"You did it, didn't you? You killed Farnsworth." Clark walked over, folded his arms, narrowed his eyes, and asked.
"My God, how could you think that?" Schiller said, seeming quite surprised. "I had no grievance against this gentleman..."
"But you look exactly like the kind of person who'd kill someone you had no grievance against."
"What a terrible prejudice." Schiller disagreed, shaking his head. "What ability did I have to kill him? As you can see, I'm merely a desk worker. This gentleman was no lightweight—how could I possibly carry him?"
"Maybe you happened to have superpowers," Clark said. "Like suddenly gaining Superhuman Strength."
"Even then, I couldn't possibly leave no trace behind. Not even the most professional police officers and agents could find anything..."
"Maybe you just happen to be a very skilled serial killer, one who specializes in taking advantage of crowded banquets like this."
Schiller opened his mouth, then looked Clark up and down. Clark truly did not consider himself much of a detective, but Schiller's face plainly said, When did you suddenly become so smart?
"So it really was you!" Clark said through gritted teeth.
Then he suddenly froze before saying, "You aren't actually a superpowered serial killer, are you?... You aren't, right?!"
Schiller shrugged and said nothing. In this situation, silence was not good news. Clark wanted to press him further, but he realized he had to deal with the immediate problem first. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Schiller and asked, "Why did you kill him?"
"I didn't kill him," Schiller said. "At most, I'm the same kind of unlucky bastard as you."
"You touched the body too?"
At that moment, Lex, who had been standing beside them, stared at Clark in shock. "You touched the body??? Why did you touch the body?!"