Chapter 16 first quarter

"Yes," Nash said, "Agnes knows who wrote the anonymous letter." "Then why didn't she—" I stopped, frowning. Nash immediately continued: "In my opinion, that girl 'doesn't really understand what she saw'. At least at first, she didn't expect it at all. Someone left a letter at Symington's house. It's true—but she didn't know what to do anyway. Unexpectedly, that person has something to do with the anonymous letter. In her opinion, there is absolutely no way that person could be suspected." "But the more she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt. Should she talk to someone? Just when she was confused, she thought of Patridge, who she thought was very credible and judgmental. and decided to ask Patridge what to do."

"Yes," I mused, "sounds reasonable. Anyway, the Poison Pen found that out too. How did she find out, Inspector." "You don't know much about country life, Mr. Burton. There's something magical about the way news gets around. Let's talk about the telephone first. Who hears you when you call?" I thought about it and replied: "I'll answer the phone first, and then I'll call Patridge." "Did you mention the girl's name?" "Yes—yes, I mentioned her name." "Has anyone else heard?" "My sister or Miss Griffey might hear it."

"Oh, Miss Griffey, what is she doing at home?" I explained. "She's going to find Mr. Pi first." Inspector Nash sighed, and said, "Then there are two possible ways for the news to spread." I asked incredulously, "You mean Miss Griffey or Mr. Pi would mention such trivial matters to others?" "In a place like this, big things become news, and you must be surprised. If the tailor's mother tells a corny joke, everyone will hear it. On the other hand, Miss Helan, Luo Ruth—could have heard what Agnes said. And Fred Randall, who probably passed the news that Agnes came home again that afternoon."

I couldn't help but tremble slightly. I was looking out the window, and in front of me was a neat lawn, a path, and a low gate. Someone opened the door, crept up to the house, and stuffed the letter into the mailbox.I could almost see the shadow of a woman with a blank face - but it must be a face I knew... Inspector Nash said: "It's still the same, but the scope has been narrowed down a bit. This kind of case will end up like this. Just be patient and persistent and delete the impossible one by one. There are not many suspects now." "You mean—?" "That way, any woman who had a job that afternoon is not a suspect, like the school lady who was in class, the nurse in town I just happen to know where she was yesterday. Not that I think they're suspect, but we can now It is absolutely certain that they were not likely to commit murder. You know, Mr. Burton, we can now turn our attention to two definite times--yesterday afternoon, and last Wednesday afternoon. On the day of Mrs. Symmington's suicide, from three o'clock in the afternoon From one moment (the earliest possible time Agnes could return home after a quarrel with her boyfriend) to four o'clock when the mail must be delivered to Symington's house (ask the postman for a more accurate time), the murderer As for yesterday, between two fifty (the time when Miss Megan Hunt went out) and three-thirty or three-quarters (the latter is more likely, because the deceased had not changed out of the clothes when he died) In the meantime, the murderer may commit the crime."

"What do you think happened yesterday?" Nash made a face and said: "I think? I think a lady came to the front door and rang the bell with a smile and a calmness. This afternoon visitor...maybe asked to see Miss Holland, maybe it was Miss Megan, and maybe came in with a package. Anyway , when Agnes turned around to put a business card on a tray, or bring a package into the house, that lady-like guest slammed her on the back of the head." "With what?" "Women here often carry big leather bags and it's hard to tell what's in them," Nash said.

"Then poked something into the back of her head and stuffed her into a closet? Isn't this job too heavy for a woman?" Inspector Nash looked at me with a strange expression and said, "The woman we are looking for is not an ordinary woman—and her mental instability has given her amazing strength. Besides, Agnes is not big! He paused and asked me, "How did Miss Megan Hunter think of looking at that cabinet?" "Just a hunch," I said. Then he asked him: "Why did you mention her in particular? What's the special purpose?" "The slower the body is found! The more difficult it is to determine the time of death. For example, if Miss Helan fell on the body as soon as she entered the door, the doctor may be able to determine the time of death within ten minutes—for our lady." It would be too embarrassing, my friend."

I frowned and said, "But if Agnes suspects someone—" Nash interrupted me and said, "She hasn't, she hasn't gotten to that point yet, let's just say she just finds it 'weird. I didn't expect that I would offend a certain woman. I would kill her." "Have you thought about it?" I asked. Nash shook his head and said sadly: "I should have thought of that. You know, Mrs. Symmington's suicide. It terrified the Pen. She was terribly frightened. Fear is an incalculable thing, Mr. Burton." Yes, dread, we should have thought of that long ago.Fear -- to a mad mind . . .

"You know," said Inspector Nassin, which seemed to make the matter seem all the more dreadful, "that the man we're after is a man of respect and reputation--indeed, a great deal!" Suddenly, Nash said that he wanted to talk to Rose again. I casually asked him if I could go, but he agreed willingly. "If you don't mind, I should say, I'm glad you're working with us, Mr. Burton." "That sounds suspicious," I said. "According to the novel, if a detective welcomes someone to help, that person is usually the murderer." Nash smiled briefly and said, "You're not at all an anonymous letter writer, Mr. Burton." Then he added, "Honestly, you might be of use to us."

"Glad to hear you say that, but I don't know why." "Because you are a stranger here and have no preconceived notions about the inhabitants. At the same time, you can understand things from what I call social ways." "The murderer is a man of great social status," I murmured. "Not bad at all." "You want me to be a spy here?" "You don't object?" I thought about it, shook my head and said: "Honestly, I have no objection. If there is a dangerous madman here who drives defenseless women to suicide and beats innocent poor maids to death, I have no objection to using some means." Force that lunatic to submit."

"You are very sensible, sir. Let me tell you, the object we are pursuing is indeed dangerous, as dangerous as a rattlesnake or a cobra." I shivered slightly and said, "Shouldn't we act sooner?" "Yes, don't think that we are not active. In fact, we are working hard in several directions." His attitude is very serious. I seem to see a tight spider web that is gradually expanding in all directions... Nash wanted to hear Rose's story again, so he explained to me that Rose had already given him two versions; the more she explained, the more real clues it might contain.

Rose was washing the breakfast dishes when we found her.As soon as she saw us, she stopped immediately, rubbed her eyes and touched her heart and said that she felt very strange all morning. Nash was patient, but also determined.The first time he listened to her explanation, he comforted her, the second time he was very bossy, and this time he used both methods. Rose gleefully exaggerated some details of the past week, saying that Agnes was pacing up and down with fear as hell.When Rose asked her what was the matter, Agnes said tremblingly, "Don't ask me." She said, "If you tell me, she will die." concluded. "Agnes never hinted, what is she worried about?" "No, but she's been restless and frightened." Inspector Nash sighed, dropped the subject for the time being, and asked about Rose's exact whereabouts yesterday afternoon. Briefly, Rose took the 2:30 bus home, spent the afternoon and evening with her family, and then took the 8:40 bus back from Lower Milkford. Rose narrated her whereabouts, interspersed with many fragmentary conversations she had with her sister.