Chapter 19 Section 18

"Yes, exactly." The visitor said calmly.He reached into his coat and pulled out a card.Then he looked at Stevens impatiently. "You must be thinking, my face," he pointed to his own face, "looks much older and less attractive than the picture I insist on printed on the waistband of the book. Of course. Otherwise I I don't want you to print it. But if you look carefully, you can see that I should have looked like thirty years ago. The picture was taken before I went to prison." He raised one gloved hand again. "You think again," he said, "although I have a lot of royalties, but it's not enough to pay—" He pointed to the car parked outside, "Yes. I had a lot of money when I went to prison. Because I went to prison Prison costs nothing, the interest accrues to a fortune when I get out, and the paper work I do in prison makes a small contribution. You see, that's what financiers and writers do. Difference. Financiers make money and go to jail. Writers go to prison and make money. Mr. Atkins, please allow us to retire. Mr. Stevens, please come with me."

He opened the door, and in the numbness of astonishment, Stevens did as he was told.The driver opened the door. "Get in," Cross said. "where to?" "I don't know," said Cross. "Just go around, Henry." The car started briskly.The back seat of the luxury car is gray upholstered, comfortable and warm.Cross sat in a corner, staring intently at his guest, that sharp, sarcastic look on his face again, mixed with something Stevens couldn't quite make out.He solemnly took out the humidor and handed it to the guests.Desperate for a sip, Stevens accepted the offer.

"Okay?" Cross said. He took off his hat with a solemn or ironic look and held it over his head.Although the hair was still thick on the sides, he was bald in the middle of his forehead. He took off his hat to reveal his wrinkled scalp, and a lock of hair was raised and fluttered in the wind.The strange thing was that it didn't look amused, probably because of the fierce gleam in his monkey-like eyes. "What's all right?" "Are you still jealous?" Cross asked. "You can be very jealous when you hear Mrs. Madam. Even though she had never had the pleasure of knowing her before in this life, she drove a long way last night just to be in a car." Damn time to wake me up and ask me a few questions. Your Madam stayed at our premises last night. But I assure you no infamy has happened. Except that I live with the housekeeper, Mrs. Morgannold, My age is also a guarantee. Sir, I hope you can guess why Mrs. Zun is looking for me. If you have some brains, you can guess, although I doubt it."

"Except for Ogden Despard," Stevens said, "you're the most disrespectful guy I've ever met. Since I'm going to cut to the chase, I have to admit, I really don't see you as a serious competitor. opponent." "Oh, that's better." Cross laughed, and snapped again, "but why not? You're young—yes. Healthy—maybe. But I've got brains. Your editor—what's his name? Come on, Morley?—didn't tell you about me?" Stevens thought back. "No, he asked me if I'd seen you, that's all. Where is Mary now?" ' "Back to your house. No, wait!" He blocked the door with his arm. "Don't go—don't rush. We've got plenty of time." Cross leaned back, puffing on his cigar thoughtfully , the wrinkles on his face seem to be less, "Young man, I am seventy-five years old. And I have studied more criminal cases than a person who is one hundred and seventy-five years old is likely to study. Part of the reason Because I have a first-hand opportunity: I have been in prison for twenty years. I have promised to do my lady a favor by coming here to advise you."

"Then I thank you," said his guest, with equal seriousness, "I should not have addressed you as I have just done. But here it is"—he drew from his pocket Marie de Aubrey - "For God's sake can you tell me what that means? Also, why is she looking for you? Also, if your name is Gordon Cross, where did your name come from, you What's your name?" Cross chuckled again, then turned serious. "Ah, so you've been reasoning with your head. Your Majesty is afraid you'll do it. Yes, my name is Cross Gordon, and that's my legal name. I changed it myself when I was twenty-one. As for Well, my birth name is Alfred Mossbaum. Don't get me wrong, I'm Jewish, and I'm as proud of it as any other great man of my nation. What would your world be without us Jews? Rootless trees, with all due respect, your little world is going to hell. But I too," Cross added redundantly, "megalogian. The name Alfred Mossbaum Not pleasing enough for me, not worthy of who I am. Do you agree?"

"It's good that you know me. Crime is my hobby, since I was young. Of course, I was in England when Klime was arrested and tried. Of course, I was in France when Prancini was arrested and tried. ...of course I know more about the Borden case than most people in the world. When I was almost forty years old, in order to show that the crime is actually simple, I personally committed one. You may immediately think: in order to show that the crime is simple, it is easy to get away with Punishment, how did you spend twenty years in jail? Yes, but my crime was exposed in the only possible way to be detected - myself. I was drunk and accidentally put myself exposed."

He exhaled a puff of smoke and waved it away with his hand.Then he turned his bright eyeballs again. "But what a chance! In prison I became the warden's right-hand man. Do you know what that means? It means I have direct access to the complete file of all crimes. Not only in this prison, The warden can ask for it from any prison he wants. In some cases, I know the criminals better than the judges who tried them and the jurors who convicted them. The hunters they caught. Therefore, I did not apply for parole or get out of prison early. Can I live a better life? Rich people." "Of course you can look at it from that perspective," Stevens said.

"There's one bad thing, though. I think you'll admit that fame might interfere with my social interactions after I get out of prison, especially since I started writing. I use the uncommon—this You'll admit it--Gordon Cross served a sentence. Although it was very like a cover-up, I took the risk not to change back to my original name, but to stick to Gordon Cross. It's a good name. I I don't want people to associate this new great writer, Gordon Cross, with the same Gordon Cross who was jailed for murder in 1895. So I insist that my public age be forty , and asked to print photos from the past on the back of each book."

"So you committed murder?" "Of course," Cross replied with the sheer evil that shocked his guest, brushing the soot off his coat with his gloved hand, "but I hope you understand why I wrote Stuff is always authoritative. You ask my esteemed wife why she came to me, and I will tell you. Because, she read the first chapter of my new book - every paragraph is full of notes and quotations - and she knew that I was in the know Or. And she doesn't understand the situation." "what's the situation?" "The case of Marie de Aubry in 1676, and the case of that Marie de Aubry in 1861. About her predecessor, or rather, what she thought First of all."

"You seem to understand, or understand," Stevens said slowly, "most of my thoughts. I'm thinking now...not only the present, but also the past, the past past...those things about the dead and the immortal soul Is it true?" "Unfortunately, not at all," Cross snapped. "At least, it's not true about her." Stevens thought to himself: I'm sitting in a comfortable limousine, smoking a good cigar, talking to a confessed murderer whom I both trust and distrust.Yet it made me more at ease, and allowed me to see things more clearly, than the facts I learned at the funeral home.He looked out the car window at the gray rain covering the Lanchester Highway.

"I hear you've been married for three years," Cross said, blinking. "Do you know your wife? No, you don't. Why not? Women have big mouths. If you talk about your uncle, she'll Mention one of her uncles. If you tell him some aunt you respect once threw a tomato at a cat and hit the cops, she'll talk about a similar elder in her own family. Why do you never Never heard her mention the elders in the family? Because she hid secrets. Why did she say something was not normal? Because she was afraid of it. Ha! I got the whole story out of her mouth in ten minutes. And naturally, I neither encourage nor disapprove of her ideas. "Listen to me carefully. In some gloomy corner of the Old Castle - this place in the Northwest of Canada, there actually lived a family of de Aubrey. They were de Brinivenia The de Aubry family of the Marquise is also descended from the distant descendants of the Marie de Aubry family in your picture. These are true. I know them because I have traveled to ancient times for my new book. Fortnight at Bouger, looking through family histories. I wanted to find out if there were any instances of so-called 'immortals.' The Madame had nothing to do with the family. She was adopted, at the age of three, by Miss Adrienne de Aubry, the sole descendant of the corrupt family. She wasn't even part of the de Aubry family. her mother is French-Canadian and her father a Scottish laborer." "I don't know," Stevens murmured, "whether we're in the realm of magic or sanity now. But look at this photo, the resemblance is eerie, even to-" "Why do you think she was adopted?" Cross said. "Why?" "Because of the resemblance. For no other reason. Because Miss Adrienne de Aubry is, in a sense, an old hag. If I had lived near the Castle, I might have believed that she was Witch. Listen, it's always dark and snowy at Kasbah. Guess where Kasbah got its name? In the 17th century, the Black Mass was called 'The Mass of Kasbah!' De Aubrey The family lived in a long, narrow bungalow on the hillside, surrounded by thick fir trees. The woods belonged to them, so they were very rich. But the de Aubreys didn't go out even when they had the chance. They could only stare at the fire in the cold weather. Miss Adrienne de Aubrey would adopt the daughter of a Scotch workman for the sole purpose of, in the process of growing up, the daughter of the blood of the immortal. The idea was instilled in her, hoping that one day the "eternal person" could really possess her body. The old woman showed her pictures, told her ghost stories, and showed her monsters in the fir forest. When punishing girls, she used The method is the same as that of the girl's so-called Mr. He, who used a funnel to pour water. The old woman also burned her to let her know how it feels. Do I need to go on?" "No." Stevens covered his face with his hands. Cross speaks vividly, appreciating all this as if appreciating art.Then he sat back and lightly smoked his cigar.The cigar was too big in his hand, spoiling the sinister and cunning image he wished to project. "Boy, this is what happened to your girl." He spoke softly, "She kept her secret well. The trouble is... According to my analysis, the trouble is that she married you and seems to have successfully forgotten the past. Scars. However, because of your acquaintance with the Despard family, because of certain things that happened, the shadow of the past seems to return. Mrs. Mark Despard suddenly appeared in front of her uncle's caretaker on a Sunday afternoon. Nurse, talk about the poison—" Cross looked at him keenly. "I know that." "Oh ha! You know? Well, your wife kept her secret for so long, put her demons in a box, put the lid on, and then suddenly they came out again. That chatter about poison opened the lid. In her less vivid words, she felt that something was wrong with her whole body—'The curse has come upon me, Miss Charlotte exclaimed.'" Cross said disgustedly, spraying smoke on the glass partition, "God Ahh! She was even stupid enough to chase the nurse out of the room and talk nonsense about poisons. She told me she didn't understand why she said that. Maybe a brain specialist could answer that question. Actually, it had nothing to do with her None. Essentially, she was too normal and sane, otherwise Aunt Adrienne would have raised her to be a freak. Yet, it seemed—less than three weeks after the conversation about the poison, the old man in the family Uncle is dead. What's more, you came home with my manuscript and said something stupid. What's more, Mark Despard brought a stupid doctor and told you "She was listening at the door 〕: First, he had every reason to suspect that his uncle had been poisoned; second, a woman dressed as the Marquise de Brinivenia was in his uncle's room at the time. He didn't explain much, but Suggesting that something is out of the ordinary. If you can't imagine how she's feeling right now, you're stupider than I think. She must know the truth about her past." Still holding his head in his hands, Stevens stared at the gray carpet of the car floor. "Let the driver drive back, will you?" he demanded after a while. "I want to get back to her. God willing, I promise that she will never suffer from the tragic past again in my lifetime." Cross gave the order into the microphone. "It's really interesting research," he said, with monkey-king airs. "I've never played the role of comforter, and I have to tell you, it gives me a terrible neck pain. However, I -- a total stranger -- entrusted to tell you the whole thing before you meet. She doesn't want to say it herself. For some reason I can't understand, she really loves you. What else do you Do you want to ask?" "Well, I did. Did she say anything about... about the morphine pills?" Cross was a little annoyed: "Yes, I actually forgot. Yes, she stole the morphine. Do you know why? No, don't answer, you don't know the reason. Use your brain to recall memories, you and her one night at the famous-- It seems to me that it was unfortunate—at Despard. Do you remember what day it was?" "Clearly. Sunday, April 8." "Yes, do you remember what you did that night?" "We were going to play bridge, but—" he froze, "but it didn't work out. We told ghost stories that night." "That's right. You told ghost stories. Horrible ones, I guess. Imagine, in the dark, in front of some lady who was half-crazed with fears she couldn't talk to, and a group of people started telling ghost stories. She There is only one thing to do, she wants to sleep, she wants to fall asleep as soon as she goes to bed and the light is turned off, longing for a dreamless and comfortable sleep. However, you are not aware of this, which is not what I expected, but Despa I don't understand that the Despards didn't pay attention either. The Despards are a bad influence on you and your wife. They are radical advocates of wizards..." After the gentle roar of the car engine, there was a faint thunder.The raindrops are getting denser.Cross rolled down a car window and threw away the cigarette butt.He cursed as rain fell into the car.Stevens, on the other hand, felt at peace—there was only one thing left, one problem left unsolved. "Wizard's Advocate," he repeated, "yes, that's exactly what it is. Somehow, things seem to be a little different now. There is, however, an unavoidable, unexplained event. The mystery of disappearance." "Oh, that's true, isn't it?" Cross said like a monkey hopping on a branch.He leaned in and said, "I was about to get to this point. I said I would give you some advice and do you a favor for your wife. And I insisted on knowing what happened here. It's ten minutes before you get home anyway, tell me me." "Would love to. But I don't know how much I can say. Of course, the police came and looked into it, so sooner or later it will come out. Captain Brennan—" "Brennan?" Cross asked, patting alertly on the thigh. "Wouldn't it be Francis Xavier Brennan, that crafty Frank? The one who likes to tell anecdotes about his father." bit?" "That's him. You know him?" "I've known him since he was a vice-captain." Cross squinted his shrewd eyes. "He sends me Christmas cards every year. He's a good poker player, but his bankroll is limited. Anyway, they listen to me." Yes. Go on with your story." While listening to the story, Cross's face seemed to grow younger and older at one moment, changing constantly depending on whether what he heard was right or not.Occasionally he would exclaim "It's so beautiful", and occasionally he would just flick the brim of his hat.During this period, he interrupted only once-to tell the driver to drive slowly. "Do you believe all this?" he asked. "I don't know what I believed before, what I believe now. When they talk about that witchcraft—" "A witch," said Cross sternly. "I'm sure you wouldn't compare this little trick with the great black art. It's just murder! It's murder, well-designed and perhaps with some hidden aesthetic value." murder. But the perpetrator is hesitant and clumsy, and many important joints are purely coincidental." "Can you tell me who came up with the idea and who did it?" "Of course I can," Cross said. A rush of thunder sounded from a low place, echoing in the air.Then, there was a burst of lightning.Outside the window, the rain was getting heavier and the sky was getting darker. "Who is the murderer?" "Of course someone in the mansion." "I warn you, they all have a mountain of alibi. Except, of course, for the Hendersons—" "I think I can assure you that the Hendersons had nothing to do with the case. It was the work of someone who more directly benefited and was more directly affected by the death of Miles Despard. Speaking of alibi, Don't take it too seriously. When I killed Royce--and, if I may add, he deserved it--I had a good alibi: twenty people, including the waiter, could testify that I was having dinner at Delmonica. I used a genius and amusing trick, which I will tell you in detail when I have time. I used a similar trick when I committed a robbery and completed the original accumulation of wealth. The trick in this case is not original at all. Even the method of stealing the body from the crypt, though ingenious, was somewhat inferior to that of my friend Baston, who returned to England after finishing his sentence in 1906. , and was sentenced to be hanged. Still, his behavior is artistically admirable. Well, we're almost there." Stevens jumped out of the car before it came to a stop.There are no lights in the house.But on the path leading to the gate stood a familiar burly figure.A figure with an umbrella.Seeing them, the man froze, the umbrella shook, and the rain soaked Captain Brennan's neat coat beneath it. "Frank," Cross said, "come here, get in the car." "So it was you—" Brennan said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cross, but I can't. I have something to do, and when I'm done—" "You crafty brigand," said Cross, "I've learned more about this case than you've learned in a whole day in fifteen minutes. Let me help you. I'll make a fuss about it. Find out the key to the trick! Get in the car, I have to talk about you." Brennan closed his umbrella and was half forced into the car.Stevens ignored the rain on his face and watched the car drive away.He couldn't speak, his throat tightened.The immense relaxation made him dizzy.But he fought back his dizziness, turned around and walked towards the house.Mary was still there waiting for him.