Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 623 Conan Doyle's Waterloo! (Seeking monthly votes)
“Leon, this is too difficult!” Conan Doyle put down his “Polka” in frustration.

A thick stack of clue cards lay before him, and his notebook contained testimonies and character relationship diagrams, filled with various lines, question marks, and exclamation marks drawn in pencil.

In the living room of the "Slope Villa," the firewood in the fireplace was burning brightly, and a huge electric chandelier cast a warm glow.

Lionel, Conan Doyle, Sophie, Alice, Maria Chekhov, Debussy, and Maupassant sat around a large round table.

Each of them had a character card and several handwritten notes in front of them.

Lionel invited his friends over to his house and personally hosted a game for them.

Conan Doyle volunteered to play "Poirot." He was initially very confident—

After all, in the past year or so, he had written two very popular Sherlock Holmes stories, "A Scandal in Bohemia" and "The Red-Headed League".

He felt he possessed a "detective's mind" and should be able to handle this kind of tabletop reasoning game with ease.

As a result, he completely lost his way halfway through the game.

The players' repeated testimonies, the seemingly clear yet contradictory clues, the meticulously crafted misdirections and lies...

All of this was like an increasingly dense net, binding him so tightly that he could not move.

Conan Doyle chewed on his pencil, staring at the notes on the table: "Rupert Carrington! All the clues point to him."

He was short of money, he had a motive, he claimed he didn't get on the bus, but the timeline doesn't add up... He's the murderer, no doubt about it!

Lionel smiled at him: "Are you sure?"

Conan Doyle pushed his notebook forward: "Confirmed. Husband kills wife, murders for money, it's that simple!"

Lionel flipped through the presenter's manual, glanced at it, and then calmly announced, "Unfortunately, the reasoning has failed. The real culprit is not Mr. Carrington."

Conan Doyle was stunned.

Maupassant burst into laughter, nearly dropping the character card in his hand: "I knew it! I played the Count so convincingly, and you didn't doubt me at all?"

Debussy leaned back lazily in his chair: "You're acting too hard; it makes me want to look away."

Maria Chekhov whispered, "Actually, I think there's something wrong with the maid..."

Conan Doyle ignored them, staring intently at Lionel: "Not Carrington? Then who could it be? He has a motive, a timeline loophole, and..."

Lionel interrupted him: "He has everything you'd expect him to have. But you're overlooking one thing: if he were the murderer, why would he steal the jewelry?"
That would immediately lock him onto the suspect list; a smart person wouldn't do that.

Conan Doyle opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Lionel continued, "And you believe too much in the principle that 'the person most like the murderer is the murderer.'"

In this case, everyone who seemed most suspicious actually had someone else providing cover for them.

Conan Doyle was silent for a long time, then sighed: "Poirot and Holmes are indeed different."

Maupassant asked curiously, "How is it different?"

Conan Doyle thought for a moment and then slowly said, "Sherlock Holmes solves cases like a hound chasing its prey. He smells the scent, follows the trail, and keeps chasing until the very end."

He believed in evidence, in science, and that if all the pieces were put together, the truth would automatically emerge.

He paused, looking at the stack of cards covered in writing in his hand: "But Poirot is different. He's waiting, waiting for everyone to speak, waiting for them to reveal themselves."

He believed just as much as he heard as he saw—the hesitation, contradictions, deliberate emphasis, and unnatural silences in those words…

In Poirot's world, these things are more convincing than footprints and ashes.

Finally, he shook his head: "Holmes' method is to charge forward, Poirot's method is to retreat."

I'm used to charging forward, so in this game, I charged too fast and ended up falling into a trap.

Lionel nodded, thinking to himself that it was certainly different.

The inspiration for "Murder on the Brest Express" is "Murder on the Plymouth Express," one of Agatha Christie's finest short mystery stories.

This story is full of traps and twists—

Witnesses deliberately enhance their memories to mislead the investigation; the murderer impersonates the victim; physical evidence is carefully arranged to point in the wrong direction...

Although Conan Doyle had experience writing Sherlock Holmes stories, that was, after all, reverse engineering—reconstructing the process of finding the answers.

This is completely different from solving a puzzle step by step from scratch.

Lionel stood up. "Alright, let's rest for a bit." He walked to the window and drew back the curtains.

Outside, the night was over Vernef, and the electric lights and the firelight from the fireplace reflected on the glass, creating a warm, dreamlike effect.

Alice went to the kitchen to get freshly brewed coffee; Martha and Debussy huddled together to examine the stack of clue cards on the table.

Maupassant stretched, walked to the piano, and casually pressed a few notes. Sophie quietly walked up to Lionel and whispered, "Actually, this game is more interesting when you're playing the 'real culprit'."

Lionel looked at her. Tonight, she had drawn the "Jane Mason" character card—of course, that was just the surface identity.

Lionel lowered his voice as well: "You're having a lot of fun?"

Sophie smiled, a sly glint in her eyes: "I was quite nervous at first, afraid of saying the wrong thing. But then I realized that concealing my identity wasn't actually that difficult."

As long as you control the pace, say what needs to be said, and don't say what shouldn't be said, and divert other people's attention elsewhere... you'll gradually relax.

She glanced at Conan Doyle, who was still frustrated: "He wanted to be a real detective so much that he kept pushing forward, but this case is a little different."

The perpetrator in this case doesn't need to run away or hide; he only needs to stand still and wait for others to stray from the truth.

Lionel nodded: "You did very well tonight. Martha already suspected the maid, but she had no evidence, and you didn't give her a chance to get any."

Sophie sighed softly: "If this is a real case, I'll be caught sooner or later. You can start over in a game, but you can't in real life."

Lionel didn't speak, but simply squeezed her hand gently.

The coffee was served. The group sat back down around the table, sipping their coffee and chatting about the game they had just played.

Maupassant remained smug: "I thoroughly enjoyed being a count, and I could lie with complete confidence. It was more interesting than writing novels!"
"Leon, you've invented a whole new game; the salon will be incomplete without it from now on."

Debussy smiled and said, "But Guy, as I said, your lies were too obvious. Next time, please be more natural."

Martha tilted her head, still deep in thought: "I think there's something wrong with the maid..."

Conan Doyle repeatedly flipped through the clue cards, seemingly trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Alice tidied up the empty glasses on the table and asked Sophie softly, "Who do you think is the real culprit?"

Sophie smiled but didn't say anything.

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At the same time, inside the Rothschild family mansion, this "deduction game" was reaching its most tense stage.

The ladies participating in the game sat on sofas and soft stools, clutching their cards and watching the others with tense expressions.

These people included Countess La Rochefoucauld, Duchess of Uizes, Princess Polignac, and two young ladies from ancient families.

The role of "Poirot" is played by Countess La Rochefoucauld, who is "setting off" for the second time. Last time, she identified the Count as the real culprit, but unfortunately she was wrong.

This time, she was more cautious, with a thick stack of notes spread out in front of her, densely filled with timelines, key testimonies, and character relationship diagrams.

The game has been going on for more than two hours.

In the first act, each person states where they were last night, what their relationship was with the deceased, and why they came here.

The Countess listened and took notes, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just observing quietly.

In the second act, clue cards are distributed one after another: the testimony of a newsboy at the small station, a knife by the railway tracks, the register of the Ritz Hotel, and the vague whereabouts of Carrington's husband...

The Countess began to ask questions like a real "Poirot," in a gentle tone, but making sure each one hit the nail on the head.

"The newsboy said the lady gave him a two-franc tip. Two francs for two magazines. Do you think that's a reasonable amount?"

"Count, you said you left the Ritz Hotel last night to see a play. May I ask which play it was and at which theater?"

"Miss, you said that when you got off at Rennes station, you saw a man standing by the window in the compartment. Did you see what color coat he was wearing?"

The ladies playing various roles answered according to the script; some were frank, some were vague, and some deliberately emphasized certain details.

The Countess took notes one by one, her face always bearing a focused and calm expression.

Act Three begins, and the final clue card is handed out:
The pawnshop ledger, the fur fibers on the jade-wrapped cloth, the second white fur brimless hat found in the maid's suitcase...

The room was eerily quiet, with only the occasional crackling of the firewood in the fireplace.

The Countess looked down at the clue cards for a long time; then she raised her head and slowly swept her gaze over everyone present.

Her voice was firm and calm: "Gentlemen! I think I know who the murderer is."

Mrs. Rothschild raised her eyebrows slightly, but she did not speak.

The Duchess of Uizes couldn't help but ask, "Who is it?"

The countess did not answer immediately, but carefully reviewed her notes again and flipped through the clue cards in her hand.

Then she picked up the two clue cards, "Pry marks on the maid's suitcase" and "Second white fur brimless hat," and placed them side by side on the table.

"These two things, put together, tell me one thing—someone can 'replicate' the appearance of the dead!"

(First update, thank you everyone, please vote with monthly tickets!)
(End of this chapter)