the man who knew too much-第3节

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at　last　a　sort　of　admission　that　one　particular　motor　car；　of　a　given　description；　had　stopped　before　the　inn　about　an　hour　before；　and　that　an　elderly　man　had　alighted；　requiring　some　mechanical　assistance。　Asked　if　the　visitor　required　any　other　assistance；　the　innkeeper　said　shortly　that　the　old　gentleman　had　filled　his　flask　and　taken　a　packet　of　sandwiches。　And　with　these　words　the　somewhat　inhospitable　host　had　walked　hastily　out　of　the　bar；　and　they　heard　him　banging　doors　in　the　dark　interior。

Fisher's　weary　eye　wandered　round　the　dusty　and　dreary　inn　parlor　and　rested　dreamily　on　a　glass　case　containing　a　stuffed　bird；　with　a　gun　hung　on　hooks　above　it；　which　seemed　to　be　its　only　ornament。

〃Puggy　was　a　humorist；〃　he　observed；　〃at　least　in　his　own　rather　grim　style。　But　it　seems　rather　too　grim　a　joke　for　a　man　to　buy　a　packet　of　sandwiches　when　he　is　just　going　to　commit　suicide。〃

〃If　you　come　to　that；〃　answered　March；　〃it　　isn't　very　usual　for　a　man　to　buy　a　packet　of　sandwiches　when　he's　just　outside　the　door　of　a　grand　house　he's　going　to　stop　at。〃

〃No　。　。　。　no；〃　repeated　Fisher；　almost　mechanically；　and　then　suddenly　cocked　his　eye　at　his　interlocutor　with　a　much　livelier　expression。

〃By　Jove！　that's　an　idea。　You're　perfectly　right。　And　that　suggests　a　very　queer　idea；　doesn't　it？〃

There　was　a　silence；　and　then　March　started　with　irrational　nervousness　as　the　door　of　the　inn　was　flung　open　and　another　man　walked　rapidly　to　the　counter。　He　had　struck　it　with　a　coin　and　called　out　for　brandy　before　he　saw　the　other　two　guests；　who　were　sitting　at　a　bare　wooden　table　under　the　window。　When　he　turned　about　with　a　rather　wild　stare；　March　had　yet　another　unexpected　emotion；　for　his　guide　hailed　the　man　as　Hoggs　and　introduced　him　as　Sir　Howard　Horne。

He　looked　rather　older　than　his　boyish　portraits　in　the　illustrated　papers；　as　is　the　way　of　politicians；　his　flat；　fair　hair　was　touched　with　gray；　but　his　face　was　almost　comically　round；　with　a　Roman　nose　which；　when　combined　with　his　quick；　bright　eyes；　raised　a　vague　reminiscence　of　a　parrot。　He　had　a　cap　rather　at　the　back　of　his　head　and　a　gun　under　his　arm。　Harold　March　had　imagined　many　things　about　his　meeting　with　the　great　political　reformer；　but　he　had　never　pictured　him　with　a　gun　under　his　arm；　drinking　brandy　in　a　public　house。

〃So　you're　stopping　at　Jink's；　too；〃　said　Fisher。　〃Everybody　seems　to　be　at　Jink's。〃

〃Yes；〃　replied　the　Chancellor　of　the　Exchequer。　〃Jolly　good　shooting。　At　least　all　of　it　that　isn't　Jink's　shooting。　I　never　knew　a　chap　with　such　good　shooting　that　was　such　a　bad　shot。　Mind　you；　he's　a　jolly　good　fellow　and　all　that；　I　don't　say　a　word　against　him。　But　he　never　learned　to　hold　a　gun　when　he　was　packing　pork　or　whatever　he　did。　They　say　he　shot　the　cockade　off　his　own　servant's　hat；　just　like　him　to　have　cockades；　of　course。　He　shot　the　weathercock　off　his　own　ridiculous　gilded　summerhouse。　It's　the　only　cock　he'll　ever　kill；　I　should　think。　Are　you　coming　up　there　now？〃

Fisher　said；　rather　vaguely；　that　he　was　following　soon；　when　he　had　fixed　something　up；　and　the　Chancellor　of　the　Exchequer　left　the　inn。　March　fancied　he　had　been　a　little　upset　or　impatient　when　he　called　for　the　brandy；　but　he　had　talked　himself　back　into　a　satisfactory　state；　if　the　talk　had　not　been　quite　what　his　literary　visitor　had　expected。　Fisher；　a　few　minutes　afterward；　slowly　led　the　way　out　of　the　tavern　and　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　road；　looking　down　in　the　direction　from　which　they　had　traveled。　Then　he　walked　back　about　two　hundred　yards　in　that　direction　and　stood　still　again。

〃I　should　think　this　is　about　the　place；〃　he　said。

〃What　place？〃　asked　his　companion。

〃The　place　where　the　poor　fellow　was　killed；〃　said　Fisher；　sadly。

〃What　do　you　mean？〃　demanded　March。

〃He　was　smashed　up　on　the　rocks　a　mile　and　a　half　from　here。〃

〃No；　he　wasn't；〃　replied　Fisher。　〃He　didn't　fall　on　the　rocks　at　all。　Didn't　you　notice　that　he　only　fell　on　the　slope　of　soft　grass　underneath？　But　I　saw　that　he　had　a　bullet　in　him　already。〃

Then　after　a　pause　he　added：

〃He　was　alive　at　the　inn；　but　he　was　dead　long　before　he　came　to　the　rocks。　So　he　was　shot　as　he　drove　his　car　down　this　strip　of　straight　road；　and　I　should　think　somewhere　about　here。　After　that；　of　course；　the　car　went　straight　on　with　nobody　to　stop　or　turn　it。　It's　really　a　very　cunning　dodge　in　its　way；　for　the　body　would　be　found　far　away；　and　most　people　would　say；　as　you　do；　that　it　was　an　accident　to　a　motorist。　The　murderer　must　have　been　a　clever　brute。〃

〃But　wouldn't　the　shot　be　heard　at　the　inn　or　somewhere？〃　asked　March。

〃It　would　be　heard。　But　it　would　not　be　noticed。　That；〃　continued　the　investigator；　〃is　where　he　was　clever　again。　Shooting　was　going　on　all　over　the　place　all　day；　very　likely　he　timed　his　shot　so　as　to　drown　it　in　a　number　of　others。　Certainly　he　was　a　first…class　criminal。　And　he　was　something　else　as　well。〃

〃What　do　you　mean？〃　asked　his　companion；　with　a　creepy　premonition　of　something　coming；　he　knew　not　why。

〃He　was　a　first…class　shot；〃　said　Fisher。　He　had　turned　his　back　abruptly　and　was　walking　down　a　narrow；　grassy　lane；　little　more　than　a　cart　track；　which　lay　opposite　the　inn　and　marked　the　end　of　the　great　estate　and　the　beginning　of　the　open　moors。　March　plodded　after　him　with　the　same　idle　perseverance；　and　found　him　staring　through　a　gap　in　giant　weeds　and　thorns　at　the　flat　face　of　a　painted　paling。　From　behind　the　paling　rose　the　great　gray　columns　of　a　row　of　poplars；　which　filled　the　heavens　above　them　with　dark…green　shadow　and　shook　faintly　in　a　wind　which　had　sunk　slowly　into　a　breeze。　The　afternoon　was　already　deepening　into　evening；　and　the　titanic　shadows　of　the　poplars　lengthened　over　a　third　of　the　landscape。

〃Are　you　a　first…class　criminal？〃　asked　Fisher；　in　a　friendly　tone。　〃I'm　afraid　I'm　not。　But　I　think　I　can　manage　to　be　a　sort　of　fourth…rate　burglar。〃

And　before　his　companion　could　reply　he　had　managed　to　swing　himself　up　and　over　the　fence；　March　followed　without　much　bodily　effort；　but　with　considerable　mental　disturbance。　The　poplars　grew　so　close　against　the　fence　that　they　had　some　difficulty　in　slipping　past　them；　and　beyond　the　poplars　they　could　see　only　a　high　hedge　of　laurel；　green　and　lustrous　in　the　level　sun。　Something　in　this　limitation　by　a　series　of　living　walls　made　him　feel　as　if　he　were　really　entering　a　shattered　house　instead　of　an　open　field。　It　was　as　if　he　came　in　by　a　disused　door　or　window　and　found　the　way　blocked　by　furniture。　When　they　had　circumvented　the　laurel　hedge；　they　came　out　on　a　sort　of　terrace　of　turf；　which　fell　by　one　green　step　to　an　oblong　lawn　like　a　bowling　green。　Beyond　this　was　the　only　building　in　sight；　a　low　conservatory；　which　seemed　far　away　from　anywhere；　like　a　glass　cottage　standing　in　its　own　fields　in　fairyland。　Fisher　knew　that　lonely　look　of　the　outlying　parts　of　a　great　house　well　enough。　He　realized　that　it　is　more　of　a　satire　on　aristocracy　than　if　it　were　choked　with　weeds　and　littered　with　ruins。　For　it　is　not　neglected　and　yet　it　is　deserted；　at　any　rate；　it　is　disused。　It　is　regularly　swept　and　garnished　for　a　master　who　never　comes。

Looking　over　the　lawn；　however；　he　saw　one　object　which　he　had　not　apparently　expected。　It　was　a　sort　of　tripod　supporting　a　large　disk　like　the　round　top　of　a　table　tipped　sideways；　and　it　was　not　until　they　had　dropped　on　to　the　lawn　and　walked　across　to　look　at　it　that　March　realized　that　it　was　a　target。　It　was　worn　and　weatherstained；　the　gay　colors　of　its　concentric　rings　were　faded；　possibly　it　had　been　set　up　in　those　far…off　Victorian　days　when　there　was　a　fashion　of　archery。　March　had　one　of　his　vague　visions　of　ladies　in　cloudy　crinolines　and　gentlemen　in　outlandish　hats　and　whiskers　revisiting　that　lost　garden　like　ghosts。

Fisher；　who　was　peering　more　closely　at　the　target；　startled　him　by　an　exclamation。

〃Hullo！〃　he　said。　〃Somebody　has　been　peppering　this　thing　with　shot；　after　all；　and　quite　lately；　too。　Why；　I　believe　old　Jink's　been　trying　to　improve　his　bad　shooting　here。〃

〃Yes；　and　it　looks　as　if　it　still　wanted　improving；〃　answered　March；　laughing。　〃Not　one　of　these　shots　is　anywhere　near　the　bull's…eye；　they　seem　just　scattered　about　in　the　wildest　way。〃

〃In　the　wildest　way；〃　repeated　Fisher；　still　peering　intently　at　the　target。　He　seemed　merely　to　assent；　but　March　fancied　his　eye　was　shining　under　its　sleepy　lid　and　that　he　straightened　his　stooping　figure　with　a　strange　effort。

〃Excuse　me　a　moment；〃　he　said；　feeling　in　his　pockets。　〃I　think　I've　got　some　of　my　chemicals；　and　after　that　we'll　go　up　to　the　house。〃　And　he　stooped　again　over　the　target；　putting　something　with　his　finger　over　each　of　the　shot…holes；　so　far　as　March　could　see　merely　a　dull…gray　smear。　Then　they　went　through　the　gathering　twilight　up　the　long　green　avenues　to　the　great　house。

Here　again；　however；　the　eccentric　investigator　did　not　enter　by　the　front　door。　He　walked　round　the　house　until　he　found　a　window　open；　and；　leaping　into　it；　introduced　his　friend　to　what　appeared　to　be　the　gun…room。　Rows　of　the　regular　instruments　for　bringing　down　birds　stood　against　the　walls；