Chapter 7 Chapter 4 King Zha's Staircase
"Good morning, come here!..." The shouting continued, and it was getting closer.
They came out of the front door just in time to see a tall figure strolling leisurely along the evergreen-lined avenue about ninety feet away.
It was Jarvis Willa.He was scraping the remaining snow off the undergrowth with his cane.It would be a bright morning, but the sun was obscured by motionless clouds, and all they could see was a dark figure, with a pipe sticking out from the lower brim of a playful black hat.
Seeing the two people appear, he stopped and took the pipe from his mouth.
"Don't come! . . . " shouted John Bohun to Jarvis Wella.He fumbled for a key from the inside of the door and locked it from the outside.James Bennett found that he had regained his former composure.He put on his grim mask and walked up the path to meet Jarvis Wella, even with a certain malice in his face.
"You can't go in, old fellow," continued John Bohun to him. "I bet no one can get in until the police come."
Jarvis Wella stood motionless and, for a moment, seemed to hold his breath.The winter sun revealed the lines on his face: the ravines would have been more obvious had it not been for the hat, covering the protruding forehead and graying hair.The slack lips were half open, but slowly closed again.His eyes were suddenly cast with a tawny shadow, and fixed unblinkingly on John Bohun's face with much curiosity.
"Yes, Martha's dead! . . . " said John Bohun, as if punching an immobile opponent, and heaving his shoulders, "like Babylon, like Charles, she's utterly dead. Her head was broken. Do you hear that? . . . Someone murdered her, so no one can get in there until the police arrive."
"That's right!..." Jarvis Willa said after a brief silence.He stared at the ground for a moment, as if he were helplessly fixed there, and then his arm moved as if in excruciating pain.
He fumbled his pipe back into his mouth, and then said suddenly and rapidly, "I just met your groom or something, and said what happened, and you wouldn't let him out. He said you were going to ride..."
He raised his head, looking pale.
"I hope she doesn't die in pain, John. She's terrified of that. Are we going back to the main house?" Jarvis Willa was beating his chest and crying, his face full of doubts, "this It's all my fault, and since the poisoning happened, I shouldn't have allowed her to sleep there. I didn't expect her to be in danger, but neither should I..."
"You! . . . " said John Bohun softly, "who are you to allow her? . . . " He stepped forward, his voice sharpening. "Do you know what we're going to do? We're going to play detective , find the murderer. Then..."
"Listen, John." As they were about to turn to leave, Willa almost tripped over the bushes on the side of the road and grabbed Bohun's arm. "I need to know something. How was the scene? I mean Yes, how did it look? How she died—I don't know how to put it..."
"I think I understand. She's entertaining someone."
They move on.
"The most obvious question," went on Willard, "I can't ask, not even as a friend, but I'm afraid the police will. Do you understand me, John? . . . "
"Scandal?..." the other party asked.
To James Bennett's surprise, John Bohun was unflappable.He seemed to be weighing something in his brain, but he became more and more confused.A look of sarcasm almost appeared on his thin face, but it disappeared for a moment.
"Perhaps. If she died in the nunnery, there might be a scandal, probably." John Bohun nodded helplessly. "It's strange to say, Willa, but I don't care at all. Trivia. She doesn't care about her reputation, and neither do I."
Jarvis Willa nodded and spoke as if talking to himself.
"Well," he said, "I think I know why. You know she likes you—you're convinced she likes you even if you don't know anything else in the world."
He straightened up as if noticing James Bennett for the first time as he glanced back at Bohun.Due to the presence of the stranger, he immediately closed his mouth.
"Sorry, John. Please..." Jarvis Willa nodded and apologized helplessly.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Bennett. None of us were at our best this morning."
They walked in silence until they reached the main house, where John Bohun led them up the stairs at the side door, facing the express lane where Bennett's car was parked.At the top of the stairs, they saw a person peeking out of the door. When they saw them, they quickly retracted their heads.
That fellow was Thompson, who was no longer a sanctimonious example among the servants, but a shrewd ghost.He is short in stature, not a single blade of grass grows on his head, and his face is full of horizontal and vertical grooves, as if because he knows too many secrets in this family, his eyes are filled with forbearance.His bloodshot eyes and swollen jaw seemed to put him on a respectable mask.
"The library," said John Bohun, pausing to confer with him.Willa took the lead.Bennett felt himself trapped in a dark maze of narrow passages, with the smell of old wood in his nose and a carpet of coconuts under his feet.There are steps in unexpected places on the road, and lattice windows on the sloped walls.
He forgot that he had been chilled until Jarvis Willa brought him into a large room.One wall of the room is a Tudor-style window, and the other three sides are full of books.The room is very simple, with stone floors, iron bookshelves standing around the wall, several electric lamps hanging from the decorative lamp holders, and brocade upholstered furniture in front of the stove.Books were also crowded over the fireplace, and the burning logs in the stove made a low growl.
James Bennett felt dazzled and shivered from the cold before remembering that he was exhausted.He slumped in an upholstered chair and gazed at the bowed roof reddened by flames.The warmth seeped into his skin, and he wanted to close his eyes.He turned his head slightly, and saw the still dark clouds outside the window, and the snow on the brown slope with wheel tracks.The whole house was eerily quiet.
"Did you see her?" asked Jarvis Wella.
James Bennett woke up instantly: "I saw it!..."
Jarvis Wella stood with his back to the flames, his hands folded behind him.The flame cast a gray light onto his hair.
"What a coincidence, I have to say that." His speech speed suddenly accelerated, "I want to ask, why are you here just now?"
"It was an accident. I was just driving back from town when I heard Bohun yelling something and a dog barking..."
"I see," Jarvis Willard nodded, rubbing his eyes.The deep voice grew faster, softer, and suggestive. "You're cooler than John Bohun, I think. Have you noticed any clues? Any clues that might help us?"
"Not much. She's..."
James Bennett gives a rough description of the scene.Jarvis Willa leaned his arms on the mantelpiece and stared at the fire.Looking at his originally elegant, but now slightly weak profile.What a plainclothes icon, James Bennett thought, an antebellum great man, still up to date; Humorous, a family friend.If John Bohun had had a niece (and, remember, he mentioned, he had a niece), she might have called Willa uncle.
"It's possible," he continued absently, "that she was drinking with someone and there was a small fight..."
"It's unwise to draw that kind of inference." Jarvis Willa said, smiling and looking away. "Actually, I drank a cup for her health." He said Straightening up, he began to walk up and down quickly, "Speaking of which, the situation is bad... Are you sure those lit matches are the clues?"
James Bennett fell silent.The door on the opposite side of the room slammed shut, as if sunk in.John Bohun went to the fireplace and spread his hands over the fire.The riding whip was tied in a circle around his wrist, with one end hanging down.With a flick of his hand, he loosened the woolen scarf knotted at his throat and undid his tweed jacket.
"Thompson," he said to the flames, "the coffee'll be here in a while. Dude James, your bag's been taken upstairs and the car's been pulled into the garage. You can go take a hot shower and change your white collar Knot." He turned his head away again, "By the way, what happened to the burnt match?"
"I wish," said Jarvis Willard calmly, "that we could plant it on a brigand."
"What? . . . " asked John Bohun.He seemed a little hesitant.
"Look... when Martha was killed, did you notice the lit matches scattered all over the place?"
John Bohun said angrily: "I don't care about burnt matches. No, I didn't turn on the light. Anyway, what's wrong with you? . . . Speak up! . . . "
Jarvis Willard went and sat down on the other side of the fireplace.
"They seem to be colored matches, and since Maurice became obsessed with them, I think they've been in every bedroom in this house..." Jarvis Willard sighed, shaking his head slightly, "wait Just a moment!..." He raised his hand to stop the other party's words. "The police will ask these questions, John, and a normal person of sound mind has to think about it. There are no such matches in the waterside pavilion. Unfortunately, I can swear Said: That's the truth. I should be the last person, besides the murderer, to see Martha alive. They didn't leave a match there when they lit the stove for her last night..."
"That reminds me! . . . " said John Bohun. "Maid! Her maid. Carlotta. Where has Carlotta been all this time?"
Jarvis Wella looked at him sharply: "Strange, John, I thought you knew that already. She left Carlotta in London as a vacation or something, never mind. There are no colored matches in the waterside, Nothing of any kind. I just gave her a regular box of matches when I left.
"Let's face the facts. Ordinary robbers don't throw colored matches all over the floor. Let me give you a hint, it doesn't have to be very explicit. There are also many strange things happening in this house itself. A certain person last night About an hour something startled Carney Fest's daughter so much that it nearly drove her mad. I heard her scream and found her lying on the floor in the hallway in front of the bathroom. She spoke All I could hear was something or someone walking up and down the aisle grabbing her by the wrist. She slept with Catherine the rest of the night."
James Bennett heard the flames crackling.John Bohun was opening a silver cigarette case, shut it again with a snap, and turned his head.
"Louise? . . . " he said. "Is Louise Carraway here?"
"Why not? . . . She's Catherine's friend, and she's gone to America for a few months, and there's no way to see her. Why are you so surprised? God bless you, don't be so nervous, boy! . . . " he added irritably. , "You didn't go to be an actor. It's really good. You will make the audience feel uncomfortable in five minutes."
"Oh, I don't know yet," said the other party.He protected the match head with his long hand and sent it to the cigarette. The flame in his eyes reflected an arrogant, fanatical, and mysterious smile, "I don't know. Maybe if I become an actor, I will be better than you imagined." better." He said with a wry smile, "No, I'm not surprised. It's just that when I was chatting with Carneyfest in his office earlier last night, he didn't mention it at all. Okay. Well, maybe she's just disturbed, a family ghost. Any other visitors?"
"Yes, it's your good friend Reg."
James Bennett sat up suddenly.
"Calm down now," continued Jarvis Wella, as John Bohun took his cigarette out of his mouth, "relax, listen to me. You can't do anything. He's very popular here with Morris Doting. I don't want to mention such things, but if you propose to break his neck, let me say a word of caution: You are the brother. Maurice is careless and absent-minded, but if you oppose him, he will It's a bloodbath... Don't underestimate Emery either. Their business is next to Morris, and they did."
"So, what is this pig planning?"
A smile deepened in Jarvis Willa's eyes, as if finally freed from bewilderment and astonishment.He drew a pipe from his pocket.
"That's easy enough to think of. Carl Wraig is a shrewd, witty, courteous -- that's what, don't interrupt -- man. He was there yesterday afternoon before we got here. We went in. At that moment, Morris, the busy man, patted Reg on the shoulder like a father..."
"That is to say, Morris did not go to London?"
"No. Carl Wraig has already sent him such an interesting and suggestive telegram. He seems to have an idea, under pressure from some pundit, to use Morris in every film." The scholarly research results, and his technical advice. It's a joke, Morris is just an ordinary person."
"I'm beginning to understand. There's a dancer, there's a theme song, it's called 'The King's Reception,'" John Bohun said loudly. "Let me tell you, Willa, has my brother lost his mind?"
"You're wrong. Listen, John, you've got to admit he's got a good idea. Orientation on 'La Borgia' and 'Queen Catherine' is brilliant. He knows a lot about history, so he can easily Fiction."
John Bohun took a step forward.He said, "Thank you for your heartfelt compliments. Perhaps you would admire him more if I told you what he is doing now with his ingenuity."
James Bennett felt that this man was saying something he shouldn't admit, he would regret it, and he knew it himself, but he couldn't stop.
"Shall I tell you how he got in our way? . . . We wouldn't have had a show if Martha Tate had lived . . . Carneyfest refused to sponsor us."
Jarvis Wella's hand convulsed.He picked up his pipe again and half rose from his chair.
"But, Carneyfest said..."
"He told me last night that he wouldn't sponsor a penny. I visited him at the Globe office and he was as imposing as a statue of himself in the corner. After much deliberation... ahem! . . . "John Boheng said loudly, "Because of policy reasons and personal judgment, he thinks that it is not good for the film and television industry to borrow the name of Carney Fest. The weight of the name! ... Therefore, he is not going to show up, fuck him The... I said, Willa, are you shocked? Don't the managers still love your performance as much as they used to - or did they like Martha? So, if you don't accept, this challenge ..."
He stopped.
"I never claimed to be a great actor, John," said Jarvis Wella quietly, "and I didn't think I was."
For a while no one spoke.John Bohun rubbed his eyes and responded calmly, "Excuse me, old sir. God help me, if I hadn't said... I think you all know by now that I'm just a wayward donkey, often scared Talk, and when I do, I'm just screwing things up. I didn't mean to, it's just shocking that these things happened at the same time... Now it doesn't matter. Reg must have talked to Carneyfest, that's All. I don't think Reg knows yet. If Martha wasn't such a fool..."
He shut up again, this time for a different reason.Both parties were in favor of ignoring the comments made to Willa just now, but Jarvis Willa did not intend to let him go on this sentence.
"Tell me," repeated Jarvis Willard, "what do you mean by that?"
"No... nothing," John Bohun denied hastily.
"Nor, say, to imply that our well-known publisher is considering turning Martha into Ms. Carneyfest?"
John Bohun sneered. "That's ridiculous. You must know that yourself. You think she's going after him? . . . How did you come up with the idea?"
Jarvis Willa looked at him, and bowed slightly ironically: "I think this is a punishment for my old age and blood exhaustion. I have no special interest in playing a Catholic priest. It's just that young ladies always think I should have. Oh, and it's no particular secret either. Carneyfest's daughter told your good niece Catherine, and Catherine told me -- with permission, I believe -- — This girl seems to be full of worries, so I have to keep silent." Jarvis Willa sneered, "I swear, if Carney Fest marries Martha, this fat man will immediately put himself in the flames Literally." He stopped abruptly. "She's dead. She's dead—and I forgot. I can't get used to it, John," he said savagely. In fantasy, she will walk in through that door at any time."
The loneliness in the room grew.John Bohun walked up to a bottle of brandy on the table against the wall, stopped, shoulders tensed, and looked back again.
"Let's hear," he said, "everything that happened last night."
Jarvis Wella thought for a moment, then said vaguely: "It's hard to tell the truth. Martha is acting, relying only on her own strength, the damn power, the hypnosis you can't resist-whatever it is called What. But, I've never seen her in private, she plays so much. She says she's coordinating herself, and all that gibberish..."
"Do you think she's talking nonsense?"
Jarvis Willa looked at his expression and continued to speak: "Yes, I know how you two think about this place and the impact it has on her. Maybe she believes so, but there are others who gave A cathartic opportunity for her. I think, now, I understand what Reg is capable of: he's a beast tamer. If he's directing the show, it really puts all the forces in the right direction superior."
He looked up a little, and continued to fill the pipe.
"Go on."
"At dinner, I readily admit that she is full of talent. Influenced by your large dining room--the polished oak furniture, the light candles, the big window with the moon in the back... and the other. On the one hand, she was dressed in silver gowns, her hair carefully combed, and she looked like the Dame Cleveland in the picture above the fireplace. Even her posture is suggestive. Reg's face is blank, Maurice, however, was almost on the ground. He wore the thickest spectacles as a mark of respect. As for Catherine and Carneyfest's daughters, I don't think they would be infected. I even think little Louise hates her. And As for Catherine, she picked up a sharp paintbrush when she heard Martha talking nonsense and talking nonsense..."
"Little Kate..." murmured John Bohun, "God, I never thought of it! . . . Goodness, I can't seem to think of anything. Yue hasn't been here before, didn't even think about it, and wants to see little Kate..."
Jarvis Willa exhaled from his nose.
"Little Kate," he said, "damn it. Listen, John, do you know her? . . . Have you ever thought about anything but your own dreams? . . . She's twenty-one and takes care of you The house; she is a beauty, and has not been there till now, farther than London. Between you and Maurice, the whole house exists in dreams and shadows. Of course you don't visit her, you Never saw her."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Johann Bohens politely.
Jarvis Willa seemed to be arguing with himself in his mind.
"It's like this. You don't even understand what kind of person Martha is, why anyone wants to kill her. You may not feel the devil's breath in this house. No matter where she goes, the devil's breath always follows her If you don't love her, she'll gladly make you—or anyone else—hate her."
Jarvis Willa slapped the arm of the chair with a wave, and his strange tawny eyes flickered for a moment.
"Oh, yes, I know. She'll touch and poke and whip things to make things happen, totally fueling the fire. As for us, we poor old brutes, crawling through paper hoops to the higher ground, but Whenever the rules were violated, she would often fire blank bombs at us. I said often..."
Jarvis Willa waved his arms angrily, lowered his head and muttered to himself, blushing and thick neck.
"Now I'm going to tell you what happened after dinner, and why I wasn't surprised when I saw the murder.
"Martha insisted on visiting the cottage under the moonlight, with only Maurice by his side, holding a candle and telling the romance of White Abbey. Martha was, of course, happy. The rest of us followed." Reg said very humorous, and devoted to the honorable Miss Louise Carraway; Catherine and I." Jarvis Wella at last began to narrate, "and next, Martha chatted with all of us. Oh, what a boldness. From time to time she would take a candle from Morris, and shine into her own eyes and smile, and make Morris fascinated; she even winked at the dull Reg, who just Picked up a shawl for her that was falling on the floor; as for the girls, she treated them with a motherly sarcasm. I think I'm hypochondriac, depressed..." Jarvis Willa His voice trailed off, and he sighed, continuing, "I don't know why." She joked, "I'm playing Charles II, and I must look pretty pathetic. Look, this is the first time I've suddenly started to realize, How to play this role. In those dark rooms, you have this strange feeling that people have just walked out of the room. And I found it, I found the feeling of playing this role, as if I had never played Peter The role of Ebsen. I even began to imagine, a great success in front of the audience...
"Then, we came to Charles II's room." Jarvis Willa seemed to be thinking about the audience.He turned his head to look at James Bennett, and said, "I am afraid that what you just said is very inexplicable to you. Charles II's room is now occupied by our friend Bohun, and it still maintains the original style." It featured a staircase built into the wall, between the inner and outer walls, with a door below the staircase leading to what is now a side door corridor with a modern style - the corridor we entered the house The door—not just a secret door, of course—is at the back of the corridor. It was built so that Charles could come and go between here and the waterside pavilion from the lawn, without having to go through the main entrance to be seen."
"Oh, of course," said John Bohun impatiently, "and then?"
"Morris..." continued Jarvis Wella, "showed us the secret staircase. Of course I've seen it before. But Martha Tate was holding me while everyone was huddled there. , went to the stone landing at the bottom of the stairs. It was well ventilated, lit only by the candle in Martha's hand. The building was steep and narrow, with many steps. I remember feeling as dangerous as a cliff. Then...
"I don't know, and nobody knows, if there was too much ventilation and it blew out the candle, or if someone shoved Martha Tate's arm, or something else happened. The candle went out ...I heard someone giggling in the dark. Not a sneer, but a smirk, which was worse. Then I felt someone bump into me. I grabbed Martha just as she was about to fall headfirst down the stairs. "
"She," said John Bohun hoarsely, "she...?"
"Pushed? ... Yeah, pushed down."
Jarvis Wella stood up.He lit his pipe, took a deep breath of smoke, and lit the pipe rod on the table.
"And, she knew it. But when the candle was lit again, she turned her head with a relaxed, elegant, radiant smile and said--oh, I can't imitate that, but I remember her Every word uttered—'Dangerous! . . . I almost killed myself.' She will, John. She enjoys it, enjoys the violence, and that makes her charming, which turns her Killed."
John Bohun began to pace restlessly up and down on the hearthrug.The cigarette had burned to his lips, and when shaking off the cigarette butt, he accidentally burned his hand.He said, "You don't know who did it?"
"I don't know." Jarvis Willa shook his head and said, "After that, we stopped playing, and it was about a quarter past eleven."
"What next?"
Jarvis Willa hesitated for a moment, and continued: "Then, she became depressed... Oh, it's not that she was nervous and uneasy about what happened just now, but she was restless and in a trance, as if she was expecting What are you looking at." With a veil of curiosity hanging over his eyes, he added softly, "Maybe it's you?"
"Possibly. At the time I didn't think much of... coming back. Do you understand," John Bohun asked, "what I've heard from Carneyfest, really? . . . He ruined us All planned. If you want to hear the facts, I'm telling you I was drinking. Driving down the street, in God's name, I don't know what to say when I get home." He clapped his hands." Hmm?... What happened next?"
"I should have given it some thought," mused Jarvis Wella. "Her attitude...forget it. At midnight, she insisted on going to bed, which was a little early for her." .I didn't want her to go there—she let one of the main house maids sleep there as her servant—but she wouldn't. We went with her. The sky was cloudy then, and it started snowing, There was also a strong wind. When we got back to the main house..." He spit out a word suddenly, "After she was settled, Maurice took Reiga to the library to discuss the movie. He had completely forgotten about the script. When I said I was going back to my room, Reg said 'good night' to me in a strange, almost malicious tone." He knocked some ash off his pipe, "Actually, I walked back to the waterside .”
"Oh?!..." John Bohun nodded.
"I was there for ten minutes," said Jarvis Wella quietly. "That's all she let me be. When I knocked, she looked surprised, startled and angry, As if waiting for someone else. While we were chatting in the bedroom, she went out and looked out the front window of the living room twice. Then she became increasingly nervous and distraught. We drank A glass of wine, and a cigarette. But the more calmly and sincerely I said, the more amusing she was that someone twice planned to murder her. She said, 'You don't know what chocolate is; as for the other One thing, I'm not afraid at all...'"
"Who did that?" asked John Bohun.
"Don't know. She just straightened her hands and hung them over her head—you know that little movement of hers—and she seemed to be breathing in life, sucking contentedly. At that moment, she was not acting. Ten minutes later, she walked with me To the outer door, she was still in her silver robe, and the snow was piling up outside. That was the last time I saw her."
That snow... James Bennett was leaning against the fireplace, his mind was in a mess, but he was still tangled up in the question about the snow.
"Do you remember," said James Bennett suddenly, "very well: what time did the snow begin, Mr. Willard?"
"What's the matter... I remember, I remember, if it's that important. When we took Martha to the water pavilion, it started to snow. It was about ten past twelve."
"But I guess, you don't know what time does the snow stop?"
The old actor turned his head.Seeing the grave expression on James Bennett's face, he seemed eager to answer, and then glanced thoughtfully at John Bohun.
"I happen to know. For some reason I couldn't sleep all night. The first reason was that the dog kept barking. I got up several times and went to the window, although... although my room was not at the back of the villa, look Not at the water pavilion. But I noticed how the snow was falling, and it fell for a long time. The heavy snow lasted for about two hours, from about twelve o'clock to two o'clock. I checked my watch several times last night..." He He paused, "What's wrong?..."
There was a knock on the door, which reverberated in the room.The wind rumbled over the heights in the chimneys.
Out of the corner of James Bennett's eye, Thompson walked in.
"Sorry, sir," Thompson said, "Dr. Wynn and the sheriff you called have arrived just now. And," he described suspiciously, "there is someone following them..."
So Martha Tate should have been killed before two o'clock, perhaps some time before two o'clock, for all traces of the murderer's prosperity had been obliterated.James Bennett was amazed, why was he still bothered by it?He was almost distracted again.
At this time, I heard Thompson continue to speak: "Another sheriff-another gentleman asked me to give his business card to Mr. James Bennett. Are you Mr. Bennett? Thank you."
James Bennett took a look at the business card, and saw that it said: "I am a friend of Sir Henry Merrillville and would like to meet you in private." The handwriting was rather scribbled.The business card itself bears the following inscription:
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