Chapter 9 Chapter 6 Stepping on the Snow Without a Trace
James Bennett stood aside a little, looking down at the woman, letting the dim light cast all over her face.
It was strange that during the initial shock that had left his mind blank, he did not think of ghosts, or hallucinate that he would see Martha Tate's face all the time.When the dizziness subsided, he could only hope that this murderous farce was nothing more than a horrible joke, a deceitful, premeditated nightmare, and then wanted to laugh out loud.
Then he found out it wasn't Martha Tate, which hit him even harder.In the next second, in the shadow of the lattice window, he almost suspected that there was no similarity between the two.This girl was even more petite and dainty, with raven-black hair loosely tied behind her ears, wearing an off-white jumper and a black skirt.In an instant the outline of the other's cheek, the mischievous gesture, the thick lids of the dark eyes, came before James Bennett's eyes.
However, he forgot that she was already injured.He heard her voice, not Martha Tate.
"John..." She just started, and swallowed her voice again.She looked up eagerly and said, "John? Didn't you go to... No, my God, what am I talking about? . . . about Miss Louise Carraway. She's all right, that's right. She's terribly affected Shock, I calmed her down. She doesn't know me, she's been hysterical since last night, trying to..." The words tugged at her wound, and she put her hand to her throat again, suppressing the nausea, and Try to force a smile, "but I hope, you call Dr. Wynn, and..."
She stopped: "My God, you are not my uncle! Who are you?"
"Calm down," said James Bennett gently, with a pang of guilt in his heart, "it's nothing. Literally, nothing. I'm your uncle's friend named Bennett. Look, you're hurt." ,let me……"
"No, I'm all right, Miss Louise is... oh, James Bennett! . . What are you going to do?" She quickly moved to the door, "I declare, you can't go in! You really can't, she's not wearing pajamas."
"Uh, what is this?" James Bennett was taken aback, and stopped suddenly, "Someone went crazy and strangled someone else's neck...was she doing it?"
It's unimaginable!He remembered the freckled, lazy and shabby girl with a mechanical smile, who just stood far behind His Royal Highness Carney Fest, calm and silent, but smart and capable, and capable of handling letters for him proficiently, but her father did not allow her Drink two cocktails.
"Crazy? . . . " repeated Catherine Bohun, though the speech hurt her terribly.She smiled weakly, "Louise Carraway? ... God, she can't help it, she's already hysterical, after what happened last night ... Oh, don't be stupid, I feel it myself very bad……"
"I know you won't do this." The other party said coldly, leaning forward. At this time, she was leaning against the wall, trying to prop up her body.
"What the hell are you trying to do? Let me go! . . . Let me go, do you hear me?"
He pulled the dazed, frightened lady straight to his room, kicked the door open, and she asked him if he was crazy.Then, he made her sit by the sloping wall, on the cushion of a chair next to the window. First, it was more comfortable, and second, he wanted to take advantage of the light to take a good look at her face.
He rummaged through the cabinets for a bottle of brandy before taking a closer look at Catherine Bohun.James Bennett thinks: In England, it is a wise choice to bring a bottle of wine with you, otherwise, what would you drink after the hotel closed early and mercilessly.When he came back, she was leaning against the corner by the window, less haggard, with an expression of anger or relaxation.
"No..." Catherine Bohun said quickly, "I'm fine, no brandy, thank you."
"Drink it! . . . why not?"
He thought that it was because of exhaustion that she could not help revealing the truth at that time.
"Because Uncle Maurice will say I've been drinking," said Catherine Bohun coyly.
"Good Uncle Morris! . . . Take..." James Bennett forced the glass into the girl's hand.
Catherine Bohun swallowed her wine with difficulty.James Bennett dipped a towel in the water, wrung it out and tried to position it around the purple bruise on her neck.
"It's better, that's good, do you like it?"
"Certainly," said Catherine Bohun, nodding and laughing.
"How about another drink?..." James Bennett smiled and clapped his hands, "No? Wait for me to fix this towel around your neck first, and then, I hope you will tell me what made your friend — like the honorable Louise Carraway — made it like that.”
Speaking of this title from James Bennett's mouth, he felt a sense of absurdity, because as far as he saw, that humble and low-key girl was always sitting on a chair lower than everyone else. .
"One of your friends, like the Honorable Louise Carraway, went into hysteria and tried to kill you. Sit still! …"
"I said, you have me completely bewildered. Give me that towel."
Catherine Bohun interrupted with a smile, as though she were working alertly.He studied her carefully as she leaned back against the sloping window.
similarity? ... If it hadn't been for some accident, or a trick of the lights, James Bennett suspected: he wouldn't have noticed it at all.
Catherine Bohun's quiet, casual, slightly nervous look gave her a sense of beauty.His face was pale, without makeup, the thin eyebrows above the eyes were slightly raised at the corners, and the dark brown eyes were surprisingly bright.Compared with Martha Tate, her gaze was more unequivocal, yet intensely confused.Both ladies, though, have thick eyelids, small, soft mouths, and thin necks.
so what? ... Is this another victim in a dream in this gloomy villa that sucks souls? …behind the pompous, erratic, and erratic behavior of the Bohun brothers, she was in a position as insignificant as the quiet Miss Louise Carraway was to Her Majesty Carneyfest?To hear John Bohun speak of little Kate in a casual tone, you understand everything.He remembered what Jarvis Willard had said.
"You'll have to forgive me," Catherine Bohun said in her own strained way, "if I've been upset, or said something... Loved Louise. She never had a chance. Her father... you know it, don't you?"
"I recognize his voice."
"Yes, yes, that's what I meant! . . . " Catherine Bohun nodded. "You see. Louise likes you. She's a very different person when she's with her friends." .I hope we all..." She stared out of the window for a moment, then turned her head back, and said to James Bennett solemnly, "Can I ask you a few questions? . . . Stella said—she was The maid who brought me tea this morning - they were all downstairs, discussing the murder of Martha Tate, that's true. Is it true? Is it? …"
She held her breath, and James Bennett nodded wordlessly.
"Stella said she was wounded, killed, in the waterside. Her head was—bruised, and John found it. Is that true, too?"
"I'm afraid so," replied James Bennett, nodding.
Catherine Bohun turned her head to the window again, her shoulders stiffened, her eyes closed.
After a moment of silence, James Bennett suddenly asked quietly: "So, do you like her?"
"Like her?... No, I hate her." As soon as Catherine Bohun said the words, she immediately regretted it, and hurriedly shook her head to correct, "No, I don't!... It's just, God, I'm jealous of her."
James Bennett had nothing to say, he felt nervous.He got up and took out a cigarette from his luggage.The impact of this girl will be disturbing, but no one has noticed before...
Catherine Bohun said again: "Do you know who did it?"
"I don't know. But they all think that someone in the villa did it."
"Of course it's someone from the villa, who was walking around in the corridor last night."
James Bennett sat down again in the chair by the window, not trying to boost his confidence or ignore this superficial and trivial help.Those feelings are inexplicable, complicated and difficult to understand, and their intensity cannot be expressed in words.
God, Catherine Bohun must know who did it, because she said amazingly, "Thanks. Thank you for not knowing too much." She gave a determined smile, "Many people will say, I can take care of Well myself, I do, but, that thing gave me a shudder, like... Yeah, last night, someone was stumbling, rummaging, walking in the hallway, I don't know what it was. Someone In the dark, suddenly grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her away. That nearly drove poor Louise mad, so we had to send a doctor to attend to her."
"Can't you infer that it was her imagination...?"
"She was bleeding," Catherine Bohun said.
"When did that happen?" James Bennett asked anxiously, with a surge of excitement in his heart.
Catherine Bohun shook her head blankly: "I don't remember the time, I thought: it must be close to four o'clock in the morning, and then I looked at the clock - the place where you saw me coming out was my room. At that time , Something woke me up, but unfortunately I’m not sure.” He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his head and pondered, “But, the next thing I heard, someone was groping for something on the door, and grabbed the doorknob again, like… ...Like a big dog. I think: I keep thinking about dogs because 'Storm' started barking so early last night, and I heard him barking again this morning.
"However, this time it was on the door of my room. Then I heard something fall, and someone running. I didn't dare move until I heard Jarvis Willa's voice, suddenly outside It sounded. He heard a noise and went into the corridor and turned on the light to see what it was. When I opened the door he was holding Miss Louise Carraway, who was unconscious."
James Bennett took a breath and asked anxiously: "Why on earth would she wander around in the darkness at four o'clock in the morning?"
"I'm not sure, since then she's been talking all over the place. I think she was coming into my room. She hadn't slept all night and she was hysterical. I guess she walked out of her room." Finally, she couldn't find the light switch, lost her way, and what was worse, she was terrified because she could neither find her way back to her room nor how to get to mine. I knew she was constantly Shouting 'Light, light!...'" Catherine Bohun stared straight ahead, clasping her hands between her knees, "Have you tried to imagine yourself in the dark, trapped in a maze, how can you get there?" Can't get where you want to go, so you're filled with fear? ... I've tried. In dreams, sometimes."
James Bennett leaned forward, put his hand on Catherine Bohun's shoulder, and gently persuaded her: "I'm very fond of ghost stories and horror, because I've never come across a real one in my life. Scary. But don't be frightened by shadows and gibberish, do you hear me?... Oh, you've encountered enough."
"I mean, after all..." Catherine Bohun pursed her lips disapprovingly.
"What you need is to get out of this lonely villa with cold hot water jugs, tilting mirrors, outdated ghosts. You have to go straight to London or Paris, Paris is better, and find some nectar, Drink thousands of cups until you slump and lose your strength. You need to hang around in tailor shops and hotels with red carpets; you need to listen to bands play and sing and talk in every bar near Place de Clichy Dark love, then drunk; you need to go to the lake in Boise to see paper lanterns, wear a dress, dance to the stamp of the Castle of Madrid, and then squeeze in a two hundred years, has been providing the best in the world Crazy little room for food, to appreciate the heat of fondue and the color of Burgundy wine; you need to go to the Elysee Palace in spring to see the chestnut trees in full bloom, and then go to the market by the river during the day to taste onion soup; you need… ..."
James Bennett threw the diplomatic rhetoric out the window.He rose to his feet, waving a hand in the air repeatedly in that passionate moment just now.Now, with the balloon popped, he realized that it was nothing but self-deception.He looked at the cold room again, with snow outside the window.But he was amazed at Catherine Bohun's vivacious and ardent expression as she looked up at him.
"You .Then she laughed without a hint of sarcasm, but couldn't seem to stop.
"Uh... yeah, that's true."
"You're the craziest person I've ever met," growled Catherine Bohun, gnashing her teeth.
"On the contrary, you bloody English bitch, I'm called..." James Bennett laughed back at her.
"You bastard, you can't talk like that, at least, look..." Catherine Bohen clapped her hands lightly and looked around, "Of course, I mean...everyone can hear what you're saying."
"Huh?..." James Bennett exclaimed.
Catherine Bohun sat up nervously.
"Never mind, be sensible. I'll think about it. I mean—Martha. God, I can't think of anything else. Martha will do what you just said. Martha alone , amazing... maverick." She wrung her hands again, "and, maybe..." She rattled her head repeatedly, thinking and said, "by the way, I remembered this too...maybe she Satisfied. She lay there dead, but, before she died, she had everything she wanted, everything a woman could have ever wanted. She died now, all alone, never growing old, and that was good Who wouldn't want to die for that? It might be worth it if someone hit her over the head with the end of a whip."
She spoke hurriedly, but then stopped suddenly.Unspoken words are cut off like a door being slammed shut, and their meaning is as obvious as a door slamming in a cold room.
James Bennett stared at Catherine Bohun: "With a whip? . . . " he said.He shouldn't have said it.He didn't realize it until the words came out of his mouth.
The closed door separated them, keeping him out.She got up from the chair by the window.
"Isn't it? . . . Stella must have given me that impression," she said quickly and loudly.In that split second, a quiet, tense Catherine Bohun, looking menacing and out of breath, said, "I must go back to the patient now. Thank you for everything. You'd better go down to breakfast, how about that?" "
Before he could move or make a sound, Catherine Bohun disappeared from the room as quickly as a phantom.
James Bennett stared motionless at the closed door, running his fingers over his unshaven chin.Then, he quickly ran over and kicked the empty suitcase to the other side of the room.He chased after it again, trying to kick it back, but instead sat on the bed, lit a cigarette, and puffed hard.
His mind was even more confused, and his hands were shaking.The room was filled with Martha Tate taunting him.
If she hadn't played up her personality in the photos taken by Jarvis Willa, she had never smiled so much in her life as in her death.
By the way, whip! ... There were no whips at the scene of the crime, nor were there any near by, except for the one John Bohun had wrapped around his wrist.Obviously, this is impossible.
The policeman is about to come back from the waterside pavilion now, he has to go downstairs.After relentlessly clearing Catherine Bohun from his mind, James Bennett shaved in cold water and felt slightly better, but still head-heavy.He got dressed and went downstairs.
James Bennett was about to go to the dining room, but he heard loud noises coming from the direction of the library.
The door was open, and the ceiling lights were on in the dark room, and a group of people gathered around the modern furniture in front of the fire.At a table behind the couch, beside the yellow flame of a bronze lamp, a tall man in the uniform of a police officer was sitting with his back to the door, beating his head with a pencil.A nervous Thompson stood to one side, while Sergeant Humphrey Masters, some distance away, was diligently examining the books on the shelves.
The fellow who spoke was a short, sharp-looking man in a shabby black coat, with a bowler hat pulled back.His voice is piercing, full of confidence, and his dancing posture is like a semaphore.He stood with his back to the flames, with black silk eyes slanted across the bridge of his nose, pointing his hands.
He said: "Don't think you can tell me what to do, Potter. I think it's downright insulting, that's what I think; and besides, if it comes to court, I get you, Potter. , now I assure you, I will educate you to be smart and polite!..." He growled angrily, with malicious eyes from behind his glasses.
"I'll tell you what medically accurate facts are. If you like, you can have the coroner do the autopsy instead of me. Call all the quacks in Harley Street with bloody hands. Ya! Then you'll find out." ..."
His piercing eyes caught sight of James Bennett, and he stopped talking.
In the silent room, there was a tense atmosphere.Sergeant Humphrey Masters came to the table.
"Ah! . . . " he said quickly, "come in, Mr. Bennett, if you please. I was just about to call you over this way. This is Dr. Wynn—this way, and Sergeant Porter—here .Now, we've heard quite a few unusual things in the last half hour..."
Doctor Wynn snorted through his nostrils.Masters was less cordial than earlier, with a wrinkled mouth and a worried look.
"These matters need to be clarified, that's all. Now, sir, I have told the gentlemen present what you have said to me. Perhaps you would do well to repeat to the officer that this is only a formality..."
Officer Potter looked up from his notebook.He was a bald giant with a small tuft of beard, a reddish face, eyes like a chewing cow, and when he was confused, he seemed obstinate.
He looked at James Bennett with great suspicion.
"Your name and address," he recited bluntly but confidently. "If you are a foreigner, you have to provide proof. No need to swear, but for your own good, I advise you to be completely honest. Now! …"
"Come on, Potter," suggested Humphrey Masters roughly, "you need my help, don't you? . . . eh? . . . "
"Yes!..." Sergeant Porter nodded, "I need it, sir."
"Okay, then...!" Masters coaxed, waving his hands, "I'll take care of it first if you don't mind. Now, Mr. James Bennett, I must emphasize the importance of this point. I hope You understand. Thompson! . . . "
Thompson stepped forward, bloodshot eyes, obvious hostility, but a gentle voice, looking—at least to James Bennett—like the most respectable man in the room.
"You tell Sergeant Porter," said Humphrey Masters sternly, "that the snow stopped after two o'clock last night—almost—can you swear?"
"Yes, sir, I'm afraid I can swear," Thompson nodded.
"I'm afraid? . . . What do you mean, I'm afraid? . . . " roared Humphrey Masters excitedly.
"What's the matter, sir, I just don't want to get in trouble?" Thompson replied unchanged. "I can swear to the police. I didn't sleep a wink all night."
Sheriff Humphrey Masters turned his head: "Then, Dr. Wynn told us..."
"Let me tell you," the doctor interrupted Masters impatiently, and patted him on the shoulder, "Considering all factors, including the temperature, I have determined that the woman died at three o'clock in the morning Between and half past three, that's all. It's your job to say the snow stops at two o'clock. What I'm saying is, if the snow stops at two o'clock, the woman dies at least an hour later ’” He looked around. “I don’t envy your work, lads.”
Officer Porter came to his senses: "But...but, sir!..." He roared, "That's impossible! It doesn't make sense!...Listen, there are two pairs of footprints entering the house," he held up two Pointing his finger, he said positively, "Mr. Bohun said: Those two pairs of footprints belonged to himself and this gentleman. Very good. There are two more pairs of footprints, made by the same group of people, and they are gone. Each pair of footprints is nearly fresh, judging by experience... I used to poach when I was young... er - I mean - trap animals. They were both formed just this morning, or so Bohun said, It was formed at that time!..."
Potter fisted the pencil excitedly, swept his arm across the table, and lowered his fist again.
"And all around the house, in a hundred feet of snow, there's no sign of anything—no trees or bushes, and sixty feet of thin ice on each side. Impossible, unreasonable, if this In fact, I will never go to church again."
Sergeant Porter was breathing heavily through his nostrils, but so was Sergeant Humphrey Masters, who was trying in vain to stop the sordidness of this conversation.Masters wasn't just watching, the way he treated Officer Porter like family made him sadly forget his own dignity.
"Hi! . . . " announced Masters, "hello, I'll tell you what that is, Charlie Potter. Don't interrupt when you're being talked to, or I'll report to the Chief Constable of this county. , how do you take on a case. What do you tell witnesses to say, eh?..." He scolded Porter sternly, "it doesn't make any difference even if we know it's true, eh? Working in Criminal Investigations? I don't think so."
Sergeant Porter closed one eye with unusual ferocity.
"Eh? . . . " he asked with dignity, "who's in charge of this case? I want to know.—You, you're going to play Santa Claus! . . . Well, play Santa Claus. Here, now, I'm just State the known facts. Tell you something more. We have a witness - my old friend Bill Locke, who is honest and trustworthy and can recognize the Derby winners of the past three years. I'm afraid even you can't. .
"Bill saw Mr. Bohun go in, huh? . . . and there's no one hiding inside, and we've proven it. Hey y'all! . . . " He threw the pencil on the table like a whip, "until you can Play Santa, explain everything, sir, and I will respectfully ask you for advice..."
"Well, boys," said the Doctor, with renewed interest, "I think I must interrupt a little. Nothing adds flavor to a crime like a scuffle between the police at the outset. But, don't you have anything else you want to ask me?"
Sergeant Humphrey Masters was struggling to regain his composure.
"Ah, ah..." he said, "I'm so carried away, Inspector, that's right. Now the case is yours, within the scope of your duties, and you're absolutely right." He folded his arms. "However, I propose to Before the doctor leaves, you ask some questions about the murder weapon."
Dr. Wynn said frowningly: "The murder weapon?...Well, I don't know, that's your job. I can only follow the usual practice and say that it was caused by a blunt instrument, and the blow was quite violent. Judging from the location of the wound Come on, she was attacked head-on first, then fell face down, and was beaten five or six times, quite severely. Yes, your forensic doctor will tell you clearly tonight."
"I guess, sir," said Potter, as if thinking of something that surprised him for the first time, "I guess women can't do it, can they?"
"It can be done, why not?..." Dr. Wynn shook his head slightly, "As long as there is a heavy enough weapon, why can't it be done?"
"A poker with one end in the ashes?"
"I'll point out it's something thicker, with a horn or two on it. But that's your job too."
Listening to these questions and answers, James Bennett noticed that the face of Police Officer Humphrey Masters was full of tolerant sadness, like a teacher in a school for the mentally retarded, and now it has turned into ironic cruelty .When Officer Potter asked the following question again, he couldn't help snoring from his nostrils.
"Ah! . . . could it be the carafe, the heavy one that was broken?" asked Potter.
"Okay, brother, it could be anything!...Look around, look for your fingerprints, blood or whatever." Dr. Wynn put on his hat triumphantly, picked up a small black bag, squinted Glancing at the officer, "Well, it shouldn't be thought of as a water bottle, is it? ... The deceased appeared to have been soaked in wine, but fragments of the bottle, were not near her body. Looks like the bottle just fell off a table or something It came down, and then broke...God knows, child, if I can do it, I really want to help you a little more. No need to be polite, just take out the completely impossible situation in front of you and knock me down, you need in this way."
"Indeed!..." From the shadows on the other side of the room, a new voice suddenly came, and because it came so suddenly, they all jumped up, "But, you want me to explain how the murder was carried out ?"
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