Chapter 21 Chapter 21 The Results of Thinking

Mr. Quin has made certain preparations for the reasoning. He opened a whole pack of cigarettes and arranged twenty cigarettes in a row on the table in front of him, which looked like a fence made of small white round sticks.He poured the rest of the whiskey from the bottle into a glass, which he kept within easy reach.Seeing this formation, Mr. Rumel turned around and disappeared.Ten minutes later he returned with a quart of Scotch and a large carton of coffee. Mr. Quinn was only slightly grateful for the thoughtfulness.He took off his coat, laid it neatly on a chair, loosened his tie, and rolled up his shirtsleeves.Then, sitting in the swivel chair with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, with his feet on the table, he began to think.Beau was lying on the leather sofa, thinking about it too.

At one thirty in the morning, a series of strange sounds broke the silence.Mr. Quinn was awakened from his contemplation, but it was only the snoring of Beau lying on the sofa. "Bo." The snoring is still there.Mr. Quinn got up and poured a cup of coffee, went to the sofa and gave Mr. Rumel a slight push. "Huh? What? You interrupted my thoughts—" Bo tried to open his eyes with a quarrelsome tone. "Strange," cried Mr. Quinn, "I didn't say anything. Here you are, have this cup of coffee." Beau yawns and runs his hair. "Should be ashamed, and I am. How's it going?" he said, sipping his coffee.

"One or two points," remarked Mr. Quinn, "still haven't figured it out. Others, on marche (coming). Excuse me, at this hour of the night, I keep uttering a few words in a foreign language. You Can you hold on for a while and wake up to answer a few questions?" "Just ask." "It's a strange situation," Mr. Quinn said, starting to pace around the office. "This is the first time in my life that I have had to rely entirely on another person's senses, which complicates matters. You never Being drawn into this case from the start, and I've been on the outside trying to see what's going on inside. I have a feeling that the key to cracking this case is somewhere inconspicuous - unintentionally A word spoken, or an insignificant thing."

"I'll do my best," said Beau despondently. "I fell asleep because I couldn't fit any more in my limited brain. I've run out of wits. Now count on is you." Mr. Quinn sighed: "It is a great honor to have been entrusted with such a task. Now I am going to go over the case from beginning to end. If I have missed or forgotten to mention any point of the case, please interrupt." Me, and to add, even in trivial details. I don't mind how trivial. In fact, the more trivial, the better." "let's start." The review begins.Mr. Quinn went on and on, relentlessly, until Beau's eyelids were fighting again, and he was trying to keep himself from falling asleep.

Suddenly, Mr. Quinn looked ecstatic.He waved his hand to signal Beau to go back to the sofa, while he walked up and down the room, talking excitedly to himself. "That's it. That's it!" He hurried around to sit behind the desk, picked up a pencil, and began to write furiously.He sorted and listed the facts like a mathematician solving a calculus problem.Bo lay exhausted on the sofa. "Bo!" "What?" Bo sat up. "I've got it done." Mr. Quinn was extremely calm when he released this important news, which was in stark contrast to the previous frenzy.Then he put down his pencil and began tearing up his scratch paper.He tore them into tiny pieces, piled them in an ashtray, and set them on fire.He didn't speak until the shredded paper was reduced to ashes.

Beau searched his partner's face anxiously.He must have found a sign of his satisfaction in it, for he sprang up from the sofa and cried out, "I'll be damned if I don't believe it! When will I start working?" "Right now." Mr. Quinn leaned back with a smile. "We have an opportunity, Beau. An excellent opportunity. But you have to be quick and careful." "what do you want me to do?" "I know who killed that Bloom woman. Logically, it can only be this person. I've found all the loopholes, and this person must be guilty." "Who is it?" Bo asked sullenly.

"Wait, wait, don't let me feel the joy of success." Then Mr. Quinn said in a dreamy voice, "Our friend has made two mistakes, one of which may be fatal. If we act now, You can use these two mistakes as capital." "Wherever I look at it—and I've looked at it from every angle—there are three pieces of evidence we should be able to get. That would be enough to bring Ann Bloomer's murderer to justice. .” "Three proofs?" Bo shook his head in disbelief, "Either I am an idiot and you are a genius, or I am a normal person and you are talking nonsense."

Mr. Quinn couldn't help smiling: "Two of the evidences are waiting for us to get them - we just need to see the opportunity to get it, and we'll get it. What about the third one..." He stood up abruptly, "The first Three are trickier. That's the most important piece of evidence, and the hardest to find." "What kind of evidence is it? Where can I find it?" "What it looks like—I know roughly," said Mr. Quin with a wry smile. "As for where, I have no idea at all." "Then how do you know such a proof exists?" Beau asked angrily.

"It's very simple, it must exist. Every step of logical reasoning strongly demonstrates its existence. Every fact in the case also requires its existence as a prerequisite. Your task is to find its whereabouts, and you must found it before!" "I don't know what you're rambling about," said Beau impatiently. "Tell me what it is, and I'll go find it." Mr. Quinn told him.As I listened, Mr. Rummel's dark eyes sparkled with wonder. "My God!" he gasped, "My God!" Mr. Quin obviously felt himself surrounded by an atmosphere of worship, and could not help feeling a little intoxicated.

"But how did you figure it out?" "I don't have any tricks," said Mr. Quinn crypticly. "It's all about those little gray brain cells, as M. Poirot used to say. Well, there's no time to explain now. You're going to blow up the phone." , get people out of bed--what time is it? Three o'clock!--don't let the bureaucrats hold you back, put some money in if necessary, and get yourself a few helpers... In short, Get that evidence before noon tomorrow!" Beau picked up the phone. As for Mr. Quinn, he was sprawled out on the couch, humming in absolute comfort, and fell asleep before Beau finished dialing his first number.

Mr. Quinn awoke with sunlight on his eyelids and a taste in his mouth that resembled rotting flannel. He groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleepiness from his eyes.The office was empty; last night's wine glasses and cigarette ashes had been swept away; his watch pointed to nine, so he made the simplest deduction: Miss Hecuba Penny had come to work. He staggered to the door and looked into the reception room.Miss Penny, as he supposed, was sitting at her desk, knitting.It was the one hundred and fifteenth ball of yarn she had knitted since she was an employee of Ellery Queen's detective agency, and she was already working on her third shawl. "Good morning," said Mr. Quinn hoarsely. "Have you seen Mr. Rumel?" "No, but I found this note he gave you. May I bring you your breakfast now?" "What I'm craving more than anything right now is a bath, Hekuba, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to take care of that myself." On the note, Beau wrote in his thick, scribbled handwriting: Mr. Quinn grinned and went to the laboratory to wash up.After washing his face, he felt much better.When he sat down in front of the phone, he felt a little excitement and anticipation. "Sergeant Richard Quinn? I'm an old friend of yours." "Oh, it's you," said the officer in a distressed voice, "where have you been all night?" "Drinking with the Goddesses," Mr. Quinn exaggerated, "is just an overdose... Disappointed, isn't it? Well, I didn't give you a chance to gloat." "I'm in tears of laughter. Sampson and I have been talking about the case all night, and—well, let's not. What's new in your famous head?" "I can tell that the officials are a bit confused," murmured Mr. Quinn, still drunk, "and despite all the passions we've had last night--the mockery of reason--now you and San Posen can't be so sure that Kelly Sean lied to you. Poor official! Well, that's life. Would you like to hear a lecture this morning, Dad?" "What? Another speech? I don't have time to listen to speeches!" "I'm sure," said his son, "that you'll make time for this speech. The speaker did not do well last night, I hear. But he promises to please everyone today." "Oh." The police officer was silent.Then he asked suspiciously, "What tricks are you doing this time? Did the dead man come back to life?" "If you are referring to the late Cadmus Cole, the answer is no. But I need your cooperation to enable the Ann Bloomer murder investigation lecture to take place at the crime scene." "You mean in the Villanoy Hotel? In room 1724?" The police officer was puzzled. "Another farce?" "I'm talking about the crime scene," Ellery said softly. "That should include Room 1726, Father. Never forget that." "Okay, including room 1726! But that suite and that single room have been thoroughly inspected. I don't believe there's anything else we've missed!" Mr. Quinn laughed. "Look, Dad, don't be so stubborn. Are you going to cooperate with Ellery Quinn & Associates, or do you want me to ask the magistrate for help?" "You would do this to your own father, you bastard!" The officer suddenly laughed, "Well, fine. But I warn you, if you fail again this time, Sampson will approve the prosecution of Kay. Lee Sean." "If I fail?" said Mr. Quinn, obviously surprised. "I like it. Who should solve this case? The Homicide Squad, or me, a little one-handed man? But I'm magnanimous today. Don't worry about it. I will lead the office to rescue you!" "No matter big or small, those who don't know how to be grateful—" "I'll see you at the Villanoy Hotel at half past eleven, how about?"