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The Second Murder Mystery
British detective novelist Margery Allingham's The Case of the Late Pig (1937) is part of the author's series of works by Detective Albert Campion.
In addition to the novella "The Strange Case of the Second Murder", this translation of "The Strange Case of the Second Murder" also contains several short stories, namely "Lucky Numbers - Three", "Evidence in the Camera", "Positive and Negative Game" and "The End of the Joke". In the novella "The Second Murder Case", detective Albert Campion appears as the protagonist, and most of the rest of the short stories also flash him.
Margaret Allingham
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Allingham is adept at creating realistic characters. Detective Campion is impressive, not because of how wise and courageous he magically solves mysteries, on the contrary, this character is approachable, often hindsighted, not astute, and sometimes even passive and clumsy, so more authentic and believable.
Although detective Campion in the novel is from a noble background and belongs to the upper class, he can not only deal with various government officials, but also communicate with the people of the lower society. The novel exposes the dark side of London's lower classes at the time, and in this regard some even compare her to the critical realist writer Dickens.
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A man who died of illness became the victim of a new murder a few months later - Campion went to a small mountain village to investigate the murder and found that the deceased was Peters, the "evil pig" who had just died of illness not long ago. What did the "evil pig" die for? How can a person die twice? Anonymous letter after letter, eerie fairy tale as if to hint at the source of sin... In the face of the earth-shattering case, can Albert Campion find out the truth and find out the real culprit, and restore the tranquility of the mountain village?
On this isolated hillside, in the rainy silence, the funeral was dull and sad.
We stood in the pouring rain, and the letters we received in the morning faded from my mind. I guess Peters must be unpopular here. He was hastily buried in the most ordinary and insignificant way. But as far as he is concerned, this is not surprising.
However, just as the pastor was finishing the last words of the ceremony, something strange happened. This made me creepy and I took a step back and stepped on Legge's feet, almost annoying him.
At the age of twelve and a half, the evil pig developed many disgusting habits, one of which was to clear his throat in a disgusting way. His throat first made a hoarse and piercing sound, followed by a muffled cry and inhalation. I can't describe this sound exactly, because it was so unique that I never heard anyone else make it except for the evil pig. I had almost completely forgotten the sound, but just as we were about to leave the grave for the place where the coffin was buried, twenty years later, I heard it clearly again. It made the appearance of the evil pig clearly appear before my eyes again. I looked around in horror and stunned, my scalp tingling.
Apart from a few coffin bearers, priests, priests, Legg, and myself, there were only four people left, and they didn't look like people who could make that sound at all.
Standing to my left was a tall, burly man. Behind him was a girl dressed in a gorgeous black dress. She seemed to have come alone, with a sullen look. She noticed that I was looking at her and smiled at me. I quickly avoided her gaze and looked at the older old man next to her. The old man wore a top hat and a curly silver beard that sparkled in the rain. He tried to show a grief-stricken look, but his poor acting skills were unbelievable. I don't know when I became so disgusted with a stranger.
When my eyes fell on the fourth man, I was taken aback. This man turned out to be Gilbert Whipbitt. At Botorv Abbey, Whippet was in lower grade than me, and he went to the same school as me. We haven't seen each other for about twelve to fourteen years. Except for the fact that he had grown taller, his appearance had not changed at all.
"Whipbit!" I said, "Why are you here?" Why did you come to the funeral of the evil pig? ”
He looked at me in amazement. Those round, light gray eyes were the same as ever.
"I, uh, I was invited," I still remember in the hoarse and timid voice. "Me, this morning... Received. An invitation letter. Don't you know about it? ”
He reached into his coat and fumbled it, and finally pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. I don't have to look at it to know what's written inside, because I have an identical one in my pocket.
I followed the scattered procession out of the church cemetery. As I walked down the path, the tall, handsome man suddenly looked at me, as if trying to ask something. I walked over, my heart full of doubts, thinking about how to open my mouth so as not to be disrespectful, when he spoke first:
"It's sad," he said, "he's still too young." Do you know him well? ”
I said, "I'm classmates with R.I. Peters. I saw the news in the Times this morning. I happened to be coming here, so I stopped by to have a look. ”
He kept looking at me with a smile on his face, as if he didn't think I was normal. I continued, "After this I think I may have come to the wrong place—I mean maybe not the Peters I know." ”
"He's fat," he said thoughtfully, "with deep eyes and sparse eyelashes, and is now Chinese New Year's Eve seven years old, and went to Tothham after finishing kindergarten in West Pugat. ”
I was taken aback: "That's right, peters I know." ”
He nodded, his expression dejected. "It's sad," he repeated, "Peters came to me after the appendix surgery." He shouldn't have had that surgery, and his heart couldn't afford it. Later, he contracted pneumonia. His shoulders trembled slightly, "Poor fellow, I couldn't save him. He also has no relatives here. ”
I was silent, not knowing what to say.
"That's my clinic," he said, pointing to a large house not far away, "and I've treated some patients in it, and I've never had a fatal case." ”
I sympathize with him. We stood there and talked for a while, and then I went back to town. When I got home, I carefully compared the two letters, and they were exactly the same. I suppose Whippet must have read the Times too, but it was strange that he would combine two things in a reasoning, and that unusual coughing sound, the obnoxious old man in the top hat, not to mention the girl with the mysterious glint in her eyes.
The most terrible thing was that this incident made the evil pig come to my mind again. I found a few old pictures of the football team and looked at him carefully. His face was very distinctive, and even then you could see what he would become in the future.
I tried not to think about him anymore. After all, there's nothing to be nervous about. He was dead and I would never see him again.
It all happened in the cold january. By June I had forgotten all about this bastard. One day, I went to Scotland Yard for a conference. At the meeting, Stanislaus Oz and I were delighted by the new evidence found in the Kingsford shooting, which would most likely change the course of the case. I had just returned home when the phone rang—it was Janet.
I never knew she would have such a hysterical side. I was slightly surprised to hear her chatter like a nest of sparrows on the other end of the phone.
"It's terrible," she said, "Leo said you had to come right away. Gosh, I can't reveal much on the phone because Leo is worried that it's together — listen, Albert, M-U-R-D-E-R..."
"Well," I said, "I'll go right over. ”
When Leger and I drove to Hayworth, Leo was standing on the steps in the doorway, with rows of ivory-colored stone pillars towering behind him. Dressed in an old shooting suit and a green flowerpot hat, he looks exuberant and cannot be used as an example in any photo album.
He walked slowly down the steps and held my hand tightly.
"Good boy, don't talk, don't say anything." He got in the car and sat down next to me, raised his finger and pointed to the village, "The most urgent thing, go to the police station." ”
Along the way, he didn't say a word except for directions until we came to the door of a cabin behind the police station. He told the policeman on duty to walk away, then stopped and grabbed the collar of my suit tightly.
"Well, boy," he said, "now I want to hear your opinion, because you are the person I trust the most. So far, I haven't revealed anything about the case to you and it hasn't made you any preconceived biases, have I? ”
"Yes, sir." I said truthfully.
He grunted, seemingly pleased with my answer. "Very well," he said, "come in." ”
We came to an empty room with nothing but a shelf table in the middle. Leo lifted the cloth that covered the table.
"Now," he said, "Campion, what do you think of this?" ”
At that moment, I was stunned and could not say a word. Lying on the table was the corpse of Peters the Evil Pig! With years of experience, without having to examine his fat and feeble hands, I knew that his death would certainly not have taken more than 12 hours.
But in January... And it's June.
Follow-up: What is the conspiracy behind the "second murder" of "Evil Pig" Peters? Campion is not a wise and courageous detective, on the contrary, he is approachable, often hindsighted, and sometimes even passive and clumsy, how does this wise detective solve this mystery? It's all in the Extraterritorial Story Club Detective Novel Series", "The Second Murder Case".
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