HAPPILY unconscious of the new calamity at home, Miss Pross threaded her way along the narrow streets and crossed the river by the bridge of the Pont-Neuf reckoning in her mind the number of indispensable purchases she had to make. Mr. Cruncher, with the basket, walked at her side. They both looked to the right and to the left into most of the shops they passed, had a wary eye for all gregarious assemblages of people, and turned out of their road to avoid any very excited group of talkers. It was a raw evening, and the misty river, blurred to the eye with blazing lights and to the ear with harsh noises, showed where the barges were stationed in which the smiths worked, making guns for the Army of the Republic. Woe to the man who played tricks with that Army, or got undeserved promotion in it! Better for him that his beard had never grown, for the National Razor shaved him close.

Having purchased a few small articles of grocery, and a measure of oil for the lamp, Miss Pross bethought herself of the wine
they wanted. After peeping into several wine-shops, she stopped at the sign of The Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, not far from the National Palace, once (and twice) the Tuileries, where the aspect of things rather took her fancy. It had a quieter look than any other place of the same description they had passed, and, though red with patriotic caps, was not so red as the rest. Sounding Mr. Cruncher, and finding him of her opinion, Miss Pross resorted to The Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, attended by her cavalier.

Slightly observant of the smoky lights; of the people, pipe in mouth, playing with limp cards and yellow dominoes; of the one bare-breasted, bare-armed, soot-begrimed workman reading a journal aloud, and of the others listening to him; of the weapons worn, or laid aside to be resumed; of the two or three customers fallen forward asleep, who in the popular high- shouldered shaggy black spencer looked, in that attitude, like slumbering bears or dogs; the two outlandish customers approached the counter, and showed what they wanted.

As their wine was measuring out, a man parted from another man in a comer, and rose to depart. In going, he had to face Miss Pross. No sooner did he face her, than Miss Pross uttered a scream, and clapped her hands.

In a moment, the whole company were on their feet. That somebody was assassinated by somebody vindicating a difference of opinion was the likeliest occurrence. Everybody looked to see somebody fall, but only saw a man and a woman standing staring at each other; the man with all the outward aspect of a Frenchman and a thorough Republicans the woman, evidently English.

What was said in this disappointing anti-climax, by the disciples of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, except that it was something very voluble and loud, would have been as so much Hebrew or Chaldean to Miss Pross and her protector, though they had been all ears. But, they had no ears for anything in their surprise. For, it must be recorded, that not only was Miss Pross lost in amazement and agitation, but, Mr. Cruncher--though it seemed on his own separate and individual account--was in a state of the greatest wonder.

`What is the matter?' said the man who had caused Miss Pross to scream; speaking in a vexed, abrupt voice (though in a low tone), and in English.

`Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!' cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands again. `Alter not setting eyes upon you or hearing of you for so long a time, do I find you here!'

Don't call me Solomon. Do you want to be the death of me?' asked the man, in a furtive, frightened way.

`Brother, brother!' cried Miss Pross, bursting into tears. `Have I ever been so hard with you that you ask me such a cruel question?'

Then hold your meddlesome tongue,' said Solomon, `and come out, if you want to speak to me. Pay for your wine, and come out. Who's this man?'

Miss Pross, shaking her loving and dejected had at her by no means affectionate brother, said through her tears, `Mr. Cruncher.'

`Let him come out too,' said Solomon. `Does he think me a ghost?'

Apparently, Mr. Cruncher did, to judge from his looks. He said not a word, however, and Miss Pross, exploring the depths of her reticule through her tears with great difficulty, paid for her wine. As she did so, Solomon turned to the followers of the Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity, and offered a few words of explanation in the French language, which caused them all to relapse into their former places and pursuits.

`Now,' said Solomon, stopping at the dark street corner, `what do you want?'

`How dreadfully unkind in a brother nothing has ever turned my love away from!' cried Miss Pross, `to give me such a greeting, and show me no affection.'

`There. Con-found it! There,' said Solomon, making a dab at Miss Pross's lips with his own. `Now are you content?'

Miss Pross only shook her head and wept in silence.

`If you expect me to be surprised,' said her brother Solomon, `I am not surprised; I knew you were here; I know of most people who are here. If you really don't want to endanger my existence--which I half believe you do--go your ways as soon as possible, and let me go mine. I am busy. I am an official.'

`My English brother Solomon,' mourned Miss Pross, casting up her tear-fraught eyes, `that had the makings in him of one of the best and greatest of men in his native country, an official among foreigners, and such foreigners! I would almost sooner have seen the dear boy lying in his---'

`I said so!' cried her brother, interrupting. `I knew it. You want to be the death of me. I shall be rendered Suspected, by my own sister. Just as I am getting on!'

`The gracious and merciful Heavens forbid!' cried Miss Pross. `Far rather would I never see you again, dear Solomon, though I have ever loved you truly, and ever shall. Say but one affectionate word to me, and tell me there is nothing angry or estranged between us, and I will detain you no longer.'

Good Miss Pross! As if the estrangement between them had come of any culpability of hers. As if Mr. Lorry had not known it for a fact, years ago, in the quiet corner in Soho, that this precious brother had spent her money and left her!

He was saying the affectionate word, however, with a far more grudging condescension and patronage than lie could have shown if their relative merits and positions had been reversed (which is invariably the case, all the world over), when Mr. Cruncher, touching him on the shoulder, hoarsely and unexpectedly interposed with the following singular question:

`I say! Might I ask the favour? As to whether your name is John Solomon, or Solomon John?'

The official turned towards him with sudden distrust. He had not previously uttered a word.

`Come!' said Mr. Cruncher. `Speak out, you know.' (Which, by the way, was more than he could do himself.) `John Solomon, or Solomon John? She calls you Solomon, and she must know, being your sister. And I know you're John, you know. Which of the two goes first? And regarding that name of Pross, likewise. That warn't your name over the water.

`What do you mean?'

`Well, I don't know all I mean,, for I can't call to mind Mat your name was, over the water.

`No. But I'll swear it was a name of two syllables.'

`Indeed?'

`Yes. T'other one's was one syllable. I know you. You wa, a spy-witness at the Bailey. What, in the name of the Father of Lies, own father to yourself was you called at that time?'

`Barsad,' said another voice, striking in.

`That's the name for a thousand pound!' cried Jerry.

The speaker who struck in, was Sydney Carton. He had his hands behind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and he stood at Mr. Cruncher's elbow as negligently as he might have stood at the Old Bailey itself.

`Don't be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross. I arrived at Mr. Lorry's, to his surprise, yesterday evening; we agreed that I would not present myself elsewhere until all was well, or unless I could be useful; I present myself here, to beg a little talk with your brother. I wish you had a better employed brother than Mr. Barsad. I wish for your sake Mr. Barsad was not a Sheep of the Prisons.

Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers. The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how he dared---

`I'll tell you,' said Sydney. `I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad, coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was contemplating the walls, an hour or more ago. You have a face to be remembered, and I remember faces well. Made curious by seeing you in that connection, and having a reason, to which you are no stranger, for associating you with the misfortunes of a friend now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction. I walked into the wine-shop here, close after you, and sat near you. I had no difficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed to shape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad.'

`What purpose?' the spy asked.

`It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some  minutes of your company--at the office of Tellson's Bank, for instance?'

`Under a threat?'

`Oh! Did I say that?'

`Then, why should I go there?'

`Really, Mr. Barsad, I can't say, if you can't.'

`Do you mean that you won't say, sir?' the spy irresolutely asked.

`You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won't.'

Carton's negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully in aid of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had in his secret mind, and with such a man as he had to do with. His practised eye saw it, and made the most of it.

`Now, I told you so,' said the spy, casting a reproachful look at his sister; `if any trouble comes of this, it's your doing.'

`Come, come, Mr. Barsad!' exclaimed Sydney. `Don't be ungrateful. But for my great respect for your sister, I might not have led up so pleasantly to a little proposal that I wish to make for our mutual satisfaction. Do you go with me to the Bank?'

`I'll hear what you have got to say. Yes, I`ll go with you.'

`I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the corner of her own street. Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not a good city, at this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and as your escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. Lorry's with us. Are we ready? Come then!'

Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life remembered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney's arm and looked up in his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and raised the man. She was too much occupied then with fears for the brother who so little deserved her affection, and with Sydney's friendly reassurances, adequately to heed what she observed.

They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to Mr. Lorry's, which was within a few minutes' walk. John Barsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side.

Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before a cheery little log or two of fire--perhaps looking into their blaze for the picture of that younger elderly gentleman from Tellson's, who had looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now a good many years ago. He turned his head as they entered, and showed the surprise with which he saw a stranger.

`Miss Pross's brother, sir,' said Sydney. `Mr. Barsad.'

`Barsad?' repeated the old gentleman, `Barsad? I have an association with the name-and with the face.'

`I told you you had a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad,' observed Carton, coolly `Pray sit down.'

As he took a chair himself he supplied the link that Mr. Lorry wanted, by saying to him with a frown, `Witness at that trial.' Mr. Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his new visitor with an undisguised look of abhorrence.

`Mr. Barsad has been recognised by Miss Pross as the affectionate brother you have heard of' said Sydney, `and has acknowledged the relationship. I pass to worse news. Darnay has been arrested again.'

Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed, `What do you tell me I left him safe and free within these two hours, and am about to return to him!'

`Arrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad?'

`Just now, if at all.'

`Mr. Barsad is the best authority possible, sir,' said Sydney, `and I have it from Mr. Barsad's communication to a friend and brother Sheep over a bottle of wine, that the arrest has taken place. He left the messengers at the gate, and saw them admitted by the porter. There is no earthly doubt that he is retaken.'

Mr. Lorry's business eye read in the speaker's face that it was loss of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, but sensible that something might depend on his presence of mind, he commanded himself and was silently attentive.

`Now, I trust,' said Sydney to him, `that the name and influence of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good stead to-morrow you said he would be before the Tribunal again to-morrow, Mr. Barsad?---'

`Yes; I believe so.'

`--In as good stead to-morrow as to-day. But it may not be so. I own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor Manette's not having had the power to prevent this arrest.

`He may not have known of it beforehand,' said Mr. Lorry. `But that very circumstance would be alarming, when we remember how identified he is with his son-in-law.'

`That's true,' Mr. Lorry acknowledged, with his troubled hand at his chin, and his troubled eyes on Carton.

`In short,' said Sydney, `this is a desperate time, when desperate games are played for desperate stakes. Let the Doctor play the winning game; I will play the losing one. No man's life here is worth purchase. Any one carried home by the people to-day, may be condemned to-morrow. Now, the stake I have resolved to play for, in case of the worst, is a friend in the Conciergerie. And the friend I purpose to myself to win, is Mr. Barsad.'

`You need have good cards, sir,' said the spy.

`I'll run them over. I'll see what I hold.--Mr. Lorry, you know what a brute I am; I wish you'd give me a little brandy.'

It was put before him, and he drank off a glassful--rank off another glassful--pushed the bottle thoughtfully away.

`Mr. Barsad,' he went one `in the tone of one who really was looking over a hand at cards: `Sheep of the prisons, emissary of Republican committees, now turnkey, now prisoner, always spy and secret informer, so much the more valuable here for being English that an Englishman is less open to suspicion of subornation in those characters than a Frenchman, represents himself to his employers under a false name. That's a very good card. Mr. Barsad, now in the employ of the republican French government, was former!y in the employ of the aristocratic English government, the enemy of France and freedom. That's an excellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of suspicion, that Mr. Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocratic English government, is the spy of Pitt, the treacherous foe of the Republic crouching in its bosom, the English traitor and agent of all mischief so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That's a card not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?'

`Not to `understand your play,' returned the spy, somewhat uneasily.

`I play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest Section Committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and see what you have. Don't hurry.'

He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of brandy, and drank it off. He saw that the spy was fearful of his drinking himself into a fit state for the immediate denunciation of him. Seeing it, he poured out and drank another glassful.

Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time.' It was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losing cards in it that Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of his honourable employment in England, through too much unsuccessful hard swearing there--not because he was not wanted there: our English reasons for vaunting our superiority to secrecy and spies are of very modern date--he knew that he had crossed the Channel, and accepted service in France: first, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among his own countrymen there: gradually, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among the natives. He knew that under the overthrown government he had been a spy upon Saint Antoine and Defarge's wine-shop; had received from the watchful police such heads of information concerning Doctor Manette's imprisonment, release, and history, as should serve him for an introduction to familiar conversation with the Defarges; and tried them on Madame Defarge, and had broken down with them signally. He always remembered with fear and trembling, that that terrible woman had knitted when he talked with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingers moved. He had since seen her, in the Section of Saint Antoine, over and over a gain produce her knitted registers, and denounce people whose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up. He knew, as every one employed as he was did, that he was never safe; that flight was impossible; that he was tied fast under the shadow of the axe; and that in spite of his utmost tergiversation and treachery in furtherance of the reigning terror, a word might
bring it down upon him. Once denounced, and on such grave grounds as had just now been suggested to his mind, he foresaw that the dreadful woman of whose unrelenting character he had seen many proofs, would produce against him that fatal register,
and would quash his last chance of life. Besides that all secret men are men soon terrified, here were surely cards enough of one black suit, to justify the holder in growing rather livid as he turned them over.

`You scarcely seem to like your hand,' said Sydney, with the greatest composure. `Do you play?'

`I think, sir,' said the spy, in the meanest manner, as he turned to Mr. Lorry, `I may appeal to a gentleman of your years and benevolence, to put it to this other gentleman, so much your junior, whether he can under any circumstances reconcile it to his station to play that Ace of which he has spoken. I admit that I am a spy, and that it is considered a discreditable station--though it must be filled by somebody; but this gentleman is no spy, and why should he so demean himself as to make himself one?'

`I play my Ace, Mr. Barsad,' said Carton, taking the answer on himself, and looking at his watch, `without any scruple in a very few minutes.'

`I should have hoped, gentlemen both,' said the spy, always striving to hook Mr. Lorry into the discussion, `that your respect for my sister---'

`I could not better testify my respect for your sister than by finally relieving her of her brother,' said Sydney Carton.

`You think not, sir?'

`I have thoroughly made up my mind about it.'

The smooth manner of the spy, curiously in dissonance with his ostentatiously rough dress, and probably with his usual demeanour, received such a check from the inscrutability of Carton,--who was a mystery to wiser and honester men than he,--that it faltered here and failed him. While he was at a loss, Carton said, resuming his former air of contemplating cards:

`And indeed, now I think again, I have a strong impression that I have another good card here, not yet enumerated. That friend and fellow-Sheep, who spoke of himself as pasturing in the country prisons; who was he?'

`French. You don't know him,' said the spy quickly.

`French, eh!' repeated Carton, musing, and not appearing to notice him at all, though he echoed his word. `Well; he may be.'

`Is, I assure you,' said the spy; `though it's not important.' `Though it's not important,' repeated Carton in the same mechanical way--'though it's not important No, it's not important. No. Yet I know the face.'

`I think not. I am sure not. It can't be,' said the spy.

`It--can't--be,' muttered Sydney Carton, retrospectively, and filling his glass (which fortunately was a small one) again. `Can't--be. Spoke good French. Yet like a foreigner, I thought?'

`Provincial,' said the spy.

`No. Foreign!' cried Carton, striking his open hand on the table, as a light broke clearly on his mind. `Cly! Disguised, but the same man. We had that man before us at the Old Bailey.'

`Now, there you are hasty, sir,' said Barsad, with a smile that gave his aquiline nose an extra inclination to one side; `there you really give me an advantage over you. Cly (who I will unreservedly admit, at this distance of time, was a partner of mine) has been dead several years. I attended him in his last illness. He was buried in London, at the church of Saint Pancras-in-the-Fields. His unpopularity with the blackguard multitude at the moment prevented my following his remains, but I helped to lay him in his coffin.'

Here, Mr. Lorry became aware, from where he sat, of a most remarkable goblin shadow on the wall. Tracing it to its source, he discovered it to be caused by a sudden extraordinary rising and stiffening of all the risen and stiff hair on Mr. Cruncher's head.

`Let us be reasonable,' said the spy, `and let us be fair. To show you how mistaken you are, and what an unfounded assumption yours is, I will lay before you a certificate of Cly's burial, which I happen to have carried in my pocket-book,' with a hurried hand he produced and opened it, `ever since. There it is. Oh, look at it, look at it! You may take it in your hand; it's no forgery.'

Here, Mr. Lorry perceived the reflection on the wall to elongate, and Mr. Cruncher rose and stepped forward. His hair could not have been more violently on end, if it had been that moment dressed by the Cow with the crumpled horn in the house that Jack built.

Unseen by the spy, Mr. Cruncher stood at his side, and touched him on the shoulder like a ghostly bailiff.

`That there Roger Cly, master,' said Mr. Cruncher, with a taciturn and iron-bound visage. `So you but him in his coffin?'

`I did.'

`Who took him out of it?'

Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, `What do you mean?'

`I mean,' said Mr. Cruncher, `that he warn't never in it. No! Not he! I'll have my head took off, if he was ever in it.'

The spy looked round at the two gentlemen; they both looked in unspeakable astonishment at Jerry.

`I tell you,' said Jerry, `that you buried paving-stones and earth in that there coffin. Don't go and tell me that you buried Cly. It was a take in. Me and two more knows it.'

`How do you know it?'

`What's that to you? Ecod!' growled Mr. Cruncher, `it's you I have got a old grudge again, is it, with your shameful impositions upon tradesmen! I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.'

Sydney Carton, who, with Mr. Lorry, had been lost in amazement at this turn of the business, here requested Mr. Cruncher to moderate and explain himself.

`At another time, sir,' he returned, evasively, `the present time is ill-conwenient for explainin'. What I stand to, is, that he knows well wot that there Cly was never in that there coffin. Let him say lie was, in so much as a word of one syllable, and I'll either
catch hold of his throat and choke him for half a guinea;' Mr. Cruncher dwelt upon this as quite a liberal offer; `or I'll out and announce him.'

`Humph! I see one thing,' said Carton. `I hold another card, Mr. Barsad. Impossible, here in raging Paris, with Suspicion filling the air, for you to outlive denunciation, when you are in communication with another aristocratic spy of the same antecedents as yourself who, moreover, has the mystery about him of having feigned death and come to life again! A plot in the prisons, of the foreigner against the Republic. A strong card--a certain Guillotine card! Do you play?'

`No!' returned the spy. `I throw up. I confess that we were so unpopular with the outrageous mob, that I only got away from England at the risk of being ducked to death, and that Cly was so ferreted up and down, that he never would have got away at all but [or that sham. Though how this man knows it was a sham, is a wonder of wonders to me.'

`Never you trouble your head about this man,' retorted the contentious Mr. Cruncher; `you'll have trouble enough with giving your attention to that gentleman. And look here! Once more!'--Mr. Cruncher could not be restrained from making rather an ostentatious parade of his liberality--`I'd catch hold of your throat and choke you for half a guinea.'

The Sheep of the prisons turned from him to Sydney Carton, and said, with more decision, `It has come to a point. I go on duty soon, and can't overstay my time. You told me you had a proposal; what is it? Now, it is of no use asking too much of me. Ask me to do anything in my office, putting my head in great extra danger, and I had better trust my life to the chances of a refusal than the chances of consent. In short, I should make that choice. You talk of desperation. We are all desperate here. Remember! I may denounce you if I think proper, and I can swear my way through stone walls, and so can others. Now, what do you want with me?'

`Not very much. You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?'

`I tell you once for all, there is no such thing as an escape possible,' said the spy, firmly.

`Why need you tell me what I have not asked? You are a turnkey at the Conciergerie?'

`I am sometimes.'

`You can be when you choose.'

`I can pass in and out when I choose.'

`Sydney Carton filled another glass with brandy, poured it slowly out upon the hearth, and watched it as it dropped. It being all spent, he said, rising:

`So far, we have spoken before these two, because it was as well that the merits of the cards should not rest solely between you and me. Come into the dark room here, and let us have one final word alone.'

幸好普洛丝小姐并不知道家里的祸事。她穿过几条小街走过了九号桥，心里计算着要想买的东西。克朗彻先生拎着篮子走在她身边。他们走进路边的大部分店铺，东看看西看看，对于成群结伙的人提高警惕，对谈得激动的人群敬而远之。那是个阴寒的夜晚，薄雾笼罩的河面灯光白炽耀眼，噪音震耳欲聋，表明了铁匠们为共和国部队制造枪炮的平底船就在那儿。跟那支部队玩花头或是在其中得到非分提拔的人要倒霉了！但愿他的胡子还没有长出来，因为“国民剃刀”总会给他剃个精光的。

普洛丝小姐买了几样东西，买了点灯油，又想起他们还需要买点酒。他们在几家酒店看了看，来到了“共和古英豪布鲁塔斯”的招牌下。那地方离国民宫（亦即两度的杜伊勒利宫）不远，那里的景象引起了她的兴趣。它看去要比她们已去过的类似地方安静一些，虽然爱国者的便帽也红成一片，却不如别的地方红得厉害。她探听了一下克朗彻先生的口气，觉得跟自己意见相同，便在这位“骑士”护送下往“共和古英豪布鲁塔斯”走去。

这两位带点外国味的顾客走进了朦胧的灯光里，经过了口里衔着烟斗、手上玩着软沓沓的纸牌或泛黄的多米诺骨牌的人，走过了一个光着上身、满身烟尘、大声读着报的人和他的听众，走过了人们挂在世卜或放在手边备用的武器，也走过了两三个躬着身子睡觉的人一一他们穿着流行的高肩粗布黑短衫，像是几头酣睡的熊或狗。他俩对这些都不加理睬，径直走到了柜台边，交代了要买的东西。

他们正打着酒，角落里有—个人跟另—个人告了别，站起身来要离开。这人必须跟普洛丝打个照面才能出去。普洛丝小姐一见到他，却鼓起掌来，而且发出尖叫。

在场的人立即全部站起身子。最大的可能是发生了争吵，有人被杀了，大家都以为会看见什么人倒下，却只见到一个男人和一个女人彼此望着。男的具有法国人和地道的共和派的一切外形特征，女的显然是个英国人。

“共和古英豪布鲁塔斯”的信徒们对这个虎头蛇尾的事件发表了什么意见，普洛丝小姐和她的保护者即使竖起耳朵也只能听见一大片喧嚷，跟听见希伯莱文或查尔底亚神谶差不多。可是两人正在惊讶，对那喧哗并未注意。必须指出，不但是普洛丝小姐又吃惊又激动，不知所措，就连克朗彻也是大出意料之外——不过他的惊诧似乎别有道理。

“怎么回事？”那位使普洛丝小姐尖叫的人说话简短，口气很烦恼，声音也很低，说的是英语。

“啊，所罗门，亲爱的所罗门！”普洛丝小姐拍着掌叫道。“多年不见，也没有听到过你的消息，却在这儿碰见了！”

“别叫我所罗门。你想害死我么？”那入悄悄地、紧张地说。

“弟弟！弟弟！”普洛丝小姐放声痛哭。“我难道就这么对不起你，你竟问起我这样残忍的问题来？”

“那就收起你那爱管闲事的舌头吧，”所罗门说，“你要想跟我说话就出来，付了酒钱出来吧。这人是谁？”

普洛丝小姐摇着她那满是爱意却又沮丧的头，流着眼泪对于动于衷的弟弟介绍道，“克朗彻先生。”

“让他也出来吧，”所罗门说。“他难道认为我是个幽灵么？”

从克朗彻先生的样子后来，他倒真像是见到了幽灵。不过，他一句话也没说。普洛丝小姐流着泪好不容易才从午提包里摸索出了酒钱付了。这时所罗门转向并和古英豪市鲁塔斯的跟随者们，用法语解释了几句，大家便各回座位去干自已的事去了。

“现在，”所罗门在黑暗的街角站住说，“你要做什么？”

“我还是那么爱他，可我的弟弟对我却冷淡得那么可怕！”普洛丝小姐叫道，“跟我见
了面就像这样没有一点热情表现么？”

“行了，行了，倒霉！”他用自己的嘴唇碰了碰普洛丝的嘴唇。“现在你该满意了
吧？”

普洛丝小姐一声不响，只是摇头哭泣。

“你若是以为我会吃惊的话，”她的弟弟所罗门说，“其实我并不吃惊，我早知道你在这儿；这儿的人大多数我都知道。若是你真的不想害我一一这我有一半相信一—就趁早去干自己的事，也让我干我的事去。我忙着呢，我是公事人，”

“我的英国弟弟所罗门，”普洛丝小姐抬起泪汪汪的眼睛惋惜地说，“是全国天分最好最了不起的人，却跑到外国来当公事人，又遇上这样的外国佬！我倒宁可看到这可爱的孩子躺在他的——”

“我早说过了，”她的弟弟插嘴叫道，“我早就知道你想害死我。我正是一帆风顺，我的嫡亲姐姐却要想害得人家来怀疑我。”

“慈悲的老天爷不允许的！”普洛丝小姐叫道。“我总是巴心巴肝地爱你，永远爱你，亲爱的所罗门。我可以再也不见你，只要你跟我说一句真心实意的亲热话，只要你说我们俩彼此没有生气，也没有隔阂，我就再也不来耽误你。”

善良的普洛丝小姐呀！姐弟俩疏远的责任竟仿佛落到了她的身上！好像罗瑞先生多年前在索霍时并不知道她这个宝贝弟弟是花了她的钱才跑掉的似的！

不过，他还是说了句亲热的话，态度勉强，居高临下，若是两人的长处和地位颠倒过来，她可是绝不至于如此的（这在全世界都一样）。这时克朗彻先生却拍了拍他的肩膀，沙声沙气发出了一个出人意外的怪问题：

“我说！能向你请教一个问题么？你究竟叫约翰.所罗门，还是叫所罗门.约翰？”

那公事人突然怀疑地转过身来——这人至今没说过话。

“说呀！”克朗彻先生说。“说呀，你心里是有数的。”（附带说一句，他心里其实无数）“约翰.所罗门，还是所罗门.约翰？她是你姐姐，当然知道你的姓名，她叫你所罗门。可我又知道你叫约翰，这你明白。这两个哪一个在前？还有普洛丝这个姓，也请你解释解释。在海那边你可不姓这个！”

“你这是什么意思？”

“唔，我也弄不清楚我的意思，因为我想不起你在海那边的姓。”

“想不起？”

“想不起。不过我可以发誓，它有两个音节。”

“真的？”

“真的。另外一个人的姓只有一个音节。我认得你。你在老贝勒是个在法庭作证的密探。以谎言之父，也就是你爸爸的名义回答我，你那时叫什么名字？”

“巴萨，”另一个声音插了进来。

“就是这个名字，我敢以一千镑打赌！”杰瑞叫道。

插嘴的人是西德尼.卡尔顿。他两手背在骑马大地的下摆里，站在克朗彻先生身边，一副满不在乎的神气，跟在老贝勒时一样。

“不要吃惊，亲爱的普洛丝小姐。我昨天晚上就到了罗瑞先生住处，他倒是吃了一惊；我们双方同意在一切正常之前，或是在用得着我之前，我哪儿都不露面。我到这儿来是想求你的弟弟赏光谈一谈的。我希望你有一个职业比巴萨先生更好的弟弟。为了你的缘故，我真希望巴萨先生不是监狱里的绵羊。”

“绵羊”是那时牢房里的黑话，意思是由典狱长控制的密探。那脸色苍白的密探脸色更苍白了，他问他怎么竟然敢一—

“我告诉你，”西德尼说，“一个小时或更早以前我在观察附属监狱的墙壁时发现了你。你从那里出来。你有一张很好记的面孔，而我又善于记住面孔。你跟那监狱有关系，这叫我很好奇。我有理由把你跟一个现在很不幸的朋友的灾难联系起来（其中的道理你不会不知道），我便跟着你来了。我紧跟你进了酒店，坐到了你身旁。我从你肆无忌惮的谈话和你的崇拜者们公开散播的谣言毫不费力就推断出了你职业的性质。这样，我偶然涉足的一件事便似乎逐渐变成了我的一个目标，巴萨先生。”

“什么目标？”密探回答。

“在街上解释怕会惹起麻烦，甚至危险。你能否赏光让我占用你几分钟时间密谈几句？比如在台尔森银行办公室？”

“是要挟我去么？”

“啊，我说过那话吗？”

“那我为什么要去？”

“倒也是，你若是不能去，我也就不愿意说了。”

“你的意思是不愿意说么，先生？”密探迟疑不决地问。

“你很理解，巴萨先生。你不去我是不会说的。”

对他心里长期秘密思考的问题和要对付的人，卡尔顿那满不在乎的神气极有利于表现他的敏捷与技巧。他那老练的眼光看清了这一点，而且充分地利用了它。

“你看，我早告诉过你不是，”密探抱怨地望了他姐姐一眼，“我要是出了事就是你害的。”

“好了，好了，巴萨先生，”西德尼叫道，“别忘恩负义了。要不是因为我非常尊重你的姐姐，我是用不着采取这种愉快的方式提出这个想让双方满意的小小建议的。你跟我去银行吗？”

“我倒想听听你的想法。好吧，我跟你去。”

“我建议先把你姐姐安全送到她住处的街角。让我搀着你的手，普洛丝小姐。这可不是一座好城市，在这种时候你没有人保护是不能上街的。既然你的保护人认识巴萨，我就打算邀请他也跟我们一起到罗瑞先生家去。想好了没有？走吧！”

普洛丝小姐随后就回忆起，而且到死也还记得，在她用手握住西德尼的胳膊、抬头望着他的脸、请求他不要伤害所罗门时，她感到那胳膊有一种鼓舞的动作，他眼里也有一种激动的表情。这不但对消了他那满不在乎的神气，而且改变了他，使他高大起来。只是那时她注意力分散，一方面要为那不值得她爱的弟弟担心，一方面还要听西德尼友好的保证，所以对自己的感觉并没有认真注意。

他们把她留在街角之后卡尔顿便领路往罗瑞先生住处走去。那地方只有几分钟的路程。约翰.巴萨，或是所罗门.普洛丝，走在他身边。

罗瑞先生刚吃完晚饭，正坐在一两小块木头燃出的快活的火焰旁。他也许是在火光里寻找当年那位年轻得多的台尔森老人吧！那人在多佛的乔治王旅馆里也曾凝视过红色的炭火，可那已是许多年前的事了。一行人走进屋，他回过脸来，看见个陌生人，脸上不禁露出意外。

“普洛丝小姐的弟弟，先生，”西德尼说。“巴萨先生。”

“巴萨？”老人重复道，“巴萨？这名字叫我想起了什么——这脸也叫我想起了什
么。”

“我告诉过你，你那脸容易让人记住吧，巴萨先生？”卡尔顿冷冷地说。“请坐下。”

卡尔顿自己坐下时向罗瑞先生皱了皱眉头说，“那次审判的证人。”他为罗瑞先生填补了迷失的环节。罗瑞先生立即想了起来，用并不掩饰的厌恶之情望了望新来的客人。

“普洛丝小姐认出了巴萨先生，他就是你听说过的很爱她的那位弟弟，”西德尼说，“他也认了姐姐。我带来了更坏的消息。达尔内又被逮捕了。”

老人大惊失色，叫道，“你说什么！我离开他还不到两个钟头呢，那时他还好好的。我正打算回他那儿去！”

“可他还是给抓走了。什么时候的事，巴萨先生？”

“若是已被捕的话，就是刚才。”

“巴萨先生的话是最权威的，先生，”西德尼说，“我是从巴萨先生喝酒时告诉他一个绵羊同伙时知道的。他跟提供信息的人才在监狱门口分了手，眼见他们被看门的放进牢去的。达尔内已再次被捕，这已无可怀疑。”

罗瑞先生精通业务的眼睛已从说话人的脸上看出了再谈这个问题只是浪费时间。他感到慌乱，却也明白某些事得靠此时的冷静，便竭力镇定，没有说话，只认真听着。

“现在我相信，”西德尼对他说，“明天曼内特医生的名字和威望还能对达尔内大有帮助——你刚才说过明天他会第二次受审，是么，巴萨？”

“是的，我相信是的。”

“明天医生还可以像今天一样对他大有帮助。可也未必尽然。我向你承认，罗瑞先生，曼内特医生竟然无法制止这次逮捕，这很，叫我震惊。”

“他可能事先并不知道，”罗瑞先生说。

“这一事实就令人吃惊，想想看，他跟他的女婿有多么亲密！”

“确实如此，”罗瑞先生承认了，一只手着急地摸着下巴，两眼着急地望着卡尔顿。

“一言以蔽之，”西德尼说，“这是一个铤而走险的时代，这个时代为粉而走险的赌博下着铤而走险的赌注。请医生去赌赢家，我来赌输家吧！在这儿谁的生命都不值得赎买。今天被抬回家的人，明天就可能被处死刑。现在，我决定下的赌注就是在形势最不利的时候把一个押在附属监狱里的朋友赢回来，而我想要击败的朋友正是巴萨先生。”

“那你可得有一手好牌呢，先生，”密探说。

“我要瞧一瞧手上有什么牌——罗瑞先生，你知道我是个粗线条的汉子，我希望你能给我一点白兰地。”

酒放到了他面前，他喝下了一杯，又喝下了一杯，这才沉思着推开酒瓶。

“巴萨先生，”他以确实在看着手上牌的人的口气说下去，“监狱里的绵羊，共和国委员会的特派员，有时管牢，有时坐牢，永远是密探和告密者。因为是英国人，所以更有价值得多。因为英国人比法国人干这种差使更少引人怀疑。不过这位英国人在老板面前用了一个假名。这可是一张有分量的牌。此时受雇于法兰西共和政府的巴萨先生当年却受颜于法兰附和自由的敌人—一英国的贵族政府。这张牌很精采，在这个引人怀疑的天地里可以作出一个明白得像白天的推论：巴萨先生仍然拿着英国政府的津贴，做着匹特的密探，正是大家谈得很多、却难得抓到的那种潜伏在共和国内部的无恶不作的英国奸细。这可是一张所向无敌的牌，你听懂了我的牌没有，巴萨先生？”

“我不明白你的打法，”密探回答，有些不安了。

“我打出一张Ａ：向最近的地区委员会告发。看牌，巴萨先生，看你有什么牌。别着急。”

他拉过酒瓶，再斟上一杯，一口灌下去。他看出那密探很怕他真喝醉了马上去揭发。看明白了这一点，他又倒了一杯酒灌下去。

“仔细看看你的牌，巴萨先生。慢慢打。”

密探那手牌比卡尔顿猜到的还要坏。他看到了西德尼;卡尔顿根本不知道的输牌。他在英国丢掉了那份体面的差使——是因为多次咬着牙作伪证失败，而不是因为那儿不需要伪证。我们英国人夸耀自己鄙视干涉隐私和密探行当的种种根据，其实是新近才出现的。巴萨心里明白，他跨过海峡到法国来当差，起初是在自己的侨胞之间做套诱和窃听的工作，后来逐渐干到法国人当中去了。他在被推翻的政府下曾做过圣安托万区和德伐日酒店的密探，曾经从密切注视着的警察当局得到有关曼内特医生的幽囚、释放和历史的资料，以便跟德伐日夫妇搭讪、从而作亲近的谈话，结果却碰了一个大钉子，败下阵来。他一想起那可怕的女人心里便发毛，那女人跟他谈话时老打毛线，老是一边动手指，一边不怀好意地望着他。以后他在圣安托万区曾见过她一次又一次地提出她所织下的记录揭露别人，而那些人的生命则一律被断头台吞掉。他跟当初干过同样差使的所有同行都知道，他一直就不安全；他已被紧紧地拴在了斧头的阴影之下，想逃也是逃不掉了。他也知道尽管他竭尽反复无常、狡猾欺诈之能事，为统治时局的恐怖活动火上加油，但要叫那斧头落到他头上只需要一句话。他可以预见只要他因刚才向他提示的严重问题受到揭发，那可怕的女人就会提出那要命的记录来控诉他，粉碎他生命的最后希望——那女入的冷酷无情他早已见识过多次了。何况干秘密活动的人都是孬种，偏又摊上这么一手黑牌，难怪他掂量着牌时早已面如死灰。

“你好像不太喜欢你那手牌呢，”西德尼非常镇定地说，“你玩不玩？”

“我看，先生，”密探转向罗瑞先生，露出一副最卑躬屈膝的神态，“老先生年高德劭，希望您向这位比您年轻得多的先生说说，请他无论如何高抬贵手，别打他那张Ａ了。我承认我是个密探，而这又是大家瞧不起的行当—一虽然密探总得有人做。这位先生既不是密探，又何苦降低身份去刺探别人的隐私呢。”

“再过几分钟，巴萨先生，”卡尔顿看看表，自己作了回答，“我就要毫不客气地打出我的Ａ了。”

“我有一种希望，两位先生，”密探说，他总想引诱罗瑞先生加人谈话，“两位对我姐姐的尊重——”

“为了表示对你姐姐的尊重，没有比让她摆脱这样一个弟弟更好的办法了，”西德尼.卡尔顿说。

“你这样想么，先生？”

“我已经完全下定了决心。”

密探那圆滑的态度跟他那身故意装得粗鄙的打扮出奇地不协调，也许跟他平时的态度也不协调。可他那圆滑却在卡尔顿的莫测高深面前碰了个大钉子——卡尔顿在比他更高明更诚实的人面前都是个谜呢！——密探犹豫了，圆滑不下去了。他正在不知所措，卡尔顿又恢复了刚才那玩牌的神气：

“我现在又想了想，的确，这几我还有张好牌没报——这牌也给了我很深的印象。你那绵羊同伙，那位朋友，说是在乡下监狱里吃草的，那人是谁？”

“法国人，你不认识的，”密探赶紧说。

“法国人，呃！”卡尔顿思考着似乎根本没有注意他，虽然重复着他的话。“唔，也许是吧。”

“的确是，我向你保证，”密探说，“虽然这并不重要。”

“虽然这并不重要，”卡尔顿以同样的机械方式重复道——“虽然不重要，确实不重要，不重要。可那张脸我确实见过。”

“我看不会的，我相信不会的，不可能，”密探说。

“不——可——能，”西德尼.卡尔顿回忆着，斟着酒（幸好那杯子不大），“不——可一—能。法语说得挺好。可我总觉得像个外国人，是么？”

“是外省口音，”密探说。

“不，是外国口音，”一道光线清楚闪过他心头，卡尔顿一掌拍在桌上。“是克莱！化了装，可还是他。我们在老贝勒见过面的。”

“那你就太冒失了，先生，”巴萨说时笑了笑，笑得他那鹰钩鼻子更歪了。“你可让我占了上风。克莱，事隔多年，我可以不用隐瞒了。我承认他是我的搭挡，可他已经死了好几年。他最后一次生病时我还照顾过他的。他葬在伦敦乡下的潘克拉斯。那时野蛮的民众很不欢迎他，使我无法亲眼见他入土，可是送他的遗体进棺材我却帮过忙。”

说到这儿罗瑞先生发现墙上出现了一个奇特的魔影，顺眼看去却发现是克朗彻先生。他的头发全都倒竖起来了。

“咱们还是清醒一点，”密探说，“讲个公道吧。为了告诉你你错得多严重，设想得多没根据，我要给你看一张克莱的埋葬证明，碰巧从那以后我一直带在记事本里，”说时他勿匆取出那证明打开。“这不是么。啊，你看看，你看看！你可以拿过去看，这可不是伪造的。”

此时罗瑞先生看到墙上的人影拉长了，克朗彻先生站起身子走上前来，头发笔直地耸起，即使他那时叫杰克造的屋里的那头母牛下垂的角顶了个跟头，他的头发也不会竖得比现在更直了。

克朗彻站到巴萨身边，没有被他发觉，像个鬼国的差役一样碰了碰他的肩头。

“那么那个罗杰.克莱，大爷，”克朗彻先生板着面孔平静地说，“是你把他放进棺材的么？”

“我放的。”

“可又是谁把他掏走的呢？”

巴萨往椅背上一靠，结结巴巴地说，“你是什么意思？”

“我的意思是他从来就不在棺材里。不在，他不在！他要是进过棺材可以砍我的头。”

密探回头望望另外两人，两人都以难以描述的惊讶望着杰瑞。

“我告诉你，”杰瑞说，“你们在那棺材里放的是铺路石和泥土。别跟我胡说什么你埋了克莱了。那是个骗局。我知道，还有两个人也知道。”

“你们怎么会知道的？”

“那有什么关系？啐！”克朗彻咕哝道，“我对你早就一肚子气。你们欺骗生意人，真不要脸！我拿半克朗打赌，一定要抓住你的喉咙掐死你。”

情况忽然急转直下，西德尼.卡尔顿和罗瑞先生大出意外，弄得莫名其妙。他们请求克朗彻先生别生气，作个解释。

“下回再解释吧，先生，”他躲闪道，“现在解释不方便。我要坚持的是，他分明知道克莱从未进过棺材。只要他敢说他进了，我就拿半克朗打赌，一定要抓住他的喉咙掐死他，”克朗彻先生把这看作是一种宽容的建议，“否则我就出门去告发他。”

“唔，我看出了一个问题，”卡尔顿说。“我手上又有了一张新牌，巴萨先生。你跟贵族政府的另一个密探有联系，这人跟你过去的经历相同，却多了一段神秘，装过死人，又活了过来！这可是外国奸细的监牢密谋，是反对共和国的。在愤怒的巴黎，空气里弥漫着怀疑，你只要一被揭发，准死无疑。一张大牌——肯定能送你上断头台的！你打算赌一赌么？”

“不赌！”密探回答。“我认输。我承认我们很不受那些蛮横的暴民欢迎。我是冒着被按在水里淹死的危险逃出英格兰的。克莱也是四面受到追捕，若不搞假出殡是逃不掉的。不过这个人究竟是怎么戳穿了骗局的，我觉得简直是奇迹中的奇迹。”

“别去为那家伙费脑筋了，”战斗性很强的克朗彻先生反驳道，“跟这位先生打交道就够你麻烦的了。听着！我再说一遍！”——克朗彻先生忍不住要夸张地炫耀一下他的豪气，“我敢拿半克朗打赌，一定要抓住你的喉咙把你掐死。”

监牢绵羊把目光从他转向了西德尼.卡尔顿，下了更大的决心说，“问题已经告一段落，我马上要上班去了，不能迟到。你刚才说有一个建议，是什么请说出来。不过，对我要求过高是没有用的。若是要求我利用职权拿脑袋去冒额外的风险，那我倒宁可试试拒绝的风险，而不是同意的风险。总之，我的选择就是这样。”

“要你干的并不太多。你在附属监狱管牢房么？”

“我跟你一句话说断，逃跑是根本不可能的，”密探坚定地说。

“我并没有要求你让谁逃跑，你干吗要这样回答？你在附属监狱管牢房么？”

“有时管管。”

“你愿管就可以管。”

“只要我愿意，我可以随便进出。”

西德尼.卡尔顿又斟满了一杯白兰地，慢慢倒进壁炉，望着酒洒在火上。酒倒完，他站起身子说：

“到目前为止，我们是在这两位面前说话，因为我这手牌的威力不能光让你和我知道。
到这边这个黑屋子里来吧，我俩单独谈谈。”