Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Bitter Almond

Bellegar House was a fine house, very large, but it wasn't an ancestral home, and it didn't pretend to be.It was built of yellow Dutch brick, with blue gables that looked a little dirty; the gables with their steep roofs ended at the end of the building's low but wide front. At this moment, Inspector Elliot struggled to discern objects.The sky was very cloudy and dark, and there was no light in front of the house.As they entered the driveway, there was a strong flash of light flanking them to the left.Elliott parked in the driveway, and Major Crowe and Postrick climbed out of the back seat.

"Wait a minute, sir," Elliott said respectfully, "before we go in, there's one thing we'd better be clear about. What is my rank here? I was sent here to look into the candy store incident, but Now—" In the dark, he felt Major Crowe looking at him with a sneer. "You like things to be in order, don't you?" asked the Constable. "Well, well, that's a good thing," he added hastily. "It's your case, my partner. Deal with it under supervision. When I understand what's going on, I'll go home and sleep. Act now." Elliott didn't knock on the door, but walked to the side of the house and inspected the corners.He found that Bellegar House was not deep, and the side consisted of three rooms arranged in a straight line.Each room has two French windows, and the outside is a narrow lawn with a row of chestnut trees parallel to the French windows.The first room near the front of the house is dark.Light streams from floor-to-ceiling windows in the other two rooms - especially the third.The light gave the smooth grass an exaggerated green; it illuminated every yellow leaf on the chestnut trees, and made dramatic shadows beneath them.

Elliott took a cursory look at the second room.No one was there.The two French windows with thick velvet curtains were open.It was a music room, with many delicate objects, including a piano and a gramophone; the chairs looked untidy.The closed double doors lead to the last room, which is unusually quiet. "Hey!" Elliott yelled. When no one answered, he walked forward and looked at the French windows of another room.Then he stopped suddenly. On the lawn between the house and the chestnut trees, and outside the window of the third room, lay a strange heap of objects Elliot had never seen.The first thing he saw was a top hat, an old-fashioned shiny top hat with very frayed fur.Beside the top hat was an old-fashioned long raincoat with deep pockets, also badly worn.A brown wool scarf and dark sunglasses lay next to the raincoat.Finally, in the middle of the pile stood a black leather bag, larger than a doctor's medicine chest and smaller than a suitcase, with RHNemo, MD stamped on it.

"It seems," said Major Crowe coldly, "that someone has taken off his clothes." Elliot was silent.He was looking into the room, and it wasn't an elegant sight. The two windows of this room were also open.This room is used as a study or office.A large table stood in the center with a tray of blotting paper and pens, and behind it, to Elliott's left, was an office chair facing the double doors into another room.The brass lamp on the table contained a powerful light bulb that Elliott knew was a photographic bulb; the angle of the lamp's shadow allowed the light to fall on the face and body of the person in the office chair.And now someone is sitting in an office chair.

Marcus Chesney sat sideways, shoulders hunched, hands clutching the arms of a chair as if trying to stand; his legs stretched out, weight on the back of the chair; his face darkened, his forehead exposed with veins.His gray hair contrasts sharply with the veins, his bloodshot eyelids are closed, and there is still a trace of foam on his lips. The photographic bulbs illuminated all this with relentless white light.On the wall behind Marcus Chesney was a mantelpiece of fine wood; on the mantelpiece stood a white-faced clock, its busy little pendulum swinging loudly to and fro.The pointer points to twenty-five past twelve.

"Yes, he's gone!" said Major Crowe, trying to be brisk, "but, you see—" His voice faded away, and the clock was ticking so loudly that they could smell it even from the window Bitter almond smell. "Yes, sir?" said Elliott, remembering details. "He looked as though he had been in pain." "He did go in pain. Joe Chesney said it was cyanide poisoning. There's a cyanide smell here, I can't say I've smelled it before, everyone knows the smell. But cyanide isn't instant lethal Should it be painless, right?" "No, sir, there's no such thing as a poison. Cyanide is a quick lethal poison, but in a sense it takes minutes to kill a man quick—"

Elliott stood by the window, and his imagination seized the ugly objects of the room and pieced them together into a clear picture.The dead man sat behind the desk, facing the double doors on the other side, the bright light shining on him.It's like a stage here—a stage with lights.If the double doors were open and the person behind them looked in, the room would be like a stage; the double doors would be like a curtain, and Marcus Chesney would be like an actor.Strange stage props lay on the floor outside the window—a top hat, a raincoat, a brown scarf, a pair of sunglasses, and a black bag with the doctor's name on it.

Well, wait for a while to identify.Elliott looked at his watch (which told the exact same time as the clock on the mantelpiece) and wrote the time in his notebook.Then he walked into the room. The bitter almond smell was very strong on Marcus' mouth.He had been dead only a very short time; his hands were still gripping the arm of the chair.He is in evening dress, the front of his shirt protruding from the waistcoat, and a folded paper protrudes from behind a handkerchief in his breast pocket. If he took poison, Elliott could not find a container for it.The table was swept clean. Apart from the clean blotting paper and the pen tray, there were two items on the table: one was a dark blue pencil, which was not round or hexagonal, but flat; The item was a two-pound box of cheap chocolates with a lid, a glossy cardboard painted like a blue-wallpaper flower pattern, and a gold-leaf inscription "Henry's Peppermint Cream Sandwich" on the lid.

"Hi!" came a roar from another room. The carpet was so thick they heard no footsteps.Besides, there was darkness beyond the wick, and even if someone opened the double doors, they would not be able to see them.Dr. Joe Chesney rushed into the room and stopped abruptly. "Oh," gasped Joe, "it's you, Major. And Postrick. Thank God." —The major greeted him curtly. "We're wondering where you've been," he said. "This is Inspector Elliott, who's come to help us from Scotland Yard. You can tell him what's going on here." Dr. Qiao looked at Elliott curiously.The air stirred with his gaze, as though the wind had blown: he brought a whiff of brandy mingled with bitter almonds.His reddish-yellow beard bulged from pursed lips and breath.Back home, in his dark twill suit, he looked less energetic and muscular.Above his mild eyes, with ugly auburn hair and ugly red eyebrows, were lines beneath them, as if the lower half of his face were on a hinge.But this fat face is not gentle now.

"I don't know what happened," he grumbled back. "I wasn't here. I was upstairs tending to another patient and couldn't get away." "Another patient? Who?" "Wilbur Emmett." "Wilbur Emmet!" said the major, "could he—" "Oh no, he's not dead. But he got a bang on the back of the head, concussion." Dr. Joe clenched and rubbed his hands together, "Listen, how about going to another room? Not that I mind being with that, He pointed to his brother, "It's the camera bulb that burns shortly, keep it on and it will burn out soon, and then you'll be looking for clues in the dark, won't you?" He rubbed his hands again.

The chief of police nodded, and Elliot wrapped his handkerchief around his fingers and turned off the lights.Joe Chesney walked briskly to the other room, in the music room, Elliott caught him watching them nervously. Major Crowe half closed the double doors. "Now," he said briskly, "Inspector General, if they don't mind you using the phone, you can call the doctor and ask him—" "What do you want a doctor for? I'm a doctor. I can tell you he's dead." "It's a formality, Chesney. You know that." "If you don't trust my profession—" "Nonsense. This is the inspector." Dr Joe turned to Elliott: "So you're from Scotland Yard, aren't you?" he asked, then seemed lost in thought, "Impossible! How did you get here so soon?" He mused again, "No possible." "I'm here for another matter, Doctor. About poisoning children." "Oh," said Dr. Joe, softening his attitude. "Well, you have a job." "Yes," admitted Elliott, "now, Doctor, if you would tell me what happened here tonight—" "Doing stupid things is what happens here," Dr. Joe yelled immediately. "Doing stupid things. Marcus wanted to give them a show. And he did!" "a show?" "I didn't see what they did," Dr. Joe pointed out, "because I wasn't here. But I can tell you what they did, because they were arguing about it all dinner. It's never been this specific. Marcus says ninety-nine percent of witnesses are simply incapable of being a witness. He says they can't tell you what's going on right now with them; All kinds of unsubstantiated testimonies.” He looked at Elliott curiously, “Is this correct?” "Often, yes. But so what?" "Well, they all disagree with what Marcus says; each has his own reasons, but they all say he can't fool them. I say the same thing myself," Dr. Joe told him defensively. "I still think so. But Finally Marcus said he was going to do a little experiment. He was going to do a psychological experiment on them, some universities have done it. He said he was going to put on a play for them. At the end of the play, they were going to answer a series of questions about what they had seen. to what. He bet sixty percent that the answer was wrong." Dr. Joe turned to Major Crowe for help. "You know Marcus. I've always said he was like—what's the name? That writer we read in school, the guy who'd walk twenty miles to get a proper description of a flower; and Ma As soon as Cus had an idea, he put it into practice, so they played this little game. And in the middle of the game - alas, someone came in and killed Marcus. If I understand correctly, everyone saw the murderer, Seeing his every move, yet they disagree on what happened." Dr. Joe stopped talking.His voice was rough as thunder, his face was flushed, and from the look in his eyes Elliott was worried that he would cry.It would have been a strange sight had he not seemed so sincere. Major Crowe interrupted: "Can't they describe the murderer?" "No. The guy is all wrapped up like an invisible man. You know. Long coat, collar turned up, scarf around his head and face, dark glasses, hat pulled down. Ugly looking, they say, but They thought it was part of the show. My God, it's scary! This ugly kid walks in--" "but--" "Excuse me, sir," interrupted Inspector Elliott.He wanted to get to the bottom of it, because he felt the case was going to be a hot potato.He turned to the doctor, "You said 'they' saw it. Who were they?" "Professor Ingram, Marjorie and George." "Anyone else?" "Not so far as I know. Marcus asked me to join, but as I told you, I had to see patients. Marcus said he wouldn't start until late, and if I promised to do it before twelve o'clock at night Come back, he will wait for me. Of course I said no. I said I would try to come back as soon as possible, but if I don't come back by 11:45, don't wait for me." After taking a deep breath or two, Dr. Qiao calmed down.He sat down, raised his bear-clawed arms, and let them rest on his knees. "When did this show start?" Elliott continued. "At twelve o'clock, they told me. That was the only time they agreed." "Doctor, can you tell us personally what you think of this murder?" "No! I just saw a patient on the other side of town at twelve. She gave birth. I thought I'd drive here and see if I could make it to the party. But I didn't. I was at ten past twelve Came here from left to right, and found the poor old man dead." At this moment, he seemed to think of something suddenly, and he raised his tired eyes, "I'll tell you another thing," he said in a sweet voice, "tonight's There's a good thing about it. Should I say that? Should I? "Attention, Inspector. You said you were here to investigate the poisoning at Mrs. Terry's shop, so you probably know what I'm going to tell you, but I'm going to tell you anyway. For three or four months, people have been saying My niece is a murderer, and they say she poisons people for fun. They didn't tell me that, they dared not! But they did. Should I tell them what I think? Because one thing has been proven: whoever kills My brother, it wasn't Marjorie. Whoever the poisoner was, it couldn't have been Marjorie. Even if Marcus had to die to prove it, it was worth it. Hear me? worth. " He jumped up in guilt and lowered his fist.The door on the other side of the room then opened, leading into a corridor, and Marjorie Wells entered. There was a crystal chandelier in the music room, and all the electric candles were lit.When Marjorie opened the door, her eyes blinked.She came in quickly (the little black slippers made no sound on the carpet) and put her hand on Dr. Joe's shoulder. "Come upstairs, please," she urged, "Wilbur's breathing isn't quite right." Then she looked up, startled at the sight of the others.The gray eyes were dazed, but when they saw Elliott, they seemed to catch something, and their eyes narrowed.It was like a deep concentration, and the eyes disappeared when she opened her mouth to speak. She said, "Have you -- I mean, have we met before?"