Before McGregor opened his eyes, he frowned, as if he couldn't believe the voice calling him in his sleep just now: "Uncle!..." Eyelids still closed, he sighed, touched the sheet, and realized that he was not dreaming but something had happened, for his hands could not touch the warm warmth of Mrs McGregor, who had been lying beside him. Body. He finally opened his eyes.The moon was shining brightly outside the window, and Mrs. McGregor stood at the small pane window and had drawn the curtains.Someone downstairs was shaking the door vigorously, and the vibration reverberated throughout the room.

"Uncle! It's me..." Mrs. McGregor was still looking out, her hair coiled in a hairpin like a strange halo around her head. "Philip broke the door downstairs," said she, knowing that her husband was awake, and turning over to her, was waiting for her to speak. "Are you up?" McGarry, in a pair of felt slippers on bare feet, went downstairs first.He had just pulled on a pair of trousers hastily, and was wearing his jacket when he came down the stairs.At the eighth step he should have bowed his head, for there was a small beam running across it.Usually, he always does this, and the habit has become natural.But this time he forgot, and his forehead hit the beam. He was very unhappy, cursed and left the cold stairwell, and walked into the kitchen where there was still some residual heat.

There are several iron railings on the gate.Outside the door, Philip was talking to someone: "Wait for me, I won't be long. We must be back in Paris before dawn." Mrs. McGregor was dressing upstairs, and she could be heard walking up and down the floor.McGregor opened the door, looking sullen from the pain of the knock. "It's you!" he muttered when he saw his nephew standing on the road. A huge moon, rippling over the leafless rows of poplars, lit up the night sky so brightly that the thinnest branches could be seen clearly, and beyond the corner of the Loire there were patches of Shining silver.

"East wind!" Seeing the river surface fluttering with silver-gray waves, McGregor, like any local resident, immediately thought of this. He really watched the intruder from the door frame, waiting for him to speak first, which is a habit of people who live in the country. "I didn't wake up my aunt, did I?" Philip's cheeks were frozen.Behind him, a strange figure of a "G-7" taxi appeared on the field whitened by frost. "Did you leave the driver outside?," "I have something to tell you right away." "Come in, both of you," said Mrs. McGregor, lighting a kerosene lamp in the kitchen.

She explained to her nephew: "The electricity is not connected. That means the lights in the house have been installed, but there is no electricity." Sure enough, there was a light bulb dangling from a wire.Sometimes such trivial things tend to attract people's attention, and it is impossible to say why.Especially when you're already annoyed enough that it can literally drive you mad.During the whole conversation Philip had stared at the light bulb and the twisted wires several times, which had nothing to do with him except that the country house was old and modern and not so durable. Other uses.

"Are you from Paris?" McGarry leaned against the fireplace in a daze.The taxis parked on the road were enough to show that his problem was as redundant as the light bulb.But sometimes, people often have nothing to say. "I will tell you carefully, Uncle, that I am in a terrible position. If you don't help me and go with me to Paris, I don't know what will happen. Something is throwing me off my head. You see! I forgot to kiss my aunt." Mrs. McGregor wore only her dressing gown over her evening dress, and Philip completed the ceremony like a child, by kissing her three times on the cheek.Then he immediately sat down at the table and put his head in his hands.

McGarry watched his nephew as he filled his pipe while his wife added dry twigs to the hearth.There was an oddly disturbing air about the room.Since retiring, McGregor had lost the habit of getting up in the middle of the night, and the events in front of him involuntarily brought back memories of those nighttime actions in the past, and what appeared before his eyes was often either a patient or a corpse. "I don't know how stupid I can be!" Philip sobbed suddenly. His emotions suddenly became very emotional, and he sobbed, but did not shed tears.He looked around himself, as if looking for something to vent his resentment. Contrary to this futile excitement, McGarry turned the wick higher, and a raging flame began to rise in the fireplace.

"You should have something to drink first." My uncle took out a bottle of wine and two wine glasses from a closet where there were leftover food, and there was a smell of frozen meat.Mrs. McGarry put on a pair of wooden slippers and went to fetch wood from the firewood. "I wish you health! Let's calm down first." The resinous smell of the burning wood and the aroma of the wine mingle with each other.Philip watched foolishly as his aunt crept out of the shadows with a pile of wood in her arms. His eyes are highly myopic, and the pair of eyes behind the lens can be seen from a certain angle to be surprisingly large, which makes people notice his slightly childish panic expression very clearly.

"It happened tonight. My task should be to ambush in the Rue Fontaine..." "Wait a minute," interrupted McGarry, who was sitting astride a straw-cushioned chair, lighting his pipe. "Who do you work for?" "Sheriff Amadillo." "Go ahead." McGarry smoked his pipe slowly, squinted his eyes, and thought beyond the plastered walls and the shelves of copper pots and pans large and small, recalling what had once been so familiar to him.Judicial Police Headquarters, at the Amadeo office on the right at the end of the corridor.Amadeo, a small, often sad-faced man, was promoted to major general and sheriff after McGregor retired.

"Does he still have a long beard?" "Still. Yesterday we received a summons for the arrest of Pepido Palestrino, owner of the Floria's bar in Rue Fontaine." "What's the house number?" "No. 58, next to an optical shop." "When I worked in Paris, this bar was called Matador. A cocaine case?" "It started with cocaine, and then it got mixed up with other things. My immediate superior heard that Pepido was a participant in the murder of Barnaby, who was thrown in the Place Blanche a fortnight ago. That fellow. You must have read the news in the papers."

"Make some coffee!" McGregor said to Mrs. Like a dog circling around and finally lying down to take a good breath, he leaned his elbows on the back of the chair and rested his chin with his folded hands.Now and then Philip took off his glasses and wiped them, and for the few seconds he was without them he seemed blind.Philip was a tall, auburn-haired, slightly stout boy with skin the color of a candy bar. "You know we can't do what we want now. In your time we wouldn't have been swaying about going after Pepido late at night. Now, the law must be strictly enforced. So the chief decided to Arrest at eight o'clock. Until the arrest, I will be in charge of watching this guy..." He was unconsciously infected by the quiet atmosphere in the room, but he woke up suddenly, and the tragedy resurfaced before his eyes, and he looked around in confusion. McGarry's thoughts had escaped from his nephew's narration, as if the Paris perfume he had just sprinkled on his body had been in the air.What came to his mind at the moment was the neon sign at the entrance of Floria, the doorman watching the passing traffic, and the nephew who came near the bar. "Take off your coat, Philip," interposed Mrs. McGregor, "or you'll catch a cold when you go out." He was wearing an English style tuxedo.Such attire seemed strangely incongruous in the small kitchen with large beams on the roof and red tiles on the floor. "Let's drink some more..." But again Philip, tormented by a nameless rage, stood up abruptly, and rubbed his hands together as if to crush them. "If you knew, Uncle..." He really wanted to cry, but he couldn't cry, so he stomped his feet anxiously, and his eyes fell on the light bulb again. "I bet I'll be arrested soon!" Mrs. McGregor poured boiling water into the coffee and turned around with the jug in hand. "What are you talking about?" Still smoking, McGregor unbuttoned the collar of his pajamas, embroidered with tiny red flowers. "So you're ambushing opposite Floria..." "Not opposite, I went in," said Philip, standing up. "There is a small office at the end of the bar, and Pepido has set up a camp bed there. When the door is closed, he often sleeps in this bed." At this time, a dilapidated car drove across the road.The clock stopped, and McGregor glanced at the pocket watch hanging from a nail above the fireplace. It was half past four.The cows had already been milked in the nearby cattle farm, and the two-wheeled carriages were driving in the direction of the Orleans market.The taxi was still parked on the road opposite the house. "I was trying to show off," Philip admitted. "The boss gave me a lesson last week, and he said to me..." His face was flushed red, he shut his mouth and tried to look away. "What did he say to you?" "I can't remember..." "I know what he said, I guessed it! Since it's that Amadillo, I think he said something like this: 'You are a whimsical man, sir, just like your uncle!' " Philip was noncommittal. "Anyway, I wanted to show my hand," he went on hastily. "At about one o'clock, when the customers were gone, I took refuge in the washroom. I suppose if Pepido had gotten wind of it, he might have thought There is a way to move that shipment. But you know what happened?" McGregor's expression became more serious, and he shook his head slowly. "Peppido was the only one in the store. I can guarantee that! But after a while, there was a gunshot. It took me a few seconds to understand, so I ran into the hall. The hall There was only one light on, and it seemed more spacious than it was in daytime. Pepido was lying between two rows of tables, and some chairs had been turned over when he fell. He was dead..." McGarry stood up and filled himself a glass of wine, his wife beckoning him not to drink too much. "Have you finished?" Philip paced up and down.He is usually not good at eloquence, but now he narrates incessantly, his voice is dry and resentful. "No, it's not over yet! Just at this moment, I did something stupid! I was so scared that I lost the ability to think. The empty hall was gloomy, as if covered with a layer of dark gray, hanging in the hall The colored tape was falling off the floor and the table. Pepido was lying on his side in a grotesque manner, with one hand near the wound, and seemed to be watching me. What do you want me to tell you? I drew my pistol and shouted , I don’t know what I yelled, and the yelling made me even more scared. There are dark corners everywhere, and hanging curtains are hung everywhere. I felt something was moving, so I bravely walked over to see what happened ...I slammed open a door and ripped off a piece of velvet. Underneath, I found the switchboard. I tried to turn on the light, and frantically closed switch after switch. This scared me even more out of my wits A spotlight cast a blinding red light, and fans whirred in every corner. "Who? Don't move!" I shouted again. Philip bit his lip.His aunt looked at him.Emotions were as agitated as he was.It was her sister's son, born in their native Alsace, and it was McGregor who had brought him to work at the Police Headquarters. "I'd rather put him in an administration job," his mother had said when she heard the news. Now, panting, he went on: "Please don't blame me, Uncle. I don't even understand how this happened. I don't remember very well. I fired because I thought I saw something move, so I didn't care. Too much. Suddenly I sprang forward, then stopped. I thought I heard footsteps, whispers, but I found nothing. I never imagined that the hall was so big, and there were so many things in the way. So much. Finally, I walked into the office. There was a pistol on the table, and I grabbed it subconsciously. The barrel was hot. I pulled out the magazine and found that one bullet was missing..." "Fool!" McGregor whispered through his teeth. The coffee was steaming in the bowl, and Mrs McGregor stood there with the pot of essence in her hand, not knowing what she was doing. "I have completely lost my mind. I seemed to hear some noise from the gate again, and ran out immediately. Only then did I realize that I had weapons in both hands." "Where did you put that gun?". McGarry's tone was stern, and Philip lowered his eyes. "I've had a lot of random thoughts running through my head. I figured that as long as people think it's a murder, they're bound to think that since I'm alone with Pepido..." "My God!" cried Mrs. McGregor. "It's just a matter of seconds. I put the gun close to the body to make it seem like a suicide, and then..." McGarry stood up, hands behind his back, and stood majestically in front of the fireplace, his favorite pose.He didn't shave.He had put on some weight since leaving Police Headquarters.When he was working at the Police Headquarters, he often stood in this posture in front of the office fire. "You bumped into someone as you were walking out of the bar, didn't you?". He was sure of that. "Just as I was coming out of the pub closing, I bumped into a man walking on the pavement. I said sorry. Our faces almost touched. I can't even remember what happened after that. Is the gate closed? I walked as far as the Place de Clichy, asked for a taxi, and gave you your address." Mrs. McGregor put the sugar bowl on the oak table, and asked her husband in a leisurely manner: "What costume are you going to wear?" Then it was busy for half an hour. McGarry was shaving and dressing in the upstairs bedroom, and Mrs. McGarry was poaching eggs.She asked Philip: "Did your mother send you a letter?" "She's fine. She'll probably be in Paris for Easter." They brought the driver in.He didn't want to take off the thick brown overcoat he was wearing, drips of water flickered on his beard, and he sat in a corner, motionless. "Where's my braces?" McGarry yelled upstairs. "In the first drawer of the chest of drawers." McGarry came downstairs in a velvet lapel coat and bowler hat.He refused the egg offered to him, and, ignoring his wife's dissuasion, drank his fourth glass of wine. It was half past five when the gate opened and the three men walked towards the taxi.The driver had a hard time getting the car started.Mrs. McGregor stood at the slightly opened door, trembling all over, and the dim red light projected on the glass window by the kerosene lamp she held in her hand danced with the trembling of her hand. The night sky was so bright that one thought it was dawn.But it's only February now, and this is an illusion created by people wearing silver clothes in the dark night.Tiny drops of frost condense on every weed.In the adjacent orchard, the apple trees were whitened by frost, like glass rods that were easily broken. "See you in two or three days!" McGregor shouted goodbye to his wife. Philip felt that he was being impolite, and immediately shouted: "Goodbye, Auntie!" The driver closed the door.For the first few minutes after driving, the gears rattled as I accelerated through gear changes. "Excuse me, uncle..." "why?" Why?Philip did not dare to speak out.He apologized because he felt that his uncle's trip was full of drama.He thought back to his uncle sitting by the hearth just now, the pajamas he was wearing, the old clothes and the slippers. Now, he had the guts to glance over at McGregor, who was sitting next to him.Needless to say, he was smoking his pipe, turned up his velvet collar, and pressed his top hat to his forehead.However, this is no longer an enthusiastic McGregor, or even a confident McGregor.Twice he turned and looked out at his little house which was fading away into the distance. "You said that Amadeo was going to the Rue Fontaine at eight o'clock?" he asked. "Yes, eight o'clock." The taxi ran quite fast, with enough time, and it was completely in time.As they crossed the Place d'Orléans, the first trams had left.In less than an hour, they had arrived at the Apalon Market. "What do you think of the matter, uncle?" Although they were sitting at the far end of the car, the air was still blowing towards them.Outside, the sky was bright and the east was beginning to take on a golden hue. "How did they kill Pepido?" sighed Philip, who received no answer. The car pulled up at the end of the Apalon market and they went into a bar to warm up, and almost at that moment it was dawn and the pale sun was rising over the distant fields. "It's just him and me..." "Less talk!" McGregor said wearily. Philip immediately shrank back into a corner, not daring to take his eyes off the car door anymore. The expression on his face was like a naughty child caught by an adult. They entered the urban area of ​​Paris, and the people who had just got up began to come alive on the streets in the morning.The car passed the statue of the Lion of Belfort, the Boulevard Raspail, the New Bridge... The city seems to have just been washed with clean water, and all the colors look extraordinarily beautiful.A line of barges was slowly going up the Seine River, pulling steamers to clear the way for their own fleet, emitting a puff of white steam. "How many people were there in the Rue Fontaine when you came out of the bar?" "I only see the man I hit." McGarry sighed and tapped his pipe on the heel of his shoe a few times to get rid of the ashes. "Where are you two going?" the driver asked, opening the glass behind the front seat. They paused on Embankment Street to carry McGregor's suitcases into a hotel before boarding a car.The car drove straight towards the Rue Fontaine. "I'm not so worried about what happened to Floria, but about the man who hit you" "What do you think is the matter?" "I don't think anything!" Saying this time-honored mantra, he turned to look at the silhouette of the courthouse he used to frequent. "I once had a flash of an idea to report all this to my immediate superior," Philip said in a low voice. McGregor didn't answer.Until he reached the Rue Fontaine, his eyes had been filled with the view of the Seine River rippling under the thin morning mist with pale blue and gold hues. They got off the car a hundred meters away from No. 53.Philip turned up the collar of his coat, trying to hide his tuxedo, but passers-by always turned to glance at his patent leather shoes. It's only six fifty.The window panes were being scrubbed in front of a corner bar, the Fontaine Hotel, which was open all night.Some morning commuters come here for a quick cup of coffee with milk and a croissant.A waiter was busy serving him. He was a black-haired young man from Ovenia. Since the boss didn't go to bed until five or six in the morning and didn't get up until noon, he was in charge of making arrangements.On a table in the shop stood a slate on which the scores of a card game were recorded in rows, surrounded by cigar butts and cigarette butts. McGarry bought a pack of tobacco wrapped in gray paper and ordered a sandwich, while Philip waited impatiently. "What happened last night?" asked the former sheriff, his mouth full of ham and bread. While collecting the money, the waiter replied nonchalantly: "I heard Floria's boss was killed." "Palestrino?" "I can't tell. I work the day shift. We don't care about nightclubs during the day." They came out of the Tobacco, and Philip dared not say anything. "Did you see that?" McGregor whispered. Standing on the edge of the sidewalk, he added: "It's the work of the man you bumped into, you see. It stands to reason that people don't know anything until eight o'clock." They walked towards Floria, but stopped again fifty meters away.They recognized from the crowd the military cap worn by the policeman standing at the door.On the sidewalk opposite, a large crowd had gathered. "What should I do?" "Your superior must have been there. Go up to him now and tell him..." "But what about you, uncle?" McGregor shrugged and continued: "...Tell him what happened..." "What if he asked me where I went after that?" "Tell him you came for me." The tone is helpless.Since the nephew took the wrong first step, that's the only way to go!It was such a stupid thing to do that it made one's teeth gnash just thinking about it. "Excuse me, uncle!" "Don't pretend to be so pitiful on the street! If you are free, come find me at the New Bridge Restaurant. If I'm not here, I'll leave a message for you." They both walked away without shaking hands.Philip immediately rushed towards Floria's bar, towards the direction where the police were standing.The police did not recognize him and tried to block his way.Undercover cop Philip had to show his badge and disappear into the bar. As for McGregor, he put his hands in his trouser pockets and stood at a certain distance from the scene of the accident like a spectator.He waited, almost half an hour, not knowing what was going on in the bar. Inspector Amadillo was the first to come out, followed by a small, nonchalant man who looked like a waiter in a café. McGregor didn't need any explanation, and he knew at a glance that he was the passerby who bumped into Philip.He speculated on the question Amadeo asked the man. "Is that where you bumped into him?" The cafe waiter nodded.Sheriff Amadeo waved Philip from the bar.When he showed up, he looked as nervous as a student from a conservatory performing on stage for the first time, as if everyone on the street already knew the various suspicions that were about to fall on him. "Is this the gentleman who came out of it?" Amadeo must have asked, smoothing his brown beard with his hands. The café waiter again replied in the affirmative. Next to him were two other plainclothes men.The sergeant major general checked his watch, and after a brief secret consultation, dismissed the café waiter.The waiters then went into the Fontaine, and the police went back to the Floria's bar. A quarter of an hour later, two cars drove up one after another, and it was people from the procuratorate who arrived at the scene. "I've got to go over there again and repeat my testimony," the café waiter confided to the smoker's clerk, "and another glass of Vichy clear mineral water, the sooner the better!" He was embarrassed by the stern gaze of McGregor who was drinking beer nearby, and asked in a low voice: "Who is this guy?"