chapter 23 the letter

‘and now,’ said poirot, ‘we will go out to lunch.’

he put his hand through my arm. he was smiling at me.

‘i have hope,’ he explained.

i was glad to see him restored to his old self, though i was none the less convinced myself of young ronald’s guilt. i fancied that poirot himself had perhaps come round to this view, convinced by japp’s arguments. the search for the purchaser of the box was, perhaps, a last sally to save his face.

we went amicably to lunch together.

somewhat to my amusement at a table the other side of the room, i saw bryan martin and jenny driver lunching together. remembering what japp had said, i suspected a possible romance.

they saw us and jenny waved a hand.

when we were sipping coffee, jenny left her escort and came over to our table. she looked as vivid and dynamic as ever.

‘may i sit and talk to you a minute, m. poirot?’ ‘assuredly, mademoiselle. i am charmed to see you. will not m. martin join us also?’

‘i told him not to. you see, i wanted to talk to you about carlotta.’

‘yes, mademoiselle?’

‘you wanted to get a line on to some man friend of hers. isn’t that so?’

‘yes, yes.’

‘well, i’ve been thinking and thinking. sometimes you can’t get at things straight away. to get them clear you’ve got to think back – remember a lot of little words and phrases that perhaps you didn’t pay attention to at the time. well, that’s what i’ve been doing. thinking and thinking – and remembering just what she said. and i’ve come to a certain conclusion.’

‘yes, mademoiselle?’

‘i think the man that she cared about – or was beginning to care about – was ronald marsh – you know, the one who has just succeeded to the title.’

‘what makes you think it was he, mademoiselle?’

‘well, for one thing, carlotta was speaking in a general sort of way one day. about a man having hard luck, and how it might affect character. that a man might be a decent sort really and yet go down the hill. more sinned against then sinning – you know the idea. the first thing a woman kids herself with when she’s getting soft about a man. i’ve heard the old wheeze so often! carlotta had plenty of sense, yet here she was coming out with this stuff just like a complete ass who knew nothing of life. “hello,” i said to myself. “something’s up.” she didn’t mention a name – it was all general. but almost immediately after that she began to speak of ronald marsh and that she thought he’d been badly treated. she was very impersonal and offhand about it. i didn’t connect the two things at the time. but now – i wonder. it seems to me that it was ronald she meant. what do you think, m. poirot?’

her face looked earnestly up into his.

‘i think, mademoiselle, that you have perhaps given me some very valuable information.’

‘good.’ jenny clapped her hands.

poirot looked kindly at her.

‘perhaps you have not heard – the gentleman of whom you speak, ronald marsh – lord edgware – has just been arrested.’

‘oh!’ her mouth flew open in surprise. ‘then my bit of thinking comes rather late in the day.’

‘it is never too late,’ said poirot. ‘not with me, you understand. thank you, mademoiselle.’

she left us to return to bryan martin.

‘there, poirot,’ i said. ‘surely that shakes your belief.’

‘no, hastings. on the contrary – it strengthens it.’

despite that valiant assertion i believed myself that secretly he had weakened.

during the days that followed he never once mentioned the edgware case. if i spoke of it, he answered monosyllabically and without interest. in other words, he had washed his hands of it. whatever he had had lingering in his fantastic brain, he had now been forced to admit that it had not materialized – that his first conception of the case had been the true one and that ronald marsh was only too truly accused of the crime. only, being poirot, he could not admit openly that such was the case! therefore he pretended to have lost interest.

such, as i say, was my interpretation of his attitude. it seemed borne out by the facts. he took no faintest interest in the police court proceedings, which in any case were purely formal. he busied himself with other cases and, as i say, he displayed no interest when the subject was mentioned.

it was nearly a fortnight later than the events mentioned in my last chapter when i came to realize that my interpretation of his attitude was entirely wrong.

it was breakfast time. the usual heavy pile of letters lay by poirot’s plate. he sorted through them with nimble fingers. then he uttered a quick exclamation of pleasure and picked up a letter with an american stamp on it.

he opened it with his little letter-opener. i looked on with interest since he seemed so moved to pleasure about it. there was a letter and a fairly thick enclosure.

poirot read the former through twice, then he looked up.

‘would you like to see this, hastings?’

i took it from him. it ran as follows:

dear m. poirot, – i was much touched by your kind – your very kind letter. i have been feeling so bewildered by everything. apart from my terrible grief, i have been so affronted by the things that seem to have been hinted about carlotta – the dearest, sweetest sister that a girl ever had. no, m. poirot, she did not take drugs. i’m sure of it. she had a horror of that kind of thing. i’ve often heard her say so. if she played a part in that poor man’s death, it was an entirely innocent one – but of course her letter to me proves that. i am sending you the actual letter itself since you ask me to do so. i hate parting with the last letter she ever wrote, but i know you will take care of it and let me have it back, and if it helps you to clear up some of the mystery about her death, as you say it may do – why, then, of course it must go to you.

you ask whether carlotta mentioned any friend specially in her letters. she mentioned a great many people, of course, but nobody in a very outstanding way. bryan martin whom we used to know years ago, a girl called jenny driver, and a captain ronald marsh were, i think, the ones she saw most of.

i wish i could think of something to help you. you write so kindly and with such understanding, and you seem to realize what carlotta and i were to each other.

gratefully yours,

lucie adams

p.s. an officer has just been here for the letter. i told him that i had already mailed it to you. this, of course, was not true, but i felt somehow or other that it was important you should see it first. it seems scotland yard need it as evidence, against the murderer. you will take it to them. but, oh! please be sure they let you have it back again some day. you see, it is carlotta’s last words to me.

‘so you wrote yourself to her,’ i remarked as i laid the letter down. ‘why did you do that, poirot? and why did you ask for the original of carlotta adams’ letter?’

he was bending over the enclosed sheets of the letter i mentioned.

‘in verity i could not say, hastings – unless it is that i hoped against hope that the original letter might in some way explain the inexplicable.’

‘i don’t see how you can get away from the text of that letter. carlotta adams gave it herself to the maid to post. there was no hocus pocus about it. and certainly it reads as a perfectly genuine ordinary epistle.’

poirot sighed.

‘i know. i know. and that is what makes it so difficult. because, hastings, as it stands, that letter is impossible.’

‘nonsense.’

‘si, si, it is so. see you, as i have reasoned it out, certain things must be – they follow each other with method and order in an understandable fashion. but then comes this letter. it does not accord. who, then, is wrong? hercule poirot or the letter?’

‘you don’t think it possible that it could be hercule poirot?’ i suggested as delicately as i was able.

poirot threw me a glance of reproof.

‘there are times when i have been in error – but this is not one of them. clearly then, since the letter seems impossible, it is impossible. there is some fact about the letter which escapes us. i seek to discover what that fact is.’

and thereupon he resumed his study of the letter in question, using a small pocket microscope.

as he finished perusing each page, he passed it across to me. i, certainly, could find nothing amiss. it was written in a firm fairly legible handwriting and it was word for word as it had been telegraphed across.

poirot sighed deeply.

‘there is no forgery of any kind here – no, it is all written in the same hand. and yet, since, as i say, it is impossible –’

he broke off. with an impatient gesture he demanded the sheets from me. i passed them over, and once again he went slowly through them.

suddenly he uttered a cry.

i had left the breakfast table and was standing looking out of the window. at this sound, i turned sharply.

poirot was literally quivering with excitement. his eyes were green like a cat’s. his pointing finger trembled.

‘see you, hastings? look here – quickly – come and look.’

i ran to his side. spread out before him was one of the middle sheets of the letter. i could see nothing unusual about it.

‘see you not? all these other sheets they have the clean edge – they are single sheets. but this one – see – one side of it is ragged – it has been torn. now do you see what i mean? this letter was a double sheet, and so, you comprehend, one page of the letter is missing.’

i stared stupidly, no doubt. ‘but how can it be. it makes sense.’

‘yes, yes, it makes sense. that is where the cleverness of the idea comes in. read – and you will see.’

i think i cannot do better than to apprehend a facsimile of the page in question.

‘you see it now?’ said poirot. ‘the letter breaks off where she is talking of captain marsh. she is sorry for him, and then she says: “he enjoyed my show very much.” then on the new sheet she goes on: “he said . . .” but, mon ami, a page is missing. the “he” of the new page may not be the “he” of the old page. in fact it is not the “he” of the old page. it is another man altogether who proposed that hoax. observe, nowhere after that is the name mentioned. ah! c’est épatant! somehow or other our murderer gets hold of this letter. it gives him away. no doubt he thinks to suppress it altogether, and then – reading it over – he sees another way of dealing with it. remove one page, and the letter is capable of being twisted into a damning accusation of another man – a man too who has a motive for lord edgware’s death. ah! it was a gift! the money for the confiture as you say! he tears the sheet off and replaces the letter.’

i looked at poirot in some admiration. i was not perfectly convinced of the truth of his theory. it seemed to be highly possible that carlotta had used an odd half sheet that was already torn. but poirot was so transfigured with joy that i simply had not the heart to suggest this prosaic possibility. after all, he might be right.

i did, however, venture to point out one or two difficulties in the way of his theory.

‘but how did the man, whoever he was, get hold of the letter? miss adams took it straight from her handbag and gave it herself to the maid to post. the maid told us so.’

‘therefore we must assume one of two things. either the maid was lying, or else, during that evening, carlotta adams met the murderer.’

i nodded.

‘it seems to me that that last possibility is the most likely one. we still do not know where carlotta adams was between the time she left the flat and nine o’clock when she left her suitcase at euston station. during that time, i believe myself that she met the murderer in some appointed spot – they probably had some food together. he gave her some last instructions. what happened exactly in regard to the letter we do not know. one can make a guess. she may have been carrying it in her hand meaning to post it. she may have laid it down on the table in the restaurant. he sees the address and scents a possible danger. he may have picked it up adroitly, made an excuse for leaving the table, opened it, read it, torn out the sheet, and then either replaced it on the table, or perhaps given it to her as she left, telling her that she had dropped it without noticing. the exact way of it was not important – but two things do seem clear. that carlotta adams met the murderer that evening either before the murder of lord edgware, or afterwards (there was time after she left the corner house for a brief interview). i have a fancy, though there i am perhaps wrong, that it was the murderer who gave her the gold box – it was possibly a sentimental memento of their first meeting. if so, the murderer is d.’

‘i don’t see the point of the gold box.’

‘listen, hastings, carlotta adams was not addicted to veronal. lucie adams says so, and i, too, believe it to be true. she was a clear-eyed healthy girl with no predilection for such things. none of her friends nor her maid recognized the box. why, then, was it found in her possession after she died? to create the impression that she did take veronal and that she had taken it for a considerable time – that is to say at least six months. let us say that she met the murderer after the murder if only for a few minutes. they had a drink together, hastings, to celebrate the success of their plan. and in the girl’s drink he put sufficient veronal to ensure that there should be no waking for her on the following morning.’

‘horrible,’ i said with a shudder.

‘yes, it was not pretty,’ said poirot dryly.

‘are you going to tell japp all this?’ i asked after a minute or two.

‘not at the moment. what have i got to tell? he would say, the excellent japp, “another nest of the mare! the girl wrote on an odd sheet of paper!” c’est tout.’

i looked guiltily at the ground.

‘what can i say to that? nothing. it is a thing that might have happened. i only know it did not happen because it is necessary that it should not have happened.’

he paused. a dreamy expression stole across his face.

‘figure to yourself, hastings, if only that man had had the order and the method, he would have cut that sheet not torn it. and we should have noticed nothing. but nothing!’

‘so we deduce that he is a man of careless habits,’ i said, smiling.

‘no, no. he might have been in a hurry. you observe it is very carelessly torn. oh! assuredly he was pressed for time.’

he paused and then said:

‘one thing you do remark, i hope. this man – this d – he must have had a very good alibi for that evening.’

‘i can’t see how he could have had any alibi at all if he spent his time first at regent gate doing a murder and then with carlotta adams.’

‘precisely,’ said poirot. ‘that is what i mean. he is badly in need of an alibi, so no doubt he prepared one. another point: does his name really begin with d? or does d stand for some nickname by which he was known to her?’

he paused and then said softly:

‘a man whose initial or whose nickname is d. we have got to find him, hastings. yes, we have got to find him.’

第二十三章 信

“那么现在，”波洛说，“我们出去吃午饭。”

他用手勾住我的胳膊，对我笑着。

“我是满怀信心的。”

我很高兴看到他又恢复了老样子，尽管我本人仍认为罗纳德是有罪的。我猜，波洛听了贾普的一番辩论，已经接受了这个观点。所谓查找买匣子的人，大概只是最后试图挽回面子罢了。

我们一起高高兴兴地去吃饭。

我觉得颇有趣的是看到，在饭店里另一边的桌旁，布赖恩·马丁正与詹尼。德赖弗小姐共进午餐。想起贾普说的话，我猜他们很可能有一段恋情。

他们也看见了我们，詹尼向我们招手。

当我f门喝咖啡的时候，詹尼离开她的同伴走到我们桌旁。她看起来还是那么活泼、精力充沛。

“波洛先生，我可以坐下和您谈谈吗？”

“当然可以，女士。我很高兴见到您。马丁先生不也来坐坐吗？”

“是我不让他来的。您看，我想和您谈谈卡洛塔。”

“谈什么呢？女士。”

“您曾想调查她是不是有男友，是吧？”

“是的。是的。”

“我一直在想啊，想啊。有时遇到事情，你是不能一下子想起来的。要想弄清楚，你就得回忆——回忆以前许多话语，也许当时并未注意过。晤，我最近就是一直在想这个。我一再回忆——回忆她说过什么。现在，我已经有了一个肯定的结论。”

“是什么呢？女士。”

“我认为她喜欢的人——或者是刚刚开始喜欢的人，是罗纳德。马什——您知道，就是那个刚刚承袭爵位的人。”

“女士，您为什么想到会是他呢？”

“晤，比如，有一次卡洛塔用一般的说话方式说起一个人。说他运气有多么不好。又是如何影响他的性格。本来那个人人品是好的，但也堕落了。人们对这样的人往往过分地责备，他受的罪比他犯的罪还多——您知道那意恩。当一个女人对某人有了好感，就会用这种话骗自己。我常常听到这种笑话。卡洛塔是一个很有理智的人，可她说出这种话，仿佛是丝毫不了解人生的傻瓜说的。于是我就对自己说：‘喂！有什么事要发生了。’她并没有说姓名——只是泛泛地说。但差不多刚说完这个，她就开始说罗纳德。马什，认为他受到不公平的对待。对于这件事，她显得与己无关的样子。那时我并未将两件事联系起来，但是现在——我在怀疑。她好像指罗纳德。波洛先生，您认为呢？”

她恳切地抬头望着他。

“小姐，我想您给我带来了一个很有价值的信息。”

“好。”詹尼拍手说。

波洛友善地望着她。

“大概您还没听说——您说的那位罗纳德。马什——刚刚被捕。”

“啊！”她惊讶地张大嘴，“那么我所想到的很迟了。”

“没有太迟的事，”波洛说，“对我是这样。谢谢您，女士。”

她离开我们，走回到布赖恩·马丁那里。

“波洛，”我说，“这样，你的想法又动摇了。”

“没有，黑斯廷斯。怆恰相反——我更坚定了。”

他虽然硬着头皮那样说，我相信，他内心己经动摇了。

随后几天，他再也没提起埃奇韦尔这个案子。就是我说起这案子，他也只回答一两个字，显得丝毫不感兴趣的样子。换句话说，对于这个案子，他已经不闻不问了。不管他怪诞的脑子里还残留着什么古怪的想法，他现在不得不暗自承认，那不现实——他第一次假设是正确的，罗纳德。马什才是真正的凶手。只是，身为波洛，他不能公开这么说罢了。所以他才故意装得不感兴趣。

这就是我对他态度的解释。对于警厅的调查过程，他丝毫不感兴趣，因为那只是形式而已。他忙于其它的案子。当别人提起那案子时，他总是不感兴趣。

在我上面所说的事过去两个星期后，我发觉，我对他态度的解释完全错了。

那天，我们正在吃早餐，波洛的盘子旁照例堆了一摞信件。他很快地将信分门别类。当看到一封带有美国邮票的信时，他马上愉快地喊了一声。

他用小裁纸刀将信拆开。他看起来如此高兴，我也很感兴趣地在一边观望。里面有一张信笺，另外附有相当厚的附件。

波洛将信看了两遍，然后抬头望着我。

“黑斯廷斯，你要读读吗？”

我从他手上拿过信。信文如下。

亲爱的波洛先生，我看到您言辞恳切——非常恳切的来信，心中大为感动。除了我姐姐的不幸以外，令人伤心的是最近又有许多流言，影射我那最最亲密的姐姐——卡洛塔。不，波洛先生，卡洛塔不吸毒。对于这一点，我绝对相信。她对这类东西很厌恶。我常常听见她这样说。加果说她与男爵命案有牵莲，那她也是无辜的——当然，她给我写的那封信就可以证明这一点。先生既然来信要我将姐姐的原信寄去，我现在就随信附上。这是她最后一封信，我舍不得丢掉它。但是，我知道您会当心，并且会将它寄还给我的。您信上说这封信可以帮助您澄清关于她的命案中的一部分疑团——

那么加果这是真的话，这封信应该寄给您。您问卡洛塔是否在信中提过什么朋友。她当然提到过许多人，但是并不曾特别提到什么人。她提到过布赖恩·马丁，这个人是我们多年前就认识的，还提到詹尼。德赖弗和一位叫罗纳德·马什的上尉，这些人，我想，是她常见的。

但愿我能想起什么，可以帮助您。您在来信中措辞是加此恳切、体贴，您似乎意识到卡洛塔和我是彼此相爱的。

露西·亚当斯敬上

又及。有一位警官刚才来要那封信。我对他说刚刚把那封信寄给了您。这当然不是实话，但不知道为什么，我认为该让您先看到这封信。看样子伦敦警察厅要那封信证明凶手的罪行，请将信拿给他们吧。但是请务必将信还给我。您知道，这是卡洛塔对我说的最后一些话了。

“原来。你亲自给她写信了。”我将信放下后说，“波洛，你为什么那样做？你为什么要卡洛塔·亚当斯的原信呢？”

他正低头看那封附上的信。

“黑斯廷斯，你要让我说为什么，我也说不清楚。我只是希望也许那封原信可能了解一些我们不能了解的事情。”

“我真不明白你怎么能从信文内容中找出出路呢？是卡洛塔·亚当斯让女仆去寄的，那总不会有什么骗局。同时，那封信看起来，实在是普普通通的信件。”

波洛叹了一口气。

“我知道。我知道。正是因为这样，事情才更难办。因为，照这种情形看，这封信不可能是真的。”

“胡说。”

“是的。是的，确实如此。照我的推论，事情应该是有条有理，互相吻合，让人听起来觉得合情合理。但这封信，并不吻合。那么，是谁错了呢？是赫尔克里·波洛还是那封信？”

“你不会认为可能是赫尔充里。波洛的错吧？”我力求委婉地说道。

波洛瞥了我一眼，证实我的话的含意。

“有时，我是会犯错的，但这次不会。既然，很滑楚的是这封信似乎不是真的，那它就不是真的。信中有某种事实我们忽略了。我正设法把它找出来。”

说完以后，他继续用一只袖珍放大镜来研究那封信。

他把那封倩一页一页地看过之后递给栽。我确实也找不出什么有问题的地方。信上的笔迹很有体，也易辨认，并且和电报上的两容完全一致。

波洛深深地叹了一口气。

“这封信不会是伪造的。是的，前后都是同样的笔迹。不过，就像我刚才说过的，既然不可能是真的——”

他突然停止了说话。他急不可待地从我手中要回那封信，慢慢地看着。

突然，他叫了一声。

我本来已离开餐桌，站在窗口向外凝视。听到这叫声，我猛然转过身来。

波洛兴奋得发抖。他的两眼像猫一样发出绿光。他用手指颤抖地指着。

“黑斯廷斯，你看出来了吗？看这——快——来看这。”

我跑过去。他面前摊的是其中一张信纸。我却看不出上面有什么不寻常的地方。

“你没看出来吗？所有其它的信纸都有整齐的边，都是单页的。独有这一张”看见了吗？有一边不整齐。这是被人扯下去的。现在你明白我的意思了吗？这封信是双页的，以你想想，一页信纸不见了。”

我被惊得目瞪口呆。

“怎么会呢？这样读起来也通顺啊！”

“是的，的。上面的文字读起来通顺。想法的聪明之处就在这里。读一读——你就会明白了。”

我觉得除了读这页信以外。再也无能为力了。

“你现在明白了？”波洛说，。当谈到马什上尉时，就中断了。她本来正说到她替他难过。她说。‘他很欣赏我的表演’，然后，另一张信纸上她继续说‘他说——’。但是，的朋友，一页不见了。新的一页上面的‘他’也许并不是旧页上的‘他’。事实上，个‘他’。并不是原页上的‘他’。想出戏弄人的把戏的是另外一个人。你要注意，此以后，未提到名字。啊！这真是惊人的！我们的凶手不知怎样得到的这封信。信上的话将他的罪行揭露了。他当然想把这个证据完全毁灭。后来，又将信看了一遍，现有另一种办法来处理它。要是去掉一页，封信就可以被改变成让另一个人受怀疑，另一个有杀埃奇韦尔男爵嫌疑的人。啊！这真是天才！他把那一页信纸扯掉。然后再将信放回原处。”

我敬佩地望着波洛。我并不完全相信波洛的假定。我觉得很可能卡洛塔本来用的就是一张扯过的单页纸。但看到波洛那样的得意忘形，我简直不忍心将这个一般的可能性讲给他。毕竟，他也许是对的。

不过。我确实大胆地提出一两点意见，说明他那种假定有难点。

“不管那个人是惟，但是他是怎么样得到这封信的呢？亚当斯小姐直接由手提袋里拿出信来，然后她又亲自交给女仆去寄。这是那个女仆说的。”

“因此我们可以假定两点，不是那个女仆说谎。就是那天晚上。卡洛塔·亚当斯见过凶手。”

我点点头。

“我觉得后一个假定似乎可能。卡洛塔在离家以后到九点钟将手提包存在尤斯顿车站之间的那段时间在哪。我们还不清楚。我个人以为她曾和那个凶手在一个约定的地点见过面。他们或许一同吃过一点东西。他借这个机会对她作最后的指示。至于那封信下落如何。我们不得而知。不过我们可以猜猜。她也许是将那封信拿在手里，准备要寄的。她也许将信放在了餐桌上。他看到信封上写的地址，便意识到可能的危险。他也许很机敏地将信拿起，借故离开餐桌。他将那封信打开看过。将其中那页撕下，然后或是放回原处，或是在她离开的时候，递给她，说她不小心丢掉的。实际情形并不重要，但是有两点似乎是很清楚的，那就是卡洛塔·亚当斯或是在那晚男爵被杀之前。或之后见过凶手。我想。也许我可能猜错了，但是那个凶手给她的那金匣子——这匣子也许是他们初次会面时的纪念品。如果这是真的话，那么，凶手就是d。”

“我不明白为什么送那个金匣子。”

“黑斯廷斯，听我说，卡洛塔·亚当斯并不服用佛罗那。露西。亚当斯这样说了，我也相信，她说的是真的。她的眼睛黑白分明，身体很健康，并没有对这些东西有什么嗜好。她的朋友们没有一个人认识那匣子。那么，为什么在她死后，会发现她身旁有这件东西呢？是为了造成一个假象，让人们以为她确有服用麻醉剂的习惯，而且已经染上好长时间了，也就是说，至少有六个月了。我们姑且说，她在凶杀莱以后遇到凶手。即使是只有几分钟也好。他们一同喝点酒来庆功。可是，那凶手却在她的酒里放下足量的麻醉药，务必让她第二天一早醒不过来。”

“可怕。”我颤抖地说。

“是的，这可不是好玩的。”波洛不动声色地说。

“你要与贾普讲这些吗？”我过了一会问道。

“目前还不要。我们有什么可讲呢？了不起的贾普会说：‘又是漫无边际的事！那女孩是用单页纸写的！就是这样。”

我不安地望着他。

“我要说什么呢？根本没话可说。这是可能发生的。我只知道不会是这样的，因为有必要不是这样的。”

他停下来，脸上露出梦幻股的表情。

“黑斯廷斯，你想想看，如果那个人计划周密，他可以用刀裁掉而不是撕掉。那么，我们就看不出一点破绽了。一点也看不出来了。”

“所以我们可以推定他是一个粗心大意的人。”我笑着说。

“我希望你注意一件事。这个人——这个d——他一定有那天不在现场的证据。”

他停了停，接着说，

“假若他先在摄政门杀了人，又与卡洛塔·亚当斯会面，我想不出他怎么有不在现场的证据。”

“一点不错，”波洛说，“我就是这个意思。他急于找一种不在现场的证据，因此他一定是准备了一个证据。另外，还有一点，他的名字首写宇母真是d吗？或者d只是代表一个绰号，一个她知道的绰号？”

他停了停，然后又轻轻地说。

“这个名字首写字母或绰号是d的人，我们必须找到他。黑斯廷斯，是的，我们一定要找到他。”