Chapter 7 third scene

There is an interlude in between.The police searched around, and one of their distraught men came to report to Inspector Sam that no fingerprints were to be found on either the syringe or the mandolin.Dr. Schelling bustled in and out, supervising the removal of the corpse. While the morgue staff were busy shuttling around, Mr. Jerry Lane just stood there quietly and thoughtfully, looking at Louisa Kabian's expressionless face most of the time, as if trying to find something from above. Find the solution to this puzzle.Prosecutor Bruno said on the sidelines that since no fingerprints could be found anywhere, the murderer must have been wearing gloves, which Ryan didn't seem to hear.

Finally, order seemed to be restored. Dr. Schelling left with the body, and the inspector closed the door of Miss Smith's room. Mr. Jerry Wren immediately asked, "Has anyone told Miss Kabian?" Miss Smith shook her head, and Dr. Miriam said, "I thought it best to wait until..." "Is her present state of health not in danger?" Dr. Miriam pouted her thin lips: "It will be a big blow, her heart is weak. But the chaos has largely subsided, and, after all, she has to know..." "How to communicate with her?" Miss Smith went quietly to the bed, groped under the pillow, and when she straightened up she was holding a strange set of utensils.It was a flat, grooved board, sort of like an abacus, with a big box.She opened the lid, and there were many small metal cubes, like dominoes, each with a protruding part on the back that fit into a groove on the board.The surface of the block has raised and rather large dots arranged on the block in unique and varied combinations.

"Braille?" Ryan asked. "Yes," Miss Smith sighed, "Each square represents a letter of Braille, and this board is specially customized for Louisa...she takes it with her wherever she goes." In order to assist laymen to read this "written" language of the blind, in addition to the protruding dots, the surface of each square is also painted with a flat white English letter—that is, the translation of the Braille letter represented by the square. "Very clever," Wren commented, "if you don't mind, Miss Smith..." He gently pushed the nurse aside, picked up the board and cube, and looked down at Louisa Kabian.

All felt that this was a moment of life and death.How would this pathetic, extraordinary woman react?Evidently she had long been aware of the extraordinary tension around her.Her snow-white and beautiful fingers kept wriggling—she pulled her hand out of Dr. Miriam’s palm not long ago—Ren found with a slight palpitation that those wriggling fingers were like insect antennae, they were intelligent swings, urgently seeking answers.The anxious, brief side-to-side twitches of her head reinforce the human-insect analogy.Her pupils were large, but dull—the eyes of a blind man.At this moment, when everyone's attention is focused on her, no one notices that in fact, in terms of overall appearance, she looks like a normal person, and she may be quite likable—she is quite Plump, not more than five feet four inches tall, with rich brown hair and a healthy complexion.

But what attracted everyone's attention was her strange expression—fish-eye-like eyes, a still, empty, almost lifeless face, and wriggling fingers... "She seems agitated," murmured Inspector Sam. "I'm getting goosebumps just looking at her fingers." Miss Smith shook her head: "That—it wasn't nervous, she was talking and asking questions." "Speak!" the prosecutor exclaimed. "Yes," Wren said, "sign language for the deaf, Mr. Bruno. What is she expressing so restlessly, Miss Smith?" The fat nurse slumped down on the chair: "I——this makes people feel more and more uneasy," she said hoarsely, "she kept saying over and over again: 'What happened? What happened? Mom Where? Why don't you answer? What happened? Where's mother?'”

In the silence, Mr. Jerry Wren sighed, and took the woman's hands and took them into his strong ones.The two hands struggled frantically before they softened. Her nostrils fluttered, as if trying to smell him. It was very strange. Maybe there was something in Ren's touch that reassured her, or she felt it. The subtle smell that animals can smell, but most humans can't perceive, she relaxed, and her fingers slipped from Ren's palm... What happened.where is momWho are you. Ren quickly picked some squares from the box and formed a series of words; he placed the board on Luisa's lap, and she grabbed it eagerly with both hands, fiddled with the metal squares with her fingertips.

"I am a friend," Lane's message read, "and I want to help you. I have some unpleasant news for you. You must be brave." There was a swallowing sound in her throat, sad and heart-wrenching. Inspector Sam blinked and turned his face away. Doctor Miriam was stiff behind her, and then Louis Sha Kabian took a deep breath and began to dance her hands again. Miss Smith translated wistfully. yes.yes.I am very brave.What happened. Ren's fingers reached into the box, rearranging the letters, and constructing new words... The room was so quiet that a needle could be heard.

"Your life has been an epic of the brave. Keep it up. A great tragedy has happened. Your mother was killed last night." The hands that touched the braille board made a convulsive movement, and the board fell from her lap, scattering small pieces of metal across the floor.She passed out. "Oh, get out, everyone!" Just as everyone was about to move forward with pity in their eyes, Dr. Miriam shouted, "Miss Smith and I will take care of it." They stopped, watching his aging arms struggle to lift her limp body from the chair. They hurried to the door anxiously.

"I want you to guard Miss Cabian," Inspector Sam whispered to the doctor, "and not to leave her for a moment." "If you don't go out, I'm not responsible for anything!" They left as ordered, and Ryan walked last.He came to the door lightly, stood outside the door in thought for a long time, then seemed very tired, pressed his fingers on his temples, shook his head, lowered his hands, and followed the prosecutor and Inspector Sam downstairs. Downstairs the Hatters' library adjoins the dining room.The library is old and smells of leather. The collection is mainly books on science and poetry. The library is obviously used a lot, and the furniture is very old.It was the most comfortable room in the house, and Rain sighed in satisfaction, sinking into an armchair.

Sam and Bruno also sat down. The three men looked at each other without saying a word. The house was very quiet except for the inspector's snoring. "Well, folks," they said at last, "this is a difficult problem." "It's an interesting problem in any way, Inspector," Ryan responded, and he sat further into the armchair, stretching his long legs. "By the way," he murmured, "Louisa Does Kabian know that someone tried to murder her two months ago?" "I don't know. There's no need to tell her that her life has been hard enough."

"Yes, of course," Ryan mused. "It's too cruel," he agreed.He stood up abruptly, and crossed the room to inspect a glass box held up by something like a pedestal. The box was empty. "This, I guess, is the box where the mandolin used to be." Sam nodded. "And," he said darkly, "no fingerprints." "You know," said Prosecutor Bruno, "that the poisoned pear thing—assuming the pears were actually poisoned—makes the whole thing a lot simpler." "Hold on to the pear lead, eh? At least we know he's after Louisa," Sam mused. "Okay, let's get to work." He got up and walked to the door leading to the hallway." Hey, Mersh," he called, "get Barbara Hayt down here and talk." Ryan walked back to the old armchair. Barbara Hitt is definitely more likable in person than in her painted pictures. The sharp etched lines in the photo deepen her thin facial features. However, looking at her in person, although the facial features are thin, they have feminine tenderness. , the beauty that decides to discard.She was very tall and dignified, clearly over thirty, with a graceful, almost musical manner.She had a radiance that radiated from within, that spark that dimly illuminated her exterior and gave her every move an affinity.The poetess Barbara Heit comes across not just as a woman of wisdom, but as an unusual figure with delicate emotions. She nodded to Inspector Sam and bowed to the prosecutor, her beautiful eyes widening when she saw Wren. "Mr. Wren!" The voice remained low and calm, "Are you also here to investigate the dirty puddle in our house?" Ren blushed: "I'm sorry, Miss Hatter. Unfortunately, I'm curious by nature." He shrugged, "Aren't you sitting? I have some questions for you." She recognized him immediately, and the first time He was not surprised to be able to call him by his first name once they met, because he often encountered such things. She sat down, raised her eyebrows mischievously, and scanned the interrogators around her. "Okay," she said with a sigh, "if you're ready, and I'm ready, let's fire." "Miss Hatter," said the inspector suddenly, "tell me what you know about last night." "Very little, Inspector. I'll be back about two o'clock in the morning--I'm off to a dull party at my publisher's house, where the gentlemen don't remember the etiquette, or rather, they're too strong to drink, and I myself Home alone. It was very quiet everywhere, and my room, as far as you know, was at the front, overlooking the park, just across the walkway—opposite my mother's room. I can tell you with absolute certainty that the upstairs The doors to all the bedrooms were shut. I was very tired and went to bed immediately, and I slept till six o'clock this morning, when I was awakened by Miss Smith's screams, which, in fact, were." "Hmm." The inspector replied, frowning. "I agree," Barbara said with a weary smile, "that statement isn't very exciting." She turned to look at Mr. Jerry Lane, as if anticipating his question, which he did ask, but the question seemed to surprise her, and she narrowed her eyes and focused on Lane.Wren asked, "Miss Hatter, when you and your brother Conrad ran into your mother's room this morning, did anyone step in between the two beds?" "No, Mr. Wren," she answered calmly, "we saw at once that Mother was dead. Lifting Louisa from the floor, we avoided the footprints towards the door and avoided stepping on both sides." The middle of the bed." "Are you sure your brother didn't step on it?" "Pretty sure." Prosecutor Bruno stood up, bent and relaxed his aching thigh, and began to pace back and forth before Barbara's eyes, and she waited patiently. "Miss Hatter, I'll be blunt. You're a very intelligent woman, and it goes without saying that you must be aware of - er - that some members of your family are not normal, and you must be grateful for that. Regret... I want to ask you to put aside considerations of family loyalty for the time being." He stopped before her calm face, and he must have felt that the question he was going to ask was futile, because he hurried on. , "Of course, if you don't want to, you don't have to answer, but if you can provide any explanation for the poisoning two months ago and the murder last night, of course, we can't wait to listen." "My dear Monsieur Bruno," said Barbara, "what do you mean? Are you implying that I know who murdered my mother?" "No, no—just a theory, just...trying to clear the shadows..." "I don't have any theory." She looked down at her long, white fingers. "Mr. Bruno, everyone knows that my mother is an unbearable tyrant. I think many people have at some point or another wanted to take revenge." Her impulse, but murder..." She shuddered, "I don't know, it seems inconceivable that taking a human life—" "Oh," whispered Inspector Sam, "do you believe, then, that someone actually tried to murder your mother?" She was taken aback, and raised her head with a twinkle in her eyes: "What is your intention in saying this, Inspector? If she was murdered, of course...I assume someone had such an intention...Oh!" She stopped suddenly , gripping the seat tightly, "Do you mean—that was a mistake at all?" "That's exactly what the Inspector meant, Miss Hatter," said Bruno. "We believe your mother was killed by accident—on a whim. We're pretty sure the murderer didn't enter that bedroom with the intention of murdering your mother. But to murder your half-sister Louisa!" "But why," she was still in shock, Ryan continued in a gentle tone, "why would anyone want to hurt that poor poor woman upstairs, Miss Hatter?" Barbara raised her hand suddenly to cover her eyes, and she murmured: "Poor Louisa." She stared blankly at the glass box pedestal at the other end of the room, "Her life is so empty, so miserable, always Be a victim." She bit her lip and looked at them with a determined expression, "As you said, Mr. Bruno, the ties to family—my family—should be put aside. Who would wanting to hurt the helpless being who deserves at least a sliver of sympathy. I must tell you, Mr. Wren," she went on, looking at him eagerly, "that Louie has always been loathed by my family except my mother and myself. Sha, I hate her." Her voice was full of anger, "The most fundamental murderous nature of human beings, the urge to trample insects with stumps to death... Oh, it's terrible." "Yes, yes," replied the prosecutor, staring at her sharply, "is it true that everything belonging to York Height is taboo in this family?" She put her hands together on her cheeks: "Yes," she replied in a low voice, "My mother respects my father's memory more deeply than my father himself." She fell silent, perhaps recalling too many unpleasant pasts, Her expression was sad and slightly mocking, "After my father died, my mother tried to make up for her domineering over his life by urging us to pay tribute to him. Everything that belonged to him was sanctified. I think the past few months , she gradually realized..." She didn't say any more, staring at the floor in a daze. Inspector Sam walked back and forth with heavy steps: "We still haven't found any clues, why did your father commit suicide?" A look of grief flitted across her face: "Why?" She repeated dully, "Why would a man commit suicide when his only interest in life was stolen, killed, and mentally lived like a pariah? ?” A kind of anger and pain mixed in her voice, “Poor father, he has been under control all his life. His life doesn’t belong to him, he has no room to speak in his own family, and his children don’t obey him , ignoring him, cruel...however, people are really strange - mother actually loves him in the bottom of her heart. As far as I know, when they met, he was a very handsome man. I think the reason why she was domineering to him, It's because she thought he needed someone to support him, and she thought that anyone who was weaker than her needed her support." She sighed, "In the end, instead of supporting him, he broke his back, He became a recluse, almost a ghost. Father had no friends except Captain Trewitt, the eccentric old policeman next door, and yet not even Captain Trewitt could relieve his loneliness. I'm getting rambling..." "On the contrary, Miss Hatter," Wren said mildly, "you're right to the point. Are you obeying Mrs. Hatter's ban on your father's mandolin and laboratory?" "Nobody disobeys mother's orders, Mr. Wren," Barbara whispered back. "I can swear on it. Nobody even thinks about touching that mandolin or going into the laboratory. . . . No, It's crazy that someone actually did, oh-" "When was the last time you saw the mandolin in that glass case?" demanded the inspector. "yesterday afternoon." "Is that?" Bruno asked eagerly, as if he had just had an inspiration, "the only instrument in the house?" Renri looked at him, and Barbara was surprised. "Yes, it is," she replied, "but what's the importance of that...I guess it's none of my business. We're not a musical family, mother's favorite composer is Sosa, my father's mandolin is Souvenir from his college days... there used to be a grand piano—one of those ornate ornaments, all swirled and gilded, 1990s rococo—but a few years ago my mother called It's gone, and she's not happy—" "Unhappy?" Bruno wondered. "You know, Louisa can't appreciate it." Bruno frowned, Inspector Sam fumbled in his pocket for a while, took out a key, and said, "Do you recognize this?" She looked at it obediently. "It's a latch key, isn't it? I can't say I recognize it. They all look alike, you know..." "Well," murmured Sam, "the key to your father's laboratory, found among your mother's belongings." "Oh, that's right." "Do you know if this is the only key to that room?" "I believe so, I know my mother has carried it with me since my father killed himself." Sam put the key back in his pocket. "That matches what I heard. We have to check that laboratory." "Did you go to your father's laboratory often, Miss Hatter?" Bruno asked curiously. A look of anger was on her face: "I do go often, Monsieur Bruno. I am one of the worshipers of my father's scientific shrine, and his experiments amaze me, though I will never fully understand them. Spend a whole hour upstairs, and that's when he's happiest—he's having the best time of his life." She looked preoccupied, "Martha—my sister-in-law, you know—sympathized with father too, She watched him do his experiments sometimes, and, of course, Captain Trevitt, and the others—” "So you're a complete layman in chemistry." The inspector pressed in a tone of disapproval. She smiled. "Hey, hey, inspector, poison? Anyone can read a label, you know that. No, I don't really know chemistry." "From what I have heard," remarked Mr. Jerry Lane, which sounded impatiently irrelevant to the inspector, "what you lack in science, you use your poetic talent to It makes up, Miss Hatter. You present us with an interesting picture, you and Mr. Hatter: Utpi, the goddess of poetry and music, seated at the feet of Scythia, the god of science..." "Winning horses and cows," Inspector Sam said deliberately. "Oh, indeed," Ryan replied with a smile on his face, "but my comment is not just to show off my classical knowledge, Inspector...Miss Hatter, what I intend to ask is whether Cycia has ever sat in Utero Pi's feet?" "I wish you could translate it into American," muttered the inspector. "I would also like to know what question you are asking." "Mr. Wren was asking," said Barbara, a little timidly, "whether my father was as interested in my work as I was in his experiments. My answer, Mr. Wren, was positive." Yes, my father always gave me the most heartfelt praise—however, I guess, it was more for my fame and fortune than for my poetry itself, and he was often puzzled by my poems..." "Me too, Miss Hatter," Ryan said with a slight bow, "Has Mr. Hatter ever tried writing?" With the tip of her eyebrows, she made a thoughtless expression: "Almost never, he did try to write a novel once, but I think it ended in vain, and he never had the ability to stay on one thing for a long time—except, of course, his Beyond the eternal experimentation of stills, spirit lamps, and chemicals." "Okay," said the inspector with a serious look, "Mr. Wren, if you finish your chat, I want to get down to business. We can't stay here all day...Miss Hatter, you were the last one back last night ?" "I can't say that. I forgot the keys to the house—we each had our own—so I rang the night bell on the porch, and the night bell went straight to the Abcours' room in the attic for about five minutes. Afterwards, George Abko came downstairs slowly to open the door for me, and I went upstairs at once, but Abko was still downstairs... so I dare not say whether I was the last one to come back. Perhaps Abko knew." "How come you don't have a key? Misplaced? Lost?" "You're really inquisitive, Inspector," Barbara sighed. "No, it's not misplaced, it's not lost, it's not stolen. As I said, I just forgot, and the key is in the It's in another purse in my room, I checked it before going to bed." "Have you thought of any other questions?" the inspector asked Bruno after a short silence. The prosecutor shook his head. "What about you, Mr. Wren?" "After you pinned me down in that way, Inspector," Wren replied with a sad smile, "no." Instead of apologizing, Sam coughed and said, "That's it for now, Miss Hatter. Please don't leave the house." "No," said Barbara Heit wearily, "of course not." She got up and walked out of the study. Sam leaned on the open door and left watching. "Really," he murmured to him, "no matter what I talk to her, she is still so elegant. Now," he puffed out his chest, "let's confront these lunatics again. Moxiu, call the pair of Abko Let the couple come down and have a long talk." The detective complied and walked away, and Sam closed the door, hooked a thumb in his belt loop, and moved to his seat. "Crazy?" Bruno repeated, "The Abukos look normal to me." "Well, there's no such thing," the inspector snorted. "It just looks normal on the outside. They're crazy on the inside. They must be crazy." He gritted his teeth. "Anyone living in this house must be crazy, I I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy." The Abuko couple are a pair of tall and strong middle-aged people. They seem to be not so much a husband and wife, but a brother and sister.Both of them have large facial features, large and greasy pores on their rough skin, both of them came from farming families, obviously inherited several generations of thick blood and dull heads-both of them are taciturn, without a smile, as if they are everywhere in the house The ghost of the ghost has already frightened them. Mrs. Arbuckle was nervous: "I went to bed at eleven o'clock last night," she said, "with George—my husband. We don't like trouble, and we don't know anything about it." The inspector squeezed the words through his teeth: "Did you sleep until this morning, you two?" "No," began the woman, "the night bell rang about two o'clock in the morning. George got up, put on his coat and shirt and went downstairs." The inspector nodded sullenly, perhaps expecting they would lie, " About ten minutes later he came back upstairs and said, 'It's Barbara—she forgot the key.'" Mrs. Abkel sniffed, "and then we went back to bed and we didn't know anything else. , until this morning." George Arbuckle nodded slowly to his shaggy head. "That's right," he said. "As God testifies, we don't know anything." "You talk when you're told," said Sam, "and now—" "Mrs. Abuko," Ryan interjected unexpectedly, and she looked at Ryan with female-specific curiosity—this woman has a beard on her lips, "can you tell us that the bedside of Mrs. Hatter's room Is there fruit on the table every day?" "Yes. It's true that Louisa Kabian likes fruit," said Mrs. Abkoor. "Now there is a plate of fruit upstairs, when did you buy it?" "Yesterday. I kept my plate full of fresh fruit at all times, Mrs. Hatter told me." "Does Miss Kabian like all kinds of fruit?" "is her--" "Sir." Inspector Sam corrected with a sullen face. "Yes, sir." "Mrs. Hatter too?" "Well... well, she hates pears. She never eats them, and people in the family often make fun of them." Mr. Jerry Lane took a cautious look at Inspector Sam and the prosecutor: "So, Mrs. Abuguan," he continued in a kind tone, "where do you buy your fruit?" "Sutton's Market on University Street, fresh every day." "Does anyone else eat these fruits besides Miss Kabian?" Mrs. Abko raised her square head, her eyes widened: "What's the problem? Of course other people also eat fruit. I always take some out of the order for others to eat." "Well, did anyone eat the pears from the batch that came in yesterday?" The housekeeper's face began to be clouded with doubts. Obviously, the endless inquiries about the fruit made her nervous: "Yes!" She suddenly responded angrily: "Yes! Yes..." "Sir," said the inspector. "Yes... sir. I ate one myself, I ate it, what's wrong?" "There's nothing wrong, Mrs. Abko, I assure you." Ryan said in a soothing tone, "Did you eat one of the pears and the others didn't?" "Those two bad--those kids, Jackie and Billy, each ate one," she whispered, reassuring, "and a banana--they ate like autumn winds. Sweep the fallen leaves." "And without a stomachache," the prosecutor interjected in comment. "All in all, it's great." "When did yesterday's fruit get to Miss Kabian's room?" Ren asked in the same amiable tone. "Afternoon, after lunch—sir." "All the fruits are fresh?" "Yes, yes, sir. There were a few in the plate from the day before yesterday, but I picked them out," said Mrs. Abkel, "and put new ones in, really, especially fruit. , if the fruit is overripe, or, you know, touched by someone else, she won't eat it." Mr. Jerry Lane looked surprised, he seemed to say something, swallowed it, and then stood still.The woman stared at him blankly, and her husband seemed very uncomfortable walking around her on his feet and scratching his chin; the inspector and Bruno also seemed confused by Wren's reaction. She also stared at him intently. "Are you sure she is?" "Of course it is, I'm sure." Ryan sighed: "How many pears did you put in the fruit plate yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Abko?" "Two." "What!" the inspector yelled, "Why, we found out—" He looked at Bruno, and Bruno looked at Ren. "You know," murmured the Prosecutor, "that's very queer, Mr. Wren." Ryan continued to ask in a calm tone: "Do you swear it's two, Mrs. Abko?" "Swear? Why? I said two is two, of course I know." "Indeed, you ought to know, did you take the fruit bowl upstairs yourself?" "I take it up by myself every time." Ren smiled slightly, looking thoughtful, then shook his hand slightly and sat down. "Hey, you, Abko," growled the inspector, "was Barbara Height the last to come in last night?" Being named in this way, the driver and servant visibly trembled, and he moistened his lips: "Uh-uh-I don't know, sir, after I opened the door to let Miss Hatter in, I just walked around downstairs. After a while - to make sure all the doors and windows were locked. I locked the front door myself and went upstairs to sleep, so I didn't know who came in and who wasn't." "What about the basement?" "No one uses it," Abuko replied in a firmer tone than before. "It has been locked up, and it has been nailed to death for several years." "That's why," said the inspector, going to the door, and putting his head out, shouting, "Pickson!" An agent responded gruffly, "Yes, sir?" "Go down to the basement and look around." The inspector closed the door and came back.Prosecutor Bruno is asking Abuko: "Why are you so careful to check the doors and windows at two o'clock in the morning?" Abko said with an apologetic smile, "That's my habit, sir, and Mrs. Hatter always tells me to be careful at the door, because Miss Cabian—she's afraid of thieves. I checked before I went to bed! But I I think it’s more reassuring to look at it again.” "Are all the doors and windows closed and locked at two o'clock?" asked Sam. "Yes, sir, airtight." "How long have you been working here?" "Eight years," said Mrs. Abkel, "until last Easter Eve." "Well," grunted Sam, "I think that's it. Mr. Wren, any more questions?" The old actor stretched out his legs in the armchair, staring at the butler and her husband: "Mr. Abkel, Mrs. Abkel," he said, "do you find the Hatters difficult to serve?" George Abuko almost became angry: "It's hard, you say?" He snorted, "That's not to say, sir, they are eccentric, they, everyone are." "Very hard to please," Mrs. Abkel replied sullenly. "Then why," Ryan asked in a cheerful tone, "have you been working for them for eight years?" "Oh, that!" replied Mrs. Abkel, as if she thought the question was quite wrong, "there's no mystery, and the treatment was very good—it was very good, so we stayed and changed. Isn't it the same for everyone?" Ren seemed rather disappointed: "Does any of you remember whether you saw the mandolin in that glass box over there yesterday?" Mr. Abuko and his wife looked at each other, and both shook their heads: "I don't remember." Abuko said. "Thank you," said Mr. Jerry Lane, and the inspector called the Abkels out. The maid, Virginia—it never occurred to anyone to ask her last name—was a tall, thin spinster with a horse win.She wrung her hands and almost cried.She has been working for the Hatters for five years.She loves her job.She loves her job.Salary here... oh sir, I went to bed early last night... She heard nothing, she saw nothing, she knew nothing. So she was sent away immediately. Detective Pickerson had a disgusted look on his face. "There's nothing suspicious in the basement, sir. Looks like no one's been in it in years—the dust's an inch thick—" "One inch?" repeated the inspector disapprovingly. "Well, maybe less. Doors and windows untouched, dust everywhere, no footprints." "Get rid of your old habit of exaggeration," growled the inspector. "One day, a little molehill will be called a mountain by you, and it will be really serious. Well, Pickerson. "The criminal police disappeared from the threshold, and a policeman came in to salute. "Well," Sam asked angrily, "what are you going to do?" "There's two men outside," said the policeman. "They're going to come in. Say they're a family lawyer and that Conrad Height's partner or something. Let them in, Inspector?" "You idiots," cried the inspector, "I've been looking for these birds all morning, of course let them in!" A play, and a farce at that, accompanied the two newcomers to the library.They were obviously the opposite type, but if only two of them were together, they might still be friends, but with the presence of Jill Height, all goodwill might have disappeared.Beautiful, impassioned Jill, with her bags under her eyes and around her muzzle, had evidently met two gentlemen in the front hall, and she walked between them, coming in with them, with a strong arm on each side, Looking at them sadly, from left to right, with chest puffed up, the corners of the mouth drooping, accepting their intermittent comfort... Ryan, Sam and Bruno watched the picture with cold eyes.This young woman knew the essence of manhandling and coquettishness, and it was obvious at a glance.Every subtle movement of her body gave people a hint of sex, and there was a kind of half-push and half-satisfaction pleasure.她把两个男人当做击剑来戏耍，让他们互相对峙，玩弄他们于股掌之上，使他们无意识地相互抨击，利用她母亲死亡的悲剧，把他们更拉近自己，但是让他们彼此更加针锋相对。总而言之，哲瑞·雷恩先生暗中思忖，这个女人须加提防。 姬儿·黑特同时也心怀恐惧，她对付两个男人的高明手腕，其实是习惯大于当下的算计。她高挑，丰满，几乎像天后赫拉的体态——同时还怀着畏惧。她的眼睛因无眠和害怕而充血……仿佛刚刚意识到她眼前的观众似的，她突然嘴巴一噘，放掉两个男人的手，转而为她的鼻尖补妆……在她踏入门槛的一瞬间，她已经把一切收入眼底，她其实很害怕…… 两个男人也意识过来，脸上的线条立刻变得僵硬。这两个男子的外形实在令人不敢恭维，家庭律师彻斯特·毕格罗其实不算矮小，但是站在康拉德·黑特的生意伙伴的约翰·格利身边，似乎变得微不足道。毕格罗肤色阴暗，留一撇黑色的小胡子，有个乌青的下巴；格利肤色柔美，麦色的头发，匆匆刮净的颚下有一些淡红的短毛。毕格罗动作简短、迅速；格利迟缓、不慌不忙。律师聪明的长相有一种机灵、几乎可以说是阴险的味道；然而格利却有着一张热诚又稳重的脸蛋。而且高个金发的那位也比较年轻——比他的对手至少年轻十岁。 “你要和我谈吗，萨姆巡官？”姬儿用微弱无助的声音问。 “我并没有意思要现在和你谈，”萨姆说，“但是既然你已经在这里了……坐吧，男士们。”他对检察官和哲瑞·雷恩介绍姬儿、毕格罗和格利。姬儿跌坐在一把椅子上，刻意让自己看起来像她的声音一样微小、无助。律师和商业掮客决定站着，神情颇为紧张，“好吧，黑特小姐，你昨晚在哪里？” 她缓缓转身仰头看着约翰·格利：“我和约翰——格利先生，出去了。” “细节。” “我们上戏院，然后去参加一个午夜派对。” “什么时候回家？” “很早，巡官……今天早上五点。” 约翰·格利满脸通红，彻斯特·毕格罗不耐烦地、短促地挪动一下右脚，却露齿而笑，排牙整齐细小。 “格利送你回家吗？啊，格利？” 掮客正想开口，姬儿却哀怜地插嘴道：“哦，没有，巡官，是——呃，实在很难堪。”她肃容端正地望着地毯，“你瞧，大约早上一点钟的时候我喝得醉醺醺的，我和格利先生吵了一架——他自命为一人道德重整委员会，你知道……” “姬儿——”格利说，他的脸和他的红领带一样红。 “所以格利先生就弃我而去，真的是这样！我的意思是说，他恼火得不得了，”姬儿以甜美的声音继续说，“然后——呃，在那之后，我什么也不记得了，只知道喝了一些琴酒，和一个满身汗垢的肥仔狂欢了一番。我倒是记得穿着晚礼服走在大街上，昂首高歌……” “然后呢。”巡官沉着脸。 “一个警察把我叫住，把我送上一辆计程车，好善良的一个年轻人呢！又大又壮，波浪一样的咖啡色卷发……” “我认识这些警察，”巡官说，“接着说！” “等回到家时，我已经比较清醒了，天才开始亮，广场上又美又清新，巡官——我爱清晨曙光……” “我相信你已经看过很多次了。然后呢，黑特小姐，我们可不能在这里浪费一整天。” 约翰·格利脸涨得通红，他握起拳头，作势要横跨地毯而来。毕格罗的表情则令人费解。 “就是这样，巡官。”姬儿说着，垂下眼帘。 “是吗？”萨姆外套长袖底下的肌肉鼓涨，他要是恼羞成怒起来那可非同小可，“好吧，黑特小姐，回答我几个问题，你到家的时候，前门是不是锁着？” “让我想想……我想是，是锁着！花了我好几分钟才转动那只该死的钥匙。” “你上楼到卧房去时，有没有听到或看到什么不正常的事？” “不正常？巡官，你讲这话令我震惊。” “你知道我的意思，”巡官咆哮，“奇怪、特别。任何引起你注意的事。” “哦！没有，巡官。” “你有没有注意你母亲的房门，是关着还是开着？” “是关着。我进去自己的房间，扯掉衣服，倒头就睡，一直到早上才醒来。” “可以了。好吧，格利，你早上一点钟弃黑特小姐而去以后，上哪里了？” 避开姬儿直率好奇的注视，格利嗫嚅地说：“我在城里散步。派对在七十六街上，我步行好几个小时，我住在第七大道和第五街之间，回到家时——我知道，天开始亮了。” “嗯。你和黑特合伙多久了？” "Three years." “你认识黑特家多久了？” “从我大学时代开始。康拉德和我是室友，我从那时候开始认识他家人。” “我还记得第一次见到你，约翰，”姬儿温柔地说，“我那时候是个小黄毛丫头，你那时人可真好，你那时真的那么好吗？” “不要在那里喝花腔女高音，”巡官吼道，“格利，站到一边去。毕格罗，据我所知，你的公司负责处理黑特太太所有的法律事务，老太太是不是有任何商场上的敌人？” 律师有利地回答：“你和我所知略同，巡官，黑特太太是一个——嗯！——一个颇为特殊的女人。无论任何方面都不因循旧规。敌人？当然有，所有在华尔街活动的人都有敌人，可是我想还不至于到——不，绝不可能——还不至于有人很她到动手谋杀她的程度。” “这情报有帮助，那么你对这件事有什么看法没有？” “难过，非常难过，”毕格罗说，撇着唇，“真是很难过。而且，你知道吗，对这事我一点头绪也没有，一点点也没有。”他停了一下，又紧接着说，“两个月前有人企图毒害卡比安小姐那件事，我也是想不出一点道理来，我想我那时就告诉过你了。” 地方检察官不耐烦地挪动了一下：“算了，巡官，这样一点头绪也没有。毕格罗先生，有遗嘱吗？” “遗嘱上有什么不寻常的地方吗？” “可以说有，也可以说没有，我——” 有人敲门，他们全转过头去。巡官步履沉重地踱到门口，把门打开两英寸大：“哦，墨修，”他说，“什么事？” 大个子墨修低声说些什么。巡官应了一声，“不行！”语气非常坚决。他突然呛笑几下，然后当着墨修的脸把门砰一声关上，然后走到布鲁诺检察官旁边耳语几句，布鲁诺一脸按捺不住的样子。 “啊——毕格罗先生，”布鲁诺说，“你打算什么时候对黑特太太遗族正式宣读遗嘱？” “星期二下午两点，葬礼结束以后。” “好，到时我们再聆听细节，我想就到此为止——” “布鲁诺先生，稍等一下，”哲瑞·雷恩先生语气平和地说。 "no problem." 雷恩转向姬儿·黑特：“黑特小姐，你最后一次看见通常放在这里的那把曼陀林琴，是什么时候？” “曼陀林琴？昨天晚上晚饭后——正好在我和约翰要出门以前。” “那么你上一次去你父亲的实验室，是在什么时候？” “约克那个怪味房间啊？”姬儿耸耸她漂亮的肩膀，“好几个月以前，对，很多个月了，我从来就不喜欢那个地方，约克也不喜欢我去他那里，你知道——父女各自尊重彼此的隐私之类的。” “原来如此，”雷恩说，脸上毫无笑容，“自从黑特先生失踪以后，你有没有去过楼上的实验室？” "No." 他鞠了一躬——似有似无地微微欠身：“谢谢你。” “没事了。”萨姆巡官猝然说。 两个男人和那位女孩活泼利落地离开书房。在外面的走廊上，彻斯特·毕格罗殷勤地握住姬儿的胳膊肘，她仰首对他微笑。约翰·格利闷声沉吟，眼睁睁地看着两个人信步走进客厅，他站在原地踟躇了一下，然后状颇迟疑地在前厅来回踱步，几个驻守该处的刑警漫不经心的眼光随着他的背影游移。 图书室里的三个人面面相觑，此时似乎无须多言，萨姆巡官走到门边，要一名刑警去叫露易莎·卡比安的护士。 史密斯小姐的观察，全然出人意料地产生一些有趣的观点。胸围丰满的护士，因其专业精神而减少一些女性特有的弱点，开始的时候，她的回答都非常精神抖擞，非常正式。 她前一天有没有看到曼陀林琴在玻璃箱里？不记得。她，和过世的黑特太太，是不是最常进出露易莎·卡比安房间的人？yes. 她记不记得，无论出于任何理由，曾经看见曼陀林琴出现在露易莎的房间？这是哲瑞·雷恩先生提出的问题。没有，自从约克·黑特失踪以后，曼陀林琴就一直被放在那个玻璃箱里，而且据她所知，从来没有因为任何理由被移动过。 雷恩：“除了黑特太太，有没有其他人从卡比安小姐的水果盘拿水果吃？” 史密斯小姐：“哦，没有，家里其余的人都不准进入露易莎的房间，先生，而且一旦有黑特太太的禁令，任谁想都不敢想去拿属于露易莎的东西……可怜的东西。当然，偶尔小孩子会溜进来偷两颗苹果什么的，但这并不常发生，因为黑特太太对小孩子非常严厉，上次发生这种事时，大约在三个星期前，她鞭打杰奇，责骂比利，搞得一团乱，杰奇照常叫嚷得像是断了头，他妈妈照常为了黑特太太打小孩子过来争执，吵得相当可怕。这已经不是第一次了，黑特太太——我是指玛莎——通常温驯得很，可是她的母性本能一旦被触犯，发起火来可不得了，而她和黑特太太——就是她婆婆——一天到晚为了玛莎孩子的管教权争吵不休……哦，对不起，先生，我讲个没完。” “没关系，没关系，史密斯小姐，我们听得津津有味。” 布鲁诺检察官说：“水果，雷恩先生，水果。史密斯小姐，你有没有留意昨晚放在床头桌上的水果盘？” 史密斯小姐：“留意过！先生。” “里面摆的水果是不是和今天看到的一模一样？” “我想是，先生。” 萨姆巡官问：“你最后一次看到黑特太太是什么时候？” 史密斯小姐（开始显得紧张起来）：“昨晚大概十一点半的时候。” “告诉我们当时的情况。” “黑特太太通常自己照料露易莎的睡前所需，但是我又进去看了最后一下，发现露易莎已经上床了。我拍拍她的面颊，用点字板问她，在我睡觉以前是不是还有任何需要，她说没有——我的意思是，她用手语告诉我没有。” “那些我们都了解。继续讲。” “然后我问她，她还要不要吃水果，当时我身体转向水果盘，她说不要。” 雷恩（慢慢地说）：“所以当时你确实注意到那些水果？” “哦，是。” “里面有几颗梨子？” 史密斯小姐（小眼睛也警觉起来）：“哦！昨晚只有两颗，今天早上却有三颗！我刚才没想到……” “你确定吗，史密斯小姐？这点具有重大的关键性。” 史密斯小姐（迫不及待）：“是，先生，原来只有两颗，我可以发誓。” “是不是其中有一颗烂掉了？” “烂掉？没有，先生，两颗都又熟又新鲜。” “啊！谢谢你，史密斯小姐。” 萨姆巡官（口气暴躁）：“这有什么关——好吧，史密斯小姐，这段时间黑特太太在做什么？” “她穿着一件旧睡袍，正准备要上床，她才刚——呃，你知道女人睡前做些什么事。” “不用说我知道，我是结了婚的人。老太太的举止怎么样？” “性急，暴躁——但这都是她很平常的脾气。她才刚洗过澡，所以事实上心情好像——我是说，对她而言——比平时好一点。” “所以那就是为什么桌上刚好放了一盒爽身粉！” “不，先生，爽身粉向来都在那个桌子上。露易莎，那可怜的东西，喜欢香味，而且她喜欢滑石粉的味道——她常常给自己抹爽身粉。” “你注意到桌上的爽身粉盒吗？” "Yes, sir." “当时是不是开着。” “不是，先生，有盖子盖着。” “盖得紧紧的？” “呃，不是，据我记得，有些松松的。” 哲瑞·雷先生甚表同意地点头微笑，萨姆巡官以一个坚定的顿首表示认领这个小小的胜利。 检察官问道：“史密斯小姐，你是有执照的护士吗？” "Yes, sir." “你替黑特太太工作多久了？” “四年。哦，我知道从来没听过有人在一个病人家做这么久的，但是我年纪也大了，薪水又颇优厚，而且我不喜欢到处换——这是个轻松差事，先生。再说，我变得非常喜欢露易莎，可怜的人儿——值得她活下去的东西如此稀少，事实上，我的护理才能在这里没派上多少用场。我与其说是露易莎的护士，不如说是她的陪侍，我通常白天和她在一起，晚上则有黑特太太照顾。” “请你稍微言简意赅一点，史密斯小姐。昨晚离开她们房间以后，你做什么事？” “我回去隔壁自己的房间睡觉。” “你夜里有没有听到什么声响？” 史密斯小姐（脸红）：“没有，先生，我——我向来睡得很沉。” 萨姆巡官（严苛地打量史密斯小姐的身材）：“是这样，好吧。你知不知道谁可能想毒害你那又聋又哑的病人，史密斯小姐？” 史密斯小姐（眼睛眨个不停）：“没有，哦，没有！” “你熟识约克·黑特吗？” 史密斯小姐（松了一口气）：“是，先生，他是个安静瘦小的人，非常惧怕黑特太太。” “你是不是熟知他化学研究的工作？” “知道一点，他似乎觉得因为我是护士——你知道——所以在某方面我们可以沟通。” “你有没有去过他的实验室？” “去过几次，有一次他邀我去看他用血清在一群天竺鼠身上做实验——他真的给他们注射，非常有趣而且具教育性。我记得有一次我帮一位大牌医生——” 雷恩问：“我猜想你的护理工具套里，包括了皮下注射器？” “是，先生，有两支。一支做大型注射，一支做小型注射。” “那两支都还在吗？没有被偷吧？” “没有，先生！几分钟前我才查过我的工具套，因为我看见在露易莎房间里找到的那支注射器——谢林医生，是不是他的名字？——进来房间时拿在手上——我心想可能有人偷了我的，但是两支都在我的工具套里。” “你知不知道黑特太太房间发现的注射器，有可能从哪里来？” “呃，我知道楼上实验室里有一些……” 萨姆巡官和检察官（同时）：“啊！” “……因为黑特先生的实验要使用注射器。” “他有多少支？” “我实在不知道。但是他在那边一座铁柜里，有卡片记录实验室的所有物品，你们可能还可以在铁柜里找到注射器的数量记录。” “进来，皮瑞先生，”萨姆巡官以一副饿蜘蛛诱饵入网的口气说，“进来，我们要和你谈谈。” 艾德格·皮瑞在门上迟疑了一下。任谁一眼都可以看出来，他是那种采取行动前总要先迟疑再三的人。他瘦高个子——四十五岁左右——每一英寸都是学生的模样，刮得干净泛青的脸孔拘谨、敏感、又细致。他看起来比实际岁数年轻，哲瑞·雷恩先生注意到，这种错觉主要是那对聪明、深邃的眼睛所造成的。 他慢慢地走进来，在巡官指点的那把椅子上坐下。 “我猜，这位是小孩子的家庭教师？”雷恩问，他神情愉快地对皮瑞微笑。 “是，正是；”皮瑞沙哑着嗓子说：“呃——你找我什么事，萨姆巡官？” “只是稍微谈一谈。”巡官回答，“没什么特别的事。” 他们都坐下来，面面相觑。皮瑞很紧张，他不断地舔嘴唇，而且当他发现众人质询的眼光盯在他身上时，他多半只把眼睛垂下来打量脚下的地毯…… 是，他知道不准去碰曼陀林琴。 没有，他从来没去过约克·黑特的实验室，他对科学并不特别感兴趣，况且黑特大大的禁令森严。他是在新年过后那个星期，开始在黑特家任教。前任家教和玛莎在一场争吵以后辞职，因为有一天，玛莎逮到家教为了杰奇想把一只猎淹死在浴缸里而鞭打杰奇，玛莎勃然大怒指责家教。 “你和那伙小鬼会得来吗？”巡官正色问。 “哦，还不……不错合得来，我处理得不错，”皮瑞喃喃地回答，“虽然他们有时候确实很调皮，我设计了一个制度”——他不好意思地笑一笑——“一个奖惩制度，还相当有效。” “在这里工作很不容易吧，我敢说。”巡官颇为坦率地讲。 “有时候，”皮瑞有点振奋地承认，“小孩子很容易野起来，而且恐怕——请你们了解，我没有评判的意思！——恐怕他们的父母不是很精于管教。” “特别是小孩子的老爸。”萨姆批评道。 “呃——或许他不是小孩的好榜样，”皮瑞说，“有时候我确实不是做得很愉快，但是我需要——钱，这里的薪水很优厚。有好几次，”他开始显得有信心地继续说，“我承认曾经想辞职，但是——”他困惑地住口，好像被自己的率直鲁莽所惊吓。 “但是什么，皮瑞先生？”雷恩帮他打气。 “这个家虽然疯狂，却也有它值得留恋的地方。”他清清喉咙回答，“我的意思是——有黑特小姐——我是说，芭芭拉·黑特小姐，我对她——我对她出色的诗作，有无限的崇仰。” “哦，”雷恩说，“对学术的尊崇。皮瑞先生，对这家里发生的怪事，你有什么看法？” 皮瑞面红耳赤，但是他的语气更趋坚定：“我没有任何解释，先生。但是就道德上，有一件事我十分确定：无论其他人如何牵涉在内，芭芭拉·黑特绝对不会涉入犯……犯罪的酷行，她的人太好，太高贵，太神圣，太甜……” “谢谢你的好心，”检察官板着脸回答，“我相信她听到会很高兴。好，皮瑞先生，你不常外出——你住在这里，没错吧？” “是，住在三楼——阁楼的一间房间。我很少请长假，事实上，我只请过一次短假——四月的时候请了五天，此外星期天是我自己的，通常我都自己一个人在外头度过。” “都只有你自己一个人吗？” 皮瑞咬了一下唇：“也许这样说并不完全正确，有好几次黑特小姐好心——陪我出去。” “原来如此，你昨晚在哪里？” “我很早就回自己房间，读了一小时的书。然后就睡觉了。”他补上一句，“一直到今天早上，我完全不晓得发生了什么事。” "of course." There was a silence.皮瑞在椅子上蠢蠢不安，巡官的眼里闪着阴森的神色……你知不知道露易莎·卡比安喜爱水果，经常有一盘水果在她的床头桌上？他一脸惶惑——知道，但是这有什么关联？你知不知道黑特太太对水果有特别的好恶？一脸茫然——耸耸肩。然后又是一阵沉默。 哲瑞·雷恩先生的语调友善：“皮瑞先生，你说你是在一月初才来这里，那么，我想你从来没见过约克·黑特？” “没有。我对他所知甚少，而且我对他的事，主要都是从芭——黑特小姐那里听来的。” “记得，记得。很可怕的一件事，那天下午我回来的时候，房子里一片混乱，我当然也十分震惊。” “你和卡比安小姐有多熟？” 皮瑞的声音昂扬起来，眼睛也亮起来：“相当熟，先生。相当熟！整个来说，是个很了不起的人。当然，我对她的兴趣纯然是客观性的——她是个很特殊的教育课题，我相信，她已经学会认识我信任我。” 雷恩一脸深思熟虑：“你刚才说你对科学没有兴趣，皮瑞先生。那么，我假定，你没有太多科学方面的学问。你对，譬如说，病理学，并不熟悉？” 萨姆和布鲁诺交换了一个疑惑的眼神，但是皮瑞确定地点头：“我很清楚你想知道什么。你的理论，我猜，认为黑特家族的血统一定有一些根本上的病理问题，才会导致他们的错乱行为？” “太好了，皮瑞先生！”雷恩微笑，“你同意我的看法吗？” 皮瑞生硬地说：“我既不是医生，也不是心理学家，他们——不正常，我承认，但我就只能说这么多。” 萨姆两脚一提站起来：“我们把这档事解决了吧，你怎么得到这个工作的？” “康拉德·黑特先生登广告请一个家教，我和一些人一起来应征，很侥幸被录取了。” “哦，那么你有介绍信？” “是，”皮瑞回答，“是，是，当然。” "Is the letter still there?" "Yes, it is." “我要看看。” 皮瑞眨一下眼睛，然后起身迅速走出图书室。 “有影子了，”门刚在皮瑞身后关上，巡官便说道，“终于有了大突破。就要揭晓了，布鲁诺！” “到底在讲什么，巡官？”雷恩微笑着问，“你是说皮瑞？除了一些显然的恋爱迹象，我承认我看不出——” “不，我不是指皮瑞，等着瞧。” 皮瑞带着一只长信封回来，巡官从封里抽出一张厚信纸，很快地读一下。那是一简短的推荐函，说明艾德格·皮瑞先生是签名者的子女尽职的私人教师，他并非因不称职而离职，签名者的姓名是詹姆斯·里杰特，底下有一个公园大道的地址。 “好。”萨有点心不在焉地说，并把信还给皮瑞，“留着随时接受调阅，皮瑞先生，今天到此为止。” 皮瑞松了一口气，把信塞进口袋，快步离开图书室。 “现在，”巡官摩擦着两只大手掌说，“现在开始进入重点。”他走去门边，“皮克森！叫康拉德·黑特过来。” 所有冗长的对话，所有枝节的问题，所有的疑云、谜题和不确定，似乎都指向这一点。事实上，答案并非如此，但是情况疑似如此，随着萨姆巡官语气里夹带的兴奋，连哲瑞·雷恩先生都觉得心跳加快起来。 总之，对黑特家男主人的讯问，开始的时候和其他人没有什么两样。康拉德·黑特安静地走进来——这是个高大、心神不宁的人，五官粗犷，线条深刻。他看起来故作镇定，走路小心翼翼，像盲人置身险境，头抬得直挺挺的，像小儿麻痹患者一样不自然，额头油光汗湿。 然而，他刚要坐下来，和平的假相就被击得粉碎。图书室的门砰一声大开，走廊上有格斗声，杰奇·黑特又蹦又跳地跑进来，吆喝着小男孩自以为是印第安人式的呼号，弟弟比利的瘦小身子在前面被他追赶。杰奇肮脏的右手抓着一把玩具战斧，比利两只手被紧紧地——虽然乱七八糟地——绑在他骄傲挺直的背后。 萨姆巡官瞠目结舌。 这阵旋风在他们脚下乱转。一脸倦容、苦恼不堪的玛莎·黑特，随在两个孩子之后冲进图书室。三个人对房间里的人都视而不见，她在雷恩座椅背后逮到杰奇，用力一巴掌就摔在杰奇脸上。小男生放掉手上的战斧，他原来拿那把战斧对着小比利的头乱砍，十分危险，他头往后一仰，开始大声号啕。 “杰奇！坏孩子！”她刺耳地叫骂，“怎么和比利那种玩法，看我教训你！” 比利立刻放声大哭。 “好了，我的天。”巡官咆哮，“你能不能好好照管你的孩子，黑特太太？不要让他们进来这里！” 管家阿布寇太太气喘吁吁地尾随而入。倒霉的刑警霍肯跟在后面跌跌撞撞地进来。杰奇在众人涌上擒拿他之前，早就