The Investigation by Stanislaw Lem Read Free Book Online Page A

they kept finding buttons of various kinds arranged in geometric patterns, as well as belt buckles, suspender clasps, and small coins. Always arranged in polygons, circles, or other shapes. There were also handkerchiefs knotted together.”
    “Wait a minute. I remember something now. I must have read about it somewhere. Two old guys in a garret who … right?”
    “Right. That’s the very case I’m talking about…”
    “They used to search out young people who were trying to kill themselves—they’d bring them home, revive them, cheer them up, and have them tell what it was that had driven them to attempt suicide. That’s the way it was, right? And after all that … they strangled them to death. Right?”
    “More or less. One of the pair was a pharmacist. After the murders they got rid of their victims with the aid of some acid and a fireplace; then they’d amuse themselves by playing a little game with the police with the buttons, buckles, coins, and other odds and ends that were left over.”
    “I don’t see the connection. One of the Lapeyrot murderers was insane. He completely dominated his accomplice, who was regarded as a victim of folie à deux. The two of them devoted most of their energy to the button puzzles because that’s what really excited them. The case may have been hard to crack, but basically it was quite commonplace: there were murderers and victims, there were clues. What difference does it make if the crime was committed with a few theatrical flourishes—”
    Gregory stopped short, an incomprehensible smile suddenly appearing on his lips. He looked at the Chief Inspector, trying to get a glimpse of him in the dim light.
    “Wait, I think I see…” he said, his tone indicating that he had just made a startling discovery. “So that’s it.”
    “Yes, that’s it exactly,” Sheppard answered, resuming his pacing.
    Gregory bowed his head, tapping on the edge of the desk with his fingers.
    “Theatrical,” he whispered. “An imitation … but an imitation of what?” he said, raising his voice. “A sham, but to cover what? Insanity? No, it can’t be anything like that. The circle is closing again.”
    “It’s closing because you’re going in the wrong direction. When you talk about shammed insanity you’re looking for a close analogy to the Lapeyrot case, in which the murderers, if I may put it this way, had a particular audience in mind all along: they purposely left clues to give the police a puzzle to solve. In our case there’s nothing to indicate that any of this is aimed at the police. In fact, I doubt it very much.”
    “Yes, well in that…” said Gregory. He felt downhearted and stifled. “So we’re back where we started. The motive.”
    “No, not at all. Look over here, please.”
    Sheppard pointed to the wall, at a small circle of light that Gregory hadn’t noticed before. Where was it coming from, he wondered. Glancing at the desk, he saw a cut-glass paperweight standing next to the reflector of the desk lamp; a narrow beam of light, refracted in its crystalline depths, was escaping into the room’s dark interior to shine on the wall.
    “What do you see here?” asked Sheppard, moving to the side.
    Gregory leaned over to escape the lamp’s blinding glare. There was a picture hanging on the wall, almost invisible in the darkness except for one of its corners, which was lit by the single beam of light. Within this tiny space, not much larger than two coins placed side by side, he saw a dark spot enclosed by a pale gray, slightly curved border.
    “That spot?” he asked. “A profile of some kind? No, I can’t make it out … wait a minute…”
    Intrigued by the shape, Gregory studied it more and more carefully, his eyes squinting. The more he studied it the more anxious he became. Although he hadn’t the slightest idea what he was looking at, his anxiety began to increase.
    “It looks as if it’s alive…” he said involuntarily in a low voice. “Is it a