复仇女神27
时间：2026-01-29 07:22:05
（单词翻译:单击）
Fourteen
MR. BROADRIBB WONDERS
“Seen The Times this morning?” said Mr. Broadribb to his partner, Mr.
Schuster.
Mr. Schuster said he couldn’t afford The Times, he took the Telegraph.
“Well, it may be in that too,” said Mr. Broadribb. “In the deaths, Miss
Elizabeth Temple, D.Sc.”
Mr. Schuster looked faintly puzzled.
“Headmistress of Fallowfield. You’ve heard of Fallowfield, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” said Schuster. “Girls’ school. Been going for fifty years or so.
First class, fantastically expensive. So she was the Headmistress of it, was
she? I thought the Headmistress had resigned some time ago. Six months
at least. I’m sure I read about it in the paper. That is to say there was a bit
about the new Headmistress. Married woman. Youngish. Thirty- five to
forty. Modern ideas. Give the girls lessons in cosmetics, let ’em wear
trouser suits. Something of that kind.”
“Hum,” said Mr. Broadribb, making the noise that solicitors of his age
are likely to make when they hear something which elicits criticism based
on long experience. “Don’t think she’ll ever make the name that Elizabeth
Temple did. Quite someone, she was. Been there a long time, too.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Schuster, somewhat uninterested. He wondered why
Broadribb was so interested in defunct schoolmistresses.
Schools were not really of particular interest to either of the two gentle-
men. Their own offspring were now more or less disposed of. Mr.
Broadribb’s two sons were respectively in the Civil Service and in an oil
firm, and Mr. Schuster’s rather younger progeny were at different univer-
sities where both of them respectively were making as much trouble for
those in authority as they possibly could do. He said,
“What about her?”
“She was on a coach tour,” said Mr. Broadribb.
“Those coaches,” said Mr. Schuster. “I wouldn’t let any of my relations
go on one of those. One went off a precipice in Switzerland last week and
two months ago one had a crash and twenty were killed. Don’t know who
drives these things nowadays.”
“It was one of those Country Houses and Gardens and Objects of Interest
in Britain—or whatever they call it—tours,” said Mr. Broadribb. “That’s
not quite the right name, but you know what I mean.”
“Oh yes, I know. Oh the—er—yes, that’s the one we sent Miss What’s-a-
name on. The one old Rafiel booked.”
“Miss Jane Marple was on it.”
“She didn’t get killed too, did she?” asked Mr. Schuster.
“Not so far as I know,” said Mr. Broadribb. “I just wondered a bit,
though.”
“Was it a road accident?”
“No. It was at one of the beauty spot places. They were walking on a
path up a hill. It was a stiff walk. Up a rather steep hill with boulders and
things on it. Some of the boulders got loose and came rushing down the
mountainside. Miss Temple was knocked out and taken to hospital with
concussion and died—”
“Bad luck,” said Mr. Schuster, and waited for more.
“I only wondered,” said Mr. Broadribb, “because I happened to remem-
ber that—well, that Fallowfield was the school where the girl was at.”
“What girl? I don’t really know what you’re talking about, Broadribb.”
“The girl who was done in by young Michael Rafiel. I was just recalling a
few things which might seem to have some slight connection with this
curious Jane Marple business that old Rafiel was so keen on. Wish he’d
told us more.”
“What’s the connection?” said Mr. Schuster.
He looked more interested now. His legal wits were in process of being
sharpened, to give a sound opinion on whatever it was that Mr. Broadribb
was about to confide to him.
“That girl. Can’t remember her last name now. Christian name was
Hope or Faith or something like that. Verity, that was her name. Verity
Hunter, I think it was. She was one of that series of murdered girls. Found
her body in a ditch about thirty miles away from where she’d gone miss-
ing. Been dead six months. Strangled apparently, and her head and face
had been bashed in—to delay recognition, they thought, but she was recog-
nized all right. Clothes, handbag, jewellery nearby—some mole or scar. Oh
yes, she was identified quite easily—”
“Actually, she was the one the trial was all about, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. Suspected of having done away with perhaps three other girls dur-
ing the past year, Michael was. But evidence wasn’t so good in the other
deaths—so the police went all out on this one—plenty of evidence—bad
record. Earlier cases of assault and rape. Well, we all know what rape is
nowadays. Mum tells the girl she’s got to accuse the young man of rape
even if the young man hasn’t had much chance, with the girl at him all the
time to come to the house while mum’s away at work or dad’s gone on hol-
iday. Doesn’t stop badgering him until she’s forced him to sleep with her.
Then, as I say, mum tells the girl to call it rape. However, that’s not the
point,” said Mr. Broadribb. “I wondered if things mightn’t tie up a bit, you
know. I thought this Jane Marple business with Rafiel might have some-
thing to do with Michael.”
“Found guilty, wasn’t he? And given a life sentence?”
“I can’t remember now—it’s so long ago. Or did they get away with a
verdict of diminished responsibility?”
“And Verity Hunter or Hunt was educated at that school. Miss Temple’s
school? She wasn’t still a schoolgirl though, was she, when she was killed?
Not that I can remember.”
“Oh no. She was eighteen or nineteen, living with relations or friends of
her parents, or something like that. Nice house, nice people, nice girl by all
accounts. The sort of girl whose relations always say ‘she was a very quiet
girl, rather shy, didn’t go about with strange people and had no boy-
friends.’ Relations never know what boyfriends a girl has. The girls take
mighty good care of that. And young Rafiel was said to be very attractive
to girls.”
“Never been any doubt that he did it?” asked Mr. Schuster.
“Not a scrap. Told a lot of lies in the witness box, anyway. His Counsel
would have done better not to have let him give evidence. A lot of his
friends gave him an alibi that didn’t stand up, if you know what I mean.
All his friends seemed to be fluent liars.”
“What’s your feeling about it, Broadribb?”
“Oh, I haven’t got any feelings,” said Mr. Broadribb, “I was just wonder-
ing if this woman’s death might tie up.”
“In what way?”
“Well, you know—about these boulders that fall down cliff sides and
drop on top of someone. It’s not always in the course of nature. Boulders
usually stay where they are, in my experience.”
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