Chapter 4 unknown man
The interested reader may note that Volume 11 of the Encyclopaedia Britannica devotes some space to the strange life of Caspar Hauser and his even more peculiar death.Maybe someday the name Douglas Zadig will get the same treatment.
For Douglas Zadig was also a man of unknown origin.He came out of the mist and died in the snow, just like Caspar Hauser a hundred years ago.
Here I want to tell you the story of Douglas Zadig and the people around him in his last days...
It was a cold, gloomy Friday afternoon in early November, and Simon Yakers called the office to see me.I was doing the final strip proofs for the January book and immediately put that work aside when I heard Simon Yaker's voice. "Simon! How are you doing?"
"Busy," he said. "Shall we go to Maine for the weekend?"
"Maine? In November? No one goes to that place these days, except hunters!"
"Hunters and publishers," Simon Yake corrected; "I want to meet someone, because he is also a writer, so it might be better to take you with him. Of course, if you have time..."
I've always known that an offer from Simon Acker would never be as mundane as it sounds.If he's going to Maine for the weekend, there must be some reason, and I'm tempted. "I'm free," I said. "When shall we meet?"
"At Grand Central at six o'clock, okay? We'll take the New Haven Line north."
"No problem. I'll wait for you at the information desk..."
I called my wife afterward and explained the sudden outing to her.She knew Simon Acker as well as I did, one of the few people in the world who understood our relationship.She said goodbye to me, but her breathing sounded short.I know that she has begun to wait for the adventures I will tell when I return.
Then I hung up and what awaited me was a weekend I'll never forget...
I was a newspaper reporter when I first met Simon Acker; although we lost contact for several years, his recent reappearance brought our friendship to light.No matter how you look at him, he is a weirdo. He is tall and burly, and he often has a saintly expression.
From past experiences with him, and from his own account of drinking, I know that he is not a man of our time at all.He came from a world long ago—maybe a world with gods and demons, but it wouldn't be twentieth-century America anyway.
He's been on the lookout for traces of the Devil himself, what he calls the ultimate evil.At first I scoffed at this, thinking that there was something wrong with his head; but now I no longer think so, and I know that there is no one in this world who is more sane than him.He keeps finding evil, because evil is everywhere, and I believe that one day he will fulfill his long-cherished wish, which is to confront Satan head-on.
That's why I don't hesitate to agree to his invitation every time.Although he has been looking for him for so long, and I am not sure that I will be able to witness the arrival of that moment with him in this life, but as long as there is a slight possibility, I don't want to miss it.
For the same reason, I chose to ride with him this evening on the train north to New England. "What's going on this time, Simon?" I finally couldn't help asking him because he hadn't told me anything beforehand.
He looked at the night outside the car window, as if there was something hidden in the darkness besides the buildings and the sporadic lights on the road.
After a while he asked me, "Do you know a man named Douglas Zadig?"
I always feel like I have heard this name somewhere, but I still shook my head. "Who is he?"
"He was a man of unknown origin, with no home, no nationality, no past. You might have read about him decades ago, when he came out of the fog of England and became famous overnight."
"I remember," I said. "He was a young man of twenty or so at the time, and he declared he had no memory of the past. He spoke bad English, and his clothes were like rags. The only thing he could remember was that his name was Douglas. When He was found with a French edition of Voltaire's Zadig, and the papers named him Douglas Zadig."
"You have a good memory for details," commented Simon Acker. "As you may also recall, this Douglas Zadig is a total enigma. His fingerprints are not found in all the archives of the world; his photographs are unidentifiable. He seems to have popped out of a gap in time." .”
"I haven't followed this guy for years," I told Simon. "How is he?"
"I met once in London a few years ago," continues Simon Acker. "While I was in England investigating strange events in Devonshire, I happened to overhear him addressing some meetings. In certain circles he became quite a writer and speaker--I guess you'd call that seer or prophet."
"Is this the man we're going to meet in Maine?"
"Exactly. He came to this country two years ago with an American doctor. The doctor—named Adam Hegel—actually adopted him as his adopted son, and the two of them lived in Maine."
"Sounds weird, but it's not your usual investigation, Simon?"
Trains rumbled through small New England towns, and the dark waters of the Long Island Sound kept slipping back in view.The passengers around us gradually fell asleep, and the lights above the seats were dimmed.
Simon Acker took a pamphlet out of his pocket and showed it to me.I glanced at the title and thought it was unreal: "In the Eternal War Between Good and Evil" by Douglas Zadig.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Simon Acker put the book back in his pocket. "Like Zadig's other writings and speeches, the oddity of this book is that its apparently apparently new philosophy is copied word for word from a religious leader named Zoroaster of the seventh century B.C. The teachings written..."
We didn't reach our destination until noon on Saturday, a small town called Katantine in the north of the state.It was freezing cold here, and the ground was covered with a new layer of snow.We're surrounded by mountains, lakes and forests, it's hard to believe we're only one night's drive from New York.
We found a passable hotel and left our luggage there.The hotel is deserted at the moment, but I can imagine a week from now when it will be filled with sports fans from Bangor and Boston.
"Are you hunters?" the room attendant asked us. "If you want to gain something, it's a bit early."
"We are hunters of a particular game," replied Simon Yaker. "Can you tell us how to get to Dr. Hegel's house?"
"Of course, his house is just around the turn of the road on the edge of the town. It's a big white building, impossible to miss."
"thanks."
Dr. Hegel's house was indeed easy to find; judging from the white wasteland around the house, someone had tried to cultivate it.
Dr. Hegel himself can be described as versatile.He may be a typical country doctor, but in a big city, he is a businessman.The sharpness in his eyes contrasts sharply with the smile that often hangs on his lips.
Simon Acker indicated to him that we were from a publishing company in New York and had come to talk to Douglas Zadig about the possibility of publishing one of his works.
"Come in," Dr. Hegel urged us into the house. "I'm sure Douglas would be very willing to communicate with you. There is always an endless stream of people who are interested in his books..."
The house was larger than it looked from the outside, and we immediately found out that there were other visitors.A dignified young woman (about thirty years old) and a thin old man are sitting in the living room.
Dr. Hegel introduced us to a woman named Yves Brent from Chicago.The old man's name was Charles Kingsley, I knew the name, and he was a retired manufacturer well known in the financial world.
"These are two publishers from New York," Dr. Hegel introduced proudly. "They've come all the way to talk to Douglas." Then, turning to us, he explained, "Our place is always open to the public. Ms Lunt and Mr Kingsley have been here for several weeks trying to talk to their spirits."
I sat down in the chair next to Ms. Brent.I opened the conversation by asking her where Douglas Zadig was.
"He's upstairs in his room; reckon he'll be down in a minute."
"You're from Chicago? Far enough," I asked.
"My... my husband died a few years ago. Since then, on the brink, I have traveled to Europe and South America; it wasn't until I read a book by Douglas Zadig that I rediscovered Back to myself."
On the other side, Simon Yake was chatting with Hegel and Kingsley.But all conversation was cut short by the appearance of a thin young man whom I knew to be Douglas Zadig.
He was taller than I thought, but his bony figure was in line with my previous perception.He walks with a limp, and I remember the papers saying he was the same way when he was found ten years ago.
"Sorry I'm late," he apologized loudly, with a barely discernible British accent. "But there's that thing again."
Whatever "that thing" was, there was no doubt that both the doctor and the two guests gasped.Hegel ran quickly to Douglas Zadig and examined his head.
"Still the same side, Adam," he said. "I was shaving when I felt a blow to my temple; but this time there was not much blood."
"But the skin is still chafed," said Dr. Hegel. "Just like last time."
Simon Yake stood up and walked towards the young man. "What the hell happened?" he asked the other four people besides me.
Ms. Brent next to me answered. "Douglas has been mysteriously attacked twice, both times while he was alone in his room. We...we think it might be...the devil..."
I saw Simon Acker's eyes light up, as fate gave him another chance to confront the evil he had been looking for.A light wind blew outside the house, rustling the dead branches; I looked out the window, and the air was whirled with snow. Charles Kingsley snorted and took out a cigar. "The whole thing is so messed up. We're not in the Middle Ages; the devil can't hurt people." "I'm afraid you're wrong," said Simon Acker calmly. "Satan is no different from the devil he was a thousand years ago; there is no reason for us to think that he has changed his nature. In fact, if I could be absolutely sure that he exists among us, I would order an exorcism." "Then we need a priest," said Miss Brent; "but you won't find one for miles around." Simon Yake shook his head. "In the early days of Christianity, ordinary believers were able to perform exorcism. But in the current situation, I don't plan to do so." Douglas Zadig, who had been standing at the door ever since he was inspected, said, "Sir, what are you talking about? That doesn't quite sound like a publisher." "I hold other professions as well. I heard that you preach a unique teaching whose theme is the eternal war between the two great forces of good and evil. It reminds me of the teachings of Zoroaster." Hearing this name, the young man's face changed slightly. "I... I did read what he wrote. But if you study my teachings and publications thoroughly, I think you'll see the difference. My theory of evil is that evil, as a force, is A part of God, and at the same time functioning according to God's will - not an independent, spontaneous force, as Zoroaster thinks." "Come on, Mr. Zadig," Simon Acker couldn't help laughing, "Thomas Aquinas denied that set of arguments seven hundred years ago. If you don't know, I suggest you read " Chapters 39 and 95 of the first volume of The Encyclopedia of Refutation. As a preacher of a new religion, you seem to have not figured out your own teachings." Douglas Zadig glared at Simon. "This is my house, I don't want to hear these slurs," he said before turning away.Dr. Hegel followed closely and disappeared outside the porch. Kingsley and Ms Brent looked stunned by Simon Acker's remarks; I moved up to him so the other two wouldn't overhear our conversation. "Perhaps you have gone too far, Simon; I don't think he meant any harm." "Whether he is malicious or not, the objective result is that that kind of wrong teaching will only lead to bad results." Dr. Hegel was back among us in an instant, and through the window pane we could see the figure of Douglas Zadig walking in the snow, the wind blowing on his open jacket, as if we could hear it flapping. "He's going for a walk," the doctor told us; "he needs to be alone." Simon Ark walked to the window and watched Zadig's back until a small snow slope blocked his view. "Honestly, I think you should apologize to him when he comes back. Everyone has their own way, and he's a respectable man." Simon Acker turned to look at the four of us. "Has any of you heard the story of Caspar Hauser?" he asked quietly.Noticing our blank looks, he continued, "Caspar Hauser was a sixteen-year-old German lad who suddenly appeared in Nuremberg in May 1828. Unknown. Among his belongings two letters were found, supposedly written by his mother and guardian. A professor in Nuremberg was in charge of the child's education, and he lived in Nuremberg and Ansbach until 1833 He died in 1999. He was mysteriously wounded twice while living with the professor before his death; the stab wound that killed him while walking in the park in the winter of 1833 is also a mystery." Dr. Hegel bit his lips and asked. "What the hell are you trying to tell us?" "I think Douglas Zadig's resume is exactly the same as that of Caspar Hauser, whether it's his unprovoked appearance in England ten years ago or the two strange injuries he suffered recently." Ms. Brent was still sitting next to me, her hand tightening around my arm without knowing it. "Maybe you're right. But what does that prove?" "Hasn't any of you noticed?" asked Simon Yark. "This man whom we call Douglas Zadig has no life of his own at all. Everything he has said and everything he has hitherto happened in a previous world. He has a French literary fictional name; he preaches The teachings of a man who was dead for nearly three thousand years lived the life of the nineteenth century. I'm not trying to explain the mysteries of it - I'm just stating the facts...” The scene fell into a brief silence, the four of us looked at each other, doubts written on everyone's faces.There is something beyond our knowledge.something sinister... Dr. Hegel was the first to break the silence. "That man...how did that Caspar Hauser die?" "He was stabbed to death while walking alone in the park. There were no other footprints in the snow, and judging from the wounds, he was not a suicide. The mystery remains unsolved to this day." Coincidentally, we all looked out the window, and the figure of Douglas Zadig was no longer visible.I know everyone present must have the same thing on their minds. Dr. Hegel took a coat from the closet and threw it over his shoulders. "That's enough, don't look over there," he said with the fear in everyone's heart. "He'll come back the other way behind the house." We stormed out of the house, Hegel and Simon Yark leading the way, followed by Kingsley, Ms Blunt and myself.We took a quick look at the set of footprints leading up the hill, then ran around to the back of the house. The air is cold, but we don't feel it.All we could see was the snow—spreading white and spotless in front of us—and at the end of the line of sight was the tall figure of Douglas Zadig walking towards us. He walked quickly, but his steps were steady. He was really a young and energetic man.The thin snow on the ground had no effect on his speed, and his bomber jacket was blown by the breeze, as if walking in the sunshine of some summer day.When he noticed us, he waved us and seemed to walk faster at the same time. He was about a hundred yards away from us when that happened.I saw him stop suddenly, as if he had been hit by something, and his hand stretched to the left side of his body.Despite the distance, we can still see the shock and disbelief on his face. He staggered a few steps, almost falling, but still pushed forward, his hands on his chest. "I've been stabbed," he yelled, "I've been stabbed." At this point, we can already see a trail of blood left on the snow... Dr. Hegel was the first to recover from the shock. He rushed towards the wounded, and we also reacted and followed him immediately.When Dr. Hegel was still more than twenty yards away from Douglas Zadig, he was on his knees in the snow; blood was staining his shirt red and gushing from between his fingers.He took one more look at us, still the same surprise on his face, and threw himself forward into the snow. Hegel first came to Zadig's side. He bent down and quickly turned Zadig's body over to check the wound.Then he put the body down again and looked up at us. "Dead..." That's all he said... We couldn't believe all of this, we just stood there numbly looking at the incredible things under our feet, maybe everyone was praying to God in their hearts. "He must have been hit by a bullet," said Yves Brent; but Dr. Hegel showed us at once the wound, which was evidently a knife wound. "He committed suicide," said Charles Kingsley, but I knew he didn't believe it himself.There was no knife left on the wound, nor on the snow; Dr. Hegel also made it clear that the wound could not be made by himself, not to mention that it was impossible to commit suicide without the eyes of the five of us at that time. . We headed back in the direction the bloodstains started, trying to find clues in the snow, anything inconspicuous—even the footprints of an invisible man.But we found nothing.Except for the bloodstains and the footprints of the dead, there were no other traces left on the snow. So we stood where we were, looking at the dead, and at each other, all waiting for someone to break the ice. In the end, Simon Acker said, "I would recommend calling the local or state police." We left Douglas Zadig's body where we were, and went back to the house to wait for the police to arrive. The policemen came at last--an old, somewhat hunchbacked man who was the local barber and only occasionally served as a policeman, and a wiser-looking man who was the town's doctor and coroner.That's about all we know about the pair. Is it possible that someone on the other side of the hill had inflicted that wound before the dead man crossed the hill?This is my doubt, but this idea only flashed in my mind, and was immediately denied by myself.The bloodstains started when we saw him grab the side of his body.Otherwise, both doctors agreed that it was a wound that resulted in immediate death.It is already a miracle that he can drag his body for a certain distance. Moments later, the barber policeman and the medical examiner took the body of Douglas Zadig away. Simon Yake has been watching the snowflakes falling from the sky outside the window.Ms. Brent and I grudgingly served coffee, but no one spoke for a long time. Then I heard Simon Yake talking to himself, "Man of unknown origin...of unknown origin..." He caught my eye and went on, "Man, it's beautiful death and shining justice! Yes The natural enemy of darkness; who can see through these mysteries behind the world!" Seeing my bewildered expression, he explained, "I didn't originate these passages. Henry Vaughan wrote them in the seventeenth century." "Will that tell you who killed Douglas Zadig in the snow?" He smiled at me, an expression that is rarely seen on his face. "The answer to this case should be found in Shakespeare, not in Vaughn." "So you know it!" "Maybe……" "I once read a story about a man who was killed with a dagger made of ice." "The dagger melted, so it can't be found? But this trick doesn't work when the temperature outside is below freezing." "Indeed," I admitted. "But if all the methods we have mentioned before are not feasible, then this is a supernatural phenomenon. Do you really think that Douglas Zadig is possessed by the devil?" Simon Yake just replied with his mantra. "Maybe……" "It's none of my business," said Charles Kingsley, whose voice was loud and recognizable. "I'm not a suspect, and I don't intend to stay any longer. I'm here because of my belief in the teachings and teachings of Douglas Zadig; and since the man is dead, I have no need to stay. gone." Dr. Hegel shrugged without arguing. "You can go any time, Mr Kingsley. Believe me, this terrible tragedy has hurt me more than anyone else." Ms. Brent produced a checkbook and a pen. "Doctor Hegel, I will still pay the fee as agreed. If the storm subsides, maybe you should build a monument or something." I could tell she was serious.Although my association with Douglas Zadig was limited to the last day of his life, I can feel his profound influence on these two men and other champions.To me, he was just a vaguely-remembered name from a news story from a decade ago, but to some, he represented a new faith. At this time, Simon Yake spoke again. "I beg you to stay an hour longer if it is convenient for you. I am sure I will show you the method of killing Douglas Zadig." "If you can do what you say," Kingsley said, "that's something to look forward to. But if there's any devil or anything like that here, I'd better get out of here early." "I assure you that the magic that killed Douglas Zadig will not harm you," said Simon Acker. "But I have a question: Dr. Hegel, do you raise chickens?" "Chicken?" Hegel repeated, frowning incomprehensibly. "I don't keep chickens; but there are people down the road. Why do you ask?" "I have an idea," replied Simon Acker, and then fell silent.He then disappeared into the back of the house, leaving just the four of us in the living room.State troopers will be arriving shortly to take further steps of the investigation; so I can understand Kingsley and Ms Brent's eagerness to leave. Just as their anxieties were about to explode, Simon Yake returned, holding in his hand the cross with a handle that he carried with him. "If you follow me outside I will tell you how Douglas Zadig died." "You mean you know who the murderer is?" "I feel responsible for his death as well," replied Simon Yaker. "All I can do is avenge him..." We followed him out of the room to where Douglas Zadig had died an hour earlier.We stopped at the edge of the snow, but Simon Yaker kept going until he was about fifty yards from us. Then he stood where he was, looking out at the dark November sky and the trees and mountains beyond.It seems that there is a sense of loneliness in the world... He held the strange handleed cross in his hand, held it high above his head, and began to chant incantations in an ancient Egyptian language I knew all too well. Suddenly a big bird appeared in the sky, flying in a big circle.It might have been an eagle or a vulture, some strange nature of which sent them flying to the colder north.We stared at it until it flew into a low bank of cumulus clouds, then our eyes returned to Simon Yake. He stood there, chanting in a strange language, as if summoning an ancient evil spirit.He just stood there, time seemed to stand still, and I felt like I had spent the longest five minutes in my life. Then everything happened again.same. He dropped his hands suddenly to shield his side, and when he removed them, we saw blood.He took a step forward, then slumped down in the snow, one outstretched hand still clinging to the cross with the handle. We followed Adam Hegel and rushed over, watching the scene in front of me, my knees were almost too weak to stand up.Simon Acker, the man I thought invincible, was struck down by the same force that killed Douglas Zadig... Dr. Hegel was the first to come to him and reached out to sense Simon Yake's heartbeat.At that time... ... I will never forget that moment in my life. Simon Yake suddenly came to life, rolled on the snow, and pressed Dr. Hegel under his body. In Hegel's held hand, a sharp dagger was shining coldly... "They were just the usual swindlers who almost made them a lot of money," Simon Acker later said.When the police took away Dr. Hegel, the latter still tried to resist while cursing. We went back into the room—Kingsley, Ms Blunt, the policemen, myself—to hear Simon Acker's puzzle-solving lecture.The tense atmosphere of a few hours ago has somehow dissipated, and we are like a group of old friends discussing the results of the football match that day. "When people are in it themselves, it's always hard to realize that they're on the chopping block of a liar," he said, "but I can see at a glance that Zadig and Hegel invited them for their money." You came here. Besides you, there may be more victims who read Zadig and wrote to him, but we have no way of knowing. If you do a little research, you should find that these books are Zadig and Hegel self-published, and most of his performances are fake—and his feigned lameness." "He did ask us for money, saying there were projects to support," Kingsley admitted. "As I've told you," continued Simon Acker, "the fact that his name, biography, and so-called religion are all copies of some character from the past leads me to suspect that he is a liar. In him Can't find a single innate quality of his own; he's a guy who just popped out of an encyclopedia. I'm guessing he met Hegel in London and the two hit it off and started plotting a scam. I think you Some past stories of Hegel's deceptions under other names can be found." "Then how to explain this murder case?" Ms. Blunt was still puzzled. "Why did Hegel kill his good helper?" "I am afraid it has something to do with my coming. My careful questioning of Zadig's teachings has alarmed them; especially Hegel, who fears that I will expose them as impostors. When I mention Zadig and Ca Hegel knew that I had already guessed the similarity between Spar Hauser's attacks and his similarity to Zoroaster's teachings. When he and Zadig came out on the porch, I Guess they were planning to do the final scene that Heather parodies - Zadig is going to be wounded by the possessed demon. I think it's a last resort to get the money, and they've probably played this before set." "The difference is that this time the fake show was real," I said; "Hegel really killed him..." "That's right. You will recall that it was Hegel who brought up the question of how Hauser was killed—it was Hegel who got us outside so that we could be excellent spectators for the play. When we realized The art of murder itself is made easier when both are liars. There is a very old trick in deception - a little thing called 'playing dead bags,' I think - that puts Chicken blood or other animal blood in a film bag, squeeze the bag hard before camouflaging injury, while his accomplice fires an early blank shot. Douglas Zadig, on his way to us, pressed Tore the bag hidden in the body, and then performed a realistic performance. Hegel had expected all this progress, what he had to do was to act quickly, and be the first to come to the 'corpse'. Then, Hegel I'll use a switchblade hidden in my sleeve to create a wound as realistic as possible..." While he was talking, we couldn't help thinking back to what happened in the snow; once again fear gripped us. "Next, Douglas Zadig made sure not to move when he was stabbed, and just as he was clenching his teeth for the moment, his accomplice tucked the switchblade up his sleeve and thrust another steel dagger into him. heart……" Charles Kingsley was trembling slightly, and Ms Brent was sickly.However, considering that the puzzle-solving was about to end, Simon Yake continued to talk. "Both doctors said the wound would have resulted in immediate death, which also made me wonder why the man could have walked such a long way before dying. Of course, this scenario is not impossible, but relatively speaking, Haig There is a much higher chance of killing someone when you bend over to check." "But," I still disagree, "why does he have the guts to repeat the same trick on you? When you pull out the trick, he should know you've seen it all." "That's not chicken blood," Simon Yake corrected with a smile. "I couldn't find chicken blood, so I had to use ketchup instead, but I knew in my heart that Hegel might try to kill me, and even he knew that I might be waiting for the moment he pulled the dagger from the cuff to be empty-handed Take the white blade. In fact he had no choice. Once I realized the ruse, all I needed to do was to prove and explain; the analysis of the blood on Zadig's clothes was enough to prove me right. His only chance was Take a bet on whether his knife is quicker or my hand is quicker. Fortunately, he lost, otherwise you will see a second unthinkable death with your own eyes." He spoke as if he was really in a desperate situation; but for some reason, I always felt that this man's life would not be in danger.I have a feeling that killing the man Simon Yark is unlikely... Then we left the small town in Maine and headed back to the slightly warmer suburbs of Manhattan.A search of that house turned up nearly $10,000, all from victims of Zadig's religious deception, and we can't help but wonder what went through Hegel's mind as he plunged the knife into his accomplice's chest It must be these colorful banknotes. "One more thing, Simon," came another question as the train rumbled through the New England night. "Where did Douglas Zadig come from? What happened in the London Fog ten years ago?" "Some things never have answers," he replied simply. "But some of the answers are self-evident. The French novel shows - now that we know the man for real - that at a very young age he was trying to make people think he was French rather than English. The real reason I don't know, and probably never will. But if a young man ever deliberately escaped military service during the darkest days of Britain, he may have had to fight to keep himself in the post-war world ruled by veterans. Think of something." "Yeah!" I totally agree. "He's a draft escapee; that explains why his fingerprints are nowhere to be found in official records or anywhere else!" But Simon Yake looked at the dark night outside the window and replied quietly. "Of course there may be other explanations, but I don't intend to go into them. Douglas Zadig is dead, like his predecessor Caspar Hauser, and it would be better to leave something unsolved, At least in this world." He never mentioned it again...
Notes:
I saw Simon Acker's eyes light up, as fate gave him another chance to confront the evil he had been looking for.A light wind blew outside the house, rustling the dead branches; I looked out the window, and the air was whirled with snow. Charles Kingsley snorted and took out a cigar. "The whole thing is so messed up. We're not in the Middle Ages; the devil can't hurt people." "I'm afraid you're wrong," said Simon Acker calmly. "Satan is no different from the devil he was a thousand years ago; there is no reason for us to think that he has changed his nature. In fact, if I could be absolutely sure that he exists among us, I would order an exorcism." "Then we need a priest," said Miss Brent; "but you won't find one for miles around." Simon Yake shook his head. "In the early days of Christianity, ordinary believers were able to perform exorcism. But in the current situation, I don't plan to do so." Douglas Zadig, who had been standing at the door ever since he was inspected, said, "Sir, what are you talking about? That doesn't quite sound like a publisher." "I hold other professions as well. I heard that you preach a unique teaching whose theme is the eternal war between the two great forces of good and evil. It reminds me of the teachings of Zoroaster." Hearing this name, the young man's face changed slightly. "I... I did read what he wrote. But if you study my teachings and publications thoroughly, I think you'll see the difference. My theory of evil is that evil, as a force, is A part of God, and at the same time functioning according to God's will - not an independent, spontaneous force, as Zoroaster thinks." "Come on, Mr. Zadig," Simon Acker couldn't help laughing, "Thomas Aquinas denied that set of arguments seven hundred years ago. If you don't know, I suggest you read " Chapters 39 and 95 of the first volume of The Encyclopedia of Refutation. As a preacher of a new religion, you seem to have not figured out your own teachings." Douglas Zadig glared at Simon. "This is my house, I don't want to hear these slurs," he said before turning away.Dr. Hegel followed closely and disappeared outside the porch. Kingsley and Ms Brent looked stunned by Simon Acker's remarks; I moved up to him so the other two wouldn't overhear our conversation. "Perhaps you have gone too far, Simon; I don't think he meant any harm." "Whether he is malicious or not, the objective result is that that kind of wrong teaching will only lead to bad results." Dr. Hegel was back among us in an instant, and through the window pane we could see the figure of Douglas Zadig walking in the snow, the wind blowing on his open jacket, as if we could hear it flapping. "He's going for a walk," the doctor told us; "he needs to be alone." Simon Ark walked to the window and watched Zadig's back until a small snow slope blocked his view. "Honestly, I think you should apologize to him when he comes back. Everyone has their own way, and he's a respectable man." Simon Acker turned to look at the four of us. "Has any of you heard the story of Caspar Hauser?" he asked quietly.Noticing our blank looks, he continued, "Caspar Hauser was a sixteen-year-old German lad who suddenly appeared in Nuremberg in May 1828. Unknown. Among his belongings two letters were found, supposedly written by his mother and guardian. A professor in Nuremberg was in charge of the child's education, and he lived in Nuremberg and Ansbach until 1833 He died in 1999. He was mysteriously wounded twice while living with the professor before his death; the stab wound that killed him while walking in the park in the winter of 1833 is also a mystery." Dr. Hegel bit his lips and asked. "What the hell are you trying to tell us?" "I think Douglas Zadig's resume is exactly the same as that of Caspar Hauser, whether it's his unprovoked appearance in England ten years ago or the two strange injuries he suffered recently." Ms. Brent was still sitting next to me, her hand tightening around my arm without knowing it. "Maybe you're right. But what does that prove?" "Hasn't any of you noticed?" asked Simon Yark. "This man whom we call Douglas Zadig has no life of his own at all. Everything he has said and everything he has hitherto happened in a previous world. He has a French literary fictional name; he preaches The teachings of a man who was dead for nearly three thousand years lived the life of the nineteenth century. I'm not trying to explain the mysteries of it - I'm just stating the facts...” The scene fell into a brief silence, the four of us looked at each other, doubts written on everyone's faces.There is something beyond our knowledge.something sinister... Dr. Hegel was the first to break the silence. "That man...how did that Caspar Hauser die?" "He was stabbed to death while walking alone in the park. There were no other footprints in the snow, and judging from the wounds, he was not a suicide. The mystery remains unsolved to this day." Coincidentally, we all looked out the window, and the figure of Douglas Zadig was no longer visible.I know everyone present must have the same thing on their minds. Dr. Hegel took a coat from the closet and threw it over his shoulders. "That's enough, don't look over there," he said with the fear in everyone's heart. "He'll come back the other way behind the house." We stormed out of the house, Hegel and Simon Yark leading the way, followed by Kingsley, Ms Blunt and myself.We took a quick look at the set of footprints leading up the hill, then ran around to the back of the house. The air is cold, but we don't feel it.All we could see was the snow—spreading white and spotless in front of us—and at the end of the line of sight was the tall figure of Douglas Zadig walking towards us. He walked quickly, but his steps were steady. He was really a young and energetic man.The thin snow on the ground had no effect on his speed, and his bomber jacket was blown by the breeze, as if walking in the sunshine of some summer day.When he noticed us, he waved us and seemed to walk faster at the same time. He was about a hundred yards away from us when that happened.I saw him stop suddenly, as if he had been hit by something, and his hand stretched to the left side of his body.Despite the distance, we can still see the shock and disbelief on his face. He staggered a few steps, almost falling, but still pushed forward, his hands on his chest. "I've been stabbed," he yelled, "I've been stabbed." At this point, we can already see a trail of blood left on the snow... Dr. Hegel was the first to recover from the shock. He rushed towards the wounded, and we also reacted and followed him immediately.When Dr. Hegel was still more than twenty yards away from Douglas Zadig, he was on his knees in the snow; blood was staining his shirt red and gushing from between his fingers.He took one more look at us, still the same surprise on his face, and threw himself forward into the snow. Hegel first came to Zadig's side. He bent down and quickly turned Zadig's body over to check the wound.Then he put the body down again and looked up at us. "Dead..." That's all he said... We couldn't believe all of this, we just stood there numbly looking at the incredible things under our feet, maybe everyone was praying to God in their hearts. "He must have been hit by a bullet," said Yves Brent; but Dr. Hegel showed us at once the wound, which was evidently a knife wound. "He committed suicide," said Charles Kingsley, but I knew he didn't believe it himself.There was no knife left on the wound, nor on the snow; Dr. Hegel also made it clear that the wound could not be made by himself, not to mention that it was impossible to commit suicide without the eyes of the five of us at that time. . We headed back in the direction the bloodstains started, trying to find clues in the snow, anything inconspicuous—even the footprints of an invisible man.But we found nothing.Except for the bloodstains and the footprints of the dead, there were no other traces left on the snow. So we stood where we were, looking at the dead, and at each other, all waiting for someone to break the ice. In the end, Simon Acker said, "I would recommend calling the local or state police." We left Douglas Zadig's body where we were, and went back to the house to wait for the police to arrive. The policemen came at last--an old, somewhat hunchbacked man who was the local barber and only occasionally served as a policeman, and a wiser-looking man who was the town's doctor and coroner.That's about all we know about the pair. Is it possible that someone on the other side of the hill had inflicted that wound before the dead man crossed the hill?This is my doubt, but this idea only flashed in my mind, and was immediately denied by myself.The bloodstains started when we saw him grab the side of his body.Otherwise, both doctors agreed that it was a wound that resulted in immediate death.It is already a miracle that he can drag his body for a certain distance. Moments later, the barber policeman and the medical examiner took the body of Douglas Zadig away. Simon Yake has been watching the snowflakes falling from the sky outside the window.Ms. Brent and I grudgingly served coffee, but no one spoke for a long time. Then I heard Simon Yake talking to himself, "Man of unknown origin...of unknown origin..." He caught my eye and went on, "Man, it's beautiful death and shining justice! Yes The natural enemy of darkness; who can see through these mysteries behind the world!" Seeing my bewildered expression, he explained, "I didn't originate these passages. Henry Vaughan wrote them in the seventeenth century." "Will that tell you who killed Douglas Zadig in the snow?" He smiled at me, an expression that is rarely seen on his face. "The answer to this case should be found in Shakespeare, not in Vaughn." "So you know it!" "Maybe……" "I once read a story about a man who was killed with a dagger made of ice." "The dagger melted, so it can't be found? But this trick doesn't work when the temperature outside is below freezing." "Indeed," I admitted. "But if all the methods we have mentioned before are not feasible, then this is a supernatural phenomenon. Do you really think that Douglas Zadig is possessed by the devil?" Simon Yake just replied with his mantra. "Maybe……" "It's none of my business," said Charles Kingsley, whose voice was loud and recognizable. "I'm not a suspect, and I don't intend to stay any longer. I'm here because of my belief in the teachings and teachings of Douglas Zadig; and since the man is dead, I have no need to stay. gone." Dr. Hegel shrugged without arguing. "You can go any time, Mr Kingsley. Believe me, this terrible tragedy has hurt me more than anyone else." Ms. Brent produced a checkbook and a pen. "Doctor Hegel, I will still pay the fee as agreed. If the storm subsides, maybe you should build a monument or something." I could tell she was serious.Although my association with Douglas Zadig was limited to the last day of his life, I can feel his profound influence on these two men and other champions.To me, he was just a vaguely-remembered name from a news story from a decade ago, but to some, he represented a new faith. At this time, Simon Yake spoke again. "I beg you to stay an hour longer if it is convenient for you. I am sure I will show you the method of killing Douglas Zadig." "If you can do what you say," Kingsley said, "that's something to look forward to. But if there's any devil or anything like that here, I'd better get out of here early." "I assure you that the magic that killed Douglas Zadig will not harm you," said Simon Acker. "But I have a question: Dr. Hegel, do you raise chickens?" "Chicken?" Hegel repeated, frowning incomprehensibly. "I don't keep chickens; but there are people down the road. Why do you ask?" "I have an idea," replied Simon Acker, and then fell silent.He then disappeared into the back of the house, leaving just the four of us in the living room.State troopers will be arriving shortly to take further steps of the investigation; so I can understand Kingsley and Ms Brent's eagerness to leave. Just as their anxieties were about to explode, Simon Yake returned, holding in his hand the cross with a handle that he carried with him. "If you follow me outside I will tell you how Douglas Zadig died." "You mean you know who the murderer is?" "I feel responsible for his death as well," replied Simon Yaker. "All I can do is avenge him..." We followed him out of the room to where Douglas Zadig had died an hour earlier.We stopped at the edge of the snow, but Simon Yaker kept going until he was about fifty yards from us. Then he stood where he was, looking out at the dark November sky and the trees and mountains beyond.It seems that there is a sense of loneliness in the world... He held the strange handleed cross in his hand, held it high above his head, and began to chant incantations in an ancient Egyptian language I knew all too well. Suddenly a big bird appeared in the sky, flying in a big circle.It might have been an eagle or a vulture, some strange nature of which sent them flying to the colder north.We stared at it until it flew into a low bank of cumulus clouds, then our eyes returned to Simon Yake. He stood there, chanting in a strange language, as if summoning an ancient evil spirit.He just stood there, time seemed to stand still, and I felt like I had spent the longest five minutes in my life. Then everything happened again.same. He dropped his hands suddenly to shield his side, and when he removed them, we saw blood.He took a step forward, then slumped down in the snow, one outstretched hand still clinging to the cross with the handle. We followed Adam Hegel and rushed over, watching the scene in front of me, my knees were almost too weak to stand up.Simon Acker, the man I thought invincible, was struck down by the same force that killed Douglas Zadig... Dr. Hegel was the first to come to him and reached out to sense Simon Yake's heartbeat.At that time... ... I will never forget that moment in my life. Simon Yake suddenly came to life, rolled on the snow, and pressed Dr. Hegel under his body. In Hegel's held hand, a sharp dagger was shining coldly... "They were just the usual swindlers who almost made them a lot of money," Simon Acker later said.When the police took away Dr. Hegel, the latter still tried to resist while cursing. We went back into the room—Kingsley, Ms Blunt, the policemen, myself—to hear Simon Acker's puzzle-solving lecture.The tense atmosphere of a few hours ago has somehow dissipated, and we are like a group of old friends discussing the results of the football match that day. "When people are in it themselves, it's always hard to realize that they're on the chopping block of a liar," he said, "but I can see at a glance that Zadig and Hegel invited them for their money." You came here. Besides you, there may be more victims who read Zadig and wrote to him, but we have no way of knowing. If you do a little research, you should find that these books are Zadig and Hegel self-published, and most of his performances are fake—and his feigned lameness." "He did ask us for money, saying there were projects to support," Kingsley admitted. "As I've told you," continued Simon Acker, "the fact that his name, biography, and so-called religion are all copies of some character from the past leads me to suspect that he is a liar. In him Can't find a single innate quality of his own; he's a guy who just popped out of an encyclopedia. I'm guessing he met Hegel in London and the two hit it off and started plotting a scam. I think you Some past stories of Hegel's deceptions under other names can be found." "Then how to explain this murder case?" Ms. Blunt was still puzzled. "Why did Hegel kill his good helper?" "I am afraid it has something to do with my coming. My careful questioning of Zadig's teachings has alarmed them; especially Hegel, who fears that I will expose them as impostors. When I mention Zadig and Ca Hegel knew that I had already guessed the similarity between Spar Hauser's attacks and his similarity to Zoroaster's teachings. When he and Zadig came out on the porch, I Guess they were planning to do the final scene that Heather parodies - Zadig is going to be wounded by the possessed demon. I think it's a last resort to get the money, and they've probably played this before set." "The difference is that this time the fake show was real," I said; "Hegel really killed him..." "That's right. You will recall that it was Hegel who brought up the question of how Hauser was killed—it was Hegel who got us outside so that we could be excellent spectators for the play. When we realized The art of murder itself is made easier when both are liars. There is a very old trick in deception - a little thing called 'playing dead bags,' I think - that puts Chicken blood or other animal blood in a film bag, squeeze the bag hard before camouflaging injury, while his accomplice fires an early blank shot. Douglas Zadig, on his way to us, pressed Tore the bag hidden in the body, and then performed a realistic performance. Hegel had expected all this progress, what he had to do was to act quickly, and be the first to come to the 'corpse'. Then, Hegel I'll use a switchblade hidden in my sleeve to create a wound as realistic as possible..." While he was talking, we couldn't help thinking back to what happened in the snow; once again fear gripped us. "Next, Douglas Zadig made sure not to move when he was stabbed, and just as he was clenching his teeth for the moment, his accomplice tucked the switchblade up his sleeve and thrust another steel dagger into him. heart……" Charles Kingsley was trembling slightly, and Ms Brent was sickly.However, considering that the puzzle-solving was about to end, Simon Yake continued to talk. "Both doctors said the wound would have resulted in immediate death, which also made me wonder why the man could have walked such a long way before dying. Of course, this scenario is not impossible, but relatively speaking, Haig There is a much higher chance of killing someone when you bend over to check." "But," I still disagree, "why does he have the guts to repeat the same trick on you? When you pull out the trick, he should know you've seen it all." "That's not chicken blood," Simon Yake corrected with a smile. "I couldn't find chicken blood, so I had to use ketchup instead, but I knew in my heart that Hegel might try to kill me, and even he knew that I might be waiting for the moment he pulled the dagger from the cuff to be empty-handed Take the white blade. In fact he had no choice. Once I realized the ruse, all I needed to do was to prove and explain; the analysis of the blood on Zadig's clothes was enough to prove me right. His only chance was Take a bet on whether his knife is quicker or my hand is quicker. Fortunately, he lost, otherwise you will see a second unthinkable death with your own eyes." He spoke as if he was really in a desperate situation; but for some reason, I always felt that this man's life would not be in danger.I have a feeling that killing the man Simon Yark is unlikely... Then we left the small town in Maine and headed back to the slightly warmer suburbs of Manhattan.A search of that house turned up nearly $10,000, all from victims of Zadig's religious deception, and we can't help but wonder what went through Hegel's mind as he plunged the knife into his accomplice's chest It must be these colorful banknotes. "One more thing, Simon," came another question as the train rumbled through the New England night. "Where did Douglas Zadig come from? What happened in the London Fog ten years ago?" "Some things never have answers," he replied simply. "But some of the answers are self-evident. The French novel shows - now that we know the man for real - that at a very young age he was trying to make people think he was French rather than English. The real reason I don't know, and probably never will. But if a young man ever deliberately escaped military service during the darkest days of Britain, he may have had to fight to keep himself in the post-war world ruled by veterans. Think of something." "Yeah!" I totally agree. "He's a draft escapee; that explains why his fingerprints are nowhere to be found in official records or anywhere else!" But Simon Yake looked at the dark night outside the window and replied quietly. "Of course there may be other explanations, but I don't intend to go into them. Douglas Zadig is dead, like his predecessor Caspar Hauser, and it would be better to leave something unsolved, At least in this world." He never mentioned it again...
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