破镜谋杀案30
时间：2025-11-25 09:22:03
（单词翻译:单击）
Fifteen
Dermot Craddock looked down at the last name and address he had writ-
ten down in his notebook. The telephone number had been rung twice for
him but there had been no response. He tried it now once more. He
Margot Bence’s studio was in a cul-de-sac off the Tottenham Court Road.
Beyond the name on a plate on the side of a door, there was little to
identify it, and certainly no form of advertising3. Craddock groped his way
to the first floor. There was a large notice here painted in black on a white
board. “Margot Bence, Personality Photographer. Please enter.”
Craddock entered. There was a small waiting room but nobody in
charge of it. He stood there hesitating, then cleared his throat in a loud
and theatrical4 manner. Since that drew no attention he raised his voice.
“Anybody here?”
face, peered round it.
“Terribly sorry, my dear,” he said. “I didn’t hear you. I had an absolutely
new idea and I was just trying it out.”
He pushed the velvet curtain farther aside and Craddock followed him
into an inner room. This proved to be unexpectedly large. It was clearly
the working studio. There were cameras, lights, arc- lights, piles of
drapery, screens on wheels.
“Such a mess,” said the young man, who was almost as willowy as
Hailey Preston. “But one finds it very hard to work, I think, unless one does
get into a mess. Now what were you wanting to see us about?”
“I wanted to see Miss Margot Bence.”
“Ah, Margot. Now what a pity. If you’d been half an hour earlier you’d
have found her here. She’s gone off to produce some photographs of mod-
els for Fashion Dream. You should have rung up, you know, to make an ap-
pointment. Margot’s terribly busy these days.”
“I did ring up. There was no reply.”
“Of course,” said the young man. “We took the receiver off. I remember
now. It disturbed us.” He smoothed down a kind of lilac smock that he was
wearing. “Can I do anything for you? Make an appointment? I do a lot of
Margot’s business arrangements for her. You wanted to arrange for some
photography somewhere? Private or business?”
“From that point of view, neither,” said Dermot Craddock. He handed
his card to the young man.
know, I’ve seen pictures of you. Are you one of the Big Four or the Big
Five, or is it perhaps the Big Six nowadays? There’s so much crime about,
they’d have to increase the numbers, wouldn’t they? Oh dear, is that disre-
spectful? I’m afraid it is. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful at all. Now, what
do you want Margot for—not to arrest her, I hope.”
“I just wanted to ask her one or two questions.”
“She doesn’t do indecent photographs or anything like that,” said the
young man anxiously. “I hope nobody’s been telling you any stories of that
work and studio work. But her studies are terribly, terribly pure—almost
“I can tell you quite simply why I want to speak to Miss Bence,” said
Dermot. “She was recently an eyewitness11 of a crime that took place near
“Oh, my dear, of course! I know about that. Margot came back and told
doesn’t seem so bleak, does it? But haven’t you already asked Margot ques-
tions about that—or was it somebody else?”
“One always finds there are more questions, as the case goes on,” said
Dermot.
“You mean it develops. Yes, I can quite see that. Murder develops. Yes,
like a photograph, isn’t it?”
“It’s very much like photography really,” said Dermot. “Quite a good
comparison of yours.”
“Well, it’s very nice of you to say so, I’m sure. Now about Margot. Would
you like to get hold of her right away?”
“If you can help me to do so, yes.”
“Well, at the moment,” said the young man, consulting his watch, “at the
moment she’ll be outside Keats’ house at Hampstead Heath. My car’s out-
side. Shall I run you up there?”
“That would be very kind of you, Mr—”
“Jethroe,” said the young man, “Johnny Jethroe.”
As they went down the stairs Dermot asked:
“Why Keats’ house?”
“Well, you know we don’t pose fashion photographs in the studio any-
more. We like them to seem natural, blown about by the wind. And if pos-
sible some rather unlikely background. You know, an Ascot frock against
through Camden Town and finally to the neighbourhood of Hampstead
Heath. On the pavement near Keats’ house a pretty little scene was being
an immense black hat. On her knees, a little way behind her, a second girl
was holding the first girl’s skirt well pulled back so that it clung around
ing operations.
“For goodness’ sake, Jane, get your behind down. It’s showing behind
her right knee. Get down flatter. That’s it. No, more to the left. That’s right.
Now you’re masked by the bush. That’ll do. Hold it. We’ll have one more.
Both hands on the back of the hat this time. Head up. Good—now turn
round, Elsie. Bend over. More. Bend! Bend, you’ve got to pick up that ci-
garette case. That’s right. That’s heaven! Got it! Now move over to the left.
Same pose, only just turn your head over your shoulder. So.”
“I can’t see what you want to go taking photographs of my behind for,”
said the girl called Elsie rather sulkily.
“It’s a lovely behind, dear. It looks smashing,” said the photographer.
“And when you turn your head your chin comes up like the rising moon
over a mountain. I don’t think we need bother with anymore.”
“Hi— Margot,” said Mr. Jethroe.
She turned her head. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?”
searching look but that, as he well knew, was nothing extraordinary. It
was a fairly common reaction to detective-inspectors. She was a thin girl,
all elbows and angles, but was an interesting shape for all that. A heavy
curtain of black hair fell down either side of her face. She looked dirty as
well as sallow and not particularly prepossessing, to his eyes. But he ac-
which were slightly raised by art already and remarked:
“And what can I do for you, Detective-Inspector Craddock?”
“How do you do, Miss Bence. I wanted to ask you if you would be so
kind as to answer a few questions about that very unfortuante business at
Gossington Hall, near Much Benham. You went there, if I remember, to
take some photographs.”
The girl nodded. “Of course. I remember quite well.” She shot him a
quick searching look. “I didn’t see you there. Surely it was somebody else.
Inspector—Inspector—”
“Inspector Cornish?” said Dermot.
“That’s right.”
“We were called in later.”
“You’re from Scotland Yard?”
“Yes.”
hands or whether he thinks it’ll be better handled by us.”
“What makes him decide?”
“It very often turns on whether the case has a local background or
whether it’s a more—universal one. Sometimes, perhaps, an international
one.”
“And he decided, did he, that this was an international one?”
“Transatlantic, perhaps, would be a better word.”
“They’ve been hinting that in the papers, haven’t they? Hinting that the
their film?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much doubt about it, Miss Bence.”
“What do you want to ask me? Have I got to come to Scotland Yard?”
He shook his head. “Not unless you like. We’ll go back to your studio if
you prefer.”
“All right, let’s do that. My car’s just up the street.”
called after them.
ing to talk big secrets.” He joined the two models on the pavement and
Margot got into the car, unlocked the door on the other side, and Dermot
Craddock got in beside her. She said nothing at all during the drive back to
Tottenham Court Road. She turned down the cul-de-sac and at the bottom
“Got my own parking place here,” she remarked. “It’s a furniture depos-
itory place really, but they rent me a bit of space. Parking a car is one of
the big headaches in London, as you probably know only too well, though
I don’t suppose you deal with traffic, do you?”
“No, that’s not one of my troubles.”
“I should think murder would be infinitely34 preferable,” said Margot
Bence.
She led the way back to the studio, motioned him to a chair, offered him
a cigarette and sank down on the large pouffe opposite him. From behind
the curtain of dark hair she looked at him in a sombre questioning way.
“Shoot, stranger,” she said.
“You were taking photographs on the occasion of this death, I under-
stand.”
“Yes.”
“You’d been engaged professionally?”
“Yes. They wanted someone to do a few specialized35 shots. I do quite a lot
of that stuff. I do some work for film studios sometimes, but this time I
was just taking photographs of the fête, and afterwards a few shots of spe-
cial people being greeted by Marina Gregg and Jason Rudd. Local notabilit-
ies or other personalities36. That sort of thing.”
“Yes. I understand that. You had your camera on the stairs, I under-
stand?”
“A part of the time, yes. I got a very good angle from there. You get
people coming up the stairs below you and you could swivel round and
get Marina shaking hands with them. You could get a lot of different
angles without having to move much.”
“I know, of course, that you answered some questions at the time as to
whether you’d seen anything unusual, anything that might be helpful.
They were general questions.”
“Have you got more specialized ones?”
“A little more specialized, I think. You had a good view of Marina Gregg
from where you were standing?”
She nodded. “Excellent.”
“And of Jason Rudd?”
“Occasionally. But he was moving about more. Drinks and things and in-
troducing people to one another. The locals to the celebrities37. That kind of
thing, I should imagine. I didn’t see this Mrs. Baddeley—”
“Badcock.”
that. In fact I don’t think I really know which she was.”
“Do you remember the arrival of the mayor?”
“Oh, yes. I remember the mayor all right. He had on his chain and his
robes of office. I got one of him coming up the stairs—a close-up—rather a
cruel profile, and then I got him shaking hands with Marina.”
“Then you can fix that time at least in your mind. Mrs. Badcock and her
husband came up the stairs to Marina Gregg immediately in front of him.”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I still don’t remember her.”
“That doesn’t matter so much. I presume that you had a pretty good
view of Marina Gregg and that you had your eyes on her and were point-
ing the camera at her fairly often.”
“Quite right. Most of the time. I’d wait till I got just the right moment.”
“Do you know a man called Ardwyck Fenn by sight?”
“Oh yes. I know him well enough. Television network—films too.”
“Did you take a photograph of him?”
“Yes. I got him coming up with Lola Brewster.”
“That would be just after the mayor?”
She thought a minute then agreed. “Yes, about then.”
“Did you notice that about that time Marina Gregg seemed to feel sud-
denly ill? Did you notice any unusual expression on her face?”
Margot Bence leant forward, opened a cigarette box and took out a ci-
garette. She lit it. Although she had not answered Dermot did not press
her. He waited, wondering what it was she was turning over in her mind.
“Why do you ask me that?”
“Because it’s a question to which I am very anxious to have an answer—
a reliable answer.”
“Do you think my answer’s likely to be reliable?”
“Yes I do, as a matter of fact. You must have the habit of watching
people’s faces very closely, waiting for certain expressions, certain propi-
tious moments.”
She nodded her head.
“Did you see anything of that kind?”
“Somebody else saw it too, did they?”
“Yes. More than one person, but it’s been described rather differently.”
“How did the other people describe it?”
“One person has told me that she was taken faint.”
Margot Bence shook her head slowly.
“Someone else said that she was startled.” He paused a moment then
went on, “And somebody else describes her as having a frozen look on her
face.”
“Frozen,” said Margot Bence thoughtfully.
“Do you agree to that last statement?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps.”
“It was put rather more fancifully still,” said Dermot. “In the words of
has come upon me,” cried the Lady of Shalott.’”
“There wasn’t any mirror,” said Margot Bence, “but if there had been it
might have cracked.” She got up abruptly. “Wait,” she said. “I’ll do some-
thing better than describe it to you. I’ll show you.”
She pushed aside the curtain at the far end and disappeared for some
moments. He could hear her uttering impatient mutterings under her
breath.
“What hell it is,” she said as she emerged again, “one never can find
things when one wants them. I’ve got it now though.”
down at it. It was a very good photograph of Marina Gregg. Her hand was
clasped in the hand of a woman standing in front of her, and therefore
with her back to the camera. But Marina Gregg was not looking at the wo-
the left. The interesting thing to Dermot Craddock was that the face ex-
pressed nothing whatever. There was no fear on it, no pain. The woman
emotion it aroused in her was so great that she was physically44 unable to
express it by any kind of facial expression. Dermot Craddock had seen
such a look once on a man’s face, a man who a second later had been shot
dead….
“Satisfied?” asked Margot Bence.
Craddock gave a deep sigh. “Yes, thank you. It’s hard, you know, to make
up one’s mind if witnesses are exaggerating, if they are imagining they see
things. But that’s not so in this case. There was something to see and she
saw it.” He asked, “Can I keep this picture?”
“Oh, yes you can have the print. I’ve got the negative.”
“You didn’t send it to the Press?”
Margot Bence shook her head.
“I rather wonder why you didn’t. After all, it’s rather a dramatic photo-
graph. Some paper might have paid a good price for it.”
“I wouldn’t care to do that,” said Margot Bence. “If you look into some-
body’s soul by accident, you feel a bit embarrassed about cashing in.”
“Did you know Marina Gregg at all?”
“No.”
“You come from the States, don’t you?”
“I was born in England. I was trained in America though. I came over
here, oh, about three years ago.”
Dermot Craddock nodded. He had known the answers to his questions.
They had been waiting for him among the other lists of information on his
office table. The girl seemed straightforward45 enough. He asked:
“Where did you train?”
“Reingarden Studios. I was with Andrew Quilp for a time. He taught me
a lot.”
“Reingarden Studios and Andrew Quilp.” Dermot Craddock was sud-
denly alert. The names struck a chord of remembrance.
“You lived in Seven Springs, didn’t you?”
She looked amused.
“You seem to know a lot about me. Have you been checking up?”
“You’re a very well-known photographer, Miss Bence. There have been
articles written about you, you know. Why did you come to England?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh, I like a change. Besides, as I tell you, I was born in England al-
though I went to the States as a child.”
“Quite a young child, I think.”
“Five years old if you’re interested.”
“I am interested. I think, Miss Bence, you could tell me a little more than
you have done.”
Her face hardened. She stared at him.
“What do you mean by that?”
Dermot Craddock looked at her and risked it. It wasn’t much to go on.
Reingarden Studios and Andrew Quilp and the name of one town. But he
felt rather as if old Miss Marple were at his shoulder egging him on.
“I think you knew Marina Gregg better than you say.”
She laughed. “Prove it. You’re imagining things.”
“Am I? I don’t think I am. And it could be proved, you know, with a little
time and care. Come now, Miss Bence, hadn’t you better admit the truth?
Admit that Marina Gregg adopted you as a child and that you lived with
her for four years.”
It startled him a little, it was such a contrast to her former manner. She
got up, shaking her black head of hair.
“All right, all right, it’s true enough! Yes Marina Gregg took me over to
America with her. My mother had eight kids. She lived in a slum some-
where. She was one of hundreds of people, I suppose, who wrote to any
film actress that they happen to see or hear about, spilling a hard-luck
story, begging her to adopt the child a mother couldn’t give advantages to.
Oh, it’s such a sickening business, all of it.”
“There were three of you,” said Dermot. “Three children adopted at dif-
ferent times from different places.”
“That’s right. Me and Rod and Angus. Angus was older than I was, Rod
was practically a baby. We had a wonderful life. Oh, a wonderful life! All
the advantages!” Her voice rose mockingly. “Clothes and cars and a won-
teaching, and delicious food. Everything piled on! And she herself, our
ing photographed with us! Ah, such a pretty sentimental51 picture.”
“But she really wanted children,” said Dermot Craddock. “That was real
“Oh, perhaps. Yes, I think that was true. She wanted children. But she
didn’t want us! Not really. It was just a glorious bit of playacting. ‘My fam-
ily.’ ‘So lovely to have a family of my own.’ And Izzy let her do it. He ought to
have known better.”
“Izzy was Isidore Wright?”
“Yes, her third husband or her fourth, I forget which. He was a wonder-
ful man really. He understood her, I think, and he was worried sometimes
about us. He was kind to us, but he didn’t pretend to be a father. He didn’t
feel like a father. He only cared really about his own writing. I’ve read
powerful. I think people will call him a great writer one day.”
“And this went on until when?”
Margot Bence’s smile curved suddenly. “Until she got sick of that partic-
ular bit of playacting. No, that’s not quite true… She found she was going
to have a child of her own.”
She laughed with sudden bitterness. “Then we’d had it! We weren’t
wanted anymore. We’d done very well as little stopgaps, but she didn’t
care a damn about us really, not a damn. Oh, she pensioned us off very
and a nice little sum to start us off in the world. Nobody can say that she
didn’t behave correctly and handsomely. But she’d never wanted us—all
she wanted was a child of her own.”
“You can’t blame her for that,” said Dermot gently.
“I don’t blame her for wanting a child of her own, no! But what about
us? She took us away from our own parents, from the place where we be-
longed. My mother sold me for a mess of pottage, if you like, but she didn’t
sell me for advantage to herself. She sold me because she was a damn’
silly woman who thought I’d get ‘advantages’ and ‘education’ and have a
wonderful life. She thought she was doing the best for me. Best for me? If
she only knew.”
“You’re still very bitter, I see.”
“No, I’m not bitter now. I’ve got over that. I’m bitter because I’m remem-
bering, because I’ve gone back to those days. We were all pretty bitter.”
“All of you?”
“Well, not Rod. Rod never cared about anything. Besides he was rather
small. But Angus felt like I did, only I think he was more revengeful. He
said that when he was grown-up he would go and kill that baby she was
going to have.”
“You knew about the baby?”
“Oh, of course I knew. And everyone knows what happened. She went
idiot! Serve her right. Idiot or no idiot, she didn’t want us back again.”
“You hate her very much.”
“Why shouldn’t I hate her? She did the worst thing to me that anyone
can do to anyone else. Let them believe that they’re loved and wanted and
“What happened to your two—I’ll call them brothers, for the sake of
convenience.”
“Oh, we all drifted apart later. Rod’s farming somewhere in the Middle
West. He’s got a happy nature, and always had. Angus? I don’t know. I lost
sight of him.”
“Did he continue to feel regretful?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Margot. “It’s not the sort of thing you can go
on feeling. The last time I saw him, he said he was going on the stage. I
don’t know whether he did.”
“You’ve remembered, though,” said Dermot.
“Yes. I’ve remembered,” said Margot Bence.
“Was Marina Gregg surprised to see you on that day or did she make the
arrangements for your photography on purpose to please you?”
“She?” The girl smiled scornfully. “She knew nothing about the arrange-
ments. I was curious to see her, so I did a bit of lobbying to get the job. As I
say I’ve got some influence with studio people. I wanted to see what she
looked like nowadays.” She stroked the surface of the table. “She didn’t
even recognize me. What do you think of that? I was with her for four
years. From five years old to nine and she didn’t recognize me.”
“Children change,” said Dermot Craddock, “they change so much that
you’d hardly know them. I have a niece I met the other day and I assure
you I’d have passed her in the street.”
“Are you saying that to make me feel better? I don’t care really. Oh,
what the hell, let’s be honest. I do care. I did. She had a magic, you know.
Marina! A wonderful calamitous57 magic that took hold of you. You can hate
a person and still mind.”
“You didn’t tell her who you were?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t tell her. That’s the last thing I’d do.”
“Did you try and poison her, Miss Bence?”
Her mood changed. She got up and laughed.
“What ridiculous questions you do ask! But I suppose you have to. It’s
part of your job. No. I can assure you I didn’t kill her.”
“That isn’t what I asked you, Miss Bence.”
She looked at him, frowning, puzzled.
“Marina Gregg,” he said, “is still alive.”
“For how long?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Don’t you think it’s likely, Inspector, that someone will try again, and
this time—this time, perhaps—they’ll succeed?”
“Precautions will be taken.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will. The adoring husband will look after her, won’t
he, and make sure that no harm comes to her?”
He was listening carefully to the mockery in her voice.
“What did you mean when you said you didn’t ask me that?” she said,
harking back suddenly.
“I asked you if you tried to kill her. You replied that you didn’t kill her.
That’s true enough, but someone died, someone was killed.”
“You mean I tried to kill Marina and instead I killed Mrs. What’s-her-
name. If you’d like me to make it quite clear, I didn’t try to poison Marina
and I didn’t poison Mrs. Badcock.”
“But you know perhaps who did?”
“I don’t know anything, Inspector, I assure you.”
“But you have some idea?”
“Oh, one always has ideas.” She smiled at him, a mocking smile. “Among
so many people it might be, mightn’t it, the black-haired robot of a secret-
ary, the elegant Hailey Preston, servants, maids, a masseur, the
hairdresser, someone at the studios, so many people — and one of them
mightn’t be what he or she pretended to be.”
Then as he took an unconscious step towards her she shook her head
“Relax, Inspector,” she said. “I’m only teasing you. Somebody’s out for
Marina’s blood, but who it is I’ve no idea. Really. I’ve no idea at all.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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prudish
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| adj.装淑女样子的，装规矩的，过分规矩的；adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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eyewitness
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| n.目击者，见证人 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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butted
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| 对接的 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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specialized
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| adj.专门的，专业化的 | |
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personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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38
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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nosy
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| adj.鼻子大的，好管闲事的，爱追问的；n.大鼻者 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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inverted
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| adj.反向的，倒转的v.使倒置，使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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calamitous
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| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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