Chapter 19 Chapter 16 Silver Triangle

The noise was nameless: a terrible gurgling sound, perhaps choked with sobbing, or even forced joy.You can't tell its distance, it just moves along with the wrapped objects. Despite the coldness of the room, James Bennett felt his skin burn. The engine's transmission, rattling under the porch drive, but it had nothing to do with the previous sound.James Bennett went to the door and flung it open. "Yes..." Catherine Bohun muttered, and seeing James Bennett step out of the house, she suddenly shouted, "Don't go out! . . . " The hallway was dark.James Bennett watched the tragedy around him happen again with the same uneasy eyes.

"It shouldn't be this dark! . . . " said James Bennett, "there was a light just now. I had a wild idea that maybe someone was standing outside listening to us, you know who. So I went outside See... what do you mean don't go out? This is your own home, isn't it? . . . In your own home, there's nothing to be afraid of." In the dense shadows, no one moved or creaked, it was as if the corridor itself was holding its breath.The wind rattled the window frames.Someone recently turned those lights out. Sometimes, when one sits in an old house, the darkness creeps in from the door, as James Bennett felt now: the darkness seemed to separate him from mankind, and he must never venture beyond the reach of the firelight. Otherwise, something he doesn't want to see will appear.His mind kept irrationally returning to the door of Charles' room across the corridor.On this occasion, almost in this state.

He had stood here when, at that hour this morning, he heard a noise and had his first encounter with Catherine Bohun.This morning, when Louise Carraway tried to strangle in hysteria... It's very similar to the sound of that time, but the sound quality is different.When the candles went out in King Charles's room last night and the killer tried to push Martha Tate down the steep and dangerous stairs, what was described as a "sound like a smirk", the words surfaced on James . Bennett's mind.When the unexpected darkness fell, the murderer hit Martha Tate's skull with a few consecutive blows, and then left vigilantly. You can only imagine the ruthless rage.

James Bennett was irrationally convinced that the killer was on the prowl.who is it?who? ... James Bennett walked through the corridor and touched the door of King Charles' room, but suddenly goose bumps appeared on his skin, because heavy footsteps sounded in the distance from the corridor. "Who's turned off all the lights?" was Sir Henry Merrillville's sure growl. "Can't even see the rims of your spectacles in front of you, hey! . . . See if you can find a switch, Masters." There was the sound of something being pressed, and a dim light spilled out.Sir Henry Merrillville and the Sheriff stopped when they saw James Bennett.

"Hello! . . . " said Sir Henry Merivale, stepping back lumberingly, and looking wickedly at his nephew, "what's the matter with you, hey? . . . Damn you, you look so ridiculous!  He craned his neck and turned around, and saw Catherine Bohun standing by the door. "Are you playing games with that little girl? Good evening, miss." "Did you hear anything?" "Hear what? . . . You're nervous, boy. I've been hearing queer noises all day, mostly from this head." Sir Henry Merrival grumbled gruffly. "I'm tired." Dead, want a big bottle of brandy, no one in the world, tonight, can take me together, even if I'm with them all the time. But I have something to do..."

"We understand! . . . " said James Bennett.He opened the door, fumbled quickly to turn on the light, and walked into the room with vigor. nothing.King Charles' room, Johann Bohun's room, now gloomy, was also well-swept: the clothes were neatly folded, and the gray-white rug near the corner of the large central table had been emphatically scrubbed.The black velvet drapery, which had been drawn from the window, was slightly fluttered by a draft of air. "Thank you. No ghost? . . . I'm going in." Sir Henry Merrillville led the way. "I want to see something, and if I see what I think I will see, I will issue a series of orders. Ma Stace will keep it a secret from me. Why don't you give me all the clues? You found John shot in the chest and clutching a small, ridiculous looking piece of silver, and no one would Take the trouble to tell me there was that piece. Where did you put it, Masters?"

Masters shifted his weight to the other leg, put on his hat and coat, and was probably on his way to find Sergeant Porter for his belated afternoon tea. "But we didn't know it was important, Monsieur Baron! . . . " he protested, "some sort of souvenir, perhaps. He had nothing to do with the murder, nor does he seem to be holding a clue to it, because he didn't do it — especially since he just wrote a suicide note saying he didn't do it. It has sentimental value, maybe . . . I put it in a desk drawer." "Sentimental value, huh? . . . " Sir Henry Merrillville stamped his foot bitterly. "Well, we'll find out. Don't mind coming in, Miss Bohun? . . . Shut the door, Jimmy." ,my child."

Sir Henry Merrillville pulled out a large oak chair, sat down on it, and opened a desk drawer... Now, as the card players at the Diogenes Club say, James Bennett finds it futile to try to read Sir Henry Merrillville's mind, and in any case his face keeps With the same heavy, dull expression.He fumbled in a desk drawer for a small triangular piece of silver carved with scrollwork, which James Bennett had seen when Masters held it for inspection that morning. Sir Henry Merrillville did not scowch, jump up, or give any hint.However, he paused visibly before speaking, as if he heard rather than saw something.

He weighed the piece of silver in his hand. "Hmph! . . . No, it looks like a splinter from something. . . Does that mean anything to you, Miss Bohun? . . . " Sir Henry Merivale turned to Catherine Bohun. Asked, "Sentimental value, that's what he wants to hold in his hands while he's carrying out those fun plans? ... Now, now, don't worry, I know he'll be fine soon." She shook her head: "No, I've never seen it." Sir Henry Merrillville threw the silver piece into the drawer with a ding. "I'll tell you what it is, Masters. I'm leaving for London tomorrow morning. I know a silversmith who lives in a funny little shop on the back of Lincoln's Common, and I helped him once. He'll In a second, tell me what this is. I'll take this and bring it to him tomorrow. That... if necessary. Maybe, maybe not, it depends. I'm thinking of something else Something." He took out his pocket watch and looked at it in astonishment, "It's seven o'clock in the evening, and we have dinner at half past seven...Miss Boheng, last night you took the moonlight and started a sightseeing tour, and came to this place room, and someone tried to push Martha Tate down the stairs, what time was it?"

"Near eleven o'clock, as far as I remember," said Catherine Bohun hesitantly. "Oh, earlier! . . . " said Sir Henry Merrillville in mournful tones, "I'm going to bed, bastard! . . . .Like... well, nothing. It's eleven o'clock, there's still time to eat and take a nap before he comes back. A few minutes after eleven I might be able to introduce you to the murderer... We Will be doing another moonlight trip in this room. We'll be recreating the attempt to push down the stairs. I have high hopes for my little skit." Masters mused, shifting his weight to his other leg, his body stiffening.Sir Henry Merivale's tone was so casual that it took them a second to realize what was going on.

"Another joke, Mr. Henry Merrillville? . . . " said Inspector Masters quickly, "or are you really going to . . . " "Of course I mean it," snapped Sir Henry Merrillville. "And the person who killed Miss Martha Tate was one of the five people who went to see the stairs with her last night?" "Aha, that's what I mean," said Sir Henry Merrillville, nodding emphatically. With great uneasiness, James Bennett counted the members of the Five in his head and looked at Catherine Bohun.She gestured in protest. Finally, a journalist's car, its brakes rattling, was filled with a wail of protest, and in the fast lane behind came the fading growl of Officer Porter, which nearly made two men jump to their feet.He tapped his finger on the tip of his nose with a sad face, as if he was fascinated by his own ideas. Sir Henry Merrillville rose suddenly and walked awkwardly to the far end of the side wall, to the window overlooking the porch drive.He pushed aside the leaf of the window, pushed the window open, and a gust of cold air rustled the papers on the table. "Hey! . . . " said Sir Henry Merivale, looking out.In the fast lane below, Officer Porter loomed a hazy figure. "We're in the showroom. Boy, find that Thompson guy in the house, okay? Come on and bring him over, I just thought of something. Thanks." Sir Henry Merrillville had hardly finished speaking when the window slammed shut. Masters said: "But listen to me, Mr. Henry Merrillwell, let's get back to the point! . . . I don't understand this at all. You say suddenly and calmly that you will tell us about the murderer at eleven o'clock." Who, moreover, did it by recreating the scene of trying to push Miss Martha Tate down the stairs..." "You are right," replied Sir Henry Merrillville with certainty. "I don't mean to question your idea. I'll be the first to agree, sir, because in the past, they've all worked. But this time, what kind of amazing feat will you have in your head, and, you do , what good is it?...you can't expect a murderer to kindly, push someone down, can you?...and trying to target him or her, lying about your position to catch someone, doesn't do any good either, I They've all been questioned, and since there's only one candle, no one remembers where the others are standing, so everyone looks puzzled. Well, then...what else?" Masters stopped.With uncertain eyes, he glanced at the large narrow door of the stairs. On an abandoned keyhole, there was an iron border and a long iron latch.Sir Henry Merrillville looked at him from his shrewd, queer little eyes with undisguised delight. "Oh, I know what you're thinking! . . . " Sir Henry Merivale offered, "Your thoughts, Masters, have undoubtedly gone in the direction of a soap opera. I've read a dozen of those stories, Much more fun than seeing somebody in a top hat sitting and thriving. I know, I know... We get somebody and dress up like Tate, like Miss Catherine Bohun sitting here, and let her stand on the stairs Bottom. The lights went out, a group of people gathered on the platform, some held a candle, and some saw a mysterious ghost returning from the inexplicable tomb. The ghost raised her arms and said in a dead tone "Yes, do it!..." The guilty murderer screamed and fell down." Sir Henry Merrillville waved his arms and roared in a rough voice, and he wiped the top of his head with his hand in thought, " Fuck his granny, Masters, if the whole thing is that simple, isn't the job of the police like a bed of soft rose petals?" Sir Henry Merrillville looked at Masters sharply. "That's an interesting thing, too, Masters. Nine times out of ten, the murderer just tells us to take off the fake beards with a dull face. . . In a case like this, even a little trick like planting mushrooms might surprise the mysterious murderer. The imagination that can bring down such a person is more important than the brain." Sir Henry Merrivier was proud "Besides, the murderer's brains are good enough, but not very helpful for the murder. I have said, and I will say again, that the real beauty of the case lies in a most fortunate accident, which answered the murderer's prayer." ... "But we're not going to use old tricks like that, because it's no good frightening him if we can't prove anything. I've got another idea. I've been sitting and thinking about it, and suddenly I have an idea, if If it works, the murderer will be hanged higher than Judas. If,. If, if!... I don't know if it will work. Damn, Masters, I'm sick of it..." "I suppose, Mr. Henry Merivale," grumbled the Inspector, "that it's no use asking you that?" "No good, unless I want to give you some advice. I need Sergeant Porter and two or three men here, ambush where I say, and keep them armed. It won't hurt. Then, I'll wait for a telegram." Reply, I gotta have that, or I'm a stupid pig. Most importantly, I gotta ask that Thompson guy a question, that's pretty much the most critical thing in my entire case. Gather five guys on the landing Now, I'm Martha Tate, so that's six; and if I'm wrong, there's no point, it's a waste of time." "Ask Thompson? . . . " asked Masters. "A question about what?" "About his teeth," said Sir Henry Merrillville impatiently. "Well!..." There was a silence, and Masters cried horribly, "you know your temper, and I know that no matter how absurd you say, you mean it. We'll do what you say Do. But there's one thing I've got to figure out, at least you gotta tell me about it. Maurice Bohun's story that Carl Wraig was the murderer—do you believe it? You ignore all the other opinions, But he didn't kill him when he was talking. Was he right? It's driving me crazy, Mr. Henry Merrivier, and I swear I don't know the truth..." "I know," said Catherine Bohun suddenly. In this cold room, her voice was calm and sure.She stood in front of the table, stroking the table with her fingers.The light from the electric candles cast a faint light on her black hair, and her chest heaved sharply under the old tweed coat, but that was the only sign of her nervousness. "You insist," said Catherine Bohun, "to carry out—your plan, this evening, anyway?" "Well, listen! . . . " cried Sir Henry Merrillville.He moved around and covered his eyes with his hands. "I think it's best to do it that way. You don't mind?" "No, but before you start, you can rule out one person, maybe two." "Very interesting. Why, Miss Bohun?" "Before you came in, I heard Uncle Maurice's whole theory. I listened to every detail... Oh, so clever, like him." Catherine Bohun said, smiling, tilting her head. I know whether the man Carl Regger committed murder, but from what I have seen, I understand that the entire accusation is based on the behavior of one person. Without that person, maybe it would not have developed into a murder..." "You mean..." Sir Henry Merivale looked at Catherine curiously. "It's Miss Louise Carraway! . . . " Catherine Bohun slapped her fingers on the table, and began to speak rapidly, "Louis went to the waterside, and after that, there was no one in the corridor, and the blood Got it on her wrist, she made it up... Now I'll tell you something, I heard it from Dr. Wynn, and he swears it's true. He checked Louise this morning, and then , he called Jarvis Willa into the hallway to say something to him when they heard gunshots..." She cast her eyes on the scrubbed area of ​​the gray and white carpet, and could barely speak, " That's when they heard it. Dr. Wynn was busy taking care of John, and never mentioned it again... "But that's it. He said that late last night Louise must have taken an overdose of sleeping pills—like barbiturates. You can probably guess why. Well, she took too much, and it had the opposite effect." Effect: She has been conscious and screaming wildly, but her body is also partially paralyzed. She may have the idea of ​​going to the water pavilion, maybe have hallucinations, and even try to go. Maybe when going to the water pavilion, she collapsed out of my room." cried Catherine Bohun excitedly, "but Dr. Wynn is willing to swear that, after his examination, Miss Louise Carraway took sleeping pills no later than one o'clock. Within the next four or five hours, she couldn't have left the room more than twenty or thirty feet. No way. The furthest she could go was where she ended up. She was stumbling in the hallway, And then in the dark, bumped into this person; there was such a person, it wasn't her fantasy, and it turned out that you couldn't accuse her of murder." Masters took out his notebook and put it on the table, cursing.He looked at Sir Henry Merrillville, and asked: "Is that possible, Mr. Henry Merrival? . . . " "Aha, it's possible. It depends on the dose, and it depends on the person. If you don't know the patient's mental state, you can speculate casually. However, let Dr. Wynn do whatever he should. He may be right or wrong Yes. I'd rather say he's wrong, but it's up to you." Sir Henry Merrillville grinned slowly. "Hello, Masters? . . . " "You mean, Mr. Henry Merivale, you believe Mr. Bohun's explanation?" Masters asked in surprise. Sir Henry Merivale moved uncomfortably and roared, "Listen, Masters, I don't want to distract you unless it's required for a particular purpose. That's enough shit Messy enough!... That's it. All I can tell you is that I don't dangle my hands around a crystal ball and make crazy noises purely from cursing, but there are some things you have to see ’” Sir Henry Merrillville wriggled impatiently and exhaled hard. “Miss Catherine Bohun is right about one thing. If you accept the assumption of Reg’s guilt, you can’t just accept cooperation.” The part of your mind: You take it all or you don't. And the crux of that theory is a girl who said someone got blood on her wrist. If you think: Someone wandering in the hallway is a lie , that's all right, but if you believe it's a real man, you'll have to kick the theory of Carl Wragg's guilt out of the way," cried Sir Henry Merrillville, keeping his eyes on Masters, "Why?...Because imagining that there are two people wandering around here with their hands covered in blood, this kind of coincidence is too absurd and scary. Moreover, just as the girl said, she bumped into someone in this house At the moment, according to Maurice Bohun's theory, Carl Wraig was still at the waterside. He couldn't leave the waterside until he came back in John's footsteps. Then it's up to you, there's a prowler in the corridor, Either it’s bullshit, or it’s not. But if it’s not, you’ve shaken the theory and moved in the direction of exonerating Reg.” Masters took a few steps slowly, as if measuring the distance of a spot on the carpet.Then, his face became angry and disturbed. "That's it. That's it, sir. That's why I don't understand, your order." Masters roared annoyedly, "You won't let me question Miss Caraway, and you won't question her yourself... " "Haha! . . . You're right, kid." "You don't look like you intend to question Carl Wraig... eh?" Masters looked at Sir Henry Merrival sarcastically, and said with a smile, "You stop him, I mean , you will discuss with Tim Emery and tell him to calm down Carl Wraig as soon as possible..." Sir Henry Merrillville opened one eye and said, "I don't think you quite understand what I'm saying, Masters. My instructions to Tim Emory are: keep Carl Wraig as drunk as possible." .Aha, he's sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him warily, sticking the bottle under his nose at the first sign of moving. Emory thinks I'm crazy, like you. But I Promise, I will bring the murderer who killed his wife to him, so he will obey my order, just like you." A strange expression slowly passed over Masters' face, and then he nodded with a malicious smile. "Finally! . . . I know, you'll see soon enough. Aha, you're absolutely right, that's all. I don't want to question the Callaway girls and Carl Reg, especially Reg. To tell you the truth, boy, if As soon as Reg gets a chance to respond to the charges against him, I shall suffer..." Sir Henry Merrillville sneered strangely, "I only need a few hours to spare, but urgently." Henry. As Sir Merrillville said, turning suddenly to Catherine Bohun, he said, "And this is a prologue, and I implore you to do one thing, Miss Bohun, for the next three hours, whatever What are you going to do, don't mention Dr. Wynn's diagnosis report to your friend. Understand? " Sir Henry Merrillville's voice was very low, deeper than the wind whispering in the chimney, but it seemed to echo in this cold room.He stretched his dirty head forward to the light, but he seemed to have grown into a giant, leaning on a large piece of gray and black furniture. Snowflakes tapped on the window lattice lightly, and drifted past again.James Bennett felt a nightmare again.In the sudden wind, he felt that he heard some kind of echo that he had heard in the morning. "You..." Catherine Bohun said suddenly, "do you hear the dog barking?" They all heard, but no one spoke, until Catherine Bohun turned away and nodded a little: "Excuse me! . . . " she said in the same tone, "It's getting late, I have to change .”

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