Chapter 10 Chapter 7 Design Hanging
Officer Porter roared with authority, his feet vibrated, and he almost kicked over a heavy table. Even Sergeant Humphrey Masters was shocked.They all stood in a circle of light surrounded by flames and two lamps casting yellow shadows.Light bulbs on the vaulted roof reflected a crown, but the great library was still dark, as if even the books were casting shadows.
James Bennett looked toward a row of lozenge-shaped windows at the end of a sloping wall. In front of that wall of glass stood a tall tapestry armchair with its back facing the room.A head rose from the chair, and the shape slowly separated from the chair.He seemed to be squatting, leaning against the window and the gray sky; they heard the clink of glasses and smelled the smoke of a cigar.The slightly frivolous footsteps came along the stone floor, making people feel harsh.The small round silhouette squatted, drank a cigarette, and squinted at everyone, like a monster.Even though he approached everyone and let everyone see his thin short hair, stiff smile on his stiff face, and small eyes that were bloodshot but unblinking, this made the image of the monster more clear.
James Bennett realizes: This is Carl Wraig, wrapped in a patterned satin robe that's too big for him.In addition, he also found that Carl Wraig was very drunk.
Carl Wraig said with a firm voice that seemed to come from the depths of his throat: "I must ask you to forgive me. In fact, I must say to you: 'Forgive me! . . . Come on. I've been listening, gentlemen, and I've been listening. I was startled when you came in, and I'm in that chair over there with Bessie," he patted from the pocket of his robe. The exposed wine bottleneck, "Beixi the second generation, when I talk to nature. 'I feel like I feel new; "
In the circle surrounded by lights, his barrel-shaped body is like a truncated tree stump.From between his clenched teeth, he struggled to reveal a mask-like mirth, as if he had something inhuman.He nodded, blinked, and made a theatrical gesture with his cigar.However, his small bloodshot eyes, which never blinked, were very sharp.
"My name's Carl Wraig, and I suppose I'm pretty well known. Give me that chair, Ma...Mr. Masters. The one you're standing in front of, if you don't mind. Thank you." He made a sudden salute to them all, "Ah! Now! . . . Good morning, gentlemen."
"Good morning, sir," Masters said calmly, pausing again.He straightened his arms from behind and stopped Officer Potter, who was staring intently, "You want to make a statement?...Huh?..."
Carl Wraig was thinking.He turned his bristling head back and forth like a child as he stared at the flames.
"Yes, I think I do. Yeah, in a way, I can explain this impossible situation that's bothering you. Hehehe."
Sergeant Humphrey Masters looked at him, nodded, "Naturally, sir, we're always very open to advice." He snorted and nodded, "But there's one thing I want Mind you, if you don't mind. Are you sure you're in a position to offer important advice?"
"Status?..." Carl Reg stared at Masters with wide eyes.
"Er, I should say I didn't drink too much?...Huh?..." Masters sneered.
Carl Reg turned his head slowly, Lara's gaudy robes.He put on an expression as if he was glancing slyly around the corner, and smiled almost horribly.
"Officer, God appreciates your innocence!" He said softly, "Overdrinking?..." He laughed until his eyes blurred, "Okay, okay, let's all calm down. Of course I overdrank Well, pure booze. Actually, I'm pretty drunk, officer, we all know that. So what? People didn't talk me out of it in the good days, and tried to be a celebrity, and then let I give up, and you'll find me in these states. But I've got to live, I've got to move and get a job, and my brain—here…" He knuckles, "much better at this. So I resigned, simply because I see things too thoroughly, they call it sick. Hehe! …
"Need I prove it, officer?" he asked, and suddenly, pointing his cigar in front of him, "Need I tell you what you're thinking? . . . You're thinking: 'Maybe he's going to confess. Maybe I should Joyfully, take this nasty little baboon away and make him admit something he shouldn't.' Eh? ... That's your naivety again. I was more talkative than usual, yes, but I didn't kill her. Curious enough, I have an alibi."
He giggled.Masters could only nod quietly: "Why, sir, if you talk like that, I might indeed be thinking about those things."
"And as for you..." he pointed suddenly at James Bennett, "you're thinking, 'That son of a bitch' again, aren't you? . . . right now, aren't you?" For a second or two, His strange stare was as terrifying as a grinning grin, and then it became confused and confused, with a feeling of defeat, "Why do you think that?" He asked curiously, "Why does everyone think that way?" ?...I've been trying to figure out why all my life. I'm Carl Reiger. I started out as a railroad man. Want to see my hand, now? I can ask for a good salary and work with me as tall as any movie star I've ever done, because when I finish a movie, everyone in it is a movie star. That's me, that's all I can do. Why..." He stroked his forehead and said in a monotonous The tone said, "Why, damn it. That's all I'm going to say." He seemed rather surprised, "They're filthy rats, every guy is. I'm sure. Now... where are you, Officer? Ah !...I will continue to show you what you have overlooked, and to prove it to you."
"Well, sir?"
"Prove it," said Carl Wraig triumphantly, his face brightening, "that it was Mr. John Bohun who killed Martha Tate."
"My God! . . . " said Dr. Wynn.Masters glared at him, and he fell silent.
"Thank you very much, Doctor," said the Sheriff in a quick, dry voice, "you've been of great help to us, and we won't waste your time. . . . er, how are you? Thompson? . . . You're still here." , huh? I think I told you, well, it was my fault. You better wait outside, now."
"I know the man's drunk," interrupted the doctor, "but does he realize what he's talking about? . . . John Bohun, huh? His master. Well, yes. , I'm going. John's having breakfast, and I think I'll let him know that he's needed here."
Humphrey Masters was a tall, well-mannered man, and the veins in his temples were throbbing at the moment.He pushed the doctor away slowly, as if cleaning up debris, and spoke in a low voice.Suddenly remembering what had happened upstairs, James Bennett begged to be allowed to see Louise Carraway.When he described the incident, the doctor didn't pay much attention, but Masters heard every word.
Masters said, "Oh, huh? . . . " and turned immediately to James Bennett, "Stay here! . . . " he ordered, and sent Thompson and Dr. Wynn away.
After the screeching footsteps in the corridor disappeared, Masters turned to Carl Reg, who was taking out a bottle of gin from his pocket and pouring it between his lips, and swept the sheriff from head to toe with ironic eyes. I took a few glances.
"You're going to testify against Mr. John Bohun for murder," said Masters, with a quiet gesture to stop Sergeant Porter. "I dare say you realize what you're going to say." the seriousness of the situation, do you stand your ground despite all this?''
"Of course I stand my ground, my friend, hehe. Yes, you heard," the director replied suddenly calmly and sharply, "John Bohun and the actor named Willa, two people's words. Now Don't act like a pawnbroker who won't lend money, my friends; I hear you talking, and know what they say. They gave me an account of what happened last night. Their version, and now I'll give mine. Don't you realize why there's only one pair of footsteps in the snow?"
"Be careful, sir. Remember, they're fresh tracks," said Sergeant Porter gravely.
"Of course they are fresh tracks," he said, holding back his heavy breathing. "First, last night John Bohun visited his master in London, the great Lord Carneyfest. Did he tell you? ?”
"Oh, huh? . . . " inquired Masters, turning his eyes blankly to James Bennett.Bennett remembers that Masters had talked to Sir Henry Merrillville, and should know a great deal," said Bohun: "He's got a business appointment, and that's all. You mean the newspaper magnate." ?exactly."
"Now, you'd better think about it: why John Bohun is going to see him, if you don't already know." Carl Wraig looked at Masters strangely, "Karneyfest would have Plan to sponsor a play that Martha Tate is about to star in. Last night, Carneyfest refused. That's why Bohun got nervous and ran to him all night."
"Huh?..." Master paused for a moment, then said, "Why... er...His Royal Highness Carneyfest refused?"
"Because someone told him something. Carney Fest is getting married, and he has dedicated himself, body and soul, to our lovely fairy." Carl Wraig posed just right, "You may know, His Highness is an upright person. He is cautious and never takes risks in any aspect, unfortunately except for marriage. Last night, Boheng was worried that there would be bad news, and it came from Carneyfest, Martha Tai Tate is naturally worried."
Masters cleared his throat and asked: "That's it. I dare say you mean now, he said something bad about Miss Martha Tate, eh? . . . "
"What? . . . Oh, God bless, officer! . . . " said Carl Reg, with a wild, helpless look, "you're naive for the third time! . . . No, you thought Carnifest never Haven't you heard that kind of gossip? Her tutor is really good, and the gossip must not be all jokes. Haha!... No. I'm afraid someone told him that Martha is too virtuous."
"Women's virtue?"
"That means she already has a husband." Carl Ragg chuckled.
"I already have a husband!" The sheriff paused, then stopped abruptly, "Who...?"
Carl Wraig made himself French, shrugged gracefully, and looked like a demon in his light-colored patterned robe.He slowly closed one eye, and the other bloodshot eye stared straight ahead through the smoke.he laughed.
"How would I know? That part, I admit, is just a theory, but it's my theory, and it's a very good theory." Carl Reg smiled and said, "Then, who might be the Husband? Huh?"
Before Masters could offer his opinion, he went on softly: "Let us go on. My good friend Mr. Jarvis Wella tells you that last night Martha was distraught, delirious, hopeless and mournful." Waiting for someone, do you see why now?—waiting for Bohun to come back. Yeah, I think even you would understand. If Carneyfest refuses sponsorship, there's no show at all The method is staged."
"Now, now..." Masters instigated with a tolerant face, "Miss Tate is a famous actress, I think, there will naturally be many producers..."
"This is where you are wrong!..." The other party nodded several times while talking, "That was before she said harsh words in the newspapers or in front of them." Mechanically The smile spread across Carl Reg's face, with a terrifying effect, "It's all that she didn't say, as long as she said, I can list it. Do you understand?"
"It's really big news," said Masters slowly. "You said John Bohun brought that news to her last night?"
"Naturally, what a temperamental adulterer she is, I can tell you with certainty. All Bohun has to think about is how to explain everything when he has to come back." Carl Reg nodded, " They could find another angel, though. Martha Tate is not very famous, in this house—of course not. I thought of this last night when Miss Catherine Bohun tried, What happened when I pushed down the stairs..."
"What the hell is this?" Masters stomped furiously.
James Bennett felt his heart pounding, a feeling of emptiness in his chest.He took a step forward and immediately caught Carl Reg's attention.
"What's the matter?..." Carl Reg said harshly, "She's your friend?...It doesn't matter, she did it." He turned back to Masters and made a slight gesture, " Go on, Sergeant, and let me get back to the point. Willa didn't tell you this scene, did she?... You can forget it. I want to tell you the first step in this case, enough to hang John Bohun... He told you... didn't you?..." He recalled, "He came back from London at about three o'clock in the morning. Well, he was lying. He came back at half past one in the morning and it was still snowing. "
"Really? . . . " asked Masters curiously. "Well, mark it down, Potter—how do you know? Did you see him?"
"No." Carl Wraig shook his head lightly.
Constable Humphrey Masters said grimly: "So, I beg your pardon: I've been listening to you and only heard some vague allegations, and I must admit to you, I'm a little tired. Please stop now." Such nonsense, go back to your room and go to bed."
Carl Wraig's shoulders twitched.
"Oh, you'll listen to me, fuck you." His voice faltered, and then, almost screaming, "Can't you listen to me? Can't you be fair to me? …Give me a minute , two minutes, only two minutes! . . . Oh, make sure I say everything I want to say! . . . "
Carl Wraig's desperation to hang someone let his pretense and insensitivity melt away and he spoke tersely.He had controlled his emotions, and there was only cold contempt left on his unshaven face.
"Now let me explain. Last night until midnight we put Martha behind the waterside (Jarvis Wella, it seems, was telling the truth), and Mr. Bohun and I—Mr. Maurice Bohun, I Boss—went to the library. In this room, we discussed books, and other things you don't understand. We were here for about two hours. Of course, we didn't see John Bohun come in, The driveway was obviously on the other side of the house. Similarly, we didn't hear the sound he made. But we heard the dog barking."
"Dog?..." Officer Potter raised his head sharply.
"A big police dog that you call a 'German Shepherd'. They dare not let him roam around at night because he bites whatever he sees. They chain him to the barbed wire on the slope so that he can get out of the doghouse. He ran twenty or thirty feet, but he couldn't get any farther. He barked at anyone, known or not--that's what Mr. Maurice Bohun told me. You're listening Am I talking? We were sitting here last night, and then we heard it start barking and it kept barking.
"I asked him, 'Is there a thief or is someone out?' And he said, 'Neither, John must have come home. It's half past one.' We talked about detective novels—yes, he likes to read detective novels— — in the situation where the dogs bark at strangers, that's a clue. That's bullshit. The reality is: dogs bark at everyone until you get up and talk to them."
Carl Wraig coughed.His forehead was wet as a result of his head turning from side to side while he was concentrating on speaking.He wiped it with his arm, and the passion faded miraculously.
"It was one-thirty. Old Bohun took out his watch and said, 'Look, it's half-past one.' He was always restless, and when he showed me his library, he got more irritated by the noise. It was late though. , he still called the housekeeper and told him to call the groom to lock up the dog. He said the barking was driving him crazy..."
Inspector Porter interjected eagerly: "That part is true, sir. The steward said he called the stables at half past one to lock up the dog..."
Masters waved his hand. "Those are, Mr. Reg," he said, "the evidence you use to accuse a man of murder?"
"No, I was going to tell you what John Bohun did," he said earnestly. "He got here at one-thirty in the morning and left his car in the driveway. Patent leather shoes..."
"How did you know?"
"Use your brain, you see..." Carl Reg nodded and leaned forward, "This morning, the maid who went to his room to light the fireplace told me. She saw clothes thrown everywhere. She And tell me (eh?...): The bed was still made, no one must have slept in it last night."
After a moment of silence, Masters said, "Write it down, Potter."
"He went straight to the waterside, just as he had arranged with Martha Tate—that fool lied to you, said he didn't know Martha was there, and admitted she told him he would be there. He knew Martha Sarah never changes her mind, you see, why does he tell lies - well, the dog barks longer than usual. Why? ... because it takes him quite a while to walk down the slope. If he just goes into the main house , the dog quickly shut up."
Officer Potter let out an exclamation.
"You're hinting!..." Masters said quickly.
"Oh, he's her lover," said Carl Wraig. "I know." He stooped suddenly and spat into the fire.
"Look now, he brought her bad news. Martha Tate never knew how to handle bad news well without smashing everything around her. Yet if you think John Bohun will Cut to the chase and tell the truth, and you don't know much about his character. He's cowardly. He'll stall and tell her it's all right. They'll go to bed and have sex - that idiot thinks that'll make Martha Tate's mind is in a normal state. Click!... Then he admits the truth, so, for the first time, she tells him what she actually thinks of him."
Carl Reg's voice suddenly rose: "He smashed her head, about an hour and a half after he reached the waterside. Then, the idiot found that the snow had stopped long ago. His footprints had been obliterated, and the outside There's no trace of anything in the snow, and if you get out of there, it'll leave footprints, and it'll hang him. Huh? . . . What did he do? What can a nervous idiot do?"
Carl Wraig must have found himself catching the audience's eye.For a while, James Bennett felt that this man had become quite calm, but from the twitching of his fingers and the uncertain shaking of his head, Bennett believed that he was only forcing himself to be calm by strong will down.
"Think with your brains!..." Carl Reg smiled like a demon, "What is the only thing that can save him?"
Masters looked at him: "If I were in his situation... oh, ah! . . . assuming it's true! . . . There's an easy way."
"Thought it? What would you do?"
"That's the game of rummy we were playing!...Eh?..." Masters nodded lightly, "Okay, I'll leave the waterside and rub and rub over the footprints to clean them thoroughly Make a mess so no one can tell whose it is. This goes on until, I get to the lawn on the main road, or wherever you like, even the main house..." he said with a laugh , "As for the time? ... Oh, ah, I admit that it takes a lot of time, and you have to act in the dark, but there is still a lot of time before dawn."
Carl Wraig let out a puff of smoke: "Any fool," he said, "will remember that there was a dog."
Masters fell silent.
"When John Bohun hurried to the waterside, my constable friend, the dog barked so hard that the old man had to lock it up. Think it over, will you? . . . Mr. John will remember The dog's, it almost gave away his whereabouts. He wondered what would happen when he spent fifteen or twenty minutes processing the tracks? How could he possibly know that the dog was locked up? … When a What would the people at the cottage do with the dogs barking so persistently at four o'clock in the morning? They would get up and look outside, and then, seeing John Bohun standing in the middle of the lawn, he would just be caught on the spot. "
James Bennett walked over and sat down on the sofa.His mind was racing, but he knew the man was right.Bennett said: "But what can he do? He can't take the time to deal with the footprints, and he can't leave in a hurry, leaving a footprint to betray him... He is in the water pavilion, there is no footprint to go out, but he said: It was close to seven o'clock in the morning, and I was chatting with the steward in my riding clothes; and I dare to swear on the Bible, when I reached the waterside pavilion this morning, there was only one set of footprints—the footprints of going in."
"That's it. Calm down, sir! . . . " said Masters. "He did wake the butler in this house at six forty-five. The butler says so."
Carl Wraig, savoring victory, looked from man to man.
"Of course, of course, of course, that was his alibi. He remembered the appointment to ride, but isn't it strange, well, that he should say that he got up early in the morning, put on his riding clothes, woke the butler, and They were going to ride that morning, without first making sure? He was trying to be clever, and he thought he was. Riding boots are useful, and much bigger than little black patent-leather dancing shoes, by a full circle."
Sergeant Humphrey Masters whistled and made a great movement.At this time, Carl Reger said again: "He waited until almost daylight, and saw that no one came, broke anything. I can imagine: he felt sweaty next to the dead woman. Then he walked out Your water pavilion walks backwards. When he changes his clothes to make an alibi, all he has to do is step on his own footprints and walk again to 'discover' the corpse. If he uses the same size shoes, he would not be able to pull off the trick. If he tried to step inside the footprint—even a thin layer of snow—it would only obscure the print. If the snow was deep, not just a shallow layer, the footprint would would have floated to the surface. But he used a bigger shoe to make new marks on all the other footprints, concealing the outlines left at the beginning. The prints of the first dancing shoes were mixed Both of them were left by normal walking on the snow. No wonder the footprints are fresh. No wonder the groom saw him - from a distance - walking into the water pavilion door. Literally, he 'covered' his own Footprints. The alibi he gave himself was the best a man could think of. But when you get there, young man..." Carl Wraig held his breath, and with the last of his strength, let him His tone still sounded firm, "Isn't he a little flustered?"
Carl Wraig looked around again for a long while, catching their eye.Then he stood up tremblingly.With the last of his strength exhausted, he seemed to shrink into a human shape made of dough, and there seemed to be a wheel behind his eyes, which was constantly turning.Dizzy and panting, he took the bottle from his pocket.
"I've told you how it happened," said Carl Wraig. "Now hang him, please."
Carl Wraig fumbled to get the bottle between his lips and suddenly fell over.He would have landed if Masters hadn't grabbed him.
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