Chapter 5 invisible Man
The night fell, covering the small town of Camden.In the cool, dark blue twilight, a candy store at the junction of two steep streets was now glowing red like a cigarette butt.Perhaps it is more appropriate to compare it to the head of a firework that is going off, because the light is brilliant and colorful, and it is refracted by many mirrors around it, dancing on the bright cakes and candies.I saw a large number of street vagrants, their faces pressed against the dazzling glass, squashing their noses and looking inside.The chocolates in the window are all wrapped in metallic confetti, there are red, green, and golden ones, which look more attractive than chocolate.The huge wedding cake in the window is white all over. Although it looks out of reach, it is also satisfying, as if the vast Arctic ice sheet has become a delicious food.This colorful and colorful scene will naturally attract children in the neighborhood up to 10 and even 12 years old.But this street corner also attracts slightly older young people.At this moment, a young man no less than 24 years old is staring at the window.For him, the little shop had a lot of charm, and although he couldn't say he hated chocolate, it wasn't all chocolate.
This young man was tall and strong, with red hair, a stern and resolute face, but his demeanor seemed listless.Under his arm was a flat gray briefcase containing some black and white sketches.He was disinherited by his socialist uncle (an admiral) for speaking against socialist economic theory in a speech, and he has since sold the sketches around, and has sold almost successfully to several home publishing house.His name was John Turnbull Angus.
He ended up in the candy store, walked across the hall, and into what looked like a dim sum restaurant in the back room, doffing his hat only to the young lady who worked there.She was a dark girl, dressed in black, with elegant, alert manners, a ruddy complexion, and bright black eyes that moved.She stopped for a while and followed, waiting for him to start ordering.
Obviously, ordering food is very familiar to him, and it is no different from usual. "Give me, please," he said precisely, "a halfpenny toast, and a small cup of black coffee." Just as the girl was about to turn away, he added: "And, I want you marry me."
The young lady froze for a moment, and replied: "You are not allowed to make such a joke."
The red-haired boy raised his gray eyes with unexpected solemnity.
"I ask you with all my heart," he said. "As real and earnest as a halfpenny loaf. It is as precious as a bun, and one pays for it; it is as overwhelming and heart-wrenching as a bun."
The dark-skinned young woman stared at him intently, scrutinizing him with an almost pathetic focus.After looking around, a faint smile appeared on her face, and then she sat down on a chair.
"Haven't it occurred to you," remarked Angus absently and self-absorbed, "that it is a cruel thing to eat halfpenny buns? Maybe let halfpenny buns grow up and two share a penny The bread is more suitable. When we get married, I will give up this cruel predatory sport."
The dark-skinned young woman stood up and walked to the window. She was obviously deep in thought with empathy.After thinking for a long time, when she turned around decisively, the scene in front of her confused her: the man took the exhibits from the window and carefully laid them out on the table.There were colorful pyramids of sweets, plates of sandwiches, and two round wine bottles each of the wonderful port and sherry used in puff pastry.He carefully moved the giant white sugar cake used to decorate the window, and gently placed it in the center of the neat layout.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Business, my dear Laura," he began.
"Oh, for God's sake, stop," she yelled, "and, don't talk to me that way. I mean, what the hell is going on?"
"A ceremonial meal, Miss Hope."
"What is that?" She pointed to the sugar-wrapped cake and asked impatiently.
"Wedding cake, Mrs. Angus," he answered.
The girl went straight to it, took it out of the table and put it back in the window after a few rattlings; then, she turned and came back, leaning her elegant elbows on the table, not disapproving, but just looking at him sullenly.
"You don't even give me time to think about it," she said.
"I'm not that stupid," he replied. "That's what happened to me."
She was still looking at him, but her expression became more and more serious beneath the smile.
"Mr. Angus," she said evenly, "before you go on with your nonsense, I will tell you as briefly as I can about myself."
"It's a great honor," Angus replied solemnly. "When you introduce yourself, you might as well talk about me as well."
"Come on, shut your mouth and listen to me," she said. "I don't think this matter hurts nature, and there is nothing wrong with people. But if this matter has nothing to do with me, but it haunts me like a nightmare, what do you think I should do?"
"In that case," said the man seriously, "I should suggest that you take the cake home."
"Come on, let me finish the story first," said Laura Hope stubbornly. "Well, I must tell you that my father kept a little inn called the Red Fish in Radbury. .I used to entertain people in bars."
"No wonder I always thought it was in this candy store," he said.
"Radbury is a rather small place in the eastern county. It's green and lifeless. The people who come to the 'Red Fish' Inn are mainly passing businessmen. As for the other guests, they are all terrible people. It's you. The kind I've never seen. I'm talking about a bunch of small, lazy, barely fed people who don't do anything serious except hang out in bars and bet on horses. They also dress in rags , but they are also very worthy of their stinky skin. Even these little gangsters don't come to our inn often. However, there are two people who are different. They are regular customers and ordinary people. It should be said that they are ordinary in every aspect. They Both live off their own money, and dress very well, and are bored all day long. But I feel sorry for them, because they are both a little deformed, and they are often laughed at by those bumpkins, and I think that may be why, They just sneaked into our small bar with very few customers. Actually, they weren't really deformed, but they just looked weird. One of them was small and looked like a dwarf, or at least like a jockey. He had a round, black head, a neatly trimmed black beard, and a sparkle in his eyes that spun around; the money in his pocket jingled, and his heavy gold watch-chain rattled Every time he comes, he dresses more gentlemanly than a gentleman, and looks too fake. Although he is idle and doing nothing, he is not stupid at all. It is very curious that he is proficient in many things, which are actually useless Small skills, there is a kind of ability to improvise and juggle on the spot. For example, let 15 matches light one by one, which looks like fireworks; or cut things like bananas into dancing dolls. His name is Isidore Smyr Thinking. I can still picture him now, a little black face, walking up to the counter and making a hopping kangaroo out of five cigars."
"The other guy was even more quiet and unremarkable. But somehow I always found him more creepy than little Smythe. He was tall and thin, with light hair and a high nose. , it can be said that he has a ghostly handsomeness. He suffers from strabismus. To be honest, I have never seen or heard of that kind of creepy squint before. When he looks directly at you, You really don't know where you are, let alone figure out what he's looking at. I dare say that deformity pains the poor fellow, because just as Smythe went around showing that he could juggle, squinting James Welking alone in our bar, or wandering about in the dusty fields around him. Of course, I don't think Smythe didn't mind his diminutive stature, but anyway He said that he was more thoughtful and able to deal with it tactfully. Because of this, I was puzzled, surprised, and disturbed that they both proposed to me in the same week."
"Well, I did something so stupid that I still think about it. But anyway, these two freaks are my friends, and I'm afraid they will think that the real reason I rejected them was their looks. Too ugly, it can be said to be incomparable. So I made up a serious reason to fool them, saying that I would only marry someone who made a world by himself in the society, and that the principle of my life was that I would never Live on inheritance like they do. I say this with good intentions and don't want to hurt them. But what I said got into trouble. Two days later, I heard that they both left their hometown and went into the world. It sounds like a fairy tale , stupid."
"I haven't seen them since that day. But I've had two letters from little Smythe, and they're pretty exciting."
"Have you heard from the other one?" Angus asked.
"No, he never wrote," said the girl, after a moment's hesitation. "Smythe's first letter only told me that he set out for London with He was far away and rested on the side of the road. It happened that a traveling juggling troupe took a fancy to him, firstly because he was almost a dwarf figure, and secondly because he was really smart. He was doing well in the acting world , was soon sent to the aquarium playground to perform a trick I forgot what it was called. That was the first letter. The second letter was even more amazing. I only received it last week."
The man named Angus picked up the coffee cup, drank it down, and then looked at the girl with tenderness and patience in his eyes.The corners of her mouth twitched, and she chuckled, and went on: "I guess you've seen the billboard about 'Smythe's Silent Service'? Otherwise, you'd be the only person in the world who didn't know about it. Oh, I don't know much about it, it's a clockwork invention that lets a machine do all the housework. You've heard: 'Push a button—a butler who never drinks; turn a lever— —Ten maids who never flirted.' You must have seen those commercials. Well, whatever that machine is, they make a lot of money anyway, and it's all pouring into my acquaintance in Radbury I'm so happy for the poor little guy to have his own business at last. But here's the thing: I'm afraid he'll show up at some point and tell me he's created his own A piece of heaven and earth - and he did."
"Where's the other person?" Angus continued to ask stubbornly, appearing calm on the surface.
Laura Hope stood up abruptly. "My friend," she said, "I think you're a wizard. Yes, that's exactly what I'm going to say. I haven't seen a line from the man. I don't know Don't know what he's doing or where he is. But I'm most afraid of him. I can feel his presence everywhere. He's the one driving me crazy. Indeed, I think he's driving me crazy , because I feel his presence where he is impossible to appear at all; I can hear his voice where he cannot speak at all."
"Oh dear," said the young man cheerfully, "even if he were Satan, his tricks would be over, because you've already told others how you feel. Little girl, never communicate with others Crazy. But when did you start to sense that our squint-eyed friend was hallucinating?"
"It's not an auditory hallucination, James Welkin's laughter is as real and close to your eyes as your voice." The girl said calmly, "But I really can't see anyone around, I'm standing in this shop on the corner Outside the door, I can see both sides of the street at the same time. I don’t remember how he laughed, but that kind of laughter is as weird as his squint. It’s been nearly a year, and I haven’t thought of him much. But , just a few seconds after I heard his eerie laughter, I received the first letter from his rival in love. What I said is true."
"Did you do something to make that ghost talk and scream?" Angus asked curiously.
Laura shivered suddenly, then said firmly: "Yes, I had just read Smythe's second letter announcing his success. That's when I heard Welkin say, 'He still won't Own you.' The voice was so clear, it was as if he was in the room. It was horrible, I felt really crazy."
"If you were really mad," said the young man, "you'd think you weren't. But this Mr. Invisible does seem a little weird to me. One more person, one more wisdom—whatever it is Things are making noise, I can help you out, I'm a sane, down-to-earth guy, please let me get the wedding cake out of the window first."
Before the words were finished, there was a piercing scream from the street outside, and a fast-moving car rushed to the door of the store and stopped with a screeching sound.In the blink of an eye, the little man in the shiny top hat came into the outer room with a bang.
Up to this point, Angus had been laughing and joking, and didn't take her nagging words seriously, but at this moment he suddenly became nervous, stepped out of the inner room suddenly, and greeted the newcomer.Just one glance was enough to confirm the jealous conjecture of the man in love.Standing in front of him was a well-dressed, almost dwarf figure: a pointed black beard was raised arrogantly forward, a pair of cunning eyes were rolling around, and the fingers were neat but showing tension.Obviously, he is none other than the one described by Laura who can make dolls out of banana peels and matchboxes; rely on metal butlers who don’t drink and maids who don’t flirt, and make a lot of money Isidore Smythe.The two people instinctively comprehended the infatuation shown by the other, tacitly understood each other, and looked at each other coldly, showing the curiosity and generosity unique to rivals in love.
Mr. Smythe, however, gave no hint of the reason for their hostility, but said curtly and petulantly: "Has Miss Hope seen anything in the window?"
"On the window?" Angus repeated with his eyes wide open.
"There's no time to explain that much," said the little rich man hastily. "Something utterly stupid has happened here, and it must be investigated."
He raised his polished cane and pointed to the shop windows that Angus had scavenged for the wedding.The latter was surprised to find a long strip of paper pasted outside the glass, which must not have been there when he looked in through the glass before.He followed the energetic Smythe to the street, and he saw a strip of postage stamp paper about a yard and a half (1.31 meters) long stuck to the glass, scrawled on it: "If you marry Smythe, He must die."
"Laura," cried Angus, poking his red head into the store, "you're not crazy!"
"It's that guy Welking's handwriting," said Smythe, grumpily. "I haven't seen him in years, but he's always harassing me. Just in the last two weeks, there have been five threatening letters from him to me in my apartment. I can't even check it out. Who sent the letter there, let alone Welkin himself. But the concierge of the flats swore he'd never seen anyone suspicious, and here he was in broad daylight to the store There's something like a dado over the window, and the people in the shop—"
"Exactly," said Angus placidly, "there were teas in the shop. Oh, sir, I may say I appreciate your straightforward common sense approach to such matters. We can talk about other things later. That guy should not have gone far, I swear the last time I approached the window more than ten minutes ago, it was indeed not pasted with paper. But from another angle, he has run away without a trace, without a trace Faer, because we can't figure out which way he's gone. Mr. Smythe, if I can, I have a suggestion to you, get someone who knows how to look into the matter at once, but don't make it public. I know A very smart guy who just recently opened up for this kind of business with an office not far from here, five minutes from your car. His name is Flambeau, and despite his youth, he's definitely an honest man now Man. He's smart and he won't let your money go to waste. He lives in the Leconow flats in Hampstead."
"What a coincidence," said the dwarf, raising two bushy eyebrows. "I live in the Himalaya Apartment Building, just around the corner from where he lives. Maybe you can come with me, and I'll go home and pack it up." Weilking's weird letter to me, meanwhile you go and find your detective friend for me."
"You've arranged it pretty well," Angus said politely, "well, the sooner you act, the better."
The next actions of the two people were as agreed, and they were surprisingly consistent. They first said goodbye to the girl formally, and then both jumped into the fast car.When Smythe turned a big bend in his car, Angus was pleasantly surprised to see a large poster promoting "Smythe's Silent Service": a headless tin man like a doll, holding a frying pan in his hand, "The cook who never loses his temper" was written on it.
"I use them in my apartment," laughed the little man with the black beard, "partly for advertising and partly for convenience. I'll tell you the truth, as long as you know how to press that button, Those wind-up dolls of mine who can fetch you coal, claret, or time-tables are far more diligent than any living servants I know. There are bad things about servants, too."
"Really?" said Angus. "Is there anything they can't do?"
"Yes," said Smythe coldly, "they can't tell me who left the threatening letter at my apartment."
The car is as small and nimble as the owner himself.In fact, it was as much his invention as his domestic service product.Even if his craft is generally based on advertising boasting, he also very sincerely believes in what he makes.The headlights, as bright as day, tore through the dead night and illuminated a long detour in front of their eyes. They felt smaller and faster as they drove on the winding white road.Soon after, the curve became sharper and the road surface became blurred.As a saying in modern religion, they are in an upward spiral.Indeed, they made their way up to the summit in a corner of London which, while less picturesque than Edinburgh, was no less steep.They drove through layers of platforms, and finally saw the unique apartment building, like an Egyptian pyramid, high above, and the afterglow of the setting sun gave it a layer of gold.When they turned the corner of the street and entered the crescent-shaped building named Himalaya Apartment, it seemed as if a window suddenly opened, and a strange scenery suddenly came into view.What they saw was the tiers of flats that seemed to sit on top of countless overlapping green slabs overlooking London.On the opposite side of the building, on the other side of the gravel crescent, was an enclosed field, overgrown with shrubs, more like a steep fence or embankment than a garden.Looking further down, there is a man-made ditch, like a moat, surrounding the fortress hidden in the greenery.When the car rounded a corner of the half-moon building, they saw a mobile stall selling chestnuts, and just as they turned the corner, Angus saw a policeman in a dark blue uniform walking slowly. walking.In the high, lonely suburbs of the city, these were the only figures they could see.But Angus had an inexplicable feeling in his heart: these people recited the wordless poems of London, like characters in a story.
The car sped up to a house, and as soon as it came to a stop, the owner jumped out of the car and ran to a tall doorman in a shiny sash and a handyman in his shirt-sleeves, to make sure he hadn't been questioned Apartment.Reassured by their reassurance that nothing or anyone had escaped their attention since his last question, he and a bewildered Angus took the elevator to the top floor.
"Come in," said the breathless Smythe, "and I'll show you the letters Welkin wrote. Then you'll go round the corner and find your friend." He clicked and hid on the wall. button, and the door opens automatically.
What presented before their eyes was a long and spacious vestibule.From the eyes of ordinary people, the only eye-catching thing here is the rows of tall humanoid machines arranged neatly on both sides, like models in a tailor shop.The mannequins, like the ones in the tailor's shop, were headless, with rounded shoulders that were a little exaggerated but pleasing to the eye, and breasts that protruded like chicken breasts.But other than that, they're more like the human-height vending machines at the station than they are human.They have two large hooks like arms that hold plates; they are painted pea-green, vermilion, or black to distinguish them; in every other respect they are nothing more than automatic machines, and no one would bother to look at them. .At least at this moment, no one bothered to look at them carefully.Because between the two rows of domestic robots, there is something that seems more attractive than most mechanical devices in the world.It was a torn piece of white paper with some words scrawled in red ink.The nimble inventor picked it up almost as soon as the door opened.He silently handed the slip of paper to Angus.The wet red ink on it read: "If you go to see her today I will kill you."
After a short silence, Isidore Smythe said softly, "Would you like some whiskey? I think I should have a drink."
"Thank you, I think I should go to Flambeau," Angus said sullenly. "This is getting worse. I'll call him right away."
"You're right," Isidore said happily immediately, "then bring him here as soon as possible."
But as Angus turned back to close the front door, he caught a glimpse of Smythe pushing a button, and one of the wind-up figures left the spot holding a plate and began to slide along a groove in the floor with a curved tube on it. and decanters.There was something strange about the scene, the dwarf was left alone among a group of lifeless servants, and when the door was closed they all came back to life.
From the six steps down from the Smythes' house, the handyman in shirt-sleeves was busy with a wash-tub.Angus paused, pledging him to stay where he was until he returned with the detective, and to keep an eye out for any strangers who came upstairs.In order to improve his enthusiasm for doing things, Angus also promised to give him a reward.Then, Angus ran down the stairs to the front hall, and gave the doorman the same task, and learned that there was no back door in this building, which made things much easier.He was still worried, so he grabbed the patrolling policeman and persuaded him to stand directly opposite the gate and watch.Finally, he stopped at a traveling vendor, bought chestnuts for a penny, and asked the vendor how long he was going to stay.
The chestnut seller turned up his collar and said that he might have to go soon because he thought it was going to snow.Indeed, the night sky was getting darker and darker.But Angus tried his best to persuade those who want to sell chestnuts to stay where they are.
"Keep your chestnuts warm," he said earnestly, "and eat the rest, and I won't let you do it for nothing. Just wait here till I come back, and tell me if anyone, young or old, If you pass the building that the gate guard is looking at, I'll give you 1."
Then, as he dashed away, he took one last look at the besieged mansion.
"At any rate, I have surrounded the room," he muttered, "and they cannot all be Mr. Welking's accomplices."
On the hill surrounded by row upon row of houses, the Himalaya Residence occupies the top of the hill, while the Leconau Residence occupies a lower platform.Mr. Flambeau's office-cum-living apartment was on the first floor.No matter how you look at it, it is a very different style from the "silent service" apartments full of American machines, luxury like hotels, but lifeless.Angus's friend Flambeau took him into his cozy home in the back of the office, where various accessories can be seen everywhere, including all kinds of sabers, matchlock guns, oriental curiosities, flasks of Italian red wine, quaint A frying pan, a Persian cat, and a small, dusty Roman Catholic priest who is here to be special, out of place with his surroundings.
"This is my friend, Father Brown," Flambeau introduced. "I've always wanted you to meet him. The weather is fine today, though it's a little colder for a southerner like me."
"Yes, I think it will remain sunny," said Angus, and sat down on the purple-striped Oriental ottoman.
"No," said the priest quietly, "it's beginning to snow."
Indeed, before he finished speaking, just as the chestnut seller had predicted, a few snowflakes had already drifted past the darkened window.
"Oh," said Angus with a heavy heart, "I've come here for a business, and it's a strange thing to say. Flambeau, the situation is this. Not far from your house, there lives a Dude, he needs your help. He has an invisible rival who has been pestering and terrorizing him, but no one has seen the villain." Angus went on, starting with Laura's story and adding his own. I described the ins and outs of Smythe and Welking from what I had seen and heard. At the intersection of two empty streets, I could hear an unbelievable strange laughter; Can hear strange, clear speech.Flambeau's expression became more and more serious, showing obvious concern, while the little priest seemed to stay out of it, just a decoration in the room.When it came to the scribbled stamp paper stuck to the window, Flambeau stood up, and his tall stature made the room seem cramped.
"If you don't mind," he said, "you'd better tell me the rest of the situation on the way, and we'll take a short cut to the man's house now. At any rate, I think it's a matter of great urgency."
"Happy to help," Angus said, standing up too. "However, he is still safe. I have placed four people to keep an eye on the only entrance and exit of his den."
They came out into the street, and the little priest followed closely with small steps like a docile puppy.He was in a good mood, so he had nothing to say and said, "It's so fast, there is snow on the ground."
They walked through the streets, the rugged paths were covered with silver, and Angus told the rest of his story as he walked.By the time they reached the crescent apartment complex, he had finished speaking and turned his attention to the four sentry posts he had placed.Before and after he got the pound, the chestnut seller swore repeatedly that he had been watching the gate, and that he had not seen any visitor enter.The policeman was even more eloquent, saying that he had dealt with all kinds of bad guys, whether they were wearing top hats or ragged clothes, so he was already very sophisticated and would not only pay attention to people who looked suspicious on the surface, who Don't even think about slipping under his nose, God knows, he really didn't see anyone.When the three of them gathered around the brightly dressed doorman, he was still standing with his legs apart and smiling on the porch.He further confirmed the claims of the first two.
"I don't care if he's a duke or a garbage man, I have the right to ask anyone why he came into the apartment," said the big, amiable man in the gold-lace uniform. Nobody came."
The insignificant Father Brown, who was standing back, watching the pavement impassively, said softly now: "Doesn't anyone go up or down the stairs since the snow started? When we were at the Flambeau's, It started snowing."
"No one has been here, sir, you can take my word for it." When the door officer spoke, he had an unquestionable demeanor.
"So I wonder what that is?" the priest asked, then looked blankly at the ground.
The others looked down too, and Flambeau gave a cry of surprise, and at the same time made a French gesture.There was no doubt about it: down the middle of the entrance guarded by the golden-sashed gatekeeper, and indeed between the giant's spread legs, a trail of gray footprints stood out clearly on the snow-covered road. superior.
"My God," cried Angus involuntarily, "the invisible man!"
Without another word he turned and rushed up the stairs, Flambeau following closely behind.But Father Brown still stood where he was, looking around on the snow-covered street, as if he had no intention of further investigating the question he raised.
Flambeau was evidently about to knock the door open with his strong shoulder.But the Scot moved his brain, or he lacked a little intuition.He fumbled around the door frame until he found the hidden button.The door opened slowly.
The room was basically as cramped and crowded as he had seen before, and nothing unusual was seen.It was even darker in the hall, only a few places lit by the last rays of the setting sun.In the hazy twilight, one or two headless machines somehow left their place and stood elsewhere.The red and green paint on these machines darkened, and their figures were somewhat blurred, which made them more humanoid.But right in the middle of them, where the piece of paper with the scarlet letter was found earlier, lay something that looked like red ink spilled from a bottle.But not red ink.
With a quick movement of his French mind, Flambeau simply said, "Murder!" and displayed his French violent tendencies, rushed into the apartment, rummaged about in it, and tossed and tossed for five minutes.He searched almost every corner, even cupboards, but, if he was looking for a dead body, he found nothing.Whether Isidore Smythe was dead or alive, he wasn't here anyway.After some digging and searching, the two met in the main living room, sweating profusely, and looked at each other. "My friend," Flambeau said excitedly in French, "not only can your murderer be invisible, but he has also made the victim disappear."
Angus looked around the dark room full of puppets.In the depths of his Scots soul, the old Gaelic legends began to stir again, which made him shudder.One of the life-size dolls stood near the bloodstain.Perhaps the slain summoned it the instant he fell.The hooks on its shoulders that served as arms rose slightly, and Angus felt a sudden panic, imagining poor Smythe being shot dead by his own iron children.The machines rebelled and killed their masters.But even so, where did they get his body?
He seemed to be having a nightmare, in which a voice said, "Is he eaten?" The thought of human bodies being eaten alive by those wind-up, headless machines made him sick with nausea.
Struggling, he regained his senses and said to Flambeau, "Oh, that's the only way. The poor fellow just evaporated, leaving a red spot on the floor. It's not like what happened in this world." s story."
"Whether he is of this world or not," said Flambeau, "there is only one thing to do now: I must go downstairs and talk to my friend."
They went down the stairs and saw the man who was busy with the washing tub. He reiterated that no one had been spared. When they went downstairs, they met the doorman and the chestnut seller. They also swore that they had not let their guard down in the slightest.However, when Angus wanted to ask the fourth person for verification, he couldn't find him. He shouted nervously, "Where is that policeman?"
"Forgive me," said Father Brown, "but it is my fault. I have just sent him down the road to investigate something which I think is worth looking into."
"However, we need him to come back as soon as possible," Angus didn't allow him to finish his sentence, "because the poor man upstairs was not only murdered, but even the body is gone."
"What's the matter?" asked the priest.
"Father," said Flambault after a moment's pause, "I swear to you that no one, friend or foe, ever entered the house, but Smythe was gone, as if stolen by a genie. If it’s supernatural, then I—”
As he was talking, an unusual sight attracted everyone's attention: a tall policeman in blue uniform came running around the corner of the half-moon building, and came straight to Brown.
"You're right, sir," he said breathlessly, "they've just found poor Mr. Smythe's body down in the ditch."
Angus patted his head violently. “是他自己跑出门跳下去淹死的吗？”
“我发誓他没有走出来，”警察说，“而且他也不是淹死的，他胸口被人刺了一刀死的。”
“你现在还会不会说没见过任何人进来？”弗朗博的语气很严厉。
“我们顺这条路走走吧。”神父提议说。
当他们到达半月形建筑的另一头时，神父突然悟到什么，“我真笨！忘了问那个警察，他们是否找到了一只浅棕色的麻袋。”
“为什么是浅棕色麻袋？”安格斯诧异地问。
“因为如果是其他颜色，我们就得重新开始，”布朗神父说，“但如果是一只浅棕色麻袋，呃，这案件就结了。”
“听你这样说真叫人高兴，”安格斯怪腔怪调地说，“就我所知，侦查还远未开始。”
“你一定要好好跟我们说说。”弗朗博说话时则像个小孩，单纯中不乏凝重，有些怪异。
在高大的新月形建筑另一侧，他们沿着既宽又长的一条大路向前走，不知不觉加快了脚步，布朗神父走在前面，步伐轻快，但一路沉默不语。最后他终于开口了，话说得很隐晦，令人有所触动。“哦，恐怕你们会认为办这事该顺势而为。实际上，我们总归要从存于具体事务之下抽象的一面入手，才能理出头绪，除此以外别无他法。”
“你们是否留意过，人们从来不会直接回答你的问题？他们只会针对你想要的答案，或者他们以为你想要的答案，予以相应的回答。假使一位女士在问乡间别墅中的另一女士：'有人和你呆在一起吗？'那么另一位女士决不会回答：'是的，一个男管家，三个男仆，一个客厅女佣，等等。'而女佣可能就在房间里，男管家就在她座椅后站着。她会说：'没有什么人和我们在一起，'意思是说没有你心里想的那类人在场。但假设一个医生在查问某种传染病时，问道：'谁呆在这个房子里？'那么这名女士便会想到男管家、女佣和其他的人。每种语言都是这样。你从不会按照字面意义去回答一个问题，即便你得到的答案完全属实。当那四个相当诚实的人说没人进入大厦时，他们并不是说真的没人进过大厦，他们的意思是，没发现可能是你要找的那种人。有个人的确进去又出来了，但他们根本就没注意到他。”
“隐身人？”安格斯的红眉毛一扬，追问道。
“一个人们视而不见的隐身人。”布朗神父答道。
一两分钟后，他接着刚才的话头，语气还像先前一样平易近人，边想边说。“当然，你不可能想到这样一个人，直到有什么东西引起了你的注意才会意识到他的存在。这就是他的聪明过人之处。而我也是受到安格斯先生讲的故事涉及的两三件事的启发，这才想到了他。首先，这个韦尔金有长距离散步的习惯。其次是糊在窗户上的大片邮票纸；接下来，最重要的是，那位年轻女士提到了根本说不通的两件事。稍安勿躁，”他注意到苏格兰人的头陡然动了一下，急忙插了一句，“她以为那些是真的。在即将拿到信的那一刻，她不可能孤身一人站在街上。而她站在那里开始读刚收到的信时，也不可能是孤身一人。一定有什么人就在她的近旁，而他一定是人们熟视无睹的隐身人。”
“为什么一定会有人在她边上呢？”安格斯问道。
“因为，”神父说，“除非用的是信鸽，总该有人将信交到她手里吧？”
“难道你要说的是，”弗朗博强压着火问，“韦尔金将他情敌的信交给了那位女士？”
“对，”神父说，“韦尔金把他情敌的信交给了那位女士。你要知道，他不得不这样。”
“喔，我实在听不下去了，”弗朗博忍无可忍，“那家伙是谁？长什么样？一个人们视而不见的隐身人通常是怎样一副打扮？”
“他衣着相当光鲜，身上有红，蓝和金黄三种颜色，”神父紧接着话头，回答很具体，“身着这身很显眼、甚至有些招摇的制服，他在四个人的眼皮底下大摇大摆走进了喜玛拉雅公寓，残忍地杀害了斯迈思，又手提着尸体下楼，走回到大街上——”
“尊敬的先生，”安格斯驻足站定，大声说，“到底是你疯了，还是我疯了？”
“你没疯，”布朗说，“只是不太善于观察，比如说，你没有留意这个人。”
他疾步向前跨了几大步，把手搭在一个碰巧路过的普通邮差肩上。他们没有注意到隐身在树荫中的这个邮差匆匆从他们身边走过。
“不管怎样，通常没人会留意邮差，”他不无体谅地说，“然而，他们和其他人一样，也有感情，更重要的是能携带可以轻松装下小矮个尸体的大邮包。”
那个邮差没有像常人那样自然地转身看个究竟，而是闪身躲开，被花园的栅栏绊倒。他外表很普通，瘦弱的身形，留着金黄色的络腮胡。但当他惊恐地回头张望时，三人惊呆了，怔怔地站在那里：出现在他们眼前的是近乎恶魔般的斜视。
弗朗博回到他的安乐窝兼办公室，面对他的军刀，紫色的地毯和波斯猫，他还有一大堆事情要处理。约翰·特恩布尔·安格斯回到店里的女孩那里，这个鲁莽的小伙子设法跟她好好相处。但布朗神父则披星戴月，在白雪皑皑的山间和那个凶手一起步行了数小时，永远不会有人知道他们之间到底都谈了些什么。
Notes:
Notes: