Chapter 11 Chapter 9 A Logic Lesson

Hamlet Hill is immersed in a lush green land, with the vast blue sky as the curtain, and the music of thousands of birds singing as the wall.I am too civilized to sigh sentimentally at the simple beauty of the land before me; but I must admit that the joy and vitality of this paradise have infected me, especially these days. Running between the stale air and the steel and concrete buildings, I breathed a sigh of relief at this moment. From a distance, we saw Mr. Jerry Lane sitting cross-legged on a green grassy knoll in the sun, like Mahatma Gandhi in India.There was a hint of sadness on his face, and he was swallowing a tablespoonful of medicine from the hand of that weird-looking elf, Quasi.The little old man with tough skin, Quesy, grimaced anxiously, while Mr. Wren gulped down the syrup with disgust on his face, and pulled the white cotton robe over his naked body even tighter.For a seventy-year-old man, his upper body muscles are quite strong, but he is pitifully thin, and his physical condition is obviously not good.

Then he looked up and saw us. "Sam!" he cried, his face brightening, "and Patience, dear! Caliban boy, that's a better medicine than what you've got in your hand!" He jumped up, held our hands enthusiastically, his eyes sparkled with excitement, and he chattered like a primary school child. We were deeply moved by his kind welcome.He sent Quesy off to get a cold drink, then sat me down at his feet. "Patiens," he said, looking at me gravely, "you are a breath of heaven. What brings you and the inspector here? I can assure you that this is a great gift to me."

"Are you sick?" Father's low voice sounded, his eyes anxiously asked. "Unfortunately, aging haunts me. I seem to be contracted to every geriatric disease on the medical chart. Now tell us about yourselves, and the purpose of your visit. What happened? How's the investigation going? Have you got that rogue Dr. Fawcett in jail?" My father and I looked at each other in surprise, "Mr. Wren, haven't you read the newspaper?" I was so surprised that I couldn't breathe. "What?" His smile disappeared, and he looked at us sharply, "No, until today, my doctor has forbidden me to accept any kind of mental stimulation... I can see from your expressions that something must have happened Totally unexpected."

So his father told him that Senator Joel Fawcett had been murdered.Hearing the word "murder", the old gentleman's eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed. Before he knew it, the cotton robe on his body slipped off and he panted heavily. Then he turned his gaze from my father to me and asked Several key questions. "Well—" he said at last, "interesting, very interesting. But why did you leave there? That's not your thing, Patience. Give up hunting? I thought you were like a well-trained thoroughbred. Like a beagle, it won't stop until the last moment." "Oh, she sure won't let it go," the father complained, "but the truth is, Mr. Wren, we're stuck and we're at a loss. Petty has an idea—damn, it sounds like you! We want to hear it." Listen to your opinion."

"As long as I can help," Mr. Wren smiled bitterly, "I'm willing to help, I'm afraid I'm useless for a while." After dinner, he came back staggeringly.Mr. Wren looked at us enjoying it, and his expression was probably a little impatient. "Would you please," he said quickly, as soon as we had finished eating, "start from the beginning and tell me everything without missing a single detail." "Tell me, Petty," sighed my father, "God, history is repeating itself! Remember—when was that—eleven years ago? Bruno and I first came here and told you that A Harry Lonstra case? It was a long time ago, Mr Wren."

"Damn, you'll have to remind me of those glorious pasts," murmured the old gentleman. "Go on, Patience, I'll keep looking at your lips, and you'll have to tell me everything." So I told him a long list of stories about Fawcett's murders, describing everything with surgical precision—events, evidence, and impressions of each character.He sat like an ivory Buddha, reading my lips with his eyes.A few times during this period, his strange eyes sparkled, and he nodded slightly, as if he had heard some very important clues from my words. After Carmichael's testimony at the road hotel, that's the end of the story.He nodded briskly, smiled, and lay back on the warm grass.My father and I sat in silence as he gazed at the blue sky.His chiseled face was uncharacteristically expressionless, and I closed my eyes and sighed, wondering what his conclusion was.Is there anything too rash in my analysis?Would he ask about the theory I'd been figuring out in my head?

I opened my eyes, and Mr. Wren had sat up again. "Alan Dow," he said gravely, "is innocent." "Ah!" I exclaimed. "Look, Dad, how do you feel about your daughter now?" "Damn, I never said he was guilty," the father complained, "what bothers me is the way you speculate," he blinked against the sun, and then looked at Mr. Wren, "what do you think ?” "Then your conclusions are the same," muttered Mr. Wren. "You remind me of the eighteenth-century English lexicographer Sedius Johnson's definition of poetry. He said that the essence of poetry is to invent—to make Amazing invention. You are the most eminent poet."

"Sir," I said solemnly, "that's quite a compliment." "My dear, if I were younger... tell me now how you deduce that Alan Deo is innocent." Sitting comfortably on the grass at his feet, I began to concentrate on my argument. "On Senator Fawcett's right arm, two strange wounds appeared: one was a knife wound near the upper side of the wrist, and the other—certainly not, according to the coroner, Dr. The scar was about four inches higher, and besides, Dr. Bull said, the two scars were made not long before the body was found, and almost at the same time, since this violent murder also happened not so long ago. So I think , it is reasonable to assume that these two scars were left during the murder."

"Yes," whispered the old gentleman, "yes, very reasonable, go on." "This matter has puzzled me from the very beginning. How could the scars caused by two different weapons be produced at the same time? If you think about it carefully, you will find that it is quite unusual. Mr. Wren, I am a suspicious girl, and I I think that has to be sorted out first.” His smile deepened. "Patiens, I would never dare to commit any crime within a radius of ten thousand miles of you. My dear, your judgment is really sharp! So, what conclusion do you have?" "Well, the knife wound is easy to explain. Based on the position of the corpse on the chair behind the desk, it is easy to imagine the process of the murder. The murderer must have stood in front of the victim, perhaps slightly to one side. He picked up the table The paper knife stabbed the victim. What happened next? The Senator must have instinctively raised his right arm to block, and the knife grazed his wrist, leaving that sharp gash. From the facts, I can only deduce That's right."

"As clear as a photograph, my dear. Wonderful. And then? What about the other wound?" "I was about to say that. The other wound was not a knife wound, or at least not the same knife that caused the sharp cut on the Senator's wrist. And this second wound, at the same time the Senator's wrist was cut , left on the right arm, and note that it was four inches higher than the knife wound," I took a deep breath, "so it was a cut from a sharp edge of something that wasn't a blade, and this thing In the murderer's hand, four inches from the knife." "great."

"That said, given the second wound, we can now imagine that there must have been something sharp-edged on the murderer's arm. That something would have appeared on the murderer's arm and be within a distance of his knife hand. Four inches away?" The old gentleman nodded quickly, "Patiens, what is your conclusion?" "Woman's bracelet," I exclaimed triumphantly, "while the senator's wrist was cut with a knife, the one that cut his bare arm—remember, when he was killed with his shirtsleeve rolled up to his elbow— —must be gems or filigree or something!" The father muttered in a low voice, while Mr. Wren smiled: "I have to emphasize again: too smart, dear, but still flawed. Do you think it was a woman who killed the senator? Not necessarily. In the hands of a woman In the same place where the bracelet is worn, men also wear similar items..." I'm dumbfounded, have I screwed up?Frantic thoughts raced through my head, and I exclaimed, "Ah, you mean cufflinks for men? Of course! I've thought about it, but I always feel intuitively that bracelets for women seem to make more sense." He shook his head, "It's dangerous, Patience. Don't make this mistake again, and stick to logical possibilities... So now we have deduced that the murderer may be a man or a woman." He smiled slightly, " Maybe this is just a case of not fully understanding. The Pope once said that all disagreement comes from people not understanding the true meaning of harmony. Who knows? But go ahead, Patience, I'm intrigued by you .” "Now, Mr. Wren, regardless of whether the murderer who caused the two wounds was a man or a woman, one thing is certain: the murderer attacked the Senator with a knife in his 'left' hand." "Honey, how do you know?" "The rationale is simple. The knife wound was on the Senator's right wrist, and the cufflink bruise was on his arm four inches higher: that is, the bruise was 'to the left' of the knife wound. So far Clear? Now, if the murderer is holding the knife in his right hand, the bruise caused by the cuff button should appear on the right side of the knife wound. This can be proved by a simple test. That is, if the murderer is holding the knife in the right hand, The bruise will be to the right; if the knife is held in the left hand, the bruise will be to the left. What does this mean? Since the bruise appears on the left side of the knife wound, my conclusion is that the murderer committed the crime with his left hand unless he was standing on his head , which is of course impossible." "Inspector," said the old gentleman politely, "you should be proud of your daughter. It's incredible." He murmured, smiling at me: "A woman can have such crystal-like reasoning ability, Patience, you are a priceless gem. Please continue." "Mr. Wren, do you agree so far?" "I'm going to give in to your firm and tight logic," he chuckled. "So far so perfect. But be careful, my dear, you forgot to bring out a very important point." "I haven't," I retorted, "well, dear! I mean, I'm leaving it out on purpose because I haven't gotten to that point yet... According to Warden Magnus, twelve Alan D'O was right-handed in Algonquin prison years ago, is that what you mean?" "Yes, I'd like to know, how do you explain that?" "Well, two years after he entered Algonquin prison, he had an accident that paralyzed his right hand. Since then he has learned to use his left hand alone. That is to say, he has been left-handed for ten years." Father sat up straight. "This is it," he said excitedly. "Mr. Wren, this is what confuses me the most." "I understand what troubles you," said the old gentleman. "Go on, Patience." "To me," I said loudly, "it's all clear, and I insist—though I admit that there's no real evidence for my point except a bit of common sense and observation—that right- and left-leaning ( Is that the word) applies equally to feet and hands." "Please," moaned my father, "what the hell did you say?" "Dad! I mean, people who are born right-handed, they're right-footed; the same way people who are left-handed, they're left-footed. I know I'm right-handed, and I do most of my work with my right foot. thing; and I have observed many others with the same result. Now, Mr. Wren, is my assumption reasonable?" "I'm not an authority on this, Patience. So far, however, I believe medical theory supports your view. What's next?" "Well, if you agree with that, the next thing I'm saying is that if a right-hander's right hand is disabled and he has to learn to use his left, as Alan Deo did ten years ago, then subconsciously, even if he With both feet healthy, he'll also start doing most of the work with his left foot. That's something my father was always skeptical about, but quite reasonable, isn't it?" He frowned: "I'm afraid your logic may not be applicable to physiology, Patience." My heart sank. If this point was overturned, my entire reasoning structure would collapse. "However," he added, "from your earlier story, it is helpful to have another fact, namely, that at the same time that Alan D'O was paralyzed in his right hand, he was also blind in his right eye." "How does this help?" asked the father, perplexed. "Very influential, Inspector. I happened to have an opportunity to consult a leading authority on the subject some years ago. You remember how important the question of right-handers and left-handers was in the Brunk case?" Father nodded: "The authority told me that right-leaning and left-leaning theories, and in the medical profession, the widely accepted one is vision theory. If I remember correctly, he said that vision theory holds that, in In childhood, all voluntary movement depends on vision. He also told me that the nerve impulses related to vision, hands, feet, speaking and writing all originate in the same area of ​​​​the brain-I forget the exact name. "Vision consists of two eyes, but each eye is a unit of its own, but the consciousness caused by the image of each eye is completely separated and separated. One of the eyes is like the front sight of a gun, with' "Aiming' function, as to which eye to aim with, it depends on whether you are right-handed or left-handed. If the eye that is used as the sight is blind, the aiming function will be transferred to the other eye." "I see what you mean," I said slowly, "in other words, a right-hander will aim with his right eye; and if his right eye is blind and only his left eye is left, the aiming function will be transferred and will Affect his physiology, make him a left-hander?" "Probably true. Of course, as far as I know, the factor of habit must also be taken into account. But Deo has been using his left eye for ten years, and the same with his left hand. In this way, I am quite sure, based on habit and nerves. As a result, he has also become left-footed." "Whoa!" I said, "how lucky I am! Deriving the right answer from the wrong facts... If Alan Deo was really left-footed and left-handed in the past ten years, according to the evidence at the murder scene, There was a major contradiction." "You just said," said Mr. Wren encouragingly, "that the murderer must be left-handed, which fits well with Dow. So what is your so-called major contradiction?" I lighted my cigarette with trembling hands, "I draw this from another angle. When I described the case earlier, I mentioned that there was a footprint in the ashes of the fireplace—the footprint of the right foot. You know, someone burned something and stomped on the embers, which explains the right footprint. And stomping on the embers—I'll rip off his hair if anyone dares to deny that—stomped Extinction is purely an involuntary act." "There is no doubt about it." "If you're going to step on something, you're going to step on it with your dominant foot. Oh, I admit, sometimes it's because of where you stand that it's not convenient, so even if you've always been right-footed, you might step on your left foot, But this does not apply to the man who stomped out the embers in front of the fireplace. For, as I said, we found a left footprint on the rug in front of the fireplace, exactly in the middle of the pile of ashes in the aforementioned fireplace. Front. This means that the person who burns the paper can use both feet freely without any inconvenience, so which foot does he use to step on the embers? Right foot! So he is a right-footed person, so By analogy, he must be right-handed too!" Father grunted once or twice in perplexity, and the old gentleman asked with a sigh: "What contradictory result does all this lead to?" "Derived this: The killer held the knife with his left hand, but the one who stomped out the embers was a right-handed man. That means there could be two people involved, the left-handed man who killed the senator and the right-handed man who burned the paper And put it out with your feet." "Then what's wrong with it, my dear?" said the old gentleman softly. "As you say, there are two people involved in the case, so what?" I glared at him, "You're not serious, are you?" He grinned, "Seriously what?" "Of course, you're kidding! Let me go on, what does this conclusion mean for Aaron Dow? I don't think he was the one to burn the paper and stamp out the flames, whatever the connection between Dow and the murder." .Because according to the result we just deduced, he should step on it with his left foot, but the evidence found at the scene is the right footprint." "Excellent. Now, when was that paper burned? The stack of notes on the desk was freshly opened, and only two sheets have been used. The blood from Senator Fawcett's fatal wound spattered the desk. It was all over the place, and on the blotter was a right-angled bloodstain from a stack of sticky notes placed on top of the blotter. But when we found out, the top of the stack of sticky notes The paper was clean—no blood on it. How is that possible? If the paper was on top when the Senator was killed, it would have been stained with blood, because the blotter underneath was covered with blood. Hence It can be deduced that when the blood of the senator's wound spurted out profusely, the paper must not have been placed on top. What we see is the white sheet of paper." "That's right." "Those two used notes, one of which we have explained before: it was in an envelope addressed to Fanny Cather, and must have been written by Fawcett himself before he was killed. So the only missing The note--the one that burned in the fireplace, my father has testified himself, was torn from the note on the table--must have been torn off, and the blood-stained note was gone." "But if the missing note had blood on it, it must have been torn off 'after the murder' because the top note should have blood on it. Also, the note was burned after the murder It fell, and then the embers were also stamped out. Who burned it? Is the murderer the same person as the one who burned the paper? If the murderer is the one who burned the paper and stomped out the embers, then I have proved that Deo cannot be the one who burned the paper and stomped on the paper. The person who put out the flames, so he is not the murderer!" "Wait a minute!" cried the old gentleman softly. "Patiens, don't go too far. You assume that the murderer and the one who stomped out the flames are the same, but can you prove it? You should know that there is a way to prove." "Oh, my God!" sighed the father, staring at his feet morosely. "Proof, of course! As you say, assuming the murderer and the extinguisher are two different people, according to Dr. Bull, the murder took place at ten twenty. And Carmichael from nine He kept watch outside the house from 1:45 to 10:30, during which time he saw only one person entering the house and the same person leaving. In addition, the police searched the house thoroughly and found no evidence. Someone was found hiding. And from the time when Carmichael found the body to the arrival of the police, no one left the house, and it was impossible to leave from any other exit except the one on which Carmichael was watching, because all other doors and windows were locked from the inside. It's..." My father sighed again. "But that's great, Mr. Wren! Because it means that instead of two people being involved, there's only one person from head to door, so there's only one person who did this terrific murder in the study, and burned that letter and stamped out the rest of it." Flame. But Alan Deo, as explained earlier, cannot be the one who stomped out the trap, so Alan Deo cannot be the murderer." "Therefore, Arun Deo is as pure as I was ten years ago." I stopped to catch my breath, feeling very proud, but also a little tired. Mr. Wren looked a little sad, "Inspector, now I understand that I have been a social useless for a long time. You gave birth to a real Sherlock Holmes, and my little contribution to this world Functions have been replaced. What a clever analysis, my dear, and your inferences so far have been spot on." "My God," cried the father, jumping up, "you don't mean to say that you have more inferences?" "A lot more, Inspector, and a lot more important." "You mean," I said eagerly, "that I haven't come to the conclusion that I should? Of course, the conclusion is that if Deo is innocent, someone must have set him up on purpose." "Next?" "Because of Deo's disability, the man who framed him was right-handed. He intentionally used his left hand to match the characteristics of Deo as the murderer. However, he subconsciously stamped out the embers with his right foot, showing that he was actually right-handed. .” "Well, I don't mean that. My dear, you may be in too much haste, or you may not have considered other factors, leading to more startling inferences." My father raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. As for me, I can only say humbly, "And then?" Mr. Wren gave me a serious look, our eyes met, and he smiled, "So you get it too, eh?" He was lost in thought, and I was playing with a piece of green grass, not knowing what to say... "Watch out!" my father yelled. "I'm here to test you too. I just thought of it. Well, Patty, you answer. How the hell can you be sure that it's the same person who left the footprints on the carpet and stomped out the embers." ? I know it should be the same person, but if you can't prove it, damn it, what about your perfect theory?" "Patience, tell him." Mr. Wren said softly. I sighed, "Poor dad! You must be confused. Didn't I just prove that there was only one person involved? Didn't I ask Carmichael if he walked across the hearth rug and he said no? Besides, didn't Hume tell us that the footprints were not Senator Fawcett's? Then, who would leave that footprint but the murderer who also burned the paper and stomped the embers?" "Okay, okay! Now what do we do?" Mr. Wren raised his eyebrows, "Dear inspector, isn't this obvious?" "What's obvious?" "Certainly start to act. You must go back to Leeds at once to see Dow." I frowned, really lacking interest.As for his father, he was completely at a loss. "Going to see Deo? What's the point? That poor fool just makes me nervous." "But this matter couldn't be more important, Inspector." Mr. Wren quickly stood up from the mound, slipping his cotton robe on his shoulders, "You must meet Ou before the trial..." He seemed to be thinking about something seriously , his eyes lit up in an instant, "It's clear, Inspector, after thinking twice, I believe I will be happy to join your ranks! Do you think there is room for me to intervene? Or, your friend John Hume will drive me out." Are you leaving Leeds?" I yelled, "That's great!" My father also looked very happy, "It's really great, of course Petty is very good, I can't fault anything. But if you fuck yourself, then I can rest assured too much." "But why do you want to meet O?" I asked. "My dear Pacings, we have built a perfect theory out of certain facts, and now," Mr. Wren stretched out his bare arm and took my hand over my father's shoulder, "we shall stop reasoning and begin some Experiment, but before that," he looked worried, "we're still lost in the forest." "Sir, what does this mean?" "We are so far from the answer," said the old gentleman calmly, "that we do not yet know who the murderer of Senator Fawcett was, as much as a week ago."