Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Mysterious Last Words

This time it was Dr. Phil who spoke.He was standing with his back to the fireplace. Looking at it as a whole, he looked like a huge monster with a black hat on his head standing under the sword and shield hanging on the wall. The whole scene seemed to be laid for him, with the bookcases on both sides and the The two white busts of the palace look like a baron in the feudal period.It's just that it's not as frightening as a stuffed bull's head.He bit off the end of the cigar, turned his head, and spit it into the fireplace neatly, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Ma'am," he said, turning his head in an accusing tone, as if shouting slogans, "we won't keep you long. I want to make it clear that I have absolutely no bias whatsoever in what you and Mills have said. One side. Before launching a formal investigation, I will let you know that I have complete trust in you... Ma'am, do you remember when the snow stopped tonight?"

She looked at him sharply, hesitantly, defensively, obviously she had heard of Dr. Fell. "What does it matter? I think it was around nine-thirty. Yes! I remember looking out the window as I went upstairs to clear Charles' coffee cups and seeing the snow It's stopped. Does it matter?" "Oh, it's very important, ma'am, otherwise we'd only have half an 'impossible crime scene'... You're right. Well, Hadley, remember, the snow did stop around nine-thirty .That's right, Hadley?" "Yes," the director of the Criminal Division agreed, but he also looked at Dr. Phil suspiciously.He already knew that whenever Dr. Phil asked repeatedly with blank eyes, something must be wrong. "Even if it's nine thirty, so what?"

"The snow had stopped for forty minutes by the time the visitor left the room; more than that," said the Doctor in a meditative tone, "it had stopped even fifteen minutes before the visitor had arrived in the room. Yes Is that so, ma'am, eh? It was nine forty-five when he rang? Great...Hadley, do you remember when we arrived at this house? Did you notice that in Mangan, you And when Rimbaud rushed in, there were no footprints on the steps leading to the door, not even half a footprint on the sidewalk leading to the stairs? You know, I noticed. But we will come back to this later confirm."

These words made Hadley stand up straight suddenly, and a low growl was still coming out of his mouth. "Oh my God! That's right! The whole sidewalk is very clean. This..." After the words stopped, he swayed slowly to Mrs. Dumo. "That's what you said, you believed Mrs. Dumo's evidence? Phil, are you crazy too? The stories we heard were that some man knocked on the door sometime after the snow had stopped for fifteen minutes. People's doorbells, through their locked gates, and..." Dr. Phil opened his eyes wide, and suddenly a series of giggling bursts from his back, rushing out.

"I say, young man, why are you making such a fuss? Obviously, he has the ability to fly away without leaving a trace. If that is the case, why is it that you are so upset when he enters the room without leaving a trace?" "I don't know," admitted Hadley doggedly, "but, damn it, damn it! In my experience, entering and exiting a locked room murder scene are two very different things. A situation where entry and exit are flawless and unreasonable, and my logic is thrown into disarray. Leave it alone! You say—” "Please, please listen to me," Mrs. Dumo interrupted, her cheek muscles tightened and her face was pale. "What I said is an undeniable fact. God, please bear witness for me!"

"I believe you," said Dr. Phil. "Don't let Hadley's Scottish brain scare you. He'll believe you, or I'll cut him off. But my point is, Since I'm convinced of your words, doesn't that mean I have complete trust in you, doesn't it? So, the only thing I want to remind you is, don't destroy that sense of trust. No matter how ridiculous I am, I won't Doubt what you just said. But I guess I have strong misgivings about what you're about to say later." Hadley half-closed his eyes. "Again, that's the thing I'm most afraid of. I'm terrified when you're going to start making that kind of nonsense. Seriously, now—"

"Ask." The woman said as if her nerves were paralyzed. "Well, thank you. Excuse me, madame, how long have you been Grimaud's steward? No, I'll put it another way: how long have you been with him?" "For more than twenty-five years," she replied, "I have been... more than just his butler." She had been looking at her hand, five fingers twisted and tangled; now she finally looked up.Her eyes were fierce and firm, as if she wasn't sure how far she had the guts to reveal it.That look is like staring at the enemy ambushing in the corner, and they are rushing forward to fight fiercely.

"I beg you all," she said calmly, "don't give away what I've said. You can go to Pol Street (referring to London's police court, which is located in this street) to find alien immigration records, What is written in it will confirm what I say. But it is superfluous to do anything. I do not say this for myself, and I hope you understand. Rosette Grimaud is my daughter; she was born here, It's on the record. But she doesn't know about it - and no one else does. Come on guys, can I trust people to keep it a secret?" Her sluggish eyes gradually cleared up, and although her voice was still calm and quiet, it sounded like she was nervous.

"Why do you worry about that, ma'am?" Dr. Fell said, frowning. "We've got nothing to do with it, don't you think? Of course we'll keep our mouths shut." "Is this true?" "Ma'am," said the doctor softly, "I don't know the young lady well, but I assure you that your worries over the years are probably unfounded. She probably already knew. Knows a lot, she just doesn't let you know. The world is turned upside down because we pretend that people under the age of twenty don't have any emotions, and people over forty don't have any passion anymore. Forget it, never mind what I said," he said with a smile, "excuse me, where did you meet Grimaud? Was it before you came to England?"

Her breathing was heavy, and her answering voice was weak and muffled, as if she was thinking. "Yes, in Paris." "Are you from Paris?" "Er... what? No, no, not native! I was born in the provinces, but I went to work in Paris and met him while I was living there. I made clothes." Hadley stopped the pen that was busy taking notes, raised his head and asked: "Clothes?" he said. "You mean women's dresses or something?" "No, no, I mean, I do costumes for opera and ballet troupes, and I work at the opera house. You can look it up! Also, to save you time, I can tell you that I never Married, my maiden name is Ernestine Dumer."

"Where's Grimaud?" asked Dr. Fell suddenly, "Where is he from?" "I think he's from the South of France, but he's studying in Paris. His family's all dead, so you'll find nothing. He's got all the money." These inadvertent and seemingly insignificant questions made the atmosphere of the scene quite stiff.Then, Dr. Phil's next three questions were even more confusing. Hadley couldn't help but stared in surprise from his notebook, and Ernestine Dumo, who had recovered his calm, became restless again. , his eyes also showed a look of vigilance. "What is your religion, madam?" "I'm a Unitarian (a Protestant sect that opposes the Trinity, advocates the one Godhead, and does not recognize Christ as God). Why?" "Well, well. Has Grimaud ever been to America? Or, has he any friends there?" "Never been. And as far as I know, he has no one in America." "What do you think when you hear the words 'seven towers,' madam?" "No!" Ernestine Dumo yelled loudly, her face pale in an instant. Dr. Fell smoked a freshly lit cigar, blinked at her through the smoke, and then slowly stepped out of the carpet in front of the wall lamp and approached the sofa, making her cringe.But he just pointed at the large painting with his cane, following the lines of the mountains against a white background. "I don't ask you whether you understand what this painting represents," he went on, "but I want to ask you, did Grimaud tell you why he bought it? What is so fascinating about it? Where does the power to withstand bullets or the eyes of a demon come from? What kind of influence does it have..." He paused, as if suddenly reminded of something startling.Then he panted and stretched out his hands, lifted the oil painting from the ground, and turned it around curiously. "Oh, my God!" Dr. Fell suddenly lost his mind, "Oh my God! God is above! Oh!" "What's the matter?" Hadley jumped forward and asked. "Did you see anything?" "No, nothing," argued Dr. Fell hastily, "but that's the point. What's up, ma'am?" "I think," the woman's voice was rather feeble, "you're the strangest person I've ever met. No, I don't know what this thing means. Charles won't tell me, he'll just grumble Mumbling and chuckling. Why don't you ask the creator himself? Burnaby drew it, he should know. But why do people like you do nonsensical things, there is nothing but a painting in it It's just a fantasy country." Dr. Fell nodded sadly. "I'm afraid you're right, ma'am, I don't think it really exists. If three people are buried there, it'd be hard to find them, wouldn't it?" "Can you please stop talking nonsense?" Hadley snarled, but his face was filled with consternation, because his so-called gibberish sounded like a punch to Ernestine Dumer.She wanted to leave to conceal the shock caused by those words. "I'm leaving," she said, "don't stop me. You're all crazy, you're just talking nonsense here, and you're letting Pierre Frey get away, why don't you hunt him down? Why don't you actually do something useful what about?" "Because you know in your heart, ma'am... Grimaud himself has shown that it wasn't Pierre Fry." She was still staring at him when the Doctor gave the painting a push with his thumb, causing the painting to fall backwards on the couch.This fantasy landscape painting of three tombstones erected in a strange forest brought Rimbaud's mood to the edge of trembling and panic.When footsteps were heard in the stairwell, he was still staring at the painting. It was refreshing to see the plain, bony, long, earnest face of Inspector Betts.Rimbaud knew him in the "Tower of London case".The police officer was followed by two energetic plainclothes criminal policemen, both of whom were equipped with full equipment for photographic evidence storage and fingerprint sampling.Behind Mills, Boyd Mann, and the girl who had just come up from the living room stood a policeman in uniform.The girl walked through the crowd into the room. "Boyd said you wanted to see me," her voice was calm, but she could still hear the shock. "But I must go with the ambulance. Aunt Ernestine, you'd better get there as soon as possible. They said he... he was leaving." She tried to appear shrewd and dignified, even when she took off her gloves, but she didn't handle it very well. She could still see the inexperienced and tested rawness of young people in their early twenties. Rimbaud was amazed by the curly short golden hair around the ears.She had a square face, with a little high cheekbones, not pretty, but stubborn and lively, and reminded people of an old age, though it was impossible to say which one.Her mouth is wide, and her lips are painted with dark red lipstick, but compared to this face with moist lips and hard contours, her long hazel eyes look a little timid.She looked around quickly, then snuggled up to Mangan, curled up in her fur coat.Her mental state is not far from complete hysteria. "Would you please tell me quickly what you want from me?" she cried. "Don't you understand that he is dying? Aunt Ernestine..." "If the gentlemen here have nothing else to ask me," said Mrs. Dummer forcefully, "I'm going to start. I really have to go, you know." She suddenly became submissive and docile, but it was a serious kind of docility, with a hint of challenge in it—as if the limit of tolerance was right in front of her eyes.There seemed to be a touch of emotion between the two women, and the eyes of Rosette Grimaud in particular betrayed anxiety.The two quickly glanced at each other, but they didn't look directly at each other, and intentionally or unintentionally imitated each other's actions, and then they suddenly realized this and stopped abruptly.Hadley remained silent during this period, as he usually does when watching two suspects confront each other at Scotland Yard. "Mr. Mangan," he interjected forcefully, "would you please take Miss Grimaud to Mills' studio at the end of the corridor? Thank you, and we will be there in a moment. Mr. Mills, please wait a moment... Babe Tess!" "Sir?" "Some very important tasks are assigned to you. Did Mangan tell you to bring a rope and a flashlight... Great, I want you to climb to the roof to investigate, not to let go of every inch, to see if there is any Footprints or something, the place directly above the study should be searched more carefully. Then you can go to the yard behind the house and the adjacent backyards to check if you can find any traces. Mr. Mills will tell you how to climb to the roof Up to... Preston! Is Preston here?" A pointy-nosed young man hurried in from the hallway—Officer Preston's specialty was finding hidden secret spaces, and in the case of the "Death Bell" it was he who found the crucial evidence. "Carpet search the entire room, looking for secret passages, understand? If you like, you can tear this place down. Find someone to climb up the chimney to have a look...to take pictures for evidence and fingerprints Get to work quickly. Before you take a photo, chalk where the blood is. Don't touch the burnt confetti in the fireplace, though. . . . Inspector! Where the hell is that Inspector dead?" "Here I am, sir." "Did the people in Pol Street call up the address for a man named Foy-Pierre Foy? Arrest him where he lives, and bring him here. If he's not home, wait for me. Did they send someone to the theater where he played? All right. That's it, get to work, boys." He strode towards the corridor, still muttering words.Dr. Phil followed closely behind. This was the first time he was infected by the hostility at the scene tonight.He touched the CR's arm with his spade hat. "Hey, Hadley," he urged him, "you just focus on asking your questions, huh? I think I'd be more helpful if I stayed and helped those idiots take pictures..." "No, if you mess up any negatives, even I won't be able to eat them!" Hadley was very angry, "Those negatives are not cheap; besides, we need evidence. Now, I have to Talk to you clearly and privately. What is the meaning of those inexplicable crazy words about the seven towers? What is the meaning of burying people in a country that does not exist? I have seen you so mysterious before I've been nervous, but it's not as serious as this time, let's exchange opinions, are you... okay, okay, what are you doing?" Hadley turned away impatiently.It turned out that Stu Mills was trying to hold his hand. "Well, before I take the officer up to the roof," Mills said calmly, "I better tell you that if you want to see Mr. Dreyman, he's in the house right now." "Dreman? Oh, yes. When did he come back?" Mills frowned. "As far as I know, he hasn't returned; or, I should say, he hasn't left at all. I happened to glance into his room just now..." "Why?" Dr. Phil asked suddenly with interest. Mr. Secretary blinked calmly. "Out of curiosity, sir. I found him sleeping in his room, and in such a deep sleep that it was difficult to wake him; I guess he took sleeping pills. Mr. Dreyman took sleeping pills quite well, but he was by no means a drunk or The medicine jar, it’s just that I like to take sleeping pills.” "I've never seen such a strange family," Hadley said, paused, and asked casually, "What else?" "Well, sir. There's a friend of Professor Grimaud's downstairs who just arrived and wants to see you. I don't think there's anything wrong with him, but he's a member of the party at Warwick's Tavern, His name is Pettis, Mr Anthony Pettis." "Pettis, huh?" Dr. Phil stroked his chin and repeated the name, "I wonder if he is the Pettis who collected many ghost stories and wrote many wonderful introductions? Well, yes , it must be him, well, how can he help with this matter?" "I doubt there's anything that can be of help," Hadley replied doggedly. "Listen, I can't see this fellow right now unless he has some very important information. Could you copy his address, Tell him I'll visit him tomorrow morning? Thanks." He turned to Dr. Fell, "Now, we're back to the seven towers and the realm that didn't exist." The doctor didn't answer until Mills led Betts through the door at the end of the corridor.There was no sound, except for the suppressed murmur of Grimaud's room.The archway in the stairwell still glowed with bright yellow lights, illuminating the entire corridor.Dr. Phil staggered, walked around the corridor, looked up and down, and then walked to the opposite side, inspecting the three windows with brown curtains.He pulled back the curtains and made sure that all three windows were securely locked from inside the house.Then he waved to Hadley and Rimbaud to come up to the stairs. "Assembly," he said, "for an exchange of opinions—it would be wise to do so before we tackle the next witness. However, this is not the time to speak directly of the seven towers, and I will, like Childe Rowland, Roland, the protagonist in the poem Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came by the British Victorian poet Robert Browning), gradually leads to this topic. Hadley, those fragmented and disorganized words are the only real evidence we have. Since it was the victim's last words, it was probably the most important clue—I mean those pitifully slurred whispers before Grimaud fainted. God bless you all heard them all. Remember, you asked him It wasn't Foyle who shot him, and he shakes his head in denial; then you ask him who did it, and what does he answer? I want to ask you what you think you're hearing in response." He looked at Rimbaud.The Yankee's mind is in a mess right now.He did remember a few clear words, but mixed with the scene of the professor's blood soaking his chest and his neck being bent, he felt dizzy and hesitated for a while. "He said first..." Rimbaud replied, "It sounded like 'flying' to me—" "Nonsense," interrupted Hadley, "I wrote it all down. He said 'Bath' or 'the bath' first, though I'm not sure learn……" "Wait! Your lunatics," said Dr. Phil, "are worse than mine. Go on, Ted." "Okay, but I'm not sure I'm right. The next words I heard were 'not suicide', and 'he didn't use a rope'. Then he mentioned something with 'roof', 'snow', 'fox' Related words. Finally, I heard what seemed to be 'too bright'. I repeat, I'm not too sure about the order in which these words appear." Hadley had a forgiving look on his face. "You are too far-fetched, although you have grasped one or two important points." Although he said so, his voice sounded uneasy. "Again, I must admit that my impression was not much better than yours. After mentioning 'Bath' he went on to say 'salt and wine'. You were right about the rope, but I didn't Heard the word 'suicide'. 'Roof' and 'snow' were correct; next was 'too bright'; A remark—I could hardly hear it, because the blood kept coming from his mouth—seemed to be 'Don't blame poor...', and that was all." "Oh my God!" Dr. Fell couldn't help wailing. He stared at the two of them in turn. Every sentence. However, the two amazing elders really defeated me. What I heard was completely different! Of course, I must say, you are not completely outrageous, oh!" "So, what's your version?" Hadley pressed. The doctor paced back and forth, making a clicking sound under his feet. "I only hear the first few words. If my guess is right, they mean very complete - if my guess is right. But the rest, it's like a nightmare. I don't know why. I seem to see To a pack of foxes running across a snow-covered roof, or—" "Lycanthias (a psychopath who fantasizes that he is a wolf)?" Rimbaud hinted. "Did anyone mention werewolves?" "No, and no one will become a werewolf!" Hadley roared, and slapped his notebook hard, "In order to sort out the clues, Rimbaud, I will write down what you think I heard, and make a comparison. So, here are- "Your words: Soaring. Not suicide. He didn't use a rope. Roof. Snow. Fox. Too bright. "My words: bathroom. Salt. Wine. He didn't use a rope. Roof. Snow. Too much light. Got a gun. Don't blame poor... "The above is what the two of us said. As for you, Phil, according to your personal paranoia, of course you have the most confidence in the part that is most difficult to understand. I can sort out the latter part roughly. ; but what clues can a dying man give us when he says things like 'bathroom' and 'salt' and 'wine'?" Dr. Phil stared at the dead cigar. "Well, of course. We'd better sort things out first. Enough problems, let's take things one step at a time. First, boy, after Grimaud was shot in the room, and then What's the matter?" "How would I know this, I just want to ask you! If there is no mysterious passage—" "No, no, I don't mean how he disappeared out of thin air, Hadley, if you don't let go of these questions and ask yourself what other abnormal phenomena are there, you will go crazy sooner or later. Now, we Sort out the parts that are clear and explainable, and work on from there. Okay, here we go. What obvious changes happened in the room after the man was shot? First, all the obvious changes are concentrated in Near the fireplace—” "You mean, the fellow climbed up the chimney?" "I'm pretty sure he didn't," said Dr. Phil grumpily. "The flue (between the fireplace and the chimney, usually small, can be opened or closed, and the chimney is much larger than the flue, straight out to the roof) is so narrow that you can't even put your fist in. Please, think about it. First, the heavy sofa that was placed in front of the fireplace has been pushed away, and there is a lot of blood on the top, which looks like Grimaud slipped. The rug in front of the fireplace was dragged or kicked aside, and it also had blood on it; the chair by the lamp was also knocked out of place. Finally, I found blood on the hearth, even on the fireplace. It was these spots of blood that called our attention to a pile of paper ashes that were about to go out. "Again, there's the faithful Mrs. Dumo. Let's see her reaction. As soon as she entered the room, she was very concerned about the fireplace, staring at it, and when she found that I had been paying attention to that place, she almost went to bed. Going nuts. You recall she even made the stupid mistake of asking us to start a fire to keep warm. Even she should have known that the police would never be stupid enough to light a fire at the first scene of a crime just to keep a witness warm No, no, brother, someone must be trying to burn some letters or papers there, and she must make sure that everything is destroyed." "So she knows the whole thing? And you say you believe her story?" Hadley said heavily. "That's right. I believed it just now, and I believe it now—the part about the visitor and the crime. What I suspect is the story about her and Grimaud's personal background... Let's speculate on how things happened now." Go! The intruder shot Grimaud. Although the professor was still conscious, he didn't call for help, didn't stop the killer's attack, didn't make any noise, and didn't even come to the door when Mills was banging on it However, he did something in such a way that he ruptured the wound in his own lung, as you have heard from the doctor. "Now I'll tell you what he did. He knew he didn't have long to live, and that the police would be on the scene at any moment. He had a lot of things around him that had to be destroyed at once, and destroying them would be even worse than letting his killers Getting arrested or saving his own life mattered. He staggered back and forth in front of the fireplace to burn what was in his hands. So the couch was overturned, the carpet, the blood in bits and pieces... now you get the idea ?" In the bright but bleak corridor, there was an atmosphere of silence. "Does that woman Dumo know?" Hadley asked heavily. "Of course she knows it well. This is the secret they share. Moreover, her heart already belongs to him." "If this is true, then what he destroyed must be quite important." Hadley opened his eyes wide. "How do you know this? What other secrets do they have? What makes you think that they are hiding some kind of terrible secret?" Dr. Fell ran his hands over his temples and smoothed out the shaggy hair on his head.Then he spoke in a tone as if he was about to face a fierce debate. "Perhaps I can tell you a little more," he said, "though there are parts of it I'm not sure I can decipher. Neither Grimaud nor Duomo, you think, look far less than I do. French. A woman with high cheekbones, a woman with an 'h' when you say 'honest' (the French pronunciation of the word with an "h" silent), definitely not in Latin blood. But this It doesn't matter. They are both Magyars. To be more precise: Grimaud was originally from Hungary. His real name was Calori or Charles, or Grimaud Howarth. His biological mother was probably French. He comes from the Principality of Transylvania, which was originally part of the Kingdom of Hungary but was annexed by Romania after the war. In the late 19th or early 20th century, Calori Grimaud Howarth and his two brothers had Sent to prison. Did I tell you he had two brothers? One we never met, and the other now calls himself Pierre Forey. "I don't know what crime the three Howards brothers committed. Anyway, they were sent to Sabantman Prison to mine salt mines. The place of labor was near Tweedy in the Capersian Mountains. Later, Charles probably escaped. However, this life-and-death 'secret' is unlikely to be related to his history of imprisonment or even escape, because the Kingdom of Hungary has long since collapsed and disintegrated, and its power no longer exists. Therefore, it is more likely that, He has done extremely evil deeds to his brother; it also involves the tragedy of the three coffins and the burial of people alive, so even today, as long as the truth is revealed one day, he is doomed to die... These That's the wild guesses I've made so far. Which of you has a match on you?"