Chapter 5 first act
Inspector Sam thought with interest that in the first place God made the fields, and that the old man had done well indeed, especially every time he went down the Hudson River in Westchester County, a few miles from the Metropolis. , I especially have this feeling in my heart.
Due to the heavy official duties on his shoulders, Inspector Sam had little opportunity to develop religious or aesthetic thoughts, but even if the secular duties were as heavy as his, it was impossible for him to remain indifferent to the beauty around him.
His car arduously climbed up a narrow path, all the way forward, as if climbing straight to the sky, what came into view was a fairyland on earth intertwined with battlements, ramparts, green leafy pinnacles and blue sky and white clouds; and it was reflected in the distance What is there is the Hudson River's shimmering waves and layers of blue waves dotted with white sails.The inspector took deep breaths of visceral air, scented with wood, rosin, and sweet flowers, and the sun was shining brightly, with a refreshing April breeze blowing through his gray hair.Crime or no crime, the inspector thought as he drove around an unexpected bend in the road, piecing together eloquent phrases, the beauty still felt like a joy to be alive.This was his sixth visit to Mr. Jerry Lane's astonishing abode--Hamlet Heights, and he thought to himself at this moment that this astonishing place was more and more memorable every time.
He stopped the car in front of a familiar small bridge—the outpost of Mr. Jerry Lane's estate—and waved to the guards like a little boy. It was a little old man with a smile on his face, holding with ancient bridge bolts.
"Hi!" cried Sam. "Good weather, come to Mr. Wren's, will you?"
"Yes, sir," answered the bridgekeeper loudly, "yes, sir. Come in, Inspector, you can come in anytime, Mr. Wren says. This way please!" The rattling gate signaled the inspector to drive the car across the small wooden bridge full of antiques.
The inspector sighed in satisfaction and stepped on the gas pedal.Such a beautiful weather, my God!
The terrain here is familiar-a perfect gravel road, a bush that is turning green, and then suddenly, like a dream scene, a grassland is laid out in front of the old castle.This ancient castle not only stands on the cliff hundreds of feet above the Hudson River with thunderous force, but also is the pinnacle masterpiece of Mr. Jerry Lane.This design has been deprecated by contemporary critics. Those young people who graduated from MIT and only wanted to design steel and concrete skyscrapers looked down on this building. Its creators were ridiculed as "old and conservative", " Out-of-the-head" and "pretense"--the last of which came from a scathing new-school critic.For him, any playwright before Eugene O'Neill, any actor before Risley Held, was "boring," "old-fashioned," "archaic," and " Bland and boring".
But--look at the castle, stretching around the well-tended gardens, the neat rows of yews, the Elizabethan village with the gabled cottages, the cobblestones, the little walks, the moat, the drawbridge, and above all, the strata of rock The giant fortress itself is piled up with stones.This is the essence of the sixteenth century, a part of old England, sprung from the plays of Shakespeare... It is the natural pomp and circumstance of an old gentleman who lives safely in the midst of his rich past.
Even the most stern critic cannot deny that he has made a great contribution to the eternal Shakespeare play, and his stage performances that are almost geniuses have brought him great wealth, great fame, and endless private happiness.So, this is the original home of Mr. Jerry Lane, the retired theater emperor.As another old man opened the heavy iron gates that encircled the high stone walls of the estate, Inspector Sam thought to himself that, whatever the mediocre fools of New York City might think, to him this was peace, this was beauty, this was escape. Great spot in the hustle and bustle of New York.
He stepped on the brake pedal suddenly, and the car came to a screeching stop.Twenty feet to his left was a startling sight, in the middle of a field of tulips, a fountain of the elf Ariou carved in stone... Fascinating the inspector, it was the one splashing water in the pool with a rough brown hand weirdo.In the months since he had known and visited Mr. Jerry Lane many times, the Inspector could not overcome the eerie unreality in his heart every time he saw the ghostly old man.The splashing hand was small, dark brown, wrinkled, naked, with a few hairs, with a hump on its forest gnome-like back—this strange monster was entirely wrapped in a leather apron, like The caricature of the blacksmith.
The hunchbacked old man raised his head, his small and shrewd eyes flashed.
"Hey, you, Quesy!" the inspector yelled. "What are you doing?"
Quacy, a major figure in Mr. Jerry Lane's illustrious history--for forty years he had been his wig-maker and make-up artist--had his tiny hands on his curving, thin hips.
"I'm watching a goldfish," he answered in the clipped, gravely aged voice, "O rare visitor, Inspector Sam!"
Sam got out of the car and stretched himself: "I really don't come here often, how about old sir?"
Quesy stuck one hand into the water like a snake, and then came out of the water holding a writhing little thing dripping wet.
"It's such a beautiful color." While observing, his dry lips still clicked his tongue, "You mean Mr. Jerry Lane? Oh, very good." He suddenly looked dissatisfied and said in surprise, "Old sir? He's younger than you, Inspector Sam, you know, sixty, Mr. Wren, but he outruns you like a—like a rabbit, and he was just behind that morning this morning— It's damn cold—you can swim four miles in that icy lake?"
"Well, it may not be possible," replied the inspector with a smile, taking care not to step on the tulip beds along the way. "Where is he?"
The goldfish lost its nerve, and stopped wriggling all of a sudden, the old hunchback almost regretted throwing it back into the water: "Behind those privet trees, they are pruning those trees, he is very particular about the beauty of the garden, I mean Mr. Wren. These gardeners like—”
The inspector smiled and walked past the old man before he finished listening to the old man—but he didn’t forget to stroke the ugly fleshy peak when he passed by, because Inspector Sam is really a person who pays attention to facts and facts. Laughing, he dipped his claw-like hands into the water again.
Sam pushed aside a geometrically trimmed privet tree, and from behind came the sound of busy cutting, and Ryan's distinctive deep, joyful voice.He stepped across the bushes and smiled at a tall, thin man in floral trousers surrounded by a group of gardeners.
"Mr. Jerry Lane himself, here," announced the inspector, extending a gigantic hand, "alas! alas! how come you never grow old?"
"Inspector!" Ryan shouted happily, "What a surprise, my God, it's a pleasure to meet you!" He dropped a pair of heavy tree shears and took Sam's hand, "How did you find me? Most people have to wander around Hamlet for hours before seeing their master."
"Quishy told me," said the inspector, falling eagerly on the green grass, "ah-ah! That's great! He's over there in the back by the water."
"Tricking the goldfish, I'm sure," Wren laughed, bending over like a thin spring and sitting down beside the Inspector. "Inspector, you're fat," he remarked, staring Sam's bloated figure, "You should exercise more. I daresay you've put on at least ten pounds since the last time I saw you."
"You're right," muttered Sam. "I'm sorry, but there's no room for retaliation. You're as good as a fiddle."
He looked at his partner enviously and enviously.Lane was tall, thin, and energetic-looking, and except for his neck-length silver hair, he looked forty, not sixty.His extremely classic features are very youthful and unlined.The gray-green pupils are shrewd and deep, without a trace of aging.Under the open white shirt collar, the throat is tough and strong.Sun-tanned.His face is as stable as Mount Tai, but also able to respond in an instant. It is a mature and strong man's face.Even his voice is authoritative, resonant, and can speak with words when necessary-that voice is extremely sexy to the ears of countless audiences.All in all, an outstanding character.
"You have something to do," asserted Mr. Jerry Lane with a twinkle of eye. "You have come all the way from the city for no reason. The inference is simple, because you have forgotten me all winter—in fact, since Long You haven't been here since the Stray incident. What's going on in your restless head?" His piercing eyes fixed on the inspector's lips.The actor was completely deaf, and it was this late-life accident that forced him to retire from the theater.With his amazing ability to adapt to new things, he quickly taught himself how to read lips, and his ability to read lips is so good that most people who have come into contact with him have no idea that he has this shortcoming.
Sam looked ashamed: "Don't say that, don't say that, Mr. Wren... In fact, something happened in New York that made me a little confused. Maybe you are interested in trying your luck."
"A crime," said the old actor thoughtfully, "couldn't be the Hatters' affair?"
The inspector's eyes lit up: "So you read the report in the newspaper! Yes, that's the crazy family. Someone tried to poison the old lady's daughter from her first marriage - Louisa Kabian .”
"It's that deaf, dumb, and blind woman." Ryan looked serious, "I'm particularly interested in her, Inspector, it's an excellent example of human beings' ability to transcend physical disabilities... Obviously you haven't solved the case yet .”
"Yes," the inspector said angrily, grabbing a handful of grass from the ground, the surrounding scenery seemed to lose interest in an instant, "no progress at all, no clue at all."
Wren looked at him intently. "I've read everything in the paper," he said. "Perhaps some details have been distorted or left out. In any case, I know something about this family, and the eggnog milk. Poisoning, and a child's gluttonous near-tragedies—all semblance of truth." He jumped to his feet. "Have you had your lunch, Inspector?"
Sam scratched his shaved pale blue chin: "Uh...I'm not very hungry..."
"What are you talking about!" Ren grabbed Sam's strong arm and lifted it up.The inspector was amazed that he had been half pulled off the ground, "Come on, don't be shy. Let's have something to eat first, and then have a cold beer, and then discuss your problems. You like beer, don't you?" "
Sam struggled to get up, looking hungry: "I can't say I like it, but I don't want to say I don't like it..."
"I knew it. You are all like this, half-push half-heartedly, maybe you can persuade my little steward, Falstaff, to give us a drop or two, for example, Martell three-star brandy..."
"No way!" said the inspector cheerfully. "My God, you're so sensible, Mr. Wren!"
Mr. Jerry Wren strolled down the flower-filled aisle, chuckling to himself that his guest's eyes nearly popped out of excitement.
They passed through the woods that surrounded the village that surrounded the castle, charming with its low red eaves and cobbled streets, its narrow alleys, its steeples and gabled roofs.The inspector was dazzled. He didn't feel at ease until he saw several men and women in twentieth-century clothes. Although he had visited Hamlet Heights several times, this was the first time he had entered the village.
They stopped before a low, brown building with mullioned windows and a dangling sign outside the door.
"Have you ever heard of the Mermaid Tavern, where Shakespeare, Ben Johnson, Raleigh, Francis, Beaumont, and others meet?"
"I seem to have heard it," said the inspector uncertainly, "in London, where boys used to hang out and party."
"Exactly, in Broadside, Cheapside—near Flyde Street. You can collect as many classically elegant names there as you do Sunday church. Here," said Mr. Jerry Lane, bowing Zuo Yi continued, "It's a faithful replica of that immortal tavern, inspector, let's go in."
Inspector Sam smiled.The room, with its wood-beamed ceiling, was smoky, noisy, and filled with the strong aroma of good beer.He nodded approvingly: "If those boys went to this kind of place three or four hundred years ago, Mr. Wren, then I would also raise my hand in favor. Hmm!"
A red-faced, round-bellied little man with a beer barrel tied high around his waist in a spotless white apron hurried forward to greet them.
"You remember Falstaff, my unparalleled Falstaff?" Ren asked, patting the little old man's bald head.
"of course I remember!"
Falstaff--Falstaff--smiled and saluted. "A mug of beer, Mr. Wren?"
"Yes, a drink for Inspector Sam, too, and a bottle of brandy, too, and something good to eat. Come with me, Inspector."
He led the way through the crowded room, nodding this way and smiling at the noisy guests.They found a corner with an empty table and sat down on a pew like a pew.Falstaff, who couldn't be more conscientious as the tavern owner, not only supervised the preparation of a delicious lunch, but also served it on the table himself.The inspector took a deep breath, buried his ugly nose in the foam of the beer and drank it.
"Now, Inspector," said the old actor, after Sam had taken the last mouthful of food and drained the last drop of brandy from the bottom of the bottle, "tell me what's wrong with you."
"That's the difficulty," said the inspector bitterly. "There's nothing to tell you. If you read the papers, you know as much as I do. You've read about the old lady's husband a few months ago. Suicide news?"
"Yes, the newspapers are bound to be full of reports of York Height's betrayal of his kin. Tell me what happened when you arrived at the scene."
"Well," said Sam, leaning back on the high walnut chair at the table, "the first thing I'll do is find out the correct time for strychnine to be mixed into eggnog milk. Mrs. Abkoll, the cook and housekeeper , put the glass on the dining room table at about 2:25, and five or ten minutes later, by my reckoning, Mrs. Hatter and the deaf, dumb, and blind daughter came in and found the little rascal, Jackie, downing A big sip of his aunt's drink, so far nothing can be seen."
"It's nothing," Wren said. "As far as I know, you pointed out to the reporters that, given the circumstances around, anyone could have had a chance to poison that drink. Did you ask the kid if he was When did you enter the restaurant?"
"Of course I did, but you know kids are kids. What can you do? He said he got in just before his grandmother and Aunt Louisa saw him. We never found out who might have been in the kid Sneaked into restaurants before."
"I see, has the child fully recovered?"
Inspector Sam snorted: "Why not recover! To kill him, a mouthful of poison is not enough. What a boy! That kind of brat wants to strangle him alive after seeing it. Said he didn't intend to steal that bad guy's wine Grandma - Oh! Yes, of course not! He didn't know why he drank the drink. Said: 'Grandma Emily gave me a fright and I drank it.' That's it. Unfortunately he didn't drink much A little, really."
"I bet you weren't a gentle young man when you were young, inspector," Renha said with a smile, "Where were the others when the eggnog milk was poisoned? The newspaper didn't say clearly."
"Well, sir, it was a mess, you know. This captain, Trevitt--he happened to be in the next room, in the library, reading the paper, but he said he heard nothing. Then Jill Black T—she's upstairs in the bedroom, lying in bed, half asleep, half past two in the afternoon, look!"
"The young lady may have gone out the night before," Ryan said without any expression. "I believe she went to the so-called carnival. One of the heretics, I think. What about the others?"
Sam glanced at the brandy glass with a very dejected look: "Well, this Louisa woman--a freak one--usually takes a nap after lunch, and she sleeps upstairs in the same room as her old mother. Anyhow Well, Mrs. Hatter, who was chasing the servants in the garden, went upstairs to wake Louisa, and at about half-past two they went downstairs together for an eggnog milk. Playboy Conrad— The kid's father—walks and smokes in the side alley east of the house, says he has a headache—probably hungover—needs some air. The girl who wrote the poem, Barbara Heit— As far as I know, she's a celebrity, and the only person of the bunch, Mr. Wren, a nice lady with brains—she writes in the studio upstairs. Miss Smith, Louisa's nurse, Bedroom adjoining Louisa's room, overlooking the East Wing lane - says she reads the Sunday paper in her room."
"Where are the rest?"
"A few servants. Mrs. Arbuckle, the housekeeper - she's in the back kitchen, clearing the lunch plates with Virginia, the maid. Mrs. Abko's husband, George Abko, is waxing the car in the back garage. .That's about it, looks hopeless, doesn't it?"
Ren nodded, his eyes fixed on the inspector's lips: "The one-legged captain Trevitt you mentioned," he finally said, "is an interesting character. What role does he play here, inspector? He What were you doing in that house at two-thirty on a Sunday afternoon?"
"Oh, he," muttered Sam, "he's a former sea captain, and he's been living next door to Hatter's for years—a house he bought after retirement, and we've looked into him, don't worry, he's rich ——He used his own cargo ship for 30 years, and was forced to retire after encountering a storm in the South Atlantic. The big waves rolled him down——He injured several legs, and the first officer didn't take care of them. When he arrived at the dock, he had to saw them off For the sake of it, he is a very experienced old guy."
"You still haven't answered my question, Inspector," Ryan said softly, "how did he happen to be in the house?"
"Take your time, okay?" Sam yelled. "I'm sorry, I was in a good mood until you reminded me of this... Trewitt used to come to Hatter's house, and I heard he was the only one in York Hatter." True friends - two lonely old monsters just got together, I think they have the same sympathy. As far as I know, Trewitt is quite distressed by Hayt's disappearance and suicide, but he didn't stop going to Hayt's house because of it, he A little sympathy for this Louisa Carbian, you know—maybe because she's a sweet girl who never complains and has a lot of misfortune, and he's a cripple with a missing leg."
"It's possible that physical imperfections do help people form friendships, so this kind captain is waiting to visit Luisa Kabian?"
"Exactly. He sees her every day, and they hit it off so well that even the old hag approves of it--she's glad anyone cares about that deaf-mute daughter--and God knows if anyone else cares about that." Girl. He came in around two o'clock, and Mrs. Abkel told him that Louisa was upstairs taking a nap, so he went to the library and waited."
"Inspector, how do they communicate? After all, that poor woman can neither hear, see, nor speak."
"Wow, they have a way," said the inspector sullenly, "you know, she wasn't completely deaf until she was ten, and they taught her a lot of things, but most of the time Captain Trevitt just sat down and held her hand, she liked him very much."
"Poor thing! Now, Inspector, as for the poison itself, have you traced the source of strychnine?"
Sam laughed. "No decent luck. Of course we clung to that lead in the first place, but it turned out that, you know, the guy York Height never lost his passion for chemistry--as far as I know." You know, when he was young he was a famous chemist, and he set up a laboratory in his house, and used to spend all day in it."
"That's his refuge in such a harsh environment. It does make sense, so strychnine came from the laboratory?"
Sam shrugged. "I suppose so, but we've had trouble even there. Ever since Hatt disappeared, the old lady has locked up the lab with strict orders that no one can go in there, like A sort of remembrance of his memory or something, and she wanted the room to be the way it was when Hatter left—especially after two months of finding his body and making sure he was dead, you know? There's only one key, and she keeps it with her at all times, and there's no other entrance to the lab—the windows are all barred, and, well, as soon as I heard about the lab, I ran to check it out, and—"
"The key you asked for from Mrs. Hatter?"
"right."
"Does she carry it with her at all times, are you sure?"
"According to her claim. Anyway, we found a bottle of strychnine pills on a row of shelves nailed by Hayt in there, so we figured the poison came from that bottle—throwing a pill into the eggnog milk , more convenient than bringing powder or solution. But how did he get into the lab?"
Wren didn't answer right away. He gestured to Falstaff with a long, white, strong finger: "More beer... This is a rhetorical question, Inspector. The window is sealed with iron bars— —Someone must be jealous of Heite’s escape route—the door is locked, and the only key is always with Mrs. Heite, um...it doesn’t necessarily need any magical explanation, there are things like wax models.”
"Of course," snorted Sam, "how could we not have thought of that. Mr. Lane, I suppose, there are three possibilities. First, the person who poisoned may have stolen the pine tree from the laboratory long before York Height disappeared." strychnine, the room was then open for anyone to come in and out, and the poison was kept until last Sunday..."
"Clever," remarked Wren. "Go on, Inspector."
"Second, as you said, someone made a wax model of the lock, duplicating a key, so they were able to get in and out of the lab and get the poison shortly before the crime was committed."
"Or it was taken a long time ago, Inspector, didn't it?"
"Or third, the poison came from some other source at all." Sam took a glass of fizzy beer from Falstaff and drank it down. "Great," he said belching "I mean beer. That, we've investigated as well as we can. About this key theory - the next step - extensive tracing of all keysmiths and hardware shops ... nothing has been found yet. As for external sources - — We are still investigating, and as of today, there is no result. This is the current situation."
Ren knocked on the table thoughtfully.The number of customers dwindled, and they were almost alone in the Mermaid Tavern: "Did it ever occur to you," he said after a silence, "that the eggnog milk might have been poisoned before Mrs. Abkel brought it into the restaurant? "
"Holy Mary, Mr. Wren," growled the inspector, "what do you think I am? Of course I did. The kitchen was checked, but there was no trace of strychnine or poison in it. Although Mrs. Abkel Does leave the eggnog milk on the kitchen table for a few minutes before going to the pantry to get something. Maid Virginia also goes into the living room for a minute to dust off. So it's possible someone took advantage of Mrs. When you see it, sneak into the kitchen and poison your drink."
"I'm starting to sympathize with your plight," Wren said with a pitiful smile, "and starting to feel the same way with you, Inspector. Were there no one else in Hayt Mansion that Sunday afternoon?"
"No, as far as I'm concerned, but the front door is unlocked, and anyone could slip in and out without being noticed. Anyone who knows the Hatters knows about the eggnog milk in the dining room at 2:30 every afternoon." .”
"I know that there was one other member of the family who wasn't home at the time of the incident—Wendeger Peary, the private tutor to Conrad Heit's two children. Have you investigated him?"
"Of course. Peary was off on Sunday, and he said he went for a long walk in Central Park last Sunday morning—alone all day, and didn't come back to the house until late afternoon, when I was there."
"How did he react to the news of an attempted poisoning?"
"Seems surprised, and, having seen the whole picture, seems concerned, I think. He can't offer any explanation."
"We seem to be," Mr. Jerry Lane's profound smile disappeared from his facial features, and his brows were tightly frowned, "we have fallen into a deeper fog. As for the motive? The mystery of the whole thing may lie here."
Inspector Sam yelled like a strong man who was tied up and unable to exert his strength: "Every one of those damned guys may have a motive. The Hatter family is all crazy-it's really like Crazy, the whole family, except maybe Barbara the poetess, even she was abnormal, but her abnormality was poetic. You know, Mrs. Hatter's whole life revolved around her deaf and dumb The blind daughter, watching her like a tigress, sleeping in the same room almost to the point of feeding her and dressing her—giving everything to keep Louisa from getting into trouble, probably It's the only human aspect of this vicious cat."
"And, of course, the rest of the children can't help being jealous," Ryan said in a low voice with a twinkle in his eyes. possibility of it.”
"I saw it a week ago," sniffed the inspector, "that the old lady is all about Louisa, and of course the other kids are jealous as hell. It's not about sweetness, warmth, and 'I love you'." , dear Mummy' or something like that," the inspector laughed sarcastically, "I doubt there's any love there, it's just arrogance and a kind of competitiveness. And, from Louisa's point of view— —Remember, she is not their sister, Mr. Wren, they are half-brothers."
"That does make a big difference," Lane agreed.
"There's a huge difference. For example, Jill, the youngest, doesn't want to have anything to do with Louisa, claiming that Louisa's presence casts a shadow over the family, and her friends don't like visiting because That Louisa look makes everyone uncomfortable. That look! Does she mean it, but it doesn't make a difference to Jill, it doesn't make a difference to her. If she was my daughter," Sam's Slapping his hand on his thigh, "Same with Conrad--wasting all day long about his mother sending Louisa to some sanitarium so she wouldn't be in the way of the house, saying she's keeping them from having a normal life. Normal The inspector sneered, "The bird's so-called normal life is a case of liquor under the table, with a slut sitting on both knees."
"And what about Barbara Hitt?"
"That's another matter," Inspector Sam seemed to have a soft spot for female poets. He took a sip of beer, licked his chin, and answered in a very warm tone under Ryan's suspicious eyes. "I mean—she's a good girl, Mr. Wren, and sensible. I'm not saying how much she loves the deaf man, but from what I've seen, Barbara sympathizes with her, and tries to help her to have an interesting life." One point—is what we think a woman with a truly good heart should do."
"Miss Hatter has apparently captured another heart," Wren said, standing up. "Come on, Inspector, go get some air."
Sam struggled to his feet, loosened his belt, and led his master into the quaint narrow street.They strolled back into the garden, Rain lost in thought, his eyes blurred, his lips tightly shut, and Sam following each step with a scowl.
"Conrad and his wife don't get along very well, I think," Ryan said at last, slumping down on a rusty bench. "Sit down, Inspector."
Sam sat down, like a man who was tired of thinking, with weak limbs: "They can't get along, cats and dogs live their own lives independently. She told me that as soon as she could find a way, she would take the two children away' this Horrible house'--very emotional, she did--I got some interesting information about her from Miss Smith, Louisa's nurse. Martha had had an encounter with the old lady a few weeks ago, Seems like Mrs. Hatter beat those two kids, and Martha got so pissed off, and called her mother-in-law a 'wicked old hag,' and called her meddling, and said she wished the old lady was dead--you know women get excited That sort of thing. All in all, the two were almost at war, and Miss Smith dragged the children out of the room--the two children were petrified... Martha was usually cowardly as a sheep, you know, but it pissed her off. Terrible, I feel a little bit sorry for her, she lives in a 'mental hospital', if I, let me tell you, I wouldn't let my children grow up in that environment."
"And Mrs. Hatter is a rich woman," Ryan seemed not to be paying attention to Sam's story, thinking to himself, "There may be money motives behind it..." His expression became more and more gloomy.
They sat speechless.The garden was as cold as water, and laughter came from the small village.The inspector folded his arms on his chest and stared at Ryan's face, apparently dissatisfied with what he saw, he growled, "What, what's your verdict, Mr. Ryan? Do you see any clues? ?”
Mr. Jerry Lane sighed, showed a weak smile, and shook his head: "Unfortunately, I am not Superman, inspector."
"You mean you—"
"I mean, I can't see why. Who poisoned the eggnog milk? Not even a plausible reason. Evidence, evidence—still not enough to make a clear hypothesis. "
Sam looked sad. What he was afraid of in the first place was this kind of result: "Any suggestions?"
Ren shrugged: "There is only one warning. Once a murderer, always a murderer, there will undoubtedly be murders of Luisa Kabian's life. Of course, not immediately, but one day, when the murderer thinks he When it's safe to..."
"We will take precautions as much as possible." The inspector's tone was not very confident.
The old actor suddenly stood up from his tall body, Sam was startled, looked up at him, Ryan's face was expressionless—some business had obviously sprouted in his mind: "Inspector. As far as I know, Dr. Miriam Some samples from the poisoned eggnog milk on the restaurant floor?" Sam nodded, looking at the owner curiously, "Did the forensic examine that sample?"
The inspector breathed a sigh of relief: "Oh," he said, "Yes, yes, I asked Dr. Xie Lin to test it at the Municipal Laboratory."
"Did Dr. Schelling report the results of his analysis?"
"Ah, ah!" said the inspector, "what's the matter? There's nothing mysterious about it, Mr. Wren, of course he reported the result."
"Did he say that eggnog milk was not poisonous enough to be fatal?"
The inspector snorted: "Fatal? Is there any reason why it is not fatal? The doctor said that the dose in that drink is enough to kill half a dozen people."
After a while, Ren returned to his normal happy expression, with only a little disappointment left on his face. The inspector read the frustration from those gray-green eyes.
"Then, all I can suggest—a poor reward for your long journey, Inspector!" said Mr. Jerry Lane, "is that you really need to keep a good watch on the crazy Hatters."
Notes:
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