复仇女神13
时间：2026-01-29 07:12:21
（单词翻译:单击）
III
Miss Marple went to bed definitely tired out. Sightseeing was pleasant but
exhausting, and trying to study fifteen or sixteen people at once and won-
dering as you did so which of them could possibly be connected with a
murder, was even more exhausting. It had a touch of such unreality about
it that one could not, Miss Marple felt, take it seriously. These seemed to
be all perfectly nice people, the sort of people who go on cruises and on
tours and all the rest of it. However, she took another quick and cursory
glance at the passenger list, making a few little entries in her notebook.
Mrs. Riseley- Porter? Not connected with crime. Too social and self-
centred.
Niece, Joanna Crawford? The same? But very efficient.
Mrs. Riseley- Porter, however, might have information of some kind
which Miss Marple might find had a bearing on matters. She must keep on
agreeable terms with Mrs. Riseley-Porter.
Miss Elizabeth Temple? A personality. Interesting. She did not remind
Miss Marple of any murderer she’d ever known. “In fact,” said Miss
Marple to herself, “she really radiates integrity. If she had committed a
murder, it would be a very popular murder. Perhaps for some noble
reason or for some reason that she thought noble?” But that wasn’t satis-
factory either. Miss Temple, she thought, would always know what she
was doing and why she was doing it and would not have any silly ideas
about nobility when merely evil existed. “All the same,” said Miss Marple,
“she’s someone and she might — she just might be a person Mr. Rafiel
wanted me to meet for some reason.” She jotted down these thoughts on
the right-hand side of her notebook.
She shifted her point of view. She had been considering a possible mur-
derer—what about a prospective victim? Who was a possible victim? No
one very likely. Perhaps Mrs. Riseley-Porter might qualify—rich—rather
disagreeable. The efficient niece might inherit. She and the anarchistic
Emlyn Price might combine in the cause of anticapitalism. Not a very cred-
ible idea, but no other feasible murder seemed on offer.
Professor Wanstead? An interesting man, she was sure. Kindly, too. Was
he a scientist or was he medical? She was not as yet sure, but she put him
down on the side of science. She herself knew nothing of science, but it
seemed not at all unlikely.
Mr. and Mrs. Butler? She wrote them off. Nice Americans. No connec-
tions with anyone in the West Indies or anyone she had known. No, she
didn’t think that the Butlers could be relevant.
Richard Jameson? That was the thin architect. Miss Marple didn’t see
how architecture could come into it, though it might, she supposed. A
priest’s hole, perhaps? One of the houses they were going to visit might
have a priest’s hole which would contain a skeleton. And Mr. Jameson, be-
ing an architect, would know just where the priest’s hole was. He might
aid her to discover it, or she might aid him to discover it and then they
would find a body. “Oh really,” said Miss Marple. “What nonsense I am
talking and thinking.”
Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow? A perfectly ordinary pair. And yet she’d
certainly seen one of them before. At least she’d seen Miss Cooke before.
Oh well, it would come to her, she supposed.
Colonel and Mrs. Walker? Nice people. Retired Army folk. Served
abroad mostly. Nice to talk to, but she didn’t think there’d be anything for
her there.
Miss Bentham and Miss Lumley? The elderly pussies. Unlikely to be
criminals, but, being elderly pussies, they might know plenty of gossip, or
have some information, or might make some illuminating remark even if
it happened to come about in connection with rheumatism, arthritis or
patent medicine.
Mr. Caspar? Possibly a dangerous character. Very excitable. She would
keep him on the list for the present.
Emlyn Price? A student presumably. Students were very violent. Would
Mr. Rafiel have sent her on the track of a student? Well, it would depend
perhaps on what the student had done or wished to do or was going to do.
A dedicated anarchist, perhaps.
“Oh dear,” said Miss Marple, suddenly exhausted, “I must go to bed.”
Her feet ached, her back ached and her mental reactions were not, she
thought, at their best. She slept at once. Her sleep was enlivened by sev-
eral dreams.
One where Professor Wanstead’s bushy eyebrows fell off because they
were not his own eyebrows, but false ones. As she woke again, her first
impression was that which so often follows dreams, a belief that the
dream in question had solved everything. “Of course,” she thought, “of
course!” His eyebrows were false and that solved the whole thing. He was
the criminal.
Sadly, it came to her that nothing was solved. Professor Wanstead’s eye-
brows coming off was of no help at all.
Unfortunately now, she was no longer sleepy. She sat up in bed with
some determination.
She sighed and slipped on her dressing gown, moved from her bed to an
upright chair, took a slightly larger notebook from her suitcase and star-
ted work.
“The project I have undertaken,” she wrote, “is connected
certainly with crime of some kind. Mr. Rafiel has distinctly
stated that in his letter. He said I had a flair for justice
and that necessarily included a flair for crime. So crime is
involved, and it is presumably not espionage or fraud or
robbery, because such things have never come my way and
I have no connection with such things, or knowledge of
them, or special skills. What Mr. Rafiel knows of me is only
what he knew during the period of time when we were both
in St. Honoré. We were connected there with a murder.
Murders as reported in the press have never claimed my
attention. I have never read books on criminology as a
subject or really been interested in such a thing. No, it has
just happened that I have found myself in the vicinity of
murder rather more often than would seem normal. My
attention has been directed to murders involving friends
or acquaintances. These curious coincidences of connec-
tions with special subjects seem to happen to people in life.
One of my aunts, I remember, was on five occasions ship-
wrecked and a friend of mine was what I believe is offi-
cially called accident-prone. I know some of her friends re-
fused to ride in a taxi with her. She had been in four taxi
accidents and three car accidents and two railway acci-
dents. Things like this seem to happen to certain people for
no appreciable reason. I do not like to write it down but it
does appear that murders seem to happen, not to me my-
self, thank goodness, but seem to happen in my vicinity.”
Miss Marple paused, changed her position, put a cushion in her back, and
continued:
“I must try to make as logical a survey as I can of this pro-
ject which I have undertaken. My instructions, or my
‘briefing’ as naval friends of mine put it, are so far quite
inadequate. Practically nonexistent. So I must ask myself
one clear question. What is all this about? Answer! I do
not know. Curious and interesting. An odd way for a man
like Mr. Rafiel to go about things, especially when he was a
successful business and financial operator. He wants me to
guess, to employ my instinct, to observe and to obey such
directions as are given to me or are hinted to me.
“So: Point 1. Direction will be given me. Direction from a
dead man. Point 2. What is involved in my problem is
justice. Either to set right an injustice or to avenge evil by
bringing it to justice. This is in accord with the code word
Nemesis given to me by Mr. Rafiel.
“After explanations of the principle involved, I received
my first factual directive. It was arranged by Mr. Rafiel
before his death that I was to go on Tour No. 37 of Famous
Houses and Gardens. Why? That is what I have to ask my-
self. Is it for some geographical or territorial reason? A
connection or a clue? Some particular famous house? Or
something involving some particular garden or landscape
connected? This seems unlikely. The more likely explana-
tion lies in the people or one of the people on this particu-
lar coach party. None of them is known to me personally,
but one of them at least must be connected with the riddle I
have to solve. Somebody among our group is connected or
concerned with a murder. Somebody has information or a
special link with the victim of a crime, or someone person-
ally is himself or herself a murderer. A murderer as yet un-
suspected.”
Miss Marple stopped here suddenly. She nodded her head. She was satis-
fied now with her analysis so far as it went.
And so to bed.
Miss Marple added to her notebook.
“Here endeth the First Day.”
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