7 The fisherman 
　  
　　Ⅰsat on a hill－top and thought about my next move. I wasn't very happy，because although I had escaped，I was feeling very ill. The smoke had been very unpleasant， and the day on the roof had made things worse. I had a terrible headache，and my arm hurt so badly that I could not move it. 
　　I decided to go back to Mr Turnbull's house and find my clothes and Scudder's notebook. Then I would take a train to the south. The sooner I met Sir Harry's friend in the government， Sir Walter Bullivant，the better. I hoped he would believe my story， but，even if he did not， I would be safer with him，or even the British police，than with those men at the farmhouse. 
　　It was a clear，starry night and easy to find my way across the hills. I thought I was probably about thirty kilometres from Mr Turnbull's house， so I could not get there in one night. I would have to hide somewhere for the day. When it started to get light，I stopped to wash in a river and then knocked on the door of a small house. I told the woman who lived there that I had had a bad fall， and she could see that I was not well. She gave me some milk and whisky. She also gave me an old coat and hat of her husband's. I now looked like every other Scotsman， and felt safer. 
　　It started to rain，and I spent the afternoon under a rock. That night was the most miserable of all. There were no stars，and I got lost a least twice. I had about fifteen kilometres more to go，but I think I walked thirty. In the end， in the very early morning，in a thick fog，I knocked on Mr Turnbull's door. 
　　Mr Turnbull opened the door wearing an old black suit and a tie. At first he did not recognize me. 
　　'What are you doing here at this time on a Sunday morning？' 
　　My head was so bad that I could not answer for a moment，but then he recognized me，and saw that I was ill. 
　　'Have you got my glasses？'he asked. 
　　I took them out of my pocket and gave them to him. 
　　'You want your clothes，'he said. 'Come in. You're not looking well at all. Come and sit down. ' 
　　I realized that my malaria had come back. I had had malaria in Africa，and it returned sometimes，The smoke，my arm，the wet and the cold had probably not helped. Soon， Mr Turnbull was helping me into a bed. 
　　He was a good friend，that roadman. He took care of me for ten days，until my fever had gone and my arm was much bet-ter. He went out to work every day，locking the door，and in the evening he sat by the fire. He asked no questions，but on some days he brought me a newspaper， and I saw that the ex-citement over the Langham Place murder was over. 
　　One day he gave me my money back. 'There's a lot of mon－ey there. You'd better count it and see if it's all there. ' 
　　I wanted to move as soon as possible， but it was not until the 12th of June that I felt well enough to go. I made Turnbull accept some money for my food， but it was difficult. 
　　I walked the twenty kilometres to the station in a day. The train to London did not leave until night，so I rested in the heather until it arrived. I was very happy to be in the train，and on the way south. 
* * * 
　　I slept on the train until early morning. Then I changed trains two or three times. At about eight o'clock in the evening I arrived at the small station at Artinswell，to the west of London. The road led through a wood into a green valley. Soon I came to a bridge and looked down into the river，whistling the song'Annie Laurie'. 
　　A fisherman walked up from the river，and as he got near to me，he started to whistle the same song. He was a big man in old clothes and a wide hat. He smiled at me， and I looked at his kind，intelligent face. 
　　'The water's clear，isn't it？'he said. 'Look at that big fish lying on the bottom. I've been trying to catch him all evening. ' 
　　'I can't see him，'I said. 
　　'Look，over there，near those plants. ' 
　　'Oh yes，I can see him now. He looks like a black stone. ' 
　　He whistled again，then paused. 'Your name's Twisdon，isn't it？' 
　　'No，'I said. 'I mean yes. 'I had forgotten the name I had given Sir Harry. 
　　'It's a good idea to know your own name，'he said，smiling. 
　　I looked at him again and began to think that this kind，in－telligent man would be a real ally at last. 
　　Then he pointed to a house by the river and said quietly，'Wait five minutes， then come to the back door. 'He walked 
　　I did as he asked，and found the back door open and a ser－vant waiting. 
　　Come this way，sir，'he said， and took me to a bedroom. There were clothes waiting for me，and shaving things. 'There's a bathroom next door. Dinner is in half an hour. ' 
　　The servant left，and I sat down. I was very surprised，but also delighted，Sir Walter clearly believed that I was not a murderer，although when I looked at myself in the mirror，I thought I looked very much like one. 
　　I had a bath and shaved and put on the clothes. When I had finished，I looked in the mirror again. This time I saw a com－pletely different young man. 
　　Sir Walter was waiting for me in the dining room. I decided I must tell him the truth about myself immediately. 
　　'I must thank you very much，but I must make something clear，'I said. 'I'm not a murderer， but the police want me. If you'd like me to leave， I'll leave now. ' 
　　He smiled. 'That's all right. We won't let it stop us eating. Let's talk after dinner. ' 
　　The food and wine were excellent. After dinner we went to the sitting－room for coffee and he looked at me. 
　　I've done what Harry asked me to do，'he said. ' He told me you'd tell me a story to wake me up it I did. So what is your story，Mr Hannay？' 
　　I notoced that he was using my real name. 
　　I told him the whole story， from the night I came home and found Scudder at my door. I told him what Scudder had told me about Karolides，and saw him smile once or twice. Then I told him about the murder，and the milkman，and Scotland，and Scudder's notebook. 
　　'You've got it here？'he asked，and looked pleased when I took it from my pocket. 
　　I said nothing about what I had read in Scudder's notes. Then I told him about my meeting with Sir Harry，and he laughed. My day as a roadman interested him. He made me describe the two men in the car，and seemed to be thinking hard. Then he laughed again at my adventure with Mar－maduke Jopley. When I described the old man in the farm－house，he stopped smiling. 
　　'Old，bald，and hoods his eyes like a hawk. I don't like the sound of him. And you blew up his house. You're a brave man. 
　　I reached the end of my story. He stood up，by the fire，and looked down at me. 
　　'You don't need to worry about the police，'he said. 'They don't want you any more. ' 
　　'Have they arrested the murderer？' 
　　'No. But they know it's not you. ' 
　　'How？' 
　　'Because I heard from Scudder. I knew him a bit. He was astrange man，but he was honest. I had a letter from him on the 31st of May. ' 
　　'But he'd been dead for a week by then. ' 
　　'The letter was written and posted on the 23rd. His letters usually went to Spaim and then Newcastle，so they took a week to arrive. ' 
　　'What did he say？' 
　　'That he was in danger. He said he was living in Langham Place， and that he was with a good friend. I think he wanted to help you in case he was murdered. When I got the letter，I went to Scotland Yard and talked to the police. ' 
　　You can imagine that I felt ten times better. I was a free man， and my only enemies were my country's enemies. 
　　'Now， let's see this notebook，'said Sir Walter. 
　　It took us an hour to work through it. I explained the code and he understood very quickly. When we had finished，he sat silent for a while. 
　　'I don't understand all of this，'he said at last. 'He's right about one thing，and that is the meeting on the 15th. How can anyone have discovered about that？ But all this about war and the Black Stone-it's very strange. Scudder did like to make things seem important and exciting. ' 
　　'The Black Stone，'he repeated. 'It's like a cheap detective story. And all this about Karolides can't be true. Karolides will be alive when we're both dead. No，Scudder's wrong there. There are some unpleasant things going on. Scudder found something out and got killed for it. But all this about stealing the Navy's war plans…I can't really believe it. ' 
　　Just then，the servant came into the room. 
　　' There's a telephone call from London for you， sir. ' 
　　Sir Walter went out. He came back five minutes later with a white face. 'I apologize to Scudder，'he whispered，and then looked at me. 'Karolides was shot dead at seven o'clock this evening. '  
　 
7 渔夫 
　  
　　我坐在山顶上，考虑下一步怎么办。我不太开心，因为虽然我逃出来，可是感觉很难受。火药的烟味很难闻，而且在塔顶上藏了一整天更让人受不了。我头疼欲裂，胳膊伤得动也动不了。 
　　我决定还回特恩布尔先生的家，找回我的衣服和斯卡德尔的笔记本。然后乘火车向南走。我越早见到哈里爵士在政府的朋友，瓦尔特·布利万特爵士就越好。希望他能相信我的话，即使不相信，和他呆在一起，或者和英国警察呆在一起也比和这间农舍的家伙在一起要安全。 
　　夜色晴朗，繁星满天，翻山寻路并不困难。我思忖距特恩布尔先生的家大概有三十公里左右，看来一夜到不了。白天我得藏在什么地方。天一放亮，我停脚在河里洗了把脸，然后去敲一所小屋的门。我对小屋的女主人说我摔得很厉害。她可以看出我情形不好。她给了我点牛奶和威士忌，还把她丈夫的旧外套和帽子送给我。现在我看上去和别的苏格兰人没什么两样，因此感到安全多了。 
　　天开始下起雨来，我在岩石下面躲了一下午。那是最为狼狈的一晚。天上一颗星也没有，至少有两次我迷了路。大约还要走十五公里，而我觉得已经走了三十公里。最后，在大清早，在浓雾弥漫之中，我敲响了特恩布尔先生家的门。 
　　特恩布尔先生开了门，身穿一套黑色的旧衣服，打着领带。头一眼他没有认出我来。 
　　“大礼拜天这个时候您在这儿干吗？” 
　　我头疼得太厉害，一下回答不出，而他认出了我，看出我生病了。 
　　“您带着我的眼镜了吗？”他问道。 
　　我从口袋里掏出眼镜，还给他。 
　　“您要您的衣服，”他说。“请进。您看来不太舒眼。请进来坐下吧。” 
　　我觉得我的疟疾又发作了。在非洲我得过疟疾，后来时而发作。烟熏、胳膊伤、受潮、着凉大概没起好作用。特恩布尔先生很快扶我上床。 
　　这个修路人真够朋友。他服侍了我十天，直到我高烧退去，胳膊也大见好转为止。他每天锁上门出去上班，晚上回来坐在火炉旁。他什么也不问，有时给我带来张报纸，我得以知道关于兰厄姆谋杀案的轰动已经过去了。 
　　一天，他把钱还给我。“这么多钱。最好数一数看是不是都在。” 
　　我想尽快动身，但是直到六月十二日我才感到恢复得足以走路。我设法叫特恩布尔收下点饭钱，但真是难上加难。 
　　我朝车站走，一天走了二十公里。去伦敦的火车要到晚上才开车，因此我躲在石楠丛里，休息到火车进站。跳上火车，奔南而去，我心里喜气洋洋。 
　　我在火车上一觉睡到大天亮。后来我倒了三四次车。大约晚上八点钟，我赶到阿廷斯维尔的一个小站，这个地方位于伦敦的西边。沿路而行穿过一片树林，就到了一个绿油油的峡谷。我很快走上一座桥，一边用口哨吹着那首叫“安妮·劳里”的歌，边低头望着河水。 
　　一个渔夫从河那边走来，走到我身边时，口哨吹起同一首歌。他身材魁梧，穿一身旧衣服，戴一顶宽边帽。他对着我微笑，而我则看着他那张慈祥睿智的脸。 
　　“水很清，是不是？”他说。“看水底那条鱼多大。我折腾了一个晚上一直想把它抓住。” 
　　“看到了，”我说。 
　　“看，就在那儿，在水草旁边。” 
　　“啊，是，我看到了。看起来像块黑石。” 
　　他又吹起口哨，然后停下来。“您叫特维斯顿，是吗？” 
　　“不，”我说。“我想说的是对。”我把自己告诉哈里爵士的那个名字忘记了。 
　　“很想知道您的真名，”他说着笑了。 
　　我看了他一眼，心里开始想着这位和蔼机敏的人大概最终是我真正的战友。 
　　他指着河边的一座房子平静地说：“请等五分钟，然后到后门去。”说完就离开了。 
　　我照办了，发现后门开着，有个仆人等在那里。 
　　“先生，请这边走，”他说着，把我领到一间卧室。卧室里为我准备好了衣服和刮脸用具。“旁边的门是浴室。半个小时后开饭。” 
　　仆人走后我坐了下来。我感到惊喜交加。瓦尔特爵士显然不相信我是杀人犯，虽然照着镜子我觉得自己很像。 
　　我洗了个澡，刮了刮脸，然后换上给我准备的衣服。完事后又重新照了一番镜子，这回我看到是一个截然不同的年轻人。 
　　瓦尔特爵士正在餐厅里等我。我决定立刻把我的全部真实情况告诉他。 
　　“非常感谢您，有些事我得给您讲清楚，”我说。“我不是杀人犯，可是警察在追捕我。如果您要我离开，我便马上走。” 
　　他笑了。“好了。不要让这个打搅我们吃饭。吃过再谈吧。” 
　　好酒好饭真是美餐一顿。饭后到客厅喝咖啡，他看着我。 
　　“我遵哈里爵士之瞩把您请到这儿来，”他说。“他说您会告诉我一件事，如果我以前蒙在鼓里这件事会使我翻然醒悟。那么到底是什么事呢，哈内先生。” 
　　我发觉他在使用我的真名字。 
　　我从那天晚上回到家，在门口遇到斯卡德尔先生开始，把一切都告诉了他。我告诉了他斯卡德尔给我讲的有关卡罗里德斯的事，在这过程中我看到他笑了一两次。我又对他说起那次谋杀、那个送奶员、苏格兰流亡以及斯卡德尔的笔记本。 
　　“您拿来了？”他问道。我从口袋里掏出笔记本，他面露喜色。 
　　至于我在斯卡德尔的笔记本上看到了什么，我只字未提。接着我讲到如何见到哈里爵士，他听着笑了。他对我装修路人的那天很感兴趣。他让我详细描述一下车上的那两个人，看来他在认真思考着。接着我谈到与马默杜克的奇遇，他又笑起来。当我说到农舍里的那个老头，他的笑容收敛了。 
　　“上了年纪、秃头而且像猫头鹰那样眯着眼睛。听起来这个人不讨人喜欢。您把他的房子给炸了。您真有胆量。” 
　　我讲完了。他从火炉旁站起来，低头看着我。 
　　“您不用担心警察，”他说。“他们不再追捕您了。” 
　　“他们抓到凶手了吗？” 
　　“没有。但他们知道不是您。” 
　　“他们怎么知道的？” 
　　“因为我收到了斯卡德尔的信。我对他略有所知。他很古怪，但很诚实。五月三十一日我收到他一封信。” 
　　“可是那时他已经死了一周了。” 
　　“那封信是二十三日写好寄出的。他的信一般走西班牙，然后转纽卡速尔，所以要一周才能收到。” 
　　“他说什么了？” 
　　“他说他处境危险。他住在兰厄姆，和一个好朋友住在一起。我想他是为了在万一被害后仍能帮您一把。接到信我就去苏格兰场告诉了警察。” 
　　可以想像我的无限欣悦之情。我是个自由人了，而且我的唯一敌人也是我的国家的敌人。 
　　“咱们瞧瞧这个笔记本，”瓦尔特爵士说。 
　　我们花了一个小时看了一遍。我解释着暗语，他很快就明白了。完事之后，好半天他坐着一声不吭。 
　　“我不全懂，”他最后说。“有一件事他说对了，就是十五号的会议。但别人怎么可能知道呢？而关于战争、黑石这一切——听起来非常离奇。斯卡德尔确实喜欢把事情搞得看起来不同一般而又撩拨人心。” 
　　“黑石，”他重复说。“似乎像粗制滥造的侦探小说。而关于卡罗里德斯，这一切都不可能是真的。即使我们都死了，卡罗里德斯还会活着。不对。这点斯卡德尔搞错了。近来让人讨厌的事连续不断。斯卡德尔发现了某件事。他因此被杀。但是关于盗窃海军作战计划等等这一切……我简直不能相信。” 
　　恰好仆人进来了。 
　　“先生，伦敦给您来的电话。” 
　　瓦尔特爵士出去了。五分钟后回屋来，脸色煞白。“我得向斯卡德尔道歉，”他低声说，然后看着我。“卡罗里德斯今天晚上七点钟被枪杀了。” 
　　　    


 