Chapter 40 Chapter Eight - Good Hands

Fortunately Miss Pross was unaware of the family disaster.She crossed a few small streets and walked across Bridge Nine, thinking about what she wanted to buy.Mr. Cruncher walked beside her with his basket.They walked into most of the shops on the side of the road, looked here and there, were wary of groups of people, and stayed away from people talking excitedly.It was a cold night, and the mist-shrouded river, blazing with incandescent lights and deafening noises, showed where the flat-bottomed boats where the blacksmiths made guns for the troops of the Republic were there.Woe to the man who plays tricks with that army, or gets an undeserved promotion in it!Let's hope his beard hasn't grown out yet, because the National Razor will always shave him clean.

Miss Pross bought a few things, bought some lamp oil, and remembered that they needed some wine.They looked at several hotels and came to the sign of "Brutus, Hero of the Republic".It was not far from the Palais Nationale (twice the Tuileries), and the sights there aroused her interest.It looked quieter than similar places they had been to, and though the patriot caps were red, it wasn't as red as the others.She listened to Mr. Cruncher's tone and felt that she had the same opinion as herself, so she walked towards the "Ancient Hero of the Republic Brutus" under the escort of this "knight".

The two foreign customers walked into the dim light, past people with pipes in their mouths playing limp cards or yellowed dominoes, and a shirtless The man, covered in smoke and dust, reading the newspaper aloud, and his audience, passed the weapons that were hung in the world or kept at hand, and passed two or three people sleeping bent over in fashionable clothes. The high-shouldered coarse black blouse looks like sleeping bears or dogs.The two of them ignored all this, walked straight to the counter, and explained what they wanted to buy. They were sipping wine, and in the corner, a man said goodbye to another man and stood up to leave.The man had to meet Pross face-to-face before he could go out.Miss Pross clapped her hands and screamed when she saw him.

All the people present immediately stood up.The biggest possibility is that there was a quarrel, someone was killed, and everyone expected to see someone fall, but only a man and a woman looked at each other.The man had all the physical features of a Frenchman and a true republican, the woman was clearly an Englishman. What opinion did the adherents of "Brutus the republican hero" have on this anticlimactic event? Even if Miss Pross and her protectors pricked up their ears, they could only hear a great uproar, which was not as loud as hearing Hebrew or The Chaldian oracle is about the same.But the two were surprised and didn't pay attention to the commotion.It must be said that not only was Miss Pross surprised, agitated, and bewildered, but even Cruncher was greatly surprised—but his astonishment seemed to be justified.

"What's the matter?" said the man who had made Miss Pross scream, in a curt, troubled tone, and in a low voice, English. "Oh, Solomon, dear Solomon!" cried Miss Pross, clapping her hands. "I haven't seen you for many years, and I haven't heard from you, but I met you here!" "Don't call me Solomon. Are you trying to kill me?" said the man quietly and nervously. "Brother! Brother!" Miss Pross burst into tears. "Am I sorry for you so much that you ask me such a cruel question?" "Then put away your meddling tongue," said Solomon, "come out if you want to talk to me, and pay for the drink. Who is this man?"

Miss Pross shook her loving yet despondent head, and introduced, through tears, to her agitated brother, "Mr. Cruncher." "Let him come out too," said Solomon. "Does he think I'm a ghost?" From Mr. Cruncher's appearance, he really seemed to have seen a ghost.However, he didn't say a word.With tears in her eyes, Miss Pross managed to find out the money for the drink from her lunch bag and paid for it.At this time Solomon turned and explained a few words in French with the followers of Lutas, the ancient hero city, and everyone went back to their seats to do their own things.

"Now," said Solomon, stopping on the dark street corner, "what are you going to do?" "I still love him so much, and my brother is so terribly indifferent to me!" cried Miss Pross. "Is there no sign of warmth like this when he meets me?" "Okay, okay, bad luck!" He touched Pross's lips with his own. "Should you be satisfied now?" Miss Pross said nothing, but shook her head and wept. "If you think I'd be surprised," said her brother Solomon, "I'm not. I knew you were here; I know most of the people here. If you really don't want to hurt me—I have Half-believe—just do your own business as soon as possible, and let me do mine. I'm busy, I'm a businessman,"

"My English brother Solomon," said Miss Pross lamentingly, raising her tearful eyes, "is the most gifted and most remarkable man in the country, but he has gone abroad to work as a businessman, and he has met such a foreigner again." I'd rather see the sweet boy lying in his—” "I've said it before," her younger brother interjected, "I knew you wanted to kill me. I'm just doing well, but my sister-in-law wants to make people suspect me." "Good heavens forbid!" cried Miss Pross. "I have always loved you wholeheartedly and always, dear Solomon. I could never see you again, if only you would say a heartfelt and affectionate word to me, if you would say that we were not angry with each other, nor If there is a gap, I will never delay you again."

Good Miss Pross!The responsibility for the estrangement between the siblings seemed to fall on her body!As if Mr. Lorry hadn't known, when he was in Soho all those years ago, that her precious brother had run away at her expense! However, he still said something affectionate, and his attitude was reluctant and condescending. If the strengths and status of the two were reversed, she would never be like this (this is the same in the whole world).At this moment, Mr. Cruncher patted him on the shoulder, and rustled a strange and unexpected question: "I say! May I ask you a question? Is your name John Solomon or Solomon John?"

The businessman turned suddenly suspiciously—the man had not spoken so far. "Say it!" said Mr. Cruncher. "Tell me, you know it." (By the way, he has a lot in his mind) "John Solomon, or Solomon John? She's your sister, of course she knows your name, and she calls you Solomon. But I Knowing your name is John, you understand that. Which of these two comes first? And the name of Pross, please explain. You don't have that name over the sea!" "what do you mean?" "Well, I don't know what I mean either, because I can't remember your last name over the sea."

"Can't remember?" "Can't remember. But I can swear it has two syllables." "real?" "Really. Another man's last name is only one syllable. I know you. You were a spy who testified in court at the old Baylor. Answer me in the name of the father of lies, your father. What was your name then?" "Barcelona," another voice chimed in. "That's the name, I'll bet a thousand pounds!" cried Jerry. It was Sidney Carton who interrupted.He stood beside Mr. Cruncher, with his hands behind his riding boots, as nonchalant as he had been at Old Baylor. "Don't be surprised, my dear Miss Pross. Mr. Lorry was taken aback when I was at his place last night; and we both agree that I should not show up anywhere until everything is in order, or I am needed." .I came here to beg your brother to do me a favor. I hope you have a brother with a better job than Mr. Bartha. For your sake, I really hope that Mr. Bartha is not a sheep in prison." "Sheep" was the slang word in the prison at that time, which meant the spies controlled by the warden.The pale spy grew even paler, and asked him how he dared to— "I tell you," said Sidney, "I spotted you an hour or more ago while looking at the walls of the annex. You came out of there. You have a good face, and I am good at remembering it." face. I am curious about your connection with the prison. I have reason to connect you with the disaster of a friend who is now very unfortunate (you will know the reason for it), and I follow you. I I followed you into the hotel and sat down beside you. I had no difficulty in inferring the nature of your profession from your unscrupulous talk and the rumors openly spread by your admirers. Thus, one of my incidental dabbles It seems to be gradually becoming a goal of mine, Mr Barca." "What target?" replied the spy. "Explaining in the street might cause trouble, even danger. Would you mind giving me a few minutes of your time for a private conversation? In the Tellson's office, for example?" "Are you coercing me to go?" "Oh, did I say that?" "Then why should I go?" "It's true, if you can't go, I don't want to say it." "You mean you don't want to tell, sir?" asked the spy hesitantly. "You understand, Mr. Barca. I won't tell you if you don't go." Carton's air of indifference to the problems and persons he had to deal with with long and secret thoughts in his mind was a great service to his quickness and dexterity.His practiced eye saw it, and he made the most of it. "Look, I told you I didn't," the spy looked at his sister complainingly, "If something happens to me, it will be your fault." "Now, now, Mr. Bartha," cried Sidney, "don't forget to be gracious. If it weren't for my great respect for your sister, I wouldn't have had to take this pleasant way of proposing this mutually pleasing little girl. Small suggestion. Are you going to the bank with me?" "I'd like to hear what you think. Well, I'll go with you." "I'd suggest getting your sister safely to her corner first. Let me take your hand, Miss Pross. It's not a nice city, and you can't go out into the streets without protection at a time like this. Since Your protector knows Barca, and I plan to invite him to come with us to Mr. Lorry's house. Have you figured it out? Let's go!" Miss Pross recalled afterwards, and remembered to her death, the encouraging tingling she felt in Sidney's arm as she took her hand in it, looked up into his face, and begged him not to hurt Solomon. There was also an excited expression in his eyes.This not only counteracted his indifference, but changed him and made him taller.It's just that she was distracted at that time, worrying about her brother who was not worthy of her love on the one hand, and listening to Sidney's friendly assurance on the other, so she didn't pay serious attention to her feelings. After they had left her on the corner, Carton led the way to Mr. Lorry's.That place is only a few minutes away.John Bartha, or Solomon Pross, walked beside him. Mr. Lorry had just finished his supper, and was sitting by a merry fire of a little log or two.Perhaps he was looking for the much younger Tellson in the firelight!The man had also gazed at the red coals at the King George Hotel in Dover, but that was many years ago.A group of people walked into the house, he turned his face and saw a stranger, his face could not help showing surprise. "Miss Pross' brother, sir," said Sidney. "Mr. Barca." "Barça?" repeated the old man. "Barça? What does that name remind me of--and that face reminds me of something." "I told you, your face is easy to remember, Mr. Barca?" Carlton said coldly. "please sit down." Carlton frowned at Mr. Lorry as he sat himself down and said, "Witnesses for that trial." He filled in the missing links for Mr. Lorry.Mr. Lorry remembered at once, and looked at the newcomer with open distaste. "Miss Pross recognized Mr. Bartha, the brother you've heard loved her," said Sidney, "and he recognized his sister. I bring worse news. Darnay Arrested again." The old man was startled, and cried, "What are you talking about! I haven't been away from him for two hours, and he's all right. I'm going back to him!" "And he was taken anyway. When did it happen, Mr. Bassa?" "If you have been arrested, it was just now." "Mr. Bartha's word is authoritative, sir," said Sidney. "I know it from Mr. Bartha when he told him about a sheep confederate while he was drinking. The porter put him in prison. Darnay has been arrested again, there can be no doubt." Mr. Lorry's business eye had read from the speaker's face that it was a waste of time to dwell on the subject.He felt flustered, but he also understood that certain things depended on his calmness at this moment, so he tried his best to calm down, did not speak, and only listened carefully. "Now I believe," Sidney said to him, "that the name and prestige of Dr. Manette will be of great help to Darnay tomorrow—you said he would be tried a second time tomorrow, did you, Barca? " "Yes, I believe so." "The doctor will be as helpful to him tomorrow as he is today. But not always. I confess to you, Mr. Lorry, that I am very, very shocked that Dr. Manette was unable to prevent this arrest." "He probably didn't know it beforehand," Mr Lowry said. "That fact is astonishing, considering how close he is to his son-in-law!" "Indeed," admitted Mr. Lorry, looking anxiously at Carton with his hand anxiously on his chin. "In a word," said Sidney, "this is an age of desperation, an age of desperation for fans of risky gambling. Let the doctor bet on the winner, and I'll bet on the loser! Who here No life is worth buying. A person who is carried home today may be executed tomorrow. Now, I decided to bet on winning back a friend who was in the subsidiary prison at the worst possible time. The friend to beat is none other than Mr Barça." "Then you've got a good hand, sir," said the spy. "I want to see what cards I have—Mr. Lorry, you know I'm a rough fellow, and I wish you'd give me a little brandy." The wine was placed in front of him, he drank one and then another, before pushing away the bottle in thought. "Monsieur Bassa," he went on, as if he were actually looking at the man whose cards were in his hand, "the sheep in the prison, the commissioner of the Council of the Republic, sometimes in prison, sometimes in prison, always a spy and an informer. Being an Englishman, So much more valuable. Because an Englishman is less suspicious of such an errand than a Frenchman. But the Englishman used a false name in front of his boss. That's a strong card. At this time employed by Mr. Bassa of the French republic was at the time accepted by the French aristocracy, the enemy of liberty, the British aristocracy. This card is brilliant, and in this doubtful world, a deduction can be drawn that is as clear as day: Mr. Bassa Still on a British government subsidy, working as Pitt's agent, exactly that much-talked-about but seldom-caught British spies lurking in the republic. It's an unbeatable card, you know Did you take my cards, Mister Bassa?" "I don't understand your style of play," replied the spy, somewhat disturbed. "I play an ace: report to the nearest district council. Look at the cards, Mr. Bassa, and see what you have. Take it easy." He pulled the wine bottle, poured another glass, and downed it in one gulp.He saw that the spy was afraid that he would go and expose him if he was really drunk.Seeing this, he poured another glass of wine and downed it. "Look carefully at your cards, Mr. Bassa. Play slowly." The agent's hand was even worse than Carlton had guessed.He saw losses that Sidney Carton hadn't even known about.He'd lost that respectable job in England—by gritted teeth and failed perjury so many times, not because perjury wasn't needed there.The grounds upon which we English boast our contempt for intrusions of privacy and espionage are quite recent.Barcelona knew in his heart that he crossed the strait and came to France as an errand. At first, he did the work of seducing and wiretapping among his overseas Chinese, and then gradually worked among the French.He had been an agent for the district of Saint-Antoine and the Hotel Defarge under the overthrown government, and had obtained information from the watching police authorities concerning the captivity, release, and history of Dr. Manette in order to communicate with Defarge. The Japanese couple struck up a conversation and had an intimate conversation, but they hit a big snag and lost the battle.He shuddered at the thought of that terrible woman who was always knitting when she talked to him, and who was always looking at him maliciously while wiggling her fingers.He had seen her later in the St. Antoine Quarter, bringing up again and again the records she had woven to expose others, whose lives were all swallowed up by the guillotine.He knew, as did all his colleagues who had been in the same job, that he had never been safe; he was chained tightly in the shadow of the axe, and there was no way out of it.He also knew that, despite all his capricious, cunning, and deceitful efforts to fuel the reigning terror, it only took one word to bring the ax down on him.He could foresee that should he be exposed on the grave matter just presented to him, that terrible woman would bring that fatal record against him, crushing his last hope of life--a woman whose ruthlessness he had seen too much. time.What's more, people who do secret activities are cowards, but they have such a black card on the table, no wonder his face was ashen when he weighed the cards. "You don't seem to like your hand very much," said Sidney very calmly. "Do you play?" "I see, sir," said the spy, turning to Mr. Lorry, with the most condescending air, "that the old gentleman is very respectable, and I would like you to speak to this gentleman much younger than you, to ask him to do whatever he can, Don't hit him with the A. I admit I'm a spy, and it's a despised business--although a spy has to be done. This gentleman is not a spy, so why should he lower his status to pry into other people's privacy." "In a few minutes, Mr. Bartha," Carlton answered himself, looking at his watch, "and I'm going to hit my A's without any hesitation." "I have a hope, gentlemen," said the spy, who was always trying to entice Mr. Lorry into a conversation, "with respect to my sister—" "There is no better way of showing respect to your sister than to rid her of such a brother," said Sidney Carton. "Do you think so, sir?" "I've made up my mind completely." The agent's tactful demeanor was strangely at odds with his deliberately vulgar attire, and perhaps with his usual demeanor.But his tact met a big nail in the face of Carton's inscrutability--Carton was a mystery to people who were wiser and more honest than him! ——The spy hesitated, unable to tact.He was at a loss, and Carlton resumed the air of playing cards just now: "Now that I think about it again, it's true that I haven't reported a good card these days--this card also made a deep impression on me. Your sheep companion, that friend, said he was grazing in a country prison Yes, who is that man?" "You don't know the Frenchman," said the spy hastily. "French, eh!" Carlton mused, seemingly not paying any attention to him, though repeating his words. "Well, maybe." "It is, I assure you," said the spy, "though it is of no importance." "Though it doesn't matter," Carton repeated in the same mechanical way—"though it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. But I did see that face." "I don't see it, I don't believe it, it's impossible," said the spy. "No-may-yes," recalled Sidney Carton, pouring out his drink (fortunately the glass was not big), "no-yes-yes. French is pretty good. But I always feel like A foreigner, isn't he?" "It's a provincial accent," said the spy. "No, it's a foreign accent," a ray of light clearly flashed across his heart, and Carlton slapped his palm on the table. "It's Clay! Dressed up, but it's still him. We met at the Old Baylor." "Then you'd be very rash, sir," Bartha said, with a smile that made his aquiline nose crooked even more. "You've given me the upper hand. Clay, it's been so many years that I don't have to hide it. I admit he was my partner, but he's been dead for years. I took care of him the last time he was sick. He was buried at Pancras, in the London countryside. The savage populace was so unpopular at that time that I was unable to see him buried, but I helped put his body in the coffin." Speaking of this, Mr. Lorry found a strange phantom on the wall, but he turned his eyes and found it was Mr. Cruncher.His hair was all standing on end. "Let's be sober," said the spy, "and let's be fair. To show you how wrong you are and how unfounded your assumptions are, I'm going to show you a copy of Clay's burial certificate, which I happen to have been using since then." Take it with you in the notepad," he said, not hastily taking out the certificate and opening it. "Isn't it. Ah, look, look! You can take it over and see, it's not fake." Now Mr. Lorry saw the figure lengthen on the wall, and Mr. Cruncher stood up and came forward, his hair straight up, even though the cow's drooping horns in the house he called Jack built at that time After somersaulting, his hair wouldn't stand straighter than it is now. Cruncher stood next to Barca, without being noticed by him, and touched his shoulder like a guard from a ghost country. "And that Roger Clay, my lord," said Mr. Cruncher calmly, "was it you who put him in the coffin?" "I let it go." "But who took him away?" Barca leaned back in his chair and stammered, "What do you mean?" "I mean he's never in the coffin. No, he's not! If he's in the coffin he can cut off my head." The agent looked back at the other two, and both looked at Jerry with indescribable surprise. "I'm telling you," Jerry said, "you put paving stones and dirt in that coffin. Don't tell me you buried Clay. It was a hoax. I know it, and so do two others." "How do you know?" "What does that matter? Speech!" murmured Cruncher, "I've been very angry with you. You're a shameless dupe of businessmen! I'll bet you a half-crown I'll grab you by the throat and strangle you. " Sidney Carton and Mr. Lorry were bewildered by a sudden and sudden turn of events.They begged Mr. Cruncher not to be angry, but to explain. "Explain next time, sir," he said evasively, "it's inconvenient to explain now. What I'm going to insist is that he knows perfectly well that Clay never went into the coffin. If he dares to say that he did, I'll take half a crown Bet you got him by the throat and strangled him," Mr. Cruncher took this as a lenient suggestion, "or I'll go out and denounce him." "Well, I see a problem," Carlton said. "I have a new card in my hand, Mr. Basa. You are connected with another secret agent of the aristocratic government. This person has the same experience as you in the past, but there is an extra mystery. He pretended to be a dead person and came back to life! It's a prison conspiracy of foreign spies, against the Republic. In angry Paris, with suspicion in the air, you'll die if you're caught. A big card—sure to guillotine you! You're going to bet A gamble?" "No bet!" replied the spy. "I admit defeat. I admit that we are very unpopular with those tyrannical mobs. I escaped from England at the risk of being held in the water and drowning. Clay is also being pursued on all sides, and there is no way to escape without a fake funeral. Yes. But how this man managed to see through the deception is, I think, a miracle of miracles." "Don't bother with that guy," retorted the combative Mr. Cruncher. "You'll be in trouble enough with this gentleman. Listen! I'll say it again!"—Mr. Cruncher can't help it To show off his pride in a grand way, "I'll bet you a half-crown that I'll grab you by the throat and strangle you." The prison sheep turned their eyes from him to Sidney Carton, and said with greater determination, "The problem is over. I have to go to work soon. I can't be late. You just said that you have a suggestion. Please tell me what it is." Come out. However, it is useless to ask too much of me. If I am required to use my power to take additional risks with my head, then I would rather try the risk of rejection than the risk of consent. In short, my choice is this You speak of taking risks, here both parties are allowed to take risks. Remember! If I think fit, I can expose you too, I can swear by oath to avoid the stone wall, and others can. Tell me now, you want me What are you doing?" "You don't have much to do. Are you in charge of the cells in the attached prison?" "I assure you that escape is impossible," said the spy firmly. "I didn't ask you to let anyone escape. Why do you answer like that? Are you in charge of the cell in the attached prison?" "Sometimes." "You can manage it if you want." "I can come in and out as long as I want." Sidney Carton filled another glass of brandy, poured it slowly into the fireplace, and watched the wine spill over the fire.When the wine was poured, he stood up and said: "So far, we've been talking in front of these two, because the power of my hand can't just be known to you and me. Come over here in this dark room, and we can talk alone."