Chapter 9 Section 9

The only ones who really appreciated Lucy's good cooking were the children and Cedric Crackenthorpe.It was for this murder that he had come back to England.However, he seems to be completely unaffected by these circumstances.Indeed, he seemed to regard the incident as a rather amusing, horrifying joke. Lucy noticed that this attitude of his made his brother Harald extremely unhappy.Harold seemed to regard the murder as an insult to the family.He felt so badly humiliated that he hardly ate.Emma looked worried and unhappy, and ate very little.Alfred seems to be absorbed in his own thoughts, so he rarely speaks.He was a good-looking man, brown-faced and thin, with eyes set too close together.

After lunch, the two police officers returned.They asked very politely if they could speak to Mr. Cedric Crackenthorpe. Inspector Craddock was pleasant and friendly. "Sit down, Mr. Crackenthorpe. I hear you have just returned from the Balearic Islands. Do you live there?" "Last six years lived there. On Evesha. That's more to my liking than this dreary country." "I suppose you get more sunshine there than we do here," Craddock said politely. "You came back not so long ago - at Christmas, it is said - or rather, what brought you back so soon?"

Cedric grinned. "I got a telegram—from my sister, Emma. We've never had a murder before in this cottage. I didn't want to miss it—so here I am." "Are you interested in criminology?" "Oh, we don't have to have such high-level terms! I just like murder news, detective novels, and so on. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have a good detective show on our doorstep. Besides, I think poor My Emma may need help—to look after the old man, and to deal with the police, and so on." "Oh, I understand. This murder appeals to your adventurous nature, and it also calls attention to your family. I'm sure your sister must be very grateful to you—however, her other two brothers are also here."

"But not to cheer her up, to comfort her," Cedric told him. "Halald is very angry. A townsman doesn't care to be involved in the murder of a questionable woman." Craddock was a little surprised. "Is she—a woman in question?" "Well, you're an authority on this kind of subject. It just seems possible to me in light of the circumstances." "I thought you might guess who she was?" "Come on, Inspector. You already know, or your colleagues have told you, that I don't recognize her." "I say conjecture, Mr. Crackenthorpe. You may not have seen that woman before, but you may have a guess as to who she is, or may have been?"

Cedric shook his head. "You've got the wrong target. I have absolutely no recollection. I suppose you're speculating that she might have gone to the 'Long Warehouse' to meet one of our brethren? But none of us live here. There's only one woman and An old man. You don't really think she's here on a date with our venerable papa, do you?" "Our conjecture - Inspector Bacon and I share it - that the woman may have had some connection with this cottage before. It may have been some years ago. Come to think of it, Mr. Crackenthorpe—" Cedric thought for a minute or two, then shook his head.

"We've had foreigners help with the house sometimes, as most families do. But I don't think it's possible. You'd better ask a few other people. They'll know better than I do." "Of course we'll do that." Craddock leaned back in his chair and went on: "You have heard during the interrogation that the forensic doctor can't determine the time of death very clearly. We can only speculate that the woman died for more than two weeks, less than four weeks - that is around Christmas time. Are you right? I said, you're back for Christmas holidays. When did you arrive in England? When did you leave?"

Cedric thought about it. "Let's see... I came by air. It was the Saturday before Christmas when I arrived—that was the twenty-first." "Did you fly direct from Mallorca to England?" "Yes. Take off at five in the morning and arrive here at noon." "And when you left?" "I flew back on the following Friday, the twenty-seventh." "Thank you." Cedric grinned. "Unfortunately, then, I was in England at exactly that time. But, Inspector, strangling young women is not really my favorite Christmas pastime." "I hope not, Mr. Crackenthorpe."

Inspector Bacon only looked disapproving. "Such an action obviously lacks the peace and goodwill of Christmas, don't you think?" Cedric addressed Inspector Bacon, but Bacon only grunted.Craddock said politely: "Well, thank you, Mr. Crackenthorpe. I've done my asking." "So, what do you think of him?" Craddock asked as Cedric went out, closing the door behind him. Bacon snorted again. "He is too confident and can do anything," he said. "Personally, I don't like this kind of people. These artists are all loose. Nice women mixed in."

Craddock smiled. "I don't like him dressed like that, either," Bacon went on. "No respect—dressed like that for an inquest. I haven't seen such dirty trousers in a long time. Do you see the tie he's wearing? It looks as if It's made of colored rope. Ask me, and I'll say he's the kind of guy who could easily strangle a woman, and wouldn't hesitate to do so." "Well, he didn't strangle the woman—I mean, if he didn't leave Mallorca until the twenty-first. But we can easily prove that." Bacon looked at him warily. "I noticed that you have not disclosed in advance the exact date of the murder."

"Yes, at the moment, I don't reveal. I always like to keep it a secret at an earlier stage." Bacon nodded in full agreement. "Surprise them when the time comes," he said. "That's the best way." "Now," said Craddock, "we'll see what our virtuous city gentleman has to say on the matter." Harold Crackenthorpe, with his thin lips, had little to say about the matter.It was a disgusting thing--a very unfortunate thing--he thought that the newspapers--he heard the reporters--had asked for an interview.All this... very unfortunate...

Harold's often interrupted speech ends here.He leaned back in his chair, looking like he suddenly smelled a bad smell. The probing of the inspector produced no results.No, he had no idea who the woman was, or could be.Yes, he had been to Loserzin Lodge for Christmas.He didn't return until Christmas Eve, but stayed here until the following weekend. "That's it, then," said Inspector Craddock, without further questioning.He could already decide that Harold Crackenthorpe's words would not help. He turned to Alfred.At this time, Alfred walked into the room indifferently, his attitude seemed a little too casual. Craddock looked at Alfred Crackenthorpe with a feeling of deja vu.It was this person in this family, he had actually seen it somewhere before.Or, have you seen his picture in the newspaper?There is a discredit to this memory.He asked what Alfred's occupation was.Alfred's answer was vague. "I'm in the insurance business at the moment. I was originally interested in bringing a new type of gramophone on the market, a radically improved one. I've actually made quite a fortune doing that. Recently, however, I've changed my trade. " Inspector Craddock seemed to take the answer seriously.No one knew that he was paying attention to Alfred's ostentatious suit, and correctly estimated the low price of that suit.Cedric's suit, though almost worn out and ill-looking, was well cut and of the best material.The suit Alfred is wearing is flashy and made of cheap materials, which will give away his feet at a glance.Craddock still asked some routine questions kindly.Alfred seemed to pay attention to what he was asking, and found it slightly amused. "You say that the woman might have worked here, and that's a very good idea. Not as a maid, Emma never used a maid. And I don't think anybody's ever employed a maid these days. But, now There are many foreigners who go here and there to help with the house. We have employed Poles, and we have employed one or two erratic Germans. Since Emma absolutely does not know the woman, then, Inspector, your idea cannot stand. .Emma has a good memory. Yes, if the woman is from London. . . By the way, how did you think she was from London?" He looked as though he had thrown in the question casually, but his eyes were very alert and attentive. Inspector Craddock smiled and shook his head. Alfred looked at him intently. "Don't want to tell, do you? Maybe you'll find a return ticket from London in her pocket, won't you?" "Possibly, Mr. Crackenthorpe." "Well, assuming she's from London, maybe the guy she's meeting with thinks the Long Warehouse is a good place to kill her quietly. He knows how the houses are laid out, that's obvious. I'd say It's you, and I should go to him, Inspector." "We're looking," said Inspector Craddock in a way that sounded composed and confident.He thanked Alfred, asked him no more questions, and asked him to go out. "You know," he said to Bacon, "I've seen that guy somewhere before..." Inspector Bacon announced his opinion. "Very strong fellow!" he said, "so strong that he sometimes hurts himself." "I don't think you need to talk to me." Brian Easterly walked into the room, hesitated at the door, and said apologetically, "Strictly speaking, I don't belong to this family." "Let me see. Oh, you are Mr. Brian Easterly, husband of Miss Edith Crackenthorpe who died four years ago?" "right." "Ah, thank you, Mr. Easterly, especially if you know something you think you can help us with." "But I don't know, and I wish I would, the whole thing seems very strange, doesn't it? I don't like to meet a fellow in this drafty old warehouse in the middle of winter!" "A nerve-wracking thing indeed," agreed Craddock. "Is she really a foreigner? The rumors I've heard are so." "Does this remind you of anything?" The inspector looked at him warily, but Brian's expression was mild and dazed. "No, in fact, it doesn't think of anything at all." "Perhaps she is French," said Inspector Bacon, vaguely suspicious. After hearing this, Brian seemed a little more excited.There was interest in his blue eyes, and at the same time he stroked his large blond mustache. "Really? Loose Parisian chick?" He shook his head. "Basically, it seems more improbable. Don't you? I mean, how come you're messing around in a warehouse! You haven't done any other sarcophagus murders, have you? Haven't there been one , an impulse—a psychopath? Self-righteous, or a big shot like that?" Inspector Craddock even found it troublesome to contradict him, and instead asked him in a casual manner: "Aren't the Crackenthorpes any French--or--or-relatives?" Brian said the Crackenthorpes were not the sort of loose people. "Halald married a lady of poor nobleman very respectably," he said, "a woman with a fishy face, and I don't think Alfred would have liked women very much—he's lived his life in some shaky Spent in business, always something went wrong in the end. Cedric probably had a few Spanish ladies at his beck and call on Evisa, and women would fall for Cedric instead, and he was always shaved I don't see how a woman's heart can be touched by that, as if she'd never bathed. But it's clearly true. My words won't help you, will they?" He grinned at them. "You'd better get little Alexander to help, and he and James Stolder West will go out and search on a large scale, and I dare say they'll find something." Inspector Craddock said he hoped so, then thanked Brian Easterly and said he would like to speak to Miss Emma Crackenthorpe. Inspector Craddock was scrutinizing Miss Emma Crackenthorpe more attentively than before, and he still did not understand the expression on her face which he had accidentally spotted before lunch, a quiet woman.Not stupid, not smart.There is a kind of serene, refined woman in the world, the kind most men take for granted.They have the ability to transform a house into a comfortable home, filling the home with an atmosphere of peace and harmony.Miss Emma Crackenthorpe was such a woman, he thought. A woman like this often makes people underestimate her value. In their quiet appearance, there is a strong personality.Such a woman must be dealt with seriously, Craddock thought, the clue to the mystery of the female body in the sarcophagus may be hidden in the secret place of Emma's heart. While Craddock was thinking about these things, he was asking her unimportant questions. "I don't think there's much you haven't told the Inspector," he said, "so I don't have to bother you with many questions." "What do you want to ask, please just say it." "Mr. Wimbold has told you that we have come to a conclusion that the dead woman was not a native of this part of the country, and you may be relieved to hear that--Mr. Wimbold seems to think you will. But, to us Said, but feel that this case is more difficult to investigate, and the dead are more difficult to identify." "But doesn't she have anything? A handbag? Documents?" Craddock shook his head. "No bag, nothing in her pockets." "Don't you know her name—where she's from—and nothing?" Craddock thought: she wants to know--she's very anxious to know--who the woman is, wonders if she's always felt that way, and Bacon didn't give me that when he talked to me about it. Impressions - but, he's a very shrewd man... "We don't know anything about her," he said, "so we hope that some of you might be able to help us. Are you sure you can't help us? Even if you don't know her, well, can you think of any Can anyone recognize it?" He thought she hesitated a little before answering—or so he imagined. "I really don't know," she said. Inspector Craddock's demeanor changed, but it was not visible.Other than his voice becoming a little harder, it's hardly noticeable. "Why did you assume that the woman was French when Mr. Wimbold told you that she was a foreigner?" Emma was not panicked, she was only slightly surprised. "Really? I think I said that. I really don't know why I said that, but we tend to think that some foreigners are French until we find out what their nationality is. Most foreign countries in the UK People are French, aren't they?" "Oh, I really don't think that's right, Miss Crackenthorpe. It's not the case these days, we have people of many nationalities here, Italians, Germans, Austrians and all those Scandinavians. People of all countries." "Yes, I think you're right." "You have no particular reason for thinking that the woman is French?" She wasn't quick to deny it, she just thought about it for a moment, then shook her head almost regretfully. "No," she said, "I really don't think so." When the two looked at each other, her attitude was serene, without any flinching. Craddock looked at Bacon, who reached forward and produced an enamel compact. "Do you recognize this, Miss Crackenthorpe?" She took it over for a closer look. "No, it's definitely not mine." "Don't you know whose it is?" "have no idea." "Then, for the time being, we need not bother you any more." "Thank you." She smiled at them, got up, and went out of the room.This time he couldn't be imagining.But it seemed to him that she was going quickly, as if something comforting had prompted her to hurry away. "Do you think she knows anything?" asked Bacon. Inspector Craddock said despondently: "At a certain stage, it's always easy to think that everyone knows more than he's willing to say." "They usually do, too," said Bacon, recalling his own experience from the back of his memory, "but," he added, "often it has nothing to do with what is being investigated, and is just the pettiness of someone in the family." Mistakes, or troubles caused by my own ignorance, I don’t want to make it public.” "Yes, I know. Well, at least—" But whatever Inspector Craddock wanted to say, he did not, for at that moment the door opened and old Mr. Crackenthorpe shuffled in with fury. "It's a mess!" he said. "It's a mess when the Metropolitan Police come. They don't even have the courtesy to talk to the owner first. Who owns this place? I'm going to ask? Answer me, Who is the owner of this house?" "Of course it is you, Mr. Crackenthorpe," said Craddock calmly, "but we have heard that you have told Inspector Bacon all you know, and that your health is not well. Well, we can't ask you too much, Dr. Kunpo said—" "Probably, probably, I'm not a strong man, as for Dr. Kunpo. He's a standard old lady type--a very good doctor who understands my condition--but he always treats me like a child, He always wraps me in a sheepskin and pays attention to my diet. At Christmas, when my illness changes a little bit, he comes and asks me what to eat? When is it? Who cooks it? Who brought me food? What a fuss! What a fuss! What a fuss! But I may be in poor health, and I can still help you as much as I can. A homicide in my own home! Or, at any rate, in my warehouse Here! It's a very interesting house, built in the time of Queen Elizabeth. The local architect said no, but the guy said nonsense, it won't be built after 1550. But, that's not what we're talking about now subject. What do you want to know? What is your present inference?" "It's a little too early to say, Mr. Crackenthorpe. We're still trying to figure out who that woman is." "Didn't you say that he was a foreigner?" "We think so." "A spy from the enemy's side?" "I don't think so." "You think! You think! They're everywhere! These spies! Infiltrating everywhere! How the Home Office let them in, I don't understand! They're spying on our industrial secrets. I bet she's doing something something like this." "In Brackhamton?" "In factories all over the place, I have one just outside the back of my own house." Craddock looked at Bacon questioningly.Bacon said: "Factory for making metal boxes." "How do you know what they're making is the real thing? Don't take everything these people tell you. Do you think she's going to have anything to do with one of my precious sons? If so, it's Alfred, not Ha Lod. He's too careful, Cedric doesn't care to live in England. Well, then, she's Alfred's lover. A cruel fellow followed her here, thinking she was coming to meet him. And it turned out Killed her. What do you think?" Craddock said in diplomatic terms, this is indeed a possible speculation.But, he said, Mr. Alfred Crackenthorpe could not recognize her. "Hmph! He's afraid, that's all! Alfred is always a coward. But, remember, he's a liar, always! He lied with a straight face. None of my sons are promising, they are all a bunch of greedy things! They are all waiting for me to die. This is their real occupation." He giggled. "But they'll have to wait. I don't want to die, I don't want to satisfy them. Well, if that's what you want me to help with, I'm done... I'm tired and I must go to rest." He walked out with heavy steps. "Alfred's girlfriend?" Bacon said suspiciously, "I think the old man made it up." He paused, hesitated, "Personally, I don't think Alfred is anything—perhaps in some The place is dishonest, but it's not someone we're suspicious of right now. Listen, I'm suspicious of the Air Force guy." "Brian Easterly?" "Yes. I've met one or two of his kind. They're what you might call wanderers—adventurous too young, on the edge of life and death, living An exciting life. Now he finds life tedious and unsatisfactory. In a way, we treat them unfairly. I don't really know how to help them, though. But look at them now It can be said that everything is in the past and there is no future to speak of. And they are the kind of people who don't care about risks. Prudent. But these guys aren't afraid—there's no such thing as 'sane' in their vocabulary. Easterly, if he's involved with a woman, wants to kill her—" He paused, giving a resigned look. Spread your hands. "But why would he want to kill her? At the same time, if you really killed a woman, why did you hide her body in your father-in-law's sarcophagus? No, if you ask me what I think, I will I feel that none of these people has anything to do with this murder case. It can be said that if they were related to this murder case, they would not bother to hide the corpse at their back door." Craddock agrees that there is no point in doing that. "Do you have anything else to do here?" Craddock said no. Bacon suggested returning to Brackhamton for a cup of tea, but Inspector Craddock said he was going to visit an old acquaintance.

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