فصل 04 - 01
- زمان مطالعه 3 دقیقه
- سطح ساده
دانلود اپلیکیشن «زیبوک»
این فصل را میتوانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زیبوک» بخوانید
متن انگلیسی فصل
It was about a week later that Partridge told me that Mrs Baker, the mother of the servant girl Beatrice, would like to speak to me. I hoped that I was not going to be accused of being too friendly with her daughter, as the anonymous letter had said.
But when I had offered her a chair, Mrs Baker said, ‘It is very good of you to see me, Mr Burton. When Beatrice was on her bed, crying, I told her that you would know what to do.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But what has happened?’
‘It is the letters. The evil letters.’
‘Has your daughter received more letters?’
‘Not her, Mr Burton. But now George, Beatrice’s boyfriend, he’s got one of them, saying how Beatrice is seeing Tom Ledbetter. George is mad with anger, and he came round and told Beatrice he didn’t want to see her any more.’
‘But why come to me?’ I asked.
‘I heard that you’d had one of these letters yourself, and I thought that, being a London gentleman, you’d know what to do about them.’
‘If I were you,’ I said, ‘I would go to the police.’
Mrs Baker looked shocked. ‘Me, go into a police station? I’ve never been near the police.’
‘Well, they are the only people who can do something about these letters. It’s their job.’
Mrs Baker said, ‘These letters ought to be stopped. Young fellows like George get very violent - and so do the older ones.’ I leaned forward. ‘Mrs Baker, have you any idea who is writing these letters?’
I was very surprised when she said, ‘Yes, we’ve all got a good idea. Mrs Cleat - that’s what we all think.’
‘And who is Mrs Cleat?’
She was, Mrs Baker said, the wife of an old gardener. But when I asked her why Mrs Cleat would write these letters, Mrs Baker would only say that ‘It would be like her.’
In the end she left, and I then decided to go and talk to Dr Griffith. He would almost certainly know this Cleat woman.
But when I arrived and told him about my conversation with Mrs Baker, Griffith shook his head. ‘It’s most unlikely.’
‘Then why do they all think it is her?’
He smiled. ‘Oh, because Mrs Cleat is the local witch.’
‘Goodness!’ I said.
‘Yes, it does sound rather strange in this modern world. But Mrs Cleat is an unusual woman with a bitter sense of humour. If a child cuts its finger, she nods and says, “Yes, he stole my apples last week,” or “He pulled my cat’s tail.” So mothers give her honey and cakes to make sure she won’t make something bad happen to them. It’s very silly, but now of course they think she must be writing the letters.’
‘But she isn’t?’
‘Oh, no. She’s not that sort of person.’
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