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manalive-第36章

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what view we take of the alleged letter from Curate Percy。  Under these
conditions I feel justified in claiming my right to questions。
May I ask how the defence got hold of the letter from Curate Percy?  Did it
come direct from the prisoner?〃

〃We have had nothing direct from the prisoner;〃 said Moon quietly。
〃The few documents which the defence guarantees came to us
from another quarter。〃

〃From what quarter?〃 asked Dr。 Pym。

〃If you insist;〃 answered Moon; 〃we had them from Miss Gray。

〃Dr。 Cyrus Pym quite forgot to close his eyes; and; instead;
opened them very wide。

〃Do you really mean to say;〃 he said; 〃that Miss Gray was in possession
of this document testifying to a previous Mrs。 Smith?〃

〃Quite so;〃 said Inglewood; and sat down。

The doctor said something about infatuation in a low and painful voice;
and then with visible difficulty continued his opening remarks。

〃Unfortunately the tragic truth revealed by Curate Percy's narrative
is only too crushingly confirmed by other and shocking documents
in our own possession。  Of these the principal and most certain is
the testimony of Innocent Smith's gardener; who was present at the most
dramatic and eye…opening of his many acts of marital infidelity。
Mr。 Gould; the gardener; please。〃

Mr。 Gould; with his tireless cheerfulness; arose to present the gardener。
That functionary explained that he had served Mr。 and Mrs。 Innocent Smith when
they had a little house on the edge of Croydon。  From the gardener's tale;
with its many small allusions; Inglewood grew certain he had seen the place。
It was one of those corners of town or country that one does not forget;
for it looked like a frontier。  The garden hung very high above
the lane; and its end was steep and sharp; like a fortress。
Beyond was a roll of real country; with a white path sprawling across it;
and the roots; boles; and branches of great gray trees writhing and twisting
against the sky。  But as if to assert that the lane itself was suburban;
were sharply relieved against that gray and tossing upland a lamp…post
that stood exactly at the corner。  Inglewood was sure of the place;
he had passed it twenty times in his constitutionals on the bicycle;
he had always dimly felt it was a place where something might occur。
But it gave him quite a shiver to feel that the face of his frightful friend
or enemy Smith might at any time have appeared over the garden bushes above。
The gardener's account; unlike like the curate's; was quite free
from decorative adjectives; however many he may have uttered privately
when writing it。  He simply said that on a particular morning Mr。 Smith
came out and began to play about with a rake; as he often did。
Sometimes he would tickle the nose of his eldest child (he had two children);
sometimes he would hook the rake on to the branch of a tree;
and hoist himself up with horrible gymnastic jerks; like those of
a giant frog in its final agony。  Never; apparently; did he think
of putting the rake to any of its proper uses; and the gardener;
in consequence; treated his actions with coldness and brevity。
But the gardener was certain that on one particular morning in October he
(the gardener) had come round the corner of the house carrying the hose;
had seen Mr。 Smith standing on the lawn in a striped red and white jacket
(which might have been his smoking…jacket; but was quite as like a part
of his pyjamas); and had heard him then and there call out to his wife;
who was looking out of the bedroom window on to the garden; these decisive
and very loud expressions

〃I won't stay here any longer。  I've got another wife and much
better children a long way from here。  My other wife's got redder
hair than yours; and my other garden's got a much finer situation;
and I'm going off to them。〃

With these words; apparently; he sent the rake flying far up into the sky;
higher than many could have shot an arrow; and caught it again。
Then he cleared the hedge at a leap and alighted on his feet down
in the lane below; and set off up the road without even a hat。
Much of the picture was doubtless supplied by Inglewood's accidental
memory of the place。  He could see with his mind's eye that big
bare…headed figure with the ragged rake swaggering up the crooked
woodland road; and leaving lamp…post and pillar…box behind。
But the gardener; on his own account; was quite prepared to swear
to the public confession of bigamy; to the temporary disappearance
of the rake in the sky; and the final disappearance of the man up
the road。  Moreover; being a local man; he could swear that; beyond some
local rumours that Smith had embarked on the south…eastern coast;
nothing was known of him again。

This impression was somewhat curiously clinched by Michael Moon in the few
but clear phrases in which he opened the defence upon the third charge。
So far from denying that Smith had fled from Croydon and disappeared on
the Continent; he seemed prepared to prove all this on his own account。
〃I hope you are not so insular;〃 he said; 〃that you will not respect
the word of a French innkeeper as much as that of an English gardener。
By Mr。 Inglewood's favour we will hear the French innkeeper。〃

Before the company had decided the delicate point Inglewood was already
reading the account in question。  It was in French。  It seemed to them
to run something like this:


〃Sir;Yes; I am Durobin of Durobin's Cafe on the sea…front at Gras;
rather north of Dunquerque。  I am willing to write all I know
of the stranger out of the sea。

〃I have no sympathy with eccentrics or poets。  A man of sense
looks for beauty in things deliberately intended to be beautiful;
such as a trim flower…bed or an ivory statuette。  One does not permit
beauty to pervade one's whole life; just as one does not pave
all the roads with ivory or cover all the fields with geraniums。
My faith; but we should miss the onions!

〃But whether I read things backwards through my memory; or whether there
are indeed atmospheres of psychology which the eye of science cannot
as yet pierce; it is the humiliating fact that on that particular evening
I felt like a poetlike any little rascal of a poet who drinks absinthe
in the mad Montmartre。

〃Positively the sea itself looked like absinthe; green and bitter
and poisonous。  I had never known it look so unfamiliar before。
In the sky was that early and stormy darkness that is so depressing to
the mind; and the wind blew shrilly round the little lonely coloured kiosk
where they sell the newspapers; and along the sand…hills by the shore。
There I saw a fishing…boat with a brown sail standing in silently from
the sea。  It was already quite close; and out of it clambered a man
of monstrous stature; who came wading to shore with the water not up
to his knees; though it would have reached the hips of many men。
He leaned on a long rake or pole; which looked like a trident; and made him
look like a Triton。  Wet as he was; and with strips of seaweed clinging
to him; he walked across to my cafe; and; sitting down at a table outside;
asked for cherry brandy; a liqueur which I keep; but is seldom demanded。
Then the monster; with great politeness; 
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