Chapter 10 Suicide Department Honors Questions

It wasn't every day that Ellery came across a policeman who was also a miniature Shakespearean authority. At this moment he shook hands with the visitor of Inspector Quinn from England with great interest.The owner of those strong hands had a square and strong body adequate for his profession; but from the neck up, Inspector Burke of New Scotland Yard had an unexpected face—a broad forehead. , pale skin, and bright, sad eyes full of scholarly temperament. "Inspector Burke, are you here to investigate?" "Yes and no," said the Scotland Yard visitor sullenly, "as Queen Catherine says in Henry VIII, 'Not all hooded monks are good monks'. I'm here to hunt a bad monk, and it is , but the problem is, he's waiting for me too - and what's worse, even if I catch this nasty guy, I still have to let him go."

"Why?" Ellery asked in surprise. "Burke, you came all the way here," Inspector Quinn grinned, "Is it just for some exercise?" "'Bear all that is necessary', gentlemen," said the Englishman, his eyes hardened, "that is a legend indeed. There was a young lady in London—the daughter of a man of high position— Soon to be engaged to a man of world renown. As far as the importance of these two protagonists is concerned - let's say, the marriage could not have been consummated without the consent of Whitehall, that's all I can say. "About a year ago this pretty girl, but too obstinate and romantic," continued the British police officer, "wrote seven extremely indiscreet letters to a man. At that time, she was fascinated by him.

"If these letters got into the hands of the girl's fiancé or were exposed publicly, he would be forced to call off the engagement because of his status. The result would be a scandal and a diplomatic situation in an extremely sensitive political area." It's getting really bad. 'The flood comes from the trickle', you know! "When the girl's ... family learned of the existence of these letters, they immediately took measures to recover them. However, there were still difficulties. The man who received the letters had lost them. They had just been stolen."

"Hmm," Ellery's father said. "No, no, Quinn, he shouldn't be suspected. Besides, we know who the thief is. Or at least," said Inspector Burke darkly, "we know he's one of three gentlemen." "An acquaintance of ours?" Ellery asked. "Without a doubt, Mr. Quinn, if you have looked at photographs of the perpetrators lately. They are all Americans. One is the international jewel thief and imposter, William Ackley Jr., under the pseudonym Lord Rogers, and another was Count Cracy; another was a liar, J. Philip Benson, aliased as John Hammerschmidt, and another nicknamed 'Phil the Forger'; the third was Walter Chase, Atlantic Crazy."

The Quinns exchanged glances; Ackley, Benson, and Chase were all part of the Central Avenue headache. "It was an emergency when the case went to Scotland Yard, and I was ordered to pay, and I screwed up." Inspector Burke's sentimental face flushed. Get out, all sorts of guilty fools trying to hide before we close the net. Benson, Chase, and Ackley are among them - all three of them fled to the United States. One of them - we can't know for sure Which one - contacted us, issued demands and instructions, and I'm here to negotiate with him." Inspector Quinn became interested. "When and where, Burke?"

"Tonight, in my hotel room. I've got to hand him twenty thousand dollars worth of dollars - in exchange for those letters, of course. Tonight I'll know which one he is, and that's heaven for me. Great news." The Englishman stood up, pursing his mouth into a line, "This is my sad story, Quinn. I must ask you not to approach any of the three--this is the main reason I came here. Reason. We cannot afford another defeat. These letters must be recovered and taken to England for destruction." "Can't we help you?" "No, no, unless I screw up again—and if so," said Inspector Burke with a wry smile, "you can offer me a position as an office sweeper. I'm afraid I won't come back happy... ...Well, gentlemen, wish me luck."

"Good luck." Quinn and his son said in unison solemnly. They remembered how bitter the smile on Burke's face had turned the next time they saw him.It was in his shop room the next morning that a female cleaner found him.He sat loosely in an armchair by the neat bed, with a gunpowder-marked right temple marked by a bullet hole.He had died the night before.No one heard gunshots; the hotel is extremely modern and the walls are soundproof.The gun was on the rug to his right, having been tested in the lab with the bullet the coroner had taken from his head. The view from the room is peaceful and picturesque.On the luggage rack was a traveling bag, undisturbed.

On the bedside table were Burke's pipes and pouches, and a copy of Shakespeare's plays that Burke had signed on the title page, the pages all rolled up.A briefcase, LB initials, was spread out on the bed, empty. "Poor Burke," murmured Inspector Quinn, handing Ellery a note from the hotel, "found it on the desk. There were a few of his fingerprints on it, and that was his handwriting too—we checked gone." The handwriting is smooth and not rushed, it seems that the mind that wrote these words has already made a decision: "Shakespeare wrote his epitaph," whispered Ellery. "What's the matter, Papa?"

"Apparently the man he got came last night with the letters as promised, but while Burke was examining them—perhaps he looked away a little—the bastard hit him; the doctor said Burke's back of the head A slight bruise. And then this double-faced bastard just slipped away with the money and the letter. I guess he thought he'd be able to swindle some more with these warm letters from famous houses, and at the same time got over $50,000. He made it through. Poor old Burke, when he regained consciousness of what had happened to him—and what it meant—was unable to face the disgrace, and he killed himself.”

"Undoubtedly a suicide?" "You tell me. The bullet came out next to Burke's temple, which is the angle from which the right-handed bullet entered. The bullet that came out of the body came from Burke's own gun, which had his Fingerprints. Suicide note, verified, also in Burke's handwriting. Letter not here; This step... is it Akeley, Chase or Benson?" Benson, a small, gray-haired, well-dressed man with a Florida tan, was found having his nails done in a Park Street barbershop. The crook looks like a Wall Street stockbroker or company director.He seemed impatient.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Inspector," retorted Benson. "I was able to justify my actions all day yesterday and well after midnight. I was in Westchester yesterday with two partners watching We had dinner and spent the night discussing business at one of the guy's hometown in White Plains; the other guy drove me back to my apartment in the city and dropped me off at 1:00 AM .their names? Of course I'll tell you!" Benson's partners were two not-so-famous crooks.However, they complete Benson's story without holes.That was all Inspector Quinn was concerned with now. Chase was found in a downtown hotel, near the end of an all-night poker game. He was a big man with a soft accent, like a ranch hand.His languid drag and slow movement subtly divert attention away from the lightning-smooth small movements of his slender, white hands.He's not bullying novices, Chase's buddies are professional gamblers. "Relax, relax." The veteran smiled. "Playing with novices is very tiring. Inspector, you said last night? Coincidentally, I was here last night. Since the game started at four o'clock yesterday afternoon, I haven't been out of the room. Have I, boys?" The four heads shook together for emphasis. It seemed certain, then, that it must be Ackley, who was having breakfast with the owner of a third-floor apartment on the Garden Avenue when they found him.The owner, a bejeweled upper-class widow, hated being disturbed.Ackley was a tall, lanky, handsome man with curly dark hair and piercing black eyes. "Ackley?" the lady repeated angrily. "This gentleman is Lord Rogers, the great hunter. His lordship has been telling me since yesterday afternoon's cocktail hour about his fascinating adventures in Kenya and Tanzania..." "Has there been no interruption, ma'am?" Inspector Quinn asked politely. "I, uh - let him stay overnight." The lady said blushing, "We - he goes to bed at two o'clock. Can you please leave!" "Please go first, my lord," said the inspector.The jewel thief shrugged and walked out the door. Ellery followed in a heavy silence. He did not break this silence for a long time.Because the three alibi are still unshakable, and Ackley, Chase, and Benson must be released due to lack of evidence. "There must be a false alibi!" cried the Inspector, "but which one?" Neither the letter nor the money turned up. Inspector Quinn was furious, but the case had to be dismissed.Ellery was equally furious, but for a different reason.He felt in his bones that something was wrong with the circumstances of Burke's death, but he couldn't find it.And Inspector Burke's body and belongings are no longer the end, it re-emerged in the weirdest way.A few weeks later, Inspector Quinn came home one night bemoaning the degradation of a new generation of police. "They're all back to childhood," Inspector Quinn sniffed at the dinner table, "playing games at Police Headquarters to pass the time." "Game?" Ellery asked. "Crime riddles. Set them up and let someone else solve them. They even let the Chief Inspector do it! Though thinking about it," the Inspector laughed, "the one he threw at me today was a bit clever. Typical detective storyline: A rich man with three nefarious heirs in desperate need of money. He dies, and one of the three did it, each of whom has an alibi when the murder occurred. The first One said he was in an art gallery looking at some eighteenth-century American paintings. A second said he was calling the dealer to place a bet on the number Aqueduct 4-23200. A third said he was in a bar in Flatbush with a man called Socrates Papadapoulos chatting with French sailors on his way to Indochina. Question: Which alibi must be false? Do you know, son?" "Of course." Ellery grinned.But the smile faded quickly, and his fork slammed down on the plate. "The Burke case." He almost choked. His father stared at him. "The Burke case? What happened to the Burke case?" "I know we're being played, Dad, but I never figured it out until you threw me that question!" "What's going on?" the inspector asked suspiciously. "Burke didn't kill himself—he was murdered. Take your crime puzzle," Ellery said quickly, "the alibi for the Museum of Fine Arts and the Fleetbush pub could be true or Might be fake, only an investigation can tell. But the one calling the horseshoes doesn't need to investigate - it's definitely fake. Nobody can call Aqueduct for a division that starts with AQ because all the phones in the US are missing one Letters of the alphabet - it doesn't have the letter Q. "That also tells me what we missed in the Burke case." "Papa," cried Ellery, "Lester Burke's suicide note is a forgery. It's a fake, Burke didn't write it. And since he didn't write it, he didn't kill himself—he was killed. The devil did surprise Burke, then carefully placed the unconscious man in an armchair and shot him dead with his own gun. He stamped Burke's fingerprints on the gun and the note on his desk, leaving a fake suicide note on his desk—a Shakespeare quote much like Burke did. He then slipped away with the money and the letter, back to his accomplice who forged his alibi . "But the truth is, the note is a fake. That identifies the murderer. Ackley is a jewel thief posing as a high-society man. Chase is a phony. Benson is a liar—but he has Something else. One of his titles is Phil the Forger - a title only a professional counterfeiter can get!" "Yes, but wait, wait." Inspector Quinn protested, "How do you know that suicide message is fake?" "Benson made a mistake. Do you remember how he spelled honor?—he spelled it twice in this quote." "Honor." the Inspector frowned. "Honor. Is there a problem, Ellery?" "Father, Burke is an Englishman. If he had written the note, he would have spelled it the way all Englishmen spell it... honour! One letter u is missing!"