复仇女神12
时间：2026-01-29 07:12:20
（单词翻译:单击）
II
Two days later, Miss Marple, carrying her small overnight bag, her new
and smart suitcase surrendered to the driver, had boarded a most com-
fortable and luxurious coach which was taking a north-westerly route out
of London; she was studying the passenger list which was attached to the
inside of a handsome brochure giving details of the daily itinerary of the
coach, and various information as to hotels and meals, places to be seen,
and occasional alternatives on some days which, although the fact was not
stressed, actually intimated that one choice of itinerary was for the young
and active and that the other choice would be peculiarly suitable for the
elderly, those whose feet hurt them, who suffered from arthritis or
rheumatism and who would prefer to sit about and not walk long dis-
tances or up too many hills. It was all very tactful and well arranged.
Miss Marple read the passenger list and surveyed her fellow passengers.
There was no difficulty about doing this because the other fellow passen-
gers were doing much the same themselves. They were surveying her,
amongst others, but nobody as far as Miss Marple could notice was taking
any particular interest in her.
Mrs. Riseley-Porter
Miss Joanna Crawford
Colonel and Mrs. Walker
Mr. and Mrs. H. T. Butler
Miss Elizabeth Temple
Professor Wanstead
Mr. Richard Jameson
Miss Lumley
Miss Bentham
Mr. Casper
Miss Cooke
Miss Barrow
Mr. Emlyn Price
Miss Jane Marple
There were four elderly ladies. Miss Marple took note of them first so, as it
were, to clear them out of the way. Two were travelling together. Miss
Marple put them down as about seventy. They could roughly be con-
sidered as contemporaries of her own. One of them was very definitely
the complaining type, one who would want to have seats at the front of
the coach or else would make a point of having them at the back of the
coach. Would wish to sit on the sunny-side or could only bear to sit on the
shady side. Who would want more fresh air, or less fresh air. They had
with them travelling rugs and knitted scarves and quite an assortment of
guidebooks. They were slightly crippled and often in pain from feet or
backs or knees but were nevertheless of those whom age and ailments
could not prevent from enjoying life while they still had it. Old pussies, but
definitely not stay-at-home old pussies. Miss Marple made an entry in the
little book she carried.
Fifteen passengers not including herself, or Mrs. Sandbourne. And since
she had been sent on this coach tour, one at least of those fifteen passen-
gers must be of importance in some way. Either as a source of information
or someone concerned with the law or a law case, or it might even be a
murderer. A murderer who might have already killed or one who might
be preparing to kill. Anything was possible, Miss Marple thought, with Mr.
Rafiel! Anyway, she must make notes of these people.
On the right- hand page of her notebook, she would note down who
might be worthy of attention from Mr. Rafiel’s point of view and on the
left she would note down or cross off those who could only be of any in-
terest if they could produce some useful information for her. Information,
it might be, that they did not even know they possessed. Or rather that
even if they possessed it, they did not know it could possibly be useful to
her or to Mr. Rafiel or to the law or to Justice with a capital “J.” At the back
of her little book, she might this evening make a note or two as to whether
anyone had reminded her of characters she had known in the past at St.
Mary Mead and other places. Any similarities might make a useful
pointer. It had done so on other occasions.
The other two elderly ladies were apparently separate travellers. Both
of them were about sixty. One was a well-preserved, well-dressed woman
of obvious social importance in her own mind, but probably in other
people’s minds as well. Her voice was loud and dictatorial. She appeared
to have in tow a niece, a girl of about eighteen or nineteen who addressed
her as Aunt Geraldine. The niece, Miss Marple noted, was obviously well
accustomed to coping with Aunt Geraldine’s bossiness. She was a compet-
ent girl as well as being an attractive one.
Across the aisle from Miss Marple was a big man with square shoulders
and a clumsy-looking body, looking as though he had been carelessly as-
sembled by an ambitious child out of chunky bricks. His face looked as
though nature had planned it to be round but the face had rebelled at this
and decided to achieve a square effect by developing a powerful jaw. He
had a thick head of greyish hair and enormous bushy eyebrows which
moved up and down to give point to what he was saying. His remarks
seemed mainly to come out in a series of barks as though he was a talkat-
ive sheepdog. He shared his seat with a tall dark foreigner who moved
restlessly in his seat and gesticulated freely. He spoke a most peculiar Eng-
lish, making occasional remarks in French and German. The bulky man
seemed quite capable of meeting these onslaughts of foreign language,
and shifted obligingly to either French or German. Taking a quick glance
at them again, Miss Marple decided that the bushy eyebrows must be Pro-
fessor Wanstead and the excitable foreigner was Mr. Caspar.
She wondered what it was they were discussing with such animation,
but was baffled by the rapidity and force of Mr. Caspar’s delivery.
The seat in front of them was occupied by the other woman of about
sixty, a tall woman, possibly over sixty, but a woman who would have
stood out in a crowd anywhere. She was still a very handsome woman
with dark grey hair coiled high on her head, drawn back from a fine fore-
head. She had a low, clear, incisive voice. A personality, Miss Marple
thought. Someone! Yes, she was decidedly someone. “Reminds me,” she
thought to herself, “of Dame Emily Waldron.” Dame Emily Waldron had
been the Principal of an Oxford College and a notable scientist, and Miss
Marple, having once met her in her nephew’s company, had never quite
forgotten her.
Miss Marple resumed her survey of the passengers. There were two
married couples, one American, middle- aged, amiable, a talkative wife
and a placidly agreeing husband. They were obviously dedicated travel-
lers and sightseers. There was also an English middle-aged couple whom
Miss Marple noted down without hesitation as a retired military man and
wife. She ticked them off from the list as Colonel and Mrs. Walker.
In the seat behind her was a tall, thin man of about thirty with a highly
technical vocabulary, clearly an architect. There were also two middle-
aged ladies travelling together rather further up the coach. They were dis-
cussing the brochure and deciding what the tour was going to hold for
them in the way of attractions. One was dark and thin and the other was
fair and sturdily built and the latter’s face seemed faintly familiar to Miss
Marple. She wondered where she had seen or met her before. However,
she could not recall the occasion to mind. Possibly someone she had met
at a cocktail party or sat opposite to in a train. There was nothing very
special about her to remember.
Only one more passenger remained for her to appraise, and this was a
young man, possibly of about nineteen or twenty. He wore the appropri-
ate clothes for his age and sex; tight black jeans, a polo-necked purple
sweater and his head was an outsize rich mop of non-disciplined black
hair. He was looking with an air of interest at the bossy woman’s niece,
and the bossy woman’s niece also, Miss Marple thought, was looking with
some interest at him. In spite of the preponderance of elderly pussies and
middle-aged females there were, at any rate, two young people among the
passengers.
They stopped for lunch at a pleasant riverside hotel, and the afternoon
sightseeing was given over to Blenheim. Miss Marple had already visited
Blenheim twice before, so she saved her feet by limiting the amount of
sightseeing indoors and coming fairly soon to the enjoyment of the gar-
dens and the beautiful view.
By the time they arrived at the hotel where they were to stay the night,
the passengers were getting to know each other. The efficient Mrs. Sand-
bourne, still brisk and unwearied by her duties in directing the sightsee-
ing, did her part very well; creating little groups by adding anyone who
looked as if they were left out to one or other of them, murmuring, “You
must make Colonel Walker describe his garden to you. Such a wonderful
collection of fuchsias he has.” With such little sentences she drew people
together.
Miss Marple was now able to attach names to all the passengers. Bushy
eyebrows turned out to be Professor Wanstead, as she had thought, and
the foreigner was Mr. Caspar. The bossy woman was Mrs. Riseley-Porter
and her niece was called Joanna Crawford. The young man with the hair
was Emlyn Price and he and Joanna Crawford appeared to be finding out
that certain things in life, such as decided opinions, they had in common,
on economics, art, general dislikes, politics and such topics.
The two eldest pussies graduated naturally to Miss Marple as a kindred
elderly pussy. They discussed happily arthritis, rheumatism, diets, new
doctors, remedies both professional, patent, and reminiscences of old
wives’ treatments which had had success where all else failed. They dis-
cussed the many tours they had been on to foreign places in Europe; ho-
tels, travel agencies and finally the County of Somerset where Miss Lum-
ley and Miss Bentham lived, and where the difficulties of getting suitable
gardeners could hardly be believed.
The two middle-aged ladies travelling together turned out to be Miss
Cooke and Miss Barrow. Miss Marple still felt that one of these two, the
fair one, Miss Cooke, was faintly familiar to her, but she still could not re-
member where she had seen her before. Probably it was only her fancy. It
might also be just fancy but she could not help feeling that Miss Barrow
and Miss Cooke appeared to be avoiding her. They seemed rather anxious
to move away if she approached. That, of course, might be entirely her
imagination.
Fifteen people, one of whom at least must matter in some way. In casual
conversation that evening she introduced the name of Mr. Rafiel, so as to
note if anyone reacted in any way. Nobody did.
The handsome woman was identified as Miss Elizabeth Temple, who
was the retired Headmistress of a famous girls’ school. Nobody appeared
to Miss Marple likely to be a murderer except possibly Mr. Caspar, and
that was probably foreign prejudice. The thin young man was Richard
Jameson, an architect.
“Perhaps I shall do better tomorrow,” said Miss Marple to herself.
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