Foreword, Ten Years and Five Months Later

After moving Sad Slow Song , here is another one.

Orthodox Mystery

“Six-Fold Answer” pays tribute to French mystery writer Paul Halter’s The Seventh Answer.

Paul Halter was born in 1956—in today’s Internet parlance, he is a “post-50s” author.

When I searched online and discovered that this author lived in the same era as me, I was overjoyed. Orthodox mystery was suddenly so close to me in time.

At the time I read the works of the three giants of the Golden Age: Dame Agatha Christie, John Dickson Carr, and Ellery Queen. Public records give their dates as:

• Dame Agatha Christie: September 15, 1890 – January 12, 1976
• John Dickson Carr: November 30, 1906 – February 27, 1977
• Ellery Queen
  • Frederic Dannay, 1905–1982
    • real name: Daniel Nathan
  • Manfred Bennington Lee, 1905–1971
    • real name: Manford Lepofski

As someone born in the 1990s, I found this sad: I could communicate with them only through literature.

So discovering that Paul Halter was still “alive” excited me. I wanted a connection with an author beyond literature.

Thus this work came into being.

I tried to make it an orthodox mystery; readers may judge how well I succeeded.

The Necklace

Besides mysteries, I enjoy Mark Twain, O. Henry (William Sydney Porter), and Guy de Maupassant (Henry-René-Albert-Guy de Maupassant).

Maupassant’s The Necklace (La Parure) became my inspiration.

As a short story, The Necklace has excellent pacing and characterization. Its characters cannot escape the prejudices of their era, but overall:

Maupassant’s works hate the ruling class, sympathize with the weak, and sincerely praise the simple kindness of people in the lower classes.

According to public records, The Necklace appeared in Le Gaulois on February 14, 1884. In 1884, people were living through the war among Qing China, Vietnam, and France (the Sino-French War in Vietnam, December 1883 to April 1885).

I knew none of this history at the time, nor how closely The Necklace was connected to the war. But one thing is certain:

When the empire rises, the people suffer; when it falls, the people suffer. — Zhang Yanghao, Sheep on the Hillside: Recalling Tong Pass

History is astonishingly repetitive.

Art crossing time and space carries human history and shines through the years.

I may never become one of its bright lights.

Yet one spring afternoon I picked up my pen and wrote this novel in one sitting.

Thank you for reading this far. Now let my ten-years-younger self tell you a good story.

Foreword

This is Posen Wall’s second appearance (third in the diary, for many reasons). Before reading this mystery, readers are advised to review Maupassant’s The Necklace. If you have not read it, do so now; otherwise the characters’ actions and the explanations below may be bewildering.

One

Ten years of hardship had worn Mathilde down into treating everything with indifference. She merely smiled when she heard Madame Forestier.

“Oh, Jeanne, this is unbelievable… Why did you not tell me then?”

“How could I have known? Wait—I remember something!” Madame Forestier seemed to be thinking.

“What is it, Jeanne?” “Oh my God, I remember—on the day before the Ministry of Education ball, my husband made a bet with Minister Georges Lamberneau: at the ball they would choose someone as the target of a prank and make that person’s jewelry disappear. Was it you?” Madame Forestier stared at her in disbelief. The prank had ruined Mathilde.

“Thirty thousand francs! Mathilde, you deserve compensation for what you suffered. Come to my house tonight and I will return the thirty thousand. Do not refuse—it was my fault. Here is one thousand francs; buy yourself a dress…”

That evening, the Loisel couple arrived neatly dressed at Madame Forestier’s home.

“Look,” Madame Forestier said, holding a check. “Here are thirty thousand francs. You can cash it at a nearby bank. If you do not mind, stay for dinner.”

Mathilde could hardly believe what was happening. She would no longer do drudgery herself or endure contempt over every penny. Everything could return to normal! She suppressed her excitement as Jeanne placed the check on the table. Then she saw the delicious food and wanted to stuff it all into her stomach. She imagined the things rich people did. After ten years, perhaps she should thank the necklace: it had cured her vanity. Now she wanted to know what bet Jeanne’s husband and Minister Lamberneau had made. Around the table sat her husband to her right, then Lamberneau, then Monsieur and Madame Forestier, their son Bill, and Mathilde herself.

Madame Forestier raised her glass. “Let us honor the Loisels! They endured the hardest years of their lives with strength!” Everyone stood, clinked glasses, and drank.

As Madame Forestier was about to sit, she suddenly screamed, startling everyone. “What…” Monsieur Forestier began, but his wife fell backward.

“Jeanne!” Mathilde cried.

Madame Forestier seemed not to hear. Her whole body convulsed, then stopped.

Monsieur Forestier stepped forward, then back. “Bitter almonds—cyanide! My God… she is dead.”

Lamberneau looked toward the table in shock. “Oh no, the check is gone!” Everyone looked. It was indeed gone.

“We—quick, call the police!” Lamberneau shouted and ran downstairs first. Nobody moved; they only stared at the corpse.

“Best not move the body,” Monsieur Forestier said trembling. “Who did this? Exley, did you check the wine?” The poor maid looked terrified and could not speak; the butler stood stunned.

“Never mind. We will wait for the police…” Monsieur Forestier collapsed into a chair, then sprang up, sobbing as he led Bill away. Bill’s face flushed as if he were about to cry.

“Darling, this is terrible…” Loisel comforted his wife.

“I cannot believe it…” Mathilde began to cry.

Two

“The note says: ‘The bet concerns whether the victim’s loss exceeds thirty thousand francs (without saying who won); the loser pays the winner an amount equal to the victim’s loss—author’s note.’ That is the whole puzzle. So what is the truth? Who is the murderer?” Around the table sat Posen, Chu Boheng, Huchenji, Chuantanxiang, Chuanshou, and me. We were helping Boheng solve a problem: his teacher had asked him to continue Maupassant’s The Necklace, and he had turned it into a case; now he was stuck on the solution.

“I will give my view first.” When no one answered, I began.

Challenge to the Reader

As usual, I have written out every clue. Can you deduce the truth? The puzzle is more detailed than The Change, but clearly harder. Aim for ninety-percent confidence, though I cannot guarantee correctness.

If you cannot solve it, do not torment yourself. When each person gives a theory, try refuting it before the counterargument appears. If you refute every theory before the final answer, you have done very well. Of course, it is not that simple!

Three

“I think the butler or maid did it. They could poison the wine easily. The motive would be the thirty thousand francs. They could take the check while everyone watched the body, hide it in a sleeve or pocket, or pass it to an accomplice. How is that, Boheng?”

“No. It does not work,” Boheng frowned. “Why cyanide? A drug that causes unconsciousness would suffice. Even if poison were necessary, the timing is wrong. The rich could be robbed through false accounts. Their wages were not low, and their savings were no less than ordinary people’s.”

“Perhaps,” Tanxiang said, a kindly old man. “It was the Loisel couple, or one of them. Only they were poor, so only they had a motive. Yet once they were about to receive the money, why murder? We know nothing of how they changed in ten years. Could Mathilde have sought revenge when she learned it was a prank? The gamblers did not care; the Loisels suffered for ten years!”

“You have a point,” Boheng told him, “but you ignore the method. They had paid their last debt that day and were nearly penniless. Their only income was the thousand francs from Forestier. Even if they did not buy clothes, they could not find cyanide in half a day. Poisoning was uncommon, and they might not know what cyanide was. They had no chance to bribe the servants either.”

After a long silence, Chuanshou spoke. Though an adult, illness made him look and sound eight years old. “If Father’s theory also fails, this is difficult. It was not money: the rich did not care and the poor were about to receive it. Wait! Could it be the dead woman’s husband? Madame Forestier immediately promised Mathilde thirty thousand without consulting him. At home he could not understand her actions; perhaps their relationship was already bad. He ordered a servant to put his newly bought poison in the wine. Notice that he was the one who said ‘bitter almonds… she is dead,’ and the only one who approached the body. Whether it was ordinary poison or cyanide is only his claim. While everyone looked at the table, the servant could take the check; he could tamper with the body, then step away. It was a sudden murder, not aimed at the Loisels; they were outsiders.” He smiled with satisfaction.

“Better than the last,” Huchenji said, “but there is a flaw. What could he do to the body in so little time? Cyanide symptoms differ from rat poison, and the sharp almond smell is not detectable by everyone only because of genetics—not everyone can lack that gene. The blood would also turn cherry red.

“Even setting that aside, you have not explained the bet. Boheng wrote it in the first place; if it is useless, why include it?” Huchenji looked at Boheng, who nodded.

Nobody spoke. They looked at Posen.

“Me?” Posen grimaced. “The answer is obvious, but one person has not spoken.” He looked at Huchenji.

Huchenji had gathered his thoughts. Suppressing excitement, he began his theory.

Four

“First, the bet is the key: who won? We must analyze the historical context. French society was sycophantic and relationships false. Jeanne and Mathilde had not seen each other for ten years, so why would Jeanne simply give Mathilde thirty thousand francs?

“Only one thing could make her do it: her husband won the bet. The loser had to pay the winner an amount equal to the victim’s loss. Lamberneau therefore owed Monsieur Forestier far more than thirty thousand francs. The Loisels’ compounded debts exceeded thirty thousand; he might owe a hundred thousand or even two or three hundred thousand. Thirty thousand meant nothing to the Forestiers, while Lamberneau could kill to avoid paying.

“Jeanne knew the bet. Her feigned ‘sudden memory’ and genuine excitement (compare Maupassant) show it, though she never says she also bet. Lamberneau persuaded a servant to poison the wine, took the check while everyone watched the body, then cried thief to clear himself. He called the police while hiding or disposing of the check.” Huchenji paused for discussion and drank heavily.

I asked: “Why not kill the husband too? And what use was taking the check?”

“Ah, I see. Jeanne bet Lamberneau and won; her husband was not involved. Lamberneau felt murder had gone too far, took the check, fled instead of calling police, and planned to disappear abroad. He knew how to sacrifice power to save his life.”

“Thank you, Huchenji! An airtight theory!” Boheng was delighted, but a thought struck me.

“Wait—there is a flaw. Maupassant says she had ‘a rich friend,’ merely rich; and she did not attend the ball. Thus the Forestiers had enough money, while Lamberneau had much greater power. They would not care about a few hundred thousand francs, and his power would silence them. Why would he shout about the check? Loisel might demand a search; if Lamberneau said nothing, nobody might notice it. Huchenji’s theory fails.”

“Then what is the truth?” Huchenji asked.

“Posen, you once said that after all other possibilities are excluded, the remaining one must be true, however unbelievable. If the servants, the Loisels, Monsieur Forestier, and Minister Lamberneau cannot have done it, only one person remains (readers may check the list in Part One)…

Five

“…Madame Forestier! Exactly—suicide!”

Posen raised an eyebrow, calmer than everyone else.

“Why did she kill herself? She and her husband actually lost the bet. The situation reversed: the couple owed hundreds of thousands to the minister, perhaps when they were no longer rich. Jeanne secretly bought poison and solved humiliation and despair with death, fitting her character. The missing check was meant to frame Lamberneau.” I stopped, unconvinced.

“Ridiculous. Why invite Mathilde? She could pretend not to know. Huchenji’s is better,” Boheng said.

“Everyone has a flaw! Posen, which is right?” All eyes turned to him.

Six

“Much progress, Charlie,” Posen said calmly. “Elimination is the only way, though tedious. I admit I did not think of Huchenji’s theory; you may prefer it after hearing me. But mine is the truth.” The clock struck twelve as afternoon sunlight filled the room.

“We are deceived by appearances: we believe what others say, and what we say ourselves. In each theory, some descriptions are true and reliable. Separately they prove little; together they reveal the truth.”

“Charlie 1: servants cannot be the principal killers, at most accomplices.

“Tanxiang 2: whoever has the means lacks motive, and whoever has motive lacks means. The Loisels cannot have done it; the rich need not take the check.

“Chuanshou 3: Monsieur Forestier may be lying, and the Loisels are outsiders.

“Huchenji 4: the bet’s participants are mentioned only by Jeanne, so that is uncertain; social relations were fragile, and Jeanne may have invited Mathilde for neither sympathy nor victory.

“Charlie 5: exposes Huchenji 4’s flaw and derives suicide, but has an even larger flaw.

“These are fragments of truth. If nobody present, including the dead woman, could commit the crime, what follows?” Posen grew excited. I saw Boheng’s face redden.

“One detail was overlooked: ‘Bill’s face flushed as if he were about to cry.’ Flushed before crying? Is that really so? I am looking at you, Boheng!” Posen stared at him; Boheng trembled.

“Hahaha…” Boheng burst out laughing. “You got me! I added that line as a clue to my own answer, but you stole my reveal. I admire you!”

“Now you understand? Bill was about to laugh. Everyone except the Loisels, including the servants, knew it was only a prank—just as Boheng fooled us today. Jeanne invented the bet after hearing Mathilde’s story, making herself appear responsible for compensation, then pretended to die at dinner. Her husband quickly took their son away so the trick would not be exposed. The cyanide diagnosis gave the Loisels an excuse; if they asked why they smelled no bitter almonds, Forestier could blame genetics. The minister probably held the check as a bribe—or, charitably, a performance fee. Thirty thousand meant nothing to a rich woman; it was entertainment paid for by another’s suffering. Perhaps the check would later be returned. I do not know what happened after Jeanne revived, but this is the final possibility, with the fewest coincidences.” Posen stood and stretched.

Boheng applauded. “Not bad. But the check will ultimately go to the Loisels (and it is genuine). I am not that heartless.”

“You fooled all of us!” Huchenji patted his shoulder.

“I can write this pleasant debate in my diary. The teacher said it must not be longer than the original, but we rarely have this much fun. What day is it?”

I nearly lied, then gave up. “The first day of the Western week.”

“How coincidental! Maupassant also had Mathilde meet Jeanne on a Sunday ten years later—though he never said which year—and it happens to be April Fools’ Day!” Boheng drank water and prepared to leave. “Goodbye, everyone!”

“But you did not fool Posen,” I objected.

“He did, formally,” Posen explained. “Long ago it was decided that April Fools’ pranks end at noon. I revealed the answer after noon, so I too was fooled.”

Posen shrugged indifferently and, as Boheng’s door closed, fell asleep on the sofa.

Note: The information about cyanide and other matters mentioned above is factual.

    — Written on 2012-04-02