Chapter 2

"What about the door locks?" the inspector asked as he stood up.

One of the officers replied, "The door was locked from the inside, and all the windows were bolted, Inspector. There wasn't a soul in the house when we arrived. The only opening for ventilation is the narrow fireplace, which is far too small for an adult man to crawl in or out of."

"Where's the key?"

"On the floor, a step inside the door."

The inspector said nothing.

But I felt a strange sensation on my back—I couldn't tell if it was cold or hot—and I broke out in a thin sheen of sweat.

"Who was the first to discover the body?" the inspector asked again.

"It was me, sir," Fitch replied. "Around half past seven this morning, I came, as usual, to ask the master if he would be having breakfast at home. After knocking for a long time with no answer, I realized something was wrong. The master had said last night that he was meeting with his lawyer at nine, and he never oversleeps and misses an appointment."

"When was the last time you saw him last night?"

"Just after eleven. The master was drinking in his study and had ordered that no one be allowed to disturb him."

"Was he alone at the time?"

Fitch's eyelid twitched noticeably.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Fitch answered quickly.

The inspector glanced up at him, but didn't press the matter.

He turned to me and said, "Gray, make a note of the time. After 11:00 p.m., the deceased was alone in the study. The body was discovered at 7:30 a.m. The doors and windows were locked, and the keys were inside."

I bowed my head to take notes, the tip of my pen trembling slightly on the paper.

Suddenly, a woman's stifled sob came from the next room.

The sound was faint, yet it instantly pierced the excessively taut silence in the room.

The inspector stood up.

"See the doctor first, then the old lady," he said.

——

In the small reception room next door, the doctor had been waiting for some time.

There stood the Blackwood family's personal physician, Herbert, a man in his fifties with neatly trimmed hair and a beard.

Yet, he exuded an air of listlessness bordering on pallor.

The moment I laid eyes on him, I instinctively felt distrust, likely because of the dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremor in his knuckles.

He had not slept well the night before.

"Cause of death?" the inspector asked, cutting straight to the point.

The doctor pursed his lips. "Severe chest trauma, multiple fractured ribs, possibly accompanied by internal bleeding and lung damage. A ruptured heart cannot be ruled out. In short, the victim experienced extreme violence before death."

"What was the weapon used?"

"There don't appear to be any obvious marks from a weapon," he said, sounding as if he found the idea absurd himself. "It looks more like heavy blows were delivered with bare hands or some kind of soft, wrapped object."

"With bare hands?" I blurted out. "How could someone be beaten into this state with bare hands?"

The doctor glanced at me, and a complex emotion—I couldn't tell if it was fear or exhaustion—fleetingly crossed his face.

"It would be difficult for an ordinary person, of course," he said softly. "But if a person is pushed to the extreme..."

"In extreme cases?" the inspector picked up on his point. "Such as insanity?"

The doctor's expression changed instantly.

The change was fleeting, but the inspector and I caught it.

"Why did that word come to mind, Dr. Herbert?" he asked, his tone still calm. "I don't believe I mentioned it just now."

The doctor simply took off his glasses and slowly wiped them with a handkerchief as if buying himself a few seconds to think.

After a long pause, he spoke, "Because Mr. Blackwood's family has a similar tragic history."

"A similar tragic history," the inspector repeated, his voice devoid of emotion. "Are you referring to the old case involving his wife, Elena, who died in this mansion two years ago?"

The room fell suddenly silent.

The doctor's finger paused on the rim of his glasses.

My heart gave a sudden jolt, and I finally completely understood why onlookers had whispered upon my arrival at the mansion, "I hear Mr. Blackwood has a guilty conscience of his own."

It was not merely a new case.

The inspector slowly shifted his gaze from the doctor to me.

"Gray," he said. "Pull up the file on Elena Blackwood's death from two years ago by tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"And," he paused and turned back to the doctor, "I'll be speaking with you in detail about that old case very soon, Dr. Herbert. Before that, I want you to stay in London."

The doctor's face paled slightly.

"I never intended to leave, Inspector."

"That's good."

The inspector turned away and walked toward the inner room.