| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
THE FOUR SUSPECTS
Everyone in turn vouchsafed2 their opinion: Colonel Bantry, his plump
person who did not speak was the one best fitted in most people’s opinion
to do so. Sir Henry Clithering, ex-Commissioner of Scotland Yard, sat si-
lent, twisting his moustache—or rather stroking it—and half smiling, as
though at some inward thought that amused him.
“Sir Henry,” said Mrs. Bantry at last. “If you don’t say something I shall
scream. Are there a lot of crimes that go unpunished, or are there not?”
“You’re thinking of newspaper headlines, Mrs. Bantry. SCOTLAND YARD AT
FAULT AGAIN. And a list of unsolved mysteries to follow.”
“Which really, I suppose, form a very small percentage of the whole?”
said Dr. Lloyd.
“Yes; that is so. The hundreds of crimes that are solved and the perpet-
point at issue, is it? When you talk of undiscovered crimes and unsolved
crimes, you are talking of two different things. In the first category come
all the crimes that Scotland Yard never hears about, the crimes that no
one even knows have been committed.”
“But I suppose there aren’t very many of those?” said Mrs. Bantry.
“Aren’t there?”
“Sir Henry! You don’t mean there are?”
“I should think,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully, “that there must be a
very large number.”
The charming old lady, with her old-world unruffled air, made her state-
“My dear Miss Marple,” said Colonel Bantry.
“Of course,” said Miss Marple, “a lot of people are stupid. And stupid
people get found out, whatever they do. But there are quite a number of
accomplish unless they had very strongly rooted principles.”
“Yes,” said Sir Henry, “there are a lot of people who aren’t stupid. How
often does some crime come to light simply by reason of a bit of unmitig-
“But that’s very serious, Clithering,” said Colonel Bantry. “Very serious,
indeed.”
“Is it?”
“What do you mean! It is! Of course it’s serious.”
“You say crime goes unpunished; but does it? Unpunished by the law
perhaps; but cause and effect works outside the law. To say that every
my opinion nothing can be truer.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” said Colonel Bantry. “But that doesn’t alter the seri-
ousness—the—er—seriousness—” He paused, rather at a loss.
Sir Henry Clithering smiled.
“Ninety- nine people out of a hundred are doubtless of your way of
“I don’t understand,” said Jane Helier.
“I do,” said Miss Marple. “When Mrs. Trent found half a crown missing
knowing she had a large family and a husband who drinks, well—they
naturally didn’t want to go to extremes. But they felt differently towards
her, and they didn’t leave her in charge of the house when they went
away, which made a great difference to her; and other people began to get
a feeling about her too. And then it suddenly came out that it was the gov-
erness. Mrs. Trent saw her through a door reflected in a mirror. The
purest chance—though I prefer to call it Providence15. And that, I think, is
what Sir Henry means. Most people would be only interested in who took
the money, and it turned out to be the most unlikely person—just like in
detective stories! But the real person it was life and death to was poor Mrs.
Arthur, who had done nothing. That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Sir Henry?”
“Yes, Miss Marple, you’ve hit off my meaning exactly. Your charwoman
person was lucky in the instance you relate. Her innocence was shown.
But some people may go through a lifetime crushed by the weight of a sus-
picion that is really unjustified.”
“Are you thinking of some particular instance, Sir Henry?” asked Mrs.
Bantry shrewdly.
“As a matter of fact, Mrs. Bantry, I am. A very curious case. A case
where we believe murder to have been committed, but with no possible
chance of ever proving it.”
“Poison, I suppose,” breathed Jane. “Something untraceable.”
Dr. Lloyd moved restlessly and Sir Henry shook his head.
“No, dear lady. Not the secret arrow poison of the South American Indi-
ans! I wish it were something of that kind. We have to deal with something
the deed home to its perpetrator. An old gentleman who fell downstairs
and broke his neck; one of those regrettable accidents which happen
every day.”
“But what happened really?”
“But you do think that it—well, wasn’t an accident? Now why?” asked
the doctor.
“That’s rather a long story, but—well, yes, we’re pretty sure. As I said
there’s no chance of being able to bring the deed home to anyone—the
evidence would be too flimsy. But there’s the other aspect of the case—the
one I was speaking about. You see, there were four people who might
have done the trick. One’s guilty; but the other three are innocent. And un-
less the truth is found out, those three are going to remain under the ter-
rible shadow of doubt.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Bantry, “that you’d better tell us your long story.”
“I needn’t make it so very long after all,” said Sir Henry. “I can at any
rate condense the beginning. That deals with a German secret society—the
Schwartze Hand — something after the lines of the Camorra or what is
tion. The thing started quite suddenly after the War, and spread to an
amazing extent. Numberless people were victimized by it. The authorities
were not successful in coping with it, for its secrets were jealously
guarded, and it was almost impossible to find anyone who could be in-
duced to betray them.
“Nothing much was ever known about it in England, but in Germany it
was having a most paralysing effect. It was finally broken up and dis-
persed through the efforts of one man, a Dr. Rosen, who had at one time
been very prominent in Secret Service work. He became a member, penet-
rated its inmost circle, and was, as I say, instrumental in bringing about its
downfall.
“But he was, in consequence, a marked man, and it was deemed wise
that he should leave Germany—at any rate for a time. He came to Eng-
land, and we had letters about him from the police in Berlin. He came and
had a personal interview with me. His point of view was both dispassion-
ate and resigned. He had no doubts of what the future held for him.
“‘They will get me, Sir Henry,’ he said. ‘Not a doubt of it.’ He was a big
man with a fine head, and a very deep voice, with only a slight guttural in-
tonation to tell of his nationality. ‘That is a foregone conclusion. It does
not matter, I am prepared. I faced the risk when I undertook this business.
I have done what I set out to do. The organization can never be got to-
gether again. But there are many members of it at liberty, and they will
take the only revenge they can—my life. It is simply a question of time; but
I am anxious that that time should be as long as possible. You see, I am col-
lecting and editing some very interesting material—the result of my life’s
work. I should like, if possible, to be able to complete my task.’
admire. I told him we would take all precautions, but he waved my words
aside.
“‘Someday, sooner or later, they will get me,’ he repeated. ‘When that
all that is possible.’
“He then proceeded to outline his plans which were simple enough. He
proposed to take a small cottage in the country where he could live quietly
and go on with his work. In the end he selected a village in Somerset—
King’s Gnaton, which was seven miles from a railway station, and singu-
larly untouched by civilization. He bought a very charming cottage, had
various improvements and alterations24 made, and settled down there most
contentedly25. His household consisted of his niece, Greta, a secretary, an
old German servant who had served him faithfully for nearly forty years,
and an outside handyman and gardener who was a native of King’s
Gnaton.”
“The four suspects,” said Dr. Lloyd softly.
“Exactly. The four suspects. There is not much more to tell. Life went on
peacefully at King’s Gnaton for five months and then the blow fell. Dr.
Rosen fell down the stairs one morning and was found dead about half an
hour later. At the time the accident must have taken place, Gertrud was in
her kitchen with the door closed and heard nothing—so she says. Fräulein
Greta was in the garden planting some bulbs — again, so she says. The
gardener, Dobbs, was in the small potting shed having his elevenses—so
he says; and the secretary was out for a walk, and once more there is only
his own word for it. No one has an alibi—no one can corroborate26 anyone
else’s story. But one thing is certain. No one from outside could have done
it, for a stranger in the little village of King’s Gnaton would be noticed
without fail. Both the back and the front doors were locked, each member
of the household having their own key. So you see it narrows down to
those four. And yet each one seems to be above suspicion. Greta, his own
brother’s child. Gertrud, with forty years of faithful service. Dobbs, who
has never been out of King’s Gnaton. And Charles Templeton, the secret-
ary—”
“Yes,” said Colonel Bantry, “what about him? He seems the suspicious
person to my mind. What do you know about him?”
“It is what I knew about him that put him completely out of court—at
any rate at the time,” said Sir Henry gravely. “You see, Charles Templeton
was one of my own men.”
“Oh!” said Colonel Bantry, considerably27 taken aback.
“Yes. I wanted to have someone on the spot, and at the same time I
didn’t want to cause talk in the village. Rosen really needed a secretary. I
put Templeton on the job. He’s a gentleman, he speaks German fluently,
and he’s altogether a very able fellow.”
“But, then, which do you suspect?” asked Mrs. Bantry in a bewildered
tone. “They all seem so—well, impossible.”
“Yes, so it appears. But you can look at the thing from another angle.
Fräulein Greta was his niece and a very lovely girl, but the War has shown
us time and again that brother can turn against sister, or father against
son and so on, and the loveliest and gentlest of young girls did some of the
most amazing things. The same thing applies to Gertrud, and who knows
what other forces might be at work in her case. A quarrel, perhaps, with
faithful years behind her. Elderly women of that class can be amazingly
bitter sometimes. And Dobbs? Was he right outside it because he had no
connection with the family? Money will do much. In some way Dobbs
might have been approached and bought.
“For one thing seems certain: Some message or some order must have
they delayed till the betrayal had been traced to him beyond any possible
doubt. And then, all doubts set aside, they must have sent their message to
the spy within the gates—the message that said, ‘Kill.’”
—the one hope of solving my problem. One of those four people must
have been approached or communicated with in some way. There would
be no delay—I knew that—as soon as the command came, it would be car-
ried out. That was a peculiarity36 of the Schwartze Hand.
“I went into the question, went into it in a way that will probably strike
you as being ridiculously meticulous37. Who had come to the cottage that
morning? I eliminated nobody. Here is the list.”
He took an envelope from his pocket and selected a paper from its con-
tents.
“The butcher, bringing some neck of mutton. Investigated and found cor-
rect.
“The grocer’s assistant, bringing a packet of cornflour, two pounds of
sugar, a pound of butter, and a pound of coffee. Also investigated and
found correct.
“The postman, bringing two circulars for Fräulein Rosen, a local letter
for Gertrud, three letters for Dr. Rosen, one with a foreign stamp and two
letters for Mr. Templeton, one also with a foreign stamp.”
Sir Henry paused and then took a sheaf of documents from the envel-
ope.
“It may interest you to see these for yourself. They were handed me by
the various people concerned, or collected from the waste-paper basket. I
need hardly say they’ve been tested by experts for invisible ink, etc. No ex-
citement of that kind is possible.”
Everyone crowded round to look. The catalogues were respectively from
a nurseryman and from a prominent London fur establishment. The two
bills addressed to Dr. Rosen were a local one for seeds for the garden and
one from a London stationery38 firm. The letter addressed to him ran as fol-
lows:
My Dear Rosen—just back from Dr. Helmuth Spath’s. I
saw Edgar Jackson the other day. He and Amos Perry have
just come back from Tsingtau. In all Honesty I can’t say I
envy them the trip. Let me have news of you soon. As I said
before: Beware of a certain person. You know who I mean,
though you don’t agree.—
Yours, Georgine.
“Mr. Templeton’s mail consisted of this bill, which as you see, is an ac-
count rendered from his tailor, and a letter from a friend in Germany,”
went on Sir Henry. “The latter, unfortunately, he tore up whilst out on his
walk. Finally we have the letter received by Gertrud.”
Dear Mrs. Swartz,—We’re hoping as how you be able to
come the social on friday evening, the vicar says has he
hopes you will—one and all being welcome. The resipy for
the ham was very good, and I thanks you for it. Hoping as
this finds you well and that we shall see you friday I re-
main.—Yours faithfully, Emma Greene.
Dr. Lloyd smiled a little over this and so did Mrs. Bantry.
“I think the last letter can be put out of court,” said Dr. Lloyd.
“I thought the same,” said Sir Henry; “but I took the precaution of verify-
ing that there was a Mrs. Greene and a Church Social. One can’t be too
careful, you know.”
“That’s what our friend Miss Marple always says,” said Dr. Lloyd, smil-
Miss Marple gave a start.
“So stupid of me,” she said. “I was just wondering why the word Honesty
in Dr. Rosen’s letter was spelt with a capital H.”
Mrs. Bantry picked it up.
“So it is,” she said. “Oh!”
“Yes, dear,” said Miss Marple. “I thought you’d notice!”
“There’s a definite warning in that letter,” said Colonel Bantry. “That’s
the first thing caught my attention. I notice more than you’d think. Yes, a
definite warning—against whom?”
“There’s rather a curious point about that letter,” said Sir Henry. “Ac-
cording to Templeton, Dr. Rosen opened the letter at breakfast and tossed
it across to him saying he didn’t know who the fellow was from Adam.”
“But it wasn’t a fellow,” said Jane Helier. “It was signed ‘Georgina.’”
“It’s difficult to say which it is,” said Dr. Lloyd. “It might be Georgey; but
it certainly looks more like Georgina. Only it strikes me that the writing is
a man’s.”
“You know, that’s interesting,” said Colonel Bantry. “His tossing it across
the table like that and pretending he knew nothing about it. Wanted to
watch somebody’s face. Whose face—the girl’s? or the man’s?”
“Or even the cook’s?” suggested Mrs. Bantry. “She might have been in
the room bringing in the breakfast. But what I don’t see is . . . it’s most pe-
culiar—”
She frowned over the letter. Miss Marple drew closer to her. Miss
Marple’s finger went out and touched the sheet of paper. They murmured
together.
“But why did the secretary tear up the other letter?” asked Jane Helier
suddenly. “It seems—oh! I don’t know—it seems queer. Why should he
have letters from Germany? Although, of course, if he’s above suspicion,
as you say—”
“But Sir Henry didn’t say that,” said Miss Marple quickly, looking up
from her murmured conference with Mrs. Bantry. “He said four suspects.
So that shows that he includes Mr. Templeton. I’m right, am I not, Sir
Henry?”
“Yes, Miss Marple. I have learned one thing through bitter experience.
Never say to yourself that anyone is above suspicion. I gave you reasons
just now why three of these people might after all be guilty, unlikely as it
seemed. I did not at that time apply the same process to Charles Tem-
pleton. But I came to it at last through pursuing the rule I have just men-
tioned. And I was forced to recognize this: That every army and every
ranks, much as we hate to admit the idea. And I examined dispassionately
the case against Charles Templeton.
“I asked myself very much the same questions as Miss Helier has just
asked. Why should he, alone of all the house, not be able to produce the
letter he had received—a letter, moreover, with a German stamp on it.
Why should he have letters from Germany?
“The last question was an innocent one, and I actually put it to him. His
reply came simply enough. His mother’s sister was married to a German.
The letter had been from a German girl cousin. So I learned something I
did not know before—that Charles Templeton had relations with people in
Germany. And that put him definitely on the list of suspects—very much
so. He is my own man—a lad I have always liked and trusted; but in com-
mon justice and fairness I must admit that he heads that list.
“But there it is—I do not know! I do not know . . . And in all probability I
never shall know. It is not a question of punishing a murderer. It is a ques-
perhaps, of an honourable42 man’s whole career . . . because of suspicion—a
suspicion that I dare not disregard.”
Miss Marple coughed and said gently:
“Then, Sir Henry, if I understand you rightly, it is this young Mr. Tem-
pleton only who is so much on your mind?”
“Yes, in a sense. It should, in theory, be the same for all four, but that is
not actually the case. Dobbs, for instance—suspicion may attach to him in
my mind, but it will not actually affect his career. Nobody in the village
has ever had any idea that old Dr. Rosen’s death was anything but an acci-
ence in Fräulein Rosen’s attitude toward her. But that, possibly, is not of
great importance to her.
is a very pretty girl and Charles Templeton is a good-looking young man,
and for five months they were thrown together with no outer distractions44.
The inevitable45 happened. They fell in love with each other—even if they
did not come to the point of admitting the fact in words.
“And then the catastrophe46 happens. It is three months ago now and a
day or two after I returned, Greta Rosen came to see me. She had sold the
cottage and was returning to Germany, having finally settled up her
uncle’s affairs. She came to me personally, although she knew I had re-
tired, because it was really about a personal matter she wanted to see me.
She beat about the bush a little, but at last it all came out. What did I
think? That letter with the German stamp—she had worried about it and
worried about it—the one Charles had torn up. Was it all right? Surely it
must be all right. Of course she believed his story, but—oh! if she only
knew! If she knew—for certain.
suspicion, thrust resolutely48 to the back of the mind, but persisting never-
theless. I spoke to her with absolute frankness, and asked her to do the
same. I asked her whether she had been on the point of caring for Charles,
and he for her.
“‘I think so,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes, I know it was so. We were so happy.
Every day passed so contentedly. We knew—we both knew. There was no
hurry—there was all the time in the world. Someday he would tell me he
loved me, and I should tell him that I too—Ah! But you can guess! And
now it is all changed. A black cloud has come between us—we are con-
strained, when we meet we do not know what to say. It is, perhaps, the
same with him as with me . . . We are each saying to ourselves, “If I were
sure!” That is why, Sir Henry, I beg of you to say to me, “You may be sure,
whoever killed your uncle, it was not Charles Templeton!” Say it to me!
Oh, say it to me! I beg—I beg!’
“And, damn it all,” said Sir Henry, bringing down his fist with a bang on
the table, “I couldn’t say it to her. They’ll drift farther and farther apart,
those two—with suspicion like a ghost between them—a ghost that can’t
be laid.”
He leant back in his chair, his face looked tired and grey. He shook his
head once or twice despondently49.
“And there’s nothing more can be done, unless—” He sat up straight
again and a tiny whimsical smile crossed his face—“unless Miss Marple
can help us. Can’t you, Miss Marple? I’ve a feeling that letter might be in
your line, you know. The one about the Church Social. Doesn’t it remind
you do something to help two helpless young people who want to be
happy?”
Behind the whimsicality there was something earnest in his appeal. He
in his eyes.
Miss Marple coughed and smoothed her lace.
“It does remind me a little of Annie Poultny,” she admitted. “Of course
the letter is perfectly plain—both to Mrs. Bantry and myself. I don’t mean
the Church Social letter, but the other one. You living so much in London
and not being a gardener, Sir Henry, would not have been likely to no-
tice.”
“Eh?” said Sir Henry. “Notice what?”
Mrs. Bantry reached out a hand and selected a catalogue. She opened it
and read aloud with gusto:
“Dr. Helmuth Spath. Pure lilac, a wonderfully fine flower, carried on ex-
ceptionally long and stiff stem. Splendid for cutting and garden decora-
tion. A novelty of striking beauty.
“Edgar Jackson. Beautifully shaped chrysanthemum-like flower of a dis-
tinct brick-red colour.
“Amos Perry. Brilliant red, highly decorative53.
“Tsingtau. Brilliant orange- red, showy garden plant and lasting cut
flower.
“Honesty—”
“With a capital H, you remember,” murmured Miss Marple.
“Honesty. Rose and white shades, enormous perfect shaped flower.”
Mrs. Bantry flung down the catalogue, and said with immense explosive
force:
“Dahlias!”
“And their initial letters spell ‘DEATH,’ explained Miss Marple.
“But the letter came to Dr. Rosen himself,” objected Sir Henry.
“That was the clever part of it,” said Miss Marple. “That and the warning
in it. What would he do, getting a letter from someone he didn’t know, full
of names he didn’t know. Why, of course, toss it over to his secretary.”
“Then, after all—”
“Oh, no!” said Miss Marple. “Not the secretary. Why, that’s what makes it
so perfectly clear that it wasn’t him. He’d never have let that letter be
found if so. And equally he’d never have destroyed a letter to himself with
a German stamp on it. Really, his innocence is—if you’ll allow me to use
the word—just shining.”
“Then who—”
“Well, it seems almost certain—as certain as anything can be in this
world. There was another person at the breakfast table, and she would—
quite naturally under the circumstances—put out her hand for the letter
and read it. And that would be that. You remember that she got a garden-
ing catalogue by the same post—”
“Greta Rosen,” said Sir Henry, slowly. “Then her visit to me—”
“Gentlemen never see through these things,” said Miss Marple. “And I’m
afraid they often think we old women are—well, cats, to see things the
way we do. But there it is. One does know a great deal about one’s own
sex, unfortunately. I’ve no doubt there was a barrier between them. The
through instinct, and couldn’t hide the suspicion. And I really think that
the girl’s visit to you was just pure spite. She was safe enough really; but
she just went out of her way to fix your suspicions definitely on poor Mr.
Templeton. You weren’t nearly so sure about him until after her visit.”
“I’m sure it was nothing that she said—” began Sir Henry.
“Gentlemen,” said Miss Marple calmly, “never see through these things.”
“And that girl—” he stopped. “She commits a cold-blooded murder and
gets off scot-free!”
“Oh! no, Sir Henry,” said Miss Marple. “Not scot-free. Neither you nor I
believe that. Remember what you said not long ago. No. Greta Rosen will
not escape punishment. To begin with, she must be in with a very queer
set of people—blackmailers and terrorists—associates who will do her no
mustn’t waste thoughts on the guilty—it’s the innocent who matter. Mr.
Templeton, who I dare say will marry that German cousin, his tearing up
her letter looks—well, it looks suspicious—using the word in quite a differ-
ent sense from the one we’ve been using all the evening. A little as though
he were afraid of the other girl noticing or asking to see it? Yes, I think
there must have been some little romance there. And then there’s Dobbs—
though, as you say, I dare say it won’t matter much to him. His elevenses
are probably all he thinks about. And then there’s that poor old Gertrud—
the one who reminded me of Annie Poultny. Poor Annie Poultny. Fifty
years’ faithful service and suspected of making away with Miss Lamb’s
will, though nothing could be proved. Almost broke the poor creature’s
faithful heart; and then after she was dead it came to light in the secret
drawer of the tea caddy where old Miss Lamb had put it herself for safety.
But too late then for poor Annie.
“That’s what worries me so about that poor old German woman. When
one is old, one becomes embittered57 very easily. I felt much more sorry for
her than for Mr. Templeton, who is young and good-looking and evidently
a favourite with the ladies. You will write to her, won’t you, Sir Henry, and
just tell her that her innocence is established beyond doubt? Her dear old
master dead, and she no doubt brooding and feeling herself suspected of
. . . Oh! It won’t bear thinking about!”
“You know, I shall never quite understand you. Your outlook is always a
different one from what I expect.”
“And yet you have solved what may be called an International mystery,”
said Sir Henry. “For you have solved it. I am convinced of that.”
“I was, I think, well educated for the standard of my day. My sister and I
had a German governess—a Fräulein. A very sentimental62 creature. She
taught us the language of flowers—a forgotten study nowadays, but most
charming. A yellow tulip, for instance, means Hopeless Love, whilst a
Georgine, which I seem to remember is Dahlia in German, and that of
course made the whole thing perfectly clear. I wish I could remember the
was.”
“At any rate it didn’t mean DEATH.”
“No, indeed. Horrible, is it not? There are very sad things in the world.”
“There are,” said Mrs. Bantry with a sigh. “It’s lucky one has flowers and
one’s friends.”
“She puts us last, you observe,” said Dr. Lloyd.
Jane dreamily.
“‘I await your favours,’— that’s what that means,” said Miss Marple
brightly.
Miss Marple gave a sudden exclamation67.
“I’ve remembered. Dahlias mean ‘Treachery and Misrepresentation.’”
“Wonderful,” said Sir Henry. “Absolutely wonderful.”
And he sighed.
点击  收听单词发音
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
- 发表评论
-
- 最新评论 进入详细评论页>>
