korb korb
关注数: 2 粉丝数: 496 发帖数: 3,213 关注贴吧数: 28
实在是想睡觉啊。。。。谁帮我翻一下。。。。 Ailsa would have thrown a tantrum except that she knew from the story that MCC would not like it. She was furiously angry that he, of all people, should give in to Uncle Clive’s miserable temper. She decided to show her disgust by saying nothing at all, snatching up the book currently lying open on the chaise longue and starting studiously to read it. To some it might have looked like sulking, but fortunately any such unkind thought was banished by the darting blue flash of a whirling lamp as a police car drew up outside the shop.      Three officers came in—only two of them in uniform. They made the door look as small as a cat flap, and they filled the shop like bears lurking in a telephone box, and everything they looked at they seemed to be memorizing. No ‘Good morning’. No introductions.      ‘Gentlemen, Madam, we are led to believe you may be in receipt of stolen property. You won’t mind if we look around, will you?’      Uncle Clive had walked backwards into the living room. Mrs. Povey began to laugh shrilly and deny everything, Like lions selecting the tastiest Christian to eat, the constables closed in on the dark-eyed, black-haired man who emerged from the maze of furniture as though he had just finished dressing for cricket. ‘And who might you be sir?’      ‘Me? Berkshire’s the name. I work here. What seems to be the trouble?’      ‘And what’s your home address? Can you produce some kind of identity, sir? A driving licence? Cheque-book? Pay-slip?’      ‘Library tickets! ‘Not quite what I had in mind, sir. Your home address, please?’’ ‘Oh, here. I’m living here, just now.’ ‘And before that? Where are you from?’ ‘Reading.’ ‘Reading as in Berkshire, sir?’ said the constable, correcting MCC’s pronunciation. ‘Whereabouts in Reading, sir?’ ‘Oh, around and about. Here and there.’ The constable’s face gave a twitch of pleasure and he exchanged a knowing look with his colleague, his pencil poised over his notebook like a lucky pin over a treasure map. Here was a sure-fire villain. ‘Your FULL name, if you please, sir?’ Behind them, their plain-clothes inspector, prowling the shop with his hands clasped behind his short gabardine car coat, uttered a cry of triumph and fell on the glass display case balanced on the wash-stand. ‘And how do you account for having this salmon in your possession? Unperturbed, MCC stepped between the constables and explained to the inspector about the car boot sale at the railway sidings and how he had gone there to buy stock for the shop. “Oh yeah? said the inspector with a contemptuous twist of the mouth. ‘That’s what they all say: “Picked it up at a jumble sale, Inspector. Can’t remember when or where o who sold it to me.”’ MCC was not dismayed. He took a deep breath and said, “I purchased this row of books here, the book case they are in and that distinguished salmon from any X-registration red Cortina belonging to a stocky man with a Latvian accent and a large sticker in his back window saying I love Dobermanns. These other books I purchased, along with a marquetry writing box (now sold), from a blue two-door converted van registered in Liverpool. The receipts are in the top right-hand drawer of that roll--top desk behind you—although the Latvian gentleman would only go as far as to write “Cash reseeved , Ta,   Mickey Mouse” on the back of an envelope, which is why I took the precaution of writing his registration number on the envelope as well. The inspector sprang at the desk and rummaged feverishly in the drawer. He asked to use the telephone, and Mrs. Povey said yes, of course, and wouldn’t he like some tea; wouldn’t everyone like some tea? So while the detective inspector checked on the Latvian gentleman’s car registration number, his two constables perched themselves uneasily on a horsehair sofa and fumbled with their notebooks with on hand while trying to balance a cup of tea and ginger biscuits in the other. One remembered that he had been half-way through noting dow MCC,s name. He was about to ask for it again when MCC, slumped back in the basket chair with his outstretched legs crossed at the ankles, waved his teaspoon in the direction of the gaping desk and said, “In fact you might be interested in the history of that roll-top. It was Exhibit Number One in a celebrated court case, you know. A murder.” The police constables’ teacups rattled on their saucers. Ailsa, who had not read one word of the book in her hand, glanced at its spine. It was called The Case of the Bloodstained Blotter.
首页 1 2 3 下一页