Chapter 6 Chapter Six

Only a week later, on the afternoon of Monday, September 1st, Mr. Aristide Glenn was sitting with his friend, Dr. Dermot Kinross, on the terrace of the East Wing Hotel. Mr. Glenn grimaced. "We're all set," he said, stirring his coffee, "that Lady Eva Nair will be arrested for the murder of Sir Maurice Lawes." "Is the evidence solid?" "Unfortunately." Dermot Kinross shuddered, "Will she be..." Mr. Glenn considered it. "No way," he half-closed his eyes, as if examining a balance, "I don't think it's possible, but that's a beautiful neck."

"Oh?" "Fifteen years is most likely. It could be ten years, or even five, if her lawyers are astute enough to take advantage of her charm. Of course, you know, even five years It's not an easy thing." "Of course not! How did Ms. Nair react, plead guilty?" Mr. Glenn was a little uneasy. "Dear doctor," he said, taking a spoon out of his glass and setting it aside, "that's the worst part! This charming lady thinks she's done. It never occurred to her that she would Suspected! Explaining this to her is really a headache for me..."

The police chief has reason to be distressed.This very rare crime in La Bondelet was enough to trouble him very much. Mr. Glenn was a laid-back guy, a chubby, kind, feline kind of guy who wore shoe-tops and had a white rose in his buttonhole.As chief of police, he acted less as a police officer and more as La Bondelet's chief of ceremonies.But Mr. Glenn is also a shrewd man. All around him were his estates, with saloons and cabriolets shining in the evening sun on the white forest streets.Above them was the façade of the Dongyong Hotel, its orange and black striped awnings blocking sunlight from the terrace.There were very few people sitting at the small table.Mr. Glenn's rather protruding eyes were fixed on his guest. "Despite the cruelty of this Ms. Neil!" he went on, "something disturbed her. She had to look after the Rouses, and she was a very different person. Conscience? Or something else?" What? But like I said, the evidence is overwhelming..."

"But," said Dermot Kinross in elegant French, "you are not satisfied." Mr. Glenn narrowed his eyes. "You're very clever," he admitted. "Honestly, it is. I'm not entirely satisfied, so I want you to do me a favor." Dermot responded with a gentle smile. Dr. Kinross has an indescribably distinctive air about him that makes it easy for you to notice him in a crowd and find him an interesting and worthwhile person.Maybe it's the tolerant expression on his face that makes people feel that he is the same kind of person as you, and he can understand you.

It was a kindly, weather-beaten face, dark absent-minded eyes, wrinkled a little by years of research, but thick black hair untouched by the weather.Unless you look at it from certain angles, you would never have guessed that one side of this face was plastic surgery done after a shell blast in Arras repaired.It was a face full of humor and shrewd deliberation, with a fortitude that showed only when necessary. He was smoking a cigarette with a whiskey and soda at his elbow.Leisurely as it may seem, he never knew what it was. "Go on," he said. The chief of police lowered his voice. "You might say it's a perfect marriage. I'm talking about Ms. and Mr. Nair. They call him Toby, but his name is Horativo Lawes. An ideal marriage, and There was a lot of money. Almost a great love."

"Great love doesn't exist," Dermot Kinross said cautiously. "God's arrangement is that even if A doesn't meet B, he can live just as well with C." Mr. Glenn examined him with polite disbelief: "Doctor, do you believe this?" "This is an objective fact." "Then I suppose," continued Mr. Glenn with polite incredulity, "that you never met Ms. Nell?" "No." Dermot Kinross smiled slightly, "But it doesn't change the objective fact that I didn't have the chance to meet a certain lady." "Ah, well." Mr. Glenn sighed, returning to the point, "the evening a week ago there was a house party at Happy House in Angel Road, with Sir Maurice Lawes, his Mrs., his daughter Ganice, his son, Mr. Holativa, and his brother-in-law, Mr. Benjamin Phillips. There were two other servants. At eight o'clock, Lady Nell and Sir Morris The Rouses, except for the Rouses, set out for the theatre. Sir Morris refused. He looked queer--remember that! He came back from his usual afternoon walk in the afternoon. But the mood changed. At eight-thirty he was called by his friend Mr. Veer, an art dealer in Harp Road. Mr. Veer said he had acquired a piece of jewellery, a treasure, a piece of work for Sir Morris's collection. A rare curiosity! He suggested that he would take it at once to Bliss Cottage for Sir Morris to examine, and he did."

Mr. Glenn paused.Dr. Dermot Kinross exhaled, watching the smoke rings in the warm air. "What kind of treasure is this?" he asked. "A snuff-box," said Mr. Glenn, "a snuff-box that is said to have belonged to the Emperor Napoleon." The chief of police looked perplexed. "When Mr. Vier told me about the value of this thing," he went on, "I couldn't believe it! My God! What a lot of money people are willing to pay for these fanatical pursuits! Except for its historical value, of course. … ..." He hesitated. "That's a lot of money! Did Napoleon really take snuff?"

Dermot laughed out loud. "My friend," said he, "have you ever seen the part of the English stage about Napoleon? There is not a single actor in a five-minute performance who does not handle a snuffbox and throw it across the stage in the third line." .Even in authoritative sources, he always sprinkled himself with snuff." Mr. Glenn frowned. "The authority of this document," he admitted, "is unquestionable. But its actual value!" He took a sip of his coffee and looked up. "It's made of clear rose agate with a gold rim and some small diamonds set in it. As you can see, it's in a unique shape. It's also accompanied by a certificate of authenticity.

"Sir Morris was overjoyed. He seemed to have a soft spot for Napoleon's relics. He agreed to buy the snuff bottle, asked that it be kept for safekeeping, and promised to send the check early in the morning. By the way, the snuff bottle Mr. Veer is still very annoyed that the money for the jug has not been paid yet, and really, I don't blame him. "That same evening, as I told you, Ms. Neil went to the theater with the rest of the Lawes. They saw a play called Mrs. Warren's Profession. A play by the writer George Bernard Shaw, written in 1893). They arrived home at about eleven o'clock and then parted. Young Mr. Horativo Lawes escorted her to the gate and left. Incidentally, later The prosecutor asked him, 'Sir, did you say good night to her?' The young man held his head up like a watchful owl and said stiffly, 'Sir, this has nothing to do with you.' The prosecutor found this suspicious. , maybe there was a dispute between them, but it doesn't seem to be the case."

Mr. Glenn hesitated again. "When the Lawes returned to the cottage, Sir Morris rushed downstairs to show them the treasure in a green and gold box. Except for young Miss Ganice, who said it was beautiful, everyone else was uncharacteristically Lack of enthusiasm. Mrs. Laws said it was a waste of money. Sir Maurice Laws, a little annoyed, spoke bitterly of going back to his study for some quiet time. Everyone else went to bed. "But two of them weren't asleep." Mr. Glenn leaned over and tapped lightly on the table.He was so engrossed in the narrative that he forgot his coffee was cold. "Mr. Holativo, that Toby, admitted that he got up at one o'clock in the morning and called Ms. Neil. 'Ha!' said the prosecutor. Mr. Tivor blushed and said he wasn't suffering from any evil fires. Not really a clue, but it's clear that the atmosphere isn't quite right. There's a subtle feeling, don't you think?"

"Not necessarily," Dermot said. Mr. Glenn winked at him. "You disagree?" "Leave that alone, let's move on." "Well. He went downstairs to telephone and came back and went to bed. The house was pitch dark and he heard nothing. He saw a light under Sir Morris' study door, but he left his father alone. "Meanwhile, Mrs. Laws was tossing and turning. She wasn't bothered by the snuff-box thing, but it did. She couldn't sleep. A quarter past one in the morning—remember the time." —she got up and went downstairs to her husband's study, ostensibly to put him to bed, but in fact, as she confessed, to give a gentle reprimand to this whim of a bauble onyx which had been bought for a fortune. son." Mr. Glenn's voice became high and high-pitched like an actor's. "The result!" He suddenly bit his finger and said, "She found him sitting at the table... dead! "He had been struck nine times over the head with a poker which hung from the mantelpiece of the room. He was sitting with his back to the door, writing a description of the snuff-box which lay before him on a post-it note. But there's one more thing! A blow—accidental or deliberate, I don't know—falls right on the agate snuffbox, and smashes it to pieces!" Dermot whistled. "It wasn't enough to kill the old man," said Mr. Glenn, "and to destroy his treasure. Maybe it was just a coincidence." Dermot was getting more and more confused. "Aiming at something as big as someone's head and hitting a small snuffbox right in front of him," he said, "is not easy to do. Unless... of course..." "Unless what, dear doctor?" "Nothing, let's continue." Mr. Glenn, already leaning up and listening, his protruding eyes fixed on Dermot, slumped back down. "The crime was brutal," he said. "It was utterly ruthless. On the face of it, it was the work of a madman..." "Bullshit," said Dermot slightly sarcastically, "on the contrary, it's extraordinary." "Extraordinary?" "Yes. Forgive me for interrupting, please continue." "Nothing was stolen," said Mr. Glenn. "There was no sign of forced entry. The perpetrator knew the house well enough to know where the snout-rods were, and knew that the old man was a little deaf so he wouldn't have noticed someone approaching from behind." He. The Rouses are a happy family, nearly all French. I assure you of that! Of course, they are very shocked by what has happened." "and then?" "They went to see Ms. Neil, and they liked her very much. It is said that after the crime was discovered, both Mr. Horativo and Miss Ganice decided to go to see Ms. Neir. No one is allowed to leave the house until the Chief arrives. I have even heard that Miss Ganice has repeatedly slipped out of the house, but apparently she has not seen Ms. Neir. "The sheriff arrived. Well! He questioned them. Well! They asked if they could see Ms. Nair. The sheriff said he could send someone over to fetch her. The policeman, who was so enthusiastic about his job, was arrested." Sent on this mission. Luckily he had a lamp with him. Her house is just across the way, you've probably heard of it or seen it in the papers..." "Yes," Dermot admitted. "This policeman," said Mr. Glenn, propping his fat elbows on the table and supporting his ugly face, "opened the gate and walked up the path. On that path, right at the door of Lady Neil's cottage." Besides, he discovered..." "What?" Mr. Glenn stopped talking, and the other party asked. "A pink ribbon, the kind women use to tie around their dresses or nightgowns, with a little blood on it." "I see." Another momentary pause. "But the policeman was very cunning. He stuffed the ribbon in his pocket and said nothing. He rang the bell. Presently two women came to the door, looking terrified. Their names were . . . At this time, Mr. Glenn took out a small notepad, held it in front of his eyes and stared at it: "Yvette La Tour, Ms. Neil's maid, and Celestine Boucher, the cook. They Whispering to him in the dark, putting their fingers to their lips for him to be quiet, they took him downstairs to the room and explained what they had just seen. "Yvette Latour told how she was awakened by a noise, she came out of the room and saw Ms. Nair slipping back into the house. Yvette panicked (although she was a very strong woman) and she woke Seles Dean Bucher—the cook. They slipped downstairs and into Ms. Neil's bedroom. Through the glass of the bathroom they saw Ms. Neil, disheveled and panting, trying to wash off her hands and face. and tried to sponge it off a white lace pajamas whose belt was missing." Mr. Glenn glanced quickly over his shoulder. There were more people on the terrace of Dongyong Hotel.The sun, which was sinking and disappearing into the pine forest at the end of Forest Street, shone on them. It was, Dermot Kinross thought, a most vivid sight: furtive and spying servants, nervous faces reflected in mirrors.It was an evil night for the cop; it was an evil heart for him.At this time, he stopped thinking and only said: "And then?" "Oh! Our policeman kept Yvette and Celestine absolutely silent. He boldly went upstairs and knocked on Ms. Nell's bedroom door." "Is she sleeping?" "On the contrary!" replied Mr. Glenn, in a tone of admiration. "She was getting dressed for going out. She explained that Mr. Horativo Lawes had just called to wake her up just a few minutes before— Another call, mind you - telling her of the tragedy. Before that, she had heard nothing. No sirens, no noise from the street. Nothing! "Dear doctor, her acting skills are simply amazing! She was so shocked by the news of Sir Maurice Lawes' death that she burst into tears! Her mouth and eyes opened wide in astonishment! Like an innocent flower Roses, ha! Her white pajamas are hanging in the closet, and the mirror in the bathroom next to it is still covered with water mist from when she tried to wash off the old man's blood!" Dermot, feeling a little offended, cut in: "Where's your cop? What did he do?" "He secretly laughed, but still asked her seriously if she could go across to appease her friends, and then made an excuse to stay behind." "for……" "Exactly! To secretly get that pajamas." "Oh?" "That maid, Yvette, was ordered to keep the secrecy and was taught that if Ms. Neil asked about her pajamas, she said they had sent them to be laundered. They actually sent some to be laundered to cover up the deception. Ms. Neir would Worried? No! The blood spots have been washed off. Of course, it never occurred to her that the blood stains could be revealed chemically! But dear doctor, the most interesting thing about that pajamas is not blood!" "Oh?" "Exactly!" said Mr. Glenn, knocking on the table. "Yvette Ladour examined the nightgown carefully under the watchful eye of our police officer. Yvette Ladour found a small sprig of rose on the lace." Fragments of agate!" This time, the police chief's pause was less dramatic and more deeply regrettable. "After a week of patient and meticulous restoration, we found that the fragment fit exactly on the broken snuff bottle that had splashed onto Lady Eva Nair when she picked up the poker and killed the old man. The matter It's crucial, it's decisive. I think it will kill Ms Eva Nair's life." After a moment of silence, Dermot cleared his throat. "Ms. Neil," he asked, "what explains all this?" Mr. Glenn looked surprised. "Sorry!" continued Dermot, "I forgot, you haven't mentioned this to her yet, have you?" "Doctor, in this country," Mr. Glenn declared solemnly, "we do not show our cards until the last moment. She will be asked to explain it, but that will not be until she is arrested and faces the prosecution." Time for an official questioning." As far as Dermot knew, these inquiries were unpleasant.Although it is not necessary to extract confessions by torture, the law still allows various forms of "mental" pressure.It takes a very strong and firm will for a woman to face a question calmly and give an answer that she does not regret afterwards. "Are you sure," he asked, "that none of this evidence against Ms. Nair has leaked?" "Very sure, sir." "Congratulations! Where are Yvette Latour and Celestine Boucher? Don't they talk nonsense?" "No, it has its own arrangements. Celestine was sent away immediately under the pretext of being frightened. The other, that maid, is simply a tower of power, and she kept her mouth shut." Mr. Glenn looked as if So thought, "But I think she doesn't seem to like Ms. Neil very much." "Oh?" "But I can tell you one thing: the Rouses are a rarity! But it's not flattering! I think they're out of their wits! They answered our questions and kept what you call..." Mr. Glenn tried Saying the word in English, "Sorrowful (upper society) style. They have endless affection for Ms. Neil..." "Why can't they take a liking to her? Do they suspect her of murder?" "God, no!" "So what do they think of the murder?" Mr. Glenn waved his hand: "What can they think? Robbers did it! Or they are crazy!" "But nothing was stolen?" "Yes," admitted Mr. Glenn, "nothing has been lost. But something else has been disturbed besides the snuff-box. In the glass case to the left of the old man's study door is another treasure, the A very valuable necklace of diamonds and turquoise, also with a history." "Ok?" "The necklace was left under the antique cabinet with a little blood on it. Crazy!" Dr. Dermot Kinross, perhaps Britain's leading expert in the field of criminal psychology, regarded his companion with amusement. "A very fitting term," he said. "Very fitting phrase? What do you say, Doctor?" "'Madman'. How did this so-called burglar get into the house?" "That's exactly," said Mr. Glenn, "that the family didn't think of." "Speaking of which, how did Ms. Nell get in?" Mr. Glenn sighed. "I'm afraid," said he, "that is the conclusive evidence. The four villas in Angel Road were built by the same company. A key to any one will open the doors of the other three." Mr. Glenn leaned forward again with great reluctance. "In the upper body pocket of Ms. Nair's pajamas," he went on, "the great Yvette Ladour found a key to the villa. Now here comes the question! Pocket? Why? Can you think of any reasonable explanation? Reasonable and unquestionable explanation? Why do you have to go to bed with such a key? There is only one explanation, Ms. Use it to get into the house across the street. It's strong evidence that she was at Happy Villa on the night of the murder." There is no doubt that they have more than enough evidence. "But... her motives?" Dermot insisted. Mr. Glenn told him. The sun had gone behind the trees across the street.There are still crimson clouds in the sky, and the air is filled with gentle and lasting warmth.The French sun sometimes shone like a spotlight, and they blinked to get used to it as its blinding light passed their eyes.There was still a tiny bead of sweat on Mr. Glenn's forehead. Dermot stood up to throw his cigarette butt over the stone fence beside them, but he didn't, and his hand stopped in midair. Two or three feet below the terrace is a gravel courtyard dotted with small tables like those on the terrace.At a small table near the stone railing sat a girl in a black dress and hat out of tune with La Bondret's shades, her head just level with their feet.She looked up and Dermot looked directly into her eyes. She was a pretty girl, about twenty-three years old.He wondered how long she sat there under the shade of the sun.There was an untouched glass of cocktail in front of her.All around her was the din of passing cars and the languid hoofbeats and bells of the carriage, and it seemed like nothing had happened, nothing had happened. Suddenly the girl jumped up.Her body touched the small orange tabletop, and the cocktail glass knocked over on the tray, spilling the wine.She grabbed a handbag and a pair of black mesh gloves, dropped a five-franc piece on the table, turned and rushed into the street.Dermot stood there watching her go, still remembering her expression just now. Mr. Glenn whispered, "Damn, this shouldn't be talked about in public!" he cursed. "That's Miss Janice Laws."