The Map of Chaos by Félix J. Palma Page A

burst in and silence the orchestra, loudly informing their superior of bloodied corpses and spilled entrails. Can you imagine anything more tasteless? Despite all one’s efforts to look beautiful and make a grand entrance that enchants one’s guests, such interruptions are enough to ruin any ball. It’s hard to continue enjoying oneself after something like that. You were at the last one, so you could see for yourself.” She sashayed back over to Clayton. “Although, I must confess, my real regret when Hollister interrupted my party by killing dear Mr. Dalton was that he did so just at the moment you appeared to have plucked up the courage to ask me to dance. What a pity. Still, at least you used that courage to catch the killer and solve the case.”
    The countess contemplated him, waiting for his response. Clayton lifted his glass and emptied it in one go, steeling himself for what he was about to say, which was very different from what she was expecting.
    â€œNo, Countess, you are mistaken: I solved the case only this evening. And it was Armand who gave me the clue.”
    She looked at him, amused.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    Clayton stepped away from the countess with a sigh and motioned to the portrait with his chin.
    â€œThird shelf on the right. You can’t see it unless you look hard, but I have a bad habit of noticing the details.”
    The countess glanced at him uneasily. He motioned toward the portrait again, inviting her to examine it more closely, and she finally obeyed, approaching the fireplace more dazed than intrigued.
    â€œNext to the armillary sphere. What do you see?”
    The countess looked at the spot in the painting where Clayton had pointed.
    â€œThree mice dancing in a circle.”
    The inspector nodded dolefully.
    â€œQuite so. Three stuffed mice, whose charming pose reveals the extraordinary skill of the taxidermist.”
    She said nothing, still not turning toward him. Clayton realized she was trying to retrace the chain of his thoughts since he had noticed the mice, to see where it led. Only, of course, it was not simply the accursed mice.
    â€œThey’re scarcely visible, aren’t they? I’ll wager it’s the first time you’ve noticed them. And yet they are there. They have always been there. Brown mice, standing upright on their little feet . . . As adorable as they are incriminating.”
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t understand what you are insinuating, Inspector,” she said evasively, turning to face him.
    â€œReally? You needn’t worry, I can explain it to you step by step.” Clayton gave a wry smile. “Do you recall the explanation I gave over dinner? Well, now forget about it. You’ll find this one much better. After hearing it I’m sure you’ll have no doubt about the great future I have ahead of me at Scotland Yard.” She remained silent. “Good, let’s start with the day we first met,” Clayton went on. “Do you remember the hat you wore? You don’t? I do. Unfortunately, I never forget anything. It had a wide brim and was adorned with butterflies and a little brown dormouse. I also remember that when Captain Sinclair remarked on how exquisite it was, you told him it had been sent over from America. Something about your reply troubled me. I’ve always had a wide range of interests, and I happen to know a little about zoology. I am scarcely more than an amateur, but I couldn’t help noticing that the butterflies on your hat were of the monarch variety, which are typically found in the United States.” Clayton clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing in circles around the point where he had launched into his speech, with a look of concentration on his face, as though suddenly he had forgotten the countess, the room, and even himself and were sweeping through the passageways of his own mind, where his thoughts hung in neat rows, like