Chapter 12 Chapter Nine is not there

James Bennett pushed back his chair and looked back. Miss Catherine Bohun came in quietly, and stood not far from the table.Before the calm Thompson could make a move, Bennett pulled out a chair for her, but she just shook her head. "I've been accused," said Catherine, "of attempting to murder Martha? Besides, that comment about Louise..." She looked at Maurice Bohun curiously, as if she had never seen him before. "Did you Don't you think that's a bad word?" She was wearing perhaps the best dress in her closet, as if with a provocative air.In the gray, she appeared even more sombre.Her nervousness seemed to disappear at once, although she was still twisting a handkerchief.

Catherine Bohunt stood there, with the firelight on one side of her face, and James Bennett saw her clearly for the first time.She looked more mature than he had imagined, with a soft and shining face, with an expression that seemed to indicate that she was about to make a certain decision.Her neck was wounded, and a bandage of gauze had been carelessly wrapped around it to cover the bruise. "Er...you want to talk, Kate?..." Maurice Bohun asked.He didn't look at her, and seemed surprised. "Of course, you have to know: I'm not at all — what should I say — used to discussing my claims with anyone?"

Catherine Bohun trembled all over, bit her lower lip, and stepped forward with an eager, determined light in her eyes.However, she had a sudden look of frustration, which she sensed even herself, when Maurice went on: "Hush! . . . uh . . . I'm afraid I'm being stupid. This is, I see, a minor mutiny." .You're trying to say: 'Ahhhhhhh', aren't you?" Pretending to be fair brought uncontrollable joy, as if solving a simple problem, making Morris look at her with gentle satisfaction and concern.Tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't want to deceive myself! . . . " gasped Catherine Bohun, "and I won't let you deceive me again, again and again—John! . . . What's the matter, John?"

They all turned to look over.John Bohun said, "It's all right, Kate. I wasn't feeling well, and I'm all right now, something caused it." He stooped, raised his head, put one hand on the table, and supported himself on his hands.He looked really ill, with sweat protruding from his forehead.The tweed overcoat was now too large for his tall, thin frame. "Come here, Kate, I haven't seen you for a long time..." John Bohun greeted Catherine with a smile, "Since I came back." He held out a hand and tried to smile, "How are you doing , old girl? . . . You look slender. But what, you look a little different. I brought you presents, but I haven't unwrapped them yet."

"But what happened?" Catherine Bohun asked excitedly, running to John Bohun. John Bohun took Catherine Bohun by the chin, lifted her head, and looked into her face.Despite the twitching of his nostrils, he still looked at her with a smile that obviously didn't care about anyone but her.James Bennett had a strange feeling that he saw the real John Bohun beneath the masks. "It's all right, little fool. Don't tell them to frighten you, do you hear?" John Bohun smiled reassuringly to Catherine, "They put me in such a bad situation...but, you see, I don't care Trying to prove something and getting caught for this and that. I'm bound to get hanged for something."

Masters stepped forward, and John Bohun took his hand. "Don't move, officer, I'm not admitting anything. I guess: there's no reason to say it or not to say it, but... maybe it's a little late. Now I'm going to my room and lie down, don't try to stop me. You I also said that you don't have job authority yet." John Bohun's attitude was so strong that no one spoke.He seemed aware (for the second time in his life) that he was directing a group of people.He walked quickly towards the door, and slowed down as he approached.He turned and turned his head towards them, watching everyone's faces.

"Well, cheers! . . . " laughed John Bohun. The door is closed.The room fell silent again... James Bennett looked into Maurice Bohun's placid and slightly cheerful face; driven by some undiplomatic tactic, to crush Morris before grabbing him and striking him into a more small pieces.This impulse has troubled him for a long time. This will not work.He looked across at Catherine Bohun and began to light a cigarette, but his hands were trembling. "But what's the matter with him?" cried Catherine Bohun, "something..." James Bennett approached softly, took her by the shoulders, and made her sit down.He felt her hold his hand.Masters started walking up and down again.If he read Masters' expression correctly, the sheriff felt exactly as he did about the whole mess.

Masters said heavily: "I have a bunch of questions I want to ask about what Mr. Bohun did last night and this morning. However, I think: let's put things in order first..." Masters muttered One sentence, looking up, "Excuse me, are you Miss Catherine Bohun? ... That's it. Now, we begin ..." Catherine Bohun overturned the coffee, her hands trembling in the cup, but she didn't look at Morris across the table. "To begin..." insisted Catherine Bohun, "oh, indeed, let me tell you! This absurd idea—about Louise's attempt...is as stupid and absurd as anyone is a prisoner."

There was a slight pause. At this time, everyone heard a voice coming from Morris' direction. Anyone would think it was a snicker.Catherine Bohen hesitated for a moment, as if she had said more than she dared to say. Catherine Bohun looked at James Bennett, blushing, "May I pour you some coffee?" Masters's face said, "Good girl!" He said aloud, "I must tell you, Miss Bohun, that the same accusation has been made against you. Didn't you hear me?" "That? . . . oh, that's stupid, too. Since I never did it, why on earth would I do it? Who did it? It wasn't...?"

Maurice Bohun kept making small clucks of slight disapproval.He touched the bridge of his nose again, as if puzzled; then he reached out and touched Catherine's hand tenderly, as if reassured. "Of course not, my dear, how can there be such a thought in your poor little head? ... My dear, shhh! ... Be careful. You drink this cup of coffee in my hand. You don't mess with the cup Is it okay to click? Thanks..." He had a kind smile on his face, then turned to look at Masters "I must insist that what I said, not be misquoted, Masters Sir. It never occurred to me to make any accusations. Let me see, what did I say? . . . Oh yes. Since none of the characters in the scene are likely to be the kind of people who would do the things you mentioned , then, it occurred to me again that, in view of Miss Carraway's rather strong, if not entirely unreasonable, objection to the possibility of her father's marriage to Miss Martha Tate, the young lady was clearly more , had a stronger motive to hate her. Of course, I could be wrong."

"Suppose what we heard," said Masters quickly, "is what actually happened. Would you, Miss Bohun, mind telling us what your motives were?" "Not at all. If you'd like to tell me, who said I... said I pushed her." "Mr. Reg. Eh? . . . Does that surprise you, Miss Bohun?" laughed Masters. Catherine Bohun's hand stopped in the middle of raising the cup.The sluggish anger turned into hysterical laughter. "That little... yo! He said that, really? . . . Oh, I say, he's going to be like that! He's the one who's going to be in the movie and make me a star." Catherine Bohun shook her head While smiling, "Yeah, I understand now." "What?" Masters looked at her. "Our little Kate," said Maurice Bohun vaguely, "speaks of moral notions. Sometimes..." Catherine Bohun continued to stare at Sheriff Masters with a shimmering and mischievous pleasure mingled with anger. "Speaking of morals," said Catherine Bohun, breathing heavily, "go... go... die! Oh! ... That man, forget it. Ah! ... I can't bear to let him go on Touch me..." She kept shaking her head. "I don't know. Listen, let me tell you, because this is part of the story you want to hear. At dinner last night, it was suggested that Uncle take— —You know—Martha Tate and the rest of us, visiting the cottage in the moonlight, and my uncle brought a candle, but didn't turn on the light. "Well, the whole supper time... You see, the man Carl Raig was looking at me and not saying a word. But first he looked at Martha, then at me for a long time, and someone asked He hardly answered anything. And when Martha proposed to visit the cottage in the moonlight, he said: 'That would be a wonderful idea!' and so on. He sat..." Catherine Bohun's eyes lingered, looked at James Bennett, and suddenly a shock crept into them, which was immediately hidden again, as if recalling some thoughts she did not want to think about. "Here, there, I don't remember. Anyway, what did I say? . . . Yes." Catherine Bohun nodded to herself. table. As we walked down the corridor, to the library, he came up behind the crowd and took my arm.” She started laughing again until she had to wipe her eyes with a handkerchief. It's funny because you don't even know what the hell is up to; he just keeps muttering, 'How about this, baby?' After a minute I get it, that's what they always call that kind of thing in the movies Yes, that's what he meant. But I said, 'How about what?' and he said tiredly, 'Stop pretending, Americans understand.' And I said, 'Yeah, they got here too Got it, but if you're in England and you want to get around, you've got to do business in a different way.'” Maurice Bohun unconsciously said: "My God! . . . " James Bennett said equally casually: "Good! . . . " Maurice Bohun leaned forward slightly. "Well, I think..." he said quietly, "that's an extraordinary statement, coming out of your mouth in unusual language. I'll have to study it, The way you express yourself, to me or to our guests..." "Oh, go to hell! . . . " Catherine Bohun turned abruptly on him, and at last became angry with him, "I'll say I'd love to! . . . " "No!..." Maurice Bohen paused, and smiled softly. "You will go back to your room, I think." "Now I want to tell you what it is, Mr. Bohun," Masters proposed in a very calm tone, "I don't want to get involved in...well, family disputes. Eh?... But, I'm tired of it, too. It's not a family dispute, it's a murder. When witnesses are called..." After Catherine Bohun finished speaking, she turned her head and was about to leave. "Oh, ah. Don't move, Miss Bohun. Please go on, what are you talking about?" Maurice Bohun stood up emphatically. "Well, maybe you don't mind," his voice was a little shrill, "if my niece allows me to go to her room?" "I'll be speaking to you shortly, sir," said Masters gracefully, "but if your niece can't see, why mind—that's it. Thank you." Maurice Bohun gestured to Thompson, who quickly picked up his golden cane from the floor.Morris was pale and sweaty, with a smile and dead rage on his face.His eyes were as lifeless as the eyes of a wax figure. He said: "I confess that I never realized that the police, those servants from the upper classes who are useful from time to time, have a habit of encouraging young children and talking in... ah... slut-like tones. Of course I can't Ignore it, to either of you. In this house, I am used to forcing everyone to obey me unconditionally, and ultimately to keep my own comfort; to that authority, even The slightest slander, if it can be allowed to say, is not a problem, then I am just plain stupid. Isn't it?..." He smiled subtly, "You will regret it deeply for not taking care of me to make me comfortable , Kate." He bowed, and when he left the crowd, his attitude changed back to being content and relieved.James Bennett held out his hand, and happily took Catherine Bohun's. "Now, now! . . . " protested Masters, stroking his plowed chin, "nothing like that, don't worry. I'm a cop, on a definite case." Come. I..." He tried his best to remain indifferent, but involuntarily, a smile appeared on his face.Glancing over his shoulder, he added in a low voice, "My boy, you did push the old man away, miss! . . . Humph. Excellent! That's it." "Well done, Sergeant! . . . " said James Bennett gallantly. "Excellent old criminal investigator. If you were a maypole we'd all be dancing around you." Masters pointed out that he was not a maypole.The proposal made him uncomfortable, and he then insisted that Catherine Bohun continue to tell her story. "Not much, indeed! . . . " insisted Catherine Bohun, as if remembering what she had just said, her cheeks still tinged with fright. "I mean: about that man Reg. He said he would make me Participated in the show, seemed to think, that all the world aspired to. Then, he reached down—oh, nothing." She shifted in her chair, "It's kind of dark out there, but the others are very close in front of us So, if I don’t get noticed, the only thing I can do is to step on his feet hard. After that, he no longer pays attention to me, because I hurried forward He took Jarvis Willard's arm. He didn't say anything to me, he just kept chatting with Louise. But I think he's not just a liar, saying I..." She went on rapidly, describing the accident on the secret staircase in King Charles' chambers.Her account was consistent with what James Bennett had heard from Jarvis Wella. "...because I think, indeed, that pushing her down the stairs wasn't intentional. Martha herself said no, and she should know, shouldn't she?" "Well, maybe. There's six of you at the top of the stairs—yourself, Miss Martha Tate, Miss Louise Carraway, and three gentlemen, eh? That's it. How do you stand? ...For example, who is behind her?" "It was me. But I don't know about the others: the space is tight, everyone is jostling; besides, there's only that little candle for light." "Oh, ah, that candle. How did it go out?" "A draft," said Catherine Bohun, clapping her hands together, and shaking her head slightly. "It is! When you open the bedroom door, there will be a strong draft from the downstairs door." "Yeah, what happened after that?" "Er? . . . Then, no more. They looked quiet and strange, but no one spoke. It was eleven o'clock, and there was still some time, and Martha was the only one still as happy as ever; Louise and I were put to bed by my uncle; the others went downstairs, and I know they went to the Waterside after that, because my bedroom window was open and I could hear them talking." "None of you," Masters complained bitterly, punching his palm, "none of you noticed, is there anything strange?" "No. Why would you notice? . . . " said Catherine Bohun, shaking her head hesitantly, "Martha said . . . When I got to her, I almost trembled—she had dark skin, bright eyes, the way she dressed, and everything. She wore a robe that my uncle would kill if I wore it, But I say, this..." She gave a wry smile, "she tried to radiate motherly affection for me." Her long eyelashes drooped slightly, Catherine Bohun mused, "I think she heard, Carl Ray What did that man say to me?" "yes?" "Because she turned her head, and then, suddenly, a silver brocade cloak she was wearing fell to the ground, and Carl Wraig jumped over it and picked it up. And then, Martha Tate watched in a funny way He, and what he said to Carl Wraig." "Miss Tate...well—does she seem to mind?" Master asked dead. "Mind? . . . Oh, I see. Why, I think she would!" Catherine Bohun replied candidly, "She always minded, you know. He said, 'Are you serious?'" "Leave me alone..." Masters said aloud with dead suspicion.He looked sad, "There's nothing about that staircase now, you can't remember anything, all? . . . Please think, everything!  …" Catherine Bohun wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and said: "No, nothing. The only other thing is that I go down to the landing and unlock the door for Uncle John, so that when he comes home , the door would be open. But that was after—after the accident. When he came home late, he always used that door to come in and out, because you see, it opened on the side porch and he didn't have to go all over the villa. " Catherine Bohun raised her glass again and forced herself to drink the scalding coffee. "Everything went wrong. Last night, I planned to see John, but he came back very late, after all, he has been in the United States for so long. However, I still haven't waited for him to come back." Catherine Bohen shook her head regretfully , "When I heard 'The Tempest' barking at half past one, I thought it must be John coming home, but alas it wasn't. I went upstairs to his room, and down the same stairs to meet him...but, no People drive in." Despite Masters' gentle face, his hands gripped the corner of the table tightly.Shadows of floating clouds passed through the dimly lit room, and in the silence they could hear something falling from the flames. "That's it. Are you sure, now..." Masters said suddenly, clearing his throat, "Are you sure he didn't come into the house at that hour? Attention, miss, it may prove to be very important." "Of course I'm sure. I'll go down and look in the fast lane..." Catherine Bohun suddenly stopped as she was talking, and she was surprised to find that everyone was looking at her curiously, "Why? What is it?  … ...Why do you have weird faces?" "Ah!... Nothing, miss, nothing." Masters shook his head repeatedly. "It's just that we've been told he'll be back at half past one. He can't just drive to the garage. Perhaps, in this way, don't you just Can't see him?" "No, of course not, I can definitely see him. Besides, this morning, his car was parked in the fast lane. I thought it was strange because the light in his room was on, but no one was there..." Catherine Boheng hesitated for a moment, "There won't be anyone who wants to confront him, right? I didn't say anything that shouldn't be said, did I? Tell me!..." "On the contrary, miss. Don't be disturbed by that sort of thing. You don't know what time he got here, though, do you?" "I don't know, I fell asleep." Catherine Bohen paused, "Also..." She hesitated. "continue!……" "Well, when I knew that he didn't come in, when I went back from his room, I walked along the corridor, and then I saw that man——Carl Reiger went upstairs..." "So? . . . " inquired Masters, pursing his lips, "a dangerous fellow, that Mr. Gray, I repeat. I don't mind telling you, miss, that he told us this: He said in They went out and put Miss Martha Tate behind the waterside—it must have been past twelve—and he and Maurice Bohun went back to the library. He said they sat there, discussing books or something for at least two hours. He said they both heard the dog barking, and both believed it was Mr. John Bohun coming back at half past one. Two hours meant: they were probably in the library In, stay until after two o'clock." Masters nodded repeatedly, clapped his hands and said, "Very good, now tell us, miss, you go to your uncle's room at 1:30, how long will you be back...?" "A few minutes, not long, but it's true!" protested Catherine Bohun. "A few minutes later, you saw Mr. Carl Wraig go upstairs. Where is he going?" "To his room, I saw him go in," cried Catherine Bohun. "You see, I ran back to my room at once, because I was... er, in my pajamas, and worried that he might..." "Not bad. Huh?..." Masters nodded. "He didn't. He yelled at me: 'You can forget what I said tonight', in an obscene but smug tone; he said, 'I've got better business,' and he slammed the door of his room Closed." Catherine Bohun, ignoring Carl Wraig rather impatiently, brushed her thick brown hair behind her ears, intertwined her hands, and leaned forward, "But that's something else. What do you think?" Masters took a deep breath and said, "Don't be surprised to hear that, miss, Mr. Reg's other remarks included charges of murder. Now, now! . . . " He saw Catherine Beau Heng's face changed, and he raised a hand, "Calm down, miss. There are many witnesses - the situation that Reg said, the snowfall problem, is based on the fact that Mr. Bohun came back half an hour before the snow stopped... But if we know , the exact time when he comes back will be fine..." A pewter dinner plate clicked in the sideboard.Someone coughed. "Sorry, sir..." Thompson interrupted suddenly, "May I speak?" His expression was anxious but determined, and he seemed less hostile to Masters. "I know I'm not supposed to be here! . . . " he said, "I've heard many things. But I've been in this house a long time, and they've allowed me to. I can tell you for sure, Last night, when Mr John came home, my wife was awake and will tell you the same thing." "Huh?..." Masters turned to look at the servant. "He came back at a few minutes past three, sir, at the time he told you. 'The Tempest' kept on calling for something else."

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