Chapter 20 Chapter Seventeen: Lantern Shadow Murder

"Strange, Mr. Henry Merivale! . . . " said Masters, kindly and uneasy, "that was your idea . . . er?" Asking the servants, you know. They're all saying: That German Shepherd, barking all morning—I like dogs. How's it going now?" Sir Henry Merrillville rubbed the outside of his chin, his glazed eyes swept across the room, and his blunted form conveyed an impression of uneasiness. "Hey? Oh! . . . Now! Well, I'll tell you what that is. You and the boys go check on Carl Wraig and make sure he's still asleep. Where the hell do you want Potter to go with that butler Is it? ... I want to have a word with him, and then look at this room. Ah! . . . "

Sir Henry Merrillville nodded almost graciously when there was a knock at the door.Thompson stood tremblingly at the door, followed by Officer Potter, who was as tall as a tower. "Finally! . . . " roared Sir Henry Merrillville, "you are the man I want to see. Hush, now, I won't hurt you, so take it easy! . . . You may stay, Potter. Get out , the rest of you, come back when things are settled." Sir Henry Merrillville waved the policemen out and looked back at Thompson, the butler here. "Well! . . . Listen, I wonder how bad your jaw was last night, Thompson," said Sir Henry Merrillville gravely. "A toothache is a devil, isn't it? . . . Yes. I just wanted to ask, did you sleep at all last night? If... say, you took a nap towards the end of the night, around four or five o'clock..."

That was all the conversation Inspector Masters and James Bennett could hear, because Masters closed the door.Then the blunt sheriff raised his fist and shook it, making a rough gesture in the dimly lit corridor.Bennett said, "What's going on in his head? Don't you have even the vaguest idea of ​​what he thinks?" "I have..." said Masters, dropping his hand, "I have. But, to tell you the truth, I don't like to think about what it means. Or... no, it's not all that I don't like Come to think of it, as long as Sir Henry Merrillville is keeping an eye on somebody, and I think he is. But I don't see how he's going to prove it. Here's a bunch of gentlemen who are too cautious even for him. After all I can't see what he's hoping to get out of reconstructing last night's attempted murder?...Fuck his grandma, that doesn't seem to matter at all!...It doesn't matter if it worked out, you know of."

"Yeah, that's it. Do you hear that dog barking now? . . . " asked James Bennett curiously. "All dogs bark," Masters said curtly. "Looks like we've got a lot of work to do. Let's go to that guy's room first and get his pulse. CID work, uh ? . . . If he is unhappy about being in a coma, we may have to get him before Sir Henry. This way." Carl Wraig's room is near the end of the stairs, just around the corner of the corridor, which is the more modern part of the house.Light came from the beams, and the door was ajar.Masters backed away almost instinctively at the voices—one was a woman's sobbing choke, the other was Tim Emery's shrill voice, with a sort of savage patience.

"Listen now! . . . " Tim Emery persuaded, "I tried to talk to you for a good five minutes—don't cry, okay? . . . Damn it! . . . ” he grumbled angrily, “if you have anything to tell me, go on, I’m listening. Here, you must have some… some gin, huh? Now, listen, Miss what... what did you say your name was?" "Beryl, sir. Beryl Symonds," said the other timidly. "Okay! . . . Relax then. What do you want to say?" She controlled her choking voice: "I tried... sir, this afternoon, I really tried to tell this gentleman, I really want to say, but, he is too obscene, always trying to catch... catch Me. Then I told him, I can't tell the master, because of course the master doesn't... understand, he will... definitely fire me!"

"Look! . . . " said Tim Emery, "you're trying to tell me that Carl wants to befriend you? . . . Is that so?" "They said: You're a friend of his, sir, you can't make me say it! ... You can't. When I brought him tea this morning, he said, 'You're right.' ... I mean Yeah, he said I was right to lock up last night. Then I told him what they said about the modus operandi, and first he got a weird look on his face—he's gotten nasty, you see— — and then ran after me, really, dragging a bathrobe and yelling: 'Good girl, good girl, well, if I got involved, you know, where was I last night...wasn't I? ' I said yes. But..."

Masters knocked on the door, and with almost the same motion, pushed it away.It may be pure fear that made the girl stop crying.She backed off and said, "Oh my God, it's the police!  …" Tim Emery's face was pale and his hair was disheveled. He jumped up from his chair, and a magazine with a gray-yellow cover was on his lap. "Crack!" and fell to the ground. He suppressed a nervous cry in time. Just now, he had been sitting weakly beside a messy bed, a lamp was lit on a table near him, and a newspaper was knotted in the shadow of the lamp.There are several bottles on the table, two of which are empty, stained with lemon peel, soda water and sugar, and even the full ashtray is wet.The smell of smoke, against the dim lights, the air is disgustingly poor.

"That's right! . . . " said Masters. "It's the police. And I'm the one to hear your story, miss." "Look!..." said Tim Emery.He sat down again, picked up a cigarette butt from the corner of the ashtray, and shoved it between his lips tremblingly, "What crazy thing happened in this place? Someone knocked on the door, and when you opened it, there was no one outside. .The lights are off, and someone is squatting in a corner of the corridor..." "How is this going?" "I'm not kidding you! . . . You ask her," Tim Emery yelled, pointing at Beryl Symonds. Just teasing us because he's never been that drunk. Never... since I've known him. I'll tell you, at that moment, I nearly dropped my pants. As if someone was trying to get me, on something Interested. I don't know, like crazy."

Masters cast his eyes on the bed and said, "Where's Carl Wraig?" "Oh, he's fine. He's out..." Tim Emery looked at Beryl Simmonds and suppressed his emotions. "He went to the shower. If you leave them alone, they Much better. But let me tell you, Sergeant, a man can't drink too much, or you'll be responsible for his acute alcoholism. He..." "Yes! . . . " said Masters, nodding. "The young lady." Beryl Symonds stepped back in horror.She was petite, dark-skinned, and serious-looking, with a sense of beauty of her own.She looked a little chunky, with brown eyes, puffy and full of enthusiasm, like pear blossoms with rain.Wearing a maid's hat and apron, she appears to be trying to tidy up.

Suddenly she yelled: "I've seen all his movies! . . . he directed them. His name is written in big letters like theirs. I don't see any harm in chatting, but I don't want to be Fired. Please, I don't want to be fired!" "I talked to you this afternoon!..." Masters said to Beryl Simmonds slowly and sharply, "You said: You don't know what happened last night. That kind of The statement is not good for you, you know it yourself. Are you not honest in front of the officer?" Little by little they heard the story.James Bennett always had the distorted, desperate, rather comical image of Carl Raig in his mind, and he wondered why he hadn't predicted it.Psychologically speaking, this was inevitable for Carl Reiger.He even predicted that twisted and funny ending.

Beryl Symonds was told that when Carl Wragg arrived yesterday afternoon, she would light the fire and make the room ready for him.He looked at her then, did nothing but squeeze her humorously (some gentlemen do this, some don't), and when she left the room, muttered mischievously, some incomprehensible words, really It made her heart palpitate. Carl Wraig also flattered her.Then Beryl Symonds didn't see him until last eleven o'clock last night when Beryl Symonds was going to bed.The host and his guests return from a tour of King Charles' chambers.But Carl Wraig, a little further back from the others, looked - "frustrated, agitated, funny".Suddenly, he stopped and looked at Beryl Symonds, waiting until the others were out of sight... Is it inevitable? ...Well, Carl Wragg's idea was to have Beryl Symonds come to his room at two o'clock, after everyone else was asleep, and tell her about Hollywood.He said there was a bottle of gin.He said: To hell with everything.Her heart throbbed at these romantic adventures. "It's like the film he made, and he remembers me from it." Beryl Simmonds said maybe so. Beryl Symonds went upstairs, her heart beating faster; she whispered to Stella, her roommate, who was startled and said: "Holy Mother, don't be a fool, do you think what will happen if the master sees it?" ?” "Don't worry about that! . . . " said Masters. "Did you come downstairs at two o'clock?" But both Masters and James Bennett were beginning to realize what Carl Wragg's last, sarcastic snarl to Catherine Bohun had meant when he came upstairs at one-thirty. Beryl Symonds cried out, repeating: she just wanted to come down and see him.She seemed to have gained courage from the idea of ​​"come down and have a look at him".She scouted around first, then.Make up your mind when you see him. "But when I came down, I knew as soon as I came in that I shouldn't have stayed even a minute. Because Mr. Reg—was already drinking, walking up and down, and muttering to himself." Beryl Symonds said in a panic, "The next thing he turned his head and saw me and started laughing. The moment I saw his face, I was so scared I couldn't move, that's when I know: it was wrong to come downstairs..." "Yeah, yeah, never mind. What did you do?" Masters asked carefully. "He started running after me, sir. Then I saw the key was still on the outside of the door, so I ran out and shut the door, and twisted the key to lock it." Masters looked at James Bennett and slowly wiped his forehead with his hand. "But, you opened the door again... I guess?" he asked with a smile. "No . . . no, sir! . . . I even grabbed the doorknob outside and was too scared to move. Then he gave a cry, not very loud, and I could hear it through the transom." Beryl Simmonds Shaking his head excitedly, "He said, 'What the hell idea is that?' That's what he said. And then he started going crazy and said, 'Better open the door, if you don't want me to break it down, get If you wake up the whole house... Otherwise, where else can you go by then?" I couldn't think of what to say, so I replied: "Better not, or you will look like a jackass, sir. . . . Isn't it?'" Beryl Symonds was trying to suppress his emotions.She looked from one person to another. "That's the only thing I can think of to say! . . . " she cried defensively, "and, anyway, it often stops these gentlemen." "That's right!..." Masters said in a heavy, uncertain tone, "and then?..." "Then I don't know what to do, sir, because I dare not unlock the door, and I don't want to stay in the corridor, for fear that the master will appear as usual." Beryl Simmonds said sadly, "So, I stepped back and stood at the end of the corridor. Then he said nothing, and there was no sound in the room until he tried to climb out through the transom." "Climbing out of the transom?..." repeated Masters, "what was he wearing then?" "Dressing?...I won't tolerate their hints!..." Beryl Symonds cried, "I won't!...I'd rather be fired. What he's wearing!..." She recalled "He had his shirtsleeves in his hands. But I knew he couldn't get out through the transom because it was open on the other side, and trying to squeeze through would just get his shoulders filthy dirty, so he stopped. I heard When he said, 'You're still there, I bet. Don't mind, I'm...I'm going to drink.' He smiled. The tone of his voice scares the hell out of me..." Beryl Symonds tremblingly, looking longingly at Masters, "Sir, I run upstairs—that's the truth that will save me, and I won't let him out until morning." Masters bowed his head. "It's useless! . . . " he said. "The second explanation is bankrupt. Sir Henry knew it would be so, somehow. So that's what the guy meant by claiming to have an alibi! . . . " He turned violently Symonds Berrill, "Huh? And this morning?  …" "Nothing, I opened the door and at the same time you came to me and talked about this horrific murder. So I thought: 'Wow! If he's crazy and wants to say anything to me, I'll stop him and tell him right away , Miss Martha Tate is dead, poor lady...'" At that moment, Beryl Symonds was on the verge of sobbing again, "That would... help. Help me, I think the news destroyed him .He immediately grabbed my arm and said, 'Bohun did it, didn't he?... Where is Mr. Bohun now?' I said, 'You mean Master?' He said - you know I can't say That word... no, another!...' Then I said: I don't know what happened to Mr. John, because his bed was not slept in, and things were thrown all over the floor; I heard it downstairs later. I told him everything. Then he mentioned that if there was any trouble, he wanted me to tell them that he had been locked in the room. I said I would and left him. But now Stella said, Masters thinks he did it, so I had to try to talk to this gentleman..." "Get out! . . . " said Masters angrily. "Sir?" Beryl Symonds looked at the officer in horror. "Go, miss. Let's go! ... It's gone." Masters shook his head impatiently, "Now, now, don't come and grab my arm, miss, let me see what I can do for you Something. I'm a cop, damn it! . . . That's all I can say, but I'll do my best." Masters persuaded Beryl Symonds to leave the room, then turned and shook his fist.Masters said wistfully: "Very well, quite enlightening. I'm starting to see through Carl Wragg's mind. Now I understand what's going on in his head. I understand what he said to us this morning. Every word he said, I also understand why he is not in a hurry to explain what his own alibi is. But, this is not helpful to us!...does it?" James Bennett sneered, "He's spent a hell of a time and he's not back here." He was taken aback by his own words.Looking at the empty and messy bed, looking at the messy bottles on the table, under the light, newspapers formed a circle in the shadow of the light.James Bennett found himself in a trance, half asleep.Light filtered through the smudged page, outlining part of the headline.He only recognized one word, shaking it on the wrinkled newspaper, but the more he looked, the more clearly the word was printed in black letters... "A terribly long time, and it hasn't come back yet," repeated James Bennett to himself, "shall we..." "Nonsense! . . . " said Masters. "Someone's back." It wasn't Carl Wraig who came back, it was only Sir Henry Merrillville... just one man.He crowded in the doorway inscrutably, with his back raised and a dangerous look on his face.He came in, looked around, closed the door, and stood leaning against it. Masters carefully pulled out his notebook: "We have more evidence, sir. I don't know if you'll suspect it, but, Carl Wraig has an alibi. There's a girl... I'll read it to you Well. Reg hasn't come back yet, but he's completely cleared." "You won't need it, boy! . . . " Sir Henry Merrillville answered slowly. "He's never coming back." The terrible silence, coupled with the power of those few words, crashed into the room like a cry.The wind outside has gradually subsided, and the whole house is silent. James Bennett looked first at Sir Henry Merrillville, who was leaning on the door with his arms outstretched, and then at the newspapers, which reflected dull light around the lamp.The word that jumped out was murder. After a moment of silence, Sir Henry Merrillville lumbered over to the table, glancing in turn at Masters, James Bennett, and Tim Emery. "We four, to set up a council of war for this evening's business," said Sir Henry Merrillville solemnly. "My plan is still in force, you see, and the craziest part of it is that as long as we have Bold enough, ruthless enough to follow it through, this plan will work better than anything." Sir Henry Merrillville sighed and looked back at Inspector Masters. "Do you believe in devils, Masters? . . . Do you believe in humanoid devils, eavesdropping through keyholes, knocking on doors, and taking people's lives like a row of dominoes toppling over? ?... Calm down!" Sir Henry Merrillville raised his hand to stop the restlessness of several people. "And now Carl Wraig is dead, strangled, and thrown under the stairs in King Charles' chambers. Poor pig! . . . he's too drunk to protect himself, but not too drunk to think .Thinking killed him. What are they bottled in? Gin?... I hate it, but, I'll drink a bottle of pure. I feel a little sympathetic to him." "But," said Tim Emery sharply, "he goes..." "Aha, that's what you thought. He's gone too far, he can't keep certain parts of his brain going, you know him like that?..." Sir Henry Merrivier's eyes flicked over the faces of several people face, stomping furiously, "He walked out and scared someone in that room at the end of the corridor. So that person strangled him and threw him down the stairs... Donkey, don't you?..." asked Sir Henry Merrillville impatiently, opening and closing his hands, and staring at James Bennett, "I kept laughing at your demons and noises, and then, Sitting in that room all the time, and Carl Ragg, that poor, failed pig, was lying at the bottom of the stairs with a dejected face and a fingerprint on his throat. But how would I know? I only noticed one thing , the murder was undetected. When Potter and I went up the stairs, we saw the body... Relax, Masters! Where are you going?" Sheriff Masters' voice faltered a little. "Where else can I go, Mr. Henry? . . . " he asked, "this thing forbids everything! . . . I'm going to find out where everyone is in the house . . . " "No, it doesn't have to be like that, boy. If I can stop you, please don't. No one else in the house knows he's dead." "What?..." Masters raised his head in surprise, staring into Sir Henry Merrivier's eyes. "That's what I'm going to say. Potter guards him and won't let anyone in. What can we do for him but take off our hats reverently? . . . " Sir Henry Merivale nodded, his eyes wide Wide open, watching everyone, "He's dead, we may only leave him there for a few hours, Masters. This may be a cruel ruse; it may be an insult to the human body, making it as a puppet for the show; but according to the plan, the show will go on. When our group, in the dark, gets to that staircase, just hold up the candle, and they'll see where he fell. Well, Now I'm going to down that bottle." Sir Henry Merrillville took the bottle and glass from Tim Emory's trembling hand, and watched him sit up on the bed. "I have some advice for you, boy. I want you to listen carefully, and make sure you don't contradict what I tell you. You are the only one who can succeed in convincing them, because you are Reg's friend." Henry Merivale The Sir gave Tim Emery solemn orders, "You don't go to dinner, just stay here and lock the door from the inside. If anyone comes, no matter who uses any excuse, don't open the door. You will Tell them through the door that Carl Wragg is waking up from his stupor, but he's filthy as hell, and we won't let him out until he's tidied up a bit. Got it?" "Understood, but..." Tim Emery nodded, his eyes full of doubts. "Very well. As soon as supper is over, a bunch of us will come over here, in King Charles' rooms, for a little experiment. Don't care what that is. If anyone, try to wake up Carl Wraig, If you want to participate in the experiment, you can use the previous excuse to refuse." Sir Henry Merrillville gave solemn instructions, and Tim Emory nodded in agreement. "James Bennett is going to be Carl Wraig in the experiment, and I'm going to be Martha Tate. I'm afraid to call Masters straight out, and he's going to be there for some very subtle reason. , stay at the bottom of the stairs. After we entered King Charles' room, they thought you were still here, and you were going to sneak out, go over there, and stand at the door to watch." Sir Henry Merrivier pointed to the door and ordered , "They probably won't notice you. They'll be standing on the platform, with no lights, just a candle. No matter what you see or hear, anything unexpected, don't wait until I say the signal. Make a sound. Is it clear?" Masters punched the table. "But listen to me, Sir! . . . Can't you just give us a hint, and tell us, what exactly are you expecting? . . . If you want, I'll have a breakdown of insanity. You won't be so crazy, though. Imagine the murderer giving himself away when he saw Carl Wraig's body there? The murderer knew the body was there." Sir Henry Merrillville looked at Masters curiously. He made no visible movement. He swallowed three fingers' wide of pure gin and looked into the glass. "Don't you understand yet? ... Well, that's all right, I have some instructions for you too. You'd better come down with me and see Carl Wraig." Sir Henry Merivale said, standing up. "I'm afraid the devil hasn't What's left is enough to be a signature, but let's dig around a little bit to see. Hey!..." Sir Henry Merrillville said, stepping forward and shaking Tim Emory's shoulder, " Take heart, boy. Yes, and you too. My good nephew, his cheeks are turning pale! . . . When you come down to supper, you must behave yourself! . . . Do you understand? . . . " "I'm all right! . . . " said James Bennett, "but I'm wondering how much supper you can count on to one person. Is that included in the little plan you're going to start before us? . . . Well, Mr. Baronet, you're not confessing at all! It's a damned dirty trick! . . . " complained James Bennett, looking directly at Sir Henry Merivale, "you take your favorite game, Throwing on us, but what about the ladies? How do they feel when they look down?...Louis is scared enough, and, you know she's innocent, you know Catherine Innocent, too. So what good is it to dangle a dead man in front of children like a rubber spider tied to a string?" Sir Henry Merrillville took off his spectacles and walked awkwardly to the door, turning his head only when he called Masters to pass. "It's a juggling trick! . . . " said Sir Henry Merrillville. "I can't explain it now, but we have to. My rubber spider will bite, boy, unless I'm all wrong. I I can only tell you that if you hint to anyone what is going to happen next, I will be very disappointed. And, when you see the result, it will never be pleasant to recall later. Understand?  … said Sir Henry Merrillville solemnly. "Anyone. Come here, Masters." Sir Henry Merrillville suddenly opened the door.The supper bell rang vibrated, round and deep, through the house, but there was something in the notes, a momentary sense of fear and finality.