Chapter 20 – J.

It was all so sudden that for a moment no one knew what had happened.

Then, with a violent exclamation, Poirot ran to the window. Challenger was with him.

A moment later they reappeared, carrying with them the limp body of a man. As they lowered him carefully into a big leather armchair and his face came into view, I uttered a cry.

'The face-the face at the window...'

It was the man I had seen looking in on us the previous evening. I recognized him at once. I realized that when I had said he was hardly human I had exaggerated as Poirot had accused me of doing.

Yet there was something about his face that justified my impression. It was a lost face-the face of one removed from ordinary humanity.

White, weak, depraved-it seemed a mere mask-as though the spirit within had fled long ago.

Down the side of it there trickled a stream of blood.

Frederica came slowly forward till she stood by the chair.

Poirot intercepted her.

'You are hurt, Madame?'

She shook her head.

'The bullet grazed my shoulder-that is all.'

She put him aside with a gentle hand and bent down.

The man's eyes opened and he saw her looking down at him.

'I've done for you this time, I hope,' he said in a low vicious snarl, and then, his voice changing suddenly till it sounded like a child's, 'Oh! Freddie, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it. You've always been so decent to me...'

'It's all right-'

She knelt down beside him.

'I didn't mean-'

His head dropped. The sentence was never finished.

Frederica looked up at Poirot.

'Yes, Madame, he is dead,' he said, gently.

She rose slowly from her knees and stood looking down at him. With one hand she touched his forehead-pitifully, it seemed. Then she sighed and turned to the rest of us.

'He was my husband,' she said, quietly.

'J.,' I murmured.

Poirot caught my remark, and nodded a quick assent.

'Yes,' he said softly. 'Always I felt that there was a J. I said so from the beginning, did I not?'

'He was my husband,' said Frederica again. Her voice was terribly tired. She sank into a chair that Lazarus brought for her. 'I might as well tell you everything-now.'

'He was-completely debased. He was a drug fiend. He taught me to take drugs. I have been fighting the habit ever since I left him. I think-at last-I am nearly cured. But it has been difficult. Oh! so horribly difficult. Nobody knows how difficult!'

'I could never escape from him. He used to turn up and demand money-with threats. A kind of blackmail. If I did not give him money he would shoot himself. That was always his threat. Then he took to threatening to shoot me. He was not responsible. He was mad-crazy...'

'I suppose it was he who shot Maggie Buckley. He didn't mean to shoot her, of course. He must have thought it was me.

'I ought to have said, I suppose. But, after all, I wasn't sure. And those queer accidents Nick had-that made me feel that perhaps it wasn't him after all. It might have been someone quite different.

'And then-one day-I saw a bit of his handwriting on a torn piece of paper on M. Poirot's table. It was part of a letter he had sent me. I knew then that M. Poirot was on the track.

'Since then I have felt that it was only a matter of time...'

'But I don't understand about the sweets. He wouldn't have wanted to poison Nick. And anyway, I don't see how he could have had anything to do with that. I've puzzled and puzzled.'

She put both hands to her face, then took them away and said with a queer pathetic finality: 'That's all...'

第二十章　“第十”

这事发生得如此突如其来，有那么一瞬间大家全怔住了。

紧接着波洛大叫一声奔出窗外，查林杰跟随着他。

他们很快就回来了，抬着软绵绵的一个人。他们把他小心地放在一张皮沙发上。我看清他的面孔以后惊呼起来：

“这就是——这就是窗上的那张脸！”

是的，昨晚从窗外窥视我们的就是这个人，我立刻认了出来。我还记得当我说他有一张死人的脸时，波洛还为此责备过我。

然而眼前的这张面孔证明了我当时的说法并无大错。这是一张迷惘呆滞的脸，跟一般人类的脸大不相同：苍白憔悴，虚弱不堪，而且变了形，好像一个假面具，看上去叫人觉得仿佛此人早就没有了灵魂；脸的另一侧下面淌满了血。

弗雷德里卡慢慢地走了过来，站在沙发旁边。波洛转身遮住了她，不让她看这幅惨淡的图画。

“你受伤了，太太？”

她摇摇头。

“子弹擦破了肩膀，没什么。”

她轻轻推开波洛，弯下身去。

那人张开了眼睛，见她正看着自己。

“我但愿这次能叫你满意了，”他恶毒地低声咆哮起来。但突然间他的声音变得同一个孩子差不多，“哦，弗雷迪，我这不是真心话，不是真心话呀。你老是对我这么宽容……”

“别难过了——”

她跪在他身边。

“我不是真的想……”

说到这里他的头猛地歪到了一边，这句话永远不会有下文了。

弗雷德里卡抬起头看看波洛。

“是啊，太太，他死了。”他轻声说。

弗雷德里卡慢慢地站了起来，低头看着死去的人，用一只手怜悯地抚摸着他的前额，然后叹了一口气，转向我们大家。

“他是我丈夫。”她平静地说。

“第十，那个始终存在的问号。”我自言自语地说。

波洛点点头，接着我的话说：

“是的，我一直就觉得存在着第十个人。我一开始就这么说的，不是吗？”

“他是我丈夫，”弗雷德里卡有气无力地说，然后一下子坐进了拉扎勒斯搬给她的一张椅子里。“我可以把一切都告诉你们了——现在。”

“他是个完全堕落的浪子，是个吸毒者，而且教我吸毒。跟他分居以来我一直挣扎着想戒掉这种瘾头。我觉得终于有了成效。这是很痛苦，很困难的，噢，难得无法想象，没有这种经历的人是完全无法体会的。

“但我摆脱不了他。他老是来讨钱——连恫吓带诈骗，或者说是勒索。要是我不给钱，他就要自杀——这便是他手中的王牌。后来他又说要是拿不到钱，不但要自杀，而且还要先把我杀掉。他是什么都干得出来的，是个疯子，是个狂妄的人。

“我认为是他杀了玛格黛勒·巴克利。当然，他要杀的不是她而是我，但他搞错了。

“我想我应当早就把这个情况讲出来了，但我毕竟只是猜测，并无凭据。而且尼克所遇到的那些奇怪的事故好像是精心策划的，这就使我感到杀死玛格黛勒·巴克利的可能根本不是他，而是另外有人。

“后来，有一天我在波洛先生桌上看见了一张撕破的纸，上面有他的笔迹，那是他给我的信的残片，于是我就惊骇地明白了波洛先生已经有了线索。

“打那时起，我觉得只是时间问题了……

“虽然我懂得玛格黛勒·巴克利小姐为什么会被打死，但巧克力糖的事我却完全想不通。他不会想去毒死尼克的，反正我看不出他这么做有什么意义。我困惑极了，一直想不出个道理来。”

她双手捂着脸，然后又缓缓松开，像要晕过去似的。

“就是这些了……”