jkrowling.harrypotterandgf-第1部分

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　　　THE　RIDDLE　HOUSE
　　　
　　　The　villagers　of　Little　Hangleron　still　called　it　〃the　Riddle　House；〃　even　though　it　had　been　many　years　since　the　Riddle　family　had　lived　there。　It　stood　on　a　hill　overlooking　the　village；　some　of　its　windows　boarded；　tiles　missing　from　its　roof；　and　ivy　spreading　unchecked　over　its　face。　Once　a　fine…looking　manor；　and　easily　the　largest　and　grandest　building　for　miles　around；　the　Riddle　House　was　now　damp；　derelict；　and　unoccupied。
　　　The　Little　Hagletons　all　agreed　that　the　old　house　was　〃creepy。〃　Half　a　century　ago；　something　strange　and　horrible　had　happened　there；　something　that　the　older　inhabitants　of　the　village　still　liked　to　discuss　when　topics　for　gossip　were　scarce。　The　story　had　been　picked　over　so　many　times；　and　had　been　embroidered　in　so　many　places；　that　nobody　was　quite　sure　what　the　truth　was　anymore。　Every　version　of　the　tale；　however；　started　in　the　same　place：　Fifty　years　before；　at　daybreak　on　a　fine　summer's　morning　when　the　Riddle　House　had　still　been　well　kept　and　impressive；　a　maid　had　entered　the　drawing　room　to　find　all　three　Riddles　dead。
　　　The　maid　had　run　screaming　down　the　hill　into　the　village　and　roused　as　many　people　as　she　could。
　　　〃Lying　there　with　their　eyes　wide　open！　Cold　as　ice！　Still　in　their　dinner　things！〃
　　　The　police　were　summoned；　and　the　whole　of　Little　Hangleton　had　seethed　with　shocked　curiosity　and　ill…disguised　excitement。　Nobody　wasted　their　breath　pretending　to　feel　very　sad　about　the　Riddles；　for　they　had　been　most　unpopular。　Elderly　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Riddle　had　been　rich；　snobbish；　and　rude；　and　their　grown…up　son；　Tom；　had　been；　if　anything；　worse。　All　the　villagers　cared　about　was　the　identity　of　their　murderer…for　plainly；　three　apparently　healthy　people　did　not　all　drop　dead　of　natural　causes　on　the　same　night。
　　　The　Hanged　Man；　the　village　pub；　did　a　roaring　trade　that　night；　the　whole　village　seemed　to　have　turned　out　to　discuss　the　murders。　They　were　rewarded　for　leaving　their　firesides　when　the　Riddles'　cook　arrived　dramatically　in　their　midst　and　announced　to　the　suddenly　silent　pub　that　a　man　called　Frank　Bryce　had　just　been　arrested。
　　　〃Frank！〃　cried　several　people。　〃Never！〃
　　　Frank　Bryce　was　the　Riddles'　gardener。　He　lived　alone　in　a　run…down　cottage　on　the　grounds　of　the　Riddle　House。　Frank　had　e　back　from　the　war　with　a　very　stiff　leg　and　a　great　dislike　of　crowds　and　loud　noises；　and　had　been　working　for　the　Riddles　ever　since。
　　　There　was　a　rush　to　buy　the　cook　drinks　and　hear　more　details。
　　　〃Always　thought　he　was　odd；〃　she　told　the　eagerly　listening　villagers；　after　her　fourth　sherry。　〃Unfriendly；　like。　I'm　sure　if　I've　offered　him　a　cuppa　once；　I've　offered　it　a　hundred　times。　Never　wanted　to　mix；　he　didn't。〃
　　　〃Ah；　now；〃　said　a　woman　at　the　bar；　〃he　had　a　hard　war；　Frank。　He　likes　the　quiet　life。　That's　no　reason　to…〃
　　　〃Who　else　had　a　key　to　the　back　door；　then？〃　barked　the　cook。　〃There's　been　a　spare　key　hanging　in　the　gardener's　cottage　far　back　as　I　can　remember！　Nobody　forced　the　door　last　night！　No　broken　windows！　All　Frank　had　to　do　was　creep　up　to　the　big　house　while　we　was　all　sleeping。。。〃
　　　The　villagers　exchanged　dark　looks。
　　　〃I　always　thought　that　he　had　a　nasty　look　about　him；　right　enough；〃　grunted　a　man　at　the　bar。
　　　〃War　turned　him　funny；　if　you　ask　me；〃　said　the　landlord。
　　　〃Told　you　I　wouldn't　like　to　get　on　the　wrong　side　of　Frank；　didn't　I；　Dot？〃　said　an　excited　woman　in　the　corner。
　　　〃Horrible　temper；〃　said　Dot；　nodding　fervently。　〃I　remember；　when　he　was　a　kid。。。〃
　　　By　the　following　morning；　hardly　anyone　in　Little　Hangleton　doubted　that　Frank　Bryce　had　killed　the　Riddles。
　　　But　over　in　the　neighboring　town　of　Great　Hangleton；　in　the　dark　and　dingy　police　station；　Frank　was　stubbornly　repeating；　again　and　again；　that　he　was　innocent；　and　that　the　only　person　he　had　seen　near　the　house　on　the　day　of　the　Riddles'　deaths　had　been　a　teenage　boy；　a　stranger；　dark…haired　and　pale。　Nobody　else　in　the　village　had　seen　any　such　boy；　and　the　police　were　quite　sure　Frank　had　invented　him。
　　　Then；　just　when　things　were　looking　very　serious　for　Frank；　the　report　on　the　Riddles'　bodies　came　back　and　changed　everything。
　　　The　police　had　never　read　an　odder　report。　A　team　of　doctors　had　examined　the　bodies　and　had　concluded　that　none　of　the　Riddles　had　been　poisoned；　stabbed；　shot；　strangles；　suffocated；　or　（as　far　as　they　could　tell）　harmed　at　all。　In　fact　（the　report　continued；　in　a　tone　of　unmistakable　bewilderment）；　the　Riddles　all　appeared　to　be　in　perfet　health…apart　from　the　fact　that　they　were　all　dead。　The　doctors　did　note　（as　though　determined　to　find　something　wrong　with　the　bodies）　that　each　of　the　Riddles　had　a　look　of　terror　upon　his　or　her　face…but　as　the　frustrated　police　said；　whoever　heard　of　three　people　being　frightened　to　death？
　　　As　there　was　no　proof　that　the　Riddles　had　been　murdered　at　all；　the　police　were　forced　to　let　Frank　go。　The　Riddles　were　buried　in　the　Little　Hangleton　churchyard；　and　their　graves　remained　objects　of　curiosity　for　a　while。　To　everyone's　surprise；　and　amid　a　cloud　of　suspicion；　Frank　Bryce　returned　to　his　cottage　on　the　grounds　of　the　Riddle　House。
　　　〃'S　far　as　I'm　concerned；　he　killed　them；　and　I　don't　care　what　the　police　say；〃　said　Dot　in　the　Hanged　Man。　〃And　if　he　had　any　decency；　he'd　leave　here；　knowing　as　how　we　knows　he　did　it。〃
　　　But　Frank　did　not　leave。　He　stayed　to　tend　the　garden　for　the　next　family　who　lived　in　the　Riddle　House；　and　then　the　next…for　neither　family　stayed　long。　Perhaps　it　was　partly　because　of　Frank　that　the　new　owners　said　there　was　a　nasty　feeling　about　the　place；　which；　in　the　absence　of　inhabitants；　started　to　fall　into　disrepair。
　　　
　　　The　wealthy　man　who　owned　the　Riddle　House　these　days　neither　lived　there　nor　put　it　to　any　use；　they　said　in　the　village　that　he　kept　it　for　〃tax　reasons；〃　though　nobody　was　very　clear　what　these　might　be。　The　wealthy　owner　continued　to　pay　Frank　to　do　the　gardening；　however。　Frank　was　nearing　his　seventy…seventh　birthday　now；　very　deaf；　his　bad　leg　stiffer　than　ever；　but　could　be　seen　pottering　around　the　flower　beds　in　fine　weather；　even　though　the　weeds　were　starting　to　creep　up　on　him；　try　as　he　might　to　suppress　them。
　　　Weeds　were　not　the　only　things　Frank　had　to　contend　with　either。　Boys　from　the　village　made　a　habit　of　throwing　stones　through　the　windows　of　the　Riddle　House。　They　rode　their　bicycles　over　the　lawns　Frank　worked　so　hard　to　keep　smooth。　Once　or　twice；　they　broke　into　the　old　house　for　a　dare。　They　knew　that　old　Frank's　devotion　to　the　house　and　the　grounds　amounted　almost　to　an　obsession；　and　it　amused　them　to　see　him　limping　across　the　garden；　brandishing　his　stick　and　yelling　croakily　at　them。　Frank；　for　his　part；　believed　the　boys　tormented　him　because　they；　like　their　parents　and　grandparents；　though　him　a　murderer。　So　when　Frank　awoke　one　night　in　August　and　saw　something　very　odd　up　at　the　old　house；　he　merely　assumed　that　the　boys　had　gone　one　step　further　in　their　attempts　to　punish　him。
　　　It　was　Frank's　bad　leg　that　woke　him；　it　was　paining　him　worse　than　ever　in　his　old　age。　He　got　up　and　limped　downstairs　into　the　kitchen　with　the　idea　of　refilling　his　hot…water　bottle　to　ease　the　stiffness　in　his　knee。　Standing　at　the　sink；　filling　the　kettle；　he　looked　up　at　the　Riddle　House　and　saw　lights　glimmering　in　its　upper　windows。　Frank　knew　at　once　what　was　going　on。　The　boys　had　broken　into　the　house　again；　and　judging　by　the　flickering　quality　of　the　light；　they　had　started　a　fire。
　　　Frank　had　no　telephone；　in　any　case；　he　had　deeply　mistrusted　the　police　ever　since　they　had　taken　him　in　for　questioning　about　the　Riddles'　deaths。　He　put　down　the　kettle　at　once；　hurried　back　upstairs　as　fast　as　his　bad　leg　would　allow；　and　was　soon　back　in　his　kitchen；　fully　dressed　and　removing　a　rusty　old　key　from　its　hook　by　the　door。　He　picked　up　his　walking　stick；　which　was　propped　against　the　wall；　and　set　off　into　the　night。
　　　The　front　door　of　the　Riddle　House　bore　no　sign　of　being　forced；　nor　did　any　of　the　windows。　Frank　limped　around　to　the　back　of　the　house　until　he　reached　a　door　almost　pletely　hidden　by　ivy；　took　out　the　old　key；　put　it　into　the　lock；　and　opened　the　door　noiselessly。
　　　He　let　himself　into　the　cavernous　kitchen。　Frank　had　not　entered　it　for　many　years；　nevertheless；　although　it　was　very　dark；　he　remembered　where　the　door　into　the　hall　was；　and　he　groped　his　way　towards　it；　his　nostrils　full　of　the　smell　of　decay；　ears　pricked　for　any　sound　of　footsteps　or　voices　from　overhead。　He　reached　the　hall；　which　was　a　little　lighter　owing　to　the　large　mullioned　windows　on　either　side　of　the　front　door；　and　started　to　climb　the　stairs；　blessing　the　dust　that　lay　thick　upon　the　stone；　because　it　muffled　the　sound　of　his　feet　and　stick。
　　　On　the　landing；　Frank　turned　right；　and　saw　at　once　where　the　intruders　were：　At　the　every　end　of　the　passage　a　door　stood　ajar；　and　a　flickering　light　shone　through　the　gap；　casting　a　long　sliver　of　gold　across　the　black　floor。　Frank　edged　closer　and　closer；　he　was　able　to　see　a　narrow　slice　of　the　room　beyond。
　　　The　fire；　he　now　saw；　had　been　lit　in　the　grate。　This　surprised　him。　Then　he　stop