評論
打印
I'm sure that's not it, I said.
“絕對不是這一家。”我說。
The concierge shrugged his shoulders. There was no other hotel of that name in Paris. It occurred to me that Strickland had concealed his address, after all. In giving his partner the one I knew he was perhaps playing a trick on him. I do not know why I had an inkling that it would appeal to Strickland's sense of humour to bring a furious stockbroker over to Paris on a fool's errand to an ill-famed house in a mean street. Still, I thought I had better go and see. Next day about six o'clock I took a cab to the Rue des Moines, but dismissed it at the corner, since I preferred to walk to the hotel and look at it before I went in. It was a street of small shops subservient to the needs of poor people, and about the middle of it, on the left as I walked down, was the Hotel des Belges. My own hotel was modest enough, but it was magnificent in comparison with this. It was a tall, shabby building, that cannot have been painted for years, and it had so bedraggled an air that the houses on each side of it looked neat and clean. The dirty windows were all shut. It was not here that Charles Strickland lived in guilty splendour with the unknown charmer for whose sake he had abandoned honour and duty. I was vexed, for I felt that I had been made a fool of, and I nearly turned away without making an enquiry. I went in only to be able to tell Mrs. Strickland that I had done my best.
看門人聳了聳肩膀。巴黎再沒有另一家叫這個名字的旅館了。我想起來，思特里克蘭德本來是不想叫別人知道他行蹤的。他給他的合股人這個地址也許是在同他開玩笑。不知道為什么，我暗想這很合思特里克蘭德的幽默感，把一個怒氣沖沖的證券交易人騙到巴黎一條下流街道上的很不名譽的房子里去，出盡洋相。雖然如此，我覺得我還是得去看一看。第二天六點鐘左右我叫了一輛馬車，到了摩納街。我在街角上把車打發掉，我想我還是步行到旅館，先在外面看看再進去。這一條街兩旁都是為窮人開設的小店鋪，路走了一半，在我拐進來的左面，就是比利時旅館。我自己住的是一家普普通通的旅館，可是同這家旅館比起來簡直宏偉極了。這是一座破爛的小樓，多年沒有粉刷過，齷齷齪齪，相形之下，兩邊的房子倒顯得又干凈又整齊。骯臟的窗子全部關著。查理斯·思特里克蘭德同那位勾引他丟棄了名譽和職責的美女顯然不會在這樣一個地方尋歡作樂，享受他們罪惡而豪華的生活。我非常惱火，覺得自己分明是被耍弄了。我差一點連問都不問就扭頭而去。我走進去只是為了事后好向思特里克蘭德太太交待，告訴她我已經盡了最大的努力。
The door was at the side of a shop. It stood open, and just within was a sign: Bureau au premier. I walked up narrow stairs, and on the landing found a sort of box, glassed in, within which were a desk and a couple of chairs. There was a bench outside, on which it might be presumed the night porter passed uneasy nights. There was no one about, but under an electric bell was written Garcon. I rang, and presently a waiter appeared. He was a young man with furtive eyes and a sullen look. He was in shirt-sleeves and carpet slippers.
旅館的入口在一家店鋪的旁邊，門開著，一進門便有一塊牌子：賬房在二樓。我沿著狹窄的樓梯走上去，在樓梯平臺上看到一間用玻璃門窗隔起來的小閣子，里面擺著一張辦公桌和兩三把椅子。閣子外面有一條長凳，晚上守門人多半就在這里過夜。附近沒有一個人影，但是我在一個電鈴按鈕下面看到有侍者 字樣。我按了一下，馬上從什么地方鉆出一個人來。這人很年輕，賊眉鼠眼，滿臉喪氣，身上只穿一件襯衫，趿拉著一雙氈子拖鞋。
I do not know why I made my enquiry as casual as possible.
我自己不知道為什么我向他打聽思特里克蘭德時要裝出一副漫不經心的樣子。
Does Mr. Strickland live here by any chance? I asked.
“這里住沒住著一位思特里克蘭德先生？”我問。
Number thirty-two. On the sixth floor.
“三十二號，六樓。”
I was so surprised that for a moment I did not answer.
我大吃一驚，一時沒有答出話來。
Is he in?
“他在家嗎？”
The waiter looked at a board in the bureau.
侍者看了看賬房里的一塊木板。
He hasn't left his key. Go up and you'll see.
“他的鑰匙不在這里。自己上去看看吧。”
I thought it as well to put one more question.
我想不妨再問他一個問題。
Madame est la?
“太太也在這里嗎？”
Monsieur est seul.
“只有先生一個人。”
