Chapter 7 Chapter Six

Narrative by Colin Lamb After we had eaten two good steaks medium rare and downed our stomachs with draft beer, Dick Hardcastle sighed contentedly and said he felt better. "Leave that dead insurance man aside for a moment, those fancy clocks and that screaming girl! Let's talk about you, Colin. I thought you were gone from this world, but you're in Crowding Strolling the back streets of the town. Marine biologists have no place in Crowtown, I can assure you." "Don't despise marine biology, Dick. It's a very useful subject, but if you mention it a little, people will get bored. I'm afraid you'll talk too much, so you don't need to explain yourself any further."

"Hey, three sentences are not out of line?" "You forgot," I said flatly, "I'm a marine biologist, and I got my degree at Cambridge. It's not a good degree, but it's always a degree. It's an interesting science. One day I will go back and continue reading." "I know what you're doing," Hardcastle said. "Congratulations, Rakin's trial is next month, isn't it?" "yes." "The way he smuggled out the materials one after another is really amazing. After so long, no one has become suspicious." "No one really doubts. If you first decide that a man is a thoroughly good man, there is no doubt about his behavior."

"He must be a smart fellow," Dick remarked. I shake my head. "No, I don't think so. I think he just listened to other people's orders. He first managed to get access to extremely important documents, took them out with him, gave them to take pictures, and then returned to his place that day. Everything was very meticulous. He Deliberately chooses a different place for lunch every day. He makes us think his coat hangs in one place forever, when in fact it's not the same one, just the same - and the person wearing the other coat isn't always the same person. Someone will The coat was changed, but the person who changed the coat never talked to Lai Jin, and Lai Jin never talked to him. We really want to know more about it, the design is really good, and the timing is extremely tight. I don’t know Who has such a mind."

"That's why you've been hanging around Portbury Naval Station, isn't it?" "Yes, we know they have a 'spot' at the naval base and in London, but we only know how and when Rakin gets paid, the rest is still a big blank. Between the two points, there is a very fine Small organizations, that's the part we want to know more about, because that's where their heads are. Their headquarters is somewhere between two points, and they don't just have one route, they have seven or eight at least, and it's going to screw you up Confused, it is really a first-class plan."

"How did Rakin get into this business?" asked Hardcastle curiously. "For political ideals? For self-improvement? Or for easy money?" "He's not an idealist," I said. "I think it's just about the money." "If you start from that direction, wouldn't you be able to find him early? Did he spend the money? Did he start up without the money?" "Oh no, he's covering it up pretty well. In fact, I was a little early on him." Hardcastle nodded understandingly. "I see. You took a somersault and took advantage of him a little. Didn't you?"

"It can be said that before we started to arrest him, he had already stolen a lot of extremely valuable information, so we let him lose some more, which is of course obviously valuable information. In the unit I serve, sometimes We have to make ourselves look like fools." "I don't think I'd like it, Colin," said Hardcastle thoughtfully. "This kind of work is not as exciting as people think," I said. "In fact, it's usually pretty boring. But it's not enough to sum it up in a sentence or two. Today, there's a common feeling that there are no real secrets under the sun. We know 'their' secrets, 'they' 'Knows our secrets too. Our agents are often 'their' agents, and 'their' agents are often our agents. In the end, whoever is a double agent becomes a kind of nightmare. At times, I thought everyone knew everyone's secrets, only to end up conspiring and pretending they didn't know."

"I see what you mean," said Dick with concern. Then he looked at me strangely. "I understand why you're still lingering at Portbury, but Crodin is ten miles from Portbury!" "Actually, what I'm really looking for," I said, "is that." "Half-moon?" Hardcastle looked puzzled. "Yes, or rather, the moon. New moon, rising moon, etc. This question arose in Portbury, where there was a hotel called the 'Crescent Moon'. I spent a good deal of time on this , that was all just an idea. Then came 'Moon and Stars', 'Rising Moon', 'Merry Scythe' and 'Cross and Crescent Moon' - this one in a little place called Himd, all Nothing. So I gave up the moon and focused instead on the crescent-shaped streets. There are several of these in Portbury, Lansbury, Ardendridge, Livermead, Victoria."

I caught a glimpse of Dick's bewildered face and couldn't help laughing. "Don't put on such a foggy face, Dick, I have a reason for it." I took out my wallet, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him.It was a piece of hotel letter paper with a few rough strokes on it. "It was found in the wallet of a man named Humberley, who had a hand in the Rakin case, a good man - a very good man. He was hit by a car in London and the man who did it ran away. , no one saw the car number, it was drawn by Hambury, or copied, because he thought it was important, I don't know what that means. I don't know what he meant? He heard it or saw it What does it have to do with the moon or the half-moon, and what does the number sixty-one and the abbreviation W stand for? This piece of paper fell into my hands after Hanbury died. At present, I don't know what I'm looking for , but I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with it. I don't know what sixty-one means, nor what the w refers to. I've spent three weeks trying to find Portbury and go out one by one. A lot of work, nothing. Cloding is included in my reservation, that's how it is. To be honest, Dick, I don't have much hope for Croding. There's only a half-moon alley here , that is Wilbraham, its first letter is matched with the word 'w', isn't it? So, I want to go to you again and ask you if you have any information to help me, first go to Wilbraham Bronham Lane, which is what I did this afternoon—but I couldn't find No. 61."

"I told you that the one who lives at No. 61 is a local builder." "That's not what I'm looking for. Did they get any foreign funding or something?" "Maybe. Many people do this in these years. If so, he must register. I'll check it for you tomorrow." "Thanks, Dick." "Tomorrow I'm going to make a routine inquiry of the houses on the left and right sides of number nineteen, asking if they've seen anyone go there, and that sort of thing. I'll probably go to the back house too, That is, the one whose back garden is adjacent to the back garden of No. 19. According to my impression, No. 61 seems to be behind No. 19. If you want, I can take you there. "

I can't wait to nod and say yes. "I'm Sergeant Zoram, and I'm in charge of shorthand." We made an appointment to meet at the police station at half past nine the next morning. The next morning, when I arrived at the appointed time, my friend happened to be angry and scolded. After he sent back his unfortunate subject, I cautiously asked him what had happened. For a moment Hardcastle could not speak a word.After a long time, he sputtered out saliva: "It's those terrible clocks!" "The clock again? What happened?" "One fell." "Lost? Which one?"

"A travel leather clock, the one with 'Rosemary' on the corner." I whistled. "It seems so queer. How could it be?" "A bunch of idiots—and I'm one of them—" (Dick was a very frank man)—"you have to do things just in case, or you're going to suffer. Well, those clocks were in the living room yesterday. I Ask Miss Pebmarsh to feel them all once to see if they are familiar. She can't help. Someone came and removed the body." "and then?" "I went out to the gate to give a few words, and then went back into the house, and spoke to Miss Pebmarsh in the kitchen, and said I had to take the clock away, and I would give her a receipt." "I remember, I heard." "Then I told the lady that I would take her home in a police car and asked you to take her to the car." "That's right." "Although Miss Pebmarsh said that the clocks were not hers and no receipt was required, I gave her one. Then I will meet you. I told Edward to pack the clocks in the drawing room and send them here. .All the clocks, except the cuckoo clock and the grandfather clock, must be wrapped up. The mistake is here. I wrote the word 'dog', but forgot to click a little bit. I should have specially warned at that time, there are four in total. Edward said he went in at once and did as I told him, but he insisted there were only three of them, besides the two fixed clocks." "There's not much time between this and that," I said. "Then it means—" "It may have been done by that woman in Pemapu. She probably picked it up after I left the room and went straight to the kitchen." "Extremely possible, but why?" "What we want to know about Doro. Is there anyone else? Could it be the girl?" I thought for a while, "I don't think so. I—" I stopped talking, and suddenly remembered something. "She did it, then," said Hardcastle. "Go on! When is it?" "We were walking out the door to get into the car," I said sullenly: "She left her gloves in the house. I said: 'I'll get them for you.' She said: 'Oh, I know where I put it, now I'm not afraid, the body has been removed.' And she ran into In the house. But she only went for a minute--" When she comes back, is she wearing gloves on her hands, or is she holding them? " I hesitated. "Yes—yes, I think she has." "Obviously not," said Hardcastle, "otherwise you needn't wonder if she's in her pocket." "The thing is," said Hardcastle reproachfully, "you're crazy about that chick." "Don't be so stupid," I retorted vigorously. "I saw her for the first time yesterday afternoon, let alone what you call a romantic encounter." "I'm not sure about that," said Hardcastle. "It's not every day that a young and beautiful lady, in classical Victorian gesture, throws herself into the arms of a young man with a scream, and makes a man feel like a hero, a heroic protector. You don't Protect the girl again. That's it. You know, the girl may have been involved in the murder up to the neck." "Are you saying that a girl stabbed a man with ease, then carefully hid the weapon so that none of your subordinates could find it, and then deliberately ran out of the room, screaming and acting in front of me?" "If you were me, you wouldn't be surprised," said Hardcastle in a deep voice. "Don't you know," I asked him indignantly, "that my life is full of beautiful spies from all over the world? The number of their victims can make the Americans dumbfounded. I am immune to all the temptations of women of." "There's always a Waterloo moment," Hardcastle said. "That depends on the type. Sheila Webb is your type." "Anyway, you must be her." Hardcastle sighed. "I'm not sure it was her—I've got to start somewhere. The body was found in Pebmarsh's house, and she was involved. It was the Wilbur girl who found it—I don't need to tell you." Well, the first to find the dead is often the last to see him alive. Unless there are further discoveries. These two women are inseparable." "I entered the room just after three o'clock, and the deceased had been air-tight for half an hour, maybe longer. How should I say this?" "Sheila Webb eats out from one-thirty to two-thirty." I looked at him, very annoyed. "How did you find out about Curry?" Unexpectedly, Hardcastle said sadly: "Nothing!" "What do you mean? Nothing?" "It means that he does not exist, there is no such person at all." "What do metropolitan and local insurance companies say?" "They didn't say a word because it didn't exist. 'Metro and Local' is a figment, Denver Street is a sham, Currie is a sham." "That's interesting," I said. "According to you, what he took was just a fake business card with a fake address, fake company number, and fake name printed on it?" "Probably so." "What do you think?" Hardcastle shrugged. "It's just speculation at the moment. Maybe he's faking it. Maybe it's his way of getting into people's houses, a ruse to gain people's trust. Maybe he's a liar, a drop-in guy, a trickster. Maybe he's a private investigator." .We don't know," "But you'll find out." "Regrettably, yes, there will be a day when the truth will come to light. We have sent his fingerprints to see if he has any previous convictions. If there is, the matter will be much clearer. If not, it will be more difficult to do." "Private eye," I mused. "This, I think it's very likely—" "All we know at this point is that it's possible." "When will the interrogation meeting be held?" "The day after tomorrow. It's purely a formality, and the real thing must be delayed." "What's the result of the autopsy?" "Oh, the murder weapon is a sharp knife, like a common kitchen knife." "Miss Pebmarsh is off the hook now, isn't she?" I said with concern. "It's almost impossible for a blind woman to stab someone with a knife. Is she really blind?" "Oh, yes, she's blind. She used to be a math teacher at North Village Elementary School. She went blind about sixteen years ago, got trained in Braille, and finally got a job at the local Aaronburg College." "Is she mentally disturbed?" "You mean paranoid about clocks and insurance men?" "That might sound unrealistic," I said with uncontrollable enthusiasm. "Like Alene Oliver at her worst, or the late Gary Grayson at his height—" "Say it to yourself, you're not the poor head of the CID, you don't have to deal with your boss, or the chief of police, or anyone." "Well, maybe we can get a clue from the neighbors." "I don't think so," said Hardcastle bitterly. "If the man had been stabbed to death in the front garden and carried into the house by two men in masks - no one would have seen it, this is not a small village. Wilbraham Lane is a high-class residential area, By one o'clock the morning women who might have had a chance to witness them have gone home, and there won't be a wheelbarrow in the way—" "Isn't it possible to have sick people sitting at windows all day?" "That's exactly what we were looking for—but it's also what we couldn't find." "How about the eighteenth and twenty?" "No. 18 is Mr. Waterhouse, Clerk-in-Chief of the Lawyers of Gasford and Swetenham, and her sister comes to look after him when she is free. As for No. 20, I have All I know is that the mistress has about twenty cats. I hate cats—” I told him it was hard work to be a policeman, and off we went.

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