Chapter 405: Arrest
Chapter 405: Arrest
As a fragrant dish of Kelly anise-braised lamb knees in white wine sauce arrived at the table, Feng Bu Jue leaned down, retrieved a paper bag from beneath his chair, and pulled out a sizable envelope.
“You ought to recognize this envelope, Lovecraftmr.?” Feng Bu Jue asked Kolsten.
The latter hesitated for two seconds before his face paled. In an instant, his shock transformed into fury. “You… you thief! This is outright theft!” He jumped up, jabbing a finger at Feng Bu Jue, then turned to Detective Scofield. “Arrest him—now!”
“What’s going on?” Scofield was momentarily lost, unsure of what Feng Bu Jue had retrieved from the paper bag.
About forty minutes earlier, the detective had called an old colleague still working at the city police station. The colleague readily agreed to help. Twenty minutes later, another call confirmed the gardener Barton’s file had been retrieved from archives and faxed over—a convenience afforded by modern technology in the 1980s, standard and readily available even to a household like Lovecraft’s.
From the moment Feng Bu Jue received the fax to his reappearance at the dining hall entrance, no one knew where he had gone.
“This is simple,” Feng Bu Jue said. “I slipped into Lovecraftmr.’s room earlier and stole this will from his safe.”
“What?!” The entire table erupted in shock.
“You… this…” Scofield stammered.
“And I’ve already opened it,” Feng Bu Jue added casually, holding the envelope aloft. “See—the seal’s been torn. Don’t worry; I’m sure Lord Kolston’s lawyer has an identical copy. Wills like this are usually made in duplicate or triplicate. Even if I burned this one, it wouldn’t matter.”
If Kolston was a raging inferno, Feng Bu Jue’s words, demeanor, and actions were gasoline and kindling. Had the old man been twenty years younger, he’d likely have vaulted the table to attack.
“Interesting details in here…” Feng Bu Jue tossed the will onto the table, resumed eating lamb with knife and fork.
“Mr. Feng!” Scofield abruptly stood, solemn, and retrieved a pair of handcuffs. “You must realize your actions—”
“Are theft,” Feng Bu Jue interrupted. “Of course I realize that. Don’t rush, Detective. By producing the evidence, haven’t I already confessed? Do I look like someone planning to flee?” He chewed calmly. “Arrest me after solving this murder case. No need to rush—it’ll keep until dawn.”
“No! Arrest him now! Why listen to a thief, officer?!” Kolsten barked, gripping his cane as he staggered around the table, surging forward with furious determination.
“Hmph… What? Retrieve the will and knock me out with that cane? Will that stop me from revealing its contents?” Feng Bu Jue sat relaxed, his expression serene as the elderly man charged toward him like a threat-free breeze.
Scofield stepped forward. “Please, Mr., don’t escalate—violence won’t—”
“Sit down!” Feng Bu Jue suddenly roared. His tone and posture shifted in an instant.
From the paper bag, he lightning-fast drew a handgun, aiming with practiced precision. The motion betrayed no hesitation—this was no civilian’s hand.
The barrel wasn’t pointed at Kolston but at someone else—a figure attempting to sidle up quietly from the side. Barton.
“I know your combat skills,” Feng Bu Jue said coldly, locking eyes with his target. “But my marksmanship isn’t bad either.”
Barton’s face flickered through emotions—the timid, meek gardener vanished. In seconds emerged a hardened, calculating man whose features eerily mirrored Kolston’s.
“Officer, are you carrying?” Feng Bu Jue kept his aim steady.
“Mr. Feng… before this escalates further, I urge you—” Scofield began.
“Use mine if you aren’t.” Feng Bu Jue cut him off.
The detective finally regained his composure. He approached, took the gun, and leveled it at Barton. “Dempsey—handcuff Mr. Barton.”
“Yes… yes, sir!” Dempsey hesitated but obeyed. Though confused, following orders was safest.
As Barton clinked into cuffs, Kolston collapsed. He slumped to the floor, suddenly aged ten years, his hollow gaze terrifying his family.
Odette, Jack, and Nancy rushed to his side, scrambling to help him up.
“Now… should I call you John Barton?” Feng Bu Jue said, “Or… John Lovecraft?”
The room turned as one. Even Oliver, just wheeling in his cart, froze mid-step.
In mere minutes, Feng Bu Jue’s revelation had unraveled everything.
“When did you start suspecting me?” Barton asked quietly.
“When…” Feng Bu Jue, satisfied the situation was controlled, resumed eating. “When I was examining the villa grounds with the detective. Outside Dennis’s guest room window?”
“No,” Feng Bu Jue shook his head. “When I saw that tree outside Lord Kolston’s room. That’s when I was certain you were the killer.”
“You…” Barton paused, then chuckled. “Heh… hahaha…” His laughter swelled. “I underestimated you. You noticed even that detail?”
“Naturally,” Feng Bu Jue replied coldly. “Once I focused suspicion on you, every clumsy act you performed in front of me—the inconsistencies, the mistakes—became obvious. You painted yourself into a corner, dug your own grave. How fitting for this case.”
(End of Chapter)
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