Chapter 11 Chapter Eleven The Unbelievable Murder

When Dr. Fell knocked on the door at nine o'clock the next morning, his two guests were still asleep.Rimbaud didn't get much sleep last night.It was half-past one when he and the Doctor returned home, but Dorothy was eager to learn the details, and her husband was happy to share them.They prepared cigarettes and wine, and then returned to their rooms.Like Sherlock Holmes, Dorothy piled up many sofa pillows on the floor, sat there with a glass of wine in her hand, and listened to her husband pacing and narrating with a strange expression.His point of view is flexible, but not very clear.She quite liked Mrs. Dumer and Dreyman in the narration, but she showed a strong dislike for Rosette Grimaud, and Rimbaud even quoted the motto that Rosette had followed in the debate. At that time, she never let go of her dissatisfaction.

"It's all the same, you mark my words," Dorothy pointed at her husband with a shrewd face. "Anyway, that queer-featured blonde must be involved, man, she has a problem. I think she Trying to do both. Bah! To borrow her phrase, I bet she couldn't even be a good—well, whore. If I treated you like she did to Boyd Mangan and you But if you don't punch me hard on the jaw, then I will never speak again in this life... Do you know what I mean?" "Never mind the family's private affairs," said Rimbaud. "Besides, what happened to Mangan? You don't think she would really go and kill her father if she wasn't locked in the living room?"

"How? I don't see how she can put on that strange overcoat and still fool Mrs. Dumot's eyes," said Dorothy, who had bright black eyes of deep mystery. "Let me tell you what's going on! Mrs. Dummer and Dreymans are innocent. And Mills... Well, it sounds like Mills is a prudish guy, but because you never liked science or' Future hopes' sort of thing, so it might be biased against him. Still, you think Mills is telling the truth?" "That's right." She smoked thoughtfully. "I've got a lot of great ideas. The most dubious candidates in my mind, and the ones I'd say the easiest to strike with, are the ones you've never met—Pettis and Burnaby."

"what?" "Listen to me! Pettis was ruled out because he was too small, wasn't he? I should have thought that Dr. Phil, being so learned, must have figured that out. I was just recalling a story ...I forgot where I read it, but I remember that it was made up of several small medieval stories. Do you remember? There is a very powerful character in the story, with a mask covering his face, riding a horse He won the first place in the swordsmanship competition. Then came an even braver warrior and immediately challenged the winner. They all attacked the center of the mask. Finally, amidst the exclamation of the audience, he slammed his sword straight at the yellow dragon and knocked down the helmet of the winner. Then, a triumphant song sounded, and everyone suddenly discovered that the huge armor , turned out to be a thin and handsome young man..."

Rimbaud looked at her. "Honey," he said in a serious tone, "you're talking nonsense, you're thinking wildly. Listen, you don't really think Pettis is going to walk in there with a fake mask and fake shoulders?" "You're so brainy," she said, wrinkling her nose, "I think it's a very good idea. You want me to give evidence? OK! Didn't Mills himself mention the light on the back of the man's head, The mask looks like it's made of papier-mâché? What do you say?" "It was a nightmare, I said. Don't you have any more practical ideas?"

"Yes!" Dorothy squirmed her body.It was obvious that this had just occurred to her, but she pretended to have thought about it. "It's an impossible crime. Why didn't the murderer want to leave any traces? You're chasing after the most inexplicable reason, and if you go on like that, of course you'll end up with the reason that the murderer wanted to play tricks on the police. All Rubbish! My dear, let's put aside the idea of ​​murder for a moment. What do you think is the real reason, or the first reason that comes to our mind, when a man deliberately avoids leaving footprints? Because— —His footprints are so special! So special that the police can directly testify against him! It may be because he has a disability or something. If he leaves footprints, this evidence alone can hang him..."

"But--" "You told me," she said, "that fellow Burnaby has a clubfoot." At dawn Rimbaud finally fell asleep.In his mind, Burnaby's clubfoot was more sinister than the mask.It was simply too absurd; but in his dream, this disturbing sense of absurdity was entangled with the mystery of the three tombs. This sleep, he struggled to get out of the bed until Dr. Phil came to knock on the door at about nine o'clock on Sunday morning; he dressed and shaved quickly, and then staggered out of the silent room.It was unusual for Dr. Phil (or anyone else) to be in such a rush to find someone at such a time, but Rimbaud figured that something new must have happened last night.It was chilly in the corridors; but even the great fire-fired study room gave the impression of unreality, as of getting up at dawn to catch a train.In the small slanted room with the bay window overlooking the balcony, there were three breakfasts.The weather was gloomy and depressing, and the sky was constantly snowing.Dr. Phil, who was well-dressed, was sitting at the table, holding his chin while staring at the newspaper.

"Brother Henry..." he said in a low voice, flapping the newspaper, "oh yes, he's done it again. Hadley just called to give some details, and he'll be here shortly. Let's start with this one. If last night's case was a big problem... oh my gosh, look at this case! I'm like Drayman - can't believe it! No mention of Grimaud at all on the front page Any news of the killing. It's a good thing they didn't link the two cases together, or write the news that Hadley told them not to leak it. Look at this!" Rimbaud poured himself a cup of coffee and glanced at the headlines in the paper.

"Conjurers die in magic tricks!" read the newspapers.Those who write this title must get a great pleasure.Also "The Mystery of Calgary Straw Street", "The Second Bullet Is For You!" "Cagry Straw Street?" the Yankee repeated the word. "Where the hell is this Caglary Straw Street? I've heard several interesting street names, but this—" "You've probably never heard of it," Dr. Phil whispered. "It's a street hidden among streets, and you just stumble into it when you're looking for a shortcut, and you'll be surprised to find there It turns out that there is a community that has been forgotten in London... In short, Caglio Straw Street is less than a three-minute walk from Grimaud's mansion. It is located on the other side of Russell Square, which is Jill A small cul-de-sac behind Volt Street. As far as I know, there are several retail shops that have developed all the way from Lambercondo Street, and some rental apartments...Leaving Grimaud after the Henry Brothers shot and killed The residence, walked there along the way, shook a little more, and completed another task."

Rimbaud went on to read the report: Last night, a man was found lying dead in WCl, Cagry Straw Street. After confirmation, it was confirmed that the man's name was Pierre Frey.His identity is a French magician and illusionist.He had been performing for months at a concert hall on Commercial Avenue in the East Midlands, but two weeks ago he moved into a rented apartment on Calgary Straw Street.At about 10:30 last night, he was found shot dead. Judging from the situation at the scene, the magician seemed to have died of an inexplicable murder.There were no clues or footprints left at the scene - all three witnesses could testify - although they all clearly heard someone say "the second bullet is for you".

Calgary Straw Street is two hundred yards long and terminates at a brick wall.There were several shops on the street, all of which were closed at that time, but the street lights were still shining, and the sidewalks in front of the shops were also cleaned.Moreover, for twenty yards or so from the street, the street and the sidewalk joined together in one unbroken, trackless expanse of snow. Mr. Jesse Shorter and Mr. RC Brewin, visitors from Birmingham to London, were going to visit friends who boarded at the end of the street.The two walked along the sidewalk on the right, with the street entrance behind them.Mr. Brevin, who was checking the house number, turned around and noticed a man behind them, walking some distance away from them on foot.The person walked slowly and hurriedly, looking around as he walked, as if waiting for someone to show up.Although he was walking in the middle of the road, due to the dim light around him, apart from being able to recognize him as a tall man wearing a floppy hat, Mr. Short and Mr. Brevin didn't notice anything else.At that very moment, Constable Henry Weather, who was on patrol all the way down Lambercondo Street, came up to the entrance of Cagrystra Street.He saw the man walking on the snow, and in the blink of an eye, the man disappeared.Then it happened, and it was only three or four seconds before and after. Both Mr. Short and Mr. Brewin heard a near-screaming shout behind them, and then they heard someone clearly say: "You are rewarded with the second bullet", and then the man laughed, followed by a muffled voice. Gunshots rang out.They turned around hastily, and saw the man behind him faltering and shaky, and after screaming, he immediately fell face-to-face. As far as they could see, there was no one else on the whole street from end to end.In addition, this man was walking in the middle of the road, and there were no other people's footprints on the snow except his footprints.This has been confirmed by Officer Weiser, who immediately ran to the scene from the street when the incident occurred.In the dim light from the jeweler's window, they saw the dead man lying face down, arms outstretched, blood spurting from under the left shoulder blade where the bullet had passed.The murder weapon, a long-barreled .38 Colt revolver, an obsolete model thirty years ago, was thrown about ten feet behind the body. Although they had all heard the words with their own ears, and the pistol lay beside them, as the street was deserted, these eyewitnesses believed that he must have shot himself.They found that the man was still alive, and rushed him to the clinic of Dr. MR Jenkins at the end of the street. The police inspected the scene and confirmed that there were no traces left around.However, the victim died not long after, without leaving a last word. Then, the most amazing thing happened.Where the deceased man's coat had been pierced by the bullet, there were signs of burning and charring, which indicated that the murder weapon must have been fired against his back or within inches of each other, and Dr. Jenkins then suggested that his The opinion—and later confirmed by the police—was that it was absolutely impossible to be a suicide.He said no one would be able to shoot themselves in the back at that angle, especially with such a long-barreled firearm.It was murder, but unbelievable murder.If the person had been shot from a distance, say from a window or doorway, it would not be surprising that no trace of the killer or even other people could be seen.Instead, the dead man had been shot by someone who had been close to him, had spoken to him, and then disappeared into thin air. No documents or identification could be found on the deceased's clothing, and no one seemed to recognize him.After a delay, he was sent to the morgue... "Didn't Hadley send for him?" Rimbaud asked. "And the constable couldn't identify the dead man?" "The officer did identify the deceased, but that was later!" Dr. Phil snarled. "By the time the officers arrived, the chaos was over. He was confronted by Officer Wither," Hadley recounted. Said he was going door to door asking. He then made inferences from the situation at the scene. At the same time, the police officer sent by Hadley to the music hall to find Foyle returned a report that Foyle was no longer there; Foyle had briefly told The manager of the theater said that he had no intention of performing that night, and then walked out muttering strangely. To confirm the identity of the deceased, they called in the landlord of Foyle's boarding house in Cagle Straw Street. And to confirm that he was the magician himself, they also Asked someone from the concert hall to identify it. So an Irishman who took an Italian stage name volunteered to come forward and identify the body. He was also on the program that night, but he was injured and therefore did not perform. Huh, no No, it was Foyle, and he's dead. We're going to be thrown off our feet now, bah!" "Then it is true," exclaimed Rimbaud, "is it absolutely true?" Hadley answered the question himself.The criminal chief rang the doorbell like a frizzy soldier about to go to battle.He strode into the study room with a briefcase shaped like a tomahawk in his hand, mumbling and complaining endlessly, and he didn't touch the ham and fried eggs. "It's true, exactly," he said sharply, and the clatter of footsteps moved to the fire. "I asked the papers to get the news out so that we could make a public appeal for anyone who knew Pierre Frey - or his brother Henry - to give a tip to the police. My God, Phil, I'm completely out of my head I can't get rid of that dead nickname you just picked up. I find myself referring to Henry as if it's a fake real name. I find myself imagining What he looks like. At least, we'll know his real name soon. I've telegraphed to Bucharest. Brother Henry! Brother Henry! We caught his fox tail and let him slip away. Han— —” "For God's sake, take it easy!" Dr. Phil gasped unhappily. "Stop rambling there, it's bad enough. I guess you were busy with this last night? Is there any further news? Well, yes? Now let’s sit down and worship at the Temple of the Five Viscera. Then we can enter a kind of—huh, a calm state of mind, huh?” Hadley said he didn't want to eat anything.In the end, however, he ate two meals, drank several cups of coffee, and lit a cigar. Only then did he relax and return to a normal state of mind and body. "Let's start now." After he finished speaking, he straightened his chest resolutely and took out some newspapers from his briefcase. "A case-by-case discussion of what's in this paper—and what's not. Well! First, look at these two, Brewin and Short. They're solid; and, sure enough, neither is Henry in disguise. We telegraphed to Birmingham to inquire, and found that they were well-known in their respective spheres of life. They were successful, well-off and trustworthy, and would never be out of touch with perjury in such a matter. As for Constable Weiser, it is perfectly possible Trusted man; in fact, his hard-working attitude has gone to the point where it shouldn't be. If these people claim that they didn't see anyone, unless they were deceived, they are absolutely telling the truth." "Cheating... how to say?" "I don't know," Hadley yelled, took a deep breath, and shook his head dejectedly. "All I know is that they must have been duped. I didn't go into Foyle's room, but I surveyed the street roughly. It's not as bright as Piccadilly Circle, but it's not so dark as to be unrecognizable. Shady place . . . I don't know! As for the footprints, if Wither swears he didn't find them, I'll absolutely believe him. That's all." Dr. Phil just grunted, and Hadley went on: "Again, about the murder weapon. The bullet that killed Foyle was from Colter's . 38, the same one that shot Grimaud. There are two detachable The holster, only holds two bullets in all, and Han--the murderer used both. The newer revolvers, you know, can eject the cartridges automatically; but this murder weapon, is an old-fashioned revolver, so We haven't had a chance to track it down. It's good enough to fire the new steel ammunition, but someone has been hiding it for years." "This Henry, he is really far-sighted! Hmm. Have you found out about Foyle's whereabouts?" "Yes, he is going to find Henry." Dr. Fell's eyes popped open. "Oh? Hey, you mean, you've found—" "That's the only lead we have. And," Hadley said with treacherous satisfaction, "after two hours, if nothing is found, I'll eat this briefcase. You still Remember, I told you on the phone about Foyle refusing to perform and then leaving the theater last night? That's right. My plainclothes staff learned about it from two sources, one is the theater manager Ish Stan, The other is the stunt performer O'Luoqi. This person is relatively familiar with Foyle, and he was also the one who later identified the body. "Saturday nights are usually their big day in the Lime House area. From one o'clock at noon, the theater puts on a variety of vaudeville shows, one after another, until eleven o'clock at night. The theater business goes into the evening. The most enthusiastic and prosperous, and Foyle's first round of performances was scheduled to appear at 8:15. Last night at about 8:15, O'Luoqi did not perform because he broke his wrist a few days ago. Sneak down to the cellar for a smoke. There's a charcoal stove hooked up to a hot water pipe." Hadley unfolded a sheet of paper covered with writing. "This is the transcript dictated by Oloch, written by Sanmas, with Oloch's signature on the back: 'At that time, I was going downstairs through the asbestos door, and suddenly I heard some noises, as if someone was splitting kindling.I was startled to find that the furnace had been turned on and old Luney was standing there with a hatchet in his hand, hacking at some of his personal belongings and then smashing them all. Stuffed into the stove.I said, "My mother, Lunie, what are you doing?" He replied in his usual eccentric tone, "Mr. Pugridge, I'm destroying my props." ("King Pugridge" is My stage name, you know, but that's what he likes to call me, what can I do!) Well, he said, "My assignments are over; I don't need them anymore." And, crap, he Then he took out all the prop ropes and hollow bamboo sticks from his cupboard.I said, "Loney, great magician, wake up. You're going to perform in a few minutes, and you haven't even changed your clothes yet." He said, "Didn't I tell you ? I'm going to see my brother. He's going to come forward and end the past grievances between the two of us." Well, he walked up to the stairs, then turned around abruptly.Rooney's face was as dead white as a statue of a white horse on the chalk hills at the moment—God forgive me for saying this—and it was especially frightening in the light of the stove fire.He said, "After that, in case something happens to me, you can find my brother on the street where I live. He doesn't really live there, he just rents a room there." At this time, the old Yisha Stan who was looking around for someone happened to come down.He couldn't believe his ears when he heard that Rooney refused to perform, and an argument ensued.Ish Stan yelled: "If you don't act, do you know what the consequences will be?" Lu Ni said calmly like a dealer: "Yes, I know what the consequences will be." Then he raised his hand respectfully. He raised his hat and said: "Good night, gentlemen, I am going back to my grave." After saying this, the madman walked up the stairs without a word. '" Hadley refolded the paper and put it back in the briefcase. "Yes, he's a great entertainer," said Dr. Fell, trying to light his pipe. "It's a bit of a pity Brother Henry must—then?" "As it stands, whether or not the hunt for Henry in Calgary Straw Street is fruitful, at least we can find out where he's temporarily hiding," said Hadley. "What I wonder is, Frey When he was shot, where did he go? Where did he go? It was definitely not where he lived. He lived in Building 2B, which was at the entrance of the street, but he walked in another direction. After he was shot At the time, I had walked about halfway across the street, between number 18 on the right and number 21 on the left, but right in the middle of the street. This is a good clue, and I have sent Summers to the crime scene He was on a mission to visit every house on the back half of the street, hoping to find any new, suspicious, or noteworthy tenants. The landlady was equally difficult, and we might have to deal with dozens one, but it doesn't matter." Dr. Phil rumpled his hair irritably. He bent over and sat down in the large seat, just enough to stuff his entire huge body into it. "Well, yes, but I don't want to get too focused on that street. I mean, leave that alone. Come to think of it, it's not possible that when Foyle was shot, he was actually hiding from someone, trying to get away from Where is someone?" "So he fled to a dead end?" "Wrong! Let me tell you, it's a big mistake!" The doctor yelled, and the whole person got up from the chair. "It's not that I can't figure out the reasoning behind it (which I freely admit), but it's just plain crazy. It's not a trick that happens inside four walls. The whole case is this: There's a street, and there's a man Walking along the snow, then there was a scream, a whisper, bang! The witness turned around and followed the murderer. Shooting into Foyle's back and then flying around?" "Crap!" "I know it's bullshit. But I'm going to ask this question anyway," Dr. Phil nodded, took off his glasses, and massaged his hands over his eyes. "What does this new development of the case have to do with the people in Russell Square? I mean, come to think of it, everyone is a suspect to the police, but can't we get rid of certain people first? Even if that room They're all liars, but they couldn't have come down to the middle of Cagliestre Street and dropped their pistols." A vicious sarcasm appeared on the criminal director's face. "It was a great honor to be re-instructed by a superior person. I have completely forgotten about it! We can rule out one or two--if the Cagliestre Street case happened later, or sooner, it is a pity. No one wanted it. Foyle was shot at twenty-five minutes past ten, in other words, fifteen minutes after Grimaud was killed. Brother Henry would never take any chances, he knew What would we do, knowing we'd be rushing to get Foyle. Only Henry, or someone, knew we were doing both. He was there, doing the trick of disappearing." "Or someone?" Dr. Phil repeated. "Your logic is interesting. Why 'or someone'?" "That's what I'm starting to investigate—namely, what happened in those unlucky, unknowing fifteen minutes after Grimaud's murder. In this case, Phil, I've learned a lesson. .If you want to commit two neat murders, don't hang in the middle of the first one, and don't wait for a dramatic opportunity to complete the second murder. Must be a hit, Then he shot again quickly, when all the parties involved were still in the first case, naturally no one, including the police, could clearly remember when and who was where. Can we?" "At this moment," Dr. Fell yelled, trying to hide his inability to do anything, "it should be easy to make a timetable now, try it. What time did we arrive at Grimaud's place . . . ?" Hadley made a summary on a thin slip of paper. "Mangan was jumping out of the window at the time, at most two minutes after the gunshot, so it was ten-twelve. We ran upstairs, found the door locked, went to get the pliers first, and then opened the door. Even if it takes more than three minutes." "Is such a short time enough?" Rimbaud interjected. "It seems to me that we have been in a daze for a while." "Usually think so. In fact," said Hadley, "I did, myself, until I solved the 'Kennerston Murders' (Phil, remember?) and I didn't change my mind. At that In one case, the cunning murderer took advantage of the tendency of witnesses to overestimate time to build his alibi. This is because we usually estimate time in minutes, not seconds. Try it yourself , put the watch on the table, close your eyes, and look at it when you estimate that a minute has passed. You will find that you have estimated thirty seconds too early. No, there is no bargain, just three minutes!" His expression was displeased, "Mangan went to call, and then the ambulance arrived quickly. Phil, do you know where the nursing home is?" "No. Leave such a boring question to yourself," Dr. Phil said in an airy tone, "I remember, someone said it was not far away." "On Guildford Street, next to the Children's Hospital. In fact," said Hadley, "it's directly behind Cagry Straw Street, so the backyard of the sanitarium must be parallel to... well, the ambulance rushed to Russell Square. The time is five minutes. It is ten twenty. What about the next five minutes? This is exactly five minutes before the second murder. And the next crucial five minutes, ten minutes, Fifteen minutes? Rosette Grimaud was alone with her father in the ambulance and came back after a while. Mangan went downstairs by himself to call me and waited until Rosette came back. Come upstairs with her. I haven't seriously considered these two people, but to avoid controversy, let's count them. What about Dreyman? No one saw him for a long time before and after the incident. As for Mills and Mrs Dummer... well, well, I'm afraid neither of them are suspects. Mills was talking to us from the start, at least about 10:30, and Mrs Dummer joined the discussion not long after. ;they've been with us for a while. Not anymore." Dr. Phil chuckled lowly. "It's been a long time," he recalled, "and all we have to figure out is what we did at the time. It's just picking out people who we thought were innocent, who really told the truth— We'll have to see if we've figured out a way to judge—I understand. Hadley, this case is quite tricky and troublesome. I can't help but admire it. By the way, did you find anything in Dreyman's room last night? ? What happened to the blood?" "Oh, it's 100% human blood, but we didn't find anything in Dreyman's room for reference. There were a few cardboard masks, but they were all delicate things with beards and protruding eyes, yes Things that children are more interested in. In short, nothing special, everything is normal. There are also some magic props for children to play with, such as old fireworks, fireworks, etc., and a toy stage..." "Good colorful little things," said Dr. Phil, lost in the joy of the past. "The joys of childhood, gone forever. Wow! Great toy stage! In my innocent childhood, Hadley , I was always chasing the beauty of the clouds (and in doing so, ended up having serious quarrels with my parents); in my youth I owned a toy stage with sixteen different sets, half of which— —I am happy to tell you both—they are all simulations of prison buildings. It is really puzzling why so many prison scenes are fantasizing in my little head: why—” "How did you do it?" Hadley demanded with wide-eyed eyes, "to be so sentimental all of a sudden?" "Because I suddenly had an idea," Dr. Phil said gently, "oh, my holy hat, what a wonderful idea!" He blinked at Hadley, "how is Dreyman?" ? Are you going to arrest him?" "No. Number one, I don't see how he'd go about killing people so I can't get a warrant. Number two—" "You believe he is innocent?" "Well," Hadley groaned, his natural alertness made it impossible for him not to be suspicious of people. "I didn't say that, but he's more likely than the others. Anyway, we've got to start. Caglistra Street first, then some individual talks, and finally— " At this moment, they heard the doorbell ring, and a sleepy maid hurriedly answered the door. "Sir, there is a gentleman downstairs," said Veda, sticking her head into the study, "indicating that she would like to see you or the Director. His name is Anthony Pettis."