Chapter 15 Chapter Fourteen Attention

Officer Quinn should always remember that bright October morning.It was, after all, a great festival for the boy Byer, the hotel clerk who never dared to dream of--but was infinitely longing for--the great spectacle of grandeur. To Mrs. Sloane this day was nothing but worry.As to what it meant to some other people, it is inconvenient to speculate--and this so-called other people did not include Miss Joan Bright. The result was a dreadful morning for Miss Joan Bright.She was full of resentment, and it was not surprising that the resentment turned into tears.Fate, which is a merciless thing, and is often fickle, seemed determined to be even more merciless.The unsolvable paradox is that the soil, being nourished by the tears of joy, is hardly suitable for the cultivation of the seeds of tenderness.

In short, it was intolerable even to a fierce Englishwoman. It all started with the disappearance of this young man, Alan Cheney. The absence of Aaron Cheney was not very noticeable at first to the officer.The police officer was sitting in the study of the Khalkis home, busy issuing orders, arranging arrangements, and calling all subjects before his eyes.He was engrossed in everyone's reactions. Byer--now the wide-eyed, imposing Byer--stood beside the sergeant's seat, looking impartially.The subjects came one after another——Gilbert Sloan and the spotless Nacio Suyza, curator of the Khalkis Private Art Gallery; Mrs. Sloane, Demi, Freeland The couple, Dr. Woz and Joan.Woodruff was a little late.Wegsch and Mrs. Sims stood against the wall, as far away from the police officer as possible... When everyone entered the room, Byer always narrowed his sharp little eyes, waved his hands in a jaunty way, and his lips trembled. As for Tejiu, he solemnly shook his head several times, with a stern and selfless demeanor, just like the son of the goddess of nemesis.

No one said a word.Everyone looked at Byer—and then looked away. The inspector grimly smacked his lips and made a noise: "Sit down, please. Well, Byer, you will recognize anyone in this room who visited the Hotel Pinetti on the night of Thursday, September 30th, to see Albert E. Greenshaw's?" Someone gasped.The officer turned his face away as quickly as a snake, but the panting man had returned to normal. Some people are nonchalant, some are interested, and some are bored. This kind of opportunity can be said to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Byer, and it cannot be missed.With his hands behind his back, he took a square step in front of the sitting group of people—looking at them carefully.very carefully.In the end, he pointed with great satisfaction to that flashy... Gilbert Sloane.

"I recognized one," he said briskly. "Oh," said the Inspector, snuffing his snuff; he was quite composed now, "I expected that. Well, Mr. Gilbert Sloane, now we'll see through your little joke. Yesterday you said, before Never met Albert Grinshaw face to face. And now the night clerk at the hotel where Grimshaw is staying recognizes that you went to see him on the eve of Grimshaw's murder. Tell me, this is What's the matter?" Sloan shook his head weakly, like a fish resting on the shallows: "I—" he was choking on his trachea, so he paused, and cleared his throat very, very carefully, "I don't understand this person Talking about something, officer. He must have misidentified..."

"Wrong person? Oh." The police officer had expected it a long time ago.He blinked sarcastically, "Aren't you trying to imitate Miss Bright, Sloane? Do you remember that she was like this yesterday too..." Sloane hesitated, and Joan blushed with shame, but She sat perfectly still, not looking sideways. "Baiah, have you admitted your mistake? Did you really see this man that night?" "I saw him, sir," said Byer. "he." "Well, Sloane?" Sloane crossed her legs suddenly. "It's, well—it's ridiculous. I don't know what's going on."

Officer Quinn smiled and turned to Baier: "Baier, who is he?" Baier was stunned for a moment: "I can't remember which number he is. But I think he is one of them, sir! Absolutely sure!" "Look—" Sloan said impatiently. "I'll listen to you later, Mr. Sloan." The officer shook his hand. "Bye, go ahead. Anyone else?" Baier began to look into the crowd again.He puffed out his chest again: "Well," he said, "I'll bet on God's curse this time." He threw himself against the wall with such a suddenness that Mrs. Freeland cried out in terror. "Here," cried Byer, "is that woman!"

He pointed at Tefina Sloane. "Hmph." The inspector folded his arms. "Well, Mrs. Sloan, I guess you don't know what we're talking about either, do you?" The woman's snow-white cheeks flushed.Her tongue popped out of her lips several times: "What... no, officer. I don't know." "But you also said you never saw Greenshaw before." "I've never seen it!" she exclaimed, "I've never seen it!" The officer shook his head sadly, as if the entire Khalkis case was lying and denying witnesses, which led him to a philosopher's sigh: "Baier, isn't there anyone else?"

"Yes, sir." Byer walked to the opposite side without hesitation, and patted Dr. Woz on the shoulder, "I can recognize this gentleman wherever I go, sir. This big gray beard is not easy to forget Yes." The Inspector seemed genuinely taken aback.He stared blankly at the British doctor, and the British doctor also stared blankly at him—without any expression: "Baier, who is he?" "It's the last one." Baier said with certainty. "Of course," said Dr. Woz. icily, "sergeant, you will find this to be sheer vexation. Sheer nonsense. How am I supposed to get in touch with your American prisoners? Even if I knew the man and What possible motive was there for me to visit him?"

"Doctor Woz, are you asking me?" The old man smiled. "I am asking you. You have been identified by a man who has seen thousands of You are good at remembering people's faces. And, as Byer said, you are very easy to remember. How is it, sir?" Dr. Woz sighed: "It seems to me, Sergeant, that it's just this—oh, my whiskers—that's a strong counter-evidence. Don't you, sir, don't you understand that I'm I have such a big beard, so it's not easy to pretend to be me?" "Excellent," Ellery whispered to Pepper. "What a quick wit our brilliant doctor is, Pepper."

"It's so fucking quick-witted." "You've said it very well, doctor, very well," the inspector praised, "and it's true. Well, then, we accept your plea that you've been impersonated. Now, if you can Just one point, sir, just explain your own whereabouts during the time when the counterfeit incident happened on the night of September 30th. Huh?" Dr. Woz frowned, "Last Thursday night...let me think about it." He thought for a moment, then shrugged, "Well, that doesn't really make sense, Officer. How can you make me recall where I was at a certain hour more than a week ago?"

"And yet you recall where you were yourself on Friday night a week ago," said the Inspector coldly. "I reckon you'll do it now. Maybe your memory does need something to remind—" Then Joan made a noise, and the inspector turned hastily; everyone was looking at her, too.She was sitting on the edge of the chair, watching with a smile: "My good doctor," she said, "I can only say that you are not manly enough, or... yesterday you protected Fern with the first-class chivalry. Mrs. Leland—are you now defending my long-damaged reputation again, or do you really have a bad memory?" "Ah!" exclaimed Dr. Woz, his brown eyes gleaming. "Stupid—I'm so stupid, Joan. I remember, Sergeant—look how good my memory is, eh." ?—I remember, sir—I was with Miss Bright at that hour on Thursday night a week ago." "You are together." The police officer looked slowly from the doctor to Joan, "It's fine." "Yes," said Joan at once, "that was after I saw Grimshaw being led into the house by the maid. I went to my room, and Dr. Woz knocked at the door, and asked if I would like to go out and play... " "That's right," murmured the Englishman, "we walked out of the house shortly after, and walked to some snack bar on Fifty-seventh Street, or some cafe—I can't remember. Which one was it—it was a pleasant evening, it's true. We got home about midnight, I remember, didn't we, Joan?" "It's midnight, doctor." The old man muttered: "Very good. Very good... Hey, Baier, do you still think that the one sitting over there is the last visitor?" Byer said stubbornly, "I think he is." Dr. Woz smiled, but the officer jumped up.He was no longer so pleasant: "Bye," he cried, "you have identified—we use the word 'identify'—three persons: Sloane, Mrs. Sloan, Dr. Woz. Then, in addition Where are the two? Do you know if there are these two people here?" Byer shook his head: "I'm sure there are none of these gentlemen here, sir. One of the two is very tall--a giant. His hair is already gray, his face is red, as if he has been exposed to the sun, and he speaks. Irish accent. I can't remember now if he came between this lady and that gentleman—" he said, pointing to Mrs. Sloan and Dr. One of the two who came." "Big Irishman, eh?" said the Inspector to himself. "My God, what's he up to? We haven't seen anyone like that in this case! . . . Well, now, Bye, here's the thing, it looks like: Greenshaw comes in with another man--who's blindfolded. Then comes another man. Then comes Mrs. Sloane. Then comes another, And then there's Dr. Woz. Two of the three men, here's Sloan and a big Irishman. And the third? Is there such a man here?" "I really can't tell, sir," replied Byer regretfully, "I just can't figure it out. Maybe this Mr. Sloan is the one who's blindfolded, or maybe the other--the one who's at present The ones that haven't been found—come later. I—I..." "Bye!" the police officer shouted.Baier jumped up, "This is not acceptable! Can't you be more precise?" "I—oh, sir, I can't." The officer looked around furiously, scanning the crowd with his sharp, practiced eyes.Obviously, he was exploring, and the person who Byer couldn't recall could be someone in this room.His eyes flashed fiercely, and he yelled, "Damn it! I knew someone wasn't here! That's how I felt!—Chennay! Where's Cheney boy?" "Thomas! Who's on duty at the gate?" Willie looked guilty, and said in a very low voice, "It's Flint, Quinn—Sergeant." Ellery stifled a laugh; it was the first time he'd heard the grizzled veteran, Address the old man by his official title.Willy was obviously startled and looked listless. Willie stepped out so quickly that even the police officer, who was whirring through the little throat, was moved and calmed down a little.He brought in a shivering Flint—almost as big as the Inspector, and as frightened as the Inspector at the moment. "Well, Flint," said the sergeant gruffly, "come in. Come in!" Flint murmured, "Yes, sir. Yes, sir." "Flint, did you see Aaron Cheney coming out of this house?" Flint swallowed convulsively. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir." "Last night, sir. A quarter past eleven, sir." "Where is he going?" "He said go to his club." The sergeant said quietly, "Mrs. Sloane, does your son join the club?" Tefina Sloan was twisting her fingers, looking sadly: "Uh-no, officer, no. I don't understand--" "Flint, when did he come back?" "He—he didn't come back, sir." "He didn't come back?" the Inspector's tone became very serene indeed. "Why didn't you report that to Inspector Willie?" Flint was speechless. "I—I was just going to report, sir. I came in at eleven o'clock last night, and I—I had a few minutes before my shift. I was going to report, sir. .I thought he might be off to drink somewhere. Besides, sir, he didn't have a parcel or anything of the sort...' "You go outside and wait. I will find you." The old man spoke in that terrible and steady tone.Flint walked out as if condemned to death. Inspector Willie's face was livid and his jaw trembled; he murmured, "It wasn't Flint's fault, Officer Quinn. It was my fault. You told me to keep everyone under surveillance. I should have done it myself." —then you'll notice right away..." "Shut up, Thomas. Mrs. Sloane, has your son ever opened an account at a bank?" She said tremulously, "Yes. There is an account, officer. With the National Commercial Bank." "Thomas, call the National Commercial Bank and check whether Chennai has paid the money this morning." Inspector Willie had to pass Joan Bright to get to the study.He whispered a greeting, but she didn't move.Willie, though his whole mind was sunk in his own predicament, was also deeply amazed at the look of fear and despair in the girl's eyes.She clenched her fists and placed them on her lap, almost holding her breath.Willie stroked her big chin and walked a long way around her chair.When he picked up the receiver, his eyes were still fixed on her--a practiced, stern look now. "Don't you know anything," the inspector was shouting at Mrs. Sloane, "where is your son, ma'am?" "I don't know—you think—?" "Sloane, do you know? Did the kid talk to you about leaving last night?" "Not a word. I can't—" "What's the matter, Thomas?" asked the old man impatiently. "What echo?" "It's being investigated." Willie said a few words into the microphone, nodded his head several times, and finally hung up the phone.He put his hands in his pockets and said calmly, "Goofy is gone, sir. At nine o'clock this morning, he withdrew all the money in his account." "Wow," said the officer.Tefina Sloane couldn't sit still in her chair, she stood up staggeringly, and looked around blankly, when Gilbert Sloane touched her arm, she sat down again, " What's the situation?" "He had forty-two hundred dollars in his account. He settled the accounts and changed the money into bills. He carried a small suitcase, which looked new. He didn't give any explanation." The police officer walked to the door: "Haszhuang!" A detective with a Nordic build stepped forward—the man was excited and nervous, and trembling with agility, "Aaron Cheney ran away. Nine o'clock this morning Zhong spent 4,200 oceans at the National Commercial Bank. You hunt him down. The first step is to find out where he spent the night. You go get an arrest warrant and take it with you. Bite him. Tail on. Watch out. He might make his way out of New York State. Don't let him get away, Hasstrong." Hasstrong left, and Willie hurried out with him. The police officer faced the crowd again; this time, when he pointed to Joan Bright, he no longer had a kind and kind look in his eyes: "You are indispensable for everything, Miss Bright. Little Chennai escaped thing, do you know?" "I don't know anything, officer." She said quietly. "Then—who knows!" cried the old man. "Why did he slip away? What's the secret?" question.Hard words.The dull ache of inner trauma... time passed like this. Tefina Sloane wept sobbingly: "It's true—Officer—you're not—you don't think... my Allen is a child, Inspector. Oh, he wouldn't be— There must be a misunderstanding, Inspector! There must be a misunderstanding!" "You're very eloquent, Mrs. Sloane," said the inspector with a frightening grin.He turned around— Inspector Willie stood at the door like a god of retribution. "Thomas, what's the matter with you!" Willie stretched out his giant arms.He held a small scrap of paper in his hand.The police officer grabbed it: "What is this?" Ellery and Pepper hurried over; the three read the lines scribbled on the page.The officer looked at Willie, who tossed his head back, and the three of them moved into a corner.The old man asked a simple question, and Willy answered curtly.They were back in the middle of the room again. "Ladies and gentlemen, let me read it to you." Everyone became nervous and dared not even vent their breath.The sergeant said, "I have this note in my hand. Inspector Willie just searched this house. It was written by Aaron Cheney." He held up the paper and began to read, slowly and clearly. "The note read: 'I'm going. Farewell, perhaps. In these circumstances—well, what's the use? Everything's in such a mess that I can't quite figure it out. . . . Good-bye.' I shouldn't have written this at all. It's dangerous to you. Please -- for your own safety -- burn this. Aaron.'" Mrs. Sloan rose from her chair, waxed stenciled, and fainted with a scream.Sloan hugged her limp body before she fell.There was an uproar in the room—cries, exclamations.The police officer observed all this calmly, as calmly as a cat. Everyone finally woke up the woman.So the inspector came up to her, and very gently put the scrap of paper in front of the woman's eyes, red and swollen from crying: "Mrs. Sloan, is this your son's handwriting?" She opened her mouth wide, terrified. "Yes, poor Allen. Poor Allen. Yes." The police officer said clearly, "Inspector Willie, where did you find this piece of paper?" Willie exclaimed, "Found it in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Tucked under the mattress." "Whose bedroom is that?" "Miss Bright's." It's unbearable wow - everyone can't stand it.Joan closed her eyes to avoid the hostile stares, the silent accusations, and the officer's invisible sense of triumph. "Why, Miss Bright?" was all the Inspector said. So she opened her eyes, and he saw tears in her eyes: "I——found that note this morning. It was stuffed under my door." "Why didn't you report it right away?" "Why didn't you tell me when we found out Cheney was absent?" "More importantly - what does Aaron Cheney mean when he wrote: 'This is dangerous for you'?" Miss Joan Bright could bear it no longer, and the tears came from her eyes, as if a sluice had burst, and it was out of control.She sat there like a weeping man, wailing, crying to death--a girl as isolated as the island of Manhattan towered that morning in the October sun.This scene is so sad and desolate that others are also moved by it.Mrs. Simms took an instinctive step towards the girl, and then drew back timidly.For the first time Dr. Woz looked angry, staring straight at the officer, his brown eyes about to blaze.Ellery shook his head too, rather disapprovingly.Only the police officer remained unmoved. "What, Miss Bright?" Her answer was: jumping up from her chair, still not looking at everyone, covering her eyes with one arm, and darting blindly out of the room.She could only hear her stumbling upstairs. "Inspector Willie," said the police officer coldly, "From now on, Miss Bright's every move must be monitored." Ellery touched his father's arm.The old man stole a look at him.Ellery murmured in an inaudible voice, "My dear, respected, even exalted father, you may be the most able police officer in the world - but as a psychologist . . . ’ He shook his head sadly.