Chapter 24 Chapter 23 Strange Talk

It's all effortless.It was Tuesday, October nineteenth, shortly after noon. How Mrs. Sloan escaped the shrewd eyes of her tormentors she did not go into detail.The fact is that she came to police headquarters unaccompanied and unfollowed—in plain black, of course, with a thin veil—and said timidly that she had something important to do, Seek Sergeant Richard Quinn.Inspector Richard Quinn seemed to think it best to leave the lady alone to blame herself, but, being a gentleman, he could not bear to treat a woman badly, so he had no choice but to interview her. When she was ushered in, the police officer was alone in the room—this somewhat squeamish middle-aged woman had fiery eyes, and the flames in her eyes could be revealed even through the veil.After he murmured some platitudes to comfort the widow, he pulled up a chair and asked her to sit down, and stood leaning against the desk to wait for her to speak—as if standing could imply to her that the life of a police officer is indeed a busy one. Yes, so if she is willing to get straight to the point, it will be good for the whole city.

She was so straight to the point.There was a little hysteria in her voice, and she said, "My husband is not a murderer, officer." The inspector sighed. "But the facts are there, Mrs. Sloane." It seemed that she didn't want to face up to those living facts. "I've been telling the press all week," she cried, "that Gilbert is a clean man. I want justice, do you hear, officer? Rumors will follow me--our family-- My son—follows the grave!" "But, ma'am, your husband has taken justice into his own hands. Please remember that his suicide is actually a confession of guilt."

"Suicide!" she snorted; she couldn't help but snatched off her veil, and stared at him twice, "Are you all blind? Suicide!" She broke down in tears, "Poor my Gilbert was murdered Ah, but there's no one—no one..." Then she burst into tears. She wept bitterly, and the inspector looked out of the window uneasily. "Such a claim needs evidence, Mrs. Sloan. What evidence do you have?" She sprang up from her chair. "A woman doesn't need evidence," she cried. "Evidence! Of course I have no evidence. But what is it? I know—" "My dear Mrs. Sloane," said the Inspector coldly, "that is the difference between the law and the women. I sympathize with you, but if you do not produce new evidence directly for the murder of Albert Green Xiao's case is someone else, so I can't help it. According to our file, this case has been closed."

She left without answering. This is nothing to worry about, and this short, unpleasant, fruitless meeting did not appear to be a big deal on the outside.But it gave rise to a whole new series of developments that followed.It is quite possible that the case--and Ellery still held this view years later--would have been a final case in the police files had it not been for the sergeant's careful observation at the dinner table that evening of his son's dismay. So, over coffee, he told the story of Mrs. Sloane's visit—the fatherly heart thought that the news was something new at last, and it might make his son smile.

To his surprise—for he hadn't had much hope for it, and had only tried it—it had worked out quite well.Ellery immediately perked up.The sad look disappeared and was replaced by that unique and thoughtful face. "Then she thinks Sloane was murdered too," he said, slightly surprised. "That's interesting." "Really?" The officer winked at the skinny Dijuna, who was holding the glass in his thin hands, looking at Ellery over the top of the glass with wide-open gypsy eyes. "What's interesting is the way a woman thinks. She doesn't believe anything she says. Just like you, it's pretty darn good." He chuckled, but kept his eyes on Ellery, waiting for his understanding too. smile.

A smile can never wait.But Ellery said calmly, "I think you're taking the case too lightly, Dad. I've been loitering too long, sitting on the sidelines. Now I'm going to work and work." The police officer was stunned: "What are you going to do—are you going to make a fuss again, Ayler? Why don't you give up?" "The attitude of Laissez faire," remarked Ellery, "has done more evil in other countries than in France; and has done more evil in other spheres than in Physiocratic economy. I say this a little scholastically. I'm always worried that an innocent ghost will be blamed for murder, but in fact this person is not a murderer just like you and me."

"Be reasonable, boy," said the old man uneasily. "Are you still determined that Sloane is innocent?" "Not quite sure. I've never said that." Ellery flicked the ash with his fingernail. "I'm just saying: there's a lot of unexplained elements in this case that you, Simpson, Pepper, the Commissioner, and many others all think are irrelevant. There is only a glimmer of hope, and we should get to the bottom of it and have a clear conscience.” "What definite opinion do you have?" asked the inspector sarcastically. "Since you suspect that Sloan did not do it, who do you think probably did it?"

"I have no idea who is doing the wrong thing." Ellery puffed out smoke, "yet I'm sure: everything is wrong. I'm sure: Gilbert Sloane did not kill Albert Grinshaw - nor did he commit suicide." This is the surface of gallantry, but this gallantry has its serious will.Ellery didn't sleep well all night, and the next morning he went to East Fifty-fourth Avenue as soon as he had breakfast.The doors and windows of the house in Khalkis were closed—there was no sentry outside, but it was as dead as a tomb.He stepped up the steps and rang the bell; the front door did not open; only a most angry and unkind voice murmured, "Who is there?"

He spent a lot of time swallowing his anger, and finally got the person who made the sound to open the door.The door didn't open all the way, just a crack; through the crack, Ellery caught Wegsch's pink scalp and worried eyes.After that, there was no further obstacle; Wegsch opened the door at once, stuck out his pink bald head, and looked hurriedly towards Fifty-fourth Street, and Ellery walked away without a smile. Coming in, Wegsch quickly closed the door, bolted it, and let Ellery into the living room. It appeared that Mrs. Sloan was reclusive in her own room upstairs.Wegersch came upstairs a while later, coughing and reporting that the widow's face was flushed at the name "Quinn," and her eyes were blazing, and she was swearing viciously.Wegsch apologized. "But Mrs. Sloane—ahem!—couldn't, wouldn't, or wouldn't see Mr. Quin."

Mr. Quinn, however, is not afraid to hit a snag.He thanked Wegsch sternly, but instead of turning around and heading south to the door in the corridor, he went north to the stairs and went upstairs.Wegers smacked his tongue, bewildered. Ellery's method of obtaining an interview was very simple.He knocked on Mrs. Sloane's door, and when the widow uttered the shrill "Who is it?" he said, "A man who doesn't believe Gilbert Sloane is the murderer." Now her reaction came.When the door was opened, Mrs. Sloane stood in front of the door, her breath was short, her eyes were eager, and she carefully studied the face of this god who descended from the sky.However, when she saw clearly who was coming, her ardor turned into hatred.

"Nonsense!" she said angrily, "I don't want to see any of you bastards!" "Mrs. Sloan," said Ellery calmly, "you've done me a great wrong. I'm not fooling around. I mean what I mean." The hatred gradually disappeared, replaced by calm thinking.She studied him silently.Then, no longer indifferent to each other, she let out a long sigh, opened the door wide, and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Quinn, I'm a little—a little uncomfortable. Please come in." Ellery didn't sit down.He put his hat and cane on the table--on which was still the case of the Borun that had killed Sloane--and said: "Let's get down to business, Mrs. Sloan. You're obviously willing to help. You must have the greatest desire to clear your husband's name." "Exactly, Mr. Quin." "That's all right. You can't get much done by hiding. I'm going to explore every crack of this case, and see what can be dug in the dark corners where no one cares. I need your confidence, Mrs Sloan." "what do you mean……" "I mean," said Ellery firmly, "I want you to tell me why you went to the Pinetti Hotel to see Albert Grinshaw some weeks ago." She bowed her head in thought, and Ellery waited, giving up hope.But when she looked up, he could see that the first round had been won. "I will tell you everything," she said briskly, "I only hope it will be helpful to you. . . Greenshaw, I'm telling the truth." Ellery nodded for her to go on, "At the time, I didn't know where I was going. Because, let me tell you," she paused, looking Touching the floor under his feet, "All that night, I was watching my husband..." She talked about the ins and outs bit by bit.It turned out that Mrs. Sloane had suspected her husband of an affair with Mrs. Freeland, months before her brother George's death. Freeland had been away for years, and Sloane happened to be a self-proclaimed romantic, and an affair was inevitable.Mrs. Sloan was burning with jealousy, and was suffering from being unable to get a concrete clue.Since she couldn't prove her suspicion, she had no choice but to keep her face and pretend to be completely in the dark on purpose.In fact, she kept watching with wide eyes and listening with strained ears for any sign of a possible tryst. For several weeks, Sloan returned to the Khalkis home in the middle of the night every day.The reasons given are different-this makes the suspicion even bigger.Mrs. Sloane couldn't bear this heart-wrenching pain, and she wanted to get some real evidence.On the night of Thursday, September 30, she had her eyes on her husband; he had left the Khalkis home after dinner on the pretext of an apparently fabricated "meeting." Sloane's actions were apparently aimless; there were no meetings at all; and no contact was made with anyone until ten o'clock.At ten o'clock, he walked from Broadway to the filthy-looking Pinetti Hotel.She followed him to the porch, thinking to herself that it was time for her and her husband to divide their things, and she thought that Sloane, who was so sneaky and thieves, must be in a room at the Penetty Hotel with Freddie. Mrs. Leland had done a good job, and Mrs. Sloane's heart ached at the thought.She watched him go to the register and talk to the clerk; after that, he walked toward the elevator in the same ghostly way.When Sloane was talking to the clerk, she heard these words: "Room 314."She concluded that room 314 must be a place for a tryst, so she went to the reception desk and booked the room next door.This move was nothing more than an intention to eavesdrop on the whispers of the couple, and when the two men hugged each other lewdly, they would come and catch them on the spot. The lady recalled the exasperated moment still with rage, and Ellery quietly kept her in it.What did she do then?Her face was flushed; she went directly to the room she had booked and paid for—316, her ears pressed against the wall...but she couldn't hear anything: if it wasn't for another reason, it was because of Pinedi. The structure of the hotel is elegant.She was helpless, trembling all over, leaning against the silent wall, almost crying; then suddenly hearing the door of the next room opened, she rushed to her own door as if flying, and opened the door cautiously.Finally, in time, she saw her suspect, her husband, walking out of Room 314, through the corridor, to the elevator... She couldn't figure out what was going on. She sneaked out of the room and ran to the porch from the three emergency flights of stairs.I saw Sloan walking out in a hurry.She followed him; and to her surprise, he went to Khalkis' house.When she herself came home, she found out, in a roundabout conversation with Mrs. Simms, that Mrs. Freeland had been at home all evening.Only then did she know that, at least for this night, Sloan was innocent and had no adultery.No, she couldn't remember when Sloane left room 314.She couldn't remember any hours. It seems that this is all. She looked at him eagerly, as if to ask if this account offered a clue, any clue... Ellery wondered. "While you were in Room 316, Mrs. Sloane, did you hear anyone else enter Room 314?" "No. I saw Gilbert go in and come out, and I followed him at once. I'm sure if anyone opened or closed a door while I was in the next room, I'd have heard it." "Well, these circumstances are useful, Mrs. Sloane. Now that you are so frank, please tell me one more thing: Did you come from the house last Monday night, the night he died? call your husband?" "I didn't call, that's what I said when Inspector Nightville came to question me. I know I've been suspected of tipping off my husband, but I didn't, Mr. Quin, I didn't—I didn't at all." It didn't occur to the police that they were going to arrest him." Ellery looked at her face carefully, and it seemed frank and honest: "You must remember that when my father, Mr. Pepper and I came out of the study downstairs that night, we saw you hurrying down the corridor. , into the drawing-room. Please don't be offended, Mrs. Sloane, but I will venture to ask—did you eavesdrop at the door before we left the study?" She blushed purple: "Maybe I—hey, humble in many respects, Mr. Quinn, and since it's about my husband, my actions are even less trustworthy... But I swear, I Did not listen to the wall." "Just think about it, is there anyone who might listen to the wall?" There was resentment in her voice: "Yes, I can see it! Mrs. Freeland. She—she and Gilbert are very ambiguous, very ambiguous..." "But that doesn't fit her behavior. She came to tell us that night that she had seen Mr. Sloane go to the cemetery," Ellerys said politely. To protect your lover is to entrap your lover instead!" She sighed, looking unsure: "I may have guessed wrong... I didn't know what Mrs. Freeland reported to you that night. I only knew about that situation after my husband died. , I only found out by reading the newspaper.” "One last question, Mrs. Sloane. Did Mr. Sloane ever tell you that he has a brother?" She shook her head: "He has never revealed a word. In fact, he has always been very tight-lipped about his family situation. He once told me about his father and mother—seems to be a pretty well-off man. family—but there was never any mention of a brother. I always had the impression that he was an only son, and the only remaining member of his family." Ellery picked up his hat and cane and said, "Be patient, Mrs. Sloane, and above all, don't tell anyone about today." He walked quickly out of the room, smiling. Downstairs, Ellery was taken aback by a message from Wegersch. —Dr. Woz is gone. Ellery thought hard.It seems to be a big article!It's a pity that Wegersch's knowledge is limited. It seemed as though the Englishman, Dr. Worth, had become reserved and silent in the wake of the publicity that the Greenshaw case had been solved, and he was planning to leave this tumultuous family.After Sloane committed suicide, the official ban was lifted, and he hurriedly bid farewell to the hostess without packing his luggage—the hostess seemed to have no intention of keeping her—so he expressed regret, left quickly, and disappeared.He had gone last Friday, and Wegersch was sure no one in the house knew where he had gone. "Miss Joan Bright also—" added Wegersch. Ellery turned pale. "What's up with Miss Joan Bright? Is she gone too? My God, why, you're talking!" Wegsch said at last: "No, sir, she hasn't gone, she hasn't gone, but I dare say, sir, she's going to go, do you understand me, sir. She—" "Wegsch," said Ellery roughly, "seriously. What's the matter?" "Miss Bright is leaving here, sir," said Wegsch, with a respectful dry cough, "her employment is, well, expiring. And Mrs. Sloane—" He looked sad. —"Mrs. Sloane, she informed Miss Bright that her service was no longer required. So—" "Where is she?" "Upstairs in her own room, sir. It's being cleaned up, I think. When you go upstairs, the first room on the right is..." Ellery flew away before he could finish, like a gust of wind. .He took three steps in parallel and went upstairs.However, when he reached the upper half of the stairs, he stood still.It turned out that he had heard voices; and, if he heard rightly, a voice that had come from Miss Joan Bright.So he stood still and listened without shame, holding his cane in his hand, and turning his head slightly to the right... He heard a man's voice, hoarse with what is commonly called emotion, exclaiming wildly: "Joan! Dearest! I love—" "You're drunk," was Joan's voice, cold--not the voice a girl should hear when a man expresses his unwavering love. "I'm not drunk! Don't you joke, Joan, I mean it. I love you, love you, darling. Really, I—" There is some kind of sound, which shows that there is a struggle.Probably the person who made the male voice is proposing marriage with practical actions.There was only a slight panting sound of hands and feet, which was very clear, followed by a crunchy slap on the face!The slap made even Ellery, who was far beyond Miss Bright's powerful arm, shy away. There was no sound.Ellery could tell that the combatants were eyeing each other, or circling each other like cats, as humans tend to do when they're out of temper.As he listened quietly, he heard the man murmur the following: "You shouldn't, Joan. I didn't mean to scare you—" He smiled. "Scare me? God! I tell you, I'm not scared at all." It was Joan's voice, full of superiority. "Hmph, what the hell!" the man yelled furiously, "is it okay to treat someone's marriage proposal with this attitude? Really—" There was another gasp. "How dare you call me, you—you idiot!" cried Joan. "I'll whip you. Oh, I've never been insulted like that in my life. Get out of here!" Ellery huddled against the wall.There was a roar of gnashing of teeth, the door was flung open, and the door slammed shut, resounding through the house—Ellery glanced around and happened to see Mr. Alan Cheney threateningly Den den den den passed the corridor, fists clenched, head like a rattle... Mr. Alan Cheney entered his room, slammed the door angrily, shaking the old house again, and Mr. Ellery Quinn adjusted his tie without hesitation. Go to the door of Miss Joan Bright's room.Gently he raised his cane and knocked on the door.No sound.He knocks again. Only then did I hear a sad sigh, choked sobs, and it was Joan's voice: "You dare to come in again, you—you—you..." Ellery began: "I am Ellery Queen, Miss Bright," speaking in the most prosaic tone of voice in the world, as if to think that a maid answered a knock at the door with a sob, It's a matter of course.The whimpering and sobbing stopped abruptly.Ellery waited patiently.Then there was a very faint voice: "Come in, Mr. Quinn. The door—it's not locked." He pushed the door open and entered. He found Miss Joan Bright standing by his bed, holding a damp handkerchief in her delicate hand, with a round blush on her cheeks.In this lovely room, all kinds of women's clothes are scattered on the floor, on the stool, and on the bed.Two suitcases lay open on the stool, and a small traveling suitcase was spread out on the floor.Ellery glanced over the dresser with feigned indifference, and saw a glass frame with pictures--closed, as if knocked over in haste. At this moment, Ellery was—and he would like to be at such a time—a most diplomatic young man.This moment calls for tact, as well as the ability to impromptu conversation.He put on a silly smile and said, "Miss Brett, what did you say when I knocked on the door for the first time? Unfortunately, I didn't hear clearly." "Oh!"—this is also a very slight "oh".Joan pointed to a chair, and she sat down on the other. "That—that's what I always say to myself. Kind of silly, isn't it?" "Not at all," said Ellery earnestly, as he sat down, "not at all. It's a habit among us distinguished people. There seems to be a saying that he who talks to himself always has money." In the bank. Do you have money in the bank, Miss Bright?" She responded with a slight smile: "It's not very much, besides, I'm planning to transfer the deposit, let me tell you..." The blush on her cheeks had faded, and she sighed softly, "I'm leaving the United States, Kui Mr. Yin." "Wegsch has told me. We're going to be lonely, Miss Bright." "Ha ha!" she laughed loudly, "you sound a bit French, Mr. Quinn." She went to the bed, fumbled for her purse, "this suitcase is mine—my luggage... How dreary it is to sail across the ocean!" She stretched her hand out of her purse, holding a stack of tickets. "Are you here on business? I really have to go, Mr. Quinn. This is me. Specific evidence that you are about to board the ship. Didn’t you come to inform me that I was not allowed to leave?” "Me? What a strange thing to say, no! But, Miss Bright, will you go?" "At this point," she said through gritted teeth, "I really want to go." Ellery looked very dull: "I understand. Another murder, another suicide-of course it's disturbing... Well, I won't keep you. I came to visit you this time without any malice." He looked at her gravely. "As you know, the case is closed. However, there are a few points, vague and perhaps trivial, that I always refuse to let go of." Heart...Miss Bright, Pepper saw you groping around in the study downstairs that night, what is your purpose?" With calm blue eyes, she looked at him very calmly: "That is to say, you didn't take my reply to heart... have a cigarette, Mr. Quinn." He declined, so she peacefully lit herself smoked a cigarette. "Very well, sir—the fugitive female secretary tells all, and your tabloids will publish such news. Let me tell you frankly, and I dare say, Mr. Quinn, you are about to make an amazing discovery." "I have no doubts about that." "Listen here." She took a deep breath, puffs of smoke came out of Xiuli's mouth, like punctuation marks in her speech, "The one in front of you, Mr. Quinn, is a female detective." "No!" "Mais oui. I'm employed by the Victorian Museum in London - not by the Police Service, sir, no, no. That would be too much. I'm only a museum man, Mr. Quinn." "Well, I'm quite dazed now," murmured Ellery. "You're telling riddles! Victoria Museum, eh? My dear lady, such news is a detective's dream. Please Explain it." Joan flicked the cigarette ash: "It's a bit of a farce. When I came to George Khalkis to apply for a job, I was actually a spy hired by the Victoria Museum. I followed a clue and traced it to Khalkis. It's coming—according to some unclear information, he may be involved in the theft of a painting in the museum, and it may have been in his hands—" The smile on Ellery's mouth disappeared: "Miss Brett, who is the author of the painting?" She shrugged: "Listen to me. This painting is priceless - it is an authentic Leonardo da Vinci - it was discovered not long ago by a field worker at the museum - it is Leigh Detail like Leonardo's frescoes for Florence in the first decade of the sixteenth century. Later the frescoes were probably abandoned, and Leonardo completed this oil painting: it is registered in the catalog as Capture the Flag. "Battle Map"..." "What a fortune," murmured Ellery. "Go on, Miss Bright. I'm all ears. How did Khalkis get involved?" She sighed: "As I said just now, we think he may be the person who collected the stolen goods. Except for this point, other things are not very clear. It is nothing more than what you Americans call 'intuition', not No definite information. But let me tell you the facts. "I was introduced to Khalkis, that's true - Sir Arthur Ewing, who recommended me here, was a real gentleman - one of Victoria's curators, and a famous London antiquarian Shang; of course he was involved in the Classification, and my recommendation was also one of the Classifications. I have done investigative work of this nature for the Museum before, but never in your country; I have done it mainly on the Continent. The superiors demand absolute secrecy - I have been ordered to work secretly, you understand, in an effort to find out what happened to the painting. Meanwhile, the theft has been concealed from the public with the presumption that the painting is being 'restored'." "I kind of get it." "You've got a good eye, then, Mr. Quin," said Joan gravely. "Do you want me to go on? Or do you want me to? . . . I'm Khalkis' secretary in this house All this time I have been trying to find clues to the whereabouts of Leonardo's works; but I have never been able to get a clue, neither from his correspondence nor from his conversations. I really A little discouraged, although our intelligence seems solid. "That brought my attention to Mr. Albert Grinshaw. It must be understood that the picture was originally stolen by a clerk of the museum, who called himself Graham, and we later found out that his real name was Albert Grinshaw. My first hope, the first time I realized clearly that I had caught the clue, was when Greenshaw appeared at the door in person on the night of September 30th. This man, Graham the thief, has disappeared from England since he left England, and has not been seen in the five years since he stole the painting." "Oh, wonderful!" "Excellent. I listened hard at the door of the study, but I could not hear anything of his conversation with Mr. Khalkis. I also got nothing out of the second night, when Greenshaw came with the unknown man." I can't see the face of the man. To complicate matters is-"--her face was purple--"Mr. house, and after I had settled him, the two men had gone. But one thing I am certain of—following this thread between Grimshaw and Khalkis, the whereabouts of the picture can be found. Works of unknown Leonardo." "Now, I understand. You searched in the study to see if there might be any new records in Khalkis' property—to find new clues about the painting's whereabouts, right?" "Exactly. But that search, like the others, was fruitless. I tell you, I searched the house, the showrooms, and the collections myself, time and time again; I concluded that the Leonardo was by no means hidden in any of the Khalkis property. On the other hand, this unknown person who came with Grimshaw seemed to me to be exactly what he wanted. Yu—that sly look, and Mr. Khalkis' nervousness—so I say it's about that painting. I'm sure this guy, whoever he is, has a lot to do with that Leonardo painting. .” "So, have you never been able to find out the real name of this man?" She extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray: "I didn't find out." Then, she looked at Ellery suspiciously, "Why—do you know who he is?" Ellery avoided answering.His eyes showed an absent-minded look: "There is still a small problem, Miss Bright...Since the development of the situation is so dramatic, why did you go back home?" "The reason is that there is nothing I can do about the case." Rummaging in her purse, she produced a letter with a London postmark.She handed the letter to Ellery, who read it without comment; it was from the Victoria Museum, signed by the curator, "I tell you, I've been keeping London informed about the progress of my work here - or Lack of progress, so to speak. This letter is in reply to my last report on this unknown man. You understand, of course, that we are at the end of the ropes. The museum has written that since Officer Quinn telegraphed After coming to inquire about the situation - I guess you know about telegrams - there was a back and forth between the curator and the New York police. Of course, they couldn't make up their minds at first whether to call back, because that would mean It is necessary to reveal the whole old background. "You have read this letter, which authorizes me to truthfully report the situation to the New York police authorities, and I will act according to my own discretion in future activities." She sighed, "After I considered it, I clearly realized that I am The case is exhausted; and I intend to call on the Inspector, and report what I have, before returning to London." Ellery returned the letter to her, and she carefully put it back in her purse: "Yeah," he said, "I also think it's getting more and more difficult to track down the painting, and I think it's really It should be done by professionals, not by a single-hands-on-hands-on-the-spot agent. On the other hand..." He fell silent, thinking, "I might, yes Your apparently helpless investigation work, I will help you." "Mr. Quinn!" There was a gleam in her eyes. "Would the museum allow you to stay in New York if there was still a glimmer of hope of finding that Victorian painting unassumingly?" "Of course! I'm sure they'll agree, Mr. Quinn! I'll telegraph the curator right away." "Go ahead, and Miss Bright—" he smiled—"if I were you, I wouldn't go to the police right now. Not even to my father. You can do more. , if you are still - to put it mildly - under suspicion." Qiong Huo stood up suddenly: "I am happy to obey. Do you have any orders, Commander?" She followed the posture of standing at attention and raised her right hand to salute. Ellery grinned: "You are about to become a sensational female detective, I can make that assertion now. Very well, Miss Joan Bright, from now on, we will fight side by side forever, you and I—order Make a private agreement." "Let's have a tacit understanding, okay?" She let out a sigh of relief, "That's really exciting!" “说不定也够危险的啊，”埃勒里说道，“可是，尽管咱们之间有秘密谅解，布莱特副官，有些事情我最好还是不向你透露——这是为了你自身的安全。”她的脸挂了下来，他就拍拍她的手，“这并非我对你有什么怀疑——我拿名誉向你担保，我的好小姐。但在目前，你必须绝对听命于我。” “很好，奎因先生，”琼冷静地说道，“我一切都交给你了。” “不，”埃勒里马上接口说，“这样的讲法，可未免使人心神荡漾受不了哇。你这位姑娘漂亮得太迷人啦……这样吧，这样吧！”他转过脸去，躲开她那欣然自得的目光，嘀嘀咕咕地盘算起业，“咱们该怎样着手呢？唔……必须找一个恰当的理由，让你可以留在纽约——我估计人人都知道你在这儿的职务已经解除了……不能没有职业而待在纽约——这会招人起疑的……不能住卡吉士这儿了……我有门儿啦！”他兴奋地握住她的手，“有一个地方你可以去转——并且是名正言顺的，绝不会引起任何人的疑心。” "where?" 他把她拉到床边，一块儿坐下，俯耳低语：“卡吉士的一切私人事务和生意往来，你全都了如指掌，这是不在话下的。如今有一位大人先生，他自找麻烦，心甘情愿卷进了这个旋涡。此人就是詹姆士·诺克斯！” “哎，妙。”她轻声道。 “事情就是这样，”埃勒里不停顿地接着说道，“诺克斯既然趟进了这潭浑水，他当然巴不得能有一位熟门熟路的助手。我昨晚刚从伍卓夫那里得知，诺克斯的秘书生病了。我来布置一个圈套，使诺克斯主动来聘请你，这就使别人不会产生任何疑窦了。不过，你得对此严守秘密，我的好小姐——请你理解这一点。你必须假戏真做，忠心耿耿的埋头工作——不要让任何人看出马脚来。” “这一点，你就不必担心啦。”她板着脸说。 “我知道不必担心。”他站起身来，拿了帽子和手杖，“荣耀归于摩西！如今是大有可为啦……再见吧，ma lieutenante！你在这房子里等着，等那位全能的诺克斯捎信给你。” 琼一叠声地向他致谢，他顾不上搭理，就冲出了房间。他顺手把门轻轻地关上。他到了大厅里，停步沉思了一会儿。于是，嘴边挂起了一丝别有用心的微笑，扭回身子又往楼上走去，去敲阿仑·切奈的房门。 阿仑·切奈的卧室，简直就象一场龙卷风过后的废墟。什么东西都乱七八糟，仿佛是这位青年刚跟自己的影子进行进曲棍球比赛。满地都是横七竖八的烟蒂，象战场上阵亡的小兵。切奈先生的头发好象刚从打谷机内出来，他怒目圆睁，两眼发红。 他满屋子踱来踱去——横过来，竖过去，重重的脚步恨不得把地板蹬穿，走了一遍又一遍。真是一位心浮气躁的年轻小伙子。只听得切奈叽哩咕噜地说道：“你他妈的进来好了，管你是什么人！”埃勒里站在房门口，惊奇地目瞪口呆，呆望着眼前这片垃圾遍野的战场，“喂，你打算干吗？”这小伙子一看清来者是谁，陡然停止巡逻，咆哮起来。 “打算跟你讲句话。”埃勒里关上门，“我发觉你好象，”他微笑着继续说道，“多少有点儿心神不定。可是我不打算白白浪费你的无疑是极其宝贵的光阴。我能坐下吗？象这样站着谈话，未免不成体统吧？” 小阿仑总算还是天良未泯，他嘟嘟囔囔地说道：“当然喽。请坐吧。对不起。来，坐这儿吧。”于是他把满凳子的烟蒂抹到了早已狼藉不堪的地板上。 埃勒里刚一坐下，立刻就对自己那副夹鼻眼镜的镜片揩抹起来。阿仑望着他，茫然不知所措。 “唔，阿仑·切奈先生，”埃勒里把眼镜稳妥地戴在挺直的鼻梁上，然后开口了，“咱们谈正事吧。我一直在思考格林肖被杀以及你后父自杀这样一个伤脑筋的案件中那些尚未查明的问题。” “天晓得他自杀，”阿仑答道，“压根儿不是那么回事。” “是真的吗？你母亲不久前也是这样说的。你对于自己这种信念，有什么具体的根据呢？” “没有。我认为没有什么根据。不过，这毫不相干。他已死了，埋在地下六呎深，这是无法挽回的。”阿仑横身躺倒在床上，“奎因，你有什么高见呢？” 埃勒里笑道：“有一个于事无补的问题，到了现在，谅必你总不致于仍旧不回答了吧？……你在一个半星期以前，为什么要逃走呢？” 阿仑躺在床上，一动不动，吸着烟，眼望着悬挂在墙上的破旧的木柄标枪。 “这是我家老头子的，”他说道，“非洲是他专有的天堂。”说完这话，他把手里的香烟一甩，从床上一跃而起，又象刚才那样发疯似的踱步，恶狠狠的目光朝北望着——这里需要说明一下，琼的房间就在北面——“好吧，”他咬牙切齿说道，“我讲，首先，我这样干，真是做了笨蛋大傻瓜。原来她天性风流，调情卖弄，这张该死的漂亮脸蛋。” “我的好切奈啊，”埃勒里低声说道，“你到底在讲些什么呀？” “我在讲自己一直是个喝醉酒的糊涂虫，如此而已！你且听着，奎因，我从小就受了古代'骑士风度'的影响，”阿仑一面说，一面把牙齿咬得格格响。 “我那时，正在谈恋爱——谈恋爱，你知道吧！跟这个，这个……喔，跟琼·布莱特谈。我发现她几个月来一直在这房子里东寻西找，她要找什么东西，只有天晓得。我从来没有对这事提起过一个字——既没有向她本人提起，也没向别人提起过。情人就得有自我牺牲的精神，不是有这一套老生常谈吗？当警官盘问她的时候，追查说在我舅舅下葬后一天的晚上佩珀那家伙看见琼曾对保险箱打过主意……天哪，我不知该怎样想才好。把种种现象联系起来看吧——遗嘱失窃了，还有一个人被杀。那真是够可怕的了……我感到她与这吓人的勾当，必有某种牵连。所以——”他的声音一下子轻了，比呼吸声还轻。 埃勒里长叹一声：“啊，爱情。前人的名句又到了我的嘴边，但我觉得也许还是不说为妙……反正一句话，阿仑少爷，你就象那位高贵的皮利亚爵士，遭到了伊黛莱夫人的鄙弃，就骑上了大白马，去追求骑士风范……” “哎，如果你打算拿这件事来取笑的话，”阿仑怒吼起来，“唔——嗨，我是这样干的，不错，我干的。做了那种表现男子汉大丈气概的蠢事，正如你所说的那样——我故意逃跑，布置一个疑阵——把疑点引向我自己。哼哼！”他不屑地耸了耸肩，“可是她值得我我这样吗？她用什么来回报我？我现在把这段伤心事、断肠话一吐为快，我愿忘掉这件事——也忘掉她这人。” “可是这，”埃勒里站起身来喃喃地说道，“这是凶案件的调查呀。喔，好吧！总要等到有朝一日精神病学能够把人类的一切古古怪怪的行为解释清楚，在此之前，犯罪侦察就始终是一门不成熟的科学……谢谢你啦，阿仑先生，万分感谢，还有，我劝你别泄气。咱们后会有期。” 约莫一个钟头之后，埃勒里·奎因先生已经到了迈尔士·伍卓夫律师位于百老汇那些高楼大厦之间的一套房间内，坐在一把椅子上，脸朝着这位律师，喷吐着——这倒是不寻常的景象——伍卓夫律师所敬的雪茄烟，谈些无关紧要的寒喧话。伍卓夫律师脸红耳赤，显得好象正在忍受着精神上的便秘；他心烦意乱，神色难看，肝火很旺，并且粗俗地不断往那闪闪发亮的痰盂中吐痰，那只痰盂却高雅地安放在他书桌旁的一块橡皮圆垫上；他讲来讲去无非是一个意思，就是讲他当了这么多年的律师，还从来没有碰到过一件象乔治·卡吉士遗产这样复杂难办的遗嘱问题，棘手得使他头胀欲裂。 “唉，奎因，”他慨叹道，“你无法想象咱们所面临的情况——无法想象！现在又搞出了烧剩的新遗嘱，咱们就必须找出根据来确定它是出于威逼所以无效，否则的话格林肖的遗产内就添注了一笔横财……那就，嗨。我敢打赌，可怜的诺克斯老头必定十分懊悔，当初不该同意担任遗嘱执行人。” “诺克斯。对了，他忙吗？嗯？” “真够呛！不管怎么吧，在还没有给遗产的法律地位做出准确的判断之前，某些事情是必须先做的。有一大堆的细账需要编制——卡吉士遗留下无数零零碎碎的东西。我看，他说不定会把这差事往我身上推了——我说的是诺克斯——象诺克斯这样的头面人物担任遗嘱执行的时候，往往总是这副派头的。” “也许是吧，”埃勒里漫不经心的出了个主意，“诺克斯的秘书最近病了，而布莱特小姐目前倒是失业了……”伍卓夫的雪茄烟颤抖起来，“布莱特小姐！哎呀，奎因，这就有办法啦。当然喽。卡吉士的一切事情，她全知道。我看哪，我去对诺克斯谈一谈，我看我要……” 埃勒里播完了种子，不多时就告辞而出。 当他步伐轻松地行走在百老汇大街上的时候，心满意足地微笑起来。 咱们再来表一表伍卓夫律师。埃勒里辞出不过两分钟，他就挂电话跟詹姆士·诺克斯先生交谈上了。 “依我看哪，琼·布莱特小姐如今在卡吉士家没有什么事可干的了——” “伍卓夫！好主意呀！……” 这件事的结局就是：詹姆士·诺克斯先生如释重负吐了口气，向伍卓夫律师致谢，称赞他提醒得真是妙极了，于是挂断电话，马上就拨卡吉士家的电话号码。 当他找到琼·布莱特小姐来听电话的时候，他仿佛自己原来就有这个打算似的，邀请她第二天就来工作……工作的期限以遗产处理完毕为准。诺克斯先生还建议说，鉴于布莱特小姐是英国人，在纽约市没有常住地址，所以在她工作的这段期间，不妨住到他诺克斯家里…… 布莱特小姐端庄矜持地接受了这项聘请——值得一提的是，薪金十分优厚，大大超过了那位其遗体现已平静地躺在祖传地下纳骨所内的已故希腊血统美国人所付的。她心中颇为纳闷，不知埃勒里·奎因先生是如何办成这件事的。