Chapter 2 Sending Away

After sending Corsten away, Feng Bujue returned to his seat behind the desk in the room and fell into deep thought.

Schofield didn't disturb him; the detective himself was pondering the information he had just obtained.

"At this moment, I truly envy a guy like Nero Wolfe (a famous detective in Rex Stout's novels, a fat, reclusive professional consultant who loved orchids and charged high fees)." After a moment, Feng Bujue spoke.

"Well... I think you could also become an excellent 'armchair detective' if you wanted to," Schofield said.

"Of course, I could." Feng Bujue's narcissistic nature took over, and he said without any modesty, "When I say 'envy,' I don't mean I envy the character's talent; I just envy him for not having to participate in this tedious information-gathering work."

Schofield shrugged and said, "There's no way around it. Although there are only nine suspects in this case, the information Mark obtained during the routine questioning... is not enough to pinpoint the murderer."

"Currently, three can basically be ruled out... the master, Corsten Lovecraft; the butler, Henderson; and the maid, Oliver," Feng Bujue muttered. "One has no ability to commit the crime, one has no courage, and the other has a problem with her figure..."

"Figure?" Schofield asked.

"You noticed it too, right?" Feng Bujue said, "That Aunt Oliver is only about 1.6 meters tall, and she weighs at least as much as Dennis. With that broad back and round waist, even if she could barely climb out of the window, she couldn't possibly cling to the outside of the window to create the locked room."

"Ah... uh... right." Schofield obviously just understood. He thought for a few more seconds, then continued, "But... why haven't you ruled out the gardener's suspicion? Mrs. Carroll found the body while Mr. Barton was talking to you in your room, wasn't he?"

"So what?" Feng Bujue replied indifferently, "Maybe he just finished committing the crime before coming to my room? In my opinion, no one in this villa has a solid alibi." He added, "Including myself, I don't have one either. So... Detective, you have to be careful. Although the chances are small, you can't completely rule out the possibility that I committed the crime."

"That's impossible..." Schofield said with a smile, "You have no motive at all. Besides, Mr. Dennis helped you, didn't he?"

"Maybe I'm just crazy?" Feng Bujue asked seriously, "Don't you think I look like it?"

Just as Schofield was hesitating whether to say what was on his mind, "You do look a bit like it," another knock on the door sounded.

Dempsey said outside the door, "Sir, Mr. Jack Lovecraft is here."

Schofield quickly replied, "Okay, please let him in."

Jack pushed the door open and strode into the middle of the room. As Dempsey closed the door behind him, he glanced back, then looked at Feng Bujue and Schofield with a nonchalant expression. "What's this? An interrogation?"

"No, we just have some questions we'd like to ask you," Feng Bujue replied with a smile.

"Ha!" Jack laughed and sat down carelessly in a chair, crossing his legs. "The famous detective wants to ask me for advice?"

"You didn't seem to have heard of my name before the police arrived, did you?" Feng Bujue said.

"Yeah, I don't read the newspapers much," Jack said. "Even if I do, I don't pay much attention to crime reports."

"Well... I guess you mainly read the entertainment section." Feng Bujue's words had a hidden meaning.

"Yeah~ I used to be the lead singer of a rock band." Jack's gaze was fixed on the booklet in Feng Bujue's hand as he drawled, "I already told the other officer about that. What? Is that against the law?"

"Of course, it's not against the law," Feng Bujue said, "But if... you, this washed-up lead singer, killed your brother..."

"Hey! Hey! What are you talking about!" Jack shouted.

"What's wrong?" Feng Bujue's irritating manner returned. "Are you dissatisfied with the word 'washed-up,' or do you object to the accusation of murder? Or is it both?"

"Do you have any evidence to say that?" Jack retorted. "If you don't have any evidence, that's slander!"

"Evidence?" Feng Bujue sneered. "Heh... 'You should be glad I didn't have a gun like that.'" He repeated the sentence verbatim. "That sentence... was the last thing you said to Dennis before the incident, right? Many people heard it, including me."

"So what?" Jack retorted. "Anyone could tell it was just a joke."

"It's a joke if the person isn't dead," Feng Bujue placed his right hand on the desk, tapping his fingers rhythmically like waves. "But now that the person is dead, the situation is a little different... Combined with the situation at the time, can I understand your meaning as—'If I had a gun like that, I wouldn't have been shooting at the ceiling.'"

"Nonsense! All rubbish!" Jack jumped up from his chair. "What kind of famous detective are you!" He turned to look at Schofield. "Officer! Are you just going to watch him frame an innocent man like this?"

"I also think... you're the most suspicious," Schofield put on his detective's air and glared at the other party with a solemn expression. "Among all the suspects, you're the only one who is physically comparable to the deceased. Psychologically speaking, stronger people have more courage to act, don't they?"

"You..." Jack was momentarily speechless.

"Since you mentioned rock bands..." Feng Bujue immediately continued, "Then I think you're quite familiar with things like strings..." He paused and said, "Coincidentally... the murder weapon is also a similar thing."

"You know... if there weren't any police officers present, I would have already come over and punched you," Jack squeezed out a sentence in a very unhappy tone.

"Hmph... I advise you not to be impulsive." Feng Bujue raised an eyebrow and replied smugly, "My sharp legwork can't be stopped by a mere desk."

"Gentlemen... let's get back to constructive discussion." Schofield had to interject because the words and actions of the two in front of him already had the atmosphere of street thugs fighting...

"Hmph..." Jack snorted coldly, sat down again, and said to Feng Bujue, "Then tell me, why would I kill my brother? Just because of this little spat today? I still don't know why he and Dad were arguing. Why would I kill someone?"