Chapter 3 Chapter 1 Meeting Mr. Jerry Lane
Since my personal part in the chain of events in this story is of little interest to those who are fascinated by Mr. Jerry Lane's name, I am taking into account the vanity of a woman. With that in mind, I will introduce myself as simply and concisely as possible.
I was young, young enough to be unquestionable by even the harshest standards.I was born with a pair of big watery blue eyes - I don't know how many gentlemen full of imagination have described it like this - as bright as night stars, as clear as the sky.A young preparatory student at Heidelberg once compared my hair to honey, but an American lady I met in the southern French resort of Port-Antibes put it mildly like a handful of straw.I recently stood side by side with the world's most beloved model, size 16, at the Clarice Salon in Paris, only to discover that I was in fact almost exactly the same size as that glamorous, perfectly voluptuous, haughty woman.I have perfect limbs, no bodily defects, and--this even Mr. Wren, the most authoritative expert, will agree with himself--I have a quick and clear head.It has also been said that one of my main charms is "naive and frank beyond humility", which, I believe, will be proved to be pure rumors in the following content.
That's about it.Besides, I think I can use "wandering Nordic" to describe myself.I've been on the move since my days as a ponytailed schoolgirl in a sailor suit.My journey has stopped at occasional resting places: I once spent two years, for example, at a dreadful bridal school in London; I gave up my mind and saw through my name "Patience Sam", I could never be compared with Gauguin, Matisse and others.I have visited the East like Marco Polo; I have also buckled the gates of Rome like Hannibal, the military commander of ancient Carthage.Furthermore, I am also full of scientific spirit: I tasted absinthe in Tunisia in North Africa, drank special wine in Lyon, France, and tasted the flavor of local brandy in Lisbon, the capital of Portugal; , with the joy of longing, drink the intoxicating breath from the poetic sea.
All this, needless to say, is due to the good fortune of my family, and I have always been accompanied by a unique character-an old female companion with astigmatism and a good sense of humor.
Travel is like whipped cream, the more you eat, the more addictive you become, but if you eat too much, you will get bored; at this time, travelers are like old people, who just want to return to basics and eat some home-cooked food.So with the firm determination of a girl, I bid farewell to my lovely old lady in Algiers, North Africa, and embarked on the journey home.My father greeted me with a feast of excellent roast beef, which made my stomach feel so much better.To be honest, he was horrified when I tried to bring a tattered but still delightful French edition into New York.During my two years at bridal school, this novel gave me many nights of Nazi beauty alone in my room; We, the two distressed domestic pigeons who were not familiar with the route, went all the way back to the apartment in the city in silence.
Now, after reading "The Tragedy of X" and "The Tragedy of Y," I realize that my great, burly, ugly old father, Inspector Sam, never once Mentioned his daughter who traveled far and wide.During the kiss on the pier, I knew from the look of surprise and affection in his eyes that it wasn't out of heartlessness, we were just estranged.When I was young and didn't know how to resist, my mother sent me to the European continent to be taken care of by my old girlfriend; I guessed that my mother's personality had a tendency to be sentimental, so through my letters, she also immersed herself in European elegance in life.But at the same time, my poor old father didn't get a chance to be close to his daughter.Our estrangement cannot be entirely blamed on my mother. I still vaguely remember that when I was a child, I spent all day spinning around at my father's feet, insisting on him telling the bloodiest details of the investigation process, reading crime news with interest, and insisting on breaking into his central office. Street office, offering some ridiculous advice.Maybe my father won't admit it, but I'm sure he must have breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that I was sent to Europe.
Anyway, after we got home, it took us several weeks to develop a normal father-daughter relationship.During those wandering days, I only returned to visit occasionally, so that he rarely had daily lunches with young women, kisses good night, and all the pleasant experiences of being a parent.For a moment, in fact, he was at a loss. My daughter frightened him more than the countless outlaws he had captured in his lifetime investigative work.
Next I relate the story of Mr. Wren and the case of the Algonquin prison inmate Alan D'O.And all of the above is just a necessary prelude to explain how the eccentric Patience Sam got involved in this murder mystery.
In those years when he was away from home, his father’s letters—especially after his mother’s death—often mentioned with great respect a strange and gifted elder—Jerry Lane, who walked into his life very dramatically. Life.Of course, I have admired this old gentleman for a long time, firstly because I have always loved to read detective stories, both true reports and fictional novels; secondly, because this retired drama master is often The media in Europe and the United States brought it up as Superman.After he was unfortunately deaf and retired from the stage, he devoted himself to the investigation and research of criminal cases. His outstanding achievements have been reported extensively and deeply, and even I have heard about them in Europe from time to time.
On the way back to my hometown, I suddenly realized that what I longed for most was to meet this strange man who lived in the magic castle on the banks of the Hudson River.
But I found that my father was buried in his work and didn't care about other things.After retiring from the New York Criminal Department, he had naturally been bored for most of his life: crime had become like a diet to him.Inevitably, he plunged headfirst into private detective work, and based on his past reputation, this risky venture was a huge success from the start.
As for me, I have nothing to do, and I feel that the education and lifestyle I received in foreign countries are difficult to adapt to the serious and serious life, so perhaps it is inevitable to resume everything I left off many years ago.I started spending a lot of time in my dad's office, clinging to him as much as ever during his whining.He seems to think that his daughter is like an ornament like a button, but I was born with his hard bones, and finally this insistence finally softened him.A few times he even asked me to conduct some simple investigations myself. From these experiences, I learned some terminology and modern criminal psychology-this rough training was indeed of great help to my later analysis of the Dow case.
But something more helpful also happened. To my father's astonishment and to my own surprise, I discovered that I had a superb intuition in observation and reasoning.It also gave me an epiphany that I had a very special gift, perhaps a result of my early environment and my undiminished interest in crime.
Father had sighed plaintively, "Petty, it's embarrassing to be an old man with you damn girl around. God, it's like being with Jerry Lane!"
And I replied: "My dear Inspector, that's a very flattering compliment. When are you going to introduce me to him?"
Three months after I returned to China, the opportunity came unexpectedly.It started out as an extremely simple incident, but later—like many cliché plots—it evolved into a series of amazing developments, which frightened even a girl who loves criminal investigation like me.
One day, a tall, elegantly dressed gray-haired man came to my father's office.It can be seen from his anxious expression that he wants to seek his father's help."Elihu Clay" was emblazoned on his card, and he gave me a sharp look.Sitting down, holding the handle of his cane tightly with both hands, he introduced himself in a simple and rigorous manner like a French banker.
He is the owner of Clay Marble Mines, whose mines are located primarily in Tilden County in upstate New York, with offices and residences in Leeds, New York.The matter he personally came to ask his father to investigate was very sensitive and confidential, which was the main reason why he went all the way to other places to find detectives.He specifically insisted that we be very, very careful...
"I see." My father said with a smile, "Have a cigar, has the money in your safe been stolen?"
"No, really! I have a—oh—an anonymous partner."
"Ha," said the father, "tell me."
The anonymous partner—and now that it is public, there is no reason to call it anonymous—is Dr. Ella Fawcett, brother of the eminent Joel Fawcett, State Senator for Tilden County. special.Judging by his father's frown, the senator must be a not very clean hypocrite.Mr. Clay, who unassumingly describes himself as "an honest businessman of the old fashion," now seems to regret having Dr. Fawcett on board.I deduced that Dr. Fawcett was not a good man, and Clay suspected that some of the sales contracts he had handled were shady, and that the company was doing well—too good to be true.A large number of contracts in various states and counties have come to Clay Marble Mining.Therefore, it is necessary to conduct a careful and careful investigation in private regarding this situation.
"Is there no evidence?" asked the father.
"Not at all, Inspector, he's too good at this. All I have is doubts. Can you take this case?" Elihu Clay said while placing three huge checks on the table superior.
Dad took one look at me. "Should we pick it up, Petty?"
I looked suspiciously, "We are very busy, we have to put down other things after picking up..."
Clay stared at me for a long time, then suddenly said: "I have a suggestion, inspector, I don't want Fawcett to be suspicious of you, but I need your help, it's better to let Miss Sam come with you Not to be a guest. Miss Sam's presence might make things—let me put it bluntly—easy.” The idea that Fawcett was irresistible to women, needless to say, piqued my interest at once.
"Dad, we can handle it." I said smartly, so I started to arrange it.
Elihu Clay returned to upstate New York that same day.Over the next two days we took care of some of the work at hand, and by Sunday night we were packing our bags for the Leeds.
I remember sitting stretched out in front of the fire, sipping the fine brandy, when the telegram came, sipping the fine brandy I had brought through, and outwitting the genial young customs policeman.The telegram was sent by Governor Bruno. When his father was an inspector of the New York State Criminal Bureau, Walter Xavier Bruno was the prosecutor of the District Attorney at that time. The governor is gone.
Father patted his legs and said, "That Bruno is still the same! Well, Petty, the opportunity has come, the thing you have been grinding me, can now be done."
He threw me the telegram, which read:
"Oh, that's great!" I yelled, spilling half a glass of brandy on top of my designer pajamas. "What do you think, uh—do you think he'd like me?"
"Jerry Lane," Father murmured, "is a no... no... he hates women. But I guess I'll have to take you with me. Time for you to go to bed," he laughed Get up, "Okay, Petty, have a sweet dream for tomorrow, we have to surprise that old man. And, uh-Petty, do you have to drink? First of all, I'm not one of those old-fashioned fathers ,but--"
I pecked at his ugly snub nose.Poor dad, he's tried hard enough.
The Hamlet, where Mr. Jerry Lane lives, is located on the hills beside the Hudson River. The scenery along the way is just like what my father once described, even more than I imagined.I have traveled all over the ancient wonders of Europe, but never have I seen such a breathtaking place.Dense forests, clear roads, a few idle clouds in the sky, and a quiet blue river meandering under your feet. The tranquility and beauty are even incomparable to the Rhine River.And that castle was probably moved from an ancient mountain in England with a magic carpet. It is huge, magnificent, and full of antiquity.
We walked across an elaborate wooden bridge and passed through a private wood that looked like Robin Hood's stronghold in Sherwood Forest - I had a little bit of hope that Robin Hood's lively and playful partner Monk Tucker would suddenly pop out from behind Startled us—then through the castle gates and into the manor grounds.As far as the eye can see, there are smiling faces, most of them are very old, and Jerry Wren has taken in many old and frail artists in the castle.My father told me how many people have been blessed by Mr. Wren's generosity.
We met Governor Bruno in the courtyard. He hadn't gone to greet the host and was waiting for us.He has a cheerful expression, a square face, short stature, high forehead, bright and intelligent eyes, and a protruding jaw, giving him a combative look.A state trooper followed him as bodyguard, patrolling the neighborhood vigilantly at all times.
But I was too excited to pay much attention to the governor.An old man was coming toward us through the privet bushes and the yew hedges—so old, I thought in amazement.From what my father said in the past, I always thought that Mr. Wren was in his prime, a tall and energetic man. Now I suddenly understand how ruthless time has been to him. In the past ten years, his broad shoulders have become rickety. His white hair is gradually thinning, and the years have carved grooves on his face and the back of his hands, making his brisk steps slow.Yet his eyes were still young—they were steady, clear, intelligent, humorous, and brilliant.His cheeks were rosy, and he didn't seem to notice me at first, but he held the hands of his father and Governor Bruno tightly and murmured, "Oh, it's great that you can come, that's great." girl, but at that moment I felt my throat choked up, and tears rolled in my eyes...
The father rubbed his nose and said in a hoarse voice, "Mr. Ryan, let me introduce, this is me—my daughter."
He took mine with his old hand, looked into my eyes and said solemnly: "Honey, welcome to Hamlet Heights."
Then I said something that I'm ashamed of later on, and to be honest, I wanted to show off, to show off my superior intelligence, to show off a woman's cleverness.I have been looking forward to this meeting for a long time, and under the influence of my subconscious mind, I have completely lost my shape at this moment.
Anyway, I blurted out, "It's an honor, Mr. Wren, you don't know how—I really—" and gave a wink—I'm pretty sure it was a wink—and then didn't add it. Thinkingly: "I think you're planning to write a memoir!"
Of course, I regretted at once what I had said so rashly and ignorantly, and I bit my lip, feeling mortified.Father gasped, and Governor Bruno was completely stunned.As for Mr. Wren, he raised his eyebrows, stared sharply at my face for a while, and then rubbed his hands and said with a low smile: "Child, this is really amazing. Inspector, you have hidden this lady for so many years , I won't spare you. What's your name?"
"Patiens," I said in a low voice.
"Ha, the tone of a Puritan. Inspector, I dare say that you chose this name, not your wife's idea." He laughed again, and took my arm coldly: "You two old antiques come together , Let’s talk about the old days later. It’s amazing, it’s amazing!” He kept laughing and led us to the gazebo, greeting the oncoming old people happily along the way, and stealing glances at me from time to time.At this time, I was full of confusion, and at the same time, I kept scolding my own ignorance and complacency in my heart, which led to the gaffe just now.
"Okay," Mr. Wren cleared his throat, and when we came back to our senses, he said, "Now, Patience, let's study those amazing words you just said." His voice was In my ear, with a special tone, deep, calm, full, like an old French wine Mosel white wine. "You say I'm thinking of writing a memoir, don't you? You're right! Besides, what else do you see with those beautiful eyes, my dear?"
"Oh, really," I said timidly, "I'm sorry for saying those things...I mean, I shouldn't...I don't want to take up the time with you, you and the governor and your father haven't seen each other for a long time. We met."
"Nonsense, boy. I'm sure we old men have got to learn how to grow Patience." He chuckled again. "Another sign of aging. What else do you see, Patience?" "
"Well," I breathed a sigh of relief, "you're learning to type, Mr. Wren."
"Ah!" He looked startled.My father stared at me as if he didn't recognize me at all.
"And," I continued humbly, "you taught yourself to type, Mr. Wren, and you learned to type by tapping, not by random keys."
"My God! What a reward." He turned to his father, smiling. "Inspector, you have been born a brilliant genius. But it may be that you have told Patiens some rumors about me."
"Damn it! I'm as surprised as you are. What other secrets can I tell her? Not even myself. Is she telling the truth?"
Governor Bruno rubbed his chin, "Miss Sam, I think Albany, the state government, can hire you to—"
"Hey! Don't get too far," murmured Jerry Lane, his eyes sparkling. "It's a challenge. Deduction, eh? Since Patience guessed it, there must be a clue, I suppose. Thinking... Is it from the moment we met? First, I walked through the bushes. Then I greeted the Inspector, and you, Bruno. Then Patience and I met, and—handshake. Got it! Amazing reasoning... Ha! Hands, of course!" He examined his hands quickly, then nodded with a smile, "That's amazing, my dear. Yes, yes! Of course! Learn to type , eh? Inspector, what do you see in my palm?"
He spread out his veined palm and stretched it out to his father's nose, and his father blinked. "Tell me, what clues did you see? It's very clear, it's all in my hands!"
We laughed. "Inspector, this again proves what I have always been convinced of, the importance of observing details in the investigation process. The details are that I have four fingertips on each hand that are worn and cracked, but the thumb is intact and the nails are manicured. Very neat. Apparently the only handwork that can damage all the nails, but not the thumb, is typing - learning to type, because the nails are not used to the impact of the fingertips on the keys, and they haven't healed for a while... Wonderful, Pei Sims!"
"Well—" Father seemed unhappy.
"Oh, come on, Inspector." Mr. Wren laughed. "You've always been a skeptic. Yes, yes, Patience, very clever! As for the keystroke method, it's a shrewd deduction. Because the so-called groping method commonly used by beginners only uses two fingers, so only two nails will be worn out; on the contrary, the keystroke method must use all fingers except the thumb." He closed his eyes, "So I must be planning to write a memoir! My dear, it is a testament to your gift of intuition, observation and reasoning to draw bold conclusions from observations. Bruno, you know how this young and charming lady Have you come to a conclusion?"
"Not at all," said the governor frankly.
"It's a bloody trick," my father muttered under his breath, but I noticed his cigar was out and his hands were shaking slightly.Mr. Wren laughed again: "It's very simple! Pacings would think in his heart, why does a seventy-year-old monster suddenly want to learn to type? It's too abnormal, because he never planned to do it in the past fifty years. Learn! Don't you? Patience."
"Exactly, Mr. Wren, you seem to understand very quickly—"
"So, you think, the only possible reason for a man of his age to do such a thing is that he knows his days are numbered and intends to write some long personal memories at the end of his life .Of course! That's remarkable." His eyes dimmed. "But what I don't understand, Patience, is how you know I'm self-taught? You're right, but my life has been—"
"This," I said softly, "is just a little trick. The reasoning is based on, I think, generally speaking, if someone teaches you, he must use the keystroke method in all the ways you teach beginners. But for I hope students can remember the position of each letter and don't peek at the keyboard. The teacher will stick a rubber pad on the keyboard to cover the letters on it. But if you have a rubber pad on your keyboard, Mr. Lane, your nails It won’t break! Therefore, you must have learned by yourself.”
My father said, "Damn it," and stared at me like he'd born a bird-man or some freak.But my little show of showing off my IQ made Mr. Wren very happy, and he immediately treated me differently as a colleague or something.However, I am afraid that my father is a little unhappy. In the method of handling cases, he and Mr. Wren have always been bitter enemies.
We spent the afternoon walking in the quiet grounds and visiting the small cobbled village Mr Wren had built for his colleagues.Drink stout at his mermaid hotel; visit his private theater; and have a huge library with a unique collection of books on Shakespeare that is astounding.It was one of the most exciting afternoons of my life, unfortunately good times always go by so fast.
The luxurious dinner was held in the banquet hall with medieval style, and it was crowded with guests who came to Hamlet Heights to celebrate Mr. Wren's birthday, and they ate and drank noisy and cheerfully.After dinner, the four of us went to Mr. Wren's private drawing room to drink Turkish coffee and liqueur.A small, hunchbacked old man kept coming and going in and out of the room. He looked very old. Mr. Wren confirmed that he was over a hundred years old.This is the extraordinary Quasi, whom Mr. Lane nicknamed Caliban, whose name I have heard and read in many excellent novels.
The sense of tranquility created by the flames dancing in the fireplace and the walls of oak trees freed me from the hustle and bustle of the dinner party.I was tired, relaxed gratefully, and listened in the stately Tudor armchair.The tall and stout father has gray hair and thick shoulders; Governor Bruno has a protruding chin and is full of fighting spirit; Mr. Wren's face is full of aristocratic atmosphere...
It's good to be here.
Mr. Wren was in high spirits and kept asking the governor and his father questions, but he refused to give details when it came to his own affairs.
"I've had catastrophic days," he said softly, "falling like yellow withered leaves. Like Shakespeare said, I should think of my old body. My doctor tried hard to keep my body from Incomplete, I'm old." Then he chuckled softly and waved his hand, "Don't talk about me as an old man. Inspector, didn't you just say that you and Patience were planning to go to the interior?"
"Petty and I are going up north on a case."
"Ah," Mr. Wren's nostrils fluttered, "I almost want to go with you on a case. What kind of case?"
Father shrugged. "We don't know much. Not the kind you'd be interested in anyway. You might be, Bruno, though. I think your old Tildenshire buddy Joel Fawcett does too." Involved in this case."
"It's ridiculous." The Governor reacted violently. "Joel Fawcett is not my friend. I would be angry if he said he was like me. He is a bad guy and organized a violent gang in Tilden County. .”
"Good news." Father smiled. "Looks like you're busy again. What do you know about his brother, Dr. Ella Fawcett?"
I felt Governor Bruno was a little taken aback, his eyes lit up, and he stared at the fire: "Senator Fawcett is the worst kind of liar politician, but his brother Ira is the real boss behind the scenes. Come out, but I dare say, he is the black hand behind his brother."
"That's right," my father frowned, "Dr. Fawcett is an anonymous partner of Mr. Clay, a marble entrepreneur in Leeds. He thinks that some of the contracts brokered by Fawcett are wrong. Help with the investigation. It does seem to be commonplace, but it is difficult to find evidence."
"I don't envy you, Dr. Fawcett is a slick old man. Clay, I know him, he seems to be a good guy, no problem... I will be particularly interested, because the Fawcett brothers have a tough battle this fall. "
Mr. Wren sat in the chair with his eyes wide open, smiling weakly, and I suddenly understood that he couldn't hear anything now.Father often mentioned his deafness and lip-reading skills.But at this moment, his eyelids have shut out the whole world.
I shook my head impatiently, trying to get rid of irrelevant thoughts, and listened intently to the conversation in front of me.The Governor, with his customary exaggeration, gave us a general description of the situation in Leeds and Tildenshire.In what is expected to be a bitter election battle next month, John Hume, a dynamic young D.A. prosecutor in the county, has won the backing of the opposition to nominate him for the Senate.He is very popular and appreciated by local voters. With his reputation as a prosecutor of innocence and frankness, he will pose a serious challenge to Fawcett's re-election.Backed by Rufus Cotton, one of the most cunning politicians in the state, young John Hume was preaching a reform - I think, considering Senator Fawcett's notorious past behavior, the reform The plea hit home—"the most greedy money-sucking politician in the state of New York," Governor Bruno said of Senator Fawcett, and Leeds also had a state prison, the Algonquin Prison.
Mr. Wren opened his eyes and looked at the governor's lips curiously and intently for a while. I didn't understand why he was so enthusiastic. When he mentioned the prison, I saw his old eyes suddenly light up.
"Algonquin, eh?" he exclaimed. "It's funny how a few years ago—Bruno, before you were Governor—Lieutenant Governor Morton arranged with Warden Magnus to let me Going into the prison for a visit, strange place, where I ran into an old friend—the priest in the prison, Father Muir, I knew him a long time ago—before I met you, I think. He was Patron saint of Black Street, Bury, Manhattan, New York City. Inspector, if you see Father Muir, please pay my respects."
"What a great opportunity. My days of scouting prisons are over... Are you leaving, Bruno?"
Governor Bruno stood up reluctantly: "I have to go, there are important matters over there in the parliament, I sneaked out out of my busy schedule."
Mr. Wren's smile disappeared, and the wrinkles of years returned to his weather-beaten face: "Oh, come on, Bruno, you can't just leave us alone like this. Why - we've only just started talking..."
"I'm sorry, old sir, but I really have to go. Sam, will you stay?"
Father stroked his chin, and Mr. Wren quickly said: "Of course the inspector and Patience will stay overnight, they are not in a hurry."
"Well, I think the Fawcett matter can be put on hold for a while." My father stretched his legs and exhaled as he spoke, and I nodded too.
However, if we had gone to Leeds that evening, things might have played out differently.At least we could meet Dr. Fawcett before he embarked on his mysterious journey, which should have solved many of the mysteries that followed... But at the time, we completely surrendered to the magic of Hamlet Heights and stayed overnight.
Surrounded by a group of state troopers, Governor Bruno left apologetically.Soon after he was gone, I was in between the soft sheets of the queen-size Tudor bed, tired all over, feeling blissfully asleep, completely unaware of what lay ahead.
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