“Who would want to kill a mathematician who works only with pure figures, nothing applied?” I took a long, hard drag on my cigarette.

The suspect said nothing.

“That’s what threw me off for the longest time. But it all makes sense now. The multiple stab wounds. The razor-sharp line of blood leading away instead of footprints.”

“Anyone could have done that.”

“Wrong!” I cried. “He had his hands all over you all the time. Caressing every side of you, getting inside of you to see if things would add up…you had enough of it. So you stabbed him to death.”

“Prove it.”

I continued: “The angle of the stab wound is acute, and it’s deep enough that I could get the length of both sides. I know your measurements; I sized you up the moment we met. The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of your other two sides.”

Right Triangle scowled. “Well detective, you just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? You had to poke your nose where it didn’t belong.”

“I always thought some of your angles were acute,” I said. “But that doesn’t make this all right.”

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