I have a phenomenal memory for faces. There is no doubt about that. The only snag (潜在的困难) is that I can never remember the names that go with them. Only the other day, I raised my hat to one fellow, quite distinguished-looking he was, and I thought: “my bank manager…my broker ?” I had to go and ask him. “I’m Rankin, your next-door neighbor, Mr. Peabody,” he said, rather acidly. It was through my awful memory for names that something unpleasant happened to me not long ago.
It was a Friday evening and I was in the train on my way home. It was not my regular train, for I had been kept late at work, and when got to Ruislip, three stops
before mine, there were only two of us in the compartment. I can tell straight away he was an Oxbridge man. I’m an Oxbridge man, and I had definitely seen this fellow’s face there. But his name completely eluded me. It was most irritating. Who was he? I thought he might be one of the newcomers to the pretty little estate recently completed near to where I live.
I am not shy, so I began to talk in a very chatty manner. He was somewhat uncommunicative and certainly gave nothing away. I can see that he was rather worn out, as if he had had a bad day, and I put his reluctance to talk down to this.
“Is this your regular train?” I asked, hopefully. It usually works in my experience. “Not often,” he said. That was all. Well, that certainly told me a lot. I started to complain about railways, then the hooliganism (流氓行为) at football matches, inflation and a host of other topics. He only said “yes” or “no” now and then. Even my comment on the whether had no effect. I told him quite a lot about myself, how my ship had come that day, a friend had repaid me ￡200 in cash and many other details. He showed a flicker of interest, nothing more. I thought what a bore this fellow must be, and in the end I gave up. I opened my paper, and when next I glanced at him, he had fallen asleep.
As we were coming into Oxbridge, he was still snoozing (打呼). I gave him a pat. “Uxbridge, old chap.” “Thanks,” he said with a smile. Outside the station it was raining and the wind was blowing hard. It was freezing cold, too.
“Listen,” I said to him, “why don’t I gave you a lift home if you live on the new estate?” “I’d appreciate that very much,” he replied. I fetched my car from the parking lot and he got in with “Many thanks.” He said no more till we were well across the heath (荒野). Then, all of a sudden, he turned to me and said, “Ok. Pull up here.”
“Here?” I queried. There was not a house in the sight; and the weather was shocking. Anyway, I pulled up. The only thing I could remember after that was something striking down hard on my head. I passed out. When I came to, I was lying on the ground, soaked to the skin, my head pounding, my car gone and my pockets empty.
I staggered into the police station to make a report. There was a light shining on the station wall and there, lit up, was a picture of my attacker. I had walked past it for the last seven days. I knew I had seen the face before. He was wanted by the police for armed robbery. I thanked my lucky stars it was not for murder. I looked at the name underneath the face, the face I will never forget. It was—er—it was---oh, dear! I can never remember names.
