沉睡的谋杀案20
时间：2026-01-29 07:41:36
（单词翻译:单击）
Eleven
THE MEN IN HER LIFE
I
Miss Marple crossed Sea Parade and walked along Fore Street, turning up
the hill by the Arcade. The shops here were the old-fashioned ones. A wool
and art needlework shop, a confectioner, a Victorian-looking Ladies’ Out-
fitter and Draper and others of the same kind.
Miss Marple looked in at the window of the art needlework shop. Two
young assistants were engaged with customers, but an elderly woman at
the back of the shop was free.
Miss Marple pushed open the door and went in. She seated herself at the
counter and the assistant, a pleasant woman with grey hair, asked, “What
can I do for you, madam?”
Miss Marple wanted some pale blue wool to knit a baby’s jacket. The
proceedings were leisurely and unhurried. Patterns were discussed, Miss
Marple looked through various children’s knitting books and in the course
of it discussed her great-nephews and nieces. Neither she nor the assistant
displayed impatience. The assistant had attended to customers such as
Miss Marple for many years. She preferred these gentle, gossipy, rambling
old ladies to the impatient, rather impolite young mothers who didn’t
know what they wanted and had an eye for the cheap and showy.
“Yes,” said Miss Marple. “I think that will be very nice indeed. And I al-
ways find Storkleg so reliable. It really doesn’t shrink. I think I’ll take an
extra two ounces.”
The assistant remarked that the wind was very cold today, as she
wrapped up the parcel.
“Yes, indeed, I noticed it as I was coming along the front. Dillmouth has
changed a good deal. I have not been here for, let me see, nearly nineteen
years.”
“Indeed, madam? Then you will find a lot of changes. The Superb wasn’t
built then, I suppose, nor the Southview Hotel?”
“Oh no, it was quite a small place. I was staying with friends … A house
called St. Catherine’s—perhaps you know it? On the Leahampton road.”
But the assistant had only been in Dillmouth a matter of ten years.
Miss Marple thanked her, took the parcel, and went into the draper’s
next door. Here, again, she selected an elderly assistant. The conversation
ran much on the same lines, to an accompaniment of summer vests. This
time, the assistant responded promptly.
“That would be Mrs. Findeyson’s house.”
“Yes—yes. Though the friends I knew had it furnished. A Major Halliday
and his wife and a baby girl.”
“Oh yes, madam. They had it for about a year, I think.”
“Yes. He was home from India. They had a very good cook—she gave me
a wonderful recipe for baked apple pudding—and also, I think, for ginger-
bread. I often wonder what became of her.”
“I expect you mean Edith Pagett, madam. She’s still in Dillmouth. She’s
in service now—at Windrush Lodge.”
“Then there were some other people—the Fanes. A lawyer, I think he
was!”
“Old Mr. Fane died some years ago—young Mr. Fane, Mr. Walter Fane,
lives with his mother. Mr. Walter Fane never married. He’s the senior
partner now.”
“Indeed? I had an idea Mr. Walter Fane had gone out to India—tea-
planting or something.”
“I believe he did, madam. As a young man. But he came home and went
into the firm after about a year or two. They do all the best business round
here—they’re very highly thought of. A very nice quiet gentleman, Mr.
Walter Fane. Everybody likes him.”
“Why, of course,” exclaimed Miss Marple. “He was engaged to Miss
Kennedy, wasn’t he? And then she broke it off and married Major Halli-
day.”
“That’s right, madam. She went out to India to marry Mr. Fane, but it
seems as she changed her mind and married the other gentleman in-
stead.”
A faintly disapproving note had entered the assistant’s voice.
Miss Marple leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“I was always so sorry for poor Major Halliday (I knew his mother) and
his little girl. I understand his second wife left him. Ran way with
someone. A rather flighty type, I’m afraid.”
“Regular flibbertigibbet, she was. And her brother the doctor, such a
nice man. Did my rheumatic knee a world of good.”
“Whom did she run away with? I never heard.”
“That I couldn’t tell you, madam. Some said it was one of the summer
visitors. But I know Major Halliday was quite broken up. He left the place
and I believe his health gave way. Your change, madam.”
Miss Marple accepted her change and her parcel.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I wonder if—Edith Pagett, did you say—
still has that nice recipe for gingerbread? I lost it—or rather my careless
maid lost it—and I’m so fond of good gingerbread.”
“I expect so, madam. As a matter of fact her sister lives next door here,
married to Mr. Mountford, the confectioner. Edith usually comes there on
her days out and I’m sure Mrs. Mountford would give her a message.”
“That’s a very good idea. Thank you so much for all the trouble you’ve
taken.”
“A pleasure, madam, I assure you.”
Miss Marple went out into the street.
“A nice old-fashioned firm,” she said to herself. “And those vests are
really very nice, so it isn’t as though I had wasted any money.” She
glanced at the pale blue enamel watch that she wore pinned to one side of
her dress. “Just five minutes to go before meeting those two young things
at the Ginger Cat. I hope they didn’t find things too upsetting at the Sanat-
orium.”
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