Roger Mystery

Chapter 4 Dr. Shepard's Breakfast
Mrs. Ferrars died between the night of September [-]th and the early morning of September [-]th, which was Thursday.The next day was Friday, and I was called in at eight in the morning, but there was nothing I could do, she had been dead for hours.

A few minutes after nine o'clock, I came home, used the key to the latch on the front door, dawdled in the porch for a while, and slowly hung up my hat and light overcoat.It was a chilly early autumn morning, but luckily I had the foresight to add more clothes.To be honest, I was pretty depressed and worried.While I couldn't have foreseen the turmoil of the next few weeks at the time—I definitely wouldn't—my gut told me that the days ahead were going to be troublesome.

From the dining room on the left came the knocking of teacups and the short dry cough of my sister Caroline.

"Is that you, James?" she called.

There is no need to ask.Otherwise who else could it be?To be honest, I was procrastinating for a few minutes just because of Caroline. "Go out and check things out" is the motto of the mongoose family - it was said by Kipling.If Caroline grows a mane, we'll be infested with mongooses. The first two words of "Go out and check things out" can be ignored, even if Caroline is sitting at home, the news can still come to her door.I can't figure out her trick, but the effect is clear at a glance.It is estimated that her brain trust is composed of various servants and peddlers in the village.Once she went out, her purpose was not to inquire about news, but to spread the news.In this respect, too, her genius is unparalleled.

It is precisely because of her well-known personality that I hesitate and procrastinate as much as I can.No matter how much I could tell Caroline about Mrs Ferrars' death, the whole village would be buzzing in an hour and a half.Out of the professional ethics of a doctor, I naturally try to be cautious, so I developed a habit over time: keep any news from my sister.Although she can still find out everything in the end, as long as I am not at fault, I will feel at ease.

Mrs. Ferrars's husband just passed away a year ago. Caroline always believed that he was poisoned by his wife, but she couldn't come up with any real evidence.

I have repeatedly stated that Mr. Ferrars died of acute gastritis caused by habitual drinking, but she always scoffs.I agree that the symptoms of acute gastritis and arsenic poisoning are similar, but Caroline has her own logic.

"You just have to look at her to know." These were her exact words.

Mrs. Ferrars, in spite of her youth, was still very pretty, and her dress, though simple, was always well fitted.But having said that, there are thousands of women who go to Paris to buy fashion, and not everyone will poison their husbands.

I lingered in the porch for a long time, thinking about these things.Caroline yelled again, sharper than before: "What the hell are you doing, James? Why aren't you coming to breakfast?"

"Here it is, my dear," I replied hastily, "I was just hanging up my coat."

"That's enough time for you to hang five or six coats."

She was absolutely right.

I went into the dining room, kissed Caroline on the cheek as usual, and sat down to eggs and bacon.The bacon was cold.

"It's early in the morning," said Caroline.

"Yes," I answered, "to the 'Royal Enclosure.' Something has happened to Mrs Ferrars."

"I know." My sister said.

"How did you know?"

"Annie told me."

Anne was our parlourmaid, a nice girl, but the habit of talking too much dies.

There was a moment of silence, and I continued with my eggs and bacon.My sister has a long and pointed nose. At this moment, the tip of her nose is trembling slightly. This movement usually indicates that she is interested or excited.

"And then?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do. She must have died in her sleep."

"I know that." My sister said again.

This time I became irritable.

"Impossible," I snapped. "Even I didn't know until I was there, and I haven't mentioned it to anyone. If Anne can see this, she must be clairvoyant."

"It's not Anne, it's the milkman. The Ferrars cook told him."

What did I say?Caroline didn't have to go out to inquire about the news at all, as long as she sat at home, the information would fly to her one after another.

My sister asked again: "What is the cause of death? Heart disease?"

"Didn't the milkman tell you?" I asked sarcastically.

Sarcasm was useless to Caroline, who took it as a serious question and answered honestly, "He doesn't know either."

Anyway, Caroline will find out the truth sooner or later, so I might as well just tell her.

"The cause of death was an overdose of sedatives. She has been suffering from insomnia recently and has been taking medicine, probably too much."

"Nonsense," Caroline snapped back. "She killed herself. Believe it or not!"

Strange to say, once something you secretly believe in is exposed by others, you will inevitably become angry and deny it.In a fit of anger, a series of words blurted out.

"It's your old habit again," I said, "to speculate without evidence. Why on earth did Mrs. Ferrars kill herself? A widow, young, rich, and in good health, just enjoy Just life. Why would she kill herself? Ridiculous."

"Ridiculous. Even you should have noticed that she has been very abnormal lately. It has been like this for six months. It is almost like being possessed by a witch. Didn't you admit it just now, she has not been sleeping well during this time."

"What about your opinion?" I asked coldly, "I guess it was a failed relationship?"

My sister shook her head.

"Remorse," she said cheerfully.

"remorse?"

"Yes, I said earlier that her husband was poisoned to death by her, but you never believed it. Now I believe it even more."

"Your words are illogical," I countered. "If a woman is so cold-blooded that she dares to commit murder, she will definitely enjoy the fruits of victory with peace of mind, and will not be so sentimental and regretful because of her conscience."

Caroline shook her head.

"There may be women like that—but Mrs. Ferrars is definitely not. She's especially excitable. She's one of those people who can't stand anything, and kills her husband on the spur of the moment. Doubtless, being Ashley The wife of a man like Ferrars must suffer—"

I nodded.

"And then she's just terrified of what she's doing. I feel for her."

In my opinion, Caroline never felt sorry for Mrs. Ferrars while she was alive.Now that she has gone to a place where she can no longer wear Parisian fashion (probably so), Caroline's attitude has relaxed a little, and she is ready to give some regret and understanding.

I made it clear to her that these speculations were pure nonsense.In fact, her point of view is not without reason, at least I secretly agree with part of it.But Caroline is purely speculating, just happened to encounter the truth, and I must not encourage her.Otherwise she'd go around the village spreading that theory, and everyone would think she'd drawn that conclusion from my diagnosis.Life is hard.

"Nonsense," said Caroline, dismissive of my preaching. "We'll see. She probably left a suicide note and confessed everything."

"There is no letter left." I clarified sharply, completely unaware of the consequences of this sentence.

"Oh!" said Caroline, "so you did investigate? James, it seems that deep down you feel the same way as I do. You can really pretend."

"The possibility of suicide cannot be ignored," I emphasized.

"Will there be an inquest?"

"Perhaps, it depends. If I could state that I was entirely satisfied with the conclusion of an accidental overdose of sleeping pills, I suppose there would be no need for an autopsy."

"Then are you completely satisfied?" My sister asked shrewdly.

I didn't answer, got up and left the table.

(End of this chapter)