Met Beau Rumel.Oh no, not "The Playboy Brummell" - the upper-class London gentleman who was born in 1778 - it was Beau Rummel.This Beau Rummel was born on Cherry Street in New York City in 1914. Don't think that Bo is so resigned to his name.From boyhood, he was prepared to fight against all mankind to defend his dignity.He thought of all kinds of ways, and even thought of choosing another name.He wanted to be called Buck, or Butch, or some masculine name like that.In the end, changing the name didn't help either. "Rumel? Surname Rumel? Oh, sorry to say? Your name should be Beau, 'Rummel the Playboy'. Uh, uh...yes!"

Bo—"Playboy", this bitter name is like a melting pot, and Bo's personality is also forged in this furnace.At the age of twelve, he had done some research to learn that his namesake had once been a well-known fashion authority in London and the number one playboy of a bygone era.Beau has since become a passionate rebel in menswear.Now, if you come across a rugged young man with bruises on his knuckles that look like he's been sleeping naked for two months without taking off his clothes, you Perhaps to be sure: it wasn't a starving beggar, it was Beau Rumel. To the despair of his father, Sergeant Johnny Rummel of the Narcotics Squad, Beau kept on the run again and again.

Beau had escaped three times because of some smart, humorous guys at his Columbia law school.For the first time, he ran to a waterway tunnel construction site to dig sand.As a result, a thick-shouldered Lithuanian tunnel worker saw through his shameful secret, so he was sent back to continue to be bound by the "Contract Law" course.The second time he sneaked away, he went to a third-rate circus to work as a news advertisement propagandist.And this episode ended with a bloody quarrel between him and a strong man.The Bongo man thought at first that he could beat anyone named "Playboy" to the ground, but when he finally woke up from his coma, he realized that this fight was really not easy. There is a saying - it was a misunderstanding.The third time he escaped, he found a construction site on Sixth Avenue, and he was doing the job of lifting rivets high in the air.After suffering another painful torment, he climbed up to the forty floors in a rage, and almost fell from that dangerous place.However, since then, when he chooses to flee to a place of refuge, it is always closer to Mother Earth.

He also absconded several times during the summer vacation.Once he ran to Hollywood; once he went to Alaska; another time, he boarded a freighter bound for Rio and headed for the southern paradise that was calling him far away.However, the last escape was an absolute mistake in judgment.The ship's commercial superintendent was an educated man, and he relished the talk of Bo among the crew, and young Mr. Rummel, if he wanted to understand the polite listening to his Christian name To return punishment for what appears to be a flattering slander seems to have to use the vast sea as a battlefield, and there is no other way of escape except by swimming.

Mr. Ellery Queen first heard of Beau Rumel when Sergeant Johnny died. Officer Quinn was very sad about the death of his old friend, and wanted to do something for his old friend's son. "The kid's out of a job, and he's just sitting around," Constable Quinn said to Ellery. "He's got a diploma, he was a lawyer, but he quit. That's the way it is, a guy who doesn't have a job. I know. I don't mean that there's anything wrong with him. Besides, he didn't sit comfortably in a swivel chair all day and become one of those soft people who can't bear hardships. He's an energetic restless He is a young man who is stubborn and stubborn and difficult to deal with. He has done all kinds of things: sailing, lifting construction rivets, begging all the way around the country, picking oranges in California, digging trenches on marine protection engineering facilities... Anyway, he's done everything, but he can't find a job anywhere. Now that Johnny's dead, he's worse off than ever. The pompous guy, yes, Bo That's the kind of guy who thinks he knows it all, and he's pretty much omnipotent."

"What did you say his name was?" Ellery asked. "Bo," replied the officer. "Beau Rumel?" Ellery smiled. "I knew you would laugh. Anyone who hears his name laughs. That's what Beau suffers from. Just don't laugh at him in his face, or he'll fly into a rage." "Why don't you let him be a cop?" "Yeah, if he hadn't been so shaky, he'd be doing pretty well as a cop. Actually, though, he's thinking about starting a detective agency." The inspector continued with a smile, "I guess he's been reading Those bizarre detective stories you wrote."

"Your wandering prodigal son really interests me." Mr. Quinn said briskly, "Let's go find him." They found Mr. Beau Rumel eating a corned beef sandwich at Louie's Grill, two blocks west on Center Avenue. "Hello, Bo." The police officer greeted. "Yes, sir. How's the crime going?" "Normal, nothing serious. Beau, I want you to meet my son—Ellery." "Bo." Mr. Quinn greeted. The young man put down the sandwich in his hand, carefully examined Mr. Quinn, and concentrated on distinguishing the expressions of Mr. Quinn's eyes and mouth. The suspicious and vigilant expression was just like a person who was searching for bugs and was ready to pounce at any time. only hounds.

However, from Mr. Quinn's face, Bo did not find the slightest trace of mockery, but only saw a solemn and amiable expression.So he stretched out his big, battle-scarred paws to Mr. Quinn, and yelled at the bartender.After a while, the police officer wisely took his leave, and as he left, there was a slightly perceptible smile on his lips, but it was just hidden by his bushy beard. A beautiful friendship begins.Mr. Quinn felt that he was irresistibly attracted by this huge young man with cynical eyes, confident expression, and a crumpled coat casually draped over his broad shoulders and broad back.

Later, when the "Ellery Quinn Secret Investigation Company" was born, Mr. Quinn recalled this incident and often wondered how it all happened.The conversation at the Louis Barbecue restaurant that day seemed to be carried out in a terrible misty atmosphere, full of the toughness and ruthlessness of a man when facing a man, as well as Bo's ambition and ambition, and as he talked, it seemed as if he was being manipulated by some kind of Magically, out of the blue, they discussed plans for a career. Mr. Quinn was surprised to find that he was about to become partners in a detective firm with Mr. Rummel.

"I have a few thousand dollars in my hand," Bo said, "my old man left me the money, and I will spend it all sooner or later. It's better to use it to invest in my future." "I understand, but—" But what?Oh yes, he is young, but he wills and he can.He was legally trained, daring, armed, and familiar with New York's hideouts and the ways of the police. "After all," he said with a smile, "the son of the policeman will understand these things. You should know that!"—so what? "But what's the point of telling me all this?" asked Mr. Quin listlessly.

"Because you're a celebrity. Everyone in this city knows Quinn's name. When you mention this name, people think of detectives. I want to make money from your fame." "Oh, do you think so?" asked Mr. Quinn, still unexcited. "Look at this, Ellery, you don't have to do anything, I do all the work, I run errands, I work twenty hours a day, and I put my money in. Oh, look Well, there's nothing more comfortable being a detective than this." "Isn't it?" asked Mr. Quin. "I only need your name as a cover, and I will do the rest." Mr. Quinn was aware that he had stated that the matter would be considered. The next day, Mr. Rummel called and invited him to view an apartment in an office building in Times Square. When Mr. Quin arrived there, he found his name already in gilt print on the door. Freshly shaved for the opening day, Mr. Rumel nodded to him to enter.This is a set of three rooms. "Something like that, huh? Come and meet our new secretary." So he introduced the spinster Miss Hecuba Penny to Mr. Quinn.Although they had only been together for an hour, the secretary was already respectful to Mr. Beau Rumel, and her attitude was furtive, serious, and full of strong enthusiasm. Mr. Quinn was convinced, a little out of breath after running a few miles.But he likes it. On a bright May day, Beau called Ellery and told the partner to come over immediately.His voice sounded so excited on the phone that even Mr. Quinn, who was not very emotional, was excited.When he saw Beau, he was rearranging the office furniture with one hand and straightening his usual loose tie with the other.He knew that something unusual and important must have happened. "Guess what?" Beau yelled. "It's not a divorce, it's not 'finding our dear runaway Nora', and it's not insurance fraud. This is a real case, my friend!" "What kind of case?" "Who knows? Who cares? He won't talk about it. But this case must be a big deal, because he is too rich if he is to be said to be rich!" "'Who is he?" "It's 'The Man Nobody Knows,' 'The Ghost of Wall Street,' 'The Lost American,' and his name is Cadmus Cole—so he says." It seems that the big man called for an appointment in person.He made a point of seeing Mr. Quinn—Mr. Quin, without anyone else present.Mr. Rumel promised him to have Mr. Quinn.If he was asked to invite the equestrian statue of General Grant, he would agree. "He'll be here in fifteen minutes," said Bossy, smugly. "Damn luck! I'm an outsider. He's got to see you. Do you know him? I'll tell Tom M. Serevich called, and he helped me find some material about Cole from the newspaper's reference room." They got together to discuss. Cole was born in Windsor, Vermont, in 1873, the eldest son of a moderately wealthy family.He inherited the ironworks left by his father.He married in 1901.A scandal involving his wife's infidelity followed, and he divorced her in 1903.She married four more times, and finally, some years later in Italy, she was shot dead by a difficult husband. Cole expanded his ironworks. In 1912 he became involved in the nitrate industry in South America.The world war broke out, and he started making arms, making millions of dollars.After the war he went back to Wall Street and tripled his fortune.At this time, he sold all his stocks and bought a huge villa in Tarry Town on the Hudson River, but this villa was mostly empty, and he rarely visited it himself. The millionaire retired in 1921 and sailed with his trusted agent, Edmond de Carlos, who had worked for him for many years.Since then, he has been living on his speedboat "Argo". "The 'Argonaut' seldom goes into a big port," said Beau. "If it stops at a big port, it's only to replenish fuel, supplies, and cash. At times like this, Cole always stays in the cabin sullenly, And let De Carlos handle everything." "So he's a bit of a rich sea bum," Ellery said. "How could he?" "He's just so weird," Beau said triumphantly. "If it's what you say, it must be the first time he's been in New York after eighteen years." "I'm honored by that," Beau said. "It's true, sir. I'm sorry, but I have to go get dressed." Since the so-called "millionaire American" is a very rare and precious species of man, when we have the opportunity to get in touch with Mr. Cadmus Cole, let's examine him Research seems to be quite important.And also because, Mr. Cole was doomed to die early... maybe sooner than he had foreseen. Behold, ladies and gentlemen readers, he is walking into the offices of "Ellery Quinn & Co" and the first thing he does is slam his body against the door frame.Such an action is very rare, and it will be very instructive if we keep it in mind.Oh no, he wasn't drunk. Then he walked forward and stopped in the middle of the small piece of beige carpet.His gait was more like a clumsy stagger than a walk; each step was a deliberate lift of the foot off the floor, and as it came down it stood wide apart again, as if in one It seems to be tentatively advancing in places that are not solid enough and not stable enough. He gazed at Mr. Quinn and Mr. Rummel with a strange squinting penetrating eye.The squinting look surrounded by radiating wrinkles around the eyes must have been formed by staring at the moving planes in the sky on the sunny sea all the year round, and the sharpness in the eyes, let us guess, must be another There are deeper roots. The sailor's face was reddish-brown.When he stared intently, he could see that the pale white eyeballs around his pupils looked so clean and young.His face was like a mask, smooth, false, and mummy-like. He didn't have a protruding belly either, but he stood up straight. His head was bare and hairless, a big, bulging, bald, tan skull.Through his slightly parted pale lips, we can see that there is not even a single tooth in his mouth, which is like a fetus. He was wearing an old blue speedboat suit with copper buttons.The millionaire, who looked like a tailor's fitting dummy, squinted with all the little anger he had, looking from Mr. Rummel to Mr. Quinn, and then all over again. . "It's an honor, it's an honor," said Mr. Quinn sharply. "Please take a seat, Mr. Cole." "Are you Quinn?" the big man asked.It was hard to hear what he muttered as if stifled, and a little saliva flowed out of his toothless mouth when he spoke, and spittle came in and out. Mr. Quinn closed his eyes and replied, "I am." "To you alone," said Mr. Cole, with a hint of resentment. Beau bowed humbly and left.Mr. Quinn knew that Beau hadn't gone far away, but was still listening, observing, and conducting various other activities in the comprehensive laboratory and darkroom separated from this office through a peephole. Rummel-style activities. "Time is short," said the great man declaratively, "to-night sailing for the West Indies. Now trying to get this thing done. I have just been to Lloyd Goossens' law firm. Know Young Goossens?" "It's just a well-known name, Mr. Cole. His father passed away about five years ago, and he is now in charge of the firm. It's an old firm with a good reputation, specializing in large-scale real estate realizations, trusteeships and liquidations. You Is—quack—an estate to liquidate, Mr. Cole?" "No, it wasn't. Just gave Goossens my sealed will. Used to know his father well, and he was a good man. But after his father died, I made him co-executor and co-custodian of my estate. gone." "Cooperation—" asked Mr. Quinn politely. "My friend Edmond de Carlos will work with Goossens on my estate. I'm afraid it has nothing to do with you?" "Oh, of course, it's irrelevant." Mr. Quinn replied affirmatively to the rich man. "Come to see you on a secret matter. Know you're good at your business, Quinn. I want you to promise to handle this case alone, without assistants!" "Excuse me, what kind of case is it?" asked Mr. Quin. "Can't tell you." "Sorry, what did you say?" "I can't tell you, the case hasn't happened yet." Mr. Quinn said with a broad expression: "But, dear sir, you can't ask me to investigate a case about which I know nothing! I'm just a detective, not a superman with special vision." "You're not expected to be Superman," grumbled the Big Man. "Just a pact with you to do this case for me someday. You'll know what a case it is in due time." "I still can't help asking," said Mr. Quin, "Mr. Cole, if this is a case, why couldn't you hire me at the right time as you say?" He seemed to detect a certain cunning. Crept across the red-brown mask of the millionaire. "You are a detective, and you told me that." "I just thought of it, there is only one reason," Mr. Quinn accepted the other party's challenge, and said softly, "But it's not easy to talk about this kind of thing, I'm afraid it would be too impolite." "Damn! What is the reason?" Mr. Cole's nostrils moved slightly, revealing his hesitant curiosity. "If you are determined not to do things the normal way, that is, not hire an investigator when it is time to start an investigation, it must be because you foresee that at that time you will not be able to hire investigators. " "Nonsense! You can speak clearly." "It's simple, it's just that you thought you might die." The big man took a deep, long, hiccupping breath. "Ah!" he said, "come, come!" He looked as surprised as if he had never heard anything so shocking in his sixty-six years of life. "So you have a premonition that your life is about to be attacked?" asked Mr. Quinn, leaning forward. "Do you have any enemies active? Perhaps someone has already done something to you?" Mr. Cole was silent, and his eyelids closed slowly like the dome of an observatory.After a while he opened his eyes and said, "Money is no object. Always buy the best. No haggling. Do you accept the case, Quinn?" "Oh, yes," replied Mr. Quin crisply. "As soon as I'm back on board, I'll send Goossens an annex by registered post to file with my will which he has in his custody. This annex will specify: I've hired you to do something. some affairs, and agreed on your reward. How much reward do you want?" Mr. Quinn seemed to be able to feel that Mr. Beau Rumel's trembling heart was imploring him, hoping that he would say an astronomical figure. "Because I don't know what kind of work I'm going to do and how much the workload is, it's hard for me to estimate how much the remuneration should be, Mr. Cole. I'll be able to decide when the time is right as you said. .But can I also ask for an attorney's retainer fee at the same time?" "How much?" Cole's hand reached his breast pocket. "May I say," said Mr. Quin, after a moment's hesitation, "ten thousand dollars?" "Fifteen thousand," said the great man, producing a check and a fountain pen. "It's due. Let me sit with you, young man." The millionaire came around clinging to the desk as if it were a clipper ship in a storm.He sat in Mr. Quinn's chair, and with sunken cheeks, hurriedly filled out a check. "I'll give you a receipt, Mr. Cole." "No. I've marked 'Attorney's Fees Advance'. Goodbye." The old gentleman stood up, put his speedboat cap firmly on his bald head, and staggered towards the door.Mr. Quinn rushed up a few steps, but it was too late to help his unusual client out of the door frame.Mr. Cole bumped into it again.But he showed no expression of concern, but an almost solemn indifference, as if he had so many important things to think about that a mere door frame could not attract his attention. Bounced back by the door frame, he smiled ho ho and said, "By the way, Mr. Quinn, do you guess what I'm going to hire you for?" Mr. Quinn searched his mind for an answer.The question makes no sense, nothing at all. But Mr. Cadmus Cole murmured again, "Never mind." He walked awkwardly across the anteroom, and at last disappeared from Mr. Quin's sight. When Mr. Quinn returned to the house, he found that the check was missing from the table.He rubbed his eyes, "Damn it!" Beau came running in from the lab with the check in the blink of an eye, and said, "I made a photocopy of the check—just in case. If that baldy gave me a bogus check for fifteen thousand dollars, he'd have nothing to do with it!" "You don't seem to be satisfied." Mr. Quinn seemed to be alert while he was talking. He sat down at the table and quickly signed the check endorsement, as if he was afraid that it would disappear. "Either he's a lunatic who escaped from a mental institution," Beau said, sounding resentful, "or he's a paranoid tycoon like the one in the book who likes to make fun of other people. It's a Just kidding. Just wait and see, that lunatic will tell the bank to stop paying the check." Although it was purely a possibility, it disturbed Mr. Quinn restlessly.He rang the bell: "Miss Penny, did you see this torn note?" "Yes." Hekuba replied, while staring at Mr. Rumel affectionately. "The first thing you have to do tomorrow morning is take this check to the bank where it is drawn. It is too late today. If the seal on this check is authentic, you will deposit it into our bank." "What an optimist," Beau said loudly. Miss Penny hurried away with that precious and heavy piece of paper.Beau slumped down on the leather sofa, munching angrily on a piece of melted chocolate. "What do you think of our friend?" asked Ellery, looking at him from a distance. "Is there nothing about him that is—er, that is, unique?" "He's hiding something, he's trying to hide it," Beau said. Ellery sprang up from his chair: "Then there's something else, and his exasperating curiosity. Why does he want to know so much what I do about what he's going to hire me to do?" Guess what?" "I tell you, he's a madman." Ellery sat down at his desk and looked through the window at the jagged skyline over Times Square.Suddenly he made a strange face. It turned out that he was sitting on a long and hard object.He turned his head and looked: "He forgot his fountain pen here." "In this way, no matter what, we still made a profit." Bo frowned and looked at his fingers covered with chocolate paste, and licked them like a cat. Ellery looked carefully at the pen.Beau lit a cigarette, and after a while he said casually, "Well, what are you looking at?" "What do you think, Beau?" Ellery walked over to the sofa, pen in hand. Beau squinted curiously at the pen through the smoke.This pen is big and thick, and the cap is covered with scratches that seem to be curved, and some places are quite deep. The whole pen looks like it has gone through a long time and has been used very hard. Beau glanced at Ellery, puzzled.He unscrewed the cap again and examined the gold nib carefully. "To me, it's just an old, black fountain pen that looks like someone's been using it a lot, and that person likes to write with smooth, thick strokes. It's a pen like no other Ten thousand pens are no different." "I would think," Ellery said, "that this pen is different from all the other pens." Bo stared at him intently. "Well, all these little secrets will surely be cleared up in time. But for now, Beau, I suggest you take some micrographs of this thing, from various positions and angles. And take some precise measurements .And then we send someone to send this pen back to the Argonaut... I wish I could be sure," he muttered. "Affirm what?" "That check is fine." "Amen!" The next day, the weather was fine and sunny.It was finally confirmed.The messenger they had sent reported that he had been at the port of the Hudson the night before, had delivered the pen to the clipper which was anchored there, and had not been apprehended as a suspicious person.And Miss Hecuba Penny came to work late, but she returned triumphantly with good news. The bank that drew the $15,000 check immediately confirmed that Cadmus Cole signature reliability and validity. There was only one possibility left: If Mr. Cole was joking, he would tell the bank to stop paying that check. They waited for three days.That check was cashed. Bo saluted the bank passbook of the office three times, and then went out to revel in the delicious food and wine.

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