CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW
It was a dull, close, overcast summer evening. The clouds, which had been threatening all day, spread out in a dense and sluggish mass of vapour, already yielded large drops of rain, and seemed to presage a violent thunder-storm, when Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, turning out of the main street of the town, directed their course towards a scattered little colony of ruinous houses, distant from it some mile and a-half, or thereabouts, and erected on a low unwholesome swamp, bordering upon the river.
They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer garments, which might, perhaps, serve the double purpose of protecting their persons from the rain, and sheltering them from observation. The husband carried a *, from which, however, no light yet shone; and trudged on, a few paces in front, as though--the way being dirty--to give his wife the benefit of treading in his heavy footprints. They went on, in profound silence; every now and then, Mr. Bumble relaxed his pace, and turned his head as if to make sure that his helpmate was following; then, discovering that she was close at his heels, he mended his rate of walking, and proceeded, at a considerable increase of speed, towards their place of destination.
This was far from being a place of doubtful character; for it had long been known as the residence of none but low ruffians, who, under various pretences of living by their labour, subsisted chiefly on plunder and crime. It was a collection of mere hovels: some, hastily built with loose bricks: others, of old worm-eaten ship-timber: jumbled together without any attempt at order or arrangement, and planted, for the most part, within a few feet of the river's bank. A few leaky boats drawn up on the mud, and made fast to the dwarf wall which skirted it: and here and there an oar or coil of rope: appeared, at first, to indicate that the inhabitants of these miserable cottages pursued some avocation on the river; but a glance at the shattered and useless condition of the articles thus displayed, would have led a passer-by, without much difficulty, to the conjecture that they were disposed there, rather for the preservation of appearances, than with any view to their being actually employed.
In the heart of this cluster of huts; and skirting the river, which its upper stories overhung; stood a large building, formerly used as a manufactory of some kind. It had, in its day, probably furnished employment to the inhabitants of the surrounding tenements. But it had long since gone to ruin. The rat, the worm, and the action of the damp, had weakened and rotted the piles on which it stood; and a considerable portion of the building had already sunk down into the water; while the remainder, tottering and bending over the dark stream, seemed to wait a favourable opportunity of following its old companion, and involving itself in the same fate.
It was before this ruinous building that the worthy couple paused, as the first peal of distant thunder reverberated in the air, and the rain commenced pouring violently down.
'The place should be somewhere here,' said Bumble, consulting a scrap of paper he held in his hand.
'Halloa there!' cried a voice from above.
Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head and descried a man looking out of a door, breast-high, on the second story.
'Stand still, a minute,' cried the voice; 'I'll be with you directly.' With which the head disappeared, and the door closed.
'Is that the man?' asked Mr. Bumble's good lady.
Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative.
'Then, mind what I told you,' said the matron: 'and be careful to say as little as you can, or you'll betray us at once.'
Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks, was apparently about to express some doubts relative to the advisability of proceeding any further with the enterprise just then, when he was prevented by the appearance of Monks: who opened a small door, near which they stood, and beckoned them inwards.
'Come in!' he cried impatiently, stamping his foot upon the ground. 'Don't keep me here!'
The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked boldly in, without any other invitation. Mr. Bumble, who was ashamed or afraid to lag behind, followed: obviously very ill at ease and with scarcely any of that remarkable dignity which was usually his chief characteristic.
'What the devil made you stand lingering there, in the wet?' said Monks, turning round, and addressing Bumble, after he had bolted the door behind them.
'We--we were only cooling ourselves,' stammered Bumble, looking apprehensively about him.
'Cooling yourselves!' retorted Monks. 'Not all the rain that ever fell, or ever will fall, will put as much of hell's fire out, as a man can carry about with him. You won't cool yourself so easily; don't think it!'
With this agreeable speech, Monks turned short upon the matron, and bent his gaze upon her, till even she, who was not easily cowed, was fain to withdraw her eyes, and turn them towards the ground.
'This is the woman, is it?' demanded Monks.
'Hem! That is the woman,' replied Mr. Bumble, mindful of his wife's caution.
'You think women never can keep secrets, I suppose?' said the matron, interposing, and returning, as she spoke, the searching look of Monks.
'I know they will always keep _one_ till it's found out,' said Monks.
'And what may that be?' asked the matron.
'The loss of their own good name,' replied Monks. 'So, by the same rule, if a woman's a party to a secret that might hang or transport her, I'm not afraid of her telling it to anybody; not I! Do you understand, mistress?'
'No,' rejoined the matron, slightly colouring as she spoke.
'Of course you don't!' said Monks. 'How should you?'
Bestowing something half-way between a smile and a frown upon his two companions, and again beckoning them to follow him, the man hastened across the apartment, which was of considerable extent, but low in the roof. He was preparing to ascend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, leading to another floor of warehouses above: when a bright flash of lightning streamed down the aperture, and a peal of thunder followed, which shook the crazy building to its centre.
'Hear it!' he cried, shrinking back. 'Hear it! Rolling and crashing on as if it echoed through a thousand caverns where the devils were hiding from it. I hate the sound!'
He remained silent for a few moments; and then, removing his hands suddenly from his face, showed, to the unspeakable discomposure of Mr. Bumble, that it was much distorted and discoloured.
'These fits come over me, now and then,' said Monks, observing his alarm; 'and thunder sometimes brings them on. Don't mind me now; it's all over for this once.'
Thus speaking, he led the way up the ladder; and hastily closing the window-shutter of the room into which it led, lowered a * which hung at the end of a rope and pulley passed through one of the heavy beams in the ceiling: and which cast a dim light upon an old table and three chairs that were placed beneath it.
'Now,' said Monks, when they had all three seated themselves, 'the sooner we come to our business, the better for all. The woman know what it is, does she?'
The question was addressed to Bumble; but his wife anticipated the reply, by intimating that she was perfectly acquainted with it.
'He is right in saying that you were with this hag the night she died; and that she told you something--'
'About the mother of the boy you named,' replied the matron interrupting him. 'Yes.'
'The first question is, of what nature was her communication?' said Monks.
'That's the second,' observed the woman with much deliberation. 'The first is, what may the communication be worth?'
'Who the devil can tell that, without knowing of what kind it is?' asked Monks.
'Nobody better than you, I am persuaded,' answered Mrs. Bumble: who did not want for spirit, as her yoke-fellow could abundantly testify.
'Humph!' said Monks significantly, and with a look of eager inquiry; 'there may be money's worth to get, eh?'
'Perhaps there may,' was the composed reply.
'Something that was taken from her,' said Monks. 'Something that she wore. Something that--'
'You had better bid,' interrupted Mrs. Bumble. 'I have heard enough, already, to assure me that you are the man I ought to talk to.'
Mr. Bumble, who had not yet been admitted by his better half into any greater share of the secret than he had originally possessed, listened to this dialogue with outstretched neck and distended eyes: which he directed towards his wife and Monks, by turns, in undisguised astonishment; increased, if possible, when the latter sternly demanded, what sum was required for the disclosure.
'What's it worth to you?' asked the woman, as collectedly as before.
'It may be nothing; it may be twenty pounds,' replied Monks. 'Speak out, and let me know which.'
'Add five pounds to the sum you have named; give me five-and-twenty pounds in gold,' said the woman; 'and I'll tell you all I know. Not before.'
'Five-and-twenty pounds!' exclaimed Monks, drawing back.
'I spoke as plainly as I could,' replied Mrs. Bumble. 'It's not a large sum, either.'
'Not a large sum for a paltry secret, that may be nothing when it's told!' cried Monks impatiently; 'and which has been lying dead for twelve years past or more!'
'Such matters keep well, and, like good wine, often double their value in course of time,' answered the matron, still preserving the resolute indifference she had assumed. 'As to lying dead, there are those who will lie dead for twelve thousand years to come, or twelve million, for anything you or I know, who will tell strange tales at last!'
'What if I pay it for nothing?' asked Monks, hesitating.
'You can easily take it away again,' replied the matron. 'I am but a woman; alone here; and unprotected.'
'Not alone, my dear, nor unprotected, neither,' submitted Mr. Bumble, in a voice tremulous with fear: '_I_ am here, my dear. And besides,' said Mr. Bumble, his teeth chattering as he spoke, 'Mr. Monks is too much of a gentleman to attempt any violence on porochial persons. Mr. Monks is aware that I am not a young man, my dear, and also that I am a little run to seed, as I may say; bu he has heerd: I say I have no doubt Mr. Monks has heerd, my dear: that I am a very determined officer, with very uncommon strength, if I'm once roused. I only want a little rousing; that's all.'
As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a melancholy feint of grasping his * with fierce determination; and plainly showed, by the alarmed expression of every feature, that he _did_ want a little rousing, and not a little, prior to making any very warlike demonstration: unless, indeed, against paupers, or other person or persons trained down for the purpose.
'You are a fool,' said Mrs. Bumble, in reply; 'and had better hold your tongue.'
'He had better have cut it out, before he came, if he can't speak in a lower tone,' said Monks, grimly. 'So! He's your husband, eh?'
'He my husband!' tittered the matron, parrying the question.
'I thought as much, when you came in,' rejoined Monks, marking the angry glance which the lady darted at her spouse as she spoke. 'So much the better; I have less hesitation in dealing with two people, when I find that there's only one will between them. I'm in earnest. See here!'
He thrust his hand into a side-pocket; and producing a canvas bag, told out twenty-five sovereigns on the table, and pushed them over to the woman.
'Now,' he said, 'gather them up; and when this cursed peal of thunder, which I feel is coming up to break over the house-top, is gone, let's hear your story.'
The thunder, which seemed in fact much nearer, and to shiver and break almost over their heads, having subsided, Monks, raising his face from the table, bent forward to listen to what the woman should say. The faces of the three nearly touched, as the two men leant over the small table in their eagerness to hear, and the woman also leant forward to render her whisper audible. The sickly rays of the suspended * falling directly upon them, aggravated the paleness and anxiety of their countenances: which, encircled by the deepest gloom and darkness, looked ghastly in the extreme.
'When this woman, that we called old Sally, died,' the matron began, 'she and I were alone.'
'Was there no one by?' asked Monks, in the same hollow whisper; 'No sick wretch or idiot in some other bed? No one who could hear, and might, by possibility, understand?'
'Not a soul,' replied the woman; 'we were alone. _I_ stood alone beside the body when death came over it.'
'Good,' said Monks, regarding her attentively. 'Go on.'
'She spoke of a young creature,' resumed the matron, 'who had brought a child into the world some years before; not merely in the same room, but in the same bed, in which she then lay dying.'
'Ay?' said Monks, with quivering lip, and glancing over his shoulder, 'Blood! How things come about!'
'The child was the one you named to him last night,' said the matron, nodding carelessly towards her husband; 'the mother this nurse had robbed.'
'In life?' asked Monks.
'In death,' replied the woman, with something like a shudder. 'She stole from the corpse, when it had hardly turned to one, that which the dead mother had prayed her, with her last breath, to keep for the infant's sake.'
'She sold it,' cried Monks, with desperate eagerness; 'did she sell it? Where? When? To whom? How long before?'
'As she told me, with great difficulty, that she had done this,' said the matron, 'she fell back and died.'
'Without saying more?' cried Monks, in a voice which, from its very suppression, seemed only the more furious. 'It's a lie! I'll not be played with. She said more. I'll tear the life out of you both, but I'll know what it was.'
'She didn't utter another word,' said the woman, to all appearance unmoved (as Mr. Bumble was very far from being) by the strange man's violence; 'but she clutched my gown, violently, with one hand, which was partly closed; and when I saw that she was dead, and so removed the hand by force, I found it clasped a scrap of dirty paper.'
'Which contained--' interposed Monks, stretching forward.
'Nothing,' replied the woman; 'it was a pawnbroker's duplicate.'
'For what?' demanded Monks.
'In good time I'll tell you.' said the woman. 'I judge that she had kept the trinket, for some time, in the hope of turning it to better account; and then had pawned it; and had saved or scraped together money to pay the pawnbroker's interest year by year, and prevent its running out; so that if anything came of it, it could still be redeemed. Nothing had come of it; and, as I tell you, she died with the scrap of paper, all worn and tattered, in her hand. The time was out in two days; I thought something might one day come of it too; and so redeemed the pledge.'
'Where is it now?' asked Monks quickly.
'_There_,' replied the woman. And, as if glad to be relieved of it, she hastily threw upon the table a small kid bag scarcely large enough for a French watch, which Monks pouncing upon, tore open with trembling hands. It contained a little gold locket: in which were two locks of hair, and a plain gold wedding-ring.
'It has the word "Agnes" engraved on the inside,' said the woman.
'There is a blank left for the surname; and then follows the date; which is within a year before the child was born. I found out that.'
'And this is all?' said Monks, after a close and eager scrutiny of the contents of the little packet.
'All,' replied the woman.
Mr. Bumble drew a long breath, as if he were glad to find that the story was over, and no mention made of taking the five-and-twenty pounds back again; and now he took courage to wipe the perspiration which had been trickling over his nose, unchecked, during the whole of the previous dialogue.
'I know nothing of the story, beyond what I can guess at,' said his wife addressing Monks, after a short silence; 'and I want to know nothing; for it's safer not. But I may ask you two questions, may I?'
'You may ask,' said Monks, with some show of surprise; 'but whether I answer or not is another question.'
'--Which makes three,' observed Mr. Bumble, essaying a stroke of facetiousness.
'Is that what you expected to get from me?' demanded the matron.
'It is,' replied Monks. 'The other question?'
'What do you propose to do with it? Can it be used against me?'
'Never,' rejoined Monks; 'nor against me either. See here! But don't move a step forward, or your life is not worth a bulrush.'
With these words, he suddenly wheeled the table aside, and pulling an iron ring in the boarding, threw back a large trap-door which opened close at Mr. Bumble's feet, and caused that gentleman to retire several paces backward, with great precipitation.
'Look down,' said Monks, lowering the * into the gulf. 'Don't fear me. I could have let you down, quietly enough, when you were seated over it, if that had been my game.'
Thus encouraged, the matron drew near to the brink; and even Mr. Bumble himself, impelled by curiousity, ventured to do the same. The turbid water, swollen by the heavy rain, was rushing rapidly on below; and all other sounds were lost in the noise of its plashing and eddying against the green and slimy piles. There had once been a water-mill beneath; the tide foaming and chafing round the few rotten stakes, and fragments of machinery that yet remained, seemed to dart onward, with a new impulse, when freed from the obstacles which had unavailingly attempted to stem its headlong course.
'If you flung a man's body down there, where would it be to-morrow morning?' said Monks, swinging the * to and fro in the dark well.
'Twelve miles down the river, and cut to pieces besides,' replied Bumble, recoiling at the thought.
Monks drew the little packet from his breast, where he had hurriedly thrust it; and tying it to a leaden weight, which had formed a part of some pulley, and was lying on the floor, dropped it into the stream. It fell straight, and true as a die; clove the water with a scarcely audible splash; and was gone.
The three looking into each other's faces, seemed to breathe more freely.
'There!' said Monks, closing the trap-door, which fell heavily back into its former position. 'If the sea ever gives up its dead, as books say it will, it will keep its gold and silver to itself, and that trash among it. We have nothing more to say, and may break up our pleasant party.'
'By all means,' observed Mr. Bumble, with great alacrity.
'You'll keep a quiet tongue in your head, will you?' said Monks, with a threatening look. 'I am not afraid of your wife.'
'You may depend upon me, young man,' answered Mr. Bumble, bowing himself gradually towards the ladder, with excessive politeness. 'On everybody's account, young man; on my own, you know, Mr. Monks.'
'I am glad, for your sake, to hear it,' remarked Monks. 'Light your *! And get away from here as fast as you can.'
It was fortunate that the conversation terminated at this point, or Mr. Bumble, who had bowed himself to within six inches of the ladder, would infallibly have pitched headlong into the room below. He lighted his * from that which Monks had detached from the rope, and now carried in his hand; and making no effort to prolong the discourse, descended in silence, followed by his wife. Monks brought up the rear, after pausing on the steps to satisfy himself that there were no other sounds to be heard than the beating of the rain without, and the rushing of the water.
They traversed the lower room, slowly, and with caution; for Monks started at every shadow; and Mr. Bumble, holding his * a foot above the ground, walked not only with remarkable care, but with a marvellously light step for a gentleman of his figure: looking nervously about him for hidden trap-doors. The gate at which they had entered, was softly unfastened and opened by Monks; merely exchanging a nod with their mysterious acquaintance, the married couple emerged into the wet and darkness outside.
They were no sooner gone, than Monks, who appeared to entertain an invincible repugnance to being left alone, called to a boy who had been hidden somewhere below. Bidding him go first, and bear the light, he returned to the chamber he had just quitted.
这是一个阴云密布、空气沉闷的夏夜。阴沉了整整一天的云霭铺展开来，化作大团浓厚而呆滞的水气，早已凝聚起大滴的雨点，似乎预示着一场暴风雨即将来临。就在这个时候，邦布尔夫妇绕过镇上那条大街，朝着城外大约一英里半的一个小居民点出发了，那里稀稀落落有几所破房子，建在一块低洼污秽的沼地上，紧挨着河边。
他们俩裹着破旧的外衣，这样打扮或许可以一举两得，既可以免受雨淋，又能掩人耳目。作丈夫的提着一盏没有点亮的手灯，步履艰难地走在前边，路上满是污泥浊水――像是有心让落后几步的老婆踩着他那深深的脚印往前走。他们不声不响地走着，邦布尔先生时不时地放慢脚步，回头看看，仿佛是想搞清自己那位贤内助跟上来了没有，见她一步也没落下，随即将步伐调整到颇为可观的速度，朝目的地走去。
那个地方远远不只是一个名声可疑的去处，早就远近闻名，住在这里的全都是下三烂的歹徒恶棍，这些家伙打着各式各样自食其力的幌子，主要靠偷窃和作案为生。这里整个是一个棚屋和茅舍的大杂烩――有些是用七长八短的砖石仓仓猝猝盖起来的可知主义倾向。但他的命题较早涉及到了思想和存在、思维，另一些是用蛀蚀过的旧船板搭在一起――完全没有进行过收拾整理，大部分距离河岸只有几英尺。几条拖上河滩的破木船拴在岸边的矮墙上，到处散落着一支船桨或是一卷绳子什么的，乍眼看去，似乎暗示这些简陋小屋的居户从事某种水上职业。不过，一巳看到这些东西七零八落地摆在那里，没有人用，过路人无需作难就能揣摸出，这些东西放在那儿，与其说是考虑到实际用途，不如说是拿来装装样子。
在这一群茅屋的中心，紧挨河边，立着一幢上边几层悬在水上的大房子。这房子从前是一家什么工厂，当年也许曾经为附近居民提供过就业的机会，但早已成为废墟。老鼠，蛀虫，加上潮气的侵蚀，房屋的木桩已经烂掉，楼的很大一部分已经沉人水中，余下来的部分摇摇欲坠，伏在黑沉沉的水流上，好像是在等待一个适当的机会，跟随旧日同伴而去，接受同样的命运。
这可敬的一对就是在这一座没落的大楼前边停了下来，这时远远的第一阵雷声在空中炸响了，大雨倾泻而下。
“想必就在这附近什么地方。”邦布尔核对着手中的纸片，说道。
“喂！”一个声音从头上传来。
顺着喊声，邦布尔先生抬起头来，发现有个男人正从二楼一扇门里探出身子张望。
“稍等一会儿，”那声音大声叫道，“我这就来接你们。”说话间那个脑袋消失了，门也关上了。
“是那个人吗？”邦布尔先生的贤内助问道。
邦布尔先生肯定地点了点头。
“到时候，记住我跟你说的话，”女总管说，“尽量少开口，要不你一转眼就把我们的底给抖出去了。”
邦布尔先生很是泄气地望着大楼，显然正打算就这档子事继续搞下去是否值得提出某些疑问，但他已经没有机会开口了。孟可司露面了，他打开一道就在他们旁边的小门，示意他们上里边去。
“进来吧！”他很不耐烦地嚷着说，用脚跺了一下地面。“我可没闲功夫老呆在这儿。”
邦布尔太大先是迟疑了一下，接着不待对方进一步邀请，便大着胆子走了进去。邦布尔先生不好意思或者说是不敢掉在后边，紧跟着进去了，活脱脱一副六神无主的样子，他的主要特征本来是那种引人注目的威风，此时却简直难以找到一星半点。
“真是活见鬼，你怎么淋着雨在那儿逛荡？”孟可司在他们身后闩上门，回过头来，跟邦布尔搭话道。
“我们――我们只是在凉快凉快。”邦布尔结结巴巴地说，一边提心吊胆地四下里乱看。
“凉快凉快？”孟可司把他的话顶了回去。“没听说什么时候落下来的雨，或者将来下的雨，能浇灭人心头的欲望之火，正如浇不灭地狱之火一样。凉快凉快，没那么舒服，想都别想。”
说罢这一番至理名言，孟可司骤然转向女总管，目光逼视着她，连从不轻易屈服的她也只得把眼光缩回去，转向地面。
“就是这位女士了，对吗？”孟可司问道。
“嗯嗯。是这位女士。”邦布尔牢记着太太的告诫，口答说。
“我猜想，你认为女人是绝对保守不住秘密的，是吗？”女总管插了进来，一边说，一边也用锐利的目光回敬孟可司。
“我知道她们只有一件事能保住秘密，直到被人发现为止。”孟可司说。
“那又是什么秘密呢？”女总管问。
“秘密就是她们失去了自个儿的好名声，”孟可司答道，“所以，根据同一条法则，假如一个女人介入了一个会把她送上绞刑架或是流放的秘密，我用不着担心她会告诉任何人，我不怕。你明白吗，夫人？”
“不明白。”女总管说话时脸有点发红。
“你当然不明白。”孟可司说，“你怎么会明白？”
那人投向两个同伴的表情一半像是微笑，一半像是在皱眉头，又一次招手要他们跟上，便匆匆走过这间相当宽敞但屋顶低矮的房间。他正准备登上笔直的楼梯或者*什么的，到上边一层库房里去，一道雪亮的闪电从上边的窟窿里钻进来，接着就是一阵隆隆的雷声，这座本来就东倒西歪的大楼整个晃动起来。
“听啊！”他往后一退，嚷了起来。“听啊！轰隆一声就下来了，好像是在大小魔头躲藏的无数个洞窟里齐声响起来的一样。我讨厌这声音。
他沉默了一会儿，接着，突然将捂在脸上的双手拿开，邦布尔先生看见他的脸大变样，脸色也变了，自己心里真有说不出的烦躁。
“我三天两头都要这么抽筋，”孟可司注意到了邦布尔先生惊恐的样子，便说道。“有的时候打雷也会引起。现在不用管我，这一次算是过去了。”
他这么说着，带头登上*，来到一个房间。他手忙脚乱地把房间的窗板关上，又把挂在天花板下一根横梁上的滑轮升降灯拉下来，昏暗的灯光落在下边放着的一张旧桌子和三把椅子上。
“眼下，”三个人全都坐下来，孟可司说话了，“我们还是谈正事吧，这对大家都有好处。这位女士是不是知道谈什么？”
问题是冲着邦布尔提出来的，可是他的夫人却抢先作了回答，说自己完全清楚要谈什么事。
“他可是说了，那个丑八怪死的当晚，你跟她在一块儿，她告诉了你一件事――”
“这事和你提到的那个孩子的母亲有关，”女总管打断了他的话，答道，“是有这么回事。”
“头一个问题是，她谈的事属于什么性质？”孟可司说道。
“这是第二个问题，”女士慎重其事地之说，“头一个问题是，这消息值多少钱？”
“还不清楚是哪一类消息呢，谁他妈说得上来？”孟可司问道。
“我相信，没有人比你更清楚的了。”邦布尔太太并不缺少魄力，对于这一点她的夫君完全可以证明。
“哼。”孟可司带着一副急于问个究竟的神色，意味深长地说，“该不会很值钱吧，嗯？”
“可能是吧。”回答十分从容。
“有一样从她那儿拿走的东西，”孟可司说道，“她本来戴在身上，后来――”
“你最好出个价，”邦布尔太太没让他说下去，“我已经听得够多的了，我相信你正是想要知道底细的人。”
邦布尔先生至今没有获得他当家人的恩准，对这个秘密了解得比当初多一些，此时他伸长脖子，瞪大眼睛听着这番对话，满脸掩饰不住的惊愕表情，时而看看老婆，时而又看看孟可司。当孟可司厉声问道，对这个有待透露的秘密得出个多大的数目时，他的惊愕更是有增无已，如果先前还不算达到了顶点的话。
“你看值多少钱？”女士问的时候跟先前一样平静。
“也许一个子不值，也许值二十镑，”孟可司回答，“说出来，让我心里有个数。”
“就依你说的这个数目，再加五镑，给我二十五个金镑，”那女的说道，“我把知道的事情都告诉你。先说出来可没门。”
“二十五镑！”孟可司大叫一声，仰靠在椅子上。
“我说得再明白不过了，”邦布尔太太回答，“也算不得一个大数。”
“一个微不足道，也许讲出来什么也算不上的秘密，还不算大数？”孟可司猴急地嚷了起来，“加上埋在地下已经十二年还有多的。”
“这类玩意儿保存好了，跟好酒一样，越陈越值钱。”女总管回答说，依旧保持着那一副满不在乎的样子。“说到埋在地下嘛，不是还有些个埋在地下一万二千年，或者一千二百万年的，你我都知道，终归还是要说出些个稀奇古怪的事来。”
“我要是付了钱，却什么也没得到呢？”孟可司犹豫起来，问道。
“你可以轻而易举重新拿回去，”女总管回答，“我不过是个女人，孤身一人呆在这里，没有人保护。”
“不是孤身一人，亲爱的，也不是没人保护，”邦布尔先生用吓得发抖的声音央告说，“有我在这儿呢，亲爱的。再说了，”邦布尔先生说话时牙齿咔哒直响，“孟可司先生实实在在是位绅士，不会对教区人士动武的。孟可司先生知道，我不是年轻人了，也可以说，我已经有一点老不中用了。可他也听说过――我是说，我丝毫也不怀疑孟可司先生已经听说了，我亲爱的――要是惹火了，我可是一个办事果断的人，力气非同一般。只要惹我一下就够了，就是这么回事。”
说着，邦布尔先生装出一副果断得吓人，实则可怜巴巴的样子，紧紧握住他带来的那盏手提灯，可眉梢嘴角那一处处吓慌了的神情清清楚楚地表明，他的确需要惹一下子，而且还不只是惹一下子就够了，才做得出勇猛过人的姿态来。当然，对付贫民或其他专供恐吓的人就是另外一回事了。
“你这个蠢货，”邦布尔太太答道，“还是把嘴闭上为妙。”
“要是他不能用小一点的嗓门说话，那他来以前最好把舌头割掉，”孟可司恶狠狠地说，“别忙。他是你丈夫，嗯？”
“他，我丈夫！”女总管吃吃地笑起来，避而不答。
“你一进来，我就那样想过，”孟可司说道。他已经注意到了，她说话时怒不可遏地朝老公瞪了一眼。“那就更好了。要是发现跟我打交道的两个人其实是一个，我可就干脆多了。我不是说着玩的。瞧吧。”
他把一只手插进侧边衣袋里，掏出一个帆布袋子，点着数把二十五金镑放在桌子上，然后推到那位女士面前。
“喏，”他说道，“把东西收起来。这该死的雷声，我觉得它会把房顶炸塌的，等它过去，我们就来听听你的故事。”
雷声，好像的确近得多了，几乎就在他们头顶上震动、炸响，随后渐渐远去。孟可司从桌边扬起脸，朝前弓着身子，一心想听听那个妇人会说出些什么。两个男人急于听个究竟，一起朝那张小小的桌子俯下来，那女的也把头伸过去，好让她像耳语一般的说话声能听得见，三张脸险些儿碰着了。吊灯微弱的亮光直接落在他们的脸上，使这三张面孔显得越发苍白而又焦急，在一片朦胧昏暗之中，看上去像是三个幽灵。
“那个女人，我们管她叫老沙丽，她死的时候，”女总管开始了，“在场的只有我跟她两个人。”
“旁边没别的人了？”孟可司同样悄没声地问，“别的床上没有害病的家伙，或者说白痴吧？谁也听不见，绝没有人听了去？”
“一个人都没有，”女的回答，“就我们俩。死的功夫，就我一个人守在尸体旁边。”
“好，”孟可司专注地望着她，说道，“讲下去。”
“她谈到有个年轻的人儿，”女总管接着说，“好些年以前生下一个男孩，不单单是在同一个房间里，而且就在她临死的时候躺的那张床上。”
“啊？”孟可司的嘴唇哆嗦起来，他回头看了一眼，说道，“吓死人了。怎么搞的。”
“那孩子就是你昨天晚上向他提到名字的那一个，”女总管漫不经心地朝自己的丈夫点了点头，“那个看护偷了他母亲的东西。”
“在生前？”孟可司问。
“死的时候，”那女的回答的时候好像打了个寒战，“孩子的母亲只剩最后一口气了，求她替孤儿保存起来，可那个当妈的刚一断气，她就从尸体上把东西偷走了。”
“她把东西卖掉了？”孟可司急不可待地嚷了起来，“她是不是卖了？卖哪儿去了？什么时候？卖给谁了？多久以前的事？”
“当时，她费了好大劲告诉我，她干了这件事，”女总管说，“倒下去就死了。”
“再没说什么了？”孟可司尽量压低声音嚷道，但却仅仅使他的声音听上去更加暴躁。“撒谎。我不会上当的。她还有话。不把话说清楚，我会要你们俩的老命。”
“别的话她一句也没说，”这个怪人的举动十分狂暴，但妇人显然丝毫也不为所动（相形之下，邦布尔先生就差远了），她说道。“不过，她一只手死死抓住我的上衣，手没有整个攥在一块儿。我见她已经死了，就用力把那只手掰开，发现她手里握着一张破纸片。”
“那上边有――”孟可司伸长脖子，插了一句。
“没什么，”那女的回答，“是一张当票。”
“当的什么？”孟可司追问道。
“到时候，我会告诉你的，”妇人说道，“我寻思她把那个小东西放了一阵子，满以为能卖个大价钱，后来才送进了当铺，她存了钱，或者说攒了些钱，一年一年付给当铺利息，免得过期。真有什么事情用得着了，还可以赎出来。结果什么事也没有，而且，我告诉你吧，她手里捏着那张烂得一塌糊涂的纸片死了。那时还有两天就要过期了，我心想说不定哪天还会用得着呢，就把东西赎了回来。”
“眼下东西在什么地方？”孟可司急切地问。
“在这儿。”妇人回答。她慌里慌张，把一只大小刚够放下一块法国表的小羊皮袋扔在桌上，好像巴不得摆脱它的样子。孟可司猛扑上去，双手颤抖着把袋子撕开。袋子里装着一只小金盒，里边有两绺头发，一个纯金的结婚戒指。
“戒指背面刻着‘艾格尼丝’几个字，”妇人说，“空白是留给姓氏的，接下来是日期。那个日子就在小孩生下来的前一年。我后来才弄清楚了。”
“就这些？”孟可司说，他对小袋子里的东西都仔细而急切地检查过了。
“就这些。”妇人回答。
邦布尔先生长长地倒抽了一口气，仿佛感到欣慰，故事已经讲完了，对方没有重提把那二十五金榜要回去的话，他鼓起勇气，把从刚才那一番对话开始以来就遏止不住地从鼻子上滴下来的汗水抹掉了。
“除了能够猜到的以外，我对这事就什么也不知道了，”邦布尔老婆沉默片刻，对孟可司说道，“我也不想打听什么，因为这样最稳当。不过，我总可以问你两个问题吧，是吗？”
“你可以问，”孟可司略有几分惊异地说，“但我是否答复就是另一个问题了。”
“――这就成了三个了。”邦布尔先生一心要在滑稽取笑方面露一手，便说道。
“这是不是你打算从我这儿得到的东西？”女总管问道。
“是，”孟可司回答，“还有一个问题呢？”
“你打算用来干什么？会不会用来跟我过不去？”
“绝对不会，”孟可司回答，“也不会跟我自己过不去。瞧这儿。你一步也别往前挪，要不你的性命连一根莎草也不值了。”
随着这番话，他猛地将桌子推到一边，抓住地板上的一只铁环，拉开一大块活板，从紧挨着邦布尔先生脚边的地方掀开一道暗门，吓得这位先生连连后退。
“瞧下边，”孟可司一边说，一边把吊灯伸进洞里，“犯不着怕我。你们坐在上边的功夫，我完全可以不声不响地打发你们下去，我要是有这个意思的话。”
在这一番鼓励之下，女总管挨近了坑口。连邦布尔先生也在好奇心驱使下大着胆子走上前来。大雨后暴涨的河水在底下奔泻而过，流水哗哗，浊浪翻滚，扑打着那粘糊糊的绿色木桩，所有的声音都消失在这一片喧腾声中。下边过去有一座水磨，水流泛起泡沫，冲击着几根腐朽的木桩和残存的机器零件，接着甩开了这些妄图阻止它一泄千里的障碍物，似乎拿出了新的冲劲朝前奔去。
“要是你把一个人的尸体抛到下边去，明天早上会到什么地方？”孟可司将吊灯在黑洞里来回晃动着，说道。
“流下去十二英里，外加扯成几大块。”邦布尔想到这一点，赶紧缩回去。
孟可司将匆忙中塞进怀里的那个小包掏出来，拾起地板上一个铅坠绑在上边，这个铅坠原先是滑车上的一个零件，绑好之后，便丢进了激流之中。铅坠直端端掉下去，扑嗵一声划开水面，声音几乎难以听见，不见了。
三个人面面相觑，似乎松了一口气。
“喂，”孟可司关上暗门，活板又重重地落回到原来的位置上。“如果大海会把死人送上岸来的话，书上就是这么说的，它自会留下金银财宝，包括那个无用的东西在内。我们没什么可说的了，还是结束这一次愉快的聚会吧。”
“当然当然。”邦布尔先生欣然同意。
“你还是在脑袋瓜里留一条规规矩矩的舌头，好不好？”孟可司把脸一沉，说道。“我并不担心你的夫人。”
“你可以相信我，年轻人。”邦布尔先生一边回答，一边点头哈腰，缓缓地退向那架*，显然格外有礼貌。“为了大家的利益，年轻人，也为了我自己，你知道，孟可司先生。”
“看在你面子上，我很高兴听到这句话，”孟可司说道，“把灯点亮。尽快离开这儿。”
幸亏谈话在这个节骨眼上结束了，要不然，已经退到离*不超过六英寸仍在连连鞠躬的邦布尔先生准会来个倒栽葱，掉进楼下一间屋子里去。他从孟可司解开绳子拎在手里的吊灯上借了个火，点亮自己的那盏手提灯。他没再找些话说，默默地顺着*下去，他的妻子跟在后边。孟可司在*上停了一下，直到确信除了屋外雨点的敲打与河水的奔泻而外，没有别的声音，才最后一个走下*。
他们缓慢而谨慎地穿过楼下的房间，因为每一个影子都会把孟可司吓一大跳。邦布尔先生手里提着的灯离地面一尺，步履间不仅极其慎重，而且就一位像他那种身材的先生来说，他的步子轻巧得简直不可思议，他疑神疑鬼，东张西望，看有没有暗藏的活板门。孟可司卸下门闩，将他们进来的那道门轻轻打开。这两口子与神秘的新相识彼此点了一下头，向门外黑沉沉的雨夜中走去。
他们刚一消失，孟可司似乎对单独留下来抱有一种克制不住的厌恶，立刻把藏在楼下什么地方的一个孩子叫出来，吩咐他走在头里，自己提着灯，回到他刚刚离开的那个房间去了。
