沉睡的谋杀案35
时间：2026-02-04 01:33:56
（单词翻译:单击）
II
The house was newly built. It was of Snowcrete, heavily curved, with a big
expanse of window. They were shown in through an opulent hall to a
study, half of which was taken up by a big chromium-plated desk.
Gwenda murmured nervously to Giles, “Really, I don’t know what we
should have done without Miss Marple. We lean upon her at every turn.
First her friends in Northumberland and now her Vicar’s wife’s Boys’ Club
Annual Outing.”
Giles raised an admonitory hand as the door opened and J. J. Afflick
surged into the room.
He was a stout man of middle age, dressed in a rather violently checked
suit. His eyes were dark and shrewd, his face rubicund and good-natured.
He looked like the popular idea of a successful bookmaker.
“Mr. Reed? Good morning. Pleased to meet you.”
Giles introduced Gwenda. She felt her hand taken in a rather over-zeal-
ous grip.
“And what can I do for you, Mr. Reed?”
Afflick sat down behind his huge desk. He offered cigarettes from an
onyx box.
Giles entered upon the subject of the Boys’ Club Outing. Old friends of
his ran the show. He was anxious to arrange for a couple of days’ touring
in Devon.
Afflick replied promptly in a businesslike manner—quoting prices and
making suggestions. But there was a faintly puzzled look on his face.
Finally he said: “Well, that’s all clear enough, Mr. Reed, and I’ll send you
a line to confirm it. But this is strictly office business. I understood from
my clerk that you wanted a private appointment at my private address.”
“We did, Mr. Afflick. There were actually two matters on which I
wanted to see you. We’ve disposed of one. The other is a purely private
matter. My wife here is very anxious to get in touch with her stepmother
whom she has not seen for many years, and we wondered if you could
possibly help us.”
“Well, if you tell me the lady’s name—I gather that I’m acquainted with
her?”
“You were acquainted with her at one time. Her name is Helen Halliday
and before her marriage she was Miss Helen Kennedy.”
Afflick sat quite still. He screwed up his eyes and tilted his chair slowly
backwards.
“Helen Halliday—I don’t recall … Helen Kennedy….”
“Formerly of Dillmouth,” said Gwenda.
The legs of Afflick’s chair came down sharply.
“Got it,” he said. “Of course.” His round rubicund face beamed with
pleasure. “Little Helen Kennedy! Yes, I remember her. But it’s a long time
ago. Must be twenty years.”
“Eighteen.”
“Is it really? Time flies, as the saying goes. But I’m afraid you’re going to
be disappointed, Mrs. Reed. I haven’t seen anything of Helen since that
time. Never heard of her, even.”
“Oh dear,” said Gwenda. “That’s very disappointing. We did so hope you
could help.”
“What’s the trouble?” His eyes flickered quickly from one face to an-
other. “Quarrel? Left home? Matter of money?”
Gwenda said: “She went away—suddenly—from Dillmouth—eighteen
years ago with—with someone.”
Jackie Afflick said amusedly: “And you thought she might have gone
away with me? Now why?”
Gwenda spoke boldly: “Because we heard that you—and she—had once
—been—well, fond of each other.”
“Me and Helen? Oh, but there was nothing in that. Just a boy and girl af-
fair. Neither of us took it seriously.” He added drily, “We weren’t encour-
aged to do so.”
“You must think us dreadfully impertinent,” began Gwenda, but he in-
terrupted her.
“What’s the odds? I’m not sensitive. You want to find a certain person
and you think I may be able to help. Ask me anything you please—I’ve
nought to conceal.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “So you’re Halliday’s
daughter?”
“Yes. Did you know my father?”
He shook his head.
“I dropped in to see Helen once when I was over at Dillmouth on busi-
ness. I’d heard she was married and living there. She was civil enough—”
he paused—“but she didn’t ask me to stay to dinner. No, I didn’t meet your
father.”
Had there, Gwenda wondered, been a trace of rancour in that “She
didn’t ask me to stay to dinner?”
“Did she—if you remember—seem happy?”
Afflick shrugged his shoulders.
“Happy enough. But there, it’s a long time ago. I’d have remembered if
she’d looked unhappy.”
He added with what seemed a perfectly natural curiosity: “Do you mean
to say you’ve never heard anything of her since Dillmouth eighteen years
ago?”
“Nothing.”
“No—letters?”
“There were two letters,” said Giles. “But we have some reason to think
that she didn’t write them.”
“You think she didn’t write them?” Afflick seemed faintly amused.
“Sounds like a mystery on the flicks.”
“That’s rather what it seems like to us.”
“What about her brother, the doctor chap, doesn’t he know where she
is?”
“No.”
“I see. Regular mystery, isn’t it? Why not advertise?”
“We have.”
Afflick said casually: “Looks as though she’s dead. You mightn’t have
heard.”
Gwenda shivered.
“Cold, Mrs. Reed?”
“No. I was thinking of Helen dead. I don’t like to think of her dead.”
“You’re right there. I don’t like to think of it myself. Stunning looks she
had.”
Gwenda said impulsively: “You knew her. You knew her well. I’ve only
got a child’s memory of her. What was she like? What did people feel
about her? What did you feel?”
He looked at her for a moment or two.
“I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. Reed. Believe it or not, as you like. I was
sorry for the kid.”
“Sorry?” She turned a puzzled stare on him.
“Just that. There she was—just home from school. Longing for a bit of
fun like any girl might, and there was that stiff middle-aged brother of
hers with his ideas about what a girl could do and couldn’t do. No fun at
all, that kid hadn’t. Well, I took her about a bit—showed her a bit of life. I
wasn’t really keen on her and she wasn’t really keen on me. She just liked
the fun of being a daredevil. Then of course they found out we were meet-
ing and he put a stop to it. Don’t blame him, really. Cut above me, she was.
We weren’t engaged or anything of that kind. I meant to marry sometime
—but not till I was a good bit older. And I meant to get on and to find a
wife who’d help me get on. Helen hadn’t any money, and it wouldn’t have
been a suitable match in any way. We were just good friends with a bit of
flirtation thrown in.”
“But you must have been angry with the doctor—”
Gwenda paused and Afflick said: “I was riled, I admit. You don’t fancy
being told you’re not good enough. But there, it’s no good being thin-
skinned.”
“And then,” said Giles, “you lost your job.”
Afflick’s face was not quite so pleasant.
“Fired, I was. Out of Fane and Watchman’s. And I’ve a very good idea
who was responsible for that.”
“Oh?” Giles made his tone interrogative, but Afflick shook his head.
“I’m not saying anything. I’ve my own ideas. I was framed—that’s all—
and I’ve a very fair idea of who did it. And why!” The colour suffused his
cheeks. “Dirty work,” he said. “Spying on a man—laying traps for him—ly-
ing about him. Oh, I’ve had my enemies all right. But I’ve never let them
get me down. I’ve always given as good as I got. And I don’t forget.”
He stopped. Suddenly his manner changed back again. He was genial
once more.
“So I can’t help you, I’m afraid. A little bit of fun between me and Helen
—that was all. It didn’t go deep.”
Gwenda stared at him. It was a clear enough story—but was it true? she
wondered. Something jarred—it came to the surface of her mind what
that something was.
“All the same,” she said, “you looked her up when you came to Dill-
mouth later.”
He laughed.
“You’ve got me there, Mrs. Reed. Yes, I did. Wanted to show her perhaps
that I wasn’t down and out just because a long-faced lawyer had pushed
me out of his office. I had a nice business and I was driving a posh car and
I’d done very well for myself.”
“You came to see her more than once, didn’t you?”
He hesitated a moment.
“Twice—perhaps three times. Just dropped in.” He nodded with sudden
finality. “Sorry I can’t help you.”
Giles got up.
“We must apologize for taking up so much of your time.”
“That’s all right. Quite a change to talk about old times.”
The door opened and a woman looked in and apologized swiftly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry—I didn’t know you had anyone—”
“Come in, my dear, come in. Meet my wife. This is Mr. and Mrs. Reed.”
Mrs. Afflick shook hands. She was a tall, thin, depressed-looking woman,
dressed in rather unexpectedly well-cut clothes.
“Been talking over old times, we have,” said Mr. Afflick. “Old times be-
fore I met you, Dorothy.”
He turned to them.
“Met my wife on a cruise,” he said. “She doesn’t come from this part of
the world. Cousin of Lord Polterham’s, she is.”
He spoke with pride—the thin woman flushed.
“They’re very nice, these cruises,” said Giles.
“Very educational,” said Afflick. “Now, I didn’t have any education to
speak of.”
“I always tell my husband we must go on one of those Hellenic cruises,”
said Mrs. Afflick.
“No time. I’m a busy man.”
“And we mustn’t keep you,” said Giles. “Good-bye and thank you. You’ll
let me know about the quotation for the outing?”
Afflick escorted them to the door. Gwenda glanced back over her
shoulder. Mrs. Afflick was standing in the doorway of the study. Her face,
fastened on her husband’s back, was curiously and rather unpleasantly
apprehensive.
Giles and Gwenda said good-bye again and went towards their car.
“Bother, I’ve left my scarf,” said Gwenda.
“You’re always leaving something,” said Giles.
“Don’t looked martyred. I’ll get it.”
She ran back into the house. Through the open door of the study she
heard Afflick say loudly: “What do you want to come butting in for? Never
any sense.”
“I’m sorry, Jackie. I didn’t know. Who are those people and why have
they upset you so?”
“They haven’t upset me. I—” He stopped as he saw Gwenda standing in
the doorway.
“Oh, Mr. Afflick, did I leave a scarf?”
“Scarf? No, Mrs. Reed, it’s not here.”
“Stupid of me. It must be in the car.”
She went out again.
Giles had turned the car. Drawn up by the kerb was a large yellow lim-
ousine resplendent with chromium.
“Some car,” said Giles.
“‘A posh car,’” said Gwenda. “Do you remember, Giles? Edith Pagett
when she was telling us what Lily said? Lily had put her money on Cap-
tain Erskine, not ‘our mystery man in the flashy car.’ Don’t you see, the
mystery man in the flashy car was Jackie Afflick?”
“Yes,” said Giles. “And in her letter to the doctor Lily mentioned a ‘posh
car.’”
They looked at each other.
“He was there—‘on the spot,’ as Miss Marple would say—on that night.
Oh Giles, I can hardly wait until Thursday to hear what Lily Kimble says.”
“Suppose she gets cold feet and doesn’t turn up after all?”
“Oh, she’ll come. Giles, if that flashy car was there that night—”
“Think it was a yellow peril like this?”
“Admiring my bus?” Mr. Afflick’s genial voice made them jump. He was
leaning over the neatly clipped hedge behind them. “Little Buttercup,
that’s what I call her. I’ve always liked a nice bit of bodywork. Hits you in
the eye, doesn’t she?”
“She certainly does,” said Giles.
“Fond of flowers, I am,” said Mr. Afflick. “Daffodils, buttercups, cal-
ceolarias — they’re all my fancy. Here’s your scarf, Mrs. Reed. It had
slipped down behind the table. Good-bye. Pleased to have met you.”
“Do you think he heard us calling his car a yellow peril?” asked Gwenda
as they drove away.
“Oh, I don’t think so. He seemed quite amiable, didn’t he?”
Giles looked slightly uneasy.
“Ye-es—but I don’t think that means much … Giles, that wife of his—
she’s frightened of him, I saw her face.”
“What? That jovial pleasant chap?”
“Perhaps he isn’t so jovial and pleasant underneath … Giles, I don’t think
I like Mr. Afflick … I wonder how long he’d been there behind us listening
to what we were saying … Just what did we say?”
“Nothing much,” said Giles.
But he still looked uneasy.
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