Ellery has entered the penultimate phase of his globetrotting.In order to collect useful writing materials, he has visited many cities and listened to many real stories told by police officers.He had only planned to stop in London for one night, but on the way from Ola to London, he ran into an Interpol who worked in the office of Commissioner Will of the Metropolitan Police.The detective was very likable, and from tavern to tavern he told him one good story after another, and by the time Ellery realized, the days and nights had passed in the blink of an eye, and the New Year was approaching.

The next morning, driven by conscience and reason, Ellery went to the airline office to collect his ticket, where he met Harry Burke.Burke was negotiating taking the same flight to New York. The Interpol introduced him to Burke as a private detective— "Quinn, he's one of the best, of course that means his expense accounts generally don't overstate by more than 10 percent." Burke laughed out loud.He was a short, sandy-haired man with a gladiatorial neck that made him look like a good boxer.His eyes were so pale and almost transparent that they seemed to be disappearing, as if they didn't exist at all.He looked very much like a Teutonic, and he himself said that he should have an Irish accent, but he talked with a distinct uvula.Before leaving, Interpol told Ellery that Burke was a renegade Scot.

After the two had eaten and drank at the nearest tavern, Burke said, "Then you're that little Quinn. That's really interesting." "Really?" Ellery said. "I mean met you this way. I was with your father less than 15 hours ago." "My father?" "Officer Richard Quinn of the NYPD," Burke said gravely. "Did you just fly into London?"—the Scot nodded—"but I saw you bought a ticket back to New York a few minutes ago." "I got a cable from Officer Quinn as I got off the plane. It seems that the case that sent me to the United States in the first place has progressed. He wants me to fly back immediately."

"That's my dad," Ellery said. "Did he mention why?" "No, but he used a very savory word in his telegram—'immediately.'" "That must be important." Ellery ordered another glass of ale from the waitress--the waitress was so strong that she seemed to be able to lift a whole barrel of beer in one hand--"this case, Burke, will be Something that I can't resist?" "I don't know your ability to endure torture." Burke smiled at the sturdy waitress too, and buried his Scotch nose in his glass-he was a very handsome man.

They sat side by side on the plane flying across the Atlantic.Ellery discovered through subtle hints that the Scot appeared to be from the CIA.He was very talkative on anything that had nothing to do with his case. Harry Burke was originally a member of the police department. He had recently resigned from his position as a detective to form his own detective agency.He joked to himself that the business was taking off. “In the beginning, the customers just touched and left. If it weren’t for my connections in the police department, I would probably have to live like a Bantu. Commissioner Will has always been good to me.”

Ellery deduces that Burke's current case focus is the result of Will's recent favor to him.The police department received a request for an investigation, and the commissioner, finding that it was not the business of the police department, privately recommended Burke for the job.Ellery suspects this kind of kindness isn't Will's first. Burke was bouncing up and down from the turbulence of the plane. "I'm a bachelor," said the sandy-haired man, "and I don't have to spend my time with some muttering woman. No, I don't have a woman on my mind, thank you. I won't stay in one place Too long, lest there be some kind of attachment.”

"You're the kind of guy who falls in love on a downed plane," Ellery was rumored to have said. "The one I'm hooked on hasn't been born yet." "Watch out for our women. American women are born to catch stubborn people." "They all seem to miss you, Quinn." "Oh, but I never took the bait." "Then we have a lot in common." In this way, they showed that they were very close to each other, except that they disagreed on some small matters.When the plane stopped at Gundel, the two had already met each other by first name, and even started amicably arguing about whether to add fried onions to the Scotch crucian carp.After the plane took off again, they were still chatting so intensely that they almost forgot to celebrate the moment of saying goodbye to the old and welcoming the new.

Early in the morning of the new year, the plane landed at Kennedy International Airport, and after getting off the plane, they left the airport together. "You're not going to get a hotel room at this time of day," said Ellery. "Come over to my house, Harry." "Oh, no. I can't throw you and the officer out." "Don't talk nonsense, I have a sleeper that doubles as a sofa in my study. Also, this way you can find out why my father asked you to go back to New York as soon as possible." Harry Burke nodded resignedly.Ellery hailed a cab. The taxi headed into town through Times Square, which looked like a ghost town overgrown with tumbleweeds.

"Humans are filthy creatures, aren't they?" Burke said, pointing at the clutter in the street with the stem of his pipe. "Every time I see something like this it reminds me of the last scene of On the Beach." "Maybe they thought so too." Upon arriving at Quinn's apartment, they found the officer was not in the room. "Going out to celebrate the New Year?" said Burke boldly. "Improbable. My father isn't going to celebrate. Must be for the case. What's this?" It was a little note for Ellery, next to his typewriter in his study, written by the old man.

The signature underneath is "Dad," followed by a phone number. "Is this the way the Quinns live?" asked the Scot. "Only when interrupted by crime, my dad and I usually spend New Year's Eve by napping in front of the TV." Ellery said, dialing the phone number on the note. "Put your bags in the Go to my bedroom, Harry—it's over there. Oh, and there's a little bar in the living room if you want to keep your eyes open. How are you?" "Is that Ellery Queen?" asked a very anxious voice. "Yes. Miss West wants me to call her."

"I'm West. It's very kind of you to call me this early. The people who answered the phone said you were flying back from England. Mr. Quinn, have you just arrived?" "Just arrived. What's the matter, Miss West?" "Are you calling from home?" "yes." "I want to come over right away." "Now?" Ellery asked in surprise. "I'm going to take a shower. I haven't had breakfast yet, and sleeping on a transatlantic plane is not one of my skills. Can't you wait?" "I haven't slept either. I've been waiting for your call. Please?" She sounded like a pretty girl, so Ellery sighed and said, "Do you know the address?" Roberta West herself is prettier than she sounds.As soon as Ellery saw her, he labeled her "Theater," and maybe "Little."She was graceful, fair-skinned, with real chestnut-colored hair, bright eyes darkened by sleep deprivation or excessive worry, and a charming birthmark on the upper right-hand side of her cavity that looked very much like a small butterfly.Ellery deduced that she was a theater actress from a few small observations: there was a certain tension in her walk and the way she tilted her head that gave the impression of newly-acquired bodybuilding skills, and she spoke with refined articulation, even in small, casual utterances. It's not clear that it seems to have been carefully rehearsed.She wore a skirt and a crewneck blouse of some kind of angora, a Parisian overcoat, a scarf that might have been designed by Picasso around her neck, and long gloves.On her little feet were expensive sleek flat-tops with bows—Ellery, touched, began to speculate that the bows on the shoes must have been chosen deliberately to balance the birthmark on her cheek. The woman appeared to be one of those casually shrewd men who made Ellery doubt the conclusions he had drawn about her.These women looked like they had just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, and they all looked like someone's office assistant to him. "You work in the theater," he said. Her bright, almost excited eyes widened: "Mr. Quinn, how do you know?" "I have my way." He grinned, watching her enter the living room. "Oh, this is Mr. Burke, Miss West." The girl whispered something, and Harry Burke said "Hi" in a startled way, as if he had just touched something.He made his way to the door of Ellery's study and said, somewhat reluctantly, "I'll wash it, Ellery. Or do something." "Perhaps Miss West doesn't mind your presence," said Ellery. "Mr. Burke is a private detective who has come to America from London on business." "Oh, since that's the case," the girl said quickly, and for some reason she lowered her head.As for Burke, he gave Ellery a doglike glance, walked slowly to a window, and stood watching. Ellery sat the girl down and offered her breakfast, but was declined, then he lit a cigarette for her and said, "Can we get down to business now, Miss West?" She was silent for a moment.Then said: "I hardly know where to begin," looking confused; but suddenly she leaned forward and flicked the ashes into the ashtray, "I suppose you remember Glorie Guild?" Ellery remembered Glory Guild.If he pretended to be forgetful, it would show his own flaws.Not only did he remember Gloria Guild, but he had listened to her songs avidly as a child, and he had fantasies about her—a kind of international lovesickness at the time—and even had a crush on her voice. Memories are enough to make his insides itch.Memories are reserved for those admirers. In her heyday, the media couldn't find a suitable word from the dictionary to call these people, so they simply called them her "submissive subordinates". Oh yes, he'd heard of Gigi, supposedly that's what her close friends called her; (but he'd never been one of them, alas, alas.) Still in the Moonlit Night occasionally listens to her old records from the past.And at this moment, I was really surprised to hear her name suddenly.It was as if the chestnut-haired girl reminded him of Helen Morgan, or Galley Kersey, or the little girl with the trembling voice in The Witch of Oz. "What happened to Glory Guild?" Ellery asked. Harry Burke moved and stopped quickly, a movement that suggested that Burke was surprised too; surprised or something more.Ellery was eager to know what that was.But he then turned his attention to Roberta West. "I'm in love with Glorie Guild's husband," said the girl, who said the tense of the incident caught Ellery's attention, "I mean, I should say I was in love with Ka Rose." Ellery seemed to think she was trembling, although few people actually felt that way.She went on, "How can a woman be so stupid? How can she be such a blind fool?" And she began to cry. Women crying are nothing new in Quinn's living room.And the reason for these tears is obviously the most common one.Still, Ellery was moved, and he made her cry out loud.She finally stopped, sniffling like a child, she took a handkerchief from her bag and wiped her little nose. "I'm sorry," the girl said, "I didn't mean to be like that. I made up my mind that I wouldn't. Anyway, it's been seven months. I think so. But now it's happening again... " Roberta West's story is told in bits and pieces, disjointed, like a jigsaw puzzle that has been broken into pieces and has to be pieced back together bit by bit.According to Ellery's rearrangement, the story begins with an overview of Glorie Guild, her life and work. She was born Gloria Guldenstern in rural Sinclair Lewis in 1914; in the 1930s, she came out of the Midwest with the rusticity of Lewis residents, and has since fascinated New York and the whole country. dump.She never took music lessons in her life; she was completely self-taught—voice, theory, piano.She also accompanies herself. Glorie Guild is said to practice her voice too.Of course, her singing skills are well-designed, just as precise as marked on the score.Her voice is full of passion, even full of sadness, which fascinated countless listeners, and her voice is weak and long-lasting, endless.In nightclubs, her singing can silence even drunks.Critics have dubbed it an "intimate" sound, befitting a bistro.But her charm was so universal that it attracted many listeners.By the late 1930s, she was singing to thousands of listeners every week on radio stations.She is America's radio darling. The broadcast opened with the sweet, melodious "Battle Hymn of the Republic" played by her and her 42-piece band.In a far more modest era, a columnist affectionately called her "Gorori-Goroli."Gloria - Gloria is also a shrewd, realistic woman.One of her smartest bits is to hand over her fortune to stingy theater agent Mrs. Thelma Peart, who soon becomes her manager and box office agent.Mrs. Peart (there was a Mr. Peart, but he has disappeared into the mists of the old divorce courts) managed Gloria's business successfully, and by the time she retired in 1949 because of her voice, the The singer is already a millionaire. Although Gololi's hobbies are limited, she is very brainy; after retirement, she not only continues to be obsessed with music, but also allows her time to devote herself to her other great hobby-crossword puzzles.She was an audiophile long before the perfection of high-frequency audio equipment began to spread across the country; her collection of contemporary music is every collector's dream.What motivated her to focus on anagrams was less clear.She came from a rural Minnesota family, where interest in forms of entertainment like word puzzles were limited to Sam Lloyd's old-fashioned renditions in the farmhouse parlor.However, Gloria is good at crosswords, double crosswords, upside-down puzzles, and detective fiction (the realm of classical puzzlers—she has no interest in the sex, violence, and psychological mysteries that began to fill shelves after World War II). Spent a lot of time. Her New York apartment and her secluded country house—perched on a lake near Newton, Connecticut, surrounded by lush pines and cypresses—are filled with turntables, records, FM radios, electronic recording equipment (she could not bear to be parted from it), musical instruments, books and knick-knacks as high as a mountain of mystery novels and word puzzles; on her deck she had a set of chairs handwoven from wet reeds from Portugal, the magic of which The thing is that they get stronger every time the rain hits them. While Gololi is a buxom, attractive woman who has had quite a few (understatement) courting, she has remained single throughout her singing career.When her voice died at the age of 35, the trap of fate unknowingly made her fall into Garbo-style isolation. will get married.She also did persist for 9 years.But in 1958, she met Count Carlos Armando, when she was 44 and Carlos was 33.Three months later they were married. "Count" of Amandou was a self-proclaimed title that no one took seriously, at least not all Carlos's.His ancestry has always been adrift; not even his name can be taken for granted. But he himself was intoxicated by it.When intoxicated by his fantasies, he would claim Spanish, Roman, Portuguese, and Greco-Romanian blood; on one occasion he even said that his mother was Egyptian.A friend of his with international blood (a real earl) laughs: "Clearly in the direct line of Queen Cleopatra". And Carlos showed his white teeth and replied with a smile: "Of course, derived from Romeo." Those who claimed to have reliable sources concluded that his parents were gypsies, and that he had been born in a caravan by the side of a dirty road in Albania.This is probably the closest. None of this seemed to make the slightest difference to the women in his life.Like tamed tin soldiers, they were conquered one by one by the fire of his love.As a working principle, he has kept his feelings quiet so that they do not burst out with an honest excitement.Women were his vocation, and he had not done a day of paid work in his life. Carlos' first marriage was when he was 19 to the widow of an oil tycoon from Oklahoma.She was three times Carlos' age, and her greed for younger men pleased him greatly.She let him wander free for two years, turning him into a handsome young man.The fortune the divorce brought him was considerable, and it took him only one year to spend all of it. His second wife, a wealthy Danish baroness who looked like a grotesque statue in a cathedral, whose chief hobby was combing his curly black hair as if he were a doll.Four months was enough for Carlos in bed with those horrible fingers crawling over his head.He seduces his wife's charming secretary, lets himself be caught on purpose, and blatantly insists on paying him as compensation for his silence. In this way, after another year of luxurious life, Carlos began to look for his next target. While summering in the Alps, he discovers the delicate sixteen-year-old daughter of a U.S. senator; the scandal that ensues involves a Swiss abortion doctor who charges exorbitant fees (from whom Carlos takes 15 percent) And a huge senator's check on the condition that he remain silent and threaten to sue him. Year after year passed with a spectacular army of wives.All these wives were rich, stupid, and old enough to be his mother: a New York socialite who divorced her banker husband in order to marry him broke up after a public quarrel, which was also a sensation); an alcoholic Back Bay spinster lost her virginity for the first time at Primas Rock; a Portuguese baroness died of tuberculosis (she left him only a filthy moats and castles surrounded by debt—obviously, he had spent all her money before she died); a Eurasian beauty who was no longer young and beautiful, and he sold her very firmly to a rich a Turk whose real purpose was to get her daughter to marry (for she had belonged to Carlos); a widow of a Chicago meatpacker took a photographer with her maid caught him in his bed and kicked him out without giving him money for the ointment, and to Carlos' astonishment she even showed the pictures in court with contempt for the press. . The disaster left him in financial trouble.He was in desperate need of money when he met Gigi Guild. It wasn't that Gololi was hard to get; she was still attractive and, compared to any of his previous wives, she was younger at the time.The main question for Carlos is: Does she have enough money?He had been living an indulgent, lazy cowboy life, and now that it was starting to take its toll on his dark, muscular body, he indulged more and more in fantasies of admiring himself in the mirror.Women of middle age and old age who, like his first wife, sought sexual gratification from younger men as hornily as his first wife, may soon find the Earl of Armando tedious.When that day came, the false count gloomily convinced himself that the roaring buffalo would turn to greener pastures. So at this point in his life, Oman knows he has no capital to make mistakes.He undertook Glory Guild's finances in a way that even a first-rate credit agent would have lamented.Excited by what he found, he began the attack with confidence. Even if Goroli is an easygoing person, this one is not so easy.She had become lonely and restless, and was frustrated by what she saw in the mirror every day.Just when she longed for a partner, when she wanted attention, when she was frustrated with her reflection in the mirror, it was almost inevitable that a young man like Carlos Amandou would get her.But she had also heard stories about him, and wanted to see what he was like, so she hired a reliable detective to investigate his background.The findings confirmed what she suspected, and she decided not to repeat the mistakes of the silly women in his life. "I like having you by my side," she told Carlos when he proposed to her. "And you also want my money, or the part of the money you can get. Right? Well then, as long as you promise me one condition, we can get married." "Honey, do we have to talk about these technical issues at a time like this?" Carlos asked, kissing her hand. "The condition is: you have to sign a prenuptial agreement and announce in advance that you will give up sharing my property." "Ah," Carlos yelled. "It even includes the right to inherit one-third of the estate that is generally protected by law," Gololi said dryly, "I can see your thoughts from your eyes. I have consulted my lawyer, and it is also appropriate drafted a contract like this, which is perfectly legal in this state—I mean in case you ever get the notion that you can breach it in the future." "What do you think of me, dear," Carlos said gloomily. "It's such an unfair offer to me. I want to give you everything I have." "It's really unbearable," Gloria fondled his hair (he steadied himself in time to hold himself back), "so I made what lawyers call a quid pro quo. " "What's that, my darling?" Carlos asked, as if he didn't know what the word "barter" meant. "An eye for an eye." "I see... time?" Carlos said suddenly.He is extremely sensitive about all things related to women. "That's right, dear. Let me enjoy at least five years of happy married life, and I will tear up this contract. I have already asked someone to investigate you, Carlos, you have not been with a woman for more than Two years. Five years is mine, and then with a bang, this contract will no longer exist, and you can enjoy the normal legal rights that you enjoy as my husband." They looked at each other and smiled. "I'm madly in love with you," Carlos whispered, "but love isn't everything. I agree." "I met Carlos in Eastampton," continued Roberta West. "It was late summer, and I was doing a summer show. He and Goroli came backstage. The director was an old man, He made a big splash about Gololi's arrival, but she was just a name to me—I was a little girl when she retired—and all I saw was a bloated, dyed-haired The ugly-haired woman who looked like some aging, outdated actress from a second-rate opera troupe held tightly on the arm of the man who looked like he could almost be her son. "But I think Carlos is very cute, and I think I'm getting a little carried away by how much he praises my performance. There's something in Carlos' voice," she added gloomily, "that penetrates A woman's heart. You know he doesn't mean it, but that doesn't matter. What matters is what he says, not what he says...I think I sound like a gullible idiot." As men, neither of them said anything. "When the show was over and I wasn't back in town for 24 hours - I don't know how he got my number because it just changed and it wasn't in the phone book when he called me He said he was very impressed with my acting, and said some compliments like that, and said he thought he could use some connections to create opportunities for me, and asked me if I wanted to talk to him. That's how I got tricked by him - the oldest bait in show business! - and I always knew I was asking for trouble...Funny thing is he did manage to get me an interview to audition - at A part in a play that wasn't on Broadway. To this day, I don't know how I got in except that the producer was a woman. Men despised him—or envied him—but women They can't seem to resist his charm. I think this producer is no exception, although she is just an old lady who babbles like a buzzing saw. Anyway, his sweet words must have attracted her. Just like he did to me." The chestnut-haired girl half-closed her eyes.Then a cigarette was drawn from the bag, and Harry Burke came up and lit it for her.She smiled at him through the flames, but she didn't seem to be looking at him. "He's always in front of me...Carlos has a magic that will take you over, no matter how hard you try to resist - I'm still in love with him. From a sex standpoint, he's beautiful. Of course , when he pays attention to a woman, she feels like she is the only woman in the world. I just can't help myself like this, I think I am the absolute center of the universe. And you know very well that he is not an honest man, he treats a lot of women Using the same tricks. But you don't mind. You just don't care... I'm in love with him, and he told me the only thing in the world that would make him happy is marrying me." Ellery interrupted: "Miss West, how did you get rich?" She smiled: "I have a small income from the trust fund, plus the money I earn from running around, I can barely get by. That's why I was fooled." The girl said bitterly, "He will always Marry with money. Because I have no money, I began to think that the love he said to me might be a real feeling in his life. How could I be so innocent! I didn’t know what he really thought until one night , about seven months ago..." Gloria left for her Newton Manor for some things, and Carlos seized the opportunity to meet Roberta, at which point he finally revealed his true colors. Roberta had heard about his prenuptial agreement with his wife, and the five-year deadline had passed—he and Gloria would have been married five and a half years by that date.According to Carlos, Gloria has already torn up their agreement at the end of five years, just like she once promised; so now if something happens to her, he will inherit her according to the normal inheritance rights At least a third of the fortune; if she had named him heir in her will, it might have been more, he wasn't sure. At first Miss West said she did not see what he was about to do. "How can this happen to a normal person? I told him honestly I don't understand what he's talking about." - Has something happened to his wife?She has an incurable disease?cancer?or something else? Carlos said lightly, "She's as healthy as a cow. She'll outlive you and me." "So you mean the divorce is liquidated?" Roberta asked suspiciously. "Liquidation? If I file for a divorce, she won't give me a penny." "Carlos, I don't quite understand." "Of course you don't understand. What a child! But listen to me, and I'll tell you how we get rid of the cow, and get married and enjoy what she left." As a result, Kages calmly explained his plan to Roberta as if he was telling the plot of a novel. Goroli is in their way, so be sure to kick her out of the way.But as her husband he would be the first to be suspected.Unless he has what is called an alibi.But for the alibi to stand, the evidence itself had to be unshakable; that is, he, Carlos, had to be literally somewhere else when it happened.In a variety of ways, this is easily arranged.So who's going to do it?Who better to be than—Roberta, co-beneficiary of Glory's death?Does she understand now? "I get it now," Roberta told the two silent men. "Oh, how did I get it now! He's using that sleazy tone, as if he's talking about how to get there." Walking in the park, when in fact he was proposing that I murder his wife so he could marry me and live off blood money. I was so terrified and terrified that I could barely speak for a while. I think He must have taken my silence for acquiescence as he leaned in to make love to me. It woke me up. I pushed him so hard he nearly fell over. This lovely conversation happened in Goro Li and Carlos' apartment, from where I ran like this demon was after me. All I knew at the time was that he was a very vicious guy. How could I fall in love with such a demon! I felt the creeps. All I could think about was get rid of him. I got home in a taxi and walked up and down the floor all night shaking like a leaf." Carlos called her the next day, and West told him not to call her or try to see her again, then hung up before he could finish his sentence. "The bastard," murmured Harry Burke.It looked as though he would have killed him himself then. "You were lucky to get away without a beating," Ellery commented. "Sometimes, when things like this are prevented, they can turn into horrific violence. But, Miss West, I still Don’t get it. If all of this happened more than seven months ago — late May? — why did you wait so long to tell this story? And, anyway, why is there an emergency now?” The girl looked confused: "Emergency? Mr. Quinn, what do you mean? I thought—" "We're obviously screwed," Ellery said, smiling. "Is there anything more to your story?" "Of course," she looked at Ellery, then at Burke, then at Ellery, and shook her head, "don't you believe me? I don't understand . . . Tell this to anyone - I don't know. It was such a shocking experience, I felt like I was dreaming. It never occurred to me to go to the police or someone like you. For one thing, I've been Telling himself he couldn't have meant that. And two..."—her fair skin flushed—"it would mean my relationship with him was being played up in the papers. You know that sort of thing. Anyway, I don't want to. And when he stopped calling me or trying to see me, I completely put it behind me, or tried not to think about it. Until two days ago I'm forced to recall it at night. What day is it? Yes, the night before, Wednesday night." "The night of December 30th?" asked Harry Burke suddenly.Ellery couldn't help but glance at him. "Yes. Carlos called me. As I said, I haven't heard from him since last spring. Of course, I hung up before he finished—" "What does the beggar want?" snapped Burke. "He said he had to see me. I told him what I said months ago was still valid, and dropped the receiver. Less than half an hour later, my apartment doorbell rang and when I opened it, it was He was there. I tried to shut him out, but he blocked it with his foot. He yelled at me so loudly that I was afraid the neighbors might run out, so I had to let him in." “他究竟想要什么？”埃勒里问道。 “当时我还想象不出来。他没再试图提出那个古怪建议，只是谈论一些琐碎的事情——我，百老汇的戏剧，和戈罗丽的近况等等。我不断地让他离开这儿，而他却停地跟我谈话。他并没有喝醉，也看不出有什么不正常——卡洛斯从不因喝酒过量而丧失理智；至少我没有见过他烂醉如泥。我越来越有一种感觉，他在拖延时间，因为每过一会儿他就会看一眼手表。” “哦，”埃勒里用古怪的语调说道。而哈里·伯克也“哦”了一声，但语调更加古怪。埃勒里的“哦”带有思索的味道，而哈里·伯克的“哦”则含有很深的预感；埃勒里又一次感到奇怪。 罗伯塔·韦斯特身体前倾，用一种紧张的恳求的态度说：“最后，到午夜时我才使他离开。或者不如说是到了午夜，没有任何前兆，他突然决定要走。我记得他又一次看了一眼手表，实际上是大声地说，'半夜了，罗伯塔，我该走了。'好像他有个时限或者什么事情似的。我一点都不明白。直到后来。奎因先生，这也就是我到这儿来的原因。他利用了我！” “听起来好像是的，”埃勒里表示同意，“但是为什呢？” “难道你还不知道？” “韦斯特小姐，我不知道什么？” “戈罗丽·圭尔德·阿曼都在星期三夜里被人谋杀了。” 埃勒里已经很久没有看过纽约的报纸了，如果吉吉的谋杀案曾经在伦敦的泰晤士报上报道过，那么他准是在某个酒馆里喝啤酒时迷迷糊糊地错过了上面的报道。 哈里·伯克，这个苏格兰人显得既有见识又有些惊骇。他走到埃勒里的吧台那儿，从最靠近手边的瓶子里给自己倒了杯酒，碰巧倒的是威士忌，然后一饮而尽。 埃勒里一直在韦斯特和伯克之间分配着他的注意力。 “我多傻呀，”她说，“你当然不知道关于谋杀害的事——因为你一直在欧洲。难道你没有看今天早上的报纸吗？” “没有，”埃勒里说，“韦斯特小姐，你知道她是什么时间被杀的吗？” “我不知道确切的时间。但是从新闻报道中可以断定那是在星期三晚上卡洛斯在我公寓里时发生的。现在已经很清楚了。他去年夏天没有能说服我杀害他妻子后，他就开始四处寻找另一个替罪羊了。而且他准是已经找到了一个——而且可以肯定是一个女人，奎因先生；他不可能说服一个男人为他去冒险。所以星期三夜里，当这个女人在杀人时——不管她是谁——他却跑到我的房间里以求解脱。利用我作为他不在犯罪现场的见证！就在我认为自己已经脱离了他、他的妻子和这个讨厌的困境时，他又把我给拖了过去！” 她似乎已经到了歇斯底里的边缘，埃勒里走近几步让她平静下来。伯克像个投弹兵一样走了几步又退回到吧台前，显然正在被什么问题困扰着。 “有个问题，”埃勒里对这个女孩说，“你为什么要来找我呢？” 她摆弄着提包的带子：“是这样——哦，奎因先生，我在这件事里是孤立无助的。可怕的境况迫在眉睫，而这根本就不是我的措——嗯，也许我错在不该落入卡洛斯的陷井，但是我当初怎么会知道自己会卷入呢？我当然不可能预料到他是在计划谋杀……卡洛斯肯定已经告诉警察我是他不在犯罪现场的见证了，因为他们已经到我的公寓来询问过我了，我只好告诉他们事实，那就是星期三夜里一直到午夜他都跟我在一起。” “你告诉警方关于五月卡洛斯让你去杀死他妻子的事了吗？” “没有。我想我本应如此的，但是我不愿意使自己陷得更深。我认为我说得越多就会陷得越深，所以我只是回答了他们的提问。奎因先生，我该怎么办？我怎么才能摆脱这件事呢？” “恐怕已经太晚了。我给你的忠告就是把一切都告诉警察，而且越早越好。” 她咬着嘴唇不再说话。 “埃勒里，”哈里·伯克突然说，“我想跟你谈谈。” “韦斯特小姐，你不介意我们谈一会儿吧？”当他们走进他的书房关上房门后，埃勒里说，“自从那女孩到这儿，你就一直憋着什么事要说。你也跟这件案子有关，是吗？” “我现在，是的，”伯克不快地说，“直到刚才我才知道这件谋杀案，我所了解的并不比你多到哪儿去。但是我一开始到纽约要办的事就和戈罗丽·圭尔德有关。她曾向伦敦警察厅提出过一个超出警察厅权限的要求，于是威尔把我作为私人侦探推荐给她。这只是一次例行的调查——我看不出这会跟谋杀案有关系，虽然这总是可能的。”这位苏格兰人绷着脸说，“事实上，埃勒里，星期三晚上我在她的寓所里与她待在一起直到过了11点钟才离开。我作好了调查报告，从她那儿直接去了机场，飞机在凌晨一点钟起飞。我离开她时，她还活着，而且还很不错。” “那么就是说她被某个人谋杀了，而这个人是在11点过后你离开她到午夜阿曼都离开罗伯塔·韦斯特的公寓这段时间作案的。” “看来应该是这样的。”伯克好像波什么事困扰着，没有多说什么。 埃勒里瞟了他一眼：“你到纽约办这件事，和我父亲咨询过吗？” “是的，这件事需要纽约警方的合作。” “那么这就是我父亲拍电报让你回来的原因了——预感到这件事可能与谋杀案有关。”埃勒里停了一下，希望伯克会发表什么意见。但是伯克什么也没说，“他在谋杀发生后准是曾经去过现场。显然当他一口气给我写完电话留言条时，还没有把韦斯特小姐与这个案子连在一起，或者对这些事实还一无所知。这儿的这些事就先在我们这个范围内处理吧。哈里，情况现在更复杂了。看来无论我愿意与否，我都被卷进来了。” 伯克只是点了点头，他们回到起居室。 “好吧，韦斯特小姐，我会帮你的，”埃勒里告诉那女孩。她像是被吓着了似地盯着他们，“至少在我们弄清楚这件事是怎么回事之前，你应当首先去告诉警方整个故事。卡洛斯不在现场的证据是站不住脚的，很可能他与他妻子的谋杀犯一样有罪，就仿佛是他亲手干的一样。对于这一点，我敢说可能性是极大的。” “无论你说什么我都会照办的，奎因先生。”她好像松了口气。 “这个阿曼都的本性显然是极其狡猾的。无论这个被他引诱而替他干了这件肮脏的事的女人是谁，他很可能一直在暗中盯着她——就像他盯着你一样，我说得对吗？” 他几乎没有听到她说：“是”。 “现在他会尽量小心避免见她，或者在这其中的某一天他会假装他第一次遇到她。他会等待风声逐渐过去。我们会弄清楚的。她也可能就是他的弱点。总而言之，她一定会被发现的，但我有一种感觉这不大容易办到。” 正在那时。埃勒里书房里的电话铃响了。 “儿子吗？”是他父亲急躁刺耳的鼻音声，“你的飞机总算降落了，是吗？埃勒里。我正在处理一件关于一个美人的案子——” “我知道，”埃勒里说，“戈罗丽，戈罗丽·哈利路亚。” “这么说韦斯特小姐已经到过你那儿了。她已经被管区内的警察调查过了，我直到拿到初期报告后才根据情况得出了推论。她现在在那儿吗？” "yes." “那么，到这边来找我们吧，带她一块来。顺便问一句，你在回来的飞机上有没有碰巧遇到一个叫哈里·伯克的人？” “我碰巧碰到了。而且此人正跟我在一起呢。他是我的房客。” “真该死，”警官说，“你的又一个不可思议的举动。我一直在等着伯克的消息——我想他已经告诉过你我给他拍了电报。把他也一块带来。” “爸爸，您在哪儿？” “在公园大道吉吉的寓所。你知道地址吗？” “不知道，但伯克和韦斯特小姐知道。” “这倒是，不是吗？”老人咒骂着把电话挂了。 合作社的看门人眼里流露出一种野性。一名执勤巡警在门廊里大摇大援地走动，另一个守在圭尔德-阿曼都寓所的门厅。还有几名侦探，包括维利警官，正在带阁楼的寓所里进行工作。埃勒里让罗伯塔·韦斯特待在门厅外的一间小客厅里，然后在维利的引导下，和哈里·伯克一起顺着楼梯上到主人的卧室，在那儿他们发现奎因警官正在仔细搜查一个衣橱。 “哦，你好，儿子，”老人抬头看了他们一眼，“该死，把它藏哪儿了？伯克，真不好意思让你又跨越大西洋原路返回，可是我没办法。它应该就在这里的某个地方。” “在我们谈正事前，爸爸——噢，”埃勒里用一种痛苦的语气说，“我可以指出您已经有近两个月没有见过我了吗？我并没有奢望您用宰肥牛来盛情欢迎我，但是您总可以腾出时间来跟我握个手吧？” “哦……好小子，”警官用他年轻时的俚语岔开话题说，“你们俩帮我找到它，好吗？” “找到什么，警官？”伯克问，“您在找什么？” “她的日记。我急着想要找到她保存日记的箱子。她的秘书珍妮·坦普告诉我说戈罗丽——戈罗丽退休后一直保持记日记的习惯——每天晚上睡觉前记下当天的事情。到现在，已经有好几本了。几个月前在她那位靠女人为生的丈夫和坦普小姐的帮助下，她开始着手一项出版计划，一部自传或者回忆录还是别的什么东西。她一直把日记当成写作的重要参考资料。这真是太好了，只是不知在什么地方，连一本也找不到。我特别想看最近的那一本，她当时的日记——她在星期三晚上记下的那些东西。如果她写了，那就太好了。我们已经找了两天了。” “都找不到吗？”埃勒里问。 “包括自传的手稿。” “警官，”哈里·伯克说，“我星期三晚上见过她。” “见鬼，你真的见过她。我一直希望有一个突破！这也是我给你发电报的原因之一。你是什么时间离开她的？” “11点过几分。” “那好极了。那好极了，”警官漫不经心地说，“她当时没有很激动或者很紧张或者其他什么表现吧？” “就我所知。没有。当然我并不十分了解她——我们只是就她所委托的那件事谈过几次而已。” “那些日记是捆好了放在箱子里的。我敢说这里的东西都没有丢，只是日记被拿走了。问题是，为什么？” 埃勒里正在仔细看着屋里摆放的好莱坞床——显眼的缎面床单，丝制的枕头，金锦缎的褶皱床罩。这张床好像从来没有人睡过。 “我知道了，爸爸，她不是在这间屋被杀的。” “是的。”警官领着他们穿过一间宽阔的主浴室，浴室里有一个大理石浴缸和一些镀金的装置，进入一间乱糟糟的小书房，里面的东西显然是被人弄乱的，“她是在这儿被人开枪打死的。” 书房虽然很乱，但还可以看出令人惊奇的斯巴达风格。木条镶花地板上铺着一块小幅地毯，一张左右有抽屉的写字台后对着门放着一把皮转椅；一把样式新颖的黑木扶椅，埃勒里断定上面覆盖着的是大象皮；底座上有一件艺术品，是一个黑棺木的勇士雕刻，是非洲当地的手工艺品，他觉得并不怎么好。 墙上没有一幅画，扶手椅旁边的电灯上有一个已经剥落了的云母灯罩。木雕上面，接近天花板的墙壁上嵌着一个用粗糙的马铃薯袋样的材料做成的木制格栅，带有一个音量调节钮，埃勒里认为那是用来隐藏音箱用的，它可以把楼下起居室里的音响里放的优美音乐传过来；他曾经在卧室的一面墙上和浴室里看到过类似的音箱。除了约有八英尺高占据了三面墙的书柜外，以上便是屋里的全部东西了。书架上横竖堆满了书，参差不齐(埃勒里注意到那里主要是侦探小说——其中包括波尔、盖博里奥、安娜·凯瑟琳、格林、威尔基·柯林斯、多埃尔、弗里曼、克里斯蒂、塞尔斯、范·戴恩的作品，以及他早期的一些小说)；还有各种不同尺寸、不同颜色的剪贴簿，戏法、字谜和难于描述的东西……这些积累准是花了许多年才得到的。 埃勒里走到一个书架前，随手从其中的一小堆中抽出一本双纵横字谜书。他翻了翻这本书，所有的字迷都用钢笔完成了。以他的经验看来，没有比填满的双纵横字谜书更没有用的东西了，尤其是用钢笔填写的，标志着第33级。戈罗丽·圭尔德·阿曼都到死也没有与有关她癖好的东西分开，甚至包括那些为她的爱好服务的东西。 写字台上一片狼藉。转椅前正中央的写字台吸墨纸上留下了一大片已经变干并因氧化而颜色发暗的血迹。 “是胸部中弹吗？”伯克一边问一边研究着那片血迹。 “有两处伤，”奎因警官说，“一粒子弹穿过右肺，另一粒击中了心脏。让我们把这些线索串起来：她走进这间书房——在你离开后的某个时间，伯克——也许是想写日记，更可能是给她的回忆录打点儿草稿。坦普小姐说她睡觉前一直是这样做的，特别是最近几个月每天晚上都是如此。然后第二天她会把这些草稿口述给坦普小姐，让她打出来。也许戈罗丽刚坐在桌前，凶手就出现了，然后开枪打死了她，普拉蒂医生说很可能是从门口开的枪。击中她的两颗子弹的角度证实了这一点。伯克，像你猜测的那样，当她因中弹而向前倒下时，血溅到了吸墨纸上。她一定看到了是谁向她开的枪。” “她当场就死了吗？”埃勒里问。 “不，医生说她中弹后还活了几分钟。”警官的语调显得很特别。 “哎哟，好呀，”埃勒里叹息道，“要是她临死前留下什么信息该有多好？但这简直是奢望。” “没准儿你会得到的，”父亲用同样带有鼻音的刺耳的声音神秘地说，“而且也许这对你来说要比对我们更有用。就我个人来说，这可能是古老的火星人的信息。” “别告诉我说——” “这正是我的意思。她活得足够长，而且有足够的力气——虽然医生说他不能想象她是从哪儿得来的这种力量，带着心脏上的伤——捡起一支钢笔，或者也许她已经握在手里了，然后在最靠近她的一张纸上写下了些东西。” 埃勒里显得很热切。 “到这儿来。伯克，你也一起来。” 他们跟着老人一起来到戈罗丽的写字台后边。在血染的吸墨纸上有一件东西，是警方的复印件。那显然是一张普通的有横线的便条纸，(“黄色的？”埃勒里小声说，好像颜色很重要似的；而他的父亲郑重其事地点了点头)其中的一条横线上潦草地写着几个字母，斜向底部，就好像这张纸上没有划横线似的。 字迹歪歪扭扭，写得很困难，像是在极其紧张的情况下草草写成的。那几个字母是： “脸？”埃勒里说，好像他正在品尝这个词的味道似的。 “脸？”伯克问。 “脸，”奎因警官也说，“就是这么个字，绅士们。简短、甜蜜、可笑。这是我们寻找那些日记和自传手稿的另一个原因。它们可能会说明那是谁的脸。” “或者这可能是某个人的名字，”苏格兰人大胆地说，“虽然我从来没有遇到过像'脸'这样的名字。” “你应该在棒球场上多花些时间，”埃勒里说，“但是，哈里，你的出发点是错误的。那个'f'绝对是小写的。不，它就是'face'，就和'面对现实(face themusic)'里的'面对'是一样的——” “这也正是我要搞明白的，”警官说，“我们必须破解了这个词所指的意思。好像已经有点门儿了。儿子，你也不能搞清楚它吗？” “不能。”埃勒里的脸上浮出一丝令人失望的愁容。 “还有一件事。”警官也皱起了眉头，父子两个的愁容惊人地相似，“我们还没搞清凶手是怎样进入公寓的。房门一共只有两把钥匙，分别在戈罗丽和她丈夫手里。按照韦斯特小姐的说法，阿曼都当时确实不在现场；他也出示了他的钥匙。戈罗丽的钥匙显然没被动过。而且，公寓的门看来是锁着的——有许多证据表明戈罗丽对夜盗吓得要死。所以，另一个问题是，凶手是怎么进来的？” “也许她认识那个人，”伯克建议说，“所以就让他或她进来了。”接着他又摇了摇头，“不，那不可能。如果她认识害死她的人，她就会在临死前写下名字的。” 埃勒里也在为这件事困惑，他在伯克说完后摇了摇头。他仍旧板着脸，愁容不展。 “那个韦斯特小姐，”警官叹了口气，“我最好亲自跟她谈谈。” 他打电话到楼下给维利警官让他带罗伯塔·韦斯特上来。哈里·伯克和老人站在门边，两人在低声说着什么。 埃勒里瞥了他们一眼：“你们在讨论什么最高机密吗？”他不快地问道，“或者你们能公开这个秘密？”——他们没有理睬他。 栗色头发的女孩走上了楼梯，显然振作了一些。奎因警官停止了与伯克的谈话，盯着她。伯克也有点莫名其妙地盯着警官。这位苏格兰人鼓励似地碰了碰女孩的胳膊。她对他报以一笑，脸色很苍白。 “韦斯特小姐，我是奎因警官，专门负责这个案子，”老人生硬地说，“我已经看过警方询问你的报告了，我想知道你是否有什么要补充的。有吗？” 她看了埃勒里一眼，埃勒里点了点头。于是她忍住眼泪，向奎因警官讲述了她已经告诉过埃勒里和哈里·伯克的那些事。 “他要你替他杀死他的妻子，”警官兴奋地说，“韦斯特小姐，这一点对侦破这个案子非常有帮助。你愿意为此作证吗？” “在法庭上？” “那是人们通常作证的地方。” "I have no idea--" “现在，你看，如果你怕他——” “警官，难道有哪个女孩不这样吗？而且，接着这件事就会传开。我的事业才刚刚开始，而那些错误的宣传——” “嗯，你需要点时间去考虑一下，”老人突然和蔼地说，“我现在不会逼你的。维利，确保韦斯特小姐安全地回家。” 女孩站起身来，勉强笑了笑，随着像山一样健壮的维利警官离开了。哈里·伯克看着她纤细的身影一晃一晃地走下楼梯，注视着她直到她消失在关上的前门后面。 老人搓着手：“总算有点进展！好吧，是这个阿曼都在背后操纵的。无论被他欺骗来替他杀人的这个女人是谁，肯定是这样：阿曼都又让人配了一把他房门的钥匙给了这个女人。既然这个女人无疑是他背着妻子搞上的，那么戈罗丽以前肯定没有见过她。这也正是她没能给我们留下直接线索的原因。她不知道这个女人的名字。” “她显然是想通过'face'这个词表达什么东西，”埃勒里争辩道，“所以戈罗丽对于这个女人一定知道什么，或者认出了什么——” “是有关她的险吗？”伯克大声说。 “不，不，哈里，”埃勒里说，“不是指脸，否则她会具体指出的。face……” “警官，关于她被杀的时间有什么证据吗？”伯克问。 “关于发生谋杀的时间，我们可以精确到分钟。她写字台那儿有个小电子钟，是皮革做的，当她向前倒下时，一定是左胳膊把它碰下了写字台，因为我们是在她左边的地板上找到它的，插头脱了出来。这使得钟停在了11：50。不，钟现在不在这儿，它在实验室里，虽然除了它已经告诉我们的以外，它不会再告诉我们更多的什么了。差10分12点是她被那两粒子弹击中的时间。普拉蒂医生关于死亡时间的结论与钟上显示的大体一致。” “与这有关的是，”伯克说，“我刚记起来，在我星期三晚上将要离开这儿时，阿曼都夫人对我说过她丈夫午夜过一点儿后会回家。” “那就是说，”埃勒里慢慢地说，“在她被枪杀时，戈罗丽知道阿曼都几分钟之后就会回到这间寓所。” “他在12点15-20分之间发现了她，”警官点了点头，“如果他是在午夜时离开韦斯特小姐的公寓的话，时间应该说是比较吻合的。” “这也表明戈罗丽临死前知道她的丈夫差不多肯定会是第一个发现她尸体的人，她意识到他也将是第一个看到她留下的任何死前信息的人。如果她写下什么揭发或者描述他的同谋或者有关他本人的东西的话，他在通知警方前，可以轻易地把它破坏掉。所以——”埃勒里细心地说。 “所以她就不得不留下一个让阿曼都以为跟谋杀毫无关系的线索吗？”伯克拿出他的烟斗，漫不经心地从一个烟袋里装上烟。 “正是这样，哈里。某种隐晦得足以使阿曼都忽略掉的东西——可能象她没完没了地做着的单词游戏字谜的开头；既不会使他认为这是个线索，又能引起警方的注意，从而追查到底。” “我不知道。”伯克摇了摇头说。 “这可太糟糕了，她没有留下什么好的和简单的线索，”警官嘟哝着说，“因为所有她最后时刻煞费苦心的想法都被证明是没有必要的。当她死去的时候，她向前倒在写字台上的纸当中，而她写在最上面的纸上的这个词被她的脑袋盖住了。阿曼都一点儿都不可能注意到它——枪杀发生后，他要确保自己没有碰过她的尸体！按他自己的话说，他甚至没有走进小书房——只是站在门口，看到血和她的妻子趴在写字台上，然后他就直接到卧室打电话报了警。而且，你知道，我相信他说的这些话是真的。” “所以，”埃勒里摸了摸鼻子说，“我们还得回到我们开始的地方，就是她通过'脸'要表达什么？” “那不是我们开始的地方，”他父亲反驳说，“我们是从寻找那些丢失了的日记开始的；当然严格地说，这不关你们的事，我太笨了所以才会问问你们俩它们在哪儿。” 他把头伸出书房门，大声向楼下喊道：“维利！那些日记还没有消息吗？”楼下传来的是否定的回答，老人把头缩回来，几乎是以恳求的口气说，“有什么建议吗？” 两个年轻人都沉默不语。 最后，哈里·伯克说：“凶手——或者是阿曼都，在报警之前可能已经把它们从寓所里拿走了。” “不会是阿曼都——他没有足够的时间。那个女人倒是可能的。”老人说着摇了摇头，“虽然这么做并没什么意义。所有的日记？所有的自传材料？别忘了，只要占有它们就会像留下指纹一样危险。然而说到指纹，房间里除了阿曼都、戈罗丽、女佣和秘书珍妮·坦普的指纹外，没有别人的指纹；而女佣和秘书是住在外面的。” “那么它们是在这里的某个地方了。”伯克安静地抽着烟斗，一副标准的英国警察形象，“警官，书架上面的那些书都被逐一检查过了吗？我想那些日记会不会被混放在书里面？” “你的意思是说把日记本伪装成像我儿子的书吗？”——埃勒里对父亲的这种说法感到有些不快——“哦，不会是那样的。这一点我一开始就想到了。” “有什么东西从这房间里被移出去了吗？”埃勒里突然问。 “很多东西，”他父亲说。“尸体，钟——” “这是两件。还有呢？” “她写字的那张纸。” “这是三件。继续说。” “继续？往哪儿继续？埃勒里，就这么多了。” “你能肯定吗？” “我当然不能肯定！维利！”警官尖声喊道。维利赶紧跑上楼梯，“有什么东西被从这间书房拿出去了吗？” “尸体，”维利警官开始说，“钟——” “不，不，警官，”埃勒里说。“是那些表面上看与凶杀案无关的东西。” 维利警官挠了挠头：“比如说，像什么？” “像一个三阶的梯子，”埃勒里说，“据我对她的回忆，戈罗丽·圭尔德身高不过五英尺六英寸。而那些书架则有八英尺高。她需要用一个小梯子才能够到最上面的书；我想她不可能每次取一本高过头的书时，都拖过一件非常昂贵的庞然大物，比如说那把大象皮椅子来爬上书架，或者冒着脖子摔断的危险站在转椅上。所以，警官，那梯子在哪儿？” 伯克一直在盯着他。奎因警官的胡子翘了起来，迷惑地微笑着。维利吃惊地张大了嘴巴。 “闭上嘴吧，维利，去把它拿来，”警官温和地说。当维利离开时，老人摇着大脑袋说，“我忘记了那梯子。是的，这儿有一个梯子，但是昨天一个警员借去搜查楼下餐厅里的荷兰式的搁架了，没有送回来。埃勒里，为什么你要找它呢？我们已经检查过最上面的每样东西了。” 但是埃勒里只是说，“等着瞧吧、” 维利警官拿着梯子吃力地走了回来。塑料包着的蹬板上留下了警察皮鞋鞋底刮伤的划痕。埃勒里说：“警官，你能把这个底座移开吗？”当维利把那个木雕勇士移到一边时，埃勒里把梯子放在底座原来的位置，然后爬到最高一级。他的头发几乎碰到了天花板，“这个音箱，”他解释说，“我注意到卧室里的音箱是用螺丝固定在框架上的，而这一个是用折页和一个螺帽来固定的。爸爸，难道您的人没有检查过这儿吗？” 这一次老警官什么也没有说，只是看了维利警官一眼，维利顿时脸色苍白。 “喂！”哈里·伯克说，“埃勒里，你的眼力真好。我一点都没有注意到。” 他旋下一边的螺帽，朝里面看了看，把嵌入的音箱通过几乎看不到的折页打开。 “哦，”埃勒里高兴地说。他把胳膊伸到里面，“这就是那种像吉吉这样有字迷瘾的人能够想到的隐藏地点。”他把胳膊抽了出来，手里挥动着一个保险箱式的金属盒子。 “爸爸，给你。如果你要找的东西不在这里的话，我会很吃惊的。” 里面总共有六个同样的金属盒子，都役有上锁；每只盒子里都塞满了日记、手稿和其他一些纸。其中一只盒子里有一个用蜡封的牛皮纸信封，上面打印着：“我的遗嘱。由我的律师威廉姆·马隆尼·沃泽尔打开”。 奎因父子把这个信封放在一边，在盒子里寻找最近的曰记。 埃勒里找到了它，立即翻到12月的记录。最后的记录是12月29曰，星期二，晚上11：15一一戈罗丽·圭尔德·阿曼都被谋杀的前一天夜里。奎因警官嘟囔了一个脏字。 她最终还是没有记录下她被枪杀那天的事；正如埃勒里已经说过的那样，在写字台上没有发现她的日记本这件事本身就预示着她没有记下当天发生的事。 所有的记录都是用笔尖很细的钢笔写的。笔迹的特点是，字体看上去很像是斜体的印刷体；而不像一般的手写体。还有一个特点是，每个字母之间的距离都很大，就像她死前留下的那个词“face”一样，这一点埃勒里