复仇女神37
时间：2026-01-29 07:29:20
（单词翻译:单击）
Twenty-one
THE CLOCK STRIKES THREE
I
Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow arrived very promptly at 8:45. One wore
beige lace and the other one a shade of olive green. During dinner Anthea
had asked Miss Marple about these two ladies.
“It seems very funny of them,” she said, “to want to stay behind.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Miss Marple. “I think it is really quite natural.
They have a rather exact plan, I imagine.”
“What do you mean by a plan?” asked Mrs. Glynne.
“Well, I should think they are always prepared for various eventualities
and have a plan for dealing with them.”
“Do you mean,” said Anthea, with some interest, “do you mean that they
had a plan for dealing with murder?”
“I wish,” said Mrs. Glynne, “that you wouldn’t talk of poor Miss Temple’s
death as murder.”
“But of course it’s murder,” said Anthea. “All I wonder is who wanted to
murder her? I should think probably some pupil of hers at the school who
always hated her and had it in for her.”
“Do you think hate can last as long as that?” asked Miss Marple.
“Oh, I should think so. I should think you could hate anyone for years.”
“No,” said Miss Marple, “I think hate would die out. You could try and
keep it up artificially, but I think you would fail. It’s not as strong a force
as love,” she added.
“Don’t you think that Miss Cooke or Miss Barrow or both of them might
have done the murder?”
“Why should they?” said Mrs. Glynne. “Really, Anthea! They seemed
very nice women to me.”
“I think there’s something rather mysterious about them,” said Anthea.
“Don’t you, Clotilde?”
“I think perhaps you’re right,” said Clotilde. “They seemed to me to be
slightly artificial, if you know what I mean.”
“I think there’s something very sinister about them,” said Anthea.
“You’ve got such an imagination always,” said Mrs. Glynne. “Anyway,
they were walking along the bottom path, weren’t they? You saw them
there, didn’t you?” she said to Miss Marple.
“I can’t say that I noticed them particularly,” said Miss Marple. “In fact, I
had no opportunity of doing so.”
“You mean—?”
“She wasn’t there,” said Clotilde. “She was here in our garden.”
“Oh, of course. I forgot.”
“A very nice, peaceful day it was,” said Miss Marple. “I enjoyed it very
much. Tomorrow morning I would like to go out and look again at that
mass of white flowers coming into bloom at the end of the garden near
that raised up mound. It was just beginning to come out the other day. It
must be a mass of bloom now. I shall always remember that as part of my
visit here, you know.”
“I hate it,” said Anthea. “I want it taken away. I want to build up a
greenhouse again there. Surely if we save enough money we can do that,
Clotilde?”
“We’ll leave that alone,” said Clotilde. “I don’t want that touched. What
use is a greenhouse to us now? It would be years before grapes would
bear fruit again.”
“Come,” said Mrs. Glynne, “we can’t go on arguing over that. Let us go
into the drawing room. Our guests will be coming shortly for coffee.”
It was then that the guests had arrived. Clotilde brought in the tray of
coffee. She poured out the cups and distributed them. She placed one be-
fore each guest and then brought one to Miss Marple. Miss Cooke leaned
forward.
“Oh, do forgive me, Miss Marple, but really, do you know, I shouldn’t
drink that if I were you. Coffee, I mean, at this time of night. You won’t
sleep properly.”
“Oh, do you think so?” said Miss Marple. “I am quite used to coffee in
the evening.”
“Yes, but this is very strong, good coffee. I should advise you not to drink
it.”
Miss Marple looked at Miss Cooke. Miss Cooke’s face was very earnest,
her fair, unnatural- looking hair flopped over one eye. The other eye
blinked slightly.
“I see what you mean,” said Miss Marple. “Perhaps you are right. You
know something, I gather, about diet.”
“Oh yes, I make quite a study of it. I had some training in nursing, you
know, and one thing and another.”
“Indeed.” Miss Marple pushed the cup away slightly. “I suppose there is
no photograph of this girl?” she asked. “Verity Hunt, or whatever her
name was? The Archdeacon was talking about her. He seemed to have
been very fond of her.”
“I think he was. He was fond of all young people,” said Clotilde.
She got up, went across the room and lifted the lid of a desk. From that
she brought a photograph and brought it over for Miss Marple to see.
“That was Verity,” she said.
“A beautiful face,” said Miss Marple. “Yes, a very beautiful and unusual
face. Poor child.”
“It’s dreadful nowadays,” said Anthea, “these things seem to be happen-
ing the whole time. Girls going out with every kind of young man. Nobody
taking any trouble to look after them.”
“They have to look after themselves nowadays,” said Clotilde, “and
they’ve no idea of how to do it, heaven help them!”
She stretched out a hand to take back the photograph from Miss Marple.
As she did so her sleeve caught the coffee cup and knocked it to the floor.
“Oh dear!” said Miss Marple. “Was that my fault? Did I jog your arm?”
“No,” said Clotilde, “it was my sleeve. It’s rather a floating sleeve. Per-
haps you would like some hot milk, if you are afraid to take coffee?”
“That would be very kind,” said Miss Marple. “A glass of hot milk when I
go to bed would be very soothing indeed, and always gives one a good
night.”
After a little more desultory conversation, Miss Cooke and Miss Barrow
took their departure. A rather fussy departure in which first one and then
the other came back to collect some article they’d left behind. A scarf, a
handbag and a pocket handkerchief.
“Fuss, fuss, fuss,” said Anthea, when they had departed.
“Somehow,” said Mrs. Glynne, “I agree with Clotilde that those two don’t
seem real, if you know what I mean,” she said to Miss Marple.
“Yes,” said Miss Marple, “I do rather agree with you. They don’t seem
very real. I have wondered about them a good deal. Wondered, I mean,
why they came on this tour and if they were really enjoying it. And what
was their reason for coming.”
“And have you discovered the answers to all those things?” asked
Clotilde.
“I think so,” said Miss Marple. She sighed. “I’ve discovered the answers
to a lot of things,” she said.
“Up to now I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,” said Clotilde.
“I am glad to have left the tour now,” said Miss Marple. “I don’t think I
should have enjoyed much more of it.”
“No. I can quite understand that.”
Clotilde fetched a glass of hot milk from the kitchen and accompanied
Miss Marple up to her room.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked. “Anything at all?”
“No, thank you,” said Miss Marple. “I have everything I want. I have my
little night bag here, you see, so I need not do anymore unpacking. Thank
you,” she said, “it is very kind of you and your sisters to put me up again
tonight.”
“Well, we couldn’t do much less, having had Mr. Rafiel’s letter. He was a
very thoughtful man.”
“Yes,” said Miss Marple, “the kind of man who — well, thinks of
everything. A good brain, I should think.”
“I believe he was a very noted financier.”
“Financially and otherwise, he thought of a lot of things,” said Miss
Marple. “Oh well, I shall be glad to get to bed. Good night, Miss Bradbury-
Scott.”
“Shall I send you breakfast up in the morning, you’d like to have it in
bed?”
“No, no, I wouldn’t put you out for the world. No, no, I would rather
come down. A cup of tea, perhaps, would be very nice, but I want to go out
in the garden. I particularly want to see that mound all covered with
white flowers, so beautiful and so triumphant—”
“Good night,” said Clotilde, “sleep well.”
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