Chapter 5 Chapter 3 Black Box

A man stopped at the door, staring at the desk, a look of surprise on his thin face when he saw the empty chair.Then he looked away, met the prosecutor's gaze, and nodded with a sad smile.After entering the room, he stood in the middle of the carpet, motionless, with an extremely calm attitude.He was no taller than I was, with a solid frame and well-proportioned muscles that gave a subtle beastlike impression.His demeanor and appearance are indescribably weird, and he doesn't look like a secretary in any way.The age is about forty years old, but the temperament is not old. I looked at my father again, his cigar was still in the same place, staring at the person who had just entered with an expression of unreserved astonishment.

The secretary of the deceased was looking at his father. I tried hard to find a little sign of their acquaintance, but I couldn't detect a trace in his calm eyes.He looked around, his eyes resting on me, and I could tell he was a little surprised, but no one would be surprised to see a woman at the scene of such a horrific murder. I turned my head to look at my father again. He was biting his cigar and started smoking quietly. There was no expression on his face anymore. It seemed that no one noticed his brief gaffe just now. But I knew he recognized Carmichael, and, though Carmichael was invisible, I was sure he was momentarily shocked.I thought to myself, I must be careful when facing a person who can control my emotions so perfectly.

"Carmichael," began John Hume, "Chief Kenyon says you have something important to tell us." Mr. Secretary raised his eyebrows slightly, "That depends on what you mean by 'important', Mr. Hume. Of course, I found the body——" "Yes, yes," the prosecutor's voice was completely unemotional.Senator Fawcett's secretary - I figured something was wrong. "Tell us what happened tonight." "After supper, the Senator brought his three servants—the cook, the butler, and the footman—to the study, and sent them out for the evening, when he—"

"How do you know this?" Hume asked suddenly. Carmichael smiled, "I was there." Kenyon stooped forward: "That's right, Hume, I just talked to the servants. They went to the city to watch a movie, and they came back about half an hour ago." "Go on, Carmichael." "The senator sent his servant away and asked me to go out too. After I wrote a few letters for the senator, I went out." "Isn't this unusual?" The secretary shrugged: "Not at all." He smiled lightly, his white teeth gleaming, "he often has some—er—personal matters to attend to, and it's not uncommon for us to be sent away. Anyway, I came back early , found the front door wide open—”

"When you left," the father's voice sounded low, the secretary's smile froze, and then returned to normal, waiting politely for his father to ask questions.As I thought about it, his behavior was impeccable, and suddenly I realized that in the face of the situation in front of me, how could a little secretary be able to handle it so perfectly. "Did the door close when you left?" "Oh, yes! Perhaps you have just noticed that there is a latch on the door. Besides the Senator and myself, only the servants have keys, so I suppose the Senator must know whoever came in."

"Please, don't make wild guesses," put in Hume. "You see, it creates an impression! You come back to find the door open, and then?" "I was therefore suspicious, and felt that something was wrong, and ran into the room, and saw the dead body of the Senator, sitting in a chair, leaning against a desk, just as Commissioner Kenyon had seen him when he came. Of course, I When a body is found, the first thing to do is to call the police." "You didn't touch the body?" "of course not." "Well, what time was it, Carmichael?"

"As soon as I found out that the Senator had been murdered at exactly ten-thirty, I checked my watch and knew these details were important." Hume looked at his father. "Interesting? He found the body ten minutes after the murder... You didn't see anyone leave the house?" "No. I'm afraid it was because I was thinking of other things when I came in, and it was dark. If the murderer heard me coming in, he could easily hide in the bushes and escape when I got in." "Yes, Hume," said the father suddenly, "what did you do after you called the police?"

"I waited at the door. Commissioner Kenyon came quickly, less than ten minutes before I called the police." Father walked slowly to the door, staring out into the hallway, then came back and nodded, "You've been watching the door all this while, have you seen or heard anyone going out?" Carmichael shook his head resolutely. "No one left, or tried to leave. The study door was open when I came in, so I didn't close it. Even when I was on the phone, I faced the door. If anyone passed , I must be able to see it from this position. I am very sure that I was the only one in the house at the time."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand—" John Hume's tone was tinged with exasperation. Chief Fisheye Kenyon interrupted Hume in a hoarse baritone: "The murderer must have run away before Carmichael found the body, and there's no way he'd escape when we got there, and we've taken the whole house from head to toe." It was thoroughly searched." "What about the other exits?" my father asked. Kenyon spat into the fireplace behind the desk before replying, "No way out," he sneered, "and we found that every exit except the front door was locked from the inside, and even the windows were locked. It's all locked."

"Oh, forget it," Lin Mo said, "we're wasting time," he walked to the desk, and picked up the blood-clotted paper knife, "Carmichael, do you recognize this knife?" "Yes, I know it, Mr. Hume. It's the senator's knife. It's always on the desk." He glanced at the murder weapon and turned around gently. "Are there any other questions? I'm a little confused." Comfortable……" uncomfortable!This person is like a bacterium, who doesn't understand what it means to be nervous. The prosecutor threw the knife back to the desk, "Do you know any clues about this murder case? Any suggestions?"

He did look sad, "Not at all, Mr. Hume. Of course, you also understand that the senator has indeed made a lot of enemies in the political arena over the years..." Hume said slowly, "What do you mean by that?" Carmichael looked bitter: "What do you mean? That's what I said. You also know that many people hate the senator, and there are probably quite a few people who want to murder him—including women—" "I understand," Hume murmured, "Okay, let's stop here for now, please wait outside." Carmichael nodded and walked out of the study with a smile. As my father dragged the prosecutor aside, I heard his bass whisper in Hume's ear, asking questions about Senator Fawcett: his close friends, his political raiding, and his pretended ignorance. Asked a lot about Carmichael. Chief Kenyon continued to pace up and down, staring foolishly at the walls and ceiling. The desk in the corner of the room attracted me, and I wanted—in fact, I kept thinking about it during the interrogation of Carmichael—to venture over to it.The thing on it seemed to be crying for me to go and check.I couldn't understand why the father, the prosecutor, and Kenyon didn't bother to take the time to scrutinize what was on the table. I looked around and no one was looking at me. Jeremy grinned as I got up and quickly crossed the room.There was no time to waste, and I was worried that other people's masculinity would stop my action, so I immediately walked to the desk. Directly in front of the chair where the senator's body sat, there was a piece of green blotting paper on the desk.On the blotting paper was a stack of thick, glossy sticky notes, half covering the desk, the top one was clean and nothing was written on it.I carefully lifted the stack of sticky notes and found a strange thing. The senator had sat very close to the desk, and the body was pressed against the edge of the table, so the blood from the wound on his chest did not get on his trousers, as I recall, and from what I can see now, there was no blood on the chair, but Splashed on the blotting paper.Now, after picking up the note, I see a pool of blood seeping the green blotter underneath.However, there was a contradiction in the blood left behind, and there was a blood stain in the lower corner of the stack of sticky notes.That is to say, picking up the stack of sticky notes from the blotter, I saw a dark irregular blood stain on the brand new green blotter, but the stack of sticky notes that was originally placed on top, only in the square corner. There were bloodstains on the side, but the other parts were clean. It's obvious!I looked around. Father and Hume were still talking in hushed tones, and Kenyon was still pacing mechanically, but Jeremy and a few men in uniform were glaring at me sternly.I hesitated, maybe it wasn't very smart...but I couldn't help but test a theory.I made up my mind, bent over the desk and started counting the stack of sticky notes.Is that brand new? It seems so, but... there are ninety-eight sheets in total, and if I'm not mistaken, the cover above should indicate the number of sheets bound... really!I was right, the number on the cover told me that there should be exactly one hundred stacks of unused sticky notes. I put the note back where it had been on top of the blotter, my chest pounding like a puppy's tail beating the floor.I thought, in the process of verifying the theory, I should not have missed anything important.The facts in front of me seem to be incomprehensible, but this clue leads to an inevitable possibility in my heart... I felt my father's hand on my shoulder. "Rumbling again, Petty?" He asked in a rough voice, but his eyes lit up thoughtfully, looking at the stack of notes I just put back.Hume glanced at me disinterestedly and turned around with a smile.I thought to myself, "That attitude, Mr. Hume! Thank you so much!" For a split second, I gave up trying to frustrate him. "Now, let's show you the darn thing, Kenyon," he said briskly, "and I'd like to ask Inspector Sam what he thinks." Kenyon snorted, reached into his pocket, and took out a very strange thing. That looks like part of a toy box.It is probably made of cheap soft wood like pine. It looks old and dirty. It seems to be a toy suitcase. The edges are decorated with crude metal nails, like the brass skin wrapped around the four corners of the suitcase.But I don't think it's a suitcase. It's more like a pocket box or cabinet, not more than three inches high. However important it is.This contraption was only "part" of the pocket case, for the right edge was a neat sawn mark, and Kenyon held the case only two inches wide in the dirty fingers of his black-stained nails.If the ratio of the height of the box is to be approximated, the original box should be six inches wide, while the present part is only two inches wide, so this section is only one-third of the original. "Pipe it," Kenyon sneered at his father. "What does a police officer from a big city think of that?" "Where did you find this thing?" "It's on the table, obviously, when we got here, it was sitting behind the note, facing the body." "That's weird. All right," muttered Father, taking the thing from Kenyon's hand and examining it carefully. The lid of the small square box—it should be said that a large part of the lid has been sawed off—is only fastened to the box by a small hinge, and there is nothing inside.The inside of the box was unpainted, however the wood surface was free of dirt.On the front of the box, there are two gilded letters: HE. "What the hell is that going to mean?" Dad looked at me blankly. "Who's 'he'?" "Very mysterious, isn't it?" Hume smiled, as if he'd just posed a little conundrum. "Of course," I thought carefully, "these two letters may have nothing to do with 'him' at all." "Miss Sam, why do you say that?" "I do think, Mr. Hume," I tried to make my sweetest voice, "that a man of your perceptiveness would take the literal meaning at once. But we women, you know—" "I don't think it's of any importance," interrupted Hume, his smile fading. "Mr. Kenyon thinks the same. But we can't ignore any possible lead. What do you think, Inspector?" " "The little girl reminds us of another possibility," said the father, "that it might be the first two letters of a word, so that it doesn't mean 'he'. Also, it could be the first two letters of a word." One word." Kenyon snorted mockingly. "Have any fingerprints been taken on this?" Hume nodded, looking confused, "Only Fawcett's fingerprints, no one else's." "Found it on the desk," murmured my father. "Did Carmichael have this box on the desk before he went out tonight?" Hume raised his eyebrows: "Frankly, I don't think it makes sense to ask these questions. But let's call Carmichael to find out." He sent someone to find the secretary, and Carmichael came in quickly, with a humble and questioning expression on his calm face, and then his eyes rested on the wooden box in his father's hand. "Looks like you've found it," he whispered. "Interesting, isn't it?" Hume became nervous: "You recognize it? Do you know anything about this thing?" "That was a curious little story, Mr. Hume, which I never had the opportunity to tell you or Mr. Kenyon..." "Wait a minute," my father said slowly, "did this thing be on the Senator's desk when you left this evening?" Carmichael smiled almost imperceptibly, "No." "Then we can say," continued my father, "that it is sufficient proof that either Fawcett or the murderer must have placed the plate on the desk on purpose. Is that important enough, Hume?" "Perhaps you are right, which I did not expect." "Of course, we cannot say for sure. It is also possible, for example, that the Senator took out the box while he was alone in the room, and if that were the case, the box would have nothing to do with the murder. However, I have found from previous experience that this Situations like this—placed where everyone can see—usually have ulterior motives, which means that this matter is related to the murder of the deceased. Judge for yourself, I can only say that this stuff needs to be investigated in depth.” "Perhaps," Carmichael said softly, "you might as well listen to what I have to say before jumping to conclusions. This wooden box has been sitting in the senator's desk for several weeks, and it's in this drawer." He went around In front of the desk, I opened the top drawer, and the inside was in a mess, "Someone turned it over!" "What do you mean?" the prosecutor asked quickly. "Senator Fawcett has a cleanliness freak and keeps everything in order. I happened to see this drawer yesterday, but the papers in it are all messed up. There is absolutely no way he would allow such a , I daresay, this drawer has been searched!" Kenyon yelled at his men, "Which idiot touched this desk?" Everyone denied it. "It's weird," he murmured, "I told myself that the one who asked them not to touch this table for the time being, who the hell—" "Calm down, Kenyon," said my father. "The way it stands, it must have been the murderer. Now, Carmichael, what's the special meaning behind this damn thing?" "I wish I could tell you, Inspector," the secretary replied regretfully, and the two men looked at each other without any strangeness in their eyes. "What this box represents is also a mystery to me, and even the way it appears is also a mystery to me." Mystery. A few weeks ago—three weeks ago, I think—this stuff... no, let's start at the beginning, I suppose." "Come on." Carmichael sighed. "Mr. Hume, the Senator understands that he is about to face a tough electoral battle—" "Oh, really?" Hume nodded coldly, "So what's his plan?" "The Senator thought it would help his campaign if he played - and I think 'playing' - the role of savior for the poor. So he planned a bazaar for products made by prison inmates— — Algonquin Prison, of course — and use the proceeds from the sale as an unemployment fund for Tilden County." "This is the headline in the Leeds Observer Daily." Hume interjected blankly, "Stop talking nonsense, what does this wooden box have to do with the bazaar?" "The Senator had the approval of the State Prison Board and the Magnus Warden, and had visited the Algonquin Prison beforehand," Carmichael continued. "About a month ago, he contacted the Warden and arranged for the sent over samples for publicity." Carmichael paused for a moment, his eyes brightened, "There is a cardboard box of toys, made by the carpentry department in the prison, and this small box appeared inside!" "Then," murmured my father, "by the way, how do you know this?" "I opened the carton." "Is this stuff mixed in with other cheap toys?" "Not quite, Inspector. It's wrapped in a dirty piece of paper addressed to the Senator in pencil, and inside the packet is a letter also marked on the envelope as addressed to the Senator." "The letter!" cried Hume. "Why, my God, it's a big deal! Why haven't you mentioned it? And the letter? Have you read it? What's in it?" Carmichael's face darkened: "Unfortunately, Mr. Hume, because it says to give it to the Senator, I can't——As soon as I saw the words on the paper package, I immediately handed it to the Senator, because when I opened the carton , he was sitting in front of the desk waiting to examine the samples inside. I didn't know what was in it until he opened the paper bag and I glanced at it. I can swear, when he saw the box, his face suddenly changed. For the sake of death, he opened the envelope with trembling hands, and at the same time told me to go out—he unpacked the other cartons himself." "What a pity, what a pity," said Hume sharply, "so you don't know where the letter is. Or did Fawcett destroy it?" "After I had transferred those toys and other cartons to the bazaar downtown, I noticed that the box wasn't in the toy box, and then about a week later, I happened to see it in the top drawer of my desk; as for that A letter, I haven’t read it since then.” Hume said, "Wait, Carmichael," and whispered to Kenyon, who didn't look very happy, and called three policemen, one of whom immediately went over to the desk, knelt down and rummaged through drawers; A policeman walks out. My father thoughtfully, squinting at the butt of the cigar, "Um, Carmichael, who sent those cardboard boxes of toys? Did you just mention that?" "Did I mention it? It was sent by model prisoners from various departments. Of course, I didn't pay attention to what they looked like." "Can you tell me if the cartons were sealed when the model prisoners brought their toys?" Carmichael stared at his father. "Oh, I see. You think the delivery guy might open the carton on the way and stuff that packet in? I don't think so. Inspector, the seal on it is intact. I can definitely see the traces of it being opened." "Ah," said the father, smacking his lips. "Excellent, now it's narrowed down. Hume, God help, the prisoners did it. You just said that these details don't matter at all!" "I was wrong," admitted Hume, with boyish excitement in his black eyes, "and, Miss Sam—do you think it's important, too?" There was a patronizing sarcasm in his tone that made me angry.Show me a benefactor again!I raised my chin and said angrily: "Dear Mr. Hume, it must be irrelevant what 'I' think?" "Oh, come on, I didn't mean to piss you off. What do you 'now' think about this wooden box?" "I think," I answered quickly and loudly, "that you people are all blind."