Greenheight hadn't even closed his door, and the gaslight from his hallway illuminated the corridor floor.
Then—
A man's panicked plea.
"Bang!"
A woman's terrified shriek.
"Bang!"
Dead silence.
But in the air, a soul seemed to be howling.
Each gunshot made Lionel tremble.
After an unknown amount of time—
"Bang!"
It was as if the whole world had been deafened by that gunshot.
…
It wasn't until late at night that Lionel returned to his apartment at An Tan Street 12 from the "Quai des Orfèvres 36" (the address/nickname of the Paris Police Department).
The door to apartment 503 next door was already closed, sealed with red strips. As Lionel passed by, he remembered Mr. Greenheight's final smile.
He seemed to be saying to Lionel, "I'm sorry, my good neighbor."
Upon entering his apartment, he found Alice and Petty both waiting for him in the living room.
Lionel looked at the two pale-faced women and managed a strained smile: "I've finished being questioned. I'm fine—you could have gone to bed earlier."
Actually, he was most worried not about himself, but about Alice.
When the police came earlier, he had Alice hide in her room and had already thought of many plans on how to deflect their questions.
However, faced with such an obvious crime of passion, the Paris police were clearly experienced and had no interest in questioning everyone.
They only took Lionel back to take his statement and then released him.
There were five residents on the fifth floor in total. During the holiday, only Lionel in 502, Greenheight in 503, and Lucian in 505 were home; the other two apartments were still away on vacation.
Now, only Lionel's 502 remained.
He claimed he had been writing in his room the whole time and only realized something had happened when he heard the gunshots—
Because he was timid, he hadn't even left his room until the Paris police, in their dark blue uniforms and flat-topped kepis, knocked on his door.
This explanation was basically watertight. Besides Alice and Petty, no one knew that Mr. Greenheight had visited his apartment.
However, he also honestly confessed to the police that he knew about Lucian and Petite's affair, and not just once—but what did that matter?
In Paris, everyone turned a blind eye to such things, even gossiping about them with relish.
The "Quai des Orfèvres 36" clearly wouldn't hire a "consulting detective" to interrogate him, the unlucky neighbor.
Lionel hadn't even stepped into or glanced at Greenheight's apartment 503—instead, the apartment manager, the doorman, and several curious downstairs neighbors had messed up the scene and were scolded by the police for a long time.
Alice's eyes were red. She said to Lionel with lingering fear, "Leon, why would he do such a thing?"
It wasn't that Alice hadn't witnessed affairs before—in the Alps countryside, such stories often appeared in the crude conversations of farmers.
But those usually began with an argument, proceeded with a chase, ended with a beating, and concluded with compensation.
No one would die; only jokes would remain, and no one would bring them up again after a few years—because there would always be new affairs.
She had also read some novels where various characters, big and small, had affairs, which usually ended in a farce.
Mr. Greenheight killing Lucian, she even somewhat agreed with; killing his wife Petite, she could barely understand.
But the fact that he shot himself in the head at the end was beyond Alice's comprehension.
Lionel sighed: "Mr. Greenheight's life's efforts, beliefs, and persistence were all destroyed. Even if he lived, he would be a walking corpse."
Alice nodded, half understanding.
Then she asked worriedly, "Did the police ask about anything else? Leon, why don't you help me find a cheap place to live? I'll move out so I don't implicate you."
Speaking of this, Lionel got a headache. He sighed: "It's not that bad yet—rent in Paris is too expensive for a copyist earning 10 centimes a page."
Petty, on the other hand, was more thick-skinned—perhaps due to seeing many bodies during winter in the Eleventh District—and had already recovered her composure.
She asked Lionel, "Young Master, are you hungry? I'll go make something to eat."
Lionel initially wanted to refuse, but thinking that food could stabilize one's mind and Alice might need it, he told Petty to make something simple.
Mr. Greenheight's death was also a shocking lesson for him, as it was the first time he had directly encountered a murder, both in his previous and current life.
As a representative of the emerging middle class in the 19th century, Mr. Greenheight adhered to a moral code distinctly different from the so-called "upper class."
They received a good education from a young age, devoutly believed in God, worked diligently, were loyal to their families, and were friendly to others, serving as an example for the Parisian citizenry.
Nobles and wealthy merchants could accept their wives having lovers—of course, they themselves had more lovers—because their marriages were mostly based not on love, but on the exchange of interests.
In the French royal family, "Chief Mistress" (also known as "Official Mistress") was even a title recognized by the government.
Besides receiving stipends, gifts, and noble titles, the mistresses of French monarchs were also entitled to courtesies where court nobles had to stand and bow when the King's mistress passed by.
The power of some "Chief Mistresses" even surpassed that of the Queen, allowing them to deeply participate in national politics or become famous patrons of culture and art.
For example, the trend of Parisian salons began with Madame de Pompadour, Louis XV's chief mistress.
But the bourgeois class was different—compared to the upper class, they did not have enough interests to serve as the bond for marriage;
Compared to rural society, they had shed the natural responsibility of having to procreate and inherit land.
In a situation where they were neither fully high nor low, "love," especially "love" blessed by doctrine and ceremony, was the only spiritual pillar maintaining the family.
When this pillar collapsed, their entire life collapsed as well.
But these things were too complicated for Lionel to explain clearly to Alice.
Petty's "supper" was quickly prepared—two slices of toasted bread for each, with fried bacon, eggs, and a slice of tomato in between.
After eating the sandwiches, Alice's emotions finally settled, and she went back to the bedroom with Petty to sleep.
Lionel, however, sat in the study until late at night. He wanted to finish "my uncle jules," but he crumpled one piece of paper after another, ultimately not writing a single word.
— — — —
The next morning, Lionel was woken up by the noise downstairs.
He went to the window and pulled back the curtain, only to see the entrance of the apartment building crowded with people. Judging by their attire and equipment, they were undoubtedly reporters.
Only this murder, a mixture of adultery, being caught in the act, killing, and suicide, could make Parisians so active on a holiday morning.
The apartment manager and doorman tried hard to block them, but the defense line was precarious.
Lionel walked out of his room and found that Alice and Petty were already up, anxiously peering down from the living room window.
Lionel made a decisive decision: "Change into your going-out clothes. We'll leave through the back door. We can't stay here today."
Petty asked, "Young Master, where are we going then?"
Lionel thought for a moment: "Didn't you two want to go boating on the Seine River? We'll go today!"