Chapter 14 Chapter Thirteen Important Visits

"You know who killed Horn!" cried Inspector Quinn. "That's all right, for God's sake tell me, and we'll arrest him at once." "But I don't know," said Ellery darkly. The major and Sergeant Quinn stared at him together. "Bastard!" Officer Quinn scolded, "You're being clever, aren't you? What do you mean—you don't know? You just said you knew!" "Let me tell you," Ellery grunted, "I'm not holding you back, Pa. I did say: I know. But I don't know. It was just one of many things You say: let's arrest him at once. But I tell you, although my words are absolutely valid; but I can't lead you to the murderer as soon as I leave this building. And And now I say it—seriously, I know who killed the poor fellow—much like old Jim Bluzzo does when he sees his vocation."

Sergeant Quinn spread his hands. "Look, Major. I've been such a loser all my life. I've got to live with him. One—what?" "A sophist?" Ellery prompted him despondently. Officer Quinn was so angry that his eyes were wide open: "Someday you will completely change this stinky habit of beating around the bush and going to the police headquarters in the city to see me! Goodbye, major, thank you very much." After finishing speaking, he was out of breath. He walked out quickly, followed by the loyal Officer Willie and the yawning Agent Hersey. "Poor old man," sighed Ellery, "whenever I go around with him a little, he gets very angry. As a matter of fact, Major, I couldn't have said it more clearly. This time, I said It's serious."

"But you did say you knew." Bryant said, also with a puzzled look. "In truth, my dear major, I know the most superficial truth--believe me--but that is the least part of this spooky case. I should like to know the other two Don't know. There are some signs, but I can't figure it out. Only God knows when I will find out, if it is possible." The major chuckled: "Well, these words are too difficult for me to understand. Now I have to go to my shift. Remember--I am always at your service, Mr. Quinn. Especially when you Time to find the answers to those two puzzles!"

"Couldn't forget to collect the news, huh? Can I take the photos with me?" "Please." Ellery walked out onto Broadway, the enveloped photographs under his arm, frowning like an old-fashioned washboard.He took a puff on the cigar in his mouth, only to realize that he hadn't lit it at all. He stopped, looked around at the signs, and at the same time reached for a match to light his cigarette; then he turned a corner, entered a side road, and walked quickly toward Eighth Avenue.He stopped about a hundred meters from the street entrance and stood in front of a small building with marble veneer and iron bars around the windows.A line of words is deeply engraved on the lintel of the gate:

He went through the revolving door on the steps and found the manager of the bank. "I'm investigating Horne's murder," Ellery said kindly, taking out his SWAT ID and shaking it. The manager blinked nervously: "Oh! I heard about it. I also had a premonition that someone would come to investigate. But in fact, I don't know much about Mr. Horn..." "I don't have much to ask," Ellery said, smiling. "I'm also interested in another of your clients, and that's a big deal." "Who?" the manager asked blankly. "William Grant—I reckon he signed the check in that name."

"Grant! You mean the equestrian troupe? Crazy Bill Grant?" "very true." "Well," said the manager, stroking his chin, "what do you want to know about Mr. Grant?" "Horn once wrote a check for twenty-five dollars," Ellery explained patiently to him, "on the afternoon he was killed. Since the check was made to Grant, I wanted to see one look." "Oh," said the manager, "I—Mr. Grant deposited it?" "yes." "Wait a minute, please." The manager stood up and disappeared behind the iron grille door leading to the cashier's counter.He returned five minutes later with a rectangular note.

"Here. Horn and Grant are our customers, and the cashier almost destroyed the slip, but just took a picture of it—you know, we take pictures of all slips, and every month A list of accounts will be kept for the client, and we still have Horn's files." "Yeah, yeah, I see," Ellery said curtly, "show me." He took the canceled check from the manager and looked at it carefully.Then, he put the check on the table, "Very well. Now can I have a look at Horn's deposit records?" The manager hesitated for a moment: "Well, this is confidential, you should know..."

"This is a police investigation," Ellery said firmly.The manager immediately bowed out obediently.When he came back again, he was holding a record card. "Mr. Horne has only been a customer of our bank for a few days, you know," he said nervously, "only a few receipts and payments..." Ellery studied the cards.There are five records in total.Four of them were cashings of very small personal checks, all apparently for small expenses.But the fifth made Ellery hiss, and the manager got more nervous. "Three thousand dollars!" cried Ellery. "Why, he's only deposited five thousand dollars into this account! Interesting, huh? I'd like to see that check, please send it to the cashier The cashier is also called."

After a short while, both were brought before him. Checks are exchanged for cash.The signature on it is undoubtedly Horn himself—he seems to have forgotten all about the name given to him by his family, and always only writes the name "Buck" before the surname "Horn". "Did Horn himself cash this check?" Ellery asked the cashier. "Oh, yes, sir. I did it for him myself." "Do you remember any special expression he had when he went through the formalities? For example, anxious, happy or nervous... what kind of expression?" The teller seemed to be trying to remember: "Maybe it's my own imagination, but I kind of got the impression - as if he was worried about something. And seemed a little absent-minded - could barely hear what I was saying to him, just stared at him. I count the banknotes in my hand."

"Well. Does he have any special requirements for the denomination of that money?" "Yes, sir. He asked me to give him all three thousand dollars in small bills. Not even more than twenty dollars." "That was two days ago--the day before the murder?" "Yes, sir. It was that morning." "I see. Thank you both. Goodbye." Ellery came out of the bank, frowning.He recalled being at the scene that day, finding only thirty-dollar bills on Horn's body, and not a single bill in Horn's room at the Barclay Hotel.He hesitated for a moment, then walked towards the pay phone booth in the tobacco shop.He dialed the switchboard for the Police Headquarters and asked her to connect to Sergeant Quinn.But Officer Quinn wasn't there.Apparently the old man has not arrived at the General Administration after leaving the News Film Company.

Ellery stepped out of the tobacconist, looked around, then walked down Broadway again.Along the way, I found a telegraph office and went in.It took him ten minutes to compose a long telegram and send it to Hollywood, California.After paying, he went into another phone booth and dialed the 3100 number of Sperpur Police Headquarters again.This time someone answered his call. "Dad? It's Ellery. Is there a report of a search of Buck Horn's dressing room at the playground? . . . I'm waiting... I'm listening . No, eh? Um...no, nothing special. I'll walk around...in a minute I'll go straight to your place." He hung up the phone and walked out, heading straight for the subway station. Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in his father's office, telling him about his discovery at the bank. Officer Quinn was unusually interested: "Take out three thousand yuan two days ago, huh? Strange, strange, there is something wrong with it, son." He pondered and said, "Did you think that it was on the same night? Some mysterious person came to the hotel to look for him?" "Naturally. The course of events—if there is a connection here—seems to suggest causality: Horne deposited five thousand dollars in the bank and withdrew three thousand in small denomination bills. On the same night he had a mysterious visitor. And the next day he was murdered..." He frowned. "It doesn't seem so outrageous, does it?" "It doesn't seem to be connected to murder. But it's hard to say," said Constable Quinn thoughtfully. "If-oh, I mean if-if you connect the offering of three thousand dollars in cash with the visitor, What do you conclude - kind of like extortion. But if it's just extortion, why kill? Do people in the extortion business kill? Occasionally, of course, but mostly not .Unless—unless the other party has been drained..." He shook his head irritably, "This matter needs to be investigated further. I want to track down the visitor, but it doesn't seem easy. By the way, this morning I Received the autopsy report from Dr. Samuel Poddy." Ellery said in amazement: "I forgot about it! What did the report say?" "Nothing new, simple," Officer Quinn muttered. "Still what we knew at the scene, nothing new." "Oh, that!" said Ellery, waving his hands. "I wasn't asking about that. It was the stomach, Dad, and it was the stomach that I was concerned about. What did Poddy say?" Sergeant Quinn said grimly: "He did mention the stomach. He said Horne hadn't eaten for at least six hours before he died - maybe more." Ellery blinked; then he turned to stare at his nails: "That's what you said?" he murmured, "Okay, okay..." "What good?" "Eh? Oh, nothing. Anything new?" "Look at this," Police Officer Quinn rummaged through the desk, and pulled out a folded tabloid, with circles circled in many places on it, "Before I show you this, let me tell you something, doctor It also said Horn's internal organs showed no signs of poisoning." "Poisoned? Poisoned? God loves this treasure! . . . What are you holding?" "Look, what Santa Claus brought us this morning." "Written by Lyons?" Ellery asked absently, reaching for the paper. "Yeah," Sergeant Quinn moaned, "That birdman Lyons is more capable than our entire homicide squad. There's nothing he can't see, nothing he can't hear, and nothing he can't know. I really want to Break his neck!" Lyons's gossip column is full of exaggerated news and Broadway-style garrulousness, which is predictable; ridiculously, it also includes all relevant information before and after Horn's murder. plot.No one escaped his description, especially Officer Quinn.Those who were present at the time of the incident—Jit Horn, Crazy Bill Grant, Tommy Black, Julian Hunt, Tony Mars, Marla Gaye, etc. Bold type refers to names.The article also wrote humorously: "The senior police officer actually thought that the reporter of this newspaper-that is, himself-had a small toy gun in his butt pocket and was more likely to shoot and kill the arrogant old cowboy. Suspected murderer. It's time to stand aside, old man, go home and rest! All you need is to spend your old age in peace." "Oh," Ellery read with glee, "the notorious Bronx style. Well, what is it?" He narrowed his eyes, looking at the bottom line of the article, which seemed ordinary but sharply written. Inquiry text. "The great proprietor of the hot nightclub where the greats come and go," Lyons wrote derisively, "was present at the Oval last night for the reappearance of the much-discussed and famous Buck Horn—supposedly Not only may it be Horn's strong financial backing for his erratic return to the film industry, but he is also 'secretly' involved in the black-box operation behind the upcoming new round of boxing championships." "I find it strange," Police Officer Quinn muttered, "How did this kid, Lioness, find out about these inside stories?" "That's not all I have doubts about," Ellery whispered. "I doubt even Tony Mars knows that. Hunter's going to fund Black, huh? Privately it's possible... Never mind, Dad," he said. Standing up, "I can't dawdle any longer. I'm going to find Knowles." He said and walked towards the door. "You stop for me first. You said this morning that you knew who... what did you mean?" "Give me a break, Father," Ellery said hastily. "I shouldn't have said it. You'll find out sooner or later. You'll think I'm crazy if you say it now. Goodbye." Then he hurriedly left Officer Quinn's office. He went straight to room 114.There he met Lieutenant Knowles, buried in a pile of gaudy papers. "Damn, these files are really annoying," the ballistic expert grumbled without looking up, "but they might be surprisingly useful in court someday! Oh, Mr. Quinn, what are your orders? Got a new gun?" "This bad fight isn't over," said Ellery, laughing, and drawing from his coat pocket the . The one found in the room. "Hey, have I seen this gun before?" Lieutenant Knowles asked tactfully, taking the gun.Ellery shook his head. "Then it must be the other gun of the pair. I saw one like that in the pile of guns brought in from the playground!" "Surely you've seen it. It's a pair indeed. They're both Horn's guns, except this one's in a hotel trunk for him." "It's definitely by design," Knowles raved. "Sometimes old things just look authentic. A slightly vintage design, like an old postage stamp. You know, I'm still an addictive stamp collector." Or. Stamps are more valuable the older they get." "I know, I know," said Ellery, bypassing Knowles' theme. "I've seen a few philatelists, and now what I want to know is..." "Won't this gun fire the bullet that killed Horn?" Knowles said, shaking his head. "I told you only a .25 automatic could do that." "Yes, yes, I know that." Ellery sat down beside the expert's test bench. "Have you the other of the pair of revolvers?" "In the filing cabinet, everything is labeled." The lieutenant walked to a large iron cabinet, opened the drawer, and took out another gun from Horn. "So, what do you want to know now?" "Take both of those guns, please," Ellery said jokingly, "one in each hand, Lieutenant." The expert complied obediently with a puzzled expression: "Okay, what's the matter?" "I don't know if it's just my imagination, but one gun seems a little heavier than the other, is that so?" "Knowles, you old fellow, do you always have to answer such ridiculous questions?" The lieutenant laughed mockingly, "God be merciful, Quinn, that's all? Why are you so serious? I can tell you in a minute. To be honest, I do feel that one is lighter and the other is heavier. But I have to make sure." He weighed both guns on a balance, nodded, and said, "Exactly, sir. The tagged one weighs a good two ounces more than your new one." "Aha," said Ellery with satisfaction, "how wonderful." The expert squinted at him: "I guess, I don't need to ask this time, you won't let me identify whether these two revolvers really belong to Horn, right? I mean - they both belong to Horn, yes Bar?" "God, that's right," Ellery said. "There's nothing wrong with that. Lieutenant, you'd be very proud if I told you how crucial what you just identified for me is." Excitedly rubbing against each other, "It's so beautiful!" He sighed and smiled, "You can also seal up the second gun, Lieutenant, and put it away. Maybe we will have to put it away soon." They've all been returned. As an aside," he raised his voice, "do you think that gun was purposely built to be heavier than the other? You know, both guns were built at the same time—specially for Horne. of." "Probably so." Lieutenant Knowles nodded in approval. "If Horn is a two-gun man—if he always uses two guns—it is likely that he has special requirements for the feel of each gun. But that may not be the reason .” He hastily added, “Maybe it’s an error in the manufacturing of the gun workshop. Some old workshops make things that are not very fine.” "I think these guns are very well made," Ellery said. "Well, Lieutenant, thanks for the ten minutes you spent, and I got a good job. See you some other day." He soon left the Ballistic Research Department.In the corridor, he slowed down and smiled, thoughtfully took off his pince-nez and began to wipe it.

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