无人生还22
时间：2026-03-19 03:00:20
（单词翻译:单击）
II
Vera Claythorne spoke in a trembling voice.
She said:
‘I’d like to tell you. About that child—Cyril Hamilton. I was nursery gov-
erness to him. He was forbidden to swim out far. One day, when my atten-
tion was distracted, he started off. I swam after him…I couldn’t get there
in time…It was awful…But it wasn’t my fault. At the inquest the Coroner
exonerated me. And his mother—she was so kind. If even she didn’t blame
me, why should—why should this awful thing be said? It’s not fair—not
fair…’
She broke down, weeping bitterly.
General Macarthur patted her shoulder.
He said:
‘There there, my dear. Of course it’s not true. Fellow’s a madman. A
madman! Got a bee in his bonnet! Got hold of the wrong end of the stick
all round.’
He stood erect, squaring his shoulders. He barked out:
‘Best really to leave this sort of thing unanswered. However, feel I ought
to say—no truth—no truth whatever in what he said about—er—young
Arthur Richmond. Richmond was one of my officers. I sent him on a re-
connaissance. He was killed. Natural course of events in wartime. Wish to
say resent very much—slur on my wife. Best woman in the world. Abso-
lutely—Cæsar’s wife!’
General Macarthur sat down. His shaking hand pulled at his moustache.
The effort to speak had cost him a good deal.
Lombard spoke. His eyes were amused. He said:
‘About those natives—’
Marston said:
‘What about them?’
Philip Lombard grinned.
‘Story’s quite true! I left ’em! Matter of self-preservation. We were lost in
the bush. I and a couple of other fellows took what food there was and
cleared out.’
General Macarthur said sternly:
‘You abandoned your men—left them to starve?’
Lombard said:
‘Not quite the act of a pukka sahib, I’m afraid. But self-preservation’s a
man’s first duty. And natives don’t mind dying, you know. They don’t feel
about it as Europeans do.’
Vera lifted her face from her hands. She said, staring at him:
‘You left them—to die?’
Lombard answered:
‘I left them to die.’
His amused eyes looked into her horrified ones.
Anthony Marston said in a slow puzzled voice:
‘I’ve just been thinking — John and Lucy Combes. Must have been a
couple of kids I ran over near Cambridge. Beastly bad luck.’
Mr Justice Wargrave said acidly:
‘For them, or for you?’
Anthony said:
‘Well, I was thinking—for me—but of course, you’re right, sir, it was
damned bad luck on them. Of course it was a pure accident. They rushed
out of some cottage or other. I had my licence suspended for a year.
Beastly nuisance.’
Dr Armstrong said warmly:
‘This speeding’s all wrong—all wrong! Young men like you are a danger
to the community.’
Anthony shrugged his shoulders. He said:
‘Speed’s come to stay. English roads are hopeless, of course. Can’t get up
a decent pace on them.’
He looked round vaguely for his glass, picked it up off a table and went
over to the side table and helped himself to another whisky and soda. He
said over his shoulder:
‘Well, anyway it wasn’t my fault. Just an accident!’
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