The Map of Chaos by Félix J. Palma

his brain the whisperings of comprehension began to grow louder and louder.
    The servants left the dining hall and Clayton returned to his seat, fearful his knees might buckle under him. What he had just discovered in the painting had turned his solution of the case upside down, and he could only watch in astonishment as the elements began to reconfigure. Clayton leaned back in his chair, each new puzzle piece like a stabbing pain in his entrails. When at last it was complete, he had to acknowledge with a mixture of surprise and dismay that this new configuration made more sense than the last one. His amazement nearly spilled forth in the form of a hysterical laugh, but he managed to contain himself. He took a long sip of brandy, followed by several deep breaths. The liquor calmed him somewhat. He must not give way, he told himself. He had to regain his composure, assimilate the discovery he had just made, and act accordingly.
    Fortunately, the guests were still engaged in a trivial conversation about how delicious the meal had been, allowing Clayton to emerge gradually from the stupor into which the revelation had plunged him. He discreetly wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, and even managed to recover his smile, as he pretended to follow the conversation while avoiding everyone’s gaze, in particular that of the countess. When Valerie had first shown him the Count de Bompard’s painting, Clayton’s eyes had focused on her image. The countess eclipsed everything around her, as she did in real life. But now he had seen all the details. The details . . . they were what decided the outcome of an investigation, even if as in this case it was something as ludicrous as a circle of mice holding hands and dancing.
    â€œImagine how long it must have taken Hollister to make that costume,” Price was saying, “to hunt down enough wolves, and to stitch their pelts together alone at home! And all that without arousing the slightest suspicion! A terrifying thought, isn’t it? I knew the lad quite well. He used to help me sometimes in the shop, and we’d often have a chat. All the same, I’d never have imagined—” He broke off in mid-sentence and shrugged.
    Everyone nodded, sharing in the butcher’s bewilderment, except Clayton, who, struggling to overcome his fear, was looking straight at the countess, anticipating her response. Valerie de Bompard, who was nodding like the others in a gesture of regret, caught the inspector’s eye and as always held his gaze unflinchingly, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Clayton knew he must first decide how to act on the information he had just stumbled across, then try to work out a plan before the end of the dinner. But, confronted with the countess’s smile, he couldn’t prevent a feeling of anger from welling up inside him. I have no doubt a bright future awaits you at Scotland Yard, she had said to him, and the same words that had gladdened him before became like shards of glass piercing his heart. He felt his blood begin to boil.
    â€œPeople are never what they seem,” he heard himself say as though it were someone else’s voice, his gaze still fixed on the countess. “We all have our secrets, and yet we’re always surprised when we discover that other people do, too. Wouldn’t you agree, Countess?”
    Valerie was still smiling, but Clayton thought he perceived a glint of confusion in her eyes. Not fear—not yet. That would come later.
    â€œNaturally, Inspector, we all have a hidden side we don’t show others,” she replied, making her crystal glass sing as she ran her finger round it swiftly but delicately. “However, if you’ll allow me to make a distinction, there is a world of difference between the almost obligatory lies we all tell to protect our privacy and possessing the dual personality of a murderer.”
    Clayton nodded, as did the other guests, but he made