破镜谋杀案36
时间：2025-11-25 09:44:04
（单词翻译:单击）
Nineteen
I
“It’s too dreadful,” said Miss Knight. She put down her parcels and gasped
for breath.
“Something has happened?” asked Miss Marple.
“I really don’t like to tell you about it, dear, I really don’t. It might be a
shock to you.”
“If you don’t tell me,” said Miss Marple, “somebody else will.”
“Dear, dear, that’s true enough,” said Miss Knight. “Yes, that’s terribly
true. Everybody talks too much, they say. And I’m sure there’s a lot in that.
I never repeat anything myself. Very careful I am.”
“You were saying,” said Miss Marple, “that something rather terrible
had happened?”
“It really quite bowled me over,” said Miss Knight. “Are you sure you
don’t feel the draught from that window, dear?”
“I like a little fresh air,” said Miss Marple.
“Ah, but we mustn’t catch cold, must we?” said Miss Knight archly. “I’ll
tell you what. I’ll just pop out and make you a nice eggnog. We’d like that,
wouldn’t we?”
“I don’t know whether you would like it,” said Miss Marple. “I should be
delighted for you to have it if you would like it.”
“Now, now,” said Miss Knight, shaking her finger, “so fond of our joke,
aren’t we?”
“But you were going to tell me something,” said Miss Marple.
“Well, you mustn’t worry about it,” said Miss Knight, “and you mustn’t
let it make you nervous in anyway, because I’m sure it’s nothing to do
with us. But with all these American gangsters and things like that, well I
suppose it’s nothing to be surprised about.”
“Somebody else has been killed,” said Miss Marple, “is that it?”
“Oh, that’s very sharp of you, dear. I don’t know what should put such a
thing into your head.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully, “I’ve been expecting
it.”
“Oh, really!” exclaimed Miss Knight.
“Somebody always sees something,” said Miss Marple, “only sometimes
it takes a little while for them to realize what it is they have seen. Who is it
who’s dead?”
“The Italian butler. He was shot last night.”
“I see,” said Miss Marple thoughtfully. “Yes, very likely, of course, but I
should have thought that he’d have realized before now the importance of
what he saw—”
“Really!” exclaimed Miss Knight. “You talk as though you knew all about
it. Why should he have been killed?”
“I expect,” said Miss Marple, thoughtfully, “that he tried to blackmail
somebody.”
“He went to London yesterday, they say.”
“Did he now,” said Miss Marple, “that’s very interesting, and suggestive
too, I think.”
Miss Knight departed to the kitchen intent on the concoction of nourish-
ing beverages. Miss Marple remained sitting thoughtfully till disturbed by
the loud aggressive humming of the vacuum cleaner, assisted by Cherry’s
voice singing the latest favourite ditty of the moment, “I Said to You and
You Said to Me.”
Miss Knight popped her head round the kitchen door.
“Not quite so much noise, please, Cherry,” she said. “You don’t want to
disturb Miss Marple, do you? You mustn’t be thoughtless, you know.”
She shut the kitchen door again as Cherry remarked, either to herself or
the world at large, “And who said you could call me Cherry, you old jelly-
bag?” The vacuum continued to whine while Cherry sang in a more sub-
dued voice. Miss Marple called in a high clear voice:
“Cherry, come here a minute.”
Cherry switched off the vacuum and opened the drawing room door.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you by singing, Miss Marple.”
“Your singing is much pleasanter than the horrid noise that vacuum
makes,” said Miss Marple, “but I know one has to go with the times. It
would be no use on earth asking any of you young people to use the dust-
pan and brush in the old-fashioned way.”
“What, get down on my knees with a dustpan and brush?” Cherry re-
gistered alarm and surprise.
“Quite unheard of, I know,” said Miss Marple. “Come in and shut the
door. I called you because I wanted to talk to you.”
Cherry obeyed and came towards Miss Marple looking inquiringly at
her.
“We’ve not much time,” said Miss Marple. “That old — Miss Knight I
mean—will come in any moment with an egg drink of some kind.”
“Good for you, I expect. It’ll pep you up,” said Cherry encouragingly.
“Had you heard,” asked Miss Marple, “that the butler at Gossington Hall
was shot last night?”
“What, the wop?” demanded Cherry.
“Yes. His name is Giuseppe, I understand.”
“No,” said Cherry, “I hadn’t heard that. I heard that Mr. Rudd’s secretary
had a heart attack yesterday, and somebody said she was actually dead—
but I suspect that was just a rumour. Who told you about the butler?”
“Miss Knight came back and told me.”
“Of course I haven’t seen anyone to speak to this morning,” said Cherry,
“not before coming along here. I expect the news has only just got round.
Was he bumped off?” she demanded.
“That seems to be assumed,” said Miss Marple, “whether rightly or
wrongly I don’t quite know.”
“This is a wonderful place for talk,” said Cherry. “I wonder if Gladys got
to see him or not,” she added thoughtfully.
“Gladys?”
“Oh, a sort of friend of mine. She lives a few doors away. Works in the
canteen at the studios.”
“And she talked to you about Giuseppe?”
“Well, there was something that struck her as a bit funny and she was
going to ask him what he thought about it. But if you ask me it was just an
excuse—she’s a bit sweet on him. Of course he’s quite handsome and Itali-
ans do have a way with them— I told her to be careful about him, though.
You know what Italians are.”
“He went to London yesterday,” said Miss Marple, “and only returned in
the evening I understand.”
“I wonder if she managed to get to see him before he went.”
“Why did she want to see him, Cherry?”
“It was just something which she felt was a bit funny,” said Cherry.
Miss Marple looked at her inquiringly. She was able to take the word
“funny” at the valuation it usually had for the Gladyses of the neighbour-
hood.
“She was one of the girls who helped at the party there,” explained
Cherry. “The day of the fête. You know, when Mrs. Badcock got hers.”
“Yes?” Miss Marple was looking more alert than ever, much as a fox ter-
rier might look at a waiting rat hole.
“And there was something that she saw that struck her as a bit funny.”
“Why didn’t she go to the police about it?”
“Well, she didn’t really think it meant anything, you see,” explained
Cherry. “Anyway she thought she’d better ask Mr. Giuseppe first.”
“What was it that she saw that day?”
“Frankly,” said Cherry, “what she told me seemed nonsense! I’ve
wondered, perhaps, if she was just putting me off—and what she was go-
ing to see Mr. Giuseppe about was something quite different.”
“What did she say?” Miss Marple was patient and pursuing.
Cherry frowned. “She was talking about Mrs. Badcock and the cocktail
and she said she was quite near her at the time. And she said she did it
herself.”
“Did what herself?”
“Spilt her cocktail all down her dress, and ruined it.”
“You mean it was clumsiness?”
“No, not clumsiness. Gladys said she did it on purpose—that she meant to
do it. Well, I mean, that doesn’t make sense, does it, however you look at
it?”
Miss Marple shook her head, perplexed. “No,” she said. “Certainly not—
no, I can’t see any sense in that.”
“She’d got on a new dress too,” said Cherry. “That’s how the subject
came up. Gladys wondered whether she’d be able to buy it. Said it ought to
clean all right but she didn’t like to go and ask Mr. Badcock herself. She’s
very good at dressmaking, Gladys is, and she said it was lovely stuff. Royal
blue artificial taffeta; and she said even if the stuff was ruined where the
cocktail stained it, she could take out a seam—half a breadth say—because
it was one of those full skirts.”
Miss Marple considered this dressmaking problem for a moment and
then set it aside.
“But you think your friend Gladys might have been keeping something
back?”
“Well, I just wondered because I don’t see if that’s all she saw— Heather
Badcock deliberately spilling her cocktail over herself— I don’t see that
there’d be anything to ask Mr. Giuseppe about, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” said Miss Marple. She sighed. “But it’s always interesting
when one doesn’t see,” she added. “If you don’t see what a thing means
you must be looking at it wrong way round, unless of course you haven’t
got full information. Which is probably the case here.” She sighed. “It’s a
pity she didn’t go straight to the police.”
The door opened and Miss Knight bustled in holding a tall tumbler with
a delicious pale yellow froth on top.
“Now here you are, dear,” she said, “a nice little treat. We’re going to en-
joy this.”
She pulled forward a little table and placed it beside her employer. Then
she turned a glance on Cherry. “The vacuum cleaner,” she said coldly, “is
left in a most difficult position in the hall. I nearly fell over it. Anyone
might have an accident.”
“Right-ho,” said Cherry. “I’d better get on with things.”
She left the room.
“Really,” said Miss Knight, “that Mrs. Baker! I’m continually having to
speak to her about something or other. Leaving vacuum cleaners all over
the place and coming in here chattering to you when you want to be
quiet.”
“I called her in,” said Miss Marple. “I wanted to speak to her.”
“Well, I hope you mentioned the way the beds are made,” said Miss
Knight. “I was quite shocked when I came to turn down your bed last
night. I had to make it all over again.”
“That was very kind of you,” said Miss Marple.
“Oh, I never grudge being helpful,” said Miss Knight. “That’s why I’m
here, isn’t it. To make a certain person we know as comfortable and happy
as possible. Oh dear, dear,” she added, “you’ve pulled out a lot of your
knitting again.”
Miss Marple leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’m going to have a little
rest,” she said. “Put the glass here—thank you. And please don’t come in
and disturb me for at least three-quarters of an hour.”
“Indeed I won’t, dear,” said Miss Knight. “And I’ll tell that Mrs. Baker to
be very quiet.”
She bustled out purposefully.
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