My Husband Lives Inside a Painting Chapter 38

There was no point questioning it now. It wouldn’t change anything.

The duchess lowered Pagoda from the tree, dropping him onto the ground, then set an old wooden chair in front of him.

She crossed her legs and sat down, gazing coldly at him as he knelt before her like a criminal.

“Begin.”

Under her overwhelming gaze, Pagoda had lost even the will to resist. He slowly opened his mouth.

“…I’ve always thought that idiot Gail would cause trouble sooner or later.”

As the story began, Camille, wearing Orb’s appearance, narrowed her eyes in concentration.

“That’s why I followed the two of them during the banquet. I managed to stop Gail just before he struck Camille in the back of the head with the porcelain vase.”

“Why did you stop him?”

“Because there were eyes everywhere! If a commotion broke out there, it would’ve been the end of everything. The moment that fool was handed over to the guards, my involvement in the adoptions would inevitably come to light, one thing leading to another.”

“So you saved my husband?”

“What would I have gained by killing Camille in the first place? I had no motive whatsoever!”

“Hmm…”

As though pondering something, Camille rubbed his chin, then tilted his head.

“Weren’t you the one with a fantasy about widows?”

“…So you think I killed him because of that?”

When Camille nodded as though it were obvious, Pagoda’s face turned bright red.

“I believe in meeting women naturally! If I went out of my way to make someone a widow, what would be the point of that—”

“Shut up and continue your story.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

Pagoda had been passionately expounding on his own ridiculous philosophy, but when the shovel struck threateningly into the ground by his feet, he hiccupped.

He swallowed nervously and hurried to continue.

“A-After bringing Camille back to the banquet hall, I drank with him. Then Young Duke Kalanchoe came over and said he wanted to have a private conversation with him, so he asked me to excuse myself.”

“Kalanchoe… You mean Densum? The last of the Three Musketeers?”

“That’s right, that’s right.”

The two of them had then made their way to the terrace.

“Didn’t you find it strange? That they had to move somewhere else to speak in private?”

“Not particularly. Camille and Densum were especially close. Or, to be more precise, Densum was the one who treated Camille as someone special.”

“…And that’s where the incident happened?”

“Yes. Probably.”

Pagoda went on to explain.

The two men had spent quite a long time talking on the terrace.

Thick curtains hung behind the glass doors, preventing anyone from seeing inside. And with the noise from the banquet hall, it was impossible to make out what they were saying.

So Pagoda had stopped paying attention—until he suddenly spotted Densum emerging from the terrace alone.

“I had a strange feeling, so I went straight to check the terrace. But there was no one there. So I asked him.”

“Densum, where did Camille go?”

“Who knows? I have no idea.”

“I saw you go to the terrace together. But when I checked, there was no one there.”

“……Anyway, why are you asking so many questions? I’m tired and can’t stay any longer. I’ll be leaving.”

Camille had been listening silently to Pagoda’s account, but now he pointed out a gap.

“But that’s all circumstantial evidence. Do you have anything more conclusive?”

“Ah, I was just getting to that.”

After Camille’s death, the three men who remained had met privately on the day of his funeral.

And during that secret meeting, a conversation had taken place that could turn suspicion into certainty.

“I-I’m scared. They’re not really going to make me out to be the culprit, are they? I-I really didn’t kill anyone…”

“Gail. Keep your voice down. I’m the only one who knows what you did, remember?”

“B-But…”

“The more nervous you act, the more suspicious you’ll look. You need to keep your composure.”

Densum, who had remained silent throughout Gail’s anxious rambling, finally lost patience and let slip a revealing remark.

“Shut up, Gail. There’s absolutely no way we’ll get dragged into this.”

“…What?”

“What evidence could they possibly find on a corpse that fell to its death? Hm? Do you only keep that head of yours around for decoration?”

—Fell to its death.

The moment Camille heard those words, the color drained from his face.

“…So he died from a fall?”

“Yes. Camille’s cause of death was never made public, yet Densum somehow knew. Isn’t that strange? It also fits with his suspicious behavior at the banquet. And there’s more…”

But Pagoda’s long-winded explanation no longer reached Camille.

It was still only circumstantial evidence, yet a certainty that was becoming harder and harder to deny was taking root within him.

Death by falling, huh? That would explain why he’s so brazen.

It was difficult to distinguish suicide from homicide based on an autopsy alone. Multiple fractures, ruptured organs, and head injuries caused by a fall could occur in cases of suicide, murder, or accidental death alike.

If someone pushed him from behind, there wouldn’t even be defensive wounds. That’s why he can act so confidently.

…But—

“Is that all?”

“Pardon?”

“I asked if that’s all.”

“Y-Yes… That’s everything. W-Why do you ask?”

Instead of answering, Camille pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes.

After a long silence, the small question that had surfaced in the back of his mind was swallowed by the depths of his thoughts.

“Hmm~ It’s nothing.”

Just as Camille abruptly rose to his feet, Pagoda, who had been trembling with fear, jerked his head up with a gasp.

Camille gazed down at him coldly, a gentle curve forming at the corners of his mouth.

“Pagoda, your testimony has been very useful.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes, yes. It seems Densum is definitely the culprit.”

“Then you’ll let me live—!”

A faint glimmer of hope appeared in Pagoda’s eyes.

But the moment he saw where Camille’s hand was reaching, that hope shattered completely. His fingers weren’t reaching for the rope binding him, but for the cold handle of the shovel.

“W-Wait! What are you doing, my lady?!”

“My lady? Ah, right. I suppose I don’t need to keep this appearance anymore.”

“…Pardon?”

At that moment, moonlight fell upon them.

Beneath the brilliant blue moonlight, a shimmering glow began to envelop Lady Ortega’s body from head to toe.

And when pink hair finally emerged, Pagoda could no longer hide his shock.

“Y-You… Y-You’re…!”

“Haha!”

As his face went deathly pale, Pagoda desperately tried to crawl away.

Seeing him scrabble along the ground like an insect, Camille’s cheeks flushed red.

“Now it’s time for you to be punished for your final sin, Pagoda.”

“M-My final sin? What are you—!”

The shovel rose high, catching the moonlight. As it came crashing down—

A sweet demonic voice rang through the darkness.

“For daring to covet my wife.”

 

***

 

Meanwhile, in the real world outside the painting—

“Where on earth has the master gone?”

Led by the chief butler of the Buthier household, the servants began searching for Pagoda.

But he had vanished without a trace. No matter where they looked, he was nowhere to be found in the residence.

“Perhaps he went out alone? Maybe he’s enjoying himself with some woman he took a fancy to.”

Click.

The knights who had just checked the marquess’s bedroom closed the door and continued their conversation.

“But he always takes knights with him, even when he visits the red-light district.”

“Maybe this time he’s found someone he doesn’t want his knights seeing.”

“Is that so?”

The knight tilted his head, then started to follow his companion down the corridor.

Just then—

“P-Please, save me!”

“…Gah!”

The knight jumped in fright and spun around.

“What’s wrong?”

“D-Didn’t you just hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The knight cautiously approached the door and pressed his ear against it, holding his breath.

But he couldn’t hear a thing.

“That’s… strange. I could’ve sworn I heard someone’s voice.”

The knight beside him chuckled.

“Ah~ It must’ve been the gramophone. It sometimes turns on by itself.”

“The gramophone?”

“You haven’t been here long, so you wouldn’t know. Our marquess has a rather unusual hobby.”

The knight glanced around, then whispered something into his companion’s ear. The other man’s face twisted in disgust.

“G-Good heavens! He has such a vile hobby?”

“That’s why we should leave it alone. If you stick your nose into it, you’ll only get yourself into trouble.”

“Honestly, nobles…”

The knight clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Come on.”

Before long, the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance down the corridor.

“Ah, it hurts! Please, stop…!”

Even then—

Pagoda’s voice, trapped inside the painting, continued to seep through the crack beneath the door.

“Ah… I can’t take any more…”

But in the end, no one came to listen.