Chapter 8 Chapter 5: Corridor Phantom

"Tell Doctor Wynn and the Sheriff," John Bohun became alert again, "and I'll take you to the Waterside at once. Want a piece, Willa? . . . " He looked at Bennett, who was still staring at the business card in his hand. "You're such a popular young man, Jimmy," he added oddly, "you came here at the crack of dawn, a quarter past eight—what time is it? . . . I want to ask who is it?" James Bennett was going to tell the truth, though he was a little uncomfortable being in a state of shock.He put the card in John Bohun's hand. "I don't know him," he answered, "and I don't know why he happens to be here at eight o'clock in the morning. My uncle is..."

"I know who he is." John Bohun said calmly, but frowned slightly. "Sorry, I was a bit reckless in telling him about the poisoned chocolate in private. However, given what's going on now, maybe it would be better to..." "God, sure!..." cut Bohun quickly, "now we have to get things done. I gotta say, he came really fast. Well, he said 'privately' - yes, of course Thompson, bring Sheriff Masters here. Mr. Willa and I will take Dr. Wynn to the Waterside. No, we won’t see the Sheriff temporarily, let him deal with his private affairs first. "

James Bennett felt a little more at ease when John Bohun walked out of the room with Jarvis Wella.In the thick emotional atmosphere, you can hardly see a person's courage.All the antagonism and hatred, which were only what remained of Martha Tate, seemed to have evaporated when they emerged from the library.And when he saw Sergeant Masters, dressed in an approachable manner, he felt even more excited. Sergeant Humphrey Masters, a heavyset man with a mild, shrewd face, in his solid black coat and his top hat pushed over his breast, seemed to be watching a procession of flags go by.He has the eyes of a young man, a thick jaw, and gray hair, neatly combed to cover his baldness.With an attracted expression on his face, he strode into the library.

"Ah, Mr. Bennett!..." Masters greeted, and extended his hand to respond to Bennett's smile.His deep voice has a soothing effect on disturbed nerves, "Please forgive me for calling so early. I promised your uncle to take care of you." "Look after me?" "Yeah," Masters said, waving his hand in disapproval, "just saying it, you see. Just a way of saying it, that's all. Actually, he called me last night, but I Not on duty. There's a policeman's wife in the area who happens to be my cousin, and I'm visiting her. Just the two of us in private..." He glanced around briefly, then whispered, "I'm going to Playing Santa Claus at the Christmas party of the Methodist juniors. Huh? I took the liberty of bringing Sergeant Porter over after receiving a message from Mr. Bohun this morning. And, I want to chat with you first. .”

James Bennett was astonished to see Thompson advance a tea-table on wheels, upon which stood a fragrantly steaming coffee-pot, hot milk, and cups.Only then did he feel that his stomach began to growl. "Sit down if you can," he invited. "Have some coffee?" "Ah! . . . " exclaimed Inspector Humphrey Masters gratefully. "Uh... do you smoke?" "Ah! . . . " cried Masters, even more merrily. Sergeant Masters sat down cautiously on the edge of the sofa and took a cup of coffee.James Bennett felt that he had escaped from the gas and enjoyed the pleasure of sanity.

"That's the way it is now," Masters continued in a secretive tone, "I can't talk to you for too long, because I have to go to the waterside. But first I want to establish a connection, in a certain way... ...Huh? Properly. Now, I don't have to hide it from you," he went on in a confidential tone, "this case is going to be a sensation. A sensation! . . . It is useful that Sir Merrillville is connected with people I both trust. I am a skeptic, Mr. Bennett." Even though his head was bobbing happily from side to side, Bennett felt that his shrewd eyes were fixed on him, not missing a single detail.

"You worked with Sir Henry, didn't you?" "Ah! . . . " The sheriff muttered, looking at his glass. "Why, in that way . A hint flashed, "You don't have to bore Sir Henry Merrillville, Mr. Bennett. He complains and complains, convinced that he must keep complaining until he forgets that belief, like a child building a house of cards." , get to work. Before you noticed, he had all the clues of the case ready, and he started complaining again. Hmm? I owe him a lot, that's true, but it's too bad for me to have troubles involving him Let's deal with it. I don't like this kind of thing. It's impossible to happen, but it happened. For example, the case of Davos being killed in the stone house..."

Of course, James Bennett couldn't possibly know what he was thinking, but when he turned his clever eyes around and they met, Bennett noticed that he was still suspicious. "I just hope you don't, throw me another case like this. Damn, you can't! . . . It depends on when a woman dies," Masters said, leaning forward. . "That's it. Now, the information that Officer Porter got on the phone is roughly like this. You just drove over from London." He glanced at Bennett's rumpled collar and bow tie, "And then, You found the body with John Bohun. Huh? . . . "

"Yes, that's right." James Bennett hesitated, then added, "Well, that's about it. He arrived at the Waterside Pavilion two or three minutes earlier than me." "'Almost.' Now, suppose you tell me exactly what happened here. In your own words," Masters suggested, repeating his own words, "what happened here, specify. " Masters lit a cigarette, put on a blank face, and listened to James Bennett's narration, until the end, he seemed troubled. "Now, now! . . . " he urged hastily, "now, come here! . . . Let's go at once to make sure that there are only footprints going in—Mr. John Bohun's—and no footprints coming out?"

"Yes!..." James Bennett nodded solemnly. "Is it the footprints you just stepped on?" "Yes, I swear. I noticed that the covering of the snow, a feathery mantle, had formed a short time before me." Masters looked at what he said: "It's a fresh footprint, and you said that the body was cold at the time. Well, then, the footprint can't have been formed hours before you saw it... "He said, his eyes widened immediately, "Shh, boy!...Shhhhh!...I don't doubt anyone, hahaha. Of course, I don't suspect Mr. Bohun." He smiled almost sincerely, "Did anyone actually see him go in, though, as he said? Huh? Huh?"

"Yes. Actually, the groom or something. I forget his name." "Oh, ah..." Masters nodded, put down his glass, and stood up gracefully, "Now, I want to know about these people in the villa, everything that happened, huh?... Martha Death of Tate! . . . ” he said, “a top chick. For the first time since . Mr. Nett." He seemed genuinely surprised at the good luck, or bad luck, of being so close to Martha Tate, "I came to you because Sir Henry said that you know this group of people, and you and They travel together and find out what kind of people they are... what? Don't you know?" "I do travel with them, but I'm not sure I know them," said James Bennett with extreme caution. Masters said that would be nice too.He shook hands cordially, and said: He's going to see how Officer Porter is doing. After he had left, James Bennett began to think: Masters' allusion to John Bohun, which he found absurd, made him sullen and depressed.Beside the fireplace, he found the rope for calling the bell, so he called the puzzled housekeeper and said he wanted to go to his room. After several winding corridors and a grand ornate short staircase, James Bennett came to the second floor of the villa, a room facing the wide corridor, which was spacious but cold, and he sat on the bed unconsciously.The whole place had a gloom like early morning.To make matters worse, as they made their way down the dark hallway, he swore he heard someone sobbing in one of the rooms. Thompson obviously heard it too, but pretended not to hear it, and only said that he would have breakfast in half an hour. His swollen jaw (Bohun said it was a toothache?) was causing him unbearable pain, and the news of the murder shattered the last sliver of his composure.When he heard that sob, he started talking loudly, as if to cover it up.He also poked his finger at a door at the end of the corridor, repeating hysterically, "King Charles' room, sir. King Charles' room, now Mr. John's!" The corridor ran through the entire villa, and Charles' room, actually Go up across from the room Bennett saw. Sitting now on the bed, with a crumbling canopy overhead, James Bennett frowned at the jug of hot water in a washbasin nearby.Hot water in cans, candles for asthmatics, windows wide open . . . fuck you all.Luxury American, eh? ... Well, why not?At least his parcel was deftly unwrapped.He found his razor, and on the sink, he found a small mirror, hanging at an angle visible from his head, and the terrifying reflection of Coney Island, from the slightly shaking mirror, gave him frequent glances.It's worse than waking up with a hangover. Where's the old-fashioned humor? ...Hunger, sleep deprivation, panic, plus walking through the hallway, the room where someone tried to push Martha Tate down the stairs... Then, he heard it, heard the cry, or whatever it was, trembling all the way down the corridor outside.The razor fell from his hand, and for a moment he felt nothing but inexplicable terror. There was chaotic noise, and after a while it returned to silence. James Bennett felt that he had to do something, to vent his anger or his fear, or both.He fumbled for a robe and twisted his body to get inside.When you try to tuck your hands into the cuffs, the clothes will suddenly huddle together like a closed umbrella, and when you step on the end of the belt, your hands can be pulled out. He managed to pull the clothes over his shoulders, and opened the door to peer into the hallway. There was nothing in the corridor, at least no visible fear or danger.He was at the end of the corridor, and there was a latticed window looking out over the roof of the courtyard drive.In the smoky light he saw the faded red carpet that stretched to the landing fifty feet away, the line of doors set into the oak walls, the gilt door frames and the claw chairs. James Bennett looked directly at the opposite door.Unless it is connected with mysterious events at the villa, it is unreasonable wild speculation to suppose that the noise came from King Charles' rooms. This is John Ashley Bohun's room, but he won't be in it.James Bennett went and knocked at the door, which creaked open. From the gap in the curtains hanging on the sloping wall, a gleam of light penetrated, and with this dim light, he found that the room was huge.He saw gleaming silver vases, tall canopied hearses, and the reflection of his own face in the mirror.The bed is artificial.John Bohun's clothes were littered on the chair, and the desk drawers were open as if drunk. Instinctively James Bennett began looking around for the hidden door leading to the stairs. This room occupies a corner of the house overlooking the driveway and lawn to the rear.The stairs would then be in the wall to his left, probably between two windows.right there... He heard the noise again, behind him, somewhere in the corridor, behind some door that kept the secrets of White Abbey closed.He took a few steps in the direction of the corridor, and a door opened quietly, almost hitting him in the face.A girl came out just as quietly, but breathing hard, her hands pressed to her throat. She didn't see him.Before she closed the door, from the room behind her came a strange murmur, like that of a sick man.She leaned her head forward, walked forward against the wall, and straightened herself up. They met in the dark.She took her hand away and he saw the bruise on her throat.Then he saw Martha Tate's face.

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