Chapter 17 Chapter 17 White Carnations

Inspector Postrek was twenty years older than Elliott, but he went downstairs only a step or two behind Elliott.Elliott wondered if what he was seeing was hallucinations, mirages in the quiet front lawn.But Harding fell out of the driver's seat, and the scream was no hallucination. The car almost touched the front steps when Marjorie applied the handbrake.When Elliott arrived at the car, Dr. Chesney was standing in the back seat, apparently awakened by the bump.Elliott expected to see Harding lying beside the car, shot in the head, but he saw Harding struggle to open the door, roll over the gravel driveway, and pass out on the grass.His shoulders hunched up to his ears, blood ran from his neck, and he was frantic with terror.What he said sounded weird.On any other occasion, the scene would have seemed absurd.

"I'm shot," he said in a voice slightly higher than a whisper, "I'm shot. Oh my God, I'm shot." He knew that Harding was not dead. "Don't move!" he said, "don't—" Harding's laments turned to delirium.Dr. Chesney was also incoherent: "It went off," he said, handing over the revolver, "it went off." He seemed to hope to imprint the dire news of the gun going off on the head of his listeners. "We noticed, sir," Elliott said, "that yes, you were shot," he told Harding, "but you didn't die, did you? You didn't die, did you?"

"I--" "Let me see. Listen!" Elliott held him by the shoulder, and Harding gave him a dull, puzzled look. "You're not hurt, do you hear me? You must have dislocated your arm. The bullet went diagonally across the skin of your neck. It's a gunshot bruise, but you're not a tenth of an inch deep. You're not hurt , did you hear that?" "Never mind," murmured Harding, "it's no use complaining, it's better to face reality, right? Ha, ha, ha." Though he didn't seem to hear, speaking in a dazed, almost comical calm, he gave Elliot Especially a new impression.Eliot thought a very keen mind had heard the diagnosis and translated it immediately, even in fear.

Elliot dropped his shoulders: "Do you want a diagnosis?" he asked Dr. Chesney. "Handbag," Dr. Joe said, and swallowed a gulp or two, waggling his wrist and pointing to the front door, "black handbag. My handbag, under the hallway stairs." "What?" Harding said kindly. Elliott had to admire him, for Harding was now sitting on the grass laughing.The wound was painful, and if it was half an inch deeper it would have meant death; he was bleeding profusely now.Yet Harding, though still pale, looked dignified.He looked as if he enjoyed being hurt. "You're a lousy shooter, Dr. Joe," he pointed out. "If you can't hit that distance, you'll always be a lousy shooter. Marjorie, aren't you?"

Marjorie climbed out of the car and ran to him.Dr. Joe, who bumped into Marjorie because of his sprint, stopped staggeringly, and looked with wide eyes: "My God, you don't think I shot it on purpose, do you?" "Why not?" Harding grinned. "Calm down, Marjorie. It's just a little blood." His eyes were large and focused with a dark light, and he almost cheered up when he patted her on the shoulder." No, no, I'm sorry, I know you didn't mean it. But shooting a gun in your neck is no fun." That was all Elliot heard, for he went into the room to find the doctor's bag.When he returned, a petrified Dr. Chesney was asking Postrick the same thing.

"You don't think I did it on purpose, do you, Inspector?" The heavy-faced Postrick said sullenly, "I don't know what you mean, sir. I know what I saw." He pointed out, "I was standing by that window. I saw you pull the revolver out of your pocket." Pistol, put it to Mr Harding's neck, and—" "But that was a joke. The gun was unloaded!" "Is it so, sir?" Bostrick turned around.On either side of the front door are decorative dark yellow columns supporting the triangular chimney caps above the porch.The bullet enters the left column.Because of a sideways hand, the bullet passed between Harding and Marjorie, missed the windshield of the car, and missed Marjorie miraculously.

"But the gun was unloaded," insisted Dr. Chesney. "I can swear, I know, I've pulled the trigger a few times before. Everything was fine, and we were in—" He broke off. "Where?" "Never mind where, sir. You don't think I shot on purpose, do you? Wouldn't I be..." He hesitated. "Murderer." Dr. Chesney's self-defensive tone makes people believe his words.The way he spoke was innocent.He's a good guy surrounded by accusers.He presented the story, but they didn't believe it.His short red-yellow moustache bristled like a wound.

"I pulled the trigger a few times," he repeated, "and the gun was unloaded." "If you're telling the truth," Postrek said, "there's a live magazine and you'll just load it. But you're not telling the truth. Why do you carry a loaded pistol?" "It's unloaded!" "Whether it's loaded or not, why do you carry a pistol?" Dr. Chesney opened his mouth, then closed it: "You're kidding!" he said. "joke?" "It's a joke." "Do you have a license to carry a revolver?"

"Well, no. But I can get it easily." Dr. Chesney snorted.He suddenly gets rough and he pokes his beard, "What nonsense are you talking about? If I'm going to shoot someone, do you think I'm going to wait until I get back outside the house to draw my gun? Oh, stupid. Bullshit. Besides, you want my patient Die because of me? Look at him bleeding like a pig! Leave me alone. Give me the handbag. I'll come into the house with you, George, if you think you can still trust me." "Come on," Harding said, "I'll try." Although Bostrick was furious, he couldn't interfere.Elliott notices that Dr. Phil has staggered out of the house; Dr. Harding and Dr. Chesney give him surprised glances as they enter.

Postrick turned to Marjorie: "Miss." "What's the matter?" Marjorie asked coldly. "Do you know why your uncle carried a revolver?" "He told you it was a joke. You know Uncle Joe." Elliot didn't understand her attitude.Leaning against the car, she seemed focused on trying to remove a few white spots from the soles of her shoes.She glanced at him. Elliott approached the angry Inspector General: "Have you been with your uncle all afternoon, Miss Wells?" "yes." "Where are you guys going?" "Go for a ride."

"Where are you going for a drive?" "It's just—go for a drive." "Anywhere to stop?" "In a tavern or two. And in Professor Ingram's bungalow." "Did you ever see that pistol before he drew it to shoot?" "You've got to ask Uncle Joe about the gun," Marjorie replied dryly. "I don't know anything about that gun." Inspector Postrek said: "Now that something happened to George, don't you know?" There's a question or two about you that you can answer." "Oh?" The expression of Dr. Phil behind Bostrick became terrifying.His cheeks puffed out as if to speak, but Pamela, the maid, opened the front door, stuck her head out, pointed at all the investigators with a quick but silent movement of her lips, and closed the door.Except for Marjorie, only Elliot saw that the two voices sounded almost simultaneously. "You turned my room?" Marjorie asked. "I see how you do it!" Elliott said. This surprised Marjorie so much that she turned her head; he noticed the strange twinkle in her eyes.She immediately asked, "What am I?" "You seem to be able to read minds. In fact, you read lips." Marjorie startled: "Oh, you mean—" she said sullenly, "when you called poor George a clever pig. Yes, yes, yes. I'm a good reader Lips, that's probably the only technique I'm good at. I was taught it by an old man who used to work for us, he lived in Bath, and he—" "Is his name Tolerance?" asked Dr. Phil. Postrick later admitted that at this point he deduced that Dr. Fell was insane.The Doctor had been normal half an hour ago; Postrek had always respected the Doctor's performance in "The Eight of Swords" and "The Waltfall Manor Case."But in that conversation in Miss Marjorie's bedroom, something went wrong with Dr. Fell.It is with great pleasure that he now proclaims the name Tolerance. "His name is Henry Tolerance? He lives in Arwin Street? He's a bellman at the Bonash Hotel?" "Yes, but—" "It's such a small world," Dr. Fell said through his teeth. "It's such a comfortable name. I just mentioned my kind, hard-of-hearing waiter to my friend Elliott this morning. I got it from him." I know about your uncle's murder. Thank you Torrens, thank you Torrens. I gave Torrens five shillings at Christmas, and he deserved it." "What are you talking about?" "Because he's going to testify about who killed your uncle," Dr. Fell said, changing his tone to seriousness. "Or, at least, he's obliged to testify." "You don't think I did it, do you?" "I know you didn't." "But do you know who did it?" "I know who did it." Dr. Phil bowed his head. She stared at him mysteriously for a moment.Then, she reached into the front seat of the car to grab the handbag, as if she was about to rush into the house. "Do they believe it?" she asked, nodding to Postrek and Elliott. "Miss," snapped Postrek, "we don't believe anything yet. Inspector," he looked at Elliott, "he came here to ask you some questions—" "About the hypodermic?" Marjorie asked.The trembling in her fingers seemed to extend to her whole body now.She stared at the handle of the handbag, opening and closing it; she lowered her head so that the brim of her soft gray hat hid her face. "I guess you found it," she cleared her throat. "I found it this morning, at the bottom of the jewelry box. I want to hide it, but I can't think of a place and I'm afraid to take it out of the house. I can What to do with it? How can I take it out and be sure no one saw it? It doesn't have my fingerprints on it because I wiped it off. But I didn't put it in the jewelry box. I don't have it. " Elliott took the envelope from his pocket and told her to look inside—she didn't look at him.There is no communication between them, there is bondage, a new wall. "Is this the hypodermic syringe, Miss Wells?" "Yes, I think so." "Is this yours?" "No, it's Uncle Joe's. At least like the hypodermic he used. It has 'Cartwright' and the trade name on it." Dr. Phil asked wearily, "Could you just forget about the hypodermic for a while? Don't even talk about the hypodermic forever? Damn the hypodermic! If you know who put it there, why bother what's on it and who it is How did it get into the jewel box? I don't think it matters. But if Miss Wells really believes what I told her a minute ago," he stared at her, "she can talk about the revolver." "Revolver?" "I mean," said Dr. Phil, "you might as well tell us where you, Mr. Harding, and Dr. Chesney went this afternoon?" "You do not know?" "Oh, God, I don't know!" growled Dr. Phil, grimacing. "Maybe I shouldn't ask, it's a matter of mood. Dr. Chesney has moods, Harding has moods. You have moods too. Look at you. Tell me if I'm an ass, but there are outward signs." He pointed his stick at the white carnations lying in the driveway, which Dr. Chesney took out of the buttonhole and threw out of the car as it approached the house.Dr. Phil then pointed his cane at Marjorie's shoe.Instinctively she jumped away, but the little white dots that had stuck to the soles of her shoes were now stuck to the metal hoop of the cane. "They didn't throw confetti at you," said the Doctor, "but I remember that the pavement outside the Marriage Registry in Castle Street is usually covered with confetti. And today is a wet day—should I get married today?" he said. Suddenly add a sentence. Marjorie nodded— "Yes," she said quietly, "George and I were married this afternoon at the Bristol Registry of Marriages." No one spoke, and it was so quiet that the voices in the room could be heard.So she said, "We got our marriage license the day before yesterday," her voice rose a little, "we—we're going to keep the marriage a secret for a year." Her voice became even higher, "but since you're such clever detectives, and We're suspects, so let's tell the truth—you're right." Inspector Postrek stared at her.Then he said straight up, "My God," he said in a skeptical tone, "My God! I don't believe it. I can't believe it. Even when I thought there was something wrong with you, I didn't think you were going to get married. Didn't expect the doctor to let you marry either. I can't believe it." "You disapprove of marriage, Mr. Postrick?" "Pro-marriage?" Postrek said, as if the words meant nothing to him. "When did you decide to marry?" "We planned to get married today. We decided to get married quietly at the Registry because George hated church weddings. And then Uncle Marcus died; and I felt very-very-well, anyway, we decided to get married this morning. I have My reasons. I have my reasons, and I'll tell you." She almost screamed at him. "My God," Postrek said, "I can't believe it. I've known your family for sixteen years and the doctor has you married and Mr. Chesney hasn't even been buried—"—she backed away. "Well," said Marjorie, with tears in her eyes, "didn't anyone congratulate me, or at least tell me he wanted me to be happy?" "I want you to be happy," Elliott said. "You understand." "Mrs. Harding," said Dr. Fell gravely, startled at the address, "I'm sorry. I'm seriously lacking in tact, and it would be strange if I weren't called a donkey. Congratulations. I I don't just want you to be happy, I believe you will be happy." Marjorie's mood changed instantly: "Aren't we too sentimental?" She grimaced and called, "Here's a good cop," she looked at Postrick, "and suddenly remembered how he knew my family, At least the Chesneys, and how he tried to hang me! I'm married, that's all. I'm married, and I have my reasons. You don't have to understand, but I have my reasons." "I just think—" Elliott said. "Come on," Marjorie interrupted dryly. "You've all had your say, so now you can stand up like owls, like Professor Ingram. When we drive by his house, ask him to be As the second witness, his face was horrible, horrible. I'm sorry. You wanted to know about the revolver, didn't you? Tell you, it was only a joke. Maybe Uncle Joe's sense of humor wasn't refined enough, but at least he Wanted to make us happy. Uncle Joe thought it would be fun to make this a 'shotgun' wedding; There, I saw George marrying a woman who had sex with him." Postrick clicked his tongue: "Oh, ah!" He made a relieved expression, "Why didn't you say it before? You mean—" "No, I don't mean anything," said Marjorie softly. "You know how to guess! I married to avoid being hanged for murder, and if you think I married to marry a man who had sex with me , then you're too imaginative. That's funny." She looked cheerful: "No, Mr. Postrike. What I'm going to say may frighten you after you think I've committed a crime; but my innocence is untouched. Good God, let's not talk about that. You know about revolvers I've told you about it. I don't know how the bullet got in the gun, it could have been Uncle Joe's carelessness, but it was an accident, and nobody meant to kill." Dr. Phil asked politely, "You think so?" She didn't understand at first: "You mean George was shot and didn't—" she said, and then stopped abruptly. "You mean it was another murder?" Dr. Phil bowed his head— Dusk approached Bellegar House.The hills to the east were turning gray, but the sky to the west was still fiery red.The sky looked out to the windows of the music room and study, and upstairs to the windows of Wilbur Emmett's bedroom.Elliott remembered that Dr. Chesney had poked his head out of one of the windows yesterday. "Anything else?" Marjorie whispered, "If not, please let me go." "You go," Dr. Phil said, "but we need you tonight." She left, and the other three stood by Huang Zhu's bullet hole. Elliott did not look at Marjorie.It occurred to him later that the sight of the window facing the twilight had opened a window in his mind; it might have been what Marjorie Wells had said, thought, and done that had awakened him from his paralyzed state.His judgment was released, as if the shutters had snapped open.In enlightened lucidity, he cursed himself and his work. The pattern of A plus B plus C plus D couldn't be more clear.He's not a police officer, he's a damned fool.Even if it's the wrong way, he's already gone.Even if the meaning is wrong, he has already read it.Even if he took advantage of the opportunity God gave everyone to be stupid once in a lifetime!but now-- Dr. Phil turned around.Elliot felt the doctor's small, piercing eyes staring at him. "Oh?" said the doctor suddenly, "do you understand?" "Yes, sir. I think I get it." He made a punching gesture. "In that case," Dr. Phil said mildly, "we might as well go back to the hotel and talk. Are you ready, Inspector?" Elliott cursed himself again, rearranging the evidence, so absorbed in himself that as they walked to the car, he could only vaguely hear Dr. Fell whistling—it was the march.In fact, it was Mendelssohn's Wedding March but, well, it sounds sinister.