Chapter 7 – Tragedy

The first person we saw when we arrived at End House that evening was Nick. She was dancing about the hall wrapped in a marvellous kimono covered with dragons.

'Oh! it's only you!' 'Mademoiselle-I am desolated!'

'I know. It did sound rude. But you see, I'm waiting for my dress to arrive. They promised-the brutes-promised faithfully!'

'Ah! if it is a matter of la toilette ! There is a dance tonight, is there not?' 'Yes. We are all going on to it after the fireworks. That is, I suppose we are.' There was a sudden drop in her voice. But the next minute she was laughing.

'Never give in! That's my motto. Don't think of trouble and trouble won't come! I've got my nerve back tonight. I'm going to be gay and enjoy myself.'

There was a footfall on the stairs. Nick turned.

'Oh! here's Maggie. Maggie, here are the sleuths that are protecting me from the secret assassin. Take them into the drawing-room and let them tell you about it.'

In turn we shook hands with Maggie Buckley, and, as requested, she took us into the drawing-room. I formed an immediate favourable opinion of her.

It was, I think, her appearance of calm good sense that so attracted me. A quiet girl, pretty in the old-fashioned sense-certainly not smart. Her face was innocent of make-up and she wore a simple, rather shabby, black evening dress. She had frank blue eyes, and a pleasant slow voice.

'Nick has been telling me the most amazing things,' she said. 'Surely she must be exaggerating? Who ever would want to harm Nick? She can't have an enemy in the world.'

Incredulity showed strongly in her voice. She was looking at Poirot in a somewhat unflattering fashion. I realized that to a girl like Maggie Buckley, foreigners were always suspicious.

'Nevertheless, Miss Buckley, I assure you that it is the truth,' said Poirot quietly. She made no reply, but her face remained unbelieving.

'Nick seems quite fey tonight,' she remarked. 'I don't know what's the matter with her. She seems in the wildest spirits.'

That word-fey! It sent a shiver through me. Also, something in the intonation of her voice had set me wondering.

'Are you Scotch, Miss Buckley?' I asked, abruptly. 'My mother was Scottish,' she explained.

She viewed me, I noticed, with more approval than she viewed Poirot. I felt that my statement of the case would carry more weight with her than Poirot's would.

'Your cousin is behaving with great bravery,' I said. 'She's determined to carry on as usual.'

'It's the only way, isn't it?' said Maggie. 'I mean-whatever one's inward feelings are-it is no good making a fuss about them. That's only uncomfortable for everyone else.' She paused and then added in a soft voice: 'I'm very fond of Nick. She's been good to me always.'

We could say nothing more for at that moment Frederica Rice drifted into the room. She was wearing a gown of Madonna blue and looked very fragile and ethereal. Lazarus soon followed her and then Nick danced in. She was wearing a black frock, and round her was wrapped a marvellous old Chinese shawl of vivid lacquer red.

'Hello, people,' she said. 'Cocktails?'

We all drank, and Lazarus raised his glass to her.

'That's a marvellous shawl, Nick,' he said. 'It's an old one, isn't it?'

'Yes-brought back by Great-Great-Great-Uncle Timothy from his travels.'

'It's a beauty-a real beauty. You wouldn't find another to match it if you tried.'

'It's warm,' said Nick. 'It'll be nice when we're watching the fireworks. And it's gay. I-I hate black.'

'Yes,' said Frederica. 'I don't believe I've ever seen you in a black dress before, Nick. Why did you get it?'

'Oh! I don't know.' The girl flung aside with a petulant gesture, but I had caught a curious curl of her lips as though of pain. 'Why does one do anything?'

We went in to dinner. A mysterious manservant had appeared-hired, I presume, for the occasion. The food was indifferent. The champagne, on the other hand, was good.

'George hasn't turned up,' said Nick. 'A nuisance his having to go back to Plymouth last night. He'll get over this evening sometime or other, I expect. In time for the dance anyway. I've got a man for Maggie. Presentable, if not passionately interesting.'

A faint roaring sound drifted in through the window.

'Oh! curse that speedboat,' said Lazarus. 'I get so tired of it.'

'That's not the speedboat,' said Nick. 'That's a sea-plane.'

'I believe you're right.'

'Of course I'm right. The sound's quite different.'

'When are you going to get your Moth, Nick?'

'When I can raise the money,' laughed Nick.

'And then, I suppose you'll be off to Australia like that girl-what's her name?'

'I'd love to-'

'I admire her enormously,' said Mrs Rice, in her tired voice. 'What marvellous nerve! All by herself too.'

'I admire all these flying people,' said Lazarus. 'If Michael Seton had succeeded in his flight round the world he'd have been the hero of the day-and rightly so. A thousand pities he's come to grief. He's the kind of man England can't afford to lose.'

'He may still be all right,' said Nick.

'Hardly. It's a thousand to one against by now. Poor Mad Seton.' 'They always called him Mad Seton, didn't they?' asked Frederica. Lazarus nodded.

'He comes of rather a mad family,' he said. 'His uncle, Sir Matthew Seton, who died about a week ago-he was as mad as a hatter.'

'He was the mad millionaire who ran bird sanctuaries, wasn't he?' asked Frederica.

'Yes. Used to buy up islands. He was a great woman-hater. Some girl chucked him once, I believe, and he took to Natural History by way of consoling himself.'

'Why do you say Michael Seton is dead?' persisted Nick. 'I don't see any reason for giving up hope-yet.'

'Of course, you knew him, didn't you?' said Lazarus. 'I forgot.'

'Freddie and I met him at Le Touquet last year,' said Nick. 'He was too marvellous, wasn't he, Freddie?'

'Don't ask me, darling. He was your conquest, not mine. He took you up once, didn't he?'

'Yes-at Scarborough. It was simply too wonderful.'

'Have you done any flying, Captain Hastings?' Maggie asked of me in polite conversational tones.

I had to confess that a trip to Paris and back was the extent of my acquaintance with air travel.

Suddenly, with an exclamation, Nick sprang up.

'There's the telephone. Don't wait for me. It's getting late. And I've asked lots of people.'

She left the room. I glanced at my watch. It was just nine o'clock. Dessert was brought, and port. Poirot and Lazarus were talking Art. Pictures, Lazarus was saying, were a great drug in the market just now. They went on to discuss new ideas in furniture and decoration.

I endeavoured to do my duty by talking to Maggie Buckley, but I had to admit that the girl was heavy in hand. She answered pleasantly, but without throwing the ball back. It was uphill work.

Frederica Rice sat dreamily silent, her elbows on the table and the smoke from her cigarette curling round her fair head. She looked like a meditative angel.

It was just twenty past nine when Nick put her head round the door. 'Come out of it, all of you! The animals are coming in two by two.'

We rose obediently. Nick was busy greeting arrivals. About a dozen people had been asked. Most of them were rather uninteresting. Nick, I noticed, made a good hostess. She sank her modernisms and made everyone welcome in an old-fashioned way. Among the guests I noticed Charles Vyse.

Presently we all moved out into the garden to a place overlooking the sea and the harbour. A few chairs had been placed there for the elderly people, but most of us stood. The first rocket flamed to Heaven.

At that moment I heard a loud familiar voice, and turned my head to see Nick greeting Mr Croft.

'It's too bad,' she was saying, 'that Mrs Croft can't be here too. We ought to have carried her on a stretcher or something.'

'It's bad luck on poor mother altogether. But she never complains-that woman's got the sweetest nature-Ha! that's a good one.' This as a shower of golden rain showed up in the sky.

The night was a dark one-there was no moon-the new moon being due in three day's time. It was also, like most summer evenings, cold. Maggie Buckley, who was next to me, shivered.

'I'll just run in and get a coat,' she murmured.

'Let me.'

'No, you wouldn't know where to find it.'

She turned towards the house. At that moment Frederica Rice's voice called: 'Oh, Maggie, get mine too. It's in my room.'

'She didn't hear,' said Nick. 'I'll get it, Freddie. I want my fur one-this shawl isn't nearly hot enough. It's this wind.'

There was, indeed, a sharp breeze blowing off the sea.

Some set pieces started down on the quay. I fell into conversation with an elderly lady standing next to me who put me through a rigorous catechism as to life, career, tastes and probable length of stay.

Bang! A shower of green stars filled the sky. They changed to blue, then red, then silver.

Another and yet another.

'"Oh!" and then "Ah!" that is what one says,' observed Poirot suddenly close to my ear. 'At the end it becomes monotonous, do you not find? Brrr! The grass, it is damp to the feet! I shall suffer for this-a chill. And no possibility of obtaining a propertisane!'

'A chill? On a lovely night like this?'

'A lovely night! A lovely night! You say that, because the rain it does not pour down in sheets! Always when the rain does not fall, it is a lovely night. But I tell you, my friend, if there were a little thermometer to consult you would see.'

'Well,' I admitted, 'I wouldn't mind putting on a coat myself.' 'You are very sensible. You have come from a hot climate.' 'I'll bring yours.'

Poirot lifted first one, then the other foot from the ground with a cat-like motion.

'It is the dampness of the feet I fear. Would it, think you, be possible to lay hands on a pair of goloshes?'

I repressed a smile.

'Not a hope,' I said. 'You understand, Poirot, that it is no longer done.'

'Then I shall sit in the house,' he declared. 'Just for the Guy Fawkes show, shall I want only enrhumer myself? And catch, perhaps, afluxion de poitrine?'

Poirot still murmuring indignantly, we bent our footsteps towards the house. Loud clapping drifted up to us from the quay below where another set piece was being shown-a ship, I believe, with Welcome to Our Visitors displayed across it.

'We are all children at heart,' said Poirot, thoughtfully. 'Les Feux D'Artifices, the party, the games with balls-yes, and even the conjurer, the man who deceives the eye, however carefully it watches-mais qu'est-ce que vous avez?'

I had caught him by the arm, and was clutching him with one hand, while with the other I pointed.

We were within a hundred yards of the house, and just in front of us, between us and the open French window, there lay a huddled figure wrapped in a scarlet Chinese shawl...

'Mon Dieu!' whispered Poirot. 'Mon Dieu...'

第七章　惨遭不测

那天晚上，在悬崖山庄我们碰到的第一个人是尼克。她身上裹着一件做工精细的绣龙的日本式晨服，一个人在堂屋里旋来转去地跳着舞。

“嘿，怎么是你们？”

“小姐，这样说可伤了我的心了。”

“我知道这话听起来太无礼了。但你看，我正在等他们把我定做的礼服送来。他们保证过——这些家伙——信誓旦旦地保证过会送来，可是到现在还不见个影儿！”

“哦，只不过是个穿衣打扮上的问题！今晚有个舞会对不对？”

“对，看完焰火之后我们全都去参加。就是说，如果能全部都去的话。”

她的声音突然低沉下来，但下一分钟她又在笑了。

“别当真！我的座右铭是：只要不去想，麻烦就不来。今天晚上我的勇气又恢复了，我要好好乐上一场。”

楼梯上有脚步声，尼克转过身去。

“哦，马吉来了。马吉，他们就是要在那个看不见的凶手的魔爪下保护我的侦探。把他们带到客厅去让他们把这一切都讲给你听吧。”

我们跟马吉·巴克利小姐握了手，然后她就按照尼克所吩咐的，把我们领进了客厅。这时候我对她有了好感。

我想也许是她娴静的外表吸引了我。她是个文静的姑娘。用老眼光看，会觉得她是个入画的人。她一点都不时髦，穿一件朴素陈旧的黑色礼服，脸上透出纯洁的光辉。那双蓝眼睛透着一点稚气，说起话来嗓音圆润婉转。

“尼克把那些吓人的事情告诉我了，”她说，“她肯定是在捕风捉影吧？谁会想去伤害尼克？在这个世界上她不会有任何仇敌的。”

从她说话的声调里听得出她对此事表示极大的怀疑。从她的眼光里看得出她对波洛并不那么奉承恭维。我深知马吉·巴克利那样的姑娘对一个外国人素来抱有成见。

“尽管你说得颇有道理，巴克利小姐，我还是要对你说，这一切都是真的。”波洛心平气和地说。

她没说什么，却仍然满脸狐疑的神气。后来她说：

“今晚尼克像是中了邪似的，我不知道她是怎么搞的，神气疯狂得很。”

中了邪！这个说法使我哆嗦了一下。她的语气也叫我大为不安。

“你是苏格兰人吗，巴克利小姐？”我忽然问道。

“我母亲是苏格兰人。”她说着打量了我一眼。我注意到她的眼光比刚才看波洛要温和多了。我觉得在这方面我占了波洛的上风。

“你表妹很有勇气，”我说，“她决心像往常一样行事。”

“也只能这样了，对吗？”马吉说，“大肆渲染自我感觉是无济于事的，只能叫旁人跟着难受。”停了停，她又柔声说，“我喜欢尼克，她对我一直很好。”

这时弗雷德里卡·赖斯飘然而至，我们也就没能再说什么了。她穿一件画像里的圣母常穿的蓝色礼服，看起来羸弱无力，后面跟着拉扎勒斯。接着，尼克也旋转着跳了进来。她穿一件黑色礼服，肩上围着一条旧的中国披肩，颜色鲜红，十分醒目。

“好哇，诸位，”她说，“来点鸡尾酒怎样？”

我们就喝起酒来。拉扎勒斯向尼克举起酒杯说道：

“这的确是一条少见的围巾，尼克。是旧的吗？”

“是的。是我祖父的祖公的叔公蒂莫西出门旅行带回来的。”

“美得很——古色古香的美。你找不到能跟它相配的东西。”

“它很暖和，”尼克说，“在看焰火的时候是很有用的。而且这种颜色叫人快活。我不喜欢黑颜色。”

“不错，”弗雷德里卡说，“尼克，以前我从来没有看见过你穿黑衣服。咦，为什么现在你穿起黑颜色的衣服来了？”

“哦，我不知道为什么，”那姑娘负气地走到一旁。我看见她的双唇霎时像被螫了一下似的扭歪了。“一个人做的事情并不是都能说得出理由的。”

我们进去吃晚饭。这里有了一个带点神秘味儿的男仆——我猜是为了这次请客而临时雇用的。晚饭的食物普普通通，但香槟酒却是上等的名牌货。

“乔治还没来，”尼克说，“昨晚他得赶回普利茅斯真叫人扫兴。我希望他今天晚上会赶来，至少能赶上舞会。我给马吉找了个男舞伴。如果说风情味儿不够足，外表总还看得过去的。”

窗外隐约传来一阵马达喧嚣声。

“嗨，这些该死的赛艇，”拉扎勒斯说，“简直讨厌透顶！”

“那可不是赛艇，”尼克说，“是一架水上飞机。”

“我想你说得不错。”

“当然不会错的，从声音里听得出来。”

“你什么时候去买一只这种大飞蛾，尼克？”

“等我发了财吧。”尼克大笑起来。

“那时候，我想，你会飞到澳大利亚去，就像那个姑娘一样，她叫什么名字来着？”

“我要学她……”

“我对她佩服得五体投地，”赖斯太太用困倦的声音说，“多坚强啊，简直难以想象——一个女孩子独自开一架飞机飞越太平洋！”

“我为所有这些勇敢的飞行员唱赞歌，”拉扎勒斯说，“如果迈克尔·塞顿在他的环球飞行中获得成功，马上就会成为当今的英雄。可惜他开着飞机进了坟墓。像他这样的孤胆英雄英国是损失不起的。”

“他可能还活着。”尼克说。

“不会的，连千分之一的希望都不存在了，可怜的疯塞顿！”

“他们老是叫他疯塞顿，是吗？”弗雷德里卡问。

拉扎勒斯点点头，说：

“他出身于一个相当疯狂的家庭。他的叔叔马修·塞顿爵士是个疯狂到极点的人，一个星期之前死了。”

“就是那个创办了许多鸟类禁猎地的百万富翁吗？”弗雷德里卡问。

“是的。他憎恶女人。我猜他以前大概上过女人的当，于是他一心一意爱上了各种各样的鸟儿。他曾经买下沿海一些岛屿并把它们变成了鸟类的天堂。也许这就是他的自我安慰和对女人的报复。”

“你们为什么一口咬定说迈克尔·塞顿死了？”尼克对这件事锲而不舍，“我不懂为什么要放弃希望！”

“哦，你认识他，对吗？”拉扎勒斯说，“这我倒忘了。”

“去年我和弗雷迪在托基见到过他。”尼克说，“他对人有种特别的魅力，对不对，弗雷迪？”

“别问我，亲爱的。他是你的战利品而不是我的。我记得他带你飞过一次。”

“是的，在斯卡伯勒，真叫人心里发慌。”

这时，马吉用社交场合里那种彬彬有礼的口气问我：

“黑斯廷斯上尉，你坐过飞机没有？”

我告诉她说在一次去巴黎的往返飞行中，我算是尝够了空中旅行的滋味了。

忽然尼克叫了一声跳起身来，说：

“来电话了。你们别等我，时间不早了。我约了许多人呢。”

她出去的时候我看了看表，正好九点。甜食和红葡萄酒都送上来了。波洛和拉扎勒斯在大谈艺术。拉扎勒斯发表高见，说现在图画成了麻醉品。他们又谈起家具和装饰品，不同凡响的见解层出不穷。

我尽自己的义务陪马吉谈天，但这真是一件费心劳神的事。她接过你的话茬儿愉快地往下说，一说完就停下来不出声了，于是你只得再想个新的话题出来。社交谈话是种艺术，就像打球，你把球打给我，我接住后再打给你，一来一往，方才显得煞有介事。但马吉接了球却不打还给我，谈话就老是冷场，令人发窘。

弗雷德里卡双肘拄在桌子上，一个人悄没声儿地坐在那里出神，手上的香烟升起一缕青烟，盘旋在她淡金色的头发周围，看上去就像一个正在做梦的天使。

九点二十分，尼克从门外伸进头来说：

“出来吧，诸位。客人们成双作对地光临啦！”

我们顺从地站了起来。尼克正忙于欢迎新客，他们的人数有一打，大多数是些看着叫人提不起兴趣的人。我觉得尼克可以成为一个上流社会里的女主人。她把那套轻浮的摩登派头不露形迹地藏了起来，言谈举止循规蹈矩，迎候接待礼数周全。

客人差不多全到了，查尔斯·维斯也在其中。我们一起来到花园里一个可以俯瞰大海和港口的地方，那儿预先放了几张椅子给年纪大些的人坐，但大多数人都站着看。这时第一束焰火在天上开了花。

忽然我听见一个熟悉的声音。回头一看，是尼克正在同克罗夫特先生打招呼。

“太遗憾了，”她说，“克罗夫特太太不能和你一块儿来。我们应当用个担架去把她抬来看焰火。”

“嗨，可怜的妈妈命不好啊。但她总是逆来顺受，从来不抱怨——啊，这个好看！”

一束焰火迸裂了，金色的雨点满天闪烁。

这天夜里很黑——没有月亮，新月三天以后才会出来。像一般夏天的夜晚一样，潮湿的空气里带点寒意。坐在我旁边的马吉·巴克利衣衫单薄，冷得发抖了。

“我要进去穿件衣服。”她轻轻地说。

“我去给你拿。”

“不，你不知道那件衣服在哪里，还是我去。”说着马吉向房子走去，弗雷德里卡在后面叫道：

“喂，马吉，把我的也拿来，在我房里。”

“她没听见，”尼克说，“我去拿吧，弗雷迪，我自己也要去穿件皮的，这条围巾不够暖，风又这么大。”

真的，向海上吹去的风给这清冷的夜晚又平添了几分轻寒。

海岬上也放起了焰火，天空中五彩缤纷，热闹得很。我同旁边一位青春已残的女士攀谈起来。她问起我的生活、经历、兴趣、爱好，还问我在这里打算待多久，我们的谈话活像是在进行教义问答。

“砰！”又是一发焰火射上天空，溅得满天都是绿色的星星。那些星星在空中变换色彩，一会儿蓝，一会儿红，一会儿又变成闪烁的碎银。

焰火一发紧接一发，越来越多，越来越快。波洛突然凑着我耳朵说：

“你听，到处是一片‘哦！’‘啊！’的赞叹声。可我觉得越来越单调乏味了，你说呢？砰砰嘭嘭地响成一片，还有那股硫磺气味！嗯，草地把脚都弄湿了，我会伤风的，而且这种地方大概连治伤风的药都搞不到！”

“伤风？这样美好的夜晚会叫人伤风吗？”

“哼，美好的夜晚，美妙的夜晚！你以为没有大雨滂沱就算是良宵美景了，是吗？但是我告诉你，我的朋友，要是你现在有一枝小小的温度计，你就会发现里头的水银柱都快结冰了。”

“好吧，”我同意了，“我不反对去穿件外套。”

“这才对呀，我知书明理的朋友。”

“我去给你把外套也一起拿来。”

波洛像只猫似的一会抬起左脚，一会又抬起右脚。

“我怕我的脚已经受潮了。你可有办法找双橡皮套鞋来？”

我强忍住笑说：

“搞不到的。你总该明白，波洛，这种东西长久不生产了，它们老早就过时了！”

“那么我坐到屋里去，”他说，“我才不愿意为了看这种无聊的红绿灯而伤风受凉，说不定还会来一场肺炎！”

我们向房子走去，波洛一路上还在愤愤地咕噜着。一阵响亮的爆裂声从海湾里传来，又是几束焰火在天上开了花。那些焰火组成一艘船的模样，船头到船尾还有几个亮晶晶的字：“欢迎观众！”

“在内心，”波洛说，“我们都像儿童一样。什么焰火啊，宴会啊，球赛啊，甚至还有魔术都叫我们看得欢天喜地。其实只是些骗骗眼睛的东西而已。”

这时我一手抓住波洛的膀子，另一只手把一样东西指给他看。

我们离悬崖山庄那所大房子约有一百码。在我们面前，就在我们和那扇落地玻璃窗之间的地上，蜷曲着一个人，脖子上围着那条鲜红的中国披肩……

“我的上帝！”波洛倒抽一口冷气，“我的上帝……”