Chapter 3 The Tragedy of Three Burlstones

I will now set aside insignificant characters for the moment, and describe what happened before we arrived at the scene of the crime, which we only learned afterwards.Only in this way can I make the reader aware of the characters and the strange backgrounds that determine their fate. Birlstone is a small village on the northern fringe of Sussex County. There is an old half-brick and half-timbered house that has remained unchanged for hundreds of years. However, in recent years due to the beautiful scenery and superior location, some wealthy households have moved Here, their villa looms in the surrounding jungle.These jungles are locally considered to be the fringes of the Weald Great Forest, which has become thinner and thinner as it stretches into the northern chalk downlands.Due to the growing population, some small shops are opened as needed, so its vision is obvious, and Birlstone will soon develop from an ancient small village to a modern town.Birlstone is the center of a considerable rural district, for ten or twelve miles away, stretches eastward into the Kent borders, with the nearest important town of Tunbridge Wells.

About half a mile from the village, there is an old park, famous for its tall beech trees, which is the old Birlstone Hall.Parts of this historic building date back to the era of the First Crusade, when Hugo de Campos built a small castle in the center of the estate given to him by the King of England.The castle was destroyed by fire in 1543.Until the time of James I, a brick house was built on the ruins of this feudal castle, and the blackened cornerstones used in the four corners of the original castle were also used. The manor building, with its many gables and diamond-paned windows, is still as it was left by its builder at the beginning of the seventeenth century.The two moats originally used to protect its martial-minded ancestors have dried up and been turned into vegetable gardens.The inland river still existed, though it was only a few feet deep now, but it was still forty feet wide, and encircled the whole estate.Here a small river flows through it, meandering incessantly, so that, though muddy, it is never so unsanitary as the stagnant water of a ditch.The windows on the ground floor of the manor house were less than a foot from the water.

Access to the estate must be through a drawbridge.The chains and winches of the drawbridge have long since rusted and been destroyed.However, the unique energy of the new occupants of the estate has restored it, and the drawbridge is not only raised, but is actually raised every night and lowered in the morning.In this way, the customs of the old feudal era were restored. At night, the manor became an isolated island-this fact was directly related to the case that was about to stir up the whole of England. The house had been unoccupied for many years, and by the time Douglas bought it was in danger of falling into disrepair and falling into a dramatic ruin.There were only two people in this family, John Douglas and his wife.In character and character, Douglas was an extraordinary man.He was about fifty, with a large chin, a rugged face, a gray moustache, particularly keen gray eyes, and a lanky, wiry build that was as strong and alert as ever.He was always beaming and amiable.But there was something informal in his manner, which gave the impression that he had experienced a life far below the social ranks of Sussex.

However, despite the curious and wary eyes of his well-bred neighbors, he was popular because of his generous donations to all local welfare causes, and his participation in their fireworks concerts and other spectacles. The tenor's mellow singing voice, and he often likes to sing a beautiful song to people at everyone's request, so Douglas quickly became popular among the villagers.He appeared to be wealthy, supposedly made from gold mines in California.From the conversations between himself and his wife, it is clear that Douglas lived in the United States for a while. Because of Douglas's generosity and approachability, people have a particularly good impression of him, and his spirit of fearlessness in the face of danger has greatly improved his reputation.Although he was not a very good rider, he was invited to every hunting fair, and he was astonishingly contested with others, and with his determination, he not only persisted, but was no worse than others.He rose to prominence when the vicar's house caught fire, and when the local fire brigade declared it impossible to extinguish, he still bravely rushed into the fire to salvage property.So John Douglas, though he had been here only five years, was already full of Birlstone's reputation.

His wife was also popular with acquaintances.According to the custom of the British, if a foreigner who immigrates to the local area has not been introduced, there will not be many people who visit him.It doesn't matter to her.Because she is a lonely person.And, obviously, she was very devoted to taking care of her husband and housekeeping.According to legend, she was an English woman who met Mr. Douglas in London, when Douglas was a widower.She was a beautiful woman, tall, dark, and slender, twenty years younger than her husband.The disparity in age does not seem to affect their happy family life.

Sometimes, however, those in the know said that their mutual confidence was not impeccable, since Mrs. Douglas's knowledge of her husband's past life was not so much reticent as incomplete knowledge.A few observant persons have noticed and commented on Mrs. Douglas's nervousness at times, and her extreme uneasiness when her husband was late.The secluded countryside always likes to spread gossip, and of course the weakness of the manor owner's wife will not be silently let go, and after the incident, this matter will become more important in people's memory, so it has a special meaning. special meaning.

But there was another person, to be honest, he only stayed here occasionally, but because he was present when this strange case happened, his name was particularly prominent in people's discussions.The man's name was Cecil James Barker, of Hales Rocky, Hampsteadshire. Cecil Barker was tall and nimble, and was known to every one in the main street of Birlstone village, for he was a frequent visitor to the estate, and a welcome guest there.No one knew anything about Douglas' past life, and Cecil Barker was the only one who knew about it.Barker himself was doubtless an Englishman, but it is clear from his own account that he first met Douglas in America, and that there the two were very close.It appears that Buck is a man of considerable fortune and is known to be a bachelor.

He was much younger than Douglas in age--forty-five at the most, tall, straight, round, clean-shaven, with the shape of a professional boxer, thick black eyebrows, and compelling black eyes, He could clear a way through enemy lines without even the aid of his skilled hands.He liked neither riding nor hunting, but he loved walking about the old village with a pipe in his mouth, or else with his master, and in his absence, with his mistress, in the beautiful countryside. Travel by car for entertainment. "He's an easy-going, generous gentleman," said Ames, the butler, "but, alas! I daren't fight him!" Buck was very close to Douglas, and equally friendly to Mrs. Douglas—but the friendship seemed More than once the husband was irritated, and even the servants sensed Douglas' annoyance.This was the third figure in the family when the disaster happened.

As for the other residents of the old house, it is enough to mention Ames and Mrs. Allen--Ames, the housekeeper, is a stiff, prim, elegant and capable person; Joyful person, she shared some housekeeping duties with the hostess.The remaining six servants in the house had nothing to do with the events of the night of January 6th. At 11:45 in the evening, the first call to the police was made to this small local police station.The police station is headed by Constable Wilson from the Sussex Security Force.Cecil Barker rushed to the door of the police station in great excitement and rang the alarm bell desperately.He reported breathlessly that there had been a catastrophe at the estate, and that John Douglas had been murdered.He hurried back to the estate, and was followed by the police a few minutes later, arriving at the scene of the crime just after twelve o'clock, after having urgently reported a serious incident to the county authorities.

When the officers arrived at the manor, they found that the drawbridge had been lowered, the windows were brightly lit, and the family was in a state of great confusion and panic.The pale servants stood close to each other in the hall, the terrified butler, rubbing his hands, stood at the door, and only Cecil Barker, who seemed more composed, opened the door nearest the entrance, and beckoned the sergeant to follow him. .At this time, Wood, the lively and capable medical practitioner of the village, also arrived.The three entered the unfortunate house together, and the panic-stricken housekeeper followed them, closing the door behind them, so that the maids could not see the terrible sight.

The deceased lay sprawled on his back in the middle of the room, wearing only a pink dressing gown with night clothes underneath, and felt slippers on his bare feet.The doctor knelt beside him and took the oil lamp off the table.One look at the victim is enough to convince the doctor that there is no hope of recovery.The victim was badly wounded, and across his chest was a curious weapon--a musket, the barrel of which had been sawed off a foot from the trigger.The two triggers are tied together with wire in order to be fired at the same time, so as to constitute greater lethality.Apparently, the shots were fired at very close range, and all the powder was shot in the face, and the head of the deceased was almost blown to pieces. The sudden fall of such a heavy responsibility on the village policeman made him perplexed and uncouth. "We don't move until the chief comes," he whispered, gazing at the horrible head in bewilderment. "Nothing has been touched so far," said Cecil Barker, "I assure you that everything you see is exactly as it was when I found it." "When did this happen?" The officer pulled out his notebook. "It was eleven-thirty. I hadn't undressed. I was sitting by the bedroom fireplace warming myself when I heard the gunshot. The gunshot wasn't very loud—it seemed muffled. I ran It took only half a minute to come downstairs and run to that room." "Was the door open then?" "Yes, the door was open. Poor Douglas was lying on the floor as you see him now. The candle in his bedroom was still burning on the table. It was some minutes before I lit the lamp." "Did you see no one?" "No. I heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stairs afterward, and I hastened to stop her from seeing the dreadful sight. Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, came too, and helped her away. Ames came Now, we're back in the house again." "But I'm sure I've heard that the drawbridge stays up all night." "Yes, the drawbridge was up before I lowered it." "Then how could the murderer get away? It's impossible! Mr. Douglas must have committed suicide." "That's what we thought at first, but look!" Buck drew the curtain aside, and showed him the long glass window, which was fully opened. "Look at this again!" He lowered the lamp, and lit the bloodstain on the wooden window sill like the sole of a boot. "Someone stood here when they escaped." "Do you think anyone waded across the moat?" "good!" "Then, if you were in the house less than half a minute after the crime, the criminal must have been in the water." "I have no doubts about it. If only I had run to the window then! But as you saw just now, the curtains covered the window. So I didn't think of it. Then I heard Mrs. Douglas' step." Well, I can't let her in this room. It's a horrible situation." "It's terrific!" said the doctor, looking at the shattered head and the dreadful marks of blood surrounding it. "I haven't seen such a terrible injury since the Birlstone train crash." "I think, however," said the inspector, his slow, yokel-common-sense train of thought still stuck at the open window, "that you are quite right in saying that a man escaped by wading across the moat. But I want to ask you, how did he get in now that the drawbridge is up?" "Oh, that's the problem," Buck said. "What time was the drawbridge raised?" "Around six o'clock," said Ames the butler. "I've heard," said the Inspector, "that the drawbridge is usually raised when the sun goes down. So at this time of year, sunset should be about half-past four, not six." "Mrs. Douglas invited her guests to tea," said Ames. "I couldn't lift the bridge until the guests left. Later, I did it myself." "Then," said the Inspector, "if anyone comes in from outside—assuming they do—they must come by the drawbridge before six o'clock, and remain hidden until after eleven o'clock, when Mr. Douglas comes in. In the house." "That's right! Mr. Douglas walks round the estate every night. The last thing he does before he goes to bed is to see if the candles are lit. So here he is, and the man is waiting for him, and he's asking him Shot, and dropped the musket, and fled through the window. I think that is so; and no other explanation can agree with the facts at hand." The officer picked up a card from the floor next to the deceased, with two capital letters VV scrawled in pen on it, followed by the number 341. "What's this?" the officer asked, holding up the card. Buck looked at the card curiously. "I never noticed that before," said Buck. "It must have been left by the murderer." "VV341. I can't figure out what that means." The police officer flipped the card back and forth with his big hand and said: "What's VV? It's roughly the initials of a person's name. Doctor, what did you find?" On the hearth rug lay a large hammer, a solid and fine hammer. Cecil Barker pointed to the brass-headed nail box on the mantelpiece and said: "Mr. Douglas was changing his paintings yesterday, and I saw him stand on a chair and hang this big painting on it. That's how the hammer came." "We'd better put the hammer back where it was found," said the inspector, bewildered, scratching his head with his hands. "Only a detective with a keen mind can get to the bottom of this matter. Please London detectives to clear this case." He held up the lamp and walked slowly around the room. "Hi!" cried the police officer excitedly, pulling the curtains aside. "What time were the curtains drawn?" "When the lamps were lighted," replied the butler, "it was not long after four o'clock." "It's absolutely certain that someone is hiding here," said the officer, lowering the light again.In the corner, the muddy marks of the boots were evident. "I am sure, Mr. Barker, that this fully confirms your theory. It appears that the murderer slipped into the house after four o'clock, when the curtains were drawn, and before six o'clock, when the drawbridge was not raised. He Sneaked into this room because it was the first one he saw. He had no other place to hide, so he hid behind this curtain. It all seemed very obvious. It seemed that he was mainly trying to rob the interior property. But Mr. Douglas happened to come across him, so he did the trick and got away." "That's what I thought," said Buck. "But, I say, are we wasting precious time? Why don't we search the town before the murderer is far away?" The police officer thought for a while and said: "There are no trains before six o'clock in the morning, so he must not escape by train. If he walks on the road with wet legs, people will probably pay attention to him. If no one comes to talk to him." Before I change shifts, I can't leave here anyway. But I don't think you can go away until the truth is revealed." Dr. Wood picked up the lamp and examined the body carefully. "What kind of mark is this?" he asked. "Does it have anything to do with the case?" The right arm of the dead body was exposed, reaching to the elbow.About the middle of the forearm, a curious brown mark—a circle with a triangle inside, each raised—stands out against the pale skin. "It's not a pinprick," said Dr. Wood, his eyes fixed on the mark through his spectacles. "I've never seen a mark like it. This man was branded once, like cattle. what's going on?" "I don't know what it means, but I've seen it on his arm many times over the last ten years," Cecil Barker said. "I've seen it too," said the butler. "Many times when the master rolled up his sleeves, I saw that mark. I never understood what was going on?" "That has nothing to do with the case, then," said the inspector, "but it's a queer thing. Everything about the case is so queer. Now, what's the matter?" Pointing to the dead man's outstretched hand, the steward exclaimed: "They took his wedding ring!" he gasped. "what?!" "Yes, that's true! The master always wears a solid gold wedding ring on the little finger of his left hand, a ring with a nugget on it, and a coiled snake ring on the middle finger. Both the nugget ring and the coiled snake ring are still in use. Now, only the wedding ring is gone." "He's right," Buck said. "You mean the wedding ring is under the other ring?" asked the officer. "Always!" "Then the murderer, or whoever he is, will first take off that nugget ring you speak of, then the wedding ring, and then put the nugget ring on." "That's right." The venerable country constable shook his head, and said: "I think we'd better leave the case to London, the sooner the better. White Mason is a shrewd man. There is no White Mason in the local case." Can't handle it. He'll be here to help us soon. But I guess we'll just have to look to London to get the job done. Anyway, don't be afraid to make a joke out of it. The case is really out of reach.”