Chapter 16 – Interview with Mr Whitfield

The inquest was a dry proceeding-mere bare bones. There was evidence of identification, then I gave evidence of the finding of the body. Medical evidence followed.

The inquest was adjourned for a week.

The St Loo murder had jumped into prominence in the daily press. It had, in fact, succeeded 'Seton Still Missing. Unknown Fate of Missing Airman.'

Now that Seton was dead and due tribute had been paid to his memory, a new sensation was due. The St Loo Mystery was a godsend to papers at their wits' end for news in the month of August.

After the inquest, having successfully dodged reporters, I met Poirot, and we had an interview with the Rev. Giles Buckley and his wife.

Maggie's father and mother were a charming pair, completely unworldly and unsophisticated.

Mrs Buckley was a woman of character, tall and fair and showing very plainly her northern ancestry. Her husband was a small man, grey-haired, with a diffident appealing manner.

Poor souls, they were completely dazed by the misfortune that had overtaken them and robbed them of a well-beloved daughter. 'Our Maggie', as they called her.

'I can scarcely realize it even now,' said Mr Buckley. 'Such a dear child, M. Poirot. So quiet and unselfish-always thinking of others. Who could wish to harm her?'

'I could hardly understand the telegram,' said Mrs Buckley. 'Why it was only the morning before that we had seen her off.'

'In the midst of life we are in death,' murmured her husband.

'Colonel Weston has been very kind,' said Mrs Buckley. 'He assures us that everything is being done to find the man who did this thing. He must be a madman. No other explanation is possible.'

'Madame, I cannot tell you how I sympathize with you in your loss-and how I admire your bravery!'

'Breaking down would not bring Maggie back to us,' said Mrs Buckley, sadly.

'My wife is wonderful,' said the clergyman. 'Her faith and courage are greater than mine. It is all so-so bewildering, M. Poirot.'

'I know-I know, Monsieur.'

'You are a great detective, M. Poirot?' said Mrs Buckley.

'It has been said, Madame.'

'Oh! I know. Even in our remote country village we have heard of you. You are going to find out the truth, M. Poirot?'

'I shall not rest until I do, Madame.'

'It will be revealed to you, M. Poirot,' quavered the clergyman. 'Evil cannot go unpunished.'

'Evil never goes unpunished, Monsieur. But the punishment is sometimes secret.'

'What do you mean by that, M. Poirot?' Poirot only shook his head.

'Poor little Nick,' said Mrs Buckley. 'I am really sorriest of all for her. I had a most pathetic letter. She says she feels she asked Maggie down here to her death.'

'That is morbid,' said Mr Buckley.

'Yes, but I know how she feels. I wish they would let me see her. It seems so extraordinary not to let her own family visit her.'

'Doctors and nurses are very strict,' said Poirot, evasively. 'They make the rules-so-and nothing will change them. And doubtless they fear for her the emotion-the natural emotion-she would experience on seeing you.'

'Perhaps,' said Mrs Buckley, doubtfully. 'But I don't hold with nursing homes. Nick would do much better if they let her come back with me-right away from this place.'

'It is possible-but I fear they will not agree. It is long since you have seen Mademoiselle Buckley?'

'I haven't seen her since last autumn. She was at Scarborough. Maggie went over and spent the day with her and then she came back and spent a night with us. She's a pretty creature-though I can't say I like her friends. And the life she leads-well, it's hardly her fault, poor child. She's had no upbringing of any kind.'

'It is a strange house-End House,' said Poirot thoughtfully.

'I don't like it,' said Mrs Buckley. 'I never have. There's something all wrong about that house. I disliked old Sir Nicholas intensely. He made me shiver.'

'Not a good man, I'm afraid,' said her husband. 'But he had a curious charm.'

'I never felt it,' said Mrs Buckley. 'There's an evil feeling about that house. I wish we'd never let our Maggie go there.'

'Ah! wishing,' said Mr Buckley, and shook his head.

'Well,' said Poirot. 'I must not intrude upon you any longer. I only wished to proffer to you my deep sympathy.'

'You have been very kind, M. Poirot. And we are indeed grateful for all you are doing.'

'You return to Yorkshire-when?'

'Tomorrow. A sad journey. Goodbye, M. Poirot, and thank you again.' 'Very simple delightful people,' I said, after we had left. Poirot nodded.

'It makes the heart ache, does it not, mon ami? A tragedy so useless-so purposeless. Cette jeune fille -Ah! but I reproach myself bitterly. I, Hercule Poirot, was on the spot and I did not prevent the crime!'

'Nobody could have prevented it.'

'You speak without reflection, Hastings. No ordinary person could have prevented it-but of what good is it to be Hercule Poirot with grey cells of a finer quality than other people's, if you do not manage to do what ordinary people cannot?'

'Well, of course,' I said. 'If you are going to put it like that-' 'Yes, indeed. I am abased, downhearted-completely abased.'

I reflected that Poirot's abasement was strangely like other people's conceit, but I prudently forbore from making any remark.

'And now,' he said, 'en avant. To London.' 'London?'

'Mais oui. We shall catch the two o'clock train very comfortably. All is peaceful here. Mademoiselle is safe in the nursing home. No one can harm her. The watch-dogs, therefore, can take leave of absence. There are one or two little pieces of information that I require.'

Our first proceeding on arriving in London was to call upon the late Captain Seton's solicitors, Messrs Whitfield, Pargiter & Whitfield.

Poirot had arranged for an appointment beforehand, and although it was past six o'clock, we were soon closeted with Mr Whitfield, the head of the firm.

He was a very urbane and impressive person. He had in front of him a letter from the Chief Constable and another from some high official at Scotland Yard.

'This is all very irregular and unusual, M.-ah-Poirot,' he said, as he polished his eyeglasses.

'Quite so, M. Whitfield. But then murder is also irregular-and, I am glad to say, sufficiently unusual.'

'True. True. But rather far-fetched-to make a connection between this murder and my late client's bequest-eh?'

'I think not.'

'Ah! you think not. Well-under the circumstances-and I must admit that Sir Henry puts it very strongly in his letter-I shall be-er-happy to do anything that is in my power.'

'You acted as legal adviser to the late Captain Seton?'

'To all the Seton family, my dear sir. We have done so-our firm have done so, I mean-for the last hundred years.'

'Parfaitement. The late Sir Matthew Seton made a will?'

'We made it for him.'

'And he left his fortune-how?'

'There were several bequests-one to the Natural History Museum-but the bulk of his large-his, I may say, very large fortune -he left to Captain Michael Seton absolutely. He had no other near relations.'

'A very large fortune, you say?'

'The late Sir Matthew was the second richest man in England,' replied Mr Whitfield, composedly.

'He had somewhat peculiar views, had he not?' Mr Whitfield looked at him severely.

'A millionaire, M. Poirot, is allowed to be eccentric. It is almost expected of him.' Poirot received his correction meekly and asked another question. 'His death was unexpected, I understand?'

'Most unexpected. Sir Matthew enjoyed remarkably good health. He had an internal growth, however, which no one had suspected. It reached a vital tissue and an immediate operation was necessary. The operation was, as always on these occasions, completely successful. But Sir Matthew died.'

'And his fortune passed to Captain Seton.'

'That is so.'

'Captain Seton had, I understand, made a will before leaving England?'

'If you can call it a will-yes,' said Mr Whitfield, with strong distaste.

'It is legal?'

'It is perfectly legal. The intention of the testator is plain and it is properly witnessed. Oh, yes, it is legal.'

'But you do not approve of it?' 'My dear sir, what are we for?'

I had often wondered. Having once had occasion to make a perfectly simple will myself. I had been appalled at the length and verbiage that resulted from my solicitor's office.

'The truth of the matter was,' continued Mr Whitfield, 'that at the time Captain Seton had little or nothing to leave. He was dependent on the allowance he received from his uncle. He felt, I suppose, that anything would do.'

And had thought correctly, I whispered to myself. 'And the terms of this will?' asked Poirot.

'He leaves everything of which he dies possessed to his affianced wife, Miss Magdala Buckley absolutely. He names me as his executor.

'Then Miss Buckley inherits?'

'Certainly Miss Buckley inherits.'

'And if Miss Buckley had happened to die last Monday?'

'Captain Seton having predeceased her, the money would go to whomever she had named in her will as residuary legatee-or failing a will to her next of kin.'

'I may say,' added Mr Whitfield, with an air of enjoyment, 'that death duties would have been enormous. Enormous! Three deaths, remember, in rapid succession.' He shook his head. 'Enormous!'

'But there would have been something left?' murmured Poirot, meekly.

'My dear sir, as I told you, Sir Matthew was the second richest man in England.'

Poirot rose.

'Thank you, Mr Whitfield, very much for the information that you have given me.'

'Not at all. Not at all. I may say that I shall be in communication with Miss Buckley-indeed, I believe the letter has already gone. I shall be happy to be of any service I can to her.'

'She is a young lady,' said Poirot, 'who could do with some sound legal advice.' 'There will be fortune hunters, I am afraid,' said Mr Whitfield, shaking his head. 'It seems indicated,' agreed Poirot. 'Good day, Monsieur.'

'Goodbye, M. Poirot. Glad to have been of service to you. Your name is-ah!-familiar to me.'

He said this kindly-with an air of one making a valuable admission. 'It is all exactly as you thought, Poirot,' I said, when we were outside.

'Mon ami, it was bound to be. It could not be any other way. We will go now to the Cheshire Cheese where Japp meets us for an early dinner.'

We found Inspector Japp of Scotland Yard awaiting us at the chosen rendezvous. He greeted Poirot with every sign of warmth.

'Years since I've seen you, Monsieur Poirot. Thought you were growing vegetable marrows in the country.'

'I tried, Japp, I tried. But even when you grow vegetable marrows you cannot get away from murder.'

He sighed. I knew of what he was thinking-that strange affair at Fernley Park. How I regretted that I had been far away at that time.

'And Captain Hastings too,' said Japp. 'How are you, sir?' 'Very fit, thanks,' I said.

'And now there are more murders?' continued Japp, facetiously. 'As you say-more murders.'

'Well, you mustn't be depressed, old cock,' said Japp. 'Even if you can't see your way clear-well-you can't go about at your time of life and expect to have the success you used to do. We all of us get stale as the years go by. Got to give the young 'uns a chance, you know.'

'And yet the old dog is the one who knows the tricks,' murmured Poirot. 'He is cunning. He does not leave the scent.'

'Oh! well-we're talking about human beings, not dogs.'

'Is there so much difference?'

'Well, it depends how you look at things. But you're a caution, isn't he, Captain Hastings? Always was. Looks much the same-hair a bit thinner on top but the face fungus fuller than ever.'

'Eh?' said Poirot. 'What is that?'

'He's congratulating you on your moustaches,' I said, soothingly. 'They are luxuriant, yes,' said Poirot, complacently caressing them. Japp went off into a roar of laughter.

'Well,' he said, after a minute or two, 'I've done your bit of business. Those finger-prints you sent me-'

'Yes?' said Poirot, eagerly.

'Nothing doing. Whoever the gentleman may be-he hasn't passed throughour hands. On the other hand, I wired to Melbourne and nobody of that description or name is known there.'

'Ah!'

'So there may be something fishy after all. But he's not one of the lads.'

'As to the other business,' went on Japp.

'Yes?'

'Lazarus and Son have a good reputation. Quite straight and honourable in their dealings. Sharp, of course-but that's another matter. You've got to be sharp in business. But they're all right. They're in a bad way, though-financially, I mean.'

'Oh!-is that so?'

'Yes-the slump in pictures has hit them badly. And antique furniture too. All this modern continental stuff coming into fashion. They built new premises last year and-well-as I say, they're not far from Queer Street.'

'I am much obliged to you.'

'Not at all. That sort of thing isn't my line, as you know. But I made a point of finding out as you wanted to know. We can always get information.'

'My good Japp, what should I do without you?'

'Oh! that's all right. Always glad to oblige an old friend. I let you in on some pretty good cases in the old days, didn't I?'

This, I realized, was Japp's way of acknowledging indebtedness to Poirot, who had solved many a case which had baffled the inspector.

'They were the good days-yes.'

'I wouldn't mind having a chat with you now and again even in these days. Your methods may be old-fashioned but you've got your head screwed on the right way, M. Poirot.'

'What about my other question. The Dr MacAllister?'

'Oh, him! He's a woman's doctor. I don't mean a gynaecologist. I mean one of these nerve doctors-tell you to sleep in purple walls and orange ceiling-talk to you about your libido, whatever that is-tell you to let it rip. He's a bit of a quack, if you ask me-but he gets the women all right. They flock to him. Goes abroad a good deal-does some kind of medical work in Paris, I believe.'

'Why Dr MacAllister?' I asked, bewildered. I had never heard of the name. 'Where does he come in?'

'Dr MacAllister is the uncle of Commander Challenger,' explained Poirot. 'You remember he referred to an uncle who was a doctor?'

'How thorough you are,' I said. 'Did you think he had operated on Sir Matthew?'

'He's not a surgeon,' said Japp.

'Mon ami,' said Poirot, 'I like to inquire into everything. Hercule Poirot is a good dog. The good dog follows the scent, and if, regrettably, there is no scent to follow, he noses around-seeking always something that is not very nice. So also, does Hercule Poirot. And often-Oh! so often-does he find it!'

'It's not a nice profession, ours,' said Japp. 'Stilton, did you say? I don't mind if I do. No, it's not a nice profession. And yours is worse than mine-not official, you see, and therefore a lot more worming yourself into places in underhand ways.'

'I do not disguise myself, Japp. Never have I disguised myself.'

'You couldn't,' said Japp. 'You're unique. Once seen, never forgotten.'

Poirot looked at him rather doubtfully.

'Only my fun,' said Japp. 'Don't mind me. Glass of port? Well, if you say so.'

The evening became thoroughly harmonious. We were soon in the middle of reminiscences. This case, that case, and the other. I must say that I, too, enjoyed talking over the past. Those had been good days. How old and experienced I felt now!

Poor old Poirot. He was perplexed by this case-I could see that. His powers were not what they were. I had the feeling that he was going to fail-that the murderer of Maggie Buckley would never be brought to book.

'Courage, my friend,' said Poirot, slapping me on the shoulder. 'All is not lost. Do not pull the long face, I beg of you.'

'That's all right. I'm all right.'

'And so am I. And so is Japp.'

'We're all all right,' declared Japp, hilariously.

And on this pleasant note we parted.

The following morning we journeyed back to St Loo. On arrival at the hotel Poirot rang up the nursing home and asked to speak to Nick.

Suddenly I saw his face change-he almost dropped the instrument. 'Comment? What is that? Say it again, I beg.'

He waited for a minute or two listening. Then he said: 'Yes, yes, I will come at once.'

He turned a pale face to me.

'Why did I go away, Hastings? Mon Dieu! Why did I go away?'

'What has happened?'

'Mademoiselle Nick is dangerously ill. Cocaine poisoning. They have got at her after all. Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Why did I go away?'

第十六章　访惠特菲尔德先生

验尸是件枯燥无味的事，先验明了死者确系玛格黛勒·巴克利，然后我对发现尸体的地点做了见证。接着进行了医学检查和化学处理，一星期后作出结论。

圣卢谋杀案成了报纸上的重大新闻。在这之前，引人注目的标题大都是这样的：

塞顿仍无下落　　英雄生死未卜

现在人们业已证实了这位飞行员之死，各种应有的悼念活动也都举行过了。报馆的编辑和记者开始忧心忡忡，担心出现八月份常见的那种新闻萧条。于是圣卢的这个谋杀案对于报界来说无疑成了天赐良机。

验尸结束后，我巧妙地躲开了那些记者，同波洛一起去看望贾尔斯·巴克利牧师和他的夫人。

马吉的双亲是高尚朴实的人，一点没有尘世的俗气。

巴克利太太看上去意志坚强。从她高高的身材和白皙的肤色上一眼就能看出她的祖先是北方人。她丈夫个子瘦小，头发花白，对人和蔼可亲。两位可怜的老人一生中没有做过一件亏心事，在这个突如其来的打击面前呆若木鸡。

“我，我真的不懂，”巴克利先生说，“多好的一个孩子，波洛先生！她是那么惹人疼爱，老是为别人着想，难道会得罪什么人吗？”

“那个电报我怎么也看不懂，”巴克利太太说，“就在我们送她走的第二天早上！”

“阳光多明媚啊，”她丈夫喃喃地说，“但可怜的女儿再也看不见了……”

“韦斯顿上校对我们很好，”巴克利太太说，“他告诉我们正在尽一切力量查出凶手。一定是个疯子干的，不然怎么解释呢？”

“太太，我对你的同情是无法表达的。在这样的不幸面前你能如此坚强，更叫我十分钦佩。”

“痛哭流涕并不能让马吉复活。”巴克利太太惨然地说。

“我的妻子是了不起的，”牧师说，“她的信心和勇气都比我强。这样的祸事叫人怎么受得了，波洛先生。”

“我理解你——完全能够理解，先生。”

“你是个出名的大侦探家吧，波洛先生？”巴克利太太问。

“他们是这么说的，太太。”

“我知道的。甚至在我们那种穷乡僻壤，你的大名也是家喻户晓的。你会把这件事搞清楚的，对吗，波洛先生？”

“否则我决不罢休，太太。”

“你一定会查出真相的，波洛先生，”牧师颤颤地说，“邪恶是逃避不了惩罚的。”

“天网恢恢，疏而不漏，先生。不过有时报应是悄悄下手的。”

“这是指的什么呢，先生？”

波洛只是摇摇头。

“可怜的小尼克，”巴克利太太说，“我该怎样安慰她才好。我收到她一封伤感的信，说她觉得是她断送了马吉，因为是她请马吉到这里来的。”

“这是一种病态的心理。”巴克利先生说。

“是啊，但她心中的滋味可以想象得出。我希望他们会让我去看看她。连家属都不让进去探望是不合情理的。”

“医生护士是从不通融的。”波洛推诿说，“他们订下了章程，什么也没法叫他们改变做法。而且他们不希望她的感情出现波动，因为见到你们，她很自然地会感情冲动起来的。”

“这也有点道理，”巴克利太太疑惑地说，“但我觉得让她住在休养所里也不是办法。要是他们让尼克跟我们一起回家——马上就离开这个地方——对尼克更有好处。”

“可能是的，但我怕他们不会同意。你们有很长时间没见过尼克小姐了吧？”

“从去年秋天起就没见过。那时她在斯卡伯勒，马吉到她那儿去待了一天，然后她来同我们一起住了一夜。她讨人喜欢，可是她那些朋友我不赞成，还有她的生活方式。不过这不是她的错，可怜的孩子。她从来就没有受过好好的教养。”

“她住在那幢古怪的房子里——悬崖山庄。”波洛好像在想什么。

“我不喜欢那房子，”巴克利太太说，“从来就没有喜欢过。总有什么不对劲的地方。我也很不喜欢老尼古拉，想起他就要发抖。”

“恐怕他不是个好人，”她丈夫说，“但他身上确实有一种说不出的魅力。”

“我倒不觉得他有什么魅力，”巴克利太太说，“这幢房子鬼气森森，我真不想让尼克再住在里头了。”

“啊，真的。”巴克利先生摇摇头说。

“好吧，”波洛说，“我不打扰你们了。我只是来向你们表达我真诚的同情。”

“你对我们真好，波洛先生。对于你在进行的工作我们将永远感谢的。”

“你们要回约克郡去——什么时候？”

“明天。多伤心的旅行啊！再见，波洛先生。再一次谢谢你。”

离开他们之后，我说：“真是善良的人。”

波洛点点头。

“真叫人心酸，不是吗，我的朋友？这样一个糊里糊涂的悲剧。这位年轻的姑娘——啊！我怎么责备自己都不过分。我，赫尔克里·波洛，当时明明在场却没能阻止这次凶杀！”

“谁也没法子阻止的。”

“别乱说了，黑斯廷斯。一般的人当然阻止不了——但如果赫尔克里·波洛也没法办到一般人办不到的事，那么他脑子里那些灰色细胞虽然比别人的质量好又有什么意义呢？”

“啊，”我说，“如果你硬要这么说的话——”

“当然要这么说，因为正是这么回事。我在走下坡路，惭愧呀惭愧，我完全不中用了。”

波洛的自谦与别人的自负有惊人的相似之处，所以听了他这一番自怨自艾的话之后，我慎重地缄口不言。

“现在，”他说，“动身。到伦敦去。”

“伦敦？”

“对。我们可以惬意地乘上两点钟那趟火车。这里平安无事，小姐在休养所里也不会有任何意外，谁也碰不了她。警犬们可以去逛荡一回啦。我还有一两个情况需要了解。”

到了伦敦之后，第一步，我们先去拜访已故塞顿上尉的律师，帕吉特和惠特菲尔德律师事务所的惠特菲尔德。

波洛同他有约在先，因此虽然六点已过，我们还是很快见到了事务所的负责人惠特菲尔德先生。

像一切高级律师一样，他是个温文尔雅的人。一眼之后就能叫人十年不忘。他面前放着两封信，一封来自警察局，另一封来自苏格兰场某高级长官。

“塞顿的婚约非同寻常，呃，波洛先生？”他边说边用一方绸绢揉拭他的眼镜。

“是啊，惠特菲尔德先生。但这个凶杀案也是非同寻常的——并且我有幸能这样说，非同寻常之至！”

“对，对。不过这次凶杀跟我已故主顾的遗产想必是泾渭无涉的吧。呃？”

“我不这么认为。”

“啊，你持异议！瞧，在这种情况下——我得承认亨利爵士在他的信里表示他对此案十分重视——我将，呃，十分乐意在我的能力范围之内为您效劳。”

“你是塞顿上尉的法律顾问？”

“是整个塞顿家族的法律顾问，我亲爱的先生。我们作为他们家的法律顾问——我指的是敝事务所——已有近百年之久了。”

“而现在完美告终。已故马修·塞顿爵士有个遗嘱？”

“荣幸得很，是我们替他起草的。”

“他怎样分配他的财产呢？”

“有几项遗嘱，如，有一笔款子赠给了自然历史博物馆。但他那庞大的财产——可以说是巨万家私——当中的绝大部分留给了迈克尔·塞顿上尉。老塞顿没有其他近亲了。”

“巨万家私，你刚才说？”

“故世的马修爵士是英国第二位大财主，”惠特菲尔德先生不动声色地说。

“听说他有些怪癖？”

惠特菲尔德先生严厉地看着他。

“波洛先生，一个百万富翁是可以别具情趣的，否则便不孚众望了。”

碰了这个钉子波洛毫无愠色。他接着又提出另外一个问题。

“他的死是出人意外的，我想？”

“十分意外，谁也没料到。马修爵士年事虽高，身体却一向结实，不料得了癌症。等到发现的时候已经扩展到致命的地步了。于是立即动手术。但像一般常有的情况一样，手术是出色的，病人却还是死了。”

“财产就传给了塞顿上尉。”

“正是如此。”

“我想，塞顿上尉起飞探险之前也曾立过一个遗嘱？”

“是啊——如果你把它称为遗嘱的话。”惠特菲尔德极其不以为然地说。

“合法吗？”

“完全合法。立遗嘱人的意图简单明了，而且有无可挑剔的见证。啊，是的，完全合法。”

“那么你不赞成他的遗嘱？”

“我亲爱的先生，我们有什么赞成不赞成的！”

对于遗嘱的格式我时常纳闷。我立过一份遗嘱。可是当我的律师事务所把照我意愿写成的遗嘱正文拿给我签字的时候，我着实被那文件的冗长累赘吓了一跳。

“事实是，”惠特菲尔德先生说，“塞顿上尉在当时并没有什么财产可以遗留，他一切都依靠叔叔。所以我想他当时根本就没把立遗嘱当回事儿。”

我觉得这个想法很有道理。

波洛问：“遗嘱的内容呢？”

“他把他死时已经和应当拥有的一切东西统统留给了他的未婚妻玛格黛勒·巴克利小姐，还指定我做遗嘱执行人。”

“这么说来，巴克利小姐是他的继承人了？”

“当然。”

“如果巴克利小姐星期一也死了呢？”

“只要她是在塞顿上尉之后死的，这笔财产就将属于她在自己的遗嘱中指定的那个继承人。要是她未立遗嘱，就属于她最近的亲属。”

说到这里，惠特菲尔德先生停了停。然后又补充说：

“在这种情形下，我要说一句，遗产继承税将会大得惊人，大得惊人！死亡接踵而来，财产三易其主，”他摇摇头，“这一连付出的三笔继承税可实在是一笔巨款哩！”

“总还会有所幸存的吧？”波洛嗫嚅着说。

“我亲爱的先生，我已经告诉你，马修爵士是英国第二位大财主。”

波洛站起身来。

“谢谢你，惠特菲尔德先生，非常感谢你提供了如此宝贵的情况。”

“高兴为你效劳。我可以告诉你，我将开始同巴克利小姐联系。真的，我相信我们的信业已发出。我随时准备在我力所能及的任何方面为她效劳。”

“她年幼无知，”波洛说，“正需要行家给予法律上的指点。”

“我怕要有一场财产上的逐鹿了。”惠特菲尔德摇摇头说。

“已经开场啦，”波洛叹了口气，“再见，先生。”

“再见，波洛先生。很高兴能对你有所帮助。你的大名——呃，是有声誉的。”

他说这话的口气就像一经他认可，波洛便将名垂青史，永垂不朽似的。

出了事务所，我说：

“跟你的设想完全相符，波洛。”

“我的朋友，要知道不可能再有别的解释了。现在我们到切希尔餐馆去，贾普就在那里等我们吃饭。”

苏格兰场的贾普警督果真在约定的地方等着我们。他见到波洛真是亲热得不行。

“多少年没见面啦，老波洛？我还当你退隐在乡下种些葫芦南瓜什么的呢。”

“我是想这么办，贾普，我是想这么办的。但即使是在种南瓜你也摆脱不了谋杀案。”

他叹了一口气。我知道他想起了费恩利公园的那件奇案。但遗憾的是那时我远在别处，未悉其详。

“还有，黑斯廷斯上尉，”贾普说，“你好吗，阁下？”

“很好，谢谢。”

“那么说来，现在谋杀正在行时？”贾普打趣道。

“你说得对，是多起来了——很行时。”

“你可不能怯阵呀，老公鸡，”贾普说，“哪怕一点头绪都没有——不过话说回来，在你这个年纪上可不能期望取得过去的那种成功啰。你我都不中用啦，该让年轻人来试试，你懂吗？”

“老马识途啊，”波洛喃喃地说，“它熟悉道路，不会迷路的。”

“哎，我们在说人，不是说马！”

“怎么，区别很大吗？”

“那要看你是怎么对待这个问题了。不过你向来小心谨慎，不是吗，黑斯廷斯？他看上去还是老样子——只不过脑门上的头发无伤大雅地少了几根，而脸上的老年斑却恰到好处地添了许多。”

“呃？”波洛说，“你说什么？”

“他在赞美你的胡须呢。”我连忙安慰他。

“哦，不错。我的胡须之美的确是有目共睹的。”说着，他极有风度地捻起他的胡子来了。

贾普忍不住放声大笑起来。后来他终于抑制住自己的幽默感，说：

“瞧，你托我办的事，我已经给你办好了。你寄来的那些指纹——”

“怎么样？”波洛迫不及待了。

“什么也没有发现。不管这位绅士是谁，反正我们这里没有他过去的作案指纹存档。我们打电报到墨尔本去查询，那里说根本不知道有这么个人。”

“啊！”

“反正总有不对头的地方，但有一点似乎是明显的，即他不是经常作案的惯犯。至于你问的另外那件事……”

“对？”

“拉扎勒斯父子公司信誉良好。他们的业务诚实可靠。当然他们做生意门槛很精，不过这是另一回事了，买卖人不精怎么行！他们没有什么问题，虽然现在处境很窘——我指的是资金方面。”

“哦，是吗？”

“是的。图画生意不景气对他们打击很大，还有那些老式家具的滞销对他们也有影响。欧洲大陆上的摩登玩意儿正走红。他们去年又开了一个新的店铺，离奎尔街不远。”

“你帮了我很大的忙啊，贾普。”

“哪里话。这种事虽然不是我的本行，但既然你要了解这些情况，我总得尽力而为。”

“我的好贾普，要是没有你可叫我怎么办？”

“哦，别这么说吧。我永远乐于助老朋友一臂之力。在过去那些日子里我还让你参加侦查过一些漂亮的案子。可还记得？”

我想，贾普用这样一种说法承认了他欠波洛一大笔人情债。波洛曾经帮助过这个一筹莫展的官方侦探侦破过许多复杂的案子。

“那些日子可真叫人留恋哪——”

“我现在还是很愿意不时地同你聊上几句。你办案的方法可能有点过时了，但你的思路始终对头，波洛先生。”

“我还有一个问题呢？关于麦卡利斯特医生的？”

“哦，他！他是个妇女们的医生，我指的不是妇科医生。他是专搞精神疗法的——奉劝你睡在橙紫二色的房间里，脑子里尽想着自己的肚脐眼，说什么这是长生不老之妙诀，然后劝你割舍七情六欲，说是返老还童之要谛，还有许多诸如此类的妙语镌言，句句可供你用作座右铭。要是你问我呀，我就告诉你他实在只是个江湖郎中，但妇女们把他奉若神明。他常出国行医，前不久听说还在巴黎大出了一阵风头呢。”

“怎么弄出个麦卡利斯特医生来了？”我困惑地问，这名字我从未听说过。“他跟这个案子有什么关系？”

“麦卡利斯特医生是查林杰中校的舅舅。”波洛说，“记得吗？他说起过他有个当医生的舅舅。”

“你什么都没放过，”我说，“你认为是他给马修爵士动的手术？”

“他不是个外科医生呀！”贾普说。

“我的朋友，”波洛说，“我对什么都喜欢放上个问号。赫尔克里·波洛是条好狗，而一条好狗对于它所找到的气味是紧跟不放的。要是没有什么气味可跟，它就四处嗅寻，并且它所寻找的气味总是闻了叫人恶心的。赫尔克里·波洛就是这样一条好狗，而且常常——嘿，十拿九稳——能找出他想找的东西！”

“我们干的可不是什么值得羡慕的工作，”贾普说，“老是到处寻找臭味然后跟着臭味跑，还提心吊胆深怕臭味断了线儿。啊，不是什么好职业。但你的比我的更不行。你不是官方侦探，很多场合下你只好偷偷摸钻进去干而不能公开进行。”

“谁说的？为什么要偷偷摸摸？我从来不改名换姓，也不乔装打扮，我在探案的时候谁不知道是波洛本人在侦查？我从来光明磊落，从来不屑隐姓埋名！”

“其实你也办不到，”贾普说，“你太与众不同了，只要看上一眼就会叫人终身难忘。”

波洛疑心重重地看着他。

“我只是开开玩笑而已，”贾普说，“别当真。喝杯葡萄酒怎么样？”

整个晚上过得很和谐。我们都沉浸在往事的回忆之中。这个案子那个案子谈个没完。我也很爱回忆往事，回忆那些一去不复返的光荣的日子。现在我觉得自己老了。

可怜的老波洛，我看得出他被这个案子难倒了。今不如昔，年岁不饶人哪。我有一种预感，觉得这回他要失败了。玛格黛勒·巴克利谋杀案不会被载入他的光荣史册。

“振作起来，我的朋友，”波洛拍拍我的肩膀，“胜负还没见分晓呢，别把脸拉得那么长，我求求你。”

“没有，我这不是好端端的吗？”

“我也是，贾普也是。”

“我们三个都好。”贾普高兴地说。

我们就这样愉快地分了手。

第二天早上我们动身回到了圣卢，一到旅馆波洛就打电话到休养所，要求跟尼克通话。

骤然间我见他脸色大变，差点把话筒落到地下。

“怎么？什么？你再说一遍……”

他听了一两分钟，然后说：

“好，好，我马上就来。”

他向我转过苍白的脸来。

“我干吗要离开这里去伦敦，黑斯廷斯？我的上帝，我为什么离开了？”

“发生了什么事？”

“尼克小姐很危险，可卡因中毒！天哪，那只魔爪还是抓住了她，我干吗要离开这里？我的上帝！”