Chapter 17 Chapter Fourteen

Dots of yellow light streamed out from between the venetian blinds in the room to the left of the door, and this lonely path of light was projecting in the center of the lake.Sir Henry Merrillville had an extinct pipe in his mouth, and was cracking it loudly with his teeth. "It must be that one of Potter's subordinates is still here," he said, pausing for a moment, "but not necessarily. Take a match and see if there are any fresh footprints..." "The snow's killing them! . . . " said James Bennett, after wasting a few matches, "but it looks fresh. Big shoes. We're going to . . . "

Sir Henry Merrillville walked awkwardly on, so silent that even his squeaking shoes could not be heard.The causeway was buried in snow again, but they didn't need to keep it a secret. When they got there, the front door of the water pavilion opened. "I'm still thinking about it!..." Jarvis Willa's voice came from the darkness of the door, "I saw someone outside. I must express my deepest condolences for coming here without permission." Sorry. But the police are gone and the door is open again." Jarvis Willa stood there humbly, head slightly tilted, the living room light shining on one side of his handsome face, not showing a single wrinkle at the moment.The light brought out strong colors and heavy shadows, and a brocade door curtain appeared behind his hard black clothes. The pranks of the shadows made Jarvis Willa look like he was wearing a black wig.

"You are Sir Henry Merrillville? . . . " said Jarvis Willard, nodding. "I must go now. I hope I have not disturbed you. She is still in the—bedroom." It sounded like there was a curious tone in this man's voice, but Sir Henry Merrillville didn't notice it.He only took a quick look at Jarvis Wella before stumbling up the steps. "Actually, you're the one I want to talk to! . . . " declared Sir Henry Merrillville in a forcedly absent tone, "don't go away, come in! . . . Well, yes, that's it." Drawing aside the tapestry curtain over the drawing-room door, Sir Henry Merrillville surveyed the room for some time before entering.

"Bah! . . . " added Sir Henry Merrillville. The light of the flashlight swayed on the black and white marble, and the cast bronze vase was placed on the Japanese lacquer cabinet. The dull black and white and dull red filled the room that was about to fade.Jarvis Wella followed James Bennett into the room and stood quietly with his back to the fireplace. Sir Henry Merrillville said: "I saw you in 'The Bell'. You're not Sir Henry Owen, but you did a great job. And Othello is the best part you've ever played... Mind you Tell me: Why do you suddenly show off in a suave parlor comedy?"

"Thank you. Maybe..." Jarvis Willa looked around slowly, "Because it's this kind of living room with that kind of owner." "I mean, I just want to know if you're going to be the one who walks into her living room again." "Just into the living room." "Aha, that's what I was thinking. I was trying to figure out what happened last night because, well, you were supposed to be the last person to see Martha Tate before the murderer came. Well, when you and John Bohun and Carl Wraig, where did you rest for a while after bringing Miss Tate here? . . . Is this here?"

"No, in the bedroom. But we didn't take a short break, we didn't even sit down, and we left in a few minutes." Jarvis Willa said with a smile. "And then, when you came back here, as they told me, where were you two?" "In the bedroom too. I had a glass of wine with her," said Jarvis Willard, clapping his hands. "Well . . . " muttered Sir Henry Merrillville absently. "Any matches?" A faint hint of pleasure flashed in Jarvis Willa's eyes: "Sorry, last night, I gave the last box to Martha, and I didn't have the colored matches provided by the main house with me. Lighters ?"

"That's fine!..." Sir Henry Merivale had no choice but to nod, with the corners of his mouth curled down, and gently advised, "Don't hold the concept of 'I'm trying to be smart'. It's a bad idea to advertise suspicion. Policy, as it is with me and with you. If I have doubts, I'll start by asking you for a lighter. Actually, I'd like to see the fireplace...” After holding the lighter handed to him by Jarvis Willa, Sir Henry Merrillville carefully observed the fluffy gray wood ash and a few remaining strips of charred wood.He put his hand under the wide chimney, craned his neck, and looked up from there.

"What a draught. Notice it? . . . My fellow, that chimney is as big as a house," exclaimed Sir Henry Merrillville in horror. "Well, yes, they use iron ladders for sweeping. But I do not think so……" His glazed eyes turned from the hearth to the edge of the rug. "Now go to another room. Let me keep this lighter for a minute." Jarvis Willa went ahead and turned on the light to the left of the bedroom door.Although James Bennett mustered up the courage to hold on to himself, the sight before him was not as disturbing as he had feared. The small room was neatly furnished, with many mirrors, and a tall bedstead with a red canopy.There was also a stale smell of glitter powder in the air. Particles of fingerprint powder were stuck to the surface of objects where fingerprints could be found. Except that the corpse had been moved to the bed and covered with a sheet, Officer Potter's men took the other The items were all put back in their original positions, exactly the same as when James Bennett saw them for the first time.

In the house, the carafe's fragments, lying on the edge of the hearth-rug, were still stuffed in the hearth, as were the glass fragments; A chair stood upright, another fell to the right of the fireplace, a small stool fell down, and lit matches lay scattered about—these things reenacted the pantomime of murder. "Hmm! . . . " said Sir Henry Merrillville, stumbling, myopically, to the fireplace to examine the ashes carefully.He nearly burned his top hat off while checking the chimney with a lighter, growling and cursing himself for it.Then he picked up the poker, snorted, and put it down again.With boundless physical strength, he looked down at the shards of the glass, which gave him a sense of humor.The match ends burned cleanly almost to the end of the stick, which again aroused Sir Henry Merrivier's interest.

Then, he checked a recess covered by a curtain, which was full of clothes. He kept rummaging through it with his hands until he found a silver robe.Finally, Sir Henry Merrillville glanced at the simple bathroom, returned to the center of the room, and raised a finger maliciously at the two companions standing at the door. "Fool! . . . " he growled.The two idiots looked at each other. "Yes, it was you! . . . " Sir Henry Merivale raised his voice, still pointing at them, "neither you nor Masters, nor anyone who has been here, is now Out of your mind?... There are a bunch of clues specially provided for you, and I will point out one of them, even if you glanced at the fireplace quickly, didn't you understand anything?"

"Well, sir! . . . " said James Bennett, "if you mean the murderer going up and down the chimney, it does seem possible; but I don't think that would do him any good, the question is how he What about getting to, and leaving the waterside? I mean, even if he climbs onto the roof, he still has to cross a hundred feet of snow. In fact, he'll find it easier to walk through the front door than to be like Santa Claus. , it won't be that complicated." Sir Henry Merrillville was very angry. "You're kidding me old man, aren't you? . . . trying to trick me? Hey! . . . That's your gratitude, that's it! . . . Well, well, well! . . . " Henry Maylie Sir Weir exclaimed angrily, "Well, even that, young man, I won't tell you what it means. Ha ha, ha ha, it suits you! . . . Actually, I don't think much of chimneys." "After all," said Jarvis Wellard, incredulously, "what does it 'important', Sir Henry?" Sir Henry Merrillville nodded maliciously: "I'll tell you what it means. It means: when my old friend Rich, was conducting a rehearsal with the London Orchestra, the second flutist was twice at the same One place, playing the same wrong note, what would he say? Richie would slam his baton on the ground and say, 'You, second flutist! Always, God, never!...' That's how I feel about this kind of thing, and I'll tell Masters that when he comes over. I'm not here to be insulted by you. Now I want to ask a few questions..." He staggered to the edge of the bed, lifted a corner of the quilt, and inspected it roughly for a while.Just the act of lifting the quilt brought another atmosphere to this cold room.A little light from the large window shone on the side of the bed, flickered among the shadows of the snowflakes, and fell on their sponged faces, the dead man's black hair combed neatly behind his head ... James Bennett turned his head and looked back into Sir Henry Merrillville's small eyes.Like a wizard before, he bent over the still beautiful corpse of Martha Tate, and fixed his eyes on Bennett again. "Fifteen past three..." said Sir Henry Merrillville, "about the time of her death... Now, when you came in this morning, were the curtains drawn or open? I have a definite answer." "It was pulled," cried James Bennett, "and I distinctly remember, because I tried to open the window to let some air in, that I remembered not to touch anything in that condition." Sir Henry Merrillville put back the sheet and gazed deeply out of the window. "Over the stables, someone's window is in line with this place. Have you noticed, huh..." Sir Henry Merrival shook his head again and again, pointing at James Bennie Te ordered, "Okay, go over there and show me how she falls to the floor when you first see her. I know you're going to feel like a fool, but go do it... ..." James Bennett, at Sir Henry Merrillville's orders, went out of the window, and H. M. opened it to observe his nephew's conduct. "Aha. Well, you can get up. That will explain why there are so many burnt matches scattered around her. Although they are all facing the direction of the fireplace..." Sir Henry Merrivier Nodding in satisfaction, he waved to the door and called back James Bennett, "Hey, when you came in, did she look like she had gone to bed before?... Was the bed messy?" "I don't think so." James Bennett shook his head slightly. "Excuse me for interrupting..." said Jarvis Wella uneasily, "but I think we're making so much fuss about these burned matches that they may mean nothing at all." "You think so, huh?..." asked Sir Henry Merrillville bluntly, "what do you think: Someone is sitting here, lighting countless cigarettes, and then, throwing the match ends on the floor?" Two matches burned to the end, and it can be said that the cigarette was not lit smoothly, but twelve to fifteen matches were all struck like this, which only shows that the person struck the match in the dark." "But . . . think of it differently," advised Jarvis Wella, "and suppose it has nothing to do with the crime. Suppose Bohun finds the body, sees the suddenness of the scene in the dim light, and bends I struck a match at my waist to confirm..." Sir Henry Merrillville puffed up his cheeks, puffed out again, and repeated several times: "Why, let alone that he said he hadn't, and, if he did, there doesn't seem to be any practical reason to deny it; just look at a You don’t need a match to confirm the life or death of another person. Besides, I guess, it was already bright enough here at the time, so it’s okay even if you don’t use matches...isn’t it?” He turned his head abruptly. James Bennett felt: This question has an underlying purpose, and it is not as simple as it seems on the surface. "Yes! . . . " he said. "That's it. I remember how the light fell on her from the window, directly." "But, damn it," Jarvis Willa suddenly paused, "she wasn't killed in the dark!..." For some unknown reason, Sir Henry Merrillville's face was suddenly filled with strange excitement.He wore his hat on one side of his head, and his face was almost amiable. "Oh, what an interesting case, boy. Extremely strange case. Why did the visitor strike a match in the dark? Why did the two flames look almost identical? Why did the visitor go crazy, put the wine glass in the hearth, and smash it with his foot ?...By the way, you didn't do it, did you?" "What? . . . " Jarvis Wellard gave a squeak of surprise, looking at Sir Henry Merivale with wide eyes. "Aha, I'd better point it out to you. Come over here and have a look. See that water bottle? ... Notice how heavy it is? ... Notice where it is? Not on the hearthstone, but on the rug Come on. It's hard to break the little stool by just knocking it over and letting the water bottle fall on the floor." Sir Henry Merrillville said gravely. Shards. Do you see the shards of glass that shattered from falling on the floor? I'll give you five pounds and bet you don't see it. It's on the stone, where the visitor put it and smashed it." "But, in a fight—" "Hehe! . . . " said Sir Henry Merrillville, throwing his overcoat over his shoulders, "try this experiment, if you have time. Put a circle of glasses on the floor to imitate someone staggering through them in a fight. Go across the room and see if you can step on just one cup. They roll, they're as smooth as an eel. When you find it impossible to break only one cup, but two, three, or more at the same time, I think, you'll agree, that old man was right. I seem to have heard somebody say that things are no better than they were. Now, about these chimneys..." They heard neither the opening of the door to the living room nor the sound of footsteps.I felt a gust of cold wind blowing, scattering the remaining ashes in the fireplace, and rolling up the sheets on Martha Tate's body (James Bennett saw it out of the corner of his eye).Things were weird, and no one turned around for a moment.A thin voice suddenly passed through the room. "So . . . " said the voice, "someone thinks of a chimney at last? I must congratulate him." Maurice Bohun, with a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck and a gaudy fedora covering one eye, stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane.With a dull gaze, he moved to the corpse on the bed, and then took off his hat with a slightly sarcastic gesture, with a disapproving look on his face.Masters towered behind him, puzzled and cruel, gesticulating over Bohun's shoulder. "However, even if you have thought of it—of course it's amazing..." said Maurice Bohun, jaw snapping, "I think I can give more complete details than anyone else. Would you mind going elsewhere A room? I... I can't bear the sight of death!..." He took a sudden step back. "Take care, sir! . . . " said Masters, over his shoulder, appealing strongly to Sir Henry Merrillville, "I don't mean to believe it, I don't mean it to be true. But if you Yes, listen to Mr. Bohun's statement..." "I will thank you with the most humility, Inspector," said Sir Henry Merrillville suddenly. "...perhaps there is some truth to it, at least it explains a lot of things that confuse us, and, I think: in a way, a tit-for-tat explanation..." "Don't babble a lot, Masters! . . . " said Sir Henry Merrillville sternly, "I hate blah blah blah. Anyway, what is it all about? . . . Can't you just let me be alone for a while, someone keeps breaking in and talking nonsense to me?" Maurice Bohun, leaning slightly forward, said politely to Sir Henry Merrillville: "You must forgive the sheriff," he protested, "his uneducated language expresses what is in the poem. , the known sense of justice. I agree. Mr. Carl Wraig, out of sheer resentment, this morning tried to pin the murder of Martha Tate on John Bohun, his younger brother. Impossible to this situation, his naive and crude explanations do not stand up to five minutes of scrutiny." He stopped, still stepping back, but his dull eyes were still staring at the quiet and motionless corpse.Then he said suddenly: "If you will come to the other room, Sir Henry, I promise to show you how this Mr. Carl Wragg himself killed Miss Tate and tried to evade me with clumsy pretexts." A hoax of my attention. I don't want to speak out in this house lest it cause unpleasantness...Will you guys come with me? Thank you. I...can't stand the—er...death image." After Maurice Bohun finished speaking, he walked back immediately.He backed up so fast that he nearly tripped and leaned against the door frame, slowly pulling himself up.

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