According to someone's memory, the story began in a room in Pompeii.He will never forget that hot, quiet afternoon, when the silence of Mausoleum Street was broken by English conversations, red phlox swayed in the abandoned garden, and a girl in white stood among a group of people wearing sunglasses, as if in a group of Between the masked men. The man on the sidelines was in Naples for a week.His errands had nothing to do with this story, but they took up all his time, and he was not free until the afternoon of Monday, September 19th.He was going to Rome that evening, and then returned to London via Paris.He wanted to do some leisurely sightseeing that afternoon, and the past had always attracted him as much as the present; that was why he had appeared in Mausoleum Street on a quiet afternoon in the hot sun.

The Street of the Mausoleum is located just outside the walls of Pompeii.It descends the hill from the Herculaneum Gate, like a broad cobbled valley between the sidewalks.The cypresses stand on the street, making this street of the dead look full of life.This is the tomb of a nobleman, the squat altar is as beautiful as new, and when the man heard his footsteps, he felt that he had entered a forgotten suburb.The sun shone hot on the wheel-tracked flagstones, on the grass emerging from the cracks, on the little brown lizards sprinting before him.In front of him was Mount Vesuvius, towering over the mausoleum, dark blue in the sunlight.The mountain was unexpectedly tall—for it was six miles away.

He feels hot and sleepy.These glimpses of long streets lined with shops and courtyards of painted stone columns disturbed his imagination.He had been wandering for more than an hour; he had not seen a soul since he entered Pompeii, except a mysterious group led by a guide who suddenly appeared at the end of the Rue Lucky and disappeared mysteriously among a heap of small stones. Mausoleum Street brought him to the end of the city.He was wondering whether to call it a day or go back and continue the adventure?Then he saw the house in the mausoleum.It was a large house, apparently a nobleman's villa, erected on the outskirts of Pompeii in its heyday.So he climbed the ladder and entered the house.

The atrium was dark and musty, not as well-maintained as the renovated town houses he had seen.But next to the atrium is the sunny peristyle garden, lush with red phlox and Asian pines surrounding a disused fountain.He heard rustling in the long grass, and he heard English. Beside the fountain, a girl in white looked in his direction: what he saw was not only beauty, but wisdom as well.Her dark brown hair was tucked in half behind her ears and held in small curls at the nape of her neck.She has an oval face, a serious face with a plump cherry mouth and large eyes with a sense of humor, large gray eyes with thick lids and kindness.Her posture is relaxed, she gently smoothes the white top; but she is also tense, you can see the tension in the eyebrows.

Opposite her stood a dark-haired young man in a gray flannel suit, holding a small movie camera, his eyes pressed against the viewfinder.The camera clicks.The young man with his cheek against the camera burst out from the corner of his mouth. "Do something!" he urged. "Smile, bow, light a cigarette, do something! If you're just standing there, I might as well take a picture." "But, George, what on earth can I do?" "I told you already, smile and bow—" The girl clearly felt that her actions would be tormented by the self-consciousness that was being recorded.After looking uncharacteristically serious, she forces an apologetic smile; she holds up her white handbag, shakes it; she looks around for a chance to escape, then laughs at the camera.

"We're running out of negatives!" the young man yelled like a studio executive. The bystanders in the porch more than ten feet away suddenly realized something.He was convinced that the girl was in a tense state, that her healthy complexion was deceiving; that the rattling little camera was gradually affecting her like a nightmare. "Well, what can I do?" "Walk, go to the right, I want to take a picture of the column behind you." Another masked man snorted, and he kept watching the scene with his hands back.This is a lively little man whose dark glasses conceal the fact that "he is much older than his casual clothes would suggest".You see the shriveled skin around his chin and the white hair beneath the brim of his Panama hat.

"Tourist!" he said contemptuously. "You're a tourist. You want to photograph the column behind her, don't you? You don't want to photograph Marjorie. You don't even want to photograph the house of Pompeii. You want to photograph Marjorie In a Pompeii house to show that you've been to Pompeii. I find that disgusting." "What's wrong?" asked a voice like thunder.It came from a taller, stronger man with a short red-and-yellow beard who stood on the other side of the quarreling couple. "Tourists!" said the man in the panama hat.

"I don't agree with you at all," said the strong man, "and I don't understand your attitude, Marcus. Whenever we go where there are sights to see, you don't want to see the sights just because they are. I I would like to ask," his voice resounded through the garden, "if you don't see the scenery, then what is the purpose of visiting places of interest? You object to the thousands of people who go to see the scenery. Have you ever thought that if a place counts Always attracting crowds for millennia, maybe it’s because there’s something to see there?”

"Be careful," said the man in the Panama hat, "don't yell. You don't understand, you never will. What do you see? Where are we now?" "It's not hard to find out," said the other. "How about it, young man?" He turned to the dark-haired young man holding the camera.The latter reluctantly lowered the camera, and the girl being filmed laughed loudly.The young man put the camera back into the case on the side, then took out the travel guide from his pocket and turned the pages.He cleared his throat: "No. 34, two stars. Villa Arius Diomedes," he read forcefully, "the reason for this name is—"

"Nonsense," said the strong man. "We only saw that villa ten minutes ago. The one where they found the skeleton." "What bones?" protested the girl. "We haven't seen any bones, Dr. Joe." Behind the dark glasses, the muscular man's face became even more irritable: "I didn't say we saw the bones," he tucked his fedora tightly on his head, "I said that's where they found the bones, right in the The end of the road, don't you remember? Hot ash trapped the slaves there, where they found them later; all on the floor, like a set of ninepins. It's the one with the pillars painted green."

The little old man in the Panama hat folded and shook his arms.There was a look of resentment on his face: "Joe, you might be interested to know they're not." "Not what?" Dr. Joe asked. "Not painted green. I have proven my conviction time and again," said the little man, "that the average person—you, or you, or you—is absolutely incapable of properly reporting what you see or hear. You don't observe , you cannot observe. Can you, Professor?" He turned his head and looked back.There were two other people in the group, standing in the shadow of the balustrade.The onlookers almost didn't see them, he couldn't see them as he could see the four in the sun, he only noticed that one of them was middle-aged and the other was young.They were using a magnifying glass to examine a patch of rock or lava they'd picked up from a balustrade—both wearing dark glasses. "Never mind the villa of Arius Diomedes," said the voice from beyond the railing. "Whose house is this?" "I know now," the young man with the video camera and guidebook offered, "I just turned the wrong page. It's number thirty-nine, isn't it? That's right. We're on number thirty-nine. Thirty-nine No. Three Stars. Home of Aulus Lipides the Poisoner." ——Everyone was silent. They seemed like an ordinary family or friendship—the tempers of the older members were a little irritated by the heat and the fatigue of travel.Judging from their resemblance and their frequent abuse of each other, Dr. Joe and the little man in the Panama hat (called Marcus - Note from the Stick School) should be brothers.A girl named Marjorie was their relative. As the content of the guidebook was read out, the atmosphere in the courtyard changed for a while.Only the young man with the guidebook didn't notice the change, the others all turned half-turned and stood quietly.Four pairs of sunglasses turned towards the girl as if she were standing among a group of masked men.The sun shone on the lenses, making them dark and sinister like masks. Dr. Qiao asked anxiously, "What?" "Poisoner," said the young man, "by the sword at the entrance to the atrium and the stripped willow inlay pavement Momsen thinks this villa belongs to..." "Yes, but what did he do?" "According to Farrow, he murdered five members of his family with poisonous mushroom juice," said the young man, looking around with interest, as if expecting to see the bodies still there. "What an interesting place!" he added, " I think in those days, it was easy to get away with poisoning." Then he suddenly felt something wrong, and the steel-haired hair seemed to stand up on his neck.He closed the book, "Hey," he blurted out, "Hey, did I say something I shouldn't have said?" "Of course not," Marjorie replied calmly. "Besides, Uncle Marcus' interest is in the study of crime. Isn't it?" "That's right," agreed Uncle Marcus.He turned to the young man, "Tell me—what's your name, I keep forgetting your name?" "You know what his name is!" Marjorie called.But from the young man's respect for Marcus, it's clear that Marcus is more than just Marjorie's uncle; he's like her father. "Harding, sir. George Harding," he answered. "Ah, yes. Well, Mr. Harding, tell me, have you ever heard of a place near Bath called Sodbury Cross?" "No, sir. What?" "That's where we came from," Marcus said. He walked forward with vigor and sat down on the edge of the fountain, as if he was going to talk to them.He took off his hat and sunglasses and put them on his lap.When the mask was removed, his wire-like gray hair was exposed, still messy and tangled after sixty years of combing.His blue eyes are bright, intelligent and malevolent.From time to time he stroked the dry skin around his chin. "Now, Mr. Harding," he went on, "let's face the facts. I'm assuming that your affair with Marjorie is more than flirting. I'm assuming that you two are serious, or that you are serious. " Another change permeated the group.It also affected the duo on the other side of the balustrade around the post.One of them was a jolly middle-aged man with a felt hat behind his bald head; he wore dark glasses, but he had Futai's round face.He cleared his throat. "I think," he said, "if you don't mind, I'm going in—" His companion, a tall young man with an ugly face, turned away and began to study the interior of the house in a nonchalant manner—Marcus watched them. "Trash," he said emphatically, "you're not part of the family, you're not. But you know we know, so don't move. Don't poke around." The girl said calmly, "Uncle Marcus, do you think this is the place to talk about this?" "I think so, dear." "Very well," Dr. Joe agreed gruffly.His face was determined, serious. "Let's do it, Marcus—very good." George Harding's face was also serious and determined, "I can only assure you, sir—" he said in a malevolent tone. "Yeah, yeah, I know that," Marcus said, "don't be so serious, it's nothing out of the ordinary. Most people get married and know how to do it, and I'm sure you all know that too. Listen to me , the marriage completely requires my consent—” "And me." Dr. Qiao said firmly. "As you please," said Marcus ruefully, "and with my brother's permission, of course. We've known you for a month, in the case of travel. As soon as you start dating my niece, I'll send my Lawyer to investigate you. Well, you seem to be okay. Your record is good, I have no complaints. You have no family, no money...” George Harding tried to explain, but Marcus cut him off. "Yes, yes. I know about your chemistry business, and it could be lucrative. I wouldn't invest a dime in it if your two livelihoods depended on it. I'm not at all interested in 'new ventures': I loathe New businesses, especially chemistry; they raise fool's heads, but they bore me too. You might make some money off of it. As long as you don't make mistakes, you've got plenty of resources, and you might get a little from Marjorie resources. Do you understand?" George tried to explain again, and this time it was Marjorie who intervened.Her face was flushed slightly, but her eyes were open, and she appeared extremely composed. "Just say 'yes,'" she advises. "It's the only thing you can say." The bald man in the felt hat who had been leaning on the railing and frowning at them was now waving as if trying to get attention in class. "Wait a minute, Marcus," he interposed, "you want Wilbur and I to take part in this matter, though we're not part of the family. So let me say a word, do you need to cross-examine this boy?" ?” Marcus looked at him. "I hope," he said, "someone will give up the idea that 'to ask is to cross-examine. Do you understand, sir?" "Understood," said George. "Oh, wake up!" said the professor kindly. Marcus sits back as far as he can without falling into the fountain.His expression became more flat. "Now that you understand," he went on, in a slightly different voice, "you should know something about us. Has Marjorie told you something? I don't think so. If you think we are the If you take three months off at this time of year, then you're wrong. Yes, I'm rich; but I'm not lazy, and I travel very little. I've noticed that other rich people travel very little, too. I work; and , although I see myself as a scholar rather than a businessman, I am a good businessman. My brother Joe is a doctor in Sodbury Cross, and he works, although he is not very diligent. He is not a good doctor, but people like him. " Dr. Qiao, who was wearing sunglasses, blushed. "Don't get excited!" said Marcus dryly. "Listen, Wilbur—that Wilbur Emmett is the manager of my business." The tall and ugly young man nodded.Wilbur Emmet looked blank.He salutes Marcus, but it's a stiff, dignified salute, as if he's always ready to take orders. "Since I hired him," Marcus went on, "I can assure you he works too. The other is Professor Ingram, a bald fat guy who's just a family friend. He doesn't work, but if I Ask him to work, and he works. Now, Mr. Harding, I want you to understand from the beginning, and I want you to understand me. I am the head of the family; do make it clear. I am not a tyrant, I am not mean, Not irrational; anyone would tell you that." He stuck out his neck, "but I'm a busybody trying to find out, nosy, strong-willed. I do my own way. Understand?" "Understood," said George. "Very well," said Marcus with a smile, "in that case, you may be wondering why we took this three-month vacation. Let me tell you. It's because in the village of Sodbury Cross, there was A lunatic with a penchant for mass poisoning." Everyone was speechless.Marcus put on sunglasses, making up for the gap in the circle of masked men. "Why don't you talk?" Marcus asked. "I'm not saying there's a drinking fountain in the village or a cross in the market place. I'm saying there's a lunatic in the village who likes mass poisoning. Just for fun, he used Strynchine poisoned three children and an eighteen-year-old girl, and one of the children died. That was Marjorie's favorite child." George Harding opened his mouth to say something.He looked at the travel guide in his hand and hurriedly stuffed it into his pocket: "I'm sorry—" he said. "No. Listen, Marjorie was scared and sick for weeks. Based on that, and a certain atmosphere," Marcus adjusted his glasses, "we decided to make this trip." "It's terrible!" Dr. Joe muttered, staring at the ground. Marcus stifled his speech: "Mr. Harding, we're going home from Naples on Wednesday, so you'd better know something about what happened at Sodbury Cross on the seventeenth of June. There was a Mrs. Terry Opened a smoke and candy shop on the high street. Children were poisoned with strymine in Mrs. Terry's bonbons. She was a decent businessman. The police believed the poisoned chocolates were put in by someone."— —He hesitated—“The point is, the one who can get close to the chocolate, who can drop the chocolate, is a person who knows a lot about Soderbird Cross. Can I make it clear?” A cluster of dark glasses looked sternly at Marcus' listener. "Clear, sir." "As for myself," continued Marcus, "I'm in a hurry to get home—" "Yes!" shouted Dr. Joe, "good cigarettes, good tea, good—" From the shadow of the round railing, for the first time, the grim-faced ugly young man spoke.He has a deep voice, which gives his mysterious words a prophetic effect.His hands were in the pockets of his blue sports coat. "Sir," said Wilbur Emmett, "we shouldn't be leaving home in July or August. I don't feel comfortable entrusting early silver to McCracken." "Know me, Mr. Harding," snapped Marcus, "we're not a bunch of pariahs. We do what we love: we vacation when we like to vacation, and come home when we like to go home; less so, I do. I was very anxious to get home because I thought I could solve the problems that were tormenting them. I knew some of the answers months ago, but some—" He hesitated again, and he held his hands up, shook them, and dropped them to his knees , "If you come to Sodbury Cross, you're going to find some innuendos, some vibes, some whispers. Are you ready?" "Ready," George said. Onlookers who watch them from the atrium porch, will always remember the image of the group framed in ancient columns in the garden, an image that will wonderfully symbolize what is to come.But now his thinking is not metaphysical.He did not enter the house of the poisoner Aulus Lipides.He turned and walked into Mausoleum Street, towards the Herculaneum Gate.A wisp of mountain haze coils around Mount Vesuvius.Sitting on the sidewalk, Andrew McAndrew Elliott of the Criminal Investigations Service lit a cigarette and stared thoughtfully at the brown lizard that charged into the road.