沉睡的谋杀案26
时间：2026-01-29 07:44:11
（单词翻译:单击）
Fifteen
AN ADDRESS
The Royal Clarence was the oldest hotel in the town. It had a mellow bow-
fronted façade and an old-world atmosphere. It still catered for the type of
family who came for a month to the seaside.
Miss Narracott who presided behind the reception desk was a full-bos-
omed lady of forty-seven with an old-fashioned style of hairdressing.
She unbent to Giles whom her accurate eye summed up as “one of our
nice people.” And Giles, who had a ready tongue and a persuasive way
with him when he liked, spun a very good tale. He had a bet on with his
wife—about her godmother—and whether she had stayed at the Royal
Clarence eighteen years ago. His wife had said that they could never settle
the dispute because of course all the old registers would be thrown away
by this time, but he had said Nonsense. An establishment like the Royal
Clarence would keep its registers. They must go back for a hundred years.
“Well, not quite that, Mr. Reed. But we do keep all our old Visitors’
Books as we prefer to call them. Very interesting names in them, too. Why,
the King stayed here once when he was Prince of Wales, and Princess
Adlemar of Holstein-Rotz used to come every winter with her lady-in-wait-
ing. And we’ve had some very famous novelists, too, and Mr. Dovey, the
portrait-painter.”
Giles responded in suitable fashion with interest and respect and in due
course the sacred volume for the year in question was brought out and ex-
hibited to him.
Having first had various illustrious names pointed out to him, he turned
the pages to the month of August.
Yes, here surely was the entry he was seeking.
Major and Mrs. Setoun Erskine, Anstell Manor, Daith,
Northumberland, July 27th—August 17th.
“If I may copy this out?”
“Of course, Mr. Reed. Paper and ink—Oh, you have your pen. Excuse
me, I must just go back to the outer office.”
She left him with the open book, and Giles set to work.
On his return to Hillside he found Gwenda in the garden, bending over
the herbaceous border.
She straightened herself and gave him a quick glance of interrogation.
“Any luck?”
“Yes, I think this must be it.”
Gwenda said softly, reading the words: “Anstell Manor, Daith, Northum-
berland. Yes, Edith Pagett said Northumberland. I wonder if they’re still
living there—”
“We’ll have to go and see.”
“Yes—yes, it would be better to go—when?”
“As soon as possible. Tomorrow? We’ll take the car and drive up. It will
show you a little more of England.”
“Suppose they’re dead — or gone away and somebody else is living
there?”
Giles shrugged his shoulders.
“Then we come back and go on with our other leads. I’ve written to
Kennedy, by the way, and asked him if he’ll send me those letters Helen
wrote after she went away—if he’s still got them—and a specimen of her
handwriting.”
“I wish,” said Gwenda, “that we could get in touch with the other ser-
vant—with Lily—the one who put the bow on Thomas—”
“Funny your suddenly remembering that, Gwenda.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? I remember Tommy, too. He was black with white
patches and he had three lovely kittens.”
“What? Thomas?”
“Well, he was called Thomas—but actually he turned out to be Thomas-
ina. You know what cats are. But about Lily—I wonder what’s become of
her? Edith Pagett seems to have lost sight of her entirely. She didn’t come
from round here—and after the breakup at St. Catherine’s she took a place
in Torquay. She wrote once or twice but that was all. Edith said she’d
heard she’d got married but she didn’t know who to. If we could get hold
of her we might learn a lot more.”
“And from Léonie, the Swiss girl.”
“Perhaps—but she was a foreigner and wouldn’t catch on to much of
what went on. You know, I don’t remember her at all. No, it’s Lily I feel
would be useful. Lily was the sharp one … I know, Giles, let’s put in an-
other advertisement—an advertisement for her—Lily Abbott, her name
was.”
“Yes,” said Giles. “We might try that. And we’ll definitely go north to-
morrow and see what we can find out about the Erskines.”
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