chapter 26 paris?

a few minutes later we were jumping into a taxi.

poirot’s face was very grave.

‘i am afraid, hastings,’ he said. ‘i am afraid.’

‘you don’t mean –’ i said and stopped.

‘we are up against somebody who has already struck twice – that person will not hesitate to strike again. he is twisting and turning like a rat, fighting for his life. ross is a danger. then ross will be eliminated.’

‘was what he had to tell so important?’ i asked doubtfully. ‘he did not seem to think so.’

‘then he was wrong. evidently what he had to tell was of supreme importance.’

‘but how could anyone know?’

‘he spoke to you, you say. there, at claridge’s. with people all round. madness – utter madness. ah! why did you not bring him back with you – guard him – let no one near him till i had heard what he had to say.’

‘i never thought – i never dreamt –’ i stammered.

poirot made a quick gesture.

‘do not blame yourself – how could you know? i – i would have known. the murderer, see you, hastings, is as cunning as a tiger and as relentless. ah! shall we never arrive?’

we were there at last. ross lived in a maisonette on the first floor of a house in a big square in kensington. a card stuck on a little slot by the door-bell gave us the information. the hall door was open. inside was a big flight of stairs.

‘so easy to come in. none to see,’ murmured poirot as he sprang up the stairs.

on the first floor was a kind of partition and a narrow door with a yale lock. ross’s card was stuck in the centre of the door.

we paused there. everywhere there was dead silence. i pushed the door – to my surprise it yielded.

we entered.

there was a narrow hall and an open door one side, another in front of us opening into what was evidently the sitting-room.

into this sitting-room we went. it was the divided half of a big front drawing-room. it was cheaply but comfortably furnished and it was empty. on a small table was the telephone, the receiver stood down beside the instrument.

poirot took a swift step forward, looked round, then shook his head.

‘not here. come, hastings.’

we retraced our steps and, going into the hall, we passed through the other door. the room was a tiny dining-room. at one side of the table, fallen sideways from a chair and sprawled across the table, was ross.

poirot bent over him.

he straightened up – his face was white. ‘he’s dead. stabbed at the base of the skull.’

for long afterwards the events of that afternoon remained like a nightmare in my mind. i could not rid myself of a dreadful feeling of responsibility.

much later, that evening, when we were alone together, i stammered out to poirot my bitter self-reproachings. he responded quickly.

‘no, no, do not blame yourself. how could you have suspected? the good god has not given you a suspicious nature to begin with.’

‘you would have suspected?’

‘that is different. all my life, you see, i have tracked down murderers. i know how, each time, the impulse to kill becomes stronger, till, at last, for a trivial cause –’ he broke off.

he had been very quiet ever since our ghastly discovery. all through the arrival of the police, the questioning of the other people in the house, the hundred and one details of the dreadful routine following upon a murder, poirot had remained aloof – strangely quiet – a far-away speculative look in his eyes. now, as he broke off his sentence, that same far-away speculative look returned.

‘we have no time to waste in regrets, hastings,’ he said quietly. ‘no time to say “if ” – the poor young man who is dead had something to tell us. and we know now that that something must have been of great importance – otherwise he would not have been killed. since he can no longer tell us – we have got to guess. we have got to guess – with only one little clue to guide us.’

‘paris,’ i said.

‘yes, paris.’ he got up and began to stroll up and down.

‘there have been several mentions of paris in this business, but unluckily in different connections. there is the word paris engraved in the gold box. paris in november last. miss adams was there then – perhaps ross was there also. was there someone else there whom ross knew? whom he saw with miss adams under somewhat peculiar circumstances?’

‘we can never know,’ i said.

‘yes, yes, we can know. we shall know! the power of the human brain, hastings, is almost unlimited. what other mentions of paris have we in connection with the case? there is the short woman with the pince-nez who called for the box at the jeweller’s there. was she known to ross? the duke of merton was in paris when the crime was committed. paris, paris, paris. lord edgware was going to paris – ah! possibly we have something there. was he killed to prevent him going to paris?’

he sat down again, his brows drawn together. i could almost feel the waves of his furious concentration of thought.

‘what happened at that luncheon?’ he murmured. ‘some casual word or phrase must have shown to donald ross the significance of knowledge which was in his possession, but which up to then he had not known was significant. was there some mention of france? of paris? up your end of the table, i mean.’

‘the word paris was mentioned but not in that connection.’

i told him about jane wilkinson’s ‘gaffe’.

‘that probably explains it,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘the word paris would be sufficient – taken in conjunction with something else. but what was that something else? at what was ross looking? or of what had he been speaking when that word was uttered?’

‘he’d been talking about scottish superstitions.’

‘and his eyes were – where?’

‘i’m not sure. i think he was looking up towards the head of the table where mrs widburn was sitting.’

‘who sat next to her?’

‘the duke of merton, then jane wilkinson, then some fellow i didn’t know.’

‘m. le duc. it is possible that he was looking at m. le duc when the word paris was spoken. the duke, remember, was in paris or was supposed to be in paris at the time of the crime. suppose ross suddenly remembered something which went to show that merton was not in paris.’

‘my dear poirot!’

‘yes, you consider that an absurdity. so does everyone. had m. le duc a motive for the crime? yes, a very strong one. but to suppose that he committed it – oh! absurd. he is so rich, of so assured a position, of such a well-known lofty character. no one will scrutinize his alibi too carefully. and yet to fake an alibi in a big hotel is not so difficult. to go across by the afternoon service – to return – it could be done. tell me, hastings, did ross not say anything when the word paris was mentioned? did he show no emotion?’

‘i do seem to remember that he drew in his breath rather sharply.’

‘and his manner when he spoke to you afterwards. was it bewildered? confused?’

‘that absolutely describes it.’

‘précisément. an idea has come to him. he thinks it preposterous! absurd! and yet – he hesitates to voice it. first he will speak to me. but alas! when he has made up his mind, i am already departed.’

‘if he had only said a little more to me,’ i lamented.

‘yes. if only – who was near you at the time?’

‘well, everybody, more or less. they were saying goodbye to mrs widburn. i didn’t notice particularly.’

poirot got up again.

‘have i been all wrong?’ he murmured as he began once more to pace the floor. ‘all the time, have i been wrong?’

i looked at him with sympathy. exactly what the ideas were that passed through his head i did not know. ‘close as an oyster’ japp had called him, and the scotland yard inspector’s words were truly descriptive. i only know that now, at this moment, he was at war with himself.

‘at any rate,’ i said, ‘this murder cannot be put down to ronald marsh.’

‘it is a point in his favour,’ my friend said absent-mindedly. ‘but that does not concern us for the moment.’

abruptly, as before, he sat down.

‘i cannot be entirely wrong. hastings, do you remember that i once posed to myself five questions?’

‘i seem to remember dimly something of the sort.’

‘they were: why did lord edgware change his mind on the subject of divorce? what is the explanation of the letter he said he wrote to his wife and which she said she never got? why was there that expression of rage on his face when we left his house that day? what were a pair of pince-nez doing in carlotta adams’ handbag? why did someone telephone to lady edgware at chiswick and immediately ring off ?’

‘yes, these were the questions,’ i said. ‘i remember now.’

‘hastings, i have had in mind all along a certain little idea. an idea as to who the man was – the man behind. three of those questions i have answered – and the answers accord with my little idea. but two of the questions, hastings, i cannot answer.

‘you see what that means. either i am wrong as to the person, and it cannot be that person. or else the answer to the two questions that i cannot answer is there all the time. which is it, hastings? which is it?’

rising, he went to his desk, unlocked it and took out the letter lucie adams had sent him from america. he had asked japp to let him keep it a day or two and japp had agreed. poirot laid it on the table in front of him and pored over it.

the minutes went by. i yawned and picked up a book. i did not think that poirot would get much result from his study. we had already gone over and over the letter. granted that it was not ronald marsh who was referred to, there was nothing whatever to show who else it might be.

i turned the pages of my book . . .

possibly dozed off . . .

suddenly poirot uttered a low cry. i sat up abruptly. he was looking at me with an indescribable expression, his eyes green and shining.

‘hastings, hastings.’

‘yes, what is it?’

‘do you remember i said to you that if the murderer had been a man of order and method he would have cut this page, not torn it?’

‘yes?’

‘i was wrong. there is order and method throughout this crime. the page had to be torn, not cut. look for yourself.’

i looked.

‘eh bien, you see?’

i shook my head.

‘you mean he was in a hurry?’

‘hurry or no hurry it would be the same thing. do you not see, my friend? the page had to be torn . . .’

i shook my head.

in a low voice poirot said:

‘i have been foolish. i have been blind. but now – now – we shall get on!’

第二十六章 巴黎

几分钟以后，我们跳上一辆出租车。

波洛面容非常严肃。

“我很担心，黑斯廷斯，”他说，“我很担心。”

“你不是要说一”我说到这停了下来。

“我们现在要对付一个已经杀了两次人的家伙——他会毫不犹豫地再杀人。他像一只老鼠，扭来扭去，为活命而出击。”

“他要说的那么重要吗？”我怀疑地问。“他好像不这样认为。”

“那么他错了。很明显，他要说的东西至关重要。”

“但是别人怎么会知道呢？”

“你说，是他对你讲的。在克莱瑞奇饭店。周围都是人。疯狂——纯粹的疯狂。啊！你为什么不把他带回家，保护他，不让别人接近他，直到我听了他要说的。”

“我没想过——我从未料到——”我结结巴巴地说。

波洛很快地做了个手势。

“别责备你自己了——你怎么能知道呢？我——我该知道的。你看，黑斯廷斯。谋杀者像老虎一样又狡猾，又残酷。啊！难道我们永远弄不清吗？”

我们最终到了。罗斯住在肯辛顿的一个大：“场上一幢公寓的二楼。门铃旁边一个小槽里塞着一张硬纸片，上面有住户的姓名。厅堂的门是开着的。一进去便是一个大楼梯。

“这么容易进来，却看不见人。”波洛上楼梯时，低声说。

二楼有一个隔开的房间，门上是自动锁。罗斯的名片就插在中间。

我们停在那。四处一片寂静。

我推了推门——令我想不到的是，门竟开了。

我们走了进去。

里面有一个窄窄的门厅，厅的一边有一扇关着的门，正对着我们的那一边也有一个门，不用说是通向客厅的。

我们走入客厅。这是一个大的前厅，被隔开了一半。里面家具陈设很便宜，但却很舒适。可是房里空无一人。电话机在一张小桌上。话筒却放在电话机旁。

波洛迅速地向前走一步，四下打量一下。然后摇了摇头。

“不在这儿，来，黑斯廷斯。”

我们退回门厅，再从另一个门走进去。那是一间餐厅。罗斯就在桌子一旁的一张椅子上。他的上身斜趴在桌上。

波洛俯身去看他，然后抬起身来，脸色灰白。

“他死了。刀子是由后脑根上刺进去的。”

那天下午的经历像一场噩梦，留在我的脑海里，过了好长时间也不能忘却。我总觉得自己有责任。

那天晚上，我们单独在一起的时候，我艰难地将我的内疚向波洛倾诉出来。他的反应很快。“不要，不要，不要责备自己。你怎么能猜出来呢？首先，上帝没给你多疑的性格。”

“他也该猜疑的。′

“那就不同了。你知道，我一辈子都在寻找凶手。我知道那种杀人的欲望会越来越强，直到最后”仅为了一件小事——”他停止了说话。

自从我们那天下午发现那件可怕的事以后，一直沉默不语。案发后，察到了，问公寓里的其他人，有许多的例行公事。在这一切过程中，洛一直保待一种好像与众隔离的态度——沉默得令人奇怪——他的眼中露出一种遥远的、思索的神气。现在，的话突然中断以后，那遥远的、思索的神气又回来了。

“我们没有时间懊悔，斯廷斯，他安静地说，没有时间说‘假如’——那个死去的可怜的年轻人有话要告诉我们。我们也知道他要说的话非常重要——否则他不会被刺死的。我们必须猜，有一个线索可以指导我们。”

“巴黎。”我说。

“是的，黎，他站起身来，始在房里踱来踱去。

“这案子中不止一次涉及巴黎，是在不同的场合。那个金匣子，有巴黎的字样。去年十一月，巴黎。亚当斯小姐那时在那——也许罗斯也在那。还有谁知道罗斯在那吗？他看到谁曾在某种特定场合与亚当斯小姐在一起呢？”

“我们永远不会知道。”我说。

“不，，们可以知道的。我们会知道的。黑斯廷斯。人的大脑是无边无际的。关于这个案子，有别的场合提及巴黎吗？晤，有那个戴夹鼻眼镜的矮个子女人，经到珠宝店里去取匣子的。罗斯认识她吗？命案发生的时候，顿公爵在巴黎。巴黎，黎，黎。埃奇韦尔男爵也是计划去巴黎的——啊！我们可能找到点线索。杀死男爵是不是要阻止他去巴黎？”

他又坐了下来。双眉紧锁。我可以觉出他是怎样集中精力寻求答案的。

“那个午餐宴会上发生了什么？也许有人无意中说了一字半句，起了罗斯的注意。也许他知道某一件事，过他以前未曾注意的，在听了这话，才知道重要之处。有人提到法国没有？有人提过巴黎吗？我是说，你坐的那一边？”

“巴黎这个词是有人提过，但与那事无关。”

我对他讲了简·威尔金森出的丑。

“这也许说明了什么”，波洛若有所思地说，“‘巴黎’这个词与其它的事联系起来可能就有用了。但其它的事又是什么呢？罗斯在看什么？当有人说那个词的时候，他在说些什么？”

“他正谈论苏格兰迷信的事儿。”

“那么，他的眼睛呢？看着哪里？”

“我不太肯定。我想他是看着桌首威德伯恩夫人坐的方向。”

“她下面坐的是谁？”

“默顿公爵，然后是简·威尔金森，再后面的人，我不认识了。”

“是公爵。当有人说到巴黎那个词的时候，他可能正望着公爵。要记住，在凶杀案发生的时候，公爵在巴黎，或者应该是在巴黎的。也许罗斯突然想起一桩事情，足以证明默顿不在巴黎。”

“我亲爱的波洛！”

“是的，你以为这很可笑。每个人都会这样认为。公爵有杀人动机吗？是的，很强的动机。但假设他确实杀了人——噢！太荒唐了。他是如此富有，有地位，品格向来高尚。没有人会细查他不在现场的证据。不过，要伪造一个在某个旅店而不在现场的辨词，也不是什么难事。比如。搭下午的船渡海，干过后再回去，也是有可能的。黑斯廷斯，告诉我，当有人提到巴黎的时候，罗斯有没有说什么？他有没有任何激动的情感？”

“我好像记得他倒吸了一口凉气。”

“他后来与你说话的态度如何？是很迷惑？很不解吗？”

“就是你说的那样。”

“一点不错。他突然有了想法。他认为很荒诞！可笑！可是——他很犹豫说不说。他想先对我说，但是，唉！当他下定决心时，我已经走了。”

“要是他对我再多说一点就好了。”我懊梅地说。

“是啊！要是——那时谁在你旁边？”

“晤，可以说大家，或多或少都在。他们在向威德伯恩夫人告别。我并未特别注意谁。”

波洛又站了起来。

“难道是我都猜错了？”他又在屋里踱起步来，同时说着，“我一直都错了？”

我很同情地望着他。我不知道他脑子里确切地在想什么。贾普说他像“牡蛎”一样。嘴闭得很严。我只知道，此时此刻，他在进行思想斗争。

“不管怎么说。”我说道，“这起谋杀不能归到罗纳德。马什头上。”

“这倒对他有利呢。”我的朋友心不在焉地说，“但目前和我们无太大关系。”

突然，他又像以往那样坐下来。

“我不可能完全错的。黑斯廷斯。你还记得我曾问自己五个问题吗？”

“我似乎模糊地记得那么回事。”

“那五个问题是。埃奇韦尔男爵为什么在离婚问题上改变主意？他说他曾给他的妻子写过一封信，但她并没有收到。那么，那封信如何解释呢？我们那天出来时，他为什么那样怒容满面呢？卡洛塔·亚当斯手袋里的那副夹鼻眼镜是怎么回事？是谁为什么打电话找在齐西克的埃奇韦尔夫人。又立刻挂断了？”

“是的，是这些问题。”我说。“我现在记起来了。”

“黑斯廷斯，我脑子里一直有一点小想法，关于那个幕后人物的想法。那五个问题，我己经解答了三个，而且答案与我的想法吻合。但是，黑斯廷斯，其余的两个问题，我找不到答案。

“那么，你就知道怎么回事了。或者把那个人猜错了。不可能是那个人。或者那两个问题的答案一直摆在那儿。是哪一个呢？黑斯廷斯？是哪一个呢？”

他站起来，走向他的书桌，打开抽屉的锁，从里面拿出露西。亚当斯从美国发来的信。他要求贾普把信放在他这里一两天，贾普已经答应了。波洛把那封信放在桌子上，又仔细阅读起来。

时间一分一分地过去，我打着哈欠，拿起一本书来看。我以为波洛不会研究出什么结果的。我们已经将那信读了好几遍了。姑且承认信上所指的不是罗纳德。马什，但是也没有东西可以证明另一个人是谁。

我翻着书页……

我也许睡着了……

突然波洛大叫一声。我猛然坐了起来。

他正以一种难以形容的表情望着我，两眼发绿，炯炯放光。

“黑斯廷斯，黑斯廷斯！”

“怎么了，什么事？”

“记得我对你说过，如果那个凶手是一个有条理的人，就不会撕掉那页信，而会用剪刀剪掉吗？”

“怎么？”

“我错了。这桩谋杀案是有条有理的。这一页是被撕掉的。不是被剪的。你自已看。”

我看那封信。

“那么，你看？”

我摇着头。

“你是说，他是匆匆忙忙来不及剪吗？”

“匆忙，不匆忙都是一回事。我的朋友，你没看出来吗？那页是被撕……”

我摇摇头。

波洛低低的声音说。

“我真傻，我真是瞎了眼。但是，现在——现在——我们要向前走。”