Chapter 10 Chapter 9 The Man Wearing Glasses
"Claret wine is delightful," said the professor sadly, putting down his glass.
"You don't look happy," said Syme. "You look like you're taking medicine."
"You must excuse my manners," said the professor gloomily, "for I am in a rather strange situation. My heart is indeed full of childlike delight; but I have been too involved in the role of Professor Stroke, so now I cannot stop playing it. ...even when I'm with my friends and I don't have to pretend I can't help but slow down my speech and get wrinkles on my forehead - like mine does. I can look happy , you know, but in the way of a stroke patient. The liveliest cries come out of me, but they come out of my mouth in a different way. You'll hear me say, 'Come on, man !' It will make you weep."
"Indeed," said Syme, "but I think you have other worries besides that."
The professor moved a little and stared at him again.
"You're a very smart fellow," he said, "and it's been a pleasure working with you. Yes, I have a heavy cloud on my mind. I've got a huge problem to face." He turned his bare forehead buried in his hands.Then he whispered—
"Can you play the piano?"
"Yes," said Syme, a little surprised, "I should have a specialty in this field." When the other party said nothing, he went on: "I believe the heavy cloud has been removed."
After a long silence, the professor spoke in the shadow of his hands——
"Not bad if you know how to use a typewriter."
"Thank you," said Syme, "you're flattering me."
"Listen," said the other, "you will remember whom we are going to see tomorrow. What you and I are going to do tomorrow is far more dangerous than stealing the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London. Stealing secrets from people who are strong, tough, and evil. I don't believe anyone but Sunday is as startling and terrifying as that little doctor in the sunglasses with the bared teeth. He probably doesn't have that passion for death that a mad martyrdom to anarchism, which were typical of the secretary. But the secretary's fanaticism had a humanizing sentimentality and an almost compensatory quality. But the little doctor Has a wild sanity, which is more shocking than the secretary's morbidity. You cannot fail to notice his hideous manliness and vigor. He bounces like an Indian ball. On this basis, when Sunday put about Dr. Bull will not sleep (I doubt he ever does) while all the plans for this atrocity are locked into his round black head."
"Do you think," said Syme, "that if I play the piano to him, this peculiar devil will calm down?"
"Don't be a fool," said his friend, "I mention the piano because it gives you quick and uninhibited fingers. Syme, if we're going to go through this interview and come out alive and sober, There must be a code of code between us that the brute can't see. I made a rough code of letters corresponding to the five fingers—like this, see," he said, fiddling with his fingers on the wooden table, "BAD, bad, we use this word a lot."
Syme poured himself another glass of wine and began to ponder the scheme.His mind was surprisingly quick at solving puzzles, and his hands were dexterous at magic tricks.Soon, he learned to tap casually on a table or his lap to give simple signals.But booze and friendship always inspire comic wit in Syme, and the professor soon finds himself overwhelmed by the overwhelming energy of the new vocabulary that springs from Syme's excited brain.
"We'll have to have a few word ciphers," said Syme gravely, "that we'll need words that convey subtle differences of meaning. My favorite word is 'coeval.' What about you?"
"Don't be silly," said the professor sadly, "you don't know how serious it is."
"And 'lush,'" said Syme, shaking his head sharply. "We must have 'lush,' the word can mean grass, don't you know?"
"You think," asked the professor angrily, "that we're going to talk to Dr. Bull about shit?"
"We could approach the subject in several ways," said Syme mused, "and quote the word without strain. We could say, 'Dr. Bull, as a revolutionary, you should remember that there was a tyrant We were once advised to eat grass; in fact, many of us look at the fresh, lush summer green...'"
"Do you understand," the other said, "that this is a tragedy?"
"Totally understand," replied Syme, "it's good to be gay in a tragedy. What the hell can you do but that? I hope your vocabulary has a wider range of application. I don't think we can Extend it from finger to toe? That would require us to take off our boots and socks mid-conversation, no matter how unobtrusively we do it—”
"Sam," said his friend sternly and succinctly, "go to bed!"
In bed, though, it took Syme a long time to master the code.The next morning, still dark in the east, he awoke to find his gray-bearded ally standing ghostly by his bed.
Syme sat up on the bed with his eyes closed; then, slowly coming back to himself, he threw off the blanket and stood up.The strangest thing was that all the safety and friendliness Syme had felt the night before had vanished the moment the blankets slid off him, and now he felt only cold and dangerous.However, he still has a lot of trust and loyalty to his partner, which is the trust between two people who are about to go to the gallows.
"By the way," said Syme, with forced laughter, as he pulled on his trousers, "I dreamed about your cipher. It took you a long time to make it up, didn't it?"
The professor made no answer, his eyes fixed on the stormy sea ahead, so Syme repeated his question.
"I said, didn't it take you a long time to invent these things? Others think I'm good at them. It's a time-consuming chore. Did you memorize them on the spot?"
The professor said nothing, his eyes were wide open, and there was a shallow smile on his face.
"How long did it take you?"
The professor didn't move.
"Damn you, won't you answer?" cried Syme, with sudden rage and fear in his bones.Whether the professor could answer or not, he never answered.
Syme turned his head away and stared at the hard parchment face and the lost blue eyes.The first thought was that the professor had gone mad, but his second was more terrifying, after all, how much did he know about this eccentric guy he considered a friend?What else but this guy was at an anarchist breakfast and a ridiculous story?It is impossible to meet a friend besides Gogol!Is this guy trying to ingeniously declare war through silence?Was he now gazing only at the latest triple-faced traitor?Standing in this merciless silence, he strained to open his ears.He almost fantasized that he heard the soft movement of the bomber who was trying to get him in the corridor outside.
Syme's eyes fell involuntarily, and he laughed.Although the professor stood there silently like a statue, five silent fingers danced on the dead table.Syme, watching the movement of the deft fingers in the light, knew exactly what he meant.
"That's the only way I'll put it. We've got to get used to it," he snapped back impatiently. "Okay. Let's go out and have breakfast."
They took their hats and sticks without a word; and when Syme reached for his sword, he held it tight.
They stopped at a mobile coffee stand for a few minutes, drank coffee and ate rough, chunky sandwiches, and then crossed the bridge.At this time, the river looked as desolate as hell under the gray but brighter sky.They came to the base of the building they had seen on the other side of the river and began to climb the countless exposed stone steps in silence.From time to time they stopped to talk briefly, leaning against the railing.About every other flight of stairs they would pass a window; each window showed them a pale and miserable dawn, the sun was struggling to rise over London.Through the myriad slate tiles at every window, the roof looks like the gray waves of a gray ocean rising after the rain.It became more and more clear to Syme that there was something grim and sober about his new adventure, worse than the wild ones before.For example, last night in my dream, this tall tenement building was like a tower.Now he was walking up these tedious and endless steps, and the appearance of them almost confused and discouraged him.However, this is not the intense fear created by dreams or anything that might lead to exaggeration or delusions.The succession of steps is more like an empty and infinite arithmetic problem, which is unimaginable but necessary for thinking; or it is like the dizzying expression in astronomy describing the distance of stars.He was climbing the house of reason, and that was more terrible than irrationality itself.
As they climbed the landing of Dr. Bull's house, the last window showed them a blindingly white dawn, with patches of brilliant red that looked more like red earth than red clouds.When they entered Dr. Bull's empty attic, it was brightly lit.
Haunting Syme was a half-old memory of these empty rooms and the grim dawn.As soon as he saw Dr. Bull writing on his desk in the attic, he recalled that memory—the French Revolution.There should have been a guillotine against the harsh red and white morning light.Dr. Bull, dressed only in a white shirt and black breeches, with a black shaved head that looked like it had just taken off its wig, could be Marat or a more slouchy Robespierre.
When Dr. Bull was clearly seen, the French imagination disappeared.Jacobins are dreamers, but there is a dangerous materialism in this man.His position gave him a new look.The sharp shadows drawn from the strong white morning light made him look paler and thinner than when he had breakfast on the hotel balcony.And the two black lenses surrounding his eyes are like two black holes in his head, making him look like a Grim Reaper.Indeed, if Death himself ever sat at a wooden table and wrote, it was probably Dr. Bull.
When the two entered, Dr. Bull looked up, trying to maintain a smile, and at the same time rose to his feet with the swiftness of a spring, the agility the professor had mentioned before.He fixed the chairs for them, went to the coat hooks behind the door, and put on his black tweed coat and waistcoat; he buttoned them up swiftly, and sat down at the table again.
His good spirits and quiet demeanor left his two opponents helpless.After a brief hesitation, the professor broke the silence and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you so early, comrade." He continued cautiously in de Worms style. "Have you made all the arrangements, no doubt, for the Paris operation?" he continued in infinite drawl. "The information we have received makes it impossible for us to tolerate any delay."
Dr. Bull laughed again, but still stared at them without saying a word.The professor spoke again, and there was a pause before every boring word—
"Please don't think I'm being too abrupt. I suggest you change those plans, and if it's too late, follow the actors you send with as much support as you can. If we're going to go ahead with this plan, Comrade Syme and I have An experience that I have not had time to tell is available for reference. However, if you really feel that our experience is necessary to understand the subject we are about to discuss, I will risk losing the opportunity to relate it in detail."
By stretching out his sentences into unbearable length and delay, the professor really wanted to drive the practical little doctor into a show of impatience.But the little doctor just smiled with wide-eyed eyes, so that the professor's tirade became a thankless job.
Syme began to feel a new kind of nausea and despair, and Dr. Bull's smile and silence were nothing like the rigid stare and terrible silence he had seen on the Professor half an hour earlier.The professor's disguise and all his antics come from an oddly shaped black-faced doll that can only be grotesque.Syme thought of yesterday's crazy predicament like a ghost he had dreaded in childhood.But it's daytime, and here's a healthy, solid man in tweed, and save for his ugly spectacles, he doesn't glare or grin, just smiles without saying a word, which doesn't mean anything. Weird, but all this has an unbearably realistic feel to it.Dr. Bull's complexion and the pattern of his tweed suit grew and swelled surprisingly in the growing sunlight, as if such things had become important in a realistic novel.But his smile was soft, and his manner was polite; the only uncanny thing was his silence.
"I said," began the professor again like a man slogging his way through thick sand, "you may think I'd better tell you about the information we came across that led us to ask about the Marquis incident. ; but it hindered Comrade Syme more than I did."
The Professor drew out every word like the words of a hymn; but Syme, who watched him, saw his long fingers tapping wildly and nimbly around the edge of the table.He understood the message, "You have to keep talking. The devil has drained me!"
Syme had resolutely decided not to engage in the bravado improvisations which were so apt to occur when he was frightened.
"Yes, that kind of thing really happened to me," said Syme hastily, "and I had the good fortune to talk to a detective who thought I was a respectable man because of the hat I wore. To maintain My respectable reputation, I took him to Savoy. And got him drunk. While drunk he became friendly and told me in a day or two they wanted to arrest the Marquis in France. So unless you and I can follow he--"
Dr. Bull still smiled with great friendliness, his protected eyes still puzzling.The Professor signaled to Syme that he would continue his explanation, and spoke again with the same calculated equanimity.
"Sim broke the news to me right away, and we'll come over here and see what you can do with it. I think it's really urgent—"
Syme stared at Dr. Bull almost motionlessly as Dr. Bull stared at the Professor, but without a smile on his face.The nerves of the two comrades were nearly broken by this static and tense geniality, when suddenly Syme leaned forward and tapped leisurely on the edge of the table.His message to allies was "I have a hunch."
Hardly in the middle of a tirade, the professor paused and responded, "Leave it alone."
Syme went on: "It's special."
The other party replied: "What a fart!"
Syme said, "I'm a poet."
The other party retorted: "You are a dead man."
Syme blushed down to the roots of his yellow hair, and his eyes burned with excitement.He said he had an intuition that had risen to a blissful certainty.He continued to text his friend by tapping the code, "You just don't realize how poetic my intuition is. It has that sudden quality that we sometimes feel when spring comes."
Then he carefully observed the answers of his friend's fingers.His answer was "Go to hell".
Then the professor continued his tirade to Dr. Bull.
"Perhaps I might as well say," Syme pointed out, "it's like that sudden smell of the sea we find deep in the thick woods."
His friend didn't bother to answer.
"Or," knocked Syme, "it's as real as a beauty's fiery red hair."
The professor was still speaking, but halfway through Syme decided to act.He leaned over the table and said in a voice that could not be ignored: "Doctor Bull!"
Dr. Bull's greasy, smiling head did not move, but they could have sworn his eyes flicked to Syme through his dark glasses.
"Dr. Bull," said Syme, in a voice of exceptional clarity and politeness, "will you do me a little favor? Could you take off your glasses?"
The Professor turned in his seat and looked at Syme with an expression of dead surprise and anger.Syme, as if throwing his life and fortune on the table, bent over with a warm countenance.The doctor remained motionless.
They could almost hear the drop of the pin during a few seconds of silence, interrupted at one point by the sound of a distant steamer's whistle on the Thames.Then Dr. Bull rose slowly, still smiling, and took off his glasses.
Like a chemistry lecturer meeting a successful explosion, Syme jumped up and took a small step back.Syme's eyes shone like stars, and he was speechless for a moment to the doctor.
The professor jumped up too, forgetting that he was supposed to be faking the stroke.He leaned back in his chair and stared suspiciously at Dr. Bull, as if the doctor had turned into a toad before his eyes.However, this is indeed a huge deformation scene.
The two detectives saw, sitting in the chair before them, a very boyish-looking young man with frank, cheerful hazel eyes and a simple expression, dressed in the London dress of a city clerk, with An air of unmistakable goodness and commonplaceness.The smile is still there, but it may be the baby's first smile.
"I just knew I was a poet," cried Syme ecstatically, "I just knew my instincts were as infallible as the Pope. It's all made of glasses! It's all glasses. Those beastly black eyes, and his For the rest, his health and his joyful expression turned him into a living demon among the ghosts."
"Of course it makes a strange difference," said the professor tremulously, "but about Dr. Bull's plans—"
"Damn plan!" growled Syme, losing his mind. "Look at him! Look at his face, look at his collar, look at his damn boots! Don't you think that guy is an anarchist who?"
"Sam!" cried the other in worry and pain.
"Well, for God's sake," said Syme, "I do it at my own risk! Dr. Bull, I'm a policeman. Here's my papers." And he threw the blue card on the table.
The professor was still terrified of losing everything, but he was loyal enough to pull out his official ID and put it next to his friend's.Then the third party burst into laughter, the first time they had heard his voice that morning.
"I'm glad you two came so early," he said contemptuously, "and we can set off for France together. And, I've been in the police force for a long time, too." A colored card pops up in front of them.
The Doctor threw a jaunty bowler hat on his head and put on his ugly spectacles, and hurried to the door, the other two instinctively following him.Syme was a little absent-minded, and as he passed the door he suddenly tapped his cane on the stone passage.
"But God Almighty," he cried, "if it's true, let there be more bloody detectives in the bloody council than bloody bomb assassins!"
"That way we could fight easily," said Dr. Bull. "We might be four against three."
The professor was walking down the stairs, but his voice came up from below.
"No," said the voice, "we may not be four against three—we may not be so lucky. We may be four against one."
The others descended the stairs in silence.
The young man named Bull was characterized by frankness and politeness, and he insisted on walking last until he got out into the street; but soon, his strength and quickness showed unconsciously, and he quickly Walking towards the information desk at the train station, he turned his head and talked to the other two people.
"It's a pleasure to have you two friends," he said, "I've been terrified and lonely. I almost threw my arms around Gogol, which was reckless of course. I hope you won't Despised me for my fear."
"All the nasty devils in nasty hell," said Syme, "caused my horror! But the worst of all the devils are you and your devilish sunglasses."
The young man smiled happily.
"Isn't it a prank?" he said. "Such a simple idea—not mine. I don't have the intellect. You see, I used to want to be a police detective, especially explosion-proof work. For work , they need someone to pretend to be a bomb assassin and they all swear that I don't look like a bomb assassin at all. They say I have a respectable gait and if you look at it from behind I look like the British constitution. They say My appearance was too healthy, optimistic, and too dependable and benevolent; at the Metropolitan Police they insulted me by all kinds of nicknames. They said that if I were a criminal, I could make a fortune by my appearance of being extremely honest; but unfortunately The thing is that I'm honest at heart, so I can't pretend to be a criminal, and I don't have any chance to help them. Finally, I was brought before an old guy with a high position. Others were talking in despair. One asked if a bushy beard could hide my innocent smile; another said that if they blacked out my face, I might look like a black anarchist; but this The old guy chimed in with the most outlandish comment, 'A pair of black sunglasses will do,' he said confidently. 'Look at him now, he looks like an angelic office boy. Put him on a pair Black sunglasses, and the kids would scream when they saw him. 'That's right! When my eyes are covered, the rest of me, the smile and broad shoulders and short hair make me look like a real little guy Demons. I say, it was so simple to do it, it was like a miracle; but that's not the most amazing part of it. There's a really amazing aspect to it that still makes my head spin .”
"What's the matter?" asked Syme.
"I'll tell you," replied the spectacled man, "that this big man in the police has seen me and knows that these glasses go well with my hair and my stockings—and, for God's sake, he never saw me! "
Syme's eyes flicked to him suddenly.
"How?" he asked. "I suppose you talked to him!"
"Talking," said Bull cheerfully, "but we're talking in a room as dark as a coal-basement. You'd never guess that, really."
"Neither can I," said Syme gravely.
"It's really a new idea," said the professor.
Their new allies acted like a whirlwind.At the information desk, he asked concisely and efficiently about the train to Dover.After understanding clearly, the three of them hurriedly took a carriage to the station, and got into the train carriage after arriving at the station, and then they really completed this exciting process.After they boarded the ferry to Calais, France, the conversation became more free.
"I've made arrangements," he explained, "to have lunch in France, and I'm glad I've got someone to eat with me. You see, I had to send that bastard Marquess off with a bomb earlier, because Sunday was watching me. God knows How he spied. I'll tell you the story someday, it's absolutely breathtaking. Every time I try to sneak away, I run into Sunday and he's looking at me from the bow window of a club Smile, or take off your hat to greet me from the top of a bus. I'm telling you, no matter what you say, this guy has sold himself to the devil; he can be in six places at once."
"I understand that you did send off the Marquis," said the professor. "Has he been gone for a long time? Can we catch up with him in time?"
"Yes," replied the new guide, "I have arranged the timing. He will still be there when we reach Calais."
"But when we catch up with him at Calais," said the professor, "what shall we do?"
Hearing this question, Dr. Bull's face darkened for the first time.He thought for a moment, then said: "In theory, I think, we should call the police."
"I don't think so," said Syme. "In theory, I should have drowned myself first. I promised the poor fellow, who was a true contemporary misanthropist, that I would not report it to the police. I'm not good at Sophistry, but I wouldn't break my promise to a contemporary misanthropist. It's like breaking a promise to a child."
"I'm in the same position as you," said the professor. "I wanted to report it to the police, but I couldn't because I made stupid oaths. You see, when I was an actor, I was a brute. The only thing I didn't It was treason. If I had committed treason, I wouldn't know right from wrong."
"I've had the same experience," said Dr. Bull, "and I've made up my mind. I swore to the secretary—you know him, and his smile is deranged. That man, my friends, is the most unfortunate A man. It could be his indigestion, or his conscience, or his insanity, or his cosmology upside down, but he's damned, he's in hell! Well, I can't scold a man like that, and hunt Him. It's like flogging a leper. I may be crazy, but that's how I really feel. That's how it is."
"I don't think you're crazy," said Syme. "I knew you would have decided that way when you first—"
"Huh?" said Dr. Bull.
"That's when you took off your glasses for the first time."
Dr. Bull smiled, and walked on the deck to admire the sun shining on the sea.Then he came back, kicking his heels casually, and a friendly silence fell between the three.
"Well," said Syme, "we've all had our share of good and bad deeds, so we'd better face the spinoffs."
"Yes," agreed the professor, "you are quite right; we must hurry, and I can almost see the mysterious informer approaching France."
"The ramifications," said Syme gravely, "is that we're three alone on this planet. Gogol's gone, God knows where; maybe Sunday killed him like a fly." We are like the Romans guarding the bridge, we are three against three in the council. But we may be worse than that, firstly because they can turn to their organization and we cannot turn to our organization, and secondly because--"
"Because one of the other three people," said the professor, "is not a person."
Syme nodded and was silent for a second or two, then he spoke—
"This is what I think. We must act to ensure that the Marquis remains at Calais until noon tomorrow. Twenty options have been mulled over in my mind. We cannot expose him as a bomber; we all agree on that. Although We're going to show, but we can't detain him on trivial charges; he knows us, and he might be suspicious of what he perceives. We can't pretend to focus him on the actions of the anarchists, where he Might take our idea; but he's unlikely to take the idea of staying in Calais and letting the Tsar pass safely through Paris. We could kidnap him and have him in custody. But he's a celebrity here, and he's got a lot of friends to protect him ;He is strong and brave, and the course of events is unpredictable. I think the only thing we can do is to take advantage of the marquis's inclinations. Where I will benefit is that I am a very respected nobleman, with many people who come and go in high society. friend."
"What are you talking about?" asked the professor.
"The Syme family is first mentioned in the 14th century," said Syme. "A member of the Barnock Burn Syme family is said to have followed Bruce on horseback. Family tree of the Syme family since 1350 It's very clear."
"He's gone mad," said the little doctor, staring at him.
"Our family arms," continued Syme quietly, "is a silver or red coat of arms with a little cross of suffering on a ground. The motto varies."
The professor grabbed Syme roughly by the waistcoat.
"We're about to dock," he said. "Are you seasick or are you joking in the wrong place?"
"What I say is useful, though annoying," replied Syme calmly. "St Eustace's family is old too. The Marquis can't deny that he's a gentleman. He can't deny that I'm a gentleman, too. In order to make my social status appear certain, I propose to knock off his hat as soon as possible. But now we are in port."
They landed in a trance under the strong sunlight.Just as Bull had led the way in London, so Syme led them now along the seaside shopping street until they came to a row of shaded cafés overlooking the sea.Syme took the lead, so he swaggered a bit, and he waved his stick like a sword.He walked towards the end of the row of cafes, then stopped suddenly.He made a quick gesture for them to be quiet, and pointed with his gloved finger to a coffee table under a long row of flowering plants, where sat the Marquess of St. Eustarchy, his teeth Glittering in a bushy black beard, his prominent brown face is concealed by a straw hat of pale yellow against the backdrop of the purple sea.
Notes:
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