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XXVI
I thought of those mornings in my house in the capital as something now beyond reach: beginning with the jolly dwarves bringing the wicker tray, the aromatic tea, the toast and the cakes, candy and honey. That indeed was a happy awakening, like those in one's childhood readers. Then came the pleasant idleness, the books, until the eventful afternoon, the consulting office with its rewards both professional and personal. My true vocation had remained there, in the lap of those homelike domestic customs that now seemed lost. What disquietudes would the new day bring me? Reckless and yet astonished at my temerity (it was unlikely that this abnormality would continue disturbing my life), I opened the door of my room. I met Andrea at the stairs.
 "Have you heard the latest?" she said. "Someone has stolen Mary's jewelry."
I decided to question Aubry. He was in the office. When I entered, he was giving orders to one of his men. "Sequester everyone!" he shouted.
"Who is everyone?" I inquired.
"Everyone," he responded drily, "except for you and Atwell."
I wondered if my exclusion from the group was not owing to the fact that I was, at the moment, conversing with him. His order would, at any rate, have a calming effect, I thought. I easily imagined a scenario in which all of us, except the victim, were transforming ourselves into detectives. The commissioner offered a 43 cigarette to me and began to explain the situation.
"Miss Emilia came at first light to tell me that her sister's jewelry had been stolen. I told her to calm down, that Atwell had taken care of the jewels. He and I had already worked that out. Then, when I saw him, I asked him about it, and he confessed that after our discussion he had completely forgotten the matter. I've questioned several people already, excepting yourself, Dr. Cornejo and the typist. I'm certain the jewels were in the victim's room until that boy appeared. Since then, no one has seen them. But the most interesting matter remains to be told. I ordered my men to take an inventory of the entire room and-- Do you care to guess what we found?"
He held out a piece of paper which had been written on in pencil. I read:
To Mary.
I have to speak to you. I will wait for you in the dining hall when the others are having their siesta. Thank you. Thank you very much.
Cornejo
The words "I have to speak to you" summoned my own uncomfortable memories. I believe I actually turned red.
After a few lewd comments, cited gravely, almost sadly, the commissioner continued, "Cornejo and the typist are in the dining hall. The woman's statement interests me. She was in the room immediately after that scene with the boy."
Just then one of the policeman rushed in. "Dr. Cornejo is dead," he declared.
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