chapter 25 a luncheon party
it was, i think, on the day after that that we went to the widburns’ luncheon party at claridge’s.
neither poirot nor i were particularly anxious to go. it was, as a matter of fact, about the sixth invitation we had received. mrs widburn was a persistent woman and she liked celebrities. undaunted by refusals, she finally offered such a choice of dates that capitulation was inevitable. under those circumstances the sooner we went and got it over the better.
poirot had been very uncommunicative ever since the news from paris.
to my remarks on the subject he returned always the same answer.
‘there is something here i do not comprehend.’
and once or twice he murmured to himself.
‘pince-nez. pince-nez in paris.
pince-nez in carlotta adams’ bag.’
i really felt glad of the luncheon party as a means of distraction.
young donald ross was there and came up and greeted me cheerily. there were more men than women and he was put next to me at table.
jane wilkinson sat almost opposite us, and next to her, between her and mrs widburn, sat the young duke of merton.
i fancied – of course it may have been only my fancy – that he looked slightly ill at ease. the company in which he found himself was, so i should imagine, little to his liking. he was a strictly conservative and somewhat reactionary young man – the kind of character that seemed to have stepped out of the middle ages by some regrettable mistake. his infatuation for the extremely modern jane wilkinson was one of those anachronistic jokes that nature so loves to play.
seeing jane’s beauty and appreciating the charm that her exquisitely husky voice lent to the most trite utterances, i could hardly wonder at his capitulation. but one can get used to perfect beauty and an intoxicating voice! it crossed my mind that perhaps even now a ray of common-sense was dissipating the mists of intoxicated love. it was a chance remark – a rather humiliating gaffe on jane’s part that gave me that impression.
somebody – i forgot who – had uttered the phrase ‘judgement of paris’, and straight away jane’s delightful voice was uplifted.
‘paris?’ she said. ‘why, paris doesn’t cut any ice nowadays. it’s london and new york that count.’
as sometimes happens, the words fell in a momentary lull of conversation. it was an awkward moment. on my right i heard donald ross draw his breath sharply. mrs widburn began to talk violently about russian opera. everyone hastily said something to somebody else. jane alone looked serenely up and down the table without the least consciousness of having said anything amiss.
it was then i noticed the duke. his lips were drawn tightly together, he had flushed, and it seemed to me as though he drew slightly away from jane. he must have had a foretaste of the fact that for a man of his position to marry a jane wilkinson might lead to some awkward contretemps.
as so often happens, i made the first remark that came into my head to my left-hand neighbour, a stout titled lady who arranged children’s matinees. i remember that the remark in question was: ‘who is that extraordinary looking woman in purple at the other end of the table?’ it was, of course, the lady’s sister! having stammered apologies, i turned and chatted to ross, who answered in monosyllables.
it was then, rebuffed on both sides, that i noticed bryan martin. he must have been late for i had not seen him before.
he was a little way further down the table on my side and was leaning forward and chatting with great animation to a pretty blonde woman.
it was some time since i had seen him at close quarters, and i was struck at once by the great improvement in his looks. the haggard lines had almost disappeared. he looked younger and in every way more fit. he was laughing and chaffing his vis-à-vis and seemed in first-rate spirits.
i did not have time to observe him further, for at that moment my stout neighbour forgave me and graciously permitted me to listen to a long monologue on the beauties of a children’s matinee which she was organizing for charity.
poirot had to leave early as he had an appointment. he was investigating the strange disappearance of an ambassador’s boots and had a rendezvous fixed for half-past two. he charged me to make his adieus to mrs widburn. while i was waiting to do so – not an easy matter, for she was at the moment closely surrounded by departing friends all breathing out ‘darlings’ at a great rate – somebody touched me on the shoulder.
it was young ross.
‘isn’t m. poirot here? i wanted to speak to him.’
i explained that poirot had just departed.
ross seemed taken aback. looking more closely at him, i saw that something seemed to have upset him. he looked white and strained and he had a queer uncertain look in his eyes.
‘did you want to see him particularly?’ i asked.
he answered slowly.
‘i – don’t know.’
it was such a queer answer that i stared at him in surprise. he flushed.
‘it sounds odd, i know. the truth is that something rather queer has happened. something that i can’t make out. i – i’d like m. poirot’s advice about it. because, you see, i don’t know what to do – i don’t want to bother him, but –’
he looked so puzzled and unhappy that i hastened to reassure him.
‘poirot has gone to keep an appointment,’ i said. ‘but i know he means to be back for five o’clock. why not ring him up then, or come and see him?’
‘thanks. do you know, i think i will. five o’clock?’
‘better ring up first,’ i said, ‘and make sure before coming round.’
‘all right. i will. thanks, hastings. you see, i think it might – just might – be very important.’
i nodded and turned again to where mrs widburn was dispensing honied words and limp handshakes.
my duty done, i was turning away when a hand was slipped through my arm.
‘don’t cut me,’ said a merry voice.
it was jenny driver – looking extremely chic, by the way.
‘hello,’ i said. ‘where have you sprung from?’
‘i was lunching at the next table to you.’
‘i didn’t see you. how is business?’
‘booming, thank you.’
‘the soup plates going well?’
‘soup plates, as you rudely call them, are going very well. when everybody has got thoroughly laden up with them, there’s going to be dirty work done. something like a blister with a feather attached is going to be worn bang in the middle of the forehead.’
‘unscrupulous,’ i said.
‘not at all. somebody must come to the rescue of the ostriches. they’re all on the dole.’
she laughed and moved away.
‘good-bye. i’m taking an afternoon off from business. going for a spin in the country.’
‘and very nice too,’ i said approvingly. ‘it’s stifling in london today.’
i myself walked leisurely through the park. i reached home about four o’clock. poirot had not yet come in. it was twenty minutes to five when he returned. he was twinkling and clearly in a good humour.
‘i see, holmes,’ i remarked, ‘that you have tracked the ambassadorial boots.’
‘it was a case of cocaine smuggling. very ingenious. for the last hour i have been in a ladies’ beauty parlour. there was a girl there with auburn hair who would have captured your susceptible heart at once.’
poirot always has the impression that i am particularly susceptible to auburn hair. i do not bother to argue about it.
the telephone rang.
‘that’s probably donald ross,’ i said as i went across to the instrument.
‘donald ross?’
‘yes, the young man we met at chiswick. he wants to see you about something.’
i took down the receiver.
‘hello. captain hastings speaking.’
it was ross.
‘oh! is that you, hastings? has m. poirot come in?’
‘yes, he’s here now. do you want to speak to him or are you coming round?’
‘it’s nothing much. i can tell him just as well over the telephone.’
‘right. hold on.’
poirot came forward and took the receiver. i was so close that i could hear, faintly, ross’s voice.
‘is that m. poirot?’ the voice sounded eager – excited.
‘yes, it is i.’
‘look here, i don’t want to bother you, but there’s something that seems to me a bit odd. it’s in connection with lord edgware’s death.’
i saw poirot’s figure go taut.
‘continue, continue.’
‘it may seem just nonsense to you –’
‘no, no. tell me, all the same.’
‘it was paris set me off. you see –’ very faintly i heard a bell trilling.
‘half a second,’ said ross.
there was the sound of the receiver being laid down. we waited. poirot at the mouthpiece. i was standing beside him.
i say – we waited . . .
two minutes passed . . . three minutes – four minutes – five minutes.
poirot shifted his feet uneasily. he glanced up at the clock.
then he moved the hook up and down and spoke to the exchange. he turned to me.
‘the receiver is still off at the other end, but there is no reply. they cannot get an answer. quick, hastings, look up ross’s address in the telephone book. we must go there at once.’
第二十五章 午宴
我想是在这以后的一天，我们去克莱瑞奇饭店出席威德伯恩家的午宴。波洛和我都不热心参加。事实上，这已是我们第六次收到邀请了。威德伯恩夫人咳说是百折不挠，千方百计结交名人。她不顾被拒绝，多次邀请，最终让你无法拒绝。这种情况下，我们还是早点应酬一下为好。自从巴黎那边来了消息，波洛一直不大讲话。我每每提起这见事，他总是用同样的一种回答。“这里面有些事我不明白。”有一两次，他自言自语地说话。“夹鼻眼镜，夹鼻眼睛在巴黎。夹鼻——眼镜，在卡洛塔·亚当斯的包里。”我真高兴这个宴会可以让他换换脑筋。
年轻的唐纳德。罗斯也在那里。看见我们便愉快地过来打招呼。因为宴会上男人多，女人少。所以他正好被安排到我旁边。
简·威尔金森就坐在我对面。她旁边。在她与威德伯恩夫人之间，坐着年轻的默顿公爵。
我想——当然只是我的想象——默顿公爵不是很自在。我想，在座的人士，似乎不合他口味。他是一个绝对保守，并带有几分反抗情绪的青年。他这种人，就好像刚刚从中世纪出来，误入现代社会一样。他对那位极端现代派的简·威尔金森的迷恋就好像一个造物主专门喜欢开的时代错误的玩笑。
我看到简的美貌，深知她那沙哑的声音不论讲什么陈词滥调都会令人入迷。她能迷住公爵，我毫不惊奇。但美貌和迷人的声音，日子久了也就熟悉了。我脑中突发一个念头，好像有一丝普通常识的光线正驱散那迷恋的浓雾。那是因为一句偶然说的话——简说的话让自己出了丑，使我有这样的印象。
有人——我忘了是谁——说了一个词组“帕里斯的评判”9，简立刻用她迷人的腔调说话了。
“巴黎？”她说，“目前巴黎才没什么了不起的。伦敦和纽约才算得上。”
正如常发生的事一样，大家听了一时鸦雀无声，情形非常窘迫。我听到我右面的唐纳德。罗斯倒抽了一口凉气。威德伯恩先生开始大讲俄国戏剧。每个人都急忙找一个人说话。简自个看看桌这头，望望桌那头”毫不觉得说错了话。
这时我注意到公爵的表情。他嘴唇紧闭。脸上发红。在我看来，似乎移了移。以离简远一点。他一定预料到像他这样有地位的人和像筒。威尔金森这类的人物结合将常常会有这种尴尬、令人失望的场面。
正如平素一样，赶紧与我左边的一位矮胖的、有爵位的夫人讲话，是专门为儿童安排游艺节目的。我记得我的问题是，子那边穿紫衣服、很抢眼的那个女孩是谁？结果。原来是这个夫人的妹妹！结结巴巴地道歉之后。我转过来与唐纳德。罗斯聊天，他的回答也只有一两个字。
就在左右不讨好的时候，注意到布赖恩·马丁。他好像迟到了，为此前我并未见到他。
他坐在我这一边，过去一点。他正身子前倾着，劲地与一个金发碧眼的女郎说话。
我有一段时间没从这么近观察他了。我立刻觉得他的面貌有所改进。那憔悴的皱纹几乎不见了。他显得更年轻、健康了。他正哈哈大笑。很有兴致地与那位女士说笑。
我没有时间再观察他了，为我那位矮胖的芳邻己经宽恕了我的失言，以和蔼的态度淮许我听她那长长的独白了。她所谈的是关于她筹备的一个慈善性儿童游艺会有多好。
波洛因为有约会而必须提早离席。他在调查一位大使的靴子奇怪地不见了的案子，好是两点半钟面谈。他让我代他向威德伯恩夫人告别。这可不是一件容易的事。因为这时，正被一些要离开的客人团团围住。她正在匆匆忙忙地对每个人说“亲爱的”之类的话。这时有人拍了拍我的肩膀。
是年轻的罗斯先生。
“波洛先生在这里吗？我想与他谈谈。”
我解释说，刚刚离开。
罗斯似乎很吃惊。我仔细看他，现他好像在被什么事所困扰。他面色苍白，情紧张，眼露出一种难以捕捉的神色。
“您特别想见他吗？”我问。
他慢慢地回答：
“我——不知道。”
他这个回答非常奇怪，我吃惊地瞪着他。他的脸红了。
“我知道，这听起来很奇怪。可实际上是发生了奇怪的事情。我摸不清是怎么回事。我想请教波洛先生。我不知道该怎么办。我本不想麻烦他，但是——”
他的样子很困惑，不开心。我连忙安慰他。
“波洛是有一个约会。”我说，“但我知道他五点会回来的。到那时，您可以给他打电话，或来见他。”
“谢谢。您知道，我会的。是五点吗？”
“最好先打电话。”我说，“来之前先问清楚。”
“好的，我会的。谢谢，黑斯廷斯。您知道，我想这可能——只是可能——非常重要。”
我点点头，又去找威德伯恩夫人。她正说着甜美的话儿，久久地与客人握手道别。
我完成了任务，正要走开，忽然一只手勾住了我的胳膊。
“别不理我啊。”一个愉快的声音说。
原来是詹尼。德赖弗——今天特别漂亮。
“您好。”我说，“您从哪儿冒出来的？”
“我就在你们旁边的一桌吃饭啊。”
“我没有看见您。生意怎么样？”
“谢谢，很兴旺。”
“汤盘子卖得还好？”
“您所粗鲁地称之为汤盘子的东西卖得很好。当大家都大量购买以后。又会有更恶心的事发生的。会有人在帽子上插上一根羽毛，像伤疤一样，还会被戴到脑门子正中的。”
“真不像话！”我说。
“才不是的。总得有人救救驼鸟啊。它们正靠救济金活着呢。”
她笑着走开了。
“再见。我下午不做生意了，准备到乡下去走走。”
“这是个好主意，”我赞同地说，“如今伦敦天气太闷了。”
我自己悠闲地从公园走过，到家的时候大约已经有四点了。波洛还没有回来。他是四点四十分回来的。他两眼发亮。分明是心情很好。
“我看，福尔摩斯。”我说，“你一定是找到了大使的靴子了。”
“这是一个偷运毒品的案子。很巧妙的。刚才的一个小时之内，我是在美容院里。那里有一位褐发女子，会立刻迷住你这个多情者的。”
波洛总以为我喜欢褐色头发。我没心情与他争辩。
电话铃响了。
“可能是唐纳德。罗斯。”我去接电话时说。
“唐纳德。罗斯？”
“是的，我们在齐西克遇到的那个年轻人，他想找你谈些事。”
我拿下听筒。
“您好。我是黑斯廷斯上尉。”
原来是罗斯。
“噢，是您，黑斯廷斯。波洛先生回来了吗？”
“是的。现在他在这。你是想与他谈还是亲自来这？”
“没多少话，我想和他在电话里谈谈也好。”
“好吧。等一下。”
波洛走过来拿起听简。因为我离得很近，所以能隐约听到罗斯的声音。
“是波洛先生吗？”那声音听起来很急切，很紧张。
“是的，是我。”
“您看，我本不想打扰您，但有一件事，我觉得很怪。是和埃奇韦尔男爵之死一案有关。”
我看见波洛的脸突然绷得紧紧的。
“说下去，说下去。”
“您听起来也许觉得无聊。”
“不会的，不会的。告诉我，还是告诉我吧。”
“我是听到巴黎这个词才注意到的。您知道——”这时候。我可以在一旁听到电话筒里传来的隐约的铃声。
“稍等一下。”罗斯说。
接着是对方放下听筒的声音。
我们等待着……
两分钟过去了……三分钟——四分钟——五分钟。
波洛不安地换着两条腿站着。他看了看钟。
然后他按了按那电话机上的钩子。与交换台说话。然后他转向我。
“那一头电话筒还没有挂上，但没有回答。总机挂不进去。快。黑斯廷斯，从电话簿里查查罗斯的地址。我们必须马上去那里。”
