of the round-the-world flight. It was the dearest dream of his life as well as of Michael's. If Michael had pulled it off-well, then he could have asked

his uncle anything. And even if old Sir Matthew had still cut up rough, well, it wouldn't have really mattered. Michael would have been made-a kind of world hero. His uncle would have come round in the end.'

'Yes, yes, I see.'

'But Michael said it would be fatal if anything leaked out. We must keep it a dead secret. And I did. I never told anyone-not even Freddie.'

Poirot groaned.

'If only you had told me, Mademoiselle.'

Nick stared at him.

'But what difference would it have made? It couldn't have anything to do with these mysterious attacks on me? No, I'd promised Michael-and I kept my word. But it was awful-the anxiety, wondering and getting in a state the whole time. And everyone saying one was so nervy. And being unable to explain.'

'Yes, I comprehend all that.'

'He was missing once before, you know. Crossing the desert on the way to India. That was pretty awful, and then after all, it was all right. His machine was damaged, but it was put right, and he went on. And I kept saying to myself that it would be the same this time. Everyone said he must be dead-and I kept telling myself that he must be all right, really. And then-last night...'

Her voice trailed away. 'You had hoped up till then?'

'I don't know. I think it was more that I refused to believe. It was awful never being able to talk to anyone.'

'Yes, I can imagine that. Were you never tempted to tell Madame Rice, for instance?'

'Sometimes I wanted to frightfully.'

'You do not think she-guessed?'

'I don't think so.' Nick considered the idea carefully. 'She never said anything. Of course she used to hint things sometimes. About our being great friends and all that.'

'You never considered telling her when M. Seton's uncle died? You know that he died about a week ago?'

'I know. He had an operation or something. I suppose I might have told anybody then. But it wouldn't have been a nice way of doing it, would it? I mean, it would have seemed rather boastful-to do it just then-when all the papers were full of Michael. And reporters would have come and interviewed me. It would all have been rather cheap. And Michael would have hated it.'

'I agree with you, Mademoiselle. You could not have announced it publicly. I only meant that you could have spoken of it privately to a friend.'

'I did sort of hint to one person,' said Nick. 'I-thought it was only fair. But I don't know how much he-the person took in.'

Poirot nodded.

'Are you on good terms with your cousin M. Vyse?' he asked, with a rather abrupt change of subject.

'Charles? What put him into your head?' 'I was just wondering-that was all.'

'Charles means well,' said Nick. 'He's a frightful stick, of course. Never moves out of this place. He disapproves of me, I think.'

'Oh! Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle. And I hear that he has laid all his devotion at your feet!'

'Disapproving of a person doesn't keep you from having a pash for them. Charles thinks my mode of life is reprehensible and he disapproves of my cocktails, my complexion, my friends and my conversation. But he still feels my fatal fascination. He always hopes to reform me, I think.'

She paused and then said, with a ghost of a twinkle: 'Who have you been pumping to get the local information?'

'You must not give me away, Mademoiselle. I had a little conversation with the Australian lady, Madame Croft.'

'She's rather an old dear-when one has time for her. Terribly sentimental. Love and home and children-you know the sort of thing.'

'I am old-fashioned and sentimental myself, Mademoiselle.'

'Are you? I should have said that Captain Hastings was the sentimental one of you two.'

I blushed indignantly.

'He is furious,' said Poirot, eying my discomfiture with a good deal of pleasure. 'But you are right, Mademoiselle. Yes, you are right.'

'Not at all,' I said, angrily.

'Hastings has a singularly beautiful nature. It has been the greatest hindrance to me at times.'

'Don't be absurd, Poirot.'

'He is, to begin with, reluctant to see evil anywhere, and when he does see it his righteous indignation is so great that he is incapable of dissembling. Altogether a rare and beautiful nature. No, mon ami, I will not permit you to contradict me. It is as I say.'

'You've both been very kind to me,' said Nick, gently.

'La, la, Mademoiselle. That is nothing. We have much more to do. To begin with, you will remain here. You will obey orders. You will do what I tell you. At this juncture I must not be hampered.'

Nick sighed wearily.

'I'll do anything you like. I don't care what I do.'

'You will see no friends for the present.'

'I don't care. I don't want to see anyone.'

'For you the passive part-for us the active one. Now, Mademoiselle, I am going to leave you. I will not intrude longer upon your sorrow.'

He moved towards the door, pausing with his hand on the handle to say over his shoulder: 'By the way, you once mentioned a will you made. Where is it, this will?'

'Oh! it's knocking round somewhere.'

'At End House?'

'Yes.'

'In a safe? Locked up in your desk?'

'Well, I really don't know. It's somewhere about.' She frowned. 'I'm frightfully untidy, you know. Papers and things like that would be mostly in the writing-table in the library. That's where most of the bills are. The will is probably with them. Or it might be in my bedroom.'

'You permit me to make the search-yes?'

'If you want to-yes. Look at anything you like.'

'Merci, Mademoiselle. I will avail myself of your permission.'

第十一章　动机

这下我发呆了。

“这就是答案？”我问波洛。

“是的，我的朋友。我是今天早晨知道的。”

“你是怎么知道的？是怎么猜出来的？你说它是自己寻上门来的呀。”

“是的，我的朋友，就在报纸的第一版上。我记起了昨天吃晚饭时的谈话，就恍然大悟啦。”

说着他又转向尼克：

“你是昨天晚上听到这个消息的？”

“是的，在收音机上。我借口说要打电话，而实际上是想一个人去听听收音机上的消息。如果……”她把到了嘴边的话又咽了回去，“所以我昨晚就听到了……”

“我知道，我知道，”他捧住尼克的小手。

“这对于我来说是个致命的打击，可是客人们却纷纷到来。我真不知怎样才能把这一切应付过去，真像一场噩梦！但我看得出——好像我自己成了第三者——我的举止很正常，只是有点不自然。”

“是呀，我完全理解。”

“后来当我去拿弗雷迪的披肩时，有那么一瞬间我真的控制不住自己了，一时痛哭起来，但我还是马上收起了眼泪，因为马吉一直吵着找她的大衣。最后她拿了我的披肩出去了，我急忙搽了点粉和胭脂也跟了出来，可她却已经——死了。”

“嗯，这对你是多大的打击！”

“不，你不懂，当时我气极了，我希望死的是我！我想死——却活着，而且还不知要活上多久！迈克尔·塞顿却死了，淹死在太平洋里了。”

“不幸的孩子！”

“有什么不幸的。我告诉你：我厌弃生命！”她怨恨地哭了。

“我理解，我全都理解，小姐。对我们每个人来说，生活中总有那么一刻会叫人觉得死去比活着强。可是一切都会过去的，哀愁和痛苦，都会在不知不觉之中悄然而逝。你现在自然不会相信这种说法，我知道。像我这么个老头子对你说这些有什么用呢？空话——这就是你的看法——全是空话。”

“你以为我会忘掉我的爱情，去跟别人结婚吗？绝不会！”

她坐在床上，双手紧紧绞在一起，脸上泛着红晕，十分娇美。

波洛温存地说：

“不，不，我完全没有这个意思。你很有幸，小姐，曾被这么勇敢的英雄爱过。你是怎么遇上他的？”

“那是在托基——去年九月，差不多一年前。”

“后来你们订婚了。那是什么时候的事？”

“刚过圣诞节。可是我们一直保密。”

“为什么要保密呢？”

“迈克尔的叔叔——老马修·塞顿爵士，把一切鸟儿当作宝贝心肝而把女人当作仇人、死敌。”

“哦，这可真是毫无道理。”

“是呀，但我不是指的这个。老马修是个脾气古怪的人，认为女人是男人的克星。但他很喜欢迈克尔，并且为这个侄儿感到自豪。迈克尔一切都靠他叔叔。那架两用飞机就是他叔叔替他造的，这次环球探险的一切费用也全是这位老人支付的。这次环球飞行是迈克尔最大的希望，也是他叔叔最渴望实现的梦想。只要这次飞行成功了，在他叔叔面前，迈克尔就能有求必应。那时即使我们的事叫他发觉了也关系不大，因为侄儿成了世界知名的探险英雄，叔叔脸上光彩，一定会回心转意的。”

“是这样的，我明白了。”

“迈克尔说，在成功之前一点风声也不能走漏，我就一直守口如瓶，对谁也没讲——哪怕是弗雷迪。”

波洛呻吟了一声，说：

“要是你能早点告诉我，小姐……”

尼克凝视着他。

“那又怎样呢？这跟谋害我有什么关系呢？我向迈克尔保证过对谁也不讲，并且我也做到了。当然，这是痛苦的，焦虑和欣慰、绝望和希冀交替着折磨我，一天到晚坐卧不安，大家都说我神经过敏，可我又不能解释。”

“我想象得出。”

“他以前也失踪过一次，那是在他飞越沙漠去印度的途中。当时的情形叫人绝望，但后来他修好了机器，化险为夷。我一直对自己说这一次也一定是这种情形。人人都说他死了，但我始终像个驼鸟把头埋在沙里，直到昨天晚上……”

她的声音越来越低，终于听不见了。

“你一直抱着希望？”

“我也说不清，也许只是不肯相信吧。最受不了的是对谁也不能说，只好一个人发愁。”

“是啊，小姐，我能够体会。你有没有打算对谁透露一点风声？比方说，对赖斯太太？”

“有时我很想这么做，想得要命。”

“你想她会不会猜到了你的秘密？”

“不，我想不会。”尼克思索着说，“她什么也没说过。当然她有时老是对我暗示说我们是推心置腹的朋友，应当无话不谈。”

“迈克尔的叔叔死了以后你也没打算告诉她吗？他死了大约一个星期左右了。”

“我知道，他是动手术之后死的。但他一死就对别人透露我和迈克尔的关系是很不高尚的。在所有的报纸都把迈克尔失踪的消息当作热门新闻大登特登的时候，我这一说，记者便会蜂拥而来，我岂不显得是在趁人之危大出风头吗？迈克尔知道了一定不高兴的。”

“这是对的，小姐，你不能公开宣布。但我想，你可以同好朋友私下谈谈。”

“我对一个人暗示过，”尼克说，“就那么一次，但不知那个人听懂了没有。”

波洛点点头，突然改变了话题。

“你同你表哥维斯先生的关系是否很融洽？”

“查尔斯？提起他干么？”

“随便问问罢了。”

“查尔斯是个好心人，”尼克说，“当然，他固执得可恶。他从不离开这圣卢一带，老是说我这也不是那也不是。”

“啊，小姐，小姐！我倒有所耳闻，说他拜倒在你的石榴裙下哩。”

“我们并不互相疏远。他认为我的生活方式是大逆不道的，他不赞成我的鸡尾酒会，我的梳妆打扮，我的朋友往来和我的举止言谈。尽管如此，他还是见了我就神魂颠倒。他呀，老是想要改造我。”

停了停，她眨眨眼问：

“这些事你是从什么地方听来的？”

“我悄悄儿地对你说吧，小姐，我曾有幸同那位澳大利亚女士克罗夫特太太攀谈了几句。”

“她是个相当热情的人——只要你有时间坐着听她讲。那些个多情得要命的话题——什么爱情呀，家庭呀，孩子呀，没完没了地发挥个淋漓尽致。”

“我也是一位老派的多情绅士呀，小姐。”

“是吗？我觉得你们两位当中还是黑斯廷斯更多情些。”

我脸上发烫了。

“嗬，他神气起来啦，”波洛看见我的窘态，高兴得眉飞色舞，“不过小姐你说得对，是啊，正确之至。”

“完全不对！”我气起来了。

“黑斯廷斯有极为罕见的纯洁天性，有时候叫我伤透了脑筋。”

“别胡闹了，波洛。”

“他呀，素来与一切邪恶不共戴天。一旦遇见什么丑行劣迹，他那正义凛然的怒气是如此之雷霆万钧，以致一下子就把一切都给你搅个乱七八糟。啊，少见的德行。不，我的朋友，我不让你反驳，你就是这样一个人。”

“你俩对我都很好。”尼克柔情地说。

“啊，啊，小姐，这没什么。我们还有许多事要做呢。首先，你还得待在这儿，你得服从命令，得照我说的行事。在这点上我是不会让步的。”

尼克无可奈何地叹了口气。

“你叫我做什么我就做什么，我对一切都无所谓了。”

“目前你不能会见朋友。”

“我谁都不想见。”

“这在你是消极的，对我们来说却是积极的。现在，小姐，我们要走了。我们不再惊动你那圣洁的哀愁了。”

他走到门口，握着门上的把手转过头来说：

“顺便问一下。你说过立了遗嘱。在什么地方——这遗嘱？”

“哦，总在什么地方的。”

“在悬崖山庄吗？”

“是的。”

“在保险柜里还是锁在抽屉里？”

“哎，我真的不知道。反正总不外乎这些地方。”她皱起眉头说，“我的东西不大会在固定的地方，你知道。这种文件很可能在书房的写字台里，许多帐单什么的也在那儿，遗嘱可能就跟这些玩意儿混在一起。再不然就在我卧室里了。”

“你让我去找找看，好吗？”

“你想去找当然可以。你爱看什么就看什么好了。”

“多谢了，小姐。那么我就要去利用一下你给予我的这种方便了。”