Chapter 3 Chapter 3 Masks

"You two stay out the door," Hadley said curtly. "If anyone's nervous, don't come in." Dr. Fell staggered into the room after him, while Rimbaud stayed outside, blocking the door with his arms outstretched.Professor Grimaud was extremely heavy, but Hadley dared not twist him.As he desperately crawled towards the door, Grimaud had bled profusely. Although it wasn't all from the internal organs, it could be seen that he clenched his teeth tightly to prevent the blood from overflowing.Hadley lifted the professor up with one knee, and took off the mask with short black and gray hair on the professor's face.Grimaud's face was livid, his eyes were closed and sunken, and a wet handkerchief was still pressed against a bullet port on his chest.Everyone heard his breath gradually weaken and become silent.At this moment, although the ventilation is in good condition, there is still a strong smell of gunpowder in the cold mist that pervades the room.

"Dead?" Dr. Fell whispered. "He's dead," said Hadley. "See his face? The bullet went through the lungs." He turned to the short man outside the door and said, "Call an ambulance, quick! It's hopeless, But maybe he could say something before he died—" "Yes," said Dr. Phil angrily, "isn't that what we are most concerned about?" "If that's all we can do," Hadley replied grimly, "it is. Get those sofa-cushions over there and try to make him as comfortable as possible." He let Griying's head lie on his back on the pillow, and stooping close to him, he cried:

"Professor Grimaud! Professor Grimaud! Do you hear me?" Grimaud's waxy eyelids twitched a few times, his pupils were half-opened and half-closed, and the eyeballs moved strangely, helplessly and bewilderedly. It was the face of the kind of babies you would call "precocious" or "intelligent". eyes.It seemed that he didn't understand what was going on either.Glasses tied with strings were hanging from the home clothes, and the fingers twitched and twitched slightly, as if they wanted to raise their hands, but the chest was still gently rising and falling.

"I'm a policeman, Professor Grimaud. Who did it? If you can't answer, don't force it. Just nod. Is it Pierre Frey?" Grimaud first showed a seemingly understanding expression, followed by a puzzled expression, and then he clearly shook his hand. "Who is that?" Grimaud became eager, too eager, and collapsed in an instant.He spoke for the first and last time.He stammered out a few words, but let alone their meaning, even if he said any words, it would still make people feel confused.As soon as he finished speaking, he passed out. The window on the wall on the left was opened about a few inches, and the cold wind kept pouring in through it.Rimbaud trembled all over.He looked at the once tall man on the ground, lying on his back on a pair of pillows, limp like a cracked and leaky sleeping bag, something inside his body rattled like a clock, as if to To tell everyone that he is still alive; but other than that, there is no other life.In this bright, quiet room, there were only too many bloodstains.

"My God!" Rimbaud couldn't help saying, "is there nothing we can do?" "It's over, just get to work. 'Still in the house?' What a bunch of fools—oh, including me, of course!" said a heartbroken Hadley, pointing to the open part of the window. , "That guy must have escaped from there before we came in. Of course he's not here now." Rimbaud looked around, the strong smell of gunpowder was gradually dissipating from his imagination and from this room.This was the first time he had looked at the place carefully. The room is about fifteen square meters in size. The walls are made of oak wood panels and the floor is covered with thick black carpet.On the left-hand wall (as you see it when you stand in the doorway and look in), there is a window with a brown velvet curtain that is swaying in the wind.On either side of the window stood bookcases, topped with marble busts.At a distance from the window, there is a large flat desk with heavy-duty hook feet, which is also the source of light on the left side of the room at this moment.An upholstered chair turned its back; on the left edge of the tabletop, a mosaic-shaped glass lamp, and a bronze ashtray with a smoky cigar lying across it, but the long ashes still smoldering. burn.There is also a blotting table on the table (on which a book in a calfskin cover was originally placed), which is quite clean inside; a pen tray is attached to the ink table, and there is a little monster holding a note paper—that is a Buffalo statue carved from topaz.

Rimbaud's eyes continued to wander, spanning the entire room, and then stopped at the place directly opposite the window.On that wall was a large stone fireplace, flanked by similar bookcases and marble busts.Above the fireplace hung two crossed blunt swords covered with a shield decorated with coats of arms, Rimbaud (at the time) did not look at them carefully.In the whole room, only the furniture on this side was messed up.The tawny leather couch collapsed obliquely in front of the stove, and a leather chair was overturned on the tangled wall rug.There was blood on the couch. Finally, Rimbaud's eyes moved again, he looked directly at the bottom wall facing the door, and saw the oil painting.There are also two bookcases on this wall. There is a space on the wall between the bookcases, and some boxes should be placed underneath. They were removed a few days ago, because the imprinted marks on the bottom of the boxes can still be clearly seen on the carpet.Grimaud originally wanted to hang oil paintings on this wall, but now it seems that it will never be possible.The oil painting was now lying face up on the ground - and not far from where Grimaud lay down - with two cuts from the knife.Since the painting was four feet long and seven feet wide, Hadley had to push and overturn it to the clearing in the center of the room before he could stand it up and look at it.

"This thing," said Hadley, pushing it against the back of the sofa, "is the oil painting he bought to protect himself? Well, Phil, don't you think it's not normal for Grimaud to be as crazy as this Foyle?" ?” Dr. Fell was lumbering up and down, and for a while he had just been staring at the window, with a serious expression on his face. "Like Pierre Frey," he said in a low voice, pulling back on his shovel-hat, "and he wasn't the one who did it. Hmm. I say, Hadley, did you see any murder weapon?" "No. No guns—we're looking for one of those high-caliber automatics—nor the knife that slashed the thing. Look! It's just a plain landscape."

It is not so ordinary as it seems, Rimbaud thought.In fact, it contains a certain kind of explosive power, as if the creator captured the shape of the ugly trees whipped by the fierce wind on the canvas in a violent and angry situation, which will make you feel chills and fear.Its style and tone are gloomy, except for the low white mountains in the background, the black and gray background is mainly strengthened by the shiny green color.In the foreground, through the tangled branches of trees, three headstones can be seen lined up on the grass.In a way, the style of the painting is similar to that of the room, both subtly and imperceptibly exotic.The three tombstones in the painting are falling and disintegrating, and from a certain angle, you have the illusion that it is because the tomb in the painting is rising and is about to burst.Even the scratches on the surface do not seem to detract from the eerie appearance of the painting.

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps going up the stairs in a hurry, and Rimbaud woke up with a start and regained his senses.It was Boyd Mangan who had barged in.He was much thinner and disheveled, unlike the man Rimbaud usually knew.His black hair curled around his head like coils.Mangan quickly glanced at the person lying on the ground, frowned suddenly, his eyes were dull, and then stroked his cheeks as rough as parchment.In fact, he was about the same age as Rimbaud, but the diagonal lines under his eyes made him look ten years older. "Mills told me," said Mangan, "that he didn't—"

He nodded towards Grimaud's place. "Did you call an ambulance?" Hadley asked, avoiding his question. "Those guys are coming up with stretchers. People in this area are so shy about hospitals, no one knows where to get someone. I just remembered a friend of the professor's had a nursing home nearby. They're—" He stepped aside Two guards came in, followed by a short man with a clean and calm face and a bald head. "This is Dr. Peterson, er... this is the police; and that one is... the patient." Dr. Peterson's cheek twitched, and he hastily issued an order:

"Stretcher, lad," he said, after a brief look, "can't do much here. Position him carefully." When the stretcher was carried out, his face sank and he looked around suspiciously. "Is there any help?" Hadley asked. "Maybe a few more hours, that's it, maybe not a few hours. If he hadn't been as strong as a cow, he would have died long ago. It seems that he tried to save himself, but he did more damage to his lungs." Big damage...resulting in tearing." Dr. Peterson reached into his pocket. "You expect the police medic to be there, right? Here's my business card. I'm going to keep the bullets after I take them out. I'm guessing they're . Yes. May I ask what happened?" "Murder," Hadley said, "get a nurse with him, and make sure you write down everything he says." After speaking, the doctor walked away quickly.The criminal officer scribbled something on a page of his notebook and handed it to Mangan. "Are you in your head now? Well, I want you to ring up the police station in Hunter Street and give them these instructions, and they will contact Scotland Yard again; and if they ask what happened, it doesn't matter. Watson. The doctor will go to the clinic, and the others will come here ... who is standing at the door?" Outside the gate was a young man, short and thin, with a top-heavy appearance, standing there from the beginning.Under the sufficient light, Rimbaud saw his dark red hair with teeth and claws, a pair of big dull brown eyes behind thick gold-rimmed glasses, and a big loose mouth protruding obliquely on his fleshless face.This mouth is making loud noises and wriggling constantly. The entire row of teeth is exposed and the lips are tilted upwards, just like a fish; and because of the frequent talking, the lip flesh looks full of elasticity.In fact, every time he spoke, it seemed that he was addressing an audience, and his head would bob up and down as if listening to the beat of music, and his voice would go straight into the listener's head in a monotonous, sharp voice. .You might judge him to be a medical graduate with socialist leanings.That's right, you're right.He was dressed in a red checked pattern, with his fingers crossed across his body.His first flurry of terror had turned into an unfathomable calm.He bowed slightly, and answered without any emotion: "My name is Stu Mills. I am—or rather, I was—Professor Grimaud's secretary," and his large eyes rolled slickly. "Excuse me... what happened to the murderer?" "Probably," said Hadley, "they escaped through the window when we thought they were still inside. Now, Mr. Mills—" "I'm sorry," interjected his flat voice, with a certain detachment, "if that's the case, then he must be out of the ordinary. Have you checked the windows?" "He's right, Hadley," gasped Dr. Fell. "Go and see! This thing is bothering me more and more. I tell you the truth, if our murderer hadn't gone through the door ..." "He definitely wasn't," Mills declared with a laugh. "I wasn't the only witness. I was staring at that door the whole time." "He'd have to be lighter than air to get out through that window. Open the window and check. Well, wait! We'd better search the room first." No one was hiding in the room at all.After confirming, Hadley muttered in a low voice and pushed open the window.Outside the window, there is a complete and unbroken snow, which is spread flat on the window frame along the edge, and also covers the wide window sill outside.Rimbaud bent and leaned out of the window to look around. At this moment, there is a bright moon hanging high in the west, and everything is three-dimensional and clear like wood carvings.The window sill was a good fifty feet off the ground; the slippery stone wall fell smoothly down.Directly below the window sill is a backyard, and like the design of the houses in this block, it is also surrounded by a low wall.In this back yard, and as far as they could see, and the tops of the four walls, the snow was flat and unspoiled everywhere.There were no windows on the lower side of the room, except on the top floor; and the windows closest to the room were in the corridor to the left, at a distance of thirty feet.The nearest windows on the right are in the adjoining house, also thirty feet apart.Looking forward, the houses and the quadrangular courtyards surrounded by the backyards are adjacent to each other, which looks like a huge chessboard, so it is hundreds of yards away from the nearest house.Finally, a fifteen-foot-long stone slab stretched from the window to the roof, so inclined that it would be impossible to climb it with bare hands, let alone with a rope. Hadley leaned out of the window and pointed out narrowly: "It's an old trick, and it's just like this!" he cried. "Look! Suppose the murderer, before coming here, tied a rope to the chimney or something, and let it hang out of the window; once he kills Grimaud , immediately went out of the window and grabbed the rope, climbed up to the roof, then crawled to the chimney, untied the rope, and finally escaped. This whole process must have left many clues, it is inevitable. So—” "That's right," said Mills' voice, "so I must tell you now that there is no clue left." Hadley began to look around again. Mills had been checking the fireplace just now, and now he turned to face everyone. Although his pupils showed uneasiness and his head was trembling with sweat, he still gritted his teeth and tried to squeeze out an exaggerated smile. "You know," he said, raising his hand and pointing his index finger upward, "as soon as I saw that masked man disappear..." "What?" said Hadley. "Masque. Can you be more clear?" "No, wait till you get the hang of it, Mr. Mills. By the way, what do you think about the roof?" "As you've all seen, there are no traces or clues of any living beings on the roof at all," replied Mills.His eyes were wide open, and his eyes were full of intelligence and cleverness.It was another of his tricks—smiling, looking directly in the eye, as if encouraging, even if it was a misguided encouragement sometimes.He raised his index finger again. "Guys, I repeat: I knew I was in trouble when I knew the man in the mask had vanished—" "why?" "Because I have been watching the door, I am compelled to assert that the man never came out of it. Well, then his possible means of escape may be: 1. Climb to the roof with the aid of a rope. 2. By the chimney Climb up inside, straight up to the roof. This is a very simple mathematical theorem. If PQ is equal to pq, then of course, PQ is equal to the sum of pq plus pβ plus qα plus αβ.” "Is that so?" said Hadley, very subduedly. "So?" "The end of this corridor you're looking at now—you can see it if the door is open—" Mills continued firmly, "is my studio. Go to the attic, and there is a trap door in the attic that leads to the roof. As long as the trap door is opened up, I can clearly see the sides of the roof including this room. There is no trace of snow left superior." "Didn't you climb out of the trapdoor?" Hadley demanded. "No, because it's impossible to stand on a roof. In fact, I don't think anyone could stand on it, even in a dry climate." At this time, Dr. Phil's face burst into a brilliant look.There seemed to be a suppressed desire in his heart, an urge to hoist up Mills, a genius, to show off, like showing off a delicate toy. "So what's next, young man?" he asked kindly. "I mean, what if all your math formulas are useless?" Mills still had a smile on his face, still looking unpredictable. "Well, it depends. I'm a mathematician, sir, and I never allow myself to just think." He folded his arms. "In addition to using words to strongly emphasize to everyone that the murderer has not left the door, I also hope to draw your attention in this way." "If what you just said is indeed the fact that happened here tonight." Hadley sat down on the table, flipped through the notes he wrote, wiped his forehead with his hand, and asked, "Take it easy, let's take it step by step Come. How long have you been working for Professor Grimaud?" "Three years and eight months," Mills said, teeth chattering. Rimbaud had a feeling that in the atmosphere of investigation enveloped by that notebook, the secretary had restrained himself and answered as concisely as possible. "Tell me about your job title." "Part of it is handling letters and general secretarial work. But the most important thing is to assist the professor in preparing his new work, titled 'The History and Origin of Superstitions and Customs in Central Europe, and... "Okay. How many people live in this house?" "Besides me and Professor Grimaud, there are four other people." "Yes, yes, and then?" "Oh, I see! You want their names. Rosette Grimaud, she is the professor's daughter. Mrs. Dumer, she is the housekeeper. Dreyman, he is an old friend of the professor. And A maid, only known as Anne, no one told me her last name." "How many people were here when the incident happened tonight?" Mills moved his feet forward a little to steady himself, then stared at them.This is another set of his body language. "Well, I'm not quite sure. I can only tell you what I know." He rocked back and forth. "Professor Grimaud came upstairs to work at seven-thirty when dinner was over. He has a regular habit on Saturday nights. He told me that he doesn't want anyone to disturb him before eleven o'clock; He was sweating profusely again, although his face was still expressionless. "However, he said he might have a visitor at nine-thirty." "Did he say who the visitor was?" "No." Hadley leaned forward. "Well, come on again, Mr. Mills. Didn't you hear about the threats? Don't you know what happened on Wednesday night?" "I... well... of course I'm aware of what happened earlier. In fact, I was at the Warwick's that night. I suppose Mangan told you?" Mills began to outline the events of the evening, with a disturbed mood but a surprisingly vivid description.Meanwhile, Dr. Fell staggered again, looking around carefully, as he had done several times tonight.He seemed particularly interested in fireplaces.As for Rimbaud, because he had heard about what happened in Warwick's Tavern that night, he didn't pay attention to Mills' narration, but his eyes kept following Dr. Fell.The doctor checked the overturned sofa, and some blood droplets could be seen splashing on the top of the sofa chair and the right arm of the chair, but most of the blood was left on the black carpet in front of the fireplace, although it was hard to find it buried in the black Based on the traces, did the struggle and scuffle happen here?No, thought Rimbaud, the pokers were still inserted into the steel frame, and if there was a fight in front of the fireplace, the pokers would fall all over the floor with a clatter.Also, under a pile of scorched papers, there were some very tiny pieces of coal that were almost extinguished. Dr. Fell muttered to himself, standing on tiptoe, inspecting the shield with the coat of arms.Rimbaud knew nothing about badges. In his eyes, it was just a red, blue and silver defensive weapon: a black eagle and a crescent moon were engraved on the upper half of the shield; Comes like a rook's wedge with a checkerboard lining it.Although the appearance is a little darker, but hanging in this very primitive style room, it can show a strong wild flavor.Dr. Phil grunted a few times. He remained silent until he checked the bookcase to the left of the fireplace.After taking the posture of a bibliophile for a while, he began to launch a surprise attack.He took out the books one by one, and after turning to the title pages for a quick glance, he quickly closed them and put them back on the cabinet, even some of the worthless books.These movements kicked up a little dust, and the loud noise of turning the pages overwhelmed even Mills' flat voice as he was narrating.Afterwards, the doctor got up excitedly and waved the book in his hand to everyone. "Hey, Hadley, I don't mean to interrupt you, but this is very eccentric and very interesting. Here are two volumes of Yorick es Eliza levelei by Gabriel Dubrent; Shakspere Minden Munk i , in nine volumes in various editions. Here's a name..." He paused. "Well, ah, Mr. Mills, you know these things? These are the books that don't collect dust on the bookcase." Mills froze on the spot. "I . This book is left alone at the back of the others... Where did I get to, Mr. Hadley? Ah! By the way, when Mr. Grimaud told me that there would be a visitor in the evening, I could never have imagined that the visitor would appear The man at Warwick's; the professor didn't say that." "Then what did he say?" "I...you know, after dinner I'll be working in the big library downstairs. He told me to go upstairs to my own studio at nine-thirty, open the door, sit down, and...then' concentrate on 'Keep an eye on this room in case..." "What if?" Mills clears his throat: "He didn't specify." "That's what he said," Hadley snapped, "and you still have no doubts about who's coming?" "I think," interrupted Dr. Fell, panting slightly, "perhaps I can explain our young friend. There must have been some struggles in his mind. What he meant was that, leaving aside his youngest No matter how strongly the Bachelor of Science believes, and regardless of whether the formula x^2+2xy+y^2 is believed to be the emblem on the shield, for him, the scene at the Warwick Tavern that night is still vivid in his memory, which is very impressive. Creepy. So, he has no desire to find out anything outside of his authority. Is that so, eh?" "Sir, I don't mean that," Mills replied, but his tone was relieved after all. "What I think has nothing to do with what happened. You will understand that I did carry out the professor's orders. I Come upstairs, it's exactly half-past nine—" "Where were the others at that time? Don't rush to tell," Hadley snapped. "Don't answer that you can't be sure; tell me, then, where you 'think' they are." "As far as I can remember, Miss Rosette and Mangan were playing cards in the living room. Dreyman had told me earlier that he was going out, so I didn't see anyone else." "Where's Mrs. Dumo?" "I met her when I came up the stairs. She was coming out of Professor Grimaud's room with her after-dinner coffee, that is to say, leftover coffee... I went into my studio, Leaving the door open and dragging the typing desk out so you can look into the hallway while you work. Just..." He closed his eyes, then opened them again, "at nine forty-five, I I heard the bell ringing at the main entrance. Since the electric bell inside the house was installed on the second floor, I could hear it clearly. "Two minutes later, Mrs. Dummer came up the stairs, carrying the usual tray of business cards. Just as she was about to knock on the door, I was shocked to see... well, the tall man came upstairs, Just followed behind her. As soon as Mrs. Dumo turned around, she saw this person and said something immediately. I can't repeat what she said verbatim, but the general idea was to ask why he wasn't waiting downstairs; She was rather annoyed. But the... the tall man didn't pay any attention. He walked to the door, unhurriedly turned down the collar of his coat, took off his hat and put it in his coat pocket. I guess he laughed at that time and Mrs. Dummer, yelling something loudly, recoiled timidly against the wall, and opened the door quickly, when Professor Grimaud appeared impatiently at the door, saying the following: What the hell are you arguing about?" Then he froze, looked straight at the tall man and said, "My God, who the hell are you?" Mills' steady voice grew faster and faster, and his smile became very eerie, though he could tell he was trying to make it look brighter. "Slow down, Mr. Mills. Can you see the tall man clearly?" "Very clearly. He glanced in my direction as he came up the stairs and into the archway." "and then?" "He had the collar of his coat turned up, and he wore a hat with a visor. But folks, I was born with what is called 'farsightedness', so I could accurately observe the shape and color of his nose and mouth. In fact, he wore a hat on his face. Wearing a child's mask, it is a mask made of papier mache. In my impression, the mask is long, pink, with a big bloody mouth. And, at the moment I look at him , he never took off his mask. I think I should be able to assert—" "You're right, aren't you?" A cold voice suddenly came from the door, "It was a mask. And, unfortunately, he never took it off."