Chapter 14 Chapter Thirteen

"I have nothing else to say," said Nasby coldly. "That's all I know." He glared at Nick, got up from his chair at the dining table, glanced at his watch, put it back in his waist pocket. "Twenty-five minutes of threats. No, twenty-six minutes. Anything else, young man?" "About rediscovering the gold of the Chibcha Indians," Nick said, scrutinizing the Greco painting. "Mr. Nasby, you won't tell me?" "I told you. It was purely a business idea, no particular secret." "That's a good point. But have you or Mr. Steinhorn ever mentioned the idea to anyone in the house?"

"Business matters with women? There's no way!" Under the wrinkled eyelids, the pair of small black eyes never left Nick's face. "Old Shi doesn't know, I know him well. Why should we mention it to others?" "Yes. But you also admitted just now—" "That was under your coercion." "Under my questioning, you admit that you know that this painting depicts a lake with a strange name and buried treasure in it." Nick stroked the painting with his hand. "Then why didn't you say it earlier? Why did you have to force us to say it?"

Nasby immediately retorted, with a smug and annoying look. "I just know what the old Shi said it meant, that's all. Do I have evidence for that? No. Does this pool look like Lake Guatevita? No!" He giggled suddenly. "What's more, if you want me to take the initiative to leak information, there is no way!" "Well, that's all. Good-bye, Mr. Nasby." Nasby took only three steps towards the door before turning around abruptly. "Young man, you are smarter than I thought. You got these things out of my mouth, but you can't get any more words out of me. There is no way. Good-bye."

He stepped out of the door and almost bumped into Sir Henry Merrillville who was about to enter. "Ow," said Sir Henry Merrillville, inhaling loudly as he surveyed the messy gray powder that had spilled across the room. "I know you have a fingerprinter here. Where is he?" "Let's go. I asked our friend Nasby just now, so I dismissed him." "Nasby? Isn't he the little guy who just walked out and swaggered?" "That's him. Have you found anything?" Sir Henry Merrillville's face darkened. "Did I find anything? Did I find anything? Oh my God."

He strode forward and took the seat vacated by Nasby.He took a lot of effort to stuff his huge body in, panted and glanced through the glasses, and then took out a box of greasy black cigars from his pocket. "Tell me, lad," he said. "Did you see Dowright Steinhor's shoplifting clothes? Where's the clothes?" "Locked in the wardrobe in the upstairs bathroom. I just went through it early this morning, especially the pockets. Would you like to see it?" "I should look. Boy, it's important." Nick rang for Larkin the butler, and Larkin appeared at once, with suspicious speed.He blushed at the sight of Sir Henry Merrillville (if his blush was to be believed, it was a sign of embarrassment), but neither party spoke.Nick handed him the key to the wardrobe and gave him some instructions.At this moment Sir Henry Merrillville struck a match across his thumbnail and lit the cigar.His eyes circled the room and finally fell on the sideboard.

"And this!" Nick turned his head, pointing to Greco's painting. "Do you know this painting?" "Hmm," said Sir Henry Merrillville. "That's right, this is the famous painting by Greco. But, do you know what this painting represents?" "Hmm," said Sir Henry Merrillville, taking his cigar out of his mouth. "The painting is a metaphor for Lake Guatevita in the Andes." Nick glared at him. "Sir, do you infer, or do you rely on definite information?" "Neither, strictly speaking. I overheard it by accident," said Sir Henry Merrillville, looking uncomfortable. "Your friend Betty Stanger came downstairs, and I wanted to ask her a question, so I followed her. She headed for the pool room, and I followed. She opened the door, only to see a large picture. She didn't close the door properly."

"So you just stood outside the door and listened?" "of course." Sir Henry Merrillville went on to relate, omitting certain details. "It's really interesting," he said. "Sir, is there really this Lake Guatevita?" "Hey, boy! It's the most famous lake in South America." "I mean, is there really gold in the lake?" "Yes. Besides the gold that has been given to the Gilders for centuries, the local natives sent a small sailboat - or call it a big deal - to throw two tons of miscellaneous things into the lake, so as not to let the skin A certain general named Quesada under Shaluo searched and went. Those people burned the whole ship to death for this inconspicuous thing, but they didn’t get any treasure. So the golden city of Dorado So began the treasure hunt. Even Sir Walter Raleigh got in on it."

①Sir Walter Raleigh, 1552~1618, British explorer, navigator, courtier and writer. Sir Henry Merrillville pointed. The painting looked on with characteristic contempt.The faces of those people were reflected in the leaden water: beggars and servants knelt side by side, and those who were waiting to dive into the bottom of the lake hunched their backs.Even when the painting is crumpled against a sideboard in an English house, it still looks alive.Where Dowright Stanley had lain last night, a few drops of blood had dried up and were rust-colored against the black carpet. Sir Henry Merrillville stared intently at the few drops of blood, and did not put his cigar back to his mouth for a long time.

"But, sir, if there is a treasure, why has no one found it?" "First," said Sir Henry Merrillville. "This lake is more than two hundred feet deep..." "Difficult to dig, yes." "Second, it's been hundreds of years since the events took place, and during that time mud, rocks, and sand have been washed into the lake. And third, even if you drain the lake -- it actually does. Well, there is also a cup-shaped mud pit at the bottom of the lake, and no one knows how deep it is. However, with modern engineering technology, there may be a way to dig it. It will cost a lot of money, but there may be a way."

"So, Nasby's idea is not really a dream?" Sir Henry Merrillville pondered for a moment. "That's right, it's not a fool's dream, but it's still weird. For a well-behaved urbanite, it's still very weird." "Would you—I'm just using a metaphor—invest your money in this?" "This...well, it's possible. But that's because I like excitement. Even if you lift the water pump to a mountain 11,000 feet high, you still have to get a permit from the Colombian government. To get through this joint, I'm afraid even Rockefeller will lose his fortune."

"You know what," Nick explained. "Nasby hopes that Mr. Steiner will invest half of the shares in this investment case." "yes?" "Yes. I myself overheard a conversation last night in the little theater upstairs." "Ah, ah," said Sir Henry Merrillville, with a dull mirth passing across his face. "Was it when you were making out with Betty Steiner?" "How did you know?" "Never mind how I know," said Sir Henry Merrillville darkly. "God, I don't know what our police are up to," he said, shaking his head. "I still remember that not long ago, your boss, Inspector Masters, wanted to harass a man in the front seat of a car. Ma'am, almost crushed me to death." "I didn't make out to her! I admit, I did. But if I do, I'm afraid she'll just beat me up." "You think so?" asked Sir Henry Merrillville, in a tone of Franciscan compassion. "Do you think so? Every time you see her, do you ever give her a good look instead of just staring at her?" "No, very little." "And you can't tell wisecracks," said Sir Henry Merrillville decisively. "And, boy, you must watch out, the girl is going to be rich sooner or later." "I don't worry about it. I've never mentioned it to anybody, but—forget it!" Nick brushed aside the personal question. "Damn it, I have a job! It doesn't matter what I like or don't like. And all the people here..." "Yes, all of them here," nodded Sir Henry Merrillville, puffing slowly on his cigar, so that his whole head was enveloped in noxious fumes. "Let me see. That fellow in the navy uniform must be Lieutenant-Colonel Dowson, as far as I can tell; Mrs. Steinhor told me about him. That curly-haired sportsman is your friend Vince James. That dark, bouncing little devil is Irene Stanhe, and she's as bright as a pop apple." "That's right. Speaking of apples, it reminds me of that paring knife. It's on the table next to you." Sir Henry Merrillville picked up the knife, and Nick began to detail the fingerprints found on it.When Larkin returned with a cardboard box of clothes, he hadn't finished. Nick put the carton on the table.Thin lambskin gloves, black visor, earflaps, fedora hat and coat, corduroy trousers, woolen shirt, undershirt, underpants, socks, and tennis shoes.In Stenchor's pocket—Nick kept his things neatly arranged—was a handkerchief embroidered with the initials DS, two useless letters to signify that he was the master of Waldmere House; There were glass cutters, a pocket knife, a small roll of surgical tape, and a wrist watch. "Excuse me, sir," interrupted Larkin, who was lingering at the door. Both Nick and Sir Henry Merivale looked up, and Sir Henry's expression became more and more serious. "What's up?" "I want to report to you two that refreshments will be served in the reception room in ten minutes." "Good. Where is the reception room?" "Sir, it's in the Oriental Hall. There is one more thing, I don't know if I should ask." Larkin hesitated. "Is it possible for us to clean up the dining room today so that everyone can eat here as usual?" Sir Henry Merrillville's snarl grew sharper in the cigar smoke. "No, boy, no!" "Mr. Wood?" "The detective has issued an order, so you can tell everybody that no one is to use this dining room for a long, long time. Maybe until the sun comes out in the west and the moon falls from the sky. Oh, God bless those fools! " "Okay, sir." Larkin finished and left. Sir Henry Merrillville examined the contents of the victim's pockets. "Glass cutter," Nick explained. "Its purpose is clear. There can be no doubt that the penknife was used when he cut the canvas from the frame. It must not have been the knife that stabbed him, as there was no blood on it, and the blade was too thick." "That's right," muttered Sir Henry Merrillville. "Yes, the blade is quite thick." "Part of the tape was torn into small pieces, so that it could be used to stick the window to prevent the glass from falling." Nick gestured. "However, I would like to ask Sir to notice that there is another oddity about this roll of tape." "What's weird?" "You might want to take the whole roll of tape and look at the open end," Nick says. "Wait! Here's a magnifying glass, which I borrowed from the library early in the morning." He took out the magnifying glass and handed it over.Sir Henry Merrillville, with the cigar in his mouth, picked up the small roll of tape and looked through the magnifying glass at the edge of the open end of the tape. "There's blood!" he said.Nick nodded. "Yes, sir, there's blood. It's easy to reconstruct how things happened, but as to why..." Nick went on. "Just like this, the murderer first stabbed Mr. Stanley with a knife, waited until the victim fell to the ground, the murderer stomped and kicked him, and then took advantage of Mr. Stanley's unconsciousness, took out the This roll of tape, cut off a small section with a bloody fruit knife. This is what the murderer did, and there is absolutely no mistake." "Hmm, yes. I think so, too, my boy." "But what did the murderer want this piece of tape for? Why did he cut it?" "Another question mark, huh." Sir Henry Merrillville handed back the tape and magnifying glass to Nick, then took the cigar out of his mouth and placed it carefully on the edge of the table, a thick gray smoke rose straight up.Jazz put his hands to his temples and ran his fingers over his large, bald head. Nick started to pack his things. "These clothes, according to Mr. Steinhor's valet—" "Let me think about it!" cried Sir Henry Merrillville suddenly. "For God's sake, let me think about it!" He was immersed in meditation for a long time, and kept tapping his head with his fingers. Then he stood up, his empty eyes followed the trail of fingerprint dust, and fell to the other end of the room.His eyes moved from the wall where the sideboard stood to the door leading to the hall, and his whole body was directly facing the wall. He strode to the other end of the room, first looked at Velázquez's "Charles IV" on the left side of the fireplace, and then at Murello's "Crucifixion" above the fireplace.Then he walked to the "Little Witch" hanging on the left, and then walked back. "Pooh!" said Sir Henry Merrillville gravely. "Who bought these things hanging in the brothel?" "It's art." "Not in my opinion," he tilted his bald head, looking at the painting carefully. "I'm a simple and straightforward straight-up." (Same as your devil temper. What the hell are you trying to do?) "This painting was originally in the collection of Flavia Vernon," Nick said. "Oh, um. It's the previous slut owner. No wonder the house always feels a bit spooky, as if she's still floating around here." He turned around again, his face still expressionless.He folded his fists at his hips and blinked again at the sideboard from the back of his spectacles. "I say, my boy, are there foot covers under this sideboard?" "Is there anything?" "Foot covers. You know, the narrow cloth covers you put on sideboards and table legs so they don't scratch the floor?" "No, no boots. I'm sure. Why do you ask?" Sir Henry Merrillville pointed. "Don't you find it strange that most of these silverware scattered on the ground are concentrated in one place? Of course, except for a few things that rolled out, and rolled far away. But look at the heavier silverware. It seems Looks like someone grabbed one end of the glove and yanked the whole cabinet down while Steinho was fighting the killer. Unless it's... by the way, any scratches?" "Yes, there are several places." Without looking back, Sir Henry Merrillville looked behind at the fireplace, then across the diagonal to the sideboard again.A look of disappointment and surprise flashed across his face, and then he calmed down again, showing an incomprehensible dullness. "You know," he said with a breath, "it was torn off." "What was torn off?" "You'll never expect it," said Sir Henry Merrillville. Nick's curiosity was now approaching boiling point.Jazz was about to speak, but was interrupted by a light knock on the door. "I guess I should knock first," Christopher Steinh said. "So as not to bother you measuring footprints or something, can I come in?" Her voice sounded high and high and clear.As soon as Nick heard the voice and looked at her hand, he knew there was trouble.She has her own set of emotional indicators of joy, anger, sorrow, and joy, usually smiling and contented.It's very different now. Sir Henry Merrillville was still playing mad and foolish. "Ma'am, is it tea time?" "No, not about the tea. There's..." "Madam, would you please sit down?" "Sit next to these horrors on the table? No thanks." Sir Henry Merrillville made a gesture, and Nick cleaned up all the tattered things on the table, even put away the fruit knife and flashlight.Sir took out his cigar, and Christopher was willing to sit down in the chair.Holding a crumpled handkerchief in one hand and a pocket ivory cigarette case in the other, she said, "Could you please close those doors leading to the living room?" Nick obediently closed those doors. "Please promise me again that every word I say will not leak out?" Danger!Beware! Nick shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Mrs. Steinho." "Why?" Christopher tapped the arm of the chair with the small cigarette case. "According to an official regulation known as the 'Judge's Protocols' . . . " "Sorry, you misunderstood," she tried to smile at him. "I might as well put it this way. Last night you said you sent a detective here because—" She held up a finger. "One, Duwright has considerable political influence; two, She raised a finger again, "If he intends to create a fake theft to claim insurance money, he must be discouraged to avoid a scandal." "So, ma'am?" "Dwight did a good job, I don't deny that. But somehow, I just don't think he can have that much influence. In fact, you admit it yourself, there is another reason for you to be sent here." Nick bowed his head. He wondered if she guessed the reason right. As he nodded, Christopher nodded too.Her mouth is slightly open, and the nostrils under her short nose are slightly dilated; she holds a handkerchief in her right hand, and a cigarette case in her left hand, leaning her elbow on the arm of the chair, and the skirt of her lake green tea party dress hangs down to the ground.She turned to Sir Henry Merrillville and said, "Sir Henry Merrivell, do you know Dowright very well?" "Yes, ma'am," replied Sir Henry Merrillville, leaning one elbow on the sideboard, looking at her. "That's not an exaggeration." "But you are not very clear about his various business dealings?" "Oh, ma'am! It's very difficult. Yes, I don't know, and I don't think anyone but himself will." "Would you be surprised, then, if someone said he was a thief?" Sir Henry Merivale winked at her. "I'm not surprised, I don't believe it. I'm still telling this young man today—" "You still don't get what I mean. I don't mean a doctor or a liar or anything, I mean a real thief." Her wide mouth tightened. "What if someone said that most of Duwright's income was not earned from business, but from stealing things? He only needs to choose a few art treasures carefully, and any one of them can make the whole family happy." Doesn’t it surprise you that he only strikes every few months or years because he has enough food and clothing all year round?”