Chapter 22 Chapter 21

"Are you looking for me?" Vince asked.The hidden door was closed, and he stood in the half-light again. "So to speak," said Sir Henry Merrillville. "Young man, you'd better come here. They're going to take you to the police station in a minute." Nick turned to look at Elena sitting in the back.Only he saw Elena jump up and hurry to the light controls; but everyone saw Vince standing on the stage under the beam. Elena exudes an evil smell all over her body.It makes you think that her eyes penetrate your stinky skin and directly into your head.She put her right hand on the control switch, her left hand pressed tightly under her left chest, and the sound of her breathing was clear to her ears.After carefully looking at Wen Si, she looked at him again, her eyes flickering.

Vince laughed heartily, but then stopped. "It turned out to be true," Elena said. "I just thought there was something wrong, but I just couldn't figure it out. God, it turned out to be true." "Hey, what are you kidding?" Wen Si asked and took a step back. "Young man, we are not joking," said Sir Henry Merrillville softly. "Yes, Vince, it's true," Nick said. "I'm taking you away." "What crime?" "murder." Betty's elbows trembled involuntarily, and she inadvertently swept the plate of potato chips off the bar.Potato chips fell at Buller Nasby's feet, but he didn't volunteer to pick them up.

"You mean attempted murder," Christopher corrected him, trying to soften his voice. "I mean, if that's true." "Really?" Vince said. "is that true?" This is the first time in his life this guy has been caught doing something bad, Nick thought.It was a new experience for him, so he was overwhelmed. Vince still had that familiar, charming, forgiving smile on his face.His pale curly hair, impeccably tailored dark blue suit, graceful forehead, nose bridge, and chin all form a subtle contrast with his eyes. "I don't understand," he said, shaking his hand in a look of bewilderment. "Maybe I'm not that bright, but—"

"Oh, young man!" said Sir Henry Merrillville feebly. "You always put your heart and soul into those people's ears, so they all trust you and tell you how much the emeralds in Contelode's house are worth, and how much the original da Vinci in Pensbury's old house is worth. And you think Smart, especially among women, because you can't help showing off. Actually, young man, you're not very smart." Christopher suddenly pulled out another chair and sat down. "Really, Dad?" said Vince, with a faint trace of arrogance on his face. "What do you think I've done?"

"Boy, do you want me to make it clear in front of them?" "Father, I will do as you please." "It happened like this. Elena—" "Wait a minute," Christopher said. "Larkin, I think you'd better go away." "Yes, ma'am." "I think you should understand the principle of secrecy?" "Yes, ma'am." "Go on, Sir Henry Merrillville." "Irene Stanley," went on Sir Henry Merrillville. "Crazy in love with a man. And her father knew that man was a liar, a hypocrite. Those few words would tell the whole tragic story."

Christopher stood up and sat down again. "Look at him," said Sir Henry Merrillville, waving to Wins. "Will it remind you of anyone? Can you think of who was his childhood idol? Who is the idol that he imitated again and again?" "let me see--" "Have you ever heard the name 'Raffles the Thief,' the story of an amateur thief?" Nick said. "When I was young," continued Sir Henry Merrillville. "There are certain stories that people take seriously, and there is one character in those stories that I can't stand no matter what, and that's 'Raffles the Thief'. Whenever I read his stories, I find the creeps creepy. And the most haunting What I can't understand is why everyone treats such a guy as a famous scholar.

"You may recall that 'Raffles the Thief' was a great cricketer and a very good social man. With his cricket skills he was often invited to visit many villas, and then he would steal whatever he wanted. And he himself has a plausible argument, saying that the people he steals from are vulgar people. Should we applaud or even shout long live for this gentle and gentle man who specializes in stealing riches? "However, let's put fiction aside, there are people like this in real life. They think they are born superior. If they don't have money, they take other people's money for granted. And they are always right, everyone else is Wrong. This handsome man before you—sir pointed at his cigar—has made his living as a professional thief. If it hurts his heart, I'll call him an amateur thief. He's invited everywhere. To be a guest. He knows half the big houses in England. He knows what is worth, who owns it, and how to get it.

"Of course he is not a fool. He would not attack other guests when he is a guest in someone's house, such as stealing a string of emerald necklaces. However, it is still possible to pretend to be an outsider to attack. You can make a lot of money two or three times a year. You can wear gold and silver, and don’t worry about food and clothing. The wonderful thing about his technique is that he can make the actions of outside thieves look like those of inside thieves, and make the actions of inside thieves look like the hands of outsiders. It is precisely because The method was different, and Detective Wood failed to recognize him at first as the burglar of the Contelord House and the Pensbury House.

"For example, that little painting by Leonardo da Vinci..." "Wait a minute, ser," Vince said hastily. It was the first time Nick had seen such a realistic shocked expression. "If I did something, you'd better tell me. Who is that Leonardo? An Italian, I suppose. What does he do?" "Young man," said Sir Henry Merrillville in a sharply critical tone. "Don't you think you're pretending too much? You always seem to be hastily emphasizing and dismissing things again and again, saying that you don't understand painting and don't like painting. Are you pretending too much?"

"No, I really don't understand." "Hmm, so you don't know Greco's real name, do you?" "Isn't Greco his real name? Then I don't know." "I was thinking about it just now," said Sir Henry Merrillville thoughtfully. "This Spaniard who calls himself 'Greek' but is actually from Crete, how many people present can immediately call out his real name: Domenico Sidocopulo? Yesterday in the pool room you did A very bleak thing; you were really bewildered and defenseless, and you blurted out: 'What's this got to do with Domenico?' You mean the Greco painting. We don't, though. Go after that. All we're saying is, Dwight Steinhor saw you through."

Sir Henry Merrillville paused. "How did he see through you, I'm afraid we will never know..." "Unless Dowright wakes up, of course," Christopher corrected him. "Yes," said Sir Henry Merrillville slowly. "Unless Dowright wakes up." There was a simmering emotion in the silence that made Nick feel like he could look anywhere, as long as it didn't fall on Christopher and Elena.Even Sir himself couldn't look directly at them, he just stared at the ground, puffing on his cigar, looking preoccupied. Vince James strolled across the stage and leaned against the arch, smiling. Sir Henry Merrillville cleared his throat and could see that he was making an effort to restrain himself. "But Jelena, Duwhite's favorite, has been smitten with this liar and hypocrite. You know, Duwhite hates hypocrisy, but he didn't say to her: 'Daughter, this guy is not serious. , and let me tell you why.' For that matter, I think he's pretty smart. The girl probably won't believe it, and what's more, she probably doesn't think what the guy's doing is dirty, Instead, he will be regarded as a romantic Robin Hood. "And so, Dowright Steinhor remained patient and tight-lipped. He was behaving as usual, and he wasn't going to tell Irene that he wanted her to see. He was going to—" "Set a trap." Christopher took a breath.Sir Henry Merrillville nodded. "'Would you please come to my little living room, please?'" Nick said, and Dowright's face floated before his eyes. "What did you say, Detective Wood?" "Nothing, ma'am. Just a word from Mr. Steinhor. Go on, sir. It's your play—so far." Sir Henry Merrillville nodded again: the corners of his mouth drooped. "Good eyesight, ma'am. He set a trap and sent a police officer to the house. He moved the most valuable paintings from the gallery with the security alarm to the unprotected first floor. It's the bait! And he He also started to spread all kinds of mysterious rumors to let his friends know that he is very tight. This is also a bait! "So Vince James thought, 'Oh, that's right. The old man is going bankrupt. He wants the paintings stolen so he can get his insurance money? Great! Why don't I let him have his wish?' You know, This is exactly what Steinha wanted. So our modern-day 'thief' comes to the house and prepares to steal the house and pretend it's the work of a foreign thief. "His clothes are old, the same ones he has used for other cases. They are all ready-made, unmarked items, and even if a few pieces are lost, it is impossible to track them down. Thieves usually have such bad luck, There is always a hat, a coat, or even a pair of shoes accidentally left on the scene. But these things, even the servants who help with the luggage will not notice. Old woolen hats and coats? .corduroy trousers? Possibly available in ski season. Tennis shoes in winter? Of course, isn’t there a first-class rubber court in the yard?” Elena, still standing by the light control switch, suddenly smiled.Christopher turned around sharply. "Dear daughter, do you think this is so funny?" "No, mother dear," Irene retorted. "I was just thinking—" "What are you thinking?" "The passion for me from the popular lover," said Irene, "must have started to cool off as soon as he heard that Dad was in a tight spot." After she finished speaking, she began to sob quietly. "Ma'am!" Sir Henry Merrillville yelled, almost dropping his cigar from his hands in embarrassment, "Miss! Maid! Don't do that!" "Go on, Sir Henry Merrillville," said Christopher. "You were just talking about the burglary that night." Sir Henry Merrillville did not miss his chance. "About three o'clock in the morning, our Mr. James is all ready." Sir Henry Merrillville glanced at Nick. "Where's his bedroom?" "His bedroom," Nick said. "It's on the back half of the first floor of the house, just past the dining room, and it's next to me across a bathroom." "Uh-huh. The dining room is a little farther. Boy, what's attached to all the bedroom windows here?" "Nansby's patented fire escape rope." "Very convenient," said Sir Henry Merrillville. "He dressed up as a thief and climbed down from the rope and left it on the house wall. I was told that the two windows of his bedroom were always left wide open at night. And seeing the ghostly shadow, thinking about it later, it will be even deeper. This is the illusion of foreign thieves. "Everything went well. At three-fifteen he cut the dining-room window, slipped in, found Greco, and tried to cut it out of the picture frame. But there was one little thing he didn't count on—Dowright Steinhor is waiting for him." The dark dining room; the ray of a torch leaning over the sideboard; the burglar hunched over his picture; the sound of Steinhor's approaching footsteps—jazz is so vividly described. "Stanhoe stood by the mantelpiece opposite the dining room, in pajamas, slippers, and a dark blue wool dressing-gown. His enemy had stepped into the trap." Sir Henry Merrillville compared his stubby fingers. "In fact, the evidence of fingerprints alone proves that Stanley is not a thief? Yesterday I stood in the dining room and saw the place was dusted and marked with fingerprints. At first, sprinkled diagonally all the way to the sideboard, like an Indian trail in a mountain fortress. On the large dining table in the middle, there are Stencher's fingerprints. His fingerprints are on the sideboard. Also on the handle of the paring knife. "But don't forget: the burglar wore gloves. If Stanley was the burglar, how could his fingerprints be all over the place? What's more, the other witnesses categorically stated that Stanley didn't touch the sideboard at all that night. Forget the dining table and the mantel." "Indeed," snorted Buller Nasby. "So, guys, you should know what's going on. Dowright said something like, 'You — I've got you. When I get everyone in the house up, I'll show you. ' Then he threw up his hands and threw himself at James. "It's a foolish thing to do. Our thief is twenty years younger than he is, and much stronger. He's got one hand on Stencher's mouth, and the other around his body. There's the paring knife on the sideboard. As far as I can guess, the thief knocked over the fruit bowl when he took the picture, and Stenchor saw the knife in the beam of the flashlight. Stenchor grabbed the knife with his right hand and instinctively Go down to the guy's left chest. "He stabbed the thief. The wound wasn't deep or dangerous, but it was bleeding profusely. Our thief and his kind had a nasty penchant for revenge. He twisted Stenchor's wrist, Catch it as it comes down, and stab it in Stenchor's heart - where he thinks it is - as well. "Then, Stanley fell..." "For heaven's sake, stop talking!" Yelena yelled. "I'm sorry, girl, that's how it is." Although Christopher's face turned pale, she still tried to remain calm. "Tennis shoes," Christopher said. "The bruises on Dowright's head that look like they were kicked by someone who was petite or light. It's actually because the burglar was wearing..." Sir Henry Merrillville drew a deep breath. "Ma'am, that's right. No matter how angry you are, kick someone with a tennis shoe and you'll hurt more than the person you're kicked at. But the burglar has to find something to vent. So he's here as a man who can't fight back." If you step on and step on your body, the effect will be even better." "Don't get excited, ser," Nick said calmly. "My boy, you're wrong. They won't be so sad later if they hear that's what this agreeable fellow is." "Sir Henry Merivale, please proceed," Christopher said in an extremely calm tone. "Okay. Now the thief has calmed down and found himself in a mess. He sees it clearly, it's murder, doesn't he? And he's covered in—" "Blood," Betty said. "Exactly. His own blood drenched his clothes. His original plan was simple: to steal the Greco and hide it in the house until he got a chance. Even if the police suspect it was from the house Even if they search every corner of the house, even if they find the painting, there is no evidence to prove who took the painting. "But, it's different now. It's murder. How do you hide the blood-stained clothes, and the hateful knife wound on the chest? Wait! Wait! He had an idea! There lay the victim, apparently dead. The man's nightgown came loose during the fight; that's what a nightgown usually does, and there's no more than a drop or two of blood from the cut. To most people, a nightgown and nightgown look alike. So... "Pah, what a plot! People will think that Steiner is short of money and his paintings must be insured, so he devises this fake theft. If he is found wearing this suit that no one can tell, the whole The tables would be completely reversed. I think," said Sir Henry Merrillville, shaking his head. "Put the blood-stained clothes on the victim, such a clean and easy way to deal with it, no murderer has ever thought of it. So, Mr. James began to change clothes, and he changed them all without leaking, even the watch. Both. He found a handkerchief and some old letters in the pocket of Stenchor's nightgown, which he had slipped in that morning after reading it; as many of us do. He stuffed them, too. go in. "There was one thing that bothered him a lot though—the cuts on his body. He put his own handkerchief on the cut and it stopped a lot of bleeding, but you can't keep the pressure on. So he cut it out of the roll of surgical tape. Long paragraphs, clutching the handkerchief to the chest, then putting on Stencher's pajamas and nightgown." "Wait a minute!" Christopher interrupted, still uncharacteristically calm. "What is it, ma'am?" "In the middle of the night, the silverware shattered to the ground and made a loud noise. I didn't hear it, but everyone else did. Is it because—" "A fight?" said Sir Henry Merrillville. "Oh, no! That's the last scene, the last finishing touch, and I was about to mention that." Vince James remained motionless and silent. "According to my estimation, the thief entered the dining room at about 3:15, and the silverware did not make any noise until 3:28. There was plenty of time to change clothes. "You know, the clever thief is trying to create an illusion. He's overdoing it a bit, but in the right way, because he has to do everything possible to make no one suspicious of the clothes on the dead man. Once suspicion arises, He also vented. "What to do? It's easy to do! If you heard a loud cracking sound, got up and checked and found someone lying on the ground from a fight, of course you would think that sound was a fight. So (you know? ) It is impossible for you to think that someone is actually using this to buy time to change clothes. "In fact, as far as I can see, they didn't touch the silver or the flashlight at all when they fought. The thief piled a huge amount of silver on the edge of the sideboard, (many pieces were later smashed to pieces, if only It couldn't have fallen in such fragments on a thick rug. It appears that the silverware was stacked on top of each other in the same place before it fell.) Now that he was ready, he took out his flashlight and stuffed the victim's Under the body, then pushed the stack of silverware, climbed out of the window and climbed the rope before the crackling downstairs stopped. And this is also a pretty good alibi." Nick spoke mockingly. "Indeed," Nick said, "that's a pretty good alibi. Before I know it, he's been busy creaking the mattress in his room and turning on the light and asking me if I heard what sound." For a split second, he saw a disdainful smile flicker on the corner of Vince's mouth. "But, Mrs. Steinhor, do you remember the later," Nick asked. "When he came downstairs to the dining room, he had a deck of cards in his hand?" Christopher sat up straight. "Wait a minute!" Christopher said. "His hand has been stuck in his nightgown on the left breast..." "Yeah, like that," Nick said. "And it never came out. When he was looking at my police ID, I thought to myself, he must have a dull pain somewhere. Of course it was his wound. Within an hour after the incident, I went back to the bathroom we shared Washed my face and noticed a reddish sediment at the bottom of the washbasin." "Blood again?" "No doubt about it. He sponged his chest and re-bandaged the wound when I first came downstairs to check for the crackling sound. Of course, I didn't understand it at the time. He was also rushing around Larkin. Before patrolling, the escape rope was rolled up." Another voice sounded. "Yesterday, he was playing ping-pong," Elena said. “Or been playing ping pong,” she recalled with a frantic look in her eyes, and then gestured. "And asked me if I wanted to play pool." "Elena, you really..." "Come on, Christopher, let me go! He lifted that heavy ping-pong table up in the air, and he turned so pale. I asked him if it hurt, and he said , and only the memory stung him. Then he came to me—” "Don't get excited," Betty interjected. Elena stepped forward, stumbling between the folding chairs.A chair was just in the way, and she swept it away.The terrified Dr. Clemmons immediately stepped out of the way. "Vince James, look at me!" "What's the matter, miss?" Wen Si said calmly. "Tell me. Did you kick him, hit him when he was lying on the ground? Did you?" Wen Si frowned slightly, and a fine line appeared on his forehead.He straightened his back, walked in front of her, and looked down at her from the stage with that slow, thoughtful and strange smile, only a trace of tension was faintly revealed in the corners of his eyes.You could say his self-control is unmatched. "Miss, do you really think I can do such a thing?" He smiled again. At this time, Lieutenant Colonel Dawson's unbeautiful but reassuring face appeared on the stage behind Wen Si. The ins and outs of this matter, the lieutenant colonel apparently did not hear a word.He has been concentrating on repairing the mechanism of the hidden door until he finds that his companion is missing, and then he walks up from the stairwell.The stage lights shone directly into Lieutenant Colonel Dawson's eyes, and standing behind Wins he could hardly see anything. "Tell me!" Elena, "You tell me!" Then, as if adding fuel to everyone's embarrassment, tears trickled down her face. "Let me figure it out," Christopher said. "This unscrupulous fellow—" she pointed at Vince, "walked downstairs with us in his pajamas and blue woolen nightgown, after stabbing poor Dowright?" "And slippers," said Sir Henry Merrillville. "Have you noticed? Of course not. Didn't I tell you that dark dressing gowns are never noticed—" "But--" "You know, yesterday he smuggled that nightgown and slippers back into Dowright's bathroom. Do you remember? Hamley swore that the nightgown wasn't in the closet in the morning, but it was there in the evening. This is because the thief's clothes are locked in the closet and are not opened until the afternoon. Therefore, the thief has no way to put back the nightgown and can only wait for the opportunity when the lock of the closet is opened. "And how do I know? Because those people brought me that damned dressing-gown and slippers last night! My God, I sat by the fire in the library and thought of everything like that. "As for the pajamas, he didn't put them back because the cuts and bloodstains were different. He figured no one would notice that he had an extra pajamas. But it's as stupid as it gets. .The pajamas were found in his wardrobe drawer; Larkinby checked the laundry numbers. Yes, Dwight Steinhor's pajamas." Elena never took her eyes off Wens. "you tell me!" She is still very persistent.Vince just looked at her tenderly. Lieutenant Colonel Dawson in the background was confused by this swell of emotion.No one saw him, no one heard him, he approached Wen Si and put a hand gently on Wen Si's shoulder. "I say, man—" he began, before he could finish. Thus, if a man is engrossed in something, if his whole being is absorbed in the movement of a certain direction, if he is trying to maintain the movement he anticipates, there may be no limit to his daring.However, if he is disturbed by a sudden event, even a breath, the next thing will happen. "Get your hands off!" the man screamed. Vince James, six feet one inch tall and with the movement of a rabbit, made two strikes as soon as he turned: first turned left and swung to the body, and then turned right and smashed in the face.Lieutenant Colonel Dawson, with both hands hanging down, was swung straight, staggered backwards, and fell into the magic prop.After he staggered up his body, he still fell forward, touching the ground with one hand and one foot, and finally managed to balance himself, but his body was still precarious. During this period of time that can be counted from one to ten, the scene is dead silent.Lieutenant Colonel Dawson took a deep breath, and had to hold the silver prop table leg with one hand to stand still. Sir Henry Merivale looked at Irene. "That's your answer, girl," he said. The astonishment in Lieutenant Colonel Dawson's eyes gradually faded away, his face became paler, and there were signs of a lump between his nostrils and mouth. "You bloody pig," said the lieutenant colonel, straightening up. "You could probably cut me in half, but I'll—" Nick jumped onto the stage in three steps and two steps, standing between them.He grabbed Lieutenant Colonel Dawson. "Don't be like this! Don't get excited! Calm down!" "He'd better not mess with me," said Vince, as pale as Christopher. Betty spoke; her voice was not loud, but everyone heard it clearly. "Elena, if you care so much about what Wens did, why are you wearing this ring?" "What's the matter with this guy?" Lieutenant Colonel Dawson was furious. "Is he crazy? I come up to talk to him and he turns around and punches me." The lieutenant colonel stopped talking suddenly, all signs of anger stopped abruptly, and the tense shoulders held by Nick relaxed. "What ring?" he said. "You idiot," Irina yelled, holding out her left hand, "I've been wearing your stinky ring all day long, and you haven't even noticed. I think you're so romantic! You Thought I cared about him? I cried because I thought I was such an idiot, and because you were such a fool. And I also saw that I cared about him so much in the past, but it was just in vain I hurt myself so deeply." The lieutenant colonel opened his eyes, closed them, and opened them again. "Excuse me," he said politely to Nick, before leaping across the stage. "Surprised you a little, young man?" said Sir Henry Merrillville to Wins. Sir Henry Merrillville's attention returned to Christopher. "That's pretty much how the attempted murder thing went. The only thing James worried about afterwards, I think, was whether he should have a doctor look at his wounds, and how to explain them to someone. I admit, I don't know. I understand why he came here in a weird way today, saying he wanted to tell me something about the doctor—” Nick interrupted at this point. "Sir, I can explain that. Last night, before he went to bed, he murmured something about the doctor. I heard it, and he must know I heard it. So he decided to make up a story, in case anyone asked why he said something to the doctor. So interested in—" "Diamonds!" everyone heard the lieutenant colonel shout. "Diamonds, of course, a real engagement ring must be set with diamonds. Didn't I say that earlier?" But no one paid him any attention, except Elena. "Talk to Detective Wood," said Sir Henry Merrival, continuing his story. "Finding that Stanley never left the house at all, he and I had only one conclusion: someone in the house changed his clothes for him, and since Vince James was the only one who fit Stanley's figure...then, the mystery Problem solved." Nick looked serious. "Do you remember?" He looked at Betty. "Thursday night, you and I were here too, hiding in that back room?" "I wonder if I don't remember!" said Betty. "Your father and Mr. Nasby walked in. I took a quick look out and said, 'It's just Vince... no, it's your father.' I should have kicked myself for not being able to." See the truth sooner." "Dear Nick," Betty replied affectionately. "You solved the case in only forty-eight hours. I don't think you did a bad job!" Sir Henry Merrillville looked up.A look of embarrassment and guilt. "However, you know, these inferences are all subject to verification. You only need to see if there is really a bandaged wound on Vince James' chest to prove the authenticity. "It's kind of hard, though. It's not going to work just by snooping, and you can't go and grab him and take off his vest and shirt for inspection; no, at least not with this guy." There was a ferocious expression on his face, as if he had frightened Master Kafsaran. "Wait!" Betty yelled. "What's the matter, little girl?" "You designed him in front of all the children this afternoon. You put your hand into his vest and pulled out rolls of colorful ribbons, making them laugh. So you mean it well?" "Hmmm," said Sir Henry Merrillville, simply. "Don't fight, don't talk, and don't be suspicious." His eyes wandered over Wen Si. "Young man, did you tell the truth? When you get to the police station, you have to take off your shirt." Christopher thought. "I admit it," she told them all, in her same cool, steady voice. "Sometimes I think, is Mr. James really that stupid? Whenever you think he said something stupid, he will say something so smart that you can't help but wonder if he just said something stupid. I said it. I was wondering before I went to bed last night whether this guy is really smart. I know he was a medical student..." Elena turned suddenly, her back to Lieutenant Colonel Dawson. "Oh, fuck it!" Elena said. "I don't think he's smart. He said it himself, he only remembers odd medical trivia, like plates." Buller Nasby rose slowly to his feet. "What plate?" said Nasby in a rough voice, something seemed to block his throat. "Don't get excited!" shouted Sir Henry Merrillville. Elena was confused. "It's just a test to see if someone is dead, and he once told me that usually only the doctors and the police know about it." "Sure..." said Nasby. "That's right, Dr. Clemons?" asked Irene. The doctor licks his lips. "This test," admitted Dr. Clemmons, "is less known than holding a mirror or glass up to your lips to see if there is any breath, but it works just as well, or better. If you don't have any Mirror or smooth glass..." Nasby opened his eyes. "There are no mirrors," he said. "Only carved water bottles and Bakelite cups." "Then take a plain plate," Dr. Clemons said. "Fill it with water and put it on the man's chest. As long as the water vibrates slightly, it means there are signs of life. If there is no—" "I see," said Nasby's sharp voice. "The second time he does it, he has to be 100% sure." Nick had no way of knowing how this veiled dialogue sounded to most people present, but it was definitely not pleasant.He saw Christopher look away: her clenched hand tightened, the tops of her pink Kodan nails showing white. "And he hasn't had time to take the plate away," Nasby said. "It was scared away by Larkin." Dr. Clemons rose abruptly from his chair. "He went completely pain-free," he said. "My dear Mrs. Steiner, you may say that he passed in his sleep." Vince James took another step back, no more explanation, no more explanation.The three women turned their faces slowly, looking at the tall figure and those ugly and terrified eyes. Sir Henry Merrillville drew a slow, wheezing breath.His cigar was at the end of his smoke again, and this time he threw the butt on the rug.But it was the faces of the three women that Wen Si couldn't bear. "You can't catch me," he said. "No one can catch 'me'." "Beware!" Lieutenant Colonel Dawson shouted. Vince's movements were still as fast as lightning, and before Nick could rush forward, the door to the balcony had slammed shut. "Let him go, boy," said Sir Henry Merrillville wearily. "He can't escape. I locked the door to the ground floor before we came up. Here's the key. He can't escape." "If he escapes off the roof," Nasby snorted the words. "Can't he escape too?" "That's right. Do you remember—" "The roof," Betty said. Nick turned to look at her; it was about ten seconds before he remembered the afternoon, the freezing wind and the open door.He immediately rushed to the balcony. The last ray of light in the sky is gone.The dim light on the roof of the walkway, reflected in the black glass.The white paint is as lifeless as a funeral.Another door was open at the bend in the corridor, and it could be heard creaking vaguely in the icy wind. The outdoor lights reflected clear two, three, four footprints on the snow, and before the frantic man had time to trample on that snow block, the whole block of snow had begun with his staggering, skidding, and screaming. collapse.接着，一切叫声俱寂，没有呼救声传来，什么都没有。 尼克转身，以极其沉缓的脚步回到小剧院。有关这间宅邸的一切回忆，都已在他们的脚下。伊莲娜的头靠在道生中校胸前，而他的臂膀紧搂着她。贝蒂走到尼克身旁。克里丝特珀留下他们，一个人离开。当她经过大家身旁，亨利，爵士轻轻碰了碰她的臂膀。 “你的女儿和你的继女，”他说，“今后会很快乐。夫人，你不认为总有一天，你也会快乐起来吗？” 他什么话也没再说。他让到一旁，好让克里丝特珀·史坦贺走下楼去，找寻她的新生活。