雙語(yǔ)·灼人的秘密 月光中的蹤跡

A waiter brought up Edgar’s supper on a tray, made the boy as comfortable as possible, and then withdrew, closing the door behind him and turning the key in the lock. “Insufferable,” thought the boy, springing to his feet. To be bolted in as though he were a wild beast was too great an indignity. Could his mother really have brought this degradation upon him? His mind darkened as he meditated.

“I wonder what can be going on down there while I’m caged in this room. What are they talking about? Will their secret be disclosed, when I’m not there to share it with them? It’s awful to feel there’s a secret in the air, always when I’m with grown-ups. They shut me out, especially at night and talk in whispers if I drop in and take them unawares. I feel I’m on the track of their secret, and yet I just miss guessing what it’s all about. This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to understand. Those books I sneaked from Dad’s table and shelves! Only the trouble was that even when I had read them from cover to cover I never understood what they were driving at. There’s something that escapes me every time. How Emma, our parlourmaid, laughed at me when I begged her to explain a passage! Oh, I think it’s dreadful to be a child full of curiosity and not daring to ask questions. Grown-ups merely grin, and look down on a fellow as if he were a fool. But something tells me I’ll soon know everything there is to know. I’m not going to give in until I do....”

He strained his ears to catch a possible footstep. But only the breeze murmured in the foliage, swaying the branches and breaking the moonbeams into a thousand facets of light scattered among the shadows.

“They must be up to something they are ashamed of, otherwise why should they trouble to tell me such idiotic lies? I expect they’re having a good laugh at getting rid of me. Never fear, my turn will come. I’ve been a silly ass to allow them to lock me in. Ought to have stuck to them and never let them out of my sight. Grownups aren’t very clever at hiding what they are doing, and they’d be sure to give themselves away before long. They fancy we children go to sleep, and they forget that we know all kinds of dodges so as to overhear what they say and see what they do. We’re not so stupid as they imagine. When Aunt Clara had a baby two months ago they pretended to be ever so much surprised. But they had known about its coming ages before, and I knew too, because I heard them talking. This time also I’ll find out what Mother and the baron are hiding. I wish the doors were transparent so that I could watch them when they thought no one could see. I wonder if it would be a good move to ring for the chambermaid? She’d have to unlock the door to ask what I wanted. Then, before she knew what I was doing, I’d slip out...” No better not. That might give me away and show the servants how meanly I’m treated. No one must know, it would hurt too much, I couldn’t stand it. But to-morrow...”

A woman’s laugh floated up to him on the spring air, was that his mother? It might well be. She had plenty of reasons for being gay. Had she not locked him up, small and defenceless as he was, got rid of him thrown him into a corner like a bundle of dirty clothes? Stealthily creeping to the window, he peered out. A couple of girls were strolling by with their young men—no one else.

As he leaned on the sill, he noticed how close the window was to the ground; and, before he realized what he was doing, he had taken the plunge and landed in a bed of flowers. The slight noise he made passed unnoticed. He was free. Now he could go and spy upon his foes. In two days, this attitude of spying had become second nature to him who hitherto had been so candid and innocent. Careful to avoid making a sound, he prowled round the hotel, his heart beating furiously lest he should be discovered. Here was the dining-room. With the utmost precaution he pressed his face close to a window-pane: The pair were not there. He passed from window to window, not daring to enter the building in case he should stumble upon them in a passage or on the stair. He failed in his search and was in despair. Then, of a sudden, he saw two shadows issuing from a side door. He ducked so as not to be discovered. Yes, it was his mother accompanied by the inevitable baron.“Just in time,” thought the boy. “What are they talking about? Wish this rotten wind wouldn’t make such a row among the trees!” His mother laughed audibly. He had never heard her laugh like that; it sounded shrill, a trifle excited; most peculiar. Though Edgar felt alarmed at this unusual mirth, he was likewise reassured for, if she felt merry, there certainly could be no immediate danger threatening her. Nor could the matter the twain had in hand be anything of grave importance. Why, then, were they at such pains to hide it from him? Edgar felt rather disappointed at the thought that the secret was not something big, and worthy of the trouble he was taking to unravel it.

Whither could they be going at this hour of the night? High up in the sky a strong wind must be blowing for the clouds were racing by, obscuring the moon. So dark was it at times that one could not see the path, and then all at once the earth was radiant with clarity, and a silver sheen lay on leaf and blade. How strange, how eerie was the interplay of light and shade—like a nymph unveiling and veiling her beauties ere you could feast your eyes on her nakedness. Again the moon shone out, and Edgar saw two silhouettes—or, rather, one only, so closely were the couple walking together—making towards the forest. Why? Whither? The wind was busy among the firs.

“I’ll follow,” thought the child. “They’ll never hear my footsteps in such a din.”

Thrice blessed wind thus to muffle his movements! He slid from tree to tree, from shadow to shadow. Thrice cursed wind thus to muffle their words so that he could not hear what the enemy was talking about. If he once caught the subject of their conversation, he felt convinced that the secret would be his.

Unconcernedly, Frau Blumental and her cavalier went on their way, little suspecting the presence of a spy in their wake. They were entirely happy, and were lost to everything but the splendour of the night and their own growing interest in one another. How could they know that every step they took was dogged, and that eager eyes were watching them with hatred and curiosity?

Suddenly they stopped in the middle of the path. Edgar pressed his frail body against a tree. He gasped with anxiety. “Suppose they turn back, and Mother doesn’t find me in my room? She’ll guess I’ve been watching her, and then she’ll be so wary that I shall never discover their secret.” Happily at that moment the clouds scurried by, the moon shone, and the clearing was flooded with light. The boy saw that the baron was trying to entice the lady into a smaller and darker path which led up a little ravine. Edgar’s mother seemed to be saying “No,” but Sternfeldt urged her to consent. Why? What did he want of her? The books Edgar had read told of “Murders under cover of darkness”, of “Abduction”, of crimes innumerable. Could the baron be planning to kill her? Then here was the explanation, this was Sternfeldt had wanted to be alone with Mother, this was the reason he had induced Mother to turn the key on her own son. Should he seek help? Should he cry, “Murder”? He could not utter the syllables, for his lips were parched with excitement. So intense was his emotion that he found it difficult to keep his footing. He swayed; and, in order to steady himself, seized hold of a branch. It snapped with a loud report.

The two swung round in alarm and stared into the gloom. Edgar stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe. The silence of death lay upon the forest, for neither wind nor creature stirred. Then the woman said:

“Let us turn back.”

How scared she seemed. The baron, too, was frightened and fell in with her wishes. Linked in a close embrace they retraced their steps, slowly, engrossed in their own thoughts. Edgar, profiting by their absorption ran on all fours through the undergrowth, and arrived breathless at the hotel. Turning the key, he entered his room, undressed, and got into bed. He lay quiet for a while, recovering. Then he got up and went to the window, determined to witness their return. They must have walked very, very slowly. At long last he saw their shadows. They looked ghostly in the moonlight. Was the baron really a murderer in disguise? And had he, Edgar, prevented the bloody deed by breaking a dried and rotted branch? Again the moon shone brightly. Edgar had never seen an expression of such rapture on his mother’s face before. But the baron looked wooden and disappointed—probably because his wicked scheme had come to naught, thought the boy.

As they drew near to the hotel they wrenched themselves apart. Would they glance up? No! “They have quite forgotten me!” Then with a mixture of triumph and bitterness Edgar muttered: “But I haven’t forgotten you. You may fancy I am asleep or that I simply don’t exist at all. Just wait; I’ll show you how mistaken you are. I’m not going to let you out of my sight until I have snatched your secret from you. I’ll keep awake all right.”

The two stepped into the doorway. Again their shadows were united to form but one dark patch. Then the moonlight invaded the courtyard, until it looked like a field of untrodden snow.